Chapter Text
Harmless. It was harmless at first.
Bucky knows that’s what they all say, but he means it. Honest to God, he never meant to get in over his head about this obsession, but how could he not? An angel from his dreams fell out of the sky, right in front of him. Literally.
—
Things were bad for Bucky. No friends, shitty apartment, annoying therapist, and money he didn’t know how to spend—and not to mention the mountain of trauma he harbored. Sleep was something he dreaded, with over 70 years of nightmares to deal with. There wasn’t a single moment where he could be free of this consciousness that others had fought to save. But something weird happened on a random Saturday.
There wasn’t anything special about that night. He’d woken up on the floor as usual, skin glistening with sweat as his chest heaved up and down. Bucky slid a palm over his face, recalling his nightmare—no, his dream. It was… calm.
In the dream, Bucky laid in a snow-ridden glade, his body half buried in cold. There was a bleeding bullet hole in his chest, right through his poor excuse of a heart. He hardly acknowledged it. The sun blazed above him, doing nothing to challenge the numbing frost that gnawed at his body. With half-lidded eyes, Bucky laid motionless. Even with his super hearing, there wasn’t a single sound to pick up from miles away. Just him and the cold.
Bucky let his mind drift off. He wasn't sure how much time had passed. He only knew that he wanted nothing more than to bleed out his final moments in the snow. There was nothing to feel anyway. It was just happening, and Bucky took a measure of comfort in knowing that he couldn’t do anything about it. He even managed a smile.
A silhouette flitted across the sky, sudden and stark. Black against the blue, growing bigger and bigger as it descended. Bucky squinted, wondering what kind of bird was large and circling above him. Whatever this creature was, its wingspan exceeded anything that might’ve been Earthly, and it moved with grace unparalleled by a swan. It was divine, and it was coming to claim his tired body. An angel.
It got close enough for its wings to shade Bucky from the sun. He felt a comfortable warmth emitting from its body, thawing the snow around him as it landed by his side. Bucky was in a daze, blinking as he tried to register the sight of a real angel gazing down upon him. It was a man—or at least, he looked like one. Gentle brown eyes peeked through long lashes, roaming over his body. The angel was wrapped in white cloth against his dark skin, smooth and without blemishes. His lips curved upwards into a soft smile with a pretty little gap between his teeth as one hand reached out to Bucky.
So this is perfection, Bucky thought to himself.
The world moved slowly as he watched the angel’s hand drift to his shoulder. Warm, safe, as it met with the cold metal of his arm, causing him to jolt, and—
He woke up. No glade, no snow, no sun, and no angel to greet him. Only the cold wood floor of his apartment, and the dim TV glow from the corner of the room.
It was unusual for him to sleep without nightmares; not to say that it never happened. There were rare nights where he slept without interference. Just empty gaps of time before he’d wake up to another day of figuring out how to exist. But never, never had he dreamt like that before. Sure, he was bleeding out in the middle of a forest, but it was calm. No battle, no fights, and no death other than his own. But Bucky had no idea what an angel meant, if his presence was even supposed to mean anything.
Gently, Bucky grazed his fingers over his left shoulder where the angel had touched him. Even his flesh fingers were cold. It never felt right. Nothing about his body had ever felt right—not until that fleeting moment where the angel touched him. Like he was made for that moment; like he was made to die.
Perhaps it was foolish of him to believe that he’d ever experience it again, but just a taste of that second where he finally felt whole again had him craving for more. His stomach twisted uncomfortably as he felt something eating him up from the inside. The uncomfortable feeling of needing to crawl out of his skin began to bubble up again. He wanted to go back to sleep, to see his angel once more.
Shit.
Bucky was breathing out more air than he inhaled. He curled up into himself as his hands clawed at his back. His body trembled, muscles tightening. He wanted to scream or yell, but all he managed was silent sobs as tears slid down his cheeks. All he wanted was his angel again. A sound, a sight, a whiff of the being that saved him…
In the silence of his room, beneath the turmoil and plight, the super soldier knew how pathetic it all was. Even death was only something he could dream of. Life was the punishment for his sins—eternal atonement for his bloodsoaked hands and muddied mind. He didn’t deserve to dream. He didn’t even deserve to die.
