Bucky Barnes Fanfiction Collection

Fly

Summary: When your wings end up hurt and tangled after a mission, Bucky offers to help. Apparently, that's all it takes for you to form a bond.
Pairing: Bucky x Reader
Other Characters: Mantis (GotG)
Warnings: Fluff.
A/N: This was first thought as a smutty fic, but it just turned so cute I couldn't help myself.

Bucky walked into the living room with a frown on his face, his eye concentrated on your face. You didn't look very happy and that was rare.

"Mantis, really, it's okay," you interrupted the girl. "I'm okay."

But she was having none of it. You see... Mantis didn't know much of personal space yet, and while it was cute sometimes, it could be annoying. Very annoying. So, she reached out to you and grabbed your hand, and her face instantly changed to pain.

"Oh, that is so painful, I..."

"It's okay," you interrupted her, pulling yourself away from her grasp. "I don't... Just... Personal space, okay?"

Mantis tilted her head to the side and before she could say anything else, you stood up and walked away.

You were hurting and pretty bad. The last mission was rough, and you'd had them all messed up after it, tangled in knots that you couldn't undo alone and could bring yourself to ask anyone to do so.

You walked to your room in quick steps, trying hard not to stumble on anything or hit any of your wings, which were close to your body at that point.

It took half a minute for Bucky to go after you. When he reached your door it was slightly open, and he could see you trying hard to reach the centre of your back and what seemed like a big mess of tangled feathers just a few inches away from your fingertips. Your face was slightly wet, and he realised you were crying from pain.

"Birdy?" he knocked on the door, pushing it the slightest. "Do you need help?"

Your eyes widened and you stood straight.

"Bucky!" you exclaimed. "What are you doing here?"

"You looked pretty in pain," he pointed at your direction discreetly, and you weren't sure he was pointing to your face or your wings. "You okay?"

You bit your lip, wondering if you should tell him or not, but sighed.

"Tangled feather," you muttered. "They hurt a lot and I can't reach the worst places."

He gave you a sad look and rested his hands just above his pockets.

"Do you want my help?" he offered shyly. "I can put on a glove."

You opened and closed your mouth.

"You really don't have to," you finally said, and your right wing twitched involuntarily in pain.

"I think your wing means something else."

You felt heat filling your face and he smiled gently, pulling a letter glove from his pocket and covering his whole hand, and you couldn't help but smile just a bit and how he'd actually thought of keeping the plates away from your delicate feathers.

You sat on a chair, leaning so your chest was resting on the cushion back of it, exposing your wings fully to him, slowly stretching them out. Ever since you were a pre-teen and they started to grow out of control, you'd had to get used to clothes with open backs or buttons that would leave them out.

"Just tell me if it hurts too much, okay?" he said gently, his hands finding the end of your left wing – basically 15 feet away from your body and checking to see if anything was out of place. "Were you born with them? The wings?"

"Yeah," you nodded. "But they weren't... Wings per say. The feathers only started to show after I turned 11,"

The tip of your wings didn't hurt until at least the middle of each, you had reached them and done a decent job, so when he went through them everything was in place, you just leant forward on the chair and tried to stay quiet.

"That is a tight knot," he whispered when you shifted on your spot. "Am I hurting you?"

"I'm okay," you muttered back. "Thanks for doing this."

"No problem."

You made silence once again. No one had ever touched your wings except for medical purposes. When you were a pre-teen and they'd started to grow feathers, your mother would cut or painfully pluck them away in order to keep them from standing out.

When you'd finally let them grow, they'd taken less than a week to spread and grow out of your back and long and strong enough to support your whole body.

Bucky asked more question about your wings. The moment when you realised you could fly with them, how it felt and if you ever fell down.

"Once," you chuckled. "I was... I think... Yes, I was just over New York City, and I'd just saved a lady from something I can't remember, and this storm came up, I was totally unprepared. A thunder scared me and things went down the hill," you laughed a bit. "I ended up falling into someone's pool."

You let out the softest laugh, and you felt his fingers running down your feathers slowly.

"They are beautiful," he whispered. "They look... They must make you feel so free."

You turned to look at him, noticing how his eyes were glimmering in awe.

"I can take you up," you offered. "We can fly together."

Bucky's face lightened up in surprise and the tiniest bit of hope.

"Are you sure?"

"Yeah," you smiled, completely forgetting about his activity. "You just need to tell me where you want to go. And get a parachute just in case."

He smiled. It wasn't a huge smile, but probably the biggest smile you'd ever seen on his face, and you were friends for months now.

"Let's just fix your wings first, alright?" he looked into your eyes, making you giggle.

"Alright."

You drifted away in sleep without noticing, and only realised so when you woke up in your bed, wings perfectly groomed and a little note under your phone.

Hey, Birdy.
Hope you didn't mind me finishing the job while you slept.
- Bucky.

You waited silently by the door, and Bucky left his room with his parachute buckled and an excited look on his face, even though he was trying to hide it.

"So," you put your hands on your waist and shot him a smile. "Are you ready to fly?"