delaber

[delaber]

Firestarter pt. 2 (Loki x Reader)

Summary: After two months of amazing hate-fucking, Loki accidentally lets his newfound feelings show - and suddenly, the anger’s back in her eyes. Only this time, she has the upper hand.

Tropes: Enemies to lovers, pining

Words: 5K

Find part 1 here

"Yessss that's it," he hisses and smacks her ass.

It's two months later and they're still at it - not every night, but almost.

He'd otherwise feared it a one time thing with the way she'd so quickly recovered the first night after he'd pulled three astonishing orgasms out of her, but had been positively thrilled to find her yelling at him on his doorstep the very next evening. He honestly cannot even remember what he did to upset her that much, but he knows it must've made her really angry because he vividly remembers three minutes later with his hands full of ass and his tongue buried inside of her.

She's calmed down since then; he doesn't have to provoke her to get her wet anymore but they still fuck like it's the end of the world.

It's the rawest, dirtiest, most destructive sex he's ever had and it's magnificent, carnal, rough! He slaps her ass as hard as he can, eats her beautiful cunt, forces his fingers inside of her until she screams his name, lets her tie him up while she tastes all of him.

It's been two secretive months of bite marks and purple tints on his skin. Of long, red scratches down his back and raven-black hair being pulled out in the most delicious of ways.

She - is - incredible! He wants to cum - fuck, she deserves the praise!

He lets her know.

"Fuck me, Loki," she hisses his name the way that he loves and it sends tingles all the way down to his balls, makes his head float up to the heavens.

"As you please," he flips them around, lies her down on her back, towers over her and admires her pliant body with his hand caressing down over her soft stomach. He still cannot believe he's this lucky!

He pushes himself back inside of her with force, watches her sweet little face contract with pleasure as her mouth falls open in an inaudible sigh.

"Darling girl," he hisses and feels her tighten around him as he diligently slides into her silk. "You feel amazing!" He leans forwards, pinches her beautiful nipple, sucks on her jawline, ruts hit hips against her to the vulgar sound of her hypnotising wetness swallowing him whole.

"Oh," she moans and he almost shivers when her eyelids close halfway with every meticulously-placed thrust of his hips while he moves with control, careful not to let go and cut the moment short - he never has her afterwards...

"Loki," she hums ever so sweetly in his ear, scrapes her nails down over his already raw-clawed shoulder blades, wraps her legs around his back, contracts around him while he's concentrating on the entirety that is her.

He saved her, he thinks to himself and gasps when his seidr begins to glow at the memory. He's thought of it a million times already and still, the mere sight of the scar on her shoulder makes his chest expand - expand - expand!

He connects his forehead with hers, finds her wide eyes and slows his hips down to a tender pace.

He was worthy enough to save her!

Their connection feels like something resembling faith. Like branches weaved at the foot of Yggdrasil, and he sensually rolls his hips and kisses her deeply, fucks her like a lover.

It's suddenly slow and caring. Soft and all-consuming. She seems to love it, and without warning, she's raking her soft finger pads through his long hair, licking his throat like a kitten while he expertly slowly guides himself in and out of her tight wetness. She whispers his name affectionately and everything glows brighter than before.

"Darling," his tongue slides into her mouth again, caresses her lazily, doubles as a non-verbal whisper telling her that he feels the same. He feels the same - and she immediately picks up on the fluorescent seidr that's filling up his chest cavity; she gasps, flutters around him, and she comes - loudly!

"Oh God!" she closes her eyes and tips over the edge while her perfect inner walls contract violently and squeeze him tight.

He's never heard such beautiful, long moans before as her fingers grab onto his curls and she gently pulls him with her, fills him up with sparks while he fucks her slowly.

He can feel every nerve ending in his body being pulled taut as a flash bow as his seidr vibrates and he finally spills inside her embracing heat to the music of her breaths against his ear.

"My sweet girl," he growls as he involuntarily falls down from his high and pulls her close while she whimpers like a wounded animal. "My goddess!" he kisses her throat, rakes his teeth across her humid skin, trails his hand down between them, ready to spoil her over and over again with his fingers, his tongue, his cock! She deserves it all and he's desperate to have her in his room a little longer. He wants her to stay forever.

He can feel the intense bond between them tightening and he slowly starts moving his hips again while his fingers find her clit.

A pang of warmth strikes his belly when he looks at her pretty face, and he cannot help the desperately sincere "you are so beautiful," that escapes his lips as he leans down to kiss her. "I want you to spend the night."

The change on her face comes in a matter of milliseconds. Suddenly, the all-consuming bliss is replaced. First, by confusion and not even moments later by the scorching anger he knows so well. "What the fuck, Loki??" she pushes at his clammy chest, "what are you doing?"

At first, he's not sure if they've resumed their regular game of cat and mouse so he keeps toying with her delicate clit the way that he knows she loves. "What am I doing?" he licks her throat and teases her asshole with his middle finger, "I'm making you come - what does it look like I'm doing?"

"No!" she pushes him again and he finally lets her escape from between his legs when he realises that she's not joking. "What the fuck was that?!"

Confused, he watches her stand from the bed. "...I'm not following you?"

"You're slow-fucking me now?" she hisses as she quickly pulls on her top, hides away her body as if he did something detestable. "Forehead to forehead like you're in love with me or something?"

It stings. "Excuse me?!"

She huffs as she forcefully yanks on her jeans. "I thought we agreed on what this was!"

"We do," he positions himself on the edge of the bed with his hands grabbing onto the sheets so tightly his knuckles turn white with humiliation. "I don't understand what the issue here is."

"Did you enchant me?"

"Enchant you?" He barks, offended. "Is that what you think of me?"

"No - I..." She huffs and looks as if she's about to pull out her own hair in frustration. "You did something different!” She says accusingly.

"I slowed down."

"Well I didn't like it!"

"You didn't like it?" He repeats, baffled. It's his most stunning performance yet; mostly due to the way she so beautifully reacted to him, and now she's trying to make him believe that she didn't like it?! "Excuse me but I'm going to have to disagree with that. I made you come harder than ever before; don't pretend you didn't enjoy it."

She sends him an annoyed side eye. "I was caught up in the moment."

"So was I!"

"That's not the point!"

"Indulge me then!"

They stare at each other, more confused than anything else and the silence between them is eating away at him.

"Tell me what I did," he pleads with a desperation that's unlike him while he instinctively reaches out for her hand although he knows it's a bad idea, "- so I won't repeat it next time."

He's right; it is a bad idea, because she immediately pushes his hand away with new-found flames in her eyes. "There won't be a next time," she says determinedly and with that, she gathers her shoes and storms out the door. Slams it shut.

***

She avoids him. Turns on her heel every time he enters a room, looks straight through him when they pass each other in the hallway, acts like they've barely even spoken a word - and he hates it! Hates the desperation, the emptiness of her face when he's the only one in the compound that knows her like this.

It reminds him of his lonely childhood when he would walk the golden halls of the palace alone, desperate for an ounce of the attention Thor was naturally given.

He gets the sudden urge to cause rampage like he did back then. Break treasured possessions, spread lies. But he's painfully aware that he's only at the tower as long as the Avengers want him there, so he behaves himself and tries to shove down the lonely howls from inside his chest.

***

Four days and seven excruciating encounters have to pass before she finally, graciously stands still long enough to let him speak to her.

It's a rainy afternoon and he's reading in the big winged chair by the fireplace when she unexpectedly comes into view.

She's walking back from the gym with her gaze fixed on the blonde man next to her, and as per usual, Loki's every muscle tightens by the sound of her voice alone, but this time it's for a whole different reason too because Steve Rogers is shirtless in all his virtuous glory and she's giggling at everything he's saying as they walk straight past Loki and disappear into the kitchen without sparing him a glance.

The silence that follows is deafening.

He knows that Rogers is the most vanilla man on Midgard - and definitely way too boring to satisfy her in bed - but the two of them have always been a little too chummy for his taste, so when Loki faintly hears Rogers call her sweetheart from the other side of the wall, there's no doubt he has to do something, so he pushes open the double doors to the kitchen, praying to the allfathers that he looks like a threat to the mighty Captain.

It's evident that Loki, ever so rudely, has just disturbed Rogers in the middle of a sentence but the guy is still so annoyingly polite that he nods respectfully in greeting.

Meanwhile, she only briefly looks up from her sandwich-in-the-making to shoot Loki an unimpressed glance before her eyes fall back down to her plate with a theatrical scoff. It makes Steve Rogers look curiously between the two of them with his eyebrows knitted closely together.

Loki gets the feeling that she's putting on an uncomfortable show only to get him to leave, but he's determined to talk to her so he stands his ground and starts flickering through the compound's tea selection achingly slowly just to piss her off.

"- what I mean is -" Steve Rogers continues as if Loki hasn't just barged in with daggers in his eyes. "I can teach you that leg takedown if you'd like? I'm sure Buck wouldn't mind sparring with Sam again some time later this week."

Loki pauses at Earl Grey and lets his gaze slip over to her.

"Yeah?" she hums with a cute little smile, "that sounds like fun. What about Tuesday?"

Her words have Steve Rogers nodding with excitement as he grabs his uninspiring ham-and-cheese sandwich from off the kitchen counter and walks towards the dining table in the next room. Even his tastebuds are bland. "It's a deal, sweetheart," he says.

Sweetheart. Loki's going to vomit.

He contains himself long enough to ensure the man's out of earshot until he angrily hisses out a "What are you doing?". He bites his tongue to stop himself from asking about whether she's interested in fucking the Captain or not. He has to tread carefully now that he finally has her on her own.

She sighs before looking up at him and he has to bite back a gulp when their eyes finally meet for longer than a tenth of a second. "...What do you want?"

"What do I want? I want to talk to you. I want to know what horrible thing I did to have you ignoring me like this!"

"I already told you," she crosses her arms over her chest. "You've gone soft."

"...Soft?" He repeats in disbelief while staring at her. Had this been any other situation, he might've even laughed. He's never been referred to as soft before. "Excuse me but did you hit your head?"

She rolls her eyes. "Don't pretend you haven't noticed."

"I have no idea what you're talking about."

"Loki..." she places her palms on the stone table top that serves as a physical barrier between them and looks him straight in the eye. It's dominatingly beautiful and it gives him the chills. "You've gone from hate-fucking me like a demon in heat to calling me your girl and telling me I'm beautiful."

"As if I would want to bed someone who looks like a trout!" He bites back, suddenly annoyed with her. She's right, of course, but it's not like he's about to let her know.

She responds to his clap-back with yet another sigh. "I thought we agreed it was a casual affair. No strings. And, granted, I hold some of the blame too; I probably should've stopped you when I started noticing your attitude towards me changing - I wasn't sure of anything, of course, but the slow-fucking?" She shoots him an unimpressed glance. "That one takes the cake!"

His mouth goes dry. "I don't understand what you're implying," he lies and it makes her scoff.

"Why can't you just admit that maybe the sex meant more to you than it did to me?"

He's taken aback by her bluntness. But it's her definitive use of the past tense that truly throws him off. He doesn't even have it in him to pretend otherwise, and with his silence, he's involuntarily admitting that the sex did indeed mean something to him. Exactly what, he's not sure of but something. He tries not to let it show.

"Loki," she cocks her head to the side with a lick of her lips and it makes it harder to pretend. "I'm not the girl for you. If you want to play house, I suggest you go find somebody else."

***

He dreams of black cats. Of Hel. Of feeling like the smallest man on earth while the Bifrost splinters before him and takes away the bridge to everything he loves.

It's been six days without a knock on his door. He shouldn't care that it's been this long - he doesn't, he constantly tells himself but keeps replaying their last conversation while the teeth of Fenrir sink into his lungs. He saved her - is that why she let him fuck her? Because she felt obligated to? Because of debt? It makes his heart burn.

"Loki."

He looks up at his brother and blinks a few times. Truth be told, he'd completely forgotten he was even there. "...What?"

"You're not listening."

"Yes, yes I was," he racks his brain for the last details he'd registered from Thor's gripping tale, but suspects he's been zoned out for at least five minutes.

Thor knits his eyebrows together, tilts his head disgustingly compassionately. "You're quiet," he states flatly and looks almost concerned. It makes the hairs on the back of Loki's neck prickle. He misses when Thor was less intuitive - before the Avengers, when all he cared about were tits and battle and wielding that stupid hammer.

"I don't remember asking your opinion."

"Just stating the obvious," Thor shrugs and thankfully goes back to the lamb chop on his plate, "one thing being that you're usually plotting something when you're this quiet - though something tells me your head is somewhere completely different as of late."

"Well if you want to keep yours connected to the rest your body, I suggest you keep your mouth shut."

His brother leans in close and looks as if he's about to say something vulgar. "It's her again, isn't it?" he whispers as if he doesn't dare speak her name.

"Thor," Loki warns with a sharp side-eye.

"You can tell me."

"I'm not going to."

"Why not?"

"Because you're being nosey."

"Can't I take an interest in my brother's well-being?"

"No. Now shut it!"

"I think she likes you."

It hurts more than he's willing to admit. "Thor!"

"But I do!"

"Shut up!"

He doesn't listen; "are you in love with her?"

A burning sea of vulnerability washes over him right in front of his brother's eyes while he desperately treads water. "She should be so lucky!" Loki hisses as a reflex and immediately feels his stomach churn when his brother grins and lifts his eyebrows in amusement.

"You are!"

Loki points his knife towards Thor, angrier than he's been in a while. "I'm only going to say this once! Stick your nose in my business and I will end you!”

***

They're on a mission in Vienna when Loki's knocked unconscious.

He doesn't remember much apart from an object hitting him on his upper back, a scream of his name - and suddenly, he's back on the rumbling quinjet with a splitting head ache.

He awakes with a groan and coughs up something black and slimy that he immediately spits out on the floor. Charming.

He's dizzy and he's seeing double but he wishes it was his sense of smell that was wonky because he can almost taste his brother's armpits in the air and it's revolting.

"Thor," his voice is hoarse and he coughs again while trying to remember how he ended up here. "What the hell happened?"

With difficulty, he tries lifting his head but is immediately pushed backwards by a hand already resting on his shoulder.

"You hit your head," his brother mumbles from beside him, "I had to carry you back here."

"Well that's embarrassing," Loki mumbles and tries moving his head again but hisses when his neck tenses painfully.

"Lie still," a small voice beckons. It's lighter than his brother's; more delicate, feminine, and the well-known flip of his insides shows its ugly face. Small fingers gently rub his shoulder and first then does he realise that it's not his brother's hand that's resting on his body.

"You're here?" He asks, confused while trying to focus on a spot in the ceiling. "And here I thought we were busy ignoring each other."

"I can keep doing so if you want me to," she says defiantly but sits completely still.

"Be my guest!"

"...Erm," Thor clears his throat in second-hand embarrassement, stands up from his position on the floor and points over his shoulder, "I have to - uh - be over... there."

Smooth.

The fingers that are resting on Loki's body feel more intimate now that they're alone, and he wonders if she can feel it too because she slowly retracts her hand although he wishes she wouldn't. A painful reminder of how she feels.

"Why are you here?" he bites.

"Thor was completely out of it," she says hesitantly, "He thought you were dead. He needed me."

"Thor needed you?” He scoffs, “Well, Thor's not here now so I guess you can leave."

She sighs loudly, "Do you really want me to leave?"

"Yes," he lies. He can still feel the warm spot that her fingers have left behind on his shoulder. It's getting colder now. "You made things quite clear the other day. It was a casual accquaintance, nothing else. There's really no need for you to pity me like this."

"You're hurt."

"I'm hurt? Yes I'm fucking hurt! It feels as if a bloody wall fell on me!"

"That's not what I meant..."

He moves his head through the pain, focuses on her the best he can. "Are you seriously fishing for a compliment right now?"

"W-what?"

"Do you want me to admit to whatever it is you're implying? It won't happen because contrary to your belief, I'm not in love with you." Another lie. "I saved you, you let me fuck you. We're even."

"That's not..." she starts but doesn't end her sentence. Her chest is heaving in heavy pants but she's not saying anything and the tension is thick again. She looks defiant but there's something she's not telling him.

"Was there something else?"

"No, I-"

"Then tell me what happened to my head or be on your way."

"I don't know what happened," she mumbles and gets up from the floor without sparing him a glance. "I wasn't there."

***

"It's a concussion," the new Doctor states the obvious and Loki has to contain himself from rolling his eyes.

"Great, can I go now?" He feels vulnerable enough without the diagnosis, and he's already half-way out the door - away from the prying eyes of the rest of the team.

"Hold up, mr Odinson," the Doctor says and the name feels like another dagger in his back. Loki wants to strangle him. "In your condition, it's important to take precautions."

"Don't tell me we have to start pampering him now!" Stark huffs and Loki's about to snarl something nasty back at him when Thor interrupts:

"Like what, Doctor?"

The Doctor turns back to Loki. "To prevent your condition from worsening, it's important that you take it easy for a couple of days. No TV, no straining exercise. You need rest."

"Right..."

"That being said, you have to make sure you're woken up every two hours. Have someone ask you a simple question like your full name, your birthday, the name of your home town."

"My home town?" He sighs. He doesn't want to think of Asgard right now. He feels lonely enough as it is.

"Something like that," the Doctor brushes it off with a shrug. "Do you have someone who can help you?"

"I assure you, that won't be necessary," Loki tries impatiently. He wants to get out of there. "After all, I am a God."

He can practically hear her rolling her eyes from behind him before she speaks up. "It's fine, Doc," she sighs, "I'll do it."

***

They're lying side by side on his mattress. It's three in the morning and it's the first time she's even in his room for anything other than sex. It's not not pleasant to be lying side by side in the dark, it's just different and neither of them know what to say. He doesn't like that she volunteered. He would've preferred dying in his sleep over the roaring silence.

He sneaks a quick peak at her beauty and accidentally lets out a sigh he thought only Thor was capable of and it seems to bring her to life.

She blinks and rolls over to her side, looks at him with distance in her eyes. "How are you feeling?"

"Dizzy..." he admits though he's not exactly sure if it's due to the concussion or being this close to her again.

"You should sleep," she says so achingly caring that it itches in his fingers to reach out and touch her. "- I'll make sure to wake you up every couple of hours and see if everything's okay."

He nods. "Sounds like you're in for a long night."

She gently shrugs and rolls onto her back again, stares back up at the ceiling. Her chest is rising and falling steadily and he doesn't understand how she can be so calm about the situation when it feels as if everything inside of him is burning with longing.

"Why did you volunteer?" the words tumble from his mouth without having been thought all the way through. "Why not just let Thor do it? He's my brother after all. He would've."

She chews her bottom lip, stares upwards as if stargazing. "I wanted to make sure you were okay."

She sounds sincere and he cannot help the furrow of his eyebrows. "Why?"

"Why?" She asks slowly, hesitantly. "Well... you've seemed out of it lately.”

"And you think it's your fault," it comes out more like a sour statement rather than a curious question so he's surprised to see pain behind her eyes when she finally turns her attention back on him.

"I know it is."

"Don't flatter yourself. I already told you it was merely sex for me. It didn't mean anything," he lies and regrets he even asked her in the first place. He wants to sleep. To get everything overwith and not stay in this moment of torture with her lying in his bed, rejecting him. Again.

"Come on," she sighs, "can't we just be honest for once?"

"You say that as if you've been dishonest...?"

"I guess I have," she hesitates and for once, he actually holds his tongue while she considers her next words. "I - uh - I get defensive when people get to close," she shuffles and looks away in embarrassement. "I guess it was easier to just push you away than admit to either of us what was going on. I tried telling you on the quinjet,” she slowly turns her gaze back on him with her eyes darting across his face. His heart picks up its pace.

"What are you saying?"

"Loki," she sighs and closes her eyes again. Speaks so painfully slowly that he almost cannot take it. "- you got close... When you slowed down and loved me that night, I - I felt it all. What I've been trying to deny."

"Felt what?" He tries as slowly as his racing pulse will allow him to speak. He doesn't want to scare her away again by assuming anything.

"I like you," she finally admits. "A lot."

Surprisingly, he's not even relieved. With the rollercoaster he's been through since he first met her, he's not sure he dares believe it, and a few seconds of silence follow between them while he carefully contemplates and chooses his next words.

On her request, he finally decides on telling her the truth. "I guess it wouldn't be too surprising if I admitted to the same thing."

She moves her head a little closer to him and places her hand between them. The smallest hint of a smile is playing on her lips. "Not really..."

A stab of a reminding thought pinches him beneath his ribs and he has to ask her. "You're not just saying this because you think you owe it to me, are you?" he nods to the scar on her shoulder "because I saved your life."

"No?" she furrows her eyebrows, searches his face.

"I don't want you to feel indebted to me. Despite what I told you back then, there were no ulterior motives to my actions. You don't owe me anything. I just did it to save you. I just wanted you to be okay.”

"Loki, I don't feel indebted," she lightly shakes her head. She looks sincere. "- do you really not remember what happened in Vienna?"

He slowly shakes his head. "Not really. An object hitting me in the back and someone yelling my name. Otherwise nothing."

"I did the yelling," she gulps, "and that object? That was a hand grenade."

"A hand grenade?"

She nods. Her eyes never leave his face. "You, me and Thor had just entered the grand hall of the embassy when it happened. You'd strayed off to the side to admire some painting."

It sounds like him.

"- I was behind you and saw it happen. It landed before your feet and without thinking, I just... lurched. Grabbed you and hurled the two of us forwards. You hit a stone column head-first."

He pulls back his head in surprise when he realises. “…you saved my life?”

It makes his blood pressure drop.

"Don't say it like that," she whispers with her breath fanning over his knuckles. "I merely gave you a concussion. The grenade turned out to be a squib after all."

"You didn't know that," he moves a little closer to her. She saved him and she's still here, still lying in his bed. It's not out of debt, he realises. Not at all. She's there because she wants to. "Darling... I don't know what to say."

"Don't say anything," she mumbles and opens her palm as if to welcome him. "Just kiss me, okay? I've missed you."

Everything inside of him goes soft. He feels squishy and warm and comfortable, and he could look at her forever.

He extends his fingers, engulfs her small hand inside his and dismisses the tension of his neck until their lips finally meet.

It's the gentlest they've ever kissed; lips barely touching, but it's the most heartfelt, the most sincere.

"I'm sorry for how I acted," she mumbles quietly against his mouth. "I really, really like you. I wasn't sure how to deal with that."

"It's okay," he whispers back, "we've all done things we're not proud of."

"Can you forgive me?"

"Of course," he smiles softly and reclaims her lips with the hope that he can show her exactly how crazy he is about everything that is her. His angry Avenger, his fiery goddess.

She saved him.

He feels the emotions pour out of both of them as their kiss deepens and he swears he can feel the allfathers blessing him as he jumps head-first into the burning sun; he can run with the wolves, fly with the ravens. And if Hugin and Munin are watching him from the great beyond, they'll tell all of Asgard that he, Loki Laufeyson, was worthy enough to be saved by a Valkyrie.

#loki x reader fanfiction #loki x reader enemies to lovers #loki smut #loki angst with happy ending #loki enemies to lovers

[delaber]

I love the way you wrote jealous Bucky in your story “a date”. Do you think you will write more jealous buck in the future? I would love to read it ❤️

Wiii thank you so much! I love writing jealous Bucky so I’m happy you think I did him justice 💕 I will definitely dive into more jealousy later but as of right now, he actually drops in in some of my already published fics.

My series “Snow” is full of jealousy. Hope you enjoy ❤️

#bucky barnes jealous #bucky barnes enemies to lovers #bucky barnes friends to lovers #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes fanfiction

[delaber]

@jenniweaslee wow ❤️ thank you so much ❤️❤️

Back Again (Bucky Barnes x Reader)

Summary: When Bucky volunteers for a mission going back in time, it’s with one objective and one objective only: to catch a glimpse of the girl he tragically lost a little over three years ago. But as he soon discovers, he has more to say about the past than he thinks.

Warnings: Angst (with a happy ending), major character death (well, not really, but you catch my drift), loads of feelings on Bucky’s behalf.

Words: 7.5K

September 6th

It's an easy mission really; go back to before the archive was compromised and bombed to rubbles by the rogue British forces, pull out the Hannigan file and remember the eight random digits stamped on the front page.

- It's fast in, fast out, Steve had said as he had set the date to three years and fifty-two days prior, shooting Bucky a stern glance from across the room as if he knew exactly what Bucky had been planning to do from the very moment he'd volunteered for the mission.

- Relax Steve, I'll be there early morning. The hallways will be empty.

Technically, it's not a lie.

- You could have chosen any other date. S'all I'm saying

- I know what I'm doing

- Just... —don't let anyone see you, okay?

Getting the intel and memorising the numbers is the easy part - it takes Bucky exactly eleven seconds to imprint the eight digit code in his memory like a burn wound and slip unnoticed out the door of the archive - the hard part is the next step. The secret step that Bucky had planned in his head and hadn't even dared subtly hint to Steve although he definitely already knows and isn't exactly happy about. The stern glance alone had told him as much.

To hell with it, Bucky thinks to himself and pushes away the guilt of not having been fully transparent with his best friend, this is important.

He quietly closes the archive door behind him while looking at the borrowed space-time watch on his wrist and realises that he, by chance, manages to click the door shut just as the seconds hand hits the sixth hour mark. It's perfect, it'll make keeping track of time that much easier. Yet, his time is still limited, so without stopping to catch his breath, he's off! He doesn't want to put himself in a situation where the watch will start sending him warnings in order to reach the jump site on time. It'd happened to Barton once, and Fury was... let's just say not happy. He'd benched Barton for eight months following that incident and Bucky really doesn't want to be in the same situation. He doesn't have much to live for outside of missions, and Fury's been looking for a reason to kick him off the team. So no matter what, he will make it back with time to spare!

Quickly striding along the marble tiles, moving as fast as he can while being careful not to hit any of Pepper's potted ferns lining the dark hallway, he's eager to get to the spot - your spot - where he knows you'll sit and watch the sunrise as you used to do every morning. If he remembers correctly - and he knows he is because he's double and triple checked it with Natasha several times over the last few days - you'll be alone at the compound this morning and he'll have at least a few seconds to sneak a peak without worrying if any of his team mates will creep up behind him. A moment just to himself to see your silhouette one last time as you gaze towards the colourful horizon in the distance - but only for a few seconds or the team back home will grow even more suspicious of him and think that he broke rule number one. And he really can't stand when Steve has that disappointed frown on his face. It's fast in, fast out and Bucky intends to keep it that way.

Still walking fast through the hallway, he looks back at the synchronised watch on his wrist and with a happy sigh realises that he still has plenty of time. He should be able to do it without arising too many questions from the team. Should he cut it too close, he can always tell them there was a problem with accessing the archive but that he eventually managed to get around it. Good.

Gingerly stepping out of the compound and out onto the wooden terrace Sam had built when he'd joined the team a few years back, Bucky realises that he's travelled back to a particularly beautiful morning; the colours of the rising sun are blanketing the entire garden in a pink hue, playing with the water lilies on top of Starks koi pond in the far corner, heating up the dew on the terrace's wooden floorboards so they emit a lovely smell from underneath his boots. It's a beautiful setting, he knows that, but truth be told, he has never really cared much for sunrises - they were always too romantic, too nostalgic for someone who didn't like thinking too much about their past, let alone romanticise it. So what really catches his eye isn't the eruption of colours in the morning sky, it's the curled up figure sitting in the middle of the wooden deck. Surrounded by potted plants and with a steaming cup of tea sat next to bare feet as birds chirp lively in the tree crowns above, you're sitting innocent and unknowing of the fate that so cruelly has been bestowed upon you.

Bucky's heart damn near stops in his chest. He hasn't seen you in so long and suddenly you're sitting right in front of him exactly as he remembers you; sweet, beautiful, warm, and with your hair blowing lazily in the wind as you overlook the garden as part of your precious morning routine. You're wearing the flowered sundress he loves and the setting seems so perfect that he for a moment wonders if this is nothing but a fever dream that he half-expects to wake up from any minute soon. But then the wind picks up your scent and it flows through the air until it reaches his nostrils and makes his lungs come back to life with a small gasp. Immediately and uncontrollably, his breathing picks up its pace again and he just wants to put his wobbly legs to use and run over to you.

However, he doesn't have to remind himself of the first rule of time travel; he knows he's not supposed to be seen, yet there you are, and he's dangerously close to considering throwing caution to the wind just so he can give you one last kiss and tell you how much he misses you. Maybe if he talks to you one last time and tells you how much you mean to him, he can finally stop lying sleepless at night, thinking about what could have been if only you'd stayed in this life? That way, at least you would have known. He has never been this tempted to just say fuck it and break the silent promise he'd made to Steve before he'd been sent back in time.

He carefully takes a step forwards, feels how the familiar scent of your shampoo draws him closer and fills his chest with anticipation of talking to you again - of seeing your smile one last time - but he stops himself before he gets too close. He cannot temper with what happened. He of all people should know that no matter what, you cannot change the past. So with an inaudible sigh, he backs away while looking at your hair flowing elegantly in the breeze before he turns around as quietly as possible, his hand already on the door handle to back inside the compound, disappointed that he has to leave so soon, but happy that he at least got to catch a glimpse of you.

"Well," your sweet, sweet voice suddenly sounds from behind him and it makes him stop dead in his tracks. "- Am I supposed to keep pretending I haven't noticed you staring at me or are you gonna join me?"

Shit, his cover is made! This is not good! He did not prepare for this! What the fuck is he supposed to do now? Turn around and answer? Bolt for the jump site? This was not part of the plan! Fuck!

"- Barnes?" you chuckle when he doesn't respond at all.

With closed eyes, he can hear you shuffling a little as if you're turning around to get a better look at him and he gulps hard before he plasters on a brave smile and rotates on the spot. He only has about a millisecond to brace himself for the feelings that are about to coalesce and crash down on him, yet the moment he sees your face, he knows that no amount of time in the world could've ever prepared him for the all-consuming relief he feels in his chest when he sees your face for the first time in little over three years. A welcoming smile is crinkling at the corners of your eyes, your pouted lips are still in position from having practically sung his name only moments before, and your big, beautiful eyes are boring straight through his soulless holster of a body that you for some goddamn unimaginable reason still seem to like. You'd always said that his mere presence made you feel safe and even though he's had three years of getting used to the fact that he couldn't save you, it still cuts like a knife to have you looking at him like that again.

"Hi sweetheart," he breathes quietly and locks eyes with you. It feels as if he's been kicked in the stomach.

"Hi," you smile broadly at the familiar pet name and Bucky feels his heart skip a beat. "- What are you doing here?" You ask softly and cock your head to the side as you take him in, "I thought you and Sam were supposed to be buried deep in the woods of Siberia right now."

"We finished the mission early," he manages to croak even though it feels as if the Sahara desert has been poured straight down his throat.

"Oh, good! How did it go? Did you get the intel?"

He resorts to nodding as he tries swallowing to lubricate his hoarse throat but the saliva just settles as a thick, immobile lump on top of his larynx, making it all so much worse. He hadn't gotten the intel. He had panicked when Steve had called him, and he and Sam had both run for the quinjet, desperate to come home and help search for you among the rubbles of the archive in the strangled hope of finding you alive.

"Of course you did! I don't know what you were fussing so much about - didn't I tell you, you were the right man for the job?" you send him an impressed grin and it makes him feel even worse for having lied to you.

"Yeah," he croaks guiltily and looks away from you. His heart is hammering a mile a minute and he knows he has to get out of here before he reveals too much but how can he leave when your gaze is finally locked on his again? For a moment, he just wants to forget all about how he's gonna lose everything in a couple of hours.

Out the corner of his eye, he can see how you knit your eyebrows tightly together as you take him in. You'd always had a knack for reading him when he didn't want you to - it was what had brought the two of you together in the first place - but this time, it's really inconvenient.

"Hey, are you alright?" You ask tentatively while twitching your fingers a little as if reaching out for him. Of course you've already seen straight through him. " - you look a little pale."

"Yeah," he clears his throat, telling himself to pull it together, "yeah, I'm good."

"Okay..." you nod but you don't look too convinced by his lie. "Why don't you come join me?" you ask and he can't believe himself and his dumb legs but his muscles start moving autonomously and suddenly, he's sitting next to you, silently savouring how you snuggle up to his side as you look straight ahead and up at the morning sky.

At first, he pretends he's interested in the purple streaks above the two of you as well, but after not even five seconds, he turns his face to look at you, hoping to memorise all your features before it's too late.

"Barnes, you're staring," you chuckle while hyper-focusing your gaze on a spot in the growing horizon.

"Sorry," his voice is thick and pained but he keeps his eyes locked on you. How is he supposed to ever look away?

Slowly, you turn your face to the side, your happy grin slowly slipping from off your lips when you notice his blank eyes. "Hey," you put your hand on his knee and he can feel the electricity building underneath your touch, "- are you sure you're alright?"

He just nods, scared that if he opens his mouth, the truth will come out. Why did he not prepare for this?

"Yeah?" you rub over the small hole in his jeans and the lightning burns like a fire in his veins. He feels so guilty.

"Mm-hmm," he blinks rapidly. "I just missed you."

"Four days out and you miss me?" you chuckle happily and move a little closer to him so he can feel the heat radiating from off your body. "You're turning into a sap! - I bet you didn't mention this to Sam."

"He knows," Bucky mumbles and throws an arm around your body so you can put your head on his shoulder.

"Oh he knows now, does he?" you laugh whole-heartedly in disbelief. Back then, for some stupid reason he cannot even remember right now, Bucky had been so desperate to keep his feelings for you private but with the pain and the sorrow that had followed losing you, he suspects the rest of the team figured it out quite soon after, although he never really confirmed it to either of them. "What did he say? Did he tease you?" you giggle as you link your arm with his and grab tightly around right bicep. "- or use it against you or what it is you're so afraid of?"

"No," Bucky croaks as he blinks a few times and curses at himself for his inability to just play it cool. "He misses you too. We all do."

You straighten your back so you can look directly at him. Your smile is still in place but it freezes slightly as you furrow your eyebrows in confusion. "Okay, I'm not gonna ask you again," you chuckle apprehensively, "- but are you a hundred percent sure you're alright? You're a shadow of yourself today."

"Yeah, sweetheart, I'm good," he pulls you close to his chest and kisses the top of your scalp, "let's just enjoy the sunrise, okay?"

"Okay," you nod quietly and look back towards the morning sky, but out the corner of his eye, he can see how your gaze constantly darts back towards his face. "it's just... Well, since you seem to have absolutely no intensions of bringing it up yourself, I have to ask..." You cock your head to the side and Bucky can feel his breathing speeding up, not sure what you're about to confront him with. "- What happened to your hair?" you laugh sweetly, your lips spreading even further apart in your gorgeous signature grin as you search his face.

He should be relieved that that's what you're wondering about, but it's a detail he hadn't even considered. He had insisted on the long hair back when you'd dated him and now he has no good answer as to why he chose to cut it all off. 

"Did something life-altering happen that I don't know about or did you just feel like suddenly chopping it off?" you joke. Or at least, he thinks you're joking.

"Uh - I - uhm - I just cut it," he says and uncomfortably shift his weight around, eager to have you look anywhere else than his face. Truth be told, he had cut it because something terrible and life-altering had happened to him but he's not about to reveal your fate to you.

"You just cut it?" you arch an eyebrow in disbelief. "On a mission? Was the intel located at a salon?" you laugh again.

"Yeah, well... I figured it was time, you know?"

"Hmm, yeah... Well, it looks good on you," you chip happily and send him a dreamy smile, "but then again, you always look good. It's annoying."

"Mmh," he forces a smile.

Your gaze wanders over his face once more and you push together your eyebrows as you take him in while trying to understand what's going on inside his head. You definitely still think he's acting beside himself.

"You promised you wouldn't ask again," he tries joking to diffuse the tension between you and it seems to work because it immediately has you smiling.

"Don't worry, I won't..." you press your lips tightly together and reach up to run a hand through his short hair just to feel him underneath your fingertips. "Mmh, I missed you," you hum.

Your small, delicate fingers caressing his scalp is a simple touch of warm intimacy that Bucky had completely forgotten the sensation of, and he has to close his eyes to stop himself from crying at the gentleness if it. He never thought he'd feel this again, and there had been many nights since the bombing where he'd cried not only for the loss of you, but for the loss of intimacy as well.

You rake your hand through his hair again, and he can't believe it, but for a short second while you're running your fingers through his short strands, he actually envies the version of himself who's bickering with Sam somewhere in rural Russia right now. The version of himself who's completely oblivious as to what will happen within the next twelve hours. That guy just thinks he's going home to scalp kisses and head scratches by his love at the end of the mission... Bucky doesn't, however, envy the grief that the other version will have to navigate through for the next couple of years until he can finally feel this kind of intimacy again. For a few second he, himself, is the lucky one.

Even with closed eyes, he can sense the deep look you're giving him and although he wants to sit like this forever and revel in your love, he can't risk giving himself away. "Sweetheart, you're missing it..." he says in a strangely throaty voice and nods towards the horizon, not sure what outcome he's hoping for. He just knows he doesn't want to take away your last sunrise ever.

"I don't care," you whisper and rake a hand through his hair one more time. "I know you say you're alright, but you're not... What happened to you?"

"Nothing," he mumbles.

"It's not nothing..." you say softly and scratch at his neck until he finally opens his eyes again. "Why won't you tell me?" you whisper and press in on his aching jaw to get him to unclench it.

He reaches out and intertwines his fingers with the hand you have lying in your lap. "I'll tell you tomorrow, okay? Let's just sit here and enjoy this moment for a little while..."

"If you say so," you nod disappointedly as you look down at your joined hands.

He's so lost, so confused as to what to do now that he doesn't even register how your gaze briefly stops at the familiar watch he's wearing, so when you look up at him again, it's with a foreign, sudden type of sadness he doesn't know where comes from. Your eyes are searching his face, stopping at several fix points that you keep coming back to over and over again: his shorter hair line, the crows feet surrounding his blue irises, the crease above his nose that has only grown more prominent over the recent years, the newly acquired wound on his chin that has turned into a white scar because he hadn't put sunscreen on it last summer. All telltales of time having passed since the last time you'd seen him.

He can practically hear the gears turning in your head before your eyes soften considerably and you give out a sad sigh. "Hmm," you hum quietly and shoot him a despondent look he can't really place. "What are you doing here?

"...What do you mean?" he asks sincerely and presses his eyebrows together as he looks down into your sad eyes.

You give him a second to properly answer your question but when he doesn't, you sigh again and slowly lean forwards while pressing your palm to his face, caressing his bearded chin. "You're not my Bucky..." you say quietly as you stroke his cheekbone.

His breath catches in his throat and his heart immediately starts racing. "W-what?"

"You're not my Bucky" you repeat resolutely while huge eyes are still searching his face, "what are you doing here."

"I don't understand."

"James..." you say softly and cock your head to the side.

He remembers this. It's always James when you want him to speak the truth.

"I could tell something was off from the minute I saw you but the watch gave you away," you nod down to his wrist that is still lying in your lap before your soft gaze finds his eyes again. "Time hasn't been kind to you, has it?" you whisper while lovingly stroking his cheek.

"W-what?" He doesn't even have it in him to protest more than that. Not when you sound so sure of yourself.

"How does it happen?" you ask him gently, overtly controlled. He should have known this; of course you'd figure it out...

"How does what happen?" he blinks desperately, not sure what to do now. He can't be the one who tells you. He can't.

You lower your chin without moving your eyes from his. "I die, don't I? That's why you're here."

He continues blinking rapidly, his breath still caught in his throat as his lungs start heaving for air. Just thinking about it hurts in his chest.

"It's okay," you whisper, your eyes still huge as you try and calm him down. "What - uhm - what happens? Will we be together when it occurs?"

"No," he whimpers and throws away his very last hope of fooling you into believing that it isn't the reason why he's here. "I won't be home yet."

"You won't be home yet..." you repeat in a low voice and Bucky sees how your eyes grow wide as you slowly manage put two and two together. "Buck -- when does this happen?" you ask shakily and for the first time, he detects a trace of fear in your voice.

He gives out a short whimper in reply and clutches your hand tightly as he feels the tears well in his eyes. How is he supposed to tell you that you have less that twenty-four hours to live?

"When?" you repeat quietly and hold on to him even tighter than before.

"Sweetheart, don't make me say it," he avoids looking at you.

"Don't you think I have a right to know...?"

"Of course you do it's just--"

"-When?"

Bucky takes a deep, ragged breath before he confirms the very thing you suspect and fear. "This afternoon, a bomb will go off in the West Wing."

"This afternoon?" You drop the grip you have on his hand while staring at him in shock. "I'm going to die... today?”

"Don't - don't say it like that," he whines. "Please, it's so unfair! You have so much to live for and it's all taken away from you just like that. I'd trade places with you in a heartbeat but I'm not here, and I won't be here before it's too late. I'm so sorry sweetheart. I'm so sorry!"

"It's okay, Buck." With huge eyes and your mouth hanging wide open, you stare at him as you let the shock settle down around you. "It's okay... it's okay..." you eventually say and force-close your locked jaw as you rub a hand over your face. "I'm sorry, but - uh - I need to know. What exactly happens? Who else will be here?"

"We're all away," Bucky sighs with regret, "It's just you and Natasha."

Immediately, you cover your mouth with your hand, "Nat!" you gasp, even more shocked by this than by the news of your own passing.

"Nat's fine," Bucky immediately interrupts and grabs your hand again, holding it tight, "she's going to be at the gym."

"...And me?"

"I don't know sweetheart," he whispers, "Nat told us that you wanted to get some work done so you skipped out on your training. We think you may be at the centre of the blast. We - we never find you," he breathes through his nose to keep himself controlled. He can feel the tears pressing in on his eyeballs again when he thinks of the empty coffin they had to bury.

"At least it's quick then," you say and turn your face towards the garden that is still bathed in the pink hue from the rising sun. "I'm going to die today," you say matter-of-factly with your gaze fixed on the sky. "huh... So we never get to go on that date on Friday?

"No sweetheart..."

"- And we've already had our last kiss?

He nods. "Yeah..."

"I'm sorry," you whisper while staring at him with sad eyes, "I'm sorry you have to go through all that alone."

"I'm not alone," he mumbles and looks down at his feet. "Steve tries to talk to me. Sam too."

"But you don't accept," you chuckle sadly while shaking your head from side to side while playfully rolling your eyes at him, "God, you're so stubborn!"

"I know," he nods, "but it's too painful to talk about even now."

"How much time passes?" you look back at him while taking a deep breath. "How many years ahead are you right now?"

"It doesn't matter," he gulps guiltily. He knows how this part of the conversation will go.

"James..."

"Three," he sucks in a bit of air, hoping that it isn't that much time in your eyes.

"Three years?" you whine, your eyes huge with the shock of his confession as you clutch your chest, "Baby, you have to move on!"

Immediately, his heart cracks in two and he can no longer hold back the tears that he finally lets flow freely down his cheeks without trying to stop them. "No, I can't," he sniffles quietly, "I don't want to. I just wish you were still here. I miss you so much, you have no idea. I feel so guilty for being away. I think about it all the time."

"Bucky," you say softly and put a hand underneath his chin, wiping away a few tears and forcing him to look back up at you, "- you couldn't have done anything anyway. You know what I'm like when I put my mind to something. If you'd been here, you would probably have gone to the gym with Nat because I would still have gone to the West Wing to finish up work. It wouldn't have changed anything."

"But I never even get to tell you how I feel."

"Bucky, look at me," you whisper with a small smile and lean forwards, "it's okay. You don't have to tell me. I already know." You put your forehead to his and smile softly at him, "- and I hope you know that I feel the same about you."

With a gulp, he nods.

"Then kiss me," you wipe away another of his tears and tilt your head.

He closes his eyes and finds your mouth immediately, pushes himself impossibly close to your body and feels the softness pour over him as you press your pillowy lips to his in the most heartfelt kiss he's ever experienced. He tries to let his love shine through as raw as possible so there will be absolutely no doubt how much he loves you but from the way you're holding on to him, he can feel that you truly do already know. Your hand is warm against his face and it causes his heart to calm down its rapid beating while your lips move like silk on top of his.

"Mmh, sweetheart," he whispers into your mouth and feels every inch of you engulf him in love and bravery. Suddenly, he's free, so liberated from the grief that has been hanging over his head for so long that he completely forgets that he's on borrowed time.

The loud sounds coming from his wrist watch that suddenly begins beeping out of nowhere is the only terrible reminder of the setting he's in - that there's a deadline hanging over his head if he ever wants to make it home again.

"You're cutting it close, huh?" you say quietly as you reluctantly break off the kiss and place your forehead back on his. You both know that the watch only starts beeping when there's less than two minutes left to get to the jump site.

"I don't care," he shakes his head, not sure what else to say as he feels reality come crashing down on him again.

"You're really gonna let it go to red?" you chuckle as if impressed. "You know that Fury's gonna tear you a new one, right?"

"I don't care."

"I bet you don't," you chuckle and he joins you in smiling, revelling in the odd sensation that it brings to his cheeks to chuckle like this again. "I'm glad you found me, Barnes."

"Me too, sweetheart," he whispers as the smile slips from off his face again. "I wish there was something I could do..."

"You're here right now, aren't you?" you smile and briefly kiss him again, "I'm glad you came back, even just for a few minutes."

"It's not enough to say goodbye..." he mumbles and laces his fingers with yours.

"Oh, but this? This is not a goodbye," you chuckle quietly while shaking your head, "it's an I'll see you later."

"If you say so," he nods without really accepting your explanation and ignores the incessant beeping from his watch that only grows louder and louder by the second.

"You should probably get back, don't you think? Wouldn't want you to miss your mark and have you stuck here with me."

"Mmm," he whimpers and desperately kisses your knuckles with closed eyes.

"Chin up Barnes," you chuckle at him, "- the sky is the most beautiful I've ever seen it and I had a good run. I'll be okay."

"I'll miss you," he says as the watch starts blinking angry red, warning him that he only has thirty seconds left.

"I'll miss you too," you say and squeeze his fingers tightly before you let go of him, "you have twenty-seven seconds. Promise me you'll make it back, okay?"

"Okay," he nods and slowly stands up, taking one last look at you before he walks across the wooden floorboards and back towards the door he'd entered through.

"Hey Barnes?" You say when his hand reaches the doorknob and it immediately makes him turn around to see you standing on your feet, looking at him with a resolute look in your eye, your hands determinedly balled to fists by your side. "You say you're three years ahead. What date is it where you're from?"

"Uh... September sixth?" he says, a bit confused as to why that should matter but he's not about to deny a dying woman an answer to her question. "Why?"

"Just out of curiosity," you nod towards his angry watch, "twenty seconds."

"I know."

"I'll see you later, okay?"

"I'll see you baby," he whispers and physically feels his heart crack even worse in his chest as he takes a definitive last look at you. The sun is coming up behind you now, marking the worst day of Bucky's existence and all he can do is let it happen.

September 7th

He didn't even think it possible, but it's even worse than the first time around.

He'd collapsed on the floor the minute he'd exited the quantum realm, tears and snot blurring his vision as he'd fallen to his knees, his heart aching so horribly in his chest he'd thought he was dying. He wasn't. Unfortunately.

Steve had been there in an instant, on his knees beside Bucky, holding him tight, making sure he didn't pass out from hyperventilating, trying to calm him down.

The rest is a blur. Bucky isn't sure how Steve managed to manoeuvre him to his bedroom on the tenth floor and he doesn't even remember if Steve had been there when he'd finally fallen asleep, dreaming of you and the feeling of your body in his arms, your lips touched to his.

When he wakes up the next morning, it takes him a minute to remember that you're still gone, and in that moment, he isn't sure if seeing you again was liberating or just pure torture. If only he could've done something to fix what had happened....

"Buck?" Steve's voice immediately sounds from beside him as he starts shuffling a bit in the sheets, eager to get the cold sweat to stop pooling at his forehead. He turns around on the bed and meets the disheveled face of Steve who's occupying the chair where Bucky usually puts his dirty clothes, his eyes red with sleep deprivation, his hair sticking up in all possible directions.

"Stevie..." Bucky croaks and clears his throat as he takes in the state of his best friend who's clearly stayed by his side all night. "What are you doing here?"

"As if I was just going to leave you," Steve sighs solemnly and rubs his eyes. "How are you?"

Bucky sits up straight and lets his head fall back against the headrest. He can still see the broken look you'd sent him when he'd revealed your terrible fate to you. "You know how I am."

"Yeah..." he sighs again and looks away. "I'm sorry Buck but you're gonna have to talk about it."

"I know I broke a rule. You and Fury can yell at me tomorrow, okay?" Bucky says quietly and tries to block out the mental image of what'd happened to you. "I just need some time."

Steve reaches out his hand and lets it fall on top of Bucky shoulder. "Buck, I'm - I'm not gonna yell at you. I just want you to finally open up to me, you've been so closed off since it happened. I know what you had with her was... special. And I know why you went back and talked to her, I've been tempted to do the same many times. Trust me."

"I just wanted to see her," Bucky squeezes his eyes shut and bites his lip, desperately trying to get his breathing under control again. "I never intended to talk to her, it just... happened. I think I'd forgotten how observant she was."

"I know," Steve pushes down on Bucky's shoulder and shoots him a sympathetic smile. "How much did you tell her?"

"...Everything."

"And how did she take it?"

"She was really brave about it. I think I took it worse than she did... I don't know, I'm gonna need some time to process it all..."

"Mmh," Steve nods in quiet desperation, not sure what to do or say to make Bucky feel better. "I'll give you some space then, okay pal? I'll check in again in a couple of hours."

"Please don't," Bucky sighs and lays his head back down on his pillow, his mind already overflowing with every memory of you. All the way back from the first time he'd seen you to the point where he'd told you you were about to die. Shit.

He's so lost in thought he almost doesn't hear the hurried footsteps coming from the hallway, and he barely even registers the door being kicked open as Sam yells his name. "Bucky! Bucky, wake the hell up! You have to come downstairs! Now!"

"Sam?" Steve questions, already on his feet, ready to run to whatever emergency Sam is warning. "What's going on?"

Sam's eyes are wide open, his mouth falling agape in disbelief as he quietly chuckles and frantically waves Bucky and Steve over to him, "Come on! It's unbelievable! You have to see it for yourselves!"

"I don't care what it is, I'm not coming," Bucky mumbles from the bed and pulls his comforter closer around his chest, praying for Sam and Steve to leave him alone.

Sam bends down and picks up the nearest pair of jeans, throwing it over to Bucky on the bed. "Put on some pants, man, and come down stairs. Now!"

Bucky looks to Steve for help but he merely shrugs before he throws Bucky a black hoodie from underneath the chair he'd been occupying only moments before.

"You've got to be fucking kidding me," he mumbles under his breath and reluctantly swings his legs over the side of the mattress, well knowing that his two friends won't leave him alone until he's seen what Sam's fussing about for himself.

"Come on!" Sam urges and impatiently taps the doorframe to Bucky's room with his foot as Bucky slowly pulls on the jeans and hoodie just to annoy him.

"Sam what's going on?" Steve finally asks again when they're all three standing in the elevator, zooming towards the ground floor.

"Just... just wait, okay?" he says rapidly, clearly excited about what's going on. It's giving Bucky a goddamn headache. "You're not gonna believe me anyway!"

Bucky gives out an annoyed sigh as he throws his head up against the back wall of the elevator, closing his eyes. He needs a fucking aspirin.

"You good?" Steve turns to him while Sam continues his nervous-tapping against the floor.

"I'm about to strangle Sam if that's what you’re worried about..."

Sam stops tapping and opens his mouth to retort, but is interrupted by a loud ding as the doors slide open and instead settles for an annoyed look sent in Bucky's direction before he turns around. Immediately, the three men are met by Natasha's loud squeals coming from the next room, causing Steve to half-jog out of the elevator and through the empty hallway while Bucky slouches after him, counting the seconds until he can finally be alone again and wallow in his misery.

Steve stops in the doorway to the next room, his jaw practically dropping to the floor as soon as he sees what Natasha's so worked up about. It only takes him exactly two seconds of utter shock before he composes himself enough to turn his head and look Bucky straight in the eye. "Buck... it's..." his voice trails off as he looks back at the scene unfolding before him.

"What's happening?" Bucky asks curiously for the first time, and can feel how his heart picks up its pace as he dreads the sight that will meet him when he catches up to Steve.

"Come on, man," Sam says and puts his hand between Bucky's shoulder blades, urging him to move forwards so he can see for himself.

It feels as if it's taking him an eternity to reach those last few yards across the hallway, and when he's finally by Steve's side, he's so worked up, he isn't even sure if his mind is playing tricks on him or not. Because there, in the middle of the room, Natasha is standing in a tight embrace with none other than ...you?

Bucky blinks a few times, takes a step forwards, not sure if he's still dreaming.

You have tears running down your cheeks as you lock eyes with him over your best friend's shoulder and you can't stop the broad smile that spreads on your lips. "Buck," you whisper and immediately let go of Natasha who sniffles and steps to the side so Bucky can see all of you.

There you are. Standing in all your glory, unharmed, undead, living and breathing, and singing his name so sweetly as you take a step towards him, your feet shaking nervously underneath you.

"Are you seeing this too?" Bucky whispers to Steve though he doesn't dare move his eyes away from your form in fear of losing you if it turns out to just be a cruel illusion.

"Yeah, Buck," Steve's voice is shaking by his side, "I see her too."

