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metalhoops · 11 months

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Steddie Week Day 5:

Together/ Established Relationship / Hold the Line by Toto

Eddie would give everything for a lifetime of Sunday mornings with Steve. He’d never expected anything good in his life to last before Steve. The first year they’d spent together, he’d been waiting for it to end with bated breath. He’d wake up in a cold sweat and reach for the familiar warmth of Steve’s body as a sick animal searches for a cool, dry place to die.

He’d cross the distance between them, however great or small, and bury himself beneath Steve’s back, so he could feel the rise and fall of his breaths as something tangible. That way, if the boy left, he’d know.

Steve’s body was the grave dirt he wanted to be buried beneath. If ever he were to pick a final resting place, that’d be it. A year turned into two, and somewhere along the way, Eddie stopped waiting for things to go wrong.

Steve had his own nightly routine. There were habits that persisted well past the time Eddie had expected them to fade into obscurity. On the bad nights, he’d feel Steve jolt awake at his side with a shaky gasp. He’d roll over and press his hand to Eddie’s side, hoping to hold him together, as though the distant nightmare of seven years ago were still a freshly healing scab and not the faded, pink scar tissue Eddie knew it to be.

Eddie wasn’t a romantic. He’d grown up in a broken home where the word ‘love’ was only used to mean an apology. His mother and father would keep the street dogs barking until the morning birds sang with their screams. Then come sunrise, his father would take his mother’s face into his hands and say ‘I love you’, in the way Eddie knew meant ‘I’m sorry.’

Eddie and Steve weren’t used to having people in their corner worth losing. That made keeping each other all the more important. Eddie was reminded of how much he had to lose every Sunday morning when he woke up with Steve’s limbs flung haphazardly over his body. It was the one day they kept obligation free. No jobs. No laundry. No kids, who really weren’t kids anymore. Just the two of them.

For once, Eddie was the first one up. He hadn’t been able to sleep. He was too busy trying not to think. Instead, he traced the familiar landmarks of Steve’s skin. He walked the path of freckles and moles dotting their way up the other man’s arm and lingered on the tiny silver scar at his elbow. It was the one he’d gotten from falling off his bike when he was seven.

Eddie wasn’t a forever kind of guy, but Steve was. If you’d told Eddie back in high school, he’d be in a relationship for seven years, he’d say that was forever. Jesus, it’d gone quick. He wanted more forevers with Steve.

“Mornin’ already?” Steve spoke, peering bleary-eyed around the room, his voice gravel road rough.

“Same time every day,” Eddie confirmed, peering down at the man on his chest.

Age had changed them in ways Eddie only noticed in pictures. They were still young. He reminded himself, with more urgency than necessary. Eddie had more tattoos to cover up the scars he knew they’d both rather forget.

Then there was Steve. His trademark hair was longer than when they first started dating. Eddie liked to joke that he looked like Kurt Cobain if Kurt Cobain knew how to style his hair. He’d also learnt to sport barely-there stubble on the days he couldn’t be bothered to shave.

“You’re staring,” Steve remarked, hiding his face in the crook of Eddie’s shoulder.

“You’re beautiful,” Eddie commented, and he meant it. He really goddamn meant it.

“Flattery doesn’t work with me, Munson,” Steve grumbled, moving to pull the covers up over their heads, hiding them from the morning. Eddie didn’t care. He had nowhere to be.

He dipped his head, placing a chased kiss on Steve’s lips, and watched as the man’s nose scrunched.

“Morning breath,” He groaned as he pulled back.

“You love it,” Eddie teased, trailing kisses down Steve’s jaw.

His lips lingered on the spot he knew made the man exhale sharply through his nose. It was right near another crooked scar Steve got on his twenty-second birthday. He’d been drunk and had fallen into the pool, clipping his jaw on the cement ledge. Eddie had the painful job of trying to extract Steve’s tooth from his lip as the boy cursed like a sailor and squirmed like a worm.

