Smoke. [Bucky x reader]
Request: Hey! Absolutely love you and was wondering if I could get a request based of these prompts? “She’s got tangled hair and cigarettes” “I like the look of your face when you’re yapping on about him” “I don’t wanna be your friend I wanna kiss your neck” “When I see your pyjamas I can’t stop smiling at you” Bucky X reader if you don’t mind xx
Warnings: slight angst, drinking, drunk reader, smoking (duh), one or two swear words.
A/N: my first dedication goes out to the beautiful @minervaem without whom I would not own thousandsof goats
Also to @buckyywiththegoodhair because Nicole is a sweetheart and offers some of the best advice, and @just-some-drabbles for putting up with me and just reassuring my lame self generally
Thank you to the all three of you for generally being awesome ahhhh i don’t know how to talk or dedicate stuff to people help
here’s my masterlist
He often found solace in the wisps of smoke floating to the ceiling. The fashion in which it danced gracefully through the air, weaving its way down your lungs as you drew in a deep breath, inhaling greedily in the temporary high it gave you.
His eyes observed the rough tangles of your hair that carelessly cascaded down your curved back. Your fingers enclosed around a cigarette, eyes closed gently while the city continued on in the merciless manner it always did.
Your conversations were something he’d like to equate to smoke as well. It gave him peace in the restlessness, adrenaline in the pure form of adoration.
As your fingers outstretched to slowly offer him the small half burnt roll of tobacco, he made sure to notice how your mouth emerged in an imperfect circle, the exhaust falling over your lips like the remains of what used to be a powerful waterfall, now reduced to the calm flow of water from the edge of a cliff.
“Fuck him,” your voice declared sturdily, artificial tranquility seeping through your words.
Bucky chuckled deeply, raising the cigar to his mouth, trying to push away the aching sense of happiness he achieves with those few words.
“You’re laughing now, but I’ll eventually find someone who’s good to me,” you objected, a smile taking over your face. “And you won’t be laughing then.”
Bucky elected that appropriate moment to hastily take a wind of smoke, delaying the time for his reaction.
The twinkling lights of the offices which had just been illuminated glimmered in both your irises, occasionally being disrupted by the blinking of your eyelids as the breeze blew over your heads in a flurry.
The soft blaring noises of the cars brought him happiness as they drove, full of life, through the busy streets of New York, distracting him from the harsh real life he found himself living. He let the sounds of other people’s lives calm him down, keep him grounded.
“God, he’s such a loser.” You snapped him out of the daze he so often found himself in when he was in the familiar setting.
He tilted his head to look at you, eyes trained on the bottle which had made its way to your hands. The second bottle shared between you two this evening.
You took a swig of the liquid, each drop assisting in forgetting everything, forgetting him.
He who was not the first of many, who had so recklessly played with everything you were sure of, everything you stood for and tore you down.
“He truly is.” Bucky nodded along with you, wanting nothing more than to clasp your hands in his and pull you through the heartbreak you so desperately tried to mask.
“But he’s a funny guy. He makes me laugh, and he doesn’t listen to me that often, but when he does, he understands. He took me to one small part of Central Park once. That was nice.” You had a smile on your face and Bucky couldn’t bring himself to hate that fellow for that particular reason. Because in the end, he did make you happy, even if it was for the shortest of time.
“I like the look on your face when you’re yapping on about him,“ he admitted to himself but kept from you, seeing a small twinkle in your eyes which he was sure was only for the moment.
You were intoxicated, and intoxicating both. He found himself wanting to have more of you to himself, to get drunk off of the feeling of your skin contrasting his, your fingers intwined with his, but was too late in realising it.
“To be honest, he’s kind of a jerk. And he’s not a nice person. He’s trouble for me, but he still gives me a thrill, I think. I guess I like the thrill, not the relationship,” you said thoughtfully- drunk, but thoughtfully-, evoking a sense of admiration in Bucky.
“But I still love him, you know?” You sighed, gulping another bit of the magical substance which to you, seemed to drive away negative thoughts from your mind. “Which is stupid, because he doesn’t deserve me. He probably deserves a nice punch in the nose for cheating on me, but not me. He doesn’t deserve-”
Your voice cracked, sending thuds of agony to Bucky as he shifted closer to you almost automatically, wrapping an arm around your shoulders, hoping that the sad look in your eyes as you looked to the horizon would disappear.
“Don’t allow him to make you question yourself. You are worth so much more than him,” he said, almost commanded, watching as the bottle made its way to your mouth again. But he just let you do it. “If he can’t see the kindness in your heart that makes me- us love you, or the excitement in your eyes when you see something you love, then he isn’t worth keeping around.”
Your eyebrows furrowed as you looked down at your folded knees, trying to process what he said.
It was silent, and he could almost feel the gears turning in your brain, the very same that induced the thoughts that you had or the ideas you spoke of.
“You said ‘me’.” Your voice was confused, accusatory.
“What?” Bucky asked, lost.
“You said ‘me’, but changed it to ‘us’. You said you love me, but then you changed it.” If you weren’t drunk off your ass, maybe you would have kept it to yourself. It wasn’t the first time Bucky was so careless with his words.
“You caught me.” He shrugged, earlier upset but now thanking the fact that this would have slipped your mind by the next morning.
“You love me?” you asked almost innocently.
“Of course I do. I’ve told you before.”
“I don’t remember,” you murmured, shifting to look at him.
His serene eyes told you nothing that you wanted to know, showing you none of the pain swimming underneath in his mind.
“You won’t remember this either.” He sighed, and you did the same, making him quirk an eyebrow at you and smile.
“Why don’t you ever say it to me then? I always thought you saw me as a friend.” He turned away from you again, looking back at the setting sun. He’s had this conversation too many times for him to want to repeat the same answer.
“I don’t wanna be your friend, I wanna kiss your neck,” he sang softly instead, quoting the song he had been listening to on repeat for a week, his gaze focusing on the skyline.
“Your lips pressed to my neck. I’m falling for your eyes, but they don’t know me yet.” You half-sang, half-giggled, seemingly forgetting about whatever had just been said, instead focusing on a different song.
His fingers tightened ceremoniously around your shoulders in an attempt to make sure you wouldn’t slip and fall off the edge where you both had resided.
“Can I say something to you?” you asked, pausing momentarily to look at him.
He gave a small hum as an answer, and you took it as a yes, leaning in to whisper into his ears.
A slight chill ran down his spine as your lips ghosted over his earlobe, making him gulp nervously and force a straight face. If this was going anywhere where he wished it would go, he would have no clue how to react.
“You know,” you began sultrily, not helping his state, “when I see your pyjamas I can’t stop smiling at you. I like you in them.”
Bucky stared blankly ahead, taking a moment to register what exactly you had just said.
“Okay, come on sweetheart. I think that’s enough for today.” He spun around, trying his best to keep his voice from cracking, to hop off the ledge whilst ignoring your cries of protest.
His rough hands held yours securely as he helped you down, throwing your one arm around him to help you stagger along.
“Bucky just because I kind of love him doesn’t mean that I love him more than you,” you whispered, sighing soon after.
All he could do was smile sadly as you continued walking, the sun have gone down already, trailing with it all the words he could have confessed and feelings he could have acted upon.
In the end, all your conversations and gestures would be washed away in the morning along with the liquor because as he said, your conversations were like smoke.
And smoke was only vivacious for a brief period before it dissipated into the atmosphere, leaving no trace of even being there.
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