"Buck," you laugh through the tears that continue to roll down your cheeks. "It's really me," you lift your hand and reach out for him.

"Oh my god," he whispers and strides across the room. Immediately, you're in his arms and he's crying your name as he touches you all over your body to make sure you're really there, squeezing you against his chest, kissing the top of your scalp, running his hands over your back, "I don't believe this!"

"Hi baby," you whisper and kiss his neck, his ear, his cheek. "I'm here. It's okay, I'm here."

"You're alive?" he sniffles and briefly holds you out at an arms length before he pulls you close to his chest again, "how? We all thought you were dead!"

"I'm sorry," you whisper and hold him as close as possible as you mumble against his chest. "I couldn't give you any signs of life. I couldn't risk it."

He puts a hand under your chin and urges you to look up at him. "Risk what?" he frantically searches your face, voice shaking, still desperate to confirm you're really here.

You put your hand on his chest as you always do to calm him down and send him a deep, intimate look. "I had to wait until after September 6th of this year to see you again. I'm sorry."

"I - I don't understand..." he says and strokes his thumb over your cheek.

"Come here," you break off the tight embrace and lead him to a small bench in the corner of the room, sitting him down beside you. "What you did that day saved me," you grab his hand and wrap it in your tiny fingers, "I would have been in the West Wing when the bomb went off if you hadn't said anything... But because of you, I left early. Like you said I would, I told Nat I couldn't come with her to the gym because I was going to finish up a mission report, so I waited until after she'd started her work-out to leave. I couldn't write you a note, or give you any sign of what'd happened because you needed the motive to go back in time to save me. I had to keep you grieving or you never would've come, so I just... left... I've been hiding in a small village in the mountains of Spain, waiting for this exact date. That's why you never found a body among the rubble."

"W-what? ...but we - we searched for weeks," he whispers, not sure why that's the detail he decides to focus on. He's not sure his shocked brain can fully comprehend your confession. He's having trouble just moving his shaking limbs. "You're alive..."

"I know. I'm sorry, baby. But it was necessary."

"You're alive..." he repeats quietly, the realisation slowly dawning upon him. "I don't believe it..." he whispers and pulls you close to his chest again as the tears start stinging in his eyes, "you're alive..."

"Yeah, I'm alive," you sniffle against him and hug him just as tightly as you'd done what was only mere hours ago for him, three years and fifty-three days for you. "You saved me."

"Oh my god," he cries into your neck, kissing your shoulder, "I've missed you so much!"

"You've been so brave," you whisper against him and caress the back of his head, "I'm so proud of you."

"No, I've been a pathetic mess. These guys can testify to that," he mumbles and points to over his shoulder where he can hear Sam and Nat chuckle quietly. "I never thought I'd see you again."

"I know," you smile sadly, "seeing you like that that day was heartbreaking. I knew I had to do something or you wouldn't survive it."

"I am so glad you did," he kisses your knuckles and scoots a little closer to you. "I mean, I knew you were stubborn but I never took you for such a cosmic rule-breaker, sweetheart," he smiles through the tears, and shoots you an impressed glance, "Fury's gonna tear you a new one."

You shoot back your head with laughter and sweetly wrap his hand up in yours. "Yeah, thank God that's never stopped me before," you giggle.

He never thought he'd sit like this with you again, and when you finally lean in close and kiss him, he promises himself that he'll never let you go.

#bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes imagine #bucky barnes #bucky imagine #bucky x reader

[delaber]

@ozymdias meep 🥺 why have I not seen this before now?! Thank you so much, appreciate it immensely ❤️ honestly such a great way to start the day. I’m actually considering a sequel, you know 👀

Firestarter (Loki x Reader)

Summary: After having been granted safe passage to the Avengers’ head quarters, Loki’s delighted to learn that he can pass the time by toying with the hate of the newest recruit.

Tropes: Enemies to lovers.

Words: 4.2K

Warnings: smut, mentions of battle injuries

They would all be fools to trust him. They know it. Loki knows it. Hell, even the specs of dust floating around know it!

The only one that seems eager to patch up the growing rift between the opposite sides of the room is the meathead of his brother who is blabbering away, trying hard to ignore the cold air coming from the other Avengers.

He's persistent, you'd have to give him that. They must really love Thor to grant Loki safe passage in their home like this.

- The stab of a thought hits Loki straight in the chest. Sticks to his ribs as he contemplates the sharp hate radiating off of the cotton-clad team opposite him. They don't look the least bit threatening in their oversized casual wear, but they've still granted his brother the upper hand so graciously, and for the first time in a while, he feels the balancing scales tip. It was easier when it was just the three idiots Fandral, Hogun and Volstagg who were fawning over his brother - Sif on occasion too, though Loki had had her in multiple ways Thor could never even wrap his pea-sized brain around.

The thought alone makes the tar on his ribs slowly drip away.

He must've drifted off, lost in thought of Sif with her bare ass in the air because the next thing he registers is Thor's meaty hand between his shoulder blades. "You all know my brother..." he chuckles awkwardly and pushes Loki forwards. Adds his name for clarification when nobody answers. Idiot.

The room's almost dead-silent. Stark scoffs theatrically loud and that Barton fellow turns a lovely shade of plum as he immediately races out of the room without uttering a single word - not that Loki can really blame him; he's killed for less.

Even the newbies on the team are staring daggers at him, though Loki doubts he's ever met any of them before; Captain Rogers' brooding siamese twin, the beefed up action figure beside him and that... woman - the pretty one - her eyes ablaze with a certain kind of hatred that he can physically feel down his spine as she scowls in his direction.

Loki cocks an eyebrow, amused that his reputation precedes him so much that her hate is tangible, and she huffs and pushes through the crowd while the one with the metal arm - the siamese twin - grabs her shoulder to prevent her from stepping too close. It only angers her even more and she shakes off the vibranium hand but stands her ground with her head lifted in cool arrogance, her eyes never wavering from Loki's.

Oh, she really hates him!

The look on her face reminds him of the tales he's heard of Muspelheim. Of Surtur and flames shining brighter than the sun; all of Asgard burning while the glass of the shattered rainbow bridge glistens in the flames and sticks to his skin, covers his hair. With her, there's fire in the air. He feels it immediately and it draws him in.

***

He spends his days in the shadows, observes the dynamics of the Avengers, gathers information in case he has to do something... drastic. He's not exactly planning on betraying the trust his brother's placed in him, but it's never unwise to have a plan to overthrow the Avengers - just in case. So he learns what he can from afar; their likes, their dislikes, their routines. But mostly, Loki just observes her.

She really loathes him which only makes it all the more fun. She storms off whenever he comes close. Flares her nostrils, squares her jaw, stamps away like a petulant child - and he must admit that he does love it! He enjoys having her wrapped around his little finger, that his mere presence can pull such a sincere reaction out of her. It makes the seidr in his veins feel electric; like pure voltage in the palm of his hand as it begs him to show off - show her - what he can do with it. He wonders if this is what Thor feels like when his eyes turn bone-white and arctic blue with lightening.

"I wish you would stop with that."

Loki glances towards his brother, tries to look as bored as possible as if he really doesn't know what he's talking about. "Stop with what?"

Thor gives out a long sigh and Loki is reminded of the first time Thor was disappointed with him; even though it's almost a thousand years ago, he can still smell the sweetness of the stolen tarts he'd hidden underneath his pillowcase and the empty hole in his chest where he knew he should be feeling shame but didn't.

"You know what I mean... It's not nice."

"In case you haven't noticed; I don't care about being nice."

"You're taunting her."

"She's an easy target," Loki hums with remnants of a chuckle, places his hands on the back of his head as he looks over at her. Even as she does something as mundane as drinking her morning coffee, she keeps a wary eye on him. It's entertaining. "You really can't blame me."

"It's not as if she's dangling bait, brother. You hurt her."

"I hurt her?!" Loki snaps, offended, "- when?"

"You really haven't realised?"

"Realised what?"

Another sigh. "Can't you tell she's from New York?"

Loki stops replying after that. Settles on picking an imaginary crumb from off his chest; thin crusted and rhubarb filling. He avoids Thor's gaze. He doesn't feel empty now and they both know it.

***

He'd come running through the compound with the rest of them as soon as the strangled war cry had met his ears.

Half-hiding behind one of the huge stone columns, he takes her in; she's covered in blood from head to toe, panting harshly as she stands in the middle of the hall, daggers still clutched tightly in both hands as her friends surround her. She looks fiery, evil, war ready - like the Valkyries from back home with their spears and their feminine hands skilfully wringing death out of anyone who crosses Asgard.

There had been a time where Loki had been afraid of them, and then, as he grew a little older, completely mesmerised by their raw beauty and the smell of battle as they rode towards the Royal Palace to report back to Odin and his ravens. He remembers standing in the hallowed halls of Valaskjalf with Huginn and Muninn circling above him as the Valkyries take off their helmets and look towards his brother. What he wouldn't have given to have one of them stab him, let alone notice him. Five hundred years later and it still hurts...

Steve Rogers is standing right by her side, not covered in as much blood as she is but still looking relieved to be back home. He sends a nod in Stark's direction and throws an electronic device across the room with a defeated sigh. It doesn't take a genius to see that even though the mission went well, they'd been ambushed.

Rogers takes a step closer to her, puts his arm around her shoulders as to hug her, and for the first time since they appeared in the entrance hall, she howls in pain, collapses on the floor and wrings her face in the most horrible way.

Loki notices the hole in her suit first. Sees how the red comes in pulses and flows down over her shoulder and chest. She's been stabbed, and by the looks of the dark red tissue in the gap, it's deep.

Steve Rogers yelps in shock, throws himself down on the ground beside her and instantly starts pressurising the wound with his bruised hands while his two companions are by her side immediately, ready to scoop her up in their arms and carry her to safety.

Loki takes in the scene unfolding before him; the three frantic men, the spurting blood, her panicked face as she cries. Swears he can hear Hel whisper her name.

"Leave her," he suddenly hears his own voice booming through the echoing hall and it drowns out the whisper.

They all stop dead in their tracks. Look around for him.

He's not sure exactly where all of this is coming from; he really couldn't care less if she died, but he finds himself stepping around the column, and he comes out with his arms raised as if surrendering. "She's gonna bleed out before you reach a doctor."

Action figure-man is on his feet almost immediately: "And what do you suggest?," he hisses angrily, "that we leave her be? Let her die here on the floor without even trying?"

Loki raises his arms a little higher and takes another careful step towards them. "I can help."

"You can help? And why should we trust you?"

"First of all, you shouldn't," he states as he simply cannot help himself. "- But it's your only chance of saving your friend."

"You're not serious!" Tin-man hisses and looks towards Loki while helping Steve Rogers putting pressure on the gaping wound, "as if we're supposed to believe you suddenly care."

Loki wants to bite back but a painful sound from her makes him hold his tongue.

"- We're not gambling with her life!"

"Are you sure?" Loki retorts and it finally makes Captain Rogers look up. "- Because it looks to me as if you are."

Loki cannot see Thor who's standing behind him, but he imagines the slow nod of approval he gives the Steve Rogers trio, because suddenly the Captain gives out a heavy sigh, his eyes downcast. "Alright then," he says in defeat and waves Loki closer while clutching her tight.

"Steve!" Tin-man appeals but his best friend has made up his mind.

All eyes turn to Loki.

He's surprised to learn that he doesn't enjoy it as much as he'd imagined he would. He supposes it's because the main difference between him and his brother has once again been underlined so cruelly.

"If you try anything," action figure man warns and Loki bites back: "What? You'll kill me? As if I haven't heard that before. Now get out of my way, mortal."

He steps forwards, squats down beside her and summons the green sparks in the palm of his hand, looks her in the eye for the first time since the day they'd been introduced. There's fire behind her colourful irises; mistrust, chaos and fear. She leans towards him and with all her strength grabs his wrist. "What - are - you - doing?" she pants and wrings him tightly.

"Saving you," he mumbles and turns his palm around, directs the sparks at her gashing wound.

She gives out a small painful hiss as the wound closes up immediately but her eyes never leave his face. They transgress from pain to panic to relief. He's there with her for the whole ride and it does absolutely nothing to drown the embers inside of him.

"Oh my god," Captain Rogers mumbles and runs his fingers over the newly-formed scar on her front as he stares in disbelief.

Her doubting eyes are still carefully watching Loki, her small fingers still wrapped tightly around his wrist. Her mouth goes slack and she finally lets go of him, looks towards the closed up wound, then back at him. "Thank you," she whispers apprehensively.

It makes his seidr glow fluorescently green in his veins and he gets the sudden urge to fall to his knees and lick her clean.

Had Huginn and Muninn only still been alive, he would've made them watch this up close so they could report it back in detail to all of Asgard.

***

The Avengers are not as cold after that. Still wary of him - as they should be - but the hatred and constant fear is gone. And when she comes back from her bed rest, it tickles him that the first thing she does is to seek him out.

"Thank you," she says slowly, almost controlled, and extends her hand as a peace offering, "- for saving my life."

"You already said that."

"Well, I meant it."

He looks up at her. Her mouth is formed to a pout, her body poised in vigilance, her eyes carefully watching his every movement while her hand extends into dangerous grounds. She's still not sure what his motives are and it gives him the opportunity to toy with her a bit. "...I'm honoured?"

A short-lived flame of annoyance flashes across her features as she retracts her hand back to safety with a huff.

"Did I say something wrong?" he quips in the hopes that he can keep her attention.

"You're trying to rile me up."

"How dare you!" He says in mock offence. "I would never!"

She crosses her arms underneath her chest, "I'm trying to offer you an olive branch and all you do is ridicule me. Are you really that desperate for attention?"

It amuses him. He loves when she shows him bits of the real her. "Are you calling me desperate for attention because I don't care I saved your life?"

“Then why did you do it?”

“It was merely strategic,” he shrugs and hopes she doesn’t detect the lie that tastes bitter on his tongue. Why did he save her? The question’s been nagging him for days now. “- it’s never unwise to have an Avenger owe you their life.”

“Wow,” she blinks and shakes her head in disbelief. "I don't know why we all listened to Thor - he said you'd changed but you're clearly still a conniving snake.”

"A snake?” he smiles, relieved that his lie has her convinced, "is that supposed to hurt me? Trust me, darling, I've been called worse."

"Just a gentle reminder that you'll never be anything but a villain."

"I suppose every villain is a hero in their own mind."

She takes the bait and narrows her eyes. "You absolutely destroyed my hometown. All the places I loved. And you have the nerve to call yourself a hero?!"

"Would you prefer a god?"

She flares her nostrils in frustration, "is everything a joke to you?"

"...Mainly?" he smirks "in case you haven't noticed, I'm the God of Mischief - it's in the job description."

She takes a few angry breaths. "Life is always a performance for you, isn't it? Whether it's an endless need for attention, a humorous quip, or the unfolding of another of your great plans, it's always just for show!"

He's excited to feel that the full-blown anger's back and she's seeing red. And to think he was almost disappointed in her?!

She grinds her teeth. "Just so we're clear, I'm not doing this to imply we're even or to make you feel just the slightest bit better about yourself for what you did. Trust me, I'd still rather see you rotting away in a prison cell. You-"

"I must admit," he drawls, gives himself some time to enjoy her undivided, flaming attention as he so impolitely interrupts her, "I like you much more when you're honest with me. When you admit you want to watch me burn! This front of niceties you just put up? This so-called olive branch while you so uncharacteristically give up control? It doesn't suit you."

She wrings her arms in frustration, narrows her eyes into slits. "You're goddamn insufferable!"

***

She's not more intoxicated than the rest of the Avengers, but she is drunk. Agent Romanoff keeps handing her clear liquor in small glasses that they down in a single second, followed by strings of laughs when the alcohol burns in their throats.

He remembers being drunk like that; fresh, sweet-smelling mead from oak barrels in the hundreds, wine in golden carafes on every table. He used to love the parties him and Thor threw; the chaos, the abundance! A heavy flow of alcohol was always a neat little excuse for his erratic behaviour, but the best part was always when the mead was extra good and strong and he could get Thor to follow his lead. Oh, how they used to cause rampage! They would've been unstoppable, had they only been on the same side.

Loki turns around the brown glass bottle in his hand so he can read the blue label; five percent...

He misses the lightheadedness, the parties, him and Thor being on the same side, Asgard. He's never longed for a taste of home this much before. He looks back at her.

"You're being unusually quiet this evening," Thor says from layers away, "should I be worried?"

"Hmm?" Loki snaps out of it, turns his head towards his brother who's sitting with an annoyingly smug expression plastered on his face. "No, I'm just contemplating this piss they call beer. How can they drink it?" He gives the bottle a sniff and winces. "I never thought I'd hear myself say it but I miss Asgard."

"Is that sentiment I sense in you, brother?"

"Absolutely not," he scoffs and looks back at her and Romanoff as they give out a loud laugh. "I'm glad it burned."

Her eyes scan the room, land on Loki's for a split second too long to pretend they didn't register him. For some reason, it satisfies him. She's aware of his presence.

"You like her," he hears Thor's chuckle from beside him.

"Bite your tongue!"

"I notice you stare at her a lot," he chuckles again.

Loki wants to say something. Wants to make Thor pay for what he's implying, but he doesn't really have a great comeback to that.

***

It's later that same evening when she finally approaches him. Toned legs walking towards him, wide hips swaying up the small set of stairs, shoulders pushed arrogantly back as she determinedly stares him down. She only has eyes for him. Finally.

He can't help but meet her halfway; he leans forwards, balances his elbows on his knees, impatiently waits for her to spit on him.

"Loki," she hums with fire in her eyes when the syllables hit her tongue.

"Yes, little dove?" he quips, excited to see her riled up and finally talking to him again.

"I want to talk to you," she scans the room for unwanted attention before her sharp eyes find his again and he feels the bone-white and arctic blue. "This little game you're playing?" She says harshly, "It ends now."

He almost gives in. Almost. "What game?"

"Don't play stupid," she huffs. "I can't do anything without you keeping an eye on me. Tell me what it is you want."

He cannot help the smirk that appears on his lips and he leans a little closer, spreads his knees apart.

"Answer me," she demands, her chest heaving.

"You haven't asked a question," he says calmly as if he truly didn't notice the way her eyes lingered on his crotch.

"You want me to be sincere," she states and takes another step towards him. "-I want the same thing from you."

She's so close he can smell her; sweet, salty, tang on the back of his tongue. She's ripe like a fucking goddess!

He absentmindedly rubs his thighs. "Darling, I assure you; this is me being sincere."

Her chest is heaving in heavy pants. She's annoyed. "Then tell me exactly what you want from me."

She holds his gaze in an insane power play while he ponders for a second. Should he tell her his intentions? String her along for a little while longer and make her second-guess everything? He is the God of Mischief, he supposes, but she looks so sweet, so damn fuckable as she angrily stares down at him. So he gives in and tells her what he wants. After all, why shouldn't he? What's he got to lose?

***

A decent man would've probably kept her at an arms length, tucked her into bed and told her she was way too drunk to make decisions like this, but Loki's not a decent man. He'll take what he can get and leave the decency to team Cap.

With a flick of his wrist, they're back in his bedroom. She's naked in his lap, pushing her lovely tits up against him as she pulls him closer. "You like me," she whispers and licks the shell of his ear. Moves her pelvis against his leather clothing, "you like watching me."

"Shut up," he groans and pulls her flush against his chest, pushes his tongue past her teeth as he grinds her bottom against his crotch.

Her hand comes down between them, slides down over the trail of hair underneath his navel before her fingers find their way to the buttons of his leather pants, unleashes him without a single touch. She eyes him hungrily but keeps her hands to herself, nonverbally insists she has the power to control him. The way she looks at him: he's so hard, it's verging on torture.

"Tell me you like me," she pulls harshly down on his hair, bites him; draws blood from his lower lip.

"Ah!" he hisses though he likes it! "Careful!"

She yanks his hair again with an evil smile and Loki swears, he almost comes.

"You're a devil, aren't you?" he hears himself say as he smacks her ass and bites her nipple, takes advantage of her little jump to push two fingers inside her pulsing heat. She's gushing already, soaks him all the way down to his knuckles as she rides his hand, pinches her own nipples.

"Say my name," he pulls on her earlobe with his teeth. "Spit on me!"

She finds his eye, gives him the same evil smile as before and whispers a short "no," as she arches her back and pushes her nipple back into his mouth. Cheeky little thing.

He curls his fingers and strokes her g-spot, enjoys the sounds she's making for him. Only for him, he reminds himself and feels his chest expanding with something unfamiliar that makes him want to melt into her. He pushes it away; concentrates on the tangible pleasure and not how it makes his head dizzy.

As if on cue, her hands finally find his aching cock and she starts stroking him slowly. He's harder than ever and leaking already.

He looks down between them; small feminine hands caressing him so sweetly is a fantastic contrast to all the biting and pulling. He feels his chest expanding again. "Fuck!" he hisses and pushes himself into her hand to feel something else. Focus on the pleasure, he tells himself and stutters his hips upwards again and again.

Her fingers are running through his hair and she's sucking on his tongue while her hand sets the pace, runs over his stained head. "You want this?" She whispers, bites the thin skin below his jaw.

Fuck yes he wants this! Wants her! He groans.

"You want to save my life?," she bites him again, pulls on his hair. "You want me to spit on you? Are you so desperate to fuck an avenger?"

He hisses at that, grabs her jaw tightly. "I hate the Avengers!"

"Are you sure?" she smiles devilishly and points at the scar on her shoulder. "Are you sure you really hate us?”

He groans in defeat and releases her pretty face with a hiss and positions himself at her entrance, finally pushes himself inside with the same pace as she lowers herself down towards his hips. “Ah! Fuck!”

It's an immediate collision of universes, Loki is seeing stars and needs a second to come down to earth, to savour the feeling, but he hardly has time to get used to the warm wetness squeezing him tight before she starts moving in long, warm pulses.

He's captivated, enchanted! He bites her neck, holds her down, desperate to keep her bouncing in a speed that makes him flex his toes without making him explode. He wants this to last. He wants this memory of her hatefucking him into oblivion. This beautiful, vengeful woman who's mounting him like a stallion and riding him like a valkyrie riding to battle. "Goddess!" he hisses against her neck and she finally finds his mouth and without the use of teeth, presses silky lips against his, makes everything inside of him glow green with desire. It’s desire, he tells himself though to him, it feels like love.

"Loki," she finally moans in his ear and he's never heard anything sweeter.

He pulls her closer, fucks into her and smells her skin. Kisses the scar below her shoulder.

He saved her.

His seidr runs crazy, tingles throughout every limb, makes him see everything clear: he wants her to want him and only him!

That’s why he saved her.

His last thought before he completely lets go is of the disaster he knows this will bring upon him; his own, personal Ragnarok visible on the horizon. She has the power to make him crumble, to make him burn brighter than the sun and turn to ash. He feels it already and there's no stopping it.

He thinks of Valaskjalf, of molten gold and flames licking his father’s throne. She speeds up, moans his name, fills his chest with fire.

Valhalla, I'm coming home.

#loki x reader fanfiction #loki x reader #loki enemies to lovers #loki x reader enemies to lovers #loki smut

[delaber]

@moonvis aw love ❤️ thank you so much for this, so happy you liked out jealous boy 🥰 he deserves the world

A Date (Bucky Barnes x Reader)

Summary: you have a date and Bucky’s not exactly happy about it.

Words: 3.8K

Trope: friends to lovers 💞 with a jealous Bucky trying his best to be brave, and failing horribly.

Notes: another fluff piece to mend Bucky’s heart ❤️ honestly, I have a problem with all these fluffy fics I’ve been writing recently. I just cannot stop myself lol.

"You have a date?" he manages to splutter just before the panic takes over and makes his heart skip a few beats.

Fuck!

A fucking date?!

His fingers are slipping on the wet handle of the pan he's in the midst of cleaning, and in that moment, all he can think about is how happy he is that he's currently bent over the kitchen sink so you can't make out the shocked expression on his face.

You're nodding beside him, playing with the dishtowel you're holding but Bucky can hardly make out what you're saying when you return his question with a quiet "yeah".

His ears are ringing bells and he just wants to get the fuck out of there.

Silently, he's begging for you to stop talking. He doesn't want to know more. Doesn't want to hear what you've agreed to and who you're... - fuck, what if it's someone he knows?

What if it's Sam?!

Shit!

The panic in Bucky's chest runs amok! If he walks in on his two best friends fucking, he's gonna kill himself!

With dread, he realises that he has to know how careful he needs to be around the compound...

"With - uh - with whom?" he clears his throat and curls his toes in prepared mortification, his narrowed gaze firmly fixed on a wet piece of broccoli that's lying lonely and sad at the bottom of the sink.

Please don't say Sam, please don't say Sam...

"You know the cute guy from the coffee shop?" you answer proudly, and it makes Bucky's heart spring violently back to life. That guy??? "- he finally asked me."

Well, it's not Sam - yet somehow, it's worse.

Deep breath, he tells himself and plasters on a neutral expression as he looks up from the pan and directly into your eyes.

At least you look excited, he concludes as he takes in your dreamy little smile that's usually reserved for when vibranium fingers briefly brush over your warm skin but that he now has to share with... him. The moron in the green apron. Mr I'm-too-busy-flirting-with-your-girl-to-get-your-order-right.

Fuck, he's burning up!

"That's great, sweetheart," he hears himself croak from far away, trying his best to sound like he's happy for you and not as if his heart is in the process of being ripped out of his chest. "I'm real happy for you."

"Thanks, Buck," you playfully bump your hip against his while looking down at your hands as you once again twist the towel between your fingers.

You seem almost... nervous. This date must really be a big deal to you.

He gulps and pushes away another incoming wave of nausea. It's not as if he hasn't long ago accepted that nothing will ever happen between the two of you. You're friends. That's it.

"Are you excited?" He asks without really knowing why. He doesn't want to hear your answer. To hear you verbally confirm the look you already have on your face.

Slowly you look up at him and he has to chomp down on his inner cheek to keep himself from doing something stupid.

"You know what?" you ask quietly with a tilt of your head and Bucky's heart starts racing even harder. "- I actually am."

Even you sound surprised - not that Bucky can really blame you.

"Mmh," he merely hums and pretends there's a particularly stubborn area on the dirty pan that needs his attention.

"Is that weird?" You ask.

He can feel how the sincere question in your voice laces itself around his abdomen, squeezing him tight.

Is it wrong of him to want to snap the stupid piece of teflon-coated metal in his hand in half? You're his best friend and he should just be happy you're happy.

Fuck it, he is happy! He loves you more than anything and you deserve to feel this way - he just wishes it was because of him and not someone else.

"No, sweetheart," he mumbles, trying to untie the invisible knot behind his navel as he starts scrubbing again. "Why would it be weird?"

Thankfully, you don't answer.

...

Cold droplets of water are running over your forehead and down the length of your nose, desperately trying to reduce the tension that's been resting right between your eyebrows since your conversation with Bucky last night.

Splashing your face with water is a stupid attempt to make yourself feel better - you know that - it hasn't worked the other times you've tried it and this must be the tenth attempt since you woke up this morning. The only thing that'll truly help is if Bucky would tell you what's going on.

He's been acting weird since last night, and even though you aren't sure what reaction you'd been hoping for, this definitely isn't it. You know he isn't exactly the biggest fan of the man who's taking you out for dinner later, but getting so annoyed he can barely uphold a conversation? Well, that wasn't really a scenario you'd even considered at all...

You suppose you could just tell him the truth - maybe that would make him more accepting of your choice of date - but it's not as if you can really tell him that the only reason you're going on that date to begin with is to force yourself to get over, well, him.

You've known Bucky two years now and apart from small moments here and there, nothing's happened. It's been two excruciating years full of pining and painful almosts and ifs but he clearly doesn't look at you that way and you don't want to keep putting yourself through the heartbreak. You deserve to spend your friday nights with someone who actually sees you for what you are: beautiful, smart, desirable, a woman.

And as you stand looking at yourself in the mirror, you realise that you need this date to get Bucky out of your head. Fuck if he doesn't approve of the cute guy from the coffee shop. It's none of his business who you're going out with and if he wants to be annoyed about it, then so be it.

Yet you still cannot stand the thought of him sitting by himself all night. He hasn't seemed like himself all day and you know how he can spiral over the smallest of things.

Thus, you check for Sam in the kitchen, the gym, and in the spa area in the basement of the compound, but eventually find him in the common room on the third floor, completely hypnotised as he stares at the television screen in front of him, the playstation controller grabbed tightly in his hands.

You do a quick scan around the room to confirm that it's just the two of you before you approach him. "Wilson, have you seen Bucky today?"

"Bucky? Uh - no," Sam mumbles without moving his gaze away from the animated character who's running through an abandoned city. "I assume you've already tried the dark cave he calls his room?"

"I know where he is," you sigh and flop down on the sofa next to him, stretching your legs and putting your feet in his lap. "I was just hoping that maybe you'd talked to him."

He doesn't answer apart from a few incoherent noises you're sure are for the game and not for you, so you poke at the controller with your toes to get his attention. "Sam..."

"Hey! I'm trying to save humanity from a zombie apocalypse here. Keep your stinking feet away from me," he playfully flicks the underside of your foot without sparing you a glance. "I already told you I haven't seen your siamese twin all day."

"Yeah, but do you think you could... go check on him maybe?"

"I'm busy. You go check on him."

"Sam..."

At the sound of your soft-spoken words, Sam sends you a brief side-eye before he finally tosses the controller down on the sofa table with a loud sigh. "What'd you do?"

"I didn't do anything," you shake your head innocently. Is it really your fault that Bucky is too childish to accept the man you're going out with? No.

Sam runs his eyes over you and squints hard. "You guys are usually so dependent, you're practically joined at the hip. And now you want me to go talk to him even though you didn't do anything?"

"Look, he's being weird," you sigh, "- can you just check on him? Please? Maybe have a guy's night in with beer and that stupid zombie-game you're always playing or whatever?" you gesture to the television screen where the character from before stands panting, saying random stuff every few seconds. "I don't want him to be alone."

"First of all, The Last of Us is not stupid!" Sam raises his index finger at you, feigning an insulted huff. "Secondly; a guy's night in..? While you're doing exactly what if I may ask?" he arches an eyebrow, urging you to keep talking.

"I - uh - I have plans," you say quickly and try and look determined although you can feel your entire face heating up. "...a date of sorts."

The dead-panned look on Sam's face is quickly wiped off, instead replaced with an annoyingly broad smirk. "You have a what now?" he chuckles teasingly.

"You heard me," you roll your eyes.

"Oh I heard you loud and clear," he hoots, "you are going on a date!" he says, emphasising the last word with a wriggle of his eyebrows.

"Don't be a dick about it."

"My, oh my. We're finally gonna see what kind of man that can sweep the rug from underneath you."

"Okay, I'm leaving," you make a move to stand up, but Sam interrupts you by putting his palm to your shin.

"Come on, I'm just teasing," he laughs, "tell me about your date. Who's it with? - Not Bucky, I assume."

"Why would I go on a date with Buck?" you shrug nonchalantly although you can once again feel the heat radiating through your every feature. "It's the cute blonde from the coffee house down the street."

"Oooh, the guy who looks like a young Brad Pitt but with humour?"

"That's the one," you press down on your lips and avoid looking directly at Sam. God, this is embarrassing.

"He's a cutie!" Sam teases with a chuckle.

"I know," you play with a loose thread on your shirt, avoiding his eye.

"Then why aren't you more excited about it?" He asks but immediately emits a groan, "Jesus... do not tell me it's because of Bucky?!"

"I'm worried about him," you whine and bury your face in the sofa cushions.

Sam rolls his eyes. "You're going on your first date in forever and you're worried about that sourpuss?"

"Sam, you didn't see the look on his face when I told him about it! He hates the guy - I think it really upset him."

"Of course it upset him," Sam scoffs, "It's like taking candy away from someone who really wants to fuck said candy!"

Your eyes snap over to Sam in an instance. Completely taken off guard, your voice dies in your throat. Did he just...? No, surely, you must've misheard.

"Come on, don't pretend you haven't noticed," Sam groans, "I swear to god, he's two days away from crawling behind you just so he can lick the ground you're walking on!"

The earth has stopped spinning. "W-what?"

"The puppy eyes? The 'pick me' behaviour?" he rolls his eyes at your shocked face.

Your heart starts pounding so fast you can barely keep up. "Are we talking about... Bucky? As in our Bucky?"

"Uh, huh," Sam nods as if it's the most obvious thing on the planet. "That guy's practically begging you to take him by the hand and lead him to your bed. He's so in love with you, it's disgusting to look at."

"He's what?!" You exclaim loudly, completely out of breath. This is definitely news to you! "No, no, no! Bucky's not in love with me, we're friends," you pant with the blood rushing past your ears.

Sam shoots you an unimpressed side-eye, "yeah keep telling yourself that"

"What do you mean?" you pant, trying to puzzle together Sam's suspicion with your disbelief.

"I swear to god, the two of you don't even have a single brain cell put together..." he rolls his eyes, "I've seen that boy almost snap his neck because you were laughing and he wanted to know what you were laughing at. Trust me when I say that he's not annoyed that you're going on that date - he's jealous."

Well... fuck!

...

You don't think you've ever been this nervous as you pace the hallway outside Bucky's bedroom. You've been here ten minutes now, desperately trying to force yourself to actually make contact with him, but you're holding yourself back. There's so much on the line and what if Sam's incorrect? Then, you will truly have mucked up and everything between you and Bucky will be ruined.

Shit!

You stop pacing. You can hear his favourite album from the forties playing on the other side of the wall but apart from that, there hasn't been a single sound from in there.

You pray he's in a better mood than when you walked in on him angrily hunched over his bowl of cereal this morning, but the fact that he put on the only type of music that can calm him down, doesn't really scream 'put-together'.

It makes you even more nervous though you know you have to talk to him at some point. It's not as if you can avoid him forever - so before you can truly think about the upside of postponing the inevitable conversation, you raise your knuckles and carefully knock on his door.

Everything inside you tenses up. You vision becomes blurry, and you seem to automatically focus all your attention on the sounds coming from inside his room. There's a short shuffle, a sigh and then an irritated "what?!" muttered from somewhere behind the walls.

This is bound to go wrong.

You consider running away and pretend you've never even been near his room, but it's too late to back out now. You have to talk to him at some point, you remind yourself.

With your nerves running wild and the blood pumping through your every vein, artery, and fibre, you open the door a little and poke your head inside his room with a small "hi," your throat so dry it comes out as a hoarse whisper.

He's sitting on the bed with his long legs crossed at the ankles, his hand buried inside a book that's lying closed in his lap. He looks angry at everything and everyone - as if he's minutes away from strangling someone - but when he finds your eyes from across the room, the tense muscles in his cheeks seem to unclench a little.

"Oh, hey," he breathes and runs a hand through his hair in embarrassment, licking his lips. "I thought you were Sam..."

You smile, so relieved to see him softening that you automatically step inside his room without waiting for him to ask you to. "Sorry to disappoint."

"You're not," he shakes his head with a small gulp, "I thought you'd left already. Don't you have that big date?" he asks in a weird voice and sends you a stiff smile.

"Not until seven," you shrug and sit down next to him on his bed, immediately noticing how he's started avoiding your gaze.

"Right," he nods and occupies himself by putting his book on his bedside table. "So - uh - still looking forward to it?"

How do you tell your best friend that no, you're not looking forward to it because he's the one you really want to go out with?

"I don't know," you shrug, suddenly so anxious your temples have started pounding, "not really."

He finally looks up at you again, his slate blue eyes jittery as they meticulously search your face. "What happened?" He asks with tightly knitted eyebrows, "you were so excited for it yesterday."

You hesitate. "...Honestly?"

"Yeah, honestly," he sits up a little straighter, a serious look on his face, "- he didn't upset you, did he?" He says on impulse, his voice suddenly dark and dripping with venom at the mere thought as he reaches out for you and puts his fingers on your arm.

"No Buck," you shake your head and take a deep breath to get your pulse under control. "He didn't upset me."

"Then what?" He squeezes your arm softly, his eyes concerned as he tries to read you, "you can tell me anything."

"I know... It's just that..." you hesitate and consider ending your sentence with I'm in love with you, but the words die in your throat.

"What sweetheart?" he shuffles a little closer to you.

"Bucky," you heave a big breath of air to prepare your bold question that can potentially change everything between you dependant on his answer. "Do you not want me to go on that date?"

"What?" his eyes immediate travel over your face and you can almost hear his pulse running haywire as his fingers let go of your arm. "What makes you think that?"

"It's just..." your breathing picks up as you scan his every anxious feature. It makes you anxious too. "- you started acting weird the minute I told you about it. You've been avoiding me all day."

His fingers find your arm again, his grip a little tighter than before as he desperately looks at you. "No, no, no, sweetheart! That's not what happened," he licks his lips and plasters on the fake smile he's been practising in the mirror all day. "- I mean... I'm not the biggest fan of the guy but who you're dating is really none of my concern. I'm sure he's great, and as long as he treats you well, I'll make sure he stays on my good side," he says softy and sends you a smile that seems a little too genuine for your liking.

You hesitate again as you check his face for cracks, but his smile stays intact and happy. "...So you're really okay with it?" you ask in a small voice, mortified.

"Are you kidding me? Sweetheart, of course I'm okay with it!" he slides his fingers down your arm, capturing your hand inside his fist. "I really just want you to be happy. That's what's important. And you deserve to be taken care of for once instead of being stuck here with me and Sam." He reassuringly squeezes your fingers tight, but it just feels as if he's in the process of letting you go.

Slowly, you can feel your heart breaking.

You knew it... You knew Sam was wrong. Bucky isn't in love with you. Never has been. Never will be. Things are exactly the way they've always been and you're left pining after a man who doesn't want you back.

God, you feel like a idiot for getting your hopes up like that.

"Good," you nod resolutely, fighting hard to not let the heartbreak slip through your well-feigned mask. "I'm happy to hear you feel that way."

"Of course I do," he smiles solemnly.

"I should probably go get ready then..."

"Yeah," Bucky nods and lets go of you. "It's almost six."

With a sigh you hope he doesn't hear, you stand up from his bed and brush down the front of your jeans, not really sure you even want to leave his room.

He's looking up at you like a deer caught in headlights. "Have fun," he says while his hands grab the sheets underneath him, fisting the fabric. "- can't wait to hear all about it."

"Thanks, Buck," you feign a smile to match his, "I'll see you tomorrow."

"See you, sweetheart..."

You turn around with a wave of your hand, but the smile on your face falters the minute you've turned on your heel.

You can hear his heavy breathing over the music playing in the corner, and when you reach out for the door handle, a delicate sound finally breaks the reticence between you.

"Don't go..."

At first, you're not sure if you're imagining it, but then you hear him shuffling behind you, and when you turn around and face him, he's on his feet. "Don't go on that date," he whimpers in defeat, "I'm begging you. Please... don't go."

"Bucky..."

"I'm in love with you," he says guiltily with a gulp.

Your heart stops.

"- and I can't pretend I'm okay with you going on dates when I'm not."

You're completely speechless. You want to comment on everything. Run to him and proclaim that you're his. That you've always been his. But you're nailed to the spot and all that manages to escape your lips is a tight whimper.

"- I know it's probably not what you want to hear right now..." he closes his eyes and looks as if he's in pain. "And I know I'm risking everything by telling you this," he gulps, "but I've been keeping it in for so fucking long, trying to protect our friendship. I just can't keep pretending I don't want... more. It's stupid, I know."

"Bucky, it's not stupid," you finally manage to croak and it's as if the force that've been gluing you to the spot finally lets go. "It's not," you whisper as you take a few long strides over to him, stopping right before your chests touch. "It's not stupid," you repeat and reach a hand upwards, caressing his bearded chin.

His eyes are glistening, and his breathing is coming in ragged as he searches your face. "Sweetheart," he gulps in confusion, "I don't... - what does this mean?"

"It means -" your hand reaches up so it can rake through his hair, coming to a halt on the back of his neck where you can feel the goosebumps travel through his entire body. "- that I'm in love with you too. Have been for quite some time. Since I met you, actually."

Now it's his turn to be glued to the spot.

His mouth falls a little open and you can tell by the look on his face that he's in the process of questioning everything, so you underline your confession by putting your forehead to his. "I want to be yours," you whisper and observe him closely.

At first, he tenses even harder, but then a small smile starts tugging on his lips as he finally relaxes in your arms and pulls you closer. "I want you to be mine, too," he declares sweetly as his heart blossoms in his chest. He reaches down and kisses your cheeks, your nose, your forehead.

"It's you," he whispers against your skin, "- It's always been you."

"Kiss me," you beam and almost cannot stop smiling silly when you reach up for his mouth, finally claiming the softest, most pillowy lips you've ever had the pleasure of kissing.

#bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes imagine #bucky barnes friends to lovers #bucky barnes fluff #bucky barnes angst with a happy ending

[delaber]

Aw boo, so honoured you like this ❤️ thank you so much for this. I’m very thankful

Back Again (Bucky Barnes x Reader)

Summary: When Bucky volunteers for a mission going back in time, it’s with one objective and one objective only: to catch a glimpse of the girl he tragically lost a little over three years ago. But as he soon discovers, he has more to say about the past than he thinks.

Warnings: Angst (with a happy ending), major character death (well, not really, but you catch my drift), loads of feelings on Bucky’s behalf.

Words: 7.5K

September 6th

It's an easy mission really; go back to before the archive was compromised and bombed to rubbles by the rogue British forces, pull out the Hannigan file and remember the eight random digits stamped on the front page.

- It's fast in, fast out, Steve had said as he had set the date to three years and fifty-two days prior, shooting Bucky a stern glance from across the room as if he knew exactly what Bucky had been planning to do from the very moment he'd volunteered for the mission.

- Relax Steve, I'll be there early morning. The hallways will be empty.

Technically, it's not a lie.

- You could have chosen any other date. S'all I'm saying

- I know what I'm doing

- Just... —don't let anyone see you, okay?

Getting the intel and memorising the numbers is the easy part - it takes Bucky exactly eleven seconds to imprint the eight digit code in his memory like a burn wound and slip unnoticed out the door of the archive - the hard part is the next step. The secret step that Bucky had planned in his head and hadn't even dared subtly hint to Steve although he definitely already knows and isn't exactly happy about. The stern glance alone had told him as much.

To hell with it, Bucky thinks to himself and pushes away the guilt of not having been fully transparent with his best friend, this is important.

He quietly closes the archive door behind him while looking at the borrowed space-time watch on his wrist and realises that he, by chance, manages to click the door shut just as the seconds hand hits the sixth hour mark. It's perfect, it'll make keeping track of time that much easier. Yet, his time is still limited, so without stopping to catch his breath, he's off! He doesn't want to put himself in a situation where the watch will start sending him warnings in order to reach the jump site on time. It'd happened to Barton once, and Fury was... let's just say not happy. He'd benched Barton for eight months following that incident and Bucky really doesn't want to be in the same situation. He doesn't have much to live for outside of missions, and Fury's been looking for a reason to kick him off the team. So no matter what, he will make it back with time to spare!

Quickly striding along the marble tiles, moving as fast as he can while being careful not to hit any of Pepper's potted ferns lining the dark hallway, he's eager to get to the spot - your spot - where he knows you'll sit and watch the sunrise as you used to do every morning. If he remembers correctly - and he knows he is because he's double and triple checked it with Natasha several times over the last few days - you'll be alone at the compound this morning and he'll have at least a few seconds to sneak a peak without worrying if any of his team mates will creep up behind him. A moment just to himself to see your silhouette one last time as you gaze towards the colourful horizon in the distance - but only for a few seconds or the team back home will grow even more suspicious of him and think that he broke rule number one. And he really can't stand when Steve has that disappointed frown on his face. It's fast in, fast out and Bucky intends to keep it that way.

Still walking fast through the hallway, he looks back at the synchronised watch on his wrist and with a happy sigh realises that he still has plenty of time. He should be able to do it without arising too many questions from the team. Should he cut it too close, he can always tell them there was a problem with accessing the archive but that he eventually managed to get around it. Good.

Gingerly stepping out of the compound and out onto the wooden terrace Sam had built when he'd joined the team a few years back, Bucky realises that he's travelled back to a particularly beautiful morning; the colours of the rising sun are blanketing the entire garden in a pink hue, playing with the water lilies on top of Starks koi pond in the far corner, heating up the dew on the terrace's wooden floorboards so they emit a lovely smell from underneath his boots. It's a beautiful setting, he knows that, but truth be told, he has never really cared much for sunrises - they were always too romantic, too nostalgic for someone who didn't like thinking too much about their past, let alone romanticise it. So what really catches his eye isn't the eruption of colours in the morning sky, it's the curled up figure sitting in the middle of the wooden deck. Surrounded by potted plants and with a steaming cup of tea sat next to bare feet as birds chirp lively in the tree crowns above, you're sitting innocent and unknowing of the fate that so cruelly has been bestowed upon you.

Bucky's heart damn near stops in his chest. He hasn't seen you in so long and suddenly you're sitting right in front of him exactly as he remembers you; sweet, beautiful, warm, and with your hair blowing lazily in the wind as you overlook the garden as part of your precious morning routine. You're wearing the flowered sundress he loves and the setting seems so perfect that he for a moment wonders if this is nothing but a fever dream that he half-expects to wake up from any minute soon. But then the wind picks up your scent and it flows through the air until it reaches his nostrils and makes his lungs come back to life with a small gasp. Immediately and uncontrollably, his breathing picks up its pace again and he just wants to put his wobbly legs to use and run over to you.

However, he doesn't have to remind himself of the first rule of time travel; he knows he's not supposed to be seen, yet there you are, and he's dangerously close to considering throwing caution to the wind just so he can give you one last kiss and tell you how much he misses you. Maybe if he talks to you one last time and tells you how much you mean to him, he can finally stop lying sleepless at night, thinking about what could have been if only you'd stayed in this life? That way, at least you would have known. He has never been this tempted to just say fuck it and break the silent promise he'd made to Steve before he'd been sent back in time.

He carefully takes a step forwards, feels how the familiar scent of your shampoo draws him closer and fills his chest with anticipation of talking to you again - of seeing your smile one last time - but he stops himself before he gets too close. He cannot temper with what happened. He of all people should know that no matter what, you cannot change the past. So with an inaudible sigh, he backs away while looking at your hair flowing elegantly in the breeze before he turns around as quietly as possible, his hand already on the door handle to back inside the compound, disappointed that he has to leave so soon, but happy that he at least got to catch a glimpse of you.

"Well," your sweet, sweet voice suddenly sounds from behind him and it makes him stop dead in his tracks. "- Am I supposed to keep pretending I haven't noticed you staring at me or are you gonna join me?"

Shit, his cover is made! This is not good! He did not prepare for this! What the fuck is he supposed to do now? Turn around and answer? Bolt for the jump site? This was not part of the plan! Fuck!

"- Barnes?" you chuckle when he doesn't respond at all.

With closed eyes, he can hear you shuffling a little as if you're turning around to get a better look at him and he gulps hard before he plasters on a brave smile and rotates on the spot. He only has about a millisecond to brace himself for the feelings that are about to coalesce and crash down on him, yet the moment he sees your face, he knows that no amount of time in the world could've ever prepared him for the all-consuming relief he feels in his chest when he sees your face for the first time in little over three years. A welcoming smile is crinkling at the corners of your eyes, your pouted lips are still in position from having practically sung his name only moments before, and your big, beautiful eyes are boring straight through his soulless holster of a body that you for some goddamn unimaginable reason still seem to like. You'd always said that his mere presence made you feel safe and even though he's had three years of getting used to the fact that he couldn't save you, it still cuts like a knife to have you looking at him like that again.

"Hi sweetheart," he breathes quietly and locks eyes with you. It feels as if he's been kicked in the stomach.

"Hi," you smile broadly at the familiar pet name and Bucky feels his heart skip a beat. "- What are you doing here?" You ask softly and cock your head to the side as you take him in, "I thought you and Sam were supposed to be buried deep in the woods of Siberia right now."

"We finished the mission early," he manages to croak even though it feels as if the Sahara desert has been poured straight down his throat.

"Oh, good! How did it go? Did you get the intel?"

He resorts to nodding as he tries swallowing to lubricate his hoarse throat but the saliva just settles as a thick, immobile lump on top of his larynx, making it all so much worse. He hadn't gotten the intel. He had panicked when Steve had called him, and he and Sam had both run for the quinjet, desperate to come home and help search for you among the rubbles of the archive in the strangled hope of finding you alive.

"Of course you did! I don't know what you were fussing so much about - didn't I tell you, you were the right man for the job?" you send him an impressed grin and it makes him feel even worse for having lied to you.

"Yeah," he croaks guiltily and looks away from you. His heart is hammering a mile a minute and he knows he has to get out of here before he reveals too much but how can he leave when your gaze is finally locked on his again? For a moment, he just wants to forget all about how he's gonna lose everything in a couple of hours.

Out the corner of his eye, he can see how you knit your eyebrows tightly together as you take him in. You'd always had a knack for reading him when he didn't want you to - it was what had brought the two of you together in the first place - but this time, it's really inconvenient.

"Hey, are you alright?" You ask tentatively while twitching your fingers a little as if reaching out for him. Of course you've already seen straight through him. " - you look a little pale."

"Yeah," he clears his throat, telling himself to pull it together, "yeah, I'm good."

"Okay..." you nod but you don't look too convinced by his lie. "Why don't you come join me?" you ask and he can't believe himself and his dumb legs but his muscles start moving autonomously and suddenly, he's sitting next to you, silently savouring how you snuggle up to his side as you look straight ahead and up at the morning sky.

At first, he pretends he's interested in the purple streaks above the two of you as well, but after not even five seconds, he turns his face to look at you, hoping to memorise all your features before it's too late.

"Barnes, you're staring," you chuckle while hyper-focusing your gaze on a spot in the growing horizon.

"Sorry," his voice is thick and pained but he keeps his eyes locked on you. How is he supposed to ever look away?

Slowly, you turn your face to the side, your happy grin slowly slipping from off your lips when you notice his blank eyes. "Hey," you put your hand on his knee and he can feel the electricity building underneath your touch, "- are you sure you're alright?"

He just nods, scared that if he opens his mouth, the truth will come out. Why did he not prepare for this?

"Yeah?" you rub over the small hole in his jeans and the lightning burns like a fire in his veins. He feels so guilty.

"Mm-hmm," he blinks rapidly. "I just missed you."

"Four days out and you miss me?" you chuckle happily and move a little closer to him so he can feel the heat radiating from off your body. "You're turning into a sap! - I bet you didn't mention this to Sam."

"He knows," Bucky mumbles and throws an arm around your body so you can put your head on his shoulder.

"Oh he knows now, does he?" you laugh whole-heartedly in disbelief. Back then, for some stupid reason he cannot even remember right now, Bucky had been so desperate to keep his feelings for you private but with the pain and the sorrow that had followed losing you, he suspects the rest of the team figured it out quite soon after, although he never really confirmed it to either of them. "What did he say? Did he tease you?" you giggle as you link your arm with his and grab tightly around right bicep. "- or use it against you or what it is you're so afraid of?"

"No," Bucky croaks as he blinks a few times and curses at himself for his inability to just play it cool. "He misses you too. We all do."

You straighten your back so you can look directly at him. Your smile is still in place but it freezes slightly as you furrow your eyebrows in confusion. "Okay, I'm not gonna ask you again," you chuckle apprehensively, "- but are you a hundred percent sure you're alright? You're a shadow of yourself today."

"Yeah, sweetheart, I'm good," he pulls you close to his chest and kisses the top of your scalp, "let's just enjoy the sunrise, okay?"

"Okay," you nod quietly and look back towards the morning sky, but out the corner of his eye, he can see how your gaze constantly darts back towards his face. "it's just... Well, since you seem to have absolutely no intensions of bringing it up yourself, I have to ask..." You cock your head to the side and Bucky can feel his breathing speeding up, not sure what you're about to confront him with. "- What happened to your hair?" you laugh sweetly, your lips spreading even further apart in your gorgeous signature grin as you search his face.

He should be relieved that that's what you're wondering about, but it's a detail he hadn't even considered. He had insisted on the long hair back when you'd dated him and now he has no good answer as to why he chose to cut it all off. 

"Did something life-altering happen that I don't know about or did you just feel like suddenly chopping it off?" you joke. Or at least, he thinks you're joking.

"Uh - I - uhm - I just cut it," he says and uncomfortably shift his weight around, eager to have you look anywhere else than his face. Truth be told, he had cut it because something terrible and life-altering had happened to him but he's not about to reveal your fate to you.

"You just cut it?" you arch an eyebrow in disbelief. "On a mission? Was the intel located at a salon?" you laugh again.

"Yeah, well... I figured it was time, you know?"

"Hmm, yeah... Well, it looks good on you," you chip happily and send him a dreamy smile, "but then again, you always look good. It's annoying."

"Mmh," he forces a smile.

Your gaze wanders over his face once more and you push together your eyebrows as you take him in while trying to understand what's going on inside his head. You definitely still think he's acting beside himself.

"You promised you wouldn't ask again," he tries joking to diffuse the tension between you and it seems to work because it immediately has you smiling.

"Don't worry, I won't..." you press your lips tightly together and reach up to run a hand through his short hair just to feel him underneath your fingertips. "Mmh, I missed you," you hum.

Your small, delicate fingers caressing his scalp is a simple touch of warm intimacy that Bucky had completely forgotten the sensation of, and he has to close his eyes to stop himself from crying at the gentleness if it. He never thought he'd feel this again, and there had been many nights since the bombing where he'd cried not only for the loss of you, but for the loss of intimacy as well.

