Delicateflappizzaplaid - E.

Percy Hynes White as Xavier Thorpe Wednesday (2022 - )

Carlos Sainz

#cs55🌶️

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Christmas Cookies - Bucky Barnes x Fem!Reader

Summary: Bucky notices Reader isn’t feeling the Christmas spirit this year so he does everything he can think of to bring it back to her.

Word Count: 1297

A/n: Day 22 and my little writing challenge is almost over, I’m very surprised I made it this far tbh but I’m also ready for a little break from posting everyday haha anyway that’s enough of me rambling, I hope you enjoy.

Something was wrong, Bucky could tell although he was sure exactly what it was. Two weeks into December and she was still yet to put up her Christmas decorations or even attempt to do anything in the Christmas spirit. Now to others that may not seem like a problem but he knew his girlfriend. Like clockwork he’d come home on December 1st and you could guarantee that the tree would be up, there would be Christmas music playing throughout their apartment and he would find her in the kitchen baking up a storm. This year however there had been none of that.

Now Bucky had let it slide, figuring work was busier for her as it was with most people at this time of year. He had noticed that she seemed to be leaving for work earlier and coming home later than usual so he put it down to her being tired but with one week to go until Christmas, he was finding it harder not to say anything.

So he had a plan, he’d been out and bought all the necessary ingredients to bake the Christmas cookies she always made and more than enough candy to decorate them, he had also picked up some already baked cookies ready to decorate just in case his didn’t go to plan. The first step in his plan though, was to decorate the apartment while she was out at work in hopes that her first steps into the apartment brought back some of that Christmas cheer she seemed to be lacking this year.

“Have a good day doll, don’t miss me too much” Bucky smiles over his mug of coffee as she passes him on her way out of the door. She replies with a wave and a tired smile before the door closes behind her, leaving him alone in the apartment.

With a sigh, Bucky drains the rest of the coffee in the mug and prays that his plan was going to cheer her up as he deposits the mug in the sink and he sets to work pulling the decorations out of the storage cupboard which doesn’t take him long and then all that’s left to do was to get a tree. Hopefully there were still some left this close to Christmas.

An hour later, he’d arrived home with the tree that he considered to be the best of the bunch, it wasn’t perfect but it would have to do. Getting it up to the apartment had been easier than expected but he put that down to the super serum coursing through his veins giving him more strength than the average male, not that it was anything to brag about given things he’d done with said strength that he was only just coming to terms with that were not down to him but more the mind control of Hydra.

Focusing his mind on the more pressing matter of decorating the apartment, he sets about fixing the tree to the base until he’s satisfied that it’s stable enough to not fall over before he finds the boxes of baubles. He knows she has a certain way of how she likes to place them, usually going back to rearrange them a few times until she is happy with the result so Bucky tries his hardest to make sure it looks good. By the time he’s finished he’s sure that the tree is evenly covered with baubles and he has to admit he’s done a better job than he expected to so he moves on to the rest of the decorations, little Christmas trinkets that she always puts out around the apartment.

After he finishes he grabs a quick spot of lunch and then decides to make a start on the cookies so that by the time she gets home they should be cool enough for them to decorate.

Pulling her bag higher on her shoulder, she steps from the lift and out into the corridor leading to the apartment but the moment she nears the door her heart drops, inside she can hear the high pitched screeching of the fire alarm. Scrambling for her keys, she lets herself in and upon opening the door the noise only gets louder. She knows the smart thing to do would be to wait outside maybe call 911 but she doesn’t see any flames only the haze of smoke drifting from the kitchen which is where she runs to but the last thing she’s expecting to see is the window wide open and Bucky desperately trying to waft the smoke away from the smoke alarm in hopes of quieting it. Despite the panic coursing through her she can’t help the smile that lights up her face at the scene in front of her.

Turning to the doorway as if sensing her presence, Bucky’s heart drops. This was not how he had planned to surprise her but the smile on her face is one he’s not seen for a while, too impatient to wait for the alarm to stop, he pulls it from its holder and yanks the batteries from it before he drops it on the counter.

“Thank god” he sighs in relief and the quiet but his ears are still ringing from the sound, “You’re home early” he comments, now making his way towards her and opening his arms as she melts into his hug, feeling the best she’s felt all day.

