Nandanandada - Just A 18 Year Old Girl Enjoying Bucky Fics

Loving how they used the comic design for the new red star ⭐

HE NAKEYYY🤺

Spicy Brownies

18+ 

High Bucky x reader 

Remember Spicy Plants ? Here’s spicy brownies. Welcome to another crack fic. 

Imagine the first time Bucky tries edibles. He knew they would hit differently than smoking but he didn’t think much would happen so he had another. Then another. He was a super solider so he’d be fine. So he had one more. 

He was fine.

He was totally and completely fine. 

“Y/N!”

“Y/N Y/N Y/N!!”

“Oh my GOD!”

You and Steve sat in the living room, giving each other panicked looks hearing Bucky yelling from your shared bedroom. You both sprinted to the elevator and ran down the hall, bursting through the door, unsure of what was going on. 

“What is it Buck- oh my god” 

“What the hell…” Steve blinked, slowly backing away while you cocked your head to the side, observing a very naked Bucky looking at the mirror. 

“He nakeyyyy” Bucky whispered, staring at himself in the mirror wide eyed, cupping his own cheeks in utter shock. “Y/n, there’s a naked man in our room” 

Keep reading

Frostbites

Summary : Bucky found you injured in the middle of a snowstorm.

Pairing : Bucky Barnes x hero!reader (she/her)

Warnings/tags : Mention of a dead body (neither yours nor bucky) hurt/comfort (?), Fluff! Lots of angst!!! Injury. The ending is open to interpretation.

Word Count : 1.9k

Notes : Hi all! It's moving day for me a this is a queued post. Enjoy!

Bucky Barnes hated the cold.

It crawled into his skin, crept into his bones—even in the nonexistent metal one—and wrapped around his lungs like a chokehold. It reminded him too much of long Russian winters, of blood stains in the snow.

But he was out here anyway.

Because you hadn’t come back.

Your comms had gone silent almost two hours ago, right after you reported heading up the north ridge. The snow started coming down harder, so they said it was probably a dropped signal. They said that you'd hole up and wait it out.

But Bucky knew you. You wouldn’t just go dark.

Not unless something was wrong.

So here he was, face numb, human hand freezing through his gloves, trudging through knee-deep snow with nothing but a flashlight and sheer willpower.

He shouted your name into the wind, but got no response.

The woods swallowed his voice, muffling it like the storm wanted to bury everything— including you.

He finally found you by the edge of a ravine, half-covered in snow, lying awkwardly against a fallen log. Your leg was twisted beneath you, and your lips were trembling. There was a body of a man next to you— probably your attacker. If you didn’t kill him yourself, the cold definitely did.

“Bucky?” you whispered when he dropped to his knees beside you.

His breath caught and said your name again, as if he couldn’t believe you were real, yet eternally grateful you were alive.

You tried to sit up, but winced. Your right ankle was broken. “I—I— this guy came out of nowhere. Comms went out. I couldn’t—”

“Shh,” he said, already shrugging out of his jacket. “You're freezing.”

He wrapped it around you, his hands rough but gentle. The cold bit into his skin faster than before, but it didn’t matter. Not when you looked like that— fingers trembling, fear in your eyes.

“I’m so stupid,” you said through your chattering teeth.

“No. You’re not.” He pulled you close, bracing your body against his chest. “You’re hurt. Big difference.”

“But you came out here. I thought—” You looked up at him, eyes glossy. “You hate the cold.”

He laughed, “Yeah. I do.”

“Then why—”

“Because it’s you.”

He tightened his hold on you, ignoring the sting in his fingesr. “Because if it were me out here, you’d come for me.”

You buried your face against his neck. He shifted so your weight rested against his chest and activated the beacon on his wrist, signaling HQ. 

He didn’t get an answer.

“I got you,” he muttered into your hair anyway. “I’ve always got you.”

You were shaking so hard, your teeth wouldn’t stop clacking. Bucky pressed the beacon on his wrist again and cursed under his breath.

Nothing. No signal.

Of course. Mountains. Snowstorm. 

Probably the same things that took away your comms. 

The universe just loved giving him a hard time.