You rake your hand through his hair again, and he can't believe it, but for a short second while you're running your fingers through his short strands, he actually envies the version of himself who's bickering with Sam somewhere in rural Russia right now. The version of himself who's completely oblivious as to what will happen within the next twelve hours. That guy just thinks he's going home to scalp kisses and head scratches by his love at the end of the mission... Bucky doesn't, however, envy the grief that the other version will have to navigate through for the next couple of years until he can finally feel this kind of intimacy again. For a few second he, himself, is the lucky one.

Even with closed eyes, he can sense the deep look you're giving him and although he wants to sit like this forever and revel in your love, he can't risk giving himself away. "Sweetheart, you're missing it..." he says in a strangely throaty voice and nods towards the horizon, not sure what outcome he's hoping for. He just knows he doesn't want to take away your last sunrise ever.

"I don't care," you whisper and rake a hand through his hair one more time. "I know you say you're alright, but you're not... What happened to you?"

"Nothing," he mumbles.

"It's not nothing..." you say softly and scratch at his neck until he finally opens his eyes again. "Why won't you tell me?" you whisper and press in on his aching jaw to get him to unclench it.

He reaches out and intertwines his fingers with the hand you have lying in your lap. "I'll tell you tomorrow, okay? Let's just sit here and enjoy this moment for a little while..."

"If you say so," you nod disappointedly as you look down at your joined hands.

He's so lost, so confused as to what to do now that he doesn't even register how your gaze briefly stops at the familiar watch he's wearing, so when you look up at him again, it's with a foreign, sudden type of sadness he doesn't know where comes from. Your eyes are searching his face, stopping at several fix points that you keep coming back to over and over again: his shorter hair line, the crows feet surrounding his blue irises, the crease above his nose that has only grown more prominent over the recent years, the newly acquired wound on his chin that has turned into a white scar because he hadn't put sunscreen on it last summer. All telltales of time having passed since the last time you'd seen him.

He can practically hear the gears turning in your head before your eyes soften considerably and you give out a sad sigh. "Hmm," you hum quietly and shoot him a despondent look he can't really place. "What are you doing here?

"...What do you mean?" he asks sincerely and presses his eyebrows together as he looks down into your sad eyes.

You give him a second to properly answer your question but when he doesn't, you sigh again and slowly lean forwards while pressing your palm to his face, caressing his bearded chin. "You're not my Bucky..." you say quietly as you stroke his cheekbone.

His breath catches in his throat and his heart immediately starts racing. "W-what?"

"You're not my Bucky" you repeat resolutely while huge eyes are still searching his face, "what are you doing here."

"I don't understand."

"James..." you say softly and cock your head to the side.

He remembers this. It's always James when you want him to speak the truth.

"I could tell something was off from the minute I saw you but the watch gave you away," you nod down to his wrist that is still lying in your lap before your soft gaze finds his eyes again. "Time hasn't been kind to you, has it?" you whisper while lovingly stroking his cheek.

"W-what?" He doesn't even have it in him to protest more than that. Not when you sound so sure of yourself.

"How does it happen?" you ask him gently, overtly controlled. He should have known this; of course you'd figure it out...

"How does what happen?" he blinks desperately, not sure what to do now. He can't be the one who tells you. He can't.

You lower your chin without moving your eyes from his. "I die, don't I? That's why you're here."

He continues blinking rapidly, his breath still caught in his throat as his lungs start heaving for air. Just thinking about it hurts in his chest.

"It's okay," you whisper, your eyes still huge as you try and calm him down. "What - uhm - what happens? Will we be together when it occurs?"

"No," he whimpers and throws away his very last hope of fooling you into believing that it isn't the reason why he's here. "I won't be home yet."

"You won't be home yet..." you repeat in a low voice and Bucky sees how your eyes grow wide as you slowly manage put two and two together. "Buck -- when does this happen?" you ask shakily and for the first time, he detects a trace of fear in your voice.

He gives out a short whimper in reply and clutches your hand tightly as he feels the tears well in his eyes. How is he supposed to tell you that you have less that twenty-four hours to live?

"When?" you repeat quietly and hold on to him even tighter than before.

"Sweetheart, don't make me say it," he avoids looking at you.

"Don't you think I have a right to know...?"

"Of course you do it's just--"

"-When?"

Bucky takes a deep, ragged breath before he confirms the very thing you suspect and fear. "This afternoon, a bomb will go off in the West Wing."

"This afternoon?" You drop the grip you have on his hand while staring at him in shock. "I'm going to die... today?”

"Don't - don't say it like that," he whines. "Please, it's so unfair! You have so much to live for and it's all taken away from you just like that. I'd trade places with you in a heartbeat but I'm not here, and I won't be here before it's too late. I'm so sorry sweetheart. I'm so sorry!"

"It's okay, Buck." With huge eyes and your mouth hanging wide open, you stare at him as you let the shock settle down around you. "It's okay... it's okay..." you eventually say and force-close your locked jaw as you rub a hand over your face. "I'm sorry, but - uh - I need to know. What exactly happens? Who else will be here?"

"We're all away," Bucky sighs with regret, "It's just you and Natasha."

Immediately, you cover your mouth with your hand, "Nat!" you gasp, even more shocked by this than by the news of your own passing.

"Nat's fine," Bucky immediately interrupts and grabs your hand again, holding it tight, "she's going to be at the gym."

"...And me?"

"I don't know sweetheart," he whispers, "Nat told us that you wanted to get some work done so you skipped out on your training. We think you may be at the centre of the blast. We - we never find you," he breathes through his nose to keep himself controlled. He can feel the tears pressing in on his eyeballs again when he thinks of the empty coffin they had to bury.

"At least it's quick then," you say and turn your face towards the garden that is still bathed in the pink hue from the rising sun. "I'm going to die today," you say matter-of-factly with your gaze fixed on the sky. "huh... So we never get to go on that date on Friday?

"No sweetheart..."

"- And we've already had our last kiss?

He nods. "Yeah..."

"I'm sorry," you whisper while staring at him with sad eyes, "I'm sorry you have to go through all that alone."

"I'm not alone," he mumbles and looks down at his feet. "Steve tries to talk to me. Sam too."

"But you don't accept," you chuckle sadly while shaking your head from side to side while playfully rolling your eyes at him, "God, you're so stubborn!"

"I know," he nods, "but it's too painful to talk about even now."

"How much time passes?" you look back at him while taking a deep breath. "How many years ahead are you right now?"

"It doesn't matter," he gulps guiltily. He knows how this part of the conversation will go.

"James..."

"Three," he sucks in a bit of air, hoping that it isn't that much time in your eyes.

"Three years?" you whine, your eyes huge with the shock of his confession as you clutch your chest, "Baby, you have to move on!"

Immediately, his heart cracks in two and he can no longer hold back the tears that he finally lets flow freely down his cheeks without trying to stop them. "No, I can't," he sniffles quietly, "I don't want to. I just wish you were still here. I miss you so much, you have no idea. I feel so guilty for being away. I think about it all the time."

"Bucky," you say softly and put a hand underneath his chin, wiping away a few tears and forcing him to look back up at you, "- you couldn't have done anything anyway. You know what I'm like when I put my mind to something. If you'd been here, you would probably have gone to the gym with Nat because I would still have gone to the West Wing to finish up work. It wouldn't have changed anything."

"But I never even get to tell you how I feel."

"Bucky, look at me," you whisper with a small smile and lean forwards, "it's okay. You don't have to tell me. I already know." You put your forehead to his and smile softly at him, "- and I hope you know that I feel the same about you."

With a gulp, he nods.

"Then kiss me," you wipe away another of his tears and tilt your head.

He closes his eyes and finds your mouth immediately, pushes himself impossibly close to your body and feels the softness pour over him as you press your pillowy lips to his in the most heartfelt kiss he's ever experienced. He tries to let his love shine through as raw as possible so there will be absolutely no doubt how much he loves you but from the way you're holding on to him, he can feel that you truly do already know. Your hand is warm against his face and it causes his heart to calm down its rapid beating while your lips move like silk on top of his.

"Mmh, sweetheart," he whispers into your mouth and feels every inch of you engulf him in love and bravery. Suddenly, he's free, so liberated from the grief that has been hanging over his head for so long that he completely forgets that he's on borrowed time.

The loud sounds coming from his wrist watch that suddenly begins beeping out of nowhere is the only terrible reminder of the setting he's in - that there's a deadline hanging over his head if he ever wants to make it home again.

"You're cutting it close, huh?" you say quietly as you reluctantly break off the kiss and place your forehead back on his. You both know that the watch only starts beeping when there's less than two minutes left to get to the jump site.

"I don't care," he shakes his head, not sure what else to say as he feels reality come crashing down on him again.

"You're really gonna let it go to red?" you chuckle as if impressed. "You know that Fury's gonna tear you a new one, right?"

"I don't care."

"I bet you don't," you chuckle and he joins you in smiling, revelling in the odd sensation that it brings to his cheeks to chuckle like this again. "I'm glad you found me, Barnes."

"Me too, sweetheart," he whispers as the smile slips from off his face again. "I wish there was something I could do..."

"You're here right now, aren't you?" you smile and briefly kiss him again, "I'm glad you came back, even just for a few minutes."

"It's not enough to say goodbye..." he mumbles and laces his fingers with yours.

"Oh, but this? This is not a goodbye," you chuckle quietly while shaking your head, "it's an I'll see you later."

"If you say so," he nods without really accepting your explanation and ignores the incessant beeping from his watch that only grows louder and louder by the second.

"You should probably get back, don't you think? Wouldn't want you to miss your mark and have you stuck here with me."

"Mmm," he whimpers and desperately kisses your knuckles with closed eyes.

"Chin up Barnes," you chuckle at him, "- the sky is the most beautiful I've ever seen it and I had a good run. I'll be okay."

"I'll miss you," he says as the watch starts blinking angry red, warning him that he only has thirty seconds left.

"I'll miss you too," you say and squeeze his fingers tightly before you let go of him, "you have twenty-seven seconds. Promise me you'll make it back, okay?"

"Okay," he nods and slowly stands up, taking one last look at you before he walks across the wooden floorboards and back towards the door he'd entered through.

"Hey Barnes?" You say when his hand reaches the doorknob and it immediately makes him turn around to see you standing on your feet, looking at him with a resolute look in your eye, your hands determinedly balled to fists by your side. "You say you're three years ahead. What date is it where you're from?"

"Uh... September sixth?" he says, a bit confused as to why that should matter but he's not about to deny a dying woman an answer to her question. "Why?"

"Just out of curiosity," you nod towards his angry watch, "twenty seconds."

"I know."

"I'll see you later, okay?"

"I'll see you baby," he whispers and physically feels his heart crack even worse in his chest as he takes a definitive last look at you. The sun is coming up behind you now, marking the worst day of Bucky's existence and all he can do is let it happen.

September 7th

He didn't even think it possible, but it's even worse than the first time around.

He'd collapsed on the floor the minute he'd exited the quantum realm, tears and snot blurring his vision as he'd fallen to his knees, his heart aching so horribly in his chest he'd thought he was dying. He wasn't. Unfortunately.

Steve had been there in an instant, on his knees beside Bucky, holding him tight, making sure he didn't pass out from hyperventilating, trying to calm him down.

The rest is a blur. Bucky isn't sure how Steve managed to manoeuvre him to his bedroom on the tenth floor and he doesn't even remember if Steve had been there when he'd finally fallen asleep, dreaming of you and the feeling of your body in his arms, your lips touched to his.

When he wakes up the next morning, it takes him a minute to remember that you're still gone, and in that moment, he isn't sure if seeing you again was liberating or just pure torture. If only he could've done something to fix what had happened....

"Buck?" Steve's voice immediately sounds from beside him as he starts shuffling a bit in the sheets, eager to get the cold sweat to stop pooling at his forehead. He turns around on the bed and meets the disheveled face of Steve who's occupying the chair where Bucky usually puts his dirty clothes, his eyes red with sleep deprivation, his hair sticking up in all possible directions.

"Stevie..." Bucky croaks and clears his throat as he takes in the state of his best friend who's clearly stayed by his side all night. "What are you doing here?"

"As if I was just going to leave you," Steve sighs solemnly and rubs his eyes. "How are you?"

Bucky sits up straight and lets his head fall back against the headrest. He can still see the broken look you'd sent him when he'd revealed your terrible fate to you. "You know how I am."

"Yeah..." he sighs again and looks away. "I'm sorry Buck but you're gonna have to talk about it."

"I know I broke a rule. You and Fury can yell at me tomorrow, okay?" Bucky says quietly and tries to block out the mental image of what'd happened to you. "I just need some time."

Steve reaches out his hand and lets it fall on top of Bucky shoulder. "Buck, I'm - I'm not gonna yell at you. I just want you to finally open up to me, you've been so closed off since it happened. I know what you had with her was... special. And I know why you went back and talked to her, I've been tempted to do the same many times. Trust me."

"I just wanted to see her," Bucky squeezes his eyes shut and bites his lip, desperately trying to get his breathing under control again. "I never intended to talk to her, it just... happened. I think I'd forgotten how observant she was."

"I know," Steve pushes down on Bucky's shoulder and shoots him a sympathetic smile. "How much did you tell her?"

"...Everything."

"And how did she take it?"

"She was really brave about it. I think I took it worse than she did... I don't know, I'm gonna need some time to process it all..."

"Mmh," Steve nods in quiet desperation, not sure what to do or say to make Bucky feel better. "I'll give you some space then, okay pal? I'll check in again in a couple of hours."

"Please don't," Bucky sighs and lays his head back down on his pillow, his mind already overflowing with every memory of you. All the way back from the first time he'd seen you to the point where he'd told you you were about to die. Shit.

He's so lost in thought he almost doesn't hear the hurried footsteps coming from the hallway, and he barely even registers the door being kicked open as Sam yells his name. "Bucky! Bucky, wake the hell up! You have to come downstairs! Now!"

"Sam?" Steve questions, already on his feet, ready to run to whatever emergency Sam is warning. "What's going on?"

Sam's eyes are wide open, his mouth falling agape in disbelief as he quietly chuckles and frantically waves Bucky and Steve over to him, "Come on! It's unbelievable! You have to see it for yourselves!"

"I don't care what it is, I'm not coming," Bucky mumbles from the bed and pulls his comforter closer around his chest, praying for Sam and Steve to leave him alone.

Sam bends down and picks up the nearest pair of jeans, throwing it over to Bucky on the bed. "Put on some pants, man, and come down stairs. Now!"

Bucky looks to Steve for help but he merely shrugs before he throws Bucky a black hoodie from underneath the chair he'd been occupying only moments before.

"You've got to be fucking kidding me," he mumbles under his breath and reluctantly swings his legs over the side of the mattress, well knowing that his two friends won't leave him alone until he's seen what Sam's fussing about for himself.

"Come on!" Sam urges and impatiently taps the doorframe to Bucky's room with his foot as Bucky slowly pulls on the jeans and hoodie just to annoy him.

"Sam what's going on?" Steve finally asks again when they're all three standing in the elevator, zooming towards the ground floor.

"Just... just wait, okay?" he says rapidly, clearly excited about what's going on. It's giving Bucky a goddamn headache. "You're not gonna believe me anyway!"

Bucky gives out an annoyed sigh as he throws his head up against the back wall of the elevator, closing his eyes. He needs a fucking aspirin.

"You good?" Steve turns to him while Sam continues his nervous-tapping against the floor.

"I'm about to strangle Sam if that's what you’re worried about..."

Sam stops tapping and opens his mouth to retort, but is interrupted by a loud ding as the doors slide open and instead settles for an annoyed look sent in Bucky's direction before he turns around. Immediately, the three men are met by Natasha's loud squeals coming from the next room, causing Steve to half-jog out of the elevator and through the empty hallway while Bucky slouches after him, counting the seconds until he can finally be alone again and wallow in his misery.

Steve stops in the doorway to the next room, his jaw practically dropping to the floor as soon as he sees what Natasha's so worked up about. It only takes him exactly two seconds of utter shock before he composes himself enough to turn his head and look Bucky straight in the eye. "Buck... it's..." his voice trails off as he looks back at the scene unfolding before him.

"What's happening?" Bucky asks curiously for the first time, and can feel how his heart picks up its pace as he dreads the sight that will meet him when he catches up to Steve.

"Come on, man," Sam says and puts his hand between Bucky's shoulder blades, urging him to move forwards so he can see for himself.

It feels as if it's taking him an eternity to reach those last few yards across the hallway, and when he's finally by Steve's side, he's so worked up, he isn't even sure if his mind is playing tricks on him or not. Because there, in the middle of the room, Natasha is standing in a tight embrace with none other than ...you?

Bucky blinks a few times, takes a step forwards, not sure if he's still dreaming.

You have tears running down your cheeks as you lock eyes with him over your best friend's shoulder and you can't stop the broad smile that spreads on your lips. "Buck," you whisper and immediately let go of Natasha who sniffles and steps to the side so Bucky can see all of you.

There you are. Standing in all your glory, unharmed, undead, living and breathing, and singing his name so sweetly as you take a step towards him, your feet shaking nervously underneath you.

"Are you seeing this too?" Bucky whispers to Steve though he doesn't dare move his eyes away from your form in fear of losing you if it turns out to just be a cruel illusion.

"Yeah, Buck," Steve's voice is shaking by his side, "I see her too."

"Buck," you laugh through the tears that continue to roll down your cheeks. "It's really me," you lift your hand and reach out for him.

"Oh my god," he whispers and strides across the room. Immediately, you're in his arms and he's crying your name as he touches you all over your body to make sure you're really there, squeezing you against his chest, kissing the top of your scalp, running his hands over your back, "I don't believe this!"

"Hi baby," you whisper and kiss his neck, his ear, his cheek. "I'm here. It's okay, I'm here."

"You're alive?" he sniffles and briefly holds you out at an arms length before he pulls you close to his chest again, "how? We all thought you were dead!"

"I'm sorry," you whisper and hold him as close as possible as you mumble against his chest. "I couldn't give you any signs of life. I couldn't risk it."

He puts a hand under your chin and urges you to look up at him. "Risk what?" he frantically searches your face, voice shaking, still desperate to confirm you're really here.

You put your hand on his chest as you always do to calm him down and send him a deep, intimate look. "I had to wait until after September 6th of this year to see you again. I'm sorry."

"I - I don't understand..." he says and strokes his thumb over your cheek.

"Come here," you break off the tight embrace and lead him to a small bench in the corner of the room, sitting him down beside you. "What you did that day saved me," you grab his hand and wrap it in your tiny fingers, "I would have been in the West Wing when the bomb went off if you hadn't said anything... But because of you, I left early. Like you said I would, I told Nat I couldn't come with her to the gym because I was going to finish up a mission report, so I waited until after she'd started her work-out to leave. I couldn't write you a note, or give you any sign of what'd happened because you needed the motive to go back in time to save me. I had to keep you grieving or you never would've come, so I just... left... I've been hiding in a small village in the mountains of Spain, waiting for this exact date. That's why you never found a body among the rubble."

"W-what? ...but we - we searched for weeks," he whispers, not sure why that's the detail he decides to focus on. He's not sure his shocked brain can fully comprehend your confession. He's having trouble just moving his shaking limbs. "You're alive..."

"I know. I'm sorry, baby. But it was necessary."

"You're alive..." he repeats quietly, the realisation slowly dawning upon him. "I don't believe it..." he whispers and pulls you close to his chest again as the tears start stinging in his eyes, "you're alive..."

"Yeah, I'm alive," you sniffle against him and hug him just as tightly as you'd done what was only mere hours ago for him, three years and fifty-three days for you. "You saved me."

"Oh my god," he cries into your neck, kissing your shoulder, "I've missed you so much!"

"You've been so brave," you whisper against him and caress the back of his head, "I'm so proud of you."

"No, I've been a pathetic mess. These guys can testify to that," he mumbles and points to over his shoulder where he can hear Sam and Nat chuckle quietly. "I never thought I'd see you again."

"I know," you smile sadly, "seeing you like that that day was heartbreaking. I knew I had to do something or you wouldn't survive it."

"I am so glad you did," he kisses your knuckles and scoots a little closer to you. "I mean, I knew you were stubborn but I never took you for such a cosmic rule-breaker, sweetheart," he smiles through the tears, and shoots you an impressed glance, "Fury's gonna tear you a new one."

You shoot back your head with laughter and sweetly wrap his hand up in yours. "Yeah, thank God that's never stopped me before," you giggle.

He never thought he'd sit like this with you again, and when you finally lean in close and kiss him, he promises himself that he'll never let you go.

#bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes imagine #bucky barnes fluff #bucky barnes #bucky x reader

[delaber]

Strongly considering a sequel for this one 👀

Firestarter (Loki x Reader)

Summary: After having been granted safe passage to the Avengers’ head quarters, Loki’s delighted to learn that he can pass the time by toying with the hate of the newest recruit.

Tropes: Enemies to lovers.

Words: 4.2K

Warnings: smut, mentions of battle injuries

They would all be fools to trust him. They know it. Loki knows it. Hell, even the specs of dust floating around know it!

The only one that seems eager to patch up the growing rift between the opposite sides of the room is the meathead of his brother who is blabbering away, trying hard to ignore the cold air coming from the other Avengers.

He's persistent, you'd have to give him that. They must really love Thor to grant Loki safe passage in their home like this.

- The stab of a thought hits Loki straight in the chest. Sticks to his ribs as he contemplates the sharp hate radiating off of the cotton-clad team opposite him. They don't look the least bit threatening in their oversized casual wear, but they've still granted his brother the upper hand so graciously, and for the first time in a while, he feels the balancing scales tip. It was easier when it was just the three idiots Fandral, Hogun and Volstagg who were fawning over his brother - Sif on occasion too, though Loki had had her in multiple ways Thor could never even wrap his pea-sized brain around.

The thought alone makes the tar on his ribs slowly drip away.

He must've drifted off, lost in thought of Sif with her bare ass in the air because the next thing he registers is Thor's meaty hand between his shoulder blades. "You all know my brother..." he chuckles awkwardly and pushes Loki forwards. Adds his name for clarification when nobody answers. Idiot.

The room's almost dead-silent. Stark scoffs theatrically loud and that Barton fellow turns a lovely shade of plum as he immediately races out of the room without uttering a single word - not that Loki can really blame him; he's killed for less.

Even the newbies on the team are staring daggers at him, though Loki doubts he's ever met any of them before; Captain Rogers' brooding siamese twin, the beefed up action figure beside him and that... woman - the pretty one - her eyes ablaze with a certain kind of hatred that he can physically feel down his spine as she scowls in his direction.

Loki cocks an eyebrow, amused that his reputation precedes him so much that her hate is tangible, and she huffs and pushes through the crowd while the one with the metal arm - the siamese twin - grabs her shoulder to prevent her from stepping too close. It only angers her even more and she shakes off the vibranium hand but stands her ground with her head lifted in cool arrogance, her eyes never wavering from Loki's.

Oh, she really hates him!

The look on her face reminds him of the tales he's heard of Muspelheim. Of Surtur and flames shining brighter than the sun; all of Asgard burning while the glass of the shattered rainbow bridge glistens in the flames and sticks to his skin, covers his hair. With her, there's fire in the air. He feels it immediately and it draws him in.

***

He spends his days in the shadows, observes the dynamics of the Avengers, gathers information in case he has to do something... drastic. He's not exactly planning on betraying the trust his brother's placed in him, but it's never unwise to have a plan to overthrow the Avengers - just in case. So he learns what he can from afar; their likes, their dislikes, their routines. But mostly, Loki just observes her.

She really loathes him which only makes it all the more fun. She storms off whenever he comes close. Flares her nostrils, squares her jaw, stamps away like a petulant child - and he must admit that he does love it! He enjoys having her wrapped around his little finger, that his mere presence can pull such a sincere reaction out of her. It makes the seidr in his veins feel electric; like pure voltage in the palm of his hand as it begs him to show off - show her - what he can do with it. He wonders if this is what Thor feels like when his eyes turn bone-white and arctic blue with lightening.

"I wish you would stop with that."

Loki glances towards his brother, tries to look as bored as possible as if he really doesn't know what he's talking about. "Stop with what?"

Thor gives out a long sigh and Loki is reminded of the first time Thor was disappointed with him; even though it's almost a thousand years ago, he can still smell the sweetness of the stolen tarts he'd hidden underneath his pillowcase and the empty hole in his chest where he knew he should be feeling shame but didn't.

"You know what I mean... It's not nice."

"In case you haven't noticed; I don't care about being nice."

"You're taunting her."

"She's an easy target," Loki hums with remnants of a chuckle, places his hands on the back of his head as he looks over at her. Even as she does something as mundane as drinking her morning coffee, she keeps a wary eye on him. It's entertaining. "You really can't blame me."

"It's not as if she's dangling bait, brother. You hurt her."

"I hurt her?!" Loki snaps, offended, "- when?"

"You really haven't realised?"

"Realised what?"

Another sigh. "Can't you tell she's from New York?"

Loki stops replying after that. Settles on picking an imaginary crumb from off his chest; thin crusted and rhubarb filling. He avoids Thor's gaze. He doesn't feel empty now and they both know it.

***

He'd come running through the compound with the rest of them as soon as the strangled war cry had met his ears.

Half-hiding behind one of the huge stone columns, he takes her in; she's covered in blood from head to toe, panting harshly as she stands in the middle of the hall, daggers still clutched tightly in both hands as her friends surround her. She looks fiery, evil, war ready - like the Valkyries from back home with their spears and their feminine hands skilfully wringing death out of anyone who crosses Asgard.

There had been a time where Loki had been afraid of them, and then, as he grew a little older, completely mesmerised by their raw beauty and the smell of battle as they rode towards the Royal Palace to report back to Odin and his ravens. He remembers standing in the hallowed halls of Valaskjalf with Huginn and Muninn circling above him as the Valkyries take off their helmets and look towards his brother. What he wouldn't have given to have one of them stab him, let alone notice him. Five hundred years later and it still hurts...

Steve Rogers is standing right by her side, not covered in as much blood as she is but still looking relieved to be back home. He sends a nod in Stark's direction and throws an electronic device across the room with a defeated sigh. It doesn't take a genius to see that even though the mission went well, they'd been ambushed.

Rogers takes a step closer to her, puts his arm around her shoulders as to hug her, and for the first time since they appeared in the entrance hall, she howls in pain, collapses on the floor and wrings her face in the most horrible way.

Loki notices the hole in her suit first. Sees how the red comes in pulses and flows down over her shoulder and chest. She's been stabbed, and by the looks of the dark red tissue in the gap, it's deep.

Steve Rogers yelps in shock, throws himself down on the ground beside her and instantly starts pressurising the wound with his bruised hands while his two companions are by her side immediately, ready to scoop her up in their arms and carry her to safety.

Loki takes in the scene unfolding before him; the three frantic men, the spurting blood, her panicked face as she cries. Swears he can hear Hel whisper her name.

"Leave her," he suddenly hears his own voice booming through the echoing hall and it drowns out the whisper.

They all stop dead in their tracks. Look around for him.

He's not sure exactly where all of this is coming from; he really couldn't care less if she died, but he finds himself stepping around the column, and he comes out with his arms raised as if surrendering. "She's gonna bleed out before you reach a doctor."

Action figure-man is on his feet almost immediately: "And what do you suggest?," he hisses angrily, "that we leave her be? Let her die here on the floor without even trying?"

Loki raises his arms a little higher and takes another careful step towards them. "I can help."

"You can help? And why should we trust you?"

"First of all, you shouldn't," he states as he simply cannot help himself. "- But it's your only chance of saving your friend."

"You're not serious!" Tin-man hisses and looks towards Loki while helping Steve Rogers putting pressure on the gaping wound, "as if we're supposed to believe you suddenly care."

Loki wants to bite back but a painful sound from her makes him hold his tongue.

"- We're not gambling with her life!"

"Are you sure?" Loki retorts and it finally makes Captain Rogers look up. "- Because it looks to me as if you are."

Loki cannot see Thor who's standing behind him, but he imagines the slow nod of approval he gives the Steve Rogers trio, because suddenly the Captain gives out a heavy sigh, his eyes downcast. "Alright then," he says in defeat and waves Loki closer while clutching her tight.

"Steve!" Tin-man appeals but his best friend has made up his mind.

All eyes turn to Loki.

He's surprised to learn that he doesn't enjoy it as much as he'd imagined he would. He supposes it's because the main difference between him and his brother has once again been underlined so cruelly.

"If you try anything," action figure man warns and Loki bites back: "What? You'll kill me? As if I haven't heard that before. Now get out of my way, mortal."

He steps forwards, squats down beside her and summons the green sparks in the palm of his hand, looks her in the eye for the first time since the day they'd been introduced. There's fire behind her colourful irises; mistrust, chaos and fear. She leans towards him and with all her strength grabs his wrist. "What - are - you - doing?" she pants and wrings him tightly.

"Saving you," he mumbles and turns his palm around, directs the sparks at her gashing wound.

She gives out a small painful hiss as the wound closes up immediately but her eyes never leave his face. They transgress from pain to panic to relief. He's there with her for the whole ride and it does absolutely nothing to drown the embers inside of him.

"Oh my god," Captain Rogers mumbles and runs his fingers over the newly-formed scar on her front as he stares in disbelief.

Her doubting eyes are still carefully watching Loki, her small fingers still wrapped tightly around his wrist. Her mouth goes slack and she finally lets go of him, looks towards the closed up wound, then back at him. "Thank you," she whispers apprehensively.

It makes his seidr glow fluorescently green in his veins and he gets the sudden urge to fall to his knees and lick her clean.

Had Huginn and Muninn only still been alive, he would've made them watch this up close so they could report it back in detail to all of Asgard.

***

The Avengers are not as cold after that. Still wary of him - as they should be - but the hatred and constant fear is gone. And when she comes back from her bed rest, it tickles him that the first thing she does is to seek him out.

"Thank you," she says slowly, almost controlled, and extends her hand as a peace offering, "- for saving my life."

"You already said that."

"Well, I meant it."

He looks up at her. Her mouth is formed to a pout, her body poised in vigilance, her eyes carefully watching his every movement while her hand extends into dangerous grounds. She's still not sure what his motives are and it gives him the opportunity to toy with her a bit. "...I'm honoured?"

A short-lived flame of annoyance flashes across her features as she retracts her hand back to safety with a huff.

"Did I say something wrong?" he quips in the hopes that he can keep her attention.

"You're trying to rile me up."

"How dare you!" He says in mock offence. "I would never!"

She crosses her arms underneath her chest, "I'm trying to offer you an olive branch and all you do is ridicule me. Are you really that desperate for attention?"

It amuses him. He loves when she shows him bits of the real her. "Are you calling me desperate for attention because I don't care I saved your life?"

“Then why did you do it?”

“It was merely strategic,” he shrugs and hopes she doesn’t detect the lie that tastes bitter on his tongue. Why did he save her? The question’s been nagging him for days now. “- it’s never unwise to have an Avenger owe you their life.”

“Wow,” she blinks and shakes her head in disbelief. "I don't know why we all listened to Thor - he said you'd changed but you're clearly still a conniving snake.”

"A snake?” he smiles, relieved that his lie has her convinced, "is that supposed to hurt me? Trust me, darling, I've been called worse."

"Just a gentle reminder that you'll never be anything but a villain."

"I suppose every villain is a hero in their own mind."

She takes the bait and narrows her eyes. "You absolutely destroyed my hometown. All the places I loved. And you have the nerve to call yourself a hero?!"

"Would you prefer a god?"

She flares her nostrils in frustration, "is everything a joke to you?"

"...Mainly?" he smirks "in case you haven't noticed, I'm the God of Mischief - it's in the job description."

She takes a few angry breaths. "Life is always a performance for you, isn't it? Whether it's an endless need for attention, a humorous quip, or the unfolding of another of your great plans, it's always just for show!"

He's excited to feel that the full-blown anger's back and she's seeing red. And to think he was almost disappointed in her?!

She grinds her teeth. "Just so we're clear, I'm not doing this to imply we're even or to make you feel just the slightest bit better about yourself for what you did. Trust me, I'd still rather see you rotting away in a prison cell. You-"

"I must admit," he drawls, gives himself some time to enjoy her undivided, flaming attention as he so impolitely interrupts her, "I like you much more when you're honest with me. When you admit you want to watch me burn! This front of niceties you just put up? This so-called olive branch while you so uncharacteristically give up control? It doesn't suit you."

She wrings her arms in frustration, narrows her eyes into slits. "You're goddamn insufferable!"

***

She's not more intoxicated than the rest of the Avengers, but she is drunk. Agent Romanoff keeps handing her clear liquor in small glasses that they down in a single second, followed by strings of laughs when the alcohol burns in their throats.

He remembers being drunk like that; fresh, sweet-smelling mead from oak barrels in the hundreds, wine in golden carafes on every table. He used to love the parties him and Thor threw; the chaos, the abundance! A heavy flow of alcohol was always a neat little excuse for his erratic behaviour, but the best part was always when the mead was extra good and strong and he could get Thor to follow his lead. Oh, how they used to cause rampage! They would've been unstoppable, had they only been on the same side.

Loki turns around the brown glass bottle in his hand so he can read the blue label; five percent...

He misses the lightheadedness, the parties, him and Thor being on the same side, Asgard. He's never longed for a taste of home this much before. He looks back at her.

"You're being unusually quiet this evening," Thor says from layers away, "should I be worried?"

"Hmm?" Loki snaps out of it, turns his head towards his brother who's sitting with an annoyingly smug expression plastered on his face. "No, I'm just contemplating this piss they call beer. How can they drink it?" He gives the bottle a sniff and winces. "I never thought I'd hear myself say it but I miss Asgard."

"Is that sentiment I sense in you, brother?"

"Absolutely not," he scoffs and looks back at her and Romanoff as they give out a loud laugh. "I'm glad it burned."

Her eyes scan the room, land on Loki's for a split second too long to pretend they didn't register him. For some reason, it satisfies him. She's aware of his presence.

"You like her," he hears Thor's chuckle from beside him.

"Bite your tongue!"

"I notice you stare at her a lot," he chuckles again.

Loki wants to say something. Wants to make Thor pay for what he's implying, but he doesn't really have a great comeback to that.

***

It's later that same evening when she finally approaches him. Toned legs walking towards him, wide hips swaying up the small set of stairs, shoulders pushed arrogantly back as she determinedly stares him down. She only has eyes for him. Finally.

He can't help but meet her halfway; he leans forwards, balances his elbows on his knees, impatiently waits for her to spit on him.

"Loki," she hums with fire in her eyes when the syllables hit her tongue.

"Yes, little dove?" he quips, excited to see her riled up and finally talking to him again.

"I want to talk to you," she scans the room for unwanted attention before her sharp eyes find his again and he feels the bone-white and arctic blue. "This little game you're playing?" She says harshly, "It ends now."

He almost gives in. Almost. "What game?"

"Don't play stupid," she huffs. "I can't do anything without you keeping an eye on me. Tell me what it is you want."

He cannot help the smirk that appears on his lips and he leans a little closer, spreads his knees apart.

"Answer me," she demands, her chest heaving.

"You haven't asked a question," he says calmly as if he truly didn't notice the way her eyes lingered on his crotch.

"You want me to be sincere," she states and takes another step towards him. "-I want the same thing from you."

She's so close he can smell her; sweet, salty, tang on the back of his tongue. She's ripe like a fucking goddess!

He absentmindedly rubs his thighs. "Darling, I assure you; this is me being sincere."

Her chest is heaving in heavy pants. She's annoyed. "Then tell me exactly what you want from me."

She holds his gaze in an insane power play while he ponders for a second. Should he tell her his intentions? String her along for a little while longer and make her second-guess everything? He is the God of Mischief, he supposes, but she looks so sweet, so damn fuckable as she angrily stares down at him. So he gives in and tells her what he wants. After all, why shouldn't he? What's he got to lose?

***

A decent man would've probably kept her at an arms length, tucked her into bed and told her she was way too drunk to make decisions like this, but Loki's not a decent man. He'll take what he can get and leave the decency to team Cap.

With a flick of his wrist, they're back in his bedroom. She's naked in his lap, pushing her lovely tits up against him as she pulls him closer. "You like me," she whispers and licks the shell of his ear. Moves her pelvis against his leather clothing, "you like watching me."

"Shut up," he groans and pulls her flush against his chest, pushes his tongue past her teeth as he grinds her bottom against his crotch.

Her hand comes down between them, slides down over the trail of hair underneath his navel before her fingers find their way to the buttons of his leather pants, unleashes him without a single touch. She eyes him hungrily but keeps her hands to herself, nonverbally insists she has the power to control him. The way she looks at him: he's so hard, it's verging on torture.

"Tell me you like me," she pulls harshly down on his hair, bites him; draws blood from his lower lip.

"Ah!" he hisses though he likes it! "Careful!"

She yanks his hair again with an evil smile and Loki swears, he almost comes.

"You're a devil, aren't you?" he hears himself say as he smacks her ass and bites her nipple, takes advantage of her little jump to push two fingers inside her pulsing heat. She's gushing already, soaks him all the way down to his knuckles as she rides his hand, pinches her own nipples.

"Say my name," he pulls on her earlobe with his teeth. "Spit on me!"

She finds his eye, gives him the same evil smile as before and whispers a short "no," as she arches her back and pushes her nipple back into his mouth. Cheeky little thing.

He curls his fingers and strokes her g-spot, enjoys the sounds she's making for him. Only for him, he reminds himself and feels his chest expanding with something unfamiliar that makes him want to melt into her. He pushes it away; concentrates on the tangible pleasure and not how it makes his head dizzy.

As if on cue, her hands finally find his aching cock and she starts stroking him slowly. He's harder than ever and leaking already.

He looks down between them; small feminine hands caressing him so sweetly is a fantastic contrast to all the biting and pulling. He feels his chest expanding again. "Fuck!" he hisses and pushes himself into her hand to feel something else. Focus on the pleasure, he tells himself and stutters his hips upwards again and again.

Her fingers are running through his hair and she's sucking on his tongue while her hand sets the pace, runs over his stained head. "You want this?" She whispers, bites the thin skin below his jaw.

Fuck yes he wants this! Wants her! He groans.

"You want to save my life?," she bites him again, pulls on his hair. "You want me to spit on you? Are you so desperate to fuck an avenger?"

He hisses at that, grabs her jaw tightly. "I hate the Avengers!"

"Are you sure?" she smiles devilishly and points at the scar on her shoulder. "Are you sure you really hate us?”

He groans in defeat and releases her pretty face with a hiss and positions himself at her entrance, finally pushes himself inside with the same pace as she lowers herself down towards his hips. “Ah! Fuck!”

It's an immediate collision of universes, Loki is seeing stars and needs a second to come down to earth, to savour the feeling, but he hardly has time to get used to the warm wetness squeezing him tight before she starts moving in long, warm pulses.

He's captivated, enchanted! He bites her neck, holds her down, desperate to keep her bouncing in a speed that makes him flex his toes without making him explode. He wants this to last. He wants this memory of her hatefucking him into oblivion. This beautiful, vengeful woman who's mounting him like a stallion and riding him like a valkyrie riding to battle. "Goddess!" he hisses against her neck and she finally finds his mouth and without the use of teeth, presses silky lips against his, makes everything inside of him glow green with desire. It’s desire, he tells himself though to him, it feels like love.

"Loki," she finally moans in his ear and he's never heard anything sweeter.

He pulls her closer, fucks into her and smells her skin. Kisses the scar below her shoulder.

He saved her.

His seidr runs crazy, tingles throughout every limb, makes him see everything clear: he wants her to want him and only him!

That’s why he saved her.

His last thought before he completely lets go is of the disaster he knows this will bring upon him; his own, personal Ragnarok visible on the horizon. She has the power to make him crumble, to make him burn brighter than the sun and turn to ash. He feels it already and there's no stopping it.

He thinks of Valaskjalf, of molten gold and flames licking his father’s throne. She speeds up, moans his name, fills his chest with fire.

Valhalla, I'm coming home.

#loki x reader #loki fanfiction #loki smut #loki angst #loki enemies to lovers

[delaber]

@moonvis aaaah! Thank you so so so much for this. Loooved reading your comment, thank yoooou 🩷❤️💞

Warrior/Worrier (Bucky Barnes x Reader)

Summary: After a mission gone awry, Bucky finds himself on your doorstep in the middle of the night.

Words: 5.3K

Fluff, fluff and fluff and a lil bit of angst. Classic hurt/comfort and friends to lovers

Through the darkness, there's a knock on your bedroom door, so soft, so cautious, that if you hadn't already been half-awake, you're not sure you would've caught it.

Legs quickly swung over the side of your mattress, you stop and focus at a fixpoint in your moonlit room.

According to the big mission schedule hung in Steve's office, you should be the only one at the compound, so you cannot for the life in you figure out who would rap on your door at 3.30 in the morning, but it wasn't just something you'd imagined because there it is again. A knock, not much louder than before, but definitely there.

For a brief second, your foggy brain ponders that it's likely someone who's been sent to kill you in the dead of night, but before you've even reached for your bedside Beretta, rationality reminds you that they probably wouldn't have had the curtesy to knock first - and then it dawns on you.

"Nat," you sigh with a roll of your eyes and let your bare feet hit the floor while you rub the sleep from off your face. It's not the first time she's forgotten the lock combination to her room after post-mission drinks.

Slowly, you walk across the cold floorboards and over to the wooden door where you can hear ragged breathing from the other side of the wall. Hand lazily pulling the door open, you start talking before you've seen who's on the other side.

"It's only four digits and you're panic breathing?" you chuckle but is immediately taken aback when you're not met by Natasha but instead by your best friend. "...Buck?"

He's back from his mission a day earlier than you'd expected and you're just about to crack a witty comment on how you'd told him that Sam couldn't stand to be alone with him for more than thirty-six hours, but then you notice the state he's in.

His entire body is slumped over as he clutches his right arm tight to his chest, eyes droopy and blank, cheekbones dotted by freckles of soot and framed by thick strands of auburn hair caked in dried blood. "Doll," he breathes painfully and takes a step closer, looking only mildly relieved to see you.

"Buck!" you hiss in fear and grab both his cheeks, but his dirty face just drops further, and he can't even look at you though you're standing mere inches apart.

"I know it's late," he mumbles with his gaze downcast, "but can I come in?"

It's as if you don't hear him clearly enough to respond. His voice is under water and at the same time layers above you while you're far too concerned with every look of horror splashed across his handsome face, your hands frantically clutching his bloodied cheeks as you desperately search his eyes though he still won't look at you. "What happened? Where's all this blood coming from?"

"It's - it's not mine..." he croaks with a small shake of his head.

Fear ripples through your entire body one more time and you can barely speak as you imagine the worst possible scenario that might have caused Bucky to behave like this. "Is it... Sam?" you whimper with tears already burning in your eyes, fighting the urge to throw up.

"He's fine," Bucky quickly interrupts with a small nod, "I dropped him off at his girl's place twenty minutes ago," he croaks and finally looks up at you, his eyes more broken than you've ever seen them before. It makes your heart crack in two. "Sweetheart, can I please come in?"

"Oh god," you pant anxiously and reluctantly let your fingers slide off his cheeks as you step to the side and finally let him inside your bedroom. "Yes, yes of course you can come in."

Immediately, he's on your bed, his face buried in his vibranium hand as the pads of his fingers start rubbing circles over his dusty forehead.

"What happened?" you barely manage to croak as you sit down beside him and carefully place a hand on his rigid thigh. "Last time I heard from you, everything was going according to plan."

"I don't want to talk about it," he gulps and starts rubbing his face even more agitatedly, looking over at you with an apologetic look on his face. "- not right now... I just had to see you. I'm sorry I woke you up."

You grab his vibranium hand and bring it down to his lap to get him to stop his frantic movements and he immediately squeezes you tight, letting out another heart-breaking sob.

"It's okay, Buck. I'm glad you're here."

Over the last year, you've seen Bucky on his darkest days a handful of times, and he usually has the same look on his face, but this time, it's different. It's deeper. Despondent and morose, the anger that's usually posessing him om the bleaker days replaced by a different kind of sadness.

Something really bad must've happened...

"Do you wanna sleep in here tonight?" you ask, unsure how to tackle this the best way possible if you don't want him to shield himself off in his room the way he usually does when he's not feeling his best. He shouldn't be alone under any circumstances.

You're half expecting him to protest, but to your surprise he starts nodding, relieved. "Thank you," he whispers and squeezes your hand tight again.

You make an attempt at a comforting touch as you brush over the soot on his cheeks, making a strand of dirty hair dipped in dried blood fall from his forehead. "You want a shower? I can draw you a bath."

He nods again.

"Come on, love," you say quietly and watch as he gulps hard at the sound of the tender pet-name that you've been wanting to call him for months now but haven't had the guts to say out loud until it accidentally slips past your lips. Surprisingly, you're not even embarrassed by yourself. You suppose there are more important things to worry about than an accidental profession of love in a moment of gentle affection.

Bucky seems taken aback too, frozen, and full of wonder, but he shakes it off and lets you pull him to your small bathroom, accepting your fluffiest towel without a word as he continues staring at you.

"I'll be just outside, okay?" you say reassuringly as you turn on the water in your bathtub, making sure it's the right temperature before putting in the drain stopper.

He's still looking at you with huge eyes, flesh arm clutched to his chest while the fluffy white towel gently supports his elbow. You silently wonder if he's hurt but before you can ask him, he speaks.

"Can you... stay?" He asks quietly, biting his inner cheek, unsure if his request is too much.

Still, it's your turn to be taken aback. You and Bucky are close but not like that. 

"Stay?" you instinctively furrow your eyebrows, "while you shower?

He immediately clenches his jaw shut and shakes his head while small patches of pink appear on his cheeks underneath all the dirt. "I'm sorry. I shouldn't have asked."

"No, no it's okay," you quickly stand up from your position by the tub spout so you're once again levelled. "- I was just surprised, that's all," you want to smack yourself for making him doubt himself. "Of course I'll stay."

Ice blue irises slowly find yours while the rose tint of his lower lip is being pulled between his teeth. "Are you sure?" he hesitates while sucking in some air, "I don't want to make you uncomfortable..."

"You're not," you touch your hand to his sternum to underline your words and watches as the crease between his eyebrows slowly reduces as he gradually relaxes under your touch. You can't help but think that even through all the dust and the grime, he looks incredibly beautiful.

"Let me give you some privacy," you unwillingly let go of him and turn away so he can undress in peace.

From behind you, you can hear the ruffle of his tac pants being pushed down his legs before the belt buckle clangs loudly against the tiles of the floor. It's followed by a series of loud painful grunts and hisses a few seconds later.

"Are you okay?" you ask and turn your head to the side, careful not to look directly at him as to not break the trust he put in you when he asked you to stay. "Buck?"

"Yeah, sweetheart," he sighs in embarrassment behind you, "it's just... do you think you could... help me?"

You turn around slowly to find him standing in the middle of the bathroom still wearing his torn t-shirt and Kevlar vest, bare-legged in boxer shorts and black socks pulled high up on his calf while his pants are lying crumbled on the floor beside him. He's awkwardly shifting the weight between his two feet, still clutching his right arm tightly. "It's my elbow."

Immediately, you furrow your eyebrows and walk over to him, taking his right hand in yours. "Yeah, I meant to ask you earlier. What happened?"

He doesn't answer but just silently lets you examine the swelling and black-purple skin that's half-hidden underneath dust and blood.

"Shit," you breathe and hear him give out a sharp hiss when you turn his arm over so you can examine the other side, "Buck, I think your elbow's torn."

"Me too," he gulps, "- I heard it snap."

At the mere thought of the sound, a wave of nausea hits you square in the chest and your stomach starts to churn. You can feel the tang of acid push up on your tongue when you imagine the pain he must've been enduring - still is enduring - but you fight it relentlessly and eventually manage to swallow down the bile. You should be taking care of him, not the other way around.

"We should go down to the infirmary," you say and keep your gaze firmly placed on the purple bruising, so he doesn't notice your discomfort. "I know it probably won't take too long to heal with the serum and all but just to make su-"

"Sweetheart," he gulps from above you and it makes you stop mid-sentence. "Not tonight, okay? I just wanna stay here tonight."

You look up at him, about to protest, but the words quickly die in your throat when you notice the look he's wearing. He's begging. Anxious. Heavy-hearted.

"Okay," you reluctantly agree and carefully let go of his arm while he sends you a grateful look. "Come on, let me help you out of this," you say quietly in defeat and unstrap his vest beneath his ribs, pulling the Kevlar plates over his head while he groans loudly.

"Ah!" he hisses and clutches his elbow tight, squeezing his eyes shut when you try and pull his t-shirt over his head. "Fuck!"

"You good?"

"Mm-hmm" he hums displeased with lips pressed so tightly together they're forming a thin, white line. "Just get it over with."

You pull on the hem again so the dark fabric rides up his stomach, revealing scarred skin pulled tight over the bulging muscles you've spent so many warm summer days discreetly staring at. "Can you reach your arms just a little higher?" you ask and watch how his diaphragm heaves in small electric shocks when he cannot control the loud gasps that escape his throat.

"Fuck me!" He hisses and squeezes his eyes so tightly shut that his entire face pales. "Just rip the damn fabric off," he hisses angrily, "I can't extend my fucking arm."

"Are you sure you don't wanna get it checked out in the med wing?" You let go of his t-shirt and look him deep in the eye, hoping your concerned gaze can convince him that it'll be worth the trip just to get your jumping nerves under control.

"Just... get me out of this thing," he sighs in defeat. "Cut it open, I don't care."

Disinclined, you dive down in the drawer underneath your sink, pulling out a small flat-legged scissor that came with a roll of gauze you bought last year when you had a nasty wound that wouldn't stop bleeding. "Are you sure?" You look up at him as you put the blade underneath the hem of his t-shirt.

Through the fingers you have placed over his chest, you can feel how his pulse quickly falls again when your eyes meet.

"S'just a t-shirt," he mumbles quietly while nodding, "I'm sure..."

Though you want to stay in this position forever, you slowly look away from him and down at your hands as your hesitantly start cutting, careful not to pierce Bucky's flesh with the sharp scissors.

The blade runs through the fabric like a hot knife through butter and you can feel every tense muscle that the edge of the scissors encounters as they travel over his warm stomach and chest. It makes the blood roar in your ears as more and more skin is revealed underneath your fingertips.

Concentrated on not hurting him even more, you keep your gaze firmly placed on his heavily panting chest as you cut open the front of his black shirt and carefully peel the fabric off his bruised arm until he's standing in front of you in nothing but black boxers and socks, his left hand carefully reaching out for yours as if to comfort both of you.

You've seen him bare chested several times before, but it's never been in this close proximity, never been this intimate, just the two of you holding hands and looking each other deep in the eye as you silently try to assure the other that everything is going to be okay.

"So..." you clear your throat, embarrassed by the fact that you have to hold yourself back from leaning forwards, planting a small kiss on his dusty cheek. "- I take it you can shimmy your way out of those on your own, right?" You nod down towards his boxers and he blinks as if he's just woken up from a trance.

"Yeah," he nods and lets go of your hand while the pink patches make a reappearance on his face.

Slowly, you turn around facing the running spout in the tub to the soft sound of cotton hitting the floor behind you. Involuntarily, you give out a gulp and flusteredly grab the box of bath salts just to give your shaking hands something to do. You cannot believe that your extremely fuckable best friend is standing naked in your bathroom no more than two feet away, begging you to stay close to him.

Eyes still firmly placed on the water in the tub, you point over your shoulder to the rainfall shower in the opposite corner of the bathroom. "You wanna rinse off first?"

"I better," Bucky hesitates behind you. "Don't you think?"

"It'll be a much nicer bath if you do," you awkwardly clear your throat.

"Yeah, you're right," he sighs and turns on the shower, immediately stepping inside and closing the glass door behind him so you can finally breathe freely again.

Through the mirror above the sink, you can make out his naked silhouette behind the matte glass and how the tension in his shoulders first tenfolds and then completely disappears the minute the water turns warm and he relaxes. He lets his forehead fall forwards so it's pressed up against the cold tiles while the water runs over his defined shoulders and down his sculpted back, and you literally have to force your eyes away from him and the shape of his handsome torso.

With your gaze fixed firmly on the fuzzy bathmat at the foot of the shower, you hear the sound of your bath gel being opened, followed by a series of painful grunts as Bucky desperately tries to lather himself with the soap.

"Fuck," he mumbles quietly and before you've even voiced a single word of concern, he continues. "Sweetheart, I know it's a lot to ask..." he says a little louder, the embararssement still evident in his voice, "- but I'm gonna need a little help in here... it's - it's this damn elbow," he sighs, "I'm useless. Can you...?" his voice trails off and the question hangs thickly in the air between you.

He wants you to join him.

To wash him.

Take care of him.

The thought alone makes you nervous, you have to admit, but he needs your help and you're willing to do anything for him.

"Give me a minute," you gulp and strip down to your panties, pulling on the bra you wore earlier so you're not completely bare in there. Several times, you've dreamt of you and Bucky naked together, but not like this - never like this - and you'll be damned if the first time he sees you without a shred of clothes is because he needs help and not because he needs you.

With your pyjamas neatly folded on top of the toilet seat cover, you take a final look at yourself in the mirror, brushing your hair out of your eyes before nervously reaching for the shower door with shaking hands.

