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wkemeup · 4 years

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Heal Me, Baby

summary: Bucky Barnes can’t seem to keep away from your med tent no matter how many times you fix him up. // challenge prompt: bed sharing pairing: 1940s bucky x reader word count: 5k warnings: a very charming bucky 😉 a/n: This was written for @cake-writes 1940s challenge! Congrats on the 3.5 milestone!! The title of this fic comes from the song Heal Me by Snow Patrol

There was blood on the white of your dress; slow and steady seeping into the fabric and staining the cotton blend fibers. Red and as deep and bold as the cross sewn into the chest of your uniform, the blood became part of the design because no matter how many times you scrubbed it clean, more would find its way back to the hip of your skirt, the sleeve of your shoulder, the hem of your apron by morning’s end. Sometimes you wondered why they’d bothered dressing you in white at all. Might as well make it red with the number of wounded soldiers they dragged through your tent; most halfway towards the shiny bright light and others inches away from their last breath.

The chaos was constant, a given, and despite the noise and clutter, it was where you felt most at home. It was better than the lull, the calm before the inevitable storm, where you’d be swarmed with men on stretchers, bleeding out onto the dirt and tossed into overcrowded beds. The steady stream was easier than the rapids, easier than assigning ten men to a single nurse where injuries could be missed, vital tears overlooked.

You were at the end of your shift for the night, dirt on your forehead, sweat damping the carefully curled ringlets at your neck. A file in your hand of the man at the end of the room, thicker than most, and you kept your eyes down as you pushed your way through the crowd of nurses and visiting soldiers, heels sinking slightly into the grass with every step.

When you came upon him, you finally noticed the name etched into the top right corner of the folder; the cheesy grin as he propped himself up on his elbows, blood and dirt coating most of his face, though still as annoying handsome as ever.

“Hiya, doll.”

“Oh, not you again.”

Bucky chuckled to himself as he plopped back down against the pillow, hands clasping behind his neck as he watched you work around his bedside. You huffed the hairs from your eyes, brushed the sweat from your hands as you slipped on a pair of gloves, careful to avoid the urge to smile at the way Bucky was so obviously studying your every move.

You’d seen him about a dozen times since you’d been transferred to the Italian warfront along with the 107th. He’d found a habit of stumbling into the medical tent after a night in the trenches, covered head to toe in what looked to be a dried mixture of mud and blood that didn’t always turn out to be his own.

He’d flash that smile of his like he couldn’t smell the retch of sweat and grim on his skin, sweet talk you like he wasn’t thrown head first to the middle of a war he didn’t sign up for, and get your stomach twisted all up in knots, hands fumbling with the IV bag, a nervous flutter in your chest – though you’d never let him see that.

Sergeant Bucky Barnes was the kind of man the nurses talked about when he walked by. A tip of his cap, a slight salute in their direction, and they’d giggle themselves into a mess, clinging onto one another as they waved at him.

But then, across the courtyard, his eyes would catch yours, a softer tone about him and he’d simply wink, something subtle and barely noticeable, but enough for it to be personal, almost intimate, because it wasn’t for others to see.

“Not happy to see me, huh?” Bucky drawled, crossing his ankles as he stretched back on the worn-down cot like he was sitting at home on the couch, waiting on a beer as he read the evening paper.

You pursed your lips, shooting him a narrowed look as you glanced over the intake file. “I’m never happy to see men in this tent, Sergeant Barnes. Did you forget where you are?”

You gestured down to the series of beds filled with men, some waiting as they hung off the edge of crutches or slumped over in chairs, with bandages wrapped around exposed chests, blood seeping through, broken limbs exposed, the quiet whimpers of pain muffled by forearms and pillows.

“Oh, come on, doll. You know I’m just teasing ya,” Bucky smirked, sitting up in the bed because he knew the routine well enough by this point.

You held a single finger pointed up in front of his eyes and he followed it without instruction as you moved it across his line of sight. No sign of abnormal dilation. Ruled out a concussion, at least.

“You should be more careful out there,” you warned, gathering the first aid kit from the bedside table. “You’re in here almost every day, you know.”

“Maybe I like the company,” he shrugged, blue eyes piercing straight through you and you tried to ignore the way your heart skipped a full beat.

Your hands trembled slightly as you cleaned the wound on his forehead, a hit from a fall by the looks of it, though it wasn’t deep enough to require stitches. He winced a little, a slight hiss in his tongue as you applied the alcohol.

“You shouldn’t be taking the bed from someone who needs it.”

“Hell, I do need it, doll,” Bucky whined, a little dramatically. “Look at me. I’m in pieces. I’m fallin’ apart at the seams and you’re the only one that can save me, sweetheart. I need ya.”

You paused with a tight pout of your lips, sitting back on the cot beside him long enough to roll your eyes. “You need a band-aid and stern warning, Sergeant Barnes. You’re fine.”

“Oh, call me Bucky, won’t you?”

You pressed the bandage to his forehead, a little firmer that you would have for most any other patient and he grunted under his breath, trying to steady himself against the thin mattress.

“Time for you to go, Sergeant Barnes.”

Bucky grinned, nodding to himself as he stood. “Been a pleasure, doll, as always. I’ll see you tomorrow!”

“You better not!” you called back, arms folded over your chest as he snickered to himself, walking through the mess of chaos to the exit on the other end. He glanced back over his shoulder as he pulled up a flap of canvas and winked at you.

You clenched your jaw and got back to work.

***

Sure enough as the tides rolled in, so did Bucky Barnes to your med tent a few nights later.

You found him waiting for you on the last bed in the aisle, one leg tucked under him, the other hung over the side of the cot as he nursed his right hand in his lap. He was humming to himself through pursed lips, a tune that you recognized from the radio station your father often played back home; head bouncing a bit to the rhythm, massaging gently at the palm of his hand, completely unfazed by the chaos around him.

Stepping up to the edge of the bed, you supposed he caught sight of your shoes because he started to smile before he so much as lifted his head.

Slowly, like he was taking his time, he glanced up at you with that sheepish smile of his, a light chuckle under his breath, and he ran his left hand through the mess of hair atop his head.

“Hiya, doll.”

“What is it this time?”

Your arms were folded, toe tapping against the ground, but there was something in the way he couldn’t stop smiling at you, even as you scolded him, that tugged a bit on the tight strains in your chest. It pushed at the walls you’d built, poked at the cement layers between bricks until they started to fall one by one and you fought against the urge to smile back at him.

He was too sweet on you, too handsome and charming, and you were almost certain it was an act, so you clenched your jaw and forced a frown.

Bucky held up his hand and for you, showing off a rather nasty burn in the underside of his palm, just along his thumb; red and seared, bubbling a bit on the edges. Your resolve took a bit of a hit because he winced a little in the motion, like the chill of the air was enough to cause him pain.

“How did you manage to do that?” you asked, tone still a little tense, though you took a seat on the side of his mattress, the lumps of the worn-down cot pressing against your thighs.

You reached for the medical cart near the bedside table, though it was just an inch from reach, and Bucky took the liberty of wheeling it over for you. You paused, watching him as he casually slid the cart in front of you, careful of your shoes and the dips in the ground.

“It was my shift in the kitchens,” he shrugged.

His hand slipped into yours as you gestured for it; rough and calloused though still untouched in places, soft and tender. You wondered what he did before he was drafted, if he worked in factories or in a garage, if his hands had seen hard labor before he was handled a weapon and a battalion, or if they were a blank page, yet to be filled by the scars and abrasive markings of a man at war.

You turned it over gently, easing the back of his hand to sit cradled in your palm as you examined the burn. It looked like he’d singed it on the side of the stove. The ring of the plate visible on the edge of his palm.

“Didn’t think you were required take shifts in the kitchens, Sergeant,” you commented, raising an eyebrow, though you kept your focus on his hand.

“Helps with morale,” Bucky replied simply. “Doing the same grunt work together does something for when we’re out in the trenches, you know? I’m not any better than them because the higher-ups threw some title in front of my name. We’re all stuck here, aren’t we?”

There was a chuckle in his voice, a lightness, and it surprised you as you looked up to see that it didn’t quite touch his eyes. How often did that happen and you didn’t notice because you were so caught up in holding up walls to keep from his games? How often had it not been a game at all and rather a mask he wore, to protect the most vulnerable parts of himself from giving into the horrors he saw on the front lines?

He took a deep breath, focused on the grip of your hand around his as you slowly started to apply aloe along the burn. Cautious eyes glancing up to him, you watched as his shoulders slumped a little, a weight lifting from the tension he carried as the cooling of the gel started to take effect. The hardened lines on his face softened, his breaths coming in a bit steadier, the sigh that left his lips light and sweet.

“I’m sure they appreciate what you do for them,” you said, softer this time, in hopes of distracting yourself from the way his lips parted ever so slightly in relief the longer you soothed the gel along his hand.

“Eh, keeps me busy,” he said, brushing it off, almost like the praise was uncomfortable for him, like it didn’t feel warranted or necessary. He smiled to himself, pulling his lower lip between his teeth as you started to wrap his hand, gentle touches delicately easing the bandage around the burn. “Brought me back to you, didn’t it? I call that a win.”

You laughed a bit at that despite yourself as you clipped the edges of the bandages and secured it properly. “I’m sure you would have found an excuse to come bother me all on your own, Sergeant Barnes.”

“Bucky,” he reminded you again, grinning so wide it must have hurt.

“I don’t want to see you in this tent for at least a week,” you warned, placing his hand back into his own lap. You stood, brushing the wrinkles from the edges of your dress. Though you were stern with him, you were smiling. He certainly took notice of it.

“That’s a lot to ask of me, sweetheart. I’m a clumsy guy.”

“You’re the best sharpshooter we have!”

“I’m a mess, honey. Look at me! You’re my only hope.”

“Oh, get out of here!” you laughed, pushing on his shoulders though you were met with significant resistance; a playful game of cat and mouse, and damn if you weren’t completely falling for it.

He finally gave in when your laughter started to draw the attention of the nurses gathered around the bedsides of injured soldiers, and you swatted him on the shoulder, heat flushing to your cheeks in embarrassment, though you were unsuccessfully biting back a smile.

As he made his way to the exit, he turned back for a final look, surprised to find you still watching him, and he winked; cool and collected, confident. You shook your head at him, arms folded over your chest, but he saw the way the corners of your lips pushed up high into your cheeks, the brightness in your eyes, the whisper of a laugh still in your breath.

If this was all a game, he was certainly winning.

***

A few weeks later and the nurses had resorted to reserving a spot for Bucky in the back of the tent; the same cot in your assigned row because he all out refused to be seen by anyone else. He’d duck through the canvas flaps at the entrance, smile politely at the nurses and wait patiently for you to notice him.

His injuries varied anywhere from a paper cut along his palm to a splitting headache to simple heartburn. He knew better than to take your attention away from soldiers who really needed it, but he’d come to consume the moments in between, whether you liked it or not.

But a funny thing started to happen.

You started to look forward to the days when he’d peep his head into the tent, checking to make sure you were on shift before he’d saunter his way inside and take his seat on his favorite cot. You’d find disappointment burning like jealousy in your chest on the days he didn’t, and your mind would wonder where he was or if he was alright.

He’d once waited hours before you were able to step away from the gunshot wounds of a soldier two beds down and though the scrape on his knee had all but scabbed over by then, he stuck around until the kid stabilized.

You were exhausted by the time you made it over to Bucky, losing hope that you’d be able to keep the injured soldier alive through the night and trying to mask the utter helplessness you felt.

But Bucky made his light-hearted jokes, he teased you for the dirt on your forehead, whined and complained dramatically about his knee though you both knew he’d sleep it off my morning, and it brought back a smile to your face before you realized it. He managed to push through even the darkest parts of your days.

***

Bucky’s regiment was out on assignment for over a week and you would have been lying to yourself if you said you didn’t miss him. You found yourself glancing down at the entrance every few minutes, feeling like something was missing when you finished your checklist, stabilized your patients, and finally had a free moment for yourself. There was something else you would have been attending to.

It wasn’t until you realized it was Bucky you were searching for, waiting to see his smile light up at he caught your eye, that it hit you just how easily you’d fallen for him.

At the end of a very long week, he stumbled into the med tent on a rolled ankle, leaning off the shoulder of Captain America himself, complaining of a pain in his left arm. You were relieved to see him, like a weight lifted from your chest that was holding you underwater for days, but you couldn’t let him see that.

“Been a while, honey,” he smirked. “Miss me?”

“Watch yourself, Barnes,” you warned, though it was light and airy. You eased his arm over your shoulders and excused Steve as he was still supporting his weight. You tried not to focus on how nice it felt to have Bucky this close, his arm draped over your shoulders, his side pressed up tight to yours as he hobbled in support of his injured ankle.

“Got real lonely out there on the front without you,” Bucky teased as you helped him down to the cot. “Stevie had to fix me up. Wasn’t pretty.”

“I can see that,” you laughed, gesturing to the mess of bandages circling around his arm. “What did you do? Bump into the corner of the tank?”

“Not exactly,” he chuckled awkwardly, pulling his arm from what remained of his sleeve to give you better coverage. He curled his shirt up in his hands, shivering as the cold touched exposed skin and you tried to ignore the taunt lines of his muscles and the placement of freckles down his back, the shadows over his abdomen.

Slowly, you pulled back the bandages, wrapped about a dozen times over, until red started to appear in the white of the cloth, soaking through the layers thicker and darker until you found the source. Your smile had long fallen by the time you saw the wound on his arm, a bullet grazing on the outer stretch of muscle; ripped and raw on the edges, a piece of your heart torn along with it.

“You were shot?”

“Oh, come on, doll, it ain’t so bad,” Bucky chuckled. “It’s just a little graze.”

You shook your head, quickly tending to the open wound with alcohol swipes that left him hissing from the sting of it. Your hands were shaking slightly, but you held your breath in hopes he wouldn’t notice.

“Why is it that you feel the need to come in here with senseless injuries and waste my time but when you're actually hurt, you brush it off like it’s nothing?”

You weren’t angry despite the tone of your voice. No, it was fear that took over, marred through the tension of your words and the frantic thumping inside your chest. The idea of him never walking into your tent again ripped the heart straight from you.

“We’re at war, honey,” Bucky replied gently and though he still wore that beautiful smile on his face, it was softer. “This kind of stuff happens all the time.”

“Not to you,” you whispered, voice low and heavy.

Your fingers were trembling as you attempted to thread the needle for the third time, though it was no use. It kept missing the eye, your hand was shaking too much for a steady grip. You couldn’t protect him when he was out in the trenches, couldn’t heal his wounds and tend to his injuries. You couldn’t save him if something happened out there, leaving him stranded.

A few inches to the right and the bullet could have torn through a major artery and maybe Steve Rogers would have showed up in your tent with his helmet held at his chest and a solemn look in his eye when he told you that Bucky fought valiantly until his last breath.

