#Taipalsaari | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

demonpoxballad · 2 years

Text

The Last Name - oneshot

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x fem!Reader

Word count: 1.4k

Summary: There’s one more name from the past bouncing around Bucky’s head. One more scribble ripped from the pages of Steve’s old book. Another person to make amends with. Except this one is different: he can’t remember doing anything wrong. No murdering or enabling of evil plans. No threats or political conquests. In fact, Bucky can’t remember much of her at all.

Warnings: smut ***18+ only***, angst, alcohol, lots and lots of feelings hehe

Masterlist | Series Masterlist

Wowowow I don't even want to know how long it's been since I last posted! Let's just say I've been very busy participating in an actual social life, which is very tiring, omg how do people do it? Ngl I really love this one, lmk what you think!

Taipalsaari, present-day:

Dinner was a romantic affair. She felt human again, in a way that only fresh tomatoes and rosemary and Bucky’s soft lips could invoke.

He was so close. And he kept on touching her, all over, little brushes here and there, his warmth behind her as she stood at the stove like an extension of the steam ebbing from the frying pan. She was hypersensitive. Couldn’t concentrate on anything. Not with him like this: all soft wool and freshly washed hair. He smelled like her soap; she resolved to stock up a lifetime’s supply for him before they left for New York.

Bucky leaned over to taste some sauce, his hand coming to rest on her hip - the last straw. A drink. She needed a goddamn drink. The homemade vodka came clinking down from the shelf, clear and strong and lethal. That would sort her out.

“Where did you even get this?” Bucky inspected the bottle.

“The fish market,” she explained.

“Huh.”

They sat down with the food and drinks. The table had always had 2 chairs as companions, even before Bucky had found her. She’d crafted two sets of tableware as well, and used to alternate between them, one dirty set and one clean. Now everything got dirty at the same time, and they washed it all up together. She never thought she’d be so grateful to have more housework.

While they ate Bucky rested his foot against hers. She took another sip every 30 seconds in an effort to cope.

After too much food and half the bottle, they were twirling around the room, dirty dishes discarded and forgotten. There was time to wash them tomorrow. There was always more time. Bucky had placed his phone in a bowl, and a tinny little tune was dancing around the room. It wasn’t much use for a waltz, but at least it was something.

“I’ve missed music so much,” she said, pressing her nose into his collarbone, massaging the collar of his sweater with her lips.

“I’ll get you music,” Bucky said, raising their hands so she could spin. She threw her head back and laughed. “I’ll get you so much music.”

Shaking her head, she smiled like she really couldn’t help it. “I want to buy a record player,” he continued. “Did you know they were back in fashion? You can get them anywhere nowadays.”

“That’ll be nice,” she said.

“Mmhmm.”

He kissed her. Enthusiastically, at that. Leaning so far into her that she stumbled backwards, fingertips buried in his shoulders.

“Sorry,” she murmured.

“I’ve got you." He squeezed her waist. They stopped dancing. Bucky swayed occasionally, but nothing enough to distract from his lips. And his hands. And everything inbetween. Her body slowly became limper with his attention, more and more liquid as he became more solid, holding her tighter and firmer. She melted into a puddle at his feet, stretching out on the bed languidly as he bent to meet her. Laying half on top of her, one arm supporting his weight, the other free to touch.

“We didn’t . . .” he began, his voice low and crackly like he hadn’t spoken in days. His thumb traced the underside of her bottom lip. She fought the urge to coax it into her mouth. “When we were hiding . . . did we?”

“What?” she said. “Did we what?”

“Um.” Bucky’s ears went red. She’d never seen him like this before, so flustered, his words escaping him. She tried not to enjoy it too much. “Have sex?”

Her eyes went wide and then Bucky got worried, she could see it in the corners of his face, all the subtleties: the backtracking plan. He could still get himself out of this hole he’d dug, it was okay, they could still go back to normal, back to the moment right before he’d mentioned it, they could forgive, they could forget . . .

But she didn’t want to backtrack. She wanted to go forward. And keep going forever, until there wasn’t anywhere else to be.

“Oh,” she laughed, thin and awkward, trying to act casual. “No, we never did that.”

“Okay,” he said. “Good. I thought so.”

“Why is that good?”

Bucky didn’t hesitate. “Because I’ve been looking forward to it. To, um . . . being with you. For the first time.”

