Summary: Four time you call him Bucky, and the one time you call him James.
Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Fem!Reader
Warnings: Fluff? Angst, PTSD if you squint, Friends to Lovers
Italy was a country you had always wanted to visit.
Granted, you didn’t expect your first out-of-country trip to be a mission with Bucky, Steve and Natasha, but you’ll take what you can get. The summer heat burned at the back of your neck and you pushed up the sunglasses that were slipping off your nose, letting out an exasperated sigh.
You look around, people crowding the St. Mark’s Square, hearing different languages from all sides. Venice was a busy place for tourism in late summer. A little ways over, you caught eyes with Natasha, seeing her let out a deep breath, already over everything. You didn’t dwell on her too long, so as not to raise suspicion of you knowing each other.
“How’s the outside world, doll?” Bucky’s voice teased through your earpiece and you swore you could feel his smirk in the sentence. Rolling your eyes, huffing again, you lower your gaze to your sneakered feet, kicking at the ground like an upset child.
“I just don’t understand why we have to be here, it’s so hot and there’s way too many people,” you answer under your breath.
Steve’s voice rings in your ear next, audibly annoyed at your whining.
“I already told you, Y/N, gathering intel here is the only way we’ll get close enough to busting them. If we hadn’t come here, this would be drawn out for months and months. Patience is a virtue I can’t say you have.”
You let out a quiet hum in defeat, knowing he was right, but still irritated at the humidity and screaming children running around in your peripheral vision. You zoned out for a moment, maybe two, you couldn’t really tell, until Bucky’s voice pulled you back to reality again.
“You can do this, just a little bit longer,” he said in an attempt at sounding sympathetic, but you couldn’t help crossing your arms and looking up at the sky, knowing he could see you from his vantage point in one of the nearby buildings. Sucking your teeth, you shifted your weight onto one hip.
“Tell me again, Barnes, why you’re up there in the comfort of an AC’d room while we’re out here melting and quite possibly getting heat strokes,” you inquired, even though you knew the answer already.
You heard him sigh through the earpiece and let out a short laugh. A chill shot up your spine at the sound, contrasting with the sweltering heat surrounding you and clouding your mind, but you quickly pushed it to the back of your brain.
“You know why, darlin’,” and your heart picks up it’s pace just a little bit at the name he directed at you.
“I can’t be seen in such a crowded place with this arm, our cover would be blown in seconds.”
Chewing the inside of your cheek aggressively, you let out a groan because you knew places like this were part of the job description, so to say, but that didn’t make the ordeal any less tedious.
“How about I buy you gelato after we finish today, when the heat dies out, hm? We’re not going back until later tomorrow, anyways.”
You stood and thought about his offer for a minute; you did really want gelato.
“Just get through this and I’ll buy you all the gelato in the world.”
You were sold. Turning slowly in your spot and moving your feet slightly to the right to shift your position, you hummed through another sigh, pretending to ponder over it for a moment.
“Alright, Bucky. We’ll get gelato, but only if you let me get a double scoop.”
___________________________
“Whatever. Popcorn sucks anyways,” you said halfheartedly, turning to look at Wanda standing by the kitchen doorway with her brows furrowed in worry.
“How did you manage to burn microwave popcorn, Y/N?”
You pinched your eyes shut and shook your head, bringing your hand up to rub the bridge of your nose. You waved your hand dismissively in a don’t even ask manner. Your eyes opened, your eyes perked up and your heart raced a bit faster at the familiar footsteps of a certain super soldier coming down the stairs, presumably to join weekly movie night.
You smiled subtly to yourself, secretly proud of him for how far he’s come in terms of comfortability with the rest of the team; it had taken him months to even think about speaking to someone other than Steve, deeming himself too dangerous to be trusted around other people. He padded barefoot into the kitchen, following the burnt smell, and let out a snort when he saw you standing by the microwave, leant back against the countertop.
You glared at him, unamused by his fascination for your inability to make something as simple as popcorn.
“It’s not that funny, dumbass,” you huffed, averting your gaze towards the floor by the dining chair. You hadn’t even noticed Wanda had left, too consumed by the familiar smell of Bucky’s cologne that somehow always stuck on his skin and his fabric softener that reminded you of childhood spring days.
He walked closer to you, reaching out his metal hand to rest on your upper arm, biting his lip to keep from laughing, though you could see in is eyes when you looked up at him that it was difficult.
