lunarbuck
'til the end of the line
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I’m so glad you enjoyed 🩷
11:59 pm, December 31
moodboard is just for vibes, not what reader looks like
Pairing: bestfriend!bucky x f!reader (any race), College AU
WC: 1.7k
Summary: You've been in love with your best friend Bucky Barnes since fourth grade, but to him, you're just his best friend. It's New Year's Eve, maybe tonight will be different.
Notes: I'm kinda obsessed with this... Also! This is for @buckyjmsbarnes writing challenge :) The prompt I used is “how do you get over someone who never was yours”
Tags: angst with a happy ending, friends to lovers, light swearing
my masterlist / please let me know if you'd like to be added to my anything-Bucky taglist!
You sit out on the wooden swing in your backyard and stare up at the sky. It’s a cloudless night, the moon is full, and there are more stars than usual. Normally, the stars are a comfort to you, but tonight all they do is remind you of Bucky.
Bucky, your best friend since fourth grade.
Bucky, the boy who every girl he’s ever met, falls in love with.
Bucky, the boy you’ve been in love with since the day you met him. He’s never seen you like that, though. To him, you’re just his best friend, the person he can go to with all his girl problems. And for a long time, you didn’t mind. You were just happy to be there for him. You’d take him in whatever way he was willing to be there.
But as the years went by, you realized he’d never feel the same way about you. So you accepted your fate and decided that you were perfectly fine being ‘just friends’ with Bucky Barnes. And that’s how it’s been, through high school and now in college, you’ve been his friend through it all.
Now, it’s your final year of college, and you’re sitting in your backyard on New Year’s Eve alone. It’s cold, the snow has seeped into your boots and soaked your socks, but you don’t care. All you can think about is the party you’d run away from 45 minutes ago. You and Bucky had gone together, hung out, and then he just disappeared. Eventually, you found him settled on the couch with some girl you went to high school with in his lap. Her fingers twisted in his hair, and he looked up at her with those bright blue eyes.
You snapped. You couldn’t stand it. Right as you saw him wink at that girl, you turned around and walked away. You walked straight out of the house and back to your parent’s place. It was a 20-minute walk, but the cold winter air helped calm you down. Instead of heading inside, you made your way into the backyard and sat down on the old wooden swing. Your dad had hung it up when you were five, and once Bucky moved next door, it quickly became your favorite hangout spot.
This was where Bucky had hugged you while you cried about Cara Smith telling you that your bow looked stupid. It’s where Bucky had told you about his crush on Samantha Truen in 6th grade, and it’s also where he’d told you his plans to break up with her three weeks later. Freshman year of high school, you cried to Bucky when Eli Henry bailed on you for Homecoming. Bucky told you of countless girlfriends and their inevitable breakups right here on this swing.
So tonight, the night you’ve finally reached your breaking point, you stare up at the stars and wonder why they’ve done this to you. Why did they make that kind, beautiful, blue-eyed boy move in next door all those years ago? Why did they make you fall in love with him? And why did they make him fall in love with everyone else?
The stars blur as tears well in your eyes. How many times have you sat right here in this swing and cried over Bucky Barnes? Far too many times to count. Countless shooting stars, hundreds of wishes made on 11:11, hoping and praying for Bucky to just love you back.
Maybe that’s why tonight, seeing him with that girl who probably never even knew you existed in high school, you cracked. Bucky will never see you the way you see him. You’ll always just be his friend. Nothing more.
But how are you just supposed to forget about your feelings for him? You’ve tried before, but he comes back with that fucking smile, and you’re sucked right back in.
How do you get over someone who never was yours?
How do you mourn a relationship that never even began?
When you look back up at the sky, you feel the constellations mocking you. They are perpetually placed in the heavens with their mates, beautifully paired for the world to see.
Footsteps crunch in the snow, but you don’t turn to look at them; you already know who it is. As he gets closer, you smell his cologne filling the air around you, and it takes everything in you not to glance over at him.
“What’re you doin’ out here,” he asks, rubbing his gloved hands together. His breath fogs in the air as he stands over you, just outside your field of vision.
“Thinking,” you say, voice thick with your tears. Bucky crouches down in front of you and places his hands on your face. His brow is furrowed; you’re easy to read, so he knows you’re upset. You doubt, though, that he knows that he’s the reason why.
“Whatcha thinkin’ about,” he coos, rubbing his thumbs along your cheeks to wipe away your tears. You hate how sweet he’s being. It’s hard to tell your heart that he’s only doing it to be nice. Not because he loves you. A few responses run through your head, you could tell him you’re thinking about him, but you don’t think you’re strong enough to tell him everything right now. Not tonight. Not here.
Your heart has never been too good at listening to your brain, though. “You.” His eyes go wide, and you can practically see him running through everything he’s said and done recently that would have upset you.
“I’m sorry that I’ve upset you; what can I do to make it better?” You scoff. He can’t do anything. Unless he can make you stop loving him, but you’re not even sure if you want him to do that. You don’t want to know life without Bucky in it.
“You can’t.” Bucky stands then sits beside you on the wooden swing. He digs his boots into the snow, causing the seat to sway. The branch you’re hanging from creaks.
“What did I do, doll?” He asks quietly. Snow continues to fall, and the world seems to go still with his question. How do you explain this to him? “Is this about Mara? Look, I know you don’t like her, but nothing happened–”
“You’re an idiot,” you say through a sarcastic laugh. Bucky looks at you, clearly confused, and waits for you to explain. “You think this is all about Mara. God, I’ve known you since fourth grade, and you think this is about some girl?” You stand, causing Bucky to swing back.
“How am I supposed to know if you won’t tell me what’s up?” You pace for a moment in the snow, then turn to face the boy you’ve been in love with for years and years.
“I love you, Bucky. I have loved you since the day I saw you, and you have never loved me back. And you know what? That’s fine.” You pause to take a breath and see him open his mouth, and you shake your head. “I can’t make you love me. I can’t change the way you feel. I realize that, and it’s fine. I’ll be fine. It was hard to see you tonight with Mara because we were supposed to hang out.” Ever since you knew what kissing was, you’d wanted Bucky to be your New Year’s kiss. But every year, he had a different girl in mind.
Now, it’s Bucky’s turn to stand. He closes the space between the two of you and puts his hands on your shoulders, and you shiver under his gaze.
“You have no idea what you’re talking about,” he whispers, breath warming your face. You stare back at him and shake your head. “You have no idea.”
“What do you mean?” Any confidence you’d mustered together earlier has dissipated; you feel small all of a sudden.
“You’re standing here telling me that you apparently know how I feel. You don’t. You couldn’t.” How did this get so turned around on you? Bucky has told you every thought in that pretty little head of his since the day he moved in. What could he possibly be keeping from you?
“Bucky,” you say quietly, a plea for him to explain. You’re not sure how much more you can take. He glances at his watch, then takes a step closer. His chin rests against the top of your head, and you try not to take gulping breaths of him.
“Make a wish,” he whispers against your head. You shake your head; it’s not time for wishes.
“It’s past 11:11,” you say, feeling the warmth from his chest against your face.
“Make a wish,” he repeats. So you do, you wish for what you always do, for Bucky to feel the same.
Your neighbors are having a New Year’s party, and you hear them start the countdown to the new year. You stare up at Bucky and wish on those stupid stars in the sky.
And then, he kisses you. Right as your neighbor’s muffled cheer of ‘happy new year’ rings through the air, he presses his soft lips to yours in the kiss you’d been waiting for for years.
It’s all-encompassing, and it warms you all the way down to your toes. He wraps his arms around you and holds you close, enveloping you in his being. It’s everything you’d thought it would be and more. His nose bumps your cheek, and his tongue seeks out the seam of your lips, and when you let him in, he groans lightly into your mouth.
He ends the kiss far too soon for your taste, but it’s worth it to see the way he looks at you.
“I have loved you since day one,” he says against your lips. “I just didn’t know how to tell you. I didn’t want to lose you; I don’t know how to live life without you. I’m an idiot, and I didn’t know you felt the same way.” He lets his words settle, and a tear falls down your cheek. He swipes it away and kisses you again. It’s sweet and apologetic and loving.
“I love you, Bucky,” you say against his lips. A grin tugs at his cheeks, and he dips you back, supporting your weight in his arms.
“I love you more.”
Maybe all this time, you should’ve been making wishes at 11:59.
Tagged: @peaches1958
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Bitches will find a fictional man attractive and then immediately imagine him in situations where he is losing alarming amounts of blood
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As a certifiable sleepy girl nothing feels more romantic than cuddling up for a nap with someone. Please play with my hair as I fall asleep, I’ll melt into a puddle.
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I’m so glad that my story found you and that you could connect with it, that means the absolute world to me 💙 thank you so much for reading
Anything/Everything
a/n: this is literally incoherent rambling... sorry. this is mostly just coming from the fact that i feel very lost rn so sorry in advance for that
not beta'd and barely edited, any and all mistakes are my own
bucky barnes & f!reader (any race) have a conversation on a fire escape
no warnings apply
my masterlist | @lunarbucklibrary
The air is crisp and cold as you climb out the window and onto the fire escape. The metal railing is cool against your palms, grounding you to the moment. There’s too much smog in the city to see any stars other than the North Star.
Tonight, just like every night, you make a wish. You wish for things to be different, for someone to come sweep you off your feet and take you to Neverland. To take you away from all of this. And tonight, just like every night, you know that won’t happen. That doesn’t keep you from wishing, though. From gazing up at that bright ball of light in the smoky sky and wishing with all your might, for someone. Anyone, to come save you.
Your fire escape is small, but there’s enough room for a little picnic chair, which you settle into after making your wish. The sounds of the city echo and muddle together into a familiar symphony, the background to your nightly ruminating.
There’s just enough light coming from your bedroom window to journal by, and though summer is fading to fall, you can bear the cooler temperatures for long enough to do tonight’s entry. You pop the cap off your pen, flip to an open page and jot down the date.
Just as you start writing your entry, you hear the familiar sound of boots on the fire escape below you. You don’t need to peek down to know who it is. Well, technically, you don’t know his name, but you know his face. Those piercing blue eyes, that dimpled chin.