“I love you, there’s a difference,” Steve chuckled and pushed Eddie back, examining his face.

He traced the dark circles beneath Eddie’s eyes. He was long past the point of being self-conscious with Steve. The man had seen him in all manner of undress and unflattering angles. He chose to stay with him anyway. That’s what love was, wasn’t it? Choosing each other over and over again, every day- forever.

“You look like shit,” Steve spoke candidly.

“Oh honeybear, you wound me,” Eddie breathed, clutching his chest with all the overdramatised fervour his sleep-deprived body could muster.

“What’re you thinking about?” Steve asked, pulling his hand back.

“Quitting my job, getting the band back together, going on tour and dragging your ass across the country... Maybe getting a dog.” Steve hummed and traced the outline of the faded-blue demon tattoo on his chest.

“And that’s why you haven’t slept all week, right?” Steve repeated sceptically. Eddie was going to have to do this now, wasn’t he?

“Steve,” Eddie spoke, hating how his voice shook. His body was betraying him.

Steve’s head snapped up. His brows furrowed, painting his face with concern. He’d screwed this up already, hadn’t he?

“What’s wrong? I’m only ‘Steve’ when you’re pissed off, or it’s something serious,” the man observed.

Eddie didn’t know how to respond. He hadn’t planned what he was going to say- alright, that was a lie. He’d tried to plan it. Hell, he’d tried to write a whole damn script, but it’d felt wrong. He’d thought when the moment came he’d know what to say. Turned out, he was wrong.

“Was it because I took your notebooks off the table? Because I told you it’s cool you use it like a desk, but we need someplace to eat so you’ve gotta put your shit away when you’re done with it,” Steve began.

It was an old, familiar argument he didn’t have time to get into that morning.

“It’s not about the table,” Eddie sighed and felt Steve shift.

He sat up and pulled the covers from their heads, letting the morning light in. This was a conversation to have in daylight.

“Are you okay?” Steve pushed, trepidation in his voice.

It was 1993 and even if they’d never sat down and talked about what was going on with the rest of their community, they’d both seen it first-hand. No. Eddie wasn’t going to let the morning be about that either.

“I’m okay, Stevie. Promise,” Eddie assured, wrapping his pinkie around Steve’s and placing a kiss to their intertwined fingers.

“You know, I think a lot of things we’ve gotta do are bullshit, right?” Eddie began, crossing his legs and pulling Steve into his lap. The man shot him a confused look but nodded.

“Nine-to-five? Bullshit. Conforming to society? Bullshit. Growing up-.”

“Let me guess, bullshit?” Steve breathed and Eddie snorted.

“Yeah. But you and me? I think we’re the one thing in this world that’s not bullshit.”

Steve gave him a look Eddie knew too well. It was an echo of his ‘King Steve’ days, only a little softer around the edges. The look told Eddie Steve thought he was talking shit, but he was trying to be polite and not bring it up.

“Right,” Steve hummed thoughtfully.

“I’m not finished. Hold your bitchy comments until the end, dude,” Eddie snorted.

“Up until you, I thought relationships were... I’m going to stop saying bullshit. I thought they were for other people. And I also thought- shit. Alright. I’m doing this, aren’t I...?” Eddie huffed and pushed Steve back from him, leaning over to rummage around in his bedside drawer. He was really doing this. No turning back now.

He pulled out one of his favourite rings. It was a little more understated than the others, but it belonged to his Uncle Wayne, so it was his favourite. He turned back to see Steve. The man had gone pale. Finally, the guy was catching on. Here Eddie was thinking he’d never be able to surprise Steve again with how well they knew one another.

“I know we can’t get married, Steve. But I know how much you want to and it surprised the hell out of me, but I want that too. I don’t need a shitty piece of paper to know what you mean to me. We could have a party, invite Wayne, Robin and the kids over,” Eddie was rambling, his hands trembling as he passed the ring to Steve.