“Yeah, finished all I had to for the week and boss said I could go early” she hums, pushing her body further into his hold and he tightens his arms around her, “what were you up to anyway” she asks a little while later, her head tilting up so that she could look at him.

Bucky let’s out what sounds like a nervous chuckle, his non-metal hand coming up to rub at the back of his neck. “I was baking cookies as a surprise for you” he mumbles as her eyes soften from the curious look she was giving him to one that can only be described as lovestruck. ‘Usually by now you’re in such a festive mood and everything is fun and you’re happy but this year it seemed like all the happiness had been sucked from you and I just wanted to do something to get you in the christmas spirit but I almost burnt the apartment down instead" he pouts, a look he doesn’t often wear but she’s seen enough times.

“You didn’t have to do all that” she says softly, “though I do appreciate it but to me this year just doesn’t feel like Christmas and I don’t know why” she sighs, dropping her gaze and nuzzling her head into his chest.

“Well we have the rest of the afternoon and I have some perfectly good cookies that need decorating if you’re not too tired” Bucky suggests, reaching out to pull her from his chest, his hand just underneath her chin as he tilts her face towards him. Leaning in he places a soft kiss to her lips and he pulls away to find her smiling brightly.

“Let me just get changed and I’ll be right back” she nods, pulling free from him altogether as she heads back towards the living room, towards the bedroom but in the doorway she stops, just now noticing what she had been too distracted to see earlier, “You put up the decorations too” she gasps, her hands coming to rest on her chest and over her heart as she turns back to a smiling Bucky who nods at her words, “I love you” she smiles before rushing off to get changed out of her work clothes, so that she can get back to the man she loves.

Just Eddie😍

you don't say

[bucky barnes x disabled!reader]

summary: you matched on a dating app, but you didn't tell him that you use a cane. bucky's response is not what you expected. it's better.

warnings: mention of smut, but mostly fluff and insecurity on both bucky and reader's part. autumnal vibes all around.

a/n: i became disabled in the last few years and i have really struggled with needing a cane to increase my mobility, especially where dating is concerned. i wrote this as a love letter to myself, and other babes who are processing what it means to accept love as a disabled human being. enjoy. <3

***

You didn’t tell him. 

If the last six were a good litmus, it was for the best. Apparently being that honest with a man you met on a dating app was to be avoided at all costs. The goal, ultimately, was to have him say: “You’re prettier in person,” and then flush like he was comparing the version of you in his head to the reality before him, and coming up wanting.

Bucky was his name. He hadn’t proposed anything rigorous–he liked coffee, as did you. It wasn’t like he suggested a Central Park marathon for your date.  You weren’t even sure how you matched; it probably happened when you left your phone unattended in the same room as Natasha–whose taste was much more varied than yours. Adventurous. It’s not that you wouldn’t have swiped in interest over Bucky, 39, Brooklyn. But not until he swiped first. 

That wasn’t entirely true. You remembered his face popping up as you doom-scrolled for Jesus, on a two day pajama pity-party bender. Consuming Norah Ephron films and cheap cabernet, you swiped right on any man with kind eyes who didn’t have a fish picture in his array. Which… the pickings were slim. But his face–Bucky’s–appeared beneath your thumb as Meg Ryan met Tom Hanks at the top of the Empire State Building on your third watch-through of ‘Sleepless in Seattle,’ and it felt serendipitous. Bucky, 39, Brooklyn looked very serious, and he had a white long-haired cat. You swiped. He swiped. He was nice in his first message…

Hi… I’m new to this, but it looks like we both hit the magic button.

So, there you were.

You arranged to meet at eleven–you were at the coffee shop by ten-thirty, so you could sit by the window and not have to walk towards him. You tucked yourself into the booth and stashed your things on the bench seat beside you, eager to meet the first guy who said yes to a date since you got back on the horse, so to speak. Nevermind that you hadn’t told him the whole truth.

When he walked in–ten minutes early–he scanned the little cafe until his eyes fell on you. His expression went from hardened and serious to… bashful, almost. He recognized you right away, and there was no way you could mistake him either. 

What was that thing about people being prettier in person? 