He moved in last month but no one in the building knows his name. He’s like a ghost. But you’ve come to think of him as your ghost, since every night, he comes out just like you do. You’ve come up with your own story of him, that he’s wishing on the stars just like you are. That he’s just as lost, just as confused, as you are.
You return your focus to your journal, scratching out your thoughts as they pour out of your head. You’re so focused that you miss the ghost from downstairs walking up toward you. You miss him taking a seat a few steps away from the top. You miss the way his familiar blue eyes trace your features, committing them to memory, and the small smile that graces his lips for just a moment.
“What do you wish for?” He asks, his voice cutting through the night. You jolt. The timbre of his voice makes you shiver, it sends electricity sparking through every nerve in your body.
All you can do is stare at the ghostly man in front of you.
“What do you wish for,” he asks again, this time more gently.
“Anything,” you whisper.
“What do you write about?” You tip your head from the man up to the sky.
“Everything.” Silence falls between the two of you before you take a deep breath, returning your gaze to the man. “How did you know I was making wishes?” A whisper of a grin that disappears as quickly as it came crosses his lips.
“Because I’m making wishes too.” If this was anyone else, you’d make a joke, break the fierce tension that’s fallen in the space between you and the ghost. But you can’t help but feel like he can see right through you, right down to your soul.
Now, it’s your turn to ask, “What do you wish for?”
His eyes trace your face leaving a burning trail in their wake. “Someone.”
You slide off your chair, letting the chill of metal seep through your pajama pants. The ghost stays put.
“Who?” His blue eyes shift to your surroundings, the sky, eventually settling on the moon.
“I’m not sure anymore.” This moment, so full of vulnerability, makes your throat tighten. “I lost him a long time ago, I think. I guess I just thought he’d come back. He always came back.” The ghost in front of you looks more human with every passing second.
His dark hair, clipped close on the sides, is ruffled like he can’t stop running his fingers through it. His shirt is wrinkled and has signs of loose threads at the seams from years of wear and work. His eyes crinkle in the corners, frown lines litter his forehead.
“I hope your wish comes true,” you reply, meaning it. The ghost shakes his head.
“It won’t, but thank you.”
“So why do you keep wishing if you know it won’t come true?”
“Just in case.”
Just in case.
“My wishes never come true,” you confess. “But I can’t stop myself from coming out here anyways, I can’t help but feel the pull.” The ghost nods his understanding.
“Just in case.”
“Just in case.” Your eyes lock with his, and for a moment, you feel the world stop spinning. You feel time freeze. Everything slows, blurs, disappears, until it is just you and him.
“Who are you?” He whispers, brows furrowing.
“I don’t know anymore,” you reply. “Who are you?” You barely even hear the words as they leave your lips.
“I’m trying to remember.”
I am discontinuing my taglist. please follow @lunarbucklibrary and turn on notifications to be notified when I post new fics.
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🫶 he really is!!!
Thank you so much for reading my dear
Understanding (Bucky xf!reader)
Pairing: Bucky Barnes x f!reader (any race)
WC: 924
Sneak Peek: At this point, you know you’re not broken. You know the side effects of your meds, and you’ve learned to deal with them. It’s not your fault that other people don’t get it. But Bucky does.
Warnings: reader takes SSRIs, oral (f receiving), fluff
A/N: the struggle is real, my friends. The struggle is real
beta’d by the perfect @lfnr-blog-blog-blog!! thank you so so much :)
my masterlist | Bucky Masterlist | @lunarbucklibrary
Tonight has been incredible. It’s been a few weeks since you met Bucky Barnes, and in that time, he’s been the perfect gentleman. He opens doors for you, pays for dinner, and you have never felt pressured to do anything you don’t want to do.
You inwardly cringe at that last one, silently cursing the way the world is going, but shake it off. Bucky takes your hand from across the table and runs his thumb over your palm. A slice of chocolate cake sits between you, ready to be devoured, and you grin.
“Do you want to do the honors?” He asks. You know by now that he’ll always let you have the first and last bite of all the desserts. You take your fork and slice into the cake before bringing it to your lips. Bucky watches, practically holding his breath, while you sigh, reveling in the perfect cake.
“It’s incredible,” you tell him before taking another bite. The two of you go back and forth, discussing various happenings in your day-to-day lives. You’re past the point of getting to know one another, so Bucky feels comfortable talking to you about work and how his partner, Sam Wilson, gets on his every nerve.
By the time the cake is gone, there’s anticipation buzzing in the air. You know Bucky can feel it, too. You’ve been on more than three dates with Bucky, so you know he’s not necessarily expecting anything, but you can tell he wants you. And fuck it, you want him to.
He pays the bill, and you hook your arm with his as he walks you out of the restaurant. The two of you stroll down the block with no specific destination in mind, when you abruptly stop. Bucky looks at you with a furrowed brow, and you reach up with your thumb to smooth away the worry.
“What’s wrong, sweetheart?” He asks, warming beneath your touch.
“Take me home, Buck.”
The moment your back hits Bucky’s mattress, he’s on top of you. He kisses down your neck, sucking lightly on your soft skin. He trails his lips down as his fingers work your shirt open. You breathe heavily, fingers tangling in his hair. Bucky looks up at you through his lashes, blue eyes gleaming.
“You’re so perfect,” he whispers, tugging your bra off your shoulders. His lips wrap around your nipple and suck, making your back arch off the bed.
“Oh my god, Bucky,” you moan, scratching your nails against his scalp. Bucky keeps undressing you while his mouth is occupied, pulling your skirt off in a swift movement. His lips continue their path down your ribs and torso, sweetly kissing your belly before tracing along the line of your panties.
“Is this okay?” He asks gently, looking up at you for your answer.
“Yes, Buck, it’s more than okay.” Bucky flashes you his perfect grin before sliding your panties down your legs. Heat pools in your belly as he drags his tongue across your pussy, circling your clit.
Electricity buzzes up your spine as Bucky settles in between your legs. He works you up and up and up. He learns your body, watches your reactions, and takes your cues for what you like. You can feel the orgasm building, but you’re just not quite there.
Out of instinct, you reach down and try to find your clit with your fingers, and Bucky pulls away. “Show me what you like, baby,” he whispers, seemingly not put off by you taking over a little bit. You feel heat spread through your body, embarrassment tinging your thoughts before you see the lustful look in his eyes.
“Use your fingers,” you tell him quietly. Bucky slides his fingers inside of you while you play with your clit. Your orgasm sneaks back up on you, and with Bucky working you, hitting all the right spots, you feel yourself teetering on the edge.
“Come on, baby, come for me, come on my fingers,” he rasps, nipping at your inner thigh. The feeling of his teeth biting into your skin sends you spiraling, and you come on a loud moan. Bucky kisses the mark from his teeth before kissing his way back up your body.
When his lips find yours, you taste yourself in the kiss and pull him closer. He grins into the kiss and props himself up. You stifle a yawn, and Bucky chuckles, shaking his head.
“Your turn?” You ask, preparing yourself to reciprocate.
“Not tonight, sweetheart, you’re tired.” You nod, and Bucky settles on the mattress, pulling you against his chest. He’s so warm, so comforting.
“Thank you,” you whisper.
“For what?”
“For understanding.” Bucky shifts, looking down at you. Confusion is written across his features, but you already know he won’t push you for an explanation if you don’t want to give one. You do, though. “The medication I take makes it hard for me to orgasm. Sometimes I just can’t, sometimes I need to use toys, and sometimes I just have to do it myself. Not everyone is so understanding or even willing to just let me do what I need to do.”
At this point, you know you’re not broken. You know the side effects of your meds, and you’ve learned to deal with them. It’s not your fault that other people don’t get it. But Bucky does.
“I’m sorry people haven’t been kind, baby.” He kisses your forehead softly, a sweet gesture that makes butterflies flit around in your stomach.
Could he be any more perfect?
I am discontinuing my taglist. Please follow @lunarbucklibrary and turn on notifications to be notified when I post! must be 18+ with age/age range in bio
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jo <3 thank you so much!! writing this was such a different experience compared to anything else, and i do feel like it came from a deep part of me that i've been exploring a lot lately
thank you for your love and support, i'm sending you so much love
Anything/Everything
a/n: this is literally incoherent rambling... sorry. this is mostly just coming from the fact that i feel very lost rn so sorry in advance for that
not beta'd and barely edited, any and all mistakes are my own
bucky barnes & f!reader (any race) have a conversation on a fire escape
no warnings apply
my masterlist | @lunarbucklibrary
The air is crisp and cold as you climb out the window and onto the fire escape. The metal railing is cool against your palms, grounding you to the moment. There’s too much smog in the city to see any stars other than the North Star.
Tonight, just like every night, you make a wish. You wish for things to be different, for someone to come sweep you off your feet and take you to Neverland. To take you away from all of this. And tonight, just like every night, you know that won’t happen. That doesn’t keep you from wishing, though. From gazing up at that bright ball of light in the smoky sky and wishing with all your might, for someone. Anyone, to come save you.
Your fire escape is small, but there’s enough room for a little picnic chair, which you settle into after making your wish. The sounds of the city echo and muddle together into a familiar symphony, the background to your nightly ruminating.
There’s just enough light coming from your bedroom window to journal by, and though summer is fading to fall, you can bear the cooler temperatures for long enough to do tonight’s entry. You pop the cap off your pen, flip to an open page and jot down the date.
Just as you start writing your entry, you hear the familiar sound of boots on the fire escape below you. You don’t need to peek down to know who it is. Well, technically, you don’t know his name, but you know his face. Those piercing blue eyes, that dimpled chin.
He moved in last month but no one in the building knows his name. He’s like a ghost. But you’ve come to think of him as your ghost, since every night, he comes out just like you do. You’ve come up with your own story of him, that he’s wishing on the stars just like you are. That he’s just as lost, just as confused, as you are.
You return your focus to your journal, scratching out your thoughts as they pour out of your head. You’re so focused that you miss the ghost from downstairs walking up toward you. You miss him taking a seat a few steps away from the top. You miss the way his familiar blue eyes trace your features, committing them to memory, and the small smile that graces his lips for just a moment.
