alice's mess

I made this to post fanfics... we'll see what happens

[bluehourdj]

Hi! I'm Alice, I am 18, and I love Bucky Barnes lol.

I write about him from time to time. I am pretty new to having my own tumblr, so any advice is much appreciated. All of the following are Bucky Barnes x fem!Reader.

I am also open to ideas, comments, and requests!!! 💌

Read below! <3

Oneshots

-> Bad Discernment - (Frat Boy Bucky) - WC: 5.4K

Starting college was supposed to be fun and exciting. It was not supposed to be hallmarked by an embarrassingly bad first date with James Buchanan Barnes. Two years, one frat party, and many, many drinks later, you realize your aversion to Bucky might not be as tightly held as you thought.

-> August 10th - WC: 8.8k

When you were 16 years old, you fatefully moved next door to Steve Rogers, who you quickly claimed as your new best friend. Only, Steve spent the summer talking about Bucky, a boy you only pictured as a mysterious figure of anecdotes and stories. That is, until you met Bucky Barnes, became best friends, then moved away only to return to face yourself, your feelings, and the threat of war. 

-> You Don't Know Me - WC: 3.7k

After Thanos, you did what you thought you had to do: you left. You ran away from what was left of the Avengers, from your newfound home, and from Bucky. What do you say to the man you have been avoiding for years when you finally meet again on the coast of Louisiana?

-> I Thought You Didn't Like Me? - WC: 4.4k

Going undercover to attend a mysterious Speakeasy party was one thing, but going undercover as Bucky Barnes' date was another. The cold former assassin was notorious for long-held grudges, a habit that didn't exclude you. Now, you were forced to work together under both the burning tension of your demanding jobs and the boiling disdain Bucky had for you. Yet, things are rarely what they seem.

[bluehourdj]

Bad Discernment

Masterlist

Pairing: Frat boy!Bucky Barnes x Reader

Summary: Starting college was supposed to be fun and exciting. It was not supposed to be hallmarked by an embarrassingly bad first date with James Buchanan Barnes. Two years, one frat party, and many, many drinks later, you realize your aversion to Bucky might not be as tightly held as you thought.

Warnings: Reader gets drunk, cheating (not perpetrated by Bucky or reader), slight angst, jealousy, John Walker being annoying, no use of Y/N, throwing up, puke, profanity, hopefully nothing else (please please let me know if I missed anything!)

WC: 5.2K

Author's Note: I lowkey just started trolling midway through this and then had to lock back in. This was a very self-indulgent fun fic!!!

“All I’m saying is you shouldn’t let John control your social life.” It was Natasha’s fourth conniving attempt at persuading you to go out with her, and, much to your dismay, it was working. The smirking redhead before you certainly knew how to get under your skin, and did so with a certain grace and subtlety that often had you falling into her red, polished claws. 

“He isn’t controlling shit.” You rolled your eyes while your body betrayed you by rolling off of your slim twin dorm bed. 

“Then come,” she drew out your name, shaking your arm as you groaned. It wasn’t that you hated parties; in fact, that was far from the truth. You simply hated your ex-boyfriend: John Walker. Hate was typically a too-strong word you tried not to use, one you danced around lightly in hopes of seeing the best in people. Yet, that dance came to a sharp halt when you found John tangled in the sheets of an underclassman one fine Tuesday evening. Yes, you hated John Walker. 

“Well, who else is going?” You humored her carefully while you pawed through your small closet, setting off Natasha’s excitement. She was winning. 

“Out of our friends…” she thought to herself briefly. “Steve, Sam, Wanda, and-” She mumbled the last name. You stilled just so slightly, raising a sharp brow. 

“Who?” This time, you were turned fully toward Nat, hand firmly on your jutted hip. 

“Oh, you know.” She shrugged, turning to the vanity mirror by her side of the dorm room to examine her skin. Her persuasion may have been effective, but her feigned nonchalance was as easy to see through as glass.

“No, I don’t. Enlighten me.” Nat sighed, quickly giving in. There was no point in trying to fool you; you always saw through her too quickly. 

“Ugh, fine. You’re no fun. It’s Barnes.” You groaned dramatically, abandoning the closet and flopping back onto your flimsy mattress. 

“Natttttt.” You dragged out as she flopped down beside you.

Maybe you did not hate James Buchanan Barnes, no, not in the same ways you hated John Walker. Hate was too strong a word. Yet, you certainly did not like him. You barely even tolerated him. 

“He’s really not that bad. You hold a mean grudge.” She poked your side playfully, though her words were serious. You bit back a laugh as you swatted at your roommate's hand.

“He’s an asshole.” You sat up, looking down at her. It was true, you did hold a grudge against Barnes, but in your mind, it was completely valid. You had gone on a double date with him, Nat, and Steve freshman year. You were bright-eyed and bushy-tailed, excited to spend time with your friends, excited to have your first date. 

First date. 

You didn’t tell Bucky that he was your first date. 

You wouldn’t give him the satisfaction after how he acted.

It was true, you had never dated in high school, which should have been normal. Yet, as you entered college with an almost reverent excitement, the daily conversations and musings of your peers made you realize dating was a game everyone had played and you had accidentally opted out of. You weren’t naive, but you weren’t exactly experienced either. High school had been about friends, good grades, Friday night lights, and memorable dances. It had never been about having a boyfriend. So, when you sat in the plush diner booth across an incredibly handsome, gorgeous Bucky Barnes, only to find him ogling the waitress and leaving early to “pick up” a “friend,” you were infuriated. Embarrassed too, but mostly infuriated. 

Bucky Barnes was an asshole.

“Sure, whatever you say.” Nat shrugged, breaking you out of your nostalgic trance. “But I will point out that freshman year was two whole years ago.” You sighed, knowing she was somewhat right but feeling too stubborn to accept it. “Plus, I’m not asking you to talk to the guy. You just have to be within a 1,000-square-foot radius of him.” She went on, prying through your shared closet and pulling out a few blurs of very small, very frat-appropriate tops. You let out a deep breath. 

“Fine.” Nat squealed, yanking you off the bed into a hug. You couldn’t help but let out a loud, warm laugh as she shoved a mysterious article of clothing into your palms while spinning you around. 

“Go change! And wear your lace push-up!” She called after you as you left the dorm, headed to the communal bathroom on your floor.

This was going to be a long night. 

--- 

The music vibrated the already thin floorboards of the frat house while you weaved through the sweaty crowd. You tried your best to not be bothered by the amount of cleavage you were sporting or the sweaty backs of loud frat guys that kept brushing up against you. Nat was far off in a corner whispering sweet nothings to Steve, so your primary mission was to find Wanda or Sam. 

You were failing, because you first found Bucky. 

“Oops, sorry.” You heard him before you saw him, or really, you felt him first as his tall, wide frame bumped into your shoulder. He stilled, giving you a once-over that should have made you scowl, but it only made your skin crawl with an unnamed heat. 

“Barnes.” You deadpanned, looking up at him as a stupid smirk grew on his face.

“Hey, gorgeous.” Okay, now you did scowl.

“Whatever that means.” You rolled your eyes as you pushed past him, but like a lost puppy, he still followed. You didn’t bother to turn around as he kept talking, trailing behind you. 

“You know, if you wanted to see me, you could have just given me a call.” You could practically hear the grin on his lips.

“What makes you think I came here to see you?” You kept walking, half paying attention to Bucky, half swiveling your head to find Wanda. 

“Well, I am in this frat.” You stopped ever so slightly. You groaned internally, completely forgetting that Bucky was in this frat. Yet, you didn’t allow your mask of nonchalance to slip. Instead, you finally turned around, meeting his eye. He was far closer than you had anticipated, smiling down at you. Your brain was at war deciding whether you wanted to kiss his smile or slap it right off his face. Stupid brain. 

“Must’ve slipped my mind.” You shrugged. “Besides, I’m here with Nat.” Bucky looked around the dark room, eyes scanning the swaying bodies. 

“That’s funny, I don’t see her.” You really needed to stop rolling your eyes. “Want to dance?” You squinted at the man before you, giving him a salty smile. 

“I’d love to.” You thought you were imagining it, but for a brief, sliver of a moment, you could have sworn you saw genuine surprise and even hope in his pale blue eyes. You were definitely imagining it. But, just as Bucky stepped forward while you stepped back into the crowd, you pressed a palm to his firm chest. “Alone.” You turned on your heel and disappeared into the cluster of partygoers. 

Your brain buzzed. When you pressed his chest, you had felt it unmistakably. 

Bucky Barnes, the slimy frat guy you always avoided, the infamous playboy of your college campus, the guy who knew just how to get on your nerves, had a racing heartbeat in your presence. 

You needed a shot, maybe three or four, actually. 

---

You had finally found Wanda through what you assumed was echolocation when you both locked eyes during Trap Queen, and did your best to calm down after you got two shots of cheap vodka in your system.

“Wanda!!!” You slurred ever so slightly, mostly from what you told yourself was just placebo. But, as you hugged your friend and began to dance to the beat, your eyes locked with another new face across the room. John fucking Walker. You tried to avert your gaze, but it was too late. He was already advancing toward you. “Fuck my life,” you mumbled to yourself.

“What’s wrong?” Wanda’s brows furrowed before she followed your line of sight and stiffened. John stood before you two, an awkward contrast among the moving gaggle of people around him. 

“Hey, can I talk to you?” He spoke, low, firm, and absurdly annoying to your ears. 

“I can’t catch a fucking break.” You grumbled, not caring that he was right there to hear you. “No, John, I do not want to talk to you.” Your voice was dripping with venom and sass as Wanda tried to pull you deeper into the crowd. 

“I just don’t think I really got to explain myself.” You could smell the beer on his breath as he reached out for your shoulder. You brushed him off, irritated beyond belief, and made a beeline for the kitchen, apologizing to Wanda, who was now distracted upon finding Sam.  

You carelessly searched the hectic kitchen counter, weaving your way through a couple making out. Once you found a clean solo cup, you filled it up with what you eyeballed to be three shots and a shit-ton of punch. 

“Trouble in paradise?” The voice nearly made you jump out of your skin. You turned to find that Bucky had found you once again. 

“Jesus, Barnes.” You took a long, nasty gulp from your cup. “What the hell are you talking about?” You finally got a good look at him. He had lost his previous air of confidence and suave. His jaw was clenched, eyes bright. 

“I saw you and Walker.” He tried to say the words like they were casual, but your now foggy brain was picking up a different emotion you couldn’t quite put your finger on. 

“You’re so nosy.” You took a step closer toward him, and you could have sworn you saw him shiver. “Besides. We broke up.” You shrugged, taking another sip. 

“Oh, I didn’t know.” You noticed he didn’t say, ‘sorry to hear that.’ 

“Yeah, well, I don’t take cheating lightly.” You added, immediately regretting telling him a bit of your personal life. It was too late. His fists were already clenched and a crease formed between his brows.

“He cheated on you?” You raised a brow at the extra emphasis, thoughts too hazy to decipher what it meant. “Asshole,” Bucky muttered. You were officially confused. Why did he care? What did it matter to him who wronged you? 

“Careful, Barnes, you almost sound protective.” You looked up at him through your eyelashes and immediately regretted it.

For once, he wasn’t looking at you like a new target to irritate or a girl to simply bug. 

He was looking at you with a certain unspoken softness, a longing that made your stomach turn and your mind race. 

Then Mo Bamba came on. 

“Woah, do you hear that, Barnes?” You drunkenly grabbed his face, completely ignoring the way his whole body reacted to your touch. 

“What?” He said through squished lips. You turned to him with a devilish grin that made his own eyes shine with endearment. 

“I’ve got hoes calling.” And with that, you left him, partly stunned, partly in awe, and mostly laughing as you swayed back into the crowd. 

---

You tried to shake the feeling Bucky’s gaze burned into your skin by way of trap music and bad dancing. 

It didn’t quite work.

Instead, you found yourself nursing another, unnecessary drink alongside Steve, who was losing to Sam in beer pong. 

“C’mon, Steve!” You cheered with a lopsided smile as he missed miserably, earning a playful look of betrayal from Sam. Natasha groaned as Steve missed for what felt like the millionth time, then jutted him out of the game with her hip, taking his place. 

“You’re booted, Rogers.” She smirked, and Sam began bending his knees, knowing the real competition had begun. 

“Tough luck, Steve.” You sighed with feigned sadness as the blonde moved in next to you, watching your friends play. You both stood in comfortable silence briefly until you realized the comfort was only being experienced on your end. Now that you were paying attention, you noticed that Steve had kept eyeing you carefully, opening his mouth and closing it again repeatedly as though stopping himself from saying something. “Everything okay?” You furrowed your brow. Steve just sighed. 

“Well, I just had a question.” You weren’t buying it. The only times you spoke to Steve were in group conversation or regarding your shared love for Nat. Something was amok. 

“Hit me.” You shrugged.

“Okay, but you can’t get mad.” You were starting to get impatient. “But why do you hate Bucky so much?” His bluntness made you choke briefly on your drink, cheeks turning slightly red at the topic. 

“I don’t hate him.” You grumbled, suddenly feeling guilty before the emotion was replaced by memory. 

“Okay, fine, then why don’t you like him?” Steve tried. You really did not want to get into this topic. 

“He’s just a player. That’s all. Not my crowd.” You already felt like you said too much. Steve was Bucky’s best friend, and you were hoping for a change of topic before this conversation became too reminiscent of school-lunch gossip.

“What?” Steve recoiled at your statement. You just met his expression with an equally confused look. “Bucky?”

“Yes?” You were beginning to grow exasperated. Sam lost to Nat in beer pong, and the pair were starting up round two. You were stuck with Steve for a little longer. 

“That’s ridiculous. He hasn’t talked to anyone since like January of Freshman year.” You froze. The words that left Steve’s lips were just as unbelievable to you as a flat earth. There was no way in hell that what he was saying was true. 

You remembered January. 

Your first class of the spring semester had been a core class on modern history. You sat right in front of Bucky Barnes and hated every second of it. You went to Nat to complain that he didn’t even seem to recognize you. 

“How is that possible?” You huffed, breaking yourself out of your solemn trance. 

“I’m more confused about how you made your assumption about him.” Steve countered. Assumption. You were beginning to hate that word. Everything you thought about Bucky apart from your bad first date was built on it. Built on judgement. On your sense of pride. On your inferred beliefs about him. Had your discernment, which you often prided yourself on, failed you? You shuddered at the thought. 

“I’m going to go dance.” You said abruptly, feeling half bad for leaving Steve and your friends so rudely, and half lost in thought. 

---

It took only three more songs and a brief period of reflection on Steve’s words before John was pissing you off again. This time he managed to find you while you waited outside the bathroom for Nat. By now, the alcohol was really doing a number on your system. You felt somewhere between sick and euphoric, and you were definitely regretting skipping dinner. 

“John, for the bajillionth time,” You were definitely fucked up. “I am not getting back together with you.” The frustration was really starting to sink in. This was one of his many attempts at redemption and, whether you were fully sober or absolutely wasted, you had no intentions of humoring him. 

“You’re being unfair.” Before you could even get the chance to laugh incredulously, a third figure stepped between you and John’s uncomfortably close face.

“Hey, do you know this guy?” Bucky asked with a saccharine smile, making your drunken self laugh at the cheesiness in his words. John looked furious.

“Hmm,” you drawled out, tapping your chin. “No, I don’t think I do.” If looks could kill, you and Bucky would both be dead, and John Walker would be escorted into a police car.

“What the fuck,” John added your name, so sharp and venomous you almost lost the humor in the conversation.

“Stop talking to my girl, Walker.” Your body froze. You may have been too far gone to walk in a straight line, hell, a zigzag even, but you were conscious enough to hear Bucky’s words. 

His girl. 

“Your girl?” John raised an inquisitive brow, huffing like a child on the verge of a tantrum. 

“Mhm.” Bucky just nodded, snaking an arm over your shoulder and pulling you into him ever so slightly. He smelled like clean clothes and something sweet that you couldn’t quite put your finger on.

“Whatever. Fuck you guys.” John threw in his final weak blows as he left you two alone at the bathroom line. You both burst out laughing, before you wobbled, losing your step and tripping on air. Bucky’s arm around your shoulder dropped lower to your waist, stabilizing you. 

“Woah, are you okay?” You felt every inch of Bucky’s arm pressed into you, as if the contact were setting you on fire. Your brain was too exhausted to fight the intrusive feeling, to remember the red-hot embarrassment you felt two years prior in that dingy diner booth. Your brain was too exhausted to fight the way your heart felt. The way your body felt. The way you replayed Sam’s words in your head like an itch you needed to scratch. 