—
The dream addled Bucky enough to get him up and walking the snowy streets of New York in the morning. He wouldn’t usually be up this early, but he needed to do something. He would’ve gone insane, marinating in his thoughts alone in the apartment he was supposed to call home.
Bucky trudged about in his boots, trying not to think too much about the cold. He’d covered himself in multiple layers, topped off with a black jacket that had too many pockets, and a black cap to match. At least the mirth of children running about in the snow, throwing snowballs at each other was some form of compensation. But Bucky could never watch for long. Kids would get scared of him easily and scram back to their parents.
Thoughts of his angel consumed him. Just as he was about to turn the corner, Bucky stopped in his tracks. A crowd had caught his attention, with people surrounding a tall tree with concern. In the middle of it all was a young girl, no older than 10, who was sobbing loudly. Curious, Bucky walked the edge of the crowd, shamelessly eavesdropping.
“...like seriously, should we call the fire station?”
“I dunno, I mean it’s a big tree, but I trust the guy. Gotta admire the guts on this dude.”
“Can’t believe there’s still some kindhearted people in this world. It gives me hope, really.”
Bucky wanted to snort at those comments. True kindness was a myth. Everyone wanted something for their deeds. Apparently, the only people kind enough to offer salvation only existed in dreams. Much like Bucky’s angel—his sweet, gorgeous angel, all warm and welcoming. No person could match up to that. Humans are humans. Nobody can be a—
—an angel.
A loud thump was followed by a series of gasps from the crowd. People began clapping, but there was nothing but a ringing in Bucky’s ears as he focused on the figure that had just plummeted into the snow. He pushed through the crowd, easily making it to the front to see him.
There sat a man buried in the white of snow, wearing a gap-toothed grin on his face despite just falling out of a tree. The same gentle brown eyes, the same long lashes, the same dark skin… Bucky’s heart was beating out of his chest. In his arms, the man cradled a mewling kitten that seemed to belong to the wailing girl. He gingerly handed it over to her as the clapping intensified, people roaring with cheers.
The man stood up. This was it. This was him. An angel on Earth, and not a single one of these people knew it. Only Bucky knew him. Only Bucky was connected to him. Only Bucky had dreamt of him. This angel was promised to Bucky. Only Bucky.
Only Bucky, only Bucky, only Bucky…
“Hey, you alright?””
A smooth voice brought Bucky out of his trance. He blinked a few times before looking at the person in front of him. His angel. He didn’t know what to say.
“Uh, you look kinda startled, and you’ve been staring at me for a minute. I mean, a lot of people are, but not like you. Is there another kitten up there that I happened to miss?” His angel joked.
Bucky’s movements were slow and robotic, but he managed to shake his head. “No,” He mumbled before turning around to walk away.
What the fuck was that?
Bucky internally cursed at himself as he speed-walked through the streets, hands shoved deep into his jacket, bumping past person after person without thinking to look up. Fuck. He didn’t say anything because he couldn’t. How could he? A gorgeous man that resembled his angel, who happened to have a heart of gold too? Bullshit. There was no way anyone could be that perfect. Absolutely not.
Over the next hour, he managed to walk more than 10 miles. Not that he was counting anyway. Bucky was too busy convincing himself that the man was nothing but a fraud. A human could never be an angel, that was simply a fact. Too flawed, too evil… it was human nature to have a bad side. And if he was projecting, then sue him.
But in the back of his mind, Bucky knew that this itch wouldn’t go away. No matter how long he walked, he needed to convince himself that this man—who masqueraded as an angel in his dreams—was flawed. It frustrated him. His fists clenched in his pockets as he stared holes into the ground. Bucky needed to calm down and think, to devise a plan. He sat himself down on the nearest empty bench.
He knew that it was easy for people to put up fronts to seem good. God, he hated those people. Pretentious, acting like they were anything more than human. But there was an odd genuinity from that man, from his angel. It irritated Bucky, that he couldn’t see through it. Surely there was something twisted and wrong about his angel, deep inside. Something… something that he had to dig up. Something so twisted that it might only come out when his angel thinks he’s alone. So, Bucky would have to catch him.
—
“Hey kid, I’m not gonna hurt you. I just need your help, please?” Bucky said in the gentlest voice he could muster as he approached the little girl whose kitten got stuck in the tree just the day before. It was already Sunday, and Bucky had been tailing her, keen on asking a few questions. They were in the park where her parents were sitting by a frozen fountain, their attention focused on her little brother. At least that kept Bucky out of their line of sight.