She could pretend to be disinterested. She could be coy, aloof. She’d done that before, with all sorts of people, important to her or not. But she found herself actually incapable of coordinating her face into one of indifference at that moment. She loved him. She loved him so much. He was sexy without even trying to be. And she’d never been at this point of intimacy before. The point at which all the mess, the tears, the embarrassment, all the blood and screaming and shame. . . the point at which they all fed into the space between them, charging it, making her body feel like it was about to be struck by lightning, thrumming, alive; she was feeling it all so much. She was feeling him so much.

Because that’s the thing with falling in love: there’s a moment, before you take all your clothes off, before you give yourself over, before the point of no return. There’s that moment when you feel the need to get completely naked. Not physically. Though it is a kind of shedding, of course, just of moral sensibilities, inhibitions. It’s a whisper across bedsheets: you don’t know what I’m actually like. It’s a scream from your core: I think I might be a terrible person. There’s something wrong with me, there’s been a mistake, you shouldn’t want to love me.

But please. Stay with me.

Bucky was different, though. He already knew the worst of her, there was nothing more to reveal. He’d heard her wails, seen her open fire, witnessed her cowardice. All she had to do was give in.

“Are you coming onto me, like, right now?” she said.

“Is it the wrong moment?” he said. “I gotta tell you, I’ve been thinking about it for two weeks. I’m not even gonna pretend anymore.”

“Oh my god, Bucky.” She sat up, rolling him away onto his back. She needed air. The cabin felt like fever.

“But you can tell me to shut up, seriously,” he said. “Just say the word and I’ll stop.”

“No. Don’t – I don’t want you to stop. Just . . .” she made a sound halfway between a growl and a whine, “you’re going to be the death of me, honestly.”

He looked uncertain again.

“You make me dizzy,” she whispered, looking back at him. “You make me so dizzy.”

He smiled. Touched a finger to her spine. “In a good way?”

“Yes.”

“You’re not going to faint?”

“I might,” she teased.

“I’ll catch you.”

“Yes.”

“Come here.” He pulled her on top of him, pushing her hair away from her face. His fingers went back to her lips and she took them this time, sucking, watching his eyes as they drooped and rolled.

“Fuck,” he groaned, lower than she’d ever heard him before. “Sweetheart.” The sound went straight through her, to her toes, echoing across the mattress, throbbing around the room. She felt him everywhere.

And he was hard, too. She could definitely feel that. She rolled her hips against his but he stopped her, gripping hard, head falling back. She gasped against his throat. It was so much. This was all so much.

“Please,” she complained. “Touch me.”

“Where?” he asked.

“Anywhere you want.”

So he touched her everywhere. She glowed beneath him, spread wide, surrendered. And he made her feel so good; so good she was honestly in shock. His face buried between her legs, mouth working in earnest rhythm, not stopping until she tugged at his hair, tight, so much tighter than she could ever intend, hips seizing beneath him. And him inside her, barely able to control himself, trembling but slow, so slow, too slow.

She gripped his hips and melded her lips with his earlobe. She needed to be heard.

“I can’t tell you how scared I was, Bucky,” she said.

“I was so relieved to see you,” she said.

“I thought I was going to be alone forever," she said.

“I’ve got you,” he replied, whining, desperate. “I’ve always got you.”

Taglist: @mayasreadingnook @writing-for-marvel @howlermonkey69 @ginger-swag-rapunzel @cuddlycalcifer @bambamwolf87 @twinerd14 @violets-library @hallecarey1 @cjand10 @navs-bhat @themorningsunshine

#bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes x fem!reader #bucky barnes smut #bucky barnes fluff #bucky barnes angst #the winter soldier #angst #fluff #bucky barnes #bucky barnes x you #bucky x reader

198 notes · View notes

demonpoxballad · 2 years

Text

The Last Name - Chapter Twelve

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x fem!Reader

Word Count: 3.6k

Summary: There’s one more name from the past bouncing around Bucky’s head. One more scribble ripped from the pages of Steve’s old book. One more person to make amends with. Except this one is different: he can’t remember doing anything wrong. No murdering or enabling of evil plans. No threats or political conquests. In fact, Bucky can’t remember much of her at all.

Warnings: heavy violence and injuries, the Winter Soldier (assassinations), swearing, characters forgetting to eat

Series Masterlist

<< Chapter Eleven

Omg here we are! I'd like to say a huge thank you to people that have left comments over the weeks, I don't think I could have kept on posting without you! I will be doing oneshots and stuff so it's not completely over :) Enjoy the fluff <3

Taipalsaari, present-day:

She was there, and she was watching him as he arrived, still crouched to the ground. The moment when she recognised his face, yellow flowers fell from her hand where they had been grasped, and her face split wide open, a silent wail seizing it, lips trembling as she spoke. “Bucky?”