“What do you wish for?” He asks, his voice cutting through the night. You jolt. The timbre of his voice makes you shiver, it sends electricity sparking through every nerve in your body.
All you can do is stare at the ghostly man in front of you.
“What do you wish for,” he asks again, this time more gently.
“Anything,” you whisper.
“What do you write about?” You tip your head from the man up to the sky.
“Everything.” Silence falls between the two of you before you take a deep breath, returning your gaze to the man. “How did you know I was making wishes?” A whisper of a grin that disappears as quickly as it came crosses his lips.
“Because I’m making wishes too.” If this was anyone else, you’d make a joke, break the fierce tension that’s fallen in the space between you and the ghost. But you can’t help but feel like he can see right through you, right down to your soul.
Now, it’s your turn to ask, “What do you wish for?”
His eyes trace your face leaving a burning trail in their wake. “Someone.”
You slide off your chair, letting the chill of metal seep through your pajama pants. The ghost stays put.
“Who?” His blue eyes shift to your surroundings, the sky, eventually settling on the moon.
“I’m not sure anymore.” This moment, so full of vulnerability, makes your throat tighten. “I lost him a long time ago, I think. I guess I just thought he’d come back. He always came back.” The ghost in front of you looks more human with every passing second.
His dark hair, clipped close on the sides, is ruffled like he can’t stop running his fingers through it. His shirt is wrinkled and has signs of loose threads at the seams from years of wear and work. His eyes crinkle in the corners, frown lines litter his forehead.
“I hope your wish comes true,” you reply, meaning it. The ghost shakes his head.
“It won’t, but thank you.”
“So why do you keep wishing if you know it won’t come true?”
“Just in case.”
Just in case.
“My wishes never come true,” you confess. “But I can’t stop myself from coming out here anyways, I can’t help but feel the pull.” The ghost nods his understanding.
“Just in case.”
“Just in case.” Your eyes lock with his, and for a moment, you feel the world stop spinning. You feel time freeze. Everything slows, blurs, disappears, until it is just you and him.
“Who are you?” He whispers, brows furrowing.
“I don’t know anymore,” you reply. “Who are you?” You barely even hear the words as they leave your lips.
“I’m trying to remember.”
I am discontinuing my taglist. please follow @lunarbucklibrary and turn on notifications to be notified when I post new fics.
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Thank you so much my love <3
Anything/Everything
a/n: this is literally incoherent rambling... sorry. this is mostly just coming from the fact that i feel very lost rn so sorry in advance for that
not beta'd and barely edited, any and all mistakes are my own
bucky barnes & f!reader (any race) have a conversation on a fire escape
no warnings apply
my masterlist | @lunarbucklibrary
The air is crisp and cold as you climb out the window and onto the fire escape. The metal railing is cool against your palms, grounding you to the moment. There’s too much smog in the city to see any stars other than the North Star.
Tonight, just like every night, you make a wish. You wish for things to be different, for someone to come sweep you off your feet and take you to Neverland. To take you away from all of this. And tonight, just like every night, you know that won’t happen. That doesn’t keep you from wishing, though. From gazing up at that bright ball of light in the smoky sky and wishing with all your might, for someone. Anyone, to come save you.
Your fire escape is small, but there’s enough room for a little picnic chair, which you settle into after making your wish. The sounds of the city echo and muddle together into a familiar symphony, the background to your nightly ruminating.
There’s just enough light coming from your bedroom window to journal by, and though summer is fading to fall, you can bear the cooler temperatures for long enough to do tonight’s entry. You pop the cap off your pen, flip to an open page and jot down the date.
Just as you start writing your entry, you hear the familiar sound of boots on the fire escape below you. You don’t need to peek down to know who it is. Well, technically, you don’t know his name, but you know his face. Those piercing blue eyes, that dimpled chin.
He moved in last month but no one in the building knows his name. He’s like a ghost. But you’ve come to think of him as your ghost, since every night, he comes out just like you do. You’ve come up with your own story of him, that he’s wishing on the stars just like you are. That he’s just as lost, just as confused, as you are.
You return your focus to your journal, scratching out your thoughts as they pour out of your head. You’re so focused that you miss the ghost from downstairs walking up toward you. You miss him taking a seat a few steps away from the top. You miss the way his familiar blue eyes trace your features, committing them to memory, and the small smile that graces his lips for just a moment.
“What do you wish for?” He asks, his voice cutting through the night. You jolt. The timbre of his voice makes you shiver, it sends electricity sparking through every nerve in your body.
All you can do is stare at the ghostly man in front of you.
“What do you wish for,” he asks again, this time more gently.
“Anything,” you whisper.
“What do you write about?” You tip your head from the man up to the sky.
“Everything.” Silence falls between the two of you before you take a deep breath, returning your gaze to the man. “How did you know I was making wishes?” A whisper of a grin that disappears as quickly as it came crosses his lips.
“Because I’m making wishes too.” If this was anyone else, you’d make a joke, break the fierce tension that’s fallen in the space between you and the ghost. But you can’t help but feel like he can see right through you, right down to your soul.
Now, it’s your turn to ask, “What do you wish for?”
His eyes trace your face leaving a burning trail in their wake. “Someone.”
You slide off your chair, letting the chill of metal seep through your pajama pants. The ghost stays put.
“Who?” His blue eyes shift to your surroundings, the sky, eventually settling on the moon.
“I’m not sure anymore.” This moment, so full of vulnerability, makes your throat tighten. “I lost him a long time ago, I think. I guess I just thought he’d come back. He always came back.” The ghost in front of you looks more human with every passing second.
His dark hair, clipped close on the sides, is ruffled like he can’t stop running his fingers through it. His shirt is wrinkled and has signs of loose threads at the seams from years of wear and work. His eyes crinkle in the corners, frown lines litter his forehead.
“I hope your wish comes true,” you reply, meaning it. The ghost shakes his head.
“It won’t, but thank you.”
“So why do you keep wishing if you know it won’t come true?”
“Just in case.”
Just in case.
“My wishes never come true,” you confess. “But I can’t stop myself from coming out here anyways, I can’t help but feel the pull.” The ghost nods his understanding.
“Just in case.”
“Just in case.” Your eyes lock with his, and for a moment, you feel the world stop spinning. You feel time freeze. Everything slows, blurs, disappears, until it is just you and him.
“Who are you?” He whispers, brows furrowing.
“I don’t know anymore,” you reply. “Who are you?” You barely even hear the words as they leave your lips.
“I’m trying to remember.”
I am discontinuing my taglist. please follow @lunarbucklibrary and turn on notifications to be notified when I post new fics.
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Dumb Bunny (dark!winter soldier xf!reader)
a dark little red riding hood retelling
pairing: dark!winter soldier x f! reader (any race)
wc: 3.3k
summary: The Wolf sees you walking through the forest on your way to your grandmother's house, and he just can't help himself.
warnings: dark fic, knives, oral (f receiving), smut (p in v), pet names [bunny], degradation, primal play, predator/prey, fear, crying
a/n: this is my entry for @boxofbonesfic's fairytale writing challenge :) I hope you guys enjoy!
beta'd by the amazing @sgt-seabass <3
my masterlist
The sight of your home village warms your heart. You’ve been away for so long and missed so much. It’s good to be back. You pull the hood of your cape up to keep the sun off your face and venture into the heart of the village.
After gathering some sweets and a few loaves of bread, you bid farewell to the friendly faces you pass. As lovely as the village is, you can’t shake the feeling that something is just slightly… wrong.
The edge of the forest calls to you, the familiar sound of songbirds lulling you in. You’ve traveled this path hundreds of times; you know it with your eyes closed, even after all this time. Beautifully bright flowers bloom just off the beaten path. You gaze at them but don’t stop to pick any. Grandmother is expecting you. It’s been so long since you’ve seen her, you feel guilty you haven’t visited sooner.
As you walk, you hear footsteps crunch through the fallen leaves. You turn around, the hem of your cape fluttering with the movement. Behind you, you see a tall mountain of a man. Cloaked in black, the man stalks toward you. You’ve heard whisperings of him in town, the Wolf, they call him.
“Excuse me, miss,” he coos, voice deep and gravelly. “Where are you headed? A beautiful girl like you shouldn’t be alone in these woods,” he whispers. “There is danger around every corner.”
You know what people say about the Wolf, the things he’s rumored to have done. That he’s a killer, that he roams the woods hunting unsuspecting victims. He’s ruthless, coldblooded and animal-like in his violence. You’re sure the rumors are true as you gaze up at his bright eyes. Fear flashes through your mind as you stare at him. His eyes are a stark, beautiful blue. His hair, dark and inky, frames his face, though most of it is covered by a black mask.
“I’m visiting my grandmother’s house,” you tell him, smiling politely. You’ve always been taught to be kind to strangers, and this stranger, in particular, the way he’s looking at you, seems to scream danger. You don’t want to risk slighting him.
“Ah,” the Wolf replies, raising his eyebrows. “And what might you have there in your basket?” You move the cloth, showing the Wolf your various sweets and loaves of bread. You imagine he is licking his lips behind his mask. Images of his lips on you, of him kissing you deeply, of him tasting you, flash through your mind, and you quickly shut your eyes. You try to shake off the heat that’s settled in your belly. You shouldn’t think that way about a stranger.
“Well, I must be going. Grandmother is expecting me.” You nod to the Wolf and cover your basket, returning to the path you’d been following. Each breath feels tight in your chest.
“What a shame,” he calls. “The birds are singing so sweetly.” Your steps slow as you allow yourself to listen to the songs that float through the air, but you continue on. You can always listen to the birds as you walk.
“Ah, but the flowers are so beautiful this time of year. Wouldn’t your grandmother enjoy a bouquet?” The Wolf asks, again halting your walking. You glance at the flowers off the path, practically preening for you in the sunlight. Grandmother has always loved the wildflowers; maybe you could spare a few moments to gather a small bouquet.
“I suppose…” You glance back at the Wolf, finding that he has continued to follow you down the path. He’s so close now that if you breathed deeply, your back would touch his chest. Your heart stutters with fear. How did he move so quickly without you hearing? How did you not feel him approach?