“Uhm, I don’t think I should talk to strangers…” The girl mumbled, warily taking a few steps back.
“I just wanna ask about yesterday. I was in the crowd when a man rescued your cat from a tree, right?” Bucky managed an awkward smile.
The girl seemed disturbed by the smile, but otherwise softened up at the mention of the man yesterday. “Mhm. Mr. Wilson helped me.”
“Mr. Wilson, huh? You know his full name? I’ve been meaning to talk to him. I need a hero to save me, and he seems like the right guy.” He tried not to sound too excited about having a name to call his angel.
“Well, my parents call him Sam. Sam Wilson. Maybe if you wanna talk to him, you should see him at, um,” the girl furrowed her brows, thinking deeply, “the library or the coffee shop near the tree. The one with blue chairs. Mommy always says it’s too expensive.”
Bucky shrugged at that. “But it has good coffee. Do you know what time Sam usually drops by there?”
“Mm… Usually I see him walk out of the cafe on my way home from school. 3 P.M., I think.”
Gosh, Bucky was beaming. “Well thanks for all that info, uh—?”
“Vivian, but you can call me Viv!” The girl replied, warming up to Bucky already.
“Well, thank you, Viv. Get yourself something nice. You’ve been a big help.” Bucky smiled and handed her a $50 bill that she held reverently in her hands.
“R-Really? This is a lot…!”
“Really. Now go run back to your parents, it’s not safe to go too far. And don’t talk to any more strangers.” Bucky shook his head, gesturing at where her parents sat.
Vivian turned her head, following where he pointed. “But wait, what’s your na—”
By the time she looked back at where he stood, she was met with nothing but trees. Vivian might’ve passed it on as her imagination if it weren’t for the money she was still clutching onto. But like any kid would, she simply shrugged, smiling to herself as she skipped back to where her parents were. She didn’t think twice about the mysterious man she had just met.
—
Easy. Too easy. Bucky was giddy, practically ecstatic over the week. It didn’t take long to find out that Sam was a popular figure in town, always ready to lend a helping hand. That made it much easier for Bucky to collect information on him. His ‘angel’. At this point, he’d repeated that word so many times in his head that it sounded more like an insult than anything. It disgusted him. Nobody deserves that title. Especially not someone like Sam, who he suspected was just another disingenuous man with a fake smile plastered on his face.
Bucky had been tailing Sam, enough to know his usual routine.
He wakes up at 5 A.M. sharp.
Goes on a run at 6:30 A.M.
Clocks into work at 8 A.M.
Takes a break from 1 P.M to 2 or 3 P.M., then continues work until 6 P.M.
On his walks back home, Sam always gets greeted by people on the street, and he always spared a charming smile. Bucky quickly got sick of it. Sam sometimes stopped by a restaurant to grab dinner, but otherwise he’d cook at home. But possibly the most irritable thing about Sam’s daily journey home was the fact that he carried bird food in his pockets to feed the pigeons. The fucking pigeons that had shat on Bucky’s jacket numerous times. And not to mention that Sam would pet every cat and dog that he met along the way too. What was this guy, some kind of Disney princess?
Anyway, Bucky hasn’t actually been inside Sam’s house. Yet. But that’s exactly why he’s creeping around Sam’s neighborhood at 7 in the morning. He’d hidden himself behind a tree and some bushes directly across the brick house, watching and waiting for his angel to come out. He’d already sat there for about 45 minutes, thinking that Sam would go on a run today, giving Bucky ample time to plant some cameras inside the house.
See, with it being the first weekend since his ‘investigative mission’, Bucky figured that Sam would spend some time at home. And with a whole day to himself, Sam might find the time to do something bad. At least, that’s what Bucky had placed his bets on. The current issue was the fact that he had guessed wrongly about Sam’s weekend routine. Seems like he wouldn’t go on a run at his usual time today.
Bucky grumbled to himself as he shoved a hand into his bag of fish crackers. He chewed on them loudly as his metal hand gripped a pair of binoculars, letting him eye the front door closely. It was almost ten minutes into the hour, and Sam was still nowhere to be seen.