“Um.” He paused some distance away from her, swaying in the breeze. “Hi.”

“Oh my god,” she cried. Her body collapsed inwards, arms hugging her knees, sobs racking through her frame.

Bucky’s mouth fell open and he rushed towards her, kneeling down next to her and reaching a hand out as if to touch her, never quite making contact, fluttering in the breeze. She whimpered softly and wiped her eyes on her knees, looking back up at him. Her face looked older than he remembered, more lines around her eyes, her cheeks less plump. Her chin was trembling, and her eyebrows were knit, and Bucky really didn’t know how to move on from this moment. His gaze flickered from her eyes, down to her soggy knees and clenched hands, up to her downturned mouth. How was he supposed to move on when this didn’t feel real? His skin felt feverish, burning hot from blood and icy cold from wind. Waves crashed loud in his ears though he knew the sea was calm. His vision was like a pinhole camera centred on her face.

Because he was looking at her, and he could see the shack back in Czechia, the gnarling branches encasing it and the doorstep where he would spend hours staring into space. Footprints in the snow and the song of cuckoos on the iron roof. The open fireplace and her face in the morning as she slept. Bucky knew she must have thought him delicate back then, but now he considered she might have been just as vulnerable. Just a person with a skillset. She had looked after him then, but he was stronger now, and vowed in that moment to guard her with his life.

“You found me,” she said, but high-pitched, more like a whine.

Bucky started crying too.

“No,” he shook his head. “No. You found me.” His brow furrowed and he extended his shaking hand out further, resting it carefully on her shoulder. “I won’t leave you again, I promise.”

“Oh, shit,” she murmured, reaching to touch one hand to Bucky’s face, and then the other, light and soft at first, barely grazing his skin. But then firm and desperate, squidging his cheeks and burning his stubble with her thumbs. It did hurt a little, but he found he was appreciative of the sensation nonetheless, and so he smiled, tears spilling into his mouth.

“Are – are you okay?” she asked. “Sorry, I know that’s silly.”

“No! No. I’m okay, I promise.” He knew why he was lying, knew that it made no sense to do so, and yet couldn’t stop. But he was okay now. Did the past eighty years matter if he couldn’t remember them when he looked at her face? All he saw, all he felt, was kindness and safety. “I’ve been fine, honestly.”

“Do you . . . do you want a drink, or something?” she asked. “I have coffee?”

Bucky could tell she felt embarrassed for offering, a soft grimace at her mouth, but he felt nothing but grateful. He chuckled a little at the absurdity of the two of them, shy and relieved and scared all at once. He thought, maybe for the first time in a while, that he wouldn’t have it any other way.

“I would love that. Thanks.”

“Okay,” she sniffed, running her hands over his hair a little, touching his shoulders briefly and then letting go, rubbing her eyes as she stood up. She tripped a little on her boots and Bucky reached out to steady her, supporting her elbows as he rose as well. Her flowers were still scattered on the floor so he stooped to collect them, holding them out to her with both hands.

“Thanks,” she said, smiling, but as her fingers fiddled with the petals she welled up again. “I’m sorry.”

Bucky shook his head, pulling his sleeve over his thumb and soaking up the tears as they spilled. She took a deep breath, pursing her lips together as she exhaled in an effort to control herself. Her head fell forwards onto his chest, and Bucky tried to smooth out the dents in his breathing. He tentatively brushed a hand over the side of her head, resting it just behind her ear; kept thinking maybe either one of them would shift phase and become a memory, gentle pressure giving way to thin air and a stumble towards the earth. He needed them both to stay solid.

“Okay,” she said, her voice still shaky and high-pitched. “Come on then. Coffee.”

He followed her inside, feeling large and clumsy inside the small cabin. The walls were panelled with wood and there were glass jars full of flowers on all the window sills. The floor was wood as well but there were rugs everywhere that softened, thick, colourful ones with stark geometrical patterns. Bucky thought he could see some faces amongst the shapes. She busied herself with a red tin kettle, turning on the gas hob and grabbing some mugs.

“Did you build this place yourself?” He asked, dropping his rucksack off next to the table and wandering around.

“Oh, no. I had to fix it up though,” she said, closing the cutlery drawer somewhat loudly. “Everything was pretty much rotten.”

“It’s amazing.”

“Thanks. I like it too.”