He's still standing with his chiselled back towards you, letting the water rinse over his dirty hair and down between his shoulder blades with a slightly pinkish hue. "I'm so sorry about this," he mumbles uncomfortably and hands you your loofah behind his back. "I'll make it up to you, I promise."

"Come on, Buck," you say as you dribble a little soap on the sponge, fighting the urge to let your gaze run all the way down to his thick thighs. "Don't beat yourself up, you know I'm always here for you."

"Still," he mumbles and goes silent as the loofah gently runs over his tense shoulders and traces down his spine.

The white soap bubbles work magic on his dirty skin and you make sure not to leave out a single square inch of his scarred backside as you wash him while fighting the urge to wrap your arms around his torso, telling him how glad you are that he not alone came home, but also that he came to you seeking help instead of barricading himself in his room. It seems significant that he's here, as if something's changed between you though you cannot put your finger on it.

Completely lost in thought, you accidentally run the loofah a little too vigorously over his right tricep, sending shockwaves down his broken bone and resulting in a painful hiss falling from his open mouth.

"Sorry," you mumble, and scrub down his lower back, this time more careful with your movements though there aren't any dirty or bloody spots left on either side of his spine. "There we go" you conclude quietly when you realise that the rinsing water has finally lost its pink and grimy hue. "Turn around," you ask and hope he cannot hear the nervousness straining your voice. No matter what, you're not looking down.

Bucky seems just as jittery about his compromising position as you do, and he slowly spins around, revealing pink cheeks and heaving pecs, his gaze glued to the ceiling as he looks as if he's ready to fling himself off the nearest cliff. "God, sweetheart," he mumbles and breathes hard, "I'm so sorry for all this."

"Bucky, come on - what'd I tell you?" you touch the loofah to his chest, careful not to look anywhere than at the sponge itself as it traces over his collar bones and down his handsome stomach.

He merely sighs and stands completely still while you rinse the crevices between the metal plates over his left clavicle, careful not to move his torso so much he hisses in pain again.

"...You're a good friend," he mumbles after a few focused minutes where you've carefully been scrubbing the gold-plated lines in the vibranium, "- I ever tell you that?"

"All the time," you smile genuinely for the first time since he knocked on your door earlier that evening. If there's one thing you can count on, it's that Bucky Barnes appreciates you more than anything.

"I mean it," he says, "never doubt that."

You look up into his eyes.

He looks so soft and innocent as he stands before you, face finally clean, wet hair sticking to his forehead while he professes his love for you. Even if it's just platonic, it makes your heart skip a beat.

"I know, Buck."

"Good," he nods and blinks a few times with heavy, wet lashes framing his cerulean eyes. The air between you is thicker than ever and for a brief moment, it looks as if he's about to lean in and kiss you, but you break the tension by looking away. You don't want to take advantage of his vulnerable state no matter how badly you want that kiss.

"You ready for the tub?" You ask him in a weirdly shaky voice.

He nods while an almost inaudible sigh escapes his lips. "Yeah," he says and turns off the water, quickly exiting the shower before you can take notice of the disappointment burning on his skin.

You dry your feet on the small fuzzy mat, carefully watching Bucky's naked backside as he tests the temperature in the tub by dipping his toe in the water before stepping over the porcelain edge, sitting himself down.

Immediately, he gives out a content sigh, and drapes right arm over his chest, supporting his broken elbow with vibranium fingers, and you finally deem the situation safe enough to approach him again.

"Want me to wash your hair?"

"Mmh" he hums with closed eyes, immediately more relaxed now that he's covered by water. "I don't deserve you."

You grab your shampoo bottle and push out a decent amount of liquid, pressing it to his warm scalp to the sound of an alleviated sigh falling from his lips as you carefully start massaging it into his roots.

"Does that feel good?" you ask through a smile.

"Yeah, sweetheart," he groans quietly, making the butterflies in your stomach flutter awake, "- feels amazing."

You're slowly lathering shampoo into his long hair, enjoying the feel of him underneath your fingertips, how his soft hair slips through your hands while also trying not to think too much about the kiss you robbed yourself of in the shower. You can hear how his breathing slowly steadies and you think that maybe he's in the early stages of sleep but then he unexpectedly heaves a deep breath -

"You know... I haven't been scared of death for a long time," he says so sudden, so seriously that you're immediately brought out of your trance as your every muscle freezes at his austere tone of voice. "I used to not care if I lived or died but... tonight didn't go as planned," he swallows thickly and you can see how his jaw tenses up as his voice becomes husky, "- they... had me."

"What?" you pant with mortification, your every skeletal muscle paralysed as your breathing picks up. You don't have to ask him who he's talking about.

"Sam and I, we were so sure of ourselves," he shakes his head with his gaze fixed on the wall straight ahead. "We thought had the perfect plan... I - I'm such an idiot, nothing ever runs smoothly with Hydra."

You can feel your heart thumping in your throat. "What happened?" You whisper.

"Sam was on the look-out while I got the hard drive," he mumbles, "it was so easy. It didn't even take me five minutes before I was heading back towards the safehouse," he gulps, "- of course it was an ambush. I should have realised the minute I set foot inside that building."

"You couldn't have known," you whimper softly and stroke his scalp, but he doesn't listen.

"- I thought I was..." the words drown in a heavy sigh, and he stares blankly into space while blinking the tears away.

"Buck," you whisper and can feel the pain radiating from every fibre of his entire being when you wrap your arms around his wet torso and hold him close to your chest.

"They took me to a room. Strapped me down," he takes a ragged breath, and you hold on to him even tighter, "I was sure that was it. I never thought I'd find myself home again."

"You're home now," you whisper and softly kiss his shoulder, hoping that he doesn't feel the tear that lands on top of his clavicle. "You're home now with me."

"I know, sweetheart," he leans into your hug with a sigh, "trust me, I know."

"Everything's gonna be alright, love," you whisper against him and stroke your hand over his hair, "it's you and me against the world, always."

"You and me," he quietly confirms and leans back into your chest with a deep breath.

You continue stroking him over the hair, hold on to him for dear life, not willing to let go as you feel him relax more and more in your arms until he starts snoring slightly, finally warm and safe in your embrace.

"Buck, come on," you instinctively kiss him right below his ear, "you're sleeping. Let's get you into bed."

"Sorry," he mumbles groggily and lets his head fall back against your shoulder. "m'just so fucking tired. Been up thirty-six hours..."

"We'll talk tomorrow," you kiss him again and unwillingly unwrap yourself from around his chest, standing up straight beside him. "I'm not going anywhere. Promise."

He's looking up at you with puppy eyes, gaze slowly travelling down your body and up again as if he hadn't realised you were in your lingerie until that exact moment. "You look beautiful," he says quietly and you half-expect him to laugh it off, but his face stays serious.

"...Thanks," you croak while handing him the fluffy towel, not sure how to react to his sweet words. He's called you many things, but he's never downright called you beautiful before.

"I can take it from here, sweetheart," he nods slowly and steals one last glance down at your body, "you just go to bed. I'll be in in a minute."

"Okay," you whisper and peel yourself away from the tension between you by swiftly turning around, exiting the bathroom.

Back in your room, you barely have time to get out of your wet underwear and put on a fresh set of pyjamas, before a boxer-clad Bucky joins you on the bed.

"Are you still okay with me staying the night?" He asks, nervously.

"Of course I am," you answer immediately and find his vibranium hand underneath the covers, lacing your fingers between his as you scan his weary features. "See if you can get some sleep, okay? You need it," you brush a strand of wet hair away from his face and make sure he's fine by gently cupping his cheek before closing your eyes, hoping he's following your lead, doing the same.

The dark room goes completely quiet for a few minutes where the only audible sound is of your synchronised breathing.

You can feel yourself grow impossibly tired too as you lie there hand in hand with Bucky, and you're just about to succumb to sleep, when suddenly, his quiet whisper breaks the silence.

"I thought about you," he says softly, and it makes you open your eyes again.

You're staring straight into his handsome face, his beautiful blue eyes scanning over your features as he slowly clarifies.

"When they had me strapped down, I thought about you," he moves his fingers against the palm of your hand and completely engulfs you. "The thought of not seeing you again was..." the words die in his throat, and he looks as if he's seconds away from whimpering. "- Sweetheart, you make me so afraid of dying."

You breathe hard with quivering lips, huge eyes matching his as you let his confession sink in.

"I was so desperate to come home, I snapped the restraints in half. Snapped my own elbow along with them," he winces slightly at the painful memory that once again makes your stomach churn. "Sweetheart, I fought like hell. I don't think I've ever been so angry... I - I killed everyone I could get my hands on, I just had to see you again," he brings your hand to his soft lips and kisses the delicate pulse point of your wrist.

"Buck..." a slow whine escapes your throat as you try to blink away a stubborn tear that slowly starts rolling down the side of your nose.

"I love you," he whispers so softly against your thin skin that you almost don't hear. His eyes are closed and he looks relieved to be lying here with you, so you carefully pull his hand to your chest, placing his vibranium palm above your heavily beating heart.

"I love you too."

"Sweetheart," he whispers above you and moves his hand a little on top of your soft pyjamas while lightly shaking his head with a sigh. "No, you don't understand..." he gulps and searches your face, "I love you."

Your breath hitches in your throat.

"- I want more than this," he slowly admits. "I want to be more than your friend. I'm in love with you."

You squeeze his hand and move a little closer to him, scared that he'll stop confessing his love if you say something to throw him off track.

He holds on to you and can feel how your pulse starts racing underneath your pyjamas. "I hope I'm not scaring you off."

"No, no you're not," you say in a hoarse voice, "not at all. I - I think about you all the time."

"You do?" He breathes hard, clearly not believing what he's hearing.

"Yeah," you merely nod and move your head a little closer to him while he does the same. "I'm in love with you too, Buck. Have been for quite some time."

With a serious look, he moves his hand from off your chest and up to your face where he brushes a finger over the delicate features of your cheekbone and down to your jawline. "I'm gonna kiss you now," he warns in a whisper and waits for you to give him a nod before he reaches his head forwards, finally claiming your mouth with his lips.

His hand snakes down the length of your spine and you press your entire front up against his hard chest and stomach while he caresses the small of your back, slipping his soft tongue inside your mouth. "God," he moans and gently grabs hold of your hips, pulling you impossibly close to him. "You make me feel whole again," he whispers against your skin and kisses a small line from your earlobe and down to the base of your clavicle. "What do you say sweetheart?" he mumbles and nibbles at your skin, "can I take you out?"

"Yeah, Buck, you can take me out," you squeeze his hand, and he smiles for the first time that evening, setting everything inside of you aflame.

He's finally smiling and it's because of you.

"I wanna do it the old-fashioned way," he says, beaming, "bring you flowers. Take you dancing. Show you how you're supposed to be treated."

You can't help but chuckle at his soft innocence. "You're an old man," you brush him over his hair, "nobody goes dancing anymore."

"I'll teach you," he chuckles back but lets it turn into a sharp hiss when he accidentally moves his broken elbow.

"That sounds lovely," you admit with a smile, excited at the prospect of having his hands on your hips while he tells you what to do, "- though I'm afraid we'll have to get that elbow sorted first if you want to manoeuvre me around on the dancefloor. I know you don't see the point in going but... med wing tomorrow morning?"

"Okay," he rolls his eyes with a laugh that makes your stomach go all warm and fuzzy. "If it gets me to go dancing with you just an hour earlier, it's worth the trip... Will you go with me?"

"Yeah, I'll go with you," you kiss his hand, and he chuckles so warmly your stomach lights up again. "I'll go with you always."

#bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes angst with a happy ending #bucky barnes angst #bucky barnes fluff #bucky barnes friends to lovers

[delaber]

@bigtreefest aw love ❤️ so happy you like this. Thank you for letting me know ❤️❤️

Back Again (Bucky Barnes x Reader)

Summary: When Bucky volunteers for a mission going back in time, it’s with one objective and one objective only: to catch a glimpse of the girl he tragically lost a little over three years ago. But as he soon discovers, he has more to say about the past than he thinks.

Warnings: Angst (with a happy ending), major character death (well, not really, but you catch my drift), loads of feelings on Bucky’s behalf.

Words: 7.5K

September 6th

It's an easy mission really; go back to before the archive was compromised and bombed to rubbles by the rogue British forces, pull out the Hannigan file and remember the eight random digits stamped on the front page.

- It's fast in, fast out, Steve had said as he had set the date to three years and fifty-two days prior, shooting Bucky a stern glance from across the room as if he knew exactly what Bucky had been planning to do from the very moment he'd volunteered for the mission.

- Relax Steve, I'll be there early morning. The hallways will be empty.

Technically, it's not a lie.

- You could have chosen any other date. S'all I'm saying

- I know what I'm doing

- Just... —don't let anyone see you, okay?

Getting the intel and memorising the numbers is the easy part - it takes Bucky exactly eleven seconds to imprint the eight digit code in his memory like a burn wound and slip unnoticed out the door of the archive - the hard part is the next step. The secret step that Bucky had planned in his head and hadn't even dared subtly hint to Steve although he definitely already knows and isn't exactly happy about. The stern glance alone had told him as much.

To hell with it, Bucky thinks to himself and pushes away the guilt of not having been fully transparent with his best friend, this is important.

He quietly closes the archive door behind him while looking at the borrowed space-time watch on his wrist and realises that he, by chance, manages to click the door shut just as the seconds hand hits the sixth hour mark. It's perfect, it'll make keeping track of time that much easier. Yet, his time is still limited, so without stopping to catch his breath, he's off! He doesn't want to put himself in a situation where the watch will start sending him warnings in order to reach the jump site on time. It'd happened to Barton once, and Fury was... let's just say not happy. He'd benched Barton for eight months following that incident and Bucky really doesn't want to be in the same situation. He doesn't have much to live for outside of missions, and Fury's been looking for a reason to kick him off the team. So no matter what, he will make it back with time to spare!

Quickly striding along the marble tiles, moving as fast as he can while being careful not to hit any of Pepper's potted ferns lining the dark hallway, he's eager to get to the spot - your spot - where he knows you'll sit and watch the sunrise as you used to do every morning. If he remembers correctly - and he knows he is because he's double and triple checked it with Natasha several times over the last few days - you'll be alone at the compound this morning and he'll have at least a few seconds to sneak a peak without worrying if any of his team mates will creep up behind him. A moment just to himself to see your silhouette one last time as you gaze towards the colourful horizon in the distance - but only for a few seconds or the team back home will grow even more suspicious of him and think that he broke rule number one. And he really can't stand when Steve has that disappointed frown on his face. It's fast in, fast out and Bucky intends to keep it that way.

Still walking fast through the hallway, he looks back at the synchronised watch on his wrist and with a happy sigh realises that he still has plenty of time. He should be able to do it without arising too many questions from the team. Should he cut it too close, he can always tell them there was a problem with accessing the archive but that he eventually managed to get around it. Good.

Gingerly stepping out of the compound and out onto the wooden terrace Sam had built when he'd joined the team a few years back, Bucky realises that he's travelled back to a particularly beautiful morning; the colours of the rising sun are blanketing the entire garden in a pink hue, playing with the water lilies on top of Starks koi pond in the far corner, heating up the dew on the terrace's wooden floorboards so they emit a lovely smell from underneath his boots. It's a beautiful setting, he knows that, but truth be told, he has never really cared much for sunrises - they were always too romantic, too nostalgic for someone who didn't like thinking too much about their past, let alone romanticise it. So what really catches his eye isn't the eruption of colours in the morning sky, it's the curled up figure sitting in the middle of the wooden deck. Surrounded by potted plants and with a steaming cup of tea sat next to bare feet as birds chirp lively in the tree crowns above, you're sitting innocent and unknowing of the fate that so cruelly has been bestowed upon you.

Bucky's heart damn near stops in his chest. He hasn't seen you in so long and suddenly you're sitting right in front of him exactly as he remembers you; sweet, beautiful, warm, and with your hair blowing lazily in the wind as you overlook the garden as part of your precious morning routine. You're wearing the flowered sundress he loves and the setting seems so perfect that he for a moment wonders if this is nothing but a fever dream that he half-expects to wake up from any minute soon. But then the wind picks up your scent and it flows through the air until it reaches his nostrils and makes his lungs come back to life with a small gasp. Immediately and uncontrollably, his breathing picks up its pace again and he just wants to put his wobbly legs to use and run over to you.

However, he doesn't have to remind himself of the first rule of time travel; he knows he's not supposed to be seen, yet there you are, and he's dangerously close to considering throwing caution to the wind just so he can give you one last kiss and tell you how much he misses you. Maybe if he talks to you one last time and tells you how much you mean to him, he can finally stop lying sleepless at night, thinking about what could have been if only you'd stayed in this life? That way, at least you would have known. He has never been this tempted to just say fuck it and break the silent promise he'd made to Steve before he'd been sent back in time.

He carefully takes a step forwards, feels how the familiar scent of your shampoo draws him closer and fills his chest with anticipation of talking to you again - of seeing your smile one last time - but he stops himself before he gets too close. He cannot temper with what happened. He of all people should know that no matter what, you cannot change the past. So with an inaudible sigh, he backs away while looking at your hair flowing elegantly in the breeze before he turns around as quietly as possible, his hand already on the door handle to back inside the compound, disappointed that he has to leave so soon, but happy that he at least got to catch a glimpse of you.

"Well," your sweet, sweet voice suddenly sounds from behind him and it makes him stop dead in his tracks. "- Am I supposed to keep pretending I haven't noticed you staring at me or are you gonna join me?"

Shit, his cover is made! This is not good! He did not prepare for this! What the fuck is he supposed to do now? Turn around and answer? Bolt for the jump site? This was not part of the plan! Fuck!

"- Barnes?" you chuckle when he doesn't respond at all.

With closed eyes, he can hear you shuffling a little as if you're turning around to get a better look at him and he gulps hard before he plasters on a brave smile and rotates on the spot. He only has about a millisecond to brace himself for the feelings that are about to coalesce and crash down on him, yet the moment he sees your face, he knows that no amount of time in the world could've ever prepared him for the all-consuming relief he feels in his chest when he sees your face for the first time in little over three years. A welcoming smile is crinkling at the corners of your eyes, your pouted lips are still in position from having practically sung his name only moments before, and your big, beautiful eyes are boring straight through his soulless holster of a body that you for some goddamn unimaginable reason still seem to like. You'd always said that his mere presence made you feel safe and even though he's had three years of getting used to the fact that he couldn't save you, it still cuts like a knife to have you looking at him like that again.

"Hi sweetheart," he breathes quietly and locks eyes with you. It feels as if he's been kicked in the stomach.

"Hi," you smile broadly at the familiar pet name and Bucky feels his heart skip a beat. "- What are you doing here?" You ask softly and cock your head to the side as you take him in, "I thought you and Sam were supposed to be buried deep in the woods of Siberia right now."

"We finished the mission early," he manages to croak even though it feels as if the Sahara desert has been poured straight down his throat.

"Oh, good! How did it go? Did you get the intel?"

He resorts to nodding as he tries swallowing to lubricate his hoarse throat but the saliva just settles as a thick, immobile lump on top of his larynx, making it all so much worse. He hadn't gotten the intel. He had panicked when Steve had called him, and he and Sam had both run for the quinjet, desperate to come home and help search for you among the rubbles of the archive in the strangled hope of finding you alive.

"Of course you did! I don't know what you were fussing so much about - didn't I tell you, you were the right man for the job?" you send him an impressed grin and it makes him feel even worse for having lied to you.

"Yeah," he croaks guiltily and looks away from you. His heart is hammering a mile a minute and he knows he has to get out of here before he reveals too much but how can he leave when your gaze is finally locked on his again? For a moment, he just wants to forget all about how he's gonna lose everything in a couple of hours.

Out the corner of his eye, he can see how you knit your eyebrows tightly together as you take him in. You'd always had a knack for reading him when he didn't want you to - it was what had brought the two of you together in the first place - but this time, it's really inconvenient.

"Hey, are you alright?" You ask tentatively while twitching your fingers a little as if reaching out for him. Of course you've already seen straight through him. " - you look a little pale."

"Yeah," he clears his throat, telling himself to pull it together, "yeah, I'm good."

"Okay..." you nod but you don't look too convinced by his lie. "Why don't you come join me?" you ask and he can't believe himself and his dumb legs but his muscles start moving autonomously and suddenly, he's sitting next to you, silently savouring how you snuggle up to his side as you look straight ahead and up at the morning sky.

At first, he pretends he's interested in the purple streaks above the two of you as well, but after not even five seconds, he turns his face to look at you, hoping to memorise all your features before it's too late.

"Barnes, you're staring," you chuckle while hyper-focusing your gaze on a spot in the growing horizon.

"Sorry," his voice is thick and pained but he keeps his eyes locked on you. How is he supposed to ever look away?

Slowly, you turn your face to the side, your happy grin slowly slipping from off your lips when you notice his blank eyes. "Hey," you put your hand on his knee and he can feel the electricity building underneath your touch, "- are you sure you're alright?"

He just nods, scared that if he opens his mouth, the truth will come out. Why did he not prepare for this?

"Yeah?" you rub over the small hole in his jeans and the lightning burns like a fire in his veins. He feels so guilty.

"Mm-hmm," he blinks rapidly. "I just missed you."

"Four days out and you miss me?" you chuckle happily and move a little closer to him so he can feel the heat radiating from off your body. "You're turning into a sap! - I bet you didn't mention this to Sam."

"He knows," Bucky mumbles and throws an arm around your body so you can put your head on his shoulder.

"Oh he knows now, does he?" you laugh whole-heartedly in disbelief. Back then, for some stupid reason he cannot even remember right now, Bucky had been so desperate to keep his feelings for you private but with the pain and the sorrow that had followed losing you, he suspects the rest of the team figured it out quite soon after, although he never really confirmed it to either of them. "What did he say? Did he tease you?" you giggle as you link your arm with his and grab tightly around right bicep. "- or use it against you or what it is you're so afraid of?"

"No," Bucky croaks as he blinks a few times and curses at himself for his inability to just play it cool. "He misses you too. We all do."

You straighten your back so you can look directly at him. Your smile is still in place but it freezes slightly as you furrow your eyebrows in confusion. "Okay, I'm not gonna ask you again," you chuckle apprehensively, "- but are you a hundred percent sure you're alright? You're a shadow of yourself today."

"Yeah, sweetheart, I'm good," he pulls you close to his chest and kisses the top of your scalp, "let's just enjoy the sunrise, okay?"

"Okay," you nod quietly and look back towards the morning sky, but out the corner of his eye, he can see how your gaze constantly darts back towards his face. "it's just... Well, since you seem to have absolutely no intensions of bringing it up yourself, I have to ask..." You cock your head to the side and Bucky can feel his breathing speeding up, not sure what you're about to confront him with. "- What happened to your hair?" you laugh sweetly, your lips spreading even further apart in your gorgeous signature grin as you search his face.

He should be relieved that that's what you're wondering about, but it's a detail he hadn't even considered. He had insisted on the long hair back when you'd dated him and now he has no good answer as to why he chose to cut it all off. 

"Did something life-altering happen that I don't know about or did you just feel like suddenly chopping it off?" you joke. Or at least, he thinks you're joking.

"Uh - I - uhm - I just cut it," he says and uncomfortably shift his weight around, eager to have you look anywhere else than his face. Truth be told, he had cut it because something terrible and life-altering had happened to him but he's not about to reveal your fate to you.

"You just cut it?" you arch an eyebrow in disbelief. "On a mission? Was the intel located at a salon?" you laugh again.

"Yeah, well... I figured it was time, you know?"

"Hmm, yeah... Well, it looks good on you," you chip happily and send him a dreamy smile, "but then again, you always look good. It's annoying."

"Mmh," he forces a smile.

Your gaze wanders over his face once more and you push together your eyebrows as you take him in while trying to understand what's going on inside his head. You definitely still think he's acting beside himself.

"You promised you wouldn't ask again," he tries joking to diffuse the tension between you and it seems to work because it immediately has you smiling.

"Don't worry, I won't..." you press your lips tightly together and reach up to run a hand through his short hair just to feel him underneath your fingertips. "Mmh, I missed you," you hum.

Your small, delicate fingers caressing his scalp is a simple touch of warm intimacy that Bucky had completely forgotten the sensation of, and he has to close his eyes to stop himself from crying at the gentleness if it. He never thought he'd feel this again, and there had been many nights since the bombing where he'd cried not only for the loss of you, but for the loss of intimacy as well.

You rake your hand through his hair again, and he can't believe it, but for a short second while you're running your fingers through his short strands, he actually envies the version of himself who's bickering with Sam somewhere in rural Russia right now. The version of himself who's completely oblivious as to what will happen within the next twelve hours. That guy just thinks he's going home to scalp kisses and head scratches by his love at the end of the mission... Bucky doesn't, however, envy the grief that the other version will have to navigate through for the next couple of years until he can finally feel this kind of intimacy again. For a few second he, himself, is the lucky one.

Even with closed eyes, he can sense the deep look you're giving him and although he wants to sit like this forever and revel in your love, he can't risk giving himself away. "Sweetheart, you're missing it..." he says in a strangely throaty voice and nods towards the horizon, not sure what outcome he's hoping for. He just knows he doesn't want to take away your last sunrise ever.

"I don't care," you whisper and rake a hand through his hair one more time. "I know you say you're alright, but you're not... What happened to you?"

"Nothing," he mumbles.

"It's not nothing..." you say softly and scratch at his neck until he finally opens his eyes again. "Why won't you tell me?" you whisper and press in on his aching jaw to get him to unclench it.

He reaches out and intertwines his fingers with the hand you have lying in your lap. "I'll tell you tomorrow, okay? Let's just sit here and enjoy this moment for a little while..."

"If you say so," you nod disappointedly as you look down at your joined hands.

He's so lost, so confused as to what to do now that he doesn't even register how your gaze briefly stops at the familiar watch he's wearing, so when you look up at him again, it's with a foreign, sudden type of sadness he doesn't know where comes from. Your eyes are searching his face, stopping at several fix points that you keep coming back to over and over again: his shorter hair line, the crows feet surrounding his blue irises, the crease above his nose that has only grown more prominent over the recent years, the newly acquired wound on his chin that has turned into a white scar because he hadn't put sunscreen on it last summer. All telltales of time having passed since the last time you'd seen him.

He can practically hear the gears turning in your head before your eyes soften considerably and you give out a sad sigh. "Hmm," you hum quietly and shoot him a despondent look he can't really place. "What are you doing here?

"...What do you mean?" he asks sincerely and presses his eyebrows together as he looks down into your sad eyes.

You give him a second to properly answer your question but when he doesn't, you sigh again and slowly lean forwards while pressing your palm to his face, caressing his bearded chin. "You're not my Bucky..." you say quietly as you stroke his cheekbone.

His breath catches in his throat and his heart immediately starts racing. "W-what?"

"You're not my Bucky" you repeat resolutely while huge eyes are still searching his face, "what are you doing here."

"I don't understand."

"James..." you say softly and cock your head to the side.

He remembers this. It's always James when you want him to speak the truth.

"I could tell something was off from the minute I saw you but the watch gave you away," you nod down to his wrist that is still lying in your lap before your soft gaze finds his eyes again. "Time hasn't been kind to you, has it?" you whisper while lovingly stroking his cheek.

"W-what?" He doesn't even have it in him to protest more than that. Not when you sound so sure of yourself.

"How does it happen?" you ask him gently, overtly controlled. He should have known this; of course you'd figure it out...

"How does what happen?" he blinks desperately, not sure what to do now. He can't be the one who tells you. He can't.

You lower your chin without moving your eyes from his. "I die, don't I? That's why you're here."

He continues blinking rapidly, his breath still caught in his throat as his lungs start heaving for air. Just thinking about it hurts in his chest.

"It's okay," you whisper, your eyes still huge as you try and calm him down. "What - uhm - what happens? Will we be together when it occurs?"

"No," he whimpers and throws away his very last hope of fooling you into believing that it isn't the reason why he's here. "I won't be home yet."

"You won't be home yet..." you repeat in a low voice and Bucky sees how your eyes grow wide as you slowly manage put two and two together. "Buck -- when does this happen?" you ask shakily and for the first time, he detects a trace of fear in your voice.

He gives out a short whimper in reply and clutches your hand tightly as he feels the tears well in his eyes. How is he supposed to tell you that you have less that twenty-four hours to live?

"When?" you repeat quietly and hold on to him even tighter than before.

"Sweetheart, don't make me say it," he avoids looking at you.

"Don't you think I have a right to know...?"

"Of course you do it's just--"

"-When?"

Bucky takes a deep, ragged breath before he confirms the very thing you suspect and fear. "This afternoon, a bomb will go off in the West Wing."

"This afternoon?" You drop the grip you have on his hand while staring at him in shock. "I'm going to die... today?”

"Don't - don't say it like that," he whines. "Please, it's so unfair! You have so much to live for and it's all taken away from you just like that. I'd trade places with you in a heartbeat but I'm not here, and I won't be here before it's too late. I'm so sorry sweetheart. I'm so sorry!"

"It's okay, Buck." With huge eyes and your mouth hanging wide open, you stare at him as you let the shock settle down around you. "It's okay... it's okay..." you eventually say and force-close your locked jaw as you rub a hand over your face. "I'm sorry, but - uh - I need to know. What exactly happens? Who else will be here?"

"We're all away," Bucky sighs with regret, "It's just you and Natasha."

Immediately, you cover your mouth with your hand, "Nat!" you gasp, even more shocked by this than by the news of your own passing.

"Nat's fine," Bucky immediately interrupts and grabs your hand again, holding it tight, "she's going to be at the gym."

"...And me?"

"I don't know sweetheart," he whispers, "Nat told us that you wanted to get some work done so you skipped out on your training. We think you may be at the centre of the blast. We - we never find you," he breathes through his nose to keep himself controlled. He can feel the tears pressing in on his eyeballs again when he thinks of the empty coffin they had to bury.

"At least it's quick then," you say and turn your face towards the garden that is still bathed in the pink hue from the rising sun. "I'm going to die today," you say matter-of-factly with your gaze fixed on the sky. "huh... So we never get to go on that date on Friday?

"No sweetheart..."

"- And we've already had our last kiss?

He nods. "Yeah..."

"I'm sorry," you whisper while staring at him with sad eyes, "I'm sorry you have to go through all that alone."

"I'm not alone," he mumbles and looks down at his feet. "Steve tries to talk to me. Sam too."

"But you don't accept," you chuckle sadly while shaking your head from side to side while playfully rolling your eyes at him, "God, you're so stubborn!"

"I know," he nods, "but it's too painful to talk about even now."

"How much time passes?" you look back at him while taking a deep breath. "How many years ahead are you right now?"

"It doesn't matter," he gulps guiltily. He knows how this part of the conversation will go.

"James..."

"Three," he sucks in a bit of air, hoping that it isn't that much time in your eyes.

"Three years?" you whine, your eyes huge with the shock of his confession as you clutch your chest, "Baby, you have to move on!"

Immediately, his heart cracks in two and he can no longer hold back the tears that he finally lets flow freely down his cheeks without trying to stop them. "No, I can't," he sniffles quietly, "I don't want to. I just wish you were still here. I miss you so much, you have no idea. I feel so guilty for being away. I think about it all the time."

"Bucky," you say softly and put a hand underneath his chin, wiping away a few tears and forcing him to look back up at you, "- you couldn't have done anything anyway. You know what I'm like when I put my mind to something. If you'd been here, you would probably have gone to the gym with Nat because I would still have gone to the West Wing to finish up work. It wouldn't have changed anything."

"But I never even get to tell you how I feel."

"Bucky, look at me," you whisper with a small smile and lean forwards, "it's okay. You don't have to tell me. I already know." You put your forehead to his and smile softly at him, "- and I hope you know that I feel the same about you."

With a gulp, he nods.

"Then kiss me," you wipe away another of his tears and tilt your head.

He closes his eyes and finds your mouth immediately, pushes himself impossibly close to your body and feels the softness pour over him as you press your pillowy lips to his in the most heartfelt kiss he's ever experienced. He tries to let his love shine through as raw as possible so there will be absolutely no doubt how much he loves you but from the way you're holding on to him, he can feel that you truly do already know. Your hand is warm against his face and it causes his heart to calm down its rapid beating while your lips move like silk on top of his.

"Mmh, sweetheart," he whispers into your mouth and feels every inch of you engulf him in love and bravery. Suddenly, he's free, so liberated from the grief that has been hanging over his head for so long that he completely forgets that he's on borrowed time.

The loud sounds coming from his wrist watch that suddenly begins beeping out of nowhere is the only terrible reminder of the setting he's in - that there's a deadline hanging over his head if he ever wants to make it home again.

"You're cutting it close, huh?" you say quietly as you reluctantly break off the kiss and place your forehead back on his. You both know that the watch only starts beeping when there's less than two minutes left to get to the jump site.

"I don't care," he shakes his head, not sure what else to say as he feels reality come crashing down on him again.

"You're really gonna let it go to red?" you chuckle as if impressed. "You know that Fury's gonna tear you a new one, right?"

"I don't care."

"I bet you don't," you chuckle and he joins you in smiling, revelling in the odd sensation that it brings to his cheeks to chuckle like this again. "I'm glad you found me, Barnes."

"Me too, sweetheart," he whispers as the smile slips from off his face again. "I wish there was something I could do..."

"You're here right now, aren't you?" you smile and briefly kiss him again, "I'm glad you came back, even just for a few minutes."

"It's not enough to say goodbye..." he mumbles and laces his fingers with yours.

"Oh, but this? This is not a goodbye," you chuckle quietly while shaking your head, "it's an I'll see you later."

"If you say so," he nods without really accepting your explanation and ignores the incessant beeping from his watch that only grows louder and louder by the second.

"You should probably get back, don't you think? Wouldn't want you to miss your mark and have you stuck here with me."

"Mmm," he whimpers and desperately kisses your knuckles with closed eyes.

"Chin up Barnes," you chuckle at him, "- the sky is the most beautiful I've ever seen it and I had a good run. I'll be okay."

"I'll miss you," he says as the watch starts blinking angry red, warning him that he only has thirty seconds left.

"I'll miss you too," you say and squeeze his fingers tightly before you let go of him, "you have twenty-seven seconds. Promise me you'll make it back, okay?"

"Okay," he nods and slowly stands up, taking one last look at you before he walks across the wooden floorboards and back towards the door he'd entered through.

"Hey Barnes?" You say when his hand reaches the doorknob and it immediately makes him turn around to see you standing on your feet, looking at him with a resolute look in your eye, your hands determinedly balled to fists by your side. "You say you're three years ahead. What date is it where you're from?"

"Uh... September sixth?" he says, a bit confused as to why that should matter but he's not about to deny a dying woman an answer to her question. "Why?"

"Just out of curiosity," you nod towards his angry watch, "twenty seconds."

"I know."

"I'll see you later, okay?"

"I'll see you baby," he whispers and physically feels his heart crack even worse in his chest as he takes a definitive last look at you. The sun is coming up behind you now, marking the worst day of Bucky's existence and all he can do is let it happen.

September 7th

He didn't even think it possible, but it's even worse than the first time around.

He'd collapsed on the floor the minute he'd exited the quantum realm, tears and snot blurring his vision as he'd fallen to his knees, his heart aching so horribly in his chest he'd thought he was dying. He wasn't. Unfortunately.

Steve had been there in an instant, on his knees beside Bucky, holding him tight, making sure he didn't pass out from hyperventilating, trying to calm him down.

The rest is a blur. Bucky isn't sure how Steve managed to manoeuvre him to his bedroom on the tenth floor and he doesn't even remember if Steve had been there when he'd finally fallen asleep, dreaming of you and the feeling of your body in his arms, your lips touched to his.

When he wakes up the next morning, it takes him a minute to remember that you're still gone, and in that moment, he isn't sure if seeing you again was liberating or just pure torture. If only he could've done something to fix what had happened....

"Buck?" Steve's voice immediately sounds from beside him as he starts shuffling a bit in the sheets, eager to get the cold sweat to stop pooling at his forehead. He turns around on the bed and meets the disheveled face of Steve who's occupying the chair where Bucky usually puts his dirty clothes, his eyes red with sleep deprivation, his hair sticking up in all possible directions.

"Stevie..." Bucky croaks and clears his throat as he takes in the state of his best friend who's clearly stayed by his side all night. "What are you doing here?"

"As if I was just going to leave you," Steve sighs solemnly and rubs his eyes. "How are you?"

Bucky sits up straight and lets his head fall back against the headrest. He can still see the broken look you'd sent him when he'd revealed your terrible fate to you. "You know how I am."

"Yeah..." he sighs again and looks away. "I'm sorry Buck but you're gonna have to talk about it."

"I know I broke a rule. You and Fury can yell at me tomorrow, okay?" Bucky says quietly and tries to block out the mental image of what'd happened to you. "I just need some time."

Steve reaches out his hand and lets it fall on top of Bucky shoulder. "Buck, I'm - I'm not gonna yell at you. I just want you to finally open up to me, you've been so closed off since it happened. I know what you had with her was... special. And I know why you went back and talked to her, I've been tempted to do the same many times. Trust me."

"I just wanted to see her," Bucky squeezes his eyes shut and bites his lip, desperately trying to get his breathing under control again. "I never intended to talk to her, it just... happened. I think I'd forgotten how observant she was."

"I know," Steve pushes down on Bucky's shoulder and shoots him a sympathetic smile. "How much did you tell her?"

"...Everything."

"And how did she take it?"

"She was really brave about it. I think I took it worse than she did... I don't know, I'm gonna need some time to process it all..."

"Mmh," Steve nods in quiet desperation, not sure what to do or say to make Bucky feel better. "I'll give you some space then, okay pal? I'll check in again in a couple of hours."

"Please don't," Bucky sighs and lays his head back down on his pillow, his mind already overflowing with every memory of you. All the way back from the first time he'd seen you to the point where he'd told you you were about to die. Shit.

He's so lost in thought he almost doesn't hear the hurried footsteps coming from the hallway, and he barely even registers the door being kicked open as Sam yells his name. "Bucky! Bucky, wake the hell up! You have to come downstairs! Now!"

"Sam?" Steve questions, already on his feet, ready to run to whatever emergency Sam is warning. "What's going on?"

Sam's eyes are wide open, his mouth falling agape in disbelief as he quietly chuckles and frantically waves Bucky and Steve over to him, "Come on! It's unbelievable! You have to see it for yourselves!"

"I don't care what it is, I'm not coming," Bucky mumbles from the bed and pulls his comforter closer around his chest, praying for Sam and Steve to leave him alone.

Sam bends down and picks up the nearest pair of jeans, throwing it over to Bucky on the bed. "Put on some pants, man, and come down stairs. Now!"

Bucky looks to Steve for help but he merely shrugs before he throws Bucky a black hoodie from underneath the chair he'd been occupying only moments before.

"You've got to be fucking kidding me," he mumbles under his breath and reluctantly swings his legs over the side of the mattress, well knowing that his two friends won't leave him alone until he's seen what Sam's fussing about for himself.

"Come on!" Sam urges and impatiently taps the doorframe to Bucky's room with his foot as Bucky slowly pulls on the jeans and hoodie just to annoy him.

"Sam what's going on?" Steve finally asks again when they're all three standing in the elevator, zooming towards the ground floor.

"Just... just wait, okay?" he says rapidly, clearly excited about what's going on. It's giving Bucky a goddamn headache. "You're not gonna believe me anyway!"

Bucky gives out an annoyed sigh as he throws his head up against the back wall of the elevator, closing his eyes. He needs a fucking aspirin.

"You good?" Steve turns to him while Sam continues his nervous-tapping against the floor.

"I'm about to strangle Sam if that's what you’re worried about..."

Sam stops tapping and opens his mouth to retort, but is interrupted by a loud ding as the doors slide open and instead settles for an annoyed look sent in Bucky's direction before he turns around. Immediately, the three men are met by Natasha's loud squeals coming from the next room, causing Steve to half-jog out of the elevator and through the empty hallway while Bucky slouches after him, counting the seconds until he can finally be alone again and wallow in his misery.

Steve stops in the doorway to the next room, his jaw practically dropping to the floor as soon as he sees what Natasha's so worked up about. It only takes him exactly two seconds of utter shock before he composes himself enough to turn his head and look Bucky straight in the eye. "Buck... it's..." his voice trails off as he looks back at the scene unfolding before him.

"What's happening?" Bucky asks curiously for the first time, and can feel how his heart picks up its pace as he dreads the sight that will meet him when he catches up to Steve.

"Come on, man," Sam says and puts his hand between Bucky's shoulder blades, urging him to move forwards so he can see for himself.

It feels as if it's taking him an eternity to reach those last few yards across the hallway, and when he's finally by Steve's side, he's so worked up, he isn't even sure if his mind is playing tricks on him or not. Because there, in the middle of the room, Natasha is standing in a tight embrace with none other than ...you?

Bucky blinks a few times, takes a step forwards, not sure if he's still dreaming.

You have tears running down your cheeks as you lock eyes with him over your best friend's shoulder and you can't stop the broad smile that spreads on your lips. "Buck," you whisper and immediately let go of Natasha who sniffles and steps to the side so Bucky can see all of you.

There you are. Standing in all your glory, unharmed, undead, living and breathing, and singing his name so sweetly as you take a step towards him, your feet shaking nervously underneath you.

"Are you seeing this too?" Bucky whispers to Steve though he doesn't dare move his eyes away from your form in fear of losing you if it turns out to just be a cruel illusion.

"Yeah, Buck," Steve's voice is shaking by his side, "I see her too."

"Buck," you laugh through the tears that continue to roll down your cheeks. "It's really me," you lift your hand and reach out for him.

"Oh my god," he whispers and strides across the room. Immediately, you're in his arms and he's crying your name as he touches you all over your body to make sure you're really there, squeezing you against his chest, kissing the top of your scalp, running his hands over your back, "I don't believe this!"

"Hi baby," you whisper and kiss his neck, his ear, his cheek. "I'm here. It's okay, I'm here."

"You're alive?" he sniffles and briefly holds you out at an arms length before he pulls you close to his chest again, "how? We all thought you were dead!"

"I'm sorry," you whisper and hold him as close as possible as you mumble against his chest. "I couldn't give you any signs of life. I couldn't risk it."

He puts a hand under your chin and urges you to look up at him. "Risk what?" he frantically searches your face, voice shaking, still desperate to confirm you're really here.

You put your hand on his chest as you always do to calm him down and send him a deep, intimate look. "I had to wait until after September 6th of this year to see you again. I'm sorry."

"I - I don't understand..." he says and strokes his thumb over your cheek.

"Come here," you break off the tight embrace and lead him to a small bench in the corner of the room, sitting him down beside you. "What you did that day saved me," you grab his hand and wrap it in your tiny fingers, "I would have been in the West Wing when the bomb went off if you hadn't said anything... But because of you, I left early. Like you said I would, I told Nat I couldn't come with her to the gym because I was going to finish up a mission report, so I waited until after she'd started her work-out to leave. I couldn't write you a note, or give you any sign of what'd happened because you needed the motive to go back in time to save me. I had to keep you grieving or you never would've come, so I just... left... I've been hiding in a small village in the mountains of Spain, waiting for this exact date. That's why you never found a body among the rubble."

"W-what? ...but we - we searched for weeks," he whispers, not sure why that's the detail he decides to focus on. He's not sure his shocked brain can fully comprehend your confession. He's having trouble just moving his shaking limbs. "You're alive..."

"I know. I'm sorry, baby. But it was necessary."

"You're alive..." he repeats quietly, the realisation slowly dawning upon him. "I don't believe it..." he whispers and pulls you close to his chest again as the tears start stinging in his eyes, "you're alive..."

"Yeah, I'm alive," you sniffle against him and hug him just as tightly as you'd done what was only mere hours ago for him, three years and fifty-three days for you. "You saved me."

"Oh my god," he cries into your neck, kissing your shoulder, "I've missed you so much!"

"You've been so brave," you whisper against him and caress the back of his head, "I'm so proud of you."

"No, I've been a pathetic mess. These guys can testify to that," he mumbles and points to over his shoulder where he can hear Sam and Nat chuckle quietly. "I never thought I'd see you again."

"I know," you smile sadly, "seeing you like that that day was heartbreaking. I knew I had to do something or you wouldn't survive it."

"I am so glad you did," he kisses your knuckles and scoots a little closer to you. "I mean, I knew you were stubborn but I never took you for such a cosmic rule-breaker, sweetheart," he smiles through the tears, and shoots you an impressed glance, "Fury's gonna tear you a new one."

You shoot back your head with laughter and sweetly wrap his hand up in yours. "Yeah, thank God that's never stopped me before," you giggle.

He never thought he'd sit like this with you again, and when you finally lean in close and kiss him, he promises himself that he'll never let you go.

#bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes imagine #bucky barnes #bucky x reader #bucky barnes fanfic

[delaber]

@whimsybutt meep 🥺

Warrior/Worrier (Bucky Barnes x Reader)

Summary: After a mission gone awry, Bucky finds himself on your doorstep in the middle of the night.

Words: 5.3K

Fluff, fluff and fluff and a lil bit of angst. Classic hurt/comfort and friends to lovers

Through the darkness, there's a knock on your bedroom door, so soft, so cautious, that if you hadn't already been half-awake, you're not sure you would've caught it.

Legs quickly swung over the side of your mattress, you stop and focus at a fixpoint in your moonlit room.

According to the big mission schedule hung in Steve's office, you should be the only one at the compound, so you cannot for the life in you figure out who would rap on your door at 3.30 in the morning, but it wasn't just something you'd imagined because there it is again. A knock, not much louder than before, but definitely there.

For a brief second, your foggy brain ponders that it's likely someone who's been sent to kill you in the dead of night, but before you've even reached for your bedside Beretta, rationality reminds you that they probably wouldn't have had the curtesy to knock first - and then it dawns on you.

"Nat," you sigh with a roll of your eyes and let your bare feet hit the floor while you rub the sleep from off your face. It's not the first time she's forgotten the lock combination to her room after post-mission drinks.

Slowly, you walk across the cold floorboards and over to the wooden door where you can hear ragged breathing from the other side of the wall. Hand lazily pulling the door open, you start talking before you've seen who's on the other side.

"It's only four digits and you're panic breathing?" you chuckle but is immediately taken aback when you're not met by Natasha but instead by your best friend. "...Buck?"

He's back from his mission a day earlier than you'd expected and you're just about to crack a witty comment on how you'd told him that Sam couldn't stand to be alone with him for more than thirty-six hours, but then you notice the state he's in.

His entire body is slumped over as he clutches his right arm tight to his chest, eyes droopy and blank, cheekbones dotted by freckles of soot and framed by thick strands of auburn hair caked in dried blood. "Doll," he breathes painfully and takes a step closer, looking only mildly relieved to see you.

"Buck!" you hiss in fear and grab both his cheeks, but his dirty face just drops further, and he can't even look at you though you're standing mere inches apart.

"I know it's late," he mumbles with his gaze downcast, "but can I come in?"

It's as if you don't hear him clearly enough to respond. His voice is under water and at the same time layers above you while you're far too concerned with every look of horror splashed across his handsome face, your hands frantically clutching his bloodied cheeks as you desperately search his eyes though he still won't look at you. "What happened? Where's all this blood coming from?"

"It's - it's not mine..." he croaks with a small shake of his head.

Fear ripples through your entire body one more time and you can barely speak as you imagine the worst possible scenario that might have caused Bucky to behave like this. "Is it... Sam?" you whimper with tears already burning in your eyes, fighting the urge to throw up.

"He's fine," Bucky quickly interrupts with a small nod, "I dropped him off at his girl's place twenty minutes ago," he croaks and finally looks up at you, his eyes more broken than you've ever seen them before. It makes your heart crack in two. "Sweetheart, can I please come in?"

"Oh god," you pant anxiously and reluctantly let your fingers slide off his cheeks as you step to the side and finally let him inside your bedroom. "Yes, yes of course you can come in."

Immediately, he's on your bed, his face buried in his vibranium hand as the pads of his fingers start rubbing circles over his dusty forehead.

"What happened?" you barely manage to croak as you sit down beside him and carefully place a hand on his rigid thigh. "Last time I heard from you, everything was going according to plan."

"I don't want to talk about it," he gulps and starts rubbing his face even more agitatedly, looking over at you with an apologetic look on his face. "- not right now... I just had to see you. I'm sorry I woke you up."

You grab his vibranium hand and bring it down to his lap to get him to stop his frantic movements and he immediately squeezes you tight, letting out another heart-breaking sob.

"It's okay, Buck. I'm glad you're here."

Over the last year, you've seen Bucky on his darkest days a handful of times, and he usually has the same look on his face, but this time, it's different. It's deeper. Despondent and morose, the anger that's usually posessing him om the bleaker days replaced by a different kind of sadness.

Something really bad must've happened...

"Do you wanna sleep in here tonight?" you ask, unsure how to tackle this the best way possible if you don't want him to shield himself off in his room the way he usually does when he's not feeling his best. He shouldn't be alone under any circumstances.

You're half expecting him to protest, but to your surprise he starts nodding, relieved. "Thank you," he whispers and squeezes your hand tight again.

You make an attempt at a comforting touch as you brush over the soot on his cheeks, making a strand of dirty hair dipped in dried blood fall from his forehead. "You want a shower? I can draw you a bath."

He nods again.

"Come on, love," you say quietly and watch as he gulps hard at the sound of the tender pet-name that you've been wanting to call him for months now but haven't had the guts to say out loud until it accidentally slips past your lips. Surprisingly, you're not even embarrassed by yourself. You suppose there are more important things to worry about than an accidental profession of love in a moment of gentle affection.

Bucky seems taken aback too, frozen, and full of wonder, but he shakes it off and lets you pull him to your small bathroom, accepting your fluffiest towel without a word as he continues staring at you.

"I'll be just outside, okay?" you say reassuringly as you turn on the water in your bathtub, making sure it's the right temperature before putting in the drain stopper.

He's still looking at you with huge eyes, flesh arm clutched to his chest while the fluffy white towel gently supports his elbow. You silently wonder if he's hurt but before you can ask him, he speaks.

"Can you... stay?" He asks quietly, biting his inner cheek, unsure if his request is too much.

Still, it's your turn to be taken aback. You and Bucky are close but not like that. 

"Stay?" you instinctively furrow your eyebrows, "while you shower?

He immediately clenches his jaw shut and shakes his head while small patches of pink appear on his cheeks underneath all the dirt. "I'm sorry. I shouldn't have asked."

"No, no it's okay," you quickly stand up from your position by the tub spout so you're once again levelled. "- I was just surprised, that's all," you want to smack yourself for making him doubt himself. "Of course I'll stay."

Ice blue irises slowly find yours while the rose tint of his lower lip is being pulled between his teeth. "Are you sure?" he hesitates while sucking in some air, "I don't want to make you uncomfortable..."

"You're not," you touch your hand to his sternum to underline your words and watches as the crease between his eyebrows slowly reduces as he gradually relaxes under your touch. You can't help but think that even through all the dust and the grime, he looks incredibly beautiful.

"Let me give you some privacy," you unwillingly let go of him and turn away so he can undress in peace.

From behind you, you can hear the ruffle of his tac pants being pushed down his legs before the belt buckle clangs loudly against the tiles of the floor. It's followed by a series of loud painful grunts and hisses a few seconds later.

"Are you okay?" you ask and turn your head to the side, careful not to look directly at him as to not break the trust he put in you when he asked you to stay. "Buck?"

"Yeah, sweetheart," he sighs in embarrassment behind you, "it's just... do you think you could... help me?"

You turn around slowly to find him standing in the middle of the bathroom still wearing his torn t-shirt and Kevlar vest, bare-legged in boxer shorts and black socks pulled high up on his calf while his pants are lying crumbled on the floor beside him. He's awkwardly shifting the weight between his two feet, still clutching his right arm tightly. "It's my elbow."

Immediately, you furrow your eyebrows and walk over to him, taking his right hand in yours. "Yeah, I meant to ask you earlier. What happened?"

He doesn't answer but just silently lets you examine the swelling and black-purple skin that's half-hidden underneath dust and blood.

"Shit," you breathe and hear him give out a sharp hiss when you turn his arm over so you can examine the other side, "Buck, I think your elbow's torn."

"Me too," he gulps, "- I heard it snap."

At the mere thought of the sound, a wave of nausea hits you square in the chest and your stomach starts to churn. You can feel the tang of acid push up on your tongue when you imagine the pain he must've been enduring - still is enduring - but you fight it relentlessly and eventually manage to swallow down the bile. You should be taking care of him, not the other way around.

"We should go down to the infirmary," you say and keep your gaze firmly placed on the purple bruising, so he doesn't notice your discomfort. "I know it probably won't take too long to heal with the serum and all but just to make su-"

"Sweetheart," he gulps from above you and it makes you stop mid-sentence. "Not tonight, okay? I just wanna stay here tonight."

You look up at him, about to protest, but the words quickly die in your throat when you notice the look he's wearing. He's begging. Anxious. Heavy-hearted.

"Okay," you reluctantly agree and carefully let go of his arm while he sends you a grateful look. "Come on, let me help you out of this," you say quietly in defeat and unstrap his vest beneath his ribs, pulling the Kevlar plates over his head while he groans loudly.

"Ah!" he hisses and clutches his elbow tight, squeezing his eyes shut when you try and pull his t-shirt over his head. "Fuck!"

"You good?"

"Mm-hmm" he hums displeased with lips pressed so tightly together they're forming a thin, white line. "Just get it over with."

