Falling for the Flames
Pairings: Firefighter.Bucky x Reader
Warnings: Mentions of possible death, fears.
A/n: angsty with fluff. Sorry if this is crap, I haven’t written in months, but I was able to finish this one out.
There wasn’t much that could wake you up in the morning, usually the angels of coffee had to come down themselves, but…you supposed there was a different angel taking care of you today. Arms wrapped around your belly and pulled you against their body, warm breath tickling your skin as Bucky nuzzled into the back of your neck, his scruffy beard scratching pleasantly. His hair brushed against your shoulder as he began to trail a line of little kisses down your neck, smirking as you started to squirm against him.
“I know you’re awake,” he purred, trailing circles on your stomach, and you hummed, turning in his arms until you were hiding in his chest. Your lips brushed against his jaw, a small, sleepy kiss left in their wake before you snuggled into him. He smiled, tucking you in closer and relaxed back into the pillows, mumbling into your hairline.
“We should probably get up and get ready,” he said, but you wrapped your arms around him, keeping him in place.
“Not yet,” you sighed, tugging him to you as if you could possibly squeeze the space between you even smaller, but you just wanted to be closer. The smell of smoke still lingered on him, in his hair, along his neck, down to the fabric of what he was made from. He breathed in fire like it was his life, danger like it could save him, and you just wanted a few more moments. A few more moments to stay in the security of him, just…him.
“We’ve gotta be at Steve’s in a few hours, hon,” he whispered. You paused, but only for a second.
“We already made the food we’re bringing last night, and it won’t take us that long to get ready. Besides, I think we can be a few minutes late.”
“Please just hold me a little longer,” you asked, and Bucky felt your grip on him tighten just a little. He let out a breath and nodded.
“Yeah, okay,” he said, making sure you both are comfortable as he lets you stay tucked into him, and to be honest, he was happy you loved his touch that much. His fingers trailed across your mostly-bare back, the calluses of his hands rough yet soothing on your skin, and he remembered sometimes, exactly what it was he did. It was easy for him to forget what running into the flames could mean. Just what he stood to lose. He forgot sometimes how strong you were to be able to be with him when his work was so dangerous. The fireman’s girl. And so he blessed his lucky stars for every day you chose to stand beside him.
Your breath evened and you purred as Bucky’s fingers began to trace through your hair, lightly scratching your scalp. The way his fingertips found every point of tension in your skull and pulled it out had you melting, and he smiled. His eyes were closed, but he didn’t need to see to know exactly how you looked. Your eyes would be lax, lips slightly parted, and the pull of your cheeks and forehead would completely fall. He could sense it in the way your body collapsed against him how much you loved it. He knew you, and God he loved you.
As the hour drew to a close, you pulled yourself up and leaned over Bucky as he rolled to his back. His eyes were focused on you and you knew you were a complete mess as you hovered over him. Your hair was surely in every which direction and your eyes were drooping from sleep, but there he was, watching you as if you could answer his every prayer and dream. His smile grew the longer you stared, and you placed your hand on his chest.
“Good morning…and thank you,” you whispered, leaning down and pressing a kiss to his lips, soft with morning and sleep, warm as the sunshine cascading through your curtains. It was gentle as his hand cupped your cheek to keep you in place, your foreheads resting on each other’s when you parted.
“Anytime,” he whispered, pecking your lips once more before settling back, “But we really probably should be getting up now.”
“I know,” you muttered and slowly sat up, the blankets falling off of you as you stretched up, a yawn pulling into your lungs. Bucky did the same before swinging his legs off the bed and standing, shuffling to the closet and grabbing some clothes before disappearing inside the bathroom. You sat there, the remains of Bucky’s clothes from yesterday were in a pile on the floor beside the laundry basket, and you rolled your eyes, dragging yourself to your feet and walking over to the mess. You shoved them in the hamper, the smell of smoke prominent from his shift and you closed your eyes, taking out his shirt and throwing it over your head as you left the room to the kitchen.
You prepared breakfast as Bucky got ready, and when he came out, the food was on the table as you poured orange juice into a couple of glasses. He smiled and took a seat, soon joined by you beside him and after a moment of prayer, you both ate. It was silent, but the smoke lingered on your shirt and while you loved it, it was a constant reminder to cherish everything you had.
Bucky finished parking the car along the curb and locked the gear into park, tugging the keys from the ignition and throwing you a grin, “Ready?”
“As I’ll ever be,” you sighed and opened the car door. He knew you weren’t a loud group person, but it was the monthly firehouse cookout, and you always enjoyed yourself in the aftermath, so here you were. The smile on your lips grew as Peggy came out of the house to greet you, Steve not too far behind with a smile so bright you were certain it was what lit up the afternoon sky.
“C’mon,” Sam chuckled, “They’re talking in the living room and the window is open. It’s a prime opportunity.”
Tony smirked, standing from his seat and gesturing for the guys to follow, “They’re probably just talking about girl stuff: hair, nails, shopping—sex, now that would be a good conversation.”
Bucky shook his head as he stood, “Or how they are planning to rip our throats out,” he added as a smile curved to his lips, a beer dangling from his fingertips. Besides, it’s not like he didn’t trust you, he was just curious and thought it would make a good laugh later when all of you figured out you were being spied on.
“You know, one day you guys are going to hear something you don’t want to hear,” Steve pipped up, but followed nonetheless. His disapproving glare set on the three of them as they rounded the front corner of the house. Sam shushed everyone as they hunched down and tipped-toed around the back, hidden from the view of the open window, but close enough to hear what their girls were saying. They were all hushed laughter and smiles until they began to listen to what they were saying.
“I-I just…It’s hard, y’know?” Maggie, Sam’s girlfriend, said, her head held in her hands and you sat across from her, your back to the window as Wanda sat next to her, sadness lingering in her eyes.
“I know—we all do—it’s never easy,” Peggy said, “When I first got with Steve, I was so worried I was sick almost every night he was working. It kept me up for days sometimes, just the thought of losing him.”
Maggie sighed, her sharp curls falling out of place, “How-how do you do it? You make it look so easy, and every time Sam leaves the house I nearly have a panic attack. I get so sick to my stomach I can’t breathe. How do you get over it and just be…just be okay with everything. I love Sam, I really do, but this is—I’m so scared.”
Sam shifted uncomfortably in his spot, glancing around at the other guys. Their smiles were gone, the amusement lost on them on why they thought this was a good idea in the first place. Steve looked a little out of place, his stare in the distance. He knew Peggy worried, it had been something they had discussed a lot. It was one of the deciding factors when he retired from the job. Bucky was staring at the ground where he was sitting, legs drawn up comfortably and Tony simply looked regretful. They all knew the work they did, and they knew that sometimes it was enough to scare away love, but to hear it from the ones they did love and stood to lose, it had a chilling effect. A frightening one.
Maggie’s question hung in the air because there was no way to answer it in the way she was hoping. You frowned and set your beer on the side table, the anxiety you’ve had since day one still creeping in your stomach, written in the marrow of your bones, and you wished there was a better answer.
“That fear you feel, it never truly goes away,” you whispered and Bucky lifted his head, shock evident on his face and Sam looked at him in worry, “It’ll dull, and you do get used to it. It takes time to not live in constant worry, but it’s that fear that helps us know we still love them. You’ll always have those moments where you get sick to your stomach when they leave the house, and you’ll wonder sometimes if that was the last kiss you’ll ever give them, the last ‘I love you’ you’ll ever hear from them,” you continued and Bucky’s brows furrowed. He never heard a single word from you about how his work affected you, not in the ways you were describing.
“There will be days it gets so bad that you can’t breathe, and some nights you’ll cry yourself to sleep, clutching their pillow and praying to God they come home to you. You’ll always be silently begging them to come home,” you said and Bucky ran a hand down his face, shifting in his spot as he tried to fight the lump in his throat.
“But it gets easier over time. The fear isn’t so strong when you come to terms with what they do, learn to take every moment you have, and not worry about the ‘what ifs’. It…it takes a lot of strength to be with them, a lot of courage, but I promise you that it is worth it. Their hearts, their strength, their courage, their love. Their love is so strong. I swear, loving them—and being loved by them—is worth every damn ounce of uncertainty that they come with.”
You finished, your heart heavy with the fear she was feeling because you knew, you knew every worry that was running through her head because you had been there, are there. There was an amount of anxiety that came with loving heroes, but while it was the strongest doubt, it also created the greatest love. Bucky sat with his head in his hands, his beer long forgotten, his heart swelling and yet somehow breaking at the same time. He logically knew it could be hard sometimes to love someone in his profession, to live with that kind of fear, but he never understood. He didn’t know how much you were affected. Why didn’t you tell him? He would have assured you until his dying breath.
Pepper sat beside you and leaned forward as Maggie nodded in understanding, “Have you talked to Sam about it? Sometimes it helps to just get it out there, maybe work some things out.”
Maggie shook her head, “I don’t know how. I don’t want to make him feel guilty or like he has to choose between one or the other, that is the last thing I want. I love his heart and I love what he does and I never want to come in between that. But what am I supposed to say, how do I explain that kind of thing to him?”
You sat back in your seat and let the other girls explain. They offered their own suggestions and you took them into account for yourself as well. It was probably high and mighty time you talked to Bucky about your own anxiety, but you knew you had it under control, for the most part at least. You weren’t living in constant fear, but you knew the implications, and sometimes it really got to you. Recently it had been a struggle to tell him goodbye, a wave of anxiety that held you down and made you stare into space while you were at work. But those waves always passed, and you never wanted to bother Bucky with them.
When the guys understood that the conversation was mostly over, they got up and walked away, returning to their chairs on the front porch. There was little conversation after that, the humor in the situation gone as they pulled another round of beers out of the cooler and drank in mostly silence.
“Y/n and I might leave a little early tonight,” Bucky stated quietly, his brain mulling over everything you said and he still couldn’t understand how he missed it.
“Maggie and I might be too,” Sam added and Steve nodded. He understood, he had been there, he had questions, just like they did.
“Don’t worry about it, there’s always next month.”
The rest of the cookout was odd. Bucky was quiet, his eyes downcast more than normal, and he remained glued to your hip nearly the whole day. You were curious when he had you alone in the kitchen, finishing washing the dishes, his elbow bumping yours occasionally, but he didn’t say a word. He would usually be teasing you, pushing you around, plopping bubbles on your nose, but instead, he was silent, slowly rinsing off each dish and putting it on the rack to dry. You worried at your lip and nudged him with your hip, sparing him a small glance.
“Is everything okay?” you asked; the kitchen was empty, everyone having migrated to the back yard with their drinks, but still your voice was soft and quiet.
“Hm?” he hummed, looking at you in confusion for a moment before it clicked, “Oh, yeah, I’ve just been thinking.”
You nodded and silence fell over the kitchen, but it was deafening. Uncomfortable silence wasn’t something you were used to having around Bucky. He was always open to be around, kind, and you never felt out of place, but this…this silence was ready to push you as far away as possible, “Should I be worried?” you joked half-heartedly, looking over to him and finding his lips quirked an inch, but then resumed their frown.
He knew what you were doing, and he loved you for it, pressing a kiss to your temple when he finished putting the last dish on the drying rack, “I was thinking we could skip out a little early tonight?”
This time you faced him fully, a worried crease in your brows and lips set in a thin line, “I am always the one to drag you home even if it is midnight,” you said and Bucky leaned a little closer. You trailed your fingers up his arms as he placed his hands on the counter behind you, caging you between them, his head hung low, “What’s going on, Buck, what’s wrong?”
Bucky smiled a little, his eyes boring holes into yours with how deep he was staring and anxiety crept up your stomach and seized your heart, “Can we talk when we get home?” he asked and it only made the knots in your stomach worse, but you nodded.
“Yeah—should-should I gather my things?” you asked and Bucky nodded weakly.
“In a few minutes,” he said only to be interrupted by a rather solemn Sam Wilson and Maggie.
“Hey, we’re heading out,” Sam called out as Maggie grabbed her purse and you removed yourself from Bucky’s arms to the girl.
“We should set up a time for us girls to get together for lunch sometime, alright?” you said as Bucky hugged Sam goodbye.
“Definitely,” she said and after the bunch of you saw them off, you grabbed your purse from the chair, dropping your phone into it as Bucky picked up the empty potato salad bowl you guys had brought. There was a slight tension in the crowd as you said your goodbyes to the others, and the car ride home pulled your heart into a cave.