Another ten minutes passed. Bucky was starting to get more irritated. It felt like a personal attack, wasting his time like this. Just as he was about to grab another fistful of fish crackers, he watched the doorknob twist. Bucky stiffened and sat upright, quickly shoving the snack back into the backpack in front of him.
In all his glory, Sam Wilson sauntered out of the house, bundled up in a brown winter coat with a bag slung over his shoulder. He gripped its strap with his right hand, while his left held onto what seemed to be a pair of boxing gloves. Despite what the gloves entailed, Sam looked… cute. Bucky tightened his grip on the binoculars, tongue darting out to lick the crumbs around his lips. So his angel likes to box. Bucky stored that information for later.
He glared intensely, all while Sam locked his door and whistled to himself before walking down the street. His figure grew smaller and smaller until he turned the corner. Bucky started a mental countdown, mostly to calm his nerves before making a run for it while the coast was clear. His heart was beating in his ears. Bucky had done this a million times before, with stakes higher than a potential police report. But there was some sort of twisted rush to it this time. He wanted to do this. His sanity depended on it.
With ease, Bucky picked the lock on Sam’s door and slipped inside without a trace. He’d caught glimpses of the inside before, when he’d peek through the windows at night and catch sight of a cozy little living room. Standing inside for himself was different though. The place was slightly messy, but overall it was comfortable-looking—and painfully ‘authentic’.
There were handmade gifts hung up all around the place, all of them being tokens of appreciation for some type of help Sam gave. It was hard to miss the thank-you cards attached to most of them. Not only that, but Bucky noticed how most of the items in the house looked somewhat old. He bet Sam did that on purpose. Probably to impress whatever girls he brought home, charming them with how artsy his house is, or how he’s great at maintaining furniture because he cares about the environment and likes to upcycle, or some bullshit like that. Bucky’s jaw clenched.
But besides the assortment of gifts all over the place, there were also some bird models too. From his fondness of pigeons, Bucky assumed that his angel had some sort of connection to birds, or at least, they meant something to him. He glanced at a model of a falcon perching on a mantel. It had decent peripheral vision of the room, and Bucky doubted that Sam might have reason to squint at it enough to find the camera. He planted it there before humming in satisfaction.
The next step was to make his way upstairs, where Sam’s bedroom was. But when he opened the door, he was met with the lingering scent of Sam’s perfume. It didn’t smell as manly as he assumed the average boxer would smell like. Instead, he caught a whiff of lavender. Something floral, fresh, with a citrusy touch. Just the slightest bit mysterious, and nothing overpowering. Bucky swallowed.
Instinctively, he walked over to the edge of Sam’s bed. The sheets and pillowcases were a plain blue. It looked comfortable. Bucky made his way around to one side of the bed before burying his face in a pillow, nuzzling against it as he inhaled deeply.
So this is what an angel smells like.
Like a cat, he rubbed his face against the soft fabric, almost drooling against it. It felt good. Really good. He honestly didn’t know how Sam could get out of bed each morning when it was this comfy. But after a bit more touching, Bucky reluctantly stood upright, remembering the mission he was on, to expose his angel.
The rest of the room was just as colorful as it was downstairs, with random trinkets here and there. It was definitely neater and better kept. Bucky’s eyes scanned the area, mulling over where to place the second camera. The wardrobe, desk, bookshelf…
His eyes landed on Sam’s wardrobe as curiosity got the best of him. Bucky opened it and looked through his clothes. Most of them were plain, save for a few band t-shirts that seemed a few sizes too small now. The rest of his wardrobe was just as boring—his pants, tank tops, boxers… Nothing worth investigating.
Bucky bent down to look at a small drawer at the foot of the wardrobe. He opened it to see some plain socks, either black or white. But something was bugging him. The drawer seemed more shallow than the actual depth of the wardrobe. It didn’t seem to halt when Bucky tugged it all the way out. Huh.
He carefully placed the open drawer on the floor next to him before getting on his knees, peeking under the wardrobe. A fancy black box sat deep underneath, right against the wall. And judging by the lack of dust on it, it seemed like the box was frequently used. Bucky fished it out and held it in his lap. No lock, no safety measure… just a lid with some golden patterns on it. Bucky’s breath grew heavier as he traced the golden lines on the lid before hooking a finger underneath and lifting it off.