You pull on the hem again so the dark fabric rides up his stomach, revealing scarred skin pulled tight over the bulging muscles you've spent so many warm summer days discreetly staring at. "Can you reach your arms just a little higher?" you ask and watch how his diaphragm heaves in small electric shocks when he cannot control the loud gasps that escape his throat.

"Fuck me!" He hisses and squeezes his eyes so tightly shut that his entire face pales. "Just rip the damn fabric off," he hisses angrily, "I can't extend my fucking arm."

"Are you sure you don't wanna get it checked out in the med wing?" You let go of his t-shirt and look him deep in the eye, hoping your concerned gaze can convince him that it'll be worth the trip just to get your jumping nerves under control.

"Just... get me out of this thing," he sighs in defeat. "Cut it open, I don't care."

Disinclined, you dive down in the drawer underneath your sink, pulling out a small flat-legged scissor that came with a roll of gauze you bought last year when you had a nasty wound that wouldn't stop bleeding. "Are you sure?" You look up at him as you put the blade underneath the hem of his t-shirt.

Through the fingers you have placed over his chest, you can feel how his pulse quickly falls again when your eyes meet.

"S'just a t-shirt," he mumbles quietly while nodding, "I'm sure..."

Though you want to stay in this position forever, you slowly look away from him and down at your hands as your hesitantly start cutting, careful not to pierce Bucky's flesh with the sharp scissors.

The blade runs through the fabric like a hot knife through butter and you can feel every tense muscle that the edge of the scissors encounters as they travel over his warm stomach and chest. It makes the blood roar in your ears as more and more skin is revealed underneath your fingertips.

Concentrated on not hurting him even more, you keep your gaze firmly placed on his heavily panting chest as you cut open the front of his black shirt and carefully peel the fabric off his bruised arm until he's standing in front of you in nothing but black boxers and socks, his left hand carefully reaching out for yours as if to comfort both of you.

You've seen him bare chested several times before, but it's never been in this close proximity, never been this intimate, just the two of you holding hands and looking each other deep in the eye as you silently try to assure the other that everything is going to be okay.

"So..." you clear your throat, embarrassed by the fact that you have to hold yourself back from leaning forwards, planting a small kiss on his dusty cheek. "- I take it you can shimmy your way out of those on your own, right?" You nod down towards his boxers and he blinks as if he's just woken up from a trance.

"Yeah," he nods and lets go of your hand while the pink patches make a reappearance on his face.

Slowly, you turn around facing the running spout in the tub to the soft sound of cotton hitting the floor behind you. Involuntarily, you give out a gulp and flusteredly grab the box of bath salts just to give your shaking hands something to do. You cannot believe that your extremely fuckable best friend is standing naked in your bathroom no more than two feet away, begging you to stay close to him.

Eyes still firmly placed on the water in the tub, you point over your shoulder to the rainfall shower in the opposite corner of the bathroom. "You wanna rinse off first?"

"I better," Bucky hesitates behind you. "Don't you think?"

"It'll be a much nicer bath if you do," you awkwardly clear your throat.

"Yeah, you're right," he sighs and turns on the shower, immediately stepping inside and closing the glass door behind him so you can finally breathe freely again.

Through the mirror above the sink, you can make out his naked silhouette behind the matte glass and how the tension in his shoulders first tenfolds and then completely disappears the minute the water turns warm and he relaxes. He lets his forehead fall forwards so it's pressed up against the cold tiles while the water runs over his defined shoulders and down his sculpted back, and you literally have to force your eyes away from him and the shape of his handsome torso.

With your gaze fixed firmly on the fuzzy bathmat at the foot of the shower, you hear the sound of your bath gel being opened, followed by a series of painful grunts as Bucky desperately tries to lather himself with the soap.

"Fuck," he mumbles quietly and before you've even voiced a single word of concern, he continues. "Sweetheart, I know it's a lot to ask..." he says a little louder, the embararssement still evident in his voice, "- but I'm gonna need a little help in here... it's - it's this damn elbow," he sighs, "I'm useless. Can you...?" his voice trails off and the question hangs thickly in the air between you.

He wants you to join him.

To wash him.

Take care of him.

The thought alone makes you nervous, you have to admit, but he needs your help and you're willing to do anything for him.

"Give me a minute," you gulp and strip down to your panties, pulling on the bra you wore earlier so you're not completely bare in there. Several times, you've dreamt of you and Bucky naked together, but not like this - never like this - and you'll be damned if the first time he sees you without a shred of clothes is because he needs help and not because he needs you.

With your pyjamas neatly folded on top of the toilet seat cover, you take a final look at yourself in the mirror, brushing your hair out of your eyes before nervously reaching for the shower door with shaking hands.

He's still standing with his chiselled back towards you, letting the water rinse over his dirty hair and down between his shoulder blades with a slightly pinkish hue. "I'm so sorry about this," he mumbles uncomfortably and hands you your loofah behind his back. "I'll make it up to you, I promise."

"Come on, Buck," you say as you dribble a little soap on the sponge, fighting the urge to let your gaze run all the way down to his thick thighs. "Don't beat yourself up, you know I'm always here for you."

"Still," he mumbles and goes silent as the loofah gently runs over his tense shoulders and traces down his spine.

The white soap bubbles work magic on his dirty skin and you make sure not to leave out a single square inch of his scarred backside as you wash him while fighting the urge to wrap your arms around his torso, telling him how glad you are that he not alone came home, but also that he came to you seeking help instead of barricading himself in his room. It seems significant that he's here, as if something's changed between you though you cannot put your finger on it.

Completely lost in thought, you accidentally run the loofah a little too vigorously over his right tricep, sending shockwaves down his broken bone and resulting in a painful hiss falling from his open mouth.

"Sorry," you mumble, and scrub down his lower back, this time more careful with your movements though there aren't any dirty or bloody spots left on either side of his spine. "There we go" you conclude quietly when you realise that the rinsing water has finally lost its pink and grimy hue. "Turn around," you ask and hope he cannot hear the nervousness straining your voice. No matter what, you're not looking down.

Bucky seems just as jittery about his compromising position as you do, and he slowly spins around, revealing pink cheeks and heaving pecs, his gaze glued to the ceiling as he looks as if he's ready to fling himself off the nearest cliff. "God, sweetheart," he mumbles and breathes hard, "I'm so sorry for all this."

"Bucky, come on - what'd I tell you?" you touch the loofah to his chest, careful not to look anywhere than at the sponge itself as it traces over his collar bones and down his handsome stomach.

He merely sighs and stands completely still while you rinse the crevices between the metal plates over his left clavicle, careful not to move his torso so much he hisses in pain again.

"...You're a good friend," he mumbles after a few focused minutes where you've carefully been scrubbing the gold-plated lines in the vibranium, "- I ever tell you that?"

"All the time," you smile genuinely for the first time since he knocked on your door earlier that evening. If there's one thing you can count on, it's that Bucky Barnes appreciates you more than anything.

"I mean it," he says, "never doubt that."

You look up into his eyes.

He looks so soft and innocent as he stands before you, face finally clean, wet hair sticking to his forehead while he professes his love for you. Even if it's just platonic, it makes your heart skip a beat.

"I know, Buck."

"Good," he nods and blinks a few times with heavy, wet lashes framing his cerulean eyes. The air between you is thicker than ever and for a brief moment, it looks as if he's about to lean in and kiss you, but you break the tension by looking away. You don't want to take advantage of his vulnerable state no matter how badly you want that kiss.

"You ready for the tub?" You ask him in a weirdly shaky voice.

He nods while an almost inaudible sigh escapes his lips. "Yeah," he says and turns off the water, quickly exiting the shower before you can take notice of the disappointment burning on his skin.

You dry your feet on the small fuzzy mat, carefully watching Bucky's naked backside as he tests the temperature in the tub by dipping his toe in the water before stepping over the porcelain edge, sitting himself down.

Immediately, he gives out a content sigh, and drapes right arm over his chest, supporting his broken elbow with vibranium fingers, and you finally deem the situation safe enough to approach him again.

"Want me to wash your hair?"

"Mmh" he hums with closed eyes, immediately more relaxed now that he's covered by water. "I don't deserve you."

You grab your shampoo bottle and push out a decent amount of liquid, pressing it to his warm scalp to the sound of an alleviated sigh falling from his lips as you carefully start massaging it into his roots.

"Does that feel good?" you ask through a smile.

"Yeah, sweetheart," he groans quietly, making the butterflies in your stomach flutter awake, "- feels amazing."

You're slowly lathering shampoo into his long hair, enjoying the feel of him underneath your fingertips, how his soft hair slips through your hands while also trying not to think too much about the kiss you robbed yourself of in the shower. You can hear how his breathing slowly steadies and you think that maybe he's in the early stages of sleep but then he unexpectedly heaves a deep breath -

"You know... I haven't been scared of death for a long time," he says so sudden, so seriously that you're immediately brought out of your trance as your every muscle freezes at his austere tone of voice. "I used to not care if I lived or died but... tonight didn't go as planned," he swallows thickly and you can see how his jaw tenses up as his voice becomes husky, "- they... had me."

"What?" you pant with mortification, your every skeletal muscle paralysed as your breathing picks up. You don't have to ask him who he's talking about.

"Sam and I, we were so sure of ourselves," he shakes his head with his gaze fixed on the wall straight ahead. "We thought had the perfect plan... I - I'm such an idiot, nothing ever runs smoothly with Hydra."

You can feel your heart thumping in your throat. "What happened?" You whisper.

"Sam was on the look-out while I got the hard drive," he mumbles, "it was so easy. It didn't even take me five minutes before I was heading back towards the safehouse," he gulps, "- of course it was an ambush. I should have realised the minute I set foot inside that building."

"You couldn't have known," you whimper softly and stroke his scalp, but he doesn't listen.

"- I thought I was..." the words drown in a heavy sigh, and he stares blankly into space while blinking the tears away.

"Buck," you whisper and can feel the pain radiating from every fibre of his entire being when you wrap your arms around his wet torso and hold him close to your chest.

"They took me to a room. Strapped me down," he takes a ragged breath, and you hold on to him even tighter, "I was sure that was it. I never thought I'd find myself home again."

"You're home now," you whisper and softly kiss his shoulder, hoping that he doesn't feel the tear that lands on top of his clavicle. "You're home now with me."

"I know, sweetheart," he leans into your hug with a sigh, "trust me, I know."

"Everything's gonna be alright, love," you whisper against him and stroke your hand over his hair, "it's you and me against the world, always."

"You and me," he quietly confirms and leans back into your chest with a deep breath.

You continue stroking him over the hair, hold on to him for dear life, not willing to let go as you feel him relax more and more in your arms until he starts snoring slightly, finally warm and safe in your embrace.

"Buck, come on," you instinctively kiss him right below his ear, "you're sleeping. Let's get you into bed."

"Sorry," he mumbles groggily and lets his head fall back against your shoulder. "m'just so fucking tired. Been up thirty-six hours..."

"We'll talk tomorrow," you kiss him again and unwillingly unwrap yourself from around his chest, standing up straight beside him. "I'm not going anywhere. Promise."

He's looking up at you with puppy eyes, gaze slowly travelling down your body and up again as if he hadn't realised you were in your lingerie until that exact moment. "You look beautiful," he says quietly and you half-expect him to laugh it off, but his face stays serious.

"...Thanks," you croak while handing him the fluffy towel, not sure how to react to his sweet words. He's called you many things, but he's never downright called you beautiful before.

"I can take it from here, sweetheart," he nods slowly and steals one last glance down at your body, "you just go to bed. I'll be in in a minute."

"Okay," you whisper and peel yourself away from the tension between you by swiftly turning around, exiting the bathroom.

Back in your room, you barely have time to get out of your wet underwear and put on a fresh set of pyjamas, before a boxer-clad Bucky joins you on the bed.

"Are you still okay with me staying the night?" He asks, nervously.

"Of course I am," you answer immediately and find his vibranium hand underneath the covers, lacing your fingers between his as you scan his weary features. "See if you can get some sleep, okay? You need it," you brush a strand of wet hair away from his face and make sure he's fine by gently cupping his cheek before closing your eyes, hoping he's following your lead, doing the same.

The dark room goes completely quiet for a few minutes where the only audible sound is of your synchronised breathing.

You can feel yourself grow impossibly tired too as you lie there hand in hand with Bucky, and you're just about to succumb to sleep, when suddenly, his quiet whisper breaks the silence.

"I thought about you," he says softly, and it makes you open your eyes again.

You're staring straight into his handsome face, his beautiful blue eyes scanning over your features as he slowly clarifies.

"When they had me strapped down, I thought about you," he moves his fingers against the palm of your hand and completely engulfs you. "The thought of not seeing you again was..." the words die in his throat, and he looks as if he's seconds away from whimpering. "- Sweetheart, you make me so afraid of dying."

You breathe hard with quivering lips, huge eyes matching his as you let his confession sink in.

"I was so desperate to come home, I snapped the restraints in half. Snapped my own elbow along with them," he winces slightly at the painful memory that once again makes your stomach churn. "Sweetheart, I fought like hell. I don't think I've ever been so angry... I - I killed everyone I could get my hands on, I just had to see you again," he brings your hand to his soft lips and kisses the delicate pulse point of your wrist.

"Buck..." a slow whine escapes your throat as you try to blink away a stubborn tear that slowly starts rolling down the side of your nose.

"I love you," he whispers so softly against your thin skin that you almost don't hear. His eyes are closed and he looks relieved to be lying here with you, so you carefully pull his hand to your chest, placing his vibranium palm above your heavily beating heart.

"I love you too."

"Sweetheart," he whispers above you and moves his hand a little on top of your soft pyjamas while lightly shaking his head with a sigh. "No, you don't understand..." he gulps and searches your face, "I love you."

Your breath hitches in your throat.

"- I want more than this," he slowly admits. "I want to be more than your friend. I'm in love with you."

You squeeze his hand and move a little closer to him, scared that he'll stop confessing his love if you say something to throw him off track.

He holds on to you and can feel how your pulse starts racing underneath your pyjamas. "I hope I'm not scaring you off."

"No, no you're not," you say in a hoarse voice, "not at all. I - I think about you all the time."

"You do?" He breathes hard, clearly not believing what he's hearing.

"Yeah," you merely nod and move your head a little closer to him while he does the same. "I'm in love with you too, Buck. Have been for quite some time."

With a serious look, he moves his hand from off your chest and up to your face where he brushes a finger over the delicate features of your cheekbone and down to your jawline. "I'm gonna kiss you now," he warns in a whisper and waits for you to give him a nod before he reaches his head forwards, finally claiming your mouth with his lips.

His hand snakes down the length of your spine and you press your entire front up against his hard chest and stomach while he caresses the small of your back, slipping his soft tongue inside your mouth. "God," he moans and gently grabs hold of your hips, pulling you impossibly close to him. "You make me feel whole again," he whispers against your skin and kisses a small line from your earlobe and down to the base of your clavicle. "What do you say sweetheart?" he mumbles and nibbles at your skin, "can I take you out?"

"Yeah, Buck, you can take me out," you squeeze his hand, and he smiles for the first time that evening, setting everything inside of you aflame.

He's finally smiling and it's because of you.

"I wanna do it the old-fashioned way," he says, beaming, "bring you flowers. Take you dancing. Show you how you're supposed to be treated."

You can't help but chuckle at his soft innocence. "You're an old man," you brush him over his hair, "nobody goes dancing anymore."

"I'll teach you," he chuckles back but lets it turn into a sharp hiss when he accidentally moves his broken elbow.

"That sounds lovely," you admit with a smile, excited at the prospect of having his hands on your hips while he tells you what to do, "- though I'm afraid we'll have to get that elbow sorted first if you want to manoeuvre me around on the dancefloor. I know you don't see the point in going but... med wing tomorrow morning?"

"Okay," he rolls his eyes with a laugh that makes your stomach go all warm and fuzzy. "If it gets me to go dancing with you just an hour earlier, it's worth the trip... Will you go with me?"

"Yeah, I'll go with you," you kiss his hand, and he chuckles so warmly your stomach lights up again. "I'll go with you always."

#bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes imagine #bucky x reader #bucky barnes angst with happy ending #bucky barnes fanfic

[delaber]

@casa-boiardi haha perfect reaction pic 😂

Back Again (Bucky Barnes x Reader)

Summary: When Bucky volunteers for a mission going back in time, it’s with one objective and one objective only: to catch a glimpse of the girl he tragically lost a little over three years ago. But as he soon discovers, he has more to say about the past than he thinks.

Warnings: Angst (with a happy ending), major character death (well, not really, but you catch my drift), loads of feelings on Bucky’s behalf.

Words: 7.5K

September 6th

It's an easy mission really; go back to before the archive was compromised and bombed to rubbles by the rogue British forces, pull out the Hannigan file and remember the eight random digits stamped on the front page.

- It's fast in, fast out, Steve had said as he had set the date to three years and fifty-two days prior, shooting Bucky a stern glance from across the room as if he knew exactly what Bucky had been planning to do from the very moment he'd volunteered for the mission.

- Relax Steve, I'll be there early morning. The hallways will be empty.

Technically, it's not a lie.

- You could have chosen any other date. S'all I'm saying

- I know what I'm doing

- Just... —don't let anyone see you, okay?

Getting the intel and memorising the numbers is the easy part - it takes Bucky exactly eleven seconds to imprint the eight digit code in his memory like a burn wound and slip unnoticed out the door of the archive - the hard part is the next step. The secret step that Bucky had planned in his head and hadn't even dared subtly hint to Steve although he definitely already knows and isn't exactly happy about. The stern glance alone had told him as much.

To hell with it, Bucky thinks to himself and pushes away the guilt of not having been fully transparent with his best friend, this is important.

He quietly closes the archive door behind him while looking at the borrowed space-time watch on his wrist and realises that he, by chance, manages to click the door shut just as the seconds hand hits the sixth hour mark. It's perfect, it'll make keeping track of time that much easier. Yet, his time is still limited, so without stopping to catch his breath, he's off! He doesn't want to put himself in a situation where the watch will start sending him warnings in order to reach the jump site on time. It'd happened to Barton once, and Fury was... let's just say not happy. He'd benched Barton for eight months following that incident and Bucky really doesn't want to be in the same situation. He doesn't have much to live for outside of missions, and Fury's been looking for a reason to kick him off the team. So no matter what, he will make it back with time to spare!

Quickly striding along the marble tiles, moving as fast as he can while being careful not to hit any of Pepper's potted ferns lining the dark hallway, he's eager to get to the spot - your spot - where he knows you'll sit and watch the sunrise as you used to do every morning. If he remembers correctly - and he knows he is because he's double and triple checked it with Natasha several times over the last few days - you'll be alone at the compound this morning and he'll have at least a few seconds to sneak a peak without worrying if any of his team mates will creep up behind him. A moment just to himself to see your silhouette one last time as you gaze towards the colourful horizon in the distance - but only for a few seconds or the team back home will grow even more suspicious of him and think that he broke rule number one. And he really can't stand when Steve has that disappointed frown on his face. It's fast in, fast out and Bucky intends to keep it that way.

Still walking fast through the hallway, he looks back at the synchronised watch on his wrist and with a happy sigh realises that he still has plenty of time. He should be able to do it without arising too many questions from the team. Should he cut it too close, he can always tell them there was a problem with accessing the archive but that he eventually managed to get around it. Good.

Gingerly stepping out of the compound and out onto the wooden terrace Sam had built when he'd joined the team a few years back, Bucky realises that he's travelled back to a particularly beautiful morning; the colours of the rising sun are blanketing the entire garden in a pink hue, playing with the water lilies on top of Starks koi pond in the far corner, heating up the dew on the terrace's wooden floorboards so they emit a lovely smell from underneath his boots. It's a beautiful setting, he knows that, but truth be told, he has never really cared much for sunrises - they were always too romantic, too nostalgic for someone who didn't like thinking too much about their past, let alone romanticise it. So what really catches his eye isn't the eruption of colours in the morning sky, it's the curled up figure sitting in the middle of the wooden deck. Surrounded by potted plants and with a steaming cup of tea sat next to bare feet as birds chirp lively in the tree crowns above, you're sitting innocent and unknowing of the fate that so cruelly has been bestowed upon you.

Bucky's heart damn near stops in his chest. He hasn't seen you in so long and suddenly you're sitting right in front of him exactly as he remembers you; sweet, beautiful, warm, and with your hair blowing lazily in the wind as you overlook the garden as part of your precious morning routine. You're wearing the flowered sundress he loves and the setting seems so perfect that he for a moment wonders if this is nothing but a fever dream that he half-expects to wake up from any minute soon. But then the wind picks up your scent and it flows through the air until it reaches his nostrils and makes his lungs come back to life with a small gasp. Immediately and uncontrollably, his breathing picks up its pace again and he just wants to put his wobbly legs to use and run over to you.

However, he doesn't have to remind himself of the first rule of time travel; he knows he's not supposed to be seen, yet there you are, and he's dangerously close to considering throwing caution to the wind just so he can give you one last kiss and tell you how much he misses you. Maybe if he talks to you one last time and tells you how much you mean to him, he can finally stop lying sleepless at night, thinking about what could have been if only you'd stayed in this life? That way, at least you would have known. He has never been this tempted to just say fuck it and break the silent promise he'd made to Steve before he'd been sent back in time.

He carefully takes a step forwards, feels how the familiar scent of your shampoo draws him closer and fills his chest with anticipation of talking to you again - of seeing your smile one last time - but he stops himself before he gets too close. He cannot temper with what happened. He of all people should know that no matter what, you cannot change the past. So with an inaudible sigh, he backs away while looking at your hair flowing elegantly in the breeze before he turns around as quietly as possible, his hand already on the door handle to back inside the compound, disappointed that he has to leave so soon, but happy that he at least got to catch a glimpse of you.

"Well," your sweet, sweet voice suddenly sounds from behind him and it makes him stop dead in his tracks. "- Am I supposed to keep pretending I haven't noticed you staring at me or are you gonna join me?"

Shit, his cover is made! This is not good! He did not prepare for this! What the fuck is he supposed to do now? Turn around and answer? Bolt for the jump site? This was not part of the plan! Fuck!

"- Barnes?" you chuckle when he doesn't respond at all.

With closed eyes, he can hear you shuffling a little as if you're turning around to get a better look at him and he gulps hard before he plasters on a brave smile and rotates on the spot. He only has about a millisecond to brace himself for the feelings that are about to coalesce and crash down on him, yet the moment he sees your face, he knows that no amount of time in the world could've ever prepared him for the all-consuming relief he feels in his chest when he sees your face for the first time in little over three years. A welcoming smile is crinkling at the corners of your eyes, your pouted lips are still in position from having practically sung his name only moments before, and your big, beautiful eyes are boring straight through his soulless holster of a body that you for some goddamn unimaginable reason still seem to like. You'd always said that his mere presence made you feel safe and even though he's had three years of getting used to the fact that he couldn't save you, it still cuts like a knife to have you looking at him like that again.

"Hi sweetheart," he breathes quietly and locks eyes with you. It feels as if he's been kicked in the stomach.

"Hi," you smile broadly at the familiar pet name and Bucky feels his heart skip a beat. "- What are you doing here?" You ask softly and cock your head to the side as you take him in, "I thought you and Sam were supposed to be buried deep in the woods of Siberia right now."

"We finished the mission early," he manages to croak even though it feels as if the Sahara desert has been poured straight down his throat.

"Oh, good! How did it go? Did you get the intel?"

He resorts to nodding as he tries swallowing to lubricate his hoarse throat but the saliva just settles as a thick, immobile lump on top of his larynx, making it all so much worse. He hadn't gotten the intel. He had panicked when Steve had called him, and he and Sam had both run for the quinjet, desperate to come home and help search for you among the rubbles of the archive in the strangled hope of finding you alive.

"Of course you did! I don't know what you were fussing so much about - didn't I tell you, you were the right man for the job?" you send him an impressed grin and it makes him feel even worse for having lied to you.

"Yeah," he croaks guiltily and looks away from you. His heart is hammering a mile a minute and he knows he has to get out of here before he reveals too much but how can he leave when your gaze is finally locked on his again? For a moment, he just wants to forget all about how he's gonna lose everything in a couple of hours.

Out the corner of his eye, he can see how you knit your eyebrows tightly together as you take him in. You'd always had a knack for reading him when he didn't want you to - it was what had brought the two of you together in the first place - but this time, it's really inconvenient.

"Hey, are you alright?" You ask tentatively while twitching your fingers a little as if reaching out for him. Of course you've already seen straight through him. " - you look a little pale."

"Yeah," he clears his throat, telling himself to pull it together, "yeah, I'm good."

"Okay..." you nod but you don't look too convinced by his lie. "Why don't you come join me?" you ask and he can't believe himself and his dumb legs but his muscles start moving autonomously and suddenly, he's sitting next to you, silently savouring how you snuggle up to his side as you look straight ahead and up at the morning sky.

At first, he pretends he's interested in the purple streaks above the two of you as well, but after not even five seconds, he turns his face to look at you, hoping to memorise all your features before it's too late.

"Barnes, you're staring," you chuckle while hyper-focusing your gaze on a spot in the growing horizon.

"Sorry," his voice is thick and pained but he keeps his eyes locked on you. How is he supposed to ever look away?

Slowly, you turn your face to the side, your happy grin slowly slipping from off your lips when you notice his blank eyes. "Hey," you put your hand on his knee and he can feel the electricity building underneath your touch, "- are you sure you're alright?"

He just nods, scared that if he opens his mouth, the truth will come out. Why did he not prepare for this?

"Yeah?" you rub over the small hole in his jeans and the lightning burns like a fire in his veins. He feels so guilty.

"Mm-hmm," he blinks rapidly. "I just missed you."

"Four days out and you miss me?" you chuckle happily and move a little closer to him so he can feel the heat radiating from off your body. "You're turning into a sap! - I bet you didn't mention this to Sam."

"He knows," Bucky mumbles and throws an arm around your body so you can put your head on his shoulder.

"Oh he knows now, does he?" you laugh whole-heartedly in disbelief. Back then, for some stupid reason he cannot even remember right now, Bucky had been so desperate to keep his feelings for you private but with the pain and the sorrow that had followed losing you, he suspects the rest of the team figured it out quite soon after, although he never really confirmed it to either of them. "What did he say? Did he tease you?" you giggle as you link your arm with his and grab tightly around right bicep. "- or use it against you or what it is you're so afraid of?"

"No," Bucky croaks as he blinks a few times and curses at himself for his inability to just play it cool. "He misses you too. We all do."

You straighten your back so you can look directly at him. Your smile is still in place but it freezes slightly as you furrow your eyebrows in confusion. "Okay, I'm not gonna ask you again," you chuckle apprehensively, "- but are you a hundred percent sure you're alright? You're a shadow of yourself today."

"Yeah, sweetheart, I'm good," he pulls you close to his chest and kisses the top of your scalp, "let's just enjoy the sunrise, okay?"

"Okay," you nod quietly and look back towards the morning sky, but out the corner of his eye, he can see how your gaze constantly darts back towards his face. "it's just... Well, since you seem to have absolutely no intensions of bringing it up yourself, I have to ask..." You cock your head to the side and Bucky can feel his breathing speeding up, not sure what you're about to confront him with. "- What happened to your hair?" you laugh sweetly, your lips spreading even further apart in your gorgeous signature grin as you search his face.

He should be relieved that that's what you're wondering about, but it's a detail he hadn't even considered. He had insisted on the long hair back when you'd dated him and now he has no good answer as to why he chose to cut it all off. 

"Did something life-altering happen that I don't know about or did you just feel like suddenly chopping it off?" you joke. Or at least, he thinks you're joking.

"Uh - I - uhm - I just cut it," he says and uncomfortably shift his weight around, eager to have you look anywhere else than his face. Truth be told, he had cut it because something terrible and life-altering had happened to him but he's not about to reveal your fate to you.

"You just cut it?" you arch an eyebrow in disbelief. "On a mission? Was the intel located at a salon?" you laugh again.

"Yeah, well... I figured it was time, you know?"

"Hmm, yeah... Well, it looks good on you," you chip happily and send him a dreamy smile, "but then again, you always look good. It's annoying."

"Mmh," he forces a smile.

Your gaze wanders over his face once more and you push together your eyebrows as you take him in while trying to understand what's going on inside his head. You definitely still think he's acting beside himself.

"You promised you wouldn't ask again," he tries joking to diffuse the tension between you and it seems to work because it immediately has you smiling.

"Don't worry, I won't..." you press your lips tightly together and reach up to run a hand through his short hair just to feel him underneath your fingertips. "Mmh, I missed you," you hum.

Your small, delicate fingers caressing his scalp is a simple touch of warm intimacy that Bucky had completely forgotten the sensation of, and he has to close his eyes to stop himself from crying at the gentleness if it. He never thought he'd feel this again, and there had been many nights since the bombing where he'd cried not only for the loss of you, but for the loss of intimacy as well.

You rake your hand through his hair again, and he can't believe it, but for a short second while you're running your fingers through his short strands, he actually envies the version of himself who's bickering with Sam somewhere in rural Russia right now. The version of himself who's completely oblivious as to what will happen within the next twelve hours. That guy just thinks he's going home to scalp kisses and head scratches by his love at the end of the mission... Bucky doesn't, however, envy the grief that the other version will have to navigate through for the next couple of years until he can finally feel this kind of intimacy again. For a few second he, himself, is the lucky one.

Even with closed eyes, he can sense the deep look you're giving him and although he wants to sit like this forever and revel in your love, he can't risk giving himself away. "Sweetheart, you're missing it..." he says in a strangely throaty voice and nods towards the horizon, not sure what outcome he's hoping for. He just knows he doesn't want to take away your last sunrise ever.

"I don't care," you whisper and rake a hand through his hair one more time. "I know you say you're alright, but you're not... What happened to you?"

"Nothing," he mumbles.

"It's not nothing..." you say softly and scratch at his neck until he finally opens his eyes again. "Why won't you tell me?" you whisper and press in on his aching jaw to get him to unclench it.

He reaches out and intertwines his fingers with the hand you have lying in your lap. "I'll tell you tomorrow, okay? Let's just sit here and enjoy this moment for a little while..."

"If you say so," you nod disappointedly as you look down at your joined hands.

He's so lost, so confused as to what to do now that he doesn't even register how your gaze briefly stops at the familiar watch he's wearing, so when you look up at him again, it's with a foreign, sudden type of sadness he doesn't know where comes from. Your eyes are searching his face, stopping at several fix points that you keep coming back to over and over again: his shorter hair line, the crows feet surrounding his blue irises, the crease above his nose that has only grown more prominent over the recent years, the newly acquired wound on his chin that has turned into a white scar because he hadn't put sunscreen on it last summer. All telltales of time having passed since the last time you'd seen him.

He can practically hear the gears turning in your head before your eyes soften considerably and you give out a sad sigh. "Hmm," you hum quietly and shoot him a despondent look he can't really place. "What are you doing here?

"...What do you mean?" he asks sincerely and presses his eyebrows together as he looks down into your sad eyes.

You give him a second to properly answer your question but when he doesn't, you sigh again and slowly lean forwards while pressing your palm to his face, caressing his bearded chin. "You're not my Bucky..." you say quietly as you stroke his cheekbone.

His breath catches in his throat and his heart immediately starts racing. "W-what?"

"You're not my Bucky" you repeat resolutely while huge eyes are still searching his face, "what are you doing here."

"I don't understand."

"James..." you say softly and cock your head to the side.

He remembers this. It's always James when you want him to speak the truth.

"I could tell something was off from the minute I saw you but the watch gave you away," you nod down to his wrist that is still lying in your lap before your soft gaze finds his eyes again. "Time hasn't been kind to you, has it?" you whisper while lovingly stroking his cheek.

"W-what?" He doesn't even have it in him to protest more than that. Not when you sound so sure of yourself.

"How does it happen?" you ask him gently, overtly controlled. He should have known this; of course you'd figure it out...

"How does what happen?" he blinks desperately, not sure what to do now. He can't be the one who tells you. He can't.

You lower your chin without moving your eyes from his. "I die, don't I? That's why you're here."

He continues blinking rapidly, his breath still caught in his throat as his lungs start heaving for air. Just thinking about it hurts in his chest.

"It's okay," you whisper, your eyes still huge as you try and calm him down. "What - uhm - what happens? Will we be together when it occurs?"

"No," he whimpers and throws away his very last hope of fooling you into believing that it isn't the reason why he's here. "I won't be home yet."

"You won't be home yet..." you repeat in a low voice and Bucky sees how your eyes grow wide as you slowly manage put two and two together. "Buck -- when does this happen?" you ask shakily and for the first time, he detects a trace of fear in your voice.

He gives out a short whimper in reply and clutches your hand tightly as he feels the tears well in his eyes. How is he supposed to tell you that you have less that twenty-four hours to live?

"When?" you repeat quietly and hold on to him even tighter than before.

"Sweetheart, don't make me say it," he avoids looking at you.

"Don't you think I have a right to know...?"

"Of course you do it's just--"

"-When?"

Bucky takes a deep, ragged breath before he confirms the very thing you suspect and fear. "This afternoon, a bomb will go off in the West Wing."

"This afternoon?" You drop the grip you have on his hand while staring at him in shock. "I'm going to die... today?”

"Don't - don't say it like that," he whines. "Please, it's so unfair! You have so much to live for and it's all taken away from you just like that. I'd trade places with you in a heartbeat but I'm not here, and I won't be here before it's too late. I'm so sorry sweetheart. I'm so sorry!"

"It's okay, Buck." With huge eyes and your mouth hanging wide open, you stare at him as you let the shock settle down around you. "It's okay... it's okay..." you eventually say and force-close your locked jaw as you rub a hand over your face. "I'm sorry, but - uh - I need to know. What exactly happens? Who else will be here?"

"We're all away," Bucky sighs with regret, "It's just you and Natasha."

Immediately, you cover your mouth with your hand, "Nat!" you gasp, even more shocked by this than by the news of your own passing.

"Nat's fine," Bucky immediately interrupts and grabs your hand again, holding it tight, "she's going to be at the gym."

"...And me?"

"I don't know sweetheart," he whispers, "Nat told us that you wanted to get some work done so you skipped out on your training. We think you may be at the centre of the blast. We - we never find you," he breathes through his nose to keep himself controlled. He can feel the tears pressing in on his eyeballs again when he thinks of the empty coffin they had to bury.

"At least it's quick then," you say and turn your face towards the garden that is still bathed in the pink hue from the rising sun. "I'm going to die today," you say matter-of-factly with your gaze fixed on the sky. "huh... So we never get to go on that date on Friday?

"No sweetheart..."

"- And we've already had our last kiss?

He nods. "Yeah..."

"I'm sorry," you whisper while staring at him with sad eyes, "I'm sorry you have to go through all that alone."

"I'm not alone," he mumbles and looks down at his feet. "Steve tries to talk to me. Sam too."

"But you don't accept," you chuckle sadly while shaking your head from side to side while playfully rolling your eyes at him, "God, you're so stubborn!"

"I know," he nods, "but it's too painful to talk about even now."

"How much time passes?" you look back at him while taking a deep breath. "How many years ahead are you right now?"

"It doesn't matter," he gulps guiltily. He knows how this part of the conversation will go.

"James..."

"Three," he sucks in a bit of air, hoping that it isn't that much time in your eyes.

"Three years?" you whine, your eyes huge with the shock of his confession as you clutch your chest, "Baby, you have to move on!"

Immediately, his heart cracks in two and he can no longer hold back the tears that he finally lets flow freely down his cheeks without trying to stop them. "No, I can't," he sniffles quietly, "I don't want to. I just wish you were still here. I miss you so much, you have no idea. I feel so guilty for being away. I think about it all the time."

"Bucky," you say softly and put a hand underneath his chin, wiping away a few tears and forcing him to look back up at you, "- you couldn't have done anything anyway. You know what I'm like when I put my mind to something. If you'd been here, you would probably have gone to the gym with Nat because I would still have gone to the West Wing to finish up work. It wouldn't have changed anything."

"But I never even get to tell you how I feel."

"Bucky, look at me," you whisper with a small smile and lean forwards, "it's okay. You don't have to tell me. I already know." You put your forehead to his and smile softly at him, "- and I hope you know that I feel the same about you."

With a gulp, he nods.

"Then kiss me," you wipe away another of his tears and tilt your head.

He closes his eyes and finds your mouth immediately, pushes himself impossibly close to your body and feels the softness pour over him as you press your pillowy lips to his in the most heartfelt kiss he's ever experienced. He tries to let his love shine through as raw as possible so there will be absolutely no doubt how much he loves you but from the way you're holding on to him, he can feel that you truly do already know. Your hand is warm against his face and it causes his heart to calm down its rapid beating while your lips move like silk on top of his.

"Mmh, sweetheart," he whispers into your mouth and feels every inch of you engulf him in love and bravery. Suddenly, he's free, so liberated from the grief that has been hanging over his head for so long that he completely forgets that he's on borrowed time.

The loud sounds coming from his wrist watch that suddenly begins beeping out of nowhere is the only terrible reminder of the setting he's in - that there's a deadline hanging over his head if he ever wants to make it home again.

"You're cutting it close, huh?" you say quietly as you reluctantly break off the kiss and place your forehead back on his. You both know that the watch only starts beeping when there's less than two minutes left to get to the jump site.

"I don't care," he shakes his head, not sure what else to say as he feels reality come crashing down on him again.

"You're really gonna let it go to red?" you chuckle as if impressed. "You know that Fury's gonna tear you a new one, right?"

"I don't care."

"I bet you don't," you chuckle and he joins you in smiling, revelling in the odd sensation that it brings to his cheeks to chuckle like this again. "I'm glad you found me, Barnes."

"Me too, sweetheart," he whispers as the smile slips from off his face again. "I wish there was something I could do..."

"You're here right now, aren't you?" you smile and briefly kiss him again, "I'm glad you came back, even just for a few minutes."

"It's not enough to say goodbye..." he mumbles and laces his fingers with yours.

"Oh, but this? This is not a goodbye," you chuckle quietly while shaking your head, "it's an I'll see you later."

"If you say so," he nods without really accepting your explanation and ignores the incessant beeping from his watch that only grows louder and louder by the second.

"You should probably get back, don't you think? Wouldn't want you to miss your mark and have you stuck here with me."

"Mmm," he whimpers and desperately kisses your knuckles with closed eyes.

"Chin up Barnes," you chuckle at him, "- the sky is the most beautiful I've ever seen it and I had a good run. I'll be okay."

"I'll miss you," he says as the watch starts blinking angry red, warning him that he only has thirty seconds left.

"I'll miss you too," you say and squeeze his fingers tightly before you let go of him, "you have twenty-seven seconds. Promise me you'll make it back, okay?"

"Okay," he nods and slowly stands up, taking one last look at you before he walks across the wooden floorboards and back towards the door he'd entered through.

"Hey Barnes?" You say when his hand reaches the doorknob and it immediately makes him turn around to see you standing on your feet, looking at him with a resolute look in your eye, your hands determinedly balled to fists by your side. "You say you're three years ahead. What date is it where you're from?"

"Uh... September sixth?" he says, a bit confused as to why that should matter but he's not about to deny a dying woman an answer to her question. "Why?"

"Just out of curiosity," you nod towards his angry watch, "twenty seconds."

"I know."

"I'll see you later, okay?"

"I'll see you baby," he whispers and physically feels his heart crack even worse in his chest as he takes a definitive last look at you. The sun is coming up behind you now, marking the worst day of Bucky's existence and all he can do is let it happen.

September 7th

He didn't even think it possible, but it's even worse than the first time around.

He'd collapsed on the floor the minute he'd exited the quantum realm, tears and snot blurring his vision as he'd fallen to his knees, his heart aching so horribly in his chest he'd thought he was dying. He wasn't. Unfortunately.

Steve had been there in an instant, on his knees beside Bucky, holding him tight, making sure he didn't pass out from hyperventilating, trying to calm him down.

The rest is a blur. Bucky isn't sure how Steve managed to manoeuvre him to his bedroom on the tenth floor and he doesn't even remember if Steve had been there when he'd finally fallen asleep, dreaming of you and the feeling of your body in his arms, your lips touched to his.

When he wakes up the next morning, it takes him a minute to remember that you're still gone, and in that moment, he isn't sure if seeing you again was liberating or just pure torture. If only he could've done something to fix what had happened....

"Buck?" Steve's voice immediately sounds from beside him as he starts shuffling a bit in the sheets, eager to get the cold sweat to stop pooling at his forehead. He turns around on the bed and meets the disheveled face of Steve who's occupying the chair where Bucky usually puts his dirty clothes, his eyes red with sleep deprivation, his hair sticking up in all possible directions.

"Stevie..." Bucky croaks and clears his throat as he takes in the state of his best friend who's clearly stayed by his side all night. "What are you doing here?"

"As if I was just going to leave you," Steve sighs solemnly and rubs his eyes. "How are you?"

Bucky sits up straight and lets his head fall back against the headrest. He can still see the broken look you'd sent him when he'd revealed your terrible fate to you. "You know how I am."

"Yeah..." he sighs again and looks away. "I'm sorry Buck but you're gonna have to talk about it."

"I know I broke a rule. You and Fury can yell at me tomorrow, okay?" Bucky says quietly and tries to block out the mental image of what'd happened to you. "I just need some time."

Steve reaches out his hand and lets it fall on top of Bucky shoulder. "Buck, I'm - I'm not gonna yell at you. I just want you to finally open up to me, you've been so closed off since it happened. I know what you had with her was... special. And I know why you went back and talked to her, I've been tempted to do the same many times. Trust me."

"I just wanted to see her," Bucky squeezes his eyes shut and bites his lip, desperately trying to get his breathing under control again. "I never intended to talk to her, it just... happened. I think I'd forgotten how observant she was."

"I know," Steve pushes down on Bucky's shoulder and shoots him a sympathetic smile. "How much did you tell her?"

"...Everything."

"And how did she take it?"

"She was really brave about it. I think I took it worse than she did... I don't know, I'm gonna need some time to process it all..."

"Mmh," Steve nods in quiet desperation, not sure what to do or say to make Bucky feel better. "I'll give you some space then, okay pal? I'll check in again in a couple of hours."

"Please don't," Bucky sighs and lays his head back down on his pillow, his mind already overflowing with every memory of you. All the way back from the first time he'd seen you to the point where he'd told you you were about to die. Shit.

He's so lost in thought he almost doesn't hear the hurried footsteps coming from the hallway, and he barely even registers the door being kicked open as Sam yells his name. "Bucky! Bucky, wake the hell up! You have to come downstairs! Now!"

"Sam?" Steve questions, already on his feet, ready to run to whatever emergency Sam is warning. "What's going on?"

Sam's eyes are wide open, his mouth falling agape in disbelief as he quietly chuckles and frantically waves Bucky and Steve over to him, "Come on! It's unbelievable! You have to see it for yourselves!"

"I don't care what it is, I'm not coming," Bucky mumbles from the bed and pulls his comforter closer around his chest, praying for Sam and Steve to leave him alone.

Sam bends down and picks up the nearest pair of jeans, throwing it over to Bucky on the bed. "Put on some pants, man, and come down stairs. Now!"

Bucky looks to Steve for help but he merely shrugs before he throws Bucky a black hoodie from underneath the chair he'd been occupying only moments before.

"You've got to be fucking kidding me," he mumbles under his breath and reluctantly swings his legs over the side of the mattress, well knowing that his two friends won't leave him alone until he's seen what Sam's fussing about for himself.

"Come on!" Sam urges and impatiently taps the doorframe to Bucky's room with his foot as Bucky slowly pulls on the jeans and hoodie just to annoy him.

"Sam what's going on?" Steve finally asks again when they're all three standing in the elevator, zooming towards the ground floor.

"Just... just wait, okay?" he says rapidly, clearly excited about what's going on. It's giving Bucky a goddamn headache. "You're not gonna believe me anyway!"

Bucky gives out an annoyed sigh as he throws his head up against the back wall of the elevator, closing his eyes. He needs a fucking aspirin.

"You good?" Steve turns to him while Sam continues his nervous-tapping against the floor.

"I'm about to strangle Sam if that's what you’re worried about..."

Sam stops tapping and opens his mouth to retort, but is interrupted by a loud ding as the doors slide open and instead settles for an annoyed look sent in Bucky's direction before he turns around. Immediately, the three men are met by Natasha's loud squeals coming from the next room, causing Steve to half-jog out of the elevator and through the empty hallway while Bucky slouches after him, counting the seconds until he can finally be alone again and wallow in his misery.

Steve stops in the doorway to the next room, his jaw practically dropping to the floor as soon as he sees what Natasha's so worked up about. It only takes him exactly two seconds of utter shock before he composes himself enough to turn his head and look Bucky straight in the eye. "Buck... it's..." his voice trails off as he looks back at the scene unfolding before him.

"What's happening?" Bucky asks curiously for the first time, and can feel how his heart picks up its pace as he dreads the sight that will meet him when he catches up to Steve.

"Come on, man," Sam says and puts his hand between Bucky's shoulder blades, urging him to move forwards so he can see for himself.

It feels as if it's taking him an eternity to reach those last few yards across the hallway, and when he's finally by Steve's side, he's so worked up, he isn't even sure if his mind is playing tricks on him or not. Because there, in the middle of the room, Natasha is standing in a tight embrace with none other than ...you?

Bucky blinks a few times, takes a step forwards, not sure if he's still dreaming.

You have tears running down your cheeks as you lock eyes with him over your best friend's shoulder and you can't stop the broad smile that spreads on your lips. "Buck," you whisper and immediately let go of Natasha who sniffles and steps to the side so Bucky can see all of you.

There you are. Standing in all your glory, unharmed, undead, living and breathing, and singing his name so sweetly as you take a step towards him, your feet shaking nervously underneath you.

"Are you seeing this too?" Bucky whispers to Steve though he doesn't dare move his eyes away from your form in fear of losing you if it turns out to just be a cruel illusion.

"Yeah, Buck," Steve's voice is shaking by his side, "I see her too."

"Buck," you laugh through the tears that continue to roll down your cheeks. "It's really me," you lift your hand and reach out for him.

"Oh my god," he whispers and strides across the room. Immediately, you're in his arms and he's crying your name as he touches you all over your body to make sure you're really there, squeezing you against his chest, kissing the top of your scalp, running his hands over your back, "I don't believe this!"

"Hi baby," you whisper and kiss his neck, his ear, his cheek. "I'm here. It's okay, I'm here."

"You're alive?" he sniffles and briefly holds you out at an arms length before he pulls you close to his chest again, "how? We all thought you were dead!"

"I'm sorry," you whisper and hold him as close as possible as you mumble against his chest. "I couldn't give you any signs of life. I couldn't risk it."

He puts a hand under your chin and urges you to look up at him. "Risk what?" he frantically searches your face, voice shaking, still desperate to confirm you're really here.

You put your hand on his chest as you always do to calm him down and send him a deep, intimate look. "I had to wait until after September 6th of this year to see you again. I'm sorry."

"I - I don't understand..." he says and strokes his thumb over your cheek.

"Come here," you break off the tight embrace and lead him to a small bench in the corner of the room, sitting him down beside you. "What you did that day saved me," you grab his hand and wrap it in your tiny fingers, "I would have been in the West Wing when the bomb went off if you hadn't said anything... But because of you, I left early. Like you said I would, I told Nat I couldn't come with her to the gym because I was going to finish up a mission report, so I waited until after she'd started her work-out to leave. I couldn't write you a note, or give you any sign of what'd happened because you needed the motive to go back in time to save me. I had to keep you grieving or you never would've come, so I just... left... I've been hiding in a small village in the mountains of Spain, waiting for this exact date. That's why you never found a body among the rubble."

"W-what? ...but we - we searched for weeks," he whispers, not sure why that's the detail he decides to focus on. He's not sure his shocked brain can fully comprehend your confession. He's having trouble just moving his shaking limbs. "You're alive..."

"I know. I'm sorry, baby. But it was necessary."

"You're alive..." he repeats quietly, the realisation slowly dawning upon him. "I don't believe it..." he whispers and pulls you close to his chest again as the tears start stinging in his eyes, "you're alive..."

"Yeah, I'm alive," you sniffle against him and hug him just as tightly as you'd done what was only mere hours ago for him, three years and fifty-three days for you. "You saved me."

"Oh my god," he cries into your neck, kissing your shoulder, "I've missed you so much!"

"You've been so brave," you whisper against him and caress the back of his head, "I'm so proud of you."

"No, I've been a pathetic mess. These guys can testify to that," he mumbles and points to over his shoulder where he can hear Sam and Nat chuckle quietly. "I never thought I'd see you again."

"I know," you smile sadly, "seeing you like that that day was heartbreaking. I knew I had to do something or you wouldn't survive it."

"I am so glad you did," he kisses your knuckles and scoots a little closer to you. "I mean, I knew you were stubborn but I never took you for such a cosmic rule-breaker, sweetheart," he smiles through the tears, and shoots you an impressed glance, "Fury's gonna tear you a new one."

You shoot back your head with laughter and sweetly wrap his hand up in yours. "Yeah, thank God that's never stopped me before," you giggle.

He never thought he'd sit like this with you again, and when you finally lean in close and kiss him, he promises himself that he'll never let you go.

#bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes fluff #bucky barnes angst with a happy ending #i want a bucky #bucky fanfic

[delaber]

@eviltinkerbell14 thanks love 🩷 happy you enjoyed

Back Again (Bucky Barnes x Reader)

Summary: When Bucky volunteers for a mission going back in time, it’s with one objective and one objective only: to catch a glimpse of the girl he tragically lost a little over three years ago. But as he soon discovers, he has more to say about the past than he thinks.

Warnings: Angst (with a happy ending), major character death (well, not really, but you catch my drift), loads of feelings on Bucky’s behalf.

Words: 7.5K

September 6th

It's an easy mission really; go back to before the archive was compromised and bombed to rubbles by the rogue British forces, pull out the Hannigan file and remember the eight random digits stamped on the front page.

- It's fast in, fast out, Steve had said as he had set the date to three years and fifty-two days prior, shooting Bucky a stern glance from across the room as if he knew exactly what Bucky had been planning to do from the very moment he'd volunteered for the mission.

- Relax Steve, I'll be there early morning. The hallways will be empty.

Technically, it's not a lie.

- You could have chosen any other date. S'all I'm saying

- I know what I'm doing

- Just... —don't let anyone see you, okay?

Getting the intel and memorising the numbers is the easy part - it takes Bucky exactly eleven seconds to imprint the eight digit code in his memory like a burn wound and slip unnoticed out the door of the archive - the hard part is the next step. The secret step that Bucky had planned in his head and hadn't even dared subtly hint to Steve although he definitely already knows and isn't exactly happy about. The stern glance alone had told him as much.

To hell with it, Bucky thinks to himself and pushes away the guilt of not having been fully transparent with his best friend, this is important.

He quietly closes the archive door behind him while looking at the borrowed space-time watch on his wrist and realises that he, by chance, manages to click the door shut just as the seconds hand hits the sixth hour mark. It's perfect, it'll make keeping track of time that much easier. Yet, his time is still limited, so without stopping to catch his breath, he's off! He doesn't want to put himself in a situation where the watch will start sending him warnings in order to reach the jump site on time. It'd happened to Barton once, and Fury was... let's just say not happy. He'd benched Barton for eight months following that incident and Bucky really doesn't want to be in the same situation. He doesn't have much to live for outside of missions, and Fury's been looking for a reason to kick him off the team. So no matter what, he will make it back with time to spare!

Quickly striding along the marble tiles, moving as fast as he can while being careful not to hit any of Pepper's potted ferns lining the dark hallway, he's eager to get to the spot - your spot - where he knows you'll sit and watch the sunrise as you used to do every morning. If he remembers correctly - and he knows he is because he's double and triple checked it with Natasha several times over the last few days - you'll be alone at the compound this morning and he'll have at least a few seconds to sneak a peak without worrying if any of his team mates will creep up behind him. A moment just to himself to see your silhouette one last time as you gaze towards the colourful horizon in the distance - but only for a few seconds or the team back home will grow even more suspicious of him and think that he broke rule number one. And he really can't stand when Steve has that disappointed frown on his face. It's fast in, fast out and Bucky intends to keep it that way.

Still walking fast through the hallway, he looks back at the synchronised watch on his wrist and with a happy sigh realises that he still has plenty of time. He should be able to do it without arising too many questions from the team. Should he cut it too close, he can always tell them there was a problem with accessing the archive but that he eventually managed to get around it. Good.

Gingerly stepping out of the compound and out onto the wooden terrace Sam had built when he'd joined the team a few years back, Bucky realises that he's travelled back to a particularly beautiful morning; the colours of the rising sun are blanketing the entire garden in a pink hue, playing with the water lilies on top of Starks koi pond in the far corner, heating up the dew on the terrace's wooden floorboards so they emit a lovely smell from underneath his boots. It's a beautiful setting, he knows that, but truth be told, he has never really cared much for sunrises - they were always too romantic, too nostalgic for someone who didn't like thinking too much about their past, let alone romanticise it. So what really catches his eye isn't the eruption of colours in the morning sky, it's the curled up figure sitting in the middle of the wooden deck. Surrounded by potted plants and with a steaming cup of tea sat next to bare feet as birds chirp lively in the tree crowns above, you're sitting innocent and unknowing of the fate that so cruelly has been bestowed upon you.

