Bucky One-Shots and Imagines

When he comes out to you

A/N: this is inspired by the cutest peraltiago (b99) fic I read on ao3 #givecreditwherecreditisdue, it's one of my favs and I knew I just HAD to do a Bucky version:)

*****
You were clambering into bed next to Bucky. Night had fallen and it was finally time for you to get some rest(and by rest, I mean finish off extra paperwork). You grabbed one of your hindered files from the side table and began skimming over the pages just as you felt Bucky press his face into your side, snuggling into you like a cat.

"Hey, doll?" Bucky called out, his voice muffled by the blankets he was wrapped in, his own exhaustion and your shirt.

"Mhm?" You mumbled in response.

"I love you so much," He says softly, laying his arm across your waist and pulling you closer to him. You look down at him and smile, putting the file back on the table momentarily so you can lean down to grab his face and kiss his forehead affectionately.

"I love you too," You say in response before your mind gets to thinking and wanders to something you've been wanting to ask him for quite a while. You shuffle in your space a little, so your facing him and breathe out a deep sigh.
"Bucky?"

"Yeah?"

"Have you ever been in love before us? Like this in love?" You ask, realizing that you would normally feel a large ounce of shame and regret after asking something like that if you were speaking to anyone else, but with Bucky it just felt natural. None the less, your cheeks still caught the slightest tint of rose at the confused look Bucky gave you.

"What do you mean?" He scooches up so he's at the same level as you, a deep line beginning to form between his already furrowed eyebrows.

"I mean, before we became a thing, have you ever been in love to this extent? To our extent?"

Bucky's line of confusion grew. But not because he didn't understand the question, no no, the question you'd asked him made complete sense, it was the answer he was afraid of. A part of himself that he'd managed to bury so well, deep inside himself that he'd just forgotten about it. Tossed it out of his subconscious and out of the bustling streets of whatever random shit went through mind. Not to mention the nazi brainwashing acted as a dam, barricading the flood of memories he'd labeled forbidden from any route to escape.

It felt like a jarring shock to think about those memories again, to let them flow freely and into the dry crevices of his mind and over-crowd his brain with things he'd hidden for so long.

"Yes," Bucky responded very quietly, averting his gaze from you and suddenly finding his toes peaking from underneath your duvet very interesting, "Once," he mumbled on.

"Oooooh," You said, your voice slightly teasing, "So...tell me about her? Who was she?" You smirked, twirling a strand of his hair around your finger.

You felt him become frigid next to you, and noticed the lining of goosebumps that had begun to rise on his bare skin. A visible lump grew in his throat and you watched him swallow it back, panic fleeting through his eyes.
"I...uhhhh," He stuttered, and you raised both your eyebrows in question, gesturing for him to go on.

Bucky took in a deep breath to compose himself. This was the moment he spent most of his youth cowering from, the moment that he wasted long, sleepless nights, dwelling upon, the moment that held him hostage and suffocating in a tiny box with no way out. This was his moment of truth and it was about time he let it out.