He tilted his head, giving you a half smile. Pulling on your upper arm enough to move you to the side but not enough to hurt you, his hand left your arm to reach up into the cabinet you had previously been blocking. You felt the skin where the metal hand had been resting tingle and looked down at it, still feeling the imprint of his hand long after he had removed it. You looked back at him, willing the thoughts away when you saw a new packet of microwave popcorn in his hand, dangling in front of your face almost as if he was taunting you.
“You know you don’t have t-,” you started, reaching for the packet in his hand, determined to successfully finish what you had started before the rest of the team got restless.
“I know,” he cut you off simply. Not in a curt or rude way, just in a way that told you he knew things without you having to explain them. You crossed your arms again and tilted your head to the side, smiling softly when he locked eyes with you. Your breath hitched in the back of your throat when he reciprocated the same, slight smile, affecting you more than he knew.
“Thanks, Bucky. I appreciate it, even though it’s not really a big deal and I could’ve done it myself, honestly, I’m not that stupid, I’ve just been really tired lat-.”
“Doll, I know. It’s okay.”
You watched him put the popcorn in the microwave and turn around to face you again, moving to lean against the counter opposite to you. He mirrored your position, crossing his arms and tilting his head, almost as if he was challenging you, Whatcha gonna do about it?
Feeling a smile creep upon your lips before being able to stop it, you ran your tongue across your teeth and threw your head back, letting a short, quick breath leave your nose. Smug bastard.
____________________________
Bucky closed his eyes as the mellow tune came through your phone speakers and filled the room with a calming energy. Something in a foreign language you told him about but he couldn’t honestly remember; he noticed, however, that it sounded too close to Russian to not be a Slavic language of some sort.
You let out a frustrated sigh behind him, grabbing both sides of his head to turn him forward.
“Bucky, keep your damn head still, or I’ll cut your ear off,” you told him, only half joking.
He let out an exaggerated groan and threw his head back despite you just telling him not to move it. He caught your eyes, your face above his as you stood above his chair, scissors in one hand, the other hand resting on your hip; a small smile was playing at your lips, unable to stay angry at him for long. His heart skipped a beat when you brought your face down even closer to his, only an inch between as you stared into his eyes, quiet.
“Head. Up. Now.”
Those three words broke the trance he didn’t even know he was in until he was out of it, and he lifted his head back up to stare at the tiled bathroom wall in front of him.
“This is so boring,” he whined, picking at a loose thread at the hem of his shirt.
You didn’t respond, just kept snipping small amounts of hair from the rest of his head while humming to the song that was apparently familiar to you, careful not to cut too much: you liked his hair a bit longer, after all.
“Tell me again why I agreed to this,” he said, and after a short pause, he turned his head abruptly to look at you.
Letting out a frustrated tsk with your tongue and blowing air out of your nose, you pursed your lips and stared at him. Deciding you had cut enough (the handful of hair on the floor was, for the record, not enough, but it was all you were getting with Bucky’s restlessness), you dropped the scissors onto the bathroom sink beside you, catching a glimpse of yourself in the mirror to your right. You saw Bucky staring at you in expectance, not realizing you were looking at him back, only in the mirror. His head was angled in a way that made his jaw pop when he swallowed, his eyebrows raised and a smile growing on his lips with the knowledge that he had managed to annoy the absolute living shit out of you.
You stick your tongue out at him, only slightly disappointed that you couldn’t finish the DIY haircut. Bucky’s face lights up in a grin, and before you knew it, he turned around in the chair he was sitting in so he sat backwards on it, the backrest between his legs. He reached out his arms that were rested on the chair, motioning for you to come closer with grabby hands, letting a pout grace his lips when you stayed in place. Biting his bottom lip with slight determination in his features, he reached out further to tug the waistband of your pajama shorts, pulling you closer to him.
Ignoring the way your stomach fluttered with butterflies at the motion, you let out a small chuckle, wrapping your arms around the back of his neck, running a hand into his hair and leaving it there. Bucky wrapped his arms around your waist, pulling you into him so that the only barrier was the chair. Burying his face in your stomach, he let out a deep breath, and you could feel the heat spread through the fabric of your shirt and seep into your skin, before dissipating into the air again.
You hummed, swaying ever-so-slightly to the music still softly playing, a rock ballad you had heard playing at a friend’s house once long ago, though it didn’t matter much to you because the feeling of his smile on your stomach made you hear, see, feel everything else as if through a haze.
“Haircuts are overrated anyways,” he said quietly, his words muffled by the fabric his face was buried in.
