Bucky Barnes//Sebastian Stan Imagines

Mission Gone Wrong - Bucky Barnes -

Title: Mission Gone Wrong

Brief plot summary: After nearly dying out on a mission, you are made aware of Bucky's feelings for you by Steve. You set things clear with Bucky, now understanding why he is avoiding you.

Word count: 3796

Warnings: Descriptions of severe injury, blood, slight angst, swearing, completely self-indulgent fluff.

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The excruciating pain throbbing from the left side of your abdomen was blinding. It left you vulnerable to the fight raging on around you, but there was nothing you could do. The sounds of agonized screams and ear-shattering gunfire dwindled into the background as the frantic thump of your dying heartbeat pounded in your ears.

Your knees collide with the blood-splattered dirt beneath you. The heavying weight of your body follows, and it took all of your strength to drag yourself onto your back while your hands clutched desperately at the gushing river of blood escaping from your bullet wound.

The sound of gunfire, thudding footfalls and shouts of rage carry on around you. And for the first time in five years of working as an Avenger, you were truly terrified. If someone didn't notice you soon, you were a goner. The ambush wasn't unexpected, but the colossal amount of men and women that piled out of the depths of the old HYDRA building was. None of you were ready for the force that came at you, lips sneering and guns ready to kill at the tip of their fingers. Wanting nothing more than to have your limbs broken, blood gushing, heartbeat ceasing.

You, Steve, Natasha, Tony, Clint, and Bucky. Bucky.

Eyes the color of a Chalkhill blue butterfly. Hair so brown in some lighting it looks black. The body of a true soldier - broad shoulders, bulging muscles, towering height. A heart made of gold, wrapped in the iron constraints of a life lived teetering on the edge of insanity and sanity. You could even say a life hardly lived. Blood taints most of his memories. His hands thick with it like a second skin. His mind cut away piece by piece and stitched back together again in such a way that was not Bucky. A man so unwilling to trust others, and secretly himself. A man so beaten down by the hands of endless war that a normal life with a family, friends, laughter, and love, seemed out of the question for him.

But you loved him anyway. Consumingly so. It raged so beautifully inside every cell you have. Its enormity had you blushing at the sound of his name. Heart drumming at the sight of him. Calming your own tortured mind at the sound of his rough, but oh-so-soothing voice. The deep melody of his rare laughter caressed your soul like velvet. His smile so devastatingly beautiful that you couldn't help but stare when he gifted it.

There wasn't an exact moment in time that made you realise you loved Bucky. In your mind, it was a cluster of unforgettable moments that left you feeling so much - that it simply (or very complicatedly) could only be labeled as love.

Like the time you showed him Spotify. His star-struck expression had everything in you doing summersaults. He was so truly fascinated by the platform and its ability to hold such an immeasurable amount of songs and podcasts. He was elated to know he could listen to his favorites from back in the days before all of... this. When it was just him and Steve against the world. It was the way he looked at you once he set his phone down. The gloss over his eyes, the redness of his cheeks, the genuine smile gracing his plush lips. In that moment, nothing else mattered. It was him and you. And you never wanted it to end.

Another time, when you woke startled by the terror of your memories visiting you in your dreams. You had gone to the very top of the Stark tower to calm your mind with fresh air and the sounds of the bustling city that never slept. You did this often when you had nightmares. None of the team knew (unless they looked at the cameras) and with the extent of your knowledge, you didn't think anyone else came up here beside you. But when you opened the heavy door to the roof, and the cold air encased you like a cool pool on a summers day, you saw him. His broad back facing you, his thick arms draped over the railing with his head hung low. He turned at the sound of your shoes scuffing against the ground as you made your way to his side. His tortured eyes had met your own. Glazed over with the horrors of his own nightmares. Everything about him was tense, but when he had said your name, it rolled off his tongue with a softness you didn't think he was capable of.