He looked down at you, curled into his arms like a dying ember, and felt a bolt of fear slice through him. Your eyes were barely open now, and your skin was a different terrifying shade than it usually was.

“Okay, okay. Change of plans,” he said, more to himself than you. “Can’t freeze out here. Gotta find shelter.”

You made a half-groan, half-protest as he adjusted his grip.

“I know. I know it hurts,” he whispered, lifting you into his arms carefully, trying not to jostle your ankle. “But if we stay here, you’re going to turn into an icicle. And I like you warm and complaining.”

“Not… complai…ning,” you smacked his back, head lolling against his shoulder.

“You will be once you warm up,” he said with a sad smile, starting the trek up the ridge.

It took twenty agonizing minutes before he spotted the dark mouth of a cave up ahead. It wasn’t much— but it’d hopefully block the wind. 

“Alright. Temporary five-star suite,” he said as he stumbled into the cave and placed you to the ground gently. “Complimentary frostbite. No room service. May or may not be home to a bear.”

You gave a weak laugh. “Don’t joke about bears…”

“If one shows up, I’ll punch it in the face.” He reassured.

He ripped off his gloves and set to work immediately—gathering dry twigs from under the overhang, shredding cloth for kindling, using the flint he kept in his belt pouch. The fire took forever to catch, and once it did, it wasn’t nearly as big as he wanted it to be— there wasn’t enough oxygen for it to feed, which probably meant there wasn’t enough oxygen for you, either. 

Bucky shed the rest of the clothing he didn't need and wrapped you in everything he could. Then, without asking, he settled down behind you, pulling you against his chest, and wrapping his arms around you like a blanket.

But then… Bucky felt your shivering slow.

That was bad.

Shivering meant your body was still fighting. But now you were just…  heavy in his arms. Your breath came in weird, shallow bursts.

He pulled back to look at you and called out your name once again.

Your eyes fluttered open, unfocused and glossy. But you smiled.

“Oh, hey,” you slurred. “When did you get here?”

He blinked. “I’ve been here for forty minutes.”

“Nooo,” you whispered, waving a limp hand at him. “You’re too pretty to be real. You’re, like, a hallucination.”

He made a choking sound. “No. No, no.” Your cognitive function was slipping. A sign of hypothermia.

You laughed—or, at least you tried to, but it just came out as a wheeze.

“Sorry. That was dumb. I’m cold.”

“I know,” he said, already piling more of his clothing onto you, pressing his chest to your back, trying to transfer his body heat as he pushed you closer to the barely-there flame. “Just hang on. Come closer to the fire. You’re gonna be okay.”

You squinted at the fire. “That’s a baby fire. Tiny lil’… lil’ guy. He’s doing his best.”

Bucky chuckled sadly. “He’s gonna save your life if he gets big enough.”

You blinked again. You didn’t feel your toes. Or your fingers. “P-pretty,” you mumbled.

Bucky froze.

“…What?”

You smiled faintly. “You’ve got really pretty eyes.”

His hand hovered near your cheek, not touching, as your eyelids struggled to keep themselves open. “Hey—”

“Mmmm… My brain feels like mashed potatoes.” you whispered, eyes fluttering shut. 

“Don’t fall asleep,” Bucky said instantly, cradling your face in his hands, tilting it up toward him. “Eyes on me, c’mon.”

You blinked up at him, slowly. Your pupils were blown, unfocused. “You’ve got nice hair.”

Bucky froze for a second. “Huh?”

“You’re always tying it up and stuff, but when it’s messy it looks nice,” you mumbled, your voice thick, like you were drunk on cold. “Like… like a sad prince or sum’thin’.”

“Oh shit,” Bucky whispered, pressing his forehead to yours. “Okay. You’re out of your damn mind.”

“Not always,” you whispered. “Sometimes I think real good.”

“Hey—”

“Once I watched you fix a sink with a spoon and I fell in love with you right then.”

He let out a choked laugh that was half sob, half terror. You were slipping from his grasp. “I fixed the sink with a wrench, not a spoon.”

“W-w-wasn’t paying attention,” you hummed, too pleased with yourself. 