You said nothing, just tightened your grip around his neck, continuously and subconsciously running your fingers through his hair.
______________________________
Yeah, thunder and lightning sucked. Thanks a lot, Thor, buddy.
You woke up when a loud crack sounded from outside your wide compound window, shooting up in your bed immediately. It took you a while to gather yourself, but once you did, you fell back into your abundance of pillows, letting out a sigh at the fact that you knew you weren’t going back to sleep anytime soon.
When you decided to turn to your bedside table to read the clock’s glowing red numbers, you groaned when your sleep-filled eyes read 2:48 a.m. God damn it.
After a solid 15 minutes of laying in your bed staring at the ceiling, waiting for sleep to come, you lifted yourself up and flung your legs over the side of the bed, sitting on the edge. With a deep breath, you tangled your fingers in your hair, holding your head in your hands while the rain hit your window pane seemingly harder with every minute that passed. You contemplated laying back down and waiting to fall asleep whenever your body decided, until you heard a muffled thump come from the other side of the wall opposite from the foot of your bed.
Bucky’s room.
Brows instantly knitting together, you shot up and without thinking, your feet carried you to your door. You grabbed the handle and opened the door, and only then, and only for a split second, the thought that maybe this isn’t the best idea crossed your mind, but you ignored it. You knew Bucky had nightmares. Everyone knew, it’s just that nobody ever mentioned anything, and you knew he was grateful for that. You also knew, however, that it could be dangerous. You could count on one hand the amount of accidents that had happened when Steve or Sam tried pulling him out of sleep and he woke up panicked. A small amount, yes, but still enough for any rational person to be weary.
You, on the other hand, were not a rational person.
His door was staring you back in the face before you knew it, and through it you could hear strained pleas of “no please” and “it hurts, please no more” and “why me”. You felt your heart break at the thought of what he went through. He never talked about it, but you knew enough to know it broke him, physically and mentally; he would never be the same man he was before falling off that train, and that was something he had come to terms with already, accepting that his brain was now warped into something traumatized, fragile, and different than before, only bits and pieces of the old Bucky shining through at times.
With a deep, shuddery breath you creaked open his door, not knowing what to expect on the other side. What you saw broke your heart even further.
Bucky was on the floor beside the bed (that he rarely ever used), laying on his side in a fetal position. The white blanket he usually covered himself with was tangled around his legs, the pillow that was initially under his head was pushed away from him at arms length. He shivered slightly, you presumed from the cool draft that travelled across the floor when you opened the door. He wore only a pair of loose sweatpants that Steve had given him when he first came to the compound, when he had nothing of his own. Covering his body was a layer of sweat, and when your eyes adjusted to the darkness in his room, you could even see tears streaking his cheeks. Whimpers left his mouth as he thrashed his legs, causing the blanket to get caught up in them even more.
A soft “Bucky…” left your lips as you slowly walked over to his shaking body. Kneeling down cautiously next to him, you reached your hand out to rest it on his shoulder. His body jumped at the touch, but he didn’t wake up. You heard his breath quicken and you sat criss-cross on the floor beside him, moving your hand up to hold his cheek, repeatedly whispering his name while his face melted in pain and fear.
“Bucky… it’s okay. You’re safe, it’s alright, I’m here,” you mumbled, leaning down to place a soft kiss to his temple. After a few minutes of you stroking his hair and calling out his name, his breath slowed and, eventually, his eyes opened. They found yours immediately, and you saw the realization flood into them as he got his bearings. You watched him closely, never stopping the hand going through his hair that was, at this point, wet with cold sweat. His cheeks were red and blotchy, his eyes bloodshot from the crying. He lifted his right hand to meet yours, stopping your movements. He looked at you for a moment before pulling it slowly down to his lips, kissing each knuckle individually before letting another tear roll down over the bridge of his nose and drop to the floor.
Your heart tugged and ached at the sight before you. The man you saw as the strongest person in the world, who fought the most battles (physical and psychological), who had been through the absolute most; he was completely broken on the floor in front of you, utterly at your mercy.
You hadn’t even noticed your own tears rolling down your cheeks until you shifted your body to lay on the floor next to him, watching him let one of those deep breaths that your body can only muster after a good cry.
“Don’t cry… why are you crying, doll?” he whispered, worry in his eyes, and the smile on your lips couldn’t quite reach your eyes. You shook your head softly, reaching your hand over again slowly, this time to rest on his jaw. You felt the stubble underneath your thumb as you stroked his cