MDNI | Bucky Barnes fics only | I am not responsible for your media consumption
first times
Your first time with Bucky should've been sweet, intense, maybe even kinky - but when he abruptly stops and tells you that he "can't do this", your heart is broken. [Slight angst, fluff - 1.4k]
red string
Bucky sees the same woman in his dreams, night after night. Is it possible to fall in love with someone who doesn’t exist? He wishes so much that you were by his side - until one day, you walk into his life for real. [Angst, fluff - 5.4k] 🌟
Close Enough to Break
Bucky stubbornly hides his feelings for you. Yelena is convinced that you two are just a couple of idiots in love. You quietly pine after the stoic super soldier, questioning why he seems to be pushing you away. [Angst, fluff - 3k]
Only Kinda Sort Hate You
Your professor asks you to tutor another student for extra credit, and you end up with Bucky, who you hate. Kinda. [Angst, fluff - 5.8k]
as long as we're together (does it matter where we go)?
You don’t want to be a burden to Bucky, knowing he has the weight of the world on his shoulders. [Angst - 7.8k]
Can An Old Man Do This?
Watching Twilight with Bucky leads to sex. Sounds about right. [Smut - 2k]
Take Me Back To The Night We Met
He promised you forever and a day. [Angst - 2.4k]
As If It Was Really That Easy
There's nothing more painful than wondering what your love could have been. [Angst - 8.2k]
Come Home
Bucky interrupts your date on Valentine’s Day, asking you to take him back. [Fluff - 1.8k]
Nothing Breaks Like A Heart
You finally confess your feelings to Bucky, hoping he might like you back. He turns you down. [Angst, fluff - 6.5k] 🌟
Protector
When Steve gets injured on the field protecting you, Bucky lashes out at you from fear of seeing you in danger, and jealously of Steve’s arms around you. [Angst, fluff - 4.2.k] 🌟
Dirty Little Confession
You and Bucky start dating, and during your first time, he tells you exactly how he used to fantasize about you. Part 2 to Dirty Little Secret, can be read as a stand-alone. [Smut - 2.6k] 🌟
Mockingbird
Bucky tells you he doesn’t need you, except he can’t live without you. [Angst, fluff - 2.8k]
I Wanna Be Yours
You are afraid to believe that someone like Bucky might actually love you back. [Angst, fluff - 4.8k]
Whatever It Takes
The Winter Soldier travels across the multiverse to find you, and wont take ‘no’ for an answer. [Non-con, smut - 2.5k]
Dirty Little Secret
You believe Bucky doesn’t even remember your name, not knowing he moans it to himself at night. [Smut - 1.4k]🌟
I'll Let You Lick The Lollipop
You're bored, and Bucky won't play with you. [Smut - 3.2k]
Heart of Glass
You hate it when Bucky is mad, but it's a thousand times worse when you're the one he's mad at. [Angst, fluff - 4.8k] 🌟
P r e t t y B o y
I may seem nice, I may seem soft, but that's all a part of your imagination. Bucky fucks you in a public restroom like the dirty slut you are. [Smut - 3.2k]
An Experiment in Jealousy
You decided to try and make Bucky jealous. Now, you would pay the price. [Smut - 2k]
Disillusioned
Every time I tried to take a step closer, he took a step back. Falling in love with Bucky Barnes was easy, but the distance he kept between us was torture. [Angst - 3.5k]
Summary: Your first time with Bucky should've been sweet, intense, maybe even kinky - but when he abruptly stops and tells you that he "can't do this", your heart is broken.
Pairing: Bucky x fem!reader
Genre: Slight angst, fluff
Word count: 1.4k
A/N: Was randomly thinking about sex with Bucky, as you do - and thought, realistically, could he feel nervous about having sex for the first time with someone he cares about after (presumably) decades of no sexual activity at all? This fic is what I think that would look like
Your heart was racing. You had never felt so nervous before, not even when you first lost your virginity years ago and awkward, fumbling, uncomfortable sex had ensued.
This was different. This was your first time having sex with someone who you actually, truly loved. This was sex with Bucky.
You sank back into the pillows of your bed, your hands gripping his firm biceps as he moaned against your mouth gently, setting off a chemical reaction from within your core. He was laying on top of you, hands planted in the mattress on either side of your head to prop himself up as he kissed you deeply. He was careful not to place too much of his weight on you, though you were desperate to feel more of him, caged in between his arms.
You loved how safe he made you feel, how gentlemanly he was in every other aspect of your relationship - but right now, you were ready to be devoured. You wanted him to show you exactly how ungentlemanly he could be. You wanted him to make you unravel, wanted him to fuck you so hard that you wouldn't even be able to string a sentence together. You were barely coherent right now, unable to think of anything else besides Bucky and how you needed him inside you as soon as possible.
You tried to pull him even closer, desperate to touch every inch of him. Your fingers reached down for his belt, hungry for more friction, for more skin-on-skin contact. You were absolutely burning for him, the last few weeks of sexual tension finally snapping until you simply could not take it anymore.
You were so caught up in your own desires that you didn't even register the first tendrils of hesitation emanating from him. The first signs of Bucky tensing up as you reached beneath his shirt, hands pressing against his abs. Your fingers teased the hem of his jeans, running against his pubic bone.
He broke the kiss, giving you an opportunity to eagerly kiss his neck. You whined gently, willing him to take off your clothes, trying to grind your pelvis up against his. You wanted him to touch you, to explore every inch of your body as you explored his, to consume you.
Your sex-addled brain finally registered that he had stopped moving, and you frowned slightly in confusion as you pulled back to study him. His expression was one of hesitation, his eyes distant.
"Bucky?" You whispered, cheeks flushed as you tried to ground yourself. "Everything okay?"
He swallowed, tendrils of his long brown hair falling in front of his blue eyes. He couldn't bring himself to look directly at you as he suddenly pushed himself upwards, moving to sit on the side of the bed and straightening out his rumpled black t-shirt.
"Hey - what's wrong?" You asked again, scrambling to sit up and scoot towards him. Your hand reached out to his forearm, and he flinched. Your face fell.
"I can't do this," he said quietly, still refusing to look at you. "I'm sorry." He stood abruptly without saying anything else, shaking his head to himself before he raced out of the bedroom.
Your heart dropped to the pit of your stomach. You felt tears sting in your eyes as the emptiness of the room swallowed you up, anxiety racing through you and rapidly replacing any excitement that you had been feeling just moments before.
The weight of his rejection physically winded you. You balled your hands into fists as you tried to regulate your breathing.
What the hell just happened?
Insecurity reared its ugly head. You had been so nervous but excited to take the next step in your relationship with Bucky, had imagined hundreds of times how it would go - this was not what you had envisioned.
Had he simply changed his mind? Was the thought of seeing you naked repulsive to him? What could have made him suddenly up and leave like that?
Did he suddenly see all the flaws within yourself that you had seen all along?
No. No. It wasn't like that. You knew Bucky wouldn't think of you that way.
But why else would he leave?
You felt humiliated. You fought back the tears, willing yourself not to cry. You felt so vulnerable right now, alone in your bed, in the disheveled clothes that you had been so desperate for him to peel off your body.
One of the things you prioritized the most in a relationship was communication. And you loved Bucky, but damn it, he wasn't the best communicator. He often clammed up with how he felt, and was generally more of an actions speak louder than words kind of guy. However, you'd be damned if you were going to let him just walk off like that.
You composed yourself and jumped off the bed, padding out of your room and into the hallway. You could hear him in the kitchen, and you took a deep breath before going to face him.
He had his back to you, a glass of water beside him. You knew he could hear you approach, but he didn't move.
You cleared your throat anyway, leaning against the kitchen doorway.
"Bucky? Do you want to tell me what's going on?" You asked, his rejection still rolling over you in painful waves.
He didn't say anything, but he finally turned to look at you. He looked upset, his lips pressed together in a thin line. He looked guilty when he saw your expression.
"If - if you don't want to have sex, if you're not ready - that's okay," you mumbled. "I didn't mean to rush it." You pulled at the hem of your shirt, looking down at the floor, suddenly embarrassed.
"No," he said abruptly, pinching the bridge of his nose. "That's - that's not what it is."
You didn't say anything, silently imploring him to continue.
"Is it me?" You blurted out finally when he didn't speak.
"What?"
"Is it..." You gestured awkwardly at yourself. You weren't sure how to frame the words. You didn't think you were an insecure person, but in a situation like this, you couldn't help but entertain the idea. "Is it something I did?" Or something I didn't do? Be sexy enough, alluring enough?
"Hey." You looked up when Bucky suddenly moved towards you, taking your hands in his. "You didn't do anything."
You looked at his eyes, trying to find the truth. "Then what is it?"
He sighed, tongue darting out to lick his lips. He was nervous, his mouth opening and closing silently as he tried to find the right words.
"It's...it's been a long time," he said finally, almost wincing at the confession.
Huh?
You frowned, taking a moment or two to finally piece the meaning together.
Oh. Oh.
"Ah," you said, eyes widening. "Right."
"I've not - I haven't had sex in decades," he grunted, his jaw clenching. "Literally. I was just...feeling nervous. Don't wanna disappoint you."
You tried to imagine how you would feel being intimate with someone for the first time in years, and quickly pulled Bucky into an embrace. To your relief, his arms wrapped around your waist, his nose burying into your hair instinctively.
"You could never disappoint me," you said firmly. "We'll take it slow, okay? At your pace."
"I don't want you to think that I don't want you," he said gruffly. "I mean, god, if you knew the thoughts going on in my head. If you knew the things I wanna do to you."
Your cheeks warmed as you felt the heat suddenly begin to build again. He gripped you tighter, one hand lifting to stroke the back of your head.
"M'sorry for running out like that. Just got spooked. I want it to be good for you."
"It's okay," you said reassuringly. "Bucky, listen to me. We're a couple, and I'm nervous about our first time too. But - " you leaned back and pressed a kiss to his lips, "- I know it will be amazing."
He returned your kiss, breathing you in deeply. You could practically feel him slowly relax as you reassured him.
"I know I shouldn't have handled it like that," he murmured. "I'm stupid."
"You're not stupid," you laughed. "You're the sweetest man I ever met, Bucky Barnes."
He pressed a kiss to your forehead, and you felt him smile against your skin.
"And, if you're nervous, maybe I'll just take the reins," you said teasingly. "Show you a thing or two."
He chuckled, a deep, throaty sound that sent shivers down your spine. His hands suddenly grasped your waist, pulling you flush against him.
Summary: Bucky sees the same woman in his dreams, night after night. Is it possible to fall in love with someone who doesn’t exist? He wishes so much that you were by his side - until one day, you walk into his life for real.
Pairing: Bucky x fem!reader with psychic abilities
Genre: Angst, fluff
Word count: 5.4k
The invisible red thread of fate connects individuals destined to meet, regardless of time, distance, or circumstance. This thread may stretch and tangle, but it does not snap.
Cherry blossom petals fell, soft and soundless, blanketing the ground with pink. Bucky stood beneath a streetlamp on a wide road, hands buried in the pockets of his leather jacket. Everything was quiet - too quiet. The kind of thick, heavy silence that only existed in dreams.
Of course, he knew it was a dream. He always did.
For the last three months, he had found a reprieve from the usual, HYDRA fueled nightmares that had plagued him for years. One night last winter, he simply found the landscape of his nightmares slowly starting to shift, until eventually he couldn’t call it a nightmare at all.
He used to dream of his past all the time. Of the torture he had endured, the endless kills he had committed, the screams of the lives he had ended.
Now, he dreams of you.
He had been here before. The script rarely changed - sometimes you met on this road, sometimes in a library, on one occasion in a coffee shop. This was the scene he recognized the most. Same blossom trees. Same road. Same ache in his chest that he couldn’t decipher. And then he saw you, and the ache vanished.
You were sat on a bench underneath one of the trees, staring up at the pink flowers in awe. You were barefoot, your toes shrouded in a puddle of petals beneath you.
Bucky’s breath caught in his throat. He didn’t move, didn’t speak. You didn’t notice him right away, eyes too full of wonder.
When you did finally notice him, the widest smile broke out across your face. It was contagious, and it made the corners of his lips twitch too.
"You're late," you said, turning to him with a look that was half amusement, half affection. You were happy to see him, he could tell. You were always happy. It was amazing to see someone light up just from the sight of him.
He blinked. “Late?” Was there any such concept in dreams?
“You’re always late,” you teased. “But that’s okay. You came.”
He walked towards you, desperate to close the gap, to be close.
“Where is this?” It was the first time he had thought to ask.
You tilted your head. “I’m not sure, actually. Kinda reminds me of Central Park.” You paused. “Does it matter?”
“S’pose not,” Bucky chuckled, looking down at your face in slight awe. How could his mind have concocted somebody so ethereal? He didn't know that he had the creativity for it.
He looked around again. There was no signage. The buildings in the distance faded into fog. This place was nowhere - and somehow, the safest place he’d ever known. And it was kind of familiar. Huh, it does remind me a little of Central Park, Bucky thought.
You stood from the bench, and automatically you began walking side by side, your footfalls in perfect unison. The backs of your hands brushed, and Bucky thought the sensation felt so real. He wanted to hold your hand, but he was somehow nervous, even though it was his dream.
“I missed you,” you said suddenly.
Bucky’s chest tightened. That was new.
He turned to face you, voice low. “Did you really?” What he really wanted to say was, I missed you, too.
You smiled again, with some sadness this time. “I think I love you.”
There was no warning whenever a dream ended. All it took was for some invisible switch to flip, and he was dragged out of his dream and into reality. One second he was staring at your face, trying to really commit it to memory, though it was a struggle sometimes to remember all the details from his dreams. The next second, he was waking up.
The sheets were twisted around him, pillow soaked with sweat. The early morning light was bleeding through the curtains, shining in his eyes. He sat up, hand on his chest, heart still beating too fast.
I think I love you, your voice echoed in his ears.
The dream hadn’t lasted long, and Bucky felt disappointed. At the same time, he was happy that he had seen you again, the same woman every consecutive night for months.
Always the same woman. Always at some strange, sacredly quiet place. Sometimes you walked. Sometimes you talked. Once, he held your hand and woken up with the ghost of your touch lingering on his palm. He could’ve sworn the touch felt so real.
It was never just a dream. He felt you. The calm you brought. The dull ache in his chest when he woke up and he realized you weren’t real.
You didn’t look like anyone he knew, but his brain knew you. Trusted you. Missed you.
Bucky swung his legs over the edge of the bed, hands on his thighs. He quickly grabbed the notebook and pen on his bedside table - a tip he had read online, to better remember his dreams. Always write them down within the first five minutes of waking up.
He didn't want to forget you. And so he wrote down his notes dutifully, morning after morning, jotting down whatever details he could remember.
His hand shook over the page, his forehead creasing. The only thing he could muster himself to write were six words.
I think I love you, too.
The dreams were getting worse. Or better. He couldn’t decide.
He wasn’t scared of them, and it was that knowledge that scared him.
He was falling in love - with a dream. With a ghost. With a figment of his imagination.
But every night, you spoke to him like you remembered him. Like you were waiting. Like you dreamed of him, too.
You thought you were going insane.
Night after night, you dreamed of him. The man with the dark brown hair, beautiful blue eyes and the metal arm. He was the most handsome man you had ever laid eyes on, and your dreams were beginning to make you lose grip on reality.
You decided to start going to therapy in an attempt to understand what was going on in your brain. These weren't just dreams - they were beginning to impact your day-to-day life, as you slowly began obsessing over this mystery person. Your therapist, Dr. Hartley, sat across from you, gently prompting you with a question after you found difficulty beginning to explain what was happening.
"So - you told me in our initial call that you've been having some dreams?"
"Yes," you said slowly. "More specifically, I've been dreaming of the same person. Every night for months."
"Every night?"
"Every night," you confirm.
"What happens in these dreams?" Dr. Hartley asked with a friendly, inquisitive smile.
"It's not always the same, but he's always there. Sometimes we're in a park. Once we were on a rooftop. Usually, we just sit and talk. Sometimes we don't talk at all. But he's always there."
"Does he have a name?" she asked, scrawling some notes down as you spoke.
"Bucky," you said. You realized with a jolt that it was the first time you had ever spoken his name out loud. "His name is Bucky."
Dr. Hartley leaned forward slightly, cocking her head.
"What's he like?"
You took a deep breath, hesitating. You knew this was therapy, and you should feel safe telling her everything, but this felt... vulnerable. Like you were divulging the most secretive part of yourself, the part of yourself that up until now existed just between yourself and him.
You cringed mentally at the thought. Pull yourself together. He does not exist.
"He's kind," you said to begin with. "Handsome." Dr. Hartley smiled. "And I think he really sees me. He understands who I am. I tell him things about myself that no one else knows.”
He tells me things about him, too. Strange, intimate details that your brain must’ve fabricated out of thin air. You’d always been told you had an overactive imagination.
Dr Hartley nodded.
"It sounds like you may be lonely," she said gently. "This could be a way of your subconsciousness trying to offer you a safe space. Someone to connect with."
Tears welled up in your eyes, catching you off guard, but Dr. Hartley did not seem fazed. She plucked a tissue from beside her and handed it over to you, sympathetic.
"But it doesn't feel safe anymore," you whispered. "It's getting painful. It hurts. Every morning when I wake up, I feel like I'm mourning someone I never even knew to begin with. I don't know how to make the dreams stop."
You blinked hard to will the tears back, biting hard down on your lower lip. Dr. Hartley must've thought you were insane, breaking down over a fictional man.
"You said he had a metal arm," Dr. Hartley said after you'd taken a few deep breaths to compose yourself.
"Yes. Sometimes, he's wearing a leather jacket or gloves so I can't see it. But I know it's always there."
"Do you think it's something you saw on a tv show? On the news, perhaps?"
"Uh, I don't know," you said. "Maybe?"
You didn't know why the question would help. What you really wanted to say was that Bucky was not simply a man you had concocted in your brain after reading some description in a novel, or seeing a character in a movie. He felt real. It felt like you were meeting a real person in a place you weren't supposed to be.
"I know how this sounds," you said slowly. "I'm losing my mind, aren't I? Getting so upset over my dreams?"
Dr. Hartley shook her head. "No," she said firmly. "You're overwhelmed by something you haven't yet made sense of, and that's perfectly normal. This session is just the first step."
You smiled back, eyes still watering.
But what if I’m not imagining him? Sometimes, just sometimes, you allowed yourself to entertain that thought. What if he is really out there, somewhere?
You sat, cross-legged on your couch, sketchpad open on your lap.
You held the pencil firmly in your fingers, the tip of it moving rapidly across the paper, the sound of graphite against paper soothing. You had gotten into a habit of sketching Bucky whenever you had the free time.
You knew it was an unhealthy habit, but you couldn't help it. You missed him whenever you were awake, and this was the only way to feel some sort of relief, by recreating him on paper.
And so you sketched. You sketched him, day after day, trying to recapture how you had seen him the night before. You wanted to remember and revisit those moments in any way you could. You sketched his beautiful eyes, the eyes that stared at you with adoration.
When you finished, your fingers traced over the sketchpad, forlorn. You sighed heavily, shaking your head as a wave of sadness rushed over you.
Dr. Hartley had advised you to go get some fresh air, go for a walk, whenever you felt like you were getting too caught up in your own head. You weren't sure if it would be effective, but there was no harm in trying, you supposed.
The sky was slowly turning a threatening shade of gray, the kind that promised that a storm was coming. You didn't care - it suited your mood. You stepped out of your apartment building into the polluted New York City air, jacket zipped to your throat and earbuds jammed in to keep the world out. Your bag was slung over your shoulder, sketchpad sitting inside safely.
You made it three steps down the block before you saw her.
A woman stood perfectly still near the curb - long red coat, long red hair, her back to you. She didn’t look like she belonged there, and it startled you when she suddenly turned to look at you.
You wanted to keep walking, but instead, you slowed and stopped in your tracks.
The beautiful woman tilted her head, smiling.
“You don’t need to be afraid,” the stranger said. Those were exactly the words to make someone feel afraid, you thought.
Her voice was calm, and somehow, it relaxed you. You pulled an earbud out, recognition dawning across your face.
“I know you,” you said suddenly. “I've seen you on the news." Your brain tried to remember exactly where you'd seen her, and finally recalled the news from a couple of years ago. Captain America... Lagos... some mission gone wrong that had resulted in a number of civilian deaths. "You’re Wanda Maximoff.”
“And I know you,” she said, raising her eyebrows.
"Excuse me?" you asked, perplexed.
“I’m not here to scare you,” Wanda said. “I’m here because I think you need help."
"Am I in danger?" you asked. What else would explain being accosted by an Avenger in the middle of the street?
"Not exactly," she said. "But I know you're suffering."
"How do you know that?" The confusion intensified, your voice a little too terse.
"I possess… psychic abilities," she said simply, "and you're a psychic, too. I could feel your mind calling out to me, looking for help, whether you knew it or not."
Your mouth opened and closed silently. Okay, this had to be a joke or some stupid misunderstanding.
“You’re not dreaming,” Wanda continued. “Not in the way you think. The things you see - the man you see - it’s not your imagination. It's a manifestation of your powers when you are asleep, when your mind is in its most vulnerable state. You have the ability, among others that you don't even understand, to reach across mental planes in a way you never thought possible."
You wanted to laugh, or walk away, but you were frozen at the feet. Her words made your chest tighten.
The man you see - it's not your imagination.
“I think you’ve got the wrong girl,” you said weakly.
Wanda’s eyes softened.
“I don’t,” she said. “And you know that too, deep down. You’ve touched someone who shouldn’t be reachable. Sometimes he's just halfway across the city, sometimes halfway across the word. That's not your imagination. That’s power.”
You shook your head. “No. I don't have powers."
"Bucky is real."
You froze.
"How do you know that name?" you whispered, beginning to feel frightened.
"Because I know him," Wanda said slowly. "Did you ever read about the Winter Soldier?"
Winter Soldier. The name rang a vague bell. Maybe something you had heard in the news.
"His name, is James Buchanan Barnes," Wanda said, the name rolling off her tongue slowly, deliberately. "Bucky, to his friends. He is real, and you are not going insane."
You wanted to believe her. You really did. Could this truly be happening? Could all she was saying really be the truth?
“What do you want from me?” you managed to say finally.
“Nothing,” Wanda said. “Except to help you. To help you figure out what you really are. What you can do.”
She held out a hand.
“I want you to come with me. To Avengers Tower. I want to help you get the answers and the help you deserve.”
For the longest moment, you just stared at her, unable to move a muscle. You were petrified, but underneath the fear, another emotion began to emerge.
Hope.
Bucky was real.
Your breath trembled. Then you nodded once, and took her hand.
The door hissed softly as it slid open.
You stepped through hesitantly, followed closely out of the elevator by Wanda. Avengers Tower was an architectural masterpiece, and you felt that you stood out like a sore thumb among the shiny corridors, the quiet hum of hidden tech in the walls, the very legacy that this place held.
“Wait here,” Wanda instructed gently, before disappearing through a side door.
Bucky was working out alone, sweat dripping from his forehead as he pushed himself to the furthest physical limit he could. The clang of metal echoed through the cavernous gym, a punching bag swinging violently on its chain. The pebbled leather was dented and straining at its seams.
Bucky's fists pounded into the bag with punishing precision, breath short and sharp. He had a lot of contained frustration that he needed to expel. He stopped when he noticed Wanda's entrance, frowning in confusion.
"What is it?" he asked, unsettled by the unreadable expression on her face.
"I need you to come with me," was all she said.
"Why?" He grabbed a towel, wiping his face with it.
"I want you to meet someone," she said mysteriously.
Bucky heaved a sigh, but decided to humor her. He followed her out of the room, footsteps slowing when he entered the corridor. The was a woman there, pacing back and forth.
The recognition hit Bucky like a shotgun wound to the chest.
You stopped in your tracks, gasping aloud when you finally saw him. Sweat shone from his collarbones, his hair damp from his workout. He came to a complete stop as you locked eyes.
The air stood still. Heavy and thick, like the air in your dreams.
Your lips parted, like you wanted to speak, but no sound came out. You watched Bucky, who stared back at you unblinkingly. His body had stiffened, like his brain had short circuited.
"Bucky," you gasped finally. You felt weak in the knees, your head spinning. You were not hallucinating. You were not dreaming. This was truly happening.
You felt a rush of euphoria, the happiness replacing any confusion or anxiety that had been in your mind seconds before. All you could focus on was the fact that Bucky was standing mere feet away from you, truly tangible and real.
A myriad of expressions ghosted across his face. There was happiness, his lips moving like he wanted to smile, before they twisted into a grimace. This was followed by shock, his eyes flashing with disbelief, eyebrows drawing together.
He took a step back, away from you, like he had been jolted by electricity.
The recognition in his face dissolved into alarm.
"It’s you,” he said, his voice sharp. His eyes flicked from you, to Wanda, then back to you.
"You remember me," you breathed with relief, moving towards him.
He took another step back, and you stopped abruptly.
“Don't," he said warningly. "Wanda, what the fuck is this?"
The words were ice to your heart, making your face fall.
"Bucky, it's me -"
“Don’t say my name," he snapped, his jaw clenching.
There was something dangerous in his posture now - a tightening in his shoulders, the tension rising in his upper body. His vibranium hand curled into a fist. His soldier instincts were kicking in, his defenses rising at this unexplained and impossible sight. The emotional onslaught that was brought on by the sight of you was too much and happening all at once. His brain was clicking frantically, trying to fit the pieces of the puzzle together.
"Bucky, we can explain," Wanda began, but Bucky interrupted her.
“You've been inside my head," he said slowly.
You were trying to find the right words, to make him understand. "I didn't mean to. I can't control it -"
“Bullshit.” His voice echoed through the corridor.
He was breathing hard, his heart palpitating. His mind raced to recall all the times you had spent together in his dreams, all the things he had told you. You had been walking through his mind, uninvited with God knows what motive. How had this happened?
“You don’t just accidentally get into my mind,” he growls. “You don’t just show up, night after night, knowing things you shouldn’t know. That’s not dreaming - that’s infiltration.”
The accusations felt like cuts.
"It's not like that," you insisted. "I didn't know it was real. I didn't know you were real."
“Who are you, really?" Bucky asked through gritted teeth. "Do you know how long I've spent with people clawing their way through my brain?" His eyes narrowed, anger rising at the thought of HYDRA. He spat the words out in such rapid succession that you could barely keep up. "Do you know how long I've spent, purging unwelcome guests out of my mind? Are you with HYDRA?"
You shook your head, speechless and looking to Wanda for help. "I'm not with HYDRA. I don't even know -"
"Bucky, you need to let us explain," Wanda said patiently, but Bucky was not having any of it. “Whatever you think this is, it’s not.”
“You show up in my mind like some... ghost, and you expect me to believe that’s just coincidence?” His voice is low now, trembling. “I worked so hard to make sure no one could ever get in again." Then, he added in a poison-laced whisper, “And you just walked in.”
Tears stung in your eyes. "I would never try to hurt you," you protested, voice quivering.
“Don’t act like you know me,” he said sharply.
He backed away, the distance growing like a chasm between you. He didn't spare you a second glance before he disappeared through the door he came from.
This was not the introduction you had hoped for. It was far from it. You felt your heart strain at the feeling of meeting the man you loved, and being rejected at the same time.
"I’m sorry,” Wanda said immediately. “I knew it was going to be a lot to take in, but… I'll talk to him," she promised you. "He just needs time to understand and process it.
"I think I do too," you said faintly, feeling light-headed at the rush of emotions that had just battered you in the last couple of hours. Wanda guided you down the corridors to a more private space where you could be alone, a seating area filled with plants and artwork that adorned one wall, floor-to-ceiling glass windows offering an endless view of the city.
“I didn’t even know what I was doing,” you whispered, staring at the floor as Wanda sat beside you. “I didn’t know that I could do - whatever that is.”
“Dream phasing,” Wanda says softly. “It’s only the beginning of what you’re capable of. You have extreme physic abilities that just need to be unlocked. I have a friend - Stephen Strange - who can help with that, too."
You could barely process what she was saying, or perhaps you just didn’t care.
Wanda could tell that your so-called powers were the last thing on your mind right now. She trailed off.
"Don't take what he said to heart," Wanda said. "He's just scared."
"He looked at me with such hate," you said, forehead creasing. "He's never looked at me that way before. It just feels... horrible. All this time, I thought I was imagining him, and then when we actually meet, he looked at me like I was an enemy."
"He has a very difficult past," Wanda said, her words measured. You recalled what Bucky had told you before, in your dreams. The things he had shared with you had always been honest, but fragmented - parts of the truth. You didn't quite have the full story yet, but Wanda quickly filled you in. Once she finished speaking, you understood why Bucky had his defenses up.
"He's scared that this is another trick," you said quietly.
"Right."
"But I'm not." You smiled sadly. "Maybe coming here was a mistake. My mind is just so messed up. How could I ever help anyone?”
“No,” Wanda said firmly. Her eyes are soft. “I’m the only one in your life right now who can even begin to understand what you’re going through. I can help you. And with help, your ability - your gift,” she emphasized, “- can be used for the greater good.”
“How can you be sure of that?” you asked.
“I used to be a lot like you,” Wanda smiled. “I couldn’t even fathom how to wield my power, how to nurture it. The team helped me, trained me. I can do the same for you.”
The thought of Bucky’s eyes, accusatory and cold, was still burned inside your brain.
“I’ll take care of him,” Wanda promised, as if reading your mind. “Don’t worry. You’re in good hands.”
Bucky could never have imagined that you could be a real person. It seemed impossible, like - he wanted to scoff - a dream come true.
The woman in his dreams, this seemingly unattainable entity that he found comfort and solace in every day. His escape from the previous horrific nightmares that he suffered from. You were real.
He sat upright on the floor, back against the windows, his mind racing. He thought back to how he had spoken to you earlier that evening, and he winced. He felt guilty, disgusted even, at how he had spoken to you. But the fear lingered in the back of his mind.
He had been brainwashed before. His mind had been taken captive before. What if this was another ploy?
But then he thought back to the look in your eyes. On some level, he knew you were innocent. He knew he was being unreasonable. But this was entirely new territory, and it frightened him.
He rubbed his temples then stood abruptly, pacing like a cat. The more he turned the thought of you over in his mind, the more his mind seemed to unravel.
God, this was so overwhelming. Every night, he looked forward to falling asleep and talking to you. He thought it was so sad, that he was so lonely in life that the only person he could talk to was in his own mind. How could he have been so wrong?
He recalled the feeling he felt whenever he was around you. He felt comforted. He felt safe. It was exactly what he needed right now - to feel safe, in your presence.
He needed to see you.
He nearly collided with Wanda in the hallway as he raced through the Tower, desperation painting his face.
"I was just coming to talk to you," she began, though she could now see that would no longer be needed.
"Where is she?" he demanded.
"She left," she said.
His stomach dropped. "When?"
"Half an hour ago."
Shit, Bucky cursed inwardly.
Wanda rolled her eyes. "I'll give you her address. But before you go - just one more thing."
Bucky stepped into the room where you had waited earlier. You had left your bag behind in your rush to leave, and as he picked it up hastily, a small collection of items fell out onto the floor.
Keys. Chapstick. Your phone. One of those items landed with a dull thud. A book.
Bucky picked it up, curiosity getting the better of him. He hesitated for a moment before he flipped the book open.
His breath caught in his throat.
Pages and pages of him.
Laughing. Smiling. Sitting on benches. Looking out of windows. The corners of his eyes creased with happiness.
Bucky's hands were shaking as his fingers barely brushed the surface of the pages, like he was afraid to dirty it.
He was being portrayed in a way he had never seen himself be portrayed before. As someone... beautiful. Not a machine. Not an assassin. Not something to be feared.
He closed the sketchpad carefully, any doubts he had before completely dissipating. He now knew with absolute certainty just how wrong he had been.
You sat in the cold, dimly lit hallway of your apartment building, head banging back against your door. Like an idiot, you had forgotten your belongings in the Tower, and had no way of getting into your home. You could knock on a neighbor's door, ask them to call a locksmith - but for now, all you wanted to do was cry.
Your eyes were red-rimmed and sore, head in your hands as you pulled your knees up against your chest. You were shattered - emotionally and physically.
You were utterly alone. Your head was ringing, and you felt an emptiness in the pit of your stomach that made you feel nauseous.
Then - footsteps.
You cringed, anticipating the voice of a nosy neighbor asking you what had happened. The footsteps got closer, and you didn't move an inch, hoping they'd just walk past.
But then, you heard the whisper of your name in the voice you couldn't forget.
Your head jerked up, startled. Bucky was standing next to you, your bag clutched in his hands. His eyes were remorseful, guilt clearly written on his face as he appraised you. He could see that you had been crying, and his chest hurt when you wiped at your face with your sleeves hurriedly.
"You left this," was the first thing he said, crouching down slowly to be at eye-level with you.
You couldn't speak. Could barely breathe. He smelled like rain, cedar wood and the faintest hint of soap.
"Should we go inside?" he asked gently, his hand reaching out to cup your elbow. He took a deep breath, like the physical contact made him nervous. But as soon as he touched you, he seemed to gain some confidence. You allowed him to help you stand, your legs shaking.
You were wordless as he rummaged inside your bag and fished out your keys. He unlocked your front door and gently ushered you inside.
"I'm sorry," was the first thing he said as the door closed behind him. "Sorry doesn't even cover it. I'm just - I wish I could take back what I said."
"It's okay," you said, finally meeting his eyes. "I understand."
You walked over to sit at the kitchen table, out of necessity more than anything - you still felt like your legs might collapse from underneath you at any moment. He didn't hesitate to join you.
"I saw your sketches," he said eventually, drawing his chair closer. You blushed, eyes widening. "They were good," he added quickly. "Really good."
You looked at his face, and the only thing you could think was that no recreation of yours could ever come close to his good looks in real life. This man had a face that was crafted by the gods, his eyes your absolute favorite thing about him. Eyes that could not seem to leave your face.
"I saw how you see me," he said, letting out a quick exhale that sounded like a laugh. "And I liked it. It made me feel good."
He leaned in closer, his voice lowering. "I'm so sorry."
"I'm not," you said finally. "You're actually real. I thought I was going insane. But you're here, right in front of me."
Slowly, slow enough for him to move if he wanted to, you gathered the courage to reach up and touch his face with your fingertips for the first time. You traced the edge of his jawline, towards his lips. He shivered.
"I came here because I couldn't stand knowing that I hurt you," Bucky confessed. "I needed to see if you would still look at me like you do in our dreams."
"And?"
His response was to close the distance between you, head tilting as his lips finally slotted against yours. It was soft, tender, and it felt like the weighted air between the two of you finally cleared with a snap.
This felt so right. This was what you had been waiting for all along.
When you pulled apart for air, his hands were cupping your face, his eyes looking at you like he still couldn't believe this was happening.
"Last time, you told me you thought you might love me," he said, the tip of his tongue gliding across his lower lip nervously. "I didn't get a chance to tell you that I love you, too."
You smiled at him, leaning your forehead against his as you felt a sense of serenity fill your body. "I think you're going to change my life," you whispered.
And that night, as you fell asleep together for the first time, you knew you would never feel alone again.
Hi darling! I was the anon who was looking for a specific Bucky fic and I found it! It’s called Heart of Glass by @/buckybabesonly! Thought I’d let you know because I saw someone else looking for it as well xx
heart of glass I @buckybabesonly
hi love, you’re an absolute angel! i’m so glad you found it and thank you for sharing. can’t wait to read it again <3
Summary: Bucky stubbornly hides his feelings for you. Yelena is convinced that you two are just a couple of idiots in love. You quietly pine after the stoic super soldier, questioning why he seems to be pushing you away.
Pairing: Bucky x female!reader
Warnings: Spoilers for Thunderbolts*, angst, fluff
Word count: 3k
You were totally in your element, tinkering away at the piece of weaponry in front of you with extreme precision, safety goggles covering your eyes. As the lead Weapons and Tech Engineer at the revived Avengers tower, your job was tough but absolutely everything you loved.
Okay, so it came with the huge downside of working for the morally corrupt she-devil that was Valentina Allegra de Fontaine, but the job paid very handsomely. Most importantly, it meant you got to work on all sorts of cool projects that was every engineer's fantasy.
Plus, it came with the bonus of working in close proximity with the man of your dreams.
The lab was empty, the rest of your team gone home for the day, but you were determined to complete the upgrades on Bucky's smart grenades. It was your idea to develop the weapon - superb combat utility, remote detonation and timed release, different selectable modes... they would be perfect for him out in the field. When you'd pitched the idea to him a few weeks earlier, he'd smiled hard at your child-like enthusiasm.
John had moaned to you earlier that day about favoritism, as you had neglected the enhancements you'd promised to his shield - but you wanted to be able to get this finished first. You were no superhero, but you felt happy that your work could contribute to Bucky's ability to protect himself and fight in the field.
As if you had manifested his presence, you heard a soft beeping of the lab doors, before they slid open to reveal a tall figure. You looked up, breath catching in your throat - as it often did when you saw him - when Bucky strode into the room.
"Hey," he said, giving you a quick smile. "Heard you'd still be in here. It's getting late - shouldn't you be heading home?"
His very presence was like a shot of espresso. If you had been tired before, you definitely didn't feel it now.
"It's okay," you said, your smile growing as he moved closer. "I'm so close to perfecting these." You waved your hands out at the selection of grenades in front of you. He let out a low whistle.
"Nice. Thanks again, by the way," he said, bringing a hand up to the back of his neck. His tongue darted out to run across his lower lips. A nervous habit of his that you had picked up on.
"So, what did I do to deserve the honor of your visit?" you teased, placing your tools down and pushing your goggles up to sit atop your head. His eyes followed your movement, eyes flicking to yours and then away. He seemed anxious.
"Just checking in on you," he said eventually, offering no further explanation.
You couldn't stop yourself from eyeing him up and down, fully appreciating how good he looked in his dark t-shirt and leather jacket. You two had been doing this strange dance for a while now - trying to spend more and more time together, whilst both not fully ready to talk about your feelings for one another. There was a huge will they, won't they debate going among the team - a discussion you refused to partake in.
Secretly, you were aching to take the first step, but there was always that fear of rejection holding you back.
You weren't sure that Bucky even reciprocated your feelings. Yelena seemed to think he did. A couple of weeks ago, she had rolled her eyes at you like you were stupid.
"Don't be a dum-dum," she said, shaking her head. "If he doesn't like you back, I will swallow my own fist."
You felt emboldened when your mind flashed back to your conversation. There had to be a reason that Bucky always found some way to spend time with you, right? Whether it was spontaneous visits to your lab, invites to go get coffee, or lingering by your side at those stupid PR events Valentina always held - you had to give yourself some credit.
"You know what," you said finally, emboldened by a sudden rush of confidence. "All this work has gotten me a little thirsty. How about I let you buy me a drink?"
You tried not to cringe when you said the words aloud. You had never been quite this straight forward before.
Bucky cleared his throat, taken aback. He seemed to hesitate for just a beat before giving you an apologetic smile.
"I still have some work I need to do, so - maybe next time?" he said halfheartedly.
Oh.
Your heart sank. Disappointment and embarrassment flooded your chest, but you kept the smile pinned to your face. You felt your cheeks heat up, which just made you pray for the ground to open and swallow you up even more. A missile to the side of the building would make a great distraction right now.
"Sure. No problem," you said lightly, turning away from him again and putting your goggles back on like a shield.
"Don't stay too late," he reminded you gently before he left the room again.
What the hell was that?
Bucky Barnes continued to confuse and frustrate you. Did he just see you as a friend, nothing more? Had you crossed a professional line by suggesting he buy you a drink?
You cringed, groaning out loud once he was out of earshot. You could kill Yelena.
You found yourself cornered by Yelena and Bob the next day, the former having picked up on your sour mood immediately when you stomped through the building.
"Are you okay? You want a donut?" Bob had offered sweetly, flipping open the box of Krispy Kremes in his hands.
"No thanks," you pouted, glaring at Yelena.
"What are you mad at me for?" she asked, eyes widening innocently.
"I took your stupid advice -" you began loudly, before lowering your voice to a barely audible whisper, "- and tried to ask Bucky out last night."
"What?" Bob and Yelena said in unison, Bob sporting the widest grin on his face.
"He said no," you dead-panned, rejection rearing its ugly head once again.
Yelena was speechless for just a split second, before she puffed out her cheeks.
"Okay look. Trust me," Yelena began, "he's old fashioned. Likes to take things slow. Maybe he's just not used to women being forward?"
"Yeah, maybe he's used to how people did things back in the 40's," Bob offered unhelpfully. "Didn't men used to take their time courting the women?"
"Yeah," you said, unconvincingly. "Or, you know, maybe I got it all wrong and he just doesn't like me."
Yelena tilted her head at you, raising her eyebrows. "Do you seriously believe that?"
"C'mon, Yelena," you said, exasperated. "If he actually liked me, I think he would have done something about it by now."
Yelena placed a heavy hand on your shoulder. "Like I said, trust me. I'm very observant. The way he looks at you speaks volumes."
Bob nodded enthusiastically, like they both saw something you didn't.
"So what am I supposed to do now?" You sighed, head hanging like a puppy. You looked so pathetic that Yelena and Bob exchanged sympathetic looks behind your back.
"Be patient," she said, before changing her mind and adding - "or, I can just give him a kick up the butt."
Bucky was definitely avoiding you.
You felt sad, but also exasperated. If he didn't like you, he could come out and say it. There was no need to avoid you as if you were two kids at school.
You finally had your chance one day in the kitchen as he was making a cup of coffee. You knew he could hear you approaching. He didn’t look up at first, his back half-turned, sleeves pushed to his elbows, fiddling with a chipped mug. His hair was a little messy, like he had just woken up, but to you, he looked utterly irresistible. Especially when you saw the plates in his metal arm flex when he heard your voice.