Bucky was shaking now, but it wasn’t from the cold. It was from panic. He didn’t know how much longer you’d last. 

Your words were slurring, your breath shallow, your body limp against him. And still, you rambled.

“I u-used to sneak looks at your file, when we first met,” you had to stop mid sentence. Bucky could tell you were struggling spitting your thought out. “I-I said it was for tactical research but I really… I just wanted to know if you liked dogs.”

“You absolute little shit,” Bucky breathed, brushing the snow from your eyebrows, from your lashes, his voice cracking. “You’re just saying everything, huh?”

“Bucky. I’m tired.” You laughed weakly, then let out a soft groan, “My head feels leaky.”

“No,” he gripped you tighter, “Don’t. Don’t fall asleep.”

“Just for a sec—”

“No.” His voice broke as he pulled you tighter against his chest, practically wrapping himself around you. “You’re not sleeping. You’re gonna stay awake, yeah? How bout this? You wanna tell me about your most recent dream?.”

“…I had a dream once that we got married. In like… a Taco Bell.”

Bucky stared down at you. “A Taco Bell?”

You made a little noise. “You wore a leather jacket over your suit and wouldn’t let go of my hand even when we were eating.”

His chest hurt. It ached. His heart felt like it was being pulled in two— half of it melting at your words, the other half broken because your pulse was thready. Even his supersoldier hearing could barely pick it up now.

You looked up at him, pupils barely tracking any movement. “I think I love you.”

He went still. 

What?

Your lip trembled. “Is that o-okay?”

His voice broke as he whispered, “That’s all I’ve ever wanted to hear.”

“Oh good,” you sighed. “Because I think I’m dying and I didn’t want to die while embarrassing myself—wait. Am I dying?”

He didn’t answer.

That told you everything.

“Oh,” you breathed. “Shit.”

“No, no. You’re not,” Bucky snapped suddenly, grabbing the bundle of twigs from the corner of the cave. His hands shook as he fed them to the tiny fire, sparks crackling weakly. 

“Stay with me,” he barked. “You don’t get to drop ‘I love you’ and then peace out into the afterlife, alright? That’s not how this works.”

You giggled faintly. “‘Peace out?’ That’s so lame.”

“You little—” He choked out another half-laugh, half-sob, burying his face in your neck. “Fuck. You’re insane. You’re actually insane. And I- Fuck, I... Argh!! I-I love you, too.”

You didn’t react.

He pulled back fast. No, no. “Hey. Hey. Did you hear me?”

Your eyes fluttered, head lolling uncontrollably. “Mmhmm. Say it again, louder. For the people in the back.”

Bucky let out a hysterical, wrecked laugh. “I love you. I love you. I have loved you for years, so you gotta stay awake for me, okay?”

“Hmm,” you agreed faintly. 

“Stay alive,” he whispered, rocking you gently, cradling your body close to the heat. “Please, just stay alive. We can talk about all of this when you’re not dying. You can tell me about your Taco Bell wedding dreams and I’ll tell you about the time I nearly kissed you in the quinjet.”

“You what?” you slurred.

“Remember that time you were dressing my wounds? I…chickened out.”

“Loser.”

Bucky could feel tears pricking in his eyes as he saw you fight the darkness that threatened to take you away. You were drained— he could see it. You’ve used up all your energy trying to stay awake, he wasn’t sure how much you had left in store.

Desperately, he chuckled his gloves into the fire. It was flammable— so it would help. It should.

The fire caught a bit brighter, and it gave you the first bit of warmth in your cheeks he’d seen in a while. Still, he didn’t know if it was enough.

Your eyes fluttered again. “I’m cold, Buck.”

“I know,” he whispered. “I know. Just hold on.”

“Will you be here when I wake up?” you asked, like a child asking about a bedtime story.

His heart splintered into a million little pieces.

“Yeah,” he said, forehead pressed to yours. “I’m not going anywhere. So you better wake up, sweetheart.”

“…Love you, Bucky.”

He closed his eyes, frozen tears pricking at his skin.

Outside, the wind howled.

Inside the cave, two hearts —barely— kept beating.

“Love you, too.”

Your lips parted. You let out a breath. It was faint, but it was there. 