His eyes blew open.
In the box, there was an assortment of… panties? All lacy and thin, made of silk. Bucky’s flesh hand trembled as he reached out to touch one, thumbing over it gently. There was one for every color, it seemed, though there were multiple shades of pink, purple and blue. So it seemed like the angel had a dirty little secret after all. Keeping girls’ panties, huh? So all that charm was for something after all.
Bucky smirked, basking in his glory for a moment. Yet again, the world had proved to him that humans were nothing but filthy creatures. But his glory was short-lived when a thought crossed his mind.
Maybe those panties didn’t belong to anyone but Sam. His angel could wear those if he wanted to, Bucky supposed. It could be a perverted fantasy of some sorts, or maybe he just liked the feel of them. Without hesitation, he brought a pair of lacy white panties to his nose, sniffing lightly. Still clean, he thought to himself.
Hm. He rearranged the box’s contents to their original positions before shoving it back under the wardrobe and putting the drawer in place. His mind began to wander at the image of Sam, his body bare save for a tiny pair of panties. But before things could escalate, Bucky reminded himself that it wasn’t good practice to get hard on a mission, so he tamped down the thought.
Soon enough, Bucky decided to plant the second camera on the model of an eagle head that hung on the wall opposite of Sam’s bed. An eagle eye’s view. Bucky could’ve patted himself on the back right then and there for how proud he was. But his mind drifted back to the thought of the panties. He was curious. And there was one way he could quickly confirm who they belonged to, of course. And it wouldn’t make him a pervert—not at all.
Bucky walked over to the basket of Sam’s dirty laundry. He tilted his head before kneeling down to search through it. Sweaty shirts, smelly socks, stained pants… Until he caught sight of a tinge of pink beneath the muted colors. It peeked through like a gem. Bucky pulled it out, holding it high in front of his face. So Sam was using them, he concluded.
He stared at it in awe for a while, scanning over every inch of the fabric. The light stain on the front, the tightness of the waistband, and just how tiny it was overall. His jaw was lax as a drop of drool slid down his chin. Bucky quickly licked his lips before bringing the panties straight to his nose. Shit. One deep breath had him staggering over to the bed, as he lapped at the stain. Shit, shit, shit…
It was intoxicating. Bucky wanted to drown himself in that scent. Sweet, musky, tangy… and perfect on his tongue. He’d shove them down his throat, savor every drop of Sam’s juices that lingered on it if he could. He was drooling all over Sam’s pillows, metal hand pressing the panties to his nose as his other hand quickly fumbled to unzip his pants. He shoved his flesh hand into his boxers, stroking himself desperately.
“Haah… Sam…” He moaned softly, feeling lightheaded and dizzy as he got off in Sam’s bed. The sheets were just so soft, and so were the panties. He wanted to wrap it around his cock, soil it with his seed. Maybe he’d even somehow get Sam to put them on like that. Could angels get pregnant? He’d have to try it someday.
The room was filled with soft pants and grunts. Bucky’s cock throbbed in the confines of his boxers, leaking precum as he lost himself in the sensation of his warm hand, combined with the scent of his angel. He rolled his hips into his fist, while his tongue peeked out, wordlessly begging for a stronger taste of Sam.
Bucky’s imagination ran wild. He imagined Sam right here with him in bed, looking at him with those pretty eyes, begging for his cock. Nothing but a pair of panties on his body, looking all sweet and whiny. He wondered what sounds Sam would make with a cock buried deep inside him. Would his angel cry? Whimper? Beg for more? He needed to know.
He needed to know everything about his angel. Needed to know what made him happy, what made him tick, what made him flawed, what made him moan, and what made him human.
With a loud grunt, Bucky rolled his hips one last time before spilling into his boxers. His mouth was left agape as he imagined Sam lapping up the cum, maybe with some of it on his face too. Making sure he was clean, always ready to help out just because.
It took a few minutes for Bucky to snap back to reality. He groaned, rolling over in bed as he sighed at the pillow now covered in his drool. He lazily flipped it over before zipping his jeans back up and getting on his feet again. Bucky took one last glance at the panties before pocketing them for later. For evidence, in case he’d need them. He walked out of the bedroom, feeling tired but satisfied.
Seems like his mission was off to a good start.