"Bucky, can we talk?" you asked, watching as he cleared his throat.
"'bout what?" he asked, turning to face you, leaning back against the counter. His voice was low, careful.
"Is everything cool between us?"
He was silent, like he was measuring his words before he spoke them.
"Look," you said, "about the other night. I crossed a line, I guess. We're colleagues, and that's probably all it's supposed to be." You tried to smile. "I'm sorry. It won't happen again."
Bucky looked at you with an undecipherable expression, mug long forgotten in his hand. For a split second, he looked like he wanted to say something, but couldn't make the words line up. Eventually, that expression was replaced by something more neutral. Indifferent.
"It's okay," he said, giving you a tight-lipped smile. "We're friends. It's all good."
You didn't think it could hurt so much to be described as a friend. Part of you so wanted to directly ask him whether or not he liked you - but like you said, it's not like you were kids in school. The question didn't need to be asked. The fact that he had oh-so-clearly friend-zoned you said all you needed to know.
"Okay. Well, don't be a stranger," you said quietly, unable to meet his eyes.
You hadn't cried so much over a guy since you found your prom date in high school making out with another girl.
It was only as you were lying in bed, tears running down your face, that you realized just how far Bucky had wormed his way into your heart.
All your thoughts were consumed by Bucky Barnes. Every hour at work, you willed him to walk into your lab. You yearned for a glimpse of him around the building. Then every moment after work, you wondered about what he was doing, where he was, who he was with.
Heartbreak sucked.
Maybe that was what made you even more sympathetic when you saw John in the corridor one day, clearly in distress, looking more upset than you'd ever seen him.
You paused as you approached, spotting him leaning against the wall with one hand planted against it, the other clutching his phone.
"John? You okay?"
He sniffed, swallowing a lump in his throat as he put his phone away. "Yeah," he grunted, avoiding eye contact. His eyes were wet.
You looked at him knowingly. "Wanna talk about it?"
He shook his head, then sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose.
"It's just... Olivia." He looked pained at the mention of his ex-wife.
"She said she's going to fight for sole custody."
"Fuck," you said, knowing how hard the separation was on him. Instinctively, you reached out to give him a hug, seeing in his eyes how much he needed a friend.
"Thanks," he sniffed into your shoulder, patting your back gratefully. "Dunno how to deal with this."
"I'm here if you ever need to talk," you said sincerely.
John pulled back and squeezed your shoulder in thanks, before heading down the hallway. You hadn't even taken ten steps in the opposite direction before you bumped into none other than the man who had been plaguing your mind.
"What was that?" Bucky asked, confusing you.
What, no greeting? Not even a 'hello'?
"What was what?" you asked, perplexed.
He stared at you, his blue eyes cold and stoic.
"I guess you just wanted any super soldier, huh," he muttered, his smiling humorlessly. You could tell he regretted the words the moment he said it by the way his face slipped, but it was too late.
You took a step back as if physically pushed. You felt tears sting your eyes, and had to bite your lip to stop the them from falling.
You'd had enough. How dare he speak to you this way?
"You know what - fuck you, Bucky. I don't know what your problem is, but you do not speak to me that way," you spat, trying to sound angry but unable to stop your voice from shaking. He looked stunned at the sight of your face, his mouth opening and closing wordlessly.
"I'm sorry, I don't know what I -"
You spun on your heel and walked away as quickly as you could, cutting short his excuses and ignoring him calling your name.
"Okay, what the fuck are you guys doing?" Yelena punctuated her question with a punch to Bucky's shoulder, who scowled back at her.
"What?"
"You going around in circles, trying to pretend like you don't have feelings for her - how has that been working out for you, Barnes?"
Bucky had found himself dragged into an empty conference room by the feisty blonde who seemed determined on injecting herself into every situation. Bucky was not in the mood to entertain her today.
"Stay out of it," he warned.
"No," Yelena said stubbornly. "You're both my friends, and I care about you. Now do you want to be honest and tell me what's going on?"
Bucky knew her well enough by now to recognize the no-nonsense look in her eyes. It didn't take much for him to give in, his mind already torn for the last few days over the situation between the two of you.
"Fine," he said through gritted teeth. "I really messed things up, alright? I don't know how to manage this."
"What?" Yelena looked at him like he'd sprouted two heads. "What's so complicated about it? Take her out, pay for her dinner, take her home, bed her." She ticked off the items on her fingers, making Bucky grimace.
"It's not that. I'm over 100 years old. I don't know how to navigate starting a new relationship with someone. Especially someone I care so much about."
Yelena nodded. "Go on," she prompted.
"The shit we do - it's dangerous. Fuck, it's dangerous for her to even be working here, for someone like Valentina.
"She's a grown ass woman, Barnes. She doesn't need to be babied."
"I'm not babying her," Bucky snapped. "I've just never been in this situation before. I've never - I've not gone on a date in decades. I've never been in a real relationship. Every day, we're out there, saving people and trying not to get killed. I don't want her to get caught up in that."
"You're trying to protect her. You're worried you'll put her in some sort of danger if you let her get closer," Yelena said slowly.
"Right." Bucky was exasperated, his jaw clenched. It was such an endless conflict that he had been fighting for months - the urge to get closer to you, simultaneously fighting the fear of what would happen if you got too close.
"I mean, I get that," Yelena shrugged. "Before I met you guys, before this whole New Avengers shit - I was lonely. I was lonely as fuck. And I never let anyone get close to me because - well, I've lost people before."
Bucky knew that she was talking about Natasha, among others. The sadness that ghosted over her eyes was unmissable.
"But - and this is corny as shit, so if you repeat this I will stab you in your sleep - having you guys around me was the best thing that happened to me. You're my team. My people," Yelena said. "And I can tell you know, if you let her in, it will be the best thing to happen to you. Having someone to love and live for will change your life."
"But what if she gets hurt?" Bucky asked, jaw clenching at the mere thought.
"What about worrying less about the hurt you might cause her, and worrying more about the hurt you're causing her now?"
Bucky clenched his fists, imagining your face. How hurt you had looked the last time you spoke. He felt so awful for making you feel that way.
Maybe Yelena was right.
"Love isn't about building walls," came another voice. Bob smiled sheepishly as he pushed open the door.
"Great, someone else to chime in," Bucky said dryly.
"Look, you guys showed me the importance of letting people in. Don't take that choice away from her. You’ve spent so much time trying to protect people. But love isn’t about building walls. It’s about letting someone choose you, demons and all," he smiled, reminiscing about how the team had rallied with him against the Void. "Don’t take that choice away from her."
Fuck.
"I think you might be right," Bucky said eventually.
Yelena's mouth dropped open.
"Oh, seriously - he says one thing and you're convinced."
"Well, he didn’t threaten to stab me in my sleep, so yeah - a bit more persuasive."
The flowers were sat in a vase on your desk in the morning when you arrived to work. They were blue hydrangeas - your favorite. You frowned when you picked up the vase, looking around at your colleagues for an explanation. You were greeted by dumb grins and shrugs of shoulders.
You picked up the card tucked among the flowers, a lump forming in your throat at the message.
I’ve done a lot of things in my life that I've been trying to make amends for. How I've been treating you is high on the list. These flowers aren’t enough, but maybe they’re a start. - Bucky
You placed the flowers back down, eyes starting to well. You quickly marched out of the lab - you didn't have to go very far.
Bucky was leaning against the wall outside, looking down at his boots. He was waiting for you.
"Did you like the flowers?" was the first thing he said, licking his lips.
"I loved them," you said immediately.
"I meant it," he said softly, moving to stand closer to you. "I'm sorry. I haven't always been good at saying how I feel."
You were still confused, but this had to be a good sign. Bucky was looking at you almost pleadingly, like there was so much he wanted to say. You could see it on his face.
"What are you so afraid of?" you asked timidly, trying to coax the unspoken out of him.
"If I let you in, it means I have something to lose," he said finally.
You were taken aback at the raw honesty.
"You won't lose me," you whispered simply. You knew that if he let you in, you were going to be there for good, no matter what.
Bucky met your eyes, his voice thick with emotion. "I've spent a long time keeping people out. Keeping you out." He looked remorseful, and you ached to reach out for him. "I like you. More than I should. And I guess… I'm sick of running from that."
The air between you seemed to still. He stepped even closer, leaning down - slow enough for you to withdraw, if you wanted to.
"So, if you'd let me...I'd like to try." He swallowed, his jaw tightening. He closed the distance between your faces even more, giving you one last chance to pull away.
You didn't even have to think about it. You stretched up on your tip-toes to meet his lips. Your first kiss was gentle, aching, real.
And when he kissed you back - slow but sure, like you were something fragile he never thought he’d be allowed to hold - it wasn’t just a kiss. It was a choice. A beginning.
The beginning of your love story that you'd never imagined you'd get to read.
A/N: I hope you enjoyed! If you did, please leave me a comment - it really means a lot!
I’m not being over dramatic when I tell you this entire fic made me ugly cry. I feel like we have all been in this situation- the “will they? Won’t they?” of it all. I love that there was angst and that she let Bucky know what he said was hurtful. I love Yelena and Bob for being a slight bit overbearing because he needed the push.
Summary: Bucky sees the same woman in his dreams, night after night. Is it possible to fall in love with someone who doesn’t exist? He wishes so much that you were by his side - until one day, you walk into his life for real.
Pairing: Bucky x fem!reader with psychic abilities
Genre: Angst, fluff
Word count: 5.4k
The invisible red thread of fate connects individuals destined to meet, regardless of time, distance, or circumstance. This thread may stretch and tangle, but it does not snap.
Cherry blossom petals fell, soft and soundless, blanketing the ground with pink. Bucky stood beneath a streetlamp on a wide road, hands buried in the pockets of his leather jacket. Everything was quiet - too quiet. The kind of thick, heavy silence that only existed in dreams.
Of course, he knew it was a dream. He always did.
For the last three months, he had found a reprieve from the usual, HYDRA fueled nightmares that had plagued him for years. One night last winter, he simply found the landscape of his nightmares slowly starting to shift, until eventually he couldn’t call it a nightmare at all.
He used to dream of his past all the time. Of the torture he had endured, the endless kills he had committed, the screams of the lives he had ended.
Now, he dreams of you.
He had been here before. The script rarely changed - sometimes you met on this road, sometimes in a library, on one occasion in a coffee shop. This was the scene he recognized the most. Same blossom trees. Same road. Same ache in his chest that he couldn’t decipher. And then he saw you, and the ache vanished.
You were sat on a bench underneath one of the trees, staring up at the pink flowers in awe. You were barefoot, your toes shrouded in a puddle of petals beneath you.
Bucky’s breath caught in his throat. He didn’t move, didn’t speak. You didn’t notice him right away, eyes too full of wonder.
When you did finally notice him, the widest smile broke out across your face. It was contagious, and it made the corners of his lips twitch too.
"You're late," you said, turning to him with a look that was half amusement, half affection. You were happy to see him, he could tell. You were always happy. It was amazing to see someone light up just from the sight of him.
He blinked. “Late?” Was there any such concept in dreams?
“You’re always late,” you teased. “But that’s okay. You came.”
He walked towards you, desperate to close the gap, to be close.
“Where is this?” It was the first time he had thought to ask.
You tilted your head. “I’m not sure, actually. Kinda reminds me of Central Park.” You paused. “Does it matter?”
“S’pose not,” Bucky chuckled, looking down at your face in slight awe. How could his mind have concocted somebody so ethereal? He didn't know that he had the creativity for it.
He looked around again. There was no signage. The buildings in the distance faded into fog. This place was nowhere - and somehow, the safest place he’d ever known. And it was kind of familiar. Huh, it does remind me a little of Central Park, Bucky thought.
You stood from the bench, and automatically you began walking side by side, your footfalls in perfect unison. The backs of your hands brushed, and Bucky thought the sensation felt so real. He wanted to hold your hand, but he was somehow nervous, even though it was his dream.
“I missed you,” you said suddenly.
Bucky’s chest tightened. That was new.
He turned to face you, voice low. “Did you really?” What he really wanted to say was, I missed you, too.
You smiled again, with some sadness this time. “I think I love you.”
There was no warning whenever a dream ended. All it took was for some invisible switch to flip, and he was dragged out of his dream and into reality. One second he was staring at your face, trying to really commit it to memory, though it was a struggle sometimes to remember all the details from his dreams. The next second, he was waking up.
The sheets were twisted around him, pillow soaked with sweat. The early morning light was bleeding through the curtains, shining in his eyes. He sat up, hand on his chest, heart still beating too fast.
I think I love you, your voice echoed in his ears.
The dream hadn’t lasted long, and Bucky felt disappointed. At the same time, he was happy that he had seen you again, the same woman every consecutive night for months.
Always the same woman. Always at some strange, sacredly quiet place. Sometimes you walked. Sometimes you talked. Once, he held your hand and woken up with the ghost of your touch lingering on his palm. He could’ve sworn the touch felt so real.
It was never just a dream. He felt you. The calm you brought. The dull ache in his chest when he woke up and he realized you weren’t real.
You didn’t look like anyone he knew, but his brain knew you. Trusted you. Missed you.
Bucky swung his legs over the edge of the bed, hands on his thighs. He quickly grabbed the notebook and pen on his bedside table - a tip he had read online, to better remember his dreams. Always write them down within the first five minutes of waking up.
He didn't want to forget you. And so he wrote down his notes dutifully, morning after morning, jotting down whatever details he could remember.
His hand shook over the page, his forehead creasing. The only thing he could muster himself to write were six words.
I think I love you, too.
The dreams were getting worse. Or better. He couldn’t decide.
He wasn’t scared of them, and it was that knowledge that scared him.
He was falling in love - with a dream. With a ghost. With a figment of his imagination.
But every night, you spoke to him like you remembered him. Like you were waiting. Like you dreamed of him, too.
You thought you were going insane.
Night after night, you dreamed of him. The man with the dark brown hair, beautiful blue eyes and the metal arm. He was the most handsome man you had ever laid eyes on, and your dreams were beginning to make you lose grip on reality.
You decided to start going to therapy in an attempt to understand what was going on in your brain. These weren't just dreams - they were beginning to impact your day-to-day life, as you slowly began obsessing over this mystery person. Your therapist, Dr. Hartley, sat across from you, gently prompting you with a question after you found difficulty beginning to explain what was happening.
"So - you told me in our initial call that you've been having some dreams?"
"Yes," you said slowly. "More specifically, I've been dreaming of the same person. Every night for months."
"Every night?"
"Every night," you confirm.
"What happens in these dreams?" Dr. Hartley asked with a friendly, inquisitive smile.
"It's not always the same, but he's always there. Sometimes we're in a park. Once we were on a rooftop. Usually, we just sit and talk. Sometimes we don't talk at all. But he's always there."
"Does he have a name?" she asked, scrawling some notes down as you spoke.
"Bucky," you said. You realized with a jolt that it was the first time you had ever spoken his name out loud. "His name is Bucky."
Dr. Hartley leaned forward slightly, cocking her head.
"What's he like?"
You took a deep breath, hesitating. You knew this was therapy, and you should feel safe telling her everything, but this felt... vulnerable. Like you were divulging the most secretive part of yourself, the part of yourself that up until now existed just between yourself and him.
You cringed mentally at the thought. Pull yourself together. He does not exist.
"He's kind," you said to begin with. "Handsome." Dr. Hartley smiled. "And I think he really sees me. He understands who I am. I tell him things about myself that no one else knows.”
He tells me things about him, too. Strange, intimate details that your brain must’ve fabricated out of thin air. You’d always been told you had an overactive imagination.
Dr Hartley nodded.
"It sounds like you may be lonely," she said gently. "This could be a way of your subconsciousness trying to offer you a safe space. Someone to connect with."
Tears welled up in your eyes, catching you off guard, but Dr. Hartley did not seem fazed. She plucked a tissue from beside her and handed it over to you, sympathetic.
"But it doesn't feel safe anymore," you whispered. "It's getting painful. It hurts. Every morning when I wake up, I feel like I'm mourning someone I never even knew to begin with. I don't know how to make the dreams stop."
You blinked hard to will the tears back, biting hard down on your lower lip. Dr. Hartley must've thought you were insane, breaking down over a fictional man.
"You said he had a metal arm," Dr. Hartley said after you'd taken a few deep breaths to compose yourself.
"Yes. Sometimes, he's wearing a leather jacket or gloves so I can't see it. But I know it's always there."
"Do you think it's something you saw on a tv show? On the news, perhaps?"
"Uh, I don't know," you said. "Maybe?"
You didn't know why the question would help. What you really wanted to say was that Bucky was not simply a man you had concocted in your brain after reading some description in a novel, or seeing a character in a movie. He felt real. It felt like you were meeting a real person in a place you weren't supposed to be.
"I know how this sounds," you said slowly. "I'm losing my mind, aren't I? Getting so upset over my dreams?"
Dr. Hartley shook her head. "No," she said firmly. "You're overwhelmed by something you haven't yet made sense of, and that's perfectly normal. This session is just the first step."
You smiled back, eyes still watering.
But what if I’m not imagining him? Sometimes, just sometimes, you allowed yourself to entertain that thought. What if he is really out there, somewhere?
You sat, cross-legged on your couch, sketchpad open on your lap.
You held the pencil firmly in your fingers, the tip of it moving rapidly across the paper, the sound of graphite against paper soothing. You had gotten into a habit of sketching Bucky whenever you had the free time.
You knew it was an unhealthy habit, but you couldn't help it. You missed him whenever you were awake, and this was the only way to feel some sort of relief, by recreating him on paper.
And so you sketched. You sketched him, day after day, trying to recapture how you had seen him the night before. You wanted to remember and revisit those moments in any way you could. You sketched his beautiful eyes, the eyes that stared at you with adoration.
When you finished, your fingers traced over the sketchpad, forlorn. You sighed heavily, shaking your head as a wave of sadness rushed over you.
Dr. Hartley had advised you to go get some fresh air, go for a walk, whenever you felt like you were getting too caught up in your own head. You weren't sure if it would be effective, but there was no harm in trying, you supposed.
The sky was slowly turning a threatening shade of gray, the kind that promised that a storm was coming. You didn't care - it suited your mood. You stepped out of your apartment building into the polluted New York City air, jacket zipped to your throat and earbuds jammed in to keep the world out. Your bag was slung over your shoulder, sketchpad sitting inside safely.
You made it three steps down the block before you saw her.
A woman stood perfectly still near the curb - long red coat, long red hair, her back to you. She didn’t look like she belonged there, and it startled you when she suddenly turned to look at you.
You wanted to keep walking, but instead, you slowed and stopped in your tracks.
The beautiful woman tilted her head, smiling.
“You don’t need to be afraid,” the stranger said. Those were exactly the words to make someone feel afraid, you thought.
Her voice was calm, and somehow, it relaxed you. You pulled an earbud out, recognition dawning across your face.
“I know you,” you said suddenly. “I've seen you on the news." Your brain tried to remember exactly where you'd seen her, and finally recalled the news from a couple of years ago. Captain America... Lagos... some mission gone wrong that had resulted in a number of civilian deaths. "You’re Wanda Maximoff.”
“And I know you,” she said, raising her eyebrows.
"Excuse me?" you asked, perplexed.
“I’m not here to scare you,” Wanda said. “I’m here because I think you need help."
"Am I in danger?" you asked. What else would explain being accosted by an Avenger in the middle of the street?
"Not exactly," she said. "But I know you're suffering."
"How do you know that?" The confusion intensified, your voice a little too terse.
"I possess… psychic abilities," she said simply, "and you're a psychic, too. I could feel your mind calling out to me, looking for help, whether you knew it or not."
Your mouth opened and closed silently. Okay, this had to be a joke or some stupid misunderstanding.
“You’re not dreaming,” Wanda continued. “Not in the way you think. The things you see - the man you see - it’s not your imagination. It's a manifestation of your powers when you are asleep, when your mind is in its most vulnerable state. You have the ability, among others that you don't even understand, to reach across mental planes in a way you never thought possible."
You wanted to laugh, or walk away, but you were frozen at the feet. Her words made your chest tighten.
The man you see - it's not your imagination.
“I think you’ve got the wrong girl,” you said weakly.
Wanda’s eyes softened.
“I don’t,” she said. “And you know that too, deep down. You’ve touched someone who shouldn’t be reachable. Sometimes he's just halfway across the city, sometimes halfway across the word. That's not your imagination. That’s power.”
You shook your head. “No. I don't have powers."
"Bucky is real."
You froze.
"How do you know that name?" you whispered, beginning to feel frightened.
"Because I know him," Wanda said slowly. "Did you ever read about the Winter Soldier?"
Winter Soldier. The name rang a vague bell. Maybe something you had heard in the news.
"His name, is James Buchanan Barnes," Wanda said, the name rolling off her tongue slowly, deliberately. "Bucky, to his friends. He is real, and you are not going insane."
You wanted to believe her. You really did. Could this truly be happening? Could all she was saying really be the truth?
“What do you want from me?” you managed to say finally.
“Nothing,” Wanda said. “Except to help you. To help you figure out what you really are. What you can do.”
She held out a hand.
“I want you to come with me. To Avengers Tower. I want to help you get the answers and the help you deserve.”
For the longest moment, you just stared at her, unable to move a muscle. You were petrified, but underneath the fear, another emotion began to emerge.
Hope.
Bucky was real.
Your breath trembled. Then you nodded once, and took her hand.
The door hissed softly as it slid open.
You stepped through hesitantly, followed closely out of the elevator by Wanda. Avengers Tower was an architectural masterpiece, and you felt that you stood out like a sore thumb among the shiny corridors, the quiet hum of hidden tech in the walls, the very legacy that this place held.
“Wait here,” Wanda instructed gently, before disappearing through a side door.
Bucky was working out alone, sweat dripping from his forehead as he pushed himself to the furthest physical limit he could. The clang of metal echoed through the cavernous gym, a punching bag swinging violently on its chain. The pebbled leather was dented and straining at its seams.
Bucky's fists pounded into the bag with punishing precision, breath short and sharp. He had a lot of contained frustration that he needed to expel. He stopped when he noticed Wanda's entrance, frowning in confusion.
"What is it?" he asked, unsettled by the unreadable expression on her face.
"I need you to come with me," was all she said.
"Why?" He grabbed a towel, wiping his face with it.
"I want you to meet someone," she said mysteriously.
Bucky heaved a sigh, but decided to humor her. He followed her out of the room, footsteps slowing when he entered the corridor. The was a woman there, pacing back and forth.
The recognition hit Bucky like a shotgun wound to the chest.
You stopped in your tracks, gasping aloud when you finally saw him. Sweat shone from his collarbones, his hair damp from his workout. He came to a complete stop as you locked eyes.
The air stood still. Heavy and thick, like the air in your dreams.
Your lips parted, like you wanted to speak, but no sound came out. You watched Bucky, who stared back at you unblinkingly. His body had stiffened, like his brain had short circuited.
"Bucky," you gasped finally. You felt weak in the knees, your head spinning. You were not hallucinating. You were not dreaming. This was truly happening.
You felt a rush of euphoria, the happiness replacing any confusion or anxiety that had been in your mind seconds before. All you could focus on was the fact that Bucky was standing mere feet away from you, truly tangible and real.
A myriad of expressions ghosted across his face. There was happiness, his lips moving like he wanted to smile, before they twisted into a grimace. This was followed by shock, his eyes flashing with disbelief, eyebrows drawing together.
He took a step back, away from you, like he had been jolted by electricity.
The recognition in his face dissolved into alarm.
"It’s you,” he said, his voice sharp. His eyes flicked from you, to Wanda, then back to you.
"You remember me," you breathed with relief, moving towards him.
He took another step back, and you stopped abruptly.
“Don't," he said warningly. "Wanda, what the fuck is this?"
The words were ice to your heart, making your face fall.
"Bucky, it's me -"
“Don’t say my name," he snapped, his jaw clenching.
There was something dangerous in his posture now - a tightening in his shoulders, the tension rising in his upper body. His vibranium hand curled into a fist. His soldier instincts were kicking in, his defenses rising at this unexplained and impossible sight. The emotional onslaught that was brought on by the sight of you was too much and happening all at once. His brain was clicking frantically, trying to fit the pieces of the puzzle together.
"Bucky, we can explain," Wanda began, but Bucky interrupted her.
“You've been inside my head," he said slowly.
You were trying to find the right words, to make him understand. "I didn't mean to. I can't control it -"
“Bullshit.” His voice echoed through the corridor.
He was breathing hard, his heart palpitating. His mind raced to recall all the times you had spent together in his dreams, all the things he had told you. You had been walking through his mind, uninvited with God knows what motive. How had this happened?
“You don’t just accidentally get into my mind,” he growls. “You don’t just show up, night after night, knowing things you shouldn’t know. That’s not dreaming - that’s infiltration.”
The accusations felt like cuts.
"It's not like that," you insisted. "I didn't know it was real. I didn't know you were real."
“Who are you, really?" Bucky asked through gritted teeth. "Do you know how long I've spent with people clawing their way through my brain?" His eyes narrowed, anger rising at the thought of HYDRA. He spat the words out in such rapid succession that you could barely keep up. "Do you know how long I've spent, purging unwelcome guests out of my mind? Are you with HYDRA?"
You shook your head, speechless and looking to Wanda for help. "I'm not with HYDRA. I don't even know -"
"Bucky, you need to let us explain," Wanda said patiently, but Bucky was not having any of it. “Whatever you think this is, it’s not.”
“You show up in my mind like some... ghost, and you expect me to believe that’s just coincidence?” His voice is low now, trembling. “I worked so hard to make sure no one could ever get in again." Then, he added in a poison-laced whisper, “And you just walked in.”
Tears stung in your eyes. "I would never try to hurt you," you protested, voice quivering.
“Don’t act like you know me,” he said sharply.
He backed away, the distance growing like a chasm between you. He didn't spare you a second glance before he disappeared through the door he came from.
This was not the introduction you had hoped for. It was far from it. You felt your heart strain at the feeling of meeting the man you loved, and being rejected at the same time.
"I’m sorry,” Wanda said immediately. “I knew it was going to be a lot to take in, but… I'll talk to him," she promised you. "He just needs time to understand and process it.
"I think I do too," you said faintly, feeling light-headed at the rush of emotions that had just battered you in the last couple of hours. Wanda guided you down the corridors to a more private space where you could be alone, a seating area filled with plants and artwork that adorned one wall, floor-to-ceiling glass windows offering an endless view of the city.
“I didn’t even know what I was doing,” you whispered, staring at the floor as Wanda sat beside you. “I didn’t know that I could do - whatever that is.”
“Dream phasing,” Wanda says softly. “It’s only the beginning of what you’re capable of. You have extreme physic abilities that just need to be unlocked. I have a friend - Stephen Strange - who can help with that, too."
You could barely process what she was saying, or perhaps you just didn’t care.
Wanda could tell that your so-called powers were the last thing on your mind right now. She trailed off.
"Don't take what he said to heart," Wanda said. "He's just scared."
"He looked at me with such hate," you said, forehead creasing. "He's never looked at me that way before. It just feels... horrible. All this time, I thought I was imagining him, and then when we actually meet, he looked at me like I was an enemy."
"He has a very difficult past," Wanda said, her words measured. You recalled what Bucky had told you before, in your dreams. The things he had shared with you had always been honest, but fragmented - parts of the truth. You didn't quite have the full story yet, but Wanda quickly filled you in. Once she finished speaking, you understood why Bucky had his defenses up.
"He's scared that this is another trick," you said quietly.
"Right."
"But I'm not." You smiled sadly. "Maybe coming here was a mistake. My mind is just so messed up. How could I ever help anyone?”
“No,” Wanda said firmly. Her eyes are soft. “I’m the only one in your life right now who can even begin to understand what you’re going through. I can help you. And with help, your ability - your gift,” she emphasized, “- can be used for the greater good.”
“How can you be sure of that?” you asked.
“I used to be a lot like you,” Wanda smiled. “I couldn’t even fathom how to wield my power, how to nurture it. The team helped me, trained me. I can do the same for you.”
The thought of Bucky’s eyes, accusatory and cold, was still burned inside your brain.
“I’ll take care of him,” Wanda promised, as if reading your mind. “Don’t worry. You’re in good hands.”
Bucky could never have imagined that you could be a real person. It seemed impossible, like - he wanted to scoff - a dream come true.
The woman in his dreams, this seemingly unattainable entity that he found comfort and solace in every day. His escape from the previous horrific nightmares that he suffered from. You were real.
He sat upright on the floor, back against the windows, his mind racing. He thought back to how he had spoken to you earlier that evening, and he winced. He felt guilty, disgusted even, at how he had spoken to you. But the fear lingered in the back of his mind.
He had been brainwashed before. His mind had been taken captive before. What if this was another ploy?
But then he thought back to the look in your eyes. On some level, he knew you were innocent. He knew he was being unreasonable. But this was entirely new territory, and it frightened him.
He rubbed his temples then stood abruptly, pacing like a cat. The more he turned the thought of you over in his mind, the more his mind seemed to unravel.
God, this was so overwhelming. Every night, he looked forward to falling asleep and talking to you. He thought it was so sad, that he was so lonely in life that the only person he could talk to was in his own mind. How could he have been so wrong?
He recalled the feeling he felt whenever he was around you. He felt comforted. He felt safe. It was exactly what he needed right now - to feel safe, in your presence.
He needed to see you.
He nearly collided with Wanda in the hallway as he raced through the Tower, desperation painting his face.
"I was just coming to talk to you," she began, though she could now see that would no longer be needed.
"Where is she?" he demanded.
"She left," she said.
His stomach dropped. "When?"
"Half an hour ago."
Shit, Bucky cursed inwardly.
Wanda rolled her eyes. "I'll give you her address. But before you go - just one more thing."
Bucky stepped into the room where you had waited earlier. You had left your bag behind in your rush to leave, and as he picked it up hastily, a small collection of items fell out onto the floor.
Keys. Chapstick. Your phone. One of those items landed with a dull thud. A book.
Bucky picked it up, curiosity getting the better of him. He hesitated for a moment before he flipped the book open.
His breath caught in his throat.
Pages and pages of him.
Laughing. Smiling. Sitting on benches. Looking out of windows. The corners of his eyes creased with happiness.
Bucky's hands were shaking as his fingers barely brushed the surface of the pages, like he was afraid to dirty it.
He was being portrayed in a way he had never seen himself be portrayed before. As someone... beautiful. Not a machine. Not an assassin. Not something to be feared.
He closed the sketchpad carefully, any doubts he had before completely dissipating. He now knew with absolute certainty just how wrong he had been.
You sat in the cold, dimly lit hallway of your apartment building, head banging back against your door. Like an idiot, you had forgotten your belongings in the Tower, and had no way of getting into your home. You could knock on a neighbor's door, ask them to call a locksmith - but for now, all you wanted to do was cry.
Your eyes were red-rimmed and sore, head in your hands as you pulled your knees up against your chest. You were shattered - emotionally and physically.
You were utterly alone. Your head was ringing, and you felt an emptiness in the pit of your stomach that made you feel nauseous.
Then - footsteps.
You cringed, anticipating the voice of a nosy neighbor asking you what had happened. The footsteps got closer, and you didn't move an inch, hoping they'd just walk past.
But then, you heard the whisper of your name in the voice you couldn't forget.
Your head jerked up, startled. Bucky was standing next to you, your bag clutched in his hands. His eyes were remorseful, guilt clearly written on his face as he appraised you. He could see that you had been crying, and his chest hurt when you wiped at your face with your sleeves hurriedly.
"You left this," was the first thing he said, crouching down slowly to be at eye-level with you.
You couldn't speak. Could barely breathe. He smelled like rain, cedar wood and the faintest hint of soap.
"Should we go inside?" he asked gently, his hand reaching out to cup your elbow. He took a deep breath, like the physical contact made him nervous. But as soon as he touched you, he seemed to gain some confidence. You allowed him to help you stand, your legs shaking.
You were wordless as he rummaged inside your bag and fished out your keys. He unlocked your front door and gently ushered you inside.
"I'm sorry," was the first thing he said as the door closed behind him. "Sorry doesn't even cover it. I'm just - I wish I could take back what I said."
"It's okay," you said, finally meeting his eyes. "I understand."
You walked over to sit at the kitchen table, out of necessity more than anything - you still felt like your legs might collapse from underneath you at any moment. He didn't hesitate to join you.
"I saw your sketches," he said eventually, drawing his chair closer. You blushed, eyes widening. "They were good," he added quickly. "Really good."
You looked at his face, and the only thing you could think was that no recreation of yours could ever come close to his good looks in real life. This man had a face that was crafted by the gods, his eyes your absolute favorite thing about him. Eyes that could not seem to leave your face.
"I saw how you see me," he said, letting out a quick exhale that sounded like a laugh. "And I liked it. It made me feel good."
He leaned in closer, his voice lowering. "I'm so sorry."
"I'm not," you said finally. "You're actually real. I thought I was going insane. But you're here, right in front of me."
Slowly, slow enough for him to move if he wanted to, you gathered the courage to reach up and touch his face with your fingertips for the first time. You traced the edge of his jawline, towards his lips. He shivered.
"I came here because I couldn't stand knowing that I hurt you," Bucky confessed. "I needed to see if you would still look at me like you do in our dreams."
"And?"
His response was to close the distance between you, head tilting as his lips finally slotted against yours. It was soft, tender, and it felt like the weighted air between the two of you finally cleared with a snap.
This felt so right. This was what you had been waiting for all along.
When you pulled apart for air, his hands were cupping your face, his eyes looking at you like he still couldn't believe this was happening.
"Last time, you told me you thought you might love me," he said, the tip of his tongue gliding across his lower lip nervously. "I didn't get a chance to tell you that I love you, too."
You smiled at him, leaning your forehead against his as you felt a sense of serenity fill your body. "I think you're going to change my life," you whispered.
And that night, as you fell asleep together for the first time, you knew you would never feel alone again.
Y’all already know I’m a sucker for angst! This was so amazing, it’s probably one of the best fics I’ve read in a long time!!! I loved it so so much 😭💖
Summary: Bucky sees the same woman in his dreams, night after night. Is it possible to fall in love with someone who doesn’t exist? He wishes so much that you were by his side - until one day, you walk into his life for real.
Pairing: Bucky x fem!reader with psychic abilities
Genre: Angst, fluff
Word count: 5.4k
The invisible red thread of fate connects individuals destined to meet, regardless of time, distance, or circumstance. This thread may stretch and tangle, but it does not snap.
Cherry blossom petals fell, soft and soundless, blanketing the ground with pink. Bucky stood beneath a streetlamp on a wide road, hands buried in the pockets of his leather jacket. Everything was quiet - too quiet. The kind of thick, heavy silence that only existed in dreams.
Of course, he knew it was a dream. He always did.
For the last three months, he had found a reprieve from the usual, HYDRA fueled nightmares that had plagued him for years. One night last winter, he simply found the landscape of his nightmares slowly starting to shift, until eventually he couldn’t call it a nightmare at all.
He used to dream of his past all the time. Of the torture he had endured, the endless kills he had committed, the screams of the lives he had ended.
Now, he dreams of you.
He had been here before. The script rarely changed - sometimes you met on this road, sometimes in a library, on one occasion in a coffee shop. This was the scene he recognized the most. Same blossom trees. Same road. Same ache in his chest that he couldn’t decipher. And then he saw you, and the ache vanished.
You were sat on a bench underneath one of the trees, staring up at the pink flowers in awe. You were barefoot, your toes shrouded in a puddle of petals beneath you.
Bucky’s breath caught in his throat. He didn’t move, didn’t speak. You didn’t notice him right away, eyes too full of wonder.
When you did finally notice him, the widest smile broke out across your face. It was contagious, and it made the corners of his lips twitch too.
"You're late," you said, turning to him with a look that was half amusement, half affection. You were happy to see him, he could tell. You were always happy. It was amazing to see someone light up just from the sight of him.
He blinked. “Late?” Was there any such concept in dreams?
“You’re always late,” you teased. “But that’s okay. You came.”
He walked towards you, desperate to close the gap, to be close.
“Where is this?” It was the first time he had thought to ask.
You tilted your head. “I’m not sure, actually. Kinda reminds me of Central Park.” You paused. “Does it matter?”
“S’pose not,” Bucky chuckled, looking down at your face in slight awe. How could his mind have concocted somebody so ethereal? He didn't know that he had the creativity for it.
He looked around again. There was no signage. The buildings in the distance faded into fog. This place was nowhere - and somehow, the safest place he’d ever known. And it was kind of familiar. Huh, it does remind me a little of Central Park, Bucky thought.
You stood from the bench, and automatically you began walking side by side, your footfalls in perfect unison. The backs of your hands brushed, and Bucky thought the sensation felt so real. He wanted to hold your hand, but he was somehow nervous, even though it was his dream.
“I missed you,” you said suddenly.
Bucky’s chest tightened. That was new.
He turned to face you, voice low. “Did you really?” What he really wanted to say was, I missed you, too.
You smiled again, with some sadness this time. “I think I love you.”
There was no warning whenever a dream ended. All it took was for some invisible switch to flip, and he was dragged out of his dream and into reality. One second he was staring at your face, trying to really commit it to memory, though it was a struggle sometimes to remember all the details from his dreams. The next second, he was waking up.
The sheets were twisted around him, pillow soaked with sweat. The early morning light was bleeding through the curtains, shining in his eyes. He sat up, hand on his chest, heart still beating too fast.
I think I love you, your voice echoed in his ears.
The dream hadn’t lasted long, and Bucky felt disappointed. At the same time, he was happy that he had seen you again, the same woman every consecutive night for months.
Always the same woman. Always at some strange, sacredly quiet place. Sometimes you walked. Sometimes you talked. Once, he held your hand and woken up with the ghost of your touch lingering on his palm. He could’ve sworn the touch felt so real.
It was never just a dream. He felt you. The calm you brought. The dull ache in his chest when he woke up and he realized you weren’t real.
You didn’t look like anyone he knew, but his brain knew you. Trusted you. Missed you.
Bucky swung his legs over the edge of the bed, hands on his thighs. He quickly grabbed the notebook and pen on his bedside table - a tip he had read online, to better remember his dreams. Always write them down within the first five minutes of waking up.
He didn't want to forget you. And so he wrote down his notes dutifully, morning after morning, jotting down whatever details he could remember.
His hand shook over the page, his forehead creasing. The only thing he could muster himself to write were six words.
I think I love you, too.
The dreams were getting worse. Or better. He couldn’t decide.
He wasn’t scared of them, and it was that knowledge that scared him.
He was falling in love - with a dream. With a ghost. With a figment of his imagination.
But every night, you spoke to him like you remembered him. Like you were waiting. Like you dreamed of him, too.
You thought you were going insane.
Night after night, you dreamed of him. The man with the dark brown hair, beautiful blue eyes and the metal arm. He was the most handsome man you had ever laid eyes on, and your dreams were beginning to make you lose grip on reality.
You decided to start going to therapy in an attempt to understand what was going on in your brain. These weren't just dreams - they were beginning to impact your day-to-day life, as you slowly began obsessing over this mystery person. Your therapist, Dr. Hartley, sat across from you, gently prompting you with a question after you found difficulty beginning to explain what was happening.
"So - you told me in our initial call that you've been having some dreams?"
"Yes," you said slowly. "More specifically, I've been dreaming of the same person. Every night for months."
"Every night?"
"Every night," you confirm.
"What happens in these dreams?" Dr. Hartley asked with a friendly, inquisitive smile.
"It's not always the same, but he's always there. Sometimes we're in a park. Once we were on a rooftop. Usually, we just sit and talk. Sometimes we don't talk at all. But he's always there."
"Does he have a name?" she asked, scrawling some notes down as you spoke.
"Bucky," you said. You realized with a jolt that it was the first time you had ever spoken his name out loud. "His name is Bucky."
Dr. Hartley leaned forward slightly, cocking her head.
"What's he like?"
You took a deep breath, hesitating. You knew this was therapy, and you should feel safe telling her everything, but this felt... vulnerable. Like you were divulging the most secretive part of yourself, the part of yourself that up until now existed just between yourself and him.
You cringed mentally at the thought. Pull yourself together. He does not exist.
"He's kind," you said to begin with. "Handsome." Dr. Hartley smiled. "And I think he really sees me. He understands who I am. I tell him things about myself that no one else knows.”
He tells me things about him, too. Strange, intimate details that your brain must’ve fabricated out of thin air. You’d always been told you had an overactive imagination.
Dr Hartley nodded.
"It sounds like you may be lonely," she said gently. "This could be a way of your subconsciousness trying to offer you a safe space. Someone to connect with."
Tears welled up in your eyes, catching you off guard, but Dr. Hartley did not seem fazed. She plucked a tissue from beside her and handed it over to you, sympathetic.
"But it doesn't feel safe anymore," you whispered. "It's getting painful. It hurts. Every morning when I wake up, I feel like I'm mourning someone I never even knew to begin with. I don't know how to make the dreams stop."
You blinked hard to will the tears back, biting hard down on your lower lip. Dr. Hartley must've thought you were insane, breaking down over a fictional man.
"You said he had a metal arm," Dr. Hartley said after you'd taken a few deep breaths to compose yourself.
"Yes. Sometimes, he's wearing a leather jacket or gloves so I can't see it. But I know it's always there."
"Do you think it's something you saw on a tv show? On the news, perhaps?"
"Uh, I don't know," you said. "Maybe?"
You didn't know why the question would help. What you really wanted to say was that Bucky was not simply a man you had concocted in your brain after reading some description in a novel, or seeing a character in a movie. He felt real. It felt like you were meeting a real person in a place you weren't supposed to be.
"I know how this sounds," you said slowly. "I'm losing my mind, aren't I? Getting so upset over my dreams?"
Dr. Hartley shook her head. "No," she said firmly. "You're overwhelmed by something you haven't yet made sense of, and that's perfectly normal. This session is just the first step."