“Probably not.” You hummed, subconsciously nuzzling your face into the crook of his neck. Bucky inhaled sharply at the contact, and you could have sworn you heard the rapid thumping of his heartbeat once again.

“Do you think you’re gonna be sick?” He asked softly, brushing a wild strand of hair away from your face. It would have been sweet if your stomach wasn’t emanating a carousel spinning at a ludicrously fast rate. 

“Definitely yes.” You hiccuped slightly, rubbing your sore temples. 

“C’mon, let me walk you home.” He began steering you gently toward the door, giving you time to decide whether or not you were going to take him up on his offer. Bucky knew you didn’t take kindly to him. He was oblivious as to why, but in some strange, twisted way, it was important to him that he respected your aversion. You stopped him.

“Wait, what about Nat?” You asked quietly, your voice sweeter than Bucky was used to. He bit back a smile. 

“Don’t worry about Nat, sweetheart. Steve is with her. Plus, we both know she can handle herself.” The endearment slipped out so slyly you thought you had imagined it. Your skin prickled at the sound of it. Your heart pattered at the way it rolled off his tongue.

“No, that’s not nice of me. I have to wait for Nat.” You attempted a stern tone, but you knew it fell short.

“I’ll give her a call, don’t worry about it.” He gave your shoulder a careful rub upon noticing the way your brow furrowed from the pain of your stomach. 

“Fine.” You gave in, feeling the urge to puke quite sharply. 

Bucky guided you with unspoken reverence toward the door; cool night air danced across your face as he swung it open. It felt strange to be this close to him, to finally see each pore and line on his face, which was so close to yours after adapting to the way his features looked from afar. The distance was your choice. You thought it had been the right choice. Was it? 

“How much longerrrr?” You snapped out of your thoughts as another sharp pang in your stomach set off an ache in your head. 

“We literally just started walking, sweetheart.” There it was again. This time, the endearment was clearer and harder to miss. Your heart rate picked up.

“So much sass, tsk tsk.” You shook your head playfully, subconsciously nestling deeper into his side. You had to focus intently to match his pace, which already slowed to accommodate your drunk state. 

“It’s just 3 more blocks.” He murmured by your ear. You looked up at him through your lashes.

“That’s too many.” You pouted, knowing your whining was far off from your usual collected composure, but not feeling well enough to care.

“I’ll carry you.” He offered, but you weren’t really listening. All you could hear was the loud churning of your stomach and sirens going off in your head.

“No, seriously, Barnes, too many. I’m gonna barf.” You almost gagged. Almost. Bucky suddenly dropped his suave demeanor as a sense of panic and worry came over him.

“Shit.” Before you could register his actions, Bucky Barnes was sweeping you off your feet with ease, holding you bridal style as he picked up his already naturally wide pace. You gasped dramatically, but there was no bite to it.

“Put me down!” You swatted at his arm, feeling annoyed by his valor. Your judgement was failing. Your assumptions about him were falling short. His actions were beginning to prove you wrong. You hated being wrong. Before you knew it, the dark night, blowing wind, and quiet air of the neighborhood were gone, and you were indoors. “Is this my apartment?” You asked with slurred speech, your agitation quelling. 

“No, we’re at my place. Don’t worry, I’m gonna take care of you, okay?” Bucky spoke to you like you were something fragile, something priceless. You weren’t used to the feeling. You didn’t stomach it well. Literally. 

Before you had a chance to gag, you were rushed to the bathroom and perched over the toilet. You barfed up all the clear contents of your long night. You could feel Bucky kneeling beside you like a grounding presence, one hand holding back your hair, the other stabilizing your back. His thumb moved gently up and down, grazing the strap of your top and the bare skin beneath it in an attempt to soothe you. 

“Shh, it’s okay, let it out.” He cooed, and you felt a sharper, different pang, this time in your chest. It was guilt. 

“Why are you doing this?” You muttered, eyes closed, still bent over the toilet seat.

“What?” Bucky asked as though the question itself offended him tremendously. 

“Helping me. I’m so,” you hiccupped, “So, so mean to you.” You let out a deep breath. This was truly a nightmare. You were a babbling, disgusting mess in front of the guy who basically rejected you on your first ever date. You felt sick and embarrassed and confused. Bucky rubbed another circle on your back. He let out a soft laugh, but the smile didn’t reach his eyes. His eyes were soft, glinting as they looked at you with concern. 

“You’re not mean.” He murmured. Suddenly, as though he forgot where he was and abruptly remembered, Bucky stood, helping you up with him. “Let's get you cleaned up.” 

The moment was over. 

--- 

It was a blur, but ultimately, you found yourself with minty breath, curled up in a foreign bed wearing a sweatshirt and a pair of boxers much too large for you. You looked up from your cozy spot, peering through the cracked bathroom door. Bucky stood there in the soft glow of yellow light, sink running as his large, calloused hands washed what looked like your stained going-out top. Your heart clenched at the sight. Steve’s words replayed in your head, loud and clear. 

“He hasn’t talked to anyone since like January of Freshman year.”

You shuddered. The sink turned off, and suddenly, Bucky was at the foot of your bed. Correction, his bed. 

“You feeling any better?” He asked. You weren’t used to this. Not only being taken care of so cautiously, but also the lack of sarcasm or slyness in his tone. There were no mean flirtations, no efforts to make you roll your eyes or squirm. It was just Bucky. 

“Bucky,” You said, sitting up. His name felt so foreign on your tongue, and you noticed the way his entire body seemed to react to you saying ‘Bucky’ as opposed to ‘Barnes.’ “I have… a question.” You rubbed your temples, fighting to regain any sense of sobriety left within you. You were definitely still drunk. 

“Sure.” He sat on the edge of the bed, putting distance between you both that created a thick, unspoken tension in the room. 

“Steve said that,” You furrowed your brow, pausing to find the words, “you didn’t date anyone after January a couple years ago.” You looked at him quizzically as his ears turned a light shade of pink. He rubbed his neck with his hand awkwardly before meeting your eye again. You looked oddly beautiful despite the circumstances. Your hair was tussled, mascara smudged, and Bucky would be lying if he said the sight of you in his close wasn’t making his mind race with insanity. Luckily for him and his long silence, you had more to say. “He told me because I said I thought you were a player. You know, a fuck boy or whatever.” It was a good thing you were too drunk to catch the heartbreak painted across Bucky’s face. “Why January?” You circled back.

“It was the month I met you.” He whispered. You let out a loud scoff. If only you were sober enough to catch the implication of his words as opposed to being taken over by bitter memory. 

“Bullshit!” You flopped back onto the bed, staring at the ceiling as you spoke. 

“What?” He asked incredulously. 

“We met in the fall, idiot.” Bucky froze. “We went to that shitty diner with Steve and Nat. You flirted with that waitress then left to hook up with a random.” You rolled over onto your stomach, all contents of your brain spilling out to him, unfiltered.

Bucky stopped breathing. 

He had truly forgotten. 

It all came rushing back, and he was mortified.

“Oh my god,” He began to utter your name, but you cut him off. This vent was long overdue. 

“You wanna know why I got so pissed?” You asked sharply, half to the pillow, half to Bucky. “That was my first date, Barnes. First date ever!” Your eyes fluttered shut. You were exhausted and unfortunately mostly under the impression that you were actively dreaming. “Asshole.” You muttered to yourself before drifting off to sleep. You missed the way Bucky looked at your still form; he was absolutely wrecked and distraught. 

He was so utterly gone for you. 

He had so utterly fucked up. 

---

You woke up to the smell of coffee and the sound of running water. Groaning, your brief moment of peace was rudely interrupted by the pain felt in your forehead. You propped yourself up, taking in your surroundings before looking down at the soft, large sweatshirt on you. Shit. Suddenly, at a rapid pace, the memories of last night came rushing back to you. Your conversation with Steve, Bucky and John, Bucky walking you out, Bucky walking you to his frat house, Bucky rubbing your back while you puked, Bucky listening to your first date story.

Bucky listening to your first date story.

Fuck. 

Bucky.

Like Beetlejuice, he had now appeared at the foot of the bed. The sound of water was gone. You looked up, taking him in. He was shirtless, a towel around his neck and sweats low on his hips. You wanted to laugh. Your life was starting to feel like a bad Netflix Original. 

“Morning.” You tried, propping yourself up more in his bed as though the action would help you recollect any ounce of your otherwise gone pride. 

“Good morning.” Bucky echoed. Despite his absurdly intimidating presence in the sunlit room, his voice was laced with anxiety. He was nervous. “Oh, here.” He walked over to the bedside table, making your breath hitch at the sudden proximity. Instead of approaching you, Bucky pulled out the table drawer, fumbling around before he placed a bottle of Advil beside the steaming Coffee cup by your head.

“Look, Bucky,” You started as he began unscrewing the bottle, unable to meet your eye. “I shouldn’t have said all of that last night, and-” He interrupted you before you could continue. 

“No.” You stilled. “Sorry, I mean, no, don’t apologize.” He straightened his back, meekly looking at the floor before looking back at you. He looked wrecked. “I am so sorry,” he said your name like it carried more weight than the letters it was made out of. Like it carried things he was too afraid to say.

“Bucky…” Your brows pinched together with a hurricane of different emotions. 

“I screwed up so badly. I screwed up, and I didn’t even have the decency to remember.” He sat on the edge of the bed. You moved forward, narrowing the distance between you. “I was so stupid that first semester.”

“Yeah, you were.” You tried lamely for humor, a sad smile on your face, but Bucky didn’t reciprocate. He only looked more hurt, not because of you, but because of himself. 

“I’m serious. I was naive and overexcited and an absolute idiot.” He looked down at his hands, finding the right words. “The reason I didn’t date after that January was that I met you. Or at least, I thought that was our first time meeting.” He shook his head with self-frustration. You froze. Your brain had been hard-wired to despise Bucky, to judge him beyond belief, to cage him within the walls of your well-held grudge. Everything was falling apart. “I saw you sitting in front of me in that dingy old classroom and, god,” he looked at you with pained eyes, “I was hooked.”

Your breath hitched. 

“I like you. I really, really like you. I’ve been fighting for your attention this whole time like an idiot, thinking this was some game of vying for your affection, when in reality I fucked up.” Your brain was rewriting everything you thought you knew about Bucky Barnes. Starting with the apparent softness of his lips. Bucky mistook your silence for anger. He began backpedalling, his expression turning frantic. “Shit, sorry. I can drive you home, or call you a-”

In the blink of an eye, your lips were crashing onto Bucky Barnes. 

He stilled at the sudden contact before melting into you, large arms enclosing you in his tight embrace as he kissed you back with a voracious hunger that made your heart race. His right hand snaked up from your waist, reaching your neck to bend your head ever so gently, deepening the kiss. He tasted like fresh mint, cool air, and new beginnings. You broke apart, foreheads still touching, chests heaving. Every judgement you ever held about Bucky Barnes was gone. Each assumption was being quickly replaced by the reactive, breathing man before you. 

“I forgive you, Bucky.” You whispered, centimeters from his lips. A slow, wide smile grew on his handsome sunlit face.

“Thank you.” He began to pepper soft kisses across your cheek, your jaw, your neck, landing back on your lips. “You have no idea how badly I’ve wanted this.” He murmured against your skin, kissing you deeper once more. 

“I shouldn’t have been so stubborn.” You whispered, breaking away from his lips to nuzzle into his neck. 

“I shouldn’t have been such a dick.” He countered, making a soft laugh escape your lips. It was the most beautiful noise he had ever heard. 

“Yeah, you shouldn’t have been such a dick.” You broke away from him, giving him a lazy smile, looking into his pale blue eyes. He pulled you closer, your bodies molding into one another as you both sat upright on the bed. 

You formed a new assumption.

Bucky Barnes is a good man. 

[bluehourdj]

I saw everyone on TikTok making marvel intros for their OCs… so I made one for the OC I keep in my head 😏😏 here’s my Bucky Barnes x lawyer edit 🙃

[bluehourdj]

August 10th

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Reader

WC: 8.8k

Setting: 1940s, Brooklyn, (Captain America The First Avenger basically)

Summary: When you were 16 years old, you fatefully moved next door to Steve Rogers, who you quickly claimed as your new best friend. Only, Steve spent the summer talking about Bucky, a boy you only pictured as a mysterious figure of anecdotes and stories. That is, until you met Bucky Barnes, became best friends, then moved away only to return to face yourself, your feelings, and the threat of war. 

Warnings/tags: War, Jealousy, lots of angst, yearning, mutual pining, pre serum Steve, two idiots in love, some miscommunication. (Please feel free to let me know if I missed anything!!!) 

Author’s Note: (Posting this for a second time after lots of technical issues lol) -> this is my first super long locked in Bucky fic, eek! Also, I apologize in advance for any grammar mistakes, I lowkey did not proofread this.

The story was super duper loosely based off of the vibes of the song August 10 by Julie Doiron.

August 10, 1933

Everyone loved Bucky Barnes. Foolishly, so would you. Yet, you still selfishly refused to group yourself with the crowd of his admirers. They knew the Bucky who frequently saved Steve from the endless rebellions he insisted upon, who charmed every girl from age 20 to 75 with his chivalry and sly tongue, and who showed respect for those working hard during such a tumultuous time of war and misery. 

That was Bucky now, 25, sturdy, and tall. A man. You loved Bucky then, scrawny, 16, and too clumsy for his own good. 

After a fateful day one sticky Brooklyn summer full of cardboard boxes and a boiling sun, your family had successfully moved next door to Steve Rogers. Steve was scrawny and came with a blanket wide list of allergies and impairments, he also became your best friend. Not by choice, really, as you practically forced yourself into his life with a cherry pie, childlike excitement, and desperate need for new friends, but as July turned into August, Steve found that the loud annoying girl next door had grown on him.

 You and Steve had spent that month of Summer hopping through diners and city parks, talking about everything from politics to jazz, but mostly Bucky. James Buchanan Barnes had been a mysterious figure in your mind, you pictured him as a faceless, elusive figure as Steve would excitedly introduce him into every conversation. Bucky, or, James, you had not been quite sure which name to use at the time, had been on vacation with his family all July, and Steve was itching to reunite with his long time best friend for the new school year. In an odd way, you were secretly glad for Bucky’s absence, as you quickly realized that if he had been home Steve likely would not have paid you any mind. 

But, when you waited awkwardly beside Steve at Grand Central across the bridge for this mysterious friend of his to arrive, you quickly retracted your gratitude. 

Bucky had jogged up to Steve with a worn bag in hand and a toothy grin on his face, scooping up the young protesting blonde like he weighed nothing. Amid the laughter and excitement, the two boys had almost forgotten about your prescience altogether. A slow blush had crept up your neck, as you both felt like an intruder and a creep with the way your eyes couldn’t break away from the new face before you. 

Then, Bucky had broken contact with Steve, turning to you. You were a bit awkward, your dress ill fitting and hair windswept, as though young adulthood had just approached you with a game of tug of war. Bucky had stilled. 

“Steve, you didn’t introduce me” he joked, shoving Steve’s shoulder.

“Oh, this is my new neighbor, Y/N.” Steve gave sheepishly, finally acknowledging you. Bucky’s grin grew.

“Well would you look at that,” he shook your hand, “a pretty girl-next-door.” 

From that day onward, you, Bucky, and Steve had been an odd trio, attached at the hip. High school was a mess, but a fun one at that. From innocent hallway crushes to anxious whispers of war, the late 1930s were nothing but chaos painted in saccharine revelry. Your crush on Bucky had waned slightly as you watched him bounce from girl to girl, with you and Steve loudly observing from the sidelines, but sure enough those fuzzy feelings still quietly persisted. Semesters blurred into years, and finally graduation came. 

Life was like soft glitter on your fingertips, slipping away from you quickly as time raced on. It wasn’t until a strangely fateful summer, much like the one in which you moved next door to Steve, that things began to change. 

May 31st, 1941

Checking the dainty watch on your wrist, your heartbeat picked up, realizing you were running tremendously late.

“Shit!” You yelped, picking up your heeled feet, tightening your grip on your small suitcase. 