He was dressed in layers to combat Autumn in New York (comfortable in varying shades of blue and brown) with leather gloves on, which shone like they hadn’t yet been worn before that day. So like a native New Yorker to wear the same tattered coat… but quality, definitely an expensive peacoat which could last him several generations… but buy brand new gloves when the slightest chill sets in.

Bucky was scruffy, like he couldn’t quite bother to shave but every few days. You didn’t mind. When he approached, he had vibrant energy, like it was all packed up inside with nerves.

“Hi. Sorry. I think we had the same idea,” he said breathlessly as he approached. He held out his right hand to you. You grasped his fingers automatically, but he didn’t shake. He squeezed softly, and then pressed it between his own. 

“It’s Bucky. I’ve already had coffee. Too much. I was nervous. But if you still want some, I’ll just get decaf.” 

“Y/n. To be honest, I did the same,” you chuckled, nodding to the half-empty carafe on the table, which your waiter had left after the third refill in twenty minutes. “It’s nice to meet in person.”

“I don’t do this kinda thing, I gotta warn you.” Bucky shucked off his coat and slid into the booth across from you. The gloves remained. He had a loved but noble corduroy blazer on, over a henley. “Dating. I hate the whole conceit.”

“You’re two-for-two!” You grinned. “My roommate got me on the apps. They can be blamed for seventy-five percent of my daily dread.”

“What’s the other quarter?”

“Global warming, and getting shat on by pigeons coming out of the subway.”

“Fair,” he said, smiling. You dimpled at one another. “We don’t have to stay. We’re caffeinated, and I might start levitating, here. We could walk a bit?”

Your stomach lurched. “We could. Where?”

“Dunno. I’m sorry–I have no idea how to be out. We should just sit here for the requisite number of minutes before upsetting the structure of a date.” He smiled at you pleasantly, but it was clear how incredibly nervous he still was… and how unlikely it was to go away unless he could be more active. Which meant standing. Walking, some. Something which you were not prepared to do.

Bucky watched your expression shift. He sat forward and reached out to touch your forearm. “You okay?”

“So. Yes, um. Yes, I’m okay,” you sighed. “It’s still new for me so I’m figuring it out, but… walking long distances? Can’t do it. I could probably handle a short walk, but I’ve had a rough time the last week, so I don’t know how much stamina I have. Even with my trusted friend, here. So.” You showed the head of your cane above the table bashfully, and looked away. “Sorry–people get weird about this stuff, I’m finding out, so I don’t really say anything in advance.”

Bucky blinked for a moment, then he leaned forward, resting both elbows on the table. “What do you mean weird?” His blue eyes narrowed.

“Suddenly unmatch. Tell me ‘it’s such a shame.’” You huffed. “Although it’s guys, on the whole. Women care less. But that’s beside the point–”

“Because of that?” He pointed at the seat beside you, where all of your belongings were stashed, and you knew what he meant. You nodded.

“I don’t say it in so many words. I’m not like–hey, just fyi, I use a cane, so deal with it or fuck off–”

“Why not? That would be a good way to separate out the weak and worthless,” Bucky said, but you could’ve sworn you heard a little touch of anger in his tone. He shook his head. “Doll… shit. Men are shit.”

“Yeah. They are. Sorry.”

“No, I’m shit, too. You can’t insult me when it’s true.” Bucky sat back against the worn cushion. “So, we going? Or are you going to talk me into an espresso to see if I can fly?”

“Sure. If you want to. I’m just slow–”

“Nonsense.” Bucky scooted out of the booth. “I grew up in this neighborhood. There’s plenty to do. And see.” He paused. “If this is insulting, just tell me to fuck off… You can lean on me.” He held out his elbow like an offering.

You could have cried. “Um. Okay.”

“Yeah? I–I would’ve offered, regardless. I like talking to you. I’ve enjoyed myself… through the phone.” Bucky scratched his cheek in embarrassment. “So. Even if you didn’t share, I probably would’ve tried to find a reason.”

“Really, I’ve just given you an excuse,” you said, tamping down a smile. He nodded solemnly.

“It’s thoughtful of you to spare me.” Bucky raised his eyebrows, waiting. The waiter breezed by, just then–

“You can pay at the front register!” the beleaguered hipster sighed, gesturing to the counter at which there was an extensive line. Bucky grabbed his elbow and fished a bill out of his pocket, slapping it in the guy’s palm. The waiter stared down at the twenty in his hand. “Great. I’m a human cash register.”