Somewhere in the haze, you closed your eyes and smiled.

-end.

General Bucky taglist:

@hotlinepanda @snflwr-vol6 @ruexj283 @2honeybees @read-just-cant

 @shanksstrawhat @mystictf @globetrotter28 @thebuckybarnesvault@average-vibe

@winchestert101 @mystictf @globetrotter28 @shanksstrawhat @scariusaquarius

@reckless007 @hextech-bros @daydreamgoddess14 @96jnie @pono-pura-vida

@buckyslove1917 @notsostrangerthing @flow33didontsmoke @qvynrand @blackbirdwitch22

@torntaltos @seventeen-x @ren-ni @iilsenewman @slayerofthevampire

@hiphip-horray @jbbucketlist @melotyy @ethereal-witch24 @samfunko

@lilteef @hi172826 @pklol @average-vibe @shanksstrawhat

@shower-me-with-roses @athenabarnes @scarwidow @thriving-n-jiving @dilfsaresohot

@helloxgoodbi @undf-stuff @sapphirebarnes @hzdhrtss @softhornymess

@samfunko @wh1sp @anonymousreader4d7 @mathcat345 @escapefromrealitylol

@imjusthere1161 @sleepysongbirdsings @fuckybarnes @yn-stories-are-my-life

@cjand10 @nerdreader @am-3-thyst

@goldengubs @maryevm @helen-2003 @maryssong23

7

joaquin post cabnw

Pretty flowers for a lovely boy

Flower Bouquet

Summary: You buy him flowers.

Word count: 1811 Words

Warnings: No one.

Bucky Barnes X Reader

You walk into the flower shop, your footsteps quiet on the polished floor. The moment you open the door, a wave of floral scents greets you, sweet, fresh and calming. You pause for a second, just to take it all in. Flowers have always held a special place in your heart. They’re simple but full of life, just like the way you feel when you’re with him. Bucky.

You glance down at your phone. It’s been a few months now. Time has flown by, but in the best way. You and Bucky have found a rhythm, a connection that grows deeper each day. He’s no longer the stoic man he once was. Not entirely. And you… you’re no longer the person you were before he came into your life.

A smile tugs at your lips as you begin to peruse the shelves. The roses are beautiful, but not today. Not for him. You want something different, something that suits who he is, not just the conventional symbol of love. Your fingers brush against a bunch of white lilies, their petals delicate and pure, and you stop.

Perfect.

You pick them up carefully, admiring their simplicity. Their fragrance fills your nose, soft but with just enough sweetness to make your heart flutter. You take your time, adding a few sprigs of lavender and a couple of purple irises to the mix. It’s subtle, elegant.. like him. You know he’s not someone who needs grand gestures, but you also know how much he appreciates when people show they care, when they take the time to think of him.

The florist wraps the bouquet in soft tissue paper, tying it with a simple satin ribbon. You thank her, your hands cradling the flowers like they’re something precious, because to you, they are. You’re giving them to him.

When you reach his apartment, the nerves start to settle in. They’re not nerves from doubt, but more from the excitement of wanting to make him feel special. It’s not the first time you’ve gotten him something, but it’s the first time you’ve given him flowers. It feels like a big deal, like you’re taking another step together. You’re not even sure why you decided to do this, maybe just maybe because you saw them at the flower shop and thought of him, or maybe because you just want to see him smile.

You knock on his door and wait, your heart thumping in your chest. A few seconds later, the door opens and there he is. Bucky. Standing in his usual attire, a simple T-shirt, jeans and his leather jacket that fits him perfectly. The way he looks at you, his blue eyes lighting up when he sees you, makes everything inside you settle.

“Hey” he says, his voice warm, low and familiar. His gaze flickers to the bouquet in your hands. “What’s this?” he asks with a smile that makes his eyes crinkle at the corners.

You grin, a little shy now, but trying to keep your cool. “For you,” you say, holding them out to him. “Just because.”

Bucky blinks, his gaze dropping to the flowers. His metal hand twitches slightly at his side, like he’s not sure if he should take them or not.

“…You got me flowers?” His voice is cautious, like he’s expecting a punchline.