You smiled back, eyes still watering.
But what if I’m not imagining him? Sometimes, just sometimes, you allowed yourself to entertain that thought. What if he is really out there, somewhere?
You sat, cross-legged on your couch, sketchpad open on your lap.
You held the pencil firmly in your fingers, the tip of it moving rapidly across the paper, the sound of graphite against paper soothing. You had gotten into a habit of sketching Bucky whenever you had the free time.
You knew it was an unhealthy habit, but you couldn't help it. You missed him whenever you were awake, and this was the only way to feel some sort of relief, by recreating him on paper.
And so you sketched. You sketched him, day after day, trying to recapture how you had seen him the night before. You wanted to remember and revisit those moments in any way you could. You sketched his beautiful eyes, the eyes that stared at you with adoration.
When you finished, your fingers traced over the sketchpad, forlorn. You sighed heavily, shaking your head as a wave of sadness rushed over you.
Dr. Hartley had advised you to go get some fresh air, go for a walk, whenever you felt like you were getting too caught up in your own head. You weren't sure if it would be effective, but there was no harm in trying, you supposed.
The sky was slowly turning a threatening shade of gray, the kind that promised that a storm was coming. You didn't care - it suited your mood. You stepped out of your apartment building into the polluted New York City air, jacket zipped to your throat and earbuds jammed in to keep the world out. Your bag was slung over your shoulder, sketchpad sitting inside safely.
You made it three steps down the block before you saw her.
A woman stood perfectly still near the curb - long red coat, long red hair, her back to you. She didn’t look like she belonged there, and it startled you when she suddenly turned to look at you.
You wanted to keep walking, but instead, you slowed and stopped in your tracks.
The beautiful woman tilted her head, smiling.
“You don’t need to be afraid,” the stranger said. Those were exactly the words to make someone feel afraid, you thought.
Her voice was calm, and somehow, it relaxed you. You pulled an earbud out, recognition dawning across your face.
“I know you,” you said suddenly. “I've seen you on the news." Your brain tried to remember exactly where you'd seen her, and finally recalled the news from a couple of years ago. Captain America... Lagos... some mission gone wrong that had resulted in a number of civilian deaths. "You’re Wanda Maximoff.”
“And I know you,” she said, raising her eyebrows.
"Excuse me?" you asked, perplexed.
“I’m not here to scare you,” Wanda said. “I’m here because I think you need help."
"Am I in danger?" you asked. What else would explain being accosted by an Avenger in the middle of the street?
"Not exactly," she said. "But I know you're suffering."
"How do you know that?" The confusion intensified, your voice a little too terse.
"I possess… psychic abilities," she said simply, "and you're a psychic, too. I could feel your mind calling out to me, looking for help, whether you knew it or not."
Your mouth opened and closed silently. Okay, this had to be a joke or some stupid misunderstanding.
“You’re not dreaming,” Wanda continued. “Not in the way you think. The things you see - the man you see - it’s not your imagination. It's a manifestation of your powers when you are asleep, when your mind is in its most vulnerable state. You have the ability, among others that you don't even understand, to reach across mental planes in a way you never thought possible."
You wanted to laugh, or walk away, but you were frozen at the feet. Her words made your chest tighten.
The man you see - it's not your imagination.
“I think you’ve got the wrong girl,” you said weakly.
Wanda’s eyes softened.
“I don’t,” she said. “And you know that too, deep down. You’ve touched someone who shouldn’t be reachable. Sometimes he's just halfway across the city, sometimes halfway across the word. That's not your imagination. That’s power.”
You shook your head. “No. I don't have powers."
"Bucky is real."
You froze.
"How do you know that name?" you whispered, beginning to feel frightened.
"Because I know him," Wanda said slowly. "Did you ever read about the Winter Soldier?"
Winter Soldier. The name rang a vague bell. Maybe something you had heard in the news.
"His name, is James Buchanan Barnes," Wanda said, the name rolling off her tongue slowly, deliberately. "Bucky, to his friends. He is real, and you are not going insane."
You wanted to believe her. You really did. Could this truly be happening? Could all she was saying really be the truth?
“What do you want from me?” you managed to say finally.
“Nothing,” Wanda said. “Except to help you. To help you figure out what you really are. What you can do.”
She held out a hand.
“I want you to come with me. To Avengers Tower. I want to help you get the answers and the help you deserve.”
For the longest moment, you just stared at her, unable to move a muscle. You were petrified, but underneath the fear, another emotion began to emerge.
Hope.
Bucky was real.
Your breath trembled. Then you nodded once, and took her hand.
The door hissed softly as it slid open.
You stepped through hesitantly, followed closely out of the elevator by Wanda. Avengers Tower was an architectural masterpiece, and you felt that you stood out like a sore thumb among the shiny corridors, the quiet hum of hidden tech in the walls, the very legacy that this place held.
“Wait here,” Wanda instructed gently, before disappearing through a side door.
Bucky was working out alone, sweat dripping from his forehead as he pushed himself to the furthest physical limit he could. The clang of metal echoed through the cavernous gym, a punching bag swinging violently on its chain. The pebbled leather was dented and straining at its seams.
Bucky's fists pounded into the bag with punishing precision, breath short and sharp. He had a lot of contained frustration that he needed to expel. He stopped when he noticed Wanda's entrance, frowning in confusion.
"What is it?" he asked, unsettled by the unreadable expression on her face.
"I need you to come with me," was all she said.
"Why?" He grabbed a towel, wiping his face with it.
"I want you to meet someone," she said mysteriously.
Bucky heaved a sigh, but decided to humor her. He followed her out of the room, footsteps slowing when he entered the corridor. The was a woman there, pacing back and forth.
The recognition hit Bucky like a shotgun wound to the chest.
You stopped in your tracks, gasping aloud when you finally saw him. Sweat shone from his collarbones, his hair damp from his workout. He came to a complete stop as you locked eyes.
The air stood still. Heavy and thick, like the air in your dreams.
Your lips parted, like you wanted to speak, but no sound came out. You watched Bucky, who stared back at you unblinkingly. His body had stiffened, like his brain had short circuited.
"Bucky," you gasped finally. You felt weak in the knees, your head spinning. You were not hallucinating. You were not dreaming. This was truly happening.
You felt a rush of euphoria, the happiness replacing any confusion or anxiety that had been in your mind seconds before. All you could focus on was the fact that Bucky was standing mere feet away from you, truly tangible and real.
A myriad of expressions ghosted across his face. There was happiness, his lips moving like he wanted to smile, before they twisted into a grimace. This was followed by shock, his eyes flashing with disbelief, eyebrows drawing together.
He took a step back, away from you, like he had been jolted by electricity.
The recognition in his face dissolved into alarm.
"It’s you,” he said, his voice sharp. His eyes flicked from you, to Wanda, then back to you.
"You remember me," you breathed with relief, moving towards him.
He took another step back, and you stopped abruptly.
“Don't," he said warningly. "Wanda, what the fuck is this?"
The words were ice to your heart, making your face fall.
"Bucky, it's me -"
“Don’t say my name," he snapped, his jaw clenching.
There was something dangerous in his posture now - a tightening in his shoulders, the tension rising in his upper body. His vibranium hand curled into a fist. His soldier instincts were kicking in, his defenses rising at this unexplained and impossible sight. The emotional onslaught that was brought on by the sight of you was too much and happening all at once. His brain was clicking frantically, trying to fit the pieces of the puzzle together.
"Bucky, we can explain," Wanda began, but Bucky interrupted her.
“You've been inside my head," he said slowly.
You were trying to find the right words, to make him understand. "I didn't mean to. I can't control it -"
“Bullshit.” His voice echoed through the corridor.
He was breathing hard, his heart palpitating. His mind raced to recall all the times you had spent together in his dreams, all the things he had told you. You had been walking through his mind, uninvited with God knows what motive. How had this happened?
“You don’t just accidentally get into my mind,” he growls. “You don’t just show up, night after night, knowing things you shouldn’t know. That’s not dreaming - that’s infiltration.”
The accusations felt like cuts.
"It's not like that," you insisted. "I didn't know it was real. I didn't know you were real."
“Who are you, really?" Bucky asked through gritted teeth. "Do you know how long I've spent with people clawing their way through my brain?" His eyes narrowed, anger rising at the thought of HYDRA. He spat the words out in such rapid succession that you could barely keep up. "Do you know how long I've spent, purging unwelcome guests out of my mind? Are you with HYDRA?"
You shook your head, speechless and looking to Wanda for help. "I'm not with HYDRA. I don't even know -"
"Bucky, you need to let us explain," Wanda said patiently, but Bucky was not having any of it. “Whatever you think this is, it’s not.”
“You show up in my mind like some... ghost, and you expect me to believe that’s just coincidence?” His voice is low now, trembling. “I worked so hard to make sure no one could ever get in again." Then, he added in a poison-laced whisper, “And you just walked in.”
Tears stung in your eyes. "I would never try to hurt you," you protested, voice quivering.
“Don’t act like you know me,” he said sharply.
He backed away, the distance growing like a chasm between you. He didn't spare you a second glance before he disappeared through the door he came from.
This was not the introduction you had hoped for. It was far from it. You felt your heart strain at the feeling of meeting the man you loved, and being rejected at the same time.
"I’m sorry,” Wanda said immediately. “I knew it was going to be a lot to take in, but… I'll talk to him," she promised you. "He just needs time to understand and process it.
"I think I do too," you said faintly, feeling light-headed at the rush of emotions that had just battered you in the last couple of hours. Wanda guided you down the corridors to a more private space where you could be alone, a seating area filled with plants and artwork that adorned one wall, floor-to-ceiling glass windows offering an endless view of the city.
“I didn’t even know what I was doing,” you whispered, staring at the floor as Wanda sat beside you. “I didn’t know that I could do - whatever that is.”
“Dream phasing,” Wanda says softly. “It’s only the beginning of what you’re capable of. You have extreme physic abilities that just need to be unlocked. I have a friend - Stephen Strange - who can help with that, too."
You could barely process what she was saying, or perhaps you just didn’t care.
Wanda could tell that your so-called powers were the last thing on your mind right now. She trailed off.
"Don't take what he said to heart," Wanda said. "He's just scared."
"He looked at me with such hate," you said, forehead creasing. "He's never looked at me that way before. It just feels... horrible. All this time, I thought I was imagining him, and then when we actually meet, he looked at me like I was an enemy."
"He has a very difficult past," Wanda said, her words measured. You recalled what Bucky had told you before, in your dreams. The things he had shared with you had always been honest, but fragmented - parts of the truth. You didn't quite have the full story yet, but Wanda quickly filled you in. Once she finished speaking, you understood why Bucky had his defenses up.
"He's scared that this is another trick," you said quietly.
"Right."
"But I'm not." You smiled sadly. "Maybe coming here was a mistake. My mind is just so messed up. How could I ever help anyone?”
“No,” Wanda said firmly. Her eyes are soft. “I’m the only one in your life right now who can even begin to understand what you’re going through. I can help you. And with help, your ability - your gift,” she emphasized, “- can be used for the greater good.”
“How can you be sure of that?” you asked.
“I used to be a lot like you,” Wanda smiled. “I couldn’t even fathom how to wield my power, how to nurture it. The team helped me, trained me. I can do the same for you.”
The thought of Bucky’s eyes, accusatory and cold, was still burned inside your brain.
“I’ll take care of him,” Wanda promised, as if reading your mind. “Don’t worry. You’re in good hands.”
Bucky could never have imagined that you could be a real person. It seemed impossible, like - he wanted to scoff - a dream come true.
The woman in his dreams, this seemingly unattainable entity that he found comfort and solace in every day. His escape from the previous horrific nightmares that he suffered from. You were real.
He sat upright on the floor, back against the windows, his mind racing. He thought back to how he had spoken to you earlier that evening, and he winced. He felt guilty, disgusted even, at how he had spoken to you. But the fear lingered in the back of his mind.
He had been brainwashed before. His mind had been taken captive before. What if this was another ploy?
But then he thought back to the look in your eyes. On some level, he knew you were innocent. He knew he was being unreasonable. But this was entirely new territory, and it frightened him.
He rubbed his temples then stood abruptly, pacing like a cat. The more he turned the thought of you over in his mind, the more his mind seemed to unravel.
God, this was so overwhelming. Every night, he looked forward to falling asleep and talking to you. He thought it was so sad, that he was so lonely in life that the only person he could talk to was in his own mind. How could he have been so wrong?
He recalled the feeling he felt whenever he was around you. He felt comforted. He felt safe. It was exactly what he needed right now - to feel safe, in your presence.
He needed to see you.
He nearly collided with Wanda in the hallway as he raced through the Tower, desperation painting his face.
"I was just coming to talk to you," she began, though she could now see that would no longer be needed.
"Where is she?" he demanded.
"She left," she said.
His stomach dropped. "When?"
"Half an hour ago."
Shit, Bucky cursed inwardly.
Wanda rolled her eyes. "I'll give you her address. But before you go - just one more thing."
Bucky stepped into the room where you had waited earlier. You had left your bag behind in your rush to leave, and as he picked it up hastily, a small collection of items fell out onto the floor.
Keys. Chapstick. Your phone. One of those items landed with a dull thud. A book.
Bucky picked it up, curiosity getting the better of him. He hesitated for a moment before he flipped the book open.
His breath caught in his throat.
Pages and pages of him.
Laughing. Smiling. Sitting on benches. Looking out of windows. The corners of his eyes creased with happiness.
Bucky's hands were shaking as his fingers barely brushed the surface of the pages, like he was afraid to dirty it.
He was being portrayed in a way he had never seen himself be portrayed before. As someone... beautiful. Not a machine. Not an assassin. Not something to be feared.
He closed the sketchpad carefully, any doubts he had before completely dissipating. He now knew with absolute certainty just how wrong he had been.
You sat in the cold, dimly lit hallway of your apartment building, head banging back against your door. Like an idiot, you had forgotten your belongings in the Tower, and had no way of getting into your home. You could knock on a neighbor's door, ask them to call a locksmith - but for now, all you wanted to do was cry.
Your eyes were red-rimmed and sore, head in your hands as you pulled your knees up against your chest. You were shattered - emotionally and physically.
You were utterly alone. Your head was ringing, and you felt an emptiness in the pit of your stomach that made you feel nauseous.
Then - footsteps.
You cringed, anticipating the voice of a nosy neighbor asking you what had happened. The footsteps got closer, and you didn't move an inch, hoping they'd just walk past.
But then, you heard the whisper of your name in the voice you couldn't forget.
Your head jerked up, startled. Bucky was standing next to you, your bag clutched in his hands. His eyes were remorseful, guilt clearly written on his face as he appraised you. He could see that you had been crying, and his chest hurt when you wiped at your face with your sleeves hurriedly.
"You left this," was the first thing he said, crouching down slowly to be at eye-level with you.
You couldn't speak. Could barely breathe. He smelled like rain, cedar wood and the faintest hint of soap.
"Should we go inside?" he asked gently, his hand reaching out to cup your elbow. He took a deep breath, like the physical contact made him nervous. But as soon as he touched you, he seemed to gain some confidence. You allowed him to help you stand, your legs shaking.
You were wordless as he rummaged inside your bag and fished out your keys. He unlocked your front door and gently ushered you inside.
"I'm sorry," was the first thing he said as the door closed behind him. "Sorry doesn't even cover it. I'm just - I wish I could take back what I said."
"It's okay," you said, finally meeting his eyes. "I understand."
You walked over to sit at the kitchen table, out of necessity more than anything - you still felt like your legs might collapse from underneath you at any moment. He didn't hesitate to join you.
"I saw your sketches," he said eventually, drawing his chair closer. You blushed, eyes widening. "They were good," he added quickly. "Really good."
You looked at his face, and the only thing you could think was that no recreation of yours could ever come close to his good looks in real life. This man had a face that was crafted by the gods, his eyes your absolute favorite thing about him. Eyes that could not seem to leave your face.
"I saw how you see me," he said, letting out a quick exhale that sounded like a laugh. "And I liked it. It made me feel good."
He leaned in closer, his voice lowering. "I'm so sorry."
"I'm not," you said finally. "You're actually real. I thought I was going insane. But you're here, right in front of me."
Slowly, slow enough for him to move if he wanted to, you gathered the courage to reach up and touch his face with your fingertips for the first time. You traced the edge of his jawline, towards his lips. He shivered.
"I came here because I couldn't stand knowing that I hurt you," Bucky confessed. "I needed to see if you would still look at me like you do in our dreams."
"And?"
His response was to close the distance between you, head tilting as his lips finally slotted against yours. It was soft, tender, and it felt like the weighted air between the two of you finally cleared with a snap.
This felt so right. This was what you had been waiting for all along.
When you pulled apart for air, his hands were cupping your face, his eyes looking at you like he still couldn't believe this was happening.
"Last time, you told me you thought you might love me," he said, the tip of his tongue gliding across his lower lip nervously. "I didn't get a chance to tell you that I love you, too."
You smiled at him, leaning your forehead against his as you felt a sense of serenity fill your body. "I think you're going to change my life," you whispered.
And that night, as you fell asleep together for the first time, you knew you would never feel alone again.
Summary: Bucky stubbornly hides his feelings for you. Yelena is convinced that you two are just a couple of idiots in love. You quietly pine after the stoic super soldier, questioning why he seems to be pushing you away.
Pairing: Bucky x female!reader
Warnings: Spoilers for Thunderbolts*, angst, fluff
Word count: 3k
You were totally in your element, tinkering away at the piece of weaponry in front of you with extreme precision, safety goggles covering your eyes. As the lead Weapons and Tech Engineer at the revived Avengers tower, your job was tough but absolutely everything you loved.
Okay, so it came with the huge downside of working for the morally corrupt she-devil that was Valentina Allegra de Fontaine, but the job paid very handsomely. Most importantly, it meant you got to work on all sorts of cool projects that was every engineer's fantasy.
Plus, it came with the bonus of working in close proximity with the man of your dreams.
The lab was empty, the rest of your team gone home for the day, but you were determined to complete the upgrades on Bucky's smart grenades. It was your idea to develop the weapon - superb combat utility, remote detonation and timed release, different selectable modes... they would be perfect for him out in the field. When you'd pitched the idea to him a few weeks earlier, he'd smiled hard at your child-like enthusiasm.
John had moaned to you earlier that day about favoritism, as you had neglected the enhancements you'd promised to his shield - but you wanted to be able to get this finished first. You were no superhero, but you felt happy that your work could contribute to Bucky's ability to protect himself and fight in the field.
As if you had manifested his presence, you heard a soft beeping of the lab doors, before they slid open to reveal a tall figure. You looked up, breath catching in your throat - as it often did when you saw him - when Bucky strode into the room.
"Hey," he said, giving you a quick smile. "Heard you'd still be in here. It's getting late - shouldn't you be heading home?"
His very presence was like a shot of espresso. If you had been tired before, you definitely didn't feel it now.
"It's okay," you said, your smile growing as he moved closer. "I'm so close to perfecting these." You waved your hands out at the selection of grenades in front of you. He let out a low whistle.
"Nice. Thanks again, by the way," he said, bringing a hand up to the back of his neck. His tongue darted out to run across his lower lips. A nervous habit of his that you had picked up on.
"So, what did I do to deserve the honor of your visit?" you teased, placing your tools down and pushing your goggles up to sit atop your head. His eyes followed your movement, eyes flicking to yours and then away. He seemed anxious.
"Just checking in on you," he said eventually, offering no further explanation.
You couldn't stop yourself from eyeing him up and down, fully appreciating how good he looked in his dark t-shirt and leather jacket. You two had been doing this strange dance for a while now - trying to spend more and more time together, whilst both not fully ready to talk about your feelings for one another. There was a huge will they, won't they debate going among the team - a discussion you refused to partake in.
Secretly, you were aching to take the first step, but there was always that fear of rejection holding you back.
You weren't sure that Bucky even reciprocated your feelings. Yelena seemed to think he did. A couple of weeks ago, she had rolled her eyes at you like you were stupid.
"Don't be a dum-dum," she said, shaking her head. "If he doesn't like you back, I will swallow my own fist."
You felt emboldened when your mind flashed back to your conversation. There had to be a reason that Bucky always found some way to spend time with you, right? Whether it was spontaneous visits to your lab, invites to go get coffee, or lingering by your side at those stupid PR events Valentina always held - you had to give yourself some credit.
"You know what," you said finally, emboldened by a sudden rush of confidence. "All this work has gotten me a little thirsty. How about I let you buy me a drink?"
You tried not to cringe when you said the words aloud. You had never been quite this straight forward before.
Bucky cleared his throat, taken aback. He seemed to hesitate for just a beat before giving you an apologetic smile.
"I still have some work I need to do, so - maybe next time?" he said halfheartedly.
Oh.
Your heart sank. Disappointment and embarrassment flooded your chest, but you kept the smile pinned to your face. You felt your cheeks heat up, which just made you pray for the ground to open and swallow you up even more. A missile to the side of the building would make a great distraction right now.
"Sure. No problem," you said lightly, turning away from him again and putting your goggles back on like a shield.
"Don't stay too late," he reminded you gently before he left the room again.
What the hell was that?
Bucky Barnes continued to confuse and frustrate you. Did he just see you as a friend, nothing more? Had you crossed a professional line by suggesting he buy you a drink?
You cringed, groaning out loud once he was out of earshot. You could kill Yelena.
You found yourself cornered by Yelena and Bob the next day, the former having picked up on your sour mood immediately when you stomped through the building.
"Are you okay? You want a donut?" Bob had offered sweetly, flipping open the box of Krispy Kremes in his hands.
"No thanks," you pouted, glaring at Yelena.
"What are you mad at me for?" she asked, eyes widening innocently.
"I took your stupid advice -" you began loudly, before lowering your voice to a barely audible whisper, "- and tried to ask Bucky out last night."
"What?" Bob and Yelena said in unison, Bob sporting the widest grin on his face.
"He said no," you dead-panned, rejection rearing its ugly head once again.
Yelena was speechless for just a split second, before she puffed out her cheeks.
"Okay look. Trust me," Yelena began, "he's old fashioned. Likes to take things slow. Maybe he's just not used to women being forward?"
"Yeah, maybe he's used to how people did things back in the 40's," Bob offered unhelpfully. "Didn't men used to take their time courting the women?"
"Yeah," you said, unconvincingly. "Or, you know, maybe I got it all wrong and he just doesn't like me."
Yelena tilted her head at you, raising her eyebrows. "Do you seriously believe that?"
"C'mon, Yelena," you said, exasperated. "If he actually liked me, I think he would have done something about it by now."
Yelena placed a heavy hand on your shoulder. "Like I said, trust me. I'm very observant. The way he looks at you speaks volumes."
Bob nodded enthusiastically, like they both saw something you didn't.
"So what am I supposed to do now?" You sighed, head hanging like a puppy. You looked so pathetic that Yelena and Bob exchanged sympathetic looks behind your back.
"Be patient," she said, before changing her mind and adding - "or, I can just give him a kick up the butt."
Bucky was definitely avoiding you.
You felt sad, but also exasperated. If he didn't like you, he could come out and say it. There was no need to avoid you as if you were two kids at school.
You finally had your chance one day in the kitchen as he was making a cup of coffee. You knew he could hear you approaching. He didn’t look up at first, his back half-turned, sleeves pushed to his elbows, fiddling with a chipped mug. His hair was a little messy, like he had just woken up, but to you, he looked utterly irresistible. Especially when you saw the plates in his metal arm flex when he heard your voice.
"Bucky, can we talk?" you asked, watching as he cleared his throat.
"'bout what?" he asked, turning to face you, leaning back against the counter. His voice was low, careful.
"Is everything cool between us?"
He was silent, like he was measuring his words before he spoke them.
"Look," you said, "about the other night. I crossed a line, I guess. We're colleagues, and that's probably all it's supposed to be." You tried to smile. "I'm sorry. It won't happen again."
Bucky looked at you with an undecipherable expression, mug long forgotten in his hand. For a split second, he looked like he wanted to say something, but couldn't make the words line up. Eventually, that expression was replaced by something more neutral. Indifferent.
"It's okay," he said, giving you a tight-lipped smile. "We're friends. It's all good."
You didn't think it could hurt so much to be described as a friend. Part of you so wanted to directly ask him whether or not he liked you - but like you said, it's not like you were kids in school. The question didn't need to be asked. The fact that he had oh-so-clearly friend-zoned you said all you needed to know.
"Okay. Well, don't be a stranger," you said quietly, unable to meet his eyes.
You hadn't cried so much over a guy since you found your prom date in high school making out with another girl.
It was only as you were lying in bed, tears running down your face, that you realized just how far Bucky had wormed his way into your heart.
All your thoughts were consumed by Bucky Barnes. Every hour at work, you willed him to walk into your lab. You yearned for a glimpse of him around the building. Then every moment after work, you wondered about what he was doing, where he was, who he was with.
Heartbreak sucked.
Maybe that was what made you even more sympathetic when you saw John in the corridor one day, clearly in distress, looking more upset than you'd ever seen him.
You paused as you approached, spotting him leaning against the wall with one hand planted against it, the other clutching his phone.
"John? You okay?"
He sniffed, swallowing a lump in his throat as he put his phone away. "Yeah," he grunted, avoiding eye contact. His eyes were wet.
You looked at him knowingly. "Wanna talk about it?"
He shook his head, then sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose.
"It's just... Olivia." He looked pained at the mention of his ex-wife.
"She said she's going to fight for sole custody."
"Fuck," you said, knowing how hard the separation was on him. Instinctively, you reached out to give him a hug, seeing in his eyes how much he needed a friend.
"Thanks," he sniffed into your shoulder, patting your back gratefully. "Dunno how to deal with this."
"I'm here if you ever need to talk," you said sincerely.
John pulled back and squeezed your shoulder in thanks, before heading down the hallway. You hadn't even taken ten steps in the opposite direction before you bumped into none other than the man who had been plaguing your mind.
"What was that?" Bucky asked, confusing you.
What, no greeting? Not even a 'hello'?
"What was what?" you asked, perplexed.
He stared at you, his blue eyes cold and stoic.
"I guess you just wanted any super soldier, huh," he muttered, his smiling humorlessly. You could tell he regretted the words the moment he said it by the way his face slipped, but it was too late.
You took a step back as if physically pushed. You felt tears sting your eyes, and had to bite your lip to stop the them from falling.
You'd had enough. How dare he speak to you this way?
"You know what - fuck you, Bucky. I don't know what your problem is, but you do not speak to me that way," you spat, trying to sound angry but unable to stop your voice from shaking. He looked stunned at the sight of your face, his mouth opening and closing wordlessly.
"I'm sorry, I don't know what I -"
You spun on your heel and walked away as quickly as you could, cutting short his excuses and ignoring him calling your name.
"Okay, what the fuck are you guys doing?" Yelena punctuated her question with a punch to Bucky's shoulder, who scowled back at her.
"What?"
"You going around in circles, trying to pretend like you don't have feelings for her - how has that been working out for you, Barnes?"
Bucky had found himself dragged into an empty conference room by the feisty blonde who seemed determined on injecting herself into every situation. Bucky was not in the mood to entertain her today.
"Stay out of it," he warned.
"No," Yelena said stubbornly. "You're both my friends, and I care about you. Now do you want to be honest and tell me what's going on?"
Bucky knew her well enough by now to recognize the no-nonsense look in her eyes. It didn't take much for him to give in, his mind already torn for the last few days over the situation between the two of you.
"Fine," he said through gritted teeth. "I really messed things up, alright? I don't know how to manage this."
"What?" Yelena looked at him like he'd sprouted two heads. "What's so complicated about it? Take her out, pay for her dinner, take her home, bed her." She ticked off the items on her fingers, making Bucky grimace.
"It's not that. I'm over 100 years old. I don't know how to navigate starting a new relationship with someone. Especially someone I care so much about."
Yelena nodded. "Go on," she prompted.
"The shit we do - it's dangerous. Fuck, it's dangerous for her to even be working here, for someone like Valentina.
"She's a grown ass woman, Barnes. She doesn't need to be babied."
"I'm not babying her," Bucky snapped. "I've just never been in this situation before. I've never - I've not gone on a date in decades. I've never been in a real relationship. Every day, we're out there, saving people and trying not to get killed. I don't want her to get caught up in that."
"You're trying to protect her. You're worried you'll put her in some sort of danger if you let her get closer," Yelena said slowly.
"Right." Bucky was exasperated, his jaw clenched. It was such an endless conflict that he had been fighting for months - the urge to get closer to you, simultaneously fighting the fear of what would happen if you got too close.
"I mean, I get that," Yelena shrugged. "Before I met you guys, before this whole New Avengers shit - I was lonely. I was lonely as fuck. And I never let anyone get close to me because - well, I've lost people before."
Bucky knew that she was talking about Natasha, among others. The sadness that ghosted over her eyes was unmissable.
"But - and this is corny as shit, so if you repeat this I will stab you in your sleep - having you guys around me was the best thing that happened to me. You're my team. My people," Yelena said. "And I can tell you know, if you let her in, it will be the best thing to happen to you. Having someone to love and live for will change your life."
"But what if she gets hurt?" Bucky asked, jaw clenching at the mere thought.
"What about worrying less about the hurt you might cause her, and worrying more about the hurt you're causing her now?"
Bucky clenched his fists, imagining your face. How hurt you had looked the last time you spoke. He felt so awful for making you feel that way.
Maybe Yelena was right.
"Love isn't about building walls," came another voice. Bob smiled sheepishly as he pushed open the door.
"Great, someone else to chime in," Bucky said dryly.
"Look, you guys showed me the importance of letting people in. Don't take that choice away from her. You’ve spent so much time trying to protect people. But love isn’t about building walls. It’s about letting someone choose you, demons and all," he smiled, reminiscing about how the team had rallied with him against the Void. "Don’t take that choice away from her."
Fuck.
"I think you might be right," Bucky said eventually.
Yelena's mouth dropped open.
"Oh, seriously - he says one thing and you're convinced."
"Well, he didn’t threaten to stab me in my sleep, so yeah - a bit more persuasive."
The flowers were sat in a vase on your desk in the morning when you arrived to work. They were blue hydrangeas - your favorite. You frowned when you picked up the vase, looking around at your colleagues for an explanation. You were greeted by dumb grins and shrugs of shoulders.
You picked up the card tucked among the flowers, a lump forming in your throat at the message.
I’ve done a lot of things in my life that I've been trying to make amends for. How I've been treating you is high on the list. These flowers aren’t enough, but maybe they’re a start. - Bucky
You placed the flowers back down, eyes starting to well. You quickly marched out of the lab - you didn't have to go very far.
Bucky was leaning against the wall outside, looking down at his boots. He was waiting for you.
"Did you like the flowers?" was the first thing he said, licking his lips.
"I loved them," you said immediately.
"I meant it," he said softly, moving to stand closer to you. "I'm sorry. I haven't always been good at saying how I feel."
You were still confused, but this had to be a good sign. Bucky was looking at you almost pleadingly, like there was so much he wanted to say. You could see it on his face.
"What are you so afraid of?" you asked timidly, trying to coax the unspoken out of him.
"If I let you in, it means I have something to lose," he said finally.
You were taken aback at the raw honesty.
"You won't lose me," you whispered simply. You knew that if he let you in, you were going to be there for good, no matter what.
Bucky met your eyes, his voice thick with emotion. "I've spent a long time keeping people out. Keeping you out." He looked remorseful, and you ached to reach out for him. "I like you. More than I should. And I guess… I'm sick of running from that."
The air between you seemed to still. He stepped even closer, leaning down - slow enough for you to withdraw, if you wanted to.
"So, if you'd let me...I'd like to try." He swallowed, his jaw tightening. He closed the distance between your faces even more, giving you one last chance to pull away.
You didn't even have to think about it. You stretched up on your tip-toes to meet his lips. Your first kiss was gentle, aching, real.
And when he kissed you back - slow but sure, like you were something fragile he never thought he’d be allowed to hold - it wasn’t just a kiss. It was a choice. A beginning.
The beginning of your love story that you'd never imagined you'd get to read.
A/N: I hope you enjoyed! If you did, please leave me a comment - it really means a lot!
Summary: Your professor asks you to tutor another student for extra credit, and you end up with Bucky, who you hate. Kinda.
Pairing: College!Bucky x College!Female!reader
Genre: Romance, dash of angst
Word count: 5.8k
A/N: I've not written anything in almost a year, but I watched Thunderbolts* recently and it reignited something. I dug this out of my drafts - I am a big fan of 90's rom-coms like She's All That, 10 Things I Hate About You etc.. so just wanted to write something cheesy and sweet
I'm at the library, where are you?
Hello?
chill. i'm on my way
You sighed, tapping your foot impatiently on the carpet, arms folded across your chest. The audacity of this man to keep you waiting whilst you sacrificed your precious time to tutor him. Bucky Barnes, the most ungrateful person you'd ever encountered.
A huff of air escaped from your mouth when you finally spotted his figure in the distance, sunglasses hiding his eyes and a cap shoved on top of his long, messy brown hair. So obnoxious, you thought to yourself.
You almost sighed aloud in frustration when you saw him stop to smile and talk to a pretty blond girl who had been browsing the library shelves, her face flooding pink at the sheer excitement of catching the attention of the college's infamous football captain.
As if Bucky could hear your mental cursing, he waved his fingers at the girl and continued on. Everything about him radiated confidence, from the way he held himself to his purposeful stride. When he got closer, he whipped his shades off and tucked them into the front pocket of his t-shirt, but the hat stayed on.
"Alright, I'm ready. Tutor me," he said, cracking a smile as you glowered at him.
"Follow me," you said sternly, turning on your heel and marching towards one of the study rooms that you had reserved.
He followed closely, humming a tune as you muttered under your breath. If it wasn't for the promised extra credit from your math professor, you swore you would never subject yourself to spending time with him. Not that you exactly ran in the same circles, anyway. In fact, before two weeks ago, you weren't even sure Bucky was aware of your existence.
As soon as you were both seated and you'd spread out your materials - textbooks, calculators, stationery, and a whiteboard - Bucky leaned back in his chair and studied your face.
"You don't like me very much, do you?" he asked finally.
You cracked a wry smile at that. "You don't miss a thing, do you?"
"What have I done?" he asked innocently, clearly fighting back a smile. He seemed to enjoy how easily he irritated you.
"Let's see. You're always late, you don't respect my time, you never take this tutoring seriously - "
"Woah," he interrupted. "It's only been a couple of weeks, cut me some slack. I'll do better, I promise." He cleared his throat and took off the cap, running his fingers through his hair. He was enjoying this.
You took a deep breath and pinned on the most artificial smile you could muster. You could be cordial... you think.
It was going to be a long semester.
Are we still good for this afternoon?
can't sorry. football practice
"See!" you exclaimed indignantly, shoving your phone into Wanda's face. "See how blasé he is about his education?"
Wanda shrugged, plaiting her silky red hair. "He did get in on a football scholarship, to be fair."
"But he's flunking math," you retorted. "And Professor Wilson asked me to tutor him. If he fails the next exam, that's going to reflect badly on me."
You, Wanda and Yelena had been in the middle of lunch in the dining hall when you had decided to check in on Bucky, seeing as he had proven to be extremely flaky so far. It frustrated you to no end.
"Are you mad that he's going to do bad in the exam, or did you just want to spend time with him?" Yelena asked with a mischievous smile, knowing fully how much that would set you off.
"Excuse me?"
"Oh, c'mon," Wanda chimed in, quickly catching on. "He's cute, he's funny, who wouldn't want to spend hours inside a small study room with him?"
"Okay, if you guys even think for a second that I'd be interested in Bucky Barnes-"
"Okay, okay," Yelena said quickly, raising her hands in surrender. "God, it is so easy to get under your skin."
"Just a few more months of this, and it will be over," you said under your breath like a prayer.
"Here."
A coffee cup was unceremoniously placed in front of you the second Bucky Barnes stepped into the room. You could hear the liquid sloshing about as you stared up at him.
The first thought that reached your head, annoyingly, was how good he looked today. He was wearing a white vest beneath an unbuttoned blue linen shirt, the color complimenting his bright eyes.
"What's this?"
"I thought you were smart," Bucky quipped, smirking. "Coffee. Oat mocha. To apologize for blowing you off last time."
"Uh - thanks," you said, taken aback at the gesture. Your brows furrowed. Oat mocha. How did he know?
"You had that last time we met up, so I went with it," he said, as if he could read your thoughts.
"Right. Thanks," you said, almost stumbling over your words. He had totally caught you off guard.
No, you scolded yourself mentally. You would not let yourself become one of those simpering girls that fawned over his feet. You would be civil, sure, but don't you dare start staring at his tousled hair and think about how soft the strands would feel between your fingers -
"So, what we learning today?" Bucky cracked his knuckles, interrupting your thoughts. Thank God.
"You know, I don't know much about you," Bucky said suddenly one evening.
"What does that have to do with calculus?" you asked dryly.
Bucky rolled his eyes. "Can you relax a bit? Would it kill you to talk about something other than math?"
"Fine," you said, surrendering. Even you had to admit that you were getting bored with talking math. "What do you want to know?"
"Favorite movie?"
You raised an eyebrow. Seriously?
"10 Things I Hate About You. Next."
Bucky burst out laughing, the noise rippling through the room. The blood rushed to your cheeks.
"Sorry, sorry - I'm not laughing at you."
"Oh, is there somebody else in the room I can't see?" You were defensive at Bucky cracking up at your movie choice. "I like corny rom-coms, okay?"
"Okay, okay," Bucky said, tapping his pen on his notepad with a grin. "I've never watched it, but okay, I'm sure it's a great cinematic masterpiece."
"What's your favorite movie?" you shot back.
"Oldboy," he said quickly. "The original Korean version, not the terrible American remake."
That was a pretty good movie, you thought internally before Bucky was firing off the next question.
"Cats or dogs?"
"Dogs," you answered easily.
Bucky pulled a face.
"Oh, c'mon. Dogs are so much better than cats!" you exclaimed.
"No way. Cats are self-sufficient, independent. Dogs are too...clingy," he settled on the word like it was worst thing in the world.
You rolled your eyes, fighting the small smile threatening to spread on your lips. You hated to admit that you were actually growing to enjoy his company.
"Okay, enough of this - back to calculus," you said, trying to sound stern.
Later that night, as you were lying in bed, you suddenly received a text.
just watched your favorite movie
You blinked at the screen, surprised at the unexpected message. You hesitated before sending a casual response.
And? What did you think?
Twenty seconds passed.
not the worst movie in the world, i guess
This time, you really couldn't stop the smile that blossomed on your face.
You guess it could be said that you and Bucky had reached a truce. Not that he even knew you were waging an unfair prejudice against him from the start - you admitted to yourself that you had misjudged him. He wasn't so bad, and he was no longer flaking on you as often for your tutoring sessions.
One evening, as you both prepared to leave the library and go back to your respective dorms, you were surprised by a sudden onslaught of rain.
"Freak storm," Bucky commented as you both stood in the open doorway, unwilling to step out into the icy rain first.
"Great," you groaned. You were hungry and wanted to go get some food, but you had forgotten your umbrella and you really did not want to catch a cold this close to exam season.
In your peripheral, you could see Bucky start to peel off his leather jacket. You turned to him, perplexed as he thrust it into your arms.
"Here. Use this," he said simply. "See you tomorrow." He all but dove into the rain, the water pelting him immediately and soaking his hair and clothes.
You watched him sprint off across the quad, trying not to notice how his t-shirt was beginning to cling to his back. You clutched his jacket in your fingers, oddly touched.
"Snap out of it," you told yourself sternly even as your chest began to feel the warmth of something not totally unfamiliar. You held the jacket over your head as a shield and quickly ran out of the library and towards your dorm, trying to ignore the fondness that was growing inside you.
The next day, you returned his jacket, thanking him for it bashfully.
"It smells like you," he said suddenly. You looked at him in time to see him swallow and shrug, like he was embarrassed he said anything.
Do I smell bad? you thought, suddenly paranoid.
"Sorry?" you said awkwardly.
Later that evening, your phone buzzed with a text.
smells like vanilla
Slowly but surely, your tutoring sessions with Bucky were turning into less studying, more chatting. You had both developed a little habit of bringing your favorite snacks for the other to try, and had started to rank them on a virtual leader board on Bucky's phone.
"All right, what do we have today?" Bucky grinned as you walked into the room, tipping the bag of goodies onto the table.
"I'm definitely taking the lead with this one," you said triumphantly. "My homemade chocolate chip cookies."
Bucky snorted, trying to suppress his smile. He picked up one of the individually packaged cookies that you had lovingly placed into it's own cellophane pouch. He couldn't deny that this was extremely endearing.
"Aw, c'mon. Chocolate chip cookies? Basic," he smiled as he rushed to unwrap one of them.
"They are the best," you said confidently. "Nothing wrong with keeping it simple."
You watched as he ate half of the cookie in a single bite, eyebrows raising as he chewed. He leaned back in his chair.
"Okay. Damn, that is good."
You laughed, pulling out your textbooks and settling down opposite him.
"You like to bake?"
"Mm-hm," you nodded. "When I can. It's my love language"
You realized what you had said a beat too late, your eyes widening and cheeks flushing.
"I mean - I like baking for my friends and family," you spluttered, trying to play it down.
Bucky didn't seem phased, raising an eyebrow.
"I must be pretty damn special then."
You were in trouble. Big, big trouble.
You weren't stupid or ignorant to your own feelings. You knew exactly how Bucky made you feel whenever you were in the same room together. You knew how your heart skipped a beat when your phone lit up with a text from him. You knew how your skin tingled whenever he stepped close to you, arms brushing against each other as he worked over yet another math problem.
You knew how much harder it was becoming to not get distracted by the intensity on his face sometimes, how pieces of his thick brown hair sometimes fell in front of his eyes. You fingers itched to sweep them back.
Oh god. It was such a cliche. You had totally fallen head over heels for him.
"How did I not see this coming?" you groaned into your pillow as you lay back on your bed, Yelena and Wanda observing your distress for 'emotional support', as they had put it.
"What's the big deal? You like him, so what?" Yelena asked, tossing popcorn back into her mouth.
"Do you know how it feels to like someone and not be able to do anything about it?"
"So do something about it," Wanda said, tilting her head at you. "Just tell him how you feel."
"No, because then he'll reject me, and then it'll be super awkward between us, and then we'll never speak again," you rambled. You could see it now. The awkwardness on Bucky's face as you confessed to him, as many girls had done so before.
Women fawned over him. Why would you be any different in his eyes?
But were they right? Should you just bite the bullet and tell him how you felt? What if maybe - just maybe - there was a chance he felt the same way?
Sometimes you felt like he might. Whenever he flirted with you, or paid you a compliment. But then again, he flirted with everybody - every ounce of him oozed with charisma. It was just in his nature to easily charm people.
But there were other moments, too. The way he carried your books when he could tell they were too heavy. The way he never, ever forgot to bring you a coffee and a sweet treat, too. The way he looked at you sometimes when you were explaining the solution to a math problem, like he was just focused on your face and wasn't even listening to your words.
If you lived in a rom-com, this would be exactly how things were supposed to pan out. Awkward girl falls for popular guy, and is shocked when he returns her feelings.
Except, well, this wasn't a rom-com. Bucky Barnes was most definitely out of your league.
You and Bucky were having lunch together out on the quad, taking advantage of the beautiful May weather. It was an impromptu picnic after a study session - the sun was shining hard and Bucky's football practice had been cancelled. He had bought sandwiches for the both of you and suggested eating them at the foot of one of the huge trees that dotted the grounds.
You were still battling your indecision about telling him how you felt, but for now, you'd just enjoy his company. He looked so handsome today, sunglasses perched on his face as he tilted his head up toward the sky, a soft smile on his lips.
Your phone rang suddenly, knocking you out of your reverie. It was a new friend you had made recently during a beginners' sparring class that Yelena had dragged you to.
"Hey, Cam," you said lightly.
"Hey!" she exclaimed brightly on the other end of the phone. "What are you and Yelena doing tonight? You wanna come hang out with me and my roommates for dinner?"
"Sure, what time?" you responded eagerly.
She told you the details and when you hung up, Bucky was staring at you curiously.
"Got asked to dinner," you said, shrugging.
"Oh," Bucky said, face neutral.
"Made a new friend recently - Cam. Been spending so much time together which has been so fun, actually," you hummed, taking a bite of your sandwich.
"Right."
A few moments of silence passed in which Bucky said nothing, which was completely uncharacteristic of him.
"You okay?" you asked finally.
He cleared his throat, finishing off his sandwich in a few large bites. He stood up suddenly, patting his shirt down to brush off any food crumbs.
"Yeah. Hey, I just remembered - I promised Steve I'd go to the gym with him this afternoon."
"Oh, sure," you said, thrown off by the sudden change in his attitude. "Have fun.”
"Thanks. I'll see you around, yeah?"
You barely had time to respond before he had turned his back to you and was walking away, without giving you so much as a second glance.
Bucky called you out of the blue whilst you were having breakfast. You felt embarrassed to take the call in front of Wanda and Yelena, but it was too late - Yelena had seen his name flash up and quickly swiped the answer button, shoving the phone up to your ear.
"Hello?" you said as you glared at her. Yelena shoved a piece of toast into her mouth with a grin.
"Hey. Sorry to be the bearer of bad news, but we can't hang out today," Bucky said on the other end.
"I'm tutoring you, we're not hanging out," you reprimanded, still wishing he'd take it a bit more seriously. "And why is that?"
"I have a date."
Despite yourself, you felt your face fall. Wanda cocked her head at you, curious.
"Oh. Great," you said flatly. "Okay." The disappointment that grew in your chest was truly unexpected and painful.
"I'll text you later to reschedule, yeah?"
"Whatever," you said shortly, trying to ignore the acidic feeling in your chest. "Bye." You hung up abruptly, slamming your phone a little too hard onto the table.
"What was that all about?" Yelena asked.
"Nothing," you muttered.
"Didn't sound like nothing," Wanda said, raising an eyebrow.
"He was just calling to cancel our tutoring session for a date."
Wanda and Yelena exchanged pointed glances.
"What?" you snapped.
"Are you okay?"
"I'm fine," you said tersely.
You couldn't even convince yourself.
You felt like Bucky was starting to avoid you.
No, not avoid - you weren't important enough to him for that. Maybe he was just too preoccupied with all these dates with whatever girl he was now seeing.
It started with excuses about football practice. And then football related injuries which meant he just wanted to rest. Then -
just not feeling it today. will let you know when i'm free to reschedule
You didn't even reply to that one. If he didn't want to reach out first, then you weren't going to beg him to let you tutor him.
It stung when he eventually stopped texting, though.
Since you started tutoring him three months ago, you had begun messaging more and more, until eventually it was basically an everyday occurrence. To go from that to basically zero was extremely jarring.
It hurt you more than you wanted to admit.
The feelings grew and grew and reached a crescendo when one evening, after a whole fortnight of zero texts from Bucky and no word of when he wanted to see you again, you bumped into him and his friend outside one of the campus coffee shops. You had been on your way to your morning lectures, and when you spotted his face, you had briefly deliberated ignoring him and continuing to walk. Despite yourself, you found yourself stopping awkwardly, giving him a smile. Even if you felt uncomfortable, you had truly missed him and the sound of his voice.
"Hey Bucky.” You greeted him, trying to keep your tone light and non-accusatory. What you really wanted to say was, why the hell have you not reached out in so long?
You thought you were friends. You really thought he liked being in your company.
"Hey," he said as his friend smiled at you. He introduced you quickly to Steve, who shook your hand like a gentleman.
"How are you doing?" Steve asked politely. You had heard so much from Bucky about his best friend, but this was the first time you had met him in person. Figures, considering he clearly didn't consider you as a friend - why on earth would he have introduced you to his before now?
"She's the girl who's been tutoring me," Bucky said slowly, almost deliberately avoiding eye contact with me, looking down at his to-go cup instead.
You decided to swallow your pride and be more direct.
"Yeah - when are we next doing that, anyway?" You tried to force a smile, to not sound too desperate.
He paused, finally meeting your eyes.
"I actually think I've had enough of the tutoring for now," he said firmly. "I think I need to focus on my football and other stuff."
The unspoken words hung heavy in the air. You knew exactly what he meant. By other stuff, he just meant other girls. He was dating someone now, that much you were sure of, and that meant he simply didn't have time for people like you.
And you really thought…
The pain of rejection rushed through you. It was humiliating, how upsetting it was, how you physically had to take a step back. He probably felt cornered by you, approaching him like this and asking when you’d next meet - you felt embarrassed.
"Right," you said, trying not to let the emotion show on your face. "Okay, sure. See you around, Bucky."
Bucky's lips parted slightly at your torn expression, like he wanted to say something. Rather than give him the chance, you nodded a curt goodbye and hurriedly walked away, wanting to put as much distance between yourselves as possible.
Her name was Sharon.
That was the name of the girl that Bucky had been seeing. You noticed it more and more now, suddenly seeing him, her and Steve everywhere around campus, the most good looking trio of people you had ever seen.
You saw them the moment you stepped into the main campus hall that had been decked out for the summer Golden Hour Gala, a dance that they held every year on the final afternoon before semester officially ended. It was a nice chance to dress up, dance with your friends and have a blast before the students went home for summer.
That was how you ended up here in a midi-floral dress, cream in color and adorned with tiny pink flowers. You had felt pretty cute, but didn't look anywhere near as gorgeous as Sharon did.
Her hair was long and silky, falling down her back like a sheet of gold. She was wearing a long, lilac dress that complimented her figure perfectly.
You had barely wanted to go to this glorified garden party to begin with, but now you were really regretting being here. Especially with how good Bucky looked, casual but sophisticated in a blue shirt and beige chinos, the sun shining directly in his face and making him squint adorably.
You blamed Yelena for pouring you glass after glass of spiked punch, telling you it would cheer you up.
"It's the Russian way!" she screamed delightfully as she tried to coax you and Wanda out on the dance floor.
As the hours passed, you felt yourself growing more and more emboldened. For the past few days, you’d forced yourself to distract yourself from thoughts of Bucky - but here, with him just a mere few feet away and the alcohol breaking down your inhibitions, you felt yourself stewing.
Call it liquid courage, but you felt a renewed confidence (or stupidity, maybe?) when you found yourself marching towards Bucky, who was sitting by himself for the first time that day. Finally, Sharon and Steve weren't flanking him, which made him more approachable as you plopped yourself down onto the seat next to him.
He spoke your name with surprise, like he wasn't expecting to see you. Of course, you had practically turned invisible to him by now.
"Hi," you said, trying to figure out if your speech was slurred or not. You hadn't drank that much, had you? No - you just wanted to know right there and then what his problem was with you.
"Long time no see," he said, his eyes flicking up and down you to appraise your outfit. Hang on - was he checking you out? In your current state of mind, you truly entertained the thought.
"You," you said, punctuating your point with a finger to his chest, "have been avoiding me."
Bucky started at the physical contact, his hand reaching up reflexively to wrap gently around your wrist. You pulled away like you had been shocked with electricity.
"Are you drunk?" he asked, forehead creasing. The teasing smile that you missed oh so much was playing on his lips, but it didn’t quite reach his eyes.
Shit.
"Pfft. No," you said unconvincingly. "I just want to know what your problem is." You paused, unable to stop your voice from wavering. "I thought we were friends."
The expression in Bucky's eyes was almost unreadable, but for a second you thought he looked remorseful. He seemed to pick up on how genuinely upset you were.
"We were - we are," he corrected himself.
"Then why the hell have you not texted me or called me in almost a month?" you cried, fully aware of how desperate you sounded now. But you didn't care - the alcohol did a good at shooing the shame away. You wanted answers. You deserved a proper explanation.
Bucky looked torn.
"Did you ever like me?" you asked quietly. You weren’t sure if he heard.
All of a sudden, you caught a flash of blonde hair in the corner of your eye. You thought it was Sharon, but - thankfully - it was only Yelena, red in the face and totally unstable on her feet.
"What are you doing?" she shouted, totally oblivious to who you were speaking to. She grabbed your hand, trying to pull you up. "C'mon, Cam wants to dance with you."
Bucky straightened his back, the soft look in his eyes dissipating and settling into something colder.
He leaned away from you - you weren't even aware that you were almost touching - and stood up.
"You should go be with your friends,” he said stoically. “Enjoy the rest of your night.” He gave you one last look you just couldn’t decipher before he walked away.
Your heart ached.
Summer break was long and tough. It was arguably the much needed time away from college that you needed to nurse your heartbreak, but if anything, it just made you yearn for Bucky more.
You missed him.
You replayed the events of the last few months in your head over and over again. Where exactly had you gone wrong? What had made Bucky cut you out of his life like that?
Was the whole friendship just a lie?
Even if he didn't return your feelings, or if he was dating Sharon - surely that didn't mean he couldn't be friends with you?
Maybe this whole time you had simply severely overestimated your importance to him.
When the new academic year started, you did your best to avoid him totally. You spent most of your time either in your room, or at the library. Even the latter was bringing up unsavory feelings - the two of you had spent too much time there together, and everything reminded you of him.
You hated feeling this way.
You needed to admit to yourself that this wasn't just a crush you were getting over.
You had fallen in love.
The feeling in your chest, the way your heart constricted at the thought of him, the way his lack of attention tortured you - it was undeniable. You missed having him in your life, you missed your idle daily conversations and simply being in his presence.
You had never fallen in love before. You weren't sure you knew how to get over him.
One thing was for sure - unrequited love was a bitch.
Being emotionally devastated definitely showed in physical ways, too. You weren't getting much sleep, tossing and turning at night plagued with thoughts of Bucky. You weren't eating very well, skipping meals and avoiding spending time with your friends so as to evade having to talk about your feelings.
But, alas, you couldn't ignore the problem forever. You were trudging across campus from one lecture to the next, looking down at your feet. You barely registered your name being called until it came accompanied by a hand waving in front of your face.
And there he was. Of course he looked as good as ever, skin slightly more tanned over summer. He had cut his hair, and it suited him this way as much as it did long, looking totally and utterly gorgeous.
Bucky seemed taken aback at your appearance. You wondered how tired and weary you must've looked.
"Hey. Are you okay?" he asked, a concerned lilt in his voice.
"I'm fine," you lied, taken aback at how his sudden appearance was affecting you. You hadn't had time to brace yourself for it - the object of all your affections and the subject of your every day thought was standing right in front you, whilst you felt and looked like an absolute mess. It was so unfair.
You were horrified when you felt your eyes sting and the corners of your mouth start to tremble.
Oh my god. Do not cry. Do not cry.
"You're not okay," Bucky said suddenly, planting both hands on your shoulders and steering you several feet to the right, to a small alcove near the exterior of the closest building, away from the traffic of the footpath.
"I need to get to class," you blubbered, wanting to get away from him as soon as possible before the tears fell.
Bucky was firm as he shook his head.
"You're upset, and I want to know why," he said resolutely.
"Why do you care?" you snapped suddenly. Bucky was looking blurry in your vision - your eyes were filling with tears. Fuck. This is so embarrassing.
"Because you're crying," he said gently, his eyes staring into yours.
"No I'm not," you said as the first tear fell. You wiped it away, mortified.
"Okay, now you're crying," he said, trying to hold your gaze. "Are you going to tell me what's wrong?"
"Why do you care?" you repeated. "We're not friends - you were very clear about that."
Bucky looked speechless for a second, hands planted on his hips. He reached one out to you, like he wanted to touch you, before thinking better of it and letting it fall to his side.
The way he was looking at you made you feel so damn pitiful. All too suddenly and all at once, the dam broke and the tears were flowing. You were just so sad, and you wished for nothing more that he would be in your life again.
"You made me think that you cared," you sobbed. "I really thought we were friends. Then you just pushed me away like I was nothing, a nobody. Stopped talking to me without any explanation."
Bucky looked sincerely sorry now, looking distressed by your tears. "Please, sweets, don't cry," he said softly.
The affection and tenderness took you aback, only making you cry harder. He was messing with your feelings so much, and you had had enough.
"I really liked you," you spluttered through your tears. To hell with it. You'd already embarrassed yourself enough. “I love you, Bucky. I fell in love with you for the first time ever, and you broke my heart."
Bucky's face dropped as you dug the heels of your hands into your eyes, trying to will the tears to stop.
"You love me?"
You choked through your sobs. "I know you don't feel the same, but -"
"What about your boyfriend?" he interrupted, looking perplexed.
"What boyfriend?" you shot back with equal confusion, finally meeting his eyes.
"Cam?"
Your mouth dropped, speechless for a second.
"Cam is a girl," you squawked.
Bucky ran his fingers through his hair, eyes widening in realisation. "Oh. Oh."
"Is that what this has all been about?" You were bewildered. "You thought I had a boyfriend so you - you what, you just decided not to be friends with me anymore?"
Bucky stared at you what felt like the longest time, though it could only have been a few seconds.
"I liked you too,” he said finally, stepping closer towards you. “I mean - I love you, too.”
The words were barely above a whisper, but they took your breath away. He was holding your gaze so gently, apologies etched into his face.
"I fell in love with you, and I was this close to telling you how I felt. And when I thought you were seeing a guy - Cam," he cringed, now realizing just how badly he'd misunderstood, "I decided to nip things in the bud before my feelings got worse. I know it was selfish to push you away, but it was the only way I knew how to deal with my feelings.”
Hearing the words fall out of his mouth felt like a dream. Had you both really been so stupid this whole time over a couple of misunderstandings?
"You couldn't have asked me directly about whether or not I had a boyfriend?" You were frustrated now, and still in disbelief at the revelation that Bucky actually returned your feelings.
"You didn't tell me how you felt either," Bucky said defensively, before giving you a sheepish grin. "I guess we both suck a little at communicating?"
You had no words, unsure of what to do next as you stared up at him. You wanted to kiss him, hug him, make up for all the lost time where you had both been stupidly avoiding each other.
"Well - what happens now?" you asked quietly.
He reached out, his hand coming at your waist to pull you towards him. "Well. I've been wanting to kiss you for months," he murmured, looking down at your lips. “So that’s a suggestion.”
His other hand reached out to tilt your chin up, leaning closer and closer. You suddenly shot a hand up to his chest, leaning back before your lips could meet.
"What about Sharon?" You absolutely refused to be the other woman in this scenario, your face falling again at the thought of her.
"What about her?" Bucky asked blankly. He paused as the pieces slot into place. "You know she's dating Steve, right?"
"What?"
"She's not my girlfriend. Never was, never will be," he said clearly. "It's always been you. Only you."
That was all your needed to hear before you closed the distance between you, letting yourself melt into the kiss that you had dreamed of for so long. This man actually loved you back - maybe rom-com endings did exist.
When you both pulled back for air, Bucky kissed your forehead tenderly, his lips soft.
"Actually, there is something I need to confess to," he murmured against your skin.
"What?"
"I purposely started doing poorly in math and asked Professor Wilson to get you to tutor me," he said, giving you an embarrassed smile. "I'm not really bad at math. I'm actually really good at math."
You didn't know what shocked you more - this revelation or the fact that -
as long as we're together (does it matter where we go?)
Summary: You don't want to be a burden to Bucky, knowing he has the weight of the world on his shoulders.
Pairing: Bucky x Female!OC
Genre: Angst
Length: 7.8k
Two years ago
“I don’t think I want to be with you anymore.”
Bucky had expected it. Weeks of you being distant, making secret phone calls, avoiding his touches like they physically hurt you. Countless times Bucky had asked, what's wrong?, only for you to shut him down and say that everything was fine. Bucky was sick of hearing that empty, meaningless mantra, but it didn’t mean that he reveled in your confession now.
Even though it didn't come as a surprise, it still felt like a punch to the gut. It physically winded him to hear those words leave your lips.
He wondered what he did wrong. He wondered where they went wrong. They were so in love, so wonderfully content in each other's company. You were his person. Steve had once told Bucky that he would find someone unexpectedly, when Bucky made an off-hand comment about how lucky he was to have met Peggy.
“You’ll find your Peggy.”
Things had been perfect. Or maybe Bucky had just been in denial, ignoring all the problems between you because he thought that his feelings for you triumphed over everything, no matter what hardships you may have been suffering from. How could he ever face the reality that you might actually leave in pursuit of something better?
Now, Bucky’s chest was tight with an indescribable feeling, both of you stood in your shared apartment. Your belongings stuffed into a black suitcase, Bucky’s heart in pieces on the hardwood floor.
He had expected it, but it didn't stop him from wanting to die.
"Why?" It was all he could ask. He wanted to know the reason, wanted to understand. Wanted to know if he could fix it. He was desperate to make you stay.
Bucky stared at your face. You looked so...indifferent. Unattached, in contrast to the woman he had met all those years ago. Where had the softness in your eyes gone? Why couldn’t you meet his pleading gaze, even now? At what point did your feelings for him start to fade, and was there anything he could have done to salvage it?
Your face was a blank slate, emotionless, and it made Bucky feel a truly troubling combination of sadness and anger. It was as if you had already said your goodbyes to their relationship, completely ready to move on whilst Bucky was still trying to process your words. You were ready to leave him behind to mourn.
“I don’t think we’re right for each other,” you had said quietly. “I don’t think we can give each other what we need.”
"Bullshit," Bucky said, his voice cracking. You grimaced ever so slightly at his tone, still unable to meet his eyes. "How can you say that?"
He took a step forward; you matched it with a retreating step, but with wide strides he seized your wrists. He silently willed you to say something which could somehow lessen the excruciating pain.
“Will you just look at me?”
He wanted so badly for you to meet his stare, to find some source of comfort within your eyes which usually held so much love for him.
Finally, you relented and lifted your head. They did not fill Bucky with any hope. You pressed your lips together firmly as he searched your face desperately for any sign of residual affection.
"We - we're in love. How can you say after all these years that we're not right for each other? For fuck's sake, will you just tell me what happened?"
"People change, Bucky," you said softly. The look on your face - was it sadness, or apathy? "We've become too distant."
"And whose fault is that?" Bucky released you then. He was so angry, wanting to elicit some sort of reaction from you, that he wanted to punch the wall beside them. It made him feel nauseous at how stoic you were now, like a piece of unyielding rock. He knew you hated it when he took his anger out physically. You had been the one to teach him how to manage his rage more constructively, to talk things out and use his words rather than his fists.
"Are you trying to say it's mine?" Your tone was sharp, finally demonstrating some emotion. "Are you saying that all those nights waiting for you to come back home, all those evenings alone whilst you stayed at the Tower, all those hours I spent staring at the four walls of this apartment were my fault?"
"You left me!" Bucky retorted, gritting his teeth. "You left me long before today! You think I haven't noticed? You can barely stand touching me. You're always on your phone, always texting, always out seeing your 'friends'," he said, making air quotes. "I asked Wanda, she said you haven't been meeting her or your other friends for weeks. Who's this 'friend’? Who the fuck is it that's so important that you can't spare any time for me, never mind your actual friends?"
A long, pregnant pause filled the air, an indecipherable mask on your face once more. Bucky’s eyes were wet, and if he hadn't been so angry, he would've seen the way your lower lip was trembling ever so slightly, the way it did whenever you were trying not to cry. It had been the biggest telltale sign for him over the years to know when you were upset and trying your best to hide it.
He was usually so good at reading you, but he was blinded with sadness.
"Fine," you said eventually, slicing the silence with a shaky exhale. "I'm seeing someone else."
You might as well have struck Bucky across the face.
Suspecting it and hearing the words fall from your lips were two different things. He physically reeled back in anguish as he stared at you. He took in the sight of his girlfriend in front of him, swallowing the lump that was forming in his throat. This was, without a doubt, the woman he had met five years ago. The woman he spent five years loving. The woman whom he recognized no longer.
"Why?" Bucky whispered, all the fight leaving his body. He physically seemed to sag, forehead creasing at all the other questions running through his mind, visions of you being touched and fucked by some faceless, nameless man.
You were almost pitiful in the way you looked at Bucky, and he hated it.
"I care for you, Bucky. But I’m not in love with you anymore. And I'm sorry I had to do this to you. Things just got out of control."
I’m not in love with you anymore.
You offered no further information, but he had stopped listening, anyway. The finality in your voice pierced him slowly, tortuously, through the heart. He barely moved when you took your suitcase and pulled it out behind you, out of their apartment. Out of his life.
The door slammed shut.
Present day
You are cordially invited to attend the wedding of Mercedes Knight & Samuel Wilson
Sam had become Bucky’s closest confidant in the past few years, and the latter had been a close witness as Sam met Mercedes ‘Misty’ Knight, a former NYPD officer who had somehow become roped into their crazy world. It was no surprise to Bucky when they announced their engagement just six months into dating.
Bucky found himself being pulled into their wedding planning discussions far too often. He tried to keep an amused smile at bay whilst listening into Misty and Sam’s wedding talk at the Tower. They were using one of the many conference rooms - a Knight-Wilson union was official business, Misty insisted.
"Are you bringing a date?" Misty asked suddenly in the middle of everything, the question directed at Bucky.
"Of course he's bringing a date," Sam smirked. "Heard things with Sharon are going well, right?"
Bucky smiled non-committedly, shrugging. "She's great." It didn’t go unnoticed by Sam that this didn’t quite answer his question.
"You two look good together," Misty offered. She glanced at her watch and widened her eyes theatrically, grabbing Sam’s hand. "Oh crap, we need to go meet with the wedding planner."
"But it feels like we just sat down," Sam complained.
"There's no rest for the bride and groom, Sam," Misty said, pulling her fiancé out of his seat as she waved goodbye at Bucky.
As soon as they departed, the smile on Bucky’s face dimmed. He was beyond happy for his two friends, he really was - but every couple he knew was a fresh reminder of his own failed love life.
Ever since you, he hadn't been in a long term relationship. Sharon is different, he told himself, and she was. They had been friends for a long time, and of course spent a lot of time together carrying out missions and the like. Over time, somehow, they had gotten closer, and one day Sharon had just asked him, “So when are you going to ask me out, Barnes?”
At that point, Bucky was still frequently thinking about you. Sharon had never met you before, but Bucky wouldn’t be surprised if she had heard stories about you from the others, since he had been notoriously affected by the breakup. Even though he was dealing with the aftershocks of the broken relationship, he was forcing himself to get past it.
They had been dating for two months now, and it only seemed right for Sharon to be his date at the wedding.
He had moved on. He was no longer the depressed, dark wreck he was when you left.
Sometimes it’s better to lie to yourself than to face the reality.
“You invited Bucky’s ex to the wedding?” Misty asked curiously.
“Uh, yeah. She’s not just his ex,” Sam explained gently. “She’s my friend too, and I haven’t seen her since she left town.”
"You told Bucky?"
"Nope," Sam snorted, shaking his head. "I can't. I don't think he'd turn up if I did. I want them both there on the day - I'm sure they can be civil for one night."
“I wonder how Bucky will react," his future wife pondered.
Sam shrugged. Not well, probably.
"What else can I do? I can’t not invite her, I really want her to be there. You never met her, so you don’t know, but she’s been through some shit.”
“I know, I know, you told me,” Misty said. “I just don’t want anyone to get hurt. Do you think she'll be okay seeing Bucky again? Especially if he'll be there with Sharon?"
"She said she can handle it. She would be happy to see that Bucky was happy. She was the one who practically begged me to encourage him to move on."
“Do you think he has?”
Sam paused, considering the question carefully.
“He has to.”
Several weeks later, Misty Knight and Sam Wilson were officially wed at the local registration office. The day was full of hugs, cacophonous laughter, friends and family, and Bucky watched with a wide beam on his face as he witnessed his friends glow. Those kinds of smiles were few and far between nowadays, but he was truly happy for once.
"They look so good together," Sharon murmured as hundreds of guests filled the hotel ballroom, the party commencing in full swing. The newlyweds were in the center of the room, Misty being twirled around wildly by a laughing Sam before his wife collapsed against his chest in fits of giggles, looking up into his eyes adoringly.
More and more people joined them on the dance floor after the conclusion of their official first dance.
"Barnes, would you like to dance?" Sharon asked suddenly with a smile, extending a hand.
Bucky chuckled, allowing her to take his hand and lead him out to the dance floor.
An hour passed, and Bucky had to truthfully say that he was enjoying himself, assisted by all the alcohol he had consumed. Sharon was draped all over him as they swayed to the music, and Bucky found himself appreciating the feel of her body against his all too much, the scent of her intoxicating. His hands felt the fabric of her silky, emerald green dress, buried his nose into Sharon's blonde hair, sighing softly as he tightened his grip on her waist.
Her perfume was strong and woodsy, like a forest. It irritated his nose ever so slightly. You had preferred a more subtle, floral perfume, one that smelt like sakura blossoms.
Sharon was more confident and seductive in the way she danced, whilst you used to always let yourself become putty in his arms, enjoying how he took the lead and managed to make you look like you knew how to dance despite your two left feet.
However, despite the differences, if Bucky closed his eyes and just tried a little harder, he think he could pretend that -
"Sorry to interrupt.”
Bucky pulled away from Sharon suddenly, and he turned to mock glare at Sam. "What do you want, Wilson?"
"Need to borrow you for a minute," Sam said, an undecipherable expression on his face. Bucky tried to see where Misty had disappeared off to, but saw no trace.
"Um, sure..." Bucky tried to read Sam’s face but gleaned nothing.
"I'll just go say hi to Natasha," Sharon said, giving Bucky’s forearm a squeeze before she disappeared.
Sam’s smile faded, and he caught Bucky’s arm in a vice grip. "I need to tell you something. Don't get mad, okay?"
"What?" Bucky scowled as Sam dragged him to the side of the room, weaving through the crowds of guests. "What good news starts with, ‘don’t get mad’? Are you gonna tell me you want to run out on Misty or something?" He joked.
Sam pulled him out through one of the open French doors which led to a pretty, outdoor stone balcony. He shut them behind him as Bucky continued to babble, a little tipsy from the champagne he'd had. "I gotta tell ya, if she asks me to kick your ass I will literally do so -”
"Bucky," Sam said, taking a deep breath. "She’s here." Meeting Bucky’s nonplussed eyes, your name rolled off Sam’s tongue in clarification.
He felt like the breath was sucked from his lungs as he stared back at Sam, who looked uncharacteristically anxious.
“What?" He asked hoarsely, instantly sobering up. “What do you mean?”
Chills were running through his body. The name he had avoided for years was suddenly causing him to feel breathless. How did you still have such an affect on him?
"She couldn't make it to the ceremony earlier today, but she just arrived."
"You - you invited her here? She’s here, now?"
"Yes," Sam replied, nodding. "I invited her.” He straightened up and crossed his arms over his chest almost defiantly.
Bucky was speechless for a moment, taking a step back and scoffing. He shook his head. “Do you remember what she did to me?”
“I'm sorry, Buck..."
Bucky suddenly laughed, startling Sam. His laugh was curt, humorless. "What are you sorry for? I'm over her, Sam. It was two years ago. I haven't seen her in two years. I don't care anymore," he said quickly. Too quickly.
"Listen -"
"Look, it's okay." Bucky raised his hands in small surrender. “You have the right to invite whoever you want. I’m not mad. But I just don’t want to be held accountable for whatever happens now.”
He turned and wrenched the French doors open with such force that the handle buckled slightly. The noise inside the ballroom spilled out to replace the painful silence on the balcony.
He disappeared inside before Sam could say anything else, and he tried to hide it, but Sam could clearly see that his hands were shaking as he marched inside.
For the next twenty minutes, Bucky found sanctuary in the restrooms. He stood inside the stall, trying to stop himself from mentally collapsing.
He didn’t know what was happening. He had never felt this overwhelming panic rush over him before, immobilizing him. Anger, sadness and yearning swirling inside a melting pot of emotions that was crippling him.
She was here. The woman he hadn't seen in two years, the woman who broke his heart, the woman who betrayed him, the woman who left him in tatters.
Your infidelity had had an unforeseen impact on him. When he first found out, he was devastated. Terrified of how you became someone he didn’t recognize - or had you always been someone capable of betraying him, just good at hiding it?
You had poisoned all the happy memories they had once shared. Bucky found himself recounting all the years you were together, micro-analyzing everything, wondering if there was a hidden lie behind it all.
That was one of the things which made him angriest. You turned all the beautiful years of your relationship into a lie. None of it was real, Bucky had told himself.
You crushed him.
Of his feelings, anger prevailed, slowly simmering to the surface, like a volcano about to erupt. How dare you walk back into his life like this? He would show you, Bucky thought with determination. He was over you. He had no reason to be angry, he thought bitterly, because you were nothing to him.
Just like Bucky was nothing to you.
When he emerged from the toilets, the first thing he did was find Sharon. She looked relieved to see him, although confusion was clear on her face as she eyed Bucky.
"Where have you been? Are you feeling okay?" She commented, brow furrowed with concern.
"I'm fine," Bucky assured her. "Have you seen Sam?"
Sharon pointed, puzzlement still painted across her face, and Bucky snapped round quickly.
And there you were.
It was as if you had never left. As if the past two years filled with Bucky trying to eradicate every memory and feeling he had for you had never happened, because as soon as Bucky’s eyes found you through the crowd, everything came collapsing back down on top of him like an avalanche. Suffocating.
You were still so beautiful, strikingly so. Like a burning beacon among the crowd, Bucky’s eyes found your face as easily as anything. For a second, he allowed himself to ignore anything except you, and how the sight of you still managed to take his breath away.
You looked thinner than he remembered, your face gaunt. Bucky frowned slightly at this acute observation and found himself wondering if you had been taking care of yourself.
"Barnes? You okay?"
Bucky registered Sharon shaking his arm, but his eyes remained fastened on yourself and Sam. Neither of you had spotted Bucky yet, who was rooted to the spot like a statue. Sam’s mouth was moving, words that Bucky couldn't hear escaping his mouth, but his expression was angry. Almost as if he was scolding you for something.
"I have to...I..." Bucky stumbled over his words, voice faint. He could feel those tendrils of anger slowly seizing him again, wisps at first, until they grew more and more potent by the second. He remembered every single thing he felt when you left him, and instead of trying to hold back the emotions, Bucky just saw red.
"Let me introduce you to someone," he said suddenly, his voice strained as he took Sharon's hand.
"You said you were better," Sam said, expression torn.
"I am," you lied, trying to put on a smile. Truth was, you were exhausted, just like how you always felt. The ballroom was so crowded and loud, and you just wanted to go back to the hotel and sleep, which you would the moment you finished congratulating Sam and Misty. And perhaps, even though you didn't want to admit it, you wanted to catch a glimpse of Bucky, too.
"Look at you, you're -"
“Sam, please don’t,” you interrupted gently. “Just drop it, please? It’s your big day, I don’t want you to worry about anything else.”
Sam opened his mouth to talk, but stopped suddenly, his eyes flitting to look behind you.
"Hey."
You froze. You knew that voice, of course. Heard it enough times, the deep, gravelly voice that had once whispered sweet pet names, proclamations of love, and plagued your dreams ever since you left him.
You had longed to hear his voice again, hear your name being spoken lovingly. His voice was your favorite sound in the world. Except tonight, hearing it for the first time in two years, you heard nothing but ice.
"Bucky?" You turned slowly, and your breath hitched. He was just the way you remembered him. Even more handsome, if possible. Clad in a sleek black tux, tall and dark and sexy, everything you had missed and dreamed of, and...
He was holding another woman’s hand.
"Bucky," Sam repeated, voice tense. Bucky could hear the underlying warning.
"It's been a while," he said stiffly, acting as neutral as he could. As if he hadn't spent months after their terrible break up being a shell of who he used to be, barely repaired even now. Bucky felt like any other venomous words from your mouth would shatter him again, but he had to take the chance. He had to talk to you, show you that he had moved on. He didn't care about you anymore, or how you so ruthlessly left him.
"Yes," you said weakly, smiling softly. God, he still thought that you looked beautiful, clad in a periwinkle blue dress, a thick coat draped around your shoulders. You were shivering, and Bucky resisted the urge to ask you what was wrong. Now that he was closer, he could see that didn’t look well at all. You had dark circles under your eyes and your collarbones were too prominent, your gaze devoid of any livelihood.
You glanced at Bucky’s fingers interlaced with a gorgeous blonde. You had seen her on the news before, you were pretty certain. Your smile forcibly stretched wider, blinking a few times, not knowing what to do with yourself.
"This is Sharon," Sam said, clearing his throat and exchanging introductions.
“It’s very nice to meet you,” Sharon said politely. She was gorgeous, you thought, watching as she sent Bucky a subtle, questioning glance.
Bucky was still staring at you, unmoving. You took the initiative first.
“Bucky, can we talk for a second?"
You could see the way he was trying to control himself by the way his lips stiffened, his Adam’s apple bobbing as he swallowed. He gave a curt nod. He didn’t want to cause a scene in front of Sharon and the other hundreds of wedding guests.
“Let’s leave these two to catch up,” Sam said lightly, trying to hide his discomfort as he led Sharon away.
"So now you want to talk?" Bucky asked as soon as they were out of earshot, his voice sharp. You cringed, almost folding into yourself at Bucky’s hard stare.
"Yes," was all you managed to whisper, eyes darting to the ground to avoid meeting his glare. “Let’s go somewhere quieter.”
You turned and walked towards the exit of the ballroom, turning back to look at Bucky. He followed after a second, his jaw set like stone as you led the way to the empty lobby outside, away from the noise.
"It's been a while, Buck.” You voice was sad as you turned to face him again.
"Yes," he said, fighting an internal battle. He was so torn. Seeing you again made him want to wrap you up in his arms like he would've done two years ago, when you were still together. And feeling like that made Bucky angry. What right did you have to make him feel this way? Who gave you the right to mess with Bucky’s heart again after so long?
"How have you been?" You asked eventually after a painfully awkward silence.
He scoffed at that. "How have I been?" He repeated incredulously. He doubted you really wanted to hear about all those nights he spent in his apartment, refusing to talk to his friends, being a complete social introvert (more than he usually was) because he felt like he just couldn't live anymore. Not without you.
"Great. Fantastic," he said without a shred of sincerity.
You stared at him for the longest time, your lips pressed into a thin line. You looked so regretful that it made Bucky feel uncomfortable.
"I'm sorry," you said eventually, your voice wavering like you were struggling to breathe properly. "I'm so sorry for leaving you like that. We...we could have ended things better. You didn't deserve how I treated you."
You flinched when Bucky scoffed derisively. He dropped any remaining restraints he had previously put in place, letting all his feelings run free.
"Are you kidding me? Why? Why are you coming back here and apologizing after all this time?" He felt like he wanted to tear his hair out in frustration as he stared at you, making sure to keep his distance lest he found himself wanting to pull you closer. God, it was all so confusing. He despised you, and yet seeing you here in the flesh was everything he had ever wanted in the last few years.
He hated how you were making him feel.
"Look, it doesn't matter anymore. What's done is done," he spat through gritted teeth, all the while completely unaware of how your heart clenched painfully at Bucky’s scornful eyes. “Do you have any idea how unfair this is? You fucked up big time, disappeared off the face of the earth, then come back standing in front of me now asking how I am?”
“I know. You’re right, about everything. I just wanted to let you know that I’m sorry.”
“No. You have no right to do this,” Bucky seethed. “You have no right to come back here and try to - what, settle your guilt? Make amends?”
You didn’t say anything, choosing to let him vent instead.
“I still remember the way you left. What you did. I will never forgive you for that. So don’t you dare stand in front of me today with all this bullshit and expect me to have something nice to say.”
"You really hate me, don't you?" You asked then, taking Bucky off guard. You lifted your head properly to stare at him, and the look in your eyes was unsettling.
"I hate you," Bucky confirmed unwaveringly, his voice hard. "I hate what you did to me and by extension, you."
You didn't respond. You bit your lower lip hard, trying desperately not to cry in front of him. Your heart hurt so much.
It was the worst feeling in the world, maybe, seeing the man you loved so dearly tell you that he hated you. It was excruciating, the clenching inside your chest as Bucky’s words rang in your head.
"I know my apologies will never be enough. I just wanted to see if you're happy now," you whispered.
"I'm happy," Bucky replied almost immediately. "I'm happy with Sharon. Does that bother you? Did you hope that I'd still be pining after you? I'm not that pathetic anymore." The barriers were broken, and the hurtful words were falling from Bucky’s mouth, two years worth of it.
“I never said you were pathetic,” you retorted, slightly indignant. “I’m glad that you’re happy.”
Bucky was breathing hard, unconvinced by your words.
“And how's the man you left me for?"
"He...it didn't work out," you shrugged, trying to keep your face as straight as possible.
"Good," Bucky said harshly. "Because you don't deserve happiness." If he wasn't so mad, he wouldn't say such irrational things. But he just wanted you to hurt. He wanted you to feel all the pain you caused.
Bucky pretended he didn't hear you gasp. He pretended that he didn't see your eyes gloss over at the sheer amount of hate in his voice.
"Okay," you said finally, your voice clearly shaking. "Okay," you repeated again, nodding your head. Bucky watched you take a step back, away from him.
“I -”
“I'm sorry, Bucky. Please take care," you interrupted, smiling sadly before you turned and walked away as quickly as possible.
That was not how you envisioned the reunion to go. All you wanted was to apologize, know that he was happy, so that you could go in peace.
But maybe that was the consequence of your decision. Maybe he was just always going to hate you for the rest of his life and remember you as someone awful.
You didn’t know that all Bucky wanted to do was run after you. Tell you to stop. He wanted to apologize and tell you how he didn’t mean a word of what he just said.
Rage and pride kept him shackled, and he watched your retreating back, feeling like a coward.
The last thing Bucky expected when he opened his apartment door a few days later was Sam’s dirty glare.
"You can be a mean son of a bitch, do you know that?”
"Hello to you too,” Bucky retorted.
“Why did you say all that stuff to her?” Sam asked, pushing his way past Bucky.
Bucky closed the door, knowing exactly who he was referring to.
"Why is this any of your business?"
"You acted like a dick!" Sam said furiously.
“Look, I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have done something like that on your special day. But-”
“I want you to feel sorry to her.”
"She left me,” Bucky exclaimed. "You were there, Sam, you saw how fucked up she made me. She cheated on me! You want me to apologize to her?” His face was incredulous.
“You’re so fucking frustrating.”
“Oh, excuse me for not being the bigger person,” Bucky sneered. “But you don’t know how she made me feel, Sam, so don’t you dare try to give me a fucking lecture now.”
Sam was quiet for the longest time, looking exasperated. He stared up at the ceiling, sighing.
“Bucky, look man. She never cheated on you,” Sam said finally, an apologetic look in his eyes.
The apartment became filled with nothing but the sounds of Bucky’s heavy breathing.
“What are you talking about?” He spat, realizing now that Sam knew something he didn’t.
Sam let out a resigned sigh, rubbing the back of his neck.
"I promised her I wouldn’t tell you. But fuck it, man, cause I think this is messed up. She’s sick, Bucky," he said solemnly. "Like, really sick."
Two years ago
"It's cancer, Sam."
You physically couldn't cry anymore. You had done enough of that the day the doctor had told you, your eyes puffy and swollen. Funnily enough, the first person you had sought out wasn’t your boyfriend, but rather his best friend.
Bucky wasn’t even in town that weekend, and you really didn’t want to tell him over the phone. In fact, you never wanted to tell him. How do you tell the man you love that you're dying?
"You can get treatment, right?" Sam asked.
"I don't know. It’s not looking good. They're doing some sort of new clinical trial in England, but even that’s a long shot. I - I’m going to try, though.”
Sam sat up straighter. “And Bucky?”
"You can't tell him," you said firmly. You had thought about it all night, and you knew you couldn't let him know. You didn't want to put him through something like this. "My father had cancer too, Sam," you said softly. "He died in so much pain, he had so much treatment but it didn't help. He was throwing up all the time, having fevers, his body was so weak, and by the end he wasn’t the same anymore. I don't want him to see me like that."
“But-”
“No buts,” you said. You had given it enough thought already. You knew that you would have to be very, very lucky to make it through this - the end was essentially inevitable. There was no way you would make Bucky bear witness to you succumbing to this illness the same way you had to watch your father.
It was the worst time of your life. You had told Bucky about it in the past, as he had never had a chance to meet your father since he passed away years before you met Bucky. Knowing what you did, you would never inflict that same experience on him.
"So what are you going to do?"
"I have to leave him.” You had been preparing yourself for what you needed to do all night. "If I go, there's a chance I might not come back, you understand that, right?"
"Don't say things like that," Sam said forcefully, clenching your hand. "Just stop. Bucky will support you all the way, you know that!"
"That’s exactly why I have to go by myself. I can't be selfish, Sam. I want him to be happy. That's all I've ever wanted. I can’t make him drop everything to make me his number one priority. Looking after me will take time and constant care. If I go to England, he will abandon everything and come. Manhattan is his home.”
Sam looked anguished and you knew that he was disagreeing with everything you had just said, but you plowed on.
"It’s not just a matter of time and effort. If he stays, he will watch me die, and I don’t want him to do that.” You began to cry, and Sam hugged you, wishing he could say something comforting.
“It’s okay," you said through the tears, even though every fiber in your body was telling you the opposite. You had been repeating these words to yourself all night, as if you would believe it if you said it enough times. "It’ll be okay."
Maybe you were being stupid, but you didn't care. You knew Bucky loved you with his body and soul, as did you. But you weren’t going to let him suffer over your illness. You wouldn't let the person you cared most about in the world see you slowly deteriorate.
You had been witness to how your father was clearly in a depressive state, and yet tried his hardest to pretend to be happy and fine around other people. You didn’t know if you had the strength or bravery to even pretend.
You began distancing yourself. Stopped trying to make conversation with Bucky, until the long, endless, random talks you used to share diminished into curt sentences. You stopped waiting for Bucky to come home, simply pretending that you didn't care. You became more secretive, furtively hiding your calls with your doctor and your mother.
There was no other man. You loved him and only him, and had been nothing but faithful. You didn't know what hurt more: having to lie to Bucky or the fact that he so easily believed you would betray him like that.
In the end, you had really regretted fabricating a story of infidelity. You should have just gone your separate ways without making him think that you had been unfaithful. But at that time, you wanted to find a quick solution that would make Bucky voluntarily detach himself from you. It seemed like a wise decision, but you really, really wish you hadn’t let him believe that you didn’t love him. It was truly the worst feeling in the world.
It was all over in a few weeks. You packed your things and left, trying not to cry with every heavy step you took towards the door of your apartment. You knew you were making the best decision for them both, surely.
Time would heal Bucky, and he would be happy again one day.
It just couldn’t be with you.
Present day
"She just didn’t want to feel like a burden to you, man," Sam said, shaking his head. "Why did you have to say all those things to her at the wedding?"
Bucky could register nothing else after Sam finished explaining everything. He was in disbelief, though he knew that there was no way Sam would fabricate a story like that.
Now, he could only think of the way he had shouted at you. The way he told you how much he hated you. The way you had left.
"Where is she?" Bucky whispered.
"She’s leaving today," Sam said tersely. "She’s going back to England. She was real sick for a long time, and she recovered a few months ago, but the cancer came back.”
He slipped a hotel business card into Bucky’s hand. “This is the address she’s staying at," Sam said.
He grasped it like a lifeline, eyes unable to see Sam standing in front of him. His vision was completely filled with images of you.
"Go," Sam said forcefully. "Go and find her.”
The tears wouldn't stop falling.
You didn't know words could hurt so much. Sure, you had expected Bucky to hate you, but you weren’t prepared for the way every single word seemed to embed themselves into your skin like splinters into your heart.
They were once so happy. They were so perfect.
You hated yourself. Hated yourself for getting ill, for ruining what you had. The logic was irrational, but the self-hatred had become second nature.
You had spent the last few days holed up in your hotel. You had planned to use the time to see a few friends before returning to England, but you no longer had the heart.
You left your room that morning only because Wanda was furious that she missed you at the wedding, and you agreed to have coffee with her. She almost cried at the sight of you, but you put on a brave face, refusing to talk about Bucky. You begged her if you could just talk about happy topics and she eventually obliged, smiling sadly when you hugged each other goodbye.
“I’ll see you again, dear,” Wanda had said, and you hoped to God she was right.
As soon as you got inside your hotel room, you felt a switch click internally.
Everything hurt. You were tired, unhappy and you really didn’t know if you would ever make it out of this emotional blackhole. You felt so weak, like you would keel over at any given moment.
Cancer really was a bitch.
You kicked off your shoes and entered the bathroom. You lay down in the bathtub, fully clothed, turning the cold water on until you were almost completely submerged, wanting to numb all the pain inside your body and mind.
You eyes were red and swollen, and you couldn't remember crying so much since that day the doctor diagnosed you. Why was life so unfair? You wanted your old life back again. The life where Bucky didn't detest you, the one where he was happily and wonderfully in love with you.
You lay back, letting the water cover you completely. You closed your eyes, your hair gently swirling around your face. You opened your mouth and screamed, bubbles erupting to the surface.
Eventually you emerged, gasping and coughing, your tears hot in contrast to your frozen face. Your body wracked with sobs, shaking uncontrollably.
You sank back down into the water, your mouth opening once more to scream in uncontrollable rage. It was cathartic, your fists clenched into balls as you willed the feelings inside you to just - disappear.
When you opened your eyes beneath the water, you nearly gasped at the sight of a blurry, warped figure above you. You didn't have time to do anything when arms were suddenly encasing themselves around you, lifting you to the surface.
You spluttered and coughed, your ears assaulted by the voice that once whispered sweet nothings in your ear.
"- the fuck are you doing? Are you okay?"
Bucky.
You blinked past the water in your eyes, bewildered at the sight of him, kneeling beside the bathtub with his hands gripping your shoulders. His bright blue eyes were scared, wide open with concern.
You were startled at his sudden appearance, unable to say anything as he scooped you out, lifting you with ease. You were clearly in shock and scared.
You collapsed against him as he sat down on the bathroom floor with you in his arms.
"What were you doing?” Bucky was appalled as he pulled you close to him, watching how you continued to weep, blinking blearily at him. Your body was ice cold, every inch of you soaked.
He whipped a towel down from the railing beside you, wrapping it around your body as you shivered uncontrollably.
"Bu - Bucky?" You asked, as if you couldn't fathom why he was here. You were almost convinced you were hallucinating.
"Fuck, we need to get you out of these clothes," Bucky said, gritting his teeth as he tried not to cry. He had so much to say to you. He wanted you to know how sorry he was, how he didn't mean anything he said, but now wasn’t the time. He had to be strong for you.
You felt like a baby as Bucky removed your soaking wet garments until you were naked, then immediately swaddled you with more towels. He picked you up completely off the floor and took you out of the bathroom.
He chose to place you down on the edge of the bed, positioning himself to kneel down in front of you.
"Bucky," you whispered, voice thick, trying to pull away from him. “I think you should just leave me alone."
He stiffened. It scared him to hear you talk like this, to see you look at Bucky with such defeat in your eyes.
“No,” he said resolutely. “I'm here now, okay? I'm here, I'm not leaving, and I need you to be with me. I need you here, talking to me.”
"I can't. I can't do this anymore. Just go, please."
Bucky looked at you then. Really looked at you. The woman he loved and misunderstood for so long was now a trembling wreck in front of him, skin paper thin and trembling like a leaf. You looked so vulnerable and sad, and it made his heart twist.
Bucky suddenly held you tight against his chest, tucking his nose against the crook of your neck, and you didn't resist.
"Do you have any idea how much I hate myself? I hate myself for letting you go through this alone. I hate myself for telling you all those lies that night. I love you, I love you, I love you," Bucky said, wishing that you would see it.
“Don’t.”
“I wish you had told me. I would have helped you. You should have told me. I can’t believe you -”
You realized now that Sam must've told him the truth, and you sighed softly.
"I'm not good for you, Bucky," you whispered. "I will only ever hurt you, put you through more pain."
"I know everything now," Bucky said firmly. "No matter what happens, I will gladly endure it as long as it means we're no longer apart."
“Don’t be so stupid,” you said, anger tearing through your voice, though the tears were still falling. “I’m broken, Buck. I can’t give you a future. Please just find someone else - stay with Sharon.”
“Sharon?” If you hadn’t mentioned her name, Bucky would never have even thought about her. “No - we’re not serious, doll. She was never going to be the one.”
“No,” you insisted. “If not her, then fine, find someone else. Just not me.”
“Why aren’t you listening?” Bucky asked furiously. “I love you. I’ve always loved you. Please don’t do this. I need you." He was desperate to make you see, to make you understand. It was you or nothing. "You don’t know how awful the past few years have been. I don’t want to be apart from you, please.” He was prepared to grovel at your feet and beg.
He hated himself for how easily he gave up two years ago. This time, he was not letting you leave him.
His beautiful blue eyes pleaded with you, and you felt your barricades crumble. Your arms finally moved to wrap around him, and he felt a wave of relief as he encircled you in his arms. You had missed this, the feeling of Bucky holding you so tenderly.
You didn’t know if you were making the right choice, but you wanted to give in so badly and just let yourself be selfish and enjoy what time you could have together. And now that Bucky had you back by his side, he was definitely not going to let you go.
Even if they were in pieces, at least they were together. And Bucky was positive that they could put those pieces back into a whole, as long as you gave it a chance.
"You're so stupid," you said through your tears.
"I don't think so," Bucky said, managing the smallest smile. "Just stupidly in love with you."
You wanted to stay like this forever, entangled in each others arms. He pulled back slowly to study your face, and leaned in to press a gentle kiss against your lips. He kissed you again, deeper this time, breathing you in.
“You owe me two years of kisses,” he mumbled.
You laughed softly, but it soon died. First, you had a lot of talking to do. You used the following hour to tell him the details about your illness, why you had left, how sorry you were for treating Bucky the way you did when you broke up with him.
"You're so dumb," Bucky had said, sounding furious for a moment. "You had no right to decide something like that for me. You know I would support you.”
"I know, Buck," you had interrupted. "That's exactly why I had to leave. I didn't want you to see me die, okay?"
You had looked like you were about to cry again, so Bucky stopped scolding you immediately. He would never make you cry again, he swore.
"You're here now," he said, kissing your temple. "We're together now. Everything feels...right again."
You swallowed, biting your lip. "I told you, my cancer is back and -"
"You'll get better again," he said, refusing to look at you. You knew that tears were in his eyes. "You'll get better, okay?" His voice wavered slightly.
"It's worse this time, Bucky," you said. "Look at me. I'm practically withering away."
"You'll get better," he said, clenching his teeth.
You didn't say anything, just nestled against Bucky’s chest, relishing the way he wrapped his arms securely around your frame as if you would disappear at any moment.
Maybe he was right. Maybe by some miracle, with Bucky by your side, you would be able to give him all the time in the world.
Summary: Watching Twilight with Bucky leads to to sex. Sounds about right.
Pairing: Bucky x Female!reader
Warnings: Degradation kink, dirty talk, facials
Genre: Smut
Word Count: 2k
Watching the Twilight movies with your boyfriend was surely a rite of passage. 16 year old you would be squealing if she knew that one day, you’d be dating someone as broody and stoic as your favorite fictional vampire, Edward Cullen.
You had managed to convince Bucky to curl up and bed and watch the first movie with you, telling him it was essential for his ever-growing knowledge of pop culture.
“Okay, this is too weird,” Bucky concluded as Edward and Bella danced on-screen at her prom. “This whole movie is flawed. Why would a vampire family feel the need to go to high school?”
“To blend in,” you said simply. You were sat with your back against the headboard with Bucky lying with his head resting against your bare thighs - you hadn't even bothered to change out of your pajama tank top and shorts. He was in a pair of gray sweatpants and an unbuttoned shirt, the epitome of a lazy Sunday as his fingernails grazed softly against the flesh of your leg.
He tilted his head back to look at you, rolling his eyes. “And going to high school is the way to do that? They could be doing literally anything else.”
“Don’t think too hard about the logic behind it,” you said, your fingers toying with locks of his hair.
“And Edward is over 100 years old? Going after a 17 year old? Something’s not right with that.”
You snorted, amused by Bucky’s dissection of the movie.
“How old are you again?”
“It’s not the same,” Bucky shot back.
“C’mon,” you teased, “what’s an old man doing going after a much younger woman?”
Bucky sat up then, the muscles in his abdomen rippling and flexing. He hit pause on the movie and knocked the laptop aside, rolling on top of you so that his knees were between yours, easing your legs apart.
“What did you just call me?” He challenged, hands reaching for your hips and tugging down sharply so that you slid down onto your back with a gasp.
You knew exactly what direction this was heading in as Bucky’s lips moved to your neck, his teeth softly scraping against the surface like he wanted to bite. The smell of his cologne was intoxicating, and you moaned softly as his teeth nibbled on your skin.
"Bucky..."
"Say it again," he murmured, his hands sliding up beneath your shirt to cup your breast. Your nipple hardened as he played with it, and he chuckled. "You like being felt up by this old man, huh?"
"Nuh-uh," you spluttered unconvincingly as Bucky's other hand reached down to palm your crotch, applying pressure to your clit. Arousal was flooding through every nerve ending, and you resisted the urge to grind up into his hand for more.
"I think you do," Bucky disagreed. "I think you like being used by me. Being fucked senseless by me."
He sat back and you mewled involuntarily at the loss of his touch against your body, but was quickly silenced when Bucky shrugged off his shirt and tossed it aside. You reached forward to tug at his sweatpants, but his hands shot out to pin your arms above your head.
"Not so fast, sweetheart," he said, though you could see how hard he was already. He just loved to see you squirm.
"Please, Bucky," you said, knowing exactly what he liked to hear. "Don't you think I deserve your cock? Don't you want to fuck my mouth?"
Bucky groaned then, placing his fingers inside your mouth for you to lick hungrily.
"You really think you deserve to suck my dick?" He grunted, though he was already peeling off his sweatpants like his life depended on it. He lay back and easily maneuvered you like a doll so that you were on top, gesturing to his groin.
"Show me what that pretty mouth can do, my love."
You complied eagerly, easing down his boxer briefs and releasing his cock in all its glory. It sprang to attention, red and stiff and oh-so-thick, waiting to be plunged into your mouth.
Giving Bucky blowjobs was one of your favorite things in the world. You loved looking up at his expression as you delivered pleasure with your tongue - it was thrilling knowing that you were the one to elicit such noises from his mouth.
You licked the length of his shaft slowly, teasingly, massaging his balls with one hand as you reached the tip of his dick. You flicked the head of it with your tongue before taking as much of it as you could into your mouth. You loved how heavy it felt, the weight of his cock on your tongue. It made you unbelievably wet, and you could feel yourself soaking through your panties as Bucky threaded his hands through your hair, gently helping you bob up and down.
You pulled off long enough to quickly gasp, "Use me, Bucky." It was more of a plea than an order, and it made his expression darken with arousal.
His fingers tightened - not hard enough to hurt, but enough to make you moan around his cock - as he pushed your head down so that you were forced to take it to the root, almost choking on it. He knew you loved it.
Bucky continued to pull you on and off his cock, throwing his head back with a guttural moan. If you continued on like this, he knew he could definitely cum without a problem. But right now, he needed to get inside you.
"I need your pussy," he grunted as you pulled his cock out of your mouth with a pop, gasping for air. Tears were coming out of the corners of your eyes, and he loved how disheveled you looked.
You were obedient, crawling up towards him and positioning yourself over his length. You could barely hold in your shivers of anticipation as he lined himself up with your entrance and moved his hands to your waist, guiding you as you slowly sank down onto him.
The moment the tip of his dick breached his entrance was one of your favorite feelings. There wasn't anything else quite like it. You loved how it felt when he stretched you open, making your mouth open into a silent scream.
He let you still for a moment as you settled down onto his cock, letting yourself get used to fullness of it. He studied your face carefully, eyes roving down to your breasts, your thighs.
"You okay, baby?" He asked gently, resisting the urge to thrust up inside you.
"I'm okay," you said breathlessly. You began to roll your hips, grinding on his cock whilst you watched Bucky's eyes practically roll back into their sockets.
"Oh fuck. Yes - that's it, you pretty little slut," he groaned. Those words were all it took to get you going, and you began bouncing on his cock like a bunny, wanting to drive him crazy.
"Oh God. You feel so good inside me," you moaned, somehow wanting Bucky to go deeper.
"You like it, hm? You're just my little cockslut, aren't you? Serving me so well, doing your duties," he grunted, his hands slapping your ass hard.
"Yes, yes, yes," you chanted, your brain unable to string together a coherent thought. "Bucky - be mean to me," you mewled, wanting him to be rougher, to make you scream.
"Be mean to you?" He repeated teasingly with a smirk on his lips. He pulled you off his cock, sitting up and motioning for you to get on your knees. He loved fucking you doggy-style, and you eagerly presented yourself to him as he knelt behind you.
You felt him slap his cock against your entrance a few times, covering himself with your slick.
"How hard do you want me to fuck your tight little cunt?" He asked.
"As hard as you can," you begged.
"Hmmm." He pretended to ponder, before suddenly sheathing himself inside you, making you grip the pillows hard with both your hands.
"Oh - Bucky!" Your voice was pitchy and weak as he thrust into you, his hand on the back of your neck to press you down. His other hand landed strike after strike on your ass cheeks, turning them red.
"Tell me, can an old man fuck you like this? Turn you into a trembling mess?"
"N-no," you spluttered as he moved his hands to your hips instead and began pulling you onto his cock, hard.
"God, you feel so good. Can't wait to cum inside you, mark you as mine," he grunted, throwing his head back at the pleasure of it.
"Want you - to cum - on my face," you gasped, your sentence faltering with each snap of Bucky's hips.
"Want me to cum on your face?" Bucky repeated mockingly, pulling out and ordering you to turn around to face him. You did so obediently, rolling over and barely able to prepare yourself before Bucky slid inside you again, eyes locked on yours.
"Are you sure you don't want me to cum inside your pussy? On your tits? In your ass?" He was toying with your frustrations, knowing how much you loved the feeling of him releasing on your face, the absolute debauchery of it.
"Please, Bucky. Want you on my face," you panted.
Bucky felt like he could go on fucking you for hours, but with the way you were behaving now, he knew he wouldn't last long. He latched onto your nipple with his mouth, sucking and flicking it with his tongue as you moaned at the over stimulation, his other hand reaching down to rub at your clit.
"I'm gonna cum, Bucky!" He knew exactly the right amount of pressure to apply as he continue to roll his thumb over the bundle of nerves. He released your breast to kiss your mouth inside, his tongue plunging into yours as he groaned.
"Cum for me, baby. Cum on my fat cock, you pretty little whore."
You felt yourself reach the climax all too suddenly, your body shuddering as it sparked through every inch of you like an electric shock, sending chills down your spine. You clamped a hand over your mouth to muffle your screams, Bucky continuing to thrust his cock inside you to carry you through the waves.
"Oh God - Bucky - too - too sensitive," you said, pushing his hand away from your pulsating clit as he continue to fuck you senselessly.
"Fuck, I'm going to cum," he grunted, gritting his teeth as he quickly pulled out of you. His hand stroked up and down his own cock as he knelt above you, sending thick ropes of his cum onto your face, into your open mouth. It was so warm and wet, splashing onto the pillow beneath your head and even onto the headboard.
He stroked his cock several more times, making sure to milk his dick of every last drop of cum, painting your skin with it. His knees eventually buckled and he fell on top of you, gasping.
"Oh God, that was fucking good," he said as he planted butterfly kissed all over your neck and collarbone. He looked at your face, covered in white ropes, making his softening cock twitch. "You look so pretty like that."
You were still trying to catch your breath even as Bucky gently rolled off you and quickly retrieved some tissues from the nightstand, wiping the evidence off your face as you blushed deeply. He was always so sweet after fucking you so roughly, looking after you and cleaning you up.
After you'd had a solid ten minutes to recover, he kissed your forehead sweetly, tendering stroking your cheek.
"Let's shower together, then I'll make you lunch?" He asked, making you pout.
“We haven’t finished the Twilight series yet,” you said.
“There’s more?”
“Four more.”
“I’m telling you, Nat. The Twilight movies are an aphrodisiac.”
Cold dinners, unanswered texts and overwhelming disappointment in your heart.
Just a standard Friday night, really.
You sat on the couch with your knees drawn to your chest, eyes fastened on the clock hanging opposite you. It was taunting you with each tick, tick, tick as you clenched your jaw and willed your phone to light up with a message from him.
You should be used to this by now. It happened so often that it would have surprised you more to actually see Bucky arrive home in time for dinner.
You knew it would be like this when you first got together. But after almost four years, it didn't make the disappointment sting any less. You knew he had bigger things to be doing - he was out saving lives and helping people. Yet a tiny, selfish voice in your mind wished that you could be placed as a priority for once. It felt like you spent half your time nowadays just waiting. Waiting for his call, waiting to spend time with him, waiting for something to give.
When the clock reached 11, you sighed and realized that it was going to be one of those nights where he'd stumble in at three in the morning, exhausted, or maybe not at all.
You packed the dinner you had made into a Tupperware box, pasted a sticky note on top with a message for your boyfriend when he returned. Reheat me for 3 mins! Love you ❤
It really was tough. It was one of those nights where you ended up staring at the ceiling of your bedroom in the dark, hot tears seeping silently onto the pillow beneath your head as those unhappy, insecure thoughts reared their head in the usual routine.
It was always this thick silence in the middle of the night that haunted you the most. It allowed you to be truly alone with your thoughts, and you had a lot of them.
You used to be so happy with him. And you still were, in a way. You felt so unbelievably lucky to have Bucky in your life, to be the one that he loved. And yet it was undeniably getting more and more difficult to ignore the problems that came with dating someone who did what he did.
The end to those upsetting thoughts came just as dawn cracked through the Manhattan horizon and you heard those tired, weary footsteps into the apartment, the sound of heavy combat boots being shucked off. Your eyes were closed, but you could visualize the way he silently crept into the room so as not to disturb you. You felt the tension leave your body when he slipped into the sheets beside you, and you instantly curled into his side like a cat.
"Did I wake you?" He asked quietly, his voice hoarse. He still smelt like blood and dirt, but you didn't mind.
"No," you whispered, your fingers grasping fistfuls of his shirt.
The relationship was unconventional and hard work, but you lived for the moments where Bucky came back home to you.
You stood on the snowy sidewalk, staring into the windows of the jewelry store wistfully. Diamond engagement rings stared back at you, glistening in the sunlight, dazzling you with their splendor.
More and more of your friends had been getting to that stage in their lives where they were becoming engaged, getting married, having kids (and some divorces, too). Every other day, it seemed like a new relationship milestone announcement was being made on your Instagram feed.
You were always being grilled by your friends about when Bucky was going to 'pop the question'. Your response was always a demure laugh and a joking retort of, You'll have to ask him!
But honestly, you weren't sure if that was where you were heading anymore.
Your relationship had never been conventional, and you knew what you were getting into when you and Bucky first started your relationship. Bucky didn't have a 9 to 5 job where he could come back home every night and help cook dinner with you and go to bed at the same time, make you breakfast in the morning and walk you to work.
It was never going to be like that.
So what did your future look like?
You trudged home in a slightly downcast mood, paper bags of groceries in your arms as you sighed.
You hadn't seen much of Bucky at all in the last few weeks. He had been out on a mission in Quebec, but he was going to be back tomorrow. A smile suddenly bloomed on your face - he was going to return just in time to celebrate your fourth year anniversary tomorrow.
I wouldn't miss it, my love, he had whispered on the phone to you two nights ago.
There was a new bounce to your step as you continued on to your apartment. You decided that you had to try and stop worrying so much about the future and just be grateful for each day - he was your Bucky, and that was enough.
Bucky was late.
He was supposed to arrive back at the apartment this morning, but he had sent you a couple of text messages at noon, your heart sinking.
Hey - have to stay in Quebec for a couple more hours. But will be heading back very soon.
Your reply was a hopeful, You promise?
Promise.
You remained hopeful even though there had been radio silence since. Bucky had never let you down on celebrating special occasions before - come rain or thunder, you knew he would make it back to you.
Or maybe that's what you used to believe.
You weren't sure what you believed now, as you sat inside the French restaurant opposite an empty chair, your nails tapping the tablecloth anxiously.
You clutched your phone in your hand like a lifeline.
I'm at the restaurant. Are you on your way? You texted him desperately, willing for him to suddenly appear in front of you with a bouquet in his hands and an apology on his lips.
Maybe you just loved torturing yourself. Living on whatever thin strand of hope was thrown your way, like a lifebuoy whilst you struggled to keep your head above the water.
Half an hour passed, the server with a sympathetic gaze coming over after 45 minutes and bringing you a starter and a glass of champagne on the house.
Your cheeks were burning, your chest tightening with such pain that you wanted the ground to open up and swallow you whole.
Finally, you called it a night and got into a taxi to take you home. Your feet hurt in your stupid heels and your dress felt too tight and uncomfortable, your heart hurting so much that you thought it might burst.
Surprisingly, you managed to hold the tears in. You held them in all the way up until you reached your front door, stabbing your key four times into the lock before you managed to open it, your hands shaking.
You wanted to slam the door back into it's frame as soon as you were in the safety of your home, and gasped when a gloved hand appeared out of nowhere to block it. You stumbled back, almost falling when Bucky materialized in the doorway, his arms holding you to steady you instantly.
"I'm so sorry." They were the first words out of his mouth as he kicked the door shut behind him, holding you close against his body. "I am so, so sorry."
You were quiet, your head unable to process his being in front of you when you had such crushing disappointment inside you from being stood up on your anniversary. Tears were silently running down your face as Bucky's grip tightened around you, your eyes staring at nothing.
You weren't even listening even though he was speaking endless reasons and explanations for why he was so terribly late, why he had been unable to text you back to let you know he wouldn't be able to make it in time. He was out there as usual, saving other people, being there for other people.
Not you.
"Call me selfish," you began eventually, your voice cracking. You peeled yourself away from Bucky, staring up at him with eyes that made his breath hitch. He could see the pain in them, the utter exhaustion in your gaze. "But I just... I wish I had you all to myself."
Bucky's face fell. He knew how you felt, and it destroyed him to see the way you stared at him now. He could feel how limp you were to his touch, and it suddenly scared him.
"I'm sorry," he repeated. "I know I let you down. There was nothing I could do. I'll make it up to you, I promise."
You almost scoffed at that word. Promise.
"That's the thing, Buck," you said sadly, taking another step back. His arms fell down to his sides. "Your promises don't mean anything."
He looked crestfallen at your statement. His lips parted as if he wanted to argue back, but you continued forcefully.
"How many times have you promised me that we'd be able to go on that trip together? How many times have you promised me that we can do a proper date night? How many times have you promised me that you'd be home for dinner?"
Bucky's lips pressed together in a stiff line. You had been angry at him before, of course you had. But what he noticed right now, overwhelmingly so, was that you were tired.
"I'm so... I don't know how much more of this I can take."
"What do you mean?" Bucky spoke then, fear creeping into his voice at your words.
"Look at me, Bucky," you half-laughed, gesturing at yourself. Your mascara was running down your face, you had kicked your heels off on the floor, you felt so ridiculous in this stupid dress that you had meticulously picked out for your special night with him. "I'm so sick of always being let down. I - I don't know how we can have a future together. I don't want to spend four more years not knowing whether I can expect to see you come home."
"We have a future together," Bucky retorted, his eyebrows furrowing. "I can't see a future where you don't exist."
"Can't you?" You shot back, honestly bewildered. "Do you really imagine us having a normal life together? Can you imagine us being married, having kids, settled down in a home that you're not always running away from?"
"Do you think I enjoy doing what I do?" Bucky asked, a flash of anger entering his tone.
"Actually, yes, I do!" You exclaimed truthfully. "You're hard-wired to fight and protect, Bucky. You need to help people. It's what you do."
Bucky was immediately quiet. You had hit the nail on the head. Fight and protect.
"I've barely seen you this year, Bucky. You've spent so much time out there on missions and saving the world and - and that's great, Bucky. Really, I am so proud of you. But you have to understand that I have things that I want and I'm not sure you can give that to me."
You felt like a weight had been lifted off your shoulders. This was really how you truly felt. The dam had broken, and you had finally told him what you had been thinking.
You loved Bucky with all your heart. You loved him so much that the thought of losing him was excruciating.
But you couldn't run away from reality. You didn't think you could live the rest of your relationship like this.
"Do you think you could change?" You whispered, your eyes welling up again with tears. "Could you give up being a hero and stay by my side instead?"
Bucky's hands were clenched into fists by his sides as he stared at you. You couldn't decipher his expression, and you wished so much you could climb inside his mind and know what he was thinking.
"I love you," he said eventually. Your heart splintered with longing.
"That doesn't answer my question," you said sadly.
There was a long stretch of silence that filled the apartment. Eventually, he spoke.
"I don't know if I can change. I - this is what I do. I have to help people. There are people who need me."
What about me? You wanted to ask.
You nodded once.
"I love you," he repeated again, pleading.
"I love you too," you said, your lower lip trembling. "I love you so much."
Bucky had brought you so much joy. Every stolen second with him, every smile shared, every memory was a blessing. He was everything you had ever dreamed of and somehow even more.
But it wasn't enough.
"I know what I want, Bucky." Your voice was shaking. "Once upon a time, I really thought that we could have that. But the longer I spend in this relationship, the more I realize that those thoughts are futile. I'm chasing something that I will never have."
Bucky wanted to fall onto his knees and beg for you to stay. He really did - he wanted to hold your hands in his and beg you not to leave him. That he didn't know how he could live his days without you.
But he knew what you deserved. You deserved someone reliable, someone you wouldn't have to wait on. In front of his very eyes in this moment, he could see the product of his neglectfulness towards you. He could see the agony in your face, the weight of the disappointment he'd caused in every tear track on your skin. The epiphany hit him like a crushing weight to the chest.
If there was one thing Bucky always wanted to give you, it was happiness. He wanted to make you as happy as your existence in his life brought to him.
Maybe, in a twisted paradox, he would have to let go of his to be able to give you yours.
If Bucky could go back to the night you first met, he would have stared at you from afar, traced your profile with his eyes, admired the gentle curve of your nose and the color of your lips. He would have felt his heart still the moment you turned and met his stare with a shy smile.
But instead of approaching you and introducing himself, he would have forced himself to walk away if he had known the pain he would bring to you.
If you could go back to the night you first met, you wouldn't have believed the love that would grow in your heart for this man. The impossibly potent feeling that was larger than life itself.
You used to believe that your love for one another could overcome anything.
You realized that wasn't true on that very night, when Bucky left your home and you remained standing in the darkness, alone once more.
Summary: There's nothing more painful than wondering what your love could have been.
Pairing: Bucky x Female!Avenger!reader, Bucky x Natasha, Steve x Female!reader
Genre: Angst
Warnings: Emotional infidelity (if you squint), love triangle. Sad ending - proceed with caution.
Word count: 8.2k
Being in love with someone who was already taken must have been a torture created by the Devil himself.
You hadn't planned on falling for him when you first met him. Then again, no one plans on falling in love. You thought that love was simultaneously the most beautiful and cruel phenomenon of all - it was capable of making you feel like you wanted to protect and care for him with all your heart, but also bring out the ugliest of emotions: jealousy, sorrow and misery, to name a few.
You thought you would get over it, eventually. And it had become easier, seeing Bucky and Natasha together, as time passed. A consolation for your unreciprocated love was the fact that you had found a new, adopted family within the Avengers, and that made you happier than ever.
You would do anything for them, to protect them. You fiercely reminded yourself of this whenever you found yourself looking at Bucky a little too long, or when your skin burned at his touches.
He's just the same as everyone else.
You teetered at the precipice of falling into an abyss that you wouldn’t be able to climb out of, feeling so frustratingly infatuated with someone you couldn’t have, and you were determined not to let yourself topple over the edge.
You didn't know how your platonic feelings for him had spiraled into something so much more, but if you could fall in love, you were certain you could fall back out.
Steve insisted on celebrating your one year 'anniversary' of joining the team, gifting you a small cupcake with red, white and blue sprinkles, ruffling your hair with a playful wink. You had no idea how time had elapsed so quickly, but there you were.
It was the start of a new calendar year, too - as you blew out the tiny candle Steve had stabbed into the cake, you promised yourself resolutely that this would be the year you would really made an effort to get over a certain, ruggedly handsome brunette. You didn't want to spend more time unhealthily pining over a man when you could find somebody who actually loved you, too.
Fantasizing about him was an unhealthy, self-inflicted torture. You were confident that he had no idea what your true feelings were, and you would never dream of telling him. You adored Natasha as much as anyone else, and the idea of stepping in-between the two of them was unfathomable.
However, your feelings for Bucky had no doubt wedged an invisible wall between yourself and Natasha, even if you didn't realize it. It meant that you were never quite able to be fully open with her, fearful that if she was able to read you like she was with everyone else, she would know that you were completely enamored with her boyfriend.
It was slightly hard to disguise your affection when you saw Bucky get hurt. To Natasha, it was a regular, everyday occurrence, unworthy of particular fuss - but when you saw him, you wanted so badly to ask him if he was okay.
Today was one of those days. You and Steve were in one of the common rooms - you had been spending a lot of alone time with him lately - when Bucky and Sam traipsed in.
"Hey," you said in greeting, raising your hand. Your eyes followed Bucky closely, noticing that he had a fresh wound on the bridge of his nose. You gnawed on your lower lip in discomfort.
Not your place, you reminded yourself brusquely. Stop staring.
“You guys okay?” he asked as he walked over, clasping a hand on yours and Steve’s backs simultaneously. He was in good spirits despite his slightly battered features, a charming smile playing on his lips.
“All good,” Steve said. “We were just talking about the Albania mission.”
“Ah.” Bucky paused, cocking his head at you. “First mission just the two of us. You nervous?” His smirk made you roll your eyes. Your heart thumped erratically, betraying you.
“Nervous about what?”
“All that time spent together, don’t want you falling in love with me,” he joked. Your throat tightened, your smile stretching wider as you let out a sarcastic laugh.
“Ha ha ha. Very funny,” you said dryly. Too close to home.
You missed the look of discomfort in Steve’s eyes. He pursed his lips, shifting his position in the chair so his knees bumped slightly against yours.
“You sure you’re up for this?” Steve asked seriously, making you frown.
“What?”
“Your leg injury,” he reminded you.
“Is fully healed,” you stated firmly, though you knew he was only concerned for you. “Don’t worry about me.”
Easier said than done, Steve wanted to say, his eyes lingering on you for just a second too long. Not that you noticed. You were looking at Bucky, an expression on your face that he couldn’t decipher. It frustrated him, sometimes, being unable to know what you were thinking.
“I’ll brief you both tomorrow morning,” Steve grunted, his hand squeezing your shoulder. “8am. Don’t be late.”
Bucky and you were very close friends. The friendship had ironically bloomed the more you forced your true feelings for him down, locking them away and refusing to let them come out. You went on missions together a lot, and would be working together even more once you were dispatched on your mission in Albania. One that was supposed to last for at least a month as you gathered intel on the latest enemy base.
But, you had enough practice, and you were confident that you would be able to control everything, your heart included. You were certain.
Bucky and you trained together almost every day, having very similar fighting styles, even though Bucky was far stronger than you. He seemed to notice that your gait was off, scowling as he tapped your thigh.
"You told Steve you were fine," he said, unaware of the shocks he was sending through you at the unexpected touch.
"I am," you insisted. At his disbelieving look, you relented. "Okay, fine. My knee isn't quite the same. But I'm fine - I can still fight. Go on, attack me right now, do it." Your voice was aggressive as you motioned for Bucky to tackle you.
"Calm down, kitten," he said, raising his hands in the air. Kitten. That was a first. "I'm not doubting your ability to fight. But Steve might strangle me if something happens to you."
"You're not my babysitter," you scowled.
"Funny, that's exactly what I said to him."
You rolled your eyes, deciding to call it quits for the day. You both took a seat on the side of the training room before you asked lightly, "Where's Natasha these days?"
Bucky shrugged, turning his face away from you slightly. Silence.
"What's going on?" you frowned, tilting your head and elbowing his bicep.
Bucky raked his fingers through his short hair, ruffling it up before he sighed.
"Just...going through a bit of a rough patch," he admitted. "It's nothing serious." He looked down at the floor, still avoiding your eyes.
"Oh. Right." You were concerned at the way Bucky was now looking slightly deflated. "You want to talk about it?"
Bucky gave you a thin smile, shaking his head.
"It's alright. I just want to focus on this mission. I don't know, maybe the time away will help us clear our heads," he said, referring to himself and Natasha.
You wanted to know more, but decided not to pry. He would share in good time. Hearing the fact that he was having relationship trouble with his girlfriend shouldn't have teased out a tendril of hope in you, but it did, and you felt awful. The guilt must've been clear on your face, as Bucky cocked his head at you.
"What?"
"Uh, nothing," you lied, sipping your bottle of water. "Let's get some rest. Got an early start tomorrow."
Saying goodbye to the compound was easy - you went on missions all the time. However, living solo with Bucky was a whole new experience.
Being together in a tiny shoe box apartment led to some situations which you definitely did not foresee. Those situations tested the limits of your ability to pretend not to be insanely attracted to Bucky.
It didn't matter how much you tried.
One day, you had gone out to the local market to pick up some supplies. When you returned to the apartment, you had almost dropped the paper bag of fruit and vegetables when Bucky emerged from the bathroom, clad in only a towel around his waist. Your eyes had involuntarily zeroed in on his chest, tracing the path of the water droplets which ran down the valley of his abdomen, past his hips and teasing at something more.
You could remember every defined plane of his naked, muscular torso, the scars decorating his skin, his blue eyes widening in shock at the sight of you.
He had blushed violently, mumbled something about forgetting his clothes in his room, and practically bolted in there.
It didn't matter how much you tried.
One night, you had a particularly horrific nightmare which caused you to wake up in the middle of the night screaming. You woke with sweat covering your face, your hands clenching the sheets.
Bucky ran into your room, wrenching the door open with such force that the handle was crushed in his fist. He found you curled up in a whimpering ball on your bed. That night, he had held your hand and comforted you, sleeping next to you on top of the covers.
It didn't matter how much you tried.
The day you had finally entered the enemy base. You had made your way down the maze of corridors together, but found Bucky practically shoving you inside a tiny store cupboard which definitely should not be accommodating two people, his hand on your mouth to mask any sound as the two armed men marched unexpectedly down the hallway.
You could still remember the feeling of Bucky pressed up against you, his eyes flickering between yours as you tried to stay as still as possible. His scent overwhelmed your nose, made you want to close your eyes and bask in it.
He had been slightly off that same evening, going to bed early before resuming his normal behaviors the next day.
You didn't know if you were imagining it, but something seemed to be changing.
It didn't matter how much you tried. You were definitely still in love with him.
One evening, Bucky found you sitting upright on your bed, squeezing your knee with one hand, a grimace on your face. He was walking past your open doorway and did a double take, his hand curling around the door frame as he peered in.
“My knee,” you explained. “Injury seems to be flaring up.”
Bucky tsked and disappeared momentarily, before he returned with an ice pack. He sat down on the edge of your bed, his weight causing the mattress to dip. He reached out for your leg without a moments hesitation. You were only clad in a sleep shirt and shorts, but that didn’t seem to bother him as he lifted your limb onto his lap.
He applied the ice pack against your skin, making you withdraw your leg instinctively. He held his hand around your ankle, firmly holding it in place.
“Better?” he mumbled after a moment.
“Yeah. I think so,” you said quietly.
You looked up, and your eyes met. You turned your face to stare at the wall, suddenly unable to hold the eye contact. In your peripheral, you could see he was still looking at you intensely, the way Sam always made fun of him for.
“What are you staring at?” you asked, forcing a teasing lilt in your voice, his hand suddenly feeling incredibly warm against your skin.
“Nothing,” he said after a long moment. His fingers seemed to tighten around your ankle, so briefly and so quickly that you weren't sure if you had imagined it, before he let go of you.
One month. You had expected to be in Albania for one month, tops, but that turned into almost two. It was nearly mid-March, day after day spent holed in the tiny apartment with Bucky, papers and photos and electronic equipment lying everywhere.
"Remind me why I'm here again?" Bucky asked, a frown on his face as he sat down on the couch. "Intel gathering isn't even my specialty. I thought we would be able to get in on some action, but we've literally just been spying on these guys for weeks."
"We've got some very valuable information already," you reminded him, eyes scanning the mess of documents all around you. "Just a little longer, then we can go home."
Bucky groaned. It was way past midnight, and you heard him open a bottle of whisky and the glug glug glug of a glass being filled. Another clink, another glug glug glug. Two glasses.
"Come," he said loudly, patting the space next to him. "We both need a break."
You sighed, standing up and stretching your limbs.
"Fine. One drink."
You crashed down next to him as your phone buzzed in quick succession. Lifting your phone, you saw the notifications of texts from Steve. Bucky inadvertently saw his name flash on the screen.
“Something going on with you and Steve?” Bucky asked without missing a beat, arching an eyebrow expectantly.
“Something?”
“Yeah, you know. Something."
"I have no idea what you mean," you said coolly, knocking your glass against his before taking a sip of alcohol.
"Can't hide this shit from me," Bucky said, leaning back and slinging his arm across the back of the couch. "He's my best friend. I can tell."