Bucky made his way around the corner and found a mattress on the floor, blankets strewn and messy. He felt like he couldn’t breathe, like someone was squeezing his throat.

“You don’t have a bedframe?” he choked out. He was seeing outstretched hands across the mattress, feeling her breath against his neck.

She came around the corner after him. “Yeah, I um – I did plan to build one but just . . . I never got round to it.”

Bucky nodded, scratching the nape of his neck. “Right.”

“Coffee’s ready.” She nodded her head back towards the kitchen.

They sat down at the small table built for two. She pushed milk and sugar towards him and he poured both liberally into his mug, her cupping her own as she watched.

“I’m sorry,” Bucky said, taking a sip and then rummaging inside his bag. “I broke your knife.” He set the pieces folded in his t-shirt on the table.

She unwrapped it and touched her index finger to one of the pieces. “That’s okay.” She pushed one jagged edge gently against another so they fit. “How much do you remember?”

“Everything.” Bucky said it even before realising that was true. “I think I saw your face and it all came back.”

She bit her lip and took a small sip. “I’m so sorry. I can’t imagine what you must think of me.”

Bucky frowned and leant forwards, a strange smile-not-smile curving his mouth. “What? What do you mean?”

“This is all my fault,” she said simply, casually. Like there was no disputing these facts. “I couldn’t save you, or all those people. I watch the news, Bucky. I’ve seen what happened, what people keep doing with the serum.”

“Sam’s working on it.”

“And the widows? The ones under mind control? They were developed from the same tech used on you.”

Bucky shook his head. “Natasha took down the Red Room.”

“Yeah, only in 2016. For years there were thousands of girls that didn’t know who the hell they were.”

He dug the heels of his palms into his eyes, rubbing until he entered another dimension. “I don’t understand why you’re blaming all of this on yourself.”

“Because I’m a coward, Bucky.” She shrugged. ”I didn’t try to find you after what happened, I just disappeared. I see how Clint saved Natasha and Natasha saved the whole fucking world and what the fuck did I do?” She threw her hands lazily into the air for effect. “You know, they stabbed me with this knife after they took you, and I’m such a coward I didn’t want to stand up from that field. I was done, and I’ve been done for the last fifteen years. I should have screamed from the rooftops that SHIELD was a load of bullshit, but I stayed in my fucking pain cave and kept quiet. That’s some real bullshit.

“And I knew where you were this whole time, before you changed your arm. They were more selective with your deployments after what happened, you must have been on ice in Switzerland for years at a time. But I still couldn’t bring myself to tail you to Iran, or Washington, or Bucharest. And you must have been so unhappy, all these years. I feel so shitty for not being there.”

“Why didn’t you come and see me? Even after Steve found me?”

“I didn’t want to mess it up again. I’m sorry, I know that’s selfish. But it’s true.”

“And the wild goose-chase . . . ?”

“Also me being selfish. I’m a coward, Bucky. And I’m so sorry you’ve come all this way to see me and this is what you get. I’m not the person I used to be, really. You wouldn’t remember, but I killed a lot of people when you were taken. I took a massive fucking rifle and I opened fire and it meant absolutely nothing. I hate myself every day because of that, I really – ”

“Don’t say that. Please don’t say that.”

Bucky pressed on even when she opened her mouth to protest. “You saved me; you really did. And it wasn’t your fault that they found us, you did everything right.”

She shook her head. She was crying again, breath hitching and gasping. “I should have – ”

The chair scraped loudly against the floor as Bucky stood up abruptly and walked over to her, dragging hers around to face him, falling to his knees in front of her. “And I can’t even bring myself to care too much for the twenty years that they stole from us because we’re here now.” He grabbed both her hands in his, kissing the tips of her fingers. “You’re so beautiful, y/n. You’re such a beautiful person. Please, just let me love you.”

The breath she let out was shaky. “Will you promise me this is real?” she said. “It doesn’t feel real.”

Bucky smiled. “I know.” He let go of her hands and buried his head on her lap, clutching at her thighs. “I know. We are real though.” He was digging his fingers into her legs too hard, he knew this, but it helped, and she followed suite, her own hands sculpting his scalp like putty.

“I see you,” he said, kissing each knee and then digging his nose in between. “I see you, and I see what you’ve done, and I love you.” He looked up at her and nodded. “I love you.”

“Oh,” she cried, curling her torso over his head and cradling it in her arms. They fell to his shoulders and she shifted, sliding forward off the chair and clumsily onto Bucky’s lap. His hands slipped awkwardly from her thighs to her waist to her back, holding her firm between the shoulder blades. “I love you so much,” she whispered in his ear. “Even more than that, you know?”