“Keep the change,” Bucky said. He turned back to you. “Do you get motion sick?”

“No?” You were clearly holding up whatever grand plans he was making in his head, so you hastily grabbed your things. Bucky liberated your coat from your hands and held it open. You stood slowly, leaning on the aid which had given you newfound freedom. Bucky smiled at you softly. He wasn’t impatient, just… excited. You slid your arms into your coat with Bucky’s help, and then curled your fingers into his elbow. His cheeks reddened. He had a boyishness to him which was endearing. 

“This okay?”

Okay? Well. If you considered the wafting warmth of sandalwood cologne and the soft weave of his woolen peacoat okay, then you were dandy. You nodded, feeling your own cheeks flush under his attentive gaze.

“Great. I have an idea, if you’re game. So.” He cleared his throat, ushering you through the front door of the shop onto the sidewalk. “Where do you stand on surprises?”

“Um. Hate ‘em, to be honest.”

“How bad?”

“Flash mob? My idea of hell.”

“K–In that case, I’m gonna call a friend, he runs a ride service. There’s a festival in bridge park–I keep seeing fliers for it all over. We could check it out.”

You couldn’t help the smile which pulled at your cheeks. If that’s the sort of surprise Bucky had in mind, you would’ve been charmed by it. But knowing how quickly his brain was working to improvise a date was impressive, so you squeezed his elbow. 

“Sounds fun.”

“Good. Okay.” His mouth turned up at the corner and his eyes crinkled. 

He quickly dialed a number he had memorized, but not saved in his contacts. It made you wonder how many other people he knew by heart, and what it took to be remembered by this Brooklyn boy. He didn’t say much into the phone, just the intersection you stood on. Bucky hung up abruptly and pocketed his phone again, clearly intent on hiding it away.

“He’s two streets over, it’ll be five minutes max.”

He was a horse-and-buggy driver, who had festooned his buggy with bales of hay and pumpkins bearing hastily Sharpie’d faces drawn on them by someone under the age of ten. When the carriage pulled up outside of the chain coffee shop, Bucky grinned, passing the coachman a tenner and ushering you into the four-wheeled hayride. The straw was strewn over the plush seating poorly enough to poke you in the ass, even through your coat, but Bucky was so excited to pull the plaid wool blanket over your legs that you tolerated the gluteal acupuncture. He stashed your cane beside himself, and pressed you close enough that your thigh pressed against his. 

“I went to school with Pat,” he explained, gesturing to the driver who was too far away to engage in conversation, but kept throwing back knowing glances at you and Bucky. “Kindergarten through the twelfth grade.”

“You really are in your neighborhood.”

“Yeah.” He blushed. “Never did get out, like I thought I would. Not complaining though. There’s a lot to love about Brooklyn.”

Bucky encouraged you to wrap your arm through the loop of his elbow again, and pointed out things to you about Brooklyn which had defied your notice prior. Brickwork at the pinnacle of a building, dating back to the 1920’s. A man dressed like a bush who stood on the street corner, blocking the walk button so no pedestrian could disturb his meditation. The fire hydrant he broke the bolt off senior year, flooding the sewer drains and causing rats to rush down the gutters like a parade of hissing floats. Halloween decorations in windows. Scarecrows mounted to telephone poles like they guarded a field of yellow taxis with as much aplomb as a treasury of corn stalks.

All the while… he distracted you. Little touches on your wrist where your coat met your skin with his soft gloves left you curling your fingers around air, and still he persisted. You studied his profile when he was distracted. With stubble and expression lines, he had character. He wasn’t stoic like you had thought him. Every inkling which crossed his brain was projected on his forehead like a drive-in feature just for you. And he kept smiling at you. 

You arrived at Brooklyn Bridge park having spent an eternity and no time at all in a horse-drawn carriage positively burdened with loose hay, but the tents and balloons and various sizes of gourds distracted you from anything but the Autumnal joy of it all. Stalls lined the park in a makeshift walkway, which smelled of pie spices and syrup, and crisping ham on a rotisserie, and campfire. 

When he helped you down from the carriage, placing your cane at your dominant side, Bucky instantly seemed to have a plan. Time passed like you were observing through a looking glass. He ushered a cup of cider into your hands, and then adios’d the empty into the garbage once you finished it. You dominated the hammer game, winning a massive plush gorilla. Which you promptly gave away to the first screaming child you saw, to Bucky’s amusement. He fed you funnel cake while you picked out your choice for the fastest piglet in a race which consisted of five piglets running around a kiddie pool. You lost–everyone did, when the piglets abandoned course to lay in the tepid water and snort bubbles at one another–but you left a lingering dusting of powdered sugar behind at the corner of your mouth. Bucky wiped it away without a second thought.

And so the date continued, with you floating beside a man whose eyes sparkled with delight every time you found joy in something. It didn’t feel like you had only met that day. You reached for his hand to express delight. He curled his fingers over your shoulder to wish you luck in the ring toss. Bucky–Barnes was his last name, you learned–was some kind of familiar fixture. He even bought you a coffee, and then brutally beat a group of sixth-graders at bobbing-for-apples.

It wasn’t until the sun tucked itself behind the rooftops that you realized dusk approached. Without needing to ask, Bucky summoned a cab. You had leaned on him heavily the second half of the afternoon, and opted to sit every opportunity you got. Yet… Bucky’s excitement never diminished. It wasn’t until you sat on the top step of your stoop that you realized it.

That was the best date you had ever been on.

And you sure as hell didn’t want it to end. The stars were out in force–as clear a night as you had ever seen in the city of light pollution, and yet… Orion’s belt… the pan handle of a Dipper… stars shone for you.

Bucky shoved his hands into his coat pockets in acknowledgement of the drop in temperature, while he balanced one foot up a step from you. He studied you through honest eyes–that is, he looked at you like he saw who you were without pretense. Which felt very vulnerable.

“Repeat the question,” you breathed.

Bucky smiled. “You date much?”

You shook your head. “No. To be honest, I don’t usually feel like it’s worth it. Putting myself out there. I’m sorry–I know it sounds like I’m wallowing in self-pity, but, uh. I don’t know if I’ll ever get used to it. Being turned down. Because I use a stupid piece of metal to walk.”

“You could spend a lot of time feeling sorry for yourself, doll. And–that’s not to say you don’t have the goddamn right to feel some type of way about it. It’s your body, it’s not how you pictured your life going. Of course you’re gonna be sore about it. You aren’t alone in that. I’m just sayin’... Anybody who’d lose out on a chance with you because of something as insignificant as a tube of aluminum ain’t the type of person you wanna waste your time with anyhow.”

“It’s weird. I don’t disagree with what you’re saying, but. I dunno. It’s hard to think people exist who aren’t gonna be weird about a freakin’ cane.”

Bucky crossed his arms. “Fuck’em. Waste of your time.”

“What about you? Are you a time-waster?”

“Worse. I’m a Brooklyn boy. We can wait out a stubborn dame with the best of ‘em.” Bucky braced himself on the railing. “Can I take you out again?”

“You’re gonna sit on my porch until I agree to a second date?”

“I–when you say it like that, I sound like a creep,” he chuckled. “No, I just… if you had a good time, and I really hope you did, I would like to treat you to another date. I took a wild guess on the festival idea, but I can think of a million other things. More than just coffee.”

“I was holding a coffee mug in my profile photo,” you laughed. “That was enough.”

“There’s more out there.”

“I had a good time.”

“Is that a ‘yes’?”

You watched his face turn from excitement to pure glee. His body angled towards you intensely. All his energy was directed towards you. It made your skin tingle, and all good sense fled from your mind.

“Just come in, Bucky.”

“You gotta say it, or I ain’t budging. This is all up to you, doll.”

“Yes, okay?” You leaned against the doorway with an exasperated sigh. “I had a great time. You’re adorable, and exhausting, and I’ve never had more fun on a first date. Or any date, for that matter. Please–come inside. Kiss me a little. I think you’re probably good at it.”

“It’s been awhile,” he admitted quietly, though he pushed off the railing to do as you bid him.

“Good. I don’t like it so formal–”

“You’re so cute.”