“You don’t want to miss out on all the beauty,” he whispers, leaning down beside your ear. With two long fingers, the Wolf tugs your hood off your head, letting the breeze flutter against your neck. He breathes deeply, and your knees wobble as you feel the heat the Wolf emanates. Something sharp trails down your neck, a stinging pain following close behind, and your eyes widen.
Not even a breath later, he’s gone. You shudder at his sudden absence and quickly dart your eyes around, looking for the Wolf, but he’s disappeared into the shadows.
You try to calm your nerves, focusing instead on the flowers glittering just a few paces away. You kneel down, gathering your skirts to prevent them from getting dirty. The flowers are soft against your fingertips as you pick the perfect ones. All the while, the Wolf’s beautiful blue eyes burn in your mind.
The Wolf
Poor, poor grandmother, I think to myself as I drag the woman out of her woodland home and into the glade. She’ll wake up eventually, but not before I do what I want. Not before I take care of her sweet, beautiful little granddaughter.
I go back into the house and take in the empty space. Photos of my little bunny are everywhere, school photos and memories of vacations. She looks so delectable in her too-small bikini, her bright smile practically blinding me.
Next, I climb the stairs, finding myself in the room I had just dragged her grandmother from. The four-poster bed takes up most of the room, fabric hanging from the top of the frame like a canopy. I grin at the thought of taking my bunny here, her tears staining the blanket. Her screams filling the air. I feel myself hardening in my pants, and I adjust my cock.
When I saw her walking through town, my mouth watered. She looked so beautiful in her red cloak, the sun warming her skin. She looked good enough to fucking eat. I followed her from a distance, but once she entered the forest, I couldn’t hold back any longer. The smell of her when I got close… I could barely hold myself back. I wanted to grab her right then and there. I wanted to fuck her into the dirt. But good things come to those who wait.
I am not a patient man, and I always get what I want. Always.
So, I lay down on the bed, the canopy concealing me well enough, and wait.
And wait, and wait.
Until I hear the door creak open.
“Grandmother?” My bunny calls. I can practically hear the smile on her lips. I grin beneath my mask, fingers itching to touch her. To mark her. I hear her footsteps as she wanders into the house. My heartbeat speeds up, ready for the hunt.
“Grandmother?” She calls again, this time even closer. I see her shadow as she comes up the stairs, and a moment later, she pushes open the bedroom door. “Oh, Grandmother, are you ill?” Through the canopy, I see her set down a vase of flowers, the ones she picked in the woods, and her basket, full of sweets.
Her fingers gently curl around the canopy’s fabric and tug it aside. Her eyes widen, and her lips part on a scream, but I’m already moving. I lunge, grab her, and push her down onto the mattress. My hand presses over her mouth, absorbing her scream.
“So fucking beautiful when you scream, bunny,” I growl, dipping my head into the crook of her neck. I breathe her in, the sweet scent of fear mixing with the floral scent of her perfume.
My bunny writhes and struggles against me, but it’s no use. I’m bigger than her, stronger than her. She’ll never escape me. She heaves her breath behind my hand, so I take it off of her, not minding if she screams. No one will hear her anyways.
“What– what are you doing?” She whimpers, tears streaking down her face.
I don’t answer. Instead, I straddle her hips, pinning her to the bed. I run my hands along her torso and up to her breasts. She fits perfectly in my hands, and I flick my eyes to hers, watching her reaction. I can see the way she struggles with herself. The way she wants to give in to me, but something holds her back.
“Oh, bunny,” I whisper, my hands coming up to curl around her neck. “What a beautiful neck you have.” I squeeze her neck lightly, giving her just a taste of what I want, and I see the way her pupils dilate. Her hips jolt up into mine, and I grin beneath my mask.
She breathes heavily, lips parting into a perfect, soft ‘o’. “And what perfect lips you have.” I move one hand up, running my thumb across her beautiful mouth. I lean down close, cupping her jaw.
I want to taste her, I want to rip this fucking mask off my face and taste my little bunny, but I can’t. Not yet. I need to be patient. I sit up, slipping a knife out of my belt and flicking it open. Her eyes widen at the glinting blade.
“Please,” she whispers, tears brimming in her eyes again. “Please don’t hurt me.” I grin.
“My poor, stupid, little bunny. The more you beg me not to, the more I want to hurt you.” She tugs her bottom lip between her teeth, and I stifle a moan. I don’t know how I’ve lived so long without her, how I’m going to go on living if I don’t have her by my side.
“What did you do to my grandmother?” She asks, voice wavering.
“You don’t want to know, bunny.” Her tears stream down her cheeks, and she hiccups as she sobs. She’s fucking perfect. I take in the sight of her blood-red cloak stark against the white sheets. I run the knife along the side of her face, not cutting or scratching her but letting her feel the sharp edge.
I slide off the bed, dragging the knife down the center of her sternum between her breasts and down her torso. I see the thoughts running through her pretty little head. I know she wants to run. I hope she does. I step back and watch her fingers twitch before she darts off the bed. Her red cape flutters behind her as she saints down the stairs. I give her a head start before giving chase. My little bunny is more perfect than she could ever know.
After taking a steadying breath, I take off after my bunny. She left the front door open, and I catch sight of the hem of her cape as she dives behind a tree. She ran pretty far, I’ll give her that, but she won’t escape me. Never.
My feet pound on the ground as I chase her, adrenaline coursing through my veins. She keeps running, doing her best to hide as she goes deeper into the forest, but she’s not fast enough. I catch up quickly, making sure she knows just how close I am. Whenever she hears my boots snap a twig, she yelps, tripping over her feet. As we get further away from the house, she loses steam. I grin as she stumbles, constantly looking back to see me hunting her.
Bunny’s cape gets caught on a branch, and she falls, landing hard in the dirt. She tries to crawl away, but she knows it’s no use. I stalk toward her, loving the way she shakes with each breath, and sink to the ground by her head.
I grip her by her hair, lifting her face out of the dirt, and lean down. “You lose, bunny.” She gasps as I bring out my knife, holding it near her cheek as I turn her. Even though she ran and wants to think she’s afraid of me, I know what she wants. I can fucking smell it on her. Can taste it in the air.
“Please,” she whispers, fingers digging into the leaves on the ground. Her thighs rub together beneath her skirts, and my mouth waters. I know she won’t run this time, not when she’s so close to getting what she wants.
I remove my mask, tugging it from my face with my other hand. Her lips part as her eyes search my features. I move between her legs, running a hand along one of her legs. I push up her skirt, exposing her soft skin. With my knife, I run the tip along her leg, up and up, until I reach her panties. She can’t hide how needy she is. My bunny writhes in the dirt, begging me to touch her with her big beautiful eyes. I slide my knife beneath the waistband of her panties, slicing the fabric. I cut a matching slit near her other leg, tugging the material away. She shivers as the cool air hits her cunt.
“What a pretty pussy you have, bunny,” I growl, lowering my face to the crux of her thighs. She watches me with lust-filled eyes, nodding like the dumb little bunny she is. I bite her inner thigh, leaving an imprint of my teeth on her skin.
“What beautiful eyes you have,” she tells me, a small smile on her lips.
“The better to see you with, bunny.” I run my nose along her pussy, and she bites back a moan. My tongue laves along her clit, and I hear her breath hitch.
“What–” she gasps when I press a finger inside her tight cunt. “What a perfect mouth you have.” I groan against her pussy, devouring her like my last meal.
“The better to eat you with,” I mutter into her pussy. Her fingers tangle in my hair, pulling me closer. She tastes so fucking sweet, practically dripping against my lips. I knew my bunny would be perfect, but she’s better than I ever could have dreamed.
“Please, please,” she whimpers, begging for her release. I curl my finger inside of her, looking for the spot that makes her squirm, and brush my teeth over her sensitive clit. My little bunny is so responsive for me, writhing around in the dirt.
“So fucking sweet, bunny, my own little treat.” Her whimpers get higher pitched, and I know she’s close. I’m practically humping the dirt, I’m so hard, but all I can think about is how good my bunny is being and how fucking perfect she’s going to feel wrapped around my cock.
I work her right up to the edge, and when she’s gripping my hair so hard she’s about to pull it out, she breaks. She comes all over my tongue and finger, and it’s the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen.
I crawl up over her, my tongue running over my lips, gathering her taste. “What a good bunny,” I whisper, taking in the sight of her blissed-out expression. She wants more, though, I can tell.
Her eyes roam over my face, her hands tracing over my features. Her lips part, but she can’t seem to find the words. “Tell me what you want, bunny.” My finger circles her sensitive clit; she jolts.
She shudders but doesn’t speak. “Come on, bunny. I know you’re afraid. I know that you don’t want to admit it. You want my cock? Is that it, bunny? You want me to fuck you here in the dirt?” Her eyebrows pinch together, and fear flashes in her eyes. She knows I’m dangerous; she knows I am unpredictable.
“You wanna be my dirty bunny?” I ask her, nipping at the soft skin of her neck. “You’re my dumb fucking bunny, you know that? You’re gonna let me fuck you into the dirt, and you’re gonna love every second of it, isn’t that right?”
“Oh my god,” she moans, hips bucking against my fingers. “Please.”
“I need to hear you say it, bunny.” I bite her shoulder hard enough to draw blood, and she gasps. “Tell me that you’re my dumb little bunny. Tell me what you want me to do.”
I see the way she hesitates, the way her mind runs through all the reasons she should fight me, but then I see the shift. I see the moment lust takes over, and she succumbs to her primal desires.
“I’m your dumb little bunny,” she whispers. I slide two fingers into her pussy, scissoring my fingers to stretch her. “And–” she sucks in a breath. “And I want– need you to fuck me.”
“Such a good bunny.” I settle back between her legs and pump my fingers, working her up again. I use my other hand to take off my belt. When my pants are down far enough, I palm my cock, moaning. She watches me with hooded, lust-drunk eyes, and I smirk. My dumb little bunny looks so pretty taking my fingers, but she’ll look even better taking my cock.
I take a long look at her pretty face before I grip her hips and turn her over. Hooking my hands underneath her, I position her with her ass high and her head in the dirt. This is how she was meant to be; she was fucking born for this.
I line my cock up with her perfect pussy and tease her clit, loving how she jolts each time. My little bunny has never looked better with her skirt shoved up on her waist and her face pressed against the earth.
“What a perfect bunny for me,” I tell her, spanking her ass. I press my cock into her, groaning as she squeezes me. She’s so fucking tight, so perfect, like she was made for me. Made for this. I slide in, loving how she stretches around my dick. Her face screws up the deeper I get, but I don’t give her time to adjust.
I set a brutal, deep pace, and electricity shoots up my spine. The sounds she’s making, the way her fingers dig into the dirt, are nearly too much for me to handle. The smell of sex and earth floods my nose, and I feel it flood my bloodstream.
She moans and whimpers with each thrust, pressing back with each thrust, egging me on. My little bunny wants me just as much as I want her. I lean down, wrapping an arm around her shoulders, and haul her torso up so she’s kneeling, arching against me. I run my tongue along the spot I’d cut earlier when I’d first spoken to her, tasting the sweet tang of her blood.
My little bunny has tears streaming down her dirt-streaked face. Her eyes are screwed shut as she takes my dick.
“Such a good little bunny,” I groan into her ear. “You were fucking made for this. You were fucking born to be my dumb bunny, to take my cock.” Her cunt flutters around my dick, and my hips stutter.
“Yes, yes, yes,” she chants like a prayer. I drop a hand to her clit and circle it in a way that makes her throw her head back, and bite the cut on her neck. The combination of sensations throws her over the edge, and she convulses on my cock.
I press her back into the dirt and pound into her, slamming into her over and over again. I come on a moan, both of us collapsing. “Good bunny,” I whisper. “Such a good little bunny.”
She falls asleep, drained from the way I used her body, and I grin at the sight. She should know better than to fall asleep next to a predator like me. I brush the dirt from my pants, tucking my cock away, and pick her up. I carry her back to her grandmother’s house and lay her on the four-poster bed.
Next, I retrieve poor old grandmother. She’s still asleep. The drug I gave her will wear off soon. I place her on the couch in the front room. I’ll let my bunny find her when she comes to. I return to the bedroom and stare at my beautiful little bunny.
I don’t clean her up; I don’t even put her dress back. She looks perfect, dirty, and used against the bone-white sheets.
Just the way I like her.
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Oh wow thank you so much!! Your kind words mean so much to me, I really didn’t think this little Drabble would go anywhere, I’m glad you thought it was sublime :)
Anything/Everything
a/n: this is literally incoherent rambling... sorry. this is mostly just coming from the fact that i feel very lost rn so sorry in advance for that
not beta'd and barely edited, any and all mistakes are my own
bucky barnes & f!reader (any race) have a conversation on a fire escape
no warnings apply
my masterlist | @lunarbucklibrary
The air is crisp and cold as you climb out the window and onto the fire escape. The metal railing is cool against your palms, grounding you to the moment. There’s too much smog in the city to see any stars other than the North Star.
Tonight, just like every night, you make a wish. You wish for things to be different, for someone to come sweep you off your feet and take you to Neverland. To take you away from all of this. And tonight, just like every night, you know that won’t happen. That doesn’t keep you from wishing, though. From gazing up at that bright ball of light in the smoky sky and wishing with all your might, for someone. Anyone, to come save you.
Your fire escape is small, but there’s enough room for a little picnic chair, which you settle into after making your wish. The sounds of the city echo and muddle together into a familiar symphony, the background to your nightly ruminating.
There’s just enough light coming from your bedroom window to journal by, and though summer is fading to fall, you can bear the cooler temperatures for long enough to do tonight’s entry. You pop the cap off your pen, flip to an open page and jot down the date.
Just as you start writing your entry, you hear the familiar sound of boots on the fire escape below you. You don’t need to peek down to know who it is. Well, technically, you don’t know his name, but you know his face. Those piercing blue eyes, that dimpled chin.
He moved in last month but no one in the building knows his name. He’s like a ghost. But you’ve come to think of him as your ghost, since every night, he comes out just like you do. You’ve come up with your own story of him, that he’s wishing on the stars just like you are. That he’s just as lost, just as confused, as you are.
You return your focus to your journal, scratching out your thoughts as they pour out of your head. You’re so focused that you miss the ghost from downstairs walking up toward you. You miss him taking a seat a few steps away from the top. You miss the way his familiar blue eyes trace your features, committing them to memory, and the small smile that graces his lips for just a moment.
“What do you wish for?” He asks, his voice cutting through the night. You jolt. The timbre of his voice makes you shiver, it sends electricity sparking through every nerve in your body.
All you can do is stare at the ghostly man in front of you.
“What do you wish for,” he asks again, this time more gently.
“Anything,” you whisper.
“What do you write about?” You tip your head from the man up to the sky.
“Everything.” Silence falls between the two of you before you take a deep breath, returning your gaze to the man. “How did you know I was making wishes?” A whisper of a grin that disappears as quickly as it came crosses his lips.
“Because I’m making wishes too.” If this was anyone else, you’d make a joke, break the fierce tension that’s fallen in the space between you and the ghost. But you can’t help but feel like he can see right through you, right down to your soul.
Now, it’s your turn to ask, “What do you wish for?”
His eyes trace your face leaving a burning trail in their wake. “Someone.”
You slide off your chair, letting the chill of metal seep through your pajama pants. The ghost stays put.
“Who?” His blue eyes shift to your surroundings, the sky, eventually settling on the moon.
“I’m not sure anymore.” This moment, so full of vulnerability, makes your throat tighten. “I lost him a long time ago, I think. I guess I just thought he’d come back. He always came back.” The ghost in front of you looks more human with every passing second.
His dark hair, clipped close on the sides, is ruffled like he can’t stop running his fingers through it. His shirt is wrinkled and has signs of loose threads at the seams from years of wear and work. His eyes crinkle in the corners, frown lines litter his forehead.
“I hope your wish comes true,” you reply, meaning it. The ghost shakes his head.
“It won’t, but thank you.”
“So why do you keep wishing if you know it won’t come true?”
“Just in case.”
Just in case.
“My wishes never come true,” you confess. “But I can’t stop myself from coming out here anyways, I can’t help but feel the pull.” The ghost nods his understanding.
“Just in case.”
“Just in case.” Your eyes lock with his, and for a moment, you feel the world stop spinning. You feel time freeze. Everything slows, blurs, disappears, until it is just you and him.
“Who are you?” He whispers, brows furrowing.
“I don’t know anymore,” you reply. “Who are you?” You barely even hear the words as they leave your lips.
“I’m trying to remember.”
I am discontinuing my taglist. please follow @lunarbucklibrary and turn on notifications to be notified when I post new fics.
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Thank you so much my dear 🩷
Anything/Everything
a/n: this is literally incoherent rambling... sorry. this is mostly just coming from the fact that i feel very lost rn so sorry in advance for that
not beta'd and barely edited, any and all mistakes are my own
bucky barnes & f!reader (any race) have a conversation on a fire escape
no warnings apply
my masterlist | @lunarbucklibrary
The air is crisp and cold as you climb out the window and onto the fire escape. The metal railing is cool against your palms, grounding you to the moment. There’s too much smog in the city to see any stars other than the North Star.
Tonight, just like every night, you make a wish. You wish for things to be different, for someone to come sweep you off your feet and take you to Neverland. To take you away from all of this. And tonight, just like every night, you know that won’t happen. That doesn’t keep you from wishing, though. From gazing up at that bright ball of light in the smoky sky and wishing with all your might, for someone. Anyone, to come save you.
Your fire escape is small, but there’s enough room for a little picnic chair, which you settle into after making your wish. The sounds of the city echo and muddle together into a familiar symphony, the background to your nightly ruminating.
There’s just enough light coming from your bedroom window to journal by, and though summer is fading to fall, you can bear the cooler temperatures for long enough to do tonight’s entry. You pop the cap off your pen, flip to an open page and jot down the date.
Just as you start writing your entry, you hear the familiar sound of boots on the fire escape below you. You don’t need to peek down to know who it is. Well, technically, you don’t know his name, but you know his face. Those piercing blue eyes, that dimpled chin.
He moved in last month but no one in the building knows his name. He’s like a ghost. But you’ve come to think of him as your ghost, since every night, he comes out just like you do. You’ve come up with your own story of him, that he’s wishing on the stars just like you are. That he’s just as lost, just as confused, as you are.
You return your focus to your journal, scratching out your thoughts as they pour out of your head. You’re so focused that you miss the ghost from downstairs walking up toward you. You miss him taking a seat a few steps away from the top. You miss the way his familiar blue eyes trace your features, committing them to memory, and the small smile that graces his lips for just a moment.
“What do you wish for?” He asks, his voice cutting through the night. You jolt. The timbre of his voice makes you shiver, it sends electricity sparking through every nerve in your body.
All you can do is stare at the ghostly man in front of you.
“What do you wish for,” he asks again, this time more gently.
“Anything,” you whisper.
“What do you write about?” You tip your head from the man up to the sky.
“Everything.” Silence falls between the two of you before you take a deep breath, returning your gaze to the man. “How did you know I was making wishes?” A whisper of a grin that disappears as quickly as it came crosses his lips.
“Because I’m making wishes too.” If this was anyone else, you’d make a joke, break the fierce tension that’s fallen in the space between you and the ghost. But you can’t help but feel like he can see right through you, right down to your soul.
Now, it’s your turn to ask, “What do you wish for?”
His eyes trace your face leaving a burning trail in their wake. “Someone.”
You slide off your chair, letting the chill of metal seep through your pajama pants. The ghost stays put.
“Who?” His blue eyes shift to your surroundings, the sky, eventually settling on the moon.
“I’m not sure anymore.” This moment, so full of vulnerability, makes your throat tighten. “I lost him a long time ago, I think. I guess I just thought he’d come back. He always came back.” The ghost in front of you looks more human with every passing second.
His dark hair, clipped close on the sides, is ruffled like he can’t stop running his fingers through it. His shirt is wrinkled and has signs of loose threads at the seams from years of wear and work. His eyes crinkle in the corners, frown lines litter his forehead.
“I hope your wish comes true,” you reply, meaning it. The ghost shakes his head.