Bucky's heart damn near stops in his chest. He hasn't seen you in so long and suddenly you're sitting right in front of him exactly as he remembers you; sweet, beautiful, warm, and with your hair blowing lazily in the wind as you overlook the garden as part of your precious morning routine. You're wearing the flowered sundress he loves and the setting seems so perfect that he for a moment wonders if this is nothing but a fever dream that he half-expects to wake up from any minute soon. But then the wind picks up your scent and it flows through the air until it reaches his nostrils and makes his lungs come back to life with a small gasp. Immediately and uncontrollably, his breathing picks up its pace again and he just wants to put his wobbly legs to use and run over to you.

However, he doesn't have to remind himself of the first rule of time travel; he knows he's not supposed to be seen, yet there you are, and he's dangerously close to considering throwing caution to the wind just so he can give you one last kiss and tell you how much he misses you. Maybe if he talks to you one last time and tells you how much you mean to him, he can finally stop lying sleepless at night, thinking about what could have been if only you'd stayed in this life? That way, at least you would have known. He has never been this tempted to just say fuck it and break the silent promise he'd made to Steve before he'd been sent back in time.

He carefully takes a step forwards, feels how the familiar scent of your shampoo draws him closer and fills his chest with anticipation of talking to you again - of seeing your smile one last time - but he stops himself before he gets too close. He cannot temper with what happened. He of all people should know that no matter what, you cannot change the past. So with an inaudible sigh, he backs away while looking at your hair flowing elegantly in the breeze before he turns around as quietly as possible, his hand already on the door handle to back inside the compound, disappointed that he has to leave so soon, but happy that he at least got to catch a glimpse of you.

"Well," your sweet, sweet voice suddenly sounds from behind him and it makes him stop dead in his tracks. "- Am I supposed to keep pretending I haven't noticed you staring at me or are you gonna join me?"

Shit, his cover is made! This is not good! He did not prepare for this! What the fuck is he supposed to do now? Turn around and answer? Bolt for the jump site? This was not part of the plan! Fuck!

"- Barnes?" you chuckle when he doesn't respond at all.

With closed eyes, he can hear you shuffling a little as if you're turning around to get a better look at him and he gulps hard before he plasters on a brave smile and rotates on the spot. He only has about a millisecond to brace himself for the feelings that are about to coalesce and crash down on him, yet the moment he sees your face, he knows that no amount of time in the world could've ever prepared him for the all-consuming relief he feels in his chest when he sees your face for the first time in little over three years. A welcoming smile is crinkling at the corners of your eyes, your pouted lips are still in position from having practically sung his name only moments before, and your big, beautiful eyes are boring straight through his soulless holster of a body that you for some goddamn unimaginable reason still seem to like. You'd always said that his mere presence made you feel safe and even though he's had three years of getting used to the fact that he couldn't save you, it still cuts like a knife to have you looking at him like that again.

"Hi sweetheart," he breathes quietly and locks eyes with you. It feels as if he's been kicked in the stomach.

"Hi," you smile broadly at the familiar pet name and Bucky feels his heart skip a beat. "- What are you doing here?" You ask softly and cock your head to the side as you take him in, "I thought you and Sam were supposed to be buried deep in the woods of Siberia right now."

"We finished the mission early," he manages to croak even though it feels as if the Sahara desert has been poured straight down his throat.

"Oh, good! How did it go? Did you get the intel?"

He resorts to nodding as he tries swallowing to lubricate his hoarse throat but the saliva just settles as a thick, immobile lump on top of his larynx, making it all so much worse. He hadn't gotten the intel. He had panicked when Steve had called him, and he and Sam had both run for the quinjet, desperate to come home and help search for you among the rubbles of the archive in the strangled hope of finding you alive.

"Of course you did! I don't know what you were fussing so much about - didn't I tell you, you were the right man for the job?" you send him an impressed grin and it makes him feel even worse for having lied to you.

"Yeah," he croaks guiltily and looks away from you. His heart is hammering a mile a minute and he knows he has to get out of here before he reveals too much but how can he leave when your gaze is finally locked on his again? For a moment, he just wants to forget all about how he's gonna lose everything in a couple of hours.

Out the corner of his eye, he can see how you knit your eyebrows tightly together as you take him in. You'd always had a knack for reading him when he didn't want you to - it was what had brought the two of you together in the first place - but this time, it's really inconvenient.

"Hey, are you alright?" You ask tentatively while twitching your fingers a little as if reaching out for him. Of course you've already seen straight through him. " - you look a little pale."

"Yeah," he clears his throat, telling himself to pull it together, "yeah, I'm good."

"Okay..." you nod but you don't look too convinced by his lie. "Why don't you come join me?" you ask and he can't believe himself and his dumb legs but his muscles start moving autonomously and suddenly, he's sitting next to you, silently savouring how you snuggle up to his side as you look straight ahead and up at the morning sky.

At first, he pretends he's interested in the purple streaks above the two of you as well, but after not even five seconds, he turns his face to look at you, hoping to memorise all your features before it's too late.

"Barnes, you're staring," you chuckle while hyper-focusing your gaze on a spot in the growing horizon.

"Sorry," his voice is thick and pained but he keeps his eyes locked on you. How is he supposed to ever look away?

Slowly, you turn your face to the side, your happy grin slowly slipping from off your lips when you notice his blank eyes. "Hey," you put your hand on his knee and he can feel the electricity building underneath your touch, "- are you sure you're alright?"

He just nods, scared that if he opens his mouth, the truth will come out. Why did he not prepare for this?

"Yeah?" you rub over the small hole in his jeans and the lightning burns like a fire in his veins. He feels so guilty.

"Mm-hmm," he blinks rapidly. "I just missed you."

"Four days out and you miss me?" you chuckle happily and move a little closer to him so he can feel the heat radiating from off your body. "You're turning into a sap! - I bet you didn't mention this to Sam."

"He knows," Bucky mumbles and throws an arm around your body so you can put your head on his shoulder.

"Oh he knows now, does he?" you laugh whole-heartedly in disbelief. Back then, for some stupid reason he cannot even remember right now, Bucky had been so desperate to keep his feelings for you private but with the pain and the sorrow that had followed losing you, he suspects the rest of the team figured it out quite soon after, although he never really confirmed it to either of them. "What did he say? Did he tease you?" you giggle as you link your arm with his and grab tightly around right bicep. "- or use it against you or what it is you're so afraid of?"

"No," Bucky croaks as he blinks a few times and curses at himself for his inability to just play it cool. "He misses you too. We all do."

You straighten your back so you can look directly at him. Your smile is still in place but it freezes slightly as you furrow your eyebrows in confusion. "Okay, I'm not gonna ask you again," you chuckle apprehensively, "- but are you a hundred percent sure you're alright? You're a shadow of yourself today."

"Yeah, sweetheart, I'm good," he pulls you close to his chest and kisses the top of your scalp, "let's just enjoy the sunrise, okay?"

"Okay," you nod quietly and look back towards the morning sky, but out the corner of his eye, he can see how your gaze constantly darts back towards his face. "it's just... Well, since you seem to have absolutely no intensions of bringing it up yourself, I have to ask..." You cock your head to the side and Bucky can feel his breathing speeding up, not sure what you're about to confront him with. "- What happened to your hair?" you laugh sweetly, your lips spreading even further apart in your gorgeous signature grin as you search his face.

He should be relieved that that's what you're wondering about, but it's a detail he hadn't even considered. He had insisted on the long hair back when you'd dated him and now he has no good answer as to why he chose to cut it all off. 

"Did something life-altering happen that I don't know about or did you just feel like suddenly chopping it off?" you joke. Or at least, he thinks you're joking.

"Uh - I - uhm - I just cut it," he says and uncomfortably shift his weight around, eager to have you look anywhere else than his face. Truth be told, he had cut it because something terrible and life-altering had happened to him but he's not about to reveal your fate to you.

"You just cut it?" you arch an eyebrow in disbelief. "On a mission? Was the intel located at a salon?" you laugh again.

"Yeah, well... I figured it was time, you know?"

"Hmm, yeah... Well, it looks good on you," you chip happily and send him a dreamy smile, "but then again, you always look good. It's annoying."

"Mmh," he forces a smile.

Your gaze wanders over his face once more and you push together your eyebrows as you take him in while trying to understand what's going on inside his head. You definitely still think he's acting beside himself.

"You promised you wouldn't ask again," he tries joking to diffuse the tension between you and it seems to work because it immediately has you smiling.

"Don't worry, I won't..." you press your lips tightly together and reach up to run a hand through his short hair just to feel him underneath your fingertips. "Mmh, I missed you," you hum.

Your small, delicate fingers caressing his scalp is a simple touch of warm intimacy that Bucky had completely forgotten the sensation of, and he has to close his eyes to stop himself from crying at the gentleness if it. He never thought he'd feel this again, and there had been many nights since the bombing where he'd cried not only for the loss of you, but for the loss of intimacy as well.

You rake your hand through his hair again, and he can't believe it, but for a short second while you're running your fingers through his short strands, he actually envies the version of himself who's bickering with Sam somewhere in rural Russia right now. The version of himself who's completely oblivious as to what will happen within the next twelve hours. That guy just thinks he's going home to scalp kisses and head scratches by his love at the end of the mission... Bucky doesn't, however, envy the grief that the other version will have to navigate through for the next couple of years until he can finally feel this kind of intimacy again. For a few second he, himself, is the lucky one.

Even with closed eyes, he can sense the deep look you're giving him and although he wants to sit like this forever and revel in your love, he can't risk giving himself away. "Sweetheart, you're missing it..." he says in a strangely throaty voice and nods towards the horizon, not sure what outcome he's hoping for. He just knows he doesn't want to take away your last sunrise ever.

"I don't care," you whisper and rake a hand through his hair one more time. "I know you say you're alright, but you're not... What happened to you?"

"Nothing," he mumbles.

"It's not nothing..." you say softly and scratch at his neck until he finally opens his eyes again. "Why won't you tell me?" you whisper and press in on his aching jaw to get him to unclench it.

He reaches out and intertwines his fingers with the hand you have lying in your lap. "I'll tell you tomorrow, okay? Let's just sit here and enjoy this moment for a little while..."

"If you say so," you nod disappointedly as you look down at your joined hands.

He's so lost, so confused as to what to do now that he doesn't even register how your gaze briefly stops at the familiar watch he's wearing, so when you look up at him again, it's with a foreign, sudden type of sadness he doesn't know where comes from. Your eyes are searching his face, stopping at several fix points that you keep coming back to over and over again: his shorter hair line, the crows feet surrounding his blue irises, the crease above his nose that has only grown more prominent over the recent years, the newly acquired wound on his chin that has turned into a white scar because he hadn't put sunscreen on it last summer. All telltales of time having passed since the last time you'd seen him.

He can practically hear the gears turning in your head before your eyes soften considerably and you give out a sad sigh. "Hmm," you hum quietly and shoot him a despondent look he can't really place. "What are you doing here?

"...What do you mean?" he asks sincerely and presses his eyebrows together as he looks down into your sad eyes.

You give him a second to properly answer your question but when he doesn't, you sigh again and slowly lean forwards while pressing your palm to his face, caressing his bearded chin. "You're not my Bucky..." you say quietly as you stroke his cheekbone.

His breath catches in his throat and his heart immediately starts racing. "W-what?"

"You're not my Bucky" you repeat resolutely while huge eyes are still searching his face, "what are you doing here."

"I don't understand."

"James..." you say softly and cock your head to the side.

He remembers this. It's always James when you want him to speak the truth.

"I could tell something was off from the minute I saw you but the watch gave you away," you nod down to his wrist that is still lying in your lap before your soft gaze finds his eyes again. "Time hasn't been kind to you, has it?" you whisper while lovingly stroking his cheek.

"W-what?" He doesn't even have it in him to protest more than that. Not when you sound so sure of yourself.

"How does it happen?" you ask him gently, overtly controlled. He should have known this; of course you'd figure it out...

"How does what happen?" he blinks desperately, not sure what to do now. He can't be the one who tells you. He can't.

You lower your chin without moving your eyes from his. "I die, don't I? That's why you're here."

He continues blinking rapidly, his breath still caught in his throat as his lungs start heaving for air. Just thinking about it hurts in his chest.

"It's okay," you whisper, your eyes still huge as you try and calm him down. "What - uhm - what happens? Will we be together when it occurs?"

"No," he whimpers and throws away his very last hope of fooling you into believing that it isn't the reason why he's here. "I won't be home yet."

"You won't be home yet..." you repeat in a low voice and Bucky sees how your eyes grow wide as you slowly manage put two and two together. "Buck -- when does this happen?" you ask shakily and for the first time, he detects a trace of fear in your voice.

He gives out a short whimper in reply and clutches your hand tightly as he feels the tears well in his eyes. How is he supposed to tell you that you have less that twenty-four hours to live?

"When?" you repeat quietly and hold on to him even tighter than before.

"Sweetheart, don't make me say it," he avoids looking at you.

"Don't you think I have a right to know...?"

"Of course you do it's just--"

"-When?"

Bucky takes a deep, ragged breath before he confirms the very thing you suspect and fear. "This afternoon, a bomb will go off in the West Wing."

"This afternoon?" You drop the grip you have on his hand while staring at him in shock. "I'm going to die... today?”

"Don't - don't say it like that," he whines. "Please, it's so unfair! You have so much to live for and it's all taken away from you just like that. I'd trade places with you in a heartbeat but I'm not here, and I won't be here before it's too late. I'm so sorry sweetheart. I'm so sorry!"

"It's okay, Buck." With huge eyes and your mouth hanging wide open, you stare at him as you let the shock settle down around you. "It's okay... it's okay..." you eventually say and force-close your locked jaw as you rub a hand over your face. "I'm sorry, but - uh - I need to know. What exactly happens? Who else will be here?"

"We're all away," Bucky sighs with regret, "It's just you and Natasha."

Immediately, you cover your mouth with your hand, "Nat!" you gasp, even more shocked by this than by the news of your own passing.

"Nat's fine," Bucky immediately interrupts and grabs your hand again, holding it tight, "she's going to be at the gym."

"...And me?"

"I don't know sweetheart," he whispers, "Nat told us that you wanted to get some work done so you skipped out on your training. We think you may be at the centre of the blast. We - we never find you," he breathes through his nose to keep himself controlled. He can feel the tears pressing in on his eyeballs again when he thinks of the empty coffin they had to bury.

"At least it's quick then," you say and turn your face towards the garden that is still bathed in the pink hue from the rising sun. "I'm going to die today," you say matter-of-factly with your gaze fixed on the sky. "huh... So we never get to go on that date on Friday?

"No sweetheart..."

"- And we've already had our last kiss?

He nods. "Yeah..."

"I'm sorry," you whisper while staring at him with sad eyes, "I'm sorry you have to go through all that alone."

"I'm not alone," he mumbles and looks down at his feet. "Steve tries to talk to me. Sam too."

"But you don't accept," you chuckle sadly while shaking your head from side to side while playfully rolling your eyes at him, "God, you're so stubborn!"

"I know," he nods, "but it's too painful to talk about even now."

"How much time passes?" you look back at him while taking a deep breath. "How many years ahead are you right now?"

"It doesn't matter," he gulps guiltily. He knows how this part of the conversation will go.

"James..."

"Three," he sucks in a bit of air, hoping that it isn't that much time in your eyes.

"Three years?" you whine, your eyes huge with the shock of his confession as you clutch your chest, "Baby, you have to move on!"

Immediately, his heart cracks in two and he can no longer hold back the tears that he finally lets flow freely down his cheeks without trying to stop them. "No, I can't," he sniffles quietly, "I don't want to. I just wish you were still here. I miss you so much, you have no idea. I feel so guilty for being away. I think about it all the time."

"Bucky," you say softly and put a hand underneath his chin, wiping away a few tears and forcing him to look back up at you, "- you couldn't have done anything anyway. You know what I'm like when I put my mind to something. If you'd been here, you would probably have gone to the gym with Nat because I would still have gone to the West Wing to finish up work. It wouldn't have changed anything."

"But I never even get to tell you how I feel."

"Bucky, look at me," you whisper with a small smile and lean forwards, "it's okay. You don't have to tell me. I already know." You put your forehead to his and smile softly at him, "- and I hope you know that I feel the same about you."

With a gulp, he nods.

"Then kiss me," you wipe away another of his tears and tilt your head.

He closes his eyes and finds your mouth immediately, pushes himself impossibly close to your body and feels the softness pour over him as you press your pillowy lips to his in the most heartfelt kiss he's ever experienced. He tries to let his love shine through as raw as possible so there will be absolutely no doubt how much he loves you but from the way you're holding on to him, he can feel that you truly do already know. Your hand is warm against his face and it causes his heart to calm down its rapid beating while your lips move like silk on top of his.

"Mmh, sweetheart," he whispers into your mouth and feels every inch of you engulf him in love and bravery. Suddenly, he's free, so liberated from the grief that has been hanging over his head for so long that he completely forgets that he's on borrowed time.

The loud sounds coming from his wrist watch that suddenly begins beeping out of nowhere is the only terrible reminder of the setting he's in - that there's a deadline hanging over his head if he ever wants to make it home again.

"You're cutting it close, huh?" you say quietly as you reluctantly break off the kiss and place your forehead back on his. You both know that the watch only starts beeping when there's less than two minutes left to get to the jump site.

"I don't care," he shakes his head, not sure what else to say as he feels reality come crashing down on him again.

"You're really gonna let it go to red?" you chuckle as if impressed. "You know that Fury's gonna tear you a new one, right?"

"I don't care."

"I bet you don't," you chuckle and he joins you in smiling, revelling in the odd sensation that it brings to his cheeks to chuckle like this again. "I'm glad you found me, Barnes."

"Me too, sweetheart," he whispers as the smile slips from off his face again. "I wish there was something I could do..."

"You're here right now, aren't you?" you smile and briefly kiss him again, "I'm glad you came back, even just for a few minutes."

"It's not enough to say goodbye..." he mumbles and laces his fingers with yours.

"Oh, but this? This is not a goodbye," you chuckle quietly while shaking your head, "it's an I'll see you later."

"If you say so," he nods without really accepting your explanation and ignores the incessant beeping from his watch that only grows louder and louder by the second.

"You should probably get back, don't you think? Wouldn't want you to miss your mark and have you stuck here with me."

"Mmm," he whimpers and desperately kisses your knuckles with closed eyes.

"Chin up Barnes," you chuckle at him, "- the sky is the most beautiful I've ever seen it and I had a good run. I'll be okay."

"I'll miss you," he says as the watch starts blinking angry red, warning him that he only has thirty seconds left.

"I'll miss you too," you say and squeeze his fingers tightly before you let go of him, "you have twenty-seven seconds. Promise me you'll make it back, okay?"

"Okay," he nods and slowly stands up, taking one last look at you before he walks across the wooden floorboards and back towards the door he'd entered through.

"Hey Barnes?" You say when his hand reaches the doorknob and it immediately makes him turn around to see you standing on your feet, looking at him with a resolute look in your eye, your hands determinedly balled to fists by your side. "You say you're three years ahead. What date is it where you're from?"

"Uh... September sixth?" he says, a bit confused as to why that should matter but he's not about to deny a dying woman an answer to her question. "Why?"

"Just out of curiosity," you nod towards his angry watch, "twenty seconds."

"I know."

"I'll see you later, okay?"

"I'll see you baby," he whispers and physically feels his heart crack even worse in his chest as he takes a definitive last look at you. The sun is coming up behind you now, marking the worst day of Bucky's existence and all he can do is let it happen.

September 7th

He didn't even think it possible, but it's even worse than the first time around.

He'd collapsed on the floor the minute he'd exited the quantum realm, tears and snot blurring his vision as he'd fallen to his knees, his heart aching so horribly in his chest he'd thought he was dying. He wasn't. Unfortunately.

Steve had been there in an instant, on his knees beside Bucky, holding him tight, making sure he didn't pass out from hyperventilating, trying to calm him down.

The rest is a blur. Bucky isn't sure how Steve managed to manoeuvre him to his bedroom on the tenth floor and he doesn't even remember if Steve had been there when he'd finally fallen asleep, dreaming of you and the feeling of your body in his arms, your lips touched to his.

When he wakes up the next morning, it takes him a minute to remember that you're still gone, and in that moment, he isn't sure if seeing you again was liberating or just pure torture. If only he could've done something to fix what had happened....

"Buck?" Steve's voice immediately sounds from beside him as he starts shuffling a bit in the sheets, eager to get the cold sweat to stop pooling at his forehead. He turns around on the bed and meets the disheveled face of Steve who's occupying the chair where Bucky usually puts his dirty clothes, his eyes red with sleep deprivation, his hair sticking up in all possible directions.

"Stevie..." Bucky croaks and clears his throat as he takes in the state of his best friend who's clearly stayed by his side all night. "What are you doing here?"

"As if I was just going to leave you," Steve sighs solemnly and rubs his eyes. "How are you?"

Bucky sits up straight and lets his head fall back against the headrest. He can still see the broken look you'd sent him when he'd revealed your terrible fate to you. "You know how I am."

"Yeah..." he sighs again and looks away. "I'm sorry Buck but you're gonna have to talk about it."

"I know I broke a rule. You and Fury can yell at me tomorrow, okay?" Bucky says quietly and tries to block out the mental image of what'd happened to you. "I just need some time."

Steve reaches out his hand and lets it fall on top of Bucky shoulder. "Buck, I'm - I'm not gonna yell at you. I just want you to finally open up to me, you've been so closed off since it happened. I know what you had with her was... special. And I know why you went back and talked to her, I've been tempted to do the same many times. Trust me."

"I just wanted to see her," Bucky squeezes his eyes shut and bites his lip, desperately trying to get his breathing under control again. "I never intended to talk to her, it just... happened. I think I'd forgotten how observant she was."

"I know," Steve pushes down on Bucky's shoulder and shoots him a sympathetic smile. "How much did you tell her?"

"...Everything."

"And how did she take it?"

"She was really brave about it. I think I took it worse than she did... I don't know, I'm gonna need some time to process it all..."

"Mmh," Steve nods in quiet desperation, not sure what to do or say to make Bucky feel better. "I'll give you some space then, okay pal? I'll check in again in a couple of hours."

"Please don't," Bucky sighs and lays his head back down on his pillow, his mind already overflowing with every memory of you. All the way back from the first time he'd seen you to the point where he'd told you you were about to die. Shit.

He's so lost in thought he almost doesn't hear the hurried footsteps coming from the hallway, and he barely even registers the door being kicked open as Sam yells his name. "Bucky! Bucky, wake the hell up! You have to come downstairs! Now!"

"Sam?" Steve questions, already on his feet, ready to run to whatever emergency Sam is warning. "What's going on?"

Sam's eyes are wide open, his mouth falling agape in disbelief as he quietly chuckles and frantically waves Bucky and Steve over to him, "Come on! It's unbelievable! You have to see it for yourselves!"

"I don't care what it is, I'm not coming," Bucky mumbles from the bed and pulls his comforter closer around his chest, praying for Sam and Steve to leave him alone.

Sam bends down and picks up the nearest pair of jeans, throwing it over to Bucky on the bed. "Put on some pants, man, and come down stairs. Now!"

Bucky looks to Steve for help but he merely shrugs before he throws Bucky a black hoodie from underneath the chair he'd been occupying only moments before.

"You've got to be fucking kidding me," he mumbles under his breath and reluctantly swings his legs over the side of the mattress, well knowing that his two friends won't leave him alone until he's seen what Sam's fussing about for himself.

"Come on!" Sam urges and impatiently taps the doorframe to Bucky's room with his foot as Bucky slowly pulls on the jeans and hoodie just to annoy him.

"Sam what's going on?" Steve finally asks again when they're all three standing in the elevator, zooming towards the ground floor.

"Just... just wait, okay?" he says rapidly, clearly excited about what's going on. It's giving Bucky a goddamn headache. "You're not gonna believe me anyway!"

Bucky gives out an annoyed sigh as he throws his head up against the back wall of the elevator, closing his eyes. He needs a fucking aspirin.

"You good?" Steve turns to him while Sam continues his nervous-tapping against the floor.

"I'm about to strangle Sam if that's what you’re worried about..."

Sam stops tapping and opens his mouth to retort, but is interrupted by a loud ding as the doors slide open and instead settles for an annoyed look sent in Bucky's direction before he turns around. Immediately, the three men are met by Natasha's loud squeals coming from the next room, causing Steve to half-jog out of the elevator and through the empty hallway while Bucky slouches after him, counting the seconds until he can finally be alone again and wallow in his misery.

Steve stops in the doorway to the next room, his jaw practically dropping to the floor as soon as he sees what Natasha's so worked up about. It only takes him exactly two seconds of utter shock before he composes himself enough to turn his head and look Bucky straight in the eye. "Buck... it's..." his voice trails off as he looks back at the scene unfolding before him.

"What's happening?" Bucky asks curiously for the first time, and can feel how his heart picks up its pace as he dreads the sight that will meet him when he catches up to Steve.

"Come on, man," Sam says and puts his hand between Bucky's shoulder blades, urging him to move forwards so he can see for himself.

It feels as if it's taking him an eternity to reach those last few yards across the hallway, and when he's finally by Steve's side, he's so worked up, he isn't even sure if his mind is playing tricks on him or not. Because there, in the middle of the room, Natasha is standing in a tight embrace with none other than ...you?

Bucky blinks a few times, takes a step forwards, not sure if he's still dreaming.

You have tears running down your cheeks as you lock eyes with him over your best friend's shoulder and you can't stop the broad smile that spreads on your lips. "Buck," you whisper and immediately let go of Natasha who sniffles and steps to the side so Bucky can see all of you.

There you are. Standing in all your glory, unharmed, undead, living and breathing, and singing his name so sweetly as you take a step towards him, your feet shaking nervously underneath you.

"Are you seeing this too?" Bucky whispers to Steve though he doesn't dare move his eyes away from your form in fear of losing you if it turns out to just be a cruel illusion.

"Yeah, Buck," Steve's voice is shaking by his side, "I see her too."

"Buck," you laugh through the tears that continue to roll down your cheeks. "It's really me," you lift your hand and reach out for him.

"Oh my god," he whispers and strides across the room. Immediately, you're in his arms and he's crying your name as he touches you all over your body to make sure you're really there, squeezing you against his chest, kissing the top of your scalp, running his hands over your back, "I don't believe this!"

"Hi baby," you whisper and kiss his neck, his ear, his cheek. "I'm here. It's okay, I'm here."

"You're alive?" he sniffles and briefly holds you out at an arms length before he pulls you close to his chest again, "how? We all thought you were dead!"

"I'm sorry," you whisper and hold him as close as possible as you mumble against his chest. "I couldn't give you any signs of life. I couldn't risk it."

He puts a hand under your chin and urges you to look up at him. "Risk what?" he frantically searches your face, voice shaking, still desperate to confirm you're really here.

You put your hand on his chest as you always do to calm him down and send him a deep, intimate look. "I had to wait until after September 6th of this year to see you again. I'm sorry."

"I - I don't understand..." he says and strokes his thumb over your cheek.

"Come here," you break off the tight embrace and lead him to a small bench in the corner of the room, sitting him down beside you. "What you did that day saved me," you grab his hand and wrap it in your tiny fingers, "I would have been in the West Wing when the bomb went off if you hadn't said anything... But because of you, I left early. Like you said I would, I told Nat I couldn't come with her to the gym because I was going to finish up a mission report, so I waited until after she'd started her work-out to leave. I couldn't write you a note, or give you any sign of what'd happened because you needed the motive to go back in time to save me. I had to keep you grieving or you never would've come, so I just... left... I've been hiding in a small village in the mountains of Spain, waiting for this exact date. That's why you never found a body among the rubble."

"W-what? ...but we - we searched for weeks," he whispers, not sure why that's the detail he decides to focus on. He's not sure his shocked brain can fully comprehend your confession. He's having trouble just moving his shaking limbs. "You're alive..."

"I know. I'm sorry, baby. But it was necessary."

"You're alive..." he repeats quietly, the realisation slowly dawning upon him. "I don't believe it..." he whispers and pulls you close to his chest again as the tears start stinging in his eyes, "you're alive..."

"Yeah, I'm alive," you sniffle against him and hug him just as tightly as you'd done what was only mere hours ago for him, three years and fifty-three days for you. "You saved me."

"Oh my god," he cries into your neck, kissing your shoulder, "I've missed you so much!"

"You've been so brave," you whisper against him and caress the back of his head, "I'm so proud of you."

"No, I've been a pathetic mess. These guys can testify to that," he mumbles and points to over his shoulder where he can hear Sam and Nat chuckle quietly. "I never thought I'd see you again."

"I know," you smile sadly, "seeing you like that that day was heartbreaking. I knew I had to do something or you wouldn't survive it."

"I am so glad you did," he kisses your knuckles and scoots a little closer to you. "I mean, I knew you were stubborn but I never took you for such a cosmic rule-breaker, sweetheart," he smiles through the tears, and shoots you an impressed glance, "Fury's gonna tear you a new one."

You shoot back your head with laughter and sweetly wrap his hand up in yours. "Yeah, thank God that's never stopped me before," you giggle.

He never thought he'd sit like this with you again, and when you finally lean in close and kiss him, he promises himself that he'll never let you go.

#bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes imagine #bucky barnes #bucky barnes angst with happy ending #bucky barnes fluff

[delaber]

Over 6k comments, reblogs and likes 😭 I feel so blessed! Thanks to everyone for reading and sharing this fic - I love that it still circulates even a year later.

Warrior/Worrier (Bucky Barnes x Reader)

Summary: After a mission gone awry, Bucky finds himself on your doorstep in the middle of the night.

Words: 5.3K

Fluff, fluff and fluff and a lil bit of angst. Classic hurt/comfort and friends to lovers

Through the darkness, there's a knock on your bedroom door, so soft, so cautious, that if you hadn't already been half-awake, you're not sure you would've caught it.

Legs quickly swung over the side of your mattress, you stop and focus at a fixpoint in your moonlit room.

According to the big mission schedule hung in Steve's office, you should be the only one at the compound, so you cannot for the life in you figure out who would rap on your door at 3.30 in the morning, but it wasn't just something you'd imagined because there it is again. A knock, not much louder than before, but definitely there.

For a brief second, your foggy brain ponders that it's likely someone who's been sent to kill you in the dead of night, but before you've even reached for your bedside Beretta, rationality reminds you that they probably wouldn't have had the curtesy to knock first - and then it dawns on you.

"Nat," you sigh with a roll of your eyes and let your bare feet hit the floor while you rub the sleep from off your face. It's not the first time she's forgotten the lock combination to her room after post-mission drinks.

Slowly, you walk across the cold floorboards and over to the wooden door where you can hear ragged breathing from the other side of the wall. Hand lazily pulling the door open, you start talking before you've seen who's on the other side.

"It's only four digits and you're panic breathing?" you chuckle but is immediately taken aback when you're not met by Natasha but instead by your best friend. "...Buck?"

He's back from his mission a day earlier than you'd expected and you're just about to crack a witty comment on how you'd told him that Sam couldn't stand to be alone with him for more than thirty-six hours, but then you notice the state he's in.

His entire body is slumped over as he clutches his right arm tight to his chest, eyes droopy and blank, cheekbones dotted by freckles of soot and framed by thick strands of auburn hair caked in dried blood. "Doll," he breathes painfully and takes a step closer, looking only mildly relieved to see you.

"Buck!" you hiss in fear and grab both his cheeks, but his dirty face just drops further, and he can't even look at you though you're standing mere inches apart.

"I know it's late," he mumbles with his gaze downcast, "but can I come in?"

It's as if you don't hear him clearly enough to respond. His voice is under water and at the same time layers above you while you're far too concerned with every look of horror splashed across his handsome face, your hands frantically clutching his bloodied cheeks as you desperately search his eyes though he still won't look at you. "What happened? Where's all this blood coming from?"

"It's - it's not mine..." he croaks with a small shake of his head.

Fear ripples through your entire body one more time and you can barely speak as you imagine the worst possible scenario that might have caused Bucky to behave like this. "Is it... Sam?" you whimper with tears already burning in your eyes, fighting the urge to throw up.

"He's fine," Bucky quickly interrupts with a small nod, "I dropped him off at his girl's place twenty minutes ago," he croaks and finally looks up at you, his eyes more broken than you've ever seen them before. It makes your heart crack in two. "Sweetheart, can I please come in?"

"Oh god," you pant anxiously and reluctantly let your fingers slide off his cheeks as you step to the side and finally let him inside your bedroom. "Yes, yes of course you can come in."

Immediately, he's on your bed, his face buried in his vibranium hand as the pads of his fingers start rubbing circles over his dusty forehead.

"What happened?" you barely manage to croak as you sit down beside him and carefully place a hand on his rigid thigh. "Last time I heard from you, everything was going according to plan."

"I don't want to talk about it," he gulps and starts rubbing his face even more agitatedly, looking over at you with an apologetic look on his face. "- not right now... I just had to see you. I'm sorry I woke you up."

You grab his vibranium hand and bring it down to his lap to get him to stop his frantic movements and he immediately squeezes you tight, letting out another heart-breaking sob.

"It's okay, Buck. I'm glad you're here."

Over the last year, you've seen Bucky on his darkest days a handful of times, and he usually has the same look on his face, but this time, it's different. It's deeper. Despondent and morose, the anger that's usually posessing him om the bleaker days replaced by a different kind of sadness.

Something really bad must've happened...

"Do you wanna sleep in here tonight?" you ask, unsure how to tackle this the best way possible if you don't want him to shield himself off in his room the way he usually does when he's not feeling his best. He shouldn't be alone under any circumstances.

You're half expecting him to protest, but to your surprise he starts nodding, relieved. "Thank you," he whispers and squeezes your hand tight again.

You make an attempt at a comforting touch as you brush over the soot on his cheeks, making a strand of dirty hair dipped in dried blood fall from his forehead. "You want a shower? I can draw you a bath."

He nods again.

"Come on, love," you say quietly and watch as he gulps hard at the sound of the tender pet-name that you've been wanting to call him for months now but haven't had the guts to say out loud until it accidentally slips past your lips. Surprisingly, you're not even embarrassed by yourself. You suppose there are more important things to worry about than an accidental profession of love in a moment of gentle affection.

Bucky seems taken aback too, frozen, and full of wonder, but he shakes it off and lets you pull him to your small bathroom, accepting your fluffiest towel without a word as he continues staring at you.

"I'll be just outside, okay?" you say reassuringly as you turn on the water in your bathtub, making sure it's the right temperature before putting in the drain stopper.

He's still looking at you with huge eyes, flesh arm clutched to his chest while the fluffy white towel gently supports his elbow. You silently wonder if he's hurt but before you can ask him, he speaks.

"Can you... stay?" He asks quietly, biting his inner cheek, unsure if his request is too much.

Still, it's your turn to be taken aback. You and Bucky are close but not like that. 

"Stay?" you instinctively furrow your eyebrows, "while you shower?

He immediately clenches his jaw shut and shakes his head while small patches of pink appear on his cheeks underneath all the dirt. "I'm sorry. I shouldn't have asked."

"No, no it's okay," you quickly stand up from your position by the tub spout so you're once again levelled. "- I was just surprised, that's all," you want to smack yourself for making him doubt himself. "Of course I'll stay."

Ice blue irises slowly find yours while the rose tint of his lower lip is being pulled between his teeth. "Are you sure?" he hesitates while sucking in some air, "I don't want to make you uncomfortable..."

"You're not," you touch your hand to his sternum to underline your words and watches as the crease between his eyebrows slowly reduces as he gradually relaxes under your touch. You can't help but think that even through all the dust and the grime, he looks incredibly beautiful.

"Let me give you some privacy," you unwillingly let go of him and turn away so he can undress in peace.

From behind you, you can hear the ruffle of his tac pants being pushed down his legs before the belt buckle clangs loudly against the tiles of the floor. It's followed by a series of loud painful grunts and hisses a few seconds later.

"Are you okay?" you ask and turn your head to the side, careful not to look directly at him as to not break the trust he put in you when he asked you to stay. "Buck?"

"Yeah, sweetheart," he sighs in embarrassment behind you, "it's just... do you think you could... help me?"

You turn around slowly to find him standing in the middle of the bathroom still wearing his torn t-shirt and Kevlar vest, bare-legged in boxer shorts and black socks pulled high up on his calf while his pants are lying crumbled on the floor beside him. He's awkwardly shifting the weight between his two feet, still clutching his right arm tightly. "It's my elbow."

Immediately, you furrow your eyebrows and walk over to him, taking his right hand in yours. "Yeah, I meant to ask you earlier. What happened?"

He doesn't answer but just silently lets you examine the swelling and black-purple skin that's half-hidden underneath dust and blood.

"Shit," you breathe and hear him give out a sharp hiss when you turn his arm over so you can examine the other side, "Buck, I think your elbow's torn."

"Me too," he gulps, "- I heard it snap."

At the mere thought of the sound, a wave of nausea hits you square in the chest and your stomach starts to churn. You can feel the tang of acid push up on your tongue when you imagine the pain he must've been enduring - still is enduring - but you fight it relentlessly and eventually manage to swallow down the bile. You should be taking care of him, not the other way around.

"We should go down to the infirmary," you say and keep your gaze firmly placed on the purple bruising, so he doesn't notice your discomfort. "I know it probably won't take too long to heal with the serum and all but just to make su-"

"Sweetheart," he gulps from above you and it makes you stop mid-sentence. "Not tonight, okay? I just wanna stay here tonight."

You look up at him, about to protest, but the words quickly die in your throat when you notice the look he's wearing. He's begging. Anxious. Heavy-hearted.

"Okay," you reluctantly agree and carefully let go of his arm while he sends you a grateful look. "Come on, let me help you out of this," you say quietly in defeat and unstrap his vest beneath his ribs, pulling the Kevlar plates over his head while he groans loudly.

"Ah!" he hisses and clutches his elbow tight, squeezing his eyes shut when you try and pull his t-shirt over his head. "Fuck!"

"You good?"

"Mm-hmm" he hums displeased with lips pressed so tightly together they're forming a thin, white line. "Just get it over with."

You pull on the hem again so the dark fabric rides up his stomach, revealing scarred skin pulled tight over the bulging muscles you've spent so many warm summer days discreetly staring at. "Can you reach your arms just a little higher?" you ask and watch how his diaphragm heaves in small electric shocks when he cannot control the loud gasps that escape his throat.

"Fuck me!" He hisses and squeezes his eyes so tightly shut that his entire face pales. "Just rip the damn fabric off," he hisses angrily, "I can't extend my fucking arm."

"Are you sure you don't wanna get it checked out in the med wing?" You let go of his t-shirt and look him deep in the eye, hoping your concerned gaze can convince him that it'll be worth the trip just to get your jumping nerves under control.

"Just... get me out of this thing," he sighs in defeat. "Cut it open, I don't care."

Disinclined, you dive down in the drawer underneath your sink, pulling out a small flat-legged scissor that came with a roll of gauze you bought last year when you had a nasty wound that wouldn't stop bleeding. "Are you sure?" You look up at him as you put the blade underneath the hem of his t-shirt.

Through the fingers you have placed over his chest, you can feel how his pulse quickly falls again when your eyes meet.

"S'just a t-shirt," he mumbles quietly while nodding, "I'm sure..."

Though you want to stay in this position forever, you slowly look away from him and down at your hands as your hesitantly start cutting, careful not to pierce Bucky's flesh with the sharp scissors.

The blade runs through the fabric like a hot knife through butter and you can feel every tense muscle that the edge of the scissors encounters as they travel over his warm stomach and chest. It makes the blood roar in your ears as more and more skin is revealed underneath your fingertips.

Concentrated on not hurting him even more, you keep your gaze firmly placed on his heavily panting chest as you cut open the front of his black shirt and carefully peel the fabric off his bruised arm until he's standing in front of you in nothing but black boxers and socks, his left hand carefully reaching out for yours as if to comfort both of you.

You've seen him bare chested several times before, but it's never been in this close proximity, never been this intimate, just the two of you holding hands and looking each other deep in the eye as you silently try to assure the other that everything is going to be okay.

"So..." you clear your throat, embarrassed by the fact that you have to hold yourself back from leaning forwards, planting a small kiss on his dusty cheek. "- I take it you can shimmy your way out of those on your own, right?" You nod down towards his boxers and he blinks as if he's just woken up from a trance.

"Yeah," he nods and lets go of your hand while the pink patches make a reappearance on his face.

Slowly, you turn around facing the running spout in the tub to the soft sound of cotton hitting the floor behind you. Involuntarily, you give out a gulp and flusteredly grab the box of bath salts just to give your shaking hands something to do. You cannot believe that your extremely fuckable best friend is standing naked in your bathroom no more than two feet away, begging you to stay close to him.

Eyes still firmly placed on the water in the tub, you point over your shoulder to the rainfall shower in the opposite corner of the bathroom. "You wanna rinse off first?"

"I better," Bucky hesitates behind you. "Don't you think?"

"It'll be a much nicer bath if you do," you awkwardly clear your throat.

"Yeah, you're right," he sighs and turns on the shower, immediately stepping inside and closing the glass door behind him so you can finally breathe freely again.

Through the mirror above the sink, you can make out his naked silhouette behind the matte glass and how the tension in his shoulders first tenfolds and then completely disappears the minute the water turns warm and he relaxes. He lets his forehead fall forwards so it's pressed up against the cold tiles while the water runs over his defined shoulders and down his sculpted back, and you literally have to force your eyes away from him and the shape of his handsome torso.

With your gaze fixed firmly on the fuzzy bathmat at the foot of the shower, you hear the sound of your bath gel being opened, followed by a series of painful grunts as Bucky desperately tries to lather himself with the soap.

"Fuck," he mumbles quietly and before you've even voiced a single word of concern, he continues. "Sweetheart, I know it's a lot to ask..." he says a little louder, the embararssement still evident in his voice, "- but I'm gonna need a little help in here... it's - it's this damn elbow," he sighs, "I'm useless. Can you...?" his voice trails off and the question hangs thickly in the air between you.

He wants you to join him.

To wash him.

Take care of him.

The thought alone makes you nervous, you have to admit, but he needs your help and you're willing to do anything for him.

"Give me a minute," you gulp and strip down to your panties, pulling on the bra you wore earlier so you're not completely bare in there. Several times, you've dreamt of you and Bucky naked together, but not like this - never like this - and you'll be damned if the first time he sees you without a shred of clothes is because he needs help and not because he needs you.

With your pyjamas neatly folded on top of the toilet seat cover, you take a final look at yourself in the mirror, brushing your hair out of your eyes before nervously reaching for the shower door with shaking hands.

He's still standing with his chiselled back towards you, letting the water rinse over his dirty hair and down between his shoulder blades with a slightly pinkish hue. "I'm so sorry about this," he mumbles uncomfortably and hands you your loofah behind his back. "I'll make it up to you, I promise."

"Come on, Buck," you say as you dribble a little soap on the sponge, fighting the urge to let your gaze run all the way down to his thick thighs. "Don't beat yourself up, you know I'm always here for you."

"Still," he mumbles and goes silent as the loofah gently runs over his tense shoulders and traces down his spine.

The white soap bubbles work magic on his dirty skin and you make sure not to leave out a single square inch of his scarred backside as you wash him while fighting the urge to wrap your arms around his torso, telling him how glad you are that he not alone came home, but also that he came to you seeking help instead of barricading himself in his room. It seems significant that he's here, as if something's changed between you though you cannot put your finger on it.

Completely lost in thought, you accidentally run the loofah a little too vigorously over his right tricep, sending shockwaves down his broken bone and resulting in a painful hiss falling from his open mouth.

"Sorry," you mumble, and scrub down his lower back, this time more careful with your movements though there aren't any dirty or bloody spots left on either side of his spine. "There we go" you conclude quietly when you realise that the rinsing water has finally lost its pink and grimy hue. "Turn around," you ask and hope he cannot hear the nervousness straining your voice. No matter what, you're not looking down.

Bucky seems just as jittery about his compromising position as you do, and he slowly spins around, revealing pink cheeks and heaving pecs, his gaze glued to the ceiling as he looks as if he's ready to fling himself off the nearest cliff. "God, sweetheart," he mumbles and breathes hard, "I'm so sorry for all this."

"Bucky, come on - what'd I tell you?" you touch the loofah to his chest, careful not to look anywhere than at the sponge itself as it traces over his collar bones and down his handsome stomach.

He merely sighs and stands completely still while you rinse the crevices between the metal plates over his left clavicle, careful not to move his torso so much he hisses in pain again.

"...You're a good friend," he mumbles after a few focused minutes where you've carefully been scrubbing the gold-plated lines in the vibranium, "- I ever tell you that?"

"All the time," you smile genuinely for the first time since he knocked on your door earlier that evening. If there's one thing you can count on, it's that Bucky Barnes appreciates you more than anything.

"I mean it," he says, "never doubt that."

You look up into his eyes.

He looks so soft and innocent as he stands before you, face finally clean, wet hair sticking to his forehead while he professes his love for you. Even if it's just platonic, it makes your heart skip a beat.

"I know, Buck."

"Good," he nods and blinks a few times with heavy, wet lashes framing his cerulean eyes. The air between you is thicker than ever and for a brief moment, it looks as if he's about to lean in and kiss you, but you break the tension by looking away. You don't want to take advantage of his vulnerable state no matter how badly you want that kiss.

"You ready for the tub?" You ask him in a weirdly shaky voice.

He nods while an almost inaudible sigh escapes his lips. "Yeah," he says and turns off the water, quickly exiting the shower before you can take notice of the disappointment burning on his skin.

You dry your feet on the small fuzzy mat, carefully watching Bucky's naked backside as he tests the temperature in the tub by dipping his toe in the water before stepping over the porcelain edge, sitting himself down.

Immediately, he gives out a content sigh, and drapes right arm over his chest, supporting his broken elbow with vibranium fingers, and you finally deem the situation safe enough to approach him again.

"Want me to wash your hair?"

"Mmh" he hums with closed eyes, immediately more relaxed now that he's covered by water. "I don't deserve you."

You grab your shampoo bottle and push out a decent amount of liquid, pressing it to his warm scalp to the sound of an alleviated sigh falling from his lips as you carefully start massaging it into his roots.

"Does that feel good?" you ask through a smile.

"Yeah, sweetheart," he groans quietly, making the butterflies in your stomach flutter awake, "- feels amazing."

You're slowly lathering shampoo into his long hair, enjoying the feel of him underneath your fingertips, how his soft hair slips through your hands while also trying not to think too much about the kiss you robbed yourself of in the shower. You can hear how his breathing slowly steadies and you think that maybe he's in the early stages of sleep but then he unexpectedly heaves a deep breath -

"You know... I haven't been scared of death for a long time," he says so sudden, so seriously that you're immediately brought out of your trance as your every muscle freezes at his austere tone of voice. "I used to not care if I lived or died but... tonight didn't go as planned," he swallows thickly and you can see how his jaw tenses up as his voice becomes husky, "- they... had me."

"What?" you pant with mortification, your every skeletal muscle paralysed as your breathing picks up. You don't have to ask him who he's talking about.

"Sam and I, we were so sure of ourselves," he shakes his head with his gaze fixed on the wall straight ahead. "We thought had the perfect plan... I - I'm such an idiot, nothing ever runs smoothly with Hydra."

You can feel your heart thumping in your throat. "What happened?" You whisper.

"Sam was on the look-out while I got the hard drive," he mumbles, "it was so easy. It didn't even take me five minutes before I was heading back towards the safehouse," he gulps, "- of course it was an ambush. I should have realised the minute I set foot inside that building."

"You couldn't have known," you whimper softly and stroke his scalp, but he doesn't listen.

"- I thought I was..." the words drown in a heavy sigh, and he stares blankly into space while blinking the tears away.

"Buck," you whisper and can feel the pain radiating from every fibre of his entire being when you wrap your arms around his wet torso and hold him close to your chest.

"They took me to a room. Strapped me down," he takes a ragged breath, and you hold on to him even tighter, "I was sure that was it. I never thought I'd find myself home again."

"You're home now," you whisper and softly kiss his shoulder, hoping that he doesn't feel the tear that lands on top of his clavicle. "You're home now with me."

"I know, sweetheart," he leans into your hug with a sigh, "trust me, I know."

"Everything's gonna be alright, love," you whisper against him and stroke your hand over his hair, "it's you and me against the world, always."

"You and me," he quietly confirms and leans back into your chest with a deep breath.

You continue stroking him over the hair, hold on to him for dear life, not willing to let go as you feel him relax more and more in your arms until he starts snoring slightly, finally warm and safe in your embrace.

"Buck, come on," you instinctively kiss him right below his ear, "you're sleeping. Let's get you into bed."

"Sorry," he mumbles groggily and lets his head fall back against your shoulder. "m'just so fucking tired. Been up thirty-six hours..."

"We'll talk tomorrow," you kiss him again and unwillingly unwrap yourself from around his chest, standing up straight beside him. "I'm not going anywhere. Promise."

He's looking up at you with puppy eyes, gaze slowly travelling down your body and up again as if he hadn't realised you were in your lingerie until that exact moment. "You look beautiful," he says quietly and you half-expect him to laugh it off, but his face stays serious.

"...Thanks," you croak while handing him the fluffy towel, not sure how to react to his sweet words. He's called you many things, but he's never downright called you beautiful before.

"I can take it from here, sweetheart," he nods slowly and steals one last glance down at your body, "you just go to bed. I'll be in in a minute."

"Okay," you whisper and peel yourself away from the tension between you by swiftly turning around, exiting the bathroom.

Back in your room, you barely have time to get out of your wet underwear and put on a fresh set of pyjamas, before a boxer-clad Bucky joins you on the bed.

"Are you still okay with me staying the night?" He asks, nervously.

"Of course I am," you answer immediately and find his vibranium hand underneath the covers, lacing your fingers between his as you scan his weary features. "See if you can get some sleep, okay? You need it," you brush a strand of wet hair away from his face and make sure he's fine by gently cupping his cheek before closing your eyes, hoping he's following your lead, doing the same.

The dark room goes completely quiet for a few minutes where the only audible sound is of your synchronised breathing.

You can feel yourself grow impossibly tired too as you lie there hand in hand with Bucky, and you're just about to succumb to sleep, when suddenly, his quiet whisper breaks the silence.

"I thought about you," he says softly, and it makes you open your eyes again.

You're staring straight into his handsome face, his beautiful blue eyes scanning over your features as he slowly clarifies.

"When they had me strapped down, I thought about you," he moves his fingers against the palm of your hand and completely engulfs you. "The thought of not seeing you again was..." the words die in his throat, and he looks as if he's seconds away from whimpering. "- Sweetheart, you make me so afraid of dying."

You breathe hard with quivering lips, huge eyes matching his as you let his confession sink in.

"I was so desperate to come home, I snapped the restraints in half. Snapped my own elbow along with them," he winces slightly at the painful memory that once again makes your stomach churn. "Sweetheart, I fought like hell. I don't think I've ever been so angry... I - I killed everyone I could get my hands on, I just had to see you again," he brings your hand to his soft lips and kisses the delicate pulse point of your wrist.

"Buck..." a slow whine escapes your throat as you try to blink away a stubborn tear that slowly starts rolling down the side of your nose.

"I love you," he whispers so softly against your thin skin that you almost don't hear. His eyes are closed and he looks relieved to be lying here with you, so you carefully pull his hand to your chest, placing his vibranium palm above your heavily beating heart.

"I love you too."

"Sweetheart," he whispers above you and moves his hand a little on top of your soft pyjamas while lightly shaking his head with a sigh. "No, you don't understand..." he gulps and searches your face, "I love you."

Your breath hitches in your throat.

"- I want more than this," he slowly admits. "I want to be more than your friend. I'm in love with you."

You squeeze his hand and move a little closer to him, scared that he'll stop confessing his love if you say something to throw him off track.

He holds on to you and can feel how your pulse starts racing underneath your pyjamas. "I hope I'm not scaring you off."

"No, no you're not," you say in a hoarse voice, "not at all. I - I think about you all the time."

"You do?" He breathes hard, clearly not believing what he's hearing.

"Yeah," you merely nod and move your head a little closer to him while he does the same. "I'm in love with you too, Buck. Have been for quite some time."

With a serious look, he moves his hand from off your chest and up to your face where he brushes a finger over the delicate features of your cheekbone and down to your jawline. "I'm gonna kiss you now," he warns in a whisper and waits for you to give him a nod before he reaches his head forwards, finally claiming your mouth with his lips.

His hand snakes down the length of your spine and you press your entire front up against his hard chest and stomach while he caresses the small of your back, slipping his soft tongue inside your mouth. "God," he moans and gently grabs hold of your hips, pulling you impossibly close to him. "You make me feel whole again," he whispers against your skin and kisses a small line from your earlobe and down to the base of your clavicle. "What do you say sweetheart?" he mumbles and nibbles at your skin, "can I take you out?"

"Yeah, Buck, you can take me out," you squeeze his hand, and he smiles for the first time that evening, setting everything inside of you aflame.

He's finally smiling and it's because of you.

"I wanna do it the old-fashioned way," he says, beaming, "bring you flowers. Take you dancing. Show you how you're supposed to be treated."

You can't help but chuckle at his soft innocence. "You're an old man," you brush him over his hair, "nobody goes dancing anymore."

"I'll teach you," he chuckles back but lets it turn into a sharp hiss when he accidentally moves his broken elbow.