The guy looked seconds from crying or laughing, frozen in a half grin, half grimace. God, Eddie hoped that was a good sign.

“You haven’t asked the question yet, Eds,” Steve breathed, his lip twitching. Oh, that was a smile. A wave of relief crashed over Eddie.

“I want to be with you, Steve, forever. Will you marry me?”

Steve surged forward, wrapping his arms around Eddie’s shoulders and sending them both toppling backwards. Eddie could feel the man nod against his skin.

“I-,” Steve began, but paused when his voice sounded wet.

He sniffed and buried his face deeper into Eddie’s body. Steve hated anyone seeing him cry, even Eddie, especially Eddie. He waited, knowing the answer from the half-moon crescents Steve’s fingers were leaving in his skin.

Steve pulled back after a moment.

“Alright, on one condition,” He huffed, his voice still sounding rough.

“It’s always conditions with you,” Eddie teased, moving his free hand to Steve’s back, rubbing circles into his skin, trying to calm him down.

He knew how to put on a brave face, but Eddie understood marriage meant more to Steve than it did to him.

“Promise to clean your shit off the kitchen table and I’ll marry you,” Steve proposed. Eddie couldn’t help but laugh.

“How about this? I promise to clean up the table, if you promise to keep your crap on your side of the bathroom. Then we can get married.”

Steve pressed his lips to Eddie’s, morning breath be damned.

“You’ve got yourself a deal.”

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scrumptious-delusion · 1 year

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let’s get married

series masterlist

summary: an undercover mission is nothing new for you or bucky. however, using the cover of a newly-wed couple is.

pairing: bucky barnes x agent!female reader

warnings: swearing, humour, fluff 🥺, mention of: murder, injuries, knives, and blood.

length: 4.1k

a/n: third part in the little bird series. written for my 3k celebration, the prompt is bolded. don’t hold the accuracy of the russian against me, i just used google ✌.

You peek up at Bucky out of the corner of your eye.

His gaze is focused on Charlie as they deliver the mission briefing you’re too preoccupied to listen to.

This is the first time you’ve seen Bucky in six weeks.

The first time you’ve seen him since he sent you a whole basket full of flowers.

The first time you’ve seen him since realising you love him - that you’re in love with him.

No big deal.

As always, Bucky’s thick beard is neatly trimmed in the shape of his jawline, while his long hair is tied in a bun at the base of his neck. Gazing lower, you admire how the short sleeve of Bucky’s shirt stretches around his muscled right bicep that you’re eye level with and fight back a longing sigh.

Bucky’s hot. You’ve appreciated that fact since the start of your partnership.

Of course you’ve dabbled in a fantasy or two in the privacy of your bedroom, long before your recent revelation. You’re only human. A human with hormones and desires.

I get horny, okay?

In hindsight, you should have realised those harmless daydreams were the product of something bigger. Of something you were deliberately ignoring until it slapped you in the face, smelling like flowers.

You can’t help but wonder how Bucky - the man who takes everything in stride, would react if you just blurted out those three words to him right here, in the middle of a mission rundown.

I love you.

“What?”

The world comes to a screeching halt with cartoon sound effects as you’re wrenched out of your thoughts so violently someone might as well have poured freezing cold water over your head.

Darting your gaze back to Bucky’s face you’re relieved to see his attention is still directed at Charlie, meaning you didn’t accidentally declare your love for him out loud.

But if Bucky wasn’t speaking to you, that means he was speaking to Charlie.

He’s never spoken to a handler before, and not only that, he sounded…

Dismayed.

“What?” You repeat urgently, needing to know what was said.

You’re witnessing world history. Nothing fazes Bucky. Your first mission together well and truly proved that.

What’s the number for the Guiness World Record people?

Charlie looks from Bucky to you with a raised eyebrow. “I said, you’ll be using the cover of a newly-wed couple.”

“What?”

[THAT AFTERNOON]

Number seven of Daisy Court sits at the very end of a cul-de-sac and is essentially a copy-and-paste of every other house on the street.

The two-storey house is grey with white trimming and a dark, wooden front door. The concrete driveway you currently stand on leads to a one-car garage, while a pathway veering off to the left takes you up to the front porch.

The lawn is a vivid green and if you were to pull out a ruler you’re certain every blade of grass would be the Homeowners Association approved length of two inches.

For the foreseeable future, this is home.

Turning your head to the right, you look up at your new husband.

“Welcome home, honey.”

The lame joke only earns you some side-eye.

Along with the new house and husband are the names, Elise and James Prescott. At first you didn’t think it fair that Bucky got to keep his name but you dropped the subject when he - unlike you, was forced to undergo a make-over.

Bucky’s beard exists only in memory now.

His hair has been shortened and styled to curl around his ears, thick and fluffy. Every time your gaze lands on it your fingers twitch with the urge to feel.

The short hair and clean-shaven face make Bucky seem younger and less over life.

Well, when he’s not frowning at least.

“Hello neighbours!”

Oh boy.

You and Bucky share a look.

Spinning around, you showcase a megawatt smile. “Hi!”

A man in his early thirties jogs up to you both with a friendly grin. “My wife is gonna be so mad she missed your arrival,” He laughs “She baked lemon bars for the occasion.”

Sean Weaver.

You recognise him from the surveillance photos in your information packet. One of the mission’s two main targets.

“Oh, that’s so sweet of her.” You croon, holding out your hand. “I’m Elise and this is my husband, James.”

My husband, James.

Your heart pounds out a sporadic rhythm at those words.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you, I’m Sean.”

For a married man, Sean’s eyes linger a little too long in all the wrong places as he shakes your hand.

When he accepts Bucky’s hand next his face pinches into a slight wince.

It’s at that moment a car pulls up along the curb and an over-excited woman exits from the driver’s seat.

“Don’t tell me I almost missed the first introduction!”

Betty Weaver.

The mission’s other main target.

“Hello, hello,” The redhead grins, rushing up to wrap you in a hug. “I’m Betty, it’s so nice to meet you!”

Sean laughs at his wife’s enthusiasm. “Pumpkin, this is Elise and her husband, James.”

Betty releases you from her death grip, only to target Bucky next.

You can’t stop the laugh that shoots out of you when Bucky’s face momentarily displays his horror before falling unreadable once more as the smaller woman squeezes him.

Thankfully she steps back after only a moment, falling into her husband’s side.

“It’s been so long since we’ve had fresh faces around here.” Sean states.

Betty nods in agreement before asking “How long have you two been married?”

“A week.” You smile, wrapping your hands around Bucky’s closest bicep and pressing the side of your face into it.

This is how couples act, right?

A gasp, “Newly-weds, that’s so sweet!” A squeal, “Is this your first house?”

“It is.” You grin.

Leaning forward to poke Bucky’s chest, Betty orders “Don’t forget to carry her over the threshold mister.”

“I’m sure he was planning on it before I interrupted.” Sean chuckles goodnaturedly, looking down at his wife. “How about we leave the newly-weds to it?”

Betty pouts, but nods. “We’ll get properly acquainted once you’ve settled in.” She promises.

“I look forward to it.” You beam back.

“Well, until then neighbours.” Sean nods, ushering Betty back to her car.

You wave goodbye, one hand still around Bucky’s bicep as you allow him to lead you towards the house.

Three steps take you up onto the front porch and before you can even comment on Betty’s words, Bucky effortlessly sweeps you off your feet, cradling you in his arms bridal style. Instinctively, your arms loop around his neck, bringing your faces close together.

A squeal in the distance tells you the Weaver’s are still watching.

However, it’s hard to focus on anything when Bucky’s dark blue eyes are level with yours and only inches away. The back of his neck is warm against your forearm, and you can’t get over the feel of his bare skin on yours.

When Bucky speaks, his voice is low and rough. “Keys.”

Right.

Keeping your right arm around his neck, you dig the house keys out of your back jean pocket with your left hand. Bucky bends down when you get them free, allowing you to unlock the door and push it open.

He doesn’t straighten until he’s passed under the door frame and then he uses his foot to close the door behind him, blocking out the Weaver’s prying eyes.

Bucky lowers you to the floor slowly, waiting until you’re sure-footed before letting you go.

A tense, unfamiliar air lingers between the two of you.

“Well,” You scratch at the back of your neck “I think that went well.”

Bucky hums, watching you.

You’ve never struggled to fill a silence before, but suddenly something that’s so natural for you seems so hard.

C’mon, think of the mission. There’s gotta be something you can -

“Betty seems so nice, it’s hard to believe she’s murdered like fifteen people.”

[THE NEXT MORNING]

You find Bucky standing on the porch, looking out at the quiet neighbourhood as the morning sun breaks over the horizon.

A frown is etched between his eyebrows as he glares at the road.

“What did the street ever do to you?” You mumble sleepily, holding out a cup of coffee.

Bucky looks down at the drink, his eyes flicking to yours for a moment before he accepts the mug and stares at the road again.

“I hate cul-de-sacs, there’s only one way out and the people are kind of weird.” Bucky answers.

That has to be one of the longest sentences he’s ever spoken.

“Really? But everything about you screams suburbia.” You reply sarcastically.

Bucky’s mouth twitches.

“So…” Don’t ask, don’t ask. “I guess that means, you know,” Do not ask. “The whole wife and kids thing doesn’t appeal to you then.”

The mug pauses for a second on its journey to Bucky’s mouth before continuing. You watch as he takes a large sip and wonder if he’s going to respond.

Suddenly his dark blue eyes are piercing into you. “Do I have to like cul-de-sacs to want that?”

Why am I flushing?

“No, of course -”

“Morning neighbours!”

You both turn to see Betty jogging in place near your letterbox, waving eagerly.

“Morning!” You smile, waving back.

Grinning, Betty continues on her run.

Bucky twists around and heads back inside, sighing “I gotta get ready for work.”

Right.

James Prescott is an accountant at a local firm where he works five days a week from eight in the morning until five in the afternoon, like a good, upstanding American citizen.

You try not to laugh too much at the image of Bucky in a small office, surrounded by chatty co-workers and demanding customers.

As funny as it is, you can’t help but feel a little bad, having struck the better end of the deal once again.

Elise Prescott is an aspiring author and with her husband’s steady income, a stay at home wife.

Meaning, pretty much all of the mission’s reconnaissance falls solely on you.

Biting your lip, you try and fail to hold back your smile.

“Goodbye honey.”

With his back to the street and any spying neighbours, Bucky doesn’t hide his glare. “маленькая птица,” He warns quietly.

“Have the best day at work.” You continue, speaking louder than you normally would because you’re positive people are listening in.

Unable to resist, you raise your right hand and lightly tap his cheek. “Go make those numbers your bitch.”

Closing his eyes, Bucky inhales very, very deeply.

Your giggle has his eyes popping back open.

Okay, I’ve tormented the poor man enough.

Rocking up on your toes, you press a kiss to the clean shaven cheek you just tapped. “Bye.” You say more earnestly as you take a step away from him and the car.

Bucky studies you for a moment before climbing into the car and driving away. You wave until his car has disappeared down the street.

For just a second, the whole charade almost feels real.

[THREE DAYS LATER]

People always underestimate how boring and tedious undercover missions can be.

Since Bucky isn’t home for nine hours each weekday, you spend your days alone, re-reading the same information about your targets while staking them out.