“It won’t, but thank you.”
“So why do you keep wishing if you know it won’t come true?”
“Just in case.”
Just in case.
“My wishes never come true,” you confess. “But I can’t stop myself from coming out here anyways, I can’t help but feel the pull.” The ghost nods his understanding.
“Just in case.”
“Just in case.” Your eyes lock with his, and for a moment, you feel the world stop spinning. You feel time freeze. Everything slows, blurs, disappears, until it is just you and him.
“Who are you?” He whispers, brows furrowing.
“I don’t know anymore,” you reply. “Who are you?” You barely even hear the words as they leave your lips.
“I’m trying to remember.”
I am discontinuing my taglist. please follow @lunarbucklibrary and turn on notifications to be notified when I post new fics.
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Thank you for your kind words, im so happy that this made you feel so much!!
Anything/Everything
a/n: this is literally incoherent rambling... sorry. this is mostly just coming from the fact that i feel very lost rn so sorry in advance for that
not beta'd and barely edited, any and all mistakes are my own
bucky barnes & f!reader (any race) have a conversation on a fire escape
no warnings apply
my masterlist | @lunarbucklibrary
The air is crisp and cold as you climb out the window and onto the fire escape. The metal railing is cool against your palms, grounding you to the moment. There’s too much smog in the city to see any stars other than the North Star.
Tonight, just like every night, you make a wish. You wish for things to be different, for someone to come sweep you off your feet and take you to Neverland. To take you away from all of this. And tonight, just like every night, you know that won’t happen. That doesn’t keep you from wishing, though. From gazing up at that bright ball of light in the smoky sky and wishing with all your might, for someone. Anyone, to come save you.
Your fire escape is small, but there’s enough room for a little picnic chair, which you settle into after making your wish. The sounds of the city echo and muddle together into a familiar symphony, the background to your nightly ruminating.
There’s just enough light coming from your bedroom window to journal by, and though summer is fading to fall, you can bear the cooler temperatures for long enough to do tonight’s entry. You pop the cap off your pen, flip to an open page and jot down the date.
Just as you start writing your entry, you hear the familiar sound of boots on the fire escape below you. You don’t need to peek down to know who it is. Well, technically, you don’t know his name, but you know his face. Those piercing blue eyes, that dimpled chin.
He moved in last month but no one in the building knows his name. He’s like a ghost. But you’ve come to think of him as your ghost, since every night, he comes out just like you do. You’ve come up with your own story of him, that he’s wishing on the stars just like you are. That he’s just as lost, just as confused, as you are.
You return your focus to your journal, scratching out your thoughts as they pour out of your head. You’re so focused that you miss the ghost from downstairs walking up toward you. You miss him taking a seat a few steps away from the top. You miss the way his familiar blue eyes trace your features, committing them to memory, and the small smile that graces his lips for just a moment.
“What do you wish for?” He asks, his voice cutting through the night. You jolt. The timbre of his voice makes you shiver, it sends electricity sparking through every nerve in your body.
All you can do is stare at the ghostly man in front of you.
“What do you wish for,” he asks again, this time more gently.
“Anything,” you whisper.
“What do you write about?” You tip your head from the man up to the sky.
“Everything.” Silence falls between the two of you before you take a deep breath, returning your gaze to the man. “How did you know I was making wishes?” A whisper of a grin that disappears as quickly as it came crosses his lips.
“Because I’m making wishes too.” If this was anyone else, you’d make a joke, break the fierce tension that’s fallen in the space between you and the ghost. But you can’t help but feel like he can see right through you, right down to your soul.
Now, it’s your turn to ask, “What do you wish for?”
His eyes trace your face leaving a burning trail in their wake. “Someone.”
You slide off your chair, letting the chill of metal seep through your pajama pants. The ghost stays put.
“Who?” His blue eyes shift to your surroundings, the sky, eventually settling on the moon.
“I’m not sure anymore.” This moment, so full of vulnerability, makes your throat tighten. “I lost him a long time ago, I think. I guess I just thought he’d come back. He always came back.” The ghost in front of you looks more human with every passing second.
His dark hair, clipped close on the sides, is ruffled like he can’t stop running his fingers through it. His shirt is wrinkled and has signs of loose threads at the seams from years of wear and work. His eyes crinkle in the corners, frown lines litter his forehead.
“I hope your wish comes true,” you reply, meaning it. The ghost shakes his head.
“It won’t, but thank you.”
“So why do you keep wishing if you know it won’t come true?”
“Just in case.”
Just in case.
“My wishes never come true,” you confess. “But I can’t stop myself from coming out here anyways, I can’t help but feel the pull.” The ghost nods his understanding.
“Just in case.”
“Just in case.” Your eyes lock with his, and for a moment, you feel the world stop spinning. You feel time freeze. Everything slows, blurs, disappears, until it is just you and him.
“Who are you?” He whispers, brows furrowing.
“I don’t know anymore,” you reply. “Who are you?” You barely even hear the words as they leave your lips.
“I’m trying to remember.”
I am discontinuing my taglist. please follow @lunarbucklibrary and turn on notifications to be notified when I post new fics.
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Ahh hopefully your Saturday can be recovered haha
Thank you for reading 🫶
Anything/Everything
a/n: this is literally incoherent rambling... sorry. this is mostly just coming from the fact that i feel very lost rn so sorry in advance for that
not beta'd and barely edited, any and all mistakes are my own
bucky barnes & f!reader (any race) have a conversation on a fire escape
no warnings apply
my masterlist | @lunarbucklibrary
The air is crisp and cold as you climb out the window and onto the fire escape. The metal railing is cool against your palms, grounding you to the moment. There’s too much smog in the city to see any stars other than the North Star.
Tonight, just like every night, you make a wish. You wish for things to be different, for someone to come sweep you off your feet and take you to Neverland. To take you away from all of this. And tonight, just like every night, you know that won’t happen. That doesn’t keep you from wishing, though. From gazing up at that bright ball of light in the smoky sky and wishing with all your might, for someone. Anyone, to come save you.
Your fire escape is small, but there’s enough room for a little picnic chair, which you settle into after making your wish. The sounds of the city echo and muddle together into a familiar symphony, the background to your nightly ruminating.
There’s just enough light coming from your bedroom window to journal by, and though summer is fading to fall, you can bear the cooler temperatures for long enough to do tonight’s entry. You pop the cap off your pen, flip to an open page and jot down the date.
Just as you start writing your entry, you hear the familiar sound of boots on the fire escape below you. You don’t need to peek down to know who it is. Well, technically, you don’t know his name, but you know his face. Those piercing blue eyes, that dimpled chin.
He moved in last month but no one in the building knows his name. He’s like a ghost. But you’ve come to think of him as your ghost, since every night, he comes out just like you do. You’ve come up with your own story of him, that he’s wishing on the stars just like you are. That he’s just as lost, just as confused, as you are.
You return your focus to your journal, scratching out your thoughts as they pour out of your head. You’re so focused that you miss the ghost from downstairs walking up toward you. You miss him taking a seat a few steps away from the top. You miss the way his familiar blue eyes trace your features, committing them to memory, and the small smile that graces his lips for just a moment.
“What do you wish for?” He asks, his voice cutting through the night. You jolt. The timbre of his voice makes you shiver, it sends electricity sparking through every nerve in your body.
All you can do is stare at the ghostly man in front of you.
“What do you wish for,” he asks again, this time more gently.
“Anything,” you whisper.
“What do you write about?” You tip your head from the man up to the sky.
“Everything.” Silence falls between the two of you before you take a deep breath, returning your gaze to the man. “How did you know I was making wishes?” A whisper of a grin that disappears as quickly as it came crosses his lips.
“Because I’m making wishes too.” If this was anyone else, you’d make a joke, break the fierce tension that’s fallen in the space between you and the ghost. But you can’t help but feel like he can see right through you, right down to your soul.
Now, it’s your turn to ask, “What do you wish for?”
His eyes trace your face leaving a burning trail in their wake. “Someone.”
You slide off your chair, letting the chill of metal seep through your pajama pants. The ghost stays put.
“Who?” His blue eyes shift to your surroundings, the sky, eventually settling on the moon.
“I’m not sure anymore.” This moment, so full of vulnerability, makes your throat tighten. “I lost him a long time ago, I think. I guess I just thought he’d come back. He always came back.” The ghost in front of you looks more human with every passing second.
His dark hair, clipped close on the sides, is ruffled like he can’t stop running his fingers through it. His shirt is wrinkled and has signs of loose threads at the seams from years of wear and work. His eyes crinkle in the corners, frown lines litter his forehead.
“I hope your wish comes true,” you reply, meaning it. The ghost shakes his head.
“It won’t, but thank you.”
“So why do you keep wishing if you know it won’t come true?”
“Just in case.”
Just in case.
“My wishes never come true,” you confess. “But I can’t stop myself from coming out here anyways, I can’t help but feel the pull.” The ghost nods his understanding.
“Just in case.”
“Just in case.” Your eyes lock with his, and for a moment, you feel the world stop spinning. You feel time freeze. Everything slows, blurs, disappears, until it is just you and him.
“Who are you?” He whispers, brows furrowing.
“I don’t know anymore,” you reply. “Who are you?” You barely even hear the words as they leave your lips.
“I’m trying to remember.”
I am discontinuing my taglist. please follow @lunarbucklibrary and turn on notifications to be notified when I post new fics.
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Thank you my love 🫶
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Jen thank you so much for your constant love and support, it means the world to me and so do you!!!
You’re the best 💙
Anything/Everything
a/n: this is literally incoherent rambling... sorry. this is mostly just coming from the fact that i feel very lost rn so sorry in advance for that
not beta'd and barely edited, any and all mistakes are my own
bucky barnes & f!reader (any race) have a conversation on a fire escape
no warnings apply
my masterlist | @lunarbucklibrary
The air is crisp and cold as you climb out the window and onto the fire escape. The metal railing is cool against your palms, grounding you to the moment. There’s too much smog in the city to see any stars other than the North Star.
Tonight, just like every night, you make a wish. You wish for things to be different, for someone to come sweep you off your feet and take you to Neverland. To take you away from all of this. And tonight, just like every night, you know that won’t happen. That doesn’t keep you from wishing, though. From gazing up at that bright ball of light in the smoky sky and wishing with all your might, for someone. Anyone, to come save you.
Your fire escape is small, but there’s enough room for a little picnic chair, which you settle into after making your wish. The sounds of the city echo and muddle together into a familiar symphony, the background to your nightly ruminating.
There’s just enough light coming from your bedroom window to journal by, and though summer is fading to fall, you can bear the cooler temperatures for long enough to do tonight’s entry. You pop the cap off your pen, flip to an open page and jot down the date.
Just as you start writing your entry, you hear the familiar sound of boots on the fire escape below you. You don’t need to peek down to know who it is. Well, technically, you don’t know his name, but you know his face. Those piercing blue eyes, that dimpled chin.
He moved in last month but no one in the building knows his name. He’s like a ghost. But you’ve come to think of him as your ghost, since every night, he comes out just like you do. You’ve come up with your own story of him, that he’s wishing on the stars just like you are. That he’s just as lost, just as confused, as you are.
You return your focus to your journal, scratching out your thoughts as they pour out of your head. You’re so focused that you miss the ghost from downstairs walking up toward you. You miss him taking a seat a few steps away from the top. You miss the way his familiar blue eyes trace your features, committing them to memory, and the small smile that graces his lips for just a moment.
“What do you wish for?” He asks, his voice cutting through the night. You jolt. The timbre of his voice makes you shiver, it sends electricity sparking through every nerve in your body.
All you can do is stare at the ghostly man in front of you.
“What do you wish for,” he asks again, this time more gently.
“Anything,” you whisper.
“What do you write about?” You tip your head from the man up to the sky.
“Everything.” Silence falls between the two of you before you take a deep breath, returning your gaze to the man. “How did you know I was making wishes?” A whisper of a grin that disappears as quickly as it came crosses his lips.
“Because I’m making wishes too.” If this was anyone else, you’d make a joke, break the fierce tension that’s fallen in the space between you and the ghost. But you can’t help but feel like he can see right through you, right down to your soul.
Now, it’s your turn to ask, “What do you wish for?”
His eyes trace your face leaving a burning trail in their wake. “Someone.”
You slide off your chair, letting the chill of metal seep through your pajama pants. The ghost stays put.
“Who?” His blue eyes shift to your surroundings, the sky, eventually settling on the moon.
“I’m not sure anymore.” This moment, so full of vulnerability, makes your throat tighten. “I lost him a long time ago, I think. I guess I just thought he’d come back. He always came back.” The ghost in front of you looks more human with every passing second.
His dark hair, clipped close on the sides, is ruffled like he can’t stop running his fingers through it. His shirt is wrinkled and has signs of loose threads at the seams from years of wear and work. His eyes crinkle in the corners, frown lines litter his forehead.
“I hope your wish comes true,” you reply, meaning it. The ghost shakes his head.
“It won’t, but thank you.”
“So why do you keep wishing if you know it won’t come true?”
“Just in case.”
Just in case.
“My wishes never come true,” you confess. “But I can’t stop myself from coming out here anyways, I can’t help but feel the pull.” The ghost nods his understanding.
“Just in case.”
“Just in case.” Your eyes lock with his, and for a moment, you feel the world stop spinning. You feel time freeze. Everything slows, blurs, disappears, until it is just you and him.
“Who are you?” He whispers, brows furrowing.
“I don’t know anymore,” you reply. “Who are you?” You barely even hear the words as they leave your lips.
“I’m trying to remember.”
I am discontinuing my taglist. please follow @lunarbucklibrary and turn on notifications to be notified when I post new fics.
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Thank you!! I’m so glad you enjoyed 🩷
11:59 pm, December 31
moodboard is just for vibes, not what reader looks like
Pairing: bestfriend!bucky x f!reader (any race), College AU
WC: 1.7k
Summary: You've been in love with your best friend Bucky Barnes since fourth grade, but to him, you're just his best friend. It's New Year's Eve, maybe tonight will be different.
Notes: I'm kinda obsessed with this... Also! This is for @buckyjmsbarnes writing challenge :) The prompt I used is “how do you get over someone who never was yours”
Tags: angst with a happy ending, friends to lovers, light swearing
my masterlist / please let me know if you'd like to be added to my anything-Bucky taglist!
You sit out on the wooden swing in your backyard and stare up at the sky. It’s a cloudless night, the moon is full, and there are more stars than usual. Normally, the stars are a comfort to you, but tonight all they do is remind you of Bucky.
Bucky, your best friend since fourth grade.
Bucky, the boy who every girl he’s ever met, falls in love with.
Bucky, the boy you’ve been in love with since the day you met him. He’s never seen you like that, though. To him, you’re just his best friend, the person he can go to with all his girl problems. And for a long time, you didn’t mind. You were just happy to be there for him. You’d take him in whatever way he was willing to be there.
But as the years went by, you realized he’d never feel the same way about you. So you accepted your fate and decided that you were perfectly fine being ‘just friends’ with Bucky Barnes. And that’s how it’s been, through high school and now in college, you’ve been his friend through it all.
Now, it’s your final year of college, and you’re sitting in your backyard on New Year’s Eve alone. It’s cold, the snow has seeped into your boots and soaked your socks, but you don’t care. All you can think about is the party you’d run away from 45 minutes ago. You and Bucky had gone together, hung out, and then he just disappeared. Eventually, you found him settled on the couch with some girl you went to high school with in his lap. Her fingers twisted in his hair, and he looked up at her with those bright blue eyes.
You snapped. You couldn’t stand it. Right as you saw him wink at that girl, you turned around and walked away. You walked straight out of the house and back to your parent’s place. It was a 20-minute walk, but the cold winter air helped calm you down. Instead of heading inside, you made your way into the backyard and sat down on the old wooden swing. Your dad had hung it up when you were five, and once Bucky moved next door, it quickly became your favorite hangout spot.
This was where Bucky had hugged you while you cried about Cara Smith telling you that your bow looked stupid. It’s where Bucky had told you about his crush on Samantha Truen in 6th grade, and it’s also where he’d told you his plans to break up with her three weeks later. Freshman year of high school, you cried to Bucky when Eli Henry bailed on you for Homecoming. Bucky told you of countless girlfriends and their inevitable breakups right here on this swing.
So tonight, the night you’ve finally reached your breaking point, you stare up at the stars and wonder why they’ve done this to you. Why did they make that kind, beautiful, blue-eyed boy move in next door all those years ago? Why did they make you fall in love with him? And why did they make him fall in love with everyone else?
The stars blur as tears well in your eyes. How many times have you sat right here in this swing and cried over Bucky Barnes? Far too many times to count. Countless shooting stars, hundreds of wishes made on 11:11, hoping and praying for Bucky to just love you back.
Maybe that’s why tonight, seeing him with that girl who probably never even knew you existed in high school, you cracked. Bucky will never see you the way you see him. You’ll always just be his friend. Nothing more.
But how are you just supposed to forget about your feelings for him? You’ve tried before, but he comes back with that fucking smile, and you’re sucked right back in.
How do you get over someone who never was yours?
How do you mourn a relationship that never even began?
When you look back up at the sky, you feel the constellations mocking you. They are perpetually placed in the heavens with their mates, beautifully paired for the world to see.
Footsteps crunch in the snow, but you don’t turn to look at them; you already know who it is. As he gets closer, you smell his cologne filling the air around you, and it takes everything in you not to glance over at him.
“What’re you doin’ out here,” he asks, rubbing his gloved hands together. His breath fogs in the air as he stands over you, just outside your field of vision.
“Thinking,” you say, voice thick with your tears. Bucky crouches down in front of you and places his hands on your face. His brow is furrowed; you’re easy to read, so he knows you’re upset. You doubt, though, that he knows that he’s the reason why.
“Whatcha thinkin’ about,” he coos, rubbing his thumbs along your cheeks to wipe away your tears. You hate how sweet he’s being. It’s hard to tell your heart that he’s only doing it to be nice. Not because he loves you. A few responses run through your head, you could tell him you’re thinking about him, but you don’t think you’re strong enough to tell him everything right now. Not tonight. Not here.
Your heart has never been too good at listening to your brain, though. “You.” His eyes go wide, and you can practically see him running through everything he’s said and done recently that would have upset you.
“I’m sorry that I’ve upset you; what can I do to make it better?” You scoff. He can’t do anything. Unless he can make you stop loving him, but you’re not even sure if you want him to do that. You don’t want to know life without Bucky in it.
“You can’t.” Bucky stands then sits beside you on the wooden swing. He digs his boots into the snow, causing the seat to sway. The branch you’re hanging from creaks.
“What did I do, doll?” He asks quietly. Snow continues to fall, and the world seems to go still with his question. How do you explain this to him? “Is this about Mara? Look, I know you don’t like her, but nothing happened–”
“You’re an idiot,” you say through a sarcastic laugh. Bucky looks at you, clearly confused, and waits for you to explain. “You think this is all about Mara. God, I’ve known you since fourth grade, and you think this is about some girl?” You stand, causing Bucky to swing back.
“How am I supposed to know if you won’t tell me what’s up?” You pace for a moment in the snow, then turn to face the boy you’ve been in love with for years and years.
“I love you, Bucky. I have loved you since the day I saw you, and you have never loved me back. And you know what? That’s fine.” You pause to take a breath and see him open his mouth, and you shake your head. “I can’t make you love me. I can’t change the way you feel. I realize that, and it’s fine. I’ll be fine. It was hard to see you tonight with Mara because we were supposed to hang out.” Ever since you knew what kissing was, you’d wanted Bucky to be your New Year’s kiss. But every year, he had a different girl in mind.
Now, it’s Bucky’s turn to stand. He closes the space between the two of you and puts his hands on your shoulders, and you shiver under his gaze.
“You have no idea what you’re talking about,” he whispers, breath warming your face. You stare back at him and shake your head. “You have no idea.”
“What do you mean?” Any confidence you’d mustered together earlier has dissipated; you feel small all of a sudden.
“You’re standing here telling me that you apparently know how I feel. You don’t. You couldn’t.” How did this get so turned around on you? Bucky has told you every thought in that pretty little head of his since the day he moved in. What could he possibly be keeping from you?