“I’m not–”

“No, it isn’t up for debate.” Bucky tucked a finger under your chin so you’d look up at him, given that your attention had fallen to the laces of his boots in embarrassment. His irises flicked back and forth, mapping every refraction in your eyes. “I know cute when I see her. And there’s nobody else in this whole damned city but you, doll.”

He kissed you as if that were true… as if he had stepped out of the subway to a world devoid of anything but a billion scattered golden leaves tracing circles on the pavement, and a girl with a cane who hates surprises. As if–in that dystopian and autumnal universe, that were heaven to him. Like he’d been looking for you in every empty coffee shop. Like he knew you, and it was only a matter of walking into the right store. It was soft, the drag of his lips over yours. At first he just ghosted a millimeter from your mouth, but then he needed to know… so he gave in. He didn’t spoil it with tongue too soon. Bucky discovered you.

You’d been kissed, but never at the world’s end. The world you knew was siphoned away. In this one? Well, kisses stopped time. Made leaves hang in the air between gasping breaths. Kisses were where the light got in. Where sun broke through clouds… where a girl who didn’t much care for vulnerability let a man she barely knew steal every little sound from her throat, out on her front stoop where anybody could see them.

You got the door open by feel, and stayed on your feet by virtue of the man with roving hands who backed you into the building. It was for the best that your apartment was on the first floor, because your knees threatened to buckle when his tongue worried the seam of your lips. He tucked the crook of your cane into the curve of his elbow when you tore yourself away to fight the finicky lock at your threshold. 

“I didn’t expect to have anyone over,” you said by way of an explanation for whatever mess might be found inside, but Bucky snorted.

“When are you gonna get it through your head?” He nipped at the tendon which helped form the curve from your shoulder to neck, making you shiver. “I don’t give a shit if all you got is a mattress on the floor. I like you.”

“I have a bit more furniture than that,” you giggled, “but I still appreciate you saying it.”

The moment you were inside the apartment, Bucky leaned back against the door and turned you, so you stood between his feet. He looked at you through heavily-lidded eyes. “Tell me.”

You turned your attention to the buttons on his coat as he saw right through you. “Bucky–”

“I think you like kissing me, but you’re skittish. If you’re freaked out…”

“I’m–shit.” You sighed. “I believe you. That you like me, I do. But I am so used to feeling like nobody is ever gonna want me back–”

“Impossible.” He cupped your cheeks. “Look at you.”

“Bucky,” you groaned. 

“No, stop it. I know what you’re doing. Oldest trick in my book. You think that a good thing is a lie, that it ain’t gonna hang around. I’m a really, really, really bad liar. Alright? My ears turn red.” Bucky smiled triumphantly when you chuckled. “I watched you drink a pumpkin latte today like it was the best thing you’ve ever had in your whole damn life and it cost me three dollars. You’re charming. I’m addicted.”

He kissed your forehead and you melted into his chest in resignation. “I don’t do this,” you mumbled into his sweater.

“What? Let somebody say why they like you?”

You shook your head, and pressed your cheek against his chest. “I’m starving.”

“Oh–doll, dammit, I should’a fed you–”

“No. I mean, yes, we should order something,” you laughed, “but. Just. Why?” When you raised your hand, gesturing to your general being, Bucky’s expression transformed from concern to… something gentle. 

He shrugged, but his shoulders fell heavily downward, and his fingers curled into the pockets of your coat so you wouldn’t pull away while he found the words. 

“Because–I just knew. You were simply a notification in a stupid app and I still thought about your profile picture waiting in my ‘likes’ for days. And we talked like it was an everyday occurrence, feeling your world shift its axis. I didn’t talk to a single soul on that app but you, sweets, and I tried my damndest not to jump the gun on asking you to meet in person. Imagine my delight when you agreed. I was so terrified last night that I hardly slept, but I never thought once about feeling… self conscious, all day. It–I don’t feel that way with most girls. Safe, I guess. And I may not know what the hell I’m doing, but I’m not a guy who ever feels like I can trust a person and I’m pretty prepared to lay down naked in the street if you tell me that’s what you want–”

“Not necessary,” you said, smiling. 