You’ve introduced yourself to the neighbours that border you - the Weaver’s and the Newman’s, and they’ve introduced you to their neighbours and so forth.

Each day you take two walks around Daisy Court. The first in the morning after you see Bucky off to work and the second in the evening, just before Bucky returns home.

It’s a good way to make observations, start conversations, and familiarise yourself with everyone’s routines - particularly the Weaver’s.

Sean works from home, which means you’ve had no chance to snoop, but Betty has been your saving grace. Though she works in the city, she’s home by four every afternoon and she always joins you on your evening walks. It’s easy to pull snippets of useful information from her and today she provides you with the best news yet.

“After weeks of nagging him, he’s finally booked a doctor’s appointment.”

“Good!” You exclaim, “It’s always better to be safe than sorry.”

“Exactly!” Betty nods. “I’ll let you know what the doctor says tomorrow afternoon, his appointment is at quarter to two.”

No one will be home.

The two of you reach your driveway just as Bucky pulls in.

Glancing down at her watch, Betty sighs “I wish Sean was as punctual as your man.”

You don’t need to look at the time to know it’s exactly 5:15.

The driver’s door opens and Bucky’s long legs swing out before the rest of his towering body unfolds from the car.

Betty nudges you forward with a grin like she does every afternoon and you give her an eye-roll over your shoulder but approach your husband nonetheless.

“Hi honey.”

You know there’s a chance Bucky might kill you once this mission is over for all you’ve put him through while the neighbours are watching, but you’re having way too much fun to consider stopping.

“How was work?”

Bucky’s left eye twitches at your question as he shuts the car door and that makes you feel bad.

Sitting in a cubicle and being surrounded by people is going as well as one would imagine for him.

Leaning up on your toes, you press your now usual kiss to his cheek.

Bucky’s shoulder’s drop just slightly. “It was fine sweetheart.” He mumbles, placing a hand on your lower back.

Sweetheart?

Nodding at Betty, Bucky steers the two of you up to the house.

You’re too dazed to turn around and wave goodbye.

[THE NEXT AFTERNOON]

Peering out one of the second floor windows, you watch as Sean’s car disappears down the street. You’ve been on pins and needles all day waiting for him to leave for his appointment.

Time to shine.

Rushing to your backyard, you use a strategically placed garden statue to boost yourself over the fence and into the Weaver’s backyard.

Using a lock pick to open their back door, you enter cautiously.

Once you’re certain there’s no alarms for you to trip, you begin scouring the house. The layout is identical to your own and when you eventually wind up in the office upstairs it’s like striking gold.

You take pictures of every document outlining transactions, shippings, and other incriminating information. Every photo is automatically uploaded to a secure server.

Just as you’re flicking through a notepad for any useful scribbles, you hear the front door shut.

Fuck.

Looking down at your watch, the numbers 2:07 glare back at you.

Seriously?

Of course Sean Weaver would have the world’s quickest doctor’s appointment.

Alright, think.

The office is probably one of the first places Sean will go to so you can’t risk slipping out now in the hopes of getting around him to head for the back door. Turning to the window behind you, you push it open and analyse the drop.

Nope.

However, the trim that goes around the house exterior just below the window is thick enough for you to stand on with the tips of your toes - it’s a risk though.

The sound of Sean’s footsteps on the stairs makes the decision easy.

Straddling the windowsill, you dangle your right leg out and lower it until your foot makes contact with the trim. Gripping the house exterior with your right hand and the window frame with your left, you swing the rest of your body out, placing your left foot beside your right on the trim.

Using your left hand, you pull the window close.

Okay.

Your whole body shakes with the effort of holding yourself on the small ledge. Your hands are sweating and there’s no real purchase on the house wall, just the small grooves in the panelling that you grip at with your fingertips.

It shouldn’t surprise you that you slip.

Somehow you keep the scream trapped in your throat as you fall.

Miraculously, you manage to grab the trimming you had been standing on, effectively halting your descent. However, the sudden stop jars your arms and causes your body to swing into the house.

You knew there was no real chance of you hanging there long with your weakened arms, but now your drop to the ground isn’t as great - but fuck does it hurt.

It’s your knees that absorb the impact of the fall before you land on your left side with a thump. If it had been grass beneath you it wouldn’t have been so bad. Of course, It’s just your luck that you’ve fallen into a garden bed of pebbles, your forehead connecting with the sharp edge of one.

With no time to waste, you crawl as fast as you can to the fence.

There’s no advantage of a boost this time around, so you jump as high as you can, grasping at the top of the fence with both hands. Using all of your remaining strength, you heave yourself up and over.

You drop unceremoniously on the other side, having no energy to slowly lower yourself to the ground.

This particular fall doesn’t hurt as much, the grass making for a much softer landing.

In the safety of your backyard, you lay unmoving on your side, trying to catch your breath as your body throbs all over.

That was close.

Too close.

You tell yourself you’ll get up on the count of three and when you miss that cue, you count to three again, then again, then again -

Bucky will be home in three hours.

Waiting for him sounds like a much better plan.

“Y/N.”

The voice is unmistakable, making you frown.

Holy shit, that was a fast three hours.

“маленькая птица.” The edge of panic is clear in Bucky’s tone as you hear him drop to the ground beside you before rolling you onto your back.

“Hi honey.”

Bucky releases a rough exhale you think might have been a laugh if he wasn’t so concerned.

“You’re bleeding, what happened?” His words are sharp, demanding an answer.

Just as your mouth opens to give one, Bucky’s lifting you into his arms for the second time this week.

God, I could get used to this.

“Y/N.”

Oh right.

“Sean came home earlier than I expected.”

Bucky’s grip tightens around you as you recount your less than stellar escape.

“How come you’re home early?” You ask after you’ve finished.

Instead of answering you, Bucky lowers you onto the bed you’ve been sharing and then disappears into the bathroom.

Groaning, you sit yourself up on the edge of the mattress. “I got some really good intel.” You call out to him.

Bucky re-emerges with a handful of first aid supplies that he places next to you on the bed.

Crouching between your legs, he pulls a knife out of -

Where did he just pull that out of?

Also, “What are you -”

“Stay still.”

Before he’s even finished speaking, Bucky’s slicing his knife up the right leg of your jeans, from ankle to thigh.

He does the same to the left leg of your jeans, displaying your knees for his perusal. They’re red and already starting to bruise, but there’s no blood.

Ignoring the tingle his slashing sent up your spine, you say “You know, you could’ve just asked me to take them off.”

You’re starting to wonder how hard you hit your head and if you’re actually speaking as Bucky once again doesn’t respond, instead turning his attention to your arms.

Bucky wraps a hand around each of your wrists, raising them above your head to scrutinise your forearms and hands. They’re scratched up real good and bleeding lightly.

The next ten or so minutes pass by quietly as Bucky cleans your scratches with careful movements.

He leaves the cut on your forehead last.

Bucky’s metal hand cups your right cheek, the cold sensation an odd contradiction to the seemingly normal looking human hand you can see, courtesy of a cloaking device from Stark Industries for undercover missions like this one.

He cleans the cut above your left eyebrow as gently as he can but the pressure still causes you to wince.

Dark blue eyes cut to yours for a moment before focusing back on your injury.

You’re thankful for how lethargic your intense escape has made you, because if you were in an alert state right now you know your heart would be beating furiously at Bucky’s contact and close proximity.

Something he would’ve heard clear as day.

In fact, you’re feeling so lethargic your eyelids are beginning to droop.

“Hey,” Bucky murmurs “You with me?”

You hum, “Just tired.”

His metal thumb brushes over your cheek as he keeps working on your cut. “Gonna have to stay awake for a while, ‘til I know you’re okay.”

Eyes still closed, you huff.

“I’ll make you pasta for dinner.”

Your eyes shoot open at that and Bucky’s mouth tilts up in reaction.

“With garlic bread?” You ask hopefully.

Bucky’s nod makes you beam.

With a full stomach and Bucky’s permission to finally sleep, you crawl under the soft, white sheets of the king sized bed.

Curling onto your side facing Bucky, your eyes fall shut instantly, tiredness washing over you.

Reaching up, you gingerly touch the bandage Bucky placed over the cut on your forehead and your heart warms as you recall how he tended to you this afternoon.

“I never thanked you for the flowers.” You whisper suddenly into the darkness.

Despite calling Bucky not even an hour after you received them, you never said the words “thank you”. It had been the sole purpose of your call, but for some reason you couldn’t get the words out, couldn’t acknowledge what he’d done.

Acknowledging the flowers scared you, because it also felt like acknowledging your love for him - to him.

“You didn’t need to.” Is his simple reply.

“I did,” You disagree “They were beautiful Bucky, I… No one’s ever given me flowers before.”

The admission feels intimate, and you suppose it is. If you weren’t in such a drowsy state you wouldn’t be saying any of this.

When Bucky doesn’t respond after a couple of minutes you stop fighting the urge to sleep.

“Я куплю тебе столько цветов, сколько ты захочешь, маленькая птица.”

Already drifting off, you mumble “English.”

There’s a short pause.

“I’ll buy you as many flowers as you want, little bird.”

You fall soundly asleep at that moment, the confession heard only in your dreams.

[THE NEXT MORNING]

Pulling out a thick wad of junk mail from the letterbox, you close and lock the small hatch.

“Morning neighbour.”

Forcing a smile, you turn to face Sean as he approaches. He’s shirtless, wearing only long pyjama pants.

Meh. Seen better.

“Hey Sean.”

Coming to a stop in front of you, he leans against your letterbox. “Any plans for the weekend?”

“Um,” You make a thoughtful expression “I’m not sure, I haven’t asked James yet.”

Grinning, Sean states “Being newly-weds, I think the plan would be obvious.” Leaning closer to point at the bandage on your forehead, he winks “Though it looks like maybe you’re getting a little too wild.”

Jesus.

You can’t decide whether to knee him in the balls or punch him in the nose, which sums up almost every interaction you’ve had with Sean.

The guy is a serious creep, something his file failed to mention.

You’re thinking of a response when a large hand slides over your right hip, settling on your stomach and pressing you back into a hard body.

Oh.

“Morning Sean.” There’s nothing friendly in Bucky’s tone.

Without waiting for a response, Bucky’s other hand weaves into your hair and tilts your head back until your eyes lock with his.

“I thought I told you to stay in bed.” He husks.

You’re certain your eyes bulge out of your head.

It’s a good thing Bucky doesn’t expect a reply because there is not a single thought in your head. Just that sentence in that tone repeating over and over.

Fantasy fuel.

“Back inside.”

Yessiree.

Giving Sean a brief nod, Bucky takes you back to the house.

Stepping onto the porch, you’re still trying to remember your name when Bucky grunts beside you, gazing over his shoulder.

The arm around your waist tightens and the next thing you know, Bucky’s pulling you into his chest and kissing you.

Bucky’s mouth muffles your noise of surprise as his soft lips press against yours, absolutely bewitching you.

It’s the greatest kiss of your life and it only lasts five seconds.

Pulling back, Bucky’s dark blue eyes dart between yours, his pupils blown wide.

You can’t tell if it’s you or him who lunges forward to meet in another kiss.

This kiss isn’t gentle, rather it’s bruising and greedy. Your hands find purchase in Bucky’s hair, the junk mail forgotten on the ground as you’re walked backwards into the house, Bucky kicking the door shut behind him.

#bucky x reader #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes #bucky barnes x agent!reader #scrumptious3k #let's get married

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