Bucky was off, his knee tapping anxiously and his fingers digging into the steering wheel and you were sure if the sun was still out you would see his knuckles a pure white. Worry edged at the corner of your thoughts as you stuck your hand out and grabbed one of his, pulling it between the two of you and clasping it tightly. His grip was gentle and yet so stiff, aching for more and yet resisting and you just wanted him to talk. Headlights reflected against the house as Bucky pulled into the driveway, the silence still so stiflingly quiet as he released your hand and slipped out of the car. You were quick to follow, trailing behind him like a puppy who’s master had called a “bad dog”.
You never wanted to push him to talk, force him to tell you things he wasn’t ready to, but this was something weighing on his heart so heavily that even a blind man could sense it. It tore you apart as he dragged himself into the house, tossing his keys into the bowl on the counter as you closed the front door behind you.
“James?” you spoke softly, his given name falling from your lips with gentle ease, but filled with anxiety, “What’s going on?”
He smiled a little, “You only call me that when you’re worried or when I’m in trouble,” he said with a small laugh and you shrugged.
“I’m definitely worried.”
“I know…I know because you’re biting your lip, and you’ve got that look on your face where you don’t want to force me to talk but you really want me to. I know you.” Bucky shook his head, running a hand through his hair, “I know you, which is why I don’t understand. I know that you bite your nails when you’re stressed, you pace when you’re thinking, and you stare off into space when you’re not feeling good. I know your hands shake when you’re nervous, what you look like when you’re relaxed and calm, and when you’re trying to hide what you feel. I’ve seen you break apart in my arms, I’ve held you through it all, so I—I’m—I don’t understand how I missed it.”
“James, I don’t—missed what?”
Bucky’s arms fall to his sides as he stares at you, the confusion in your eyes known with the crease in your brows and he wonders just how many nights you’ve spent crying when he wasn’t home, wondering if he’d make it home. “Why didn’t you tell me how much my job scared you?”
Your eyes widened before your expression dropped, “You heard all that, huh?” He didn’t need to say anything, you knew, there was no other way he would know. “Naughty boys, spying on us girls like that.”
“I know, I know,” you whispered, but with the silence that coated the room and the concerned look in his eyes, he heard it perfectly, “I guess—I guess I didn’t want to bother you with it.”
“Sweetheart, we’re together, everything I do affects you just like everything you do affects me. I’m supposed to be there to reassure you, take care of you. That’s part of my job,” he said as he walked toward you, stopping not a few feet away, “I can’t do that if you don’t tell me what’s going on in that pretty head of yours.”
“Your job is important and special, and I love what you do, I really do, it’s just… sometimes I get scared, alright? Every time you leave there is a chance that you’re not—that you won’t—at some point you might not come back.”
“I’ll always come back to you.”
“You can’t promise that—”
“But I am,” he said, sure, confident in every syllable, “The universe might hate me for it, but I’m promising you that I am going to come back home every damn time I leave. I’ll crawl out of hell if I have to.”
“You ain’t the Winchesters, Bucky.”
“Maybe I’ll just hire them.”
You sighed, stepping forward and leaning your head on his chest. His fingers found your hair as he pulled you closer, pressing a kiss to your head. “I love you in every way I possibly can, and I want forever with you. Every time I answer a call, I know who’s waiting for me at home, our future that I’m dying to make with you, and I will do everything I can to make sure I get out of there alive. It might be dangerous, but we train all the time, we keep up with the regulations, we follow the rules. We know what we’re doing.”
“I know, logically, I know all of this…”
“Just…hold me?” you whispered, your fingers trailing up his chest to wrap around his neck.
“Always,” he said, his hand falling to the small of your back, his other disappeared for a moment, and only a minute later did you realize what he did. Soft melodies sang in the dimly lit room, Bucky’s voice calmly humming along as he took you and swayed back and forth. His arms kept you tucked against him, his lips hovered at the shell of your ear, his heart thundering against yours and you knew it was in sync with yours. It is, and always would be, so you took that piece of hope, his heart so delicately wrapped in a red ribbon for you to keep, you held it for your future. Your life. Your eternity that you were sure to create. He might not always be there, fate might decide against you both, but he was here now, and you would live to see every moment you could together. Because he is yours, and you his, and you both are going to create everything in between. No what ifs, no possibilities, just you and him, in that moment, forever.
Because loving him is worth every damn second of uncertainty.