“Well, that’s a relief.” Bucky brushed his thumbs over your cheeks. “Doll–I’m so sorry that anybody ever made you feel like you got some kinda worth to live up to. It makes me so angry, but then I think–who’s that for? What’s the point in me being angry at somebody who isn’t gonna change their mind… especially when it means that I get a chance.”

“Says the handsome guy with perfect teeth.” You winked at him when he scowled.

“I’m tryin’ here–”

“You’re wonderful,” you whispered. You smoothed over his bottom lip with the pads of your thumbs. “I’m… thank you.”

Bucky leaned forward until his forehead pressed against yours. “I’ve overwhelmed you.”

“No, sir. I just need a second. To acclimate to the idea.”

“I can go–”

“Please. Please don’t.” You tugged him towards the living room, slowly walking backwards and giving him every opportunity to wrench out of your grasp and run. But he didn’t break eye contact, no. Bucky kept pace with you, toe-to-toe. “We’ll watch something.”

“Spooky movie?” he suggested.

“...I’m such a wimp,” you admitted, and he let out a quick breath.

“You can hide under my arm during the scary parts.”

“So just bury myself under you the whole movie, got it–”

“If that’s what you want, doll.” Bucky smirked as your knees bumped into the lip of the couch, causing you to sit abruptly against the cushions. You still had a fist wrapped in the placate of his coat, so he fell forward, catching himself on the arm rest and hovering over you. You watched intently as his tongue whetted his bottom lip absent-mindedly, and you had to bite back a groan.

“That’s what I want. Bucky.”

***

A long time later, when your body was so sensitive that you shivered beneath him, Bucky hopped up… pantsless, still wearing his sweater, but peachy ass exposed to the air so he could run to the bathroom and find a soft cloth. When he returned to you (with a towel around his waist, suddenly bashful), he bore a damp washcloth in his left hand, which… you sat up slowly on your elbows to watch the reticulated fingers on his left hand as he cleaned you with soft strokes over your thighs and bit his lip… asshole. You smiled at him softly when his eyes flicked up to yours. 

“You gonna tell me about it, or wait for me to ask?” you murmured, sliding the cuff of his left sleeve up his bicep, exposing a charcoal and gold metallic limb to the dim light. 

Bucky didn’t say anything at first. He lifted you beneath the knees, and behind your back. He had no choice but to shower with you (since you woefully lacked a bathtub), as cleaning you both was clearly his priority, so he sat you on the edge of the porcelain counter to help you fully undress. He did so with a type of reverence which felt undue… but you were reminded that he didn’t look at you through the same lens with which you viewed yourself. Especially when he trailed his fingers over your softness like he didn’t feel worthy of touching you. 

But then, he stepped back from you, and he shucked his sweater.

He didn’t look you in the eye once he was fully exposed to you. He studied the tiles under your toes, and his hands didn’t seem to know whether to rest on his hips or try to hide his flesh from you, so he fidgeted. Which meant he didn’t see you reaching for his left hand, and when you did so (threading your fingers through his metal facsimiles), he looked like he might cry.

Bucky was an amputee. With a gleaming prosthetic extending from his clavicle to the tips of his left fingers, so intricate and complicated a design that it must be something experimental and custom-made, just for the likes of a soft-hearted Brooklyn boy.

“You’re beautiful.” You meant the raw words, even though they escaped your lips unbidden. 

Bucky squeezed your hand. “I’m not.”

“You don’t have to agree for it to be true.”

He looked at you, then. An agreement passed between you, unvoiced. I’ll say about you what you can’t. I’ll hold for you what you won’t. I’ll touch you again, because I want you, all of you–the flesh and the metal and the weak and the kind. Especially the kind. Of course Bucky understood you. Your heart-wounds took different guises, but they pulled the same strings.

When he knelt at your knee, it was supplication. It was obvious when he bowed his head to kiss the skin above your heart. Your heart had known his forever, it seemed. 

“A long time ago, I didn’t have a choice,” he said, so quietly you could only make out his words because you had coaxed him up to meet your lips again. “I almost died. I–god, I never thought I’d live or touch somebody again. And then you. I can’t explain this to people–” He rolled his shoulder like the limb was hurting him, and maybe it was– “without inviting them to look at my naked fuckin’ heart.”