"That sounds lovely," you admit with a smile, excited at the prospect of having his hands on your hips while he tells you what to do, "- though I'm afraid we'll have to get that elbow sorted first if you want to manoeuvre me around on the dancefloor. I know you don't see the point in going but... med wing tomorrow morning?"

"Okay," he rolls his eyes with a laugh that makes your stomach go all warm and fuzzy. "If it gets me to go dancing with you just an hour earlier, it's worth the trip... Will you go with me?"

"Yeah, I'll go with you," you kiss his hand, and he chuckles so warmly your stomach lights up again. "I'll go with you always."

#bucky barnes friends to lovers #bucky barnes hurt/comfort #bucky barnes in love #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes/reader

[delaber]

@cosicas-cuquis I could not agree more 🥲

The Push and the Pull (Bucky Barnes x Reader)

Summary: There’s nothing Bucky wants more than to be with you - and for that reason alone, he has to break both your hearts.

Words: 9.8K

Warnings: It’s angsty and smutty (18+ only please) and fluffy. Bucky has a slight anxiety attack and spews all his insecurities. Poor man.

He had been observing you all night.

From his seat at the bar and with a different whiskey in hand every fifteen minutes, Bucky had spent the last couple of hours with squared shoulders and a tightly locked jaw following your gradually more and more clumsy footsteps with Steve on the dance floor. He had been in a foul mood all day, irritated and bitter, and with an urge to punch anything within a ten-foot radius, but like all his recent nights, you were still able to light up the entire room and make everything a little brighter simply just by being there.

You were twirling in Steve's arms, your eyes lighting up each time he spun you around, and Bucky was made painfully aware that if you had spent your night like this with any other man apart from his best friend, his chest would've burst open with jealousy the minute he had laid his eyes on you. But simply because it was Steve and not somebody else, the jealousy had so far only manifested itself as small prickles on the back of Bucky's neck even though he wanted nothing more than to go over there and wrestle you out of Steve's grip.

Bucky, however, kept telling himself not to. That what little jealousy Steve sparked was good, that it was a way for him to practise feeling this way, because even though Bucky knew that Steve wasn't really a threat when it came to you, he also knew that he had to get used to seeing you in the arms of other men.

Whether he liked it or not, he was determined to break your heart tonight.

"Fuck," Bucky muttered into his tenth whiskey of the night as he recalled the whispered conversation, he had accidentally overheard the night before. He had been sitting quietly by the dinner table in the compound's shared kitchen, innocently enjoying a midnight snack when you and Romanoff had walked back from the gym, cute little laughs and hushed voices bouncing down the narrow hallway. Happy to hear you were near, Bucky had been just about to call your name and let you know that he was in the next room, but the first syllable had died abruptly in his throat when he'd overheard Romanoff curiously ask you what was going on between you and 'Steve's brooding friend'.

Just like him, you had been taken aback by the blunt question, and Bucky had quietly listened to your short splutter and nervous laughter before you had started rambling off in all directions to try and convince Nat that absolutely nothing was going on between you and Bucky. He had been amused by your lack of ability to lie as you desperately tried to tread waters and pretend that you had barely exchanged two words with him, but Nat was an ex-spy, so of course she had observed how you'd been eyefucking each other constantly - and after a couple of minutes of intense babbling, you had chuckled happily and said that you were actually surprised that it had taken people so long to notice. That Bucky had been sneaking into your room almost every night for two months now, that you'd been with him in the dark every chance you got; how you'd kissed, and fucked, and made love right under everybody's noses. And Romanoff had been so excited for the two of you, calling you cute and a great match and it had made Bucky smile proudly to himself and the wheat thin in his hand - but his night hadn't changed radically before you'd quietly snickered; "Nat, I think I'm in love with him..."

The words had barely escaped your lips before Bucky felt himself choking on the cracker he'd been eating.

Desperately, he tried to silence his wheezing as he struggled to comprehend your whispered words; you were in love with him? He slowly regained his composure and banged his chest twice, coughing up a couple of crumbs from his windpipe as quietly as he possibly could as he let the words sink in. No, no, no, he must've misheard you! He tried to make sense of your whispered confession but no matter which way he twisted and turned the sentence, only one thing made sense; you were in love with him...

His entire body was still glued to the kitchen chair when the words finally seemed to settle. Instantly, a numbing, tingling sensation had started at the tip of his metal fingers, the sensation quickly shooting through his palm and wrist until it bubbled all the way up his left arm, eventually reaching his chest. From there, the feeling had spread rapidly throughout him like wildfire as parts of his limbic system he had otherwise deemed dead years ago came back to life. The fireworks he had felt in all parts of his body had been all-consuming, unlike anything else he had ever experienced; he saw colours he had never seen before, heard music that suddenly seemed to come out of nowhere, tasted love on his tongue. For a few blissful seconds, Bucky didn't care what else happened in the world. The only thing that mattered was that you were in love with him.

...But like everything else in his life, it hadn't taken long before things had turned sour; the wonderful music in his ears had quickly turned into alarm bells, and the vanilla on his tongue to acidic bile as he realised that you falling for him wasn't a good thing. That he couldn't keep dragging you through hell with him just because he needed someone to forgive him for his sins. He was dangerously messed up inside - his metal arm served as a constant reminder of the horrible, unspeakable things he had done, and you were always so colourful, so warm, so happy. He'd end up ruining you...

Quickly, the future he had just imagined crumbled around his feet when he realised that he would never be able to give you the stability and happiness you deserved. That he would forever be a deadweight, a sack of sand for you to carry around as you otherwise danced through life. Thus determinedly, he had decided to break not only his own heart, but yours too and tear the carpet away from under you before you were in too deep. It was a mercy kill, a coup the grâce because you didn't deserve to be part of his personal hell. You deserved happiness. You deserved ...more.

Fuck.

Looking over at you and Steve on the dance floor, Bucky noticed that Steve had his palms pressed tightly against the small of your back, and it made the prickling sensation travel from the top of Bucky's spine to the front of his cheekbones. Keep looking, he stubbornly told himself, get used to it! But you threw back your head with laughter at something Steve said, and Bucky just had to look away. "Shit," he muttered quietly, and forced his gaze away from the two of you as he quickly emptied the contents of his glass to keep the painful bitterness from spilling over his tongue. Ever the wingman, Steve was probably telling you all about the Bucky he knew. Making you fall in love with the idea that you could somehow rescue the tortured soul of a soldier who’d seen and done too much, and bring back the warm, vibrant, innocent man he’d once been.

Fuck, he had to break it off soon.

"Hey! I need another one," Bucky barked at the bartender who'd been supplying him with whiskeys all night, "I don't care which."

The girl behind the bar nodded curtly and picked a random bottle on the shelf behind her before pouring him a couple of inches of honey-brown liquid. Bucky was desperate for another taste of unsatisfying relief and couldn't wait to throw the drink down his throat, but his bitter thoughts were suddenly interrupted by soft heat snaking around his abdomen accompanied by the sound of a small, innocent giggle pressed up against his shoulder. The familiar arms around his waist made him soften up immediately as he mentally cleared his mind and prepared himself for what came next, because that gesture was always followed by the most beautiful sound in the entire world; his name on your lips.

And sure enough, not even half a second later, he was met by a whispered "Bucky," against his neck.

The word popped softly in his ear, and it instantly made his brain go foggy as all other sounds were tuned out. For a split second he forgot about his terrible mood, the bar, and his friends on the dance floor as he seemed to go momentarily deaf from the eruption of colours in his chest. You were standing in front of him all sweet, and soft, and happy. His complete opposite.

"Hi," he breathed and resisted the urge to pull you against his chest.

You were staring up at him with a broad, goofy smile on your face, and even though you didn't say anything, he could tell that you were drunk. You were clinging on to him, your teeth sinking playfully into the shoulder of his leather jacket as you tugged on his arm and intertwined your fingers with the glove that covered his metal hand. "Hi," you whispered happily against his shoulder and giggled.

"Are you alright?" He gulped when you nuzzled your face against the crook of his neck. He was having trouble keeping his hands to himself. He wanted so badly to just wrap them around your waist as you leaned into him.

"Yes," you answered with a slightly slurred voice, "how about you, Buckyboy?"

"...Buckyboy?" He arched an eyebrow.

"Mmmm," you smiled and tugged on a long strand of hair that was falling from his forehead, "what's wrong with that? I think it's cute."

"If you say so," he hummed and let you run your fingers through his hair, a warm calming feeling spreading from the centre of his stomach and throughout his limbs. You could call him whatever you wanted for all he cared. He never could resist you.

"You have your worry-wrinkle," you let your index finger fall from his scalp and ran it over the semi-permanent crease between his eyes, "I could tell all the way from the dance floor. What's wrong, love?"

Bucky's heart skipped a beat. "Nothing's wrong," he mumbled against your touch, trying to relax the muscles in his forehead as he thought of his new nickname. Not Buckyboy. Love.

"So you're not trying to drown whatever's bothering you in whiskey?" You chuckled slightly and nodded towards the many empty glasses on the counter in front of him.

"We both know that alcohol has no effect on me," he sent you what he hoped was a convincing smile, "I'm alright, I swear."

"Come on... Nobody drinks that much if they're alright - regardless of the effect it has on you," you fiddled with the hem of his jacket and pouted at him, "Talk to me."

Fuck, you looked so cute! So soft and innocent. He wanted nothing more than to pull you in his arms, touch your soft skin through the thin fabric of your dress, run his fingers over your hair.

"What if I just like the taste?" He tried.

"Could be..." you did not look convinced by him at all, and you searched his face with a soft look in your eyes, hoping you could extract the truth from his expression alone. "-but I can tell something's bothering you," you tilted your head, a broad smile spreading slowly on your lips as you took him in. "Tell me what you're thinking of," you smiled and looked at him as if he had put the stars in the night sky. It made his stomach ache.

"Just... Let's not talk about it right now, okay?" He gulped and reassuringly moved his fingers against your palm. You looked so happy right now, and he desperately wanted to have just a few extra moments of bliss with you before he broke your heart.

"M'kay," you nodded and caressed him back through the leather of his gloves, "you can tell me whenever you're ready. I'm always here for you."

"I know," he nodded and felt a guilty pang hit him square in the chest when he thought of how he'd spent the last couple of months pulling you through his endless parade of horrors from the past.

"There it is again," you chuckled and ran your fingers over what you had dubbed his worry-wrinkle, "why don't you come join the rest of us and see if you can rid yourself of it for a little while, hmm? Maybe see if you can think of something else," you tilted your head to the side and tugged on his arm, "come dance with me."

"Honestly, I'm good," he forced himself to smile, "I guess I'm just not really in the mood for a party. You just go have fun, okay?"

With a groan, you buried your face in his chest and muffled, "but I miss you..."

A hollow hole appeared in Bucky's stomach. He did not want you to miss him. To think about him at all. He had to divert you back to the rest of the crew. "Steve's more fun to dance with anyway," he stated matter-of-factly.

You peeked up at him with a doe-eyed look and put your warm palm to his cheek, caressing him gently with your thumb, "but I don't want to spend the night with Steve. He talks about you all the time and it makes me miss you," you pouted before standing on your tiptoes, your lips suddenly pursed mere inches from his. He felt his breathing speed up when you ran your eyes over him with a serious look on your face, "...please take me home, Buck," you whispered.

He wanted so badly to just be selfish and give in. To intertwine his fingers with yours and taste you, but he merely straightened his back further so your lips wouldn't be able to reach him. It was definitely for the best.

At first, you looked a little disappointed, but you quickly recovered and started dancing your fingertips along the length of his sternum as you stepped a little closer to him and pressed your pelvis up against his.

"Hey, come on," he pulled himself a couple of inches away but not enough to give you a total rejection. In need of a quick lie, however, he desperately said, "we have to be more careful. Sam's started asking questions."

"I don't care who knows any longer," you mumbled as your hand travelled over his stomach. "I just want to be with you." It was getting harder and harder to pretend that your words didn't affect him, and he had to pull himself another step backwards. "Aren't you going to offer me a ride?" You asked innocently, closing the distance between you once more.

"What? Now?" He gulped.

"Yes," you kissed the bottom of his throat and Bucky felt his eyelids flutter shut at the soft touch.

Do it again, he thought to himself. No, no, no, get it together man!

He forcefully reopened his eyes with a sigh, looking straight into your happy, goofy gaze. Maybe it was best to take both of you home, get some sleep and break things off first thing come morning when you were sober. "Alright, I'll go get my bike," he mumbled.

Your fingers found the top of his jeans and you hitched two fingers inside the belt loops, tugging him closer. "Not exactly the type of ride I was hoping for, Barnes," you bit your lower lip.

Fuck, Bucky felt like melted butter.

"I'm just taking you home tonight, sweetheart," he muttered and felt your fingers dance over the button of his jeans.

"Of course you are," you laughed and did an exaggerated eye roll.

He knew what you were thinking; of course he would end up inside of you like he did almost every night - but not anymore. He had made a promise to himself, and if he couldn't even stick to that, he was clearly more broken than anticipated.

"I'm serious," he looked at your face-splitting grin.

"Oh, I am serious too," you laughed and emptied the glass of whiskey that he hadn't touched since you'd joined him, jumped down from the high chair and stumbled into his chest with a cute little laugh, "oops!"

"Alright, no more alcohol for you," he mumbled and helped you balance your weight by wrapping his right arm around you, "a good thing I'm taking you home, huh?"

"I am very lucky," you casually threw your arms around his waist and pulled yourself close to him as he helped you cross the dance floor.

Bucky determinedly steered clear of Steve and the rest of the crew who were dancing in a circle a few feet away but accidentally caught the excited look on Romanoff's face when she suddenly emerged from one of the bathrooms and saw the two of you leaving the club while joined at the hip. Immediately, Bucky felt the familiar guilty pang hit his stomach. He wanted nothing more than to yell to her from across the dance floor that he was just taking you home. He was just taking you home. He was just... taking you... home...

"Come on," he mumbled and grabbed you a little tighter, speeding up as he fast-paced both of you out of the club and away from the familiar faces.

Finally away from the crowds and outside in the fresh night air, Bucky instantly felt his muscles relaxing before he quickly located his motorbike, unlocked it and brought it over to you. "Thank you," you chipped and let him help you on the back of the bike while he took the driver's seat in front of you.

Immediately, he felt your face connect with his shoulder blade as your arms wrapped themselves tightly around his waist, your fingers resting on top of his belt buckle. He'd be lying if he said that it didn't feel good to have a decent excuse to have you this close to him, and before he could really stop himself, he had put his fingers on top of yours.

"You good back there?" He croaked and squeezed your hand.

"I am now," you let out a content sigh and tangled your fingers with his around his stomach, "all strapped in back here, love."

His stomach flipped. There it was again. Love.

Oh God, he felt his throat closing in. With a pained shake of his head, he untangled his fingers from yours before turning on the gas and starting the engine for what he realised would be the last time with you in the passenger's seat. Despite knowing it would be a terrible idea, he still ended up taking the long route home so he could savour the last time he would be this close to you, taking in every sound you made, remembering every movement of your muscles as your front was pressed up against his back, breathing in your scent mixed with the city's. He was lost in the moment. Speed limits and stop signs all forgotten as he savoured the terribly short route from the club to the Avengers Compound you both called home.

"Thanks for taking me home, Buck," you smiled as you jumped down from the backseat, tired marks from the creases in his jacket lining the left part of your face. Even tired and drunk, you looked unbelievably cute, but Bucky was careful not to look too intensely at you as he threw his arm around your shoulders and helped you over to the elevator where he quickly pressed your floor on the panel and waited for the steel doors to slide shut.

You were clinging onto him, holding him tight as the elevator zoomed to the top of the building, doors sliding open with a ding only a couple of seconds after they had closed behind him. Bucky walked you down the narrow hallway and towards your room where he pressed the combination on the keypad and opened the doors to your personal space.

You did a cute little whimper at the sight of your bed and threw yourself down on it with a smile on your lips, clearly waiting for him to join you.

"Are you going to be alright?" He said awkwardly from the door.

You propped your body up on your elbows, eyeing him suspiciously from the bed, "...you're not coming in?"

"Not tonight, sweetheart," he shook his head resolutely.

"...okay," you bit your lower lip, taking in his face, "- before you go, could you help me unzip my dress?" you asked innocently but with a certain twinkle to your eye.

He couldn't help the small smile that crept onto his face. It was the oldest trick in the book. Even the girls he had dated back in the thirties and forties, had said the same thing. "You're kidding me, right?" he chuckled, "you couldn't come up with something cleverer?"

"What?" You laughed, looking all cute and innocent, "I'm serious. Otherwise I'm gonna have to sleep in this thing," you pulled at the hem, "I don't want to ruin it. It was expensive!"

"Jesus Christ," he chuckled and rolled his eyes, "alright, I'm unzipping you and then I'm going straight to bed," He sat down on the mattress next to you even though he knew he was stepping onto a potential minefield.

"Thank you," you smiled before you turned your back to him and pulled your hair to the side, making him catch a wonderful whiff of your flowery perfume.

Bucky froze. Fuck, you smelled great. He ghosted fingers along the zipper that was traveling up your spine. Would it really be innocent to do this, he questioned himself as he stared at your back.

"...So, will I have to go fetch Sam for the job or are you going to do it yourself?" You chuckled after a couple of seconds where Bucky had been sitting completely still.

"Uh, no. Sorry," he mumbled, and decided to unzip your dress and get the fuck out of there before one thing led to another and he couldn't control himself any longer. He grabbed the body of your zipper with gloved fingers and carefully brought it down your spine, gently revealing soft skin as the fabric loosened over your back. With a gulp, he realised that you weren't even wearing a bra and how easy it would be to just slip his hands under your dress and caress your soft skin. Snake his arms around you and run his fingers over your nipples as he kissed the nape of your neck. Fuck, he wanted to do it so badly!

Get the hell out of there! he desperately thought to himself.

He was just about to stand up and leave you to yourself when you slowly turned around with an anticipating smile on your lips. Carefully, you put your hand on his thigh and leaned in close, your perfume filling in his nostrils once more. He could feel your breath on his skin, your heartbeat through your dress as you tugged on his hair and closed your eyes, your lips inching nearer and nearer. He clenched his teeth together, unable to look away from you, unable to push you away. It felt cruel to sit this still. To deny both of you the simple pleasure of a kiss when you were both in love with each other. But that was exactly why he had to be cruel.

"Sweetheart," he mumbled painfully, his heart aching in his chest, "I should go."

You opened your eyes and let your gaze wander over his worry-wrinkle as your expression changed from disappointed to curious. "Five more minutes. Come here, love," you said softly and carefully positioned yourself on your back, pulling him next to you.

The two of you were lying side by side when he felt you pull off his left-hand glove, revealing his cold metal prosthesis. He wanted to hide it in the sheets, but you carefully intertwined your fingers with his and pulled it over in your lap, fiddling lovingly with the golden cracks that was supposed to mimic his knuckles. "Take off your jacket, love. You deserve to relax for a bit," you said after a couple of seconds, and even though Bucky's conscience was screaming at him to go back to his own bedroom, he still felt himself shrug the leather off his shoulders, revealing his terrible arm in its entirety to you.

God, how he hated that fucking arm! It served as a terrible reminder of why he could never be with you no matter how much he wanted to - and looking at you next to him, it was all he could think about.

He saw you push your eyebrows together, shooting him a concerned look before you put your thumb to his forehead, "relax, baby."

Baby. Now you were calling him baby.

Fuck, his chest was on fire!

Your hand travelled from his forehead, over his cheekbone and landed itself in the long locks growing from his temples, "you worry too much," you whispered, "tell me what's going on."

"What happened to 'you can tell me whenever you're ready'?" He mumbled with closed eyes, mentally preparing himself to leave.

You let out a small smile and shrugged, "empty words. You never talk."

"That's because you talk enough for the both of us," he mumbled back.

"Oh, shut up," you laughed and pulled on his arm, positioning it between your thighs.

He rubbed his thumb over your warm skin, "as you wish."

"No, come back," you laughed and nuzzled your forehead against him, "talk to me! I didn't mean it, Buckybear."

His eyes shot open, "okay, you have to stop with the cuddly names..."

"But it's so cute!" You half-groaned, half-laughed as you put your head over his heart.

"I'm anything but cute," he sighed with a shake of his head.

"I, for one, think you are," you kissed his neck and ran your hand over his chest, "you are cute, and sweet, and just the most handsome man I've ever seen," you leaned forwards and underlined each statement with a string of small, peppered kisses along his jawline.

"Mmh," he hummed as his eyes fluttered shut at the touch. He couldn't help himself. He felt lighter than air and let himself have the last couple of seconds of your lips on his skin.

"I've been wanting you all night, Buck," you whispered and kissed him softly, your hand travelling over his chest and down his stomach. He enjoyed how you were innocently tracing his abs with your fingertips while your mouth was nibbling and sucking at the skin below his jaw, but when you pushed your lower half up against him and your hands started working on his belt buckle, he finally realised that he had to stop you. This wasn't innocent anymore.

With a sigh and his hand wrapped gently around your wrist, he managed to slowly drawl out a "not tonight, sweetheart."

"I just want to feel you," you kissed the sensitive spot below his ear and pushed the black t-shirt up his stomach, "just lean back and close your eyes, baby," your hand palmed him through his jeans. Fuck it felt so good! You slid down from the bed and positioned yourself on the floor between his legs and ran your palms over his muscular thighs and up the front of his jeans, "let me make you forget about what's bothering you for a little while," you said with a head-tilt, "you're always so good to me."

"I should go to bed," he said half-heartedly, looking at your innocent expression without moving at all. He could feel his heart banging like a thousand hammers against his ribcage as the blood rushed past his ears. Fuck you looked like heaven.

"Stay," you whispered and ran your hands over his crotch before your fingers started working on his belt and zipper, fiddling with the metal of his buckle for a few seconds before you managed to get it open and slide the jeans over his hips. This was so wrong. He should leave. But your hands ghosted along the length of his femur, fingertips grazing inside the lining of his boxers, fingers hugging the fabric before letting go and travelling further upwards. Bucky felt his head lolling backwards when your hand finally found him under the boxers and you palmed him lovingly, running your fingers over his beginning erection, lips kissing him softly through the dark fabric. Go to bed. Go to bed! An involuntary groan fought its way all the way up from his throat and over his tongue, and you looked up at him with another cute little head tilt, taking in his conflicted state. "Relax, love," you chuckled quietly, "just lie back and enjoy."

Bucky gulped. He wanted to tell you that he was distraught. That he didn't know what to do anymore. That he wanted this more than anything in the whole world even though he knew he shouldn't. But he was completely frozen, and just let you slip two fingers inside the waistband of his boxers and pull them all the way down to his ankles.

Your hands were caressing his thighs as you looked at his suddenly straining erection, licking your lower lip. "Mmmh, I love when you're hard for me," you marvelled and grabbed him by the root with one hand while the other cupped his balls tenderly.

Your palms were gentle and warm against his skin, and he groaned softly and closed his eyes as you started stroking his length while rolling his balls between your fingertips. Your hands were moving slowly, and Bucky let out a gasp and quickly opened his eyes again when he suddenly felt the warm wetness of your soft tongue swiping slowly, lovingly across his head while your hands maintained the same tempo up and down his shaft. One velvet swipe of your tongue was all it took, and Bucky felt all logical thinking leave his brain. He existed solely in that moment, growing harder and harder as he took in the sight of the woman, he was in love with placing long, wet, sensual licks and kisses to his sensitive head.

A strangled whimper escaped his throat when your wonderfully plump lips closed around him, and he couldn't stop himself when he felt his metal hand tangle itself in your hair, pulling slightly on it as you moaned and briefly brought him all the way down your throat before releasing him again. Your motions were sending hard vibrations all the way throughout his body, and he felt so taken care of, so wanted that it made him forget about the fact that he shouldn't be in your room at all. "Shit," he groaned and caressed the side of your face when you wrapped your lips tightly around him, sucking hard before releasing him with a soft pop.

You let your tongue swirl over his head again and again, massaging his balls and bringing extra attention to the all the sensitive spots that made it feel as if he was melting slowly in your mouth. "F-fuck," he groaned when your beautiful lips enclosed around his head again, and you sent him a sweet, innocent look even though you were clearly the one in control. "Fuck sweetheart, you look so good," he panted with a hand to your cheek, and felt you flatten your tongue, dragging it all the way from the base to the tip of his erection.

He was desperate to feel the ecstasy of warm, wet, tightness around him again and felt his toes buzzing when you finally slid your closed lips almost all the way down to his base and back up again, releasing him with yet another small pop. "Oh shit, oh fuck sweetheart," he let out a groan and looked into your huge, submissive eyes, slowly stroking your cheek with his thumb, "you need to slow down."

You looked so sweet, so affectionate, and devoted as you innocently repeated your motions, your tongue wet and sloppy against him as you bopped your mouth along his length, bringing him all the way down your throat, hollowing your cheeks, and pulling him back up again while your warm hands were still working on his balls.

"I'm gonna cum," he moaned and was just about to let go when you released him with yet another pop, your hands leaving his buzzing skin soon after.

With a whimper, his gaze followed you as you stood up from the floor and pushed the straps of your dress over your shoulders. You let the fabric pool around your feet, revealing your almost naked body to him, and Bucky sat up straight and let his eyes wander over your marvellous shapes and the tiny piece of lingerie between your legs that made his erection do an involuntary twitch.

You were looking at him with anticipation as he hungrily ran his eyes over you, his hands fisting the sheets in an attempt to calm himself down so he wouldn't start touching himself.

Slowly, you pulled down your panties, letting the laces join your dress on the floor before standing up, sending Bucky the most beautiful smile he had ever seen. "Come over here," he said darkly and watched you approach him slowly only to stop right in front of him. His hands immediately found your burning skin and he caressed your buttocks and kissed your stomach, the stubble on his chin rough against the soft skin below your navel. You whimpered slightly at the sensation and ran your hand through his soft hair before you straddled his thighs and lovingly kissed his throat.

"You are so beautiful," he heard himself whisper against your neck as he pulled you close against his heavy-beating heart. He was still cupping your ass, occasionally letting his fingers graze over your core, enjoying your desperate moans against his ear as you wordlessly begged for more. He let his hands travel up your stomach and ribs, cupping your breasts lovingly before running his thumbs over your hard nipples as your fingers interlocked behind his neck.

You were whimpering above him, pushing your chest towards his face and Bucky took this as his cue to let his tongue swirl around your perfect nipple before pulling it between his lips, sucking slightly.

"Baby," you were moaning, "please," rocking your hips against his thigh, desperate for friction. Your eyelids were closed halfway, your mouth hanging slightly open from panting and whimpering, your fingers warm against his skin as you fiddled with his hairline.

The blood was rushing past his ears, sparks tingling in his metal fingers. Fuck, how he wanted nothing more than to stay like this with you forever. To have you writhing on top of him, calling his name out loud as he brought you pleasure after pleasure.

Desperate to hear you moan for him again, he reached his hand between your legs and easily found your core, swiped his fingers over you and enjoyed the sweet music of your raspy breath against his ear as he brought you the friction you had searched so frantically for. A warm pit was starting to take form in his stomach as he looked up at you and took in your features. God, you were so beautiful! His fingers toyed with sensitive area around your clit until you were a panting mess on top of him, chasing your orgasm as your lips found his. You nibbled at his bottom lip, urging him open his mouth so you could slip your soft tongue inside, and caress him as he rubbed his fingers in slow, sensual circles between your legs.

You moaned into his mouth when his fingers finally disappeared inside your wetness, curled, and found the spot he knew you loved.

With an arch in your back, you whimpered softly for him, his hand working expertly inside of you while he was sucking on your nipples, desperate to feel your walls clamp down on his fingers.

"I need you inside of me," you suddenly panted and lifted your body, so his fingers slipped out of you.

"Yes, doll," he breathed obediently and grabbed the root of his own erection and guided himself inside your wonderful wetness, moaning slightly as you sheathed him from base to tip. "Holy shit," you were squeezing him tightly and slowly moving your hips against his, "fuck, you feel amazing," he panted against your nipple and carefully placed his hands on your hips as he met your velvety bounces.

You let out a soft gasp and put your fingers on top of his, moaning deeply and kissing his throat. "Bucky," his name rumbled over your lips, and it felt like a thunderstorm in his chest, a thick warm blanket around his abdomen as you connected your forehead with his, looked into his eyes, and slowed down to kiss him deeply. His chest was about to implode, cave in on itself as his hands held you close, and he felt himself disappearing inside your wetness repeatedly. With fireworks in his chest, his mind was unguarded, all parades down. He was solely existing here, in bed with you with his mind clouded and the well-known tingling sensation shooting sparks of affection throughout his limbs. "Mmmh," he panted against your soft lips as the rush of colours in his chest raced alongside his approaching release. He had never felt like this; so full of light, so carefree, so wanted! "Fuck baby, I am so in love with you," he whimpered and dragged his teeth across your skin before realising what he'd just said.

...Fuck!

The words had escaped him before he had had a chance to stop himself.

Fuck, fuck, fuck, he stopped moving, completely frozen, body shutting down, eyes bulging as he guiltily looked up at you, hoping that you by some miracle hadn't heard his blunder. He couldn't believe he had been careless enough to let it slip! It felt as if he was woken up from a trance, regret and panic spreading throughout his chest cavity with each passing second as he forgot all about the pleasure and the light that had consumed him only moments earlier.

You stopped moving too, your mouth slowly spreading in a gut-wrenching smile before you pulled your lower lip between your teeth and took his face in your hands. "I'm in love with you too," you whispered happily against him, pushing your tongue in between his teeth, and caressing his lips before you slowly started bouncing on top of him again. A happy, angelic smile was staining your face and it brought daggers to his heart as a certain dark fog spread within him. He had led you on, had crossed the point of no return, had fooled you into believing that you actually had a future together. How was he supposed to let you down now that you were staring at him so dreamily?! He'd shatter your heart now!

Shit, it felt as if someone had dropped an anvil on his chest.

Panicked, he did his best to get both of you to finish so he could retreat safely back to his own bedroom without rising too much suspicion, but even he could sense how his movements had become suddenly stiff and mechanical, and he couldn't even manage to get a simple whimper of pleasure across his lips when you writhed your body on top of him. His mind was elsewhere, the moment lost.

You sensed it too, and Bucky saw how you scanned his face briefly before your gaze eventually came to a rest between his eyes. Immediately and with regret, he realised that he had to relax the muscles in his forehead, but it was too late; the treacherous line above his nose had already given him and his guilty conscience away. Fuck, it felt as if he was drowning now!

"What's wrong?" You panted and slowed down your movements, shooting him a concerned look.

He fumbled with your nipples and forcefully rolled his hips, urging you to continue. "Nothing," he said through gritted teeth, angry with himself but determined to let you finish.

"Hey, look at me," you said softly and cupped his face. You were staring at him with huge eyes, your face flooded with warm tenderness. "You're sweating like crazy. You're clearly not okay."

He couldn't have the conversation now, he just couldn't! Fuck he hated himself! What kind of an asshole bedded a girl and told her he was in love with her only to end things??? He wanted to claw at his own skin, pull out his hair, shout at himself! He had just managed to screw up everything!

"Baby, please tell me what's happ-"

"It's nothing, okay!!" He snapped loudly when it all finally became too much but immediately felt bad when he saw the shock that went through your body. He had never raised his voice at you before. "Fuck! No! I'm sorry," he mumbled desperately and ran his fingers in circles over your hips in an apology.

"Honey, you're scaring me," you croaked with round eyes, your chest heaving, "what's going on? Is it the nightmares? Are they back?"

"No, everything's fine... Now come on," Bucky grunted and kissed your neck while moving his hips upwards in a steady rhythm, "let me make you think of something else."

"No..." your voice was laced with concern as you climbed down from his lap, and positioned yourself on the bed next to him, "- not until you've explained what's going on with you tonight," you put your palm on his forearm, "I'm worried about you."

Bucky felt the frustration pick at his insides, disgust with himself seeping from all his pores. With a deep, irritated sigh, he put his elbows on his knees and pinched the bridge of his nose desperately. Why couldn't he just have gone to bed like a normal, decent guy?! Why did he have to toy with your emotions and complicate things a bunch just because he was the selfish asshole who couldn't stay the hell away from you?! He could feel the familiar self-loathing bubble in his veins, and he realised what was coming. He had to get out of there so he wouldn't take his upcoming fury out on you.

Angrily, he stood up from the bed and started collecting his clothes.

"Honey, what's happening?" You asked quietly from the bed, carefully looking at his trembling movements as you wrapped your naked body in one of the sheets, "did I do something wrong?"

"No," he tried to control his voice as he pulled on his boxers. He had to get out of there, had to find a boxing bag he could punch until he was bleeding. He never even should've considered stepping inside your bedroom!

"Are you sure...?" You asked quietly, watching him as he forcefully yanked on his jeans.

"Yes, I'm sure!" He fumed and angrily pulled on his t-shirt, "just leave me alone, okay? I have to get out of here!" He panted, careful not to snap at you again.

"Okay," you nodded with huge, confused eyes, "...where are you going?"

"Home," he turned over your duvet in search for the rest of his clothes, "- where the hell are my gloves?" He was looking frantically around the room.

"I - I don't know," you searched around on the floor near your feet.

"I can't leave without my gloves!" he hissed. He had to hide the metal monstrosity away. He couldn't look at it.

"Sweetheart, they're in here somewhere," you tried, and Bucky felt a flinch throughout his body at the sound of his undeserving petname but didn't have it in him to correct you right now. Quietly, you continued, "- sit down and take a deep breath, we'll find them tomorrow."

Why couldn't you just understand that he had to get out of there?! "I need them now!" he barked, flipping over your pillow.

"You never wear gloves at home," you pointed out, "love, please sit down for a bit and relax."

"I need to go! I need to - I need to find them," he panted desperately. He wanted you to stop calling him those sweet things."- I have to leave with just a little dignity."

You tried reaching out for him, "Honey..."

Bucky's chest constricted at the name. "STOP CALLING ME THAT!" he bellowed loudly and watched as another shock went through your body. "I'm sorry! I'm sorry!" he breathed, shame mixing with anger as he took in your flustered face, "just stop - stop trying to help me, it's for your own good. Trust me!"

Determinedly, you stood up from the bed and took a few fast-paced steps over to him, stopping right before your chest hit his. Carefully, you took his face in your hands, your palms soft and forgiving against his stubbled chin. "You're not shutting me out like this," you said quietly, "I am not Steve or Sam. You don't have to pretend you're fine when you're around me - especially when you're clearly not! Just talk to me! One minute we confess our feelings, the next you're so angry you can't even look at me. Bucky, what is going on?"

His breathing was rushed and laboured but he still managed to calm himself enough to look at your worried face. "I - I want to explain... I really do," he gulped and ran his eyes over your beautiful features that were stained with concern, "- but... tomorrow, okay? I - I can't do this now. I have to go. I have to leave you."

"I'm not letting you leave until you've told me what's going on," your brows were furrowed. You were so confused. "Please let me in, baby..." you added in a whisper and caressed his face.

The petname slipped from your lips and turned to a dagger drilling itself into Bucky's heart. Baby. He felt hollow. Baby... It was too hard to have your love dangling right in front of him when he wasn't supposed to reach out for it.

"Please stop," he whimpered against your hands. His chest was hurting, he couldn't take this. "You have to stop calling me that!" He took a deep breath, "I don't want to be your baby. Or your Buckyboy. Or your love. I'm not that guy..." He didn't deserve this. He was weighing everybody down. He was supposed to be alone. "I don't want to be yours... I can't do this with you."

"You don't want to be...?" You repeated mechanically, your voice slowly trailing off. "- Bucky, you can't do what?" You stared at him with a wild look on your face a couple of seconds as you put two and two together, your face slowly shifting from concerned to perplexed as your eyes grew enormous, "wait..." you blinked a few times and let go of his face, "- you're... breaking up with me?" You whispered, baffled, "is that what's going on?"

Bucky couldn't look at you, his entire body was aflame. It hurt breaking your heart like this. "Sweetheart-" he murmured and took a deep breath, his finger pressing in on his nasal bone as he tried to control his receding rage that was now drowning in shame and a kind of sorrow he hadn't experienced before, "-we're not even a couple..."

You were visibly in shock, standing in front of him completely silent, staring at him all red-cheeked and doe-eyed for a couple of seconds until you shook your head and with a perplexed look quietly said, "No, but I - uh - I guess I just thought..." you trailed off and he could hear you gulp before your voice shakily came back, "...do you not want me anymore?" You asked quietly, hands folded nervously around your upper arms.

He took in your heartbroken face. Your eyes were drooping, lower lip trembling, and he couldn't believe that he was actually doing this to you. The pit in his stomach seemed bottomless. "Of course I still want you," he gulped, nervous and hurt, struggling to find the right words, "- just... not like that."

"Oh... Okay... Wow..." you breathed as tears welled in your eyes. You were looking anywhere but directly at him, and he could tell that your heart was slowly coming apart. He felt so cruel. "I - uhm - I never really took you for that kind of guy, James," you whispered, his first name so unfamiliar and sharp on your calm tongue that it made him flinch. "- was I just a cure for your lonely nights then? An easy fuck?" You continued before you let out a heart-breaking sob, "- and you had me believe we were in love," you cried.

"No, I-" he was about to argue that it wasn't true, that you weren't just someone he'd turned to on lonely nights - but then he realised that this could be his way out. That if he just nodded and agreed and pretended that you meant absolutely nothing to him, he would break your heart so badly that you'd stop wanting him. It would all be so easy, the terrible yet necessary coup de grâce he'd been looking for. But as he took in your dishevelled face, the many tears spilling down your cheeks and the low, heartbroken sobs escaping your mouth, he knew he had to explain fully, or he'd never forgive himself for shattering you. Suddenly, he felt terrible for even having considered the easy way out. Fuck, he couldn't do anything right.

"Sweetheart," he gulped and carefully stepped over to you, "I really am in love with you - that wasn't just something I said," he pushed your hair over your shoulder, and put his palm to your ear, caressing your face and wiping away a tear that was slowly rolling down your cheek, "...but you can't be in love with me," he said quietly, pain seeping through his teeth.

Your lips started trembling again and Bucky's heart ached terribly. "Why not?" you sobbed with a whisper and leaned into his hand as another tear escaped your eyes, "did I do something wrong?"

"No, sweetheart. Of course not," he mumbled and slowly ran his thumb over your cheekbone, collecting another tear as it spilled from your eye.

"Then why are you upset?" You looked at him pleadingly with eyes full of pain.

"Because... look at me," he conceded quietly, gesturing to the cold metal on his left-hand side.

You carefully looked at every little golden detail from his shoulder to his fingertips before you found his eyes again. "I love your arm," you said quietly, "I know it isn't what you want to hear, but it's part of you. I don't care that you have a prosthesis."

"It's not just the prosthesis," he sighed, struggling to look at you, "It's what it represents. I don't want you to get sucked into all of that."

"What are you talking about?" Your huge eyes were gleaming as you looked up at him.

"Sweetheart," his voice cracked a bit and he had to take a deep breath before he continued, "I'm - I'm not well," he shook his head, embarrassed with himself, shame and hurt straining his voice, "there's something wrong with me. I'm not good for the people around me."

"That's not true, love," you caressed him, "you are the best man I know."

"That - that's the thing... I know you think that I'm the same guy that Steve always talks about; the happy light-hearted guy who takes his dates swing dancing, and who always has a joke up his sleeve - but I haven't been that guy for so long that it doesn't even feel like me anymore. I hardly remember that weirdly funny and gallant version of myself... I have been wiped so many times that somewhere along the line, the old Bucky just slipped through my fingers - this is what I've become..." he gestured to his metal arm.

The tears were streaming down your face as you caressed his cheeks. You were breathing hard, and Bucky could almost hear how his words were shattering your heart one by one as you searched his tortured face. "I -" you gulped, and Bucky prepared himself for the speech you'd give him. Prepared himself for the confrontation of you agreeing with him, but it never came. "- Bucky..." you whispered, "I don't know that old version of you that you're describing, but I know that it makes you very frustrated and angry that you can't just be the guy you used to be - I just don't expect you to. The guy Steve always talks about seems like a sweet kid, he really does, but that's not the guy I'm in love with..." you pushed a strand of hair out of his eyes, "the Bucky I know is quiet and reserved and may not dance or talk that much, but that's actually a thing I really like about him. He's calm and down to earth, and he always knows what to say to make me laugh. He makes me feel good about myself, and he makes me feel beautiful and safe," you intertwined your fingers with his. "The Bucky I know is not the same guy that Steve knows. But that doesn't mean he's broken or that there's anything wrong with him. He has a good heart - he's my favourite person in the universe, and I'm very much in love with him."

"No, you don't understand," he gulped, "it's not just that I've changed. It's all this shit I'm dealing with too; there's so much pain and anger and just plain chaos inside of me. I'm a mess of trauma, and anxiety, and panic attacks, and I can't - I can't let you deal with that. I wish I could just be happy and carefree for you, but I yell, and I scream, and I cry with no warning, and I'm just a plain nightmare to be around. - and you're always so happy. I don't want to ruin you..."

"Bucky, sweetheart, look at me..." you searched his face until he hesitantly found your eyes again, "you're the reason why I'm happy..." you were smiling at him, sad but reassuringly, "look, I'm not going to sit here and pretend that you aren't all those things," you squeezed his hand tight and moved your body closer to him, "- but you are also so much more," you whispered and connected your forehead with his. "Honey, I know you're trying so hard to be a good man - but you already are... I know everything about you, and I still love you."

Bucky's chest ached, "I don't want you to."

"Bad luck," you kissed his cheek, "not your call."

"No, I don't deserve you... I've done so much shit. I don't deserve a happy ending."

"What are you talking about?" You smiled, "I have never met anyone more deserving of a happy ending!"

Bucky scoffed.

"Honey," you kissed his cheek again, "I know you're terrified of losing control again, so of course strong feelings have you conflicted. But I'm begging you just this once; give in to what you really want - and if that's not me, then I'll respect that but don't push me away because you don't think you're good enough for me."

"Of course I want you," Bucky bit his lower lip, mulling over your words.

"Say the words and I'm yours," you whispered and kissed his earlobe.

"I don't - I don't know," he groaned and felt his eyes flutter shut at the sensation. Fuck, he wanted to give in so bad.

"Please stop trying to find excuses for us not to be together," you kissed his neck.

"I'm not going to convince you to let me go, am I?" He mumbled above you.

"Absolutely not," you smiled against his sensitive skin, "say the words, love. Make me yours."

Bucky gave out a loud sigh, "...are you sure?"

"Yes, tell me how you feel..."

"Okay... I - uh - I love you," he said carefully and immediately felt the light tingling sensation from last night appear in his hand before it disappeared as quickly as it had come. Curious, he flexed his metal fingers, wondering what had just happened. "I love you," he repeated, this time with a bit more feeling, the tingling sensation quickly re-appearing, reaching his wrist this time. "I love your laugh. And your eyes," a tingle in his elbow, "I love the way you look at me," it reached his shoulder, "and the way you touch me. I love that my friends love you," sparks in his chest, "you are everything to me," bonfire in his chest, "I just... love you," he finally erupted in colours before you, the warm light shining inside him as he quietly started chuckling at how carefree he suddenly was. It was almost like being the old Bucky again. You made him feel innocent and young again. "Fuck I love you," he whispered as he stared down into your gleaming eyes. You were so sweet, so beautiful.

"I feel the same way about you," you tried to contain the large smile that was slowly growing on your face.

"I know," he nodded and pulled you a little closer, "I feel it."

"Well," you chuckled quietly, "in that case: if you're not going to ask me, I'll ask you... Can I please be your girlfriend?"

"...Okay," he nodded.

"Okay? Do I finally have you convinced?"

"...yes," he growled and softly pressed his lips against yours.

"And you'll be my boyfriend?" You ran your fingers through his hair.

"Yes," he kissed you again.

"And we can boast about it to Steve?

"Of course."

"- and Sam?" you laughed against his lips.

"Can't wait."

"Can I tell Wanda too?"

"Yes," Bucky rolled his eyes, "now will you shut up for a bit? I'm trying to kiss you, doll."

"Sorry love. All yours now," you snickered and finally reciprocated the wet kiss he was pressing to your lips, your tongues immediately intertwining. It made him feel so soft. Fuck, he'd only heard about love like this in fiction. Bucky thought to himself that among all the feelings he'd been through the past 24 hours, this feeling was his favourite. Finally being yours.

Tagging: @elemenohpe @summerofsnowflakes @theselilwonders @ramp-it-up @alexander-hamilhoe

#bucky barnes fanfiction #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes x reader smut #bucky barnes x reader angst #bucky barnes smut

[delaber]

@thebuckybarnesvault haha you’re always so good to me ❤️ thanks love, happy that you’re still enjoying it after so many re-reads 🥰

Back Again (Bucky Barnes x Reader)

Summary: When Bucky volunteers for a mission going back in time, it’s with one objective and one objective only: to catch a glimpse of the girl he tragically lost a little over three years ago. But as he soon discovers, he has more to say about the past than he thinks.

Warnings: Angst (with a happy ending), major character death (well, not really, but you catch my drift), loads of feelings on Bucky’s behalf.

Words: 7.5K

September 6th

It's an easy mission really; go back to before the archive was compromised and bombed to rubbles by the rogue British forces, pull out the Hannigan file and remember the eight random digits stamped on the front page.

- It's fast in, fast out, Steve had said as he had set the date to three years and fifty-two days prior, shooting Bucky a stern glance from across the room as if he knew exactly what Bucky had been planning to do from the very moment he'd volunteered for the mission.

- Relax Steve, I'll be there early morning. The hallways will be empty.

Technically, it's not a lie.

- You could have chosen any other date. S'all I'm saying

- I know what I'm doing

- Just... —don't let anyone see you, okay?

Getting the intel and memorising the numbers is the easy part - it takes Bucky exactly eleven seconds to imprint the eight digit code in his memory like a burn wound and slip unnoticed out the door of the archive - the hard part is the next step. The secret step that Bucky had planned in his head and hadn't even dared subtly hint to Steve although he definitely already knows and isn't exactly happy about. The stern glance alone had told him as much.

To hell with it, Bucky thinks to himself and pushes away the guilt of not having been fully transparent with his best friend, this is important.

He quietly closes the archive door behind him while looking at the borrowed space-time watch on his wrist and realises that he, by chance, manages to click the door shut just as the seconds hand hits the sixth hour mark. It's perfect, it'll make keeping track of time that much easier. Yet, his time is still limited, so without stopping to catch his breath, he's off! He doesn't want to put himself in a situation where the watch will start sending him warnings in order to reach the jump site on time. It'd happened to Barton once, and Fury was... let's just say not happy. He'd benched Barton for eight months following that incident and Bucky really doesn't want to be in the same situation. He doesn't have much to live for outside of missions, and Fury's been looking for a reason to kick him off the team. So no matter what, he will make it back with time to spare!

Quickly striding along the marble tiles, moving as fast as he can while being careful not to hit any of Pepper's potted ferns lining the dark hallway, he's eager to get to the spot - your spot - where he knows you'll sit and watch the sunrise as you used to do every morning. If he remembers correctly - and he knows he is because he's double and triple checked it with Natasha several times over the last few days - you'll be alone at the compound this morning and he'll have at least a few seconds to sneak a peak without worrying if any of his team mates will creep up behind him. A moment just to himself to see your silhouette one last time as you gaze towards the colourful horizon in the distance - but only for a few seconds or the team back home will grow even more suspicious of him and think that he broke rule number one. And he really can't stand when Steve has that disappointed frown on his face. It's fast in, fast out and Bucky intends to keep it that way.

Still walking fast through the hallway, he looks back at the synchronised watch on his wrist and with a happy sigh realises that he still has plenty of time. He should be able to do it without arising too many questions from the team. Should he cut it too close, he can always tell them there was a problem with accessing the archive but that he eventually managed to get around it. Good.

Gingerly stepping out of the compound and out onto the wooden terrace Sam had built when he'd joined the team a few years back, Bucky realises that he's travelled back to a particularly beautiful morning; the colours of the rising sun are blanketing the entire garden in a pink hue, playing with the water lilies on top of Starks koi pond in the far corner, heating up the dew on the terrace's wooden floorboards so they emit a lovely smell from underneath his boots. It's a beautiful setting, he knows that, but truth be told, he has never really cared much for sunrises - they were always too romantic, too nostalgic for someone who didn't like thinking too much about their past, let alone romanticise it. So what really catches his eye isn't the eruption of colours in the morning sky, it's the curled up figure sitting in the middle of the wooden deck. Surrounded by potted plants and with a steaming cup of tea sat next to bare feet as birds chirp lively in the tree crowns above, you're sitting innocent and unknowing of the fate that so cruelly has been bestowed upon you.

Bucky's heart damn near stops in his chest. He hasn't seen you in so long and suddenly you're sitting right in front of him exactly as he remembers you; sweet, beautiful, warm, and with your hair blowing lazily in the wind as you overlook the garden as part of your precious morning routine. You're wearing the flowered sundress he loves and the setting seems so perfect that he for a moment wonders if this is nothing but a fever dream that he half-expects to wake up from any minute soon. But then the wind picks up your scent and it flows through the air until it reaches his nostrils and makes his lungs come back to life with a small gasp. Immediately and uncontrollably, his breathing picks up its pace again and he just wants to put his wobbly legs to use and run over to you.

However, he doesn't have to remind himself of the first rule of time travel; he knows he's not supposed to be seen, yet there you are, and he's dangerously close to considering throwing caution to the wind just so he can give you one last kiss and tell you how much he misses you. Maybe if he talks to you one last time and tells you how much you mean to him, he can finally stop lying sleepless at night, thinking about what could have been if only you'd stayed in this life? That way, at least you would have known. He has never been this tempted to just say fuck it and break the silent promise he'd made to Steve before he'd been sent back in time.

He carefully takes a step forwards, feels how the familiar scent of your shampoo draws him closer and fills his chest with anticipation of talking to you again - of seeing your smile one last time - but he stops himself before he gets too close. He cannot temper with what happened. He of all people should know that no matter what, you cannot change the past. So with an inaudible sigh, he backs away while looking at your hair flowing elegantly in the breeze before he turns around as quietly as possible, his hand already on the door handle to back inside the compound, disappointed that he has to leave so soon, but happy that he at least got to catch a glimpse of you.

"Well," your sweet, sweet voice suddenly sounds from behind him and it makes him stop dead in his tracks. "- Am I supposed to keep pretending I haven't noticed you staring at me or are you gonna join me?"

Shit, his cover is made! This is not good! He did not prepare for this! What the fuck is he supposed to do now? Turn around and answer? Bolt for the jump site? This was not part of the plan! Fuck!

"- Barnes?" you chuckle when he doesn't respond at all.

With closed eyes, he can hear you shuffling a little as if you're turning around to get a better look at him and he gulps hard before he plasters on a brave smile and rotates on the spot. He only has about a millisecond to brace himself for the feelings that are about to coalesce and crash down on him, yet the moment he sees your face, he knows that no amount of time in the world could've ever prepared him for the all-consuming relief he feels in his chest when he sees your face for the first time in little over three years. A welcoming smile is crinkling at the corners of your eyes, your pouted lips are still in position from having practically sung his name only moments before, and your big, beautiful eyes are boring straight through his soulless holster of a body that you for some goddamn unimaginable reason still seem to like. You'd always said that his mere presence made you feel safe and even though he's had three years of getting used to the fact that he couldn't save you, it still cuts like a knife to have you looking at him like that again.

"Hi sweetheart," he breathes quietly and locks eyes with you. It feels as if he's been kicked in the stomach.

"Hi," you smile broadly at the familiar pet name and Bucky feels his heart skip a beat. "- What are you doing here?" You ask softly and cock your head to the side as you take him in, "I thought you and Sam were supposed to be buried deep in the woods of Siberia right now."

"We finished the mission early," he manages to croak even though it feels as if the Sahara desert has been poured straight down his throat.

"Oh, good! How did it go? Did you get the intel?"

He resorts to nodding as he tries swallowing to lubricate his hoarse throat but the saliva just settles as a thick, immobile lump on top of his larynx, making it all so much worse. He hadn't gotten the intel. He had panicked when Steve had called him, and he and Sam had both run for the quinjet, desperate to come home and help search for you among the rubbles of the archive in the strangled hope of finding you alive.

"Of course you did! I don't know what you were fussing so much about - didn't I tell you, you were the right man for the job?" you send him an impressed grin and it makes him feel even worse for having lied to you.

"Yeah," he croaks guiltily and looks away from you. His heart is hammering a mile a minute and he knows he has to get out of here before he reveals too much but how can he leave when your gaze is finally locked on his again? For a moment, he just wants to forget all about how he's gonna lose everything in a couple of hours.

Out the corner of his eye, he can see how you knit your eyebrows tightly together as you take him in. You'd always had a knack for reading him when he didn't want you to - it was what had brought the two of you together in the first place - but this time, it's really inconvenient.

"Hey, are you alright?" You ask tentatively while twitching your fingers a little as if reaching out for him. Of course you've already seen straight through him. " - you look a little pale."

"Yeah," he clears his throat, telling himself to pull it together, "yeah, I'm good."

"Okay..." you nod but you don't look too convinced by his lie. "Why don't you come join me?" you ask and he can't believe himself and his dumb legs but his muscles start moving autonomously and suddenly, he's sitting next to you, silently savouring how you snuggle up to his side as you look straight ahead and up at the morning sky.