“Hey, language!” Steve quipped beside you, scurrying to catch up. You muttered under your breath before slipping through the crowded sidewalk as Steve rushed behind you. In the nick of time, the two of you were able to slip through the large doors of Grand Central, four minutes before your departing train. You stilled despite the time crunch, an unsettling wave of Deja vu crashing over you. Steve broke you out of your brief thoughts. “I’m gonna miss you, you know.” He smiled kindly, nudging your shoulder.

“It’s only one year Stevie, I’ll be back before you know it.” You laughed before softening at the smile that didn’t quite reach Steve’s eyes. 

Things were changing. With the war, draft, and mobilization, everyone was putting their all into the terror that was to come. Things felt different. There was far less innocence and laughter in the air, it had been replaced by this strange looming shadow, as though New York had been trying to grasp onto its last crumbs of Bread and Circus before reality struck. 

Bucky had not been able to make it for your departure, he was preparing to ship out soon, and although you felt bad for Steve who wished so dearly to be dressed in uniform by Bucky’s side, you were incredibly grateful he was safe beside you instead. 

“One year sounds like a long time to me.” Steve’s shoulders sank. Your heart clenched at the thought of leaving, but you knew you had to go. With the fast pace of mobilization, the whole country cried for help, and so, you decided you would take your sharpened skills in writing to D.C. With all the men enlistening, the capitol was short staffed and had sent out multiple advertisements seeking aid from New England states. Yet, you planned to return, to come back soon to Brooklyn, to your family, to your boys. 

It still hurt nonetheless. 

You wished Bucky could have come to say goodbye. 

You told yourself it didn’t matter. He was busy doing things larger than the three of you. Preparing to leave, preparing to become something bigger than Brooklyn, bigger than late nights and cheap diner coffee and Steve’s crooked smile when he made a cheesy joke. 

Still, your eyes drifted toward the entrance every few seconds, heart lurching stupidly each time a tall dark-haired man pushed through the revolving doors.

Not Bucky. 

Not Bucky.

Not Bucky.

You sucked in a sharp breath, turning your attention back towards Steve.

“Promise me you’ll write?” Your voice was quiet for the first time all day.

“You don’t even have to ask.” Suddenly, you felt an enormous rush of dread as the Steve before you, still scrawny but older and wiser in the eyes, transformed into the Steve you met all those years ago. Childhood was officially over. 

You bumped his shoulder. “Don’t look at me like that. I’m going to D.C., not the moon.”

“Yeah,” he said, but it came out hollow. “Yeah, I know.”

The final boarding call echoed overhead, sharp and metallic, slicing through the station like a warning bell.

This was it.

You reached forward first, pulling Steve into a hug that was tighter than you meant it to be, tighter than either of you had hugged in years.

He froze for half a second before crushing you back. Finally, you broke apart. 

“Tell,” you started, beginning to stutter slightly, “Tell Bucky to write too.” Steve gave you a nod, his expression unintelligible in your eyes, but you didn’t have time to dwell on it. 

“Go,” Steve said gently. “Before you miss it.”

You nodded once, sharp and decisive, the way you’d practiced being since deciding to leave.

Then you turned and walked.

You didn’t look back until you reached the train doors.

Steve was still there, hands shoved into his pockets, shoulders hunched like he was trying to make himself smaller against the crowd.

And for one horrible, selfish second, you wished it was Bucky standing there instead.

The whistle blew.

The doors shut.

And everything you ever knew slipped from your grasp, inch by inch. 

The days blurred into weeks, and suddenly D.C. already felt like your second home. You had memorized your route to work and made a couple of new girlfriends, but amidst the cloudy train soot and unfamiliar streets, you still harbored a constant awareness that you were no longer someone’s daughter first, or someone’s friend, or someone’s “girl-next-door.” 

Yet, despite yourself, it was thrilling to be nobody again. Moving to D.C. was much like your move to Brooklyn, you had the chance to reinvent yourself, a do-over of sorts. Back home, you had been passionate, enthusiastic, and talkative, but you were also constantly plagued with awkwardness, insecurity, and a constant feeling of unbelonging that often came with puberty and early womanhood. Here, you could change that. You were still Y/N, but now you had the chance to become a stronger version of yourself you had yet to meet. 

By September, you knew which street vendors sold coffee strong enough to stir the dead. You knew which government buildings ran warm and which out of order bathrooms to avoid. You knew how to walk with purpose, shoulders squared, chin lifted, even when you had no idea where you were going. You learned how to command a room that believed you had no right to stand in. You were changing, and you liked it. 

One thing that did not change, however, was your weekly routine of writing letters. Your apartment, which you shared with two other working girls, was cramped, dusty, and held a certain air only gothic English winters could replicate. When available, you would rush to the single scratched up desk by the windowsill, and pull out your scattered stationary. 

 Steve predictably wrote the most often.

His handwriting was still too careful, still like he was trying to prove something to the world with every perfect curve of his pen. He told you about Brooklyn, the bakery down the street raising prices, the neighbor’s dog having puppies, the way the air felt heavier, like everyone was anticipating for a pin to drop.

He never complained, but he would end sentences early, holding back things you assumed were too daunting to admit. 

In return, you would send him rambling letters about your job, your fascination with the intellectuals now surrounding you, new things you learned and old things missed. You would write to Steve that you missed him. That you missed Bucky. You didn’t write about how lonely you felt.

Bucky wrote less, but he still wrote. 

His letters, when they came, were messy and long, with scratches hiding certain words and sentences he decided he no longer wanted to keep.  

He never said he missed you, at least not directly.

Instead, he wrote things like:

Saw a girl today with your laugh. Made me turn around like an idiot.

Which foolishly made you feel jealous, your small crush blinding your basic reading comprehension skills.

Or

Steve’s been talking about you like you’re already some big shot. Don’t let it go to your head.

Which made you laugh then tear up slightly at the sound of your own voice. 

But once, in a letter that arrived three days late and smelled faintly like cigarette smoke, he wrote something that truly stuck with you:

I always knew you belonged somewhere bigger than this place.

You read that line so many times the paper went soft at the fold.

When you wrote back, your letters became long, much like Bucky’s as well. Yet, for some strange reason, despite how you felt, everything you wrote seemed impersonal. You provided him with short anecdotes, hints at your changing persona, and questions about Brooklyn. You never told him you missed him either. You weren’t quite sure why you were holding back. 

Time began to escape you. By winter, you had not only become a familiar face at work, but a person people relied on and confided in. By spring, managers who had once mocked your integrity and belittled you on the basis of sex had been asking for your opinion. You were evolving. As Summer crept closer and closer to your grasp, you were too caught up in the hustle and bustle of the life you created yourself to notice the lingering eyes and flirty remarks of those you passed on the street. It was as though no amount of attention could release you from the two constant thoughts that permeated your mind: work, of course, and Bucky. 

You weren’t, however, naive. Not anymore. You knew you had grown into yourself, not just mentally, but physically. For the first time, you felt beautiful in every facet of the word. The last letter you got from Bucky before summer read:

Don’t stay gone too long. Brooklyn’s getting boring without our girl.

You laughed when you read it, but then your chest hurt a little, too. Our girl. 

For the first time since leaving, you let yourself imagine going back. 

Not as the girl who left, but as someone new. Maybe someone unrecognizable to your best friends, the boys you consider family. The boys you consider home.

Maybe someone Bucky might not know what to do with.

August 10, 1942

You were coming home. You almost couldn’t believe it, sinking into the train’s leather seat as you stared longingly toward the window. The ride felt short, or really, the ceaseless thoughts that fired rapidly in your head made it seem that way. But, as Brooklyn slowly came into view through the fogged glass and romantic summer haze, a sense of familiarity struck you where your heart felt most sensitive. You leaned into the window, forehead pressing against the glass. Same city. Same family. Same friends. But, you knew deep down, you were not the same you. 

When the train stopped, you felt your heart’s burning desire to leap out of your chest. Smoothing your skirt twice, you climbed out of your seat with shallow breaths.

Get it together.

In D.C., you had walked into rooms full of men twice your age and argued politics. You had proved yourself to men who believed you were capable of nothing but retrieving coffees and answering phones. You had learned how to exist without orbiting anyone.

This was just Brooklyn.

Just Steve.

Just Bucky.

And you were terrified.

As you stepped off the platform, your breath hitched. You had dreamt of this moment so many times, but seeing Bucky and Steve, both firmer, stronger, and one year older, in front of you was more surreal than any dream. 

“Y/N?” Steve’s voice broke through the crowd as he shifted his feet, stilling at your arrival. Beside him, Bucky tensed, eyes widening in a way you chose to ignore. You straightened your shoulders, adjusted the strap of your bag, and stepped toward them.

“Hi, Stevie.”

Your voice came out steadier than you felt as a soft smile grew on your face. Steve blinked like he was trying to match the girl who left one summer ago with the woman standing in front of him. Then suddenly he was moving, pushing through the crowd and wrapping you in a hug that lifted you halfway off your feet.

“You’re back,” he said into your hair, voice tight. “You’re actually back.”

You laughed, breathless. “I told you I would be.”

But when you pulled away, your eyes found Bucky.

And God, your heart clenched.

The last year had sculpted him in the way wartime America changed men: broader shoulders, sharper jaw, posture of a steel pole.

But his eyes were the same. Blue. Soft. Bucky. Watching you sadly, like you were something fragile and unfamiliar all at once.

“Hey, Buck.”

You tried for the casual, friendly tone you had used in your letters, but your voice softened. 

Bucky swallowed.

“Hey, doll.”

The nickname sent chills down your spine; you were losing yourself in the nostalgia of  you two first met.

Bucky stepped forward slowly, shoving his hands into his pockets like he didn’t know what to do with them.

“You look…” He ran a hand over the back of his neck, searching for words he could not say. “D.C. suits you.” He decided. You let out a warm laugh, and that seemed to ease his raised shoulders. 

“Thanks. You look like you’re ready to drop and give me twenty.” You nudged his shoulder playfully, a small smile playing on your faces. Things had changed, but you slowly realized the three of you had stayed the same. You were still family. 

“I would if you asked.” He said, softer than before. “Sir, yes, sir.” Bucky then joked, recovering from the brief slip of the mask he had put up, raising a mocking salute. You rolled your eyes lightheartedly, and the three of you laughed, falling into step with one another as you made your way toward the station exit. 

“Come on, let’s get something to eat.” Steve smiled widely, and suddenly, you didn’t feel the weight of war on your shoulders, you felt safe and at home. 

—

The walk to the diner felt like reliving an old memory. Brooklyn smelled the same, hot sun, candy shop sugar, river air. Kids still ran through fire hydrant spray. Neighbors still yelled out their windows at anyone within a five-block radius.

But people stared at you now.

You tried not to notice, but as each passerby turned an intrigued head, you felt a faint blush crawl up your skin.

Bucky noticed. His jaw ticked when a group of guys went quiet as you passed. He subtly moved you to the inside of the sidewalk.

You didn’t comment on it. Steve did.

“Well,” he said finally, nudging you. “Looks like Brooklyn noticed you grew up.” 

“I haven’t changed that much.” You groaned, suddenly feeling a bit self-conscious. 

“Oh sure.” Steve hummed, amused as his eyes flicked between Bucky’s tense expression and your blushing face, as though he knew something the two of you didn’t. 

The three of you finally made it to the small diner by your old high school. It was decorated with peeling paint and outdated flyers in the window, like a cherished time capsule you forgot to bury. Bucky, ever the gentleman, held the door open for you and Steve to filter in.

You wondered to yourself if Bucky had a girl by now. If his sweet charms were still rampant among the city. If it was time to finally let go of your crush. But, as a familiar face greeted you three, you let your thoughts die down.

“Oh my gosh, is that you Y/N?” The sweet old voice of none other than Patty, the cane-wielding restaurant manager, greeted you like a familiar hug. 

“Yes, ma’am.” You chuckled, craning your neck to bend down and meet her in an embrace. You missed how Bucky’s eyes trailed your frame fondly, as though he himself were an old man and you a sweet memory. 

“My, you’ve grown up gorgeous.” Patty pinched your cheek, Steve and Bucky beaming behind you with a subtle sense of what you could have sworn was pride. “Sit, sit, I’ll get your orders ready. The usual?” 

“Yes, ma’am.” Bucky and Steve said in chorus, mocking your previous reply. You gave them a curt glare as they snickered boyishly before sauntering over to your usual booth. You slid in gracefully, which caught the boys somewhat off guard, as they were more adapted to your jerky movements and awkward limbs. But when you roughly tore the paper off your straw with your teeth, sinking into the leather seat, they knew parts of you were still the same. Steve slid in next to you, and Bucky sat across, his knee bumping yours delicately. 

He didn’t move it, so neither did you. 

One of Patty’s waitresses wordlessly slipped your three chipped mugs onto the table as you all took in the bittersweet atmosphere around you. 

“So, tell us everything.” Steve started, taking a long sip of the bitter drink in his mug. 

“That’s a lot of things.” But Steve simply shrugged. 

“We have all the time in the world.” He replied with a hint of sarcasm that you wished wasn’t present, because you wished his words were true. You knew they were not. 

“Well, I spent most of my time correcting politicians who would’ve rather seen me open my legs than my mouth.” Steve choked on his coffee, turning red. 

Bucky just grinned, studying you over the rim of his mug.

 “Yeah. You always were bossy.”

You raised a brow. “Confident.”

“Bossy,” he repeated, a little smile tugging at his mouth.

You leaned forward slightly. “Hmm,” you hummed, “Well I guess you always were insufferable.” Steve laughed, recovering from his previous embarassment. 

“Charming,” Bucky corrected. Steve let out a long sigh as his eyes grazed over your face, taking in the fact that you were actually there in front of them. 

“I just can’t get over how much you have changed. You seem different.” His words weren’t critical, in fact, they were almost admiring. 

“I am different.” You shrugged, but your words carried a certain gravity you had not intended.

“I mean, just a year ago you couldn’t even order without apologizing to the waiter.”

“I was being polite,” you shot back, groaning at his jab.

“You apologized when he brought the wrong food, Y/N.” Steve deadpanned.

Bucky’s lips twitched. “That sounds about right.”

You kicked his shin lightly under the table, knees brushing once more. “I have evolved, thank you.”

“Oh, I can tell,” Bucky said. You felt your face heat up briefly. Why had your crush not died with your naivety over the last year? You wished the answer could be easily discerned, but you knew deep down that Bucky was not just someone you liked. He was a person worth admiring. Because, beneath his subtle flirtations and annoyingly incredible people skills, Bucky was simply a great person. 

“You left,” Steve continued, “And suddenly it was just me and him again. Like before you showed up with that damn cherry pie.” The three of you laughed at the memory of the now faint, distant summer. How time had flown. 

“Enough about me. I want to know about my two favorite boys.” You added, with a hint of sweet sarcasm in your voice, as though you were talking about two small puppies rather than the now grown-up men before you. 

“I’m still trying to enlist.” Steve shared, his tone more serious and slightly melancholic than before. You nodded, heart clenching for your friend. “Can’t let Buck ship out alone now, can I? Who’s gonna be there to protect him?” He added after a pause, allowing some comedic relief to which you and Bucky let out short, clipped laughs. 

“Do you know when you’re leaving, Buck?” You asked quietly, busying yourself with stirring what was left of your coffee, trying not to give away your fear. 

“No, not exactly. I assume soon.” You nodded, trying to conceal the way your fingers clenched at his words.You let out a soft hum, trying to break the ice. 

“Do you think I’d make a good soldier?” You teased, earning a small smile from Steve. 

Bucky just stared.

“Sure, doll. You’d make a good anything.” 

After Steve and Bucky walked you home, the sun had set and nighttime danced around the city in a quiet fashion. Bucky lingered by Steve’s door, which was right next to yours, not quite ready to go to his own home. 

“You could just tell her you know.” Steve sighed, as though they had beaten this dead horse a hundred times. Which they had.

“Easier said than done.” Bucky looked down at his shoes. Quiet settled between them momentarily before he decided to speak again. “Besides, Stevie, I’ve seen how she looks at you.” 

Steve laughed out loud, startling Bucky.

“Do they give you lobotomies as part of your military training?” Bucky just rolled his eyes. Steve calmed down from his laughter, realizing his best friend was getting lost in his head. “Look, Buck. I don’t know what goes on in that girl’s head. Hell, after today, I’m sure half of Brooklyn’s male population is dying to know.” 

Bucky straightened his back, jaw ticking and heart picking up with a sense of unwarranted anxiety, like he was already losing you before he ever had you.

“What I do know is that you have harbored your little schoolboy crush on Y/N for years now. All you gotta do is fess up.” Bucky just shook his head.