He pulled back, holding her face in both hands. He kissed her quickly on the lips and then thought twice about it. “Can I – is it alright if I . . . ?”

He was a quivering mess, chin trembling and snot running down to his mouth. And she was the same, eyes permanently glassy and full, mouth corners indefinitely sagging and heavy. But they were real, and Bucky thought they felt beautiful. In that moment, he knew they were beautiful.

“I really want to kiss you,” he said.

She laughed in that amazing way that someone does when they’re crying, all sniffles and relief. And then she kissed him long and slow and hard, skin grazing and bruising, teeth gnawing and nibbling. Bucky could feel their tears flowing and mingling between their cheeks, the tickle of her damp eyelashes, salt on her tongue.

He decided to take her to the mattress then, and she didn’t stop him, only murmuring, “yes, Bucky,” over and over again. He would be quick to admit that drove him a little crazy. They lay down together and kissed and remembered how it used to be. How they were broken but safe for a little while, and how the temporariness of their refuge made it all the more delicate, all the more sacred. Maybe they had known, back then, that it couldn’t be forever, and maybe that was why they never ran any further than that sorry shack in the countryside. But things were different now, surely. Yes, there would always be more hurt, and yes, maybe they would always suffer like this, under the weight of morality. But maybe that was sacred too, and in that moment, it felt like forever stretched out in front of them.

She turned away from him on the bed and picked up a book laid on the floor. Rolling back to face him, she opened the pages and three flowers fell out. One purple, one white. And one yellow. A daffodil. She passed them to Bucky. “These are for you.” They were faded and wrinkled and browning a little at the edges. But he saw the look in her eyes and understood. These flowers were twenty years old.

“Y/N – ”

“You know, sometimes I’d look at you, whilst you were sleeping, and I’d feel so sad,” she told him. “I’d feel so sad, and guilty, and happy all the same and then guilty all over again. You didn’t have anyone, and I could have been anyone.” She held his hand tight and interlocked their fingers. “But I’m me, and you are you. And I wouldn’t want it any other way.”

Bucky couldn’t say anything for a little while, for fear of bursting into tears. One ran across the bridge of his nose, down his cheek and towards the mattress. She caught it with her lips before it could fall. After a period of time that felt like stumbling further and further into a maze, her pupils engulfing his vision like an eclipse, Bucky found his words.

“I feel the same way.”

She smiled and looked down to their hands and squeezed. “Do you think we can be together now?”

Again, she was embarrassed for no reason. Bucky wanted to shake her by the shoulders and whisper into her mouth that she could never say anything to be ashamed of at all. That they were surely past that now, and every word she wanted to utter was right and correct and beautiful.

Instead: “I’m not sure.” He made his smile large enough so she would know he was teasing. “You know the fisherman I caught a ride with told me you were crazy.”

Her face fell a little all the same. “Maybe I am.”

“That’s okay,” he reassured. “Sometimes I think that too. About myself, I mean.”

All the time, actually.

“Ah. That’s a relief.”

“Yeah. We can be crazy together, then?”

“Yes please.” She smoothed her palm from his hand to his shoulder, gripping the muscle there firmly, massaging away Bucky’s shrug. He fought the urge to rip his top off and beg her to touch him like that all over. “Don’t you need to go back to America?”

“I might need to call Sam, that’s all. But we can stay here for as long as you want.”

She nodded. Bucky watched her eyes open and close lazily, lids falling meanderingly and then intermittently springing open in determination. When they didn’t open for a little while, Bucky closed his own.

It was still morning, but they were tired. Sleep dragged them away like a siren.

***

Bucky woke to golden hour and an empty bed. For a few seconds it felt like he was back on the floor of his flat in Brooklyn, and then he felt the soft give of the mattress beneath him, and how the wooden cabin felt like the outside brought in. Trees rustling and birds chirping at sunset. His apartment had never felt so wild.

He stretched across the mattress, and the emptiness made it feel larger than it actually was, like he couldn’t possibly reach the edges. He shot up, scrambling for his boots that he couldn’t remember kicking off. In the kitchen, the kettle was steaming on the side, damp spoon and split coffee grounds adjacent. Bucky opened the front door and exhaled a breath he hadn’t noticed he was holding.

She was sat on the front doorstep, back hunched, probably clutching a mug between her palms. Sunset echoed in front of her, radiating around the sky like a one-hundred piece orchestra. She turned around when she heard the door shut.