"Tell what, exactly?" you asked.
Bucky took a slug of whiskey. It was like the alcohol was enabling this impromptu heart to heart.
"He seems different around you.” His expression was neutral, but there was something else there which you could quite identify.
“Different how?” You were genuinely confused by Bucky’s words.
He looked off into the distance, a mulling expression on his face.
“He looks at you like he wants to be your personal soldier. Your knight.”
You snorted, the sound fading when you realized Bucky was being serious, his face devoid of humor.
“What? What are you talking about?” you asked, perplexed.
“You’ve seriously never noticed?”
“Steve and I are just friends,” you said firmly.
"Uh-huh. Is that why he messages you every day? And I know not all of it is mission related."
"I don't know. I guess we're close?" you said, becoming flustered. You took another sip of whiskey. “Besides, I…” You trailed off uncertaintly.
Bucky pounced on your falter like a cat.
“What?” he shuffled in his seat, turning towards you with a childish grin.
You bit the inside of your cheek. Either the alcohol was getting to your head already, or you were just feeling particularly brazen.
“I’m kind of into someone else.”
He seemed to stiffen as he observed you silently. The alcohol was making you feel warm and slightly fuzzy as you looked into his steel eyes, marveled at how his pupils appeared to pool and dilate. You held your breath, imagining him asking - "who?"
You.
In that moment, you suddenly imagined telling him how you felt. What a relief it would be. Being just the two of you for so long, it made you imagine sometimes that it was really just the pair of you against the world.
You wished you could be selfish. Wish you could just reach out and take what you wanted, tell him how you yearned for him. The way his handsome face looked now in the dim lights was so unfair, so teasing.
The silence was getting too long. Bucky seemed to lean closer, his body closing the gap between you inch by inch. His head tilted ever so slightly, his gaze moving to your left eye, then your right, before flickering down to your lips.
You wanted to kiss him. His lips looked so soft, and you wanted to know how they felt, how he tasted. Nothing else seemed real in that moment except the two of you.
Bucky moved forward again, his hand sliding along the couch. He swallowed, his Adam’s apple shifting.
You looked at his mouth. His tongue darted out to wet his lips -
The shrill vibration of your phone sliced the air.
He cleared his throat loudly, leaning back and taking a swill of his drink. You blinked, turning away from him and scrabbling for your phone, trying to get the image of his lips out of your mind.
You thought Bucky would acknowledge that moment. You half-expected (and feared) that you would have a confrontational conversation about it. But, that confrontation never came, and you returned to New York after Steve deemed that you’d gained enough information for them to make a move, but wanted to reconvene as a team first.
Bucky didn't bring it up on the way back to New York. He didn't bring it up on the car journey back to the compound. He didn't bring it up when you both walked into the common rooms and he embraced his girlfriend.
He and Natasha seemed to have put any relationship troubles to rest upon your return to the compound, the time apart apparently reigniting a spark of passion. She had been waiting on the landing pad, and they kissed wordlessly the moment they got close enough, the sight making your chest tighten.
You continued playing the role of the regular friend, and never brought up that almost-kiss again.
You were stubborn, in many ways. If he wasn't going to bring it up, then you could pretend it never happened. You were a great actress.
You wondered if you’d simply imagined that moment after all.
You’d missed New York a lot. The second he saw you at the compound after returning from Albania, he'd given Bucky a silent nod before pulling you into a tight embrace that almost lifted you off your feet.
Huh. Maybe Bucky was onto something.
After that, you found yourself spending even more and more time with him. Steve was the perfect gentleman, in many ways. He reminded you of an angel, sometimes, especially when his golden hair glowed in sunlight, the corners of his eyes creasing when he smiled.
He had a cherubic beauty. He was different to Bucky - they were like day and night. Both stunning in their own way, a complete force of nature, but with Steve, you felt like your vision was clearer. There was no second guessing - it seemed that he really did have feelings for you which were more than just friendly.
Bucky watched you and Steve from the other side of the Quinjet as you spoke in low voices, ready to dive into the next assignment. Steve was piloting, you crouched down next to him, his head leaning close towards yours.
Natasha was sat silently a few seats away from Bucky. She got in these moods, sometimes, where she wasn't particularly upset at anything Bucky had done, persay, but just wanted to shut herself off from everything.
Bucky didn't mind. He was twirling a knife between his fingers as he watched you with his best friend, a foreign feeling settling inside his chest.
Was it jealousy? Not of Steve, no. It couldn't be. Maybe he was just jealous of the way you smiled at each other, completely care-free and easy. Not like things were with Natasha - he couldn't remember the last time that he had shared an innocent moment like that with his girlfriend.
When he'd first returned from Albania, things had seemed good with her. But sometimes it felt shallow - like everything was just superficial without real grit or weighting to their emotions.
He was beginning to question a lot of the things he shared with Natasha. It felt like recently, a lot of the positive aspects of their relationship had simply run their course. Now, the time they spent together was either in silence, in arguments, or in semi-rage fueled sex.
Seeing you smile at Steve made him suddenly wish for something purer. Simpler.
His eyes traced the angles of your nose, the slender slope of your neck as you gazed up, the corners of your lips as you smiled.
He closed his eyes. He would have to stop thinking about you too much.
When you were fighting, you couldn't focus on anything else besides getting rid of the threat and protecting your team mates.
A blade flew past your face, barely avoiding glancing your skin before it was swiftly caught by Bucky, who launched it into the neck of the tall, bulky man who had been advancing towards you. He had been swinging a bat wrapped in barbed wire, an ugly smile on his face.
"That's a very creative weapon," you grunted, wrenching the bat from the man's hold as he crumbled to the ground from Bucky’s attack. You swung it into the face of a snarling, blonde haired woman who was coming for Natasha.
The sounds of fighting echoed loudly in the empty warehouse, cries of pain and screams sounding every few seconds as you fought off the increasing number of enemies who appeared in every direction.
You and Natasha stood almost back to back as you both aimed guns with expert precision into the rafters above you, your eyes spotting hidden snipers and firing before they could get you.
In moments like these, amidst the chaos, anything could go awry. You heard rather than saw the clatter of a grenade, your eyes widening in shock the second you registered what it was. You opened your mouth to warn Natasha, feeling a large wall of muscle crash into you and roll you away before you could even speak.
You were practically thrown off your feet, back thudding onto the ground like a doll. The explosion sounded in the distance - you realized that Sam had managed to intercept and toss the grenade into the air in those six seconds before it detonated, taking out a section of the warehouse wall, dust and debris raining onto you.
"You alright?" Bucky asked huskily, pulling you onto your feet.
You didn't have time to respond before he was turning away and diving into the fight again, Steve suddenly appearing by your side and tilting your chin to look at him.
"All good?"
"All good," you said affirmatively, watching as he gave you a grim smile before he too rejoined the battle.
Bucky's heart was roaring in his chest as he threw himself at yet another nameless man, driving his fist into his face to incapacitate him. The sudden realization was almost painful that in the appearance of a grenade, his first instinct had been to run towards you.
You found yourself shopping with Natasha one afternoon. In the life of an Avenger, getting the chance to do these mundane, every day things was exceptionally fun.
You were picking out decorations for Steve's birthday party. He had insisted that he didn't want one, but the team had ignored him, obviously. When there was so much doom and gloom, it was nice to have an excuse to just be normal and celebrate something.
"So, you and Steve, huh?" Natasha said suddenly as you both walked down the grocery store aisles.
You groaned internally. In recent weeks, it seemed like everyone had suddenly decided something was going on between the two of you.
"Not you too, Nat," you said, pretending to glower at her.
"I'm just saying," she smirked. "His crush on you is getting pretty obvious. You have to see it, too"
You shrugged, biting down on your lip.
"I don't know. Maybe?"
When it came to discussing Steve, the thought of Bucky also inevitably flitted across your mind. Okay, admittedly, you also had a crush on Steve - how could you not?
But your feelings for Bucky always overshadowed it. However, you hadn't seen a lot of him lately, and the drastic decrease in interactions between the two of you coupled with the many what if scenarios planted into your head by others regarding yourself and Steve, was starting to make you think.
It made you consider him, for sure. Steve was a good man. Not that you wanted to use him to make you get over your feelings for Bucky, but maybe it wouldn't be the worst idea to explore that avenue and see where it took you.
"I think you should make a move," Natasha said. "Life is too short."
You pursed your lips, entertaining the idea. Maybe she was right.
Bucky would never be yours. He would never return your feelings, and it was time you accepted it.
You didn't have to make the first move, after all.
The party was a small, private affair, the rooms in the compound decked out in patriotic decorations, music playing and giving the team a chance to actually wind down.
Towards the end of the night, you ended up sitting at the bar with Steve, the others outside watching the fireworks that had been set off by Tony.
"Can I try something?" Steve asked quietly out of the blue, his clear eyes flitting between yours. He raised his hands hesitantly, waiting for you to give him the green-light. They ghosted around your face, aching to touch you.
You thought of a dark haired super soldier, how he unknowingly pained your heart. All the fantasies you had of him which would never materialize.
"You can kiss me, Steve," you whispered.
That was all the encouragement he needed as he leaned closer and slotted his lips against yours. It was an unfamiliar, but not an unpleasant, sensation.
It was a gentleman's kiss. Short but sweet. He pulled away, his hands having found their way in your hair, and he seemed breathless.
"Woah. Am I interrupting something?"
You both jumped apart, Sam walking in with raised eyebrows and a Cheshire Cat grin.
"Is everyone around here getting laid except me?" Sam chuckled.
Bucky walked in next, his observant gaze taking in the scene in front of him. He had heard Sam's comment, seen your slightly tousled hair, took in Steve's slightly sheepish expression.
He didn't say a word.
You and Steve began...could you call it dating? You didn't exactly go out on dates - you were both too busy doing Avenger shit.
But nowadays, you spent almost all your spare time with him. He would hold your hand and steal kisses in private, away from prying eyes. You found yourself cultivating a growing affection for him, beginning to truly look forward to seeing him every day.
It was conflicting, when the object of your most raw affections was still there.
You didn't know if you were a bad person. Was it terrible, that you were letting yourself get involved with Steve when your heart's deepest desires all revolved around Bucky?
You were never going to act upon them, you rationalized. And having residual love for Bucky didn't mean you didn’t deserve some happiness with another man, right?
You wondered just how residual your love was when Bucky still managed to make you feel defenceless and totally at his mercy.
Once it became clear that you and Steve were no longer just friends, it seemed to shift the dynamic between yourself and Bucky even more. You spent less and less time together, and it didn't help that his mood was always perpetually affected by his rocky relationship with Natasha.
You had found him storming through the compound one day after he had no doubt had an argument with her. You had seen the rage coming off him in waves and stopped him without hesitating, asking him if everything was okay.
"Mind your own business," he had said curtly, the rudeness in his voice making your mouth fall open.
"Excuse me?" you spluttered, genuinely taken aback at the venom in his tone.
"Was I not clear? I said - mind your own business," he said, glowering at you in a manner that made you flinch. He continued on his way without a second look back at you, the animosity bringing frustrated tears to your eyes.
He had never spoken to you that way before. His apology came in the form of a small box of chocolates the next day, but after that incident, you told yourself you would not ask about his love life again.
Bucky was drinking by himself when you found him in the middle of the night, listening to music playing from a vintage record player. How old school.
"You gonna join me for a drink?" he asked, but you shook your head with a smile.
"I'm okay. I couldn't sleep," you said to explain your sudden appearance.
Bucky imagined you sleeping in your bed next to Steve. Except Steve was away from the compound for the rest of the week, so he knew you were alone. Maybe that was why you were so restless, he thought bitterly.
How nice it must be to rest next to someone you really loved. Unbeknownst to you, he and Natasha had been sleeping separately for weeks.
He wanted what you and Steve had.
(Or maybe he just wanted you?)
The music playing was unfamiliar to you, and Bucky said it was one of his favorites from back in the day. He suddenly grabbed your hand, and you could tell he had been drinking for some time, the smell of alcohol heavy on his tongue.
"Dance with me?"
You didn't have time to say anything before he was swaying you back and forth without rhythm, making you laugh out loud at the hilarity of it.
"I thought you were supposed to be a good dancer?" you teased. You had been walking on eggshells around Bucky for the longest time, but in this moment, it felt like old days.
"I am," he murmured. He suddenly adjusted his stance, his hand moving to your back, the other grabbing yours as he began properly leading you into a dance. Your fingers were interlaced when he pulled you close, and you began moving in tandem in a spontaneous waltz.
The music was soothing, and his body was warm. You felt comfortable and safe with him, feeling all the tension leave you.
He looked so unbearably handsome. You realized that you were staring at each other, unblinking.
This was strange. And yet you couldn't drag your gaze away from him as he tilted his head forward, resting his forehead on yours. Your breath hitched. His eyes closed with a flutter.
"I'm tired," he said quietly. "Let's just stay like this for a while."
Tony threw a small party - well, small by his standards. In his own words, everyone needed a night to "chill out and drink a lot of booze". You were chatting with Sam when you noticed Natasha and Bucky arrive at the party. Separately, pointedly avoiding each other.
Sam followed your inquisitive gaze and sucked in a breath.
“Trouble in paradise,” he said. It wasn’t a question - more like a statement, as if he was privy to something you didn’t know.
“Hm?”
Sam took a sip of his drink.
“Never mind. Don’t want no vibranium arm up my ass for running my mouth.”
“Now that would be some party trick,” you said, though you were now furtively watching Natasha and Bucky from over the rim of your drink.
They were definitely avoiding each other. They could not be stood farther apart, on opposite sides of the room. Bucky’s face looked slightly sullen whereas Natasha looked composed and cool.
Steve wrapped an arm around you, placing a kiss on the top of your head. Things had started off quite slow and light at first, but you were increasingly conscious of the fact that things seemed to be getting more intense between the two of you. He hadn't quite asked you to be his girlfriend, but you were starting to wonder if there was a silent understanding that you were.
You weren't good at this relationship stuff. And, frustratingly, you found yourself wondering more about the state of Bucky and Natasha's relationship than yours.
Your worries multiplied when he got so drunk by the end of the night that you offered to accompany him back to his room, Bucky's arm slung around your shoulders as you tried to support his weight.
"I know you can walk, Buck," you grunted as you made your way towards his bedroom. “Use your legs. You’re killing me here.”
He sighed loudly, patting your back. He seemed to sober up when you both stopped outside his room, and you stared him down with a serious look on your face.
"Are you okay? No bullshit.”
His eyes were glazed over when he looked at you. He had always found you to be beautiful. No wonder Steve fell for you, he thought.
"We broke up," he said quietly.
His words weren’t entirely a shock to you.
"Are you okay?" you asked gently.
Your voice was so kind. When he looked at you now, he really felt like he had somehow missed a chance to discover something great. You had been there all along. Why didn’t he see it?
Maybe he always knew. Even back in Albania, there had been a moment where he thought he would kiss you. The memory scared him. He hadn’t quite realized there was something in his heart that was more than just friendly until that night.
“No,” he said, but not for the reasons you thought. He hesitated. “Will you stay with me?”
Your breath caught in your throat.
Stupid, Bucky scolded himself. He knew how you would interpret that - and somehow you wouldn't be wrong. God, no - what was he thinking? This wasn't him.
“Never mind. Sorry. That was dumb,” he said hoarsely. Guilt wracked his body - for you, for Steve. His best friend. “Goodnight.”
You didn't say anything for a second, but finally the words found their way out.
"Goodnight. I'll be here if you want to talk," you said as he pushed open his door.
Bucky surveyed you with a look that may have contained disappointment. You weren't sure, and you suddenly felt the overwhelming urge to stay, and yet you forced yourself to take a step back, away from him.
The door closed with a click.
The universe was playing a sick joke.
When Bucky first met Natasha, he thought he had found his life-partner. As time went on, he realized that it just wasn't meant to be.
Had he always loved you? No, maybe not at first. He had considered you almost like a little sister in the beginning, someone to take care of, someone to joke with, someone he cared a lot about.
Maybe he always told himself the love that brewed was just like the love one had for their family.
It was confusing and he was laden with guilt, the first time he found himself wondering what it would feel like to kiss you. He was still with Natasha, and he felt so awful when those thoughts breached his mind. Like he was betraying her.
When you got together with Steve, it was almost a relief. He thought that seeing you with his best friend would dampen down any flame that existed within him, any longing that he had for you.
He was wrong. Seeing you so happy with Steve made him jealous, but it wasn't because he wanted that happiness for himself and Natasha. No - it was because he just wanted you.
God, how he hated himself. Steve was his best friend, his most loyal friend, and he was lusting after you. The disappointment and hatred for himself manifested into a coldness towards you, eventually.
He found that the only way he would be able to get through this was to keep you at arms length. There was no way he was going to be able to see the relationship between you and Steve blossom without doing something he would regret.
He hated himself for the way he was treating you. He knew you could sense it, too, his hostility towards you reaching a crescendo one autumn afternoon when he found himself shouting at you aboard the empty Quinjet after the rest of the team had disembarked.
"You could have gotten the team injured," Bucky spat through gritted teeth as you stared at him in bewilderment.
"Are you kidding me? I knew what I was doing."
"Did you? Steve had to come and save -"
"He didn't have to save me," you sniped back, pre empting his words. "I had it under control."
"You were a liability," Bucky snarled. The moment he said it, he wanted to take it back, but he just couldn't. He was pissed off - not at anything you did, but at the way his heart was pounding uncontrollably at the mere sight of you. How did you render him so weak?
Your mouth opened and closed silently, and Bucky could identify the exact moment your eyes stung with tears, but he chose to say nothing. He stood to the spot like a cowardly statue as you stood stiffly and stalked off the jet.
Bucky was fighting a losing battle to keep his emotions at bay. With feelings so intense, he knew they couldn't be contained in a vessel. They were bound to explode.
There was a storm that night.
Bucky had sustained a deep knife wound to the side of his chest whilst out on the field. You walked into the medical bay as he was being bandaged up, startled by dark expression on his face. He was in a foul mood, you could tell.
"Is he going to be okay?" you asked.
He had been stabbed because of you. He had been hurt because he had pulled you out of the way of a rogue S.H.I.E.L.D agent just an hour ago, and your lip was bleeding from how you’d been chewing anxiously on it as Bucky was tended to.
"M'fine," he responded before the doctor could, pulling on his blood stained shirt and leather jacket.
"Actually, Sergeant Barnes, you need to - "
He stalked out of the medical bay, past you with such fury that you stared after him in shock before following him.
"What's gotten into you?" you asked.
"Nothing," he said curtly. He was marching so fast that you were struggling to keep up. He walked through the compound, right out of a set of doors and into the field outside, the rain pelting his face. It was ice cold and exactly what he wanted to make him feel nothing, to feel numb.
You were feeling sick of his attitude. For weeks, he had been acting awful to you. Blunt, brushing off your attempts at conversation, avoiding you. The rare times you did get him to speak to you, he was rude and brusque.
It hurt your feelings more than you’d care to admit, but now you were just angry at how he was acting like a petulant child.
"Come back inside!" you shouted over the rain. "What the hell are you doing?"
"Go back inside," he said, the frustration in his voice clear.
It riled you up even more, and you felt instantly indignant as his barking command.
"No, not until you tell me what's going on!"
Bucky continued walking, ignoring you.
“James Buchanan Barnes, you stop right now!” you shouted, your fury evident. That made him stop in his tracks, his back still facing you. Your annoyance finally tipped you over the edge. “You’re acting like an immature bastard! You’ve been an ass to me for weeks - do you want to fucking explain why?”
Bucky whirled around then, cursing and stalking up towards you. He lifted his hands like he wanted to grab you, but he stopped himself from touching you. The expression on his face startled you out of the red mist that clouded your brain - it was a combination of rage and sadness.
"Why are you here?" he exclaimed, looking tortured.
"Why am I here?" you repeated, incredulous. "What are you - "
"You're always here," he spat through clenched jaws. "Always distracting me, always making me think of you. Why?"
Confusion marred your face. He continued, "I hate looking at you and knowing that I can't have you."
"What's going on?" you spluttered. "Are you mad that I got you stabbed?"
"No!" he shouted. "I'm mad that I love you when I want to feel nothing for you."
His words made you seize up, and your lips parted in shock. He was raging now, his whole body shaking as he stared at you.
"Did you have feelings for me?" he pressed, his voice desperate and urgent. "Did you?"
"I - "
"Don't lie," he warned, his face pained.
"Yes," you gasped finally. "I did."
He nodded as if he knew all along.
"Why didn't you tell me?" he asked, his tone accusatory.
"How could I tell you?" you retorted. "Why would I tell you?" You had no idea what he wanted from you, or where this was all coming from. It was so unexpected, to be having this conversation out here with him, today, but he seemed to want to wrangle the truth out of you.
"If you had told me, maybe - maybe I wouldn't be feeling this way." His voice broke, and your heart strained at the seams, guilt filling your chest.
The rain was getting heavier now, pelting the two of you. Your clothes felt so heavy on your skin, acid rising in your throat at Bucky's words. They infuriated you.
“Maybe things would’ve been different!” You were almost screaming over the sound of the rain and thunder. Your hair was sticking to your face, blinding you. “Maybe - maybe if you hadn’t been with Natasha in the first place. Maybe if we didn’t end up in Albania together. Maybe if Steve didn’t tell me his feelings for me.”
“Did you love me?” He was almost screaming too, his voice filled with frustration.
“I won’t answer that,” you said resolutely. “It doesn’t matter. You have no idea how I’ve been feeling, Bucky.” You wanted to grip the collar of his jacket, shake some sense into him. “I’ve felt like I’ve been in the shadows for so long, pining for you. Sitting on the bench, waiting for you to pick me.”
“I was with someone else -”
“And that’s fine!” you exclaimed honestly. “That’s fine, Bucky. I never wanted to break you up. But I just think - if it’s meant to be, I wouldn’t have had to wait for so long. No one wants to feel like the second choice.”
“It was never like that. You know that.”
“I know,” you said weakly. “I know all these things, and I know it’s just a way of life, relationships come and go and your relationship with Natasha doesn’t dilute the feelings you have for me now.” The words fell out in a rush, almost nonsensical. “But it was always so hard, Bucky. Feeling all this love for you and getting nothing in return. With Steve, it’s different. It’s easy.”
“So you gonna take the easy way out?” he snarled.
"Nothing about this has been easy!" you said angrily. "You have no right to take a knife for me, scream at me then tell me that you love me!"
The rain was rolling off his skin, his eyelashes thick as he narrowed his eyes at you. He wanted to kiss you so badly, to dismiss everything and ignore every possible consequence and just kiss you.
Instead, he took in the helplessness in your expression. Reminded himself of who his best friend was.
“Do you love him?” he asked softly. It wasn’t a rhetorical question - he genuinely needed to know, to hear the truth from your lips. It was conflicting - Steve was his brother, but at the same time, he was the man who had your heart whilst Bucky ached to capture it in his fingers, too. Every cell in his body told him he needed to be valiant and fight for you. But he knew that fighting for you wouldn’t be brave, it wouldn’t be courageous - it would only cause pain to those he loved.
“Yes,” you answered truthfully.
“Do you still love me?”
The question alarmed you. Bucky had always trod the boundary between you carefully, particularly since you and Steve had become a couple. You thought he would never do anything to disrespect that. You knew that if he had to ask, then he truly was a desperate man.
How could you ever tell him how you felt? How could you tell Bucky that sometimes, when you were with Steve, you thought about him? That the guilt was eating away at you, keeping you up at night? How could you describe how sick it made you feel when you looked into Steve’s eyes and felt a sweet affection for him, but which was just a fraction of the burning love you held for Bucky?
“That’s unfair,” you said, voice quivering. “You can’t ask that. Steve is your best friend.”
“And you’re my…” His voice began as a forceful protest before trailing off.
“Your what, Bucky?” you asked incredulously, eyes widening. “How does that sentence end?”
Bucky winced.
“I’m not your friend,” you said carefully. At this point, after all those questionable moments shared throughout the year, you were no longer just a friend, not really. “I’m not your lover. And this is why we can’t be having this conversation.”
“You’re my person,” Bucky said, his voice cracking. “I would never take you from Steve. I know that. But I just have to let you know.” Tears were gathering in his eyes, making your chest hurt.
You smiled a watery smile.
"I know."
You were two ships that passed in the night. Two people who could have had a beautiful story, but neither of you had time to open that chapter. The timing was never quite right, after all.
"I love you," he said finally. He seemed to sag as the words left his body, like they were a weight he had been carrying for a long time.
Those three words were ones which you had wanted to hear from him for so long. But now, hearing them hang in the air, they only made your pain worsen.
"It'll pass," you said finally. "One day, you will find someone that is the right person, right time."
You never thought you would find yourself in this position. That the man you loved so dearly would tell you he felt the same, and you would have to do everything in your power to stop yourself from running into his embrace.
You had to do the responsible thing. You couldn't hurt Steve.
“What do we do now?” Bucky asked. He needed your guidance. He felt like every fiber in his body was burning.
You were silent for the longest time. You realized you were holding your breath, because you were afraid that you would spontaneously burst into tears if you moved a single muscle.
“You and I...will not mention this again. We won’t think about what could have been, because we can’t.” Your voice broke on the final word despite your attempts to compose yourself.
Did you love Steve? The answer was yes. You did love him, honestly.
Did you love Bucky?
With your entire existence.
You didn't know if you could genuinely love two people at once. And, deep down, you knew that your feelings for Bucky would forever be ingrained in your heart - it was burned into you. But Steve was the one who stood by your side, who picked you without hesitation - you could not and would not hurt him. He was too good to you to deserve that.
Even if it meant letting go of the love that never was.
Bucky nodded once. He looked at your beautiful face, at the devastation in your eyes, but also the determination in your stance.
“Okay,” he said, a half-smile on his face. “I'm sorry."
For you, he would try. For Steve, he would try. If he had to make peace with the fact that he had lost out on something beautiful, he would try. Because he knew it was unfair - he had been late to the game, ignored the niggling feeling in his mind that you perhaps felt something special for him, told himself that you just viewed him as a friend.
For you, he would try not to love you anymore.
Destined to meet, but not destined to be together.
Sometimes, people are meant to stay in your heart, but not in your life.
A/N: I don't expect many people to like this fic, but I wanted to write this one just for me, I guess? I have been in a very angsty mood recently and wanted to write a fic about love that doesn't have a happy ending, to reflect the reality that sometimes, you can love someone with your whole soul, but it just doesn't work out. I don't know if reader or Bucky made the 'correct' decisions here - that interpretation is up to you.
Summary: Bucky interrupts your date on Valentine’s Day, asking you to take him back.
Pairing: Bucky x Female!reader, slight Oliver Queen (Green Arrow - hello DC!) x Female!reader
Genre: Slight angst, slight fluff
Warnings: None
Word count: 1.8k
A/N: Thought I’d write a little Valentine’s Day one shot in the spirit of 💕 feat. Oliver Queen (I had a slight obsession with him and the actor who played him in Smallville, Justin Hartley back in the day - enjoy this little gif below)
You raised the cocktail glass in your hand, the smile on your face not quite reaching your eyes as you knocked your glass against Oliver’s with a clink. You had no idea what you had ordered, but it was a mysterious shade of pink and gave you the buzz you needed to convince yourself this was a good idea.
This was only your fifth date with the man, but you had agreed to spend the universal day of love with him when he had asked. Just a dinner and drinks - nothing could go wrong, and maybe you’d finally start to replace the bitter taste in your mouth left by your previous relationship.
“Cheers,” he hummed, his eyes surveying you. Oliver Queen was handsome, intelligent, insanely rich, and you’d been set up by Tony a few months ago. However, you were starting to suspect that he wasn’t just a billionaire playboy as he portrayed himself, much like Tony, which was both a good thing and a bad thing. You’d had enough of dating superheroes for the time being.
Your reply was stopped in its tracks when a waiter settled another drink down next to you, your eyebrows quirking in confusion.
“Oh, sorry - I didn’t order this,” you said quickly.
“This is from the gentleman at the bar,” the waiter replied, gesturing over to the other side of the restaurant.
Your eyes wandered in the direction he was pointing. The first thing you noticed were the leather-gloved fingers waving at you, then his cocky smirk.
“Shit.”
“That’s a bold move,” Oliver commented, amusement lacing through his voice. “Wait a minute - is that Bucky Barnes?”
Bucky raised his glass of whisky to his lips, downing the amber liquid all at once. You faintly registered how good he looked, his dark hair slightly tousled and his sharp jawline covered in a light stubble.
“Yes,” you said through gritted teeth, turning back to Oliver and trying to keep your scowl at bay.
“You know him?”
“Yeah, I know him.” That asshole.
“Maybe you can introduce us. He’s coming over,” Oliver said coolly, leaning back in his seat, unfazed as he watched the approaching super soldier.
You could see him in your peripheral. His swagger, his leather jacket and dark jeans, totally out of place in this hotel restaurant with its crystal chandeliers and piano music.
You panicked internally, wondering what the hell you were going to say and, more importantly, what the hell he was doing here.
“Hey.” Bucky’s voice rumbled over your head. You pasted on your phoniest smile and looked at him, head tilting back. “Fancy seeing you here.”
“Yes. What a coincidence,” you said dryly.
Oliver stood up, extending a hand which Bucky grabbed. Hard. The wince in Oliver’s face was well disguised as they shook hands.
“Oliver Queen.”
“Bucky Barnes.”
Bucky plucked the stick of cherries out from your drink as you gaped at him in shock. He slid it between his teeth, rolling the fruit around on his tongue before chewing obnoxiously. You took a deep breath, watching Oliver’s completely neutral expression.
“Just thought I’d come over and say hi.” Bucky rested a hand on your bare shoulder, his touch ever gentle, squeezing softly. His thumb stroked your skin, making you shiver. Every movement was purposeful, deliberate.
“Well, hi,” you said pointedly, your lips pressing together firmly. “We’re kind of on a date here, so…”
“Right, right,” Bucky said, though he made no motion to leave. “So, Oliver.” The way he spoke his name was almost mocking, the syllables rolling slowly off his tongue. “What are you doing with my girl?”
At that, you pushed your chair back with a screech, ignoring the looks that came your way as you gave Oliver an apologetic smile.
“I’m so sorry. Give me five minutes.” You clasped Bucky’s wrist and marched away - he could have easily resisted, but he followed anyway like a scolded puppy, letting you lead the way outside of the restaurant.
Once you’d entered the hotel lobby and away from the hubbub and diners, you whirled to face him, your eyes wide in disbelief.
“What the hell are you playing at?”
Bucky’s cocky smile had disappeared, a look of disapproval combined with longing on his face.
“You can’t be serious, going on a date with him?”
“Quite frankly, whoever I date is none of your business.” You tried to keep your voice down to avoid attracting more attention, though it was hard when Bucky was testing the boundaries of your patience.
“It is my business.”
“I’m not your girl,” you said, his words echoing in your ear. Once upon a time, you would have melted at hearing Bucky make a proclamation like that, but things had changed.
Bucky shook his head, swallowing hard. “Please don’t do this.”
“Do what, Bucky?” The exasperation was clear in your voice. “We’ve been broken up for six months.”
“I miss you,” he whispered, the vulnerability suddenly clear on his face. It stopped you in your tirade. He'd always had the ability to make your anger dissipate with just a single look.
You faltered, his blue eyes gazing at you pleadingly.
“Bucky. You know why we broke up. It’s unfair of you to just turn up whilst I’m on a date and expect me to - what? Get back together with you?”
The way he looked at you now told you that was exactly what he wanted.
To some extent, that was what you wanted, too. God, you missed him. You loved him, even if you weren’t together - that would never change. But you had to be mature and remember the real issues that caused you to break up in the first place.
“This won’t work, Bucky,” you said softly. “The reason we separated is because the things we want in life just aren’t compatible. I got tired of always waiting for you to come back from missions, of you going away for months at a time, of seeing you get hurt and in danger.”
Bucky looked at you with guilt in his eyes. He could remember clearly all the arguments you’d had about how you felt he was always putting his work first. He had never wanted you to feel like a second priority, but that’s how he made you feel.
“I felt like we weren’t going anywhere. We’d been together for three years, but I couldn’t see any growth,” you said somberly. “I want marriage and a family. If that’s not what you want, then fair enough, but you can’t stop me from trying to find someone who does.”
Bucky's eyes narrowed, taking a step towards you. “You’ve got it all wrong,” he insisted, his voice rough. “I’ve told you. I want that, too.”
“Do you?” you challenged. “I don’t see that you do. You always put the team first.”
The vulnerability was clear on Bucky’s face as he exhaled shakily, his eyes darting in uncertainty now. You recognized another emotion: fear.
“I miss you,” he said finally, looking like he wanted to cry. “After you left, I thought that it was just one of those things, and we would be able to fix things. But then more and more time passed, and now it’s been half a year. I'm scared."
Your breath hitched as you saw actual tears start to well in Bucky’s eyes. You rarely saw him cry.
“I just want you to come home,” he said hoarsely. “Please?”
You felt yourself waver. You had always considered Bucky to be the love of your life - when you had broken up, you’d told yourself that he would simply just have to be the one that got away. You told yourself that sometimes, love didn’t trump all. You wanted different things in life.
Even if it felt like cutting out a piece of your heart, you had told yourself that breaking up was for the best.
“Don’t ask me that,” you whimpered, feeling your heart clench with guilt.
“I want you back. Please give me another chance,” he said earnestly.
“Our problems haven’t gone away,” you reminded him. Bucky took a step closer, his hand raising to cup the back of your head softly. You didn’t pull back, giving him a bout of hope.
“I will do anything for you. If I have to leave the team, I’ll do it. I’ll give you the life you want.”
You felt selfish, greedy after hearing his words.
“No,” you said, even as his head tilted closer so that his nose brushed against yours. “I don’t want you to give up something that means a lot to you just for me. You shouldn’t have to do that.”
“I thought it meant a lot to me,” Bucky clarified. “I thought it gave me purpose. But when you left, I realized that my purpose was you. To make you happy.”
“Bucky…”
“I don’t care if I have to give up doing all that super soldier shit,” he said. “I don’t care. I want you. Nothing else matters if you’re not with me.”
Your eyes traced his face, every fine line, every crease in his forehead, inhaled his scent. You felt the tether between you tighten, and you let it pull you in.
You placed both palms against his chest, leaning in to kiss him. He gasped into your mouth like a drowning man looking for air, his tongue rolling between your lips as his fingers tightened in your hair.
It had been so long, yet neither of you had forgotten the sensation. It was as natural as breathing.
“I’ve missed you too,” you confessed as Bucky held you, both of you slightly breathless when you pulled away.
“Does this mean -”
“We can try,” you interrupted. “But we have a lot to talk about.”
Bucky nodded, his hand sliding down to intertwine with yours.
“Fuck,” you cursed, remembering the man waiting for you inside the restaurant. “Oliver.”
“He’ll get over it,” Bucky said, a scowl settling on his lips. “You’re not going back in there.”
“Don’t be rude, Buck.”
“Stay here,” he ordered, placing both hands on your shoulders for emphasis before he swiveled round and walked back into the restaurant.
He approached Oliver where he was still sitting with an expectant look on his face.
“Your date’s coming home with me. Sorry.”
Oliver raised an eyebrow, heaving a defeated sigh and reaching over for your unfinished drinks.
“Fine. Tell her I had a good time.”
Bucky grunted, making a beeline for the cloakroom where you were already collecting your jacket and purse. He wrapped the jacket around you, finally appraising the slinky red dress you had on, swinging your purse onto his shoulder.
"C'mon, darling," he said, his fingers threading through yours, where they'd always belonged, "let's go home."
Summary: You finally confess your feelings to Bucky, hoping he might like you back. He turns you down.
Pairing: Bucky x Female!Avenger!reader
Genre: Angst, fluff
Warnings: Mentions of heavy drinking, no other significant warnings really without spoiling the plot 🤫
Word count: 6.5k
A/N: If you enjoyed this one, please do leave a comment / feedback / reblog! ❤️
Loving Bucky was like drinking honey. It was warm and comforting, sweet and overwhelming for your senses. You looked forward to seeing his face everyday and adored hearing him laugh, his whole face creasing when he doubled over at something funny you had said.
He had become an unlikely close ally since you joined the team. More than just a colleague. The time you’d spent together in the last year had been a defining period for you, as you had really grown to treasure his presence in your life.
God, the way this man made you feel. You didn’t think you’d ever be lucky enough to meet someone who would make you so happy.
It would be even better if you actually had the gall to tell him how you felt.
Being emotionally vulnerable was difficult. You wanted more, but it was scary. However, you recalled a piece of advice that one of your college professors had told you years ago, wise words which stuck with you. If you never try, the answer will always be no.
You had it set in your mind that you were going to tell him. You were, but maybe not today. You would wait for tomorrow. Or the day after that. Or the day after that.
Your inner turmoil was frustrating. You fought androids and aliens and god knows what else, but you were afraid of this?
It could mess everything up, you reasoned. If he didn’t return your feelings, then you would make everything awkward, and maybe you would lose him even as a friend. You didn't know if you could handle that.
Despite this, a tiny hopeful voice in your head told you that Bucky felt the same about you. The way he always looked for a reason to spend time with you, how he shared his deepest secrets with you. The way you always partnered up on missions, and how you always had each other's backs. The way he comforted you when you were sad, allowing you to cry on his chest, soothing fingers stroking your hair.
When you first joined the team, he had been the first one to properly befriend you. Your first encounter was in the kitchen, where you had ended up in the middle of the night after being unable to sleep.
You were shocked to see Bucky propped up on a breakfast stool at the kitchen island, book in hand. You had waved nervously at him, going over to the fridge to get a carton of chocolate milk.
“Can’t sleep?” he grunted. You glanced to see what it was reading, seeing 'The Hobbit' embossed in gold letters across a hardback cover.
“Yeah,” you said softly, tugging down at the hem of your sleep shirt. You hadn’t exchanged many words with him at this point, but he seemed friendly enough. “You want a glass?”
He contemplated for a second before he nodded. “Sure.”
You ended up sitting opposite each other, glasses of chocolate milk in hand.
“How come you’re awake?”
Bucky smiled wryly. “I have trouble sleeping.”
“Nightmares?”
“Something like that.”
You hummed to yourself, taking a sip of the sweet beverage. There was something childish but comforting about chocolate milk - you always used to have it with your mom when you were small.
“How you feeling?” Bucky asked, breaking the silence. “Settling in?”
You nodded, the grip around your glass tightening. “Yeah, kind of. Everyone’s nice.”
Bucky seemed to know that you wanted to say more, silently promoting you with his eyes to continue.
“Everybody seems very tight knit - I guess that makes me a bit nervous? Trying to fit in.” You looked down, chewing on your lower lip. "I've always had a bit of trouble with that."
“I get you,” Bucky said, eyes still observing you. They were the color of cobalt - stunning. “Don’t worry. I think you’ll do just fine.”
That was the first meeting, and since then, you had only grown closer to him. Your mid-night conversations were a frequent occurrence. At least once or twice a week, you’d find each other in the kitchen at ungodly hours. Over time, you had introduced other activities to pass the time - board games, watching TV shows, fun idle gossip. Each time, you were always accompanied by chocolate milk.
“My mom died when I was six,” you had told Bucky during one of your late night rendezvous, half a year into your time with the team. “I don’t have many memories of her, but I remember that whenever I was sick or sad, she would have chocolate milk with me. It always cheered me up.”
You exchanged nuggets of information about each others pasts, and soon, you were sure that Bucky knew enough about you to write your biography. You felt surprisingly fine, opening up to him about anything and everything.
The seasons passed in a flash, and it was suddenly the one year anniversary of your joining the team. You found Bucky in the kitchen once again, at 3AM on a Thursday. You had a smile ready on your face, though your limbs ached. They were littered with bruises and cuts from your latest mission, but seeing him put a bounce in your step.
Bucky was staring down at his phone, the glow illuminating his face in the semi-darkness. It was chiming loudly with notifications, his expression unreadable.
“What’s that?” you asked, making your presence known.
Bucky already had a glass of milk out for you. He placed his phone down, grimacing.
“Sam got me doing this online dating thing,” he said casually. Your smile fell, unable to hide your surprise. “Modern dating is kind of crazy. Women are so much bolder than in the 40s."
Online dating? What?
“I didn’t know you started online dating,” you said, trying to keep your voice light. You didn’t even know Bucky was Iooking to date. You were deflated - any hopes that Bucky returned your crush were promptly dashed. You tried to swallow your disappointment.
“I wasn’t, really,” he said. “I guess it’s not the worst idea, though.”
Damn you, Sam Wilson, you thought.
“You meet women in real life all the time,” you said, taking your usual seat across him. “No one catch your interest?” You played nonchalantly with your fingers, trying not to pick your nails - a nervous habit.
Bucky pursed his lips, eyes landing on you for a moment before he looked at the ceiling.
“Ah, I don’t know.”
“You met anyone nice so far?” you probed, your jealousy spiking.
“Early days,” he responded. He slid his phone across the surface of the island, showing you the dating app he had open. The girls were plentiful, all beautiful and clearly enthusiastic. Bucky’s inbox was full of flirtatious greetings, but you noticed he hadn’t yet responded to a single one.
“Hmm.” You struggled to keep your face neutral. You felt the sinking realization that he must have never thought of you that way. Otherwise, why would he be looking for someone when you were right there?
You couldn't focus properly on the conversation anymore, your mind racing as Bucky moved the topic onto something unrelated.
Fantasising about Bucky had been dangerous. You had spent so much time imagining the day you would finally confess, and he would reciprocate your feelings and you would have the happy relationship you yearned for. Even if you didn’t confess first, you were hoping he would.
Up until now, you had sometimes told yourself that Bucky was just being patient. That he was old-fashioned, so he was taking his time in courting you.
You realized now that you were simply never considered an option.
The next few weeks were torturous. Christmas was fast-approaching, but you were far from being in the festive mood. You had to put on a front with Bucky now, pretend everything was alright and not feel too tempted to ask about the progress of his dating life. Things were tough, and you were feeling unhappier day by day.
You had always known, deep down, that your feelings for him were more than just a crush, and had been for many months. It ached, the feeling of knowing your emotions were not returned.
One horrible part of you wondered why. Were you not sexy enough? Not smart enough? Not charming enough?
Maybe all of the above.
Seeing Bucky nowadays made you ache. You found yourself feeling sad whenever he cracked jokes with you, shared his thoughts with you, when the backs of his hands brushed against yours as you walked side by side.
He would find someone that he actually wanted to be with, to do all that and more. It wasn’t his fault, and you knew he had no idea that you were in so much pain, that he had single handedly eviscerated you.
Tony's Christmas party was a perfect opportunity to drown your sorrows. So cliché. You knew it was a bad idea, but that didn't stop you knocking back drink after drink by the bar, ignoring Natasha's requests to dance. After all, if all the Hollywood rom-coms you had watched were any indication, this was one of the key steps to getting over a guy.
The party was kicking off, and the room was spinning like a ride at a fairground. Your alcohol tolerance had always been low, and now you were paying for your actions. Your skin was burning hot and prickling, and you were struggling to walk straight. Although, this was exactly what you wanted - it was somehow cathartic, purging you of all the pent of frustration inside.
A dark figure appeared in your eye line. Your vision refocused until you realized who it was - your favorite, handsome face was looking very annoyed right now, mouth set in a firm line.
“You’re drunk,” Bucky stated, his voice filled with annoyance.
“Duh.”
“I’m taking you back to your room,” he said, his hand latching around your bicep.
“No,” you said indignantly, jerking away. Your face blanched at the sudden movement. “I don’t feel well."
Bucky rolled his eyes, opting to steer you towards the balcony instead for some fresh air. He shut the French doors behind you, allowing the silent night air to consume you, isolating the two of you from the crowd.
“Sit,” he said, gently helping you down onto a wrought iron bench. “What were you thinking? You know you can’t drink.”
“I know.”
“Something wrong?” Bucky knew that the answer was yes - there was no other reason for you to be drinking unless you were upset or mad.
“I wanted to forget,” you croaked, leaning your head back to get a proper look at him. The sight of him devastated you. He looked so beautiful, so far out of your reach.
“Forget what?”
You stared up at the ink black sky, at the stars. The night air was cool against your burning skin. Everything was quiet, save the sound of his breathing in your ear as he leaned close to you. In that intoxicated moment, you thought you had nothing to lose, forgetting that Bucky was truly your everything.
“How much I love you,” you whispered, tilting your head to look at him through beseeching eyes.
Bucky sucked in a breath of air. His entire stance became rigid at your words. The way you stared at him imploringly confirmed that he hadn’t misheard.
“How long?” He was frowning even as you gave him a trembling, sad smile.
“A long time.”
He raised his hand as if he wanted to touch you, but settled it back down on his thigh. Your face crumpled at his obvious discomfort.
“I don’t know what to say,” he breathed.
Those words alone were enough to make your throat tighten and the needles in your chest multiply ten-fold.
“Tell me you feel the same way,” you said suddenly. It was a plead. You hated how desperate you were in this moment, but you needed him to know how you felt, and you needed to know whether you had a chance. Call it liquid courage, but you felt like you had nothing to lose when you grasped one of his calloused hands in yours.
Bucky was silent for a long time, staring at you with sadness and regret in his eyes. You hated how uncomfortable you must’ve been making him. God, what were you thinking, burdening him with your feelings and putting him in this position? You scolded yourself mentally, feeling nauseous.
Your hand was tight around his, your knuckles white. With every silent second that passed, your fingers loosened, falling limp. His hand was warm, yet you had never felt so cold.
He pulled his hand free, clenching it into a fist.
“I’m sorry,” he said finally. Each word was a knife sinking into your chest. The realization hit you suddenly, thick and sour.
You felt bile rise in your throat. You stood up then, the floor shaking beneath you. You almost collapsed.
“Be careful - ”
“Oh god,” you whispered, squeezing your eyes shut. “I’m sorry. I need to go.”
You darted away with surprising speed, wrenching the doors open and hurrying back inside the room. You ignored the sounds of him calling you as you rushed through the crowd, trying to put one foot steadily in front of you and praying you wouldn’t fall.
Don’t cry. Don’t cry. Don’t cry.
You held the tears in until you returned to your bedroom, slamming the door shut. You bolted into the en-suite and fell onto your knees in front of the toilet, the acid in your throat finally seeing the surface as you vomited.
Your stomach heaved, emptying yourself of all its contents. But you couldn’t get rid of the horrible, cloying feeling in your gut that came with Bucky’s rejection.
You fell asleep on the bathroom floor, tear tracks on your face and fresh wound in your heart.
You were dreading seeing him the next morning. Thankfully, you arrived in the conference room before he did. The others were there already, gathered around the table. Sam took one look at you and snickered. You were dressed in black, hair in disarray and a pair of large sunglasses on your face.
“Someone had a bit too much fun last night,” he sang.
You grimaced, closing your eyes at the way his voice boomed in your overly sensitive ears. “Stop shouting,” you croaked.
Bucky entered a few minutes later. You kept your head down, refusing to look at him or otherwise acknowledge his presence. To the others, your hostility could be passed off as a result of your clear hangover. But the excruciating humiliation of your confession to him hung between the two of you, making you squirm in your seat.
You didn’t speak for the rest of the meeting, keeping your sunglasses on and staring stoically at Steve as he delivered the mission briefing. As soon as he dismissed the team, you jogged out of the room, but was accosted by Bucky in the hallway.
“Can we talk?” he asked loudly.
You didn’t want to make a scene. You put a fake smile on.
“Sure.” Your eyes were still swollen behind your dark shades as you tried not to let the sight of him bring out any more tears.
He led you into an empty room a few doors down. His face was set like stone, only the slightest crease in his forehead hinting at something akin to distress.
“I’m sorry if I hurt your feelings,” he said carefully.
“It’s okay.” You winced in discomfort, even just the sound of your own voice bringing you pain. You wondered if he had rehearsed a speech, to let you down easy.
“You should never drink that much again.” His voice was sharp, critical.
“I can take care of myself,” you said, taken aback by his tone.
“It’s not worth it,” he said, his attitude easing up. “I’m not worth it. I don’t want you to feel this way because of me."
You felt your shoulders sag. You felt so tired, defeated.
"I can't control the way I feel," you whispered.
Bucky kept a reasonable distance between the two of you, like he was afraid to go near you now that the pair of you were alone. You wished you could read his mind, know what he was thinking.
His next words were chilling. "You’re my friend, and I care a lot about you.”
The emphasis on the word ‘friend’ didn’t go unnoticed. The way he looked at you was orchestrated, pointed. He was letting you know, in no uncertain terms, what he wanted to say. You were almost grateful that he didn’t directly bring up how you had told him you loved him, as if to save you your last shred of dignity.
He stared at you now with such intensity, the meaning clear in the way he looked at you. We are just friends.
He was doing you a favour. Still, your heart shattered. Your hands were shaking. There it was again - that awful, stinging pain of rejection.
“Okay,” you said faintly.
“I'm sorry if I ever made you think that we could be anything more," he began. Tears gathered in the corners of your eyes.
“Let’s not do this,” you interrupted. If he kept speaking, you felt like you might die. You wished the ground would swallow you up.
Bucky licked his lips but remained silent.
“Please..." You hated how your voice shook. "I would really appreciate it if we could just move on. Let’s not bring this up again. It would really help me.”
Bucky folded his arms tightly across his chest, nodding stiffly.
“Okay.”
You backed away from him, grateful your eyes were hidden. You left the room and didn’t look back.
You managed to act normal around Bucky. Well, semi-normal. The rest of the team didn't even seem to notice anything was amiss - you still spoke to Bucky, managed to look at him as if the very sight didn't break your heart, kept a smile on your face.
But that was in front of them. For anything else which wasn't out of necessity or mission-related, you avoided interacting with him. When you woke up in the middle of the night, you no longer plodded into the kitchen, instead staying in your bed, sobbing and staring at the ceiling.
You no longer laughed and joked with him. You turned your attention to the others instead, talking to Steve and Clint and Natasha and whoever else was there, in a desperate attempt to hide the fact that you were trying to keep it together. You wanted to keep your mind distracted.
It was horrible.
Things would not be the same again, at least not for a little while. You needed time to make yourself get over him.
It was easier, when Bucky returned to the compound one night with a blonde on his arm. She was giggling and clinging onto him, and your heart sank when they stumbled into the elevator just as you were making your way to your floor.
You couldn't have been more shocked at the sight of them. Bucky had red prints all over his cheeks, and her lipstick was smeared. The smell of alcohol was in the air.
"You're not supposed to have civilians in here," was the only thing you managed to say, shock infiltrating your system. The blonde giggled.
"Oops."
Bucky only shrugged, his hand slipping into hers as the elevator rose. Your heart clenched.
He was doing this on purpose. He wanted to show you that he had no interest in you, leave you without any doubts. You didn’t know that Bucky had it in him, to be so cruel. If you weren't trying to hold back your tears, you would've almost felt impressed by his antics. The worst thing was, you truly understood why he was doing this.
You think you may have hated him in that moment.
The elevator doors dinged open, and you stumbled out. Tears began prickling in your eyes, and you were sure Bucky could see.
You didn't say anything as you marched to your room, the elevator doors sliding shut.
You had always been good at pretending. Pretending you were happy when you weren't, pretending you were calm when you were furious, pretending you knew the answer when you didn't.
Bucky saw past a lot of that. He could tell when you were lying, could see when you were holding back. He read you like an open book.
He was important to you, and still would be even if he had rejected your confession and rubbed the presence of another girl in your face. You told yourself that it was a good thing - he was performing a service, encouraging you to move on. Besides, he didn't owe you a thing. He could do whatever he wanted with anyone else.
You couldn't lie convincingly to yourself.
Bucky's birthday rolled around all too quickly. You had it marked in your calendar, though you would've remembered even without the reminder.
Despite your conflicted feelings, you wanted to get him a gift. You had planned the perfect one months ago and had enlisted Bruce's help in finding it. You still wanted to see the look on his face when he opened it.
Bucky roamed the hallways on your floor the morning of his birthday, frowning slightly when your bedroom door opened, Bruce appearing in the frame. He caught a glimpse of where you were perched on your bed, face flushed in mild excitement.
Bucky gave Bruce a smile which may have looked more like a grimace, the latter giving him a polite nod before continuing on. Your door swung inwards, but Bucky stuck a hand between it and the frame, poking his head through.
"What's that all about?" he asked, curiosity getting the better of him.
You shuffled something behind your back. You hadn't spoken to Bucky much as of late, barely acknowledging any of the awkward encounters that had occurred in the past months, instead choosing to face him with a professional-politeness.
"Nothing," you said, not particularly aware of what it would look like to have Bruce emerge from your bedroom.
"Is something going on between you two?" he asked directly. He gave a laugh void of humor, the sound escaping him in a huff. "Do you have a thing for emotionally damaged men?" He gestured to himself with his vibranium arm.
The small smile on your lips fell. Anger simmered in your eyes.
How could he? How could he reduce his feelings for you to nothing and stomp on them like it was trash?
You stood and marched towards him, a wave of fury overcoming you, thrusting a wrapped parcel into his hands.
"He helped me get your present, actually. Happy birthday," you spat, watching as Bucky's mouth fell open silently. You pushed past him, unable to look him in the eyes, feeling your stomach twist.
Bucky remained rooted to the spot, fiddling with the wrapping paper hesitantly before he ripped it open.
It was a first edition copy of 'The Grapes of Wrath', excellent condition. The subject of Bucky's favorite books came up after your first encounter when you saw him reading 'The Hobbit'.
"Is it about angry grapes?" you had asked, confused when Bucky laughed. He promised he would buy it and lend you the book one day.
Bucky's ground his teeth, every cell in his body telling him to go after you. But, for all the reasons he had told himself since the day of your confession, he made himself stay put.
Bucky had missed out on a lot in his life since falling off that train in the Austrian Alps. His whole trajectory had changed, and instead of growing old in his century, he found himself in the 21st, thrust into the modern world and navigating his new life.
He always thought, back in the 40s, that he would meet a nice girl and settle down after the war. He would live in a cozy, tiny home and have three kids, maybe four.
He missed out on that and more - though he had been quite the playboy back in his time, he had never experienced true love. He had never met that one woman he would die for.
Bucky had commented off-hand once on how lucky Steve was to meet Peggy before he went into the ice. Steve had reminisced on that with a bittersweet smile, before telling him, you’ll find your Peggy.
Falling in love with you had blindsided him. At first, he viewed you as a friend, a sweet girl who he grew to trust.
Then, he realized that he was slowly being drawn to you, like magnets he couldn’t pull apart. He realized that everything you did was endearing, that you occupied his thought space all the time, that having you around helped him feel comfortable, safe.
You were young, determined, and so innocent. You were somebody who deserved someone as pure and good as you. You weren’t his Peggy - you were something more, so unique and unapologetically you, and he wanted you as his person so badly.
But you deserved someone good. Somebody like Steve, who stood for the best values and only acted for the good of mankind. Not someone morally-gray and jaded like Bucky.
He wanted someone to spend his life with, for sure. If he couldn’t have his idyllic life in the post-war period, then he still wanted to find a partner in this new, still-unfamiliar time.
You fit that profile. He wanted you.
But he would never forgive himself if he weighed you down with his sins.
When you told him you loved him, his heart had broke. He wanted to tell you how much he valued you, how he dreamed of kissing you. He wanted to be a part of your happy ending.
But how much of a happy ending could he really give you? Could he give you children, knowing they would always be in danger from his enemies? Could he give you a wedded, domestic life, when all he knew was how to fight and cause pain?
He had to make his sacrifice for the greater good. Even if he had to crush you, he had to do it.
Someone like Bucky wasn’t supposed to get happy endings. You were, but just not with him.
You couldn't stand to be around him anymore. It was affecting your concentration, your work. It reached a breaking point two weeks after Bucky's birthday, when you requested to speak to Steve privately.
"You want to leave?" he asked, his face appalled.
You nodded curtly. "You’ll still be able to contact me, if you really need me. But I don't think I can stay here anymore."
Steve didn't look as confused at your profession as you expected.
"Is this about Bucky?"
You cringed. God, did he know about everything that happened?
"I don't know what's going on between the two of you," he clarified quickly, "but I can see that something happened. He's not the same, either."
"I'm not in a good place right now," you admitted shamefully. "I'm not saying that this is goodbye forever, Steve. But for my own sanity, I think I need a break."
Steve heaved a sigh. "I know you wouldn't ask unless you really needed it. And you don't need my permission, you know."
"I know," you said, giving him a small smile. "But I just wanted to let you know that I'll be here whenever the team needs it. Emergencies only," you joked. "But for now I think I'll get out of here. Maybe go upstate."
"Have you told him?"
"Don't need to," you said, defensiveness creeping into your voice.
"I think he would like to know."
“We’re not really on speaking terms,” you said bluntly.
Steve clasped a heavy hand on your shoulder. He knew better than to argue. He was sure you’d figure things out for yourself, anyway. “I’ll miss you.”
Now that you had completed the professional courtesy, you decided that you would leave in a few days. You still had some matters to wrap up, and to say goodbye to your teammates. You loved them, and they deserved a proper farewell.
"This isn't goodbye," Nat had said sternly, pulling you into a tight hug. Her voice was quiet and soft in your ear as she whispered, "If you need me, I'll be there."
You squeezed her tight, threatening to tear up. "Thank you."
"Keep your ass out of trouble," Clint had said, winking at you. “And check in with us now and again, yeah?”
Sam was clearly unhappy about everything. And he definitely noticed that you had picked a day to make your announcement when Bucky was conveniently away from the compound.
"Am I gonna see you again?" he asked, raising his eyebrows after you'd embraced.
"Couldn't get rid of me if you tried," you promised, punching his arm.
You retired to your bedroom that night, sure that Bucky would hear the news later after he came back. You kept your phone switched off and door locked for the rest of the evening, making sure the your belongings were packed.
Just past midnight, you crept out of your room, duffel bag over your shoulder. You made your way through the compound, down the floors into the underground garage. Bucky's motorbike wasn't there - he still hadn't returned.
You were grateful. You climbed into your car, and tossed your belongings in the back. You had to stop thinking about him - if you let yourself do it for too long, you were afraid you wouldn’t be able to go.
With a heavy heart, you left this chapter of your life behind.
Your phone rang for days afterwards. Missed calls, voicemails left unanswered, texts left unread.
You couldn't bear to face him. If you pretended he didn't exist, maybe it would ease the pain.
You didn't know where you were driving to. You simply knew you had to get as far away as possible, clear your head. You were at a crossroads, and you needed to pull yourself together, but for now you would allow yourself to wallow.
You had been spending each night in a different motel. Wake up, drive, sleep. Wake up, drive, sleep. You wanted to put as much distance between yourself and Bucky Barnes as possible.
You had no idea how you had gotten everything so wrong. Did you really misinterpret the signals? Was every intimate moment between the two of you simply platonic?
You didn't want to feel so beat up over a guy, but he wasn't just any guy. He was the first man you had ever loved.
Life was funny, sometimes. You supposed that you couldn't always expect happy endings.
You kicked open the door of the latest motel, a bag of takeout in your hands. You noticed the dark, shadowy figure on your bed in an instant, your hand sliding to the dagger sheathed in your belt on reflex. Before your brain even had time to catch up with what you were seeing, you had aimed and launched it, shocked when a familiar voice rang out.
"Calm down, tiger," he rasped. The bedside light flicked on, and Bucky was suddenly there, twirling your dagger between his fingers. He tossed it to the side, letting it land on the carpet with a soft thud.
A week had passed since you last saw him. Seeing him sent an electrifying jolt straight through your core.
"What are you doing here?" you asked. You were shocked, but your first thought was that something terrible had happened. "Is it the team? Are they in danger?"
Bucky looked irate, his jaw clenching and unclenching. His hands were knotted together, worry hiding beneath his anger.
"I've been calling you for days. You left without saying goodbye. Hell, you left without saying anything." His voice was gruff and accusatory.
That gave you the answer you needed. The team were fine, and he was simply here to rant. You felt the initial shock of his appearance wear off.
He stood up and stepped towards you, and that was when you noticed the state he was in. His usually close shaven beard was slightly unkempt, and his eyes were bloodshot. He looked worn out.
"Yeah," you retorted, "I kind of did that on purpose."
"Why?" His voice was a whisper. "Why would you do that?"
You were exasperated. You did not envision yourself having to explain your decisions to him. His appearance both delighted and depressed you. It was tiring, having these two sides battle each other whenever you saw him. Your love for him versus his heavy rejection.
"I can't be around you anymore," you admitted, your voice tight. "I thought I could, but I can't."
"Why the hell not?" he pressed stubbornly.
"You know why!" you cried out. "Why are you doing this to me, Bucky? I told you I loved you and, okay, you don't love me. Fair enough," you said, frustrated. "But to go out of your way to hurt me? Remind me that I'm nothing more than a friend? Bring other girls back to the compound so you can fuck them?"
Bucky flinched. "I never - "
"No!" you shouted, cutting him off. "You don't get to do this, Bucky." You felt wetness on your cheeks, and realized you were crying. It only made you more exasperated. "You don't get to tear my heart out of my chest and come here when I've been trying to get away from you."
He stormed up to you, hands reaching for you, but you batted him away.
"Don't!" Your hand hit his chest, barely moving him an inch. "Just stop! Please!" Your voice broke, and you shook with tears. The dam had broke, and seeing him here was just too much.
"Please don't cry," he pleaded, his face anguished.
"What are you doing here?" you asked, your voice breaking. "What do you want from me?"
Bucky looked so upset, taking another step forward, but you walked backwards until you hit the door.
"You don't want me," you exclaimed through your tears. You needed him to understand how much pain you were in just by seeing him. "You can't be here, Bucky. I can't look at you and remember how you just don't love me back."
Bucky pulled you into his arms, tightening them when you struggled. He was stronger than you - you had no choice but to become a prisoner against his chest. You were crying as you had many times before in his hold, but this time it felt different. Your heart was pounding and you were aching, wanting to melt into him but also aware of the anger and sadness flaring within you. It was torture.
"It hurts too much," you managed to get out through your wailing sobs.
He didn't say anything until you stilled. He let you cry, your tears soaking through his shirt. Your quiet sniffs and hiccups accompanied his words when he finally spoke.
"You weren't supposed to appear in my life," he said, his voice tense. "You weren't supposed to be so wonderful, so comforting. You made me feel so safe."
You didn't say anything, confusion rendering you temporarily speechless.
"I thought I was fine on my own. I've been a soldier all my life, just focusing on fighting everyone else's battles. And then I met you."
You had no idea where this was going as Bucky's arms seemed to tighten all the more around you.
"It felt...strange, how I wanted to kiss you. How I wanted you there, next to me, all the time.”
You looked up at Bucky, really taking in his exhausted eyes, his chapped lips, the way he was looking at you now with an exquisite softness.
"I felt like I was doing something wrong. I thought - I don't want to - ruin you," he said. "You are so young and have your whole future ahead of you and I didn't want to bring you down with all of me. My history, my demons, my baggage. And I ended up hurting you."
A spark of hope appeared, wanting to ignite into a flame. You expelled a shaky breath.
"Do you love me?" you asked, your fingers digging into his shoulders as he continued to hold you.
He nodded, his words like velvet. "How could I not? Of course I love you."
Of course, he said. But your insecurities prevailed, and you shook your head.
"You did a good job of hiding it," you said sadly.
Bucky closed his eyes regretfully.
"I know. I don't know what I was thinking. I thought if I could push you away, make you fall out of love with me, you would find someone worthy."
"What makes you think you're not worthy?" you retorted.
"Some days, I feel like no amount of good deeds I do can redeem me," he murmured.
"Bucky," you said slowly. "You're one of the best men I've ever known. Your heart is so kind."
"I'm sorry." He grasped one of your hands, brought it to his lips, kissing the back of your hand. "I'm sorry I hurt you. Part of me thought you would shrug, get over it and find someone else."
Your smile was full of sorrow. "Then you have no idea how much you truly mean to me.
Bucky cupped the side of your face. Seeing you in this state had truly been a wake up call for him. When he found out you had left the compound, all his resolve had crumbled. He realized that he had hurt you so deeply that you couldn’t physically be around him. That was when he knew that the connection between the two of you was too rare to let it slip, when he felt an immense pain at the idea of never seeing you again.
Having you in front of him now was heartbreaking. Your eyes were puffy, and you looked tired and so frail. He loved you, and you were supposed to take care of the people you loved. He swore on his life that he would dedicate himself to showing you what you really meant to him.
"When you asked me what I'm doing here," Bucky said, a hopeful smile on his face, "It's to tell you that I love you, so much. And I'm here to take you home."
You nodded, fresh tears filling your eyes, except this time they were borne from happiness.
"Let's go."
He had already packed your belongings for you, you realized when he released you to hoist your bags over his shoulder, which he had placed by the door. He paused, slipping his hand into his pocket and placing a tiny kid-sized carton into your hand. "Almost forgot. For the journey."
Chocolate milk.
You threw your arms around him, jumping to hook your legs around his hips. He dropped your bags as you kissed him, his hands reaching to support your thighs as he returned it with equal passion.
"This room is paid for," you gasped into his mouth. "Let's go back tomorrow."
He was silent when he walked back to fall onto the bed with you on top of him, his mouth never once leaving yours.
Not me crying in my dinner because I just thought I’d have a read of something to pass the time 🥺 This is so heartbreakingly beautiful. The pain the reader felt was so powerful. What a silly man to think he’s nothing but worthy of love ❤️🩹 I love this so much.
Summary: You finally confess your feelings to Bucky, hoping he might like you back. He turns you down.
Pairing: Bucky x Female!Avenger!reader
Genre: Angst, fluff
Warnings: Mentions of heavy drinking, no other significant warnings really without spoiling the plot 🤫
Word count: 6.5k
A/N: If you enjoyed this one, please do leave a comment / feedback / reblog! ❤️
Loving Bucky was like drinking honey. It was warm and comforting, sweet and overwhelming for your senses. You looked forward to seeing his face everyday and adored hearing him laugh, his whole face creasing when he doubled over at something funny you had said.
He had become an unlikely close ally since you joined the team. More than just a colleague. The time you’d spent together in the last year had been a defining period for you, as you had really grown to treasure his presence in your life.
God, the way this man made you feel. You didn’t think you’d ever be lucky enough to meet someone who would make you so happy.
It would be even better if you actually had the gall to tell him how you felt.
Being emotionally vulnerable was difficult. You wanted more, but it was scary. However, you recalled a piece of advice that one of your college professors had told you years ago, wise words which stuck with you. If you never try, the answer will always be no.
You had it set in your mind that you were going to tell him. You were, but maybe not today. You would wait for tomorrow. Or the day after that. Or the day after that.
Your inner turmoil was frustrating. You fought androids and aliens and god knows what else, but you were afraid of this?
It could mess everything up, you reasoned. If he didn’t return your feelings, then you would make everything awkward, and maybe you would lose him even as a friend. You didn't know if you could handle that.
Despite this, a tiny hopeful voice in your head told you that Bucky felt the same about you. The way he always looked for a reason to spend time with you, how he shared his deepest secrets with you. The way you always partnered up on missions, and how you always had each other's backs. The way he comforted you when you were sad, allowing you to cry on his chest, soothing fingers stroking your hair.
When you first joined the team, he had been the first one to properly befriend you. Your first encounter was in the kitchen, where you had ended up in the middle of the night after being unable to sleep.
You were shocked to see Bucky propped up on a breakfast stool at the kitchen island, book in hand. You had waved nervously at him, going over to the fridge to get a carton of chocolate milk.
“Can’t sleep?” he grunted. You glanced to see what it was reading, seeing 'The Hobbit' embossed in gold letters across a hardback cover.
“Yeah,” you said softly, tugging down at the hem of your sleep shirt. You hadn’t exchanged many words with him at this point, but he seemed friendly enough. “You want a glass?”
He contemplated for a second before he nodded. “Sure.”
You ended up sitting opposite each other, glasses of chocolate milk in hand.
“How come you’re awake?”
Bucky smiled wryly. “I have trouble sleeping.”
“Nightmares?”
“Something like that.”
You hummed to yourself, taking a sip of the sweet beverage. There was something childish but comforting about chocolate milk - you always used to have it with your mom when you were small.
“How you feeling?” Bucky asked, breaking the silence. “Settling in?”
You nodded, the grip around your glass tightening. “Yeah, kind of. Everyone’s nice.”
Bucky seemed to know that you wanted to say more, silently promoting you with his eyes to continue.
“Everybody seems very tight knit - I guess that makes me a bit nervous? Trying to fit in.” You looked down, chewing on your lower lip. "I've always had a bit of trouble with that."
“I get you,” Bucky said, eyes still observing you. They were the color of cobalt - stunning. “Don’t worry. I think you’ll do just fine.”
That was the first meeting, and since then, you had only grown closer to him. Your mid-night conversations were a frequent occurrence. At least once or twice a week, you’d find each other in the kitchen at ungodly hours. Over time, you had introduced other activities to pass the time - board games, watching TV shows, fun idle gossip. Each time, you were always accompanied by chocolate milk.
“My mom died when I was six,” you had told Bucky during one of your late night rendezvous, half a year into your time with the team. “I don’t have many memories of her, but I remember that whenever I was sick or sad, she would have chocolate milk with me. It always cheered me up.”
You exchanged nuggets of information about each others pasts, and soon, you were sure that Bucky knew enough about you to write your biography. You felt surprisingly fine, opening up to him about anything and everything.
The seasons passed in a flash, and it was suddenly the one year anniversary of your joining the team. You found Bucky in the kitchen once again, at 3AM on a Thursday. You had a smile ready on your face, though your limbs ached. They were littered with bruises and cuts from your latest mission, but seeing him put a bounce in your step.
Bucky was staring down at his phone, the glow illuminating his face in the semi-darkness. It was chiming loudly with notifications, his expression unreadable.
“What’s that?” you asked, making your presence known.
Bucky already had a glass of milk out for you. He placed his phone down, grimacing.
“Sam got me doing this online dating thing,” he said casually. Your smile fell, unable to hide your surprise. “Modern dating is kind of crazy. Women are so much bolder than in the 40s."
Online dating? What?
“I didn’t know you started online dating,” you said, trying to keep your voice light. You didn’t even know Bucky was Iooking to date. You were deflated - any hopes that Bucky returned your crush were promptly dashed. You tried to swallow your disappointment.
“I wasn’t, really,” he said. “I guess it’s not the worst idea, though.”
Damn you, Sam Wilson, you thought.
“You meet women in real life all the time,” you said, taking your usual seat across him. “No one catch your interest?” You played nonchalantly with your fingers, trying not to pick your nails - a nervous habit.
Bucky pursed his lips, eyes landing on you for a moment before he looked at the ceiling.
“Ah, I don’t know.”
“You met anyone nice so far?” you probed, your jealousy spiking.
“Early days,” he responded. He slid his phone across the surface of the island, showing you the dating app he had open. The girls were plentiful, all beautiful and clearly enthusiastic. Bucky’s inbox was full of flirtatious greetings, but you noticed he hadn’t yet responded to a single one.
“Hmm.” You struggled to keep your face neutral. You felt the sinking realization that he must have never thought of you that way. Otherwise, why would he be looking for someone when you were right there?
You couldn't focus properly on the conversation anymore, your mind racing as Bucky moved the topic onto something unrelated.
Fantasising about Bucky had been dangerous. You had spent so much time imagining the day you would finally confess, and he would reciprocate your feelings and you would have the happy relationship you yearned for. Even if you didn’t confess first, you were hoping he would.
Up until now, you had sometimes told yourself that Bucky was just being patient. That he was old-fashioned, so he was taking his time in courting you.
You realized now that you were simply never considered an option.
The next few weeks were torturous. Christmas was fast-approaching, but you were far from being in the festive mood. You had to put on a front with Bucky now, pretend everything was alright and not feel too tempted to ask about the progress of his dating life. Things were tough, and you were feeling unhappier day by day.
You had always known, deep down, that your feelings for him were more than just a crush, and had been for many months. It ached, the feeling of knowing your emotions were not returned.
One horrible part of you wondered why. Were you not sexy enough? Not smart enough? Not charming enough?
Maybe all of the above.
Seeing Bucky nowadays made you ache. You found yourself feeling sad whenever he cracked jokes with you, shared his thoughts with you, when the backs of his hands brushed against yours as you walked side by side.
He would find someone that he actually wanted to be with, to do all that and more. It wasn’t his fault, and you knew he had no idea that you were in so much pain, that he had single handedly eviscerated you.
Tony's Christmas party was a perfect opportunity to drown your sorrows. So cliché. You knew it was a bad idea, but that didn't stop you knocking back drink after drink by the bar, ignoring Natasha's requests to dance. After all, if all the Hollywood rom-coms you had watched were any indication, this was one of the key steps to getting over a guy.
The party was kicking off, and the room was spinning like a ride at a fairground. Your alcohol tolerance had always been low, and now you were paying for your actions. Your skin was burning hot and prickling, and you were struggling to walk straight. Although, this was exactly what you wanted - it was somehow cathartic, purging you of all the pent of frustration inside.
A dark figure appeared in your eye line. Your vision refocused until you realized who it was - your favorite, handsome face was looking very annoyed right now, mouth set in a firm line.
“You’re drunk,” Bucky stated, his voice filled with annoyance.
“Duh.”
“I’m taking you back to your room,” he said, his hand latching around your bicep.
“No,” you said indignantly, jerking away. Your face blanched at the sudden movement. “I don’t feel well."
Bucky rolled his eyes, opting to steer you towards the balcony instead for some fresh air. He shut the French doors behind you, allowing the silent night air to consume you, isolating the two of you from the crowd.
“Sit,” he said, gently helping you down onto a wrought iron bench. “What were you thinking? You know you can’t drink.”
“I know.”
“Something wrong?” Bucky knew that the answer was yes - there was no other reason for you to be drinking unless you were upset or mad.
“I wanted to forget,” you croaked, leaning your head back to get a proper look at him. The sight of him devastated you. He looked so beautiful, so far out of your reach.
“Forget what?”
You stared up at the ink black sky, at the stars. The night air was cool against your burning skin. Everything was quiet, save the sound of his breathing in your ear as he leaned close to you. In that intoxicated moment, you thought you had nothing to lose, forgetting that Bucky was truly your everything.
“How much I love you,” you whispered, tilting your head to look at him through beseeching eyes.
Bucky sucked in a breath of air. His entire stance became rigid at your words. The way you stared at him imploringly confirmed that he hadn’t misheard.
“How long?” He was frowning even as you gave him a trembling, sad smile.
“A long time.”
He raised his hand as if he wanted to touch you, but settled it back down on his thigh. Your face crumpled at his obvious discomfort.
“I don’t know what to say,” he breathed.
Those words alone were enough to make your throat tighten and the needles in your chest multiply ten-fold.
“Tell me you feel the same way,” you said suddenly. It was a plead. You hated how desperate you were in this moment, but you needed him to know how you felt, and you needed to know whether you had a chance. Call it liquid courage, but you felt like you had nothing to lose when you grasped one of his calloused hands in yours.
Bucky was silent for a long time, staring at you with sadness and regret in his eyes. You hated how uncomfortable you must’ve been making him. God, what were you thinking, burdening him with your feelings and putting him in this position? You scolded yourself mentally, feeling nauseous.
Your hand was tight around his, your knuckles white. With every silent second that passed, your fingers loosened, falling limp. His hand was warm, yet you had never felt so cold.
He pulled his hand free, clenching it into a fist.
“I’m sorry,” he said finally. Each word was a knife sinking into your chest. The realization hit you suddenly, thick and sour.
You felt bile rise in your throat. You stood up then, the floor shaking beneath you. You almost collapsed.
“Be careful - ”
“Oh god,” you whispered, squeezing your eyes shut. “I’m sorry. I need to go.”
You darted away with surprising speed, wrenching the doors open and hurrying back inside the room. You ignored the sounds of him calling you as you rushed through the crowd, trying to put one foot steadily in front of you and praying you wouldn’t fall.
Don’t cry. Don’t cry. Don’t cry.
You held the tears in until you returned to your bedroom, slamming the door shut. You bolted into the en-suite and fell onto your knees in front of the toilet, the acid in your throat finally seeing the surface as you vomited.
Your stomach heaved, emptying yourself of all its contents. But you couldn’t get rid of the horrible, cloying feeling in your gut that came with Bucky’s rejection.
You fell asleep on the bathroom floor, tear tracks on your face and fresh wound in your heart.
You were dreading seeing him the next morning. Thankfully, you arrived in the conference room before he did. The others were there already, gathered around the table. Sam took one look at you and snickered. You were dressed in black, hair in disarray and a pair of large sunglasses on your face.
“Someone had a bit too much fun last night,” he sang.
You grimaced, closing your eyes at the way his voice boomed in your overly sensitive ears. “Stop shouting,” you croaked.
Bucky entered a few minutes later. You kept your head down, refusing to look at him or otherwise acknowledge his presence. To the others, your hostility could be passed off as a result of your clear hangover. But the excruciating humiliation of your confession to him hung between the two of you, making you squirm in your seat.
You didn’t speak for the rest of the meeting, keeping your sunglasses on and staring stoically at Steve as he delivered the mission briefing. As soon as he dismissed the team, you jogged out of the room, but was accosted by Bucky in the hallway.
“Can we talk?” he asked loudly.
You didn’t want to make a scene. You put a fake smile on.
“Sure.” Your eyes were still swollen behind your dark shades as you tried not to let the sight of him bring out any more tears.
He led you into an empty room a few doors down. His face was set like stone, only the slightest crease in his forehead hinting at something akin to distress.
“I’m sorry if I hurt your feelings,” he said carefully.
“It’s okay.” You winced in discomfort, even just the sound of your own voice bringing you pain. You wondered if he had rehearsed a speech, to let you down easy.
“You should never drink that much again.” His voice was sharp, critical.
“I can take care of myself,” you said, taken aback by his tone.
“It’s not worth it,” he said, his attitude easing up. “I’m not worth it. I don’t want you to feel this way because of me."
You felt your shoulders sag. You felt so tired, defeated.
"I can't control the way I feel," you whispered.
Bucky kept a reasonable distance between the two of you, like he was afraid to go near you now that the pair of you were alone. You wished you could read his mind, know what he was thinking.
His next words were chilling. "You’re my friend, and I care a lot about you.”
The emphasis on the word ‘friend’ didn’t go unnoticed. The way he looked at you was orchestrated, pointed. He was letting you know, in no uncertain terms, what he wanted to say. You were almost grateful that he didn’t directly bring up how you had told him you loved him, as if to save you your last shred of dignity.
He stared at you now with such intensity, the meaning clear in the way he looked at you. We are just friends.
He was doing you a favour. Still, your heart shattered. Your hands were shaking. There it was again - that awful, stinging pain of rejection.
“Okay,” you said faintly.
“I'm sorry if I ever made you think that we could be anything more," he began. Tears gathered in the corners of your eyes.
“Let’s not do this,” you interrupted. If he kept speaking, you felt like you might die. You wished the ground would swallow you up.
Bucky licked his lips but remained silent.
“Please..." You hated how your voice shook. "I would really appreciate it if we could just move on. Let’s not bring this up again. It would really help me.”
Bucky folded his arms tightly across his chest, nodding stiffly.
“Okay.”
You backed away from him, grateful your eyes were hidden. You left the room and didn’t look back.
You managed to act normal around Bucky. Well, semi-normal. The rest of the team didn't even seem to notice anything was amiss - you still spoke to Bucky, managed to look at him as if the very sight didn't break your heart, kept a smile on your face.
But that was in front of them. For anything else which wasn't out of necessity or mission-related, you avoided interacting with him. When you woke up in the middle of the night, you no longer plodded into the kitchen, instead staying in your bed, sobbing and staring at the ceiling.
You no longer laughed and joked with him. You turned your attention to the others instead, talking to Steve and Clint and Natasha and whoever else was there, in a desperate attempt to hide the fact that you were trying to keep it together. You wanted to keep your mind distracted.
It was horrible.
Things would not be the same again, at least not for a little while. You needed time to make yourself get over him.
It was easier, when Bucky returned to the compound one night with a blonde on his arm. She was giggling and clinging onto him, and your heart sank when they stumbled into the elevator just as you were making your way to your floor.
You couldn't have been more shocked at the sight of them. Bucky had red prints all over his cheeks, and her lipstick was smeared. The smell of alcohol was in the air.
"You're not supposed to have civilians in here," was the only thing you managed to say, shock infiltrating your system. The blonde giggled.
"Oops."
Bucky only shrugged, his hand slipping into hers as the elevator rose. Your heart clenched.
He was doing this on purpose. He wanted to show you that he had no interest in you, leave you without any doubts. You didn’t know that Bucky had it in him, to be so cruel. If you weren't trying to hold back your tears, you would've almost felt impressed by his antics. The worst thing was, you truly understood why he was doing this.
You think you may have hated him in that moment.
The elevator doors dinged open, and you stumbled out. Tears began prickling in your eyes, and you were sure Bucky could see.
You didn't say anything as you marched to your room, the elevator doors sliding shut.
You had always been good at pretending. Pretending you were happy when you weren't, pretending you were calm when you were furious, pretending you knew the answer when you didn't.
Bucky saw past a lot of that. He could tell when you were lying, could see when you were holding back. He read you like an open book.
He was important to you, and still would be even if he had rejected your confession and rubbed the presence of another girl in your face. You told yourself that it was a good thing - he was performing a service, encouraging you to move on. Besides, he didn't owe you a thing. He could do whatever he wanted with anyone else.
You couldn't lie convincingly to yourself.
Bucky's birthday rolled around all too quickly. You had it marked in your calendar, though you would've remembered even without the reminder.
Despite your conflicted feelings, you wanted to get him a gift. You had planned the perfect one months ago and had enlisted Bruce's help in finding it. You still wanted to see the look on his face when he opened it.
Bucky roamed the hallways on your floor the morning of his birthday, frowning slightly when your bedroom door opened, Bruce appearing in the frame. He caught a glimpse of where you were perched on your bed, face flushed in mild excitement.
Bucky gave Bruce a smile which may have looked more like a grimace, the latter giving him a polite nod before continuing on. Your door swung inwards, but Bucky stuck a hand between it and the frame, poking his head through.
"What's that all about?" he asked, curiosity getting the better of him.
You shuffled something behind your back. You hadn't spoken to Bucky much as of late, barely acknowledging any of the awkward encounters that had occurred in the past months, instead choosing to face him with a professional-politeness.
"Nothing," you said, not particularly aware of what it would look like to have Bruce emerge from your bedroom.
"Is something going on between you two?" he asked directly. He gave a laugh void of humor, the sound escaping him in a huff. "Do you have a thing for emotionally damaged men?" He gestured to himself with his vibranium arm.
The small smile on your lips fell. Anger simmered in your eyes.
How could he? How could he reduce his feelings for you to nothing and stomp on them like it was trash?
You stood and marched towards him, a wave of fury overcoming you, thrusting a wrapped parcel into his hands.
"He helped me get your present, actually. Happy birthday," you spat, watching as Bucky's mouth fell open silently. You pushed past him, unable to look him in the eyes, feeling your stomach twist.
Bucky remained rooted to the spot, fiddling with the wrapping paper hesitantly before he ripped it open.
It was a first edition copy of 'The Grapes of Wrath', excellent condition. The subject of Bucky's favorite books came up after your first encounter when you saw him reading 'The Hobbit'.
"Is it about angry grapes?" you had asked, confused when Bucky laughed. He promised he would buy it and lend you the book one day.
Bucky's ground his teeth, every cell in his body telling him to go after you. But, for all the reasons he had told himself since the day of your confession, he made himself stay put.
Bucky had missed out on a lot in his life since falling off that train in the Austrian Alps. His whole trajectory had changed, and instead of growing old in his century, he found himself in the 21st, thrust into the modern world and navigating his new life.
He always thought, back in the 40s, that he would meet a nice girl and settle down after the war. He would live in a cozy, tiny home and have three kids, maybe four.
He missed out on that and more - though he had been quite the playboy back in his time, he had never experienced true love. He had never met that one woman he would die for.
Bucky had commented off-hand once on how lucky Steve was to meet Peggy before he went into the ice. Steve had reminisced on that with a bittersweet smile, before telling him, you’ll find your Peggy.
Falling in love with you had blindsided him. At first, he viewed you as a friend, a sweet girl who he grew to trust.
Then, he realized that he was slowly being drawn to you, like magnets he couldn’t pull apart. He realized that everything you did was endearing, that you occupied his thought space all the time, that having you around helped him feel comfortable, safe.
You were young, determined, and so innocent. You were somebody who deserved someone as pure and good as you. You weren’t his Peggy - you were something more, so unique and unapologetically you, and he wanted you as his person so badly.
But you deserved someone good. Somebody like Steve, who stood for the best values and only acted for the good of mankind. Not someone morally-gray and jaded like Bucky.
He wanted someone to spend his life with, for sure. If he couldn’t have his idyllic life in the post-war period, then he still wanted to find a partner in this new, still-unfamiliar time.
You fit that profile. He wanted you.
But he would never forgive himself if he weighed you down with his sins.
When you told him you loved him, his heart had broke. He wanted to tell you how much he valued you, how he dreamed of kissing you. He wanted to be a part of your happy ending.
But how much of a happy ending could he really give you? Could he give you children, knowing they would always be in danger from his enemies? Could he give you a wedded, domestic life, when all he knew was how to fight and cause pain?
He had to make his sacrifice for the greater good. Even if he had to crush you, he had to do it.
Someone like Bucky wasn’t supposed to get happy endings. You were, but just not with him.
You couldn't stand to be around him anymore. It was affecting your concentration, your work. It reached a breaking point two weeks after Bucky's birthday, when you requested to speak to Steve privately.
"You want to leave?" he asked, his face appalled.
You nodded curtly. "You’ll still be able to contact me, if you really need me. But I don't think I can stay here anymore."
Steve didn't look as confused at your profession as you expected.
"Is this about Bucky?"
You cringed. God, did he know about everything that happened?
"I don't know what's going on between the two of you," he clarified quickly, "but I can see that something happened. He's not the same, either."
"I'm not in a good place right now," you admitted shamefully. "I'm not saying that this is goodbye forever, Steve. But for my own sanity, I think I need a break."
Steve heaved a sigh. "I know you wouldn't ask unless you really needed it. And you don't need my permission, you know."
"I know," you said, giving him a small smile. "But I just wanted to let you know that I'll be here whenever the team needs it. Emergencies only," you joked. "But for now I think I'll get out of here. Maybe go upstate."
"Have you told him?"
"Don't need to," you said, defensiveness creeping into your voice.
"I think he would like to know."
“We’re not really on speaking terms,” you said bluntly.
Steve clasped a heavy hand on your shoulder. He knew better than to argue. He was sure you’d figure things out for yourself, anyway. “I’ll miss you.”
Now that you had completed the professional courtesy, you decided that you would leave in a few days. You still had some matters to wrap up, and to say goodbye to your teammates. You loved them, and they deserved a proper farewell.
"This isn't goodbye," Nat had said sternly, pulling you into a tight hug. Her voice was quiet and soft in your ear as she whispered, "If you need me, I'll be there."
You squeezed her tight, threatening to tear up. "Thank you."
"Keep your ass out of trouble," Clint had said, winking at you. “And check in with us now and again, yeah?”
Sam was clearly unhappy about everything. And he definitely noticed that you had picked a day to make your announcement when Bucky was conveniently away from the compound.
"Am I gonna see you again?" he asked, raising his eyebrows after you'd embraced.
"Couldn't get rid of me if you tried," you promised, punching his arm.
You retired to your bedroom that night, sure that Bucky would hear the news later after he came back. You kept your phone switched off and door locked for the rest of the evening, making sure the your belongings were packed.
Just past midnight, you crept out of your room, duffel bag over your shoulder. You made your way through the compound, down the floors into the underground garage. Bucky's motorbike wasn't there - he still hadn't returned.
You were grateful. You climbed into your car, and tossed your belongings in the back. You had to stop thinking about him - if you let yourself do it for too long, you were afraid you wouldn’t be able to go.
With a heavy heart, you left this chapter of your life behind.
Your phone rang for days afterwards. Missed calls, voicemails left unanswered, texts left unread.
You couldn't bear to face him. If you pretended he didn't exist, maybe it would ease the pain.
You didn't know where you were driving to. You simply knew you had to get as far away as possible, clear your head. You were at a crossroads, and you needed to pull yourself together, but for now you would allow yourself to wallow.
You had been spending each night in a different motel. Wake up, drive, sleep. Wake up, drive, sleep. You wanted to put as much distance between yourself and Bucky Barnes as possible.
You had no idea how you had gotten everything so wrong. Did you really misinterpret the signals? Was every intimate moment between the two of you simply platonic?
You didn't want to feel so beat up over a guy, but he wasn't just any guy. He was the first man you had ever loved.
Life was funny, sometimes. You supposed that you couldn't always expect happy endings.
You kicked open the door of the latest motel, a bag of takeout in your hands. You noticed the dark, shadowy figure on your bed in an instant, your hand sliding to the dagger sheathed in your belt on reflex. Before your brain even had time to catch up with what you were seeing, you had aimed and launched it, shocked when a familiar voice rang out.
"Calm down, tiger," he rasped. The bedside light flicked on, and Bucky was suddenly there, twirling your dagger between his fingers. He tossed it to the side, letting it land on the carpet with a soft thud.
A week had passed since you last saw him. Seeing him sent an electrifying jolt straight through your core.
"What are you doing here?" you asked. You were shocked, but your first thought was that something terrible had happened. "Is it the team? Are they in danger?"
Bucky looked irate, his jaw clenching and unclenching. His hands were knotted together, worry hiding beneath his anger.
"I've been calling you for days. You left without saying goodbye. Hell, you left without saying anything." His voice was gruff and accusatory.
That gave you the answer you needed. The team were fine, and he was simply here to rant. You felt the initial shock of his appearance wear off.
He stood up and stepped towards you, and that was when you noticed the state he was in. His usually close shaven beard was slightly unkempt, and his eyes were bloodshot. He looked worn out.
"Yeah," you retorted, "I kind of did that on purpose."
"Why?" His voice was a whisper. "Why would you do that?"
You were exasperated. You did not envision yourself having to explain your decisions to him. His appearance both delighted and depressed you. It was tiring, having these two sides battle each other whenever you saw him. Your love for him versus his heavy rejection.
"I can't be around you anymore," you admitted, your voice tight. "I thought I could, but I can't."
"Why the hell not?" he pressed stubbornly.
"You know why!" you cried out. "Why are you doing this to me, Bucky? I told you I loved you and, okay, you don't love me. Fair enough," you said, frustrated. "But to go out of your way to hurt me? Remind me that I'm nothing more than a friend? Bring other girls back to the compound so you can fuck them?"
Bucky flinched. "I never - "
"No!" you shouted, cutting him off. "You don't get to do this, Bucky." You felt wetness on your cheeks, and realized you were crying. It only made you more exasperated. "You don't get to tear my heart out of my chest and come here when I've been trying to get away from you."
He stormed up to you, hands reaching for you, but you batted him away.
"Don't!" Your hand hit his chest, barely moving him an inch. "Just stop! Please!" Your voice broke, and you shook with tears. The dam had broke, and seeing him here was just too much.
"Please don't cry," he pleaded, his face anguished.
"What are you doing here?" you asked, your voice breaking. "What do you want from me?"
Bucky looked so upset, taking another step forward, but you walked backwards until you hit the door.
"You don't want me," you exclaimed through your tears. You needed him to understand how much pain you were in just by seeing him. "You can't be here, Bucky. I can't look at you and remember how you just don't love me back."
Bucky pulled you into his arms, tightening them when you struggled. He was stronger than you - you had no choice but to become a prisoner against his chest. You were crying as you had many times before in his hold, but this time it felt different. Your heart was pounding and you were aching, wanting to melt into him but also aware of the anger and sadness flaring within you. It was torture.
"It hurts too much," you managed to get out through your wailing sobs.
He didn't say anything until you stilled. He let you cry, your tears soaking through his shirt. Your quiet sniffs and hiccups accompanied his words when he finally spoke.
"You weren't supposed to appear in my life," he said, his voice tense. "You weren't supposed to be so wonderful, so comforting. You made me feel so safe."
You didn't say anything, confusion rendering you temporarily speechless.
"I thought I was fine on my own. I've been a soldier all my life, just focusing on fighting everyone else's battles. And then I met you."
You had no idea where this was going as Bucky's arms seemed to tighten all the more around you.
"It felt...strange, how I wanted to kiss you. How I wanted you there, next to me, all the time.”
You looked up at Bucky, really taking in his exhausted eyes, his chapped lips, the way he was looking at you now with an exquisite softness.
"I felt like I was doing something wrong. I thought - I don't want to - ruin you," he said. "You are so young and have your whole future ahead of you and I didn't want to bring you down with all of me. My history, my demons, my baggage. And I ended up hurting you."
A spark of hope appeared, wanting to ignite into a flame. You expelled a shaky breath.
"Do you love me?" you asked, your fingers digging into his shoulders as he continued to hold you.
He nodded, his words like velvet. "How could I not? Of course I love you."
Of course, he said. But your insecurities prevailed, and you shook your head.
"You did a good job of hiding it," you said sadly.
Bucky closed his eyes regretfully.
"I know. I don't know what I was thinking. I thought if I could push you away, make you fall out of love with me, you would find someone worthy."
"What makes you think you're not worthy?" you retorted.
"Some days, I feel like no amount of good deeds I do can redeem me," he murmured.
"Bucky," you said slowly. "You're one of the best men I've ever known. Your heart is so kind."
"I'm sorry." He grasped one of your hands, brought it to his lips, kissing the back of your hand. "I'm sorry I hurt you. Part of me thought you would shrug, get over it and find someone else."
Your smile was full of sorrow. "Then you have no idea how much you truly mean to me.
Bucky cupped the side of your face. Seeing you in this state had truly been a wake up call for him. When he found out you had left the compound, all his resolve had crumbled. He realized that he had hurt you so deeply that you couldn’t physically be around him. That was when he knew that the connection between the two of you was too rare to let it slip, when he felt an immense pain at the idea of never seeing you again.
Having you in front of him now was heartbreaking. Your eyes were puffy, and you looked tired and so frail. He loved you, and you were supposed to take care of the people you loved. He swore on his life that he would dedicate himself to showing you what you really meant to him.
"When you asked me what I'm doing here," Bucky said, a hopeful smile on his face, "It's to tell you that I love you, so much. And I'm here to take you home."
You nodded, fresh tears filling your eyes, except this time they were borne from happiness.
"Let's go."
He had already packed your belongings for you, you realized when he released you to hoist your bags over his shoulder, which he had placed by the door. He paused, slipping his hand into his pocket and placing a tiny kid-sized carton into your hand. "Almost forgot. For the journey."
Chocolate milk.
You threw your arms around him, jumping to hook your legs around his hips. He dropped your bags as you kissed him, his hands reaching to support your thighs as he returned it with equal passion.
"This room is paid for," you gasped into his mouth. "Let's go back tomorrow."
He was silent when he walked back to fall onto the bed with you on top of him, his mouth never once leaving yours.
@buckybabesonly this made me cry ugly 😭 it's so beautifully written.. " Loving bucky was like drinking honey. It was warm and comforting, sweet and overwhelming for your senses. " Yes it feels exactly like that..💔 You are truly blessed with so much talent, thank you for sharing this with us.. ❤
Summary: You finally confess your feelings to Bucky, hoping he might like you back. He turns you down.
Pairing: Bucky x Female!Avenger!reader
Genre: Angst, fluff
Warnings: Mentions of heavy drinking, no other significant warnings really without spoiling the plot 🤫
Word count: 6.5k
A/N: If you enjoyed this one, please do leave a comment / feedback / reblog! ❤️
Loving Bucky was like drinking honey. It was warm and comforting, sweet and overwhelming for your senses. You looked forward to seeing his face everyday and adored hearing him laugh, his whole face creasing when he doubled over at something funny you had said.
He had become an unlikely close ally since you joined the team. More than just a colleague. The time you’d spent together in the last year had been a defining period for you, as you had really grown to treasure his presence in your life.
God, the way this man made you feel. You didn’t think you’d ever be lucky enough to meet someone who would make you so happy.
It would be even better if you actually had the gall to tell him how you felt.
Being emotionally vulnerable was difficult. You wanted more, but it was scary. However, you recalled a piece of advice that one of your college professors had told you years ago, wise words which stuck with you. If you never try, the answer will always be no.
You had it set in your mind that you were going to tell him. You were, but maybe not today. You would wait for tomorrow. Or the day after that. Or the day after that.
Your inner turmoil was frustrating. You fought androids and aliens and god knows what else, but you were afraid of this?
It could mess everything up, you reasoned. If he didn’t return your feelings, then you would make everything awkward, and maybe you would lose him even as a friend. You didn't know if you could handle that.
Despite this, a tiny hopeful voice in your head told you that Bucky felt the same about you. The way he always looked for a reason to spend time with you, how he shared his deepest secrets with you. The way you always partnered up on missions, and how you always had each other's backs. The way he comforted you when you were sad, allowing you to cry on his chest, soothing fingers stroking your hair.
When you first joined the team, he had been the first one to properly befriend you. Your first encounter was in the kitchen, where you had ended up in the middle of the night after being unable to sleep.
You were shocked to see Bucky propped up on a breakfast stool at the kitchen island, book in hand. You had waved nervously at him, going over to the fridge to get a carton of chocolate milk.
“Can’t sleep?” he grunted. You glanced to see what it was reading, seeing 'The Hobbit' embossed in gold letters across a hardback cover.
“Yeah,” you said softly, tugging down at the hem of your sleep shirt. You hadn’t exchanged many words with him at this point, but he seemed friendly enough. “You want a glass?”
He contemplated for a second before he nodded. “Sure.”
You ended up sitting opposite each other, glasses of chocolate milk in hand.
“How come you’re awake?”
Bucky smiled wryly. “I have trouble sleeping.”
“Nightmares?”
“Something like that.”
You hummed to yourself, taking a sip of the sweet beverage. There was something childish but comforting about chocolate milk - you always used to have it with your mom when you were small.
“How you feeling?” Bucky asked, breaking the silence. “Settling in?”
You nodded, the grip around your glass tightening. “Yeah, kind of. Everyone’s nice.”
Bucky seemed to know that you wanted to say more, silently promoting you with his eyes to continue.
“Everybody seems very tight knit - I guess that makes me a bit nervous? Trying to fit in.” You looked down, chewing on your lower lip. "I've always had a bit of trouble with that."
“I get you,” Bucky said, eyes still observing you. They were the color of cobalt - stunning. “Don’t worry. I think you’ll do just fine.”
That was the first meeting, and since then, you had only grown closer to him. Your mid-night conversations were a frequent occurrence. At least once or twice a week, you’d find each other in the kitchen at ungodly hours. Over time, you had introduced other activities to pass the time - board games, watching TV shows, fun idle gossip. Each time, you were always accompanied by chocolate milk.
“My mom died when I was six,” you had told Bucky during one of your late night rendezvous, half a year into your time with the team. “I don’t have many memories of her, but I remember that whenever I was sick or sad, she would have chocolate milk with me. It always cheered me up.”
You exchanged nuggets of information about each others pasts, and soon, you were sure that Bucky knew enough about you to write your biography. You felt surprisingly fine, opening up to him about anything and everything.
The seasons passed in a flash, and it was suddenly the one year anniversary of your joining the team. You found Bucky in the kitchen once again, at 3AM on a Thursday. You had a smile ready on your face, though your limbs ached. They were littered with bruises and cuts from your latest mission, but seeing him put a bounce in your step.
Bucky was staring down at his phone, the glow illuminating his face in the semi-darkness. It was chiming loudly with notifications, his expression unreadable.
“What’s that?” you asked, making your presence known.
Bucky already had a glass of milk out for you. He placed his phone down, grimacing.
“Sam got me doing this online dating thing,” he said casually. Your smile fell, unable to hide your surprise. “Modern dating is kind of crazy. Women are so much bolder than in the 40s."
Online dating? What?
“I didn’t know you started online dating,” you said, trying to keep your voice light. You didn’t even know Bucky was Iooking to date. You were deflated - any hopes that Bucky returned your crush were promptly dashed. You tried to swallow your disappointment.
“I wasn’t, really,” he said. “I guess it’s not the worst idea, though.”
Damn you, Sam Wilson, you thought.
“You meet women in real life all the time,” you said, taking your usual seat across him. “No one catch your interest?” You played nonchalantly with your fingers, trying not to pick your nails - a nervous habit.
Bucky pursed his lips, eyes landing on you for a moment before he looked at the ceiling.
“Ah, I don’t know.”
“You met anyone nice so far?” you probed, your jealousy spiking.
“Early days,” he responded. He slid his phone across the surface of the island, showing you the dating app he had open. The girls were plentiful, all beautiful and clearly enthusiastic. Bucky’s inbox was full of flirtatious greetings, but you noticed he hadn’t yet responded to a single one.
“Hmm.” You struggled to keep your face neutral. You felt the sinking realization that he must have never thought of you that way. Otherwise, why would he be looking for someone when you were right there?
You couldn't focus properly on the conversation anymore, your mind racing as Bucky moved the topic onto something unrelated.
Fantasising about Bucky had been dangerous. You had spent so much time imagining the day you would finally confess, and he would reciprocate your feelings and you would have the happy relationship you yearned for. Even if you didn’t confess first, you were hoping he would.
Up until now, you had sometimes told yourself that Bucky was just being patient. That he was old-fashioned, so he was taking his time in courting you.
You realized now that you were simply never considered an option.
The next few weeks were torturous. Christmas was fast-approaching, but you were far from being in the festive mood. You had to put on a front with Bucky now, pretend everything was alright and not feel too tempted to ask about the progress of his dating life. Things were tough, and you were feeling unhappier day by day.
You had always known, deep down, that your feelings for him were more than just a crush, and had been for many months. It ached, the feeling of knowing your emotions were not returned.
One horrible part of you wondered why. Were you not sexy enough? Not smart enough? Not charming enough?
Maybe all of the above.
Seeing Bucky nowadays made you ache. You found yourself feeling sad whenever he cracked jokes with you, shared his thoughts with you, when the backs of his hands brushed against yours as you walked side by side.
He would find someone that he actually wanted to be with, to do all that and more. It wasn’t his fault, and you knew he had no idea that you were in so much pain, that he had single handedly eviscerated you.
Tony's Christmas party was a perfect opportunity to drown your sorrows. So cliché. You knew it was a bad idea, but that didn't stop you knocking back drink after drink by the bar, ignoring Natasha's requests to dance. After all, if all the Hollywood rom-coms you had watched were any indication, this was one of the key steps to getting over a guy.
The party was kicking off, and the room was spinning like a ride at a fairground. Your alcohol tolerance had always been low, and now you were paying for your actions. Your skin was burning hot and prickling, and you were struggling to walk straight. Although, this was exactly what you wanted - it was somehow cathartic, purging you of all the pent of frustration inside.
A dark figure appeared in your eye line. Your vision refocused until you realized who it was - your favorite, handsome face was looking very annoyed right now, mouth set in a firm line.
“You’re drunk,” Bucky stated, his voice filled with annoyance.
“Duh.”
“I’m taking you back to your room,” he said, his hand latching around your bicep.
“No,” you said indignantly, jerking away. Your face blanched at the sudden movement. “I don’t feel well."
Bucky rolled his eyes, opting to steer you towards the balcony instead for some fresh air. He shut the French doors behind you, allowing the silent night air to consume you, isolating the two of you from the crowd.
“Sit,” he said, gently helping you down onto a wrought iron bench. “What were you thinking? You know you can’t drink.”
“I know.”
“Something wrong?” Bucky knew that the answer was yes - there was no other reason for you to be drinking unless you were upset or mad.
“I wanted to forget,” you croaked, leaning your head back to get a proper look at him. The sight of him devastated you. He looked so beautiful, so far out of your reach.
“Forget what?”
You stared up at the ink black sky, at the stars. The night air was cool against your burning skin. Everything was quiet, save the sound of his breathing in your ear as he leaned close to you. In that intoxicated moment, you thought you had nothing to lose, forgetting that Bucky was truly your everything.
“How much I love you,” you whispered, tilting your head to look at him through beseeching eyes.
Bucky sucked in a breath of air. His entire stance became rigid at your words. The way you stared at him imploringly confirmed that he hadn’t misheard.
“How long?” He was frowning even as you gave him a trembling, sad smile.
“A long time.”
He raised his hand as if he wanted to touch you, but settled it back down on his thigh. Your face crumpled at his obvious discomfort.
“I don’t know what to say,” he breathed.
Those words alone were enough to make your throat tighten and the needles in your chest multiply ten-fold.
“Tell me you feel the same way,” you said suddenly. It was a plead. You hated how desperate you were in this moment, but you needed him to know how you felt, and you needed to know whether you had a chance. Call it liquid courage, but you felt like you had nothing to lose when you grasped one of his calloused hands in yours.
Bucky was silent for a long time, staring at you with sadness and regret in his eyes. You hated how uncomfortable you must’ve been making him. God, what were you thinking, burdening him with your feelings and putting him in this position? You scolded yourself mentally, feeling nauseous.
Your hand was tight around his, your knuckles white. With every silent second that passed, your fingers loosened, falling limp. His hand was warm, yet you had never felt so cold.
He pulled his hand free, clenching it into a fist.
“I’m sorry,” he said finally. Each word was a knife sinking into your chest. The realization hit you suddenly, thick and sour.
You felt bile rise in your throat. You stood up then, the floor shaking beneath you. You almost collapsed.
“Be careful - ”
“Oh god,” you whispered, squeezing your eyes shut. “I’m sorry. I need to go.”
You darted away with surprising speed, wrenching the doors open and hurrying back inside the room. You ignored the sounds of him calling you as you rushed through the crowd, trying to put one foot steadily in front of you and praying you wouldn’t fall.
Don’t cry. Don’t cry. Don’t cry.
You held the tears in until you returned to your bedroom, slamming the door shut. You bolted into the en-suite and fell onto your knees in front of the toilet, the acid in your throat finally seeing the surface as you vomited.
Your stomach heaved, emptying yourself of all its contents. But you couldn’t get rid of the horrible, cloying feeling in your gut that came with Bucky’s rejection.
You fell asleep on the bathroom floor, tear tracks on your face and fresh wound in your heart.
You were dreading seeing him the next morning. Thankfully, you arrived in the conference room before he did. The others were there already, gathered around the table. Sam took one look at you and snickered. You were dressed in black, hair in disarray and a pair of large sunglasses on your face.
“Someone had a bit too much fun last night,” he sang.
You grimaced, closing your eyes at the way his voice boomed in your overly sensitive ears. “Stop shouting,” you croaked.
Bucky entered a few minutes later. You kept your head down, refusing to look at him or otherwise acknowledge his presence. To the others, your hostility could be passed off as a result of your clear hangover. But the excruciating humiliation of your confession to him hung between the two of you, making you squirm in your seat.
You didn’t speak for the rest of the meeting, keeping your sunglasses on and staring stoically at Steve as he delivered the mission briefing. As soon as he dismissed the team, you jogged out of the room, but was accosted by Bucky in the hallway.
“Can we talk?” he asked loudly.
You didn’t want to make a scene. You put a fake smile on.
“Sure.” Your eyes were still swollen behind your dark shades as you tried not to let the sight of him bring out any more tears.
He led you into an empty room a few doors down. His face was set like stone, only the slightest crease in his forehead hinting at something akin to distress.
“I’m sorry if I hurt your feelings,” he said carefully.
“It’s okay.” You winced in discomfort, even just the sound of your own voice bringing you pain. You wondered if he had rehearsed a speech, to let you down easy.
“You should never drink that much again.” His voice was sharp, critical.
“I can take care of myself,” you said, taken aback by his tone.
“It’s not worth it,” he said, his attitude easing up. “I’m not worth it. I don’t want you to feel this way because of me."
You felt your shoulders sag. You felt so tired, defeated.
"I can't control the way I feel," you whispered.
Bucky kept a reasonable distance between the two of you, like he was afraid to go near you now that the pair of you were alone. You wished you could read his mind, know what he was thinking.
His next words were chilling. "You’re my friend, and I care a lot about you.”
The emphasis on the word ‘friend’ didn’t go unnoticed. The way he looked at you was orchestrated, pointed. He was letting you know, in no uncertain terms, what he wanted to say. You were almost grateful that he didn’t directly bring up how you had told him you loved him, as if to save you your last shred of dignity.
He stared at you now with such intensity, the meaning clear in the way he looked at you. We are just friends.
He was doing you a favour. Still, your heart shattered. Your hands were shaking. There it was again - that awful, stinging pain of rejection.
“Okay,” you said faintly.
“I'm sorry if I ever made you think that we could be anything more," he began. Tears gathered in the corners of your eyes.
“Let’s not do this,” you interrupted. If he kept speaking, you felt like you might die. You wished the ground would swallow you up.
Bucky licked his lips but remained silent.
“Please..." You hated how your voice shook. "I would really appreciate it if we could just move on. Let’s not bring this up again. It would really help me.”
Bucky folded his arms tightly across his chest, nodding stiffly.
“Okay.”
You backed away from him, grateful your eyes were hidden. You left the room and didn’t look back.
You managed to act normal around Bucky. Well, semi-normal. The rest of the team didn't even seem to notice anything was amiss - you still spoke to Bucky, managed to look at him as if the very sight didn't break your heart, kept a smile on your face.
But that was in front of them. For anything else which wasn't out of necessity or mission-related, you avoided interacting with him. When you woke up in the middle of the night, you no longer plodded into the kitchen, instead staying in your bed, sobbing and staring at the ceiling.
You no longer laughed and joked with him. You turned your attention to the others instead, talking to Steve and Clint and Natasha and whoever else was there, in a desperate attempt to hide the fact that you were trying to keep it together. You wanted to keep your mind distracted.
It was horrible.
Things would not be the same again, at least not for a little while. You needed time to make yourself get over him.
It was easier, when Bucky returned to the compound one night with a blonde on his arm. She was giggling and clinging onto him, and your heart sank when they stumbled into the elevator just as you were making your way to your floor.
You couldn't have been more shocked at the sight of them. Bucky had red prints all over his cheeks, and her lipstick was smeared. The smell of alcohol was in the air.
"You're not supposed to have civilians in here," was the only thing you managed to say, shock infiltrating your system. The blonde giggled.
"Oops."
Bucky only shrugged, his hand slipping into hers as the elevator rose. Your heart clenched.
He was doing this on purpose. He wanted to show you that he had no interest in you, leave you without any doubts. You didn’t know that Bucky had it in him, to be so cruel. If you weren't trying to hold back your tears, you would've almost felt impressed by his antics. The worst thing was, you truly understood why he was doing this.
You think you may have hated him in that moment.
The elevator doors dinged open, and you stumbled out. Tears began prickling in your eyes, and you were sure Bucky could see.
You didn't say anything as you marched to your room, the elevator doors sliding shut.
You had always been good at pretending. Pretending you were happy when you weren't, pretending you were calm when you were furious, pretending you knew the answer when you didn't.
Bucky saw past a lot of that. He could tell when you were lying, could see when you were holding back. He read you like an open book.
He was important to you, and still would be even if he had rejected your confession and rubbed the presence of another girl in your face. You told yourself that it was a good thing - he was performing a service, encouraging you to move on. Besides, he didn't owe you a thing. He could do whatever he wanted with anyone else.
You couldn't lie convincingly to yourself.
Bucky's birthday rolled around all too quickly. You had it marked in your calendar, though you would've remembered even without the reminder.
Despite your conflicted feelings, you wanted to get him a gift. You had planned the perfect one months ago and had enlisted Bruce's help in finding it. You still wanted to see the look on his face when he opened it.
Bucky roamed the hallways on your floor the morning of his birthday, frowning slightly when your bedroom door opened, Bruce appearing in the frame. He caught a glimpse of where you were perched on your bed, face flushed in mild excitement.
Bucky gave Bruce a smile which may have looked more like a grimace, the latter giving him a polite nod before continuing on. Your door swung inwards, but Bucky stuck a hand between it and the frame, poking his head through.
"What's that all about?" he asked, curiosity getting the better of him.
You shuffled something behind your back. You hadn't spoken to Bucky much as of late, barely acknowledging any of the awkward encounters that had occurred in the past months, instead choosing to face him with a professional-politeness.
"Nothing," you said, not particularly aware of what it would look like to have Bruce emerge from your bedroom.
"Is something going on between you two?" he asked directly. He gave a laugh void of humor, the sound escaping him in a huff. "Do you have a thing for emotionally damaged men?" He gestured to himself with his vibranium arm.
The small smile on your lips fell. Anger simmered in your eyes.
How could he? How could he reduce his feelings for you to nothing and stomp on them like it was trash?
You stood and marched towards him, a wave of fury overcoming you, thrusting a wrapped parcel into his hands.
"He helped me get your present, actually. Happy birthday," you spat, watching as Bucky's mouth fell open silently. You pushed past him, unable to look him in the eyes, feeling your stomach twist.
Bucky remained rooted to the spot, fiddling with the wrapping paper hesitantly before he ripped it open.
It was a first edition copy of 'The Grapes of Wrath', excellent condition. The subject of Bucky's favorite books came up after your first encounter when you saw him reading 'The Hobbit'.
"Is it about angry grapes?" you had asked, confused when Bucky laughed. He promised he would buy it and lend you the book one day.
Bucky's ground his teeth, every cell in his body telling him to go after you. But, for all the reasons he had told himself since the day of your confession, he made himself stay put.
Bucky had missed out on a lot in his life since falling off that train in the Austrian Alps. His whole trajectory had changed, and instead of growing old in his century, he found himself in the 21st, thrust into the modern world and navigating his new life.
He always thought, back in the 40s, that he would meet a nice girl and settle down after the war. He would live in a cozy, tiny home and have three kids, maybe four.
He missed out on that and more - though he had been quite the playboy back in his time, he had never experienced true love. He had never met that one woman he would die for.
Bucky had commented off-hand once on how lucky Steve was to meet Peggy before he went into the ice. Steve had reminisced on that with a bittersweet smile, before telling him, you’ll find your Peggy.
Falling in love with you had blindsided him. At first, he viewed you as a friend, a sweet girl who he grew to trust.
Then, he realized that he was slowly being drawn to you, like magnets he couldn’t pull apart. He realized that everything you did was endearing, that you occupied his thought space all the time, that having you around helped him feel comfortable, safe.
You were young, determined, and so innocent. You were somebody who deserved someone as pure and good as you. You weren’t his Peggy - you were something more, so unique and unapologetically you, and he wanted you as his person so badly.
But you deserved someone good. Somebody like Steve, who stood for the best values and only acted for the good of mankind. Not someone morally-gray and jaded like Bucky.
He wanted someone to spend his life with, for sure. If he couldn’t have his idyllic life in the post-war period, then he still wanted to find a partner in this new, still-unfamiliar time.
You fit that profile. He wanted you.
But he would never forgive himself if he weighed you down with his sins.
When you told him you loved him, his heart had broke. He wanted to tell you how much he valued you, how he dreamed of kissing you. He wanted to be a part of your happy ending.
But how much of a happy ending could he really give you? Could he give you children, knowing they would always be in danger from his enemies? Could he give you a wedded, domestic life, when all he knew was how to fight and cause pain?
He had to make his sacrifice for the greater good. Even if he had to crush you, he had to do it.
Someone like Bucky wasn’t supposed to get happy endings. You were, but just not with him.
You couldn't stand to be around him anymore. It was affecting your concentration, your work. It reached a breaking point two weeks after Bucky's birthday, when you requested to speak to Steve privately.
"You want to leave?" he asked, his face appalled.
You nodded curtly. "You’ll still be able to contact me, if you really need me. But I don't think I can stay here anymore."
Steve didn't look as confused at your profession as you expected.
"Is this about Bucky?"
You cringed. God, did he know about everything that happened?
"I don't know what's going on between the two of you," he clarified quickly, "but I can see that something happened. He's not the same, either."
"I'm not in a good place right now," you admitted shamefully. "I'm not saying that this is goodbye forever, Steve. But for my own sanity, I think I need a break."
Steve heaved a sigh. "I know you wouldn't ask unless you really needed it. And you don't need my permission, you know."
"I know," you said, giving him a small smile. "But I just wanted to let you know that I'll be here whenever the team needs it. Emergencies only," you joked. "But for now I think I'll get out of here. Maybe go upstate."
"Have you told him?"
"Don't need to," you said, defensiveness creeping into your voice.
"I think he would like to know."
“We’re not really on speaking terms,” you said bluntly.
Steve clasped a heavy hand on your shoulder. He knew better than to argue. He was sure you’d figure things out for yourself, anyway. “I’ll miss you.”
Now that you had completed the professional courtesy, you decided that you would leave in a few days. You still had some matters to wrap up, and to say goodbye to your teammates. You loved them, and they deserved a proper farewell.
"This isn't goodbye," Nat had said sternly, pulling you into a tight hug. Her voice was quiet and soft in your ear as she whispered, "If you need me, I'll be there."
You squeezed her tight, threatening to tear up. "Thank you."
"Keep your ass out of trouble," Clint had said, winking at you. “And check in with us now and again, yeah?”
Sam was clearly unhappy about everything. And he definitely noticed that you had picked a day to make your announcement when Bucky was conveniently away from the compound.
"Am I gonna see you again?" he asked, raising his eyebrows after you'd embraced.
"Couldn't get rid of me if you tried," you promised, punching his arm.
You retired to your bedroom that night, sure that Bucky would hear the news later after he came back. You kept your phone switched off and door locked for the rest of the evening, making sure the your belongings were packed.
Just past midnight, you crept out of your room, duffel bag over your shoulder. You made your way through the compound, down the floors into the underground garage. Bucky's motorbike wasn't there - he still hadn't returned.
You were grateful. You climbed into your car, and tossed your belongings in the back. You had to stop thinking about him - if you let yourself do it for too long, you were afraid you wouldn’t be able to go.
With a heavy heart, you left this chapter of your life behind.
Your phone rang for days afterwards. Missed calls, voicemails left unanswered, texts left unread.
You couldn't bear to face him. If you pretended he didn't exist, maybe it would ease the pain.
You didn't know where you were driving to. You simply knew you had to get as far away as possible, clear your head. You were at a crossroads, and you needed to pull yourself together, but for now you would allow yourself to wallow.
You had been spending each night in a different motel. Wake up, drive, sleep. Wake up, drive, sleep. You wanted to put as much distance between yourself and Bucky Barnes as possible.
You had no idea how you had gotten everything so wrong. Did you really misinterpret the signals? Was every intimate moment between the two of you simply platonic?
You didn't want to feel so beat up over a guy, but he wasn't just any guy. He was the first man you had ever loved.
Life was funny, sometimes. You supposed that you couldn't always expect happy endings.
You kicked open the door of the latest motel, a bag of takeout in your hands. You noticed the dark, shadowy figure on your bed in an instant, your hand sliding to the dagger sheathed in your belt on reflex. Before your brain even had time to catch up with what you were seeing, you had aimed and launched it, shocked when a familiar voice rang out.
"Calm down, tiger," he rasped. The bedside light flicked on, and Bucky was suddenly there, twirling your dagger between his fingers. He tossed it to the side, letting it land on the carpet with a soft thud.
A week had passed since you last saw him. Seeing him sent an electrifying jolt straight through your core.
"What are you doing here?" you asked. You were shocked, but your first thought was that something terrible had happened. "Is it the team? Are they in danger?"
Bucky looked irate, his jaw clenching and unclenching. His hands were knotted together, worry hiding beneath his anger.
"I've been calling you for days. You left without saying goodbye. Hell, you left without saying anything." His voice was gruff and accusatory.
That gave you the answer you needed. The team were fine, and he was simply here to rant. You felt the initial shock of his appearance wear off.
He stood up and stepped towards you, and that was when you noticed the state he was in. His usually close shaven beard was slightly unkempt, and his eyes were bloodshot. He looked worn out.
"Yeah," you retorted, "I kind of did that on purpose."
"Why?" His voice was a whisper. "Why would you do that?"
You were exasperated. You did not envision yourself having to explain your decisions to him. His appearance both delighted and depressed you. It was tiring, having these two sides battle each other whenever you saw him. Your love for him versus his heavy rejection.
"I can't be around you anymore," you admitted, your voice tight. "I thought I could, but I can't."
"Why the hell not?" he pressed stubbornly.
"You know why!" you cried out. "Why are you doing this to me, Bucky? I told you I loved you and, okay, you don't love me. Fair enough," you said, frustrated. "But to go out of your way to hurt me? Remind me that I'm nothing more than a friend? Bring other girls back to the compound so you can fuck them?"
Bucky flinched. "I never - "
"No!" you shouted, cutting him off. "You don't get to do this, Bucky." You felt wetness on your cheeks, and realized you were crying. It only made you more exasperated. "You don't get to tear my heart out of my chest and come here when I've been trying to get away from you."
He stormed up to you, hands reaching for you, but you batted him away.
"Don't!" Your hand hit his chest, barely moving him an inch. "Just stop! Please!" Your voice broke, and you shook with tears. The dam had broke, and seeing him here was just too much.
"Please don't cry," he pleaded, his face anguished.
"What are you doing here?" you asked, your voice breaking. "What do you want from me?"
Bucky looked so upset, taking another step forward, but you walked backwards until you hit the door.
"You don't want me," you exclaimed through your tears. You needed him to understand how much pain you were in just by seeing him. "You can't be here, Bucky. I can't look at you and remember how you just don't love me back."
Bucky pulled you into his arms, tightening them when you struggled. He was stronger than you - you had no choice but to become a prisoner against his chest. You were crying as you had many times before in his hold, but this time it felt different. Your heart was pounding and you were aching, wanting to melt into him but also aware of the anger and sadness flaring within you. It was torture.
"It hurts too much," you managed to get out through your wailing sobs.
He didn't say anything until you stilled. He let you cry, your tears soaking through his shirt. Your quiet sniffs and hiccups accompanied his words when he finally spoke.
"You weren't supposed to appear in my life," he said, his voice tense. "You weren't supposed to be so wonderful, so comforting. You made me feel so safe."
You didn't say anything, confusion rendering you temporarily speechless.
"I thought I was fine on my own. I've been a soldier all my life, just focusing on fighting everyone else's battles. And then I met you."
You had no idea where this was going as Bucky's arms seemed to tighten all the more around you.
"It felt...strange, how I wanted to kiss you. How I wanted you there, next to me, all the time.”
You looked up at Bucky, really taking in his exhausted eyes, his chapped lips, the way he was looking at you now with an exquisite softness.
"I felt like I was doing something wrong. I thought - I don't want to - ruin you," he said. "You are so young and have your whole future ahead of you and I didn't want to bring you down with all of me. My history, my demons, my baggage. And I ended up hurting you."
A spark of hope appeared, wanting to ignite into a flame. You expelled a shaky breath.
"Do you love me?" you asked, your fingers digging into his shoulders as he continued to hold you.
He nodded, his words like velvet. "How could I not? Of course I love you."
Of course, he said. But your insecurities prevailed, and you shook your head.
"You did a good job of hiding it," you said sadly.
Bucky closed his eyes regretfully.
"I know. I don't know what I was thinking. I thought if I could push you away, make you fall out of love with me, you would find someone worthy."
"What makes you think you're not worthy?" you retorted.
"Some days, I feel like no amount of good deeds I do can redeem me," he murmured.
"Bucky," you said slowly. "You're one of the best men I've ever known. Your heart is so kind."
"I'm sorry." He grasped one of your hands, brought it to his lips, kissing the back of your hand. "I'm sorry I hurt you. Part of me thought you would shrug, get over it and find someone else."
Your smile was full of sorrow. "Then you have no idea how much you truly mean to me.
Bucky cupped the side of your face. Seeing you in this state had truly been a wake up call for him. When he found out you had left the compound, all his resolve had crumbled. He realized that he had hurt you so deeply that you couldn’t physically be around him. That was when he knew that the connection between the two of you was too rare to let it slip, when he felt an immense pain at the idea of never seeing you again.
Having you in front of him now was heartbreaking. Your eyes were puffy, and you looked tired and so frail. He loved you, and you were supposed to take care of the people you loved. He swore on his life that he would dedicate himself to showing you what you really meant to him.
"When you asked me what I'm doing here," Bucky said, a hopeful smile on his face, "It's to tell you that I love you, so much. And I'm here to take you home."
You nodded, fresh tears filling your eyes, except this time they were borne from happiness.
"Let's go."
He had already packed your belongings for you, you realized when he released you to hoist your bags over his shoulder, which he had placed by the door. He paused, slipping his hand into his pocket and placing a tiny kid-sized carton into your hand. "Almost forgot. For the journey."
Chocolate milk.
You threw your arms around him, jumping to hook your legs around his hips. He dropped your bags as you kissed him, his hands reaching to support your thighs as he returned it with equal passion.
"This room is paid for," you gasped into his mouth. "Let's go back tomorrow."
He was silent when he walked back to fall onto the bed with you on top of him, his mouth never once leaving yours.