The thread missed the needle again and you let out a groan, a wave of frustration and anger and fear and suddenly Bucky’s hands were on yours, slowly lowering them back to your lap. He smiled sweetly at you as he gently took the needle and thread from your hands and slipped it through the eye. He knotted it at the end and handed it back to you, adjusting his position on the cot to give you better leverage.

“I should get someone else to do this,” you said quietly.

“No deal, honey. You’re the only one for me.”

“Bucky, my hands are shaking. I should ask one of the girls to--”

“It’s you or I walk.”

Bucky smirked, winking at you over his shoulder before he settled in again. Determined and stubborn as you’d ever seen him.

You sighed, pushing out a deep breath as you steadied your hand. “Okay, well, no complaining if you end up with a scar.”

“Me? Never.”

***

Bucky wasn’t the only soldier in the tent that night and you were worn thin; running on startling lack of caffeine and frequent cold bursts of air outside, you hadn’t slept in nearly two days as you attended to the influx of injured men.

Half of your girls were out sick from the bug that was floating around camp, though you were almost certain it wasn’t airborne as they insisted and they’d contracted it by getting cozy with the soldiers. You couldn’t blame them for seeking comfort amongst the harsh conditions of the war, but being down two girls in an overcrowded, busy tent full of men in terrible pain wasn’t easy to manage on your own.

Bucky’s presence seemed to help, though. He’d smile at you whenever you looked in his direction and you started to wonder if he was watching you as you worked, as opposed to the book in his lap. He always seemed to be looking at you when you turned over your shoulder to check in on him, anyway. The pages of the book sitting in his hand remained unturned for too long, even as he fought against the heaviness of his lids, sleeping threatening to pull him under though he resisted.

He gave in after you’d swiped the book from his hands and ordered him to close his eyes.

“Anything for you, doll,” he said, yawning through every syllable.

You watched as he settled into the sheets, bare chest exposed and the heavy bandage wrapped around his arm. His eyes fluttered shut, nose scrunching as he sniffled in a tight breath, and his whole body seemed to relax, finding sleep rather quickly.

It was nearly two in the morning by the time the med tent quieted down.

Most of the men were asleep, the others too doped up on pain medications to notice much of anything going on around them, their eyes softly gazing out ahead of them, heavy eyelids falling shut. You let the remaining girls go back to their own tents until dawn, given that the worst of it all had subsided.

With a tired yawn, you dragged your feet down to Bucky’s bed. He was snoring softly in his sleep, lips parted just slightly, and you realized gazing down at him, that he looked years younger like this; the innocence he often masked amongst the perils of war rising fresh to the surface, unobstructed.

With a cautious hand, you reached out and grazed your fingertips along his arm; his whole body sighing in response, a slight curve of his lips, his head lulling to the side closest to the touch.

But you couldn’t stand there and watch him sleep all night. The bandage had started to bleed through and it needed a rewrapping.

You pulled up a chair next to his cot, carefully beginning to unwrap the cloth from around the tight muscle of his arm. Smooth skin under pebbled goosebumps from the chill outside, you gently released the bandage to the mattress. The wound didn’t look so bad underneath, but you cleaned it up a bit to be safe. With a quick dab to his arm with the disinfectant, you glanced up at his face in search of a hitch in his breath or a hiss on his tongue, but he remained fast asleep.

Even men like Bucky Barnes needed a break. He looked so sweet sleeping like that, the slight pout on his lips as you cleaned the wound, the sniffle through the beginnings of a head cold.

You yawned, struggling to keep your eyes open and quickly rebandaged his arm. There were more men in this tent that needed your attention.

A few beds down and an hour later, you began to switch out the IV drip of a man with a severed leg; a young, baby faced kid who didn’t look old enough to graduate school, let alone be given a gun in the middle of wartime. He scrunched his nose in his sleep, his thigh twitching like he might still think something was there. There was sweat beading on his face, dripping damp into the pillow. You didn’t know how much longer he had.

Your legs wobbled slightly under you and you gripped onto the bedside table. The exhaustion was starting to reel you in, pull you under to the warm embrace of sleep, but you had a job to do, men to care for. Pressing the heel of your palms to your eyes, you tried to push the tiredness from you, though a yawn broke through again anyway.

“Looking like you might need some rest, doll.”

You froze at the sound of his voice, like ice and fire, relief and panic.

A heavy sigh sat in your chest before you turned around, only to find Bucky brushing at his eyes, sleepily smiling up at you from his cot. He propped himself him on his elbows, as you quickly made yourself busy, simply watching as you continued about your work.

“Someone has to attend to these men, Bucky,” you replied, a little tenser than you usually were with him, but the exhaustion had taken hold of you and it took effort just to keep your eyes open.

“Doll,” he called, softer this time, “you’re going to pass out. Where'd everyone go?”

“Sent them off. No need for a crowd to watch over sleeping men.” You checked the vitals of a man across the aisle from Bucky; steady rhythm, even pulse. He’d make it until morning, at least.

“When’s the last time you slept?” he asked slowly and you could feel his eyes following you around the tent, watching intently as you tended to each of the men, assuring yourself that they were as restful as they appeared. There was a concern in his voice, a sincerity, and it tensed in your shoulders.

You released a heavy breath, keeping focused on replenishing the infusion bag of a soldier who was hanging on by a thread. One quick glance back at Bucky proved to be a mistake as he was still watching you, though it was under kind, worried eyes. He was still waiting on an answer.

“You don’t need to be worrying about how much I’m sleeping,” you said, turning your back to him because your eyes were falling heavy and it was near impossible to keep them open. You leaned onto the frame of another soldier’s bed for support, pretending to be busy for Bucky’s sake.

“No?” Bucky questioned with an embellished sigh. “Someone has to, don't you think?”

“Bucky, I’m fine,” you yawned, covering your mouth with your wrist as you turned back to face him.

He chuckled a bit under his breath, chin falling to his chest, before he smiled up at you like you’d missed out on some kind of inside joke.

“Oh, ‘course you are, doll. Must have been someone else who put the same bloody bandage back on my arm after cleaning it then, huh?” he shrugged teasingly, gesturing to his arm where a dark red bandage circled around his bicep.

Your eyes blew wide, a gasp in your throat and you rushed over to him. Hands fumbling for the chair, missing several times and resorting to falling at your knees, you made quick work of trying to peel away the red bindings.

“Shit! Shit, I’m-- shit,” you panted, shaking, “that’s never happened before and I—oh God, I’m so sorry, Bucky—I’ll fix it, just—just give me a second and—”

“Hey, hey, it’s alright, honey,” Bucky cooed sweetly, helping to unfasten the bandage because your hands were fumbling too long with the clasps. His right hand encased your shaking fingers, holding them tightly long enough to pull your attention away from his arm. “It happens, okay? No harm done. I’m aces, alright?”

“No, no, it’s wildly...” you sucked in a sharp breath, tingling in the back of your jaw, stretching at your cheeks, “...unacceptable and I...” another yawn broke through, “...should report myself because...” and a third.

“Jesus, doll, listen to you. You’re exhausted,” Bucky eased, reaching for the clean bandages on the bedside table. He grabbed a fresh one and put one end between his teeth for leverage as he began to wrap his own arm.

You sat back on your heels, kneeling next to his bed and certainly getting dirt along the end of your dress. You watched as he wove the clean cloth in and around his arm, concentration etched into his facial features to mask the slight wince of pain as the fabric touched the wound.

Guilt was fresh in your chest as Bucky wrapped his arm himself, pulled it tight and gestured for you to fasten it. He could have done it himself, you were sure. There was a smile on his face as he looked at you, like he was trying to make you feel better.

“I’m sorry, Bucky. It won’t happen again,” you mumbled, defeated and you rose to your feet, beginning to walk away.

“Wait, honey, don’t go--”

You froze, surprised by a sudden grip at your hand before you could take a step away from his bedside, and when your eyes shot back to his, he let go immediately, his cheeks flushing red as he began to laugh nervously. It was a kind of embarrassment you never expected to see in him.

“You don’t gotta apologize to me, doll,” he started, scratching at the back of his head.

“I can’t afford to make mistakes,” you retorted, voice a little more somber. “You can’t afford it either.”

“Then, make it up to me.”

You narrowed your eyes, fighting off the urge to yawn again. “What would you have me do?”

“Get some rest?” he asked sheepishly, scooting to the far edge of the tiny, twin size cot. He took up most of the space himself and you swore you may have seen him swallow nervously as he pulled down the covers, gesturing to the open space.

“No, I... I can’t,” you said flatly, though your heart was racing.

“You’re going to pass out where you stand and you said yourself you can’t afford to make more mistakes,” he argued gently. “Just a few hours. Then you’ll be good as new. No more dirty bandages.”

“Bucky, I...” you shook your head, stepping back and folding your arms over your chest. “I-- I have to look after these men. I can’t fall asleep. What if something happens?”

“I’ll wake you up,” he responded with a shrug. “I got my hours in. Anyone starts throwing a coughing fit, monitors start going haywire, I’ll let you know. I promise.”

“People will talk,” you whispered, excuses lined up but Bucky didn’t let them break his smile for even a moment.

“No one's around, sweetheart.”

“It’s inappropriate.”

“So is half my guys sleeping with your girls and yet...”

You laughed a bit at that, chewing on the edge of your lip, the rouge long faded of color. A heavy silence passed, a slight sway in your stance as your body fought tirelessly against the urge to close your eyes. Glancing down the rows of cots, it seemed quiet. Not a peep for hours and everyone was stable.

You turned back to Bucky. He was waiting patiently.

“You’ll wake me?”

You didn’t think it was possible for him to smile wider, but – God – it was blinding.

“Cross my heart.”

Stepping out of your shoes, you slowly made your way to the edge of his bed. You stared down at the open space and the slim line of mattress available to you. You must have taken too long because he started shifted a bit more to the edge, to the point where he was nearly falling off.

“Promise I’ll be a complete gentleman,” he chuckled lightly, cheeks pink and rosy. It was damn near impossible to say no to him when he looked at you like that, with a sincerity you hadn’t known since you left the States, draped under ocean blue.

“One hour,” you warned him as you slowly lowered yourself into the cot beside him. It squeaked as you let your weight fall to its uneven springs, the lumps evident against your back, the frame prominent through the thin cushion.

“One hour,” he agreed, giving you space as you rested your head against the pillow if you wanted it, though you heard his breath hitch as you tugged his arm down a little to lean against his shoulder, his right arm curling around your back to keep you steady on the bed.

Laying on your side, curled up next to him, you rested your left arm against his chest, tracing your fingers along the exposed lines of his stomach, the dip at his sternum, the scars littering smooth stretches of beautifully tanned skin. He shivered under your touch, his breath slightly uneven, though he didn’t say anything. His hold on you tightened as he suppressed a gasp under the bite of his teeth, like a reflex, pulling you tighter as his toes curled and his spine lightened.

“This okay?” you asked quietly, voice barely above a whisper and you watched as your breath touched his chest, goosebumps in its wake.

“Perfect, honey,” Bucky replied sweetly, his fingers drawing patterns along your back, tracing along the zipper of your dress and the seams in the shoulders. “Close your eyes, will you?”

A sleep heavy laugh pulled up at your cheeks, resting on his chest, as you let your hand fall flat against his stomach. You nodded, curling up as close against him as you could manage, losing yourself in the gentle waves of his touch along your spine.

“Thank you,” you whispered as your eyes began fluttering shut. You could hear the pulse of his heart beating gently under your ear, the steady rhythm lulling you a warm embrace. The slip of consciousness tugging you kindly to the ease of temporary darkness.

There was a slight touch on your forehead, something warm and sweet, lingering as your breaths became longer, steadier, drawn out and even; the heat of breath to your skin, the slight hum of a content sigh. A kiss as gentle and kind and tender as the man behind it.

Thank you so much for reading! ❤️ If you enjoyed this fic, please consider supporting me at my ko-fi account ✨

#bucky x reader #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes #bucky x you #cake's 1940s challenge

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avintagekiss24 · 4 years

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Home > Steve Rogers

|| pairing: 1940′s!steve rogers x black!reader

|| word count: 3,224

|| warnings: angst, fluff, hurt/comfort, mention of war, mention of Bucky’s death, canon divergence/canon adjacent

|| challenge: @cake-writes 1940′s challenge: “Loose lips sink ships”

|| square filled: @star-spangled-bingo 2020 O5: Steve’s Compass

|| note: I totally forgot about this challenge, lol. I signed up for it last year and it just totally slipped my mind until today. Which is why I’m posting so late (here in the US anyway) so I can make the due date of today, May 8th. This is canon adjacent? Canon Divergence? I don’t know, lol. All I know is it’s 1945 and Steve never crashes his plane. He goes home to get his girl. The timing might be a little off. I went off the MCU timeline, where he gets injected around 1939? When he’s around 21 years old.

The song reader is singing is Lover Man by Billie Holiday and her outfit is also inspired by Billie. I’m not sure of the gif credit, I got it from google. If you know, or if it’s yours, please let me know so I can credit you! Line credit once again goes to @writeyourmindaway!

Brooklyn. 1945.

“The night is so cold and I’m so all alone. I’d give my soul just to call you my own.”

You sway slowly as you croon into the microphone, the band playing behind you. You scan the small room, packed with bodies, all eyes on you as you sing. They sip on their drinks under the dim lights and there’s a low murmur from the people at the bar, but even they turn and lean against it to watch you, putting their orders on hold for just a few minutes. It’s still amazing to you - a transplant negro girl from Louisiana - having all these faces staring back at you, admiring you. Black faces, white faces, tan faces, it didn’t matter. They were all here for you.

The bar is a small one but word spread fast and within months, not a chair or table or stool could be found empty on a Friday or Saturday night when you were there. The cops don’t even really bother you or Sam, the owner and one of the first people to notice your talent, anymore. Some even stop by for a drink and a quick song.

Your eyes flutter shut, “Got a moon above me but no one to love me. Lover man, oh, where can you be?” You hear the door creak open and close seconds later, but continue to sing, “I’ve heard it said that the thrill of romance can be like a heavenly dream. I got to bed with a prayer that you’ll make love to me.”

There’s a sudden commotion. You pop your eyes open, squinting as you try and make out the dark silhouettes in the corner. A few heads turn at the voices and loud shhhh’s ring out throughout the room. The noise dies away from the door, but the bodies are still crowded around - Jimmy, the bouncer, James “Rhodey” Rhodes, the bartender and maybe Sam, you can’t tell. In the center of them, a mess of blonde hair.

----------

“Steve,” Sam whispers hard, “She doesn’t want you here, you know that.”

Steve’s shoulders slump a little as he takes a deep breath, “I haven’t seen her in six years.” He answers slowly, softly, “Please.”

Sam and Rhodey exchange glances before Sam takes a deep breath. He tosses his eyes back towards the stage to watch as you sing. Quick memories flash back to him from years before. Steve helping, well trying to help, set up the place when Sam first bought it. You and Steve slow dancing together in the middle of the empty floor. The three of you kicking back with ice cold Coca Cola’s, daydreaming about how big this place was going to be one day.

He cuts his eyes back to the tall blonde in front of him. He didn’t believe it at first, when he saw a picture of him in the papers. The sickly, five foot something Brooklyn boy was now a towering six foot man. Rippling muscles, no lingering cough, a straight spine… this wasn’t the Steve Rogers that left for war. This is Captain America standing in front of him now.

“Sam,” Steve starts, “Rhodey, you know me.” He pleads, “Please, just a minute of her time, that’s all I ask.”

Rhodey lets out a breath and throws his hand on his hip, “Just let the boy stay. He gets outta hand, Jimmy’ll throw him out.”

Steve cuts his eyes towards the burly Jimmy. He’s big, but he’s no match for the new, improved Steve Rogers, “I don’t want to hurt you, Jimmy.”

“Shit,” Jimmy swears under his breath, “I’ve read all about you. I don’t want you to hurt me neither.”

“One drink.” Sam warns, his eyes stern, “One drink and you gotta go. I don’t want her getting upset over the likes of you.”

Steve throws up his hands, “One drink.”

“You got it?” Sam asks, turning towards the soft-hearted Rhodey.

“I heard ‘ya. One drink, that’s it.”

Sam turns on his heel and moves off without another word. Rhodey waves Steve with him, walking back behind the bar to grab a tall glass, “Sip it slow, Rogers.”

Steve tips his head towards the older man and accepts the golden liquid that’s slid his way. He brings it to his lips and takes a small, slow sip as he turns to face the stage. His eyes soften immediately at the sight of you. You’re just as beautiful as he remembered, although, a little more grown up now. You’re in a black sequin, form fitting dress - low cut to expose your… one of his favorite parts of you. A large white flower is pushed into your hair and a small smile quirks onto his face. He used to love bringing you flowers.

He closes his eyes so he can hear you, just like he used to. Suddenly, it’s 1935 again. The two of you, with Bucky pulling up the rear (only there for you and Steve’s protection), walk slowly home from school. They’d wait for you everyday, right around the corner of your school, and as soon as the two of you were out of eyeshot of anyone, he’d link his fingers with yours and kiss you right on your cheek. With your fingers laced together, your arms swinging gently, you’d sing some old song, one he’s never heard before, one you’d have to explain to him as an old southern spiritual. Bucky would always know the songs, but he wasn’t as sheltered as Steve. He was worldly already at seventeen.

Steve lets out a slow breath as he lets the words of your song seep into him.

Strange as it seems

Someday we’ll meet and you’ll dry all my tears

Then whisper sweet little things in my ears

He has every intention of doing just that.

----------

“A- huggin’ and a-kissin’, oh, what we’ve been missin’. Lover man, where can you be?”

You smile as the band finishes and the room erupts in applause for you. You thank the band, extending a hand of your own for them before you announce a short intermission for a quick smoke and a drink. Jimmy helps you off the stage and ushers you towards the bar, where you’re met with a large smile and a ready made Manhattan.

“That was beautiful, doll.” Rhodey compliments, handing you a cigarette before striking a match, “Just beautiful.”

“You’re too kind,” you giggle as you lean forward, placing the cigarette to your lips for him to light, “I was a little flat.”

He waves you off, scoffing quickly, and gives you a wink before he moves to another patron. You take a drag of your cigarette and let out the smoke slowly before flicking the butt and bringing your drink to your lips. You hum lightly as the sweetened liquor slides down your throat and settles in your belly, giving you an instant warmth. You swear, you don’t care where you go, Rhodey makes the best damn Manhattan in all of New York.

“You sounded amazing up there.”

You freeze as the voice sounds to your right. Your lips part as the familiar voice swirls around your brain, activating a part that you thought you had left behind. You turn towards the owner and gasp at the person staring back at you. You recognize most of him. His eyes, that wispy blonde hair that he used to sweep away from his forehead, those big ol’ ears. But, that strong jaw, the height, the thickness… you didn’t believe it then - the stories, the pictures - but God, you can’t deny it now.

Doesn’t make you any less mad.

You drop your eyes back to the glass in front of you and take another drag of your cigarette, “Thank you.” You say flatly.

“I always knew you’d make it one day.” Steve says softly, “I knew people would love you.”

“Not the right people apparently.” You snap back.

You close your eyes and rub your temple as the anger you buried six years before starts to resurface. You feel his eyes on you, those same blue eyes that you used to see your forever in. You turn back towards him, blinking quickly. You don’t say anything, you just stare at him while he stares back at you. Anger flashes through you again as he gives you those puppy dog eyes, trying to make you feel bad for him.

“Why are you here?” You ask bluntly, “I told Sam I didn’t want you here.”

“I wanted to see you. I had to.”

“For what? Hmm? To spring something else on me, Steve? You have a wife? A kid on the way?”

He sighs as you practically scream at him, “It’s been six years, you can’t honestly still be this mad at me.”

“A lifetime could pass, and I still wouldn’t want to see your face.” You stand, grabbing your drink, “Give the Germans a message for me, hm? Tell them that if you’re still breathing, they aren’t doing their job so well.”

You turn and push through the crowd of bodies before he can say another word. You finish your set some hour or two later and stay behind for a little attention, after all, you are a single girl. You feel those eyes on you the entire while but you pay him no mind. You laugh, you flirt, you nuzzle in a little closer than you usually would - pull on a few ties. A twenty seven year old girl should be a wife. The man you thought would make you an honest woman decided war was the better option.

It’s almost midnight before you decide to head home. It’s a nice night, the sky clear and full of bright stars, so you wave Sam off when he offers to walk you home. He insists, but you know this neighborhood like that back of your hand. You wouldn’t feel safer in any other place in the world. So, he wraps your fur scarf around your neck and sends you on your way with a quick kiss on the cheek and a smile.

You’re not but ten steps away from the bar when you first notice the presence behind you. You stop to light another cigarette before you call out to him, “I don’t need you to follow me.”

“I’m gonna walk you home.”

“I don’t need you too.” You reinforce.

“I’m going to walk you home anyway. I’ll keep my distance, I promise.”

You sigh heavily. The persistence of him hasn’t changed and the pounding headache you have won’t let you argue. You walk slowly, taking in the fresh air and the calm night as the one and only Captain America follows you home. He keeps his distance, just like he promised. Once you climb the steps to your stoop, you turn again, watching as he stops at the bottom of the steps.

“I’m home now, thank you.” You say flatly again, clearing your throat.

He nods gently, “My pleasure.”

You blink at him, your lips parting as words threaten to fall from them. You open your mouth wider, even inhale to begin to speak, but you can’t. The words just won’t come. The memories of your last night come flooding back to you - the screaming, the tears. If you walk out that door, don’t you ever think about coming back. Do you hear me, Steve? Don’t you ever come near me again!

Your eyes start to water at the thought. You have to turn your head away from him, you have to stare down the street to try and stop the tears from falling. It doesn’t work. You drop your head as a single tear slips down your cheek and splatters on your patent leather pumps. Your chin trembles as you glance back up towards the sky and hold your hand over your mouth.

“Let me make it up to you,” he says, his voice full of emotion, “I can fix it.”

“We had plans, Steve.”

“I know that,” he answers quickly, “You aren’t seeing anyone, are you?”

You scoff, crossing your arms over your chest, “Loose lips sink ships, Captain.”

He takes a deep breath, “I don’t really care if you or not. Let me fix it - I can fix it.”

“Fix it?” You shout as all of the pent up emotion you’ve held in for all these years comes pouring out onto your cheeks, “Fix it? How are you going to fix it? I’m just supposed to forget that you walked out on me? That you chose killing Germans over starting a life with me?”

“You don’t understand-”

“I don’t need to understand! You and Bucky both, you just -”

Your words come to halt at the mention of his name. Steve drops his head as he swallows hard and has to close his eyes. Bucky’s mother didn’t even have a body to bury. You couldn’t breathe when you heard the news. His sister, Rebecca, came to tell you and you just… you hadn’t ever felt a pain like that. James Buchanan Barnes was good to you - loved you like you were one of his own. Not only had you lost the love of your life, you’d lost your best friend now too.

You clear your throat, “You both just left. No warning, barely a goodbye and poof. Gone.”

“I thought about you everyday,” Steve says, his eyes still closed, “Every damn day. You were the only thing that kept me alive.”

You laugh sarcastically, “Don’t say that. I had nothing to do with keeping you alive, that shit you got pumped into you did.”

He shakes his head emphatically, “You kept my heart beating. That’s what I mean. I was fighting for you, and for Sam, and my mom and dad. I had a duty,” he stresses, his voice breaking under it, “You don’t understand what that meant to me, being able to fight.”

You roll your eyes but he continues anyway, “It had nothing to do with my love for you. I could have done it better, yes. I could’ve communicated with you better, yes, but it had nothing to do with how much I loved you. How much I love you even now… despite you wanting me dead.”

You sigh heavily as your words from earlier in the evening, “I didn’t - I didn’t mean that.” You answer softly.

He flashes a knowing smile, “Yeah you did.”

You roll your eyes again and shrug. You glance back down the street, sniffling softly as you hug yourself. You can’t lie to yourself, you are glad he made it home in one piece. You blink back at him, finding his big, wide, blue eyes on you still. He takes a step closer, resting his hand on the railing. He pulls something from his pocket, running his fingers over the gold cover before he pops it open.

He takes another breath as a small smile spreads on his lips. He turns it towards you and holds it out for you to take. You eye him suspiciously for a few seconds, but you take a step, and then another, and another until you’re within reach of the round object. You take it from his fingers and bring it to your eyes, taking a breath when you see a picture of yourself staring back at you.

“That’s my compass. I used it every day - I saw you every day. You are why I made it home.” He says softly, his watery eyes bouncing between yours, “I’m home now - for good, and that’s how I can fix it. I willingly offer you every day of my life from this minute on. Whatever you want, whatever you need, I’ll get for you. I’ll protect you, I will love you, I will honor and treasure you. I’ll give you every piece of me.”

You hold a hand over your chest, for fear that your heart will leap right out of it. You drag in deep breaths as you shake your head, “I don’t know you anymore. I don’t know you.”

“You know me,” he answers quickly as he pushes up the stairs to meet you, “I’m still me, just in a new body, that’s all.”

“I don’t want this new body. I loved you just as you were.”

He grabs your hands, bringing the backs of your fingers to his lips as you cry, “I know you did baby. Give me a chance, baby doll. Please? You’ll like this new body once you see it, I promise.” He smiles.

You don’t. Deep in the back of your mind you want to believe him. You want to fall into his arms and have him kiss your tears away and make love to you until you can’t stand it anymore. You want to wake up in his arms tomorrow and every day after that until you take your dying breath - but it’s not that easy. You were idealistic in highschool and stayed that way right up until the day he left, but you aren’t now. You can’t afford to be. It’s still only 1945. He’s still a white man, you’re still a negro woman. You’re still not able to mix, not that boldly anyway.

“It’s not that easy.” You whisper.

He rests his forehead to yours, “It is that easy,” he whispers back, “Let me prove it to you.”

“No, it’s - they won’t leave us be. You can’t be with me - “

“Don’t you talk like that.” He says sternly, “I dare anybody to say anything to you. I’ll throw ‘em through a goddamn wall.”

“Steve - “

He cuts you off, bringing his finger to your lips. You close your eyes and take a few deep, calming breaths. God knows you want to believe him. You’ve been so angry for so long. He places his large hand to your chest, resting his palm right over your heart.

“I can make you love me again.”

You inhale sharply as you look up at him, “I never stopped loving you, Steve. I never stopped.”

You moan when he crashes his lips to yours. He lifts you from your feet with complete ease, an ease you’ve never seen him display before, and crushes your now much smaller body to his. You wrap your arms around his shoulders as you kiss him back hard, pulling back only to tilt your head before diving back in for more of him. You press your hands to the sides of his face as you catch your breath, his lips moving down to your chin and to your neck, placing kisses on every inch of exposed skin.

You dig into your purse, pulling out your keys. He pulls back - out of breath, his lips flushed red and swollen as he stares up at you. You push your keys into the palm of his hand and wrap your legs around his waist as you nuzzle your face into the crook of his neck. You close your eyes as he holds you tight, cradling an arm underneath your behind before he walks up to the front door of your building. He slips the key inside the lock and twists, pushing the door open, before you direct him to your humble apartment.

You wake up in his arms the next morning, and every day after that until you take your last breath.

#ssb2020 #cake's 1940s challenge #steve rogers #steve rogers x reader #steve rogers x you #steve rogers x black!reader #you x steve rogers #reader x steve rogers #steve x you #you x steve #steve rogers fic #steve rogers fanfic #steve rogers fanfiction #captain america fanfic #captain america fanfiction #captain america fic #marvel #MCU #avintagekiss24

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shotsbyshae · 4 years

Text

Unforgettable

Warnings: Language, Fluff, Angsty, Smut-ish

Pairing: Steve Rogers x Fem!Reader, Bucky Barnes x Fem!Reader

Summary: Sequel to Angel on Fire. It’s been a year and Steve reaches out with news. There shouldn’t be enough of your soul left to care, but the thought of him and a deep dive into the past, proves otherwise.

Song: Unforgettable by Sia

A/N: After a few requests on a continuation of this story, I finally have a little inspiration with @cake-writes 1940′s challenge, which will explore more of the dynamic between the reader and Bucky.

Also combining this with @ne-gans Christmas writing challenge with Steve. My prompt for it: “If you throw that snowball you’re declaring war.”

How the thought of you does things to me.

2014

Buzz. Buzz.

You glance at the unknown number on your phone’s screen for a moment before answering it.

“Hello.”

“Don’t hang up,” Steve says quickly. “Please.”

Just hearing his voice takes you back.

It’s been over a year, but you can still feel him. Taste his lips on yours. You’ve gone so long without feeling anything at all, then one phone call from him and bam. What’s left of your soul feels as if it’s trying to flutter back to life – you still love him.

He shouldn’t contact you.

It’s not fair – he knows how your story ends.

“You can’t call –” you begin quietly, but he interrupts you.

“Bucky’s alive.”

Everything stops.

The numbness starts at your scalp and runs the entire length of your body.

You grasp the edge of the counter as your knees buckle, “Wh – What?

“He’s alive, but he’s not himself,” Steve responds. “Hydra brainwashed him, turned him into a weapon.” There’s a pause on the other end of the line before he continues. “He remembered me though.”

“Why are you telling me this?”

“He needs help,” he says softly. “And if he can remember me – I know he’ll remember you.”

You take a deep breath, “And you think I can find him?”

“I know you can.”

“Steve – I don’t know,” you swallow the lump in your throat.

“He was happiest when he was with you,” there’s an underlying sadness in his voice. “I know you loved him too – still do – if it’s not too late.” He waits for you to respond, but you don’t, so he asks. “Is it too late?”

“Send me what you have,” you respond quietly. “I’ll see what I can do.”

When you hang up with Steve you move across to the shelf beside your flat screen TV, carefully grabbing the small light blue storage box that sits there.

These thoughts – feelings – that a simple phone call with Steve can incite confuses you. You’ve gone so long now without any empathy.

It should be no different with him.

Or with the thought of Bucky.

Why is it?

Sitting back down on the edge of your coffee table you place the box on your knees, pulling the lid off gently. The box contains important things such as documents, photographs, an old pocket watch. Mementos of the many lives you’ve lived.

You gather the aging photographs – all black and white – to look through them. One is of Bucky and Steve, both of them are smiling. They look so young and innocent – just boys really. There’s one of Bucky sitting against a tree, his legs outstretched on either side of you as you lean back against his chest. His arms firmly wrapped around your waist as you read from the book in your hands – Robert Frost.

Steve had taken that photo.

It’s one of your favorites.

The next photo you had almost forgotten about, Morita had taken it.

There had been so much snow that day.

Bucky is standing on one side of the army jeep, arm reared back, ready to launch the snowball in his hand. On the other side of the jeep, Steve stands tall, pointing his finger across at Barnes, a smirk on his face. You’re slung over his shoulder like a rag doll, his arm across the back of your legs as your small gloved fists pound against his back.

Winter, 1944

“If you throw that snowball,” Steve glares at you across the hood of the jeep, “you’re declaring war.”

You narrow your eyes at him mischievously as you pack the wad of snow tighter between your gloved hands. “No need to be dramatic Captain, it’s just a little snow.”

Rearing your arm back, you watch Steve’s eyebrows raise, “I’m warning you – don’t you dare –”

Splat.

The snow pelts him in the head from behind and a wide smile spreads across your face. Steve recognizes the laughter as he slowly turns to see the person responsible. Bucky clutches his chest laughing relentlessly at Steve’s look of betrayal.

“Really,” Rogers shakes his head. “You wanna do this?”

Splat.

Another snowball pelts him from behind and Bucky smirks, “She does.” The look on his face changing slowly to a warm smile as his gaze focuses on you. “And I’m with her, pal.”

“Oh, I’ve noticed,” Rogers remarks, glancing back to see you packing together another snowball as you move in front of the jeep. A boyish grin crosses his face, “You two want to play – let’s play.”

He rushes you, and the squeal that escapes is almost embarrassing as you try to run, throwing the snowball at him. It barely hits the top of his shoulder, exploding upon impact, but it doesn’t faze him as he leans down, scooping you up and over his shoulder.

“Steve,” you laugh as you hit his back with your fists. “Put me down.”

“Hey,” Bucky stares at Steve warningly, as he stops on the other side of the jeep. “Give her back.”

“Nope,” Rogers responds playfully, pointing at him as Barnes rears back with another snowball. “Two against one isn’t a fair fight.” He grabs a handful of snow, packing it easily, as if your weight across his shoulder is nothing. “Now, it’s a fair fight.”

The two of them stare at one another for a moment, before they both throw almost simultaneously. Bucky tries to dodge, but the snowball hits his shoulder, as Steve attempts to sidestep the assault to no avail.

“Hey!” you protest, as the other snowball explodes against the backside of your left thigh.

“Sorry doll,” Bucky’s apology can barely be heard through everyone’s laughter.

***

Later that night, you’re slowly pulled from peaceful sleep as his arm tightens around your waist. A slow smile crosses your face, thinking he’s up for round three until his body jerks against yours, followed by a small whimper.

It’s not the first time this has happened.

Your body always hyperaware of his.

It’s nightmares again.

You sit up, turning to him, hands gently touching his face, “Hey – Buck.” His eyes jerk open – pain stricken – filled with terror. “It’s okay.” You say quietly as he sits up, eyes darting around frantically before settling on yours.

“Hey,” voice dazed from sleep.

You give him a small smile, hand cupping the side of his face, “Hey soldier.”

Those two simple words are a reminder that he’s here with you – safe – no longer a prisoner of Hydra’s. Some days he’s certain you’re a figment of his imagination, that no one could love him the way you do. To know him almost better than he knows himself, but then he remembers that Steve sees you – so you must be real.

“I don’t deserve you,” he says quietly, brushing your hair back with his fingers, wrapping them firmly around the back of your neck. “But I’m never letting you go.” Pulling you to him, he presses his lips to yours tenderly, his hand gripping you tightly as if you’ll slip through his fingers.

***

It’s been a few weeks since you’ve seen him, but you know exactly which joint they’ll be at to celebrate their latest victory. You’d packed the dress for just such an occasion. The green chiffon one you were wearing all those months ago when you met.

The familiar boisterous laughter reaches your ears before you get through the doors. Once inside, you spot Bucky standing at the bar as Dugan whistles, turning everyone’s attention at the table towards you. To you, there isn’t anyone else in the room as you make your way across to the dark-haired man. The smile on his face is warm – enamored by the sight of you.

“God I’ve missed you,” he says quietly as you approach. All the noise in his head instantly silenced by your presence.

“Hey soldier,” you croon, brushing your fingers across the front of his lapel.

He takes in your appearance, “You look – gorgeous.”

The band in the back of the room begins to play and a wicked grin crosses your face as you raise one brow, “You going to ask me to dance?”

“If I ask you to dance then, you know they’re all going to ask you,” he nods toward the table of commandos.

“Well, that’s the sacrifice you’ll have to make,” he can’t resist the smirk on your face as you bite the inside of your bottom lip. “I guess the real question is – am I worth it?”

There’s no hesitation as he slips his arm around your waist, pulling you close, the grin on his face infectious, “Always doll – always.”

Dugan allows the two of you to dance for a full song before stepping in. You steal glances at the table, watching as Steve and Bucky laugh with the other men. Dancing first with Dugan then Jones, and now Falsworth.

“Okay,” you’re laughing after the last dance at something Falsworth said as the two of you reach the table. You run your fingers through Barnes’ short hair. “Who’s up?”

Bucky grabs your hand in his, kissing the back of it as a thought strikes him, “Steve.” He glances past you at his friend who chokes on his drink.

“What?”

You’re too happy in this moment with Bucky to be worried about consequence or fate right now. “Come on Rogers.” You smile at him.

“Oh, I – I don’t –” Steve tries to protest as you grab his arm, pulling him from his chair.

“Go on,” Bucky urges. “Careful though, he’s got two left feet.”

The tension in his body is almost comical to you as you go through the motions of where his hands go, “You okay, Captain?”

He takes a deep breath, licking his lips nervously, “Yea.”

Still awkward with girls, Bucky thinks to himself as he watches the two of you, slowly sipping the whiskey in his glass.

“How’s he been?” you question Steve quietly, glancing over at Barnes.

“Good,” Steve responds with a nod, comfortable with this change of conversation. “He hasn’t slept much.”

“Nightmares,” you look up at Rogers.

He nods his agreement, then gives a small smile, “It’s good you’re here. He needs you.”

I need him too, you think to yourself as you look back over to the table.

“You look really nice by the way,” he comments, and you look back up, brow furrowed, causing him to stammer. “I – I mean you always look nice – just tonight is a different kind of nice.”

“You’re really bad at this,” you smirk with a shake of your head, causing him to laugh at himself. “But, thank you.”

He gives you a smile, blue eyes shining, and you don’t catch, but Steve does.

A moment.

He feels guilty immediately, but he knows why his friend had fallen for you so hard, because he’s finding it hard not to fall too.

Once the song ends, the two of you make your way back over to the table where a conversation is already underway.

“Well, if I don’t make it back,” Falsworth says. “Then yes Dugan, you can have my entire record collection.” The burly man grins as he slaps his hands together.

“All I have are baseball cards,” Jones comments.

“I like baseball,” Morita raises his hand. “I’ll take ‘em.”

“What’s happening here?” you question, raising an eyebrow.

“Well sweetheart,” Dugan replies. “You take your most prized possession and pick someone to leave it to in case – well – you know.”

“That’s morbid,” you glance around at the men who all shrug their shoulders.

“Barnes,” Morita says. “What do you have?”

The dark-haired man takes another sip before glancing up to where you and Steve are still standing, “Just those two.”

“I call Cap,” Dugan jokes. “Or do they come as a pair?”

“I’m fairly sure Captain Rogers would be left watching over her,” Falsworth remarks and Steve begins to shake his head in protest.

“No, I don’t think that’s necessary,” Steve says.

“I don’t need to be watched over,” you laugh as Bucky takes your hand, pulling you into his lap.

“I know that doll,” he says, kissing your cheek. “But he does.”

A few laughs erupt at Rogers’ expense and you smile, “So, I’m in charge?” Bucky nods and you glance back over to Steve who is less than thrilled with this conversation. “Would that make me Captain?”

“You could be co-Captain,” Dugan smiles and Steve gives him an unimpressed glare as you clap your hands.

Nearly a year ago you had planned to kill the man standing beside you.

One day he’s going to kill you.

Because one day you’ll be a monster.

You’re a Phoenix – it’s how this works.

You weren’t supposed to let your guard down and fall in love.

Being a Phoenix is complicated.

Falling in love with Bucky Barnes wasn’t.

It was easy.

Bucharest, 2014

You don’t how he’ll react to seeing you.

If he’s still the brainwashed assassin Hydra created.

Worst case scenario – he kills you.

Which means you shouldn’t feel anything when you come back this time.

You’ll be soulless.

Much like him.

The Winter Soldier.

Or maybe Steve’s right, maybe he will remember you.

What then?

Explain to him what you are? Explain that after all these years you and Steve found each other – that you had watched out for his friend – that somehow you fell in love with him.

How are you supposed to explain to him that his best friend is destined to kill you?

Your mind is running in circles with questions as you make your way down the street. Every worry you have fades away as you spot him up ahead in the crowd of people. Your heart begins to race as he turns slightly.

Barnes isn’t quite the same man you once knew. He was strong, but never strong like Rogers was after the serum. Now he’s six foot of solid muscle – a weapon – lethal. His hair is longer, a dark ball cap is pulled low on top of it, but his eyes are still the same intense blue.

The look on his face as sirens wail in the distance is one you’ve seen before.

He’s nervous.

Panicked.

Just like he was after Hydra had their hands on him the first time. You can’t imagine what he’s been through, what he’s carrying with him. Seeing him with that almost terrified expression, it pains you and that’s something you haven’t felt since walking out of Steve’s apartment that day.

There might not be any hope for your own soul, but maybe you could help save his.

He senses your presence as you approach and he turns carefully, eyes widening as his gaze meets yours. The realization apparent on his face as his mouth opens slightly, unsure what to say. All the noise in his mind fading away as you move closer toward him.

Visions of you flash through his mind – another life.

Before Hydra, before he became an assassin.

A ghost.

The green dress you were wearing when he bumped into you.

Dancing. The feel of your body pressing against his as you spin around in circles with him.

The taste of your lips. Hair falling around your shoulders, your skin glistening with sweat, and the catch in your breath as you moan his name. He remembers what it feels like to be inside you, the way you taste, how soft and warm your mouth is. Every line and curve of your body comes rushing back to him.

An overwhelming surge of emotion.

He loves you – always has – even when he didn’t know himself.

Part of him wants to reach for you – to feel you again.

You see it in his eyes.

He recognizes you.

Amongst the pain and regret.

He knows you.

There’s no hesitation as you place your hand on his chest, feeling the steady heartbeat through the red material of his shirt. He holds your gaze, not flinching or backing away from your touch. You give him a small, reassuring smile even though your heart is breaking.

All this time he’s been alone.

Hurting.

If you had only known, maybe you could have saved him.

Somewhere deep in his memory – untouched by Hydra – there’s a part of him longing for the words.

Your voice is soft as a tear slips down your cheek.

But it sounds just as he remembers it.

Those two words falling from your lips.

The ones that let him know he’s safe – that he’s home.

“Hey soldier.”

#steve rogers x reader #bucky barnes x reader #steve rogers fanfiction #bucky barnes fanfiction #steve rogers fanfic #bucky barnes fanfic #steve rogers #bucky barnes #captain america #winter soldier #marvel #mcu #avengers fanfiction #fanfic #fanfiction #cake's 1940s challenge #lisasxmaschallenge2019 #lisas5.5kfollowercelebration

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mermaidxatxheart · 4 years

Text

Dream a Little Dream of Me {1}

Ok. So, this is my long overdue post for @cake-writes and her 1940′s challenge. I suck so bad and I”m so sorry it’s late Bri. This bullshit writer’s block hit at the worst possible time. Anyway. I hope you like it. I’ve decided to break this one up into parts as well because tackling it as a whole was just too overwhelming.

*Disclaimer* I don’t own Marvel, Bucky Barnes, only my reader character. Also, I know there’s another story by this title, I have nothing to do with that one. If I remember correctly with my gold fish memory, it’s @star-spangled-man-with-a-plan ? maybe? I haven’t read it, although I’m sure it’s amazing. This story is my own idea.

Prompt: Dream a little dream of me- Ella Fitzgerald.

Pairing: Bucky Barnes X Reader.

Word Count: 1779

Summary: Bucky’s world shifts on it’s head and he finds himself daydreaming, and really dreaming, about a beautiful mystery girl. Is she real? Or is his head in the clouds?

Warnings: I don’t think there are any. I don’t even think I swore. Just a little shock at the faces.

(A/N: I have a old story that I’m dusting off and editing to keep my mind busy while I sort through this nonsense I’m dealing with. It’s a Teen Wolf story, but it goes beyond that. If anyone would be interested in being added to a tag list for it, just let me know. Since it doesn’t run along the lines of what I normally post (Marvel) I won’t be using my everything tag list, since that’s not what you guys signed up for. Just send me an ask if you’re interested in reading it)

The dancehall is loud, pulsing with the beat that the band is playing. Just the way Bucky likes it. That way, he can hold his dame close, can feel her nails against his neck.

So, naturally, his dream would follow his waking preference. Only in his dream this time, he can’t feel her nails rasping against his scalp, he can’t feel her body heat against him. He almost doesn’t notice at first, too wrapped up in everything else overwhelming his senses. It’s not until her lips are almost on his that he realizes something’s wrong.

He pulls back and looks at her, confused. Her pretty face starts to get blurry, eyes and nose smudging together. Her mouth rubs away at the edges until her entire face is detail-less.

Bucky tilts his head as he looks at her. She’s not panicking that she doesn’t have a face, so he doesn’t panic, either. It’s strange. When the dance started, he thought she was pretty, probably one of the prettiest girls in the hall. But now, as he looks around at the other people crowding him, he realizes she’s just like everyone else.

Plain, holding no interest for him.

There’s an empty feeling in his chest where his heart should be. It’s as if an echo of a heartbeat is there-faint, fading fast.

He wanders through the crowd, searching for some kind of face that stands out. Faces follow him, but everyone he sees is the same as that girl, blank as if they’ve ceased to exist anymore. He pushes the front doors open to step into the lobby and there you are.

Your face is full of exquisite details and the room fades away. He doesn’t feel the hardwood beneath his dress shoes. He can’t hear the band anymore, or the endless, pointless chatter of the crowd. All he can see is you.

You in that gorgeous blue dress, your soft hair curled delicately around your face. Your makeup is sharp and crisp, even more so in contrast to the empty faces.

“Hi.” You say softly, fondly, like you’ve known him for years and he’s your favorite person in the world-not just some stranger.

“Hey, doll.” He says, a warm familiar feeling wrapping around him. You’re quite possibly the most beautiful person he’s ever seen in his entire life.

In fact, he can’t remember any other girl he’s ever laid eyes on-but he knows they pale in comparison. He can’t stop staring at you.

“Are we going to stand here all night? Or are you going to ask me to dance?” You ask, a playful smirk tugging at your red lips.

He’s an idiot, an idiot who’s forgotten all the manners his ma taught him. He nods like a buffoon and holds out his hand. You places your hand in his and you’re soft and delicate as he pulls you close, leading you back into the crowded hall.

The band plays a slow song and you step effortlessly into his arms. Now he can feel everything that was missing before, the heat of you, the breath on his skin, your heartbeat matching his echo of one. You rest your head against his chest like you’ve done it a million times.

“You got a name, handsome?” You prompt, fingers twisting slowly into the hair on the back of his neck.

“Bucky.” He mumbles into the crown of your head, his arms tightening around your waist.

“Bucky.” You repeat with a soft sight and he could listen to that all night. “I’m Y/N.” You tell him and he whispers it softly.

The dance passes far too quickly for Bucky’s liking. He doesn’t want to let you go, wants to hold you in his arms for the rest of forever. He would gladly sleep his life away for another five minutes with you.

The rest of the audience applauds the band and he reluctantly steps back from you. You’re slow to open your pretty eyes at him, smiling the sweetest smile he’s ever seen.

“You won’t leave me with just one dance, will ya?” You ask, leaving your hand in his.

“Course not. I’m a gentleman.” He promises and you laugh, stepping back into the circle of his arms.

“Good answer.” You give another contented sigh as he pulls you close. The feel of you warms him all over. You smell like apples, a whole orchard of fresh, crisp, mouth-watering apples.

Dance after dance pass the night and he hardly steps away from you.

“I think I have to go.” You say softly, pulling back from him.

“So soon?” He pouts and you smile wide.

“Don’t worry, handsome. I’ll see you back here tomorrow night.” You promise, curling your fingers into his shirt and rising up to kiss his cheek. “Thanks for the dance.”

He opens his eyes to look at you, but you’re fading away, becoming invisible and he already misses you. “Bye.” He mumbles.

***

“What’s got you in such a good mood, jerk?” Steve asks Bucky as they walk through the park.

“Nothin.” Bucky shrugs, but he can’t keep the smile off his face.

“You’re a terrible liar, Buck.” Steve sighs. “It’s amazing that you can ever win at poker.” He shakes his head in dismay at his best friend.

“I just had a good dream last night. That’s all. And I’m a great poker player.”

“What was the dream about? Another girl?”

“The only girl who will ever matter.” Bucky sighs dreamily.

“Wow. That’s a big statement from you.” Steve says, his voice dripping with snark.

“You’re so mean to me.”

“C’mon. You’ll forget all about her by the end of the day.” Steve promises.

He doesn’t want to forget about her. He wants to see her again.

Work is agony. From the second he punches in, he wants nothing more than to go home. He knows it’s probably pointless, but he wants to sleep, to see her again. He’s aching to hold her close, to smell her sweet perfume. But what are the chances of having the same dream two nights in a row?

“Pay attention, will ya?” Steve snaps, yanking his arm out of the way of one of the big machines. Bucky stumbles back, jerking out of a day dream. “Are you tryina get yourself killed?” Steve shoots a furtive glance towards the floor foreman before stepping back to his position.

Bucky tries to focus after that, but slipping back to that dance hall is so easy. He finds himself humming along with the song, still so fresh in his mind.

More than once he catches himself just in time to avoid getting hurt. Steve is mad at him, doesn’t talk to him the whole way home. Bucky tries to see it from his perspective, what if he hadn’t woken up from his daydream in time? Who else would have gotten hurt? Or worse? Probably Steve as he tries to save Bucky.

Bucky would never forgive himself if Steve got hurt because of him.

He pushes open the front door and pecks his mom on the cheek. She’s already making dinner and he wants to be hungry, knows he should eat; but all he can think about is getting up to his room and falling asleep. He wants to see Y/N again. Something deep in his bones tells him he will, that he can see that beautiful vision every night if he wants to.

And Lord Almighty does he want to.

“How was work, honey?” His mom asks as she stirs the sauce on the stove.

“It was work.” He shrugs. “I couldn’t focus today, so Steve’s a little miffed at me.” He scrubs his hands in the sink, getting rid of all the grime and muck from the factory before touching his mother’s beautiful china.

“He’s your best friend, I’m sure he’ll be over it by tomorrow.” She says helpfully. “Everything alright? Why couldn’t you focus?” She asks, turning to face him.

“Just too many thoughts, ma. I’m fine.” He promises.

“Good. Now, set the table and then you can go bathe before dinner. You look a mess.” She tells him and he grins.

“You don’t want a hug first?” He opens his arms wide and moves towards her.

“Don’t you dare.” She warns, pointing the wooden spoon at him. He steps closer. “James Buchanan Barnes!”

He laughs and drops his arms. “Alright, ma. Settle down. Where Becky?” He asks.

“Upstairs, doing her homework. Check on her when you go up there.”

“Sure.” He climbs the steps and knocks on his little sister’s door.

“No boys allowed! Can’t you read?” She calls from inside and he chuckles.

“Can you make an exception for your big brother?” He asks through the thick wood.

“No! They’re even worse!”

“Becks, let me in.” He says. “Two minutes to check on your homework and then I’ll leave.” He promises.

“Fine.” She huffs and he can hear her scrambling to the door. She yanks it open, her dark hair a mess, cheeks rosy and flushed.

“Hey, little monster. What happened to you today?” He asks, brushing her hair back.

“Not part of the deal, Bucky.” She pouts.

“Alright. But just so you know, big brothers are really good listeners.” He lifts her up onto her bed and pulls her papers towards him. “If you need to talk, that is.”

She opens her mouth but he puts his finger to his lips with a conspiratorial look. “I’m doing homework.” He tells her and she sticks her tongue out at him. He looks over all her math problems, always correct. She probably knows more than the teacher does. He checks her history and her science, all looking good

“Just spelling left, huh?” He asks and she nods. “Alright. You keep working on that, I’ll check it after dinner and then I’ll braid your hair before bed.”

“You don’t know how to braid.” She tells him, rolling her little eyes exaggeratedly.

“Sure, I do. I’m the best hair braider there ever was.” He says, puffing up his chest. But she laughs, so it’s worth it.

As it turns out, Bucky can’t braid for shit. Strands are sticking out everywhere, one side is bigger than the other; but Rebecca loves it. Or rather, loves having it done.

Then it’s a quick quiz on her spelling before bed. Bucky cleans up the kitchen, absolutely itching to go to sleep. He makes sure to set an alarm for the morning, because he knows he won’t want to wake up once he’s in his dream.

He gets comfortable in his bed, lights off, covered up against the chill. He’s asleep almost instantly.

Everything Tag List:

@everythingisoverrated @psyched2b @shreddedparchment @bitsandbobsandstuff @after-avenging-hours @alexblrus @thinkingsofamadwoman @i-dont-want-to-be-called @thefridgeismybestie @fortheloveofallthatsholy @crazychaotic @pleasureoftheguiltiestvariety @redstarstan @justreadingfics @themistsofmyavalon @sebastianstanslefteyebrow @wkemeup @thiccbinch @glide-thru @elliee1497 @ellaenchanted91 @part-time-patronus @janeyboo @scarlettwitcher @thirstybitchqueen @xxloki81xx @stuckonjbbarnes @browngirlmagic @geeksareunique @nicoleplacee @lexshead @gambitsqueen @sebbbystaaan @lokisironthrone @imanuglywombat @also-fangirlinsweden @ravenesque @murdermornings

#mermaidxatxheart-writes #Bucky Barnes #bucky #james buchanan barnes #cake's 1940s challenge #reader insert #bucky barnes x reader #1940s!bucky #romance #mini series #soulmate

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trillian-anders · 4 years

Text

amor de mi vida - 1942

pairing: bucky barnes x latinx!reader

warnings: racism, prejudice, fluff, angst, smut

word count: 3803

description: Bucky Barnes is a sweet young Brooklyn boy, just on the cusp of manhood, a hopeless romantic that falls in love with almost every girl he sees. when he sets his eyes on a young girl fresh off the boat from Cuba he finds out how hard love can really be.

for @cake-writes 1940s challenge.

“She’ll be taken care of.” Bucky said, straightening his bowtie, “If I die out there.” Steve sucked in his teeth.

“Don’t say stuff like that.” Steve glared at him, “You’re not going to die out there.” Bucky had to be rational. There was a risk. Men die every day in war. And maybe it was selfish for him to ask you to marry him so soon after the death of your Mother but he knew war was brewing, and he knew he would be going. At least this way he could send his checks home to you, he could make sure you’re taken care of if he doesn’t make it home. And that’s what mattered.

The love for you that he felt was unreal. He knew he was going to marry you, and it felt right. This day felt right. He wouldn’t change it for the world, but he only hoped you were feeling the same way.

“I have to be realistic Stevie.” He stepped away from the mirror, turning towards his friend. “If anything happens to me, I need you to take care of her for me.”

“I’m gonna enlist too.” Steve said, “I’ll be over there with you.” Bucky looked softly on his friend.

“Steve, I don’t think they’re going to let you.” There was a rattle in his chest right now, the early spring, flowers just freshly budding. Steve was just shaking a cold. He steeled Bucky with a glare.

“I’m gonna do my part. You can’t change my mind.” It was a pointless argument. Bucky knew that anyone in their right mind would take one look at Steve and immediately deny him. The stubborn bastard was just going to keep trying.

“You ready?” George Barnes asked, entering the room and straightening his tie. The two boys instantly disregarded the last conversation. Tension leaving the room as they knew it would be picked back up at a later date. There was one thing to focus on and one thing only.

Bucky Barnes was getting married.

He stood in the aisle of the church. The same church he’d been christened in about twenty years earlier. There weren’t many people here to be fair. Three of sisters sat beside his Mother in the pews, Steve stood beside him. And a couple of the girls he knew you worked with sat on your side as well. An older woman with a cane in the front. He’d seen you talking closely with her once or twice. A woman from your building he’d helped with her groceries just last week. A friend of your Mother’s.

It had taken a little work, convincing the priest to marry the two of you. When first approaching the Father having not seen him since he read your Mother her last rites, seeing him speak at her funeral, he struggled with whether or not he would allow your union. But finally settled on, “If your union be blessed, it shall be blessed by God.”

He agreed to a small ceremony. No announcement. Not so certain members of the community wouldn’t be pounding on the rectory door. A small ceremony in the middle of the work week, quick. As quick as possible.

He stood behind Bucky now, bible in hand. The small older woman who usually played the organ had been dismissed. Ginny was going to play the church piano as you made your walk down the aisle. Your arm in George’s.

The piano began, the tinkling keys chiming through the wide open space, echoing off the high ceilings. The first sight of you took his breath away, eyes immediately watering.

If Bucky could ever freeze a moment in time it would be right now. The thin veil shrouding your face, lips void of their usual victory red lipstick in a soft blush. The curve of your jaw, the corners of your lips upturned. Your dark lashes framing your deep brown eyes. Your hair swept from your face loosely curled, pinned in a bun at the nape of your neck.

The dress you’d made yourself. The sweet white fabric was bought for you by his Mother as a gift. The satin reaching your knees. A splurge by him on some white peep toe heels that set his loins on fire.

His hands were shaking. Not out of nervousness, but excitement.

Steve stood to his left as Becca settled across from him, not even realizing your shoes were trodding through the petals she just strewed down the aisle as you walked.

You stopped in front of him and Bucky grew lightheaded as you peered up at him through your lashes.

Your hand met his, soft. He helped you up the three steps to stand in front of the altar. The good Father read from the Bible, and the two of you knelt before him as you took communion.

Rings were exchanged to accelerated heartbeats. And a soft kiss exchanged at the end.

“Hello Mrs. Barnes.” He whispered against your lips.

“Hello Mr. Barnes.”

You’d bought a new bed for the apartment, you couldn’t bare to lay on the mattress your Mother died on. It was tossed before her body had even been in the ground. The new bedroom is a little lighter, the bundle of dried peonies from the early days hanging in a bouquet on the wall. An empty space where you’ll hang your wedding photo.

It seems almost suffocating now. Bucky having swept you off your feet to carry you over the threshold, laughing and kissing you softly, the two of you toeing your shoes off to slow dance in the living room, drunk off champagne.

His fingers twisted in the fabric at your hips as he chased your lips. Meeting over and over in an intense embrace. His fingers moved to toy with the buttons on the back of your dress, eyes half lidded starting at him as the two of you caught your breath. Your back met the wall in the hallway, his form covering yours, hips pressed together. The hard length of him throbbing in his trousers.

Heart racing you turned and let him pull the buttons from the loops, the satiny white fabric coming to pool at your feet. He pressed his lips to your shoulder, brushing the thick curls out of his path.

Your hearts were racing. The apartment suddenly so quiet, just the heavy panting breaths and the wet sound of your lips meeting. His thumbs brushed over your nipples through your brassiere. The white silky fabric over your hips held the nude hose on your thighs. His fingers dipping to play with the stay-ups.

“Is this okay?” He whispered, pressing his lips to the skin below your ear. His bowtie hung loose around his neck, his shirt had two buttons undone, suspenders forgotten, pants low on his hips. You nod, shivering in excitement. His lips meet yours once more, walking you back towards the bed, the backs of your knees meeting the soft surface. You fell softly onto your back, Bucky’s half lidded eyes taking your body in as he slipped his shirt from his shoulders, toeing off his socks.

“Te quiero [I love you].” Was whispered in the room as he shifted your slip from your body, tossing it behind him. Your brassiere quickly tossed as well, his calloused hands coming to lay under your breasts. Nipples pebbled in the cold air, his eyes stuck on yours as his pink tongue peeked from his lips. The cool muscle sent a shiver down your spine, a thrumming in your core as he took your rosy tan nipple into his mouth. Eyes fluttering shut at the first true sexual contact the two of you have had.

In those dark moments, in the front seat of his car, in the back office of the shop, in the kitchen after washing the dishes. Neither of you had dared. His fingers would twist in your skirt, brush against your calves. Breathy moans exchanged between kisses, but Bucky wouldn’t dare move further than that. Not until now.

Your stay-ups were removed, deft fingers slipping your hose down your leg, the soft press of his lips following the path of exposed skin. Down one leg, then the other. His pants were discarded, the heavy weight of him against your thigh through his boxer shorts as his fingers tangled into your hair, slipping the pins loose. Your hands trembling on his lower back, the muscles shifting underneath your fingertips.

“Eres tan hermosa. [You’re so beautiful].” He mumbled against your throat, trailing his lips back down your body to the top of your silk and lace, covering your last bit of modesty. His blue eyes met yours, blush pink lips bitten between his teeth as he dipped his fingers into your hips, pressing his face against the junction between your thighs. Your face flushed as he took a steady inhale. His tongue coming out to lap against the fabric. Once. Your fists clenching at your sides. Thighs trembling.

“James…” Your breath hitching as he pulled the last scrap of fabric from your body.

“Y/N…” He kissed your hip, “Let me do this.” His hands found your thighs, pressing them up against your chest, your face flushing with heat. Eyes unable to meet his. You lay an arm across your face. Nervously unable to look as his cool breath met your labia. His fingers parting your lips and that strong, soft muscle coming to lap at your entrance for the very first time.

Your breath caught in your chest, “Tell me what feels good.” His tongue fumbling, searching for a spot he’d been told about, nervous and shaking. Your hips bucked against his face as he found it. The little bundle of nerves that made you release a moan from deep in your throat. His cock twitched in his shorts, rubbing it against the bed to try to release some of the pressure he was currently feeling.

You’ve touched yourself before, but it never felt like this. This felt so much better. The soft muscle of his tongue lapping at the little bundle of nerves, a wet sound filling the room. An obscene wet sound. Your moans increase as the pleasure builds. Chasing your release against his face. His arms circled your thighs as you became breathless. Back arching as you came on his tongue, a moan hummed against your clit as you grabbed your breasts, hips bucking wildly as you rode out your orgasm. Panting with release.

The room quieted as you reveled in a glow. Bucky shifted back onto his knees between your legs, the head of his cock poking from his waistband, a bead of precum shining on the tip. His hands massaged your trembling thighs before slipping his boxers off of his hips, the heavy weight of him pressed against your body, hands cradling your head as he kissed you. The tang of you heavy on his lips.

“I love you.” You whispered against his lips as the tip of his dick met your entrance. Knees shifted around his hips, his hand met the mattress next to your head, eyes looking down long enough for him to watch as his head disappeared inside you. His eyes looking back into yours,

“I love you too.” Your wet channel gave way easily to him, a slight burn from the stretch, neither of you breathing until he was fully seated inside of you. You couldn’t look away from one another as he stilled. His fingers laced into yours, breaths mingling, eyes watery. His hips shifted back, before slowly meeting yours. His teeth tugged on your bottom lip as he set rhythm.

Soft moans soon filled the room. Heavy breathing, the wet sound of your body giving into his. It didn’t last long, your first time. His first time. His hips stuttering against yours soon after they’d met for the first time. His release spilling inside of you as his head found your shoulder. The two of you lay connected for a minute before Bucky rolled to the side, pulling you tightly against his chest, fingers twisted in your hair.

“The next time will be longer,” A blush on his cheeks, “I promise.”

The next morning, when the first rays of the sun met the corners of the apartment, Bucky’s arm wrapped around your shoulder as his hips met yours, your leg pulled over his hip as you lay facing each other. One hand kneading your ass as he ground your clit against his pubic bone, your fingers slipping between you to bring yourself over the edge, head tossing back moaning as he released into you for the third time that night.

“Te quiero.” Again. And Again.

It was a few months later. Just a few months into your marriage. He came home in uniform. And your heart stopped. He’d entered the home, an apology of flowers in his hand, hat held at his side. Your back had been to him, humming as you pressed together dough around the spiced meat mixture you’d marinated the night before.

Bucky’s heart dropped as he realized you were making him lunches for the week. Lunches he wouldn’t be eating. He should have told you, but he didn’t. He didn’t want to see you cry. But it couldn’t be helped.

“My love.” He spoke from the doorway, and when you turned to him he could see your face immediately fall, eyes beginning to shine with tears. “I’m so sorry.” He watched you toss the small pastry onto the counter top, turning from him. “Dahlin’ please.”

“Don’t call me that.” You wiped your hands on a dish towel. The flowers were laid on the kitchen table, “When are you leaving me?” His heart dropped in his chest,

“I’m shipping out tomorrow.” A loud clang as you dropped the pan you were holding. He flinched.

“Mañana?” He couldn’t do this. He couldn’t see you cry. Your voice was cracking, “How long have you known?” His hands met your shoulders, but you shrugged them off, moving out of reach.

“They just gave me my orders today.” A sheet of paper on the kitchen table, one he’d just put there. His tag number and division. “Please don’t do this babydoll.” Your eyes were firey, overflowing with anger as you picked up the paper, only being able to understand a few words there.

“War ruins people James.” He could feel his eyes sting, tears building at the despair in your voice. “My Father, when I was a child…” You sunk down at the kitchen table, “He fought in the rebellion.” Your eyes scanning the paper trying to make sense of it, “The Cuban military had been killing Afro-Cubans, there’d been a massacre. A few years before I was born. My father fought with Estenoz against the Cuban Army but they failed.” Your watery eyes met his. “He was never the same. My Mother became pregnant with me a few years later but… he killed himself before I was ever born.” Bottom lip trembling.

Bucky sunk down to his knees in front of you, hands gently grasping yours, “I can’t stand by and let the Nazi’s get away with what they’re doing.” His jaw clenched, before he brought your hands to his lips, kissing your knuckles, “They’re saying that people are being kept in camps, being tortured, killed. Who would I be if I didn’t do what I could to stop them?”

“I don’t want you to go.” The small plea broke his heart. He didn’t want to do this to you. He didn’t want to leave you. But there was an obligation. His Father fought in the last war. His Grandfather fought in the Civil War. His Great-Great Grandfather fought in the Revolutionary War. They all came home, and so will he. But just in case he didn’t...

“Steve will be here.” He kissed the inside of your wrists, “He’ll keep you company until I get back.” If he gets back. You shake your head, eyes spilling over with tears. “Amor de mi vida,” He kissed your knuckles, bringing your hands to his shoulders, burying his face in your stomach. “This is for us, for our future.” Mumbled into the fabric of the cotton apron detailed with hand stitched little pies and cakes you’d worked on while listening to the radio at night.

What future?

“There is no future if you’re gone.” You lifted his face to yours. His eyes wet with tears. What more could be said? There was a stalemate. But you knew he had to go. You knew as soon as the news report about the attack on Pearl Harbor that you’d be losing him. It made your heart ache.

That night the two of you couldn’t get close enough.

The hot breath, whispered sighs. The rocking of his body against yours, fingers intertwined and your breasts pressed against his chest, legs wrapped around each others as you met over and over in a loving sweet crescendo. The shaky breaths of settling after, your lips met the skin of his shoulder.

You’d gone to the Stark Expo.

Steve had disappeared somewhere in the night. Bucky shrugging and saying not to worry about it, that Steve said he’d be by for breakfast tomorrow before Bucky left you. Before he left both of you.

“I’m fine,” Winnie sighed, watery and obviously not fine, “I’m alright.” The Barnes household was tense this morning. A goodbye from all that no one knew if it would be their last or not. Bucky was dressed in his uniform sans hat, drinking coffee with George at the dining table. The girls chattering about in the kitchen, setting the table, bringing out plates. But even their enthusiasm was stunted by the knowledge that Bucky had to be at the dock in an hour and a half.

His hand gripped yours under the table. His left in your right. His thumb tracing a soothing pattern over the back of your hand.

“Everyday Buck.” Ginny said, “We’re expecting a letter everyday.” Becca was quietly picking at the scrambled eggs on her plate. Suzy and Ruth had been taking turns hugging their brother all morning.

“I’ll do my best Gin.” Steve hadn’t showed. Bucky was trying not to feel too down about it.

“Maybe he’s feeling down about being rejected again yesterday.” George reasoned. Maybe. Bucky sighed, clearly upset with his friend’s absence. You tighten your grip reassuringly and he gives you a tight smile.

“That’s probably it.” Bucky put a slice of pancake into his mouth, a little syrup dribbled onto his chin. You took your napkin, licking the corner before wiping the sticky substance from his face.

“It’s hard for him.” You assure Bucky, “He’ll miss you.”

“We’ll all miss you.” Becca grumbled from across the table. It wasn’t a secret that Becca was angry with Bucky. She hadn’t talked to him much since the two of you had gone for dinner a couple weeks beforehand and he talked about enlisting. The cold shoulder she had perfected over the years, her stubbornness was the same as Bucky’s. She could go on forever.

Bucky sighed, smiling at his youngest sister. “I’ll miss you the most Becks.” You smile softly, the little girl’s watering eyes wiped before they could spill.

The docks were busy. Thousands of soldiers dispatched, ready to fight. The Barnes family said their goodbyes, you gave them their time. The girls sobbing, Winnie comforting them as George and Bucky had one last moment together as Father and Son. A promise of “I’ll see you soon, you better write.”

The affection George Barnes had for his family was unparalleled. In a time where men didn’t show emotion, they were distant, moody, belt welding masters of the house. George Barnes was a sweet man who always made time for his children. Doted on his wife. The girls with every new dress they bought would model them for their father and he would appreciate a detail. “I really like that bow, or that color green really suits you.”

“We’ll keep an eye on her son.” He whispered to his boy, his eyes watering, “Do me a favor.” His hand gripping Bucky’s shoulder tight, “Don’t be a hero.” Bucky’s eyes widened with the statement. “I know you, and I know you want to fight for what is right and what you believe in but trust me when I say this…” A somber tone in his voice, “Men will die around you, people you grow to care about, men you love, civilians you wish you could have saved.” George began to cry, wiping the tears before they were dripping from his chin, “Don’t do anything that you know will get you killed, you’ve got a wife and family to come home to. You hear me?”

“Yeah Pops, I hear you.” Bucky was brought in for a hug. The barreled chest of his father gave him some comfort for his shaky nerves. George Barnes was a man that had seen war. The quiet nights, the ones he wouldn’t talk about. Those nights Bucky knew he would be coming home with. But George Barnes was a good man. He took care of his family, he was a good father. And Bucky was lucky for that.

“Hi.” You breathed, eyes already watering. Bucky frowned, holding his arms out for you.

“Oh dahlin, don’t cry sweetheart.” The two of you rocking back and forth. His family partially blocked you from view in this secluded corner of the docks. “I’ll be back before you know it.”

“I love you,” So soft and sweet against your lips. The memory of last night and this morning, the longing to be close again. A picture of you was stuffed into his journal. A small photo of your wedding picture was in his wallet.

“I love you too dahlin,” His hooded eyes gazing into yours, “I’ll be back before you know it.” You nod, the tears slipping freely down your cheeks to be caught by his fingers, gripping your jaw and bringing your lips back to his again. A long soft languid kiss, a kiss goodbye.

“Come home to me Barnes.” He nods, kissing you one last time.

“There’s no one on this earth that could take me away from you,” He cooed, “Especially not Adolf Hitler.”

You saw him on the deck of the ship. Hand waving among men, blowing you a kiss as the horn cut through the air and the ship left dock. You couldn’t move. Heart racing and sweaty palms until the ship disappeared. Winnie’s hands met your arms, smoothing down the blue velvet dress you were wearing. You fiddled with the buttons on the front,

“We have to go now honey.” You nod, eyes still staring out at the horizon, wishing the ship back.

taglist // @corneliabarnes @bookish-shristi @saturnki @jennmurawski13 @geeksareunique @albinotigerpython @cake-writes @iheartsebastianstan @000bananaclip000 @shadowbuisness @sprinkleofbooty @gifsbysimplysonia @vhsbarnes @the-soulofdevil @tinmunky

#bucky barnes #bucky barnes x reader #1940s bucky barnes #cake's 1940s challenge #steve rogers #captain america #the winter soldier #latinx!reader

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eurynome827 · 4 years

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There’s No Place Like Home

For Cake’s 1940s Challenge!

Prompt: “There’s no place like home.” – The Wizard of Oz // Bucky Barnes x Reader Warnings: just a smidge of ending angst that accompanies the air of inevitability. A/N: The release date and holiday traditions mentioned are a product of a quick Google search. Nothing like waiting until the last minute! Thank you for hosting this challenge and allowing me to be a part of it @cake-writes!

1939

The Wizard of Oz premiered in theatres August 25, 1939. It took you from that date to October 31 to cobble together a Lion costume for your darling little brother. It wasn't a chore, really. You adored him, so you didn't mind the late hours at the dress shop you worked at or the extra money spent on material that you just couldn't scrap from the leftovers after a day of sewing. Making a dream come true was hard work, with a wonderful reward. You had even managed to salvage enough material to make a dress just like Dorothy's so you could accompany your brother trick or treating. You held his hand tightly as you walked through your Brooklyn neighborhood, walking from house to house collecting coins and fruit, holding everything in the basket you carried as part of your costume. Waving at the adults on their stoops and chatting with the teens and kids wandering the streets in their costumes, you were enjoying the festive occasion when you heard your name from across the street. Stopping on the sidewalk and peering across, you smiled and waved when you spotted them. "Bucky! Steve!" You waved a second time as they dodged the traffic and crossed to meet you. Neither of them were costumed, and you clicked your tongue in disapproval, even though you were probably the oldest person on the block wearing one. "Where's your holiday spirit?" You teased, holding your brother's hand even though he hid behind you, staying in cowardly character. "Aw, that's just for kids," Steve murmured, hands shoved deep into his pockets and eyes wandering the street. "Then I'm the biggest kid here," you giggled, trying to pull your brother out from behind you and sighing when he clutched harder at the back of your dress. Your eyes drifted up to meet Bucky's, catching him at the tail end of a long appraisal. You pretended not to notice. "Lookin' real sweet, doll," Bucky drawled, and Steve snorted before he could stop himself, earning a nudge on the shoulder from his best friend while you rolled your eyes. "I suppose I should say thank you, Bucky," you replied magnanimously, surging forward when your brother rushed towards the next house after spotting an open door. "Do you want to walk with us for a bit?" Bucky and Steve followed behind a few steps as you continued on with your brother, the three of you making easy conversation. You hadn't seen them for more than a simple 'hello' and 'goodbye' in the street since high school, and you'd missed their company. At the corner where you needed to part ways, Bucky pulled you aside as much as he could with your brother hanging on to ask you on a date...again. Your answer was always no - not because you didn't enjoy his company, and not because he had a different girl every time you saw him, and certainly not because he wasn't handsome because oh my he was. You just didn't date, though. With your father gone and your mother sick, your salary at the dress shop was the only money coming in to the house and you needed to be home for your brother. You softly explained this again, apologetically, and said you could always see him at the soda shoppe on Saturdays when you took your brother and he hid his disappointed expression quickly. "I'll see you around, Dorothy." You rolled your eyes again but still gave him a little curtsy before he walked away. 1941 Walking home from the dress shop, your shoes felt like they were sinking into the sidewalk with each step. The air was heavy with uncertainty, and despite the bouncy songs on the radio and the boys in their uniforms on the street rushing around with chaotic energy, you already felt anxious. The sound of your name stopped you, like so many times before. You turned and your heart flew into your throat at the sight of him. Sergeant Barnes - handsome in his freshly pressed uniform, hat at a typically jaunty angle, blue eyes sparkling. "Bucky," you breathed out, voice soft and you let him take your hand. "When ...?" "Tomorrow," he matched your tone. "I'm going out with Steve tonight, but shipping out in the morning. Any chance..." He left the question hanging in the air, knowing what the answer would be, and you couldn't bear to do anything other than shake your head. You stepped closer, though, linking your fingers with his, and not giving any care to any eyes on the block you stood on tiptoe to press your lips to his, lingering softly. His eyes were full of surprise when you stepped back, and you smiled up at him. "Be careful, and remember Buck - there's no place like home." He smiled back, his eyes crinkling at the corners in that familiar way, and squeezed your hand once before turning to head down the block. You watched until he was out of sight, leaving you forever in the Brooklyn dusk of a what could have been.

#cake's 1940s challenge #Bucky Barnes x Reader #my weakness is 1940s Bucky #there's no place like home

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shakespeareanqueer · 4 years

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My Best Soldiers

Pairing: Stucky x F!OC 🎖️Word Count: 2.4K 🎖️My Masterlist

Summary: Steve meets a phenomenal Woman’s Army Corps armorer who helped make his shield, and she also happens to make Bucky’s sniper rifles. Bucky gets a sneaky idea.

Contents: Military talk but no violence. Very vague talk of sex but no smut. Mentions of guns but no firing of them.

A/N: This is for @cake-writes‘ Cake’s 1940s Challenge. I’m so sorry this is a couple days late! The deadline was my last day of finals for my last semester of undergrad, and I thought I would have it done with advance time, but alas, finals got the best of me. But here it is, finally! I had a lot of fun writing this. Enjoy!

My prompt was the quote “They have met every test and task assigned to them… their contributions in efficiency, skill, spirit, and determination are immeasurable.” -General Dwight D. Eisenhower about the Women’s Army Corps

Image courtesy of Library of Congress

Steve was immensely excited when he heard his new combat-ready shield was completed. He’d chosen the round vibranium one with the target-like rings, but he knew they would have decorated it to match his Captain America aesthetic, and he was interested to see what they came up with.

He walked into Howard’s lab but didn’t see him right away.

“Stark?” he called.

Instead of the man he was expecting, a woman in a uniform he didn’t quite recognize—it seemed similar to the men’s army uniforms but not exactly—stepped out of his office staring intently at a clipboard.

“Mr. Stark is working on another project, Captain Rogers,” she informed him with a clipped and business-like tone. “I’ll be assisting you with your new shield.”

She leaned down to dig it out from under the lab table, and he couldn’t help but notice her beautifully toned ass, but also her rippling back and shoulder muscles. She was surprisingly fit. When she stood back up, he noticed the beautiful green shading of her eyes, with a ring of blue—inverse to his.

He was confused by how his brain seemed to linger on her beauty and strength. He was gay, after all, and with Bucky; happily so. Not that anyone knew that; they were both closeted and the relationship was secret.

“Captain Rogers?”

Steve suddenly realized that the beautiful woman (why did his brain keep coming back to that?!) had been trying to speak to him and he had been zoned out, staring.

“Sorry, sorry, Miss…”

“Gaines,” she said. “First Sergeant Marian Gaines.”

Steve’s eyebrows flew to the top of his head. “My apologies. First Sergeant.”

Just then, Howard came rushing into the lab, but he made a beeline for his office without acknowledging either Marian or Steve. When he came back out with a file folder, he did pause just to say, “Sorry I can’t help ya today, Steve.”

“No worries, Stark,” Steve assured him. “You’re a busy man.”

“You’re in the best hands with the First Sergeant, though.” He had almost made it to the door again when he turned back around and said, “You know, General MacArthur just released a statement saying the WAC are his best soldiers. Gotta agree with the man. They’re the best armorers too; that’s why I just had to have one in my lab. Best hiring decision I ever made.”

“Thank you, Mister Stark,” Marian said. “Though, technically you didn’t hire me. I’m still employed and paid by the Women’s Army Corps.”

“Right, right, and I’m just contracted. Which makes you my superior officer. Well, salutations, First Sergeant.” Howard ironically pulled himself into a stiff salute. “Captain.” He winked at Steve on his way out.

Marian chuckled at Howard’s antics, then resumed her professional demeanor.

“Well, back to business,” she said. “Here’s the shield. Paint’s just dried.”

She lifted the large circular shield with an ease that surprised Steve. Her arm muscles flexed impressively, but she did not seem at all perturbed at all by the weight.

“Would you like to take it?”

Steve realized he’d been staring again.

“Uh, yeah, sure.”

Though Steve was now this muscular, hulking hunk of a man, inside he was still the tiny Brooklyn boy who couldn’t get a girl to look twice at him or a man to take him seriously. He himself was reminded of this every time he was fumbling and awkward, like right now.

Steve slipped his arm through the strap, and Marian shifted around so she was squeezing against his side.

“We can fit the strap,” she said.

She was in close proximity as she wrapped the leather strap around his arm and secured it.

“That too tight?” she asked.

Steve’s chest was unreasonably tight, and his skin was unreasonably tingly from her touch.

“Uh, no that’s good.”

She gave him a small smile and he could see she had a little dimple on the left side of her mouth. It was endearing.

She marked a few spots with a pencil, then took the shield from Steve.

“If you don’t mind waiting, this will only take a few minutes.”

“Sure, sure. I can wait.” Steve cringed at himself.

But if Marian noticed his awkwardness, she made no indication. She gave him another small, dimpled smile, then pulled out a pair of large scissors to cut through the thick leather, and an awl for poking the holes for the clasp.

As she worked, she and Steve got to talking. They had a lot to bond over, as it turned out. Her uptight, professional demeanor melted away as they chatted and she got more comfortable.

When Steve first arrived at training, he was constantly underestimated and judged by his peers for his size and health issues. While Marian’s training had been separate and with the Women’s Army Corps specifically, once she arrived at the base, fully trained and very qualified and capable, she was also underestimated and undermined by her male coworkers.

“There are very few men of technically inferior rank to me who actually respect me,” she said. She wasn’t whining or complaining; just stating an unfortunate fact about the world. “Stark is one, which I appreciate, though on day one he was a little handsy. Backed right off when I said no, though.”

Marian pulled away a scrap piece of leather and used it to tie her hair behind her head, exposing her slender, elegant neck.

“Snipers,” she said suddenly, and Steve made himself stop staring at her neck.

“Huh?” Steve asked.

“Snipers,” she repeated. “They seem to respect me more than others. A couple of them anyway.”

“Yeah, I’m—” Steve swallowed. “Some of the best men I know are snipers.”

Marian’s tongue poked out the side of her mouth just the slightest bit as she focused intensely, and Steve found himself staring again.

He was broken out of his reverie by the only person he should be pining after sweeping into the room.

“Hello, First Sergeant Gaines.” Bucky was grinning broadly and seemed totally at ease.

Marian didn’t look up from her task, but Steve could see a smile threatening to pull up the corners of her mouth, made evident by the appearance of her dimple. “Hello, Just Sergeant Barnes.”

Steve wasn’t sure if Bucky was ignoring him because he was trying not to blow their cover as a couple, or if he honestly hadn’t seen him with how intently he was watching Marian. He seemed just as enraptured by her as Steve was, and, totally hypocritically, jealousy flared up in the blond super-soldier.

“Let me finish up with the Captain and I’ll get you set up with your new sniper rifle,” said Marian.

“No problem, doll,” Bucky said easily. “Take your time.” He slung his arm around Steve’s shoulder. “It’s no torture at all being trapped in a small lab with my best friend and my best gal.”

Something snapped in Steve, and he shrugged Bucky off his shoulder. “Buck, can I speak to you privately?”

Bucky looked alarmed at Steve’s outburst and just nodded. Still without looking up, Marian pointed her awl at Howard’s office door.

“You can use Stark’s office. He won’t mind,” she said. “And it’s totally soundproof if you close the door.” She looked up then and looked Steve right in the eye. “I’ve never asked why and I don’t want to know.” In a split second, her attention was back on the task at hand like there had been no interruption.

Steve yanked Bucky inside the office by his arm and closed the door perhaps a little more forcefully than he intended. He still wasn’t quite used to all this strength he now had in his body.

“What the hell is wrong with you, Steve?” Bucky asked.

Steve was grinding his teeth and pacing around the office. “Your ‘best gal?’”

Bucky furrowed his brow. “We agreed I would keep flirting with dames to keep our cover.”

Bucky glanced through the window in the office door and saw how intently Marian was staring at her work, doing that adorable tongue thing he was so fond of.

But he always pushed away such thoughts. Because he loved Stevie.

Bucky took a chance, praying she wouldn’t look up and see them, and grabbed Steve’s face. “What is wrong with you today?” he asked. This time, his tone was less annoyed and more concerned. “Don’t tell me you’re jealous.”

Steve couldn’t meet his eyes. Bucky gasped.

“You are! You’re jealous!” he exclaimed. “Why? Why this girl? I’ve flirted with every woman at this camp and it’s never bothered you once.”

Steve was still averting his gaze, and now he was squirming slightly too.

“Hey,” Bucky cooed, using his fingers on Steve’s chin to pull his glance towards him. “You know I love you. You know I’ve always loved you. You know you never have nothing to worry about.”

Steve sighed and finally relaxed a little, leaning into Bucky’s hand on his cheek.

“Yeah, I know, Buck. I’m sorry,” he said. “I don’t know why I got so crazy back there.”

Steve was looking over Bucky’s shoulder, and he turned around to see what his lover was looking at. Through the window on the door, Bucky followed Steve’s gaze to Marian, still working on the shield strap. She was poking holes in the thick leather with the awl, her muscular shoulders and biceps on display as she worked in her tight black t-shirt (her uniform jacket was slung over a chair). Her brow was furrowed in concentration, and some hair had escaped the strip of leather she had used to tie it back, framing her face. She was unconventionally beautiful, but stunning in a way both Brooklyn boys could appreciate.

Suddenly, Bucky smiled a cheeky grin.

“I think I know what’s going on,” he said sneakily.

“What?” Steve asked, genuinely confused and curious. “What’s going on?”

“You were jealous of this particular girl because it’s more plausible to you that I might actually like her,” he said. Then he poked a finger into Steve’s chest. “Because you like her.”

Steve’s gaze snapped to Bucky. For a moment, his mouth just opened and closed wordlessly, then he finally said, “Don’t be ridiculous!” in a weirdly high-pitched tone.

Bucky’s grin only grew wider. “I’m right! Admit it!”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Steve repeated, deeper this time, putting his hands on his hips. “I’m gay. I’m in love with you.”

Bucky shrugged. “And I’m in love with you. But I still like some women too.”

Steve thrust his finger in the direction of the door window. “Her?” he asked. His tone was getting defensive again. “You like her?”

Bucky put a placating hand on Steve’s chest, and peppered kisses on Steve’s neck every couple of words. “You never. Have anything. To worry about,” he repeated. Then he narrowed his eyes, like an idea was worming its way through his brain. “I wanna try something.”

Before Steve could object, Bucky was back through the door and sauntering over to Marian. “Hey, doll…” he said. “Sarge Prime…” He leaned against the lab bench near where she was working, studying her while her gaze was only on her work. She was now threading the leather strap through the metal clasp.

“Yeah?” she asked distractedly.

“I gotta question for ya.” Bucky’s Brooklyn accent was on full display, which only happened on a few occasions. One of which was when he was flirting.

“Ask away.”

“What are your thoughts on gay men?”

Steve started panicking and tried signaling at Bucky to cut it out without being too obvious.

“Homosexuals?” she asked for clarification. Bucky hummed an affirmative. Marian shrugged. “Doesn’t affect me.”

“Have you ever thought of engaging in homosexual activity?” Bucky continued to pry.

Marian snorted. “I have ‘engaged in homosexual activity,’” she mocked his phrasing. “I’ve mostly been with women, in fact. When you go to a women’s college and then sign up for an all-women’s military unit, that’s what falls into your lap.”

“But you still like men?” Steve asked nervously.

Marian was done with her work on the strap now. She placed her tools down, leaned her hip against the bench and crossed her arms.

“I like good people,” she said. “And I’m attracted to good-looking people. Gender isn’t a factor for me.”

Steve opened his mouth as if to speak, but Bucky beat him to it. “So it sounds like you have some—” He waved his hand in a vague gesture. “Experience. Ever been with two guys at once?”

Marian narrowed her eyes suspiciously. “Two other women, and a woman and a man, but not two men,” she answered. “Why? What are you getting at?”

Bucky looked at the ground and shifted his weight, like he was suddenly nervous even after all the forward questions. When he looked back up at the armorer, he said, “I’m gonna let you in on somethin’, ‘cause I trust you.”

Marian uncrossed her arms and relaxed her posture, trying to come across as receptive and worthy of that trust. “You can tell me anything,” she said.

Bucky walked over to Steve and wrapped an arm around his waist, pulling him close. “Stevie and I are together.”

“Oh thank goodness,” Marian said quickly.

Steve was taken aback by her response. “What?”

“Sorry, I just—” Marian shook her head. “From an open-minded woman’s perspective, it’s very obvious you’re in love. But I’ve seen ‘best friends’ stay that way indefinitely, dancing around each other, ‘cause they’re too ‘manly’ to own up to their feelings.” She smiled. “But I should have known you guys were more sensitive than that.”

Bucky and Steve just stared at her. Neither thought they would get this far, or that this is where they would end up when the questioning started. They were at a loss for how to continue.

Marian smirked and started to saunter away towards the back room. “Let me get your rifle, Barnes.” She was giving them an opening to discuss amongst themselves the next step.

Bucky turned to Steve. “She’s more incredible than I thought.”

Steve shook his head, dazed. “Incredible’s the right word.”

“Let’s ask her!” Bucky grabbed Steve’s shoulders. “You’ve never been with a woman.”

“I’ve never been with anyone other than you,” he specified.

Bucky gestured towards the back room. “Here’s our opportunity. Together.”

Steve swallowed nervously and glanced down at the shield. The shield she had mostly fashioned herself, according to Stark. His mind flickered back to the way her arm muscles flexed and her breasts squeezed together under her shirt as she worked. He turned back to Bucky.

“Ok.”

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crushedbyhyperbole · 4 years

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The Space Between

[IMG SOURCE]

Summary: On mission with The Howling Commandos, your team hunkered down in a city near the Swiss border, in French Resistance safe houses. With days before the team could move on, Bucky was feeling the strain. The thing between you didn’t have a name but it had heart and soul.

Words: 1.6k

A/N: Written for @cake-writes 1940′s challenge, filling the prompt “Loose Lips Sink Ships”. Congrats on the milestone, and thanks for hosting such a wonderful challenge <3 This is a Bucky x Reader using a reader character I’ve used before for, so if you like this then feel free to check it out (link at the bottom). I’m not massively knowledgeable about ww2 (about anything really) but I hope I haven't made any egregious errors. Hope you enjoy x

Warnings: Wartime theme, low morale and thoughts of dark times but still fluffy and soft. Hints of sex - non graphic and barely there at all really but I’m still gonna recommend 18+.

Chambery, Savoy, the summer of 1943. The heat and the humidity were stifling, especially cooped up in a cramped attic room with nine other men. Thermals rising through the apartment building settled up there with them, and with no windows to vent with, the whole space was like a sauna.

Bucky mopped his brow with his handkerchief, limp and almost sodden. The smell of stale sweat filled his nose and he was sure he smelled no better to the rest of them, but it was a damn sight better than being in the trenches on the front lines with all the shit and death and desperation. Settling himself back against one of the rafters, he waited for sunset, when it would be safer venture outside.

Three days. That’s all they had left before they pushed on towards the Swiss border. Three days before their window of opportunity opened and they could start their mission to hunt renowned HYDRA scientist, Arnim Zola. It would take them months travelling the Southern parts of Switzerland and into Austria before they’d find their man. Even on a map, the Alps were daunting, cold and treacherous, and long, like the spine of Europe.

He wouldn’t mind the cold, Bucky thought, anything was better than melting up there. But he knew that the grass wasn’t always greener on the other side of the fence and even though he was eager to get their mission done, a sense of apprehension had settled over him like a shadow. He needed some air.

“Where you off to?” Steve looked up from his map – he’d been studying the route for days now, memorising each part of the terrain, making contingency plans, covering all the variables.

“Cabin fever.” He knew he didn’t have to explain further, they were all feeling the strain. But where the rest of the men might venture out a pay for company for an hour or two, Bucky had one person in mind: his nightingale, you.

“Remember,” Steve warned, “loose lips sink ships.” There was a glint in his eye when he looked at Bucky, like he knew Bucky wasn’t visiting the local madame for a tumble in the sheets, but had to say it because of the men.

“Loose lips sink something else.” One of the men said and laughter broke out amongst the Howlies. It was subdued and stifled, but it was laughter all the same and Bucky didn’t begrudge his brothers something that lifted their spirits even if it was lewd; they didn’t know he’d been visiting you.

With a forced smirk, he stepped down the ladders and let a wave of cooler air quench the heat of his sweat-slicked skin. He wished he could have a quick wash before he went to see you, it was a pipe dream to wish that he didn’t smell like week-old socks.

-----

The fat orange sun dipped below the rooftops, creating new shadows to sap away the heat of the day. The marigold glow of sunset always seemed to ease you, no matter how bad the day had been, that warmth without heat which trickled relaxation down the spine like treacle, ebbing away tension and bringing peace. But now it was gone, leaving behind a chill that only worsened with time. Dread seeped under your skin and those forgotten worries of the Austria mission came back to haunt you.

The thing about Italian-occupied France was that it wasn’t much different to German-occupied France. Soldiers, oppression, abuse, fear, and squirreling away all your vulnerabilities lest they lead to something more dire. War did that to people, it did that to these people, but where there was a spark of defiance there was hope and that’s where you and the 107th existed – in the seams between fear and oppression where defiance dared to grow.

Living in the local brothel for the last few weeks had been interesting. You had feared that the madame would expect you to do as the other ladies did in exchange for your board and protection, but that was not the case. As a nurse, your skills were valued and you looked after the girls like they were your own family. Their chatter as you tended cuts and bruises left behind by abusive patrons turned out to be more valuable than you or your Captain could have thought; pieces of information from liquor lubricated mouths and lust addled sensibilities would aid the squad’s passage from this region and into Switzerland. Your Captain and Sergeants were keen to learn all they could to pass back to command, so they checked in as regularly as we possible.

It had been a couple of days since you had seen Sergeant Barnes. He and the men were hiding out in the attic of a house across the street, assisted by members of La Resistance, they only ventured out at night where the cover of darkness was a shield against the eyes of the Italian soldiers occupying the city. You were well overdue a visit, and your heart ached because of it.

The bell tinkled down the hall and your heart leapt giddily. That sound, then the energetic flutter in your chest – your response was almost Pavlovian. You waited for your summons, picking at your fingernails with nerves and excitement. The moment you laid eyes on him again would make all the longing worth it.

-----

The room was dim and a little on the dank side, smells of tobacco smoke, spilled liquor, and sex hung in the air. It was the kind of place that would horrify him to meet you in, had circumstances not stripped away all sense of propriety. He hated that you were here with these women, hated that you were apart, and he hated that the only time he got with you was a few stollen moments in a filthy room he had to pay for like he was just here to make whoopee.

The second the door opened he forgot all of that, forgot everything but you.

You filled his arms and his heart, transforming him from sullen and dejected to content and doting. He held you tight, melding your body to his as if you were two pieces of a puzzle that fit together so neatly there was no doubt the fit was right.

“How have you been?” He asked, stroking your hair gently.

“Missing you, you big dope.” You slapped his shoulder lightly, chuckling when he held you tighter. "How are the men holding up?”

You didn’t need to ask how he was holding up, you could see it cross his face like a shadow; a ghost of torment endured. Bucky didn’t much talk about what was done to him when he was captured, not to the men and not to you, who had his ear and his heart. Maybe it was better this way, that he used that pain to drive himself onward, but it hurt you to see him close himself off like that.

“Just about as well as can be expected.” He tucked a loose piece of hair behind your ear, avoiding your concerned gaze. “Sitting up there idle isn’t helping morale.”

“Bucky,” you sighed, leaning into his touch, eyes fluttering closed. “Down here isn’t much better.”

“Being here with you, I-” he cupped your face, running his thumb across your cheek, “I can almost forget what we’re here for.”

“Then let’s forget,” you smiled softly as you lead him to the bed, “at least for a little while.”

You knew he needed you. It’s not what he came to see you for but it’s what you both need. His lips quivered when you claimed them gently, the thrill of you taking the initiative made him relax; he didn’t have to take charge, be assertive, or even in control. With you he could let it all fall away, so he does.

Lay on the lumpy bed in a smelly room in a brothel in Italian occupied France didn’t seem so dire or so sordid because it was you kissing him and guiding him. Everything about you was perfect to him, even the way your brow creased deeply when you succumbed to your pleasure, and the way you rolled your eyes at him when he told you how beautiful you were. You were everything he’d ever wanted.

The remaining time you have was spent cuddling and talking. You relayed all of the information you’d learned from the girls in the brothel and hoped that he and Steve could make some use of it. And when Bucky started to doze with you in his embrace, you hummed a tune to soothe him.

Voice of an angel. That’s what they said about you. And Bucky too, he called you his nightingale, his Flo, after Florence Nightingale. Dark days in the trenches spent healing bodies and souls with your skills and songs, and you’d rather not think about those men you’d lost – there would be a time to remember them all but wasn’t that time.

You snuggled closer to Bucky, tucking his head into the crook of your neck as you trailed your fingers through his hair and hummed your tune. Later, in the attic with the other men, he’d find no peace, so you let him have this moment to rest. You’d wake him before the time on the room ran out and let him wash up before sending him on his way. Until then, you let the smooth sound of your voice cleanse you both and savoured the feel of him against you. Who knew if there would be many moments like this ahead, if any at all. It was all so uncertain. But what you did know was that right there, in that space where you abide, where defiance burgeoned… there was hope.

Feel free to check out INTO DARKNESS. It’s a 1940 war time one shot set in the trenches in France with Bucky and Nightingale. There’s death and angst in that one so be aware of that going in.

#cake's 1940s challenge #1940s bucky barnes #bucky barnes x reader #ww2 bucky barnes #bucky barnes fanfic #bucky barnes fan fiction #captain america #canon compliant #wartime themes #soft bucky #cloudy's writing

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sugarfreecapsicle · 4 years

Text

the library card

A/N: Okay so two of my faves had amazing challenges out: @cake-writes & @bitchassbucky and how could I not join?? Please go follow them, they are brilliant and lovely and all things good in the world. I am so grateful to know them both and to call them my friends. I hope you both enjoy!!

bitchassbucky’s holiday writing challenge

cake’s 1940′s challenge

warnings: mentions of war and war-related things such as weapons and wounds, pining, fluff, kissing, injury

pairing: bucky x reader

Even at camp, Bucky can’t escape the frigid cold - a fire of any significance to comfort would alert any number of civilians, army, Nazi to their location in a radius of three to five miles. Kilometers here in Germany. Not that it matters to his numbing fingers under the obscured task of fixing his damn buttons. Visible breath fogs his view, resulting in a few too many pokes through sensitive fingertip skin before the dull void crept through them.

Surrounded in olive green, muddy brown, midnight he can take this risk. The final stitch in place, he pulls his lighter close enough to light the wrinkled, seamed letter.

I got the job, my darling! Tomorrow your girl will be a real librarian in Brooklyn - can you believe it? They even let me register you for your own library card. Now you have obligations to get back home safe to me. You’ve got so much reading to do!

Instead of a photo, you’d enclosed a little paper card with all his pertinent information included - his full name, an identification number, the name and address of the Brooklyn Public Library. A bona fide reader even here in the wilderness.

The card’s ink had smudged a bit, as present and intimate as the dog tags on his neck. You, he kept specifically in his left breast pocket. Every letter, every telegram.

The tune starts quiet and soft in the back of his throat, dry lips mouthing the words to no one but himself.

You are my sunshine

My only sunshine

Fresh tears well at the corners of his eyes, spill one by one down grimy cheeks and unshaven stubble. Then, he hears the low hum of approaching planes, and his stomach lurches.

—-

Banners danced along the fresh walls of the Brooklyn Public on your first day of the job. Posters encouraging citizens to do their part, support the men overseas, fight the good fight emblazoned every space unoccupied by shelves of books.

Leather and vanilla, fresh ink. Even the pleasant thud of rubber stamps became the equivalent of the heartbeat of your library. One of many librarians, your team took pride in a job well done, a child’s awed expression with a new book in hand.

After lunch you’d be reading to a small group of almost-school-aged children. You sighed happily, if a little longingly.

One day. One day your soldier would come home. Until then, you’d hum his favorite song.

—-

Mortars and bullets littered the air, ground, his friends. Each thud of a body churned in his gut, his gun held close as a baby to his body. Distance. He needed distance.

Deep in the trenches, far from the bird’s eye view preferred by a skilled sniper, Bucky’s chest heaved in gulps of mossy air.

A scream, a wail, a battle cry. Pure adrenaline in his veins. His legs surged him onward as his ears rang, deafened to all other noise except her sleep-heavy morning voice.

You make me happy when skies are grey

You’ll never know, dear, how much I love you

Please don’t take my sunshine away

—-

You couldn’t read the Daily Eagle anymore, not with the headlines touting the worst of men, the death, the cruelty of nations. Doubt weighed your heart - an anchor, broke it day after day.

The facade of optimistic determination aged like soured milk. Watching families torn apart by selfishness and greed and hate day, even in your pretty library.

Not enough of the soldiers came home.

Yours hadn’t yet, and he promised.

The soup you had for lunch only gurgled in your stomach. You hungered for his presence, the reassurance that your Bucky was safe. The not knowing of it all wrecked you so completely.

Then came a letter.

Coming home. Safe. Bucky.

—-

The terror haunted him still - Bucky could smell the muck and lead and blood every morning when he woke. More than once already, he’d fallen out of bed with a phantom limb, the left arm from his shoulder down now gone.

For once, Steve saved him from an unfair fight. He owed Steve everything anyway, all the love and brotherhood any guy could hope for between them. Steve had helped him pin the sleeve of his coat, too, on the way over to Brooklyn Public Library.

Busy for a Tuesday so close to Christmas, Bucky thought as he surveyed the various patrons milling through the glass doorways. Heart thudding the same as his newly polished boots, the doors scared him almost as much as the face of his former captor.

Inside, the world changed into something other. War no longer existed - calm quiet, studious, polite. Not tense quiet of night in hiding, watching, waiting for the enemy to appear from the dim light of camp. No need for a rifle. No need for a blade.

“Can I help you?”

She wasn’t you. Part of him wished for this to be so easy.

“I need help finding someone, if that’s alright,” he muttered, right hand flexing nervously in his pocket. Another heartbeat in his hand.

He said your name out loud for the first time in months, whisper quiet as if to keep you sacred as a secret between friends. She beamed and ushered him quickly to the children’s section near the back of the right side of the expansive room.

Murmurs bounced off the wooden shelves, cushioned thoughts and wishes on donated oak. Bucky tried not to wince, his skin itching all over with nerves and what-if’s.

Then he saw you.

And oh.

What a vision.

Boots scraped on the new floor, heels touching, posture at full attention. A boy again.

A periwinkle dress, cut and layered just the way you’d always liked. Your makeup done simply, accenting the peaks and valleys of your face, and those pearl earrings. Faux pearl, but nobody who mattered could tell the difference. Bucky wanted to buy you a real necklace, eventually real earrings. And a ring. Anything with potential to make you glow like the sun.

The way you glow when you’d seen him standing there like a dope. Tears fall before you were able to get to your feet and rush to him, arms around him as if he might dissipate if you let go. His right arm hooked around you, tight and unyielding, face pressed close to your ear.

You sobbed, taking inventory of every minuscule part of his face. Violet bags under his eyes, making the blue all the more stunning. Bucky, your very real and tangible Bucky, looked beaten and as worn as the army-issue boots he wore. He cried, he wriggled with sobs in your arms, leaned where your hands brushed.

“Darling, you made it home for Christmas!”

He choked, head down, lips pressed between angry teeth. Your hands draped over his shoulders at the back of his neck, moved forward, and -

Bucky flinched in shame. No left arm. Less of a man. The worst of it, your hand moves instead to his face again and urges his eyes upward.

“Sarge, I think you may have some stories to tell me instead.”

He didn’t hold back the watery scoff, the salty kiss to your lips or the tender I love you.

#abitchassholiday #cake’s 1940s challenge #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes fan fic #bucky barnes fanfiction #bucky barnes angst #bucky barnes fluff #bucky fluff #bucky angst #bucky fic #bucky fanfic #bucky fanfiction #bucky x reader #bucky barnes x female reader

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