“Is it heavy?” You ran your finger the length of the connector, where metal met his skin and cupped his pectoral. You meant the arm, but the way his head bobbed… you inclined your head so you could catch his lips before his spirit fell one iota further. It was a kiss of knowing. Understanding, without words.

“I can take it off,” he breathed against your lips.

“So do it.”

Bucky sat back on his heels. Then, he looked you square in the eye and detached the prosthetic arm. It wheezed as it lost power, the moment its circuits no longer drew power from his body’s natural electric whims. You held out your hands, and he set the thing across your open palms. It was lighter than you expected, but still hefty. You could only imagine how it pulled at his muscles, unnatural as it was. It was incredible, but then–so was the man with an empty prosthetic socket, who sat at your feet like he hadn’t hastily fucked you on your own couch at the end of your first date. Like sex was a small exchange when there was a soul resonance at hand. If you said it out loud? It would sound insane. Holding Bucky’s cheeks in your hands, though… 

“I like sushi,” you said softly, “and any carbs, really. So. Jot that one down, for your date ideas. And I’m a fabulous co-pilot if you like road trips. I love Upstate. I excel at floating down a river on an innertube–”

Bucky pushed up between your knees so he could reach your lips and he kissed you senseless. “Doll–”

“Shhh, darling man,” you smiled against his mouth. “I am addicted.” Parroting his words back to him made Bucky beam. “Stay the night. Surprise me in the morning. I don’t care. You’re everything I didn’t think I deserved and–and I’ll keep you. To spite Me.”

Bucky laughed. “It will be a pleasure to help you get revenge on yourself.”

***

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these two keep getting gayer and gayer with each other. that’s it, that’s the post.

Carlos Sainz

#smoooth operator

← Main Masterlist

You and Eddie laying down together on his bed while he writes up the next arc of his dnd campaign????

He’s shirtless. Propped up just enough to be able to write comfortably and you’re (in your comfiest pjs) fully laying down between his legs with your head on his tummy. Your time is mostly spent listening as he mumbles little ideas to himself, humming along happily whenever he has any sort of break through, and pressing little pecks to his pretty, soft skin whenever you feel the need. Sometimes he get so excited about an idea and literally uses your head to stabilize his notebook so he can scribble it down faster— his legs wiggling all hyperactive on either side of your body like he’s gonna explode if the words don’t get out of him fast enough.

Pretty boy lets you take a peek at whatever he’s got written down bc he knows you aren’t gonna spoil anything for the rest of hellfire (no matter how much Dustin tries to beg, bribe, or blackmail the details out of you) His face lights up with the biggest, fondest grin whenever you make any comments on the parts you like or even when you ask questions about the things you don’t quite understand yet bc he’s just SO happy you’re taking interest in something he cares so much about.

You always end up giving him endless amounts of praise for his writing/storytelling abilities. And, you leave NO room for him to argue or deflect— eyes so honest and true as you stare him down, tone of voice showing every inch of admiration you have for him in a way that makes him feel like there’s a lump in his throat. Gets his eyes all shiny and he has to look away before his bottom lip starts to wobble or something silly like that. By the end of the night you’re all tucked up in his arms as he reads his ideas out loud to you, because even though you’ve already read through most of it you insist it’s not the same if he isn’t doing the character voices himself. (And secretly you just like having an excuse to hear him speak lol)

He’s got one hand resting on the back of your neck, warm and grounding while he balances his notebook in the other. He’s animated as always, albeit a little toned down as to not disturb you too much. Presses a little kiss to the top of your head to punctuate the end of each paragraph/idea.

You don’t always fall asleep like this, but when you do it’s really not your fault. You can blame the way his thumb rubs little soothing circles in the juncture of your neck. The low rumble of his voice that only gets deeper as he switches between characters. The warmth of his bare skin or the steady rise and fall of his chest beneath your cheek.

He doesn’t stop reading, even when he notices you’ve begun to lull, but his voice does get softer. Fonder, somehow. He’d never have the heart to nudge you awake, even when you eventually get so comfortable that you start to drool a tiny puddle onto his chest.

He’ll always have the heart to tease you about it whenever you wake up, though.

The incredibly annoying guy with the staring problem.

Sebastian Stan as Bucky Barnes in “The Falcon and The Winter Soldier” 2021.