At first, he pretends he's interested in the purple streaks above the two of you as well, but after not even five seconds, he turns his face to look at you, hoping to memorise all your features before it's too late.

"Barnes, you're staring," you chuckle while hyper-focusing your gaze on a spot in the growing horizon.

"Sorry," his voice is thick and pained but he keeps his eyes locked on you. How is he supposed to ever look away?

Slowly, you turn your face to the side, your happy grin slowly slipping from off your lips when you notice his blank eyes. "Hey," you put your hand on his knee and he can feel the electricity building underneath your touch, "- are you sure you're alright?"

He just nods, scared that if he opens his mouth, the truth will come out. Why did he not prepare for this?

"Yeah?" you rub over the small hole in his jeans and the lightning burns like a fire in his veins. He feels so guilty.

"Mm-hmm," he blinks rapidly. "I just missed you."

"Four days out and you miss me?" you chuckle happily and move a little closer to him so he can feel the heat radiating from off your body. "You're turning into a sap! - I bet you didn't mention this to Sam."

"He knows," Bucky mumbles and throws an arm around your body so you can put your head on his shoulder.

"Oh he knows now, does he?" you laugh whole-heartedly in disbelief. Back then, for some stupid reason he cannot even remember right now, Bucky had been so desperate to keep his feelings for you private but with the pain and the sorrow that had followed losing you, he suspects the rest of the team figured it out quite soon after, although he never really confirmed it to either of them. "What did he say? Did he tease you?" you giggle as you link your arm with his and grab tightly around right bicep. "- or use it against you or what it is you're so afraid of?"

"No," Bucky croaks as he blinks a few times and curses at himself for his inability to just play it cool. "He misses you too. We all do."

You straighten your back so you can look directly at him. Your smile is still in place but it freezes slightly as you furrow your eyebrows in confusion. "Okay, I'm not gonna ask you again," you chuckle apprehensively, "- but are you a hundred percent sure you're alright? You're a shadow of yourself today."

"Yeah, sweetheart, I'm good," he pulls you close to his chest and kisses the top of your scalp, "let's just enjoy the sunrise, okay?"

"Okay," you nod quietly and look back towards the morning sky, but out the corner of his eye, he can see how your gaze constantly darts back towards his face. "it's just... Well, since you seem to have absolutely no intensions of bringing it up yourself, I have to ask..." You cock your head to the side and Bucky can feel his breathing speeding up, not sure what you're about to confront him with. "- What happened to your hair?" you laugh sweetly, your lips spreading even further apart in your gorgeous signature grin as you search his face.

He should be relieved that that's what you're wondering about, but it's a detail he hadn't even considered. He had insisted on the long hair back when you'd dated him and now he has no good answer as to why he chose to cut it all off. 

"Did something life-altering happen that I don't know about or did you just feel like suddenly chopping it off?" you joke. Or at least, he thinks you're joking.

"Uh - I - uhm - I just cut it," he says and uncomfortably shift his weight around, eager to have you look anywhere else than his face. Truth be told, he had cut it because something terrible and life-altering had happened to him but he's not about to reveal your fate to you.

"You just cut it?" you arch an eyebrow in disbelief. "On a mission? Was the intel located at a salon?" you laugh again.

"Yeah, well... I figured it was time, you know?"

"Hmm, yeah... Well, it looks good on you," you chip happily and send him a dreamy smile, "but then again, you always look good. It's annoying."

"Mmh," he forces a smile.

Your gaze wanders over his face once more and you push together your eyebrows as you take him in while trying to understand what's going on inside his head. You definitely still think he's acting beside himself.

"You promised you wouldn't ask again," he tries joking to diffuse the tension between you and it seems to work because it immediately has you smiling.

"Don't worry, I won't..." you press your lips tightly together and reach up to run a hand through his short hair just to feel him underneath your fingertips. "Mmh, I missed you," you hum.

Your small, delicate fingers caressing his scalp is a simple touch of warm intimacy that Bucky had completely forgotten the sensation of, and he has to close his eyes to stop himself from crying at the gentleness if it. He never thought he'd feel this again, and there had been many nights since the bombing where he'd cried not only for the loss of you, but for the loss of intimacy as well.

You rake your hand through his hair again, and he can't believe it, but for a short second while you're running your fingers through his short strands, he actually envies the version of himself who's bickering with Sam somewhere in rural Russia right now. The version of himself who's completely oblivious as to what will happen within the next twelve hours. That guy just thinks he's going home to scalp kisses and head scratches by his love at the end of the mission... Bucky doesn't, however, envy the grief that the other version will have to navigate through for the next couple of years until he can finally feel this kind of intimacy again. For a few second he, himself, is the lucky one.

Even with closed eyes, he can sense the deep look you're giving him and although he wants to sit like this forever and revel in your love, he can't risk giving himself away. "Sweetheart, you're missing it..." he says in a strangely throaty voice and nods towards the horizon, not sure what outcome he's hoping for. He just knows he doesn't want to take away your last sunrise ever.

"I don't care," you whisper and rake a hand through his hair one more time. "I know you say you're alright, but you're not... What happened to you?"

"Nothing," he mumbles.

"It's not nothing..." you say softly and scratch at his neck until he finally opens his eyes again. "Why won't you tell me?" you whisper and press in on his aching jaw to get him to unclench it.

He reaches out and intertwines his fingers with the hand you have lying in your lap. "I'll tell you tomorrow, okay? Let's just sit here and enjoy this moment for a little while..."

"If you say so," you nod disappointedly as you look down at your joined hands.

He's so lost, so confused as to what to do now that he doesn't even register how your gaze briefly stops at the familiar watch he's wearing, so when you look up at him again, it's with a foreign, sudden type of sadness he doesn't know where comes from. Your eyes are searching his face, stopping at several fix points that you keep coming back to over and over again: his shorter hair line, the crows feet surrounding his blue irises, the crease above his nose that has only grown more prominent over the recent years, the newly acquired wound on his chin that has turned into a white scar because he hadn't put sunscreen on it last summer. All telltales of time having passed since the last time you'd seen him.

He can practically hear the gears turning in your head before your eyes soften considerably and you give out a sad sigh. "Hmm," you hum quietly and shoot him a despondent look he can't really place. "What are you doing here?

"...What do you mean?" he asks sincerely and presses his eyebrows together as he looks down into your sad eyes.

You give him a second to properly answer your question but when he doesn't, you sigh again and slowly lean forwards while pressing your palm to his face, caressing his bearded chin. "You're not my Bucky..." you say quietly as you stroke his cheekbone.

His breath catches in his throat and his heart immediately starts racing. "W-what?"

"You're not my Bucky" you repeat resolutely while huge eyes are still searching his face, "what are you doing here."

"I don't understand."

"James..." you say softly and cock your head to the side.

He remembers this. It's always James when you want him to speak the truth.

"I could tell something was off from the minute I saw you but the watch gave you away," you nod down to his wrist that is still lying in your lap before your soft gaze finds his eyes again. "Time hasn't been kind to you, has it?" you whisper while lovingly stroking his cheek.

"W-what?" He doesn't even have it in him to protest more than that. Not when you sound so sure of yourself.

"How does it happen?" you ask him gently, overtly controlled. He should have known this; of course you'd figure it out...

"How does what happen?" he blinks desperately, not sure what to do now. He can't be the one who tells you. He can't.

You lower your chin without moving your eyes from his. "I die, don't I? That's why you're here."

He continues blinking rapidly, his breath still caught in his throat as his lungs start heaving for air. Just thinking about it hurts in his chest.

"It's okay," you whisper, your eyes still huge as you try and calm him down. "What - uhm - what happens? Will we be together when it occurs?"

"No," he whimpers and throws away his very last hope of fooling you into believing that it isn't the reason why he's here. "I won't be home yet."

"You won't be home yet..." you repeat in a low voice and Bucky sees how your eyes grow wide as you slowly manage put two and two together. "Buck -- when does this happen?" you ask shakily and for the first time, he detects a trace of fear in your voice.

He gives out a short whimper in reply and clutches your hand tightly as he feels the tears well in his eyes. How is he supposed to tell you that you have less that twenty-four hours to live?

"When?" you repeat quietly and hold on to him even tighter than before.

"Sweetheart, don't make me say it," he avoids looking at you.

"Don't you think I have a right to know...?"

"Of course you do it's just--"

"-When?"

Bucky takes a deep, ragged breath before he confirms the very thing you suspect and fear. "This afternoon, a bomb will go off in the West Wing."

"This afternoon?" You drop the grip you have on his hand while staring at him in shock. "I'm going to die... today?”

"Don't - don't say it like that," he whines. "Please, it's so unfair! You have so much to live for and it's all taken away from you just like that. I'd trade places with you in a heartbeat but I'm not here, and I won't be here before it's too late. I'm so sorry sweetheart. I'm so sorry!"

"It's okay, Buck." With huge eyes and your mouth hanging wide open, you stare at him as you let the shock settle down around you. "It's okay... it's okay..." you eventually say and force-close your locked jaw as you rub a hand over your face. "I'm sorry, but - uh - I need to know. What exactly happens? Who else will be here?"

"We're all away," Bucky sighs with regret, "It's just you and Natasha."

Immediately, you cover your mouth with your hand, "Nat!" you gasp, even more shocked by this than by the news of your own passing.

"Nat's fine," Bucky immediately interrupts and grabs your hand again, holding it tight, "she's going to be at the gym."

"...And me?"

"I don't know sweetheart," he whispers, "Nat told us that you wanted to get some work done so you skipped out on your training. We think you may be at the centre of the blast. We - we never find you," he breathes through his nose to keep himself controlled. He can feel the tears pressing in on his eyeballs again when he thinks of the empty coffin they had to bury.

"At least it's quick then," you say and turn your face towards the garden that is still bathed in the pink hue from the rising sun. "I'm going to die today," you say matter-of-factly with your gaze fixed on the sky. "huh... So we never get to go on that date on Friday?

"No sweetheart..."

"- And we've already had our last kiss?

He nods. "Yeah..."

"I'm sorry," you whisper while staring at him with sad eyes, "I'm sorry you have to go through all that alone."

"I'm not alone," he mumbles and looks down at his feet. "Steve tries to talk to me. Sam too."

"But you don't accept," you chuckle sadly while shaking your head from side to side while playfully rolling your eyes at him, "God, you're so stubborn!"

"I know," he nods, "but it's too painful to talk about even now."

"How much time passes?" you look back at him while taking a deep breath. "How many years ahead are you right now?"

"It doesn't matter," he gulps guiltily. He knows how this part of the conversation will go.

"James..."

"Three," he sucks in a bit of air, hoping that it isn't that much time in your eyes.

"Three years?" you whine, your eyes huge with the shock of his confession as you clutch your chest, "Baby, you have to move on!"

Immediately, his heart cracks in two and he can no longer hold back the tears that he finally lets flow freely down his cheeks without trying to stop them. "No, I can't," he sniffles quietly, "I don't want to. I just wish you were still here. I miss you so much, you have no idea. I feel so guilty for being away. I think about it all the time."

"Bucky," you say softly and put a hand underneath his chin, wiping away a few tears and forcing him to look back up at you, "- you couldn't have done anything anyway. You know what I'm like when I put my mind to something. If you'd been here, you would probably have gone to the gym with Nat because I would still have gone to the West Wing to finish up work. It wouldn't have changed anything."

"But I never even get to tell you how I feel."

"Bucky, look at me," you whisper with a small smile and lean forwards, "it's okay. You don't have to tell me. I already know." You put your forehead to his and smile softly at him, "- and I hope you know that I feel the same about you."

With a gulp, he nods.

"Then kiss me," you wipe away another of his tears and tilt your head.

He closes his eyes and finds your mouth immediately, pushes himself impossibly close to your body and feels the softness pour over him as you press your pillowy lips to his in the most heartfelt kiss he's ever experienced. He tries to let his love shine through as raw as possible so there will be absolutely no doubt how much he loves you but from the way you're holding on to him, he can feel that you truly do already know. Your hand is warm against his face and it causes his heart to calm down its rapid beating while your lips move like silk on top of his.

"Mmh, sweetheart," he whispers into your mouth and feels every inch of you engulf him in love and bravery. Suddenly, he's free, so liberated from the grief that has been hanging over his head for so long that he completely forgets that he's on borrowed time.

The loud sounds coming from his wrist watch that suddenly begins beeping out of nowhere is the only terrible reminder of the setting he's in - that there's a deadline hanging over his head if he ever wants to make it home again.

"You're cutting it close, huh?" you say quietly as you reluctantly break off the kiss and place your forehead back on his. You both know that the watch only starts beeping when there's less than two minutes left to get to the jump site.

"I don't care," he shakes his head, not sure what else to say as he feels reality come crashing down on him again.

"You're really gonna let it go to red?" you chuckle as if impressed. "You know that Fury's gonna tear you a new one, right?"

"I don't care."

"I bet you don't," you chuckle and he joins you in smiling, revelling in the odd sensation that it brings to his cheeks to chuckle like this again. "I'm glad you found me, Barnes."

"Me too, sweetheart," he whispers as the smile slips from off his face again. "I wish there was something I could do..."

"You're here right now, aren't you?" you smile and briefly kiss him again, "I'm glad you came back, even just for a few minutes."

"It's not enough to say goodbye..." he mumbles and laces his fingers with yours.

"Oh, but this? This is not a goodbye," you chuckle quietly while shaking your head, "it's an I'll see you later."

"If you say so," he nods without really accepting your explanation and ignores the incessant beeping from his watch that only grows louder and louder by the second.

"You should probably get back, don't you think? Wouldn't want you to miss your mark and have you stuck here with me."

"Mmm," he whimpers and desperately kisses your knuckles with closed eyes.

"Chin up Barnes," you chuckle at him, "- the sky is the most beautiful I've ever seen it and I had a good run. I'll be okay."

"I'll miss you," he says as the watch starts blinking angry red, warning him that he only has thirty seconds left.

"I'll miss you too," you say and squeeze his fingers tightly before you let go of him, "you have twenty-seven seconds. Promise me you'll make it back, okay?"

"Okay," he nods and slowly stands up, taking one last look at you before he walks across the wooden floorboards and back towards the door he'd entered through.

"Hey Barnes?" You say when his hand reaches the doorknob and it immediately makes him turn around to see you standing on your feet, looking at him with a resolute look in your eye, your hands determinedly balled to fists by your side. "You say you're three years ahead. What date is it where you're from?"

"Uh... September sixth?" he says, a bit confused as to why that should matter but he's not about to deny a dying woman an answer to her question. "Why?"

"Just out of curiosity," you nod towards his angry watch, "twenty seconds."

"I know."

"I'll see you later, okay?"

"I'll see you baby," he whispers and physically feels his heart crack even worse in his chest as he takes a definitive last look at you. The sun is coming up behind you now, marking the worst day of Bucky's existence and all he can do is let it happen.

September 7th

He didn't even think it possible, but it's even worse than the first time around.

He'd collapsed on the floor the minute he'd exited the quantum realm, tears and snot blurring his vision as he'd fallen to his knees, his heart aching so horribly in his chest he'd thought he was dying. He wasn't. Unfortunately.

Steve had been there in an instant, on his knees beside Bucky, holding him tight, making sure he didn't pass out from hyperventilating, trying to calm him down.

The rest is a blur. Bucky isn't sure how Steve managed to manoeuvre him to his bedroom on the tenth floor and he doesn't even remember if Steve had been there when he'd finally fallen asleep, dreaming of you and the feeling of your body in his arms, your lips touched to his.

When he wakes up the next morning, it takes him a minute to remember that you're still gone, and in that moment, he isn't sure if seeing you again was liberating or just pure torture. If only he could've done something to fix what had happened....

"Buck?" Steve's voice immediately sounds from beside him as he starts shuffling a bit in the sheets, eager to get the cold sweat to stop pooling at his forehead. He turns around on the bed and meets the disheveled face of Steve who's occupying the chair where Bucky usually puts his dirty clothes, his eyes red with sleep deprivation, his hair sticking up in all possible directions.

"Stevie..." Bucky croaks and clears his throat as he takes in the state of his best friend who's clearly stayed by his side all night. "What are you doing here?"

"As if I was just going to leave you," Steve sighs solemnly and rubs his eyes. "How are you?"

Bucky sits up straight and lets his head fall back against the headrest. He can still see the broken look you'd sent him when he'd revealed your terrible fate to you. "You know how I am."

"Yeah..." he sighs again and looks away. "I'm sorry Buck but you're gonna have to talk about it."

"I know I broke a rule. You and Fury can yell at me tomorrow, okay?" Bucky says quietly and tries to block out the mental image of what'd happened to you. "I just need some time."

Steve reaches out his hand and lets it fall on top of Bucky shoulder. "Buck, I'm - I'm not gonna yell at you. I just want you to finally open up to me, you've been so closed off since it happened. I know what you had with her was... special. And I know why you went back and talked to her, I've been tempted to do the same many times. Trust me."

"I just wanted to see her," Bucky squeezes his eyes shut and bites his lip, desperately trying to get his breathing under control again. "I never intended to talk to her, it just... happened. I think I'd forgotten how observant she was."

"I know," Steve pushes down on Bucky's shoulder and shoots him a sympathetic smile. "How much did you tell her?"

"...Everything."

"And how did she take it?"

"She was really brave about it. I think I took it worse than she did... I don't know, I'm gonna need some time to process it all..."

"Mmh," Steve nods in quiet desperation, not sure what to do or say to make Bucky feel better. "I'll give you some space then, okay pal? I'll check in again in a couple of hours."

"Please don't," Bucky sighs and lays his head back down on his pillow, his mind already overflowing with every memory of you. All the way back from the first time he'd seen you to the point where he'd told you you were about to die. Shit.

He's so lost in thought he almost doesn't hear the hurried footsteps coming from the hallway, and he barely even registers the door being kicked open as Sam yells his name. "Bucky! Bucky, wake the hell up! You have to come downstairs! Now!"

"Sam?" Steve questions, already on his feet, ready to run to whatever emergency Sam is warning. "What's going on?"

Sam's eyes are wide open, his mouth falling agape in disbelief as he quietly chuckles and frantically waves Bucky and Steve over to him, "Come on! It's unbelievable! You have to see it for yourselves!"

"I don't care what it is, I'm not coming," Bucky mumbles from the bed and pulls his comforter closer around his chest, praying for Sam and Steve to leave him alone.

Sam bends down and picks up the nearest pair of jeans, throwing it over to Bucky on the bed. "Put on some pants, man, and come down stairs. Now!"

Bucky looks to Steve for help but he merely shrugs before he throws Bucky a black hoodie from underneath the chair he'd been occupying only moments before.

"You've got to be fucking kidding me," he mumbles under his breath and reluctantly swings his legs over the side of the mattress, well knowing that his two friends won't leave him alone until he's seen what Sam's fussing about for himself.

"Come on!" Sam urges and impatiently taps the doorframe to Bucky's room with his foot as Bucky slowly pulls on the jeans and hoodie just to annoy him.

"Sam what's going on?" Steve finally asks again when they're all three standing in the elevator, zooming towards the ground floor.

"Just... just wait, okay?" he says rapidly, clearly excited about what's going on. It's giving Bucky a goddamn headache. "You're not gonna believe me anyway!"

Bucky gives out an annoyed sigh as he throws his head up against the back wall of the elevator, closing his eyes. He needs a fucking aspirin.

"You good?" Steve turns to him while Sam continues his nervous-tapping against the floor.

"I'm about to strangle Sam if that's what you’re worried about..."

Sam stops tapping and opens his mouth to retort, but is interrupted by a loud ding as the doors slide open and instead settles for an annoyed look sent in Bucky's direction before he turns around. Immediately, the three men are met by Natasha's loud squeals coming from the next room, causing Steve to half-jog out of the elevator and through the empty hallway while Bucky slouches after him, counting the seconds until he can finally be alone again and wallow in his misery.

Steve stops in the doorway to the next room, his jaw practically dropping to the floor as soon as he sees what Natasha's so worked up about. It only takes him exactly two seconds of utter shock before he composes himself enough to turn his head and look Bucky straight in the eye. "Buck... it's..." his voice trails off as he looks back at the scene unfolding before him.

"What's happening?" Bucky asks curiously for the first time, and can feel how his heart picks up its pace as he dreads the sight that will meet him when he catches up to Steve.

"Come on, man," Sam says and puts his hand between Bucky's shoulder blades, urging him to move forwards so he can see for himself.

It feels as if it's taking him an eternity to reach those last few yards across the hallway, and when he's finally by Steve's side, he's so worked up, he isn't even sure if his mind is playing tricks on him or not. Because there, in the middle of the room, Natasha is standing in a tight embrace with none other than ...you?

Bucky blinks a few times, takes a step forwards, not sure if he's still dreaming.

You have tears running down your cheeks as you lock eyes with him over your best friend's shoulder and you can't stop the broad smile that spreads on your lips. "Buck," you whisper and immediately let go of Natasha who sniffles and steps to the side so Bucky can see all of you.

There you are. Standing in all your glory, unharmed, undead, living and breathing, and singing his name so sweetly as you take a step towards him, your feet shaking nervously underneath you.

"Are you seeing this too?" Bucky whispers to Steve though he doesn't dare move his eyes away from your form in fear of losing you if it turns out to just be a cruel illusion.

"Yeah, Buck," Steve's voice is shaking by his side, "I see her too."

"Buck," you laugh through the tears that continue to roll down your cheeks. "It's really me," you lift your hand and reach out for him.

"Oh my god," he whispers and strides across the room. Immediately, you're in his arms and he's crying your name as he touches you all over your body to make sure you're really there, squeezing you against his chest, kissing the top of your scalp, running his hands over your back, "I don't believe this!"

"Hi baby," you whisper and kiss his neck, his ear, his cheek. "I'm here. It's okay, I'm here."

"You're alive?" he sniffles and briefly holds you out at an arms length before he pulls you close to his chest again, "how? We all thought you were dead!"

"I'm sorry," you whisper and hold him as close as possible as you mumble against his chest. "I couldn't give you any signs of life. I couldn't risk it."

He puts a hand under your chin and urges you to look up at him. "Risk what?" he frantically searches your face, voice shaking, still desperate to confirm you're really here.

You put your hand on his chest as you always do to calm him down and send him a deep, intimate look. "I had to wait until after September 6th of this year to see you again. I'm sorry."

"I - I don't understand..." he says and strokes his thumb over your cheek.

"Come here," you break off the tight embrace and lead him to a small bench in the corner of the room, sitting him down beside you. "What you did that day saved me," you grab his hand and wrap it in your tiny fingers, "I would have been in the West Wing when the bomb went off if you hadn't said anything... But because of you, I left early. Like you said I would, I told Nat I couldn't come with her to the gym because I was going to finish up a mission report, so I waited until after she'd started her work-out to leave. I couldn't write you a note, or give you any sign of what'd happened because you needed the motive to go back in time to save me. I had to keep you grieving or you never would've come, so I just... left... I've been hiding in a small village in the mountains of Spain, waiting for this exact date. That's why you never found a body among the rubble."

"W-what? ...but we - we searched for weeks," he whispers, not sure why that's the detail he decides to focus on. He's not sure his shocked brain can fully comprehend your confession. He's having trouble just moving his shaking limbs. "You're alive..."

"I know. I'm sorry, baby. But it was necessary."

"You're alive..." he repeats quietly, the realisation slowly dawning upon him. "I don't believe it..." he whispers and pulls you close to his chest again as the tears start stinging in his eyes, "you're alive..."

"Yeah, I'm alive," you sniffle against him and hug him just as tightly as you'd done what was only mere hours ago for him, three years and fifty-three days for you. "You saved me."

"Oh my god," he cries into your neck, kissing your shoulder, "I've missed you so much!"

"You've been so brave," you whisper against him and caress the back of his head, "I'm so proud of you."

"No, I've been a pathetic mess. These guys can testify to that," he mumbles and points to over his shoulder where he can hear Sam and Nat chuckle quietly. "I never thought I'd see you again."

"I know," you smile sadly, "seeing you like that that day was heartbreaking. I knew I had to do something or you wouldn't survive it."

"I am so glad you did," he kisses your knuckles and scoots a little closer to you. "I mean, I knew you were stubborn but I never took you for such a cosmic rule-breaker, sweetheart," he smiles through the tears, and shoots you an impressed glance, "Fury's gonna tear you a new one."

You shoot back your head with laughter and sweetly wrap his hand up in yours. "Yeah, thank God that's never stopped me before," you giggle.

He never thought he'd sit like this with you again, and when you finally lean in close and kiss him, he promises himself that he'll never let you go.

#bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes imagine #bucky barnes #sebastian stan #bucky x reader

[delaber]

@casa-boiardi haha you felt it too, yeah? 😆

To Let You Win (Bucky Barnes x Reader)

Summary: a sparring match between you and your best friend turns into something you’ve both been keeping under the surface when he refuses to let you lose the game

Words: 2K

Flufffffff 💖 (with a squint towards a smuttier theme hehe)

"Holy fuck it's hot in here," Bucky wipes the sweat from his brow with the back of his hand and resumes the fighting stance he'd been occupying before exclaiming that he was sweating balls.

"Alright," you laugh and flip the makeshift knife in your hand, "just tell me if you need a break to regain your strength, old man."

"Oh doll, I don't need a break," he grins and threateningly takes a step towards you without blinking, "I can take you with both arms tied behind my back."

There it is again...

One of those ill-timed comments that you try and laugh away in a poor attempt at hiding just exactly how bad they make your stomach churn and the back of your neck prickle.

Pretending that you do not have a major crush on the man standing in front of you has become full of feeble attempts, and to avoid embarrassing yourself, you settle on an equally threatening "I'd like to see you try," accompanied by a playful smile that you cannot hold back no matter how much you try to.

He winks at you before he, without warning, lurches forwards, swinging his fake dagger mere inches from your chest.

He's quick, but you're quicker, and while he's focusing on touching one of the spots you in unison decided would be considered a kill-zone, you jump as high as you can while wrapping your legs around his hips.

Immediately thrown off balance, he falls backwards and lands on the white felt floor with a dull thud followed by a grunt as your weight lands on top of him.

Before he can even move, you've pinned him to the floor with a knee placed on each side of his torso.

"Surrender?" you grin and lean forwards as you press your wooden weapon to his bopping Adam's apple.

"Okay, you got me," he laughs and raises his hands above his head to capitulate.

You know that he can easily flip the two of you around and turn his fake demise to his own advantage; place his entire weight between your legs as his thick thighs glue your hips to the spot, ready to devour you as he sinks his teeth into your neck, filling up the empty hole inside you that's constantly begging for his touch.

God, he smells amazing!

"Sweetheart," he chuckles from far away and you realise you've done it again; become lost as you daydream about your best friend fucking you into oblivion.

"Not that I'm not enjoying this," he places both hands on your hips and gently pushes you back with a stomach-flipping grunt, "- but my back is killing me, and I really need to change out of this shirt."

Your gaze falls to the hand you have carefully placed on top of his sternum, suddenly aware of the wet stains of his t-shirt and the heavy heartbeat drumming below your fingers.

"Of course," you immediately pocket your fake knife and release the grip you have on him as you stand up. "Sorry," you mumble, embarrassed by yourself and your inability to play it cool whenever you're around him.

"No worries," he winks at you from the side of the ring and reaches behind his head, grabbing the fabric of his t-shirt and pulling it off with one swift movement.

You've seen him shirtless countless of times before, but it never ceases to amaze you just how good he looks. He has angry scars extending from his waistline, zig-zagging and digging into the skin lining his entire stomach and chest, reaching all the way up to the torn flesh of his shoulder and it makes him look so fucking beautiful. You know he hates the bare-chested sight of himself in the mirror, but you doubt there could ever be a single facet of Bucky Barnes that you would not love.

"You've been working on your takedown," he eyes you impressively, either ignoring your obvious stare, or choosing not to believe that you actually like him shirtless. "I can't wait to see you break Sam's back with that move," he chuckles, "I love when he's having his ass handed to him."

"I highly doubt that'll happen seeing as Sam doesn't let me win," you mock Bucky while adjusting the strip of cloth that is wrapped tightly around your knuckles. "He actually fights back when he's down."

"Come on, you had a knife pressed to my throat!" Bucky chuckles but you merely raise your eyebrow at him, well-aware that he stopped fighting for the sake of your keeping your confidence intact and not because you'd beat him.

"Okay, okay," he laughs at your dead-pan expression, "maybe I let you win a little. I want it to be fun for you too - so sue me."

"Buck, we're supposed to be training," you sigh, holding your hands out to the side, "how am I ever gonna get better if you won't give me a fair fight?"

"Sweetheart," he licks his lips and squints as he considers how to put his next words in the most delicate way possible. "I bench press more than you weigh... It's never gonna be a fair fight."

"Well if I don't get to practise on you, how do you reckon it'll go when I'm up against a guy your size for real?"

"A guy my size with seventy years of combat training and serum running through his veins? Sure, that's likely to happen..."

You ignore him. "Get down on your back and continue fighting me like you normally would."

He crosses his bulky arms over his chest while arching his eyebrow.

"I'm serious!”

"I don’t care," he shakes his head, “I’m not doing it.”

"Well if you don't, you can consider this our last training session."

"Come on - this is ridiculous!"

"Lie down, same as before."

"You've got to be kidding me," he mumbles under his breath as he rolls his eyes but he still ends up doing as you say. "Happy?" He defiantly throws his arms out to the side when he's once again lying with his back against the white felt.

"Can't say that I'm not enjoying this more obedient side to you," you laugh and sink down on top of him, straddling his chest again, "didn’t think you had it in you - where do you normally keep it?"

"Shut up."

"Then fight me."

"I'm not gonna fight you," he shakes his head.

"Bucky, do me like you normally would!"

His grin broadens in a boyish smile as his hand twitches near your thigh. "Really?" he laughs while licking his lips, mockingly slipping his eyes down to your chest and back up again. "You want me to do you like I normally would?" He winks.

Another stomach flip… You have to suppress a gulp.

"Shut up," you chuckle and lightly smack his arm to get his mind out of the gutter. "You know what I mean."

"Sweetheart," he sighs with serious eyes, his smile still perfectly in place, "- are you sure you really wanna do this?"

Now it's your turn to roll your eyes. "Yes, Barnes..."

"Alright - just remember that you asked for it," he shrugs before he quickly grabs your hips and shifts the position around.

You don't even get to yelp - you barely have time to register what the hell just happened before you're lying on your back with Bucky's lower half pressed to yours, trapping you in place.

His dog tags are dangling in the air between you and you can feel the heat radiating from off his bare chest that is panting enticingly right before your eyes.

"Now, are you happy?" He asks and makes a point of his statement by pressing himself closer to your body, so you're completely sandwiched between him and the floor with no means of escaping.

"Goddammit!"

To further underline his superiority, he pins your wrists together and forces them above your head, holding you steady with one hand only.

"Surrender?" He asks in the same mocking tone of voice you used before, his plump and grinning lips suddenly mere inches from yours.

You can feel your entire body stretching below his, how he drives his hips into yours to keep you in place.

"Fuck," you mumble in frustration and start wriggling your hips to try and get free. "Bucky!" You groan to get him to release you, but even you can hear how your struggling sounds come out almost moan-like, and you see how the smile on his face is suddenly replaced with small, almost inaudible gasps.

Immediately, you stop moving, suddenly aware of the excitement growing tight in his pants while the rest of his body is completely frozen above you.

"Sorry..." you gulp as you slowly look up at him, finding the panicked blue that is half-hidden behind long chestnut strands falling sinfully over his eyes.

You've never been in this position before; on rare occasions you have cuddled long into the night, arms and legs entangled on his bedsheets to the tune of a long-forgotten movie playing in the background - but this? This is different. It's not cute and cuddly.

The look in Bucky's eyes has shifted in a heartbeat, and it's not teasing anymore. It's raw. It's passionate. And when he quickly shifts his gaze down to your mouth and up again, you give in to what you've been wanting to do for months now.

Without thinking, you strain your neck upwards touching the side of his nose with yours, placing a soft kiss on his lips for the first time ever.

He's perplexed - still completely frozen - but when you let go of his mouth shortly after, he wrinkles his brows in silent frustration.

He's panting hard, digging his lower half into you as he looks at you with a fire ignited in his eyes you've never seen before.

You put your hand on his neck, pulling him down towards you, throwing your pillow-soft kisses out the window by placing your thumb on his chin, slipping your tongue inside his open mouth while you move your pelvis rhythmically against his.

"Sweetheart," he whispers with swollen and wet lips as he slightly pulls away. He's breathing hard but his entire body is heavy and relaxed as he looks down at you with lust written all over his warm face - and you choose that exact moment to attack.

Quickly, you wrap your legs around his body as you flip the two of you around so you're finally sitting on top of him again.

"What are you doing?" he pants, confused about your sudden movements.

"Winning," you whisper back with a grin.

It takes him a minute to register your words and set them in connection with the conversation you'd had just before your friendship had passed the point of no return, but when he does, he throws his head back with a frustrating grunt at your dirty trick.

"Not cool," he shakes his head with a chuckle, half-amused, half-annoyed. "Not cool at all. You had me all excited," he groans and puts his hands on your hips, pressing you down on his hard erection.

"Tell me I'm winning," you chuckle as you run your fingers down his chest, suggestively arching your back while he's turning into a mess beneath you.

"Fuck," he groans and rubs circles over your thighs as his erection grows a little harder. "You better not be doing this to the guys you fight in the field."

You put your hand atop of his sternum and slowly start rocking your hips back and forth against him, arching your back while rubbing yourself along the tight bulge underneath you. "Tell me I'm winning."

"You win! You win!" he pants and traces his fingers down your throat and cleavage, laying his palms flat over your stomach as he angles his hips upwards. "Just... don't stop. Don't stop."

"Kiss me, Bucky," you whisper and pull on his dog tags so he can only inch closer to your craving lips.

"Oh doll, you have no idea how long I've wanted to do this!" he groans sensually with pink cheeks as he finally reclaims your mouth.

#bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes imagine #bucky barnes #bucky imagine #bucky x reader

[delaber]

@gruftiela ❤️❤️❤️

Firestarter (Loki x Reader)

Summary: After having been granted safe passage to the Avengers’ head quarters, Loki’s delighted to learn that he can pass the time by toying with the hate of the newest recruit.

Tropes: Enemies to lovers.

Words: 4.2K

Warnings: smut, mentions of battle injuries

They would all be fools to trust him. They know it. Loki knows it. Hell, even the specs of dust floating around know it!

The only one that seems eager to patch up the growing rift between the opposite sides of the room is the meathead of his brother who is blabbering away, trying hard to ignore the cold air coming from the other Avengers.

He's persistent, you'd have to give him that. They must really love Thor to grant Loki safe passage in their home like this.

- The stab of a thought hits Loki straight in the chest. Sticks to his ribs as he contemplates the sharp hate radiating off of the cotton-clad team opposite him. They don't look the least bit threatening in their oversized casual wear, but they've still granted his brother the upper hand so graciously, and for the first time in a while, he feels the balancing scales tip. It was easier when it was just the three idiots Fandral, Hogun and Volstagg who were fawning over his brother - Sif on occasion too, though Loki had had her in multiple ways Thor could never even wrap his pea-sized brain around.

The thought alone makes the tar on his ribs slowly drip away.

He must've drifted off, lost in thought of Sif with her bare ass in the air because the next thing he registers is Thor's meaty hand between his shoulder blades. "You all know my brother..." he chuckles awkwardly and pushes Loki forwards. Adds his name for clarification when nobody answers. Idiot.

The room's almost dead-silent. Stark scoffs theatrically loud and that Barton fellow turns a lovely shade of plum as he immediately races out of the room without uttering a single word - not that Loki can really blame him; he's killed for less.

Even the newbies on the team are staring daggers at him, though Loki doubts he's ever met any of them before; Captain Rogers' brooding siamese twin, the beefed up action figure beside him and that... woman - the pretty one - her eyes ablaze with a certain kind of hatred that he can physically feel down his spine as she scowls in his direction.

Loki cocks an eyebrow, amused that his reputation precedes him so much that her hate is tangible, and she huffs and pushes through the crowd while the one with the metal arm - the siamese twin - grabs her shoulder to prevent her from stepping too close. It only angers her even more and she shakes off the vibranium hand but stands her ground with her head lifted in cool arrogance, her eyes never wavering from Loki's.

Oh, she really hates him!

The look on her face reminds him of the tales he's heard of Muspelheim. Of Surtur and flames shining brighter than the sun; all of Asgard burning while the glass of the shattered rainbow bridge glistens in the flames and sticks to his skin, covers his hair. With her, there's fire in the air. He feels it immediately and it draws him in.

***

He spends his days in the shadows, observes the dynamics of the Avengers, gathers information in case he has to do something... drastic. He's not exactly planning on betraying the trust his brother's placed in him, but it's never unwise to have a plan to overthrow the Avengers - just in case. So he learns what he can from afar; their likes, their dislikes, their routines. But mostly, Loki just observes her.

She really loathes him which only makes it all the more fun. She storms off whenever he comes close. Flares her nostrils, squares her jaw, stamps away like a petulant child - and he must admit that he does love it! He enjoys having her wrapped around his little finger, that his mere presence can pull such a sincere reaction out of her. It makes the seidr in his veins feel electric; like pure voltage in the palm of his hand as it begs him to show off - show her - what he can do with it. He wonders if this is what Thor feels like when his eyes turn bone-white and arctic blue with lightening.

"I wish you would stop with that."

Loki glances towards his brother, tries to look as bored as possible as if he really doesn't know what he's talking about. "Stop with what?"

Thor gives out a long sigh and Loki is reminded of the first time Thor was disappointed with him; even though it's almost a thousand years ago, he can still smell the sweetness of the stolen tarts he'd hidden underneath his pillowcase and the empty hole in his chest where he knew he should be feeling shame but didn't.

"You know what I mean... It's not nice."

"In case you haven't noticed; I don't care about being nice."

"You're taunting her."

"She's an easy target," Loki hums with remnants of a chuckle, places his hands on the back of his head as he looks over at her. Even as she does something as mundane as drinking her morning coffee, she keeps a wary eye on him. It's entertaining. "You really can't blame me."

"It's not as if she's dangling bait, brother. You hurt her."

"I hurt her?!" Loki snaps, offended, "- when?"

"You really haven't realised?"

"Realised what?"

Another sigh. "Can't you tell she's from New York?"

Loki stops replying after that. Settles on picking an imaginary crumb from off his chest; thin crusted and rhubarb filling. He avoids Thor's gaze. He doesn't feel empty now and they both know it.

***

He'd come running through the compound with the rest of them as soon as the strangled war cry had met his ears.

Half-hiding behind one of the huge stone columns, he takes her in; she's covered in blood from head to toe, panting harshly as she stands in the middle of the hall, daggers still clutched tightly in both hands as her friends surround her. She looks fiery, evil, war ready - like the Valkyries from back home with their spears and their feminine hands skilfully wringing death out of anyone who crosses Asgard.

There had been a time where Loki had been afraid of them, and then, as he grew a little older, completely mesmerised by their raw beauty and the smell of battle as they rode towards the Royal Palace to report back to Odin and his ravens. He remembers standing in the hallowed halls of Valaskjalf with Huginn and Muninn circling above him as the Valkyries take off their helmets and look towards his brother. What he wouldn't have given to have one of them stab him, let alone notice him. Five hundred years later and it still hurts...

Steve Rogers is standing right by her side, not covered in as much blood as she is but still looking relieved to be back home. He sends a nod in Stark's direction and throws an electronic device across the room with a defeated sigh. It doesn't take a genius to see that even though the mission went well, they'd been ambushed.

Rogers takes a step closer to her, puts his arm around her shoulders as to hug her, and for the first time since they appeared in the entrance hall, she howls in pain, collapses on the floor and wrings her face in the most horrible way.

Loki notices the hole in her suit first. Sees how the red comes in pulses and flows down over her shoulder and chest. She's been stabbed, and by the looks of the dark red tissue in the gap, it's deep.

Steve Rogers yelps in shock, throws himself down on the ground beside her and instantly starts pressurising the wound with his bruised hands while his two companions are by her side immediately, ready to scoop her up in their arms and carry her to safety.

Loki takes in the scene unfolding before him; the three frantic men, the spurting blood, her panicked face as she cries. Swears he can hear Hel whisper her name.

"Leave her," he suddenly hears his own voice booming through the echoing hall and it drowns out the whisper.

They all stop dead in their tracks. Look around for him.

He's not sure exactly where all of this is coming from; he really couldn't care less if she died, but he finds himself stepping around the column, and he comes out with his arms raised as if surrendering. "She's gonna bleed out before you reach a doctor."

Action figure-man is on his feet almost immediately: "And what do you suggest?," he hisses angrily, "that we leave her be? Let her die here on the floor without even trying?"

Loki raises his arms a little higher and takes another careful step towards them. "I can help."

"You can help? And why should we trust you?"

"First of all, you shouldn't," he states as he simply cannot help himself. "- But it's your only chance of saving your friend."

"You're not serious!" Tin-man hisses and looks towards Loki while helping Steve Rogers putting pressure on the gaping wound, "as if we're supposed to believe you suddenly care."

Loki wants to bite back but a painful sound from her makes him hold his tongue.

"- We're not gambling with her life!"

"Are you sure?" Loki retorts and it finally makes Captain Rogers look up. "- Because it looks to me as if you are."

Loki cannot see Thor who's standing behind him, but he imagines the slow nod of approval he gives the Steve Rogers trio, because suddenly the Captain gives out a heavy sigh, his eyes downcast. "Alright then," he says in defeat and waves Loki closer while clutching her tight.

"Steve!" Tin-man appeals but his best friend has made up his mind.

All eyes turn to Loki.

He's surprised to learn that he doesn't enjoy it as much as he'd imagined he would. He supposes it's because the main difference between him and his brother has once again been underlined so cruelly.

"If you try anything," action figure man warns and Loki bites back: "What? You'll kill me? As if I haven't heard that before. Now get out of my way, mortal."

He steps forwards, squats down beside her and summons the green sparks in the palm of his hand, looks her in the eye for the first time since the day they'd been introduced. There's fire behind her colourful irises; mistrust, chaos and fear. She leans towards him and with all her strength grabs his wrist. "What - are - you - doing?" she pants and wrings him tightly.

"Saving you," he mumbles and turns his palm around, directs the sparks at her gashing wound.

She gives out a small painful hiss as the wound closes up immediately but her eyes never leave his face. They transgress from pain to panic to relief. He's there with her for the whole ride and it does absolutely nothing to drown the embers inside of him.

"Oh my god," Captain Rogers mumbles and runs his fingers over the newly-formed scar on her front as he stares in disbelief.

Her doubting eyes are still carefully watching Loki, her small fingers still wrapped tightly around his wrist. Her mouth goes slack and she finally lets go of him, looks towards the closed up wound, then back at him. "Thank you," she whispers apprehensively.

It makes his seidr glow fluorescently green in his veins and he gets the sudden urge to fall to his knees and lick her clean.

Had Huginn and Muninn only still been alive, he would've made them watch this up close so they could report it back in detail to all of Asgard.

***

The Avengers are not as cold after that. Still wary of him - as they should be - but the hatred and constant fear is gone. And when she comes back from her bed rest, it tickles him that the first thing she does is to seek him out.

"Thank you," she says slowly, almost controlled, and extends her hand as a peace offering, "- for saving my life."

"You already said that."

"Well, I meant it."

He looks up at her. Her mouth is formed to a pout, her body poised in vigilance, her eyes carefully watching his every movement while her hand extends into dangerous grounds. She's still not sure what his motives are and it gives him the opportunity to toy with her a bit. "...I'm honoured?"

A short-lived flame of annoyance flashes across her features as she retracts her hand back to safety with a huff.

"Did I say something wrong?" he quips in the hopes that he can keep her attention.

"You're trying to rile me up."

"How dare you!" He says in mock offence. "I would never!"

She crosses her arms underneath her chest, "I'm trying to offer you an olive branch and all you do is ridicule me. Are you really that desperate for attention?"

It amuses him. He loves when she shows him bits of the real her. "Are you calling me desperate for attention because I don't care I saved your life?"

“Then why did you do it?”

“It was merely strategic,” he shrugs and hopes she doesn’t detect the lie that tastes bitter on his tongue. Why did he save her? The question’s been nagging him for days now. “- it’s never unwise to have an Avenger owe you their life.”

“Wow,” she blinks and shakes her head in disbelief. "I don't know why we all listened to Thor - he said you'd changed but you're clearly still a conniving snake.”

"A snake?” he smiles, relieved that his lie has her convinced, "is that supposed to hurt me? Trust me, darling, I've been called worse."

"Just a gentle reminder that you'll never be anything but a villain."

"I suppose every villain is a hero in their own mind."

She takes the bait and narrows her eyes. "You absolutely destroyed my hometown. All the places I loved. And you have the nerve to call yourself a hero?!"

"Would you prefer a god?"

She flares her nostrils in frustration, "is everything a joke to you?"

"...Mainly?" he smirks "in case you haven't noticed, I'm the God of Mischief - it's in the job description."

She takes a few angry breaths. "Life is always a performance for you, isn't it? Whether it's an endless need for attention, a humorous quip, or the unfolding of another of your great plans, it's always just for show!"

He's excited to feel that the full-blown anger's back and she's seeing red. And to think he was almost disappointed in her?!

She grinds her teeth. "Just so we're clear, I'm not doing this to imply we're even or to make you feel just the slightest bit better about yourself for what you did. Trust me, I'd still rather see you rotting away in a prison cell. You-"

"I must admit," he drawls, gives himself some time to enjoy her undivided, flaming attention as he so impolitely interrupts her, "I like you much more when you're honest with me. When you admit you want to watch me burn! This front of niceties you just put up? This so-called olive branch while you so uncharacteristically give up control? It doesn't suit you."

She wrings her arms in frustration, narrows her eyes into slits. "You're goddamn insufferable!"

***

She's not more intoxicated than the rest of the Avengers, but she is drunk. Agent Romanoff keeps handing her clear liquor in small glasses that they down in a single second, followed by strings of laughs when the alcohol burns in their throats.

He remembers being drunk like that; fresh, sweet-smelling mead from oak barrels in the hundreds, wine in golden carafes on every table. He used to love the parties him and Thor threw; the chaos, the abundance! A heavy flow of alcohol was always a neat little excuse for his erratic behaviour, but the best part was always when the mead was extra good and strong and he could get Thor to follow his lead. Oh, how they used to cause rampage! They would've been unstoppable, had they only been on the same side.

Loki turns around the brown glass bottle in his hand so he can read the blue label; five percent...

He misses the lightheadedness, the parties, him and Thor being on the same side, Asgard. He's never longed for a taste of home this much before. He looks back at her.

"You're being unusually quiet this evening," Thor says from layers away, "should I be worried?"

"Hmm?" Loki snaps out of it, turns his head towards his brother who's sitting with an annoyingly smug expression plastered on his face. "No, I'm just contemplating this piss they call beer. How can they drink it?" He gives the bottle a sniff and winces. "I never thought I'd hear myself say it but I miss Asgard."

"Is that sentiment I sense in you, brother?"

"Absolutely not," he scoffs and looks back at her and Romanoff as they give out a loud laugh. "I'm glad it burned."

Her eyes scan the room, land on Loki's for a split second too long to pretend they didn't register him. For some reason, it satisfies him. She's aware of his presence.

"You like her," he hears Thor's chuckle from beside him.

"Bite your tongue!"

"I notice you stare at her a lot," he chuckles again.

Loki wants to say something. Wants to make Thor pay for what he's implying, but he doesn't really have a great comeback to that.

***

It's later that same evening when she finally approaches him. Toned legs walking towards him, wide hips swaying up the small set of stairs, shoulders pushed arrogantly back as she determinedly stares him down. She only has eyes for him. Finally.

He can't help but meet her halfway; he leans forwards, balances his elbows on his knees, impatiently waits for her to spit on him.

"Loki," she hums with fire in her eyes when the syllables hit her tongue.

"Yes, little dove?" he quips, excited to see her riled up and finally talking to him again.

"I want to talk to you," she scans the room for unwanted attention before her sharp eyes find his again and he feels the bone-white and arctic blue. "This little game you're playing?" She says harshly, "It ends now."

He almost gives in. Almost. "What game?"

"Don't play stupid," she huffs. "I can't do anything without you keeping an eye on me. Tell me what it is you want."

He cannot help the smirk that appears on his lips and he leans a little closer, spreads his knees apart.

"Answer me," she demands, her chest heaving.

"You haven't asked a question," he says calmly as if he truly didn't notice the way her eyes lingered on his crotch.

"You want me to be sincere," she states and takes another step towards him. "-I want the same thing from you."

She's so close he can smell her; sweet, salty, tang on the back of his tongue. She's ripe like a fucking goddess!

He absentmindedly rubs his thighs. "Darling, I assure you; this is me being sincere."

Her chest is heaving in heavy pants. She's annoyed. "Then tell me exactly what you want from me."

She holds his gaze in an insane power play while he ponders for a second. Should he tell her his intentions? String her along for a little while longer and make her second-guess everything? He is the God of Mischief, he supposes, but she looks so sweet, so damn fuckable as she angrily stares down at him. So he gives in and tells her what he wants. After all, why shouldn't he? What's he got to lose?

***

A decent man would've probably kept her at an arms length, tucked her into bed and told her she was way too drunk to make decisions like this, but Loki's not a decent man. He'll take what he can get and leave the decency to team Cap.

With a flick of his wrist, they're back in his bedroom. She's naked in his lap, pushing her lovely tits up against him as she pulls him closer. "You like me," she whispers and licks the shell of his ear. Moves her pelvis against his leather clothing, "you like watching me."

"Shut up," he groans and pulls her flush against his chest, pushes his tongue past her teeth as he grinds her bottom against his crotch.

Her hand comes down between them, slides down over the trail of hair underneath his navel before her fingers find their way to the buttons of his leather pants, unleashes him without a single touch. She eyes him hungrily but keeps her hands to herself, nonverbally insists she has the power to control him. The way she looks at him: he's so hard, it's verging on torture.

"Tell me you like me," she pulls harshly down on his hair, bites him; draws blood from his lower lip.

"Ah!" he hisses though he likes it! "Careful!"

She yanks his hair again with an evil smile and Loki swears, he almost comes.

"You're a devil, aren't you?" he hears himself say as he smacks her ass and bites her nipple, takes advantage of her little jump to push two fingers inside her pulsing heat. She's gushing already, soaks him all the way down to his knuckles as she rides his hand, pinches her own nipples.

"Say my name," he pulls on her earlobe with his teeth. "Spit on me!"

She finds his eye, gives him the same evil smile as before and whispers a short "no," as she arches her back and pushes her nipple back into his mouth. Cheeky little thing.

He curls his fingers and strokes her g-spot, enjoys the sounds she's making for him. Only for him, he reminds himself and feels his chest expanding with something unfamiliar that makes him want to melt into her. He pushes it away; concentrates on the tangible pleasure and not how it makes his head dizzy.

As if on cue, her hands finally find his aching cock and she starts stroking him slowly. He's harder than ever and leaking already.

He looks down between them; small feminine hands caressing him so sweetly is a fantastic contrast to all the biting and pulling. He feels his chest expanding again. "Fuck!" he hisses and pushes himself into her hand to feel something else. Focus on the pleasure, he tells himself and stutters his hips upwards again and again.

Her fingers are running through his hair and she's sucking on his tongue while her hand sets the pace, runs over his stained head. "You want this?" She whispers, bites the thin skin below his jaw.

Fuck yes he wants this! Wants her! He groans.

"You want to save my life?," she bites him again, pulls on his hair. "You want me to spit on you? Are you so desperate to fuck an avenger?"

He hisses at that, grabs her jaw tightly. "I hate the Avengers!"

"Are you sure?" she smiles devilishly and points at the scar on her shoulder. "Are you sure you really hate us?”

He groans in defeat and releases her pretty face with a hiss and positions himself at her entrance, finally pushes himself inside with the same pace as she lowers herself down towards his hips. “Ah! Fuck!”

It's an immediate collision of universes, Loki is seeing stars and needs a second to come down to earth, to savour the feeling, but he hardly has time to get used to the warm wetness squeezing him tight before she starts moving in long, warm pulses.

He's captivated, enchanted! He bites her neck, holds her down, desperate to keep her bouncing in a speed that makes him flex his toes without making him explode. He wants this to last. He wants this memory of her hatefucking him into oblivion. This beautiful, vengeful woman who's mounting him like a stallion and riding him like a valkyrie riding to battle. "Goddess!" he hisses against her neck and she finally finds his mouth and without the use of teeth, presses silky lips against his, makes everything inside of him glow green with desire. It’s desire, he tells himself though to him, it feels like love.

"Loki," she finally moans in his ear and he's never heard anything sweeter.

He pulls her closer, fucks into her and smells her skin. Kisses the scar below her shoulder.

He saved her.

His seidr runs crazy, tingles throughout every limb, makes him see everything clear: he wants her to want him and only him!

That’s why he saved her.

His last thought before he completely lets go is of the disaster he knows this will bring upon him; his own, personal Ragnarok visible on the horizon. She has the power to make him crumble, to make him burn brighter than the sun and turn to ash. He feels it already and there's no stopping it.

He thinks of Valaskjalf, of molten gold and flames licking his father’s throne. She speeds up, moans his name, fills his chest with fire.

Valhalla, I'm coming home.

#loki x reader fanfiction #loki x you #loki imagine #loki x reader #loki series