“Bucky,” you say quietly, a plea for him to explain. You’re not sure how much more you can take. He glances at his watch, then takes a step closer. His chin rests against the top of your head, and you try not to take gulping breaths of him.
“Make a wish,” he whispers against your head. You shake your head; it’s not time for wishes.
“It’s past 11:11,” you say, feeling the warmth from his chest against your face.
“Make a wish,” he repeats. So you do, you wish for what you always do, for Bucky to feel the same.
Your neighbors are having a New Year’s party, and you hear them start the countdown to the new year. You stare up at Bucky and wish on those stupid stars in the sky.
And then, he kisses you. Right as your neighbor’s muffled cheer of ‘happy new year’ rings through the air, he presses his soft lips to yours in the kiss you’d been waiting for for years.
It’s all-encompassing, and it warms you all the way down to your toes. He wraps his arms around you and holds you close, enveloping you in his being. It’s everything you’d thought it would be and more. His nose bumps your cheek, and his tongue seeks out the seam of your lips, and when you let him in, he groans lightly into your mouth.
He ends the kiss far too soon for your taste, but it’s worth it to see the way he looks at you.
“I have loved you since day one,” he says against your lips. “I just didn’t know how to tell you. I didn’t want to lose you; I don’t know how to live life without you. I’m an idiot, and I didn’t know you felt the same way.” He lets his words settle, and a tear falls down your cheek. He swipes it away and kisses you again. It’s sweet and apologetic and loving.
“I love you, Bucky,” you say against his lips. A grin tugs at his cheeks, and he dips you back, supporting your weight in his arms.
“I love you more.”
Maybe all this time, you should’ve been making wishes at 11:59.
Tagged: @peaches1958
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Anything/Everything
a/n: this is literally incoherent rambling... sorry. this is mostly just coming from the fact that i feel very lost rn so sorry in advance for that
not beta'd and barely edited, any and all mistakes are my own
bucky barnes & f!reader (any race) have a conversation on a fire escape
no warnings apply
my masterlist | @lunarbucklibrary
The air is crisp and cold as you climb out the window and onto the fire escape. The metal railing is cool against your palms, grounding you to the moment. There’s too much smog in the city to see any stars other than the North Star.
Tonight, just like every night, you make a wish. You wish for things to be different, for someone to come sweep you off your feet and take you to Neverland. To take you away from all of this. And tonight, just like every night, you know that won’t happen. That doesn’t keep you from wishing, though. From gazing up at that bright ball of light in the smoky sky and wishing with all your might, for someone. Anyone, to come save you.
Your fire escape is small, but there’s enough room for a little picnic chair, which you settle into after making your wish. The sounds of the city echo and muddle together into a familiar symphony, the background to your nightly ruminating.
There’s just enough light coming from your bedroom window to journal by, and though summer is fading to fall, you can bear the cooler temperatures for long enough to do tonight’s entry. You pop the cap off your pen, flip to an open page and jot down the date.
Just as you start writing your entry, you hear the familiar sound of boots on the fire escape below you. You don’t need to peek down to know who it is. Well, technically, you don’t know his name, but you know his face. Those piercing blue eyes, that dimpled chin.
He moved in last month but no one in the building knows his name. He’s like a ghost. But you’ve come to think of him as your ghost, since every night, he comes out just like you do. You’ve come up with your own story of him, that he’s wishing on the stars just like you are. That he’s just as lost, just as confused, as you are.
You return your focus to your journal, scratching out your thoughts as they pour out of your head. You’re so focused that you miss the ghost from downstairs walking up toward you. You miss him taking a seat a few steps away from the top. You miss the way his familiar blue eyes trace your features, committing them to memory, and the small smile that graces his lips for just a moment.
“What do you wish for?” He asks, his voice cutting through the night. You jolt. The timbre of his voice makes you shiver, it sends electricity sparking through every nerve in your body.
All you can do is stare at the ghostly man in front of you.
“What do you wish for,” he asks again, this time more gently.
“Anything,” you whisper.
“What do you write about?” You tip your head from the man up to the sky.
“Everything.” Silence falls between the two of you before you take a deep breath, returning your gaze to the man. “How did you know I was making wishes?” A whisper of a grin that disappears as quickly as it came crosses his lips.
“Because I’m making wishes too.” If this was anyone else, you’d make a joke, break the fierce tension that’s fallen in the space between you and the ghost. But you can’t help but feel like he can see right through you, right down to your soul.
Now, it’s your turn to ask, “What do you wish for?”
His eyes trace your face leaving a burning trail in their wake. “Someone.”
You slide off your chair, letting the chill of metal seep through your pajama pants. The ghost stays put.
“Who?” His blue eyes shift to your surroundings, the sky, eventually settling on the moon.
“I’m not sure anymore.” This moment, so full of vulnerability, makes your throat tighten. “I lost him a long time ago, I think. I guess I just thought he’d come back. He always came back.” The ghost in front of you looks more human with every passing second.
His dark hair, clipped close on the sides, is ruffled like he can’t stop running his fingers through it. His shirt is wrinkled and has signs of loose threads at the seams from years of wear and work. His eyes crinkle in the corners, frown lines litter his forehead.
“I hope your wish comes true,” you reply, meaning it. The ghost shakes his head.
“It won’t, but thank you.”
“So why do you keep wishing if you know it won’t come true?”
“Just in case.”
Just in case.
“My wishes never come true,” you confess. “But I can’t stop myself from coming out here anyways, I can’t help but feel the pull.” The ghost nods his understanding.
“Just in case.”
“Just in case.” Your eyes lock with his, and for a moment, you feel the world stop spinning. You feel time freeze. Everything slows, blurs, disappears, until it is just you and him.
“Who are you?” He whispers, brows furrowing.
“I don’t know anymore,” you reply. “Who are you?” You barely even hear the words as they leave your lips.
“I’m trying to remember.”
I am discontinuing my taglist. please follow @lunarbucklibrary and turn on notifications to be notified when I post new fics.
159 notes
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Anything/Everything
a/n: this is literally incoherent rambling... sorry. this is mostly just coming from the fact that i feel very lost rn so sorry in advance for that
not beta'd and barely edited, any and all mistakes are my own
bucky barnes & f!reader (any race) have a conversation on a fire escape
no warnings apply
my masterlist | @lunarbucklibrary
The air is crisp and cold as you climb out the window and onto the fire escape. The metal railing is cool against your palms, grounding you to the moment. There’s too much smog in the city to see any stars other than the North Star.
Tonight, just like every night, you make a wish. You wish for things to be different, for someone to come sweep you off your feet and take you to Neverland. To take you away from all of this. And tonight, just like every night, you know that won’t happen. That doesn’t keep you from wishing, though. From gazing up at that bright ball of light in the smoky sky and wishing with all your might, for someone. Anyone, to come save you.
Your fire escape is small, but there’s enough room for a little picnic chair, which you settle into after making your wish. The sounds of the city echo and muddle together into a familiar symphony, the background to your nightly ruminating.
There’s just enough light coming from your bedroom window to journal by, and though summer is fading to fall, you can bear the cooler temperatures for long enough to do tonight’s entry. You pop the cap off your pen, flip to an open page and jot down the date.
Just as you start writing your entry, you hear the familiar sound of boots on the fire escape below you. You don’t need to peek down to know who it is. Well, technically, you don’t know his name, but you know his face. Those piercing blue eyes, that dimpled chin.
He moved in last month but no one in the building knows his name. He’s like a ghost. But you’ve come to think of him as your ghost, since every night, he comes out just like you do. You’ve come up with your own story of him, that he’s wishing on the stars just like you are. That he’s just as lost, just as confused, as you are.
You return your focus to your journal, scratching out your thoughts as they pour out of your head. You’re so focused that you miss the ghost from downstairs walking up toward you. You miss him taking a seat a few steps away from the top. You miss the way his familiar blue eyes trace your features, committing them to memory, and the small smile that graces his lips for just a moment.
“What do you wish for?” He asks, his voice cutting through the night. You jolt. The timbre of his voice makes you shiver, it sends electricity sparking through every nerve in your body.
All you can do is stare at the ghostly man in front of you.
“What do you wish for,” he asks again, this time more gently.
“Anything,” you whisper.
“What do you write about?” You tip your head from the man up to the sky.
“Everything.” Silence falls between the two of you before you take a deep breath, returning your gaze to the man. “How did you know I was making wishes?” A whisper of a grin that disappears as quickly as it came crosses his lips.
“Because I’m making wishes too.” If this was anyone else, you’d make a joke, break the fierce tension that’s fallen in the space between you and the ghost. But you can’t help but feel like he can see right through you, right down to your soul.
Now, it’s your turn to ask, “What do you wish for?”
His eyes trace your face leaving a burning trail in their wake. “Someone.”
You slide off your chair, letting the chill of metal seep through your pajama pants. The ghost stays put.
“Who?” His blue eyes shift to your surroundings, the sky, eventually settling on the moon.
“I’m not sure anymore.” This moment, so full of vulnerability, makes your throat tighten. “I lost him a long time ago, I think. I guess I just thought he’d come back. He always came back.” The ghost in front of you looks more human with every passing second.
His dark hair, clipped close on the sides, is ruffled like he can’t stop running his fingers through it. His shirt is wrinkled and has signs of loose threads at the seams from years of wear and work. His eyes crinkle in the corners, frown lines litter his forehead.
“I hope your wish comes true,” you reply, meaning it. The ghost shakes his head.
“It won’t, but thank you.”
“So why do you keep wishing if you know it won’t come true?”
“Just in case.”
Just in case.
“My wishes never come true,” you confess. “But I can’t stop myself from coming out here anyways, I can’t help but feel the pull.” The ghost nods his understanding.
“Just in case.”
“Just in case.” Your eyes lock with his, and for a moment, you feel the world stop spinning. You feel time freeze. Everything slows, blurs, disappears, until it is just you and him.
“Who are you?” He whispers, brows furrowing.
“I don’t know anymore,” you reply. “Who are you?” You barely even hear the words as they leave your lips.
“I’m trying to remember.”
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