You roll your eyes. “Yeah, that’s usually how this works.”

His brows furrow slightly in surprise, his lips parting as if he’s not sure what to make of this. His hand hesitates before he takes the bouquet from you, fingers brushing against yours for a brief, electric second.

“You didn’t have to do this,” he says, his voice low but filled with genuine gratitude. “What’s the occasion?”

You shrug, trying to appear nonchalant, though your heart is racing a little. “No occasion. I just thought you’d like them.”

Bucky stares down at the flowers, his expression softening as he takes in their delicate beauty. “They’re beautiful,” he says quietly. “But, uh… I’m not used to getting flowers.”

He looks at it like it’s some kind of unfamiliar artifact, turning it slightly in his hands, inspecting the mix of blue delphiniums, white lilies and a few sprigs of lavender.

“No roses” he murmurs.

“You don’t seem like a roses kind of guy.”

His lips twitch, the closest thing to a smile. “And I seem like a…?”

You shrug. “Delphinium and lavender kind of guy.”

Bucky lets out a small, breathy chuckle, shaking his head. “That’s a first.”

You chuckle, stepping closer to him. “Well, consider it as our first,” you tease. “I figured you could use something to brighten your day.”

You cross your arms, leaning against the doorframe. “So, do I get a ‘thank you’ or are you just gonna stand there looking at them like they’re a bomb?”

He huffs a laugh but looks back down at the bouquet, his fingers tracing one of the petals absentmindedly. His expression softens, something unreadable passing through his eyes.

“I… yeah.” He clears his throat, shifting his weight. “Thank you. I just… no one’s ever given me flowers before.”

You tilt your head. “Never?”

He shakes his head. “Not really something guys like me get.”

You frown slightly. “Well, that’s dumb. Flowers aren’t just for girls. They’re for people you care about.”

Something in his expression changes, something subtle but deep, like he’s trying to process the weight of your words. He looks back down at the bouquet again, then exhales softly, almost like he’s letting himself accept it.

He smiles again, this time with a hint of something vulnerable. He looks up at you, his gaze searching, before he clears his throat. “I don’t know what to say. I don’t really know how to handle this.”

You chuckle softly. “It’s simple, Bucky. You just accept it. No need for a big speech or anything.”

He lifts the bouquet to his nose, inhaling deeply. For a moment, his eyes flutter closed and a quiet sigh escapes him. You watch him, feeling a warmth spread through your chest. It’s a simple thing, this gift, but you can already tell it means something to him. Maybe it’s not the flowers themselves, but the thought behind them. The fact that you were thinking of him, that you wanted to give him something. You know that his past has made him wary of affection, of kindness, but moments like this show that he's willing to let down his guard just a little more each time.

After a moment, he looks back up at you, his expression softer, more open than before. “Thank you. This... really means a lot to me,” he says, voice thick with something you can’t quite name.

You smile, relieved to see that he’s not rejecting the gesture, but genuinely appreciating it. “I’m glad you like them. I thought they suited you.”

He chuckles, a small, almost awkward sound and rubs the back of his neck. “I’m just not used to this. People... doing nice things for me, just because.”

You tilt your head slightly, meeting his eyes. “Well, you deserve it. You deserve to be treated well. And these” you gesture to the bouquet “are just a small way of showing you that.”

Bucky’s eyes soften and you notice the way he’s looking at you, like he’s seeing you in a new light. “You’re something else,” he murmurs, his voice full of awe, like he’s trying to process it all. “I don’t know how I got so lucky.”

Your heart skips a beat and for a second, you don’t know what to say. You just stand there, looking at each other, a thousand unspoken words hanging between you. The vulnerability in his voice, the warmth in his eyes… it makes your chest ache in the best way.

“Well” you say, your voice teasing to break the tension. “Now that I’ve made you blush, I’ll take my leave.” You make a move toward the door, but before you can step past him, Bucky grabs your wrist gently.

“Wait” he says, his voice a little rougher than usual. “I want to thank you properly.” He pulls you back toward him, not forcefully, just enough to close the distance between you. His eyes search yours and before you can even react, he steps closer, leaning in to brush his lips against your cheek in a soft, lingering kiss.