“Good night, Stevie.” He clapped him lightly on the back before turning towards home.

“Yeah, yeah, goodnight.” Steve laughed quietly to himself while Bucky began his venture home. He wasn’t sure what to do, all he knew was the easy way out. Running. 

—

You were three hours into your shift at a last minute job you picked up to help your family pay some bills when Susie Jones delivered the most aggravating news of your life. Okay, maybe you were being dramatic, but still, you were pissed. You had no right to be annoyed, but when the peppy ginger announced to the other working girls that James Buchanan Barnes had asked her to the Stark Expo set to happen that night, you nearly snapped the bolt on the machinery you had been relentlessly tightening.

“Please, please, please!” You heard her plead as she shook another girl's arm, one who you recognized as her longtime friend. “It’s just one night, you know I’ve been crushing on Barnes.” 

“Fine!” The girl threw her arms up in exasperation. “I’ll go with the little blonde.” Then everyone got back to work. 

You wanted to grind your teeth. You didn’t. You were composed, mature, a lady, and also seething. You couldn’t complain too loudly, you were the one who told Steve and Bucky that you were busy Friday night. You had met a man at the local newsroom who promised to tell you about a new policy being made back in D.C. It wasn't until Steve mentioned privately to you that William, the man you blocked off your Friday evening for, was someone Bucky did not take kindly to, that you regretted telling the two. But it wasn’t a date, you told yourself, it was work. 

You wondered as your hands worked tirelessly, if Bucky had asked Susie, your halfhearted nemesis since the 10th grade, out of spite. But you shook the thought away, because if it were true, that would have to mean Bucky cared, and that just wasn’t a fact you were betting on. You just hadn’t expected to feel so irritated. 

You managed to convince yourself that this feeling wasn’t jealousy. You told yourself that it was about principle.

He had (technically) asked you first, and you had said you were busy.

Now Susie was going to hang off his arm while Howard Stark unveiled the future of America beneath fireworks, loud music, and patriotic delirium. The factory radio hummed on beat with the drum of your brain, for the first time in ages, you began using your head for scheming rather than intellect. 

—

The very first thing you did when you got off work was stop by the newsroom to talk to William. It was a quaint, small place, filled with bustling reporters and the smell of old paper. You waited by the front door, as instructed by a skittish intern who informed you William would swing by any minute. Sure enough, he arrived with his windswept hair and rolled sleeves, coming up to you with a quick jog. 

“Y/N!” He exhaled, looking you up and down without subtlety, but you were too focused on your plan at hand to pay him any mind. “What brings you by?” 

“I was wondering if we could adjust our plans for Friday?” His expression faltered. 

“Oh, did something happen?” 

Your brain worked at rapid speed, trying to come up with viable reasoning for what you were going to say next. “Well, not exactly. You see, I am just really fascinated by this new Stark Expo, and I was wondering if you would take me tonight and we can talk politics another time.” You held your breath, unaware that the man before you was already putty in your hands. 

“Of course! I’ll pick you up at eight.” William smiled larger than a boy in a candy shop, but you didn’t care, all you needed was his confirmation. 

“Great!” You reached out, squeezing his bicep as thanks, and rushed out of the room. 

A part of you felt guilty for roping William into your mess, but the other part still burned with irritation at Susie’s shrill voice announcing Bucky like he was already hers. You slowed your pace as you walked home. You didn’t have time to dwell upon why you were reacting so severely. You needed to get ready. 

You stood before the large mirror in the center of your room, one passed down to you from your grandmother. Its faded gold frame glittered in the lowlight of your dim room, night sweeping over the city. You looked breathtaking. You delicately traced the curves of your dress, one your mother had bought for you before the war, telling you that you would soon grow into the stunning gown. Soon was now. 

The pale blue fabric hugged your body like it had been sewn onto you, faint white stripes dancing up your waist. You admired the beauty of the dress, its skirt flowing out like a bloomed tulip. 

Even though the dress was stunning, it was you, with you hair meticulously done and lips painted a deep pink, that was gorgeous. 

But you didn’t care. You didn’t care how dolled up you could make yourself. It was difficult to care about such things at all when the death toll climbed and the thought of Bucky shipping out gnawed at you relentlessly. 

But tonight was simple. Tonight was about playful jealousy, about flirtations, a night under fireworks, and laughter. Or atleast, that’s what you told yourself as you picked up your purse and left your room. 

Playful.

But this didn’t feel like joking.

This felt like everything.

A sharp knock at your door snapped you out of your deep thoughts. Carefully, you turned the knob to find William cleaned up before you.

“Wow.” You laughed lightly at his reaction, shaking your head. You wished you could say you felt warmed at the blush growing on his face as he took you in, but all you felt was pain. You wished he was someone else. “What did I do to get this lucky?” He teased, extending his arm which you gingerly took as you both began your walk. 

“Oh, stop. You flatter me too much.” You hadn’t meant them to, but your words came out a little cold. William was sweet. That was the problem. He was afraid to tease, to taunt, to tell you the truth. But you couldn’t quite blame him either, he didn’t know you.

No, he didn’t know you at all. 

The walk to the expo felt short. You and William filled the silence with clipped, casual conversations which seemed to fulfill him. But, your mind was elsewhere. You kept smoothing down your skirt with each step, absentmindedly patting down your hair, and straightening your necklace with each step, suddenly painfully self conscious as you imagined the countless ways in which you could potentially run into Bucky and Steve. 

“Here we are.” William’s voice brought you back to earth. The expo was extraordinary, not because of the fancy displays and odd exhibits that glittered before you, but because of the vast bubbling crowd. It was as though everyone had forgot the looming fate of the country, the growing fear and uncertainty, to come together for a night of wonder and excitement. 

Searchlights cut across the sky, music poured from places you couldn’t see, and the air buzzed with the smell of sugar, perfume, gasoline, and anticipation. Patriotic banners snapped overhead as crowds pressed forward toward the grand pavilion where tonight’s spectacle would unfold.

William leaned closer to be heard over the noise. “Impressive, isn’t it?” A bit dazed, your eyes glittered with childlike wonder,

“Something like that.” You smirked, before William took your hand suddenly pulling you through the crowd. Guilt gnawed at you as the thought of how Bucky’s hand would feel instead penetrated your mind.

It didn’t spark anything in you. Not the way a simple brush of knees across a diner booth had. 

As William guided you deeper into the crowd, you began to feel the proximity of the people around you.You scanned the area before you could stop yourself.

And then you stilled.

It shouldn’t have suprised you, hell this was all part of your ploy in many ways, but your breath hitched at the sight of your longtime friends.

Steve stood slightly apart from the noise, hands shoved into his jacket pockets, his blond hair catching the lights overhead. His date had drifted slightly, talking to another group of girls nearby, the sight briefly making your heart clench. Then, slowly, your eyes drifted to Bucky.

He wore his crisp uniform that fit him unfairly well, hair combed back, jaw sharp in the glow of neon. Hanging onto his arm was Susie Jones.

She was laughing too loudly at something he’d said, her gloved fingers curled possessively into his sleeve. It wasn’t like you to hate people for no reason, but in this moment, you felt a great sense of fury towards Susie Jones. Or maybe, a great sense of fury toward Bucky. Your brain felt scrambled and confused.

William followed your gaze. “You know them?”

“Unfortunately,” you muttered, but you were already walking, ready to abandon this childish idea to get back at Bucky altogether. 

It was too late.

Steve saw you first.

His entire face lit up. “Y/N?” You froze.

Bucky turned.

For one suspended, fragile second, the noise of the Expo dulled into silence. His eyes swept over you as he took you in slowly, deliberately, and his mask of casual demeanor he’d been so smoothly wearing cracked clean in half. 

Susie felt it too. Her smile faltered.

You lifted your chin.

Bucky wouldn’t stop staring.

“Evening, boys.” Your voice was smooth, composed.

Steve blinked. “You look—”

William stepped up beside you, interrupting, but extending a polite hand. “William Hayes.”

Bucky straightened his back. He was a bit taller than William, who instinctively replicated Bucky’s posture. You felt your stomach twist. 

Bucky stared at William’s hand for half a second too long before shaking it. His grip was firm. Too firm.

“James Barnes. We’ve met.” You felt uneasy, but you sure as Hell didn’t show it. Susie shifted in her heels, grumbling something to herself. “This is Susie.” Bucky added suddenly, as though her presence was an afterthought. Until, something shifted in his eyes.

For the first time he glanced directly into your eyes, holding brief contact while his own blue pair glinted mischievously. 

“She’s my date.” He added, a taunting smirk playing on his lips. Like he was taunting you. Like you were both 16 again, competing in prizeless contests of banter, wit, and unruly behavior. 

You weren’t one to lose.

Steve looked between all of you like he was watching a boxing match he hadn’t bought tickets for.

“Well,” he said weakly, “we were just about to grab some lemonade-”

“Perfect,” you cut in. “We’ll join.” William looked at you with a sliver of suprise before regaining his composure.

Bucky’s gaze snapped to yours. 

You held it.

You were going to win. 

Because that’s what this was about, right? Another game of teasing and taunting between you that held no weight. A relapse of youth. You told yourself these things as you shoved down the thought that, this time, everything meant so much more. 

The boys left to retrieve your drinks, leaving you alone with Susie who gave you an immediate nasty glare upon their departure before turning to her gaggle of friends. You couldn’t blame her, you knew you were intruding, so instead you looking toward the large state in anticipation to distract yourself.

When the boys returned, handing out your lemonades, you couldn’t help but notice the strange silent competition growing between Bucky and William, as each man made covert attempts to make themselves appear larger before you. Normally, you would have laughed at the obscure sight of contest before you, but this time, you felt uneasy.

Still, you were hot in the ring, and you weren’t going down without a fight. You hadn’t spent the entire last year building your confidence just to let it fall at such a dire moment. 

The fireworks began not long after.

Howard Stark’s voice boomed over the loudspeakers, theatrical and brimming with impossible promises about tomorrow’s technology, tomorrow’s future, tomorrow’s victory.

The crowd murmured and gasped as sparkling lights exploded overhead.

William talked in your ear about innovation and politics and policy, and you nodded at appropriate intervals, too distracted to care about the way he explained things as though you didn’t already know them, but you could feel it. You could feel him.

Bucky.

You could feel his blue eyes on you each time you smiled.

You could feel the tension radiating from him when William’s hand would settle at your waist during a particularly loud burst of fireworks.

Another boom painted the sky glitter and gold.

Without thinking, you glanced across the small group of familiar faces around you.

Bucky was already looking at you.

Not at your pretty blue dress.

Not at your neatly done hair.

At you.

He looked Soft. Hurt. Confused. Possessive.

The next firework flickered through the black sky, and suddenly Susie was leaning in, tugging on Bucky’s crisp sleeve. “Jamie, let’s go closer!”

Jamie.

Your jaw clicked and your stomach churned. You inhaled sharply, not because of annoyance, but because of a sudden terrifying realization that dawned upon you. This feeling was far more than jealousy.

Bucky didn’t move.

“Go ahead,” he told Susie quietly, eyes never leaving yours. For the first time, you felt your confident facade slip.

Susie sighed, finally growing exasperated with the tall man before her then disappeared into the herd. Steve had long since been pulled away by a gaggle of neighborhood boys you recognized, all fervently debating enlistment paperwork.

It was you, William, and Bucky. 

William suddenly sighed, as though the tense atmosphere was physically weighing him down as he turned to you leaned down. “I’m going to grab us something stronger than lemonade.” He left before you had a chance to respond. You weren’t offended. Your mind was elsewhere.

The second he stepped away, Bucky crossed the distance between you without hesitation. 

He didn’t touch you, but he was stood close enough that you could feel the heat of his body beside yours.

“What are you doing?” he asked, his low, rough voice sending a chill down your spine as he spoke quietly enough that no one else could hear.

You blinked, stunned, then feigning innocence. “Watching the Expo.”

“With him?” You turned to face Bucky now, regaining your boldness. 

“With my date? Yes.”

His jaw flexed. “You told me you were busy, Y/N.” The sound of your name on his tongue tugged at your chest. 

“I was.”

“With him?”

You tilted your head, feeling suddenly annoyed. “You seemed to manage just fine.” This was Bucky. The Bucky that everyone loved. The Bucky you watched date girl after girl. Just Bucky. Not your Bucky. 

Your brain worked at a million miles per hour as you tried to push down the feelings you were too petrified to confront. 

“That’s different.”

“Is it?” Your tone was sharper than you intended.

Another firework burst overhead, bathing his sharp features in glowing light.

“You don’t even like him,” Bucky said.

“And you don’t even like Susie.” You shot back. As soon as your words sunk in, you wished you had not said them.

His breath hitched, barely, but you heard it.

“Y/N.”

Was your name a warning, or a plea?

You swallowed, your confidence fully falling for the first time all night. 

“You asked me first,” you said quietly. “Technically.” You added, as though the clarification could subtract the rawness of your words. 

He stepped closer. You stiffened. 

“I asked you because I wanted to take you.”

The overcrowded expo suddenly felt small.

“And I asked Susie because I was tired of waiting.” You swallowed, brows creasing in a mix of confusion and hurt. 

“Waiting for what?”

“For you to stop pretending you don’t know.”

Your pulse thundered in your ears.

“Know what, Buck?”

His eyes searched yours like each glance was an attempt to memorize something before it vanished.

“That every time you leave a room, I feel like something is missing.”

The fireworks boomed louder. There was more applause.

“That when you wrote me while in D.C., I didn’t feel proud, even though I should’ve, I felt terrified.”

Your heart cracked open.

“That I don’t care if you like Steve more, or how many men stare at you on the sidewalk,” he continued, voice rough yet simultaneously wavering, “because they don’t know you. They don’t know how you get awkward around waiters. Or how you aren’t afraid to laugh too loud or curse under your breath. Or how you pretend you’re not afraid of being left behind.”

You stopped breathing. Bucky knew you. Bucky knew all of you. 

“And I’m shipping out soon,” he said, softer now, eyebrows furrowed and eyes pleading. “And, God Y/N, I couldn’t go without knowing if I ever even had a shot.”

Everything inside you stilled. 

All the jealousy, the scheming, the pride, the games, gone. You swallowed 

“You did,” you whispered.

He froze.

“You always did.”

For a split second, Bucky transformed before you. He looked like that 16 year old boy at Grand Central again. Hopeful and terrified and brimming with youth.

William’s voice called your name from somewhere behind you, and the once shut out world crashed back in.

Bucky glanced past you toward the sound. And just as quickly as it came, the hopeful air between you shifted. His eyes glanced toward William, in normal clothes, then to you, then briefly down to his own uniform. It all happened too fast for you to comprehend.

William approached, Bucky’s shoulders fell. You wanted to reach out for him, but your body didn’t react in time with your brain, or rather, your heart. 

“I’m not asking you to wait for me doll.” he said too quickly. “I won’t do that to you.”

You finally reached for him, mouth opening to speak before you could stop yourself.

Your fingers caught the corner of his sleeve, grazing the soft skin of his wrist.

“I don’t want you to go,” you admitted, the truth painful and unpolished.

“I know.”

The fireworks reached their crescendo, the sky splitting open in white and gold brilliance.

“I love you.” You gasped. Suddenly, for the first time in the almost ten years you knew him, Bucky Barnes was about to make you cry. 

And just like that, before even waiting for a response, he left.

And you were furious.

You hadn’t slept. 

It was the morning after the expo, and you were restless. You had rolled out of bed once morning came, slipped into your clothes, and left your house quietly in a disheveled state. 

Brooklyn felt strangely dull. Heavy clouds loomed over you darkly, down the block a radio hummed faintly with morning news announcing static words about enlistment numbers and foreign fronts.

As you walked, muscle memory carried you down the empty streets while your mind grew restless. You stared ahead at the familiar neighborhood streets and replayed those three words. 

I love you.

The way Bucky’s face had changed. The way Bucky had stepped back. The way Bucky left.

These thoughts swarmed your brain incessantly. You let out a curt sigh of exasperation, taking a sharp left turn on your heeled foot into Bucky’s neighborhood. 

You found his door.

You knocked.

No answer.

It was strange for him to be out of his apartment this early, but after you loitered long enough by his doorstep, you left for your next stop. You hated to admit it, but you were desperate.

You needed to find him.

As you climbed down the metal stairs leading to Bucky’s door, you rerouted back towards your own neighborhood to see if he was staying with Steve. 

On your way walking back, a green and white awning caught your eye. A large sign swung faintly in the wind that hinted at the upcoming storm, it was the corner store Bucky favored for cigarettes, which you always begged him to stop smoking. You swung the door open, silently thanking fate that the store was open at such a strange hour. 

“Excuse me Sir,” your voice came out loudly, startling both yourself and the store clerk. “Has James Barnes come by this morning?” You tried to disguise the pain in your voice. 

“Left early,” the shopkeeper muttered. “In uniform.”

Your stomach dropped.

Uniform.

No.

You turned around quickly without bidding the man farewell and walked faster. Then faster again.

By the time you reached Steve’s door, light drops of rain finally began to trickle down, hitting against the hot concrete of the sidewalk.

You didn’t knock, no, you burst loudly through Steve’s door.

Steve jolted up from the tiled kitchen table, shocked. He had a silver spoon in one hand and a paper in the other, mid shoveling breakfast into his mouth. 

“Y/N? What on earth—”

“Where is he?” Steve’s expression changed from surprise to worry instantaneously once he registered the anxiety painted all over your face.

He stilled, and you could have sworn you felt your heart stop.

“Steve. Tell me.” Your voice quivered despite your steadfast efforts to remain composed.

Steve stood slowly.

“They moved up the departure,” he said quietly. “He’s shipping out this afternoon.”

Your world stopped.

“You’re lying.” 

“I wouldn’t lie about that, Y/N.” Steve spoke softly, like he was trying to console a hurt puppy before him. You didn’t want to cry, but a few stray tears fell nonetheless.

The rain battered harder against the windows. You backed toward the door, halfway turned towards leaving, halfway turned towards Steve.

“Where?”

“Y/N—”

“Tell me where, Steve.” You rose your voice slightly, but Steve’s composure remained unaffected, all you could read from his expression was pity, and that simply angered you even more. You couldn’t give up. You didn’t want to. 

He exhaled. “The processing center near the docks. They’re supposed to be done loading out by evening. But-“ Steve called out to you, but it didn’t matter, you were already gone.

Once you reached the docks, the rain had crescendoed into a violent thunderstorm. You were utterly drenched, rain plastering your hair to your face, soaking your dress until it clung to you like a second skin. The world blurred gray and green, soldiers rushing in a blur of lines among loudly shouted orders.

You stuck out like a sore thumb. Civilians were not supposed to be present. You did your best to annoy brief sideways glances from the passing faces surrounding you like a swarm of bees. One pesky bee, or in reality, a guard obstructed your view.

“Miss, you can’t be here.”

“I need to see James Buchanan Barnes,” you snapped, breathlessly, rain falling down your burning cheeks. “Sergant Barnes. He’s shipping out today.” 

“That’s not permitted—” The guard seemed aggravated and uneasy by your presence, holding up his hands as though the motion could alleviate your panic. 

“Arrest me, then.”

The guard faltered. 

“Ma’am, please-“ it was too late. You weren’t listening. Because, through the chaos of hustling bodies and thundering rainfall, you saw him.

You saw Bucky.

Turned away from you, you recognized him by the back of his head. His duffle was slung over his broad shoulder. He was nodding faintly at something another soldier said.

You didn’t think. In that moment, you, for the briefest moment, became that reckless, awkward 16 year old girl again. Or rather, she reminded you the importance of being loud. Of being bold. 

“BUCKY!” 

Your voice ricocheted through the rain. 

He froze.

Slowly, he turned.

The moment Bucky’s eyes found yours, every ounce of composure left his face.

You marched toward him, like the sergeant he was  dressed to be, stumbling slightly on the wet pavement, ignoring the stares of stilled men around you, the whispers, the officers glaring at the soaking, erratic girl pushing through a military line.

“What the hell is wrong with you?” you demanded, shoving his chest. He was firm and strong in standing, but the sudden motion caught him off guard, sending his shoulder back a few inches as he gasped in surprise. 

He blinked at you, stunned. “Y/N? What are you doing here?” You scoffed incredulously.

“What am I doing here? What are you doing Buck?” Your voice cracked. “You don’t get to tell me you love me and then walk away like I’m fragile and need protecting!” A few men nearby laughed and murmured upon hearing your declaration, but you didn’t care. 

Rain trickled down the curve of his sharp jaw. He looked wrecked.

“I wasn’t protecting you from me, Y/N” he said hoarsely, saying your name like it was too taboo to utter out loud. “I was protecting you from this.”

He gestured vaguely. You looked around. You saw the crowd. The ships. The uncertainty. The bitter, cold anticipation of death. 

“I don’t care,” you shot back. It was a white lie. You did care. You just couldn’t find the words to explain what you truly meant. 

“You should.”

“I don’t!” Your voice broke fully now. “Not as much as I care about you.”

Bucky swallowed, eyes wracking over your face in pain. 

A few soldiers nearby pretended not to watch.

“You think I can just go back home,” you continued, stepping closer, fists clenched, until you were inches from his face  “and pretend I didn’t tell you I love you? You think I can just fold that up like one of your dumb, short letters and box it away?”

His breath hitched.

“Say it again,” he whispered. 

You stared at him. You were suddenly painfully aware at how close you were to his face.

“I love you, Bucky.”

His hands came up like he wasn’t sure what to do with them, like he was debating if he was allowed to touch you.

“You have the worst timing in the world,” he murmured, voice shaking as his coarse, warm palm pressed to your dampened cheek.

“I know.” You let out a breath you didn’t realize you were holding. 

He let out a broken laugh that sounded too close to a sob.

Then he pulled you to him, and he kissed you.

Rain soaked you both as your fingers harshly pulled at the fabric of his uniform, his hand cradling the back of your head, deepening the kiss as though every brush of your lips was fleeting, desperate. Like you would disappear if he loosened his grip.He tasted like salt and rain and the bitter word “goodbye.”

When Bucky finally pulled back, you were both breathless as his forehead rested against yours.

“If I come back,” he breathed, “I swear im marrying you Y/N L/N.”

You let out a shaky laugh through your hot tears. “I don’t like the word “if.”” You stilled. “And that’s not a proposal.”

“Then it’s a promise.”

A sharp whistle blew behind him.

“Barnes!” A distant, unrecognizable voice called.

Reality.

He closed his eyes briefly, taking your fingers in his hand, pressing them against his lips.

“I have to go.”

You shook your head. There was nothing you could do.

““Don’t let this place make you small again.”

Fresh tears trickled down your face.

“I won’t.” You whispered. 

He stepped back.

And for one horrible second, you grabbed his hand again.

“Come home to me, Buck.” you whispered.

His expression softened into something unbearably gentle.

“I’ll try, doll.”

He released you.

And then Bucky Barnes walked away. 

August 10 by Julie Doiron ~ lyrics 

I'm sorry, sweetie, please, don't go

I always knew that you would know

I know that what I did was wrong

I always thought I'd be more strong

I guess I don't know what to say

You look like you feel the same way

I feel like I could run away

You'll find me here another day

Bye, bye

Bye, bye

Bye, bye

Bye, bye

Part two soon… ?😏

[bluehourdj]

[bluehourdj]

You Don't Know Me

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Reader

Summary: After Thanos, you did what you thought you had to do: you left. You ran away from what was left of the Avengers, from your newfound home, and from Bucky. What do you say to the man you have been avoiding for years when you finally meet again on the coast of Louisiana? (Set after TFATWS)

Warnings: Angst, hurt/comfort, reader is a bit self loathing/insecure, not much else just sad emo vibes lol. (Let me know in the comments if I missed anything!)

WC: 3.7k

You had left. Plain and simple, you had packed your worn duffel, turned your heel, and never looked back. The guilt had eaten you alive. After Thanos, after all the death, the gray, the hollow feeling in your gut that you couldn’t quite shake, you had left. You left because running was what you knew best, it was what kept you safe, isolated, and so, so unhappy. But this form of escape, of avoidance, was what gave you security, and so you chose cowardice. You gripped your cracked mug a bit tighter, curling into yourself on the balcony of the one bedroom apartment that didn’t quite feel like “home.” This was the twelfth apartment you had moved into, for some reason, despite not wanting to return to New York, you couldn’t quite motivate yourself to stay anywhere new either. You couldn’t risk attachment. Apartment number twelve was a risky choice. You knew that. Located in a small, unsuspecting beach town that saw more sticky clouds than clear blue days, you had settled on the coast of Louisiana. You took a long, almost painful sip of your tea. You knew why you chose apartment twelve, you knew what Louisiana reminded you of, or rather who. You did not know, however, whether that “who” was in contact with the person you were trying so desperately not to think about. The only person who would be angry with you for leaving. So, that small sliver of uncertainty falsely convinced you that Louisiana was an okay choice, that the odds of seeing Bucky again were slim. The sun had gone down now, and you groaned, finding yourself too lost in thought for comfort. Too lost in the thought of what you had left behind.

“Sam, I am not going with you.” Bucky stated firmly, growing annoyed, a feeling that often came easily for him. It was early in the morning, too early for the pair to be arguing in the quiet driveway of the Wilson family house.

“Come on, Buck. I could use your old ass on my side. What would happen if I got hurt?” Sam gave his best puppy dog eyes, he was enjoying his role as Bucky’s frequent antagonist. All he got in return was a brutal stare. However, Bucky and Sam had begun warming up to one another. From late nights by the water to early morning runs, the two had fallen into a step of comfort, friendship even. Although the Winter Soldier had complained relentlessly about the crescendoing southern heat, Bucky had appreciated the sense of home he felt in Louisiana with Sam. 

“Fine.” Sam nudged Bucky’s shoulder with glee, earning a shadow of a grin from him. The task was simple. Sam had received intel pointing him towards an old abandoned harbor that allegedly was used to transport serum. He had been asked to simply scope it out, take some photos, and return home. And, even though things were progressing, Sam had noticed the long pauses, distant stares, and sleepless nights Bucky had been trying so hard to conceal. Sam was worried. Bucky didn’t talk about it, about you, but it was as though you had become a sector of the heavy trauma he carried on his shoulders. You, a person who was once able to soothe and motivate him, had now become a cause of his pain. Steve had left him, and, for a brief saccharine moment, you had stayed. Then, you left. You left, and Bucky got worse. Far worse. Sam could not risk that again, not when his new, unlikely friend had just begun to get better. Sam broke him out of his trance with the sound of a beep, unlocking the car door before Bucky could change his mind. As Bucky clambered into the worn, leather seat of Sam’s truck, he felt a surge of remembrance. The barely risen sun illuminated the empty streets softly, painting a beautiful picture before the two exhausted men. A pit of nostalgia formed in Bucky’s stomach. When he had first haphazardly joined the Avengers, he had isolated himself in fear and shame from the others. He had been far different from the old version of himself, the one who belonged to the forties, who loved to tease and talk for hours. He had been changed, and he hated himself for it. But you had no hate or fear in your heart when it came to Bucky. Without incentive, you had begun prying your way into his life little by little. After two months, briefly exchanged “Hellos” and small hallway smiles had transformed into an invitation, you had asked him to join you on your morning walk. This morning, soft, wispy, delicate, reminded Bucky of those early mornings wandering by your side. This pretty morning reminded Bucky of you. Sam whistled a slow tune unrecognized by Bucky’s old ears as their drive went on. His melancholy had tapered off slightly, and he had enough patience to respond to Sam’s small quips and jabs. 

“What are you thinking about?” Sam tried, apprehensively as he made a slow turn. Bucky looked down at his hands, one silver, one flesh. 

“You drive like a grandma.” He replied, avoiding the topic. Sam feigned offense.

“That’s rich coming from someone who was alive during Prohibition.” He shook his head, biting back a small laugh. It was easy like this, comfortable. They didn’t talk much about Steve, or you, or anything that had happened of late besides their mission in Madripoor and plans for tomorrow. Bucky had stopped therapy. Sam thought initially it to be a good thing, thinking Bucky had begun to move on, thinking Bucky could do well on his own. Now, he wasn’t so sure. Yet, neither addressed the large elephant that lived day by day in their room of limbo, avoiding tough topics and instead making everlasting small talk. Finally, after what felt like forever, Sam pulled into the deserted harbor. The sky was heavy with gray clouds, painting a dull, antique looking picture before them. A row of boats, poor in shape with peeled paint and body damage, floated eerily by the dock. The harbor felt hauntingly empty with its eerie quiet and soft blowing wind. 

“Ladies first,” Bucky smirked, nudging Sam’s shoulder forward and earning a cold glare before the two approached the row of boats. Looking down at his phone, Sam matched the final boat on the far left to the one they were supposed to search. The goal was easy, low stakes, and their solitude provided reassurance that no threat to their physical safety would soon be posed. Yet, as Bucky’s heightened senses began to feel put off, a slow wave of anxiety crashed over him. As they reached the final boat, Sam pulled its rope to let Bucky climb on. Then, a strange sound struck them both like an open palm, a groan from within the boat. They were not alone. 

You had barely slept. The low buzz of your phone prompted you to leave your cold, twin bed, which always felt empty whether you were in it or not. Today, you actually had a task. A small job you picked up through an underground organization you did work for from time to time. Despite leaving the “superhero” life you often despised, it was difficult to do anything else. In fact, you weren’t sure if you even knew how to do anything else. You laughed bitterly at the conjured up image of you in a uniform, checking items out at a register, or you in a suit, headed to work on Wall Street. Brushing your teeth, you knew that this was all you were meant for, or rather made for. When you first joined the Avengers, you had made the choice with purpose. You weren’t a superhero, you had no powers, no serum, and only a semi depressing backstory. You were in college, studying psychology, eager to go to law school or medical school or whatever prestigious next step you so excitedly envisioned for yourself. You had ambition, but you did not have money. So, you opted for the army, free tuition down the line, and your soul sold away to the United States Government. You had not predicted that in being deployed, your infantry would face catastrophe, that your wit would be transformed into a miracle, that you would be phoned by Tony Stark. You never spoke about it. You weren’t a hero. Hell, you could barely do 20 push ups. You were smart and got lucky. But, no one ever bothered to listen to that side of your story, of your strange way into the Avengers. No one except Bucky. You shuddered at the thought, pulling on your black denim jeans and slipping a plain tank top over your head. You rolled up your cuff to strap on your knife, which you then quickly concealed. Then, you pulled up your shirt and adjusted the gun you concealed by your abdomen. Better safe than sorry. The harbor was far, but you didn’t mind. You decided your car would be too conspicuous, so instead, as you zipped up your too big, faded jacket, you checked your phone for the local bus schedule. Leaving your small apartment, you adjusted your coat collar, and the sudden icy touch of metal made you tense. Dog tags. Not yours, but Bucky’s. You had traded them stupidly one night, like children on Valentine’s Day. You didn’t have the heart to take them off, but the name you wore around your neck had not given you comfort lately, it just prolonged the growing guilt in your chest. You thundered down the Apartment Complex stairs, shoving open the back door and making a B line towards the nearest bus stop. The faster you could get this over with, the sooner you could go on your walk and clear your head. You waited at the stop, brimming with impatience. You and Bucky had never kissed. It was strange, the relationship you had both once shared. You leaned on each other, joked with each other, done everything with each other, but neither of you had ever crossed the platonic line of iron drawn between you. You were always, in turn, uncertain of how he felt. You were a bit young, but who wasn’t in comparison to him? You were also the only friend he had, which made you wonder if the attention you received from him was out of choice or being the only option. You were also an overthinker, which meant the two of you never even grazed the topic of more than friends. Of love. But you did love him. You did not know if he loved you back, in fact, he could be dead in a ditch somewhere as you thought about him. God, you hoped he was alive, but you didn’t deserve to hope such a thing anyways, you chose to leave. The bus arrived. 

The ride was long and quiet, you had to get on and off a couple of different buses before making it to your final destination. The harbor gave you an unsettling feeling that you couldn’t quite shake. The isolated setting around you made you feel as though you had stepped right into an old gothic novel, except instead of a corset and wide gown, you were equipped with a gun and I’ll fitting jacket. You unzipped the jacket, tying it around your waist as your skin grew warm from the thick humidity. Slowly, you ventured towards the last boat, ready to collect evidence of leftover super soldier serum and get out of the creepy harbor as soon as humanly possible. Jumping without grace over the gap between the boat’s edge and the dock, you swiftly made your way inside, careful not to draw attention to yourself despite the fact that no one was around to witness your covert expertise. The interior of the boat was small, marked by a little staircase that led you to a storage room only hairs larger than a porta potty. Yet, it was all you needed. The boat was completely empty. No serum, no evidence, no trace of anything worth documenting. Still, you snapped photos, sending them to the unnamed entity that hired you with a message describing the scene. Just as you were ready to leave, the thought of your peaceful walk around the corner sparking slight comfort in your heart, you heard a faint voice. Freezing. You reached for the gun hidden beneath your thin shirt. You slowly made your way towards the rickety stairs, each move a firm calculation, yet, your last step to hoist yourself up let out an echoing groan. Fuck. Swinging around the end of the boat, gun extended, heart racing, you prepared yourself to shoot. You let out a sharp gasp. 

“Oh my god.” The voice of none other than Sam Wilson whispered, but the man before you, your best friend, your partner, your everything, stayed silent. You did not lower your gun. Pain, hot and raw, painted itself all over Bucky’s face as his steel blue eyes flicked back and forth from yours to the weapon in your outstretched hands. Your name left his lips in a whisper so soft you could barely hear it. You wanted to cry, but you didn’t. Sam broke you out of your gut wrenching trance.

“You can lower your gun. We won’t hurt you.” You had heard him say those words before, to strangers, to victims, to the people he had saved along your side. Were you a stranger too? You lowered your gun. Bucky’s eyes raked over you at a rapid heart, his breathing picking up, as though you would disappear at any moment and therefore needed to be memorized. 

“I should go.” You whispered, unable to find anything else to say. Bucky shook his head, tearing up. He grabbed your arm as you made your way toward them.

“No.” He managed to get out. The entire interaction was awkward, tense, uncomfortable, but what else are you supposed to say when you reunite with the love of your life years after disappearing without a trace? You didn’t know. Your face was inches away from Bucky’s now, heart beating rapidly. What you both failed to notice in the heat of the moment, was Sam’s absence, or rather, the sound of his car engine starting. Snapping out of his trance, Bucky’s head whipped up. Sam called, yelling as loud as possible, from the truck.

“I’m not coming back until you two get your shit together!” He shouted. Bucky had jumped over the boat’s edge and jogged down the dock, and, for some reason, you had instinctively followed him. It was too late, Sam was gone, and, looking down at your watch, the next bus wouldn’t arrive for another two hours. Bucky apprehensively turned back around, wearily looking at you. You opened your mouth as if to say something, then closed it again. 

“How have you been?” He mumbled as though it were the most normal question in the world. You wished he had yelled at you, that he had cussed you out or expressed some type of rage toward you. But this was Bucky. 

“Um, okay. I guess.” You shrugged. “You?” The tension was palpable. Bucky just sighed. 

“What are we doing,” he said your name, asking you a simple, yet so complex question. You fought back tears, then hardened your gaze. Finally, you allowed yourself to take in the man before you. He looked a bit slimmer, yet, he still towered over you. His hair was shorter, he was clean shaved. He looked handsome. 

“I’m not really sure.” You looked down at your feet. “Look, Bucky, I’m sorry-“ he didn’t let you finish.

“No, you know what?” He shook his head. “I don’t care. What the hell Y/N? What the hell?” His voice shook. He had reached his breaking point. Bucky inched closer to you. “Why? I don’t understand you. You put all this effort into knowing me. All this effort into bringing me into your life. Into making me know you. Into making me love you. Need you. Then you just,” he threw his hands into his hair, running out of breath “leave?” Your skin is buzzing, processing his words at an absurdly slow rate. Bucky said he loved you, but all you can feel is a marriage of guilt and pain as you look at his pained face. You don’t know why, but your first instinct was to fight back.

“I’m sorry, okay!” You yelled, surprising yourself as well as Bucky who stilled before you. “I’m sorry! I couldn’t stay. You don’t understand,” you were crying now.

“You’re right I don’t.” He spat.

“No, listen to me.” Your voice wavered. “You don’t really know me, Bucky.” You choked out a sob, Bucky was crying too. He shook his head, about to interrupt again, but you kept talking. “You know one version of me. The person who was always there for you. Who talked you through bad dreams, panic attacks. The person who was bubbly, and excited, and head over heels to be part of a team.” You let out a quivering breath. “But that’s not me. That’s not really me. Even before everything, the army, the Avengers, when I was in school, that still wasn’t me.” Bucky stepped forward, you stepped back, you didn’t know it but you were breaking his heart. Again. “I have my own shit to deal with. And I am sorry, I am so sorry that I left you Buck.” The familiarity of the nickname on your lips made him weak in the knees. “I just couldn’t drag you into my mess. Not when I could barely get through it on my own.” You felt pathetic, but at least you had finally told the truth. You both fell quiet. The sound of cicadas hummed in the air. 

“You shouldn’t have made that choice for me.” Bucky whispered, inching closer to you until a single trip would make your noses touch. You looked away, unable to hold contact with his pale blue eyes.

“You don’t get it.” You stepped back, but he stepped forward again. 

“I want to know you Y/N. Hell, I thought I did!” He let out a bitter tasting laugh, taking a hand through his hair. 

“Trust me, Bucky, you don’t.” 

“Yes, I do. I don’t care how scary that may seem. We both know what I’ve been through. I can handle it. I can handle you.” His voice was soft and placating, but you couldn’t give in just yet. You were still afraid. 

“It’s not that I think you can’t handle it. I don’t want you to know.” You were crying harder. This wasn’t you. You were confident, self assured, a woman who kept her head held high. You weren’t sensitive, or at least, you rarely allowed yourself to be. That was how you bottled your traumas. How you kept yourself safe. “I like the girl in there.” You lifted a tender hand, brushing over Bucky’s forehead in such a manner that he was already chasing after your touch once your hand dropped. “The one you remember. I don’t want to change that memory. You’re not going to like what will replace it.” You said firmly. 

“No. You don’t know that.” Bucky sighed with heavy exasperation. It was becoming impossible to get through to you. “Maybe I don’t know the full story, but I don’t care what you say, I know you Y/N. I know you like the back of my hand. I know you like you’re my own mind, my own damn conscience. I can’t stop thinking about you, not because I’m mad, but because I miss the feeling of just standing next to you. To know you alone is to love you, and it kills me that you can’t see that.” Bucky was holding your face in his large hands, you didn’t recoil this time.

“Do you?” You asked, feeling yourself give in, taking him off guard.

“What?”

“Do you love me?” Before you could put the walls you worked so hard to build back up, his lips were on yours. The kiss was messy, your noses bumping as he held you with such an intense ferocity you thought you might snap. You kissed like two people starved, because that was exactly what you both were. His tongue swept your lower lip, angling his head to the side until you let out a small whine that only pushed him to kiss you harder. His hands traveled to the back of your neck, then your waist, memorizing every curve of your body. Finally, you both broke apart, foreheads touching, gasping for air, until you pulled back slowly to look at him. He was different now, you decided mentally. He looked different, stood a little taller, spoke with a slightly different inflection, but he was still Bucky. Still yours. 

“I do, I do, I do.” He whispered, peppering kisses to your tear stained cheeks. You couldn’t help but laugh quietly at his words.

“I love you too.” You whispered, despite being alone. “I’m sorry.” 

“I forgive you. I forgave you a long time ago.” You knew this thing between you, this love, was not so simply defined. You knew that it would take time, that maybe some damage would be unhealable, that the gap in your relationship was still looming over you both. You knew all these things, but you weren’t afraid. You weren’t afraid because you had no desire to run, all you wanted to do was to stay in Bucky’s arms, to lean into him in the ways you dreamed of all these years apart. You leaned forward, burying your head in the crook of his neck, silver catching in the waning sunlight. Bucky looked down, his metal hand holding you delicately as his flesh one traced the small ball clasp. He inched away from you slowly, reaching for the thin chain and tugging it slightly so that the necklace pulled out from your shirt. His dog tags. “You still wear ‘em?” He asked, voice shaking slightly from the surge of varied emotions you had both endured. You nodded. He fumbled with his shirt collar before pulling out a similar pair. Yours. The sound of an engine pierced the air. 

“Come on, I need to get gas!” Sam shouted from the other side of the harbor, pulling into the parking lot diagonally. 

For the first time in years, you had nowhere to run, and for that, you were grateful.

[bluehourdj]

I Thought You Didn't Like Me?

Bucky Barnes x Reader - Enemies to lovers esque

Summary: Going undercover to attend a mysterious Speakeasy party was one thing, but going undercover as Bucky Barnes' date was another. The cold former assassin was notorious for long-held grudges, a habit that didn't exclude you. Now, you were forced to work together under both the burning tension of your demanding jobs and the boiling disdain Bucky had for you. Yet, things are rarely what they seem.

Warnings/tags: Cursing, minor violence, reader kissed semi-nonconsensually (not by Bucky ofc,) some what inexperienced reader, protective Bucky, jealous Bucky.

WC: 4.4k

You hadn’t worn a dress in four months. The lack of glamour in your life was not by choice. In fact, you often missed the excitement of getting done up and feeling pampered. However, being a newly recruited avenger didn’t seem to award you the luxury of long gowns and an hour at a vanity. That is, until tonight. The dark Friday evening seemed to paint your room in the Avengers tower a gothic black. The low lamplight of your desk-turned-vanity flickered over your face, and you worried if you didn’t wise up soon, the soothing ambiance might have lulled you to sleep. However, there’s no rest for the wicked, so instead of curling up in your queen sized bed, you toyed with the mascara in your hand, sighing from exasperation at the person on the other line of your phone. 

“I’m just saying, I want to be sure you understand the logistics.” The crackly voice of none other than Bucky Barnes echoed. 

“Barnes, me being new to the team doesn’t also make me stupid.” You rolled your eyes as though he could see them, your now longer lashes fluttering against your own skin. 

“Don’t get cocky on me now L/N.” He said lowly. “I still remember Munich.” You tensed at his words, remembering the mission in Germany two months prior. You had screwed up, and the only person whose forgiveness was yet to be earned was Bucky. You understood. Hydra’s fingerprints had been all over the case, and for Bucky, that made things personal. Yet, no matter how hard you tried within that week to make it up to him, you ultimately had  to accept defeat. The logical voice in you understood, the emotional one was fed up with the former assassin's constant quips and jabs. 

“I’ll see you at 7 James.” You sighed and hung up the phone before he could respond. The night’s mission was not going to be easy, but you were starting to think Bucky would prove to be more troublesome than the arms dealer you two were meant to track down. You looked at your reflection in the mirror, eyes tracing your own features. You felt beautiful. It was as though all the restless nights, sweaty days in the gym, and bloody moments at the med bay, had made you forget who you were. Or rather, who the dolled up version of you was. You almost smiled to yourself at this newfound confidence, then shook away any feelings of vanity. There was a larger task at hand. 

Suddenly, you heard a soft tap at the door. 

“Come in!” You called, and Natasha, clad in all black made her way into your sanctuary. She let out a low whistle. 

“Wow you look great.” She smiled teasingly, holding a garment bag close to her chest. “Tony wanted me to drop this off for you.” You took it from her with pinched brows. 

“I already have a dress.” You refuted, gesturing to the long green gown you had worn to a Christmas party in college. It was simple, sure, but you had thought it would be enough. 

“Yes, I know. Tony says you're wearing that one.” She prodded the black bag again. “I’m going to stay back on comms, you two have about twenty minutes until the car arrives.” She explained while leaving the room. It was a busy night. When Tony said you and Bucky would be paired up for this undercover mission, you had desperately wanted to call in sick. But, with Natasha’s identity compromised and Steve’s departure for another mission overseas, you and Bucky were the only two left. If that wasn’t difficult enough, the two of you had to pose as a couple. The arms dealer had an affinity for moody lounges, so Tony had explained that you would both be attending a private event at an old jazz club speakeasy downtown. It was a couples event, and your target would be hosting with a leggy blonde on his arm and too many whiskeys down his throat. You and Bucky had a straightforward task, make nice with the host, find the private back room, and take his personal flash drive. The dress that was revealed to you as you unzipped the garment back was not part of that plan. 

It was stunning, and unlike anything you had ever worn before. It was long and black, with lace dancing around the plunging neckline and see through mesh hugging the waist. It was elegant and flirty, and all you could think about was whether it would conceal your gun. You cursed yourself quietly as you zipped up the gown, wishing this were a real date with a real boyfriend and a normal life. You never got what you wished for. Slipping on your heels, you glanced haphazardly at your reflection in the mirror, and left your room pleased. 

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The tower felt eerily empty, and the elevator ride down to the lobby struck you with a sudden rush of nerves. You knew you were capable, that you had been training ruthlessly, but Bucky’s voice kept playing in your head like a broken record. I still remember Munich. It didn’t help that you had a small crush on the man who seemed to hate you most. You shrugged off your insecurity with a subtle blush as the doors opened. You saw two men, recognizing Tony by his glasses. Next to him was a pair of towering, broad shoulders, dressed in a crisp black suit. Your breath hitched as the handsome figure turned. James Barnes. What you didn’t catch as you sauntered over to them with feigned poise was the way Bucky stopped breathing. 

“Wow, I wish I was Barnes right now.” Tony joked, grabbing your hand and giving you a spin. You couldn’t help but laugh, surprising them and yourself, you hadn’t laughed frequently as of late. “Well, good luck to you two.” He handed you both your small earpieces as the car pulled up outside. You gave Bucky a sideways glance. He was already looking at you. “Don’t forget to sell it.” And with that, Tony left you both with a reminder of what you had to pretend to be. Bucky cleared his throat. 

“Let’s go.” He grumbled, voice shaky. 

“Nervous, James?” You teased, but, given his constant hostility towards you, your voice lacked warmth. He didn’t reply, he simply opened the glass door and opened the door of the Black SUV. You climbed into the back carefully, holding your dress to you like it would tear at any moment. You tried to ignore the weight of your gun against your thigh, until you looked down to see it peeking out of your dress slit. You gasped. “Fuck!” 

Bucky turned towards you as the chauffeur began to drive. “What is it?” He asked, gaze sharp. 

“I hate Tony.” You groaned immaturely, fumbling with the hem of the slit to pull it over your weapon. When Bucky glanced down to see what you were doing, his breath hitched. He should have been concerned, concerned about the security of the mission, but instead, he was reeling over the sight of your bare skin. He wanted to kick himself for getting distracted, to remind himself of his anger towards you, but he couldn’t do either. 

“Can you move the holster upwards?” He tried, but you just shot him a glare. If you pulled it up anymore, you knew it would not only peek through the side of your dress, but be a pain to deal with all night. 

“No, James, I can’t.” You tried to avoid the growing anxiety in your chest. You hated that you wanted to prove yourself tonight, prove your worth to the Avengers, to Bucky. Bucky snapped out of his shameful cloud of thought, and allowed his mind to race with ideas. Then, without a word, he pulled the small decorative pin from his shirt sleeve. He reached down, pulling your leg towards him slightly. You stopped breathing. Leaning down in the backseat, Bucky pinched the corners of your dress’ slit together, attaching them together with his pin just enough to hide your gun. It worked perfectly. He straightened his coat, trying to conceal the tremor in his hands that was caused by touching you. 

“Thanks.” You managed. He simply nodded. Then, the car slowed to a stop. 

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The speakeasy was painted in dark red and yellow light. A man clad in all black played a saxophone in a crowded corner as the smell of whiskey and deceit clouded the air. Standing beside Bucky, you couldn’t help but feel like a Bond girl next to the handsome man. But this was no time for fantasy. You heard Natasha’s voice come through your earpiece. 

“Bucky, you could at least try to make this seem convincing.” She groaned, and you glanced up at a nearby security camera, rolling your eyes at it knowing Natasha was watching. You felt Bucky shift his weight beside you, then he snaked an arm around your waist. His touch was warm.

“Don’t worry, I won’t bite.” You joked, trying to distract yourself from the butterflies forming in your stomach. You needed to focus. Bucky guided you towards the bar, and you both took your seats by a touchy couple. Natasha spoke again in each of your ears. 

“The target hasn’t arrived just yet.” You and Bucky gave each other fake, saccharine smiles as he turned to the bartender and pretended to listen. “He should be wearing a navy suit, red rimmed glasses. Keep an eye out.” She explained. Bucky ordered your drinks. 

“One scotch and a mocktail for,” he glanced at you, as though he couldn’t quite decipher what you were to him “the lady.” He finished. 

“Ordering for me?” You quirked an irritated brow. 

“I’m not exactly doing you a disservice, I know you don’t drink.” He shot back sternly. Your spine straightened. 

“How would you know?” You asked nervously. 

“I remember.” He said the words as though they surprised him as much as you. The bartender passed out your drinks. You stared as Bucky brought his glass briefly to his lips, then averted your eyes. He was right. You didn’t drink. But you also rarely shared that with most people, you thought it often made you seem boring. In reality, you just hated the idea of losing control. 

“I thought you didn’t like me enough to notice.” You whispered, prying, testing to see what kind of reaction you could extract from the cold soldier. He shifted in his seat. 

“We’re coworkers. It’s my job to notice, not to like you.” His quiet words cut deeper than you wanted to admit, but the logical voice in your head knew he was technically right. Still, the truth was that you saw the light in Bucky. You saw the old glimpses of a young man nervous for war, you saw the way he yearned to find his footing in this new era, the way he cared but didn’t know how to show it anymore. You wished you would stop being so observant. Lost in thought, you caught a glimpse of navy blue out of the corner of your eye. 

“Sweetheart,” you began at a louder volume, playing the game of deception, “these heels are killing me.” It was your code phrase, and signal enough to let Bucky know that the target had arrived. When he glanced subtly towards the party host, he noticed he was alone. Through the eye of surrounding security cameras, Natasha noticed too. 

“Looks like our guy lost his girl.” Her voice played in your ear. You were wracked with frustration. The team had planned for you and Bucky to warm up to the host as a couple, allowing Bucky to distract him while you pawned the back room keys off of his girlfriend. This changed things. The bigger change, however, was the way the navy clad man was staring at you. “Looks like he’s found a new one. You’re up Y/N.” Natasha continued, and you looked back at Bucky. Chills went down your spine. You felt like you weren’t seeing James Barnes, you felt like you were seeing the Winter Soldier. Was the change of plans really that daunting for him? You thought to yourself. Before you could fully process what was happening, the target made his way over to you both before you could act. 

“Have we met?” He asked with a posh British accent, prompting you to turn sweetly and meet the man’s eye. He had ignored Bucky completely. 

“I don’t believe so, but you sure know how to throw a party.” You giggled, acting so far from your usual self. You held out a hand, ready to shake his. “Lara.” You offered the fake name, one Tony picked after seeing you in your Tomb Raider-esque tactical gear. He took your hand and kissed it. You could’ve gagged. This was painfully cliche, and if you didn’t feel the pressure of your gun against your thigh and an entire team of Avengers counting on your success, you might have laughed at the absurdity of it all. 

“Grayson.” He responded, then finally acknowledged Bucky, who was staring daggers into his eyes. “Boyfriend?” Bucky opened his mouth to reply, but you interrupted.

“No. A friend.” You gave Bucky a taunting look before Grayson immediately took action, guiding you towards a chaise lounge in the back. Your comm went radio silent to maintain your disguise, for no risks would be taken at a moment like this. Bucky’s, however, stayed on. Natasha spoke to him. 

“Okay Bucky, here’s what we’ll do.” She began, but he wasn’t thinking straight. All he could think about was how badly he wanted to break the hand Grayson laid on your waist as the two of you sat down. He didn’t have any right to feel this way. After all, you were just coworkers. “While Y/N distracts Grayson, you keep a lookout for when she steals his key. Then go up to her to say something, I don’t know, make something up, take it from her and head to the back.” Natasha’s orders finally registered in his brain. He whispered back to her. 

“I’m not comfortable with this.” It was silent for a moment.

“Why?” Then Bucky lost himself in thought. 

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It had been a warm evening at the tower. Everyone had piled up in the communal lounge when Tony mischievously prompted a game of truth or dare. Steve did 20 push ups, Clint told an embarrassing story, Sam had to kiss Natasha on the cheek. But, when it came to you, you had chosen truth. Feeling like you were in 7th grade all over again, you squirmed in your seat under the gaze of the team, under the gaze of Bucky. Natasha had asked you who the last person you kissed was. Your face had gone red. You were used to upholding a fierce, untouchable countenance. One that fended off the most confident of men and landed you the most advanced field roles. But when it came to your love life, you had fallen behind. Work was far too much. You spent every second alone battling the constant aches of physical and mental anguish, so a large majority of yourself rejected the idea of roping someone else into your mess. Therefore, the last guy, or rather boy, you had kissed was in 11th grade. You might have been embarrassed, but you were not a liar, and you had in fact picked truth. 

Everyone laughed.  

“No, no way.” Sam had exclaimed. “I don’t believe you.” 

“Come on, Y/N, you probably have a new guy lined up every week.” Clint said through a laugh. You shook your head, plastering a fake smile on your face. 

“Nope.” You were painfully regretting agreeing to play when Bucky chimed in. 

“Okay guys, my turn.” Then the subject matter was dropped, and never brought up again. 

It wasn’t that you didn’t want someone, that you didn’t want love. It was that fate didn’t seem to want it for you. 

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“Earth to Bucky.” Natasha deadpanned, growing aggravated. 

“Sorry, I just don’t think she will be safe.” He recollected his senses, watching you tense under Grayson's subtle touch from 10 feet away. 

Bucky’s whole body froze. 

Grayson had pulled you in for a kiss. His large hand had made its way to your chest, and you wanted so desperately to pull away. Your brain was on fire, like Jeckyll and Hyde. One part of you wanted to shove him off, to hate him for thinking you were just one of his “girls.” The other knew you had to let him kiss you, you had to carry out the mission. Bucky didn’t care about either side. He didn’t care about any logistics.

“Barnes, don’t.” Natasha warned. It was too late. In that fraction of a moment, Bucky realized he didn’t hate you, in fact, he was scared for you. He wanted you safe. He wanted you beside him. The cascade of whirling emotions overcame him, and before he knew it, his legs had moved towards Grayson and his fists had grasped his crisp collar. 

“What the fuck?” Grayson barked. Heads began to turn. You were breathless, partially from the kiss, more so from the dire situation at hand. “You wanna fight, asshole?” Grayson challenged. Bucky didn’t loosen his grip. Thinking on your feet, you slipped your hand into Grayson’s pocket and left the two towering men to their tomfoolery. You hastily slipped your earpiece back in, jogging down the secluded winding hallway behind the speakeasy main area. 

“Natasha?” You whispered, heart racing. “Please tell me Barnes isn’t pummeling the shit out of our guy?” You spat with exasperation. An angry voice replied.

“Just keep walking Y/N.” You could practically feel her frustration. “You’re close to the safe room.” You followed her orders, stopping at a tall gray door, the only one with a lock. You fumbled with the stolen key, putting it in and twisting it quickly. 

The room was mostly empty apart from a few plush chairs and a coffee table. You searched relentlessly between the mostly bare corners before finding a leather bag. You zipped it open with care. There it was, the thumb drive. You reached to grab it when the door flung open. 

Fuck. 

Before you had time to react, an unwelcome hand gripped your shoulder. Without looking at the perpetrator, you kicked out your leg, knocking him to the ground. It wasn’t anyone you recognized. The man swung back, hitting you from the floor in your thigh, but the pain wasn’t enough to sway you. You immediately drew your gun, prompting the man to freeze. 

“Don’t fucking move.” You kept your weapon aimed at his head as you reached down, tearing through Bucky’s pin, making the already promiscuous slit in your dress grow. You didn’t care. You snatched the thumb drive, backed slowly out of the room, and locked the man inside. Much to your dismay, the next obstacle in your impromptu game plan was the sight of Bucky Barnes practically punching Grayson into the hallway wall. 

“Barnes!” You hissed, causing him to snap his head towards you. “Don’t kill the man!” You looked at him incredulously and he dropped Grayson to the floor. But, when Bucky finally looked at you, he did so with a newfound softness in his eyes. He took in your frazzled state, seeing through the tough, untouchable, walls you had built. Guilt and regret filled his chest, he had been so hard on you for one mistake, it had caused him to overlook all you had sacrificed for this job. You jogged in your deathtrap heels to catch up to him as Grayson groaned on the floor. Just as you were about to speak, the two of you heard heavy footsteps. Natasha’s voice came through. 

“You both need to leave, now.” She said with urgency. Bucky started to race towards the back exit, but, before you could follow along, a striking pain pierced your shoulder. The footsteps had caught up. The jab the man made caused you to lose grip of your gun. You raised a fist to strike him, but Bucky beat you to it. He had turned around sharply to hit the man. To both of your surprise, the Grayson-adherent was far more skilled than expected. At least, he was skilled enough to sneak a knife in and out of Bucky’s side after his vibranium arm knocked the man to the ground. “Shit!” You yelped, seeing dark red stain his white dress shirt. Bucky groaned before grabbing your wrist firmly. He dragged you haphazardly towards the exit. “Barnes, are you okay?” You yelled as he pushed open the door, you heard the growing cacophony of chaos behind you. He didn’t respond, he merely pulled you into the brisk night, then through the back alley. You had both lost your earpieces in the hall, so he was searching for your ride on mere instinct. He suddenly faltered, gripping his side. You stopped. “Barnes, you’ve been stabbed. Slow down.” You were losing your patience with the erratic man before you. 

“I’m fine, Y/N.” Your name felt foreign on his tongue. You weren’t buying it. Without thinking, your hands found his suit coat. “What are you doing?” He recoiled at your touch, frightened and disoriented from the night’s events. 

“Just let me help, Bucky.” He stilled. You had never called him Bucky before. You peeled his jacket off, revealing the huge red splatter of blood across his abdomen. He winced beneath your fingertips. You cringed at his injury, thinking momentarily. Then, as though you had a sudden epiphany, you bent over, tearing the hem of your already damaged dress off. Bucky pinched his brows in both pain and confusion, until you tied the strip of black fabric firmly around the wound, applying enough pressure to keep him from bleeding out. When you finally straightened your back, fingers still gripping the knot you made, your breath hitched. You were very close. If you had moved even a hair forward, your noses would have been touching. Bucky’s pale blue eyes pierced your own striking ones. Awkwardly clearing your throat, you stepped back. Bucky slowly looked you up and down, finally catching his breath. Your eyeliner had smudged in a painfully romantic way, your dress was torn, and your hair was tousled. You looked beautiful, he thought. You always had been. Yet, as Bucky stood before the woman who showed she truly cared, he knew your beauty didn’t quite matter. It was you. Your voice, your words, your actions. The way you gave everything your all, putting your best foot forward despite the thousand reasons you had not to when it came to this job. And he had held a grudge, a charged, tormenting one. He wished he hadn’t. “Are you okay?” You whispered. He nodded solemnly. 

“The car should be one block over.” You stated, looking over your shoulder and shying away from the sudden tension between you two. You both began walking at a slower pace, Bucky trying his best to ignore the pain in his side as the serum worked to mend him. The silence was deafening, so you broke it. 

“Can I ask you something?” You tried to ask the apprehension in your voice, looking up at Bucky. 

“Sure.” He said softly. 

“Why’d you attack Grayson? That wasn’t part of our plan.” Your voice didn’t waver, in fact, you genuinely wanted to know. You expected him to throw a jab at you by bringing up your own mistakes in Munich. You expected wrong. Bucky looked at his shoes as you both dipped through another hidden alleyway. 

“He went too far.” His response shocked you, in fact, your surprise was written all over your face. 

“What?” You whispered. 

“He went too far. He shouldn’t have touched you like that. I don’t care if he’s our most wanted perpetrator, it gives him no right.” Bucky said firmly.

“I get that, but it’s part of the job. I was fine doing what needed to be done.” You replied, now it was your turn to be frustrated with his rash decisions. 

“No, Y/N. I don’t want to hear it.” He turned to face you. Locating the car was suddenly of no concern. “You put everything on the line for a job that doesn’t quite care if you live or die.” You were taken aback. Since when had he cared? “I’m sorry if it killed me to see your first kiss since high school be taken by a criminal-douche.” He said softer than before. You paused, meeting his eyes.

“You remembered that?” You asked, only half-hearing his point. He just nodded. 

“Look, I’m,” he grimaced at the radiating pain in his side before continuing, “I’m sorry for being so hard on you.”

“No, I understand. I wish I didn’t screw up. Hell, I wish I could have killed Pierce with my bare hands for what he did to you.” You brows quirked in solemn pity, eyes searching the traumatized soldier’s face. He looked back at you earnestly, as though he didn’t expect the sudden expression of protectiveness that escaped your lips. 

“Still, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t hold grudges. I shouldn’t do a lot of things.” He said the second part more to himself. Suddenly, a bright surge of confidence overcame you. 

“Like what?” You pried. “I shouldn’t be so harsh.” He began. You inched forward. “I shouldn’t get in my head about things.” Your eyes searched his for meaning. “I shouldn’t have gotten jealous tonight.”

Your breath hitched. You were very close now. Your lip turned upwards despite yourself. 

“Jealous? I thought you were angry.” This time Bucky had stepped forwards. 

“Maybe I was both.” He said, looking down at your wide eyes. 

“Anything else?” You whispered. 

“I shouldn’t want to kiss you.” He stated, faltering in his step. You suddenly laughed softly, causing him to smile too in surprise. “What?” He grinned, mind and heart racing with nerves and confusion. You shook your head and leaned forward. Your lips met his, soft and slow. You felt his arms tense beneath your grip before the super soldier melted into your grasp, tongue pressing for more. He pulled you in with a firm desperation, firmer than the grip he had on you when he dragged you away from the speakeasy’s bloody chaos. The kiss became hungry and pressing as he leaned into you, sharply inhaling every facet of your being. Then, you both broke away with heavy breath, foreheads pressed together. 

“I thought you didn’t like me, Bucky.” You smiled teasingly. He simply shook his head and pulled you in again. 

Maybe fate was finally in your favor.

[bluehourdj]

Too Curious, Too Close

PART 2

Read Part 1 HERE

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Journalist!Reader

Summary: After a few short nights in the tower, things begin to shift. One alarm triggers the next trail in your restless investigation of the Winter Soldier, or rather, Bucky Barnes.

Set somewhere after/during CATWS

Warnings: cursing, still slow burn. Use of Y/N. Lowkey timid sad Bucky :(

Eek this chapters pretty short! I'm kind of new to all of this so I'm just seeing how it goes!

*Also, I have honestly NOT watched any of the Avengers movies lately so I'm like 95% sure this is all super inaccurate!

WC: 1.2k

Three days had passed, and you had spent all three nights at the Stark Tower. It wasn’t natural, it felt strange and isolated, like a formal prison that you chose to stay in. Anything was better than whatever awaited you in the city. Natasha made small attempts at keeping you company, but for the most part, Steve and Tony spent most of their time stealing her away for hushed conversations. When Tony did talk to you, it was to pick your brain for any information you discovered in your investigation. It turned out, you had found a lot. You made firm connections between transfer authorization signatures from WWII and 2014 SHEILD, matched data deletion order dates to the same days the Winter Soldier allegedly carried out killings, and so much more. To you, at your mug stained, paper scattered desk, these had all been blind grasps at loose ends. To Tony, they seemed to be revolutionary discoveries. He didn’t seem to care how far fetched any of your ideas were, because each theory you uttered was provable by missing pieces the team had discovered on their own. The one topic that always seemed too taboo was the Winter Soldier, or more specifically, where he was. You weren’t stupid. You noticed how the team seemed to avert their eyes when you pried. So, naturally, you kept digging.

“Well, if he’s out there, wouldn’t you all want to know?” Steve grabbed a mug from the community kitchen. “I just don’t understand why nobody has any interest in finding this guy.” You huffed with exaggeration, trying to see if you could get a reaction from the super soldier.

“We have enough on our plate, Y/N.” He said earnestly, but you knew he was lying, you just couldn’t prove it yet.

Then, the alarm went off.

Shivers shot up your spine, and Steve moved straight into action, guiding you towards Tony’s office. The entire floor of the building was painted in flashing red, loud sirens blaring.

“Tony!” Steve called out loudly, only to be met with Natasha who wore a face of pained exasperation.

“I can’t find him.” Her brows pinched together in frustration. The alarm grew louder.

“What usually triggers the alarm?” You shouted, fingers against your ears. Natasha leaned closer to explain.

“Tony’s custom settings, whatever the Hell they may be.” She muttered. Then, as though a switch flipped, she locked eyes with Steve. It killed you that you couldn’t grasp their sudden understand in such a seemingly dire situation, but you simply went along with it. “Fuck.” Natasha exclaimed. Then, the pair began running towards a hallway you had never ventured into, prompting you to chase after them at a haphazard pace.

