Bucky x Reader
Summary: The risk I took was calculated but man, am I bad at math.
Warnings: angst…like to the max, character death, risking your life, all that fun stuff
Word Count: 1.3k (this is deadass the shortest thing i’ve ever written and it’s still over 1k lmao why am i like this)
Author’s Note: hi hello! guess who’s back and as angsty as ever! this is something that again was floating in my inspo tag and i can’t find the post rn but it is there so when it’s not midnight i’ll go digging through and tag it. ya’ll probably recognize the quote because it’s been through tumblr i don’t even know how many times? but i literally banged this out in like two hours so ??? idk???? anyways, feedback is always welcome (please do i love hearing what all of you have to say) and can i just say thank you so much for all of your lovely responses to Will You Stay? like, they were so beautiful they made my entire life like????? i love all of you so fucking much ???? i can’t even describe it????? anyways enough of my endless question marks, hope you enjoy!!!!
The first time, isn’t the last time.
The first time you risk your life it’s for a puppy. Small, golden, scrappy little thing. It’s caught in the middle of the road, yelping every time a car whips by. It’s flat on the ground, trying to make itself small as possible but at the same time sticking out against the pitch black tar. You sigh and drop your coffee into the trash before you run out in the middle of traffic and scoop the dog up before crossing to the other side.
“You’re an idiot,” he grumbles as he stares at the trembling mass of fur. You pout and say you’re sorry before you offer him the reason you nearly got flattened by an eighteen wheeler. He pretends to be angry until about five minutes later when the puppy is licking at his face.
He isn’t angry anymore, especially two weeks later when the puppy has become a permanent fixture in your home.
The second time, isn’t the last time.
The second time you risk your life is on vacation in the Bahamas. A little girl gets caught in the rip tide. Her arms flail as she cries for help but is drowned by the waves. Everyone watches but no one acts. You glance at the life guards who glance at the waves apprehensively before you roll your eyes and dive in. It takes you a while but luckily you’re a strong swimmer and within minutes she’s in your arms and safely on shore.
“You’re crazy,” he mutters as he rubs your back while you cough up salt water but his eyes shine with an emotion more powerful than you have ever seen. It only seems to grow when the little girl runs up to you and hugs you, thanking you for saving her life.
The third time, isn’t the last time.
The third time you risk your life is on a mission in Johannesburg. HYDRA had hit a biotech company and managed to steal information to a bomb that could level a small country. They climb into a helicopter and are about to get away and against Steve’s orders you jump and hang onto the runner of the helicopter. You hang on for dear life until you touch down. Your arms ache but you fight until you can’t feel anything anymore. But you have the files.
It takes them two days to find you. When they do they find you collapsed in an alleyway, dehydrated and living off of scraps from the nearby flea market.
“You’re so stupid,” he shakes his head. He’s angry but he holds your head up as you drink and brushes your hair until you fall asleep on his chest.
The fourth time, isn’t the last time.
The fourth time you risk your life is in the middle of a blizzard. It’s two in the morning and the wind is howling but when your phone rings you answer within seconds. The line is silent except for the sound of heavy breathing. He doesn’t say anything but you already know as you tie on boots and don your heaviest coat.
It takes you an hour to get to him. But you do. You’re pretty sure your car isn’t even parked properly and you’re not sure if you’re on the road or on the sidewalk but it doesn’t matter. By the time you get to him he’s already half way gone. You sit with him until he comes back to you. You sit with him until his eyes are clear and his breathing is normal. You sit with him until he’s yours again.
“You’re a moron,” he growls once his eyes look outside at the storm raging. You wonder if it was worth it but you smile anyway because you don’t care.
The fifth time, isn’t the last time.
The fifth time you risk your life it’s after two months of being locked in a basement. You have bruises on top of bruises, you bleed from different places every day and you can’t remember the last time you’ve had a proper meal. They pull you out every day and tie you to a chair. They spit in your face, they hit, they bite, they scratch, they punch, they shock, they twist, they break. You beg, you scream, you cry. But you don’t give them what they want. They want him but you can’t give them that. He’s everything to you and meaningless to them.
One day you’re bleeding so bad everything is tainted red and you can’t feel part of your face and can’t hear out of one ear. When you feel hands on you, you immediately start to tense and fight but relax when you hear his voice.
“It’s just me, it’s just me идиот,” he soothes you softly as his metal hand trembles while breaking your bonds. You fall into him and can’t find it in you to cry or make a sound. And you wonder if maybe this time, maybe this time it was worth it.
The first time, is your last time.
You risk your life for him and you don’t even think. You see him in danger, you see everyone in danger. But when you see him, when you hear the metal whir breaking through the clamor around you, you don’t think. You hear nothing else. You look at the five midnight black barrels of the machine guns facing him, glinting harshly and you just go. You think you can make it. If you just take that extra step, lose that extra second, you can make it. You two can make it out, together.
But you were always bad at math.
For the second you push him down you know you miscalculated. You don’t hear the shots but you feel them, ripping and tearing through flesh and bone. You feel the blood seep into the concrete floor. But you don’t hear the strangled sob from behind you and you don’t hear the hoarse shot. You don’t hear the bodies drop around you; you don’t hear the knife splitting through Kevlar and skin.
Yet you feel his hands on your face, your chest, your stomach. You feel him fumbling for a solution. He’s whispering fast in Russian, his skin flushed a shade of pink you’ve never seen before. It’s beautiful, really.
“You…you, you stupid, crazy, idiotic, moron,” he shouts with tears in his eyes. His bottom lip trembles and you reach to soothe it. Blood smears against the soft bristles that surround his mouth but neither of you really notice. “How could you do this? How…why, why would you ever you–”
“You’re alive,” your voice is hoarse and choked and filling with something you’re not sure of. It doesn’t even sound like you but he looks at you as if you were the only thing he heard. You think he says something else but the look on his face means he understands exactly what you’re saying.
He’s breathing heavy now. You can feel it in gentle puffs against your face. He’s shaking his head as he stares at you. He keeps shaking his head until his hair forms a dark curtain around his shimmering eyes. “No,” he whispers. “Not without you, not…please–”
You shake your head in response. “You’re alive,” you whisper as darkness begins to creep into your vision. “You’re alive.”
The weight of what you’re saying seems to settle onto his skin and into his bones because he’s looking at you with disbelief and wonder and fear and an ancient sadness that you feel deep in your chest. He presses his lips to your face and a wetness leaks onto your skin and seems to slide right off. “Not without you. я люблю тебя. Not without you.”
You clutch his hand and feel the black begin to spot his face, turning him gray. “You’re alive,” you say finally before your head drops into his metal palm.
Your first time, is your last time.
But God is it worth it.
я люблю тебя
I love you