You freeze for a second, your breath catching. He pulls away slowly and you can’t help the smile that spreads across your face. You glance at the flowers in his hands again, feeling a rush of warmth flood through you.

“You didn’t have to do that” you murmur, though you know it’s a lie.

“I wanted to” he says quietly, his thumb gently brushing the back of your hand. “You don’t know how much this means to me. You’re making me believe in things I didn’t think I could anymore.”

You look up at him, your heart full. “I’m glad,” you whisper.

“Come inside” he says after a moment, stepping back to let you in.

You follow him in, watching as he moves toward the kitchen, still holding the bouquet with a sort of hesitant reverence. He sets them down on the counter, staring at them for a second before glancing at you.

“So… what do I do with them?”

You snort. “You put them in water, grandpa.”

He glares at you, but there’s no real heat behind it. “I know that.” He pulls a glass from the cabinet, filling it with water before placing the flowers inside. It’s not the best makeshift vase, but it works. He stares at them for a long moment, then, almost absently, lifts one of the lavender sprigs and twirls it between his fingers.

“They smell nice,” he mutters.

You smile. “Yeah. Figured you’d like that.”

Bucky’s quiet for a second before he leans against the counter, looking at you with something unreadable in his expression. “You really just… got these for me? No reason?”

You shrug. “Do I need a reason?”

He shakes his head slowly, his thumb brushing over the lavender again. “No. I guess not.”

There’s something raw in his voice, something that makes your chest tighten. You don’t push, don’t press him to say anything more. Instead, you just step closer, resting your hip against the counter beside him.

Bucky exhales, running a hand through his hair before giving you a sideways glance. “You’re somethin’ else, you know that?”

You smirk. “I get that a lot.”

He huffs another soft laugh, then looks back at the flowers, something warm settling into his expression. “I like ‘em,” he admits, voice softer now.

Your chest warms. “Good.”

And as he stands there, quietly admiring the simple gift, you realize that this, this quiet, unspoken moment, is exactly why you brought them in the first place.

I need to be his controversialy young girlfriend 🏌🏻

babydoll ⋆.𐙚 ̊

cw: age gap

He feels like a creep. Plain and simple. Bucky knows that any woman would be considered “younger”, but you just take the cake. He momentarily feels how hot hell is when you delicately push his hair to the side, clipping in into place with pastel beret. The rest of it gathered into a cutesy scrunchie. “Okay, this one is for wrinkles.” You say, clambering onto his lap. His girl isn’t the most graceful.

The bottle makes him grimace, but the feel of your cute butt in his lap makes it tolerable. He has wrinkles older than you—yikes. “It smells.” He grumbles as he feels you rub skincare product into his skin. “It’s supposed to be lilies!” You say lightly patting his cheek. “This is stupid.” He deadpans, he wraps his arms around your middle when you loop your arms around his shoulders. “It’s not stupid, you’ll thank me someday mister.” You chide very seriously, yelping when he smacks your side. It’s not fair, when you pout like that he wants to kiss you senseless. “Don’t call me mister, ‘m not some stranger you little brat.” He grumbles, being particularly gentle as he slides his cool metal arm under your shirt, just over your tummy. “Sorry baby.” You croon, taking the moment to steal a kiss.

His mental crisis is not helped by the pet name. Baby? If anything you’re the baby here, he gives you a look, it makes you laugh. He finds you to be soothing. You’re a modern woman sure, but those little pj’s you have on with your hair all done up in rollers make him remember a simpler time. He’ll deal with the weird glances whenever you two walk down the street together. He’s not embarrassed anymore to pad over and ask you whatever slang word he’s picked up while people watching. Best of all, he’s finally stopped being stubborn about using his reading glasses to read your texts and see all the cute little selfies you send him.