“Hi.” Her voice was quiet, like a whisper but not quite.

“Hi,” Bucky replied, attempting the same volume but his voice emerging low and crackly from sleep.

“Are you hungry?” she said as he sat down next to her, legs pressed together all the way down.

He leant back on his hands at first, but then decided to be brave and smoothed one up her back, nestling it in the juncture between her neck and shoulder. “Starving.”

“Me too.” She leant her head on Bucky’s shoulder and he felt his chin trembling. He stared at the horizon, orange and blinding, to compose himself. “I think I saw you and then forgot about food.”

“That it existed, or . . . ?”

“That I needed it.”

Bucky didn’t know what to say. He pressed his lips hard against her temple instead.

“I haven’t slept that good since Czechia,” she said. “I get nightmares now, like you.”

“I’m sorry.” He really was. “Mine have been better recently. Therapy helps.” He rubbed his thumb against the nape of her neck. She made an almost-noise in her throat. Like a cough, but more. “But that probably was the best sleep I’ve had since the thirties.”

“Do you think it’s safe for me now?” she asked, turning her face further into his shoulder like she was hiding.

“You’re always safe with me, I promise.”

“No, but like – if I came to America with you, do you think I’d be okay?” Her index finger ran continuous circles around the rim of her mug. “Do you think I could . . . feel normal?”

“Yes. I’d love that. I have a flat in Brooklyn, you could come and live with me, if you wanted.” Was he being too forward? Was there such a thing, between them? “Or I could help you find your own place.”

“I think I’d have to scrounge off of you for at least a little while.” Bucky enjoyed the feel of her lips moving against him. “I don’t expect I’m up to New York rent prices. Is that okay?”

“Sweetheart, if I weren’t a broody one-hundred-and-six year old man, I’d be squealing and jumping for joy, I promise.”

She lifted her head from his shoulder and her eyes were wide as she turned to him. Bucky decided fondness was blaring loud and clear from them, and used that to not feel guilty for letting his old flirtiness slip out. He felt like his old self, if only for a minute. Also, like he could play a thousand different versions of himself and she might still look at him that same way. She twisted further on the step, looping her arms around his neck and draping her legs over her lap. Definitely fondness, Bucky thought, running his fingers over her waist, resisting the urge to squeeze her flesh where it folded.

“I could even try and have Sam call Fury, if you wanted?”

“Mr. Rocket Man?” she scoffed. “I don’t know if he’d be all that interested.”

Not for the first time, Bucky wondered where the hell she got her intel from. A conversation for another time.

“He would, I promise. He nearly killed me and Sam when we were rooting around in your business.” He ventured to stroke the underside of her knee. “He’s very protective over you.”

“Huh.” She jostled her legs, planting them more firmly on Bucky’s lap. “That’s nice to hear. It’s nice to be protected.”

He smoothed a hand over her hair, watching as the breeze rustled it into her face again. “I want to protect you too, Y/N.” He met her eyes. “I want to protect you until I die, and then even after that.”

“Bucky.”

“Come to America with me.”

She closed her eyes and smiled. “Okay. Give me a two months.”

“I can do that.”

Bucky realised he would live here forever, if she wanted to. And also that he would move to Australia, if she ever wanted that too. Back to Brooklyn would be an absolute joy. For the first time in decades, he was torn between options because they were both good. It was a pleasant surprise, after all the anguish and pain. Excitement, real and genuine hope, coursed through him. His knees jiggled for something other than anxiety. He wanted to learn how to cook just so he could feed her. He wanted to buy a record player so he could teach her to dance, the proper way. He wanted, he wanted, he wanted, and it was possible.

“Will you stay?” she asked. Obviously, she didn’t need to.

“I’ll go wherever you are, until you beg me to leave. I’ll be like a curse on the rest of your life.”

“Bucky.”

“Y/N.”

“You’re ridiculous.”

“I love you.”

“I love you too.”

Orange faded to indigo. They had everything they wanted.

Tags: @mayasreadingnook @writing-for-marvel @howlermonkey69 @ginger-swag-rapunzel @cuddlycalcifer @bambamwolf87 @twinerd14 @violets-library @hallecarey1 @cjand10 @navs-bhat @themorningsunshine

#bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes x fem!reader #bucky barnes fanfic #the winter soldier #angst #bucky barnes angst #fluff #bucky barnes fluff #bucky barnes #bucky barnes x you #bucky x reader

88 notes · View notes