“Why does no one explain anything here?” You groaned to yourself as Natasha and Steve rounded a corner. But, when you rounded the corner behind them, you stopped dead in your tracks.

“Hey, Bucky.” Steve said softly, as though he were walking on glass. The name struck you with an odd sense of familiarity, and you found yourself remembering class trips to the Smithsonian. Holy shit. Bucky.

“I’m sorry, I-” the broad-shouldered man stammered, trying to find the words. “I just couldn’t stay in there anymore. I didn’t think it would set anything off.” Steve muttered something to himself about Tony and his precautions, shaking his head angrily. Then it clicked. Something in the frailty of his eyes, the gravity of his height, and his long black hair, made the truth hit you hard and fast.

“Oh my god.” You let the surprise slip from your lips. You had once known too much, know you knew everything. “You guys are so killing me by the time this all ends.” You half-joked.

“Who’s that?” Bucky asked apprehensively, looking you up and down in a way that made you wonder if you should be nervous or scared.

“Bucky, this is Y/N L/N, she found out about SHIELD. About Hydra.” Steve glanced at you solemnly. “They tried to hurt her, so she’s staying here until things get sorted out.” Bucky didn’t seem to fully hear Steve, or maybe he didn’t fully care, because Tony Stark was storming down the hallway.

“What the Hell, Barnes?” Tony threw his hands up in frustration. “We had one rule.”

“You can’t keep me locked up like this Tony.” Bucky trembled slightly. This was not the firm, threatening Winter Soldier you had imagined.

“Actually, considering you’re a fugitive in practically every state and country, I can.” Tony rebutted. The alarms and flashing lights turned off. Tony then turned to you. “Shit, L/N. Why are you a witness to practically everything?” You shrugged.

“No clue.” Was all you could manage to come up with. You gestured to Bucky, “Winter Soldier?” Tony nodded in defeat. You missed the way Bucky cringed at your words.

“Bucky Barnes.” He stated firmly, catching you off guard. Your heart skipped a beat.

“Right, sorry. Bucky Barnes.” You weren’t sure what was happening, but you had a feeling you breached a line uncrossed.

“Look, we are days away from finding out where the hell Fury is and fixing this hot mess.” Tony began. “I really don’t need a nosy journalist and a cranky sleeper agent to screw things up.” You wanted to jab back at him, but he was right. Besides your few helpful clues, you had been a nuisance, there was no denying that. “Help me out here guys.” Tony turned to Natasha and Steve with open arms.

“Well, we have to move out tomorrow.” Steve stated firmly, you weren’t quite sure what that meant, but you didn’t ask. “What if Bucky and Y/N just stay here in the meantime?” Tony shook his head.

“No, absolutely not. I don’t trust Barnes fully.” He spoke as if the man wasn’t right beside him. “I can’t be sure that these two,” he gestured to you both, “will be both in this building and still alive by the time we get back.”

“Well, you’re going to have to deal with it.” Natasha bit back. “It’s our only option.” The three turned to you and Bucky, as though analyzing your demeanors would be enough to finalize whatever secretive ploy they were devising.

“Well, obviously we have no choice.” Tony sighed, pointing a finger at you and Bucky. “You two are about to be under some crazy dictator level surveillance shit.” And with that, he left. Natasha gave an apologetic shrug before following, leaving you alone with the two super soldiers.

“Ignore Tony, he’s just really worked up.” Steve sighed, but you shook your head.

“No don’t worry. He’s right.” You admitted, turning apprehensively towards Bucky. “Is anyone going to explain this, or is it another thing I have to find out by myself?” Surprisingly, Steve laughed. He patted your shoulder, and gave no reply to your question.

“Look, we should only be gone about a day. Just stay here, don’t contact anyone, and if worse comes to worse…” He looked at Bucky. “I’m sure you’ll both survive.” As if that were comfort enough, Steve pulled Bucky away from the hall to have a hushed conversation. Despite the brewing curiosity that overcame you, you started to realize that maybe the less you knew, the better.

You took in a deep breath. This would be fine.

You just had to survive the next 48 hours with Bucky Barnes.

[bluehourdj]

Too Curious, Too Close

PART 1

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Journalist!Reader

Summary: You love your job. You love the thrill, the fine lines, the hidden print. Yet, when you let your discoveries fall off the deep end, things take a turn for the worse. Now you know far too much, and you're far too close to exposing the Avenger's best kept secret: The Winter Soldier.

Set somewhere after/during CATWS

Warnings: some minor violence against the reader, cursing, pretty slow burn because Bucky doesn't even show up in this chapter. Use of Y/N.

Also, I have honestly NOT watched any of the Avengers movies lately so I'm like 95% sure this is all super inaccurate!

WC: 2,500

The soft yellow glow of the street’s lamplight danced across your face. You loved walking alone. The slight thrill of solitude kept your blood pumping and your mind afloat. It was nights like these were you finally found the silence to think. The soft hum of a favorite song buzzed through your earbuds as you rounded the block towards your NYC apartment. You lived in a sectioned off part of town, and your cramped one bedroom was the only sanctuary you could truly afford. Life was rough. You made a promise to yourself that you would fight for your dreams, for your aspirations, and that fight led you to the dazzling city light of New York City. It also led you towards crippling debt and a rat problem, but you chose to ignore that part. The truth was, you loved your job. You loved the thrill of investigation, of following leads that tied up loose ends, of uncovering dirtied truths. In fact, on this frigid winter night, you could not stop thinking about your latest discovery. As you made each firm step towards home, you replayed your day at work. You had been doing a little too much digging, but of course, there’s no such thing as too much digging. You had been growing irritated with SHIELD. Everyone seemed to love the peacekeeping organization, your coworkers, family, friends, all putting blind faith into yet another failing system. Your boss was not pleased with this perspective, and you had to admit you had a big habit of “sticking it to the man.” But how could you not? All the driving forces of politics were corrupt in your eyes, so you were always ready to challenge what everyone else seemed to so happily accept. Okay, yes, you were miserable. You felt like the world was collapsing and you were the only person on God’s green earth who noticed. So, you did what you knew best, you began to research and write. The press had been releasing some minor information about SHIELD, security issues, investigations, small incidents, and, most interestingly, a missing Nick Fury and rampant Winter Soldier. While everyone else turned a blind eye to the situation, you just weren’t buying it. You flung open the often jammed entrance door to your apartment, mind still reeling from the day’s discoveries. This time, you might have gone too far. You weren’t entirely sure how, but after entering an insane flow state that involved 3 black coffees and the traumatization of a new intern, you found one, red name: HYDRA. It sent chills down your spine to think about. You had recalled the name from US History, a dead WWII footnote, a terrifying glimpse into the past. And now, you had seen the Nazi-esque philosophy bleed through the thousand SHEILD memos you flipped through this week. Each phrase about order, compliance, and preservation had been creating bursts of déjà vu in your memory. So, when you spent the morning digging through your old school papers to find nearly identical language, your heart jumped. Were you crazy? Probably yes. Did you care? Hell no. In fact, the memo you typed up right before clocking out was probably one of your tamer conspiracies, but it still had you on edge.

Lost in thought, you barely heard the elevator ding. Home at last. You made your way through the dingy, carpeted hallway to your apartment door. Fumbling with your keys, you pulled out your earbuds and pushed into your apartment. Then, you froze.

“Holy shit.” Your voice permeated the air. About 10 feet away from you (so basically your whole apartment,) stood the most recognizable face in America. “Holy shit.” You repeated.

“You’re not in trouble.” Steve Rogers said, attempting comfort. You almost laughed at the absurdity.

“What the Hell? Am I about to get fucking sniped?” You spun your head around, losing any and all of your usual decorum in front of the captain. You had experienced some pretty strange feats in life, but this was by far the weirdest.

“No, but you might get shot by the man across the hall if you don’t leave with me. Now.” You instinctively turned your head toward the door, wondering which of your neighbors would possibly hurt you, and why would such an event even require the presence of Captain America? Either way, you weren’t going to argue. That is, until he opened the window. “We can’t go out the front.”

“Ah, of course. Let me just fall 6 stories on a Tuesday night.” You deadpanned, still shocked by the strange situation. Steve didn’t entertain your sarcasm. Instead, he lost patience, grabbing your arm and pulling you towards the windowsill. You heard footsteps approaching, causing your pulse to spike. “I’m so sorry ma’am.” With that, Steve jumped, taking you with him bridal style. When he landed gracefully, the serum in his veins defying all the facts of reality, you let out a shaky breath. You were officially, terrified. It didn’t help that your apartment, filled with memorabilia, countless documents, clothes, files upon files of research, and just about everything you have ever owned, burst into flames above you.

You never wanted to utter the words “conspiracy theory” ever again.

-

You trembled in the backseat of the black SUV, sitting next to Steve as the car rode off in silence. You wanted to cry for your now destroyed home, but absurdity had prevented you from processing what you had lost. Instead, you were dying to know why you had lost it. The chaos of the night had seemingly scrambled your brain, you couldn’t think straight.

“Excuse me, but can you tell me what’s going on?” You finally broke the silence, irritated by Steve’s ominous demeanor. He had practically just pushed you out of a window, the least he could do is explain.

“You’ll have to wait. Just trust me.” It seemed you had no other choice. When the car finally made it through the hellish city traffic, pulling into the Stark Tower garage, your breath hitched. What the hell had you done? You suddenly felt a great yearning desperation for the version of your life that had existed merely an hour ago.

The lobby was mostly empty apart from a few yawning receptionists. Steve guided you towards the elevators, nodding at the pair of nearby security guards. If you weren’t wracked with fear, you would have felt like the Queen of England. Instead, you just wanted to be far away and asleep, preferably in your own bed, which was likely now charred.  The elevator was tight and uncomfortable. When it finally opened, you felt as though the wind had been knocked out of you for the millionth time that night. In front of you stood Tony Stark and Natasha Romanoff. Wow. You were screwed. You were so screwed.

“Okay, can someone please just tell me what I did?” You blurted, eyebrows furrowed in fear and aggravation.

“Hello to you too Ms. L/N.” Tony stated before Steve ushered you onto the Avenger-filled floor. The team crowded around you while you tried not to pass out. Luckily, you didn’t have to worry about falling, because Stark took care of that for you. Grabbing you by the neck, he dragged you off to a nearby room, the team following.

“Tony, stop, you’re going to hurt her.” Steve barked, it seemed he hadn’t expected the ensuing plans, but everything moved too fast. Your pulse raced and your vision blurred, all you felt was his right arm pressing you against a cold wall, and his left hand holding your wrists together.

“Who the fuck do you work for?” Tony yelled in your ear. When you once said you wished your

life was a movie, you hadn’t meant a cliché cop film.

“The New York Times?” You replied in disbelief at the situation, groaning under his weight. He pressed harder. You saw the blurry outline of everyone else watching. This was the strangest humiliation ritual of your life. Fuck this. “What the fuck is your problem, man?” You spat. You were fed up. Suddenly the anger of a ruined night, blown up apartment, and assault via bratty billionaire had caught up to you.

“You wanna know what my problem is?” Tony’s confidence didn’t falter an inch. “My problem Is that memo of yours. No one knows about the SHEILD fallout. Its impossible. We only figured it out days ago.” You froze. Finally, your borderline schizophrenic tendencies had paid off. The conspiracy had dropped the word theory, and Tony Stark himself confirmed it.

“So its true? SHEILD and HYDRA are linked?” You no longer cared about the dire situation you were in, the journalist in you wanted to finish the chase. Tony pressed harder.

“I won’t ask again, who do you work for?” He snarled.

“The New York Times.” You spat. “If I worked for anyone else, I think you and your grade A technology could have figured it out.” You challenged him, and he hesitated.

“She has a point.” The red head broke the silence. After three minutes of painful tension, Tony loosened his grip on you, letting you free. You rubbed your sore wrists.

“Would someone please take a moment to enlighten me, preferably without the use of physical violence?” You blurted with exasperation. This was growing old. Much to Tony’s dismay, Steve stepped forward.

“Look, we’re just a bit freaked out alright.” He tried to explain but you scoffed.

“You’re just a bit freaked out?” you rolled your eyes, surprising yourself with your growing confidence. “Look, I don’t care who you are. Who any of you are. I don’t even really care if you kill me tonight.” That was a lie, but you loved dramatics. “The truth is that I don’t work for any crazy pseudo-Nazi organization. I just love to stick my head in places it doesn’t belong apparently. I found strange, barely backed up connections between SHEILD and HYDRA, I found minimal but still possible evidence that the Winter Soldier is running loose, and now I have found myself in this weird-ass situation.” You finished your rant with crazy eyes. “That’s it!” The room fell silent.

“You really expect us to believe that you figured all of that out with what, google?” Tony asked incredulously. You simply shrugged.

“I have 75 thousand dollars worth of student debt for a reason. We don’t all need to be superheroes to get shit done.” You knew you were being too bold but you couldn’t bring yourself to care. Flashes of thought were present in Tony’s eyes. He ultimately caved.

“I don’t trust you, but” He groaned “I believe you.”

“Thanks.” You said with uncertainty. “So, who blew up my place?”

“SHEILD.” Natasha stepped in. “We got a lead after Tony got your memo from the NYT system, so we sent Steve to check it out. Some of our guys collected residue from the aftermath and the labs testing it right now, but I’m almost certain it will tie back to SHEILD.” She spewed information, fumbling over her words, but you took every detail in like a masterclass.

“So, what was the goal? To just kill me?” You wanted to laugh but the silence that followed spoke volumes. Well damn. “Okay…” you continued. “Not that I’m overly thrilled to find out more, but what now? I don’t exactly have anywhere to go as of an hour ago, and it seems like a bunch of people suddenly want me dead.”

“Wow you talk a lot.” Tony replied. You couldn’t even try to be embarrassed, your questions felt valid enough. This was a lot to process all at once. “Okay Sherlock, you’re right about the whole target on your forehead thing.” He left the room, beckoning you and everyone else to follow with natural authority. “You have to stay here. End of discussion. You know far too much and that is a major risk.” Your pace slowed a bit, causing the team to look back at you.

“Wait, just to confirm, you guys aren’t going to kill me, right?” Tony laughed, but didn’t respond. He checked his watch and let out a low whistle.

“Natasha, show her the guest room down the hall. I have some serious planning to do. Steve, you take care of…” Tony faltered. You noticed. He didn’t finish his sentence, glancing over at you. Then they both left, leaving you behind with Natasha. She walked firmly down the corridor, paying no mind to if you were following or not. Then, she stopped at the end of the hall, swiping a card over the silver door handle, opening it to reveal a clean modern room.

“Thank you.” You gave a tight, awkward smile.

“Look, Ms. L/N,”

“Just call me Y/N,” you interrupted briefly.

“Okay, Y/N. I know this is a lot. Trust me I do. But we’ve all had a rather eventful week. There are many things,” you saw a flicker of horror in her eyes, “that we can’t necessarily explain. Now, you’ve showed up, knowing far too much. You have to understand what this looks like to us.” Her voice was firm, but Natasha’s eyes were also pleading. They were searching for a sense of connection, an understanding between the two of you.  You nodded.

“Yeah, of course. Thanks.” Turning on her heel, she left you alone. You finally entered the room and shut the door behind you. Maybe this had all been an odd dream. The pale blue reflection of skyscrapers crept into the bare room. You felt ultraviolet, artificial. Like everything had been strangely devised, a weird scheme to flip your world upside down. Yet, you knew the truth. All of this was your own doing. You had dug too far this time, getting yourself wrapped in a sticky web not belonging to you. Peeling off your wool coat, you threw yourself onto the too-small mattress in the room. You couldn’t sleep. You wouldn’t. Your mind raced with the events of the day. The documents you read were bleeding into your memory, photographic glimpses of the red-string connections you had tied at your work desk penetrated every thought you had. Then, like an outstretched hand, it hit you suddenly: If you were right about Hydra, then were you right about the Winter Soldier?

You shot upright in your bed. A glimpse of the masked assassin entered your mind. You didn’t know much about him. You could truly only associate the title with glaring headlines and bloody deaths. But, in reality, he was merely a ghost. A strange dark figure that no one could really confirm was real or fake, alive or dead. You remembered the snickers of your fellow journalists when you brought him up. No one ever really believed you on these things. Yet, a strange sliver of your intuition told you he was real. That he was out there. And, despite how crazy that seemed, you couldn’t help but think it was true.

After all, you had believed crazier conspiracy theories before.

Part 2