You pat lotion into his skin, and smile at him. He kisses you, scratching you with stubble. It’s a welcomed itch. When you pull away and kiss the tip of his nose he can’t help but squeeze you. You make him want to smother you. It’s the same when you hear a kitten mew or a baby coo. He likes the feeling. He likes you.

a/n: its almost been an entire month LOL anyways… i think dating a woman under the age of 35 would send bucky into crisis mode and make him feel like a total scumbag (๑ᵔ⤙ᵔ๑)

credit to @aquazero for dividers

Sarge? 🪖

Sketch of Bucky's new Rivals skin * Let's hope i get to actually render this one day hehe

So excited for Thunderbolts aaaaaaaaaaa (੭ ˃ ᴗ ˂)੭

nowhere for you to stay (bucky barnes x reader)

content warnings: angst, allusions to depression (bucky, not reader), sad bucky, mental health, lack of self-care, female reader, this is basically just me venting about the terrible ending that they gave steve (he didn’t deserve this and neither did bucky nor me)  word count: 1.5k a/n: so, i promise, i really am trying to finish my wips, but this came to me today while listening to renegade, also sorry for being m.i.a. for like three weeks but I spent easter with my family and had to recharge lol and then uni started again, so that kinda kicked my ass a little also, i watched thunderbolts* yesterday and it was great!!! (dw, this is spoiler-free)

You knocked on his door – three sharp, distinct sounds – and waited.  For a few seconds you entertained the thought that Bucky wasn’t home. That he was out and about, doing something with his life. Maybe he had picked himself up and gone to the gym, or maybe he had finally deleted the various food delivery apps and instead had gone grocery shopping. But there was a faint whirring, locked behind the old wooden door to his apartment, a sound that belonged to a light turned on. The complex in which Bucky resided was old – not as old as the man himself but certainly bordering on it. Windows creaked when the wind was strong, the lighting flickered, and pipes groaned during the coldest months.   He had moved here after returning from Wakanda and you had helped him set up his living space. You had begged and pleaded with him to rent a place closer to you, or to maybe even move in with you. But he had just shook his head and had looked at you with those heartbroken, empty eyes that seemed a little less blue and a little more grey since Steve was gone. So, you had helped carry the sparse amount of furniture and décor he had up to the fourth-floor apartment, had sorted spice containers of which you were sure that he hadn’t used them yet and had presented Bucky with a plant as a housewarming gift. He had smiled sadly and thanked you and you had known that the plant was not going to make it more than a week. Every day you called, every day he answered – for a limited time. Sometimes, the exchange was as short as thirty seconds, just enough for you to hear that he was still alive and not planning on changing that.  Once a week, on Saturdays, you took the subway to visit him, to stay with him for a few hours. You never managed to convince him to get out of the apartment with you but at least you saw him.  The last week had been different. He hadn’t answered your calls, only sent short messages (“I’m fine – can’t talk right now” or “let me call you back later”) and your heart ached every time the busy signal had echoed from your speaker. Of course, you hoped that it meant that he was actually busy, distracted, doing something.  But the faint buzz of a burning lamp in his apartment told you that he was home. No matter what, Bucky always made sure to turn off all lights and close all windows before he left his place, so he must have been ignoring the knocking.  To his credit, you were a day earlier than usual. It was Friday instead of Saturday, and you hadn’t announced yourself either, so he wasn’t expecting you. The silence, the unanswered calls had given you anxiety induced stomach pains, so you had taken the day off from work and had gotten an Uber to his place.

You knocked again and lightly cleared your throat – a chance for Bucky’s enhanced hearing to place you and for him to open the door. Still, the knob didn’t twist, the many locks he had put on additionally didn’t rattle and you could have sworn that the whirring of the lamp you had heard earlier died down. “Bucky,” you called out, “It’s me. Can you please open the door?” You waited. Seconds that felt like minutes ticked by and your hands got clammy as you shifted on your feet. “Bucky, you gave me a key. But I don’t wanna use it, so, please just let me in. Bu-,” before you could finish his name, you heard a series of noises. A pair of feet shuffling over creaky old floorboards, and what sounded like dishes being set down in the sink. Then you heard a window being ripped open – the frame squeaked terribly – and then the footsteps came closer.  One lock was unlocked, then the second one. A metallic clank sounded and then the doorknob turned.  The door opened with a squeak that made your teeth hurt.  The apartment was dark, and despite the cold breeze that the recently opened window let in, it smelled dusty and faintly like old takeout food.  “Hey.” One thing about Bucky is that he just could not lose his charm. He stood before you, eyebags darker than ever, brown curls unkempt and knotted, and his scruff on his cheeks a little longer than usual and asymmetrical – as if he had laid on one side for too long. 

Despite his appearance, he leaned against the doorframe with a trace of his characteristic smile turning up his mouth corners.  “Hi,” you replied, slightly perplexed.  “I didn’t realise it was already Saturday,” he said after a few seconds of silence and attempted to swipe his hair from his forehead until he realised that it was too unbrushed to run his fingers through it.  He awkwardly dropped his hand but gave you another smile. “It’s not,” you answered and peered past him. Before you could properly glance into his apartment, he moved into your eyeline, a determined look in his eyes.  “Oh. Then what are you doing here?” He asked, shifting again when you tried to steal another glimpse into his living space. You took a few seconds before you replied during which you struggled not to be offended by his question.  “You never called me back,” you explained then, and locked eyes with him. Heat rose on his face as you bluntly called him out and his hands again found their way into his hair, and again, he had to drop them back to his sides as he couldn’t nervously run them through.  “Yeah, no, I meant to, but I… I was busy,” he stammered, blocking your third attempt to look past him.  “Okay,” you murmured slowly, “Can you… would you mind letting me in?” Bucky chewed on his lip for a few seconds, and you could practically see the wheels turning in his head as he tried to find a way to let you down gently. “Uh, now’s not a good time.”

Your heart sank even further as you tried to come up with reasonings with his behaviour. “Are you-,” you began, and stared at your feet instead of meeting his eyes, “Is someone in there with you?” His eyes went round with surprise before he composed himself.  “What? No, no, I’m… I’m alone in here, but it’s just not, uh, a good time, like I said.” A little bit of the tightness in your chest loosened as he genuinely looked shocked at your implication. But you still couldn’t understand why he wouldn’t let you in. “Are you leaving? Like, are you going somewhere?” You inquired then, trying to find a reason that would satisfy you. Bucky stayed quiet before he shook his head.  “No, nothing like that. Listen, doll, I just… I haven’t really prepared for visitors, or anything like that, so it’d be great if… um –,“ before he finished speaking, you could tell that he was having a hard time sending you back home. He knew how long the ride here was and that you usually worked on Fridays. “it’s just not a good time,” he concluded.

There was a faint line, so thin that it was barely visible, that you were threatening to cross right now. A line between what Bucky allowed you to see on the Saturdays when you visited him, and the rest of his life.  “Just let me in,” you whispered. “Let me… help you.” The conflict in his eyes played out like a storm. Vulnerability and stubbornness raged against each other, as he seemingly weighed his options: allowing you in or pushing you away. Both seemed to frighten him as you heard how his metal arm whirred while he clenched and unclenched his fists. “Alright,” he mumbled and slowly stepped back. His apartment was in a terrible state. For someone who had very little furnishings, a tiny amount of clothes and basically no personal belongings it should have been easy to basically produce a clinically clean space. Instead, you saw instant food packaging, empty beer cans and ripped paper shreds sprawled across his couch table. You recognised the paper as an article about Steve – honouring his legacy and paying tribute to his sacrifice. You had read the same one a few days ago and had cried until your head hurt. The sofa cushions were crumbled up and uneven. A thin blanket laid on the floor as if it had fallen off or been pushed off in a hurry. He must have slept there instead of in his bed.  The kitchen door was half closed, and through the gap you saw dishes towering dangerously, a towel haphazardly slung over them in an attempt to hide them. You turned to face Bucky, who refused to meet your eye. Instead, he clenched his jaw so tight that it must have hurt and stared out the opened window. “Bucky,” you whispered.  “Like I said, I didn’t know you were coming.” His tone was defensive and sharp, but his eyes glistened as the shame burned in him. “Bucky, look at me,” you pleaded and took a few steps towards him. “This place is a mess,” he croaked, his voice heavy with unshed tears, “There’s nowhere for you to stay.” “But I’ll stay anyway,” you murmured and rested your hand on his cheek. “I’ll stay and help you.”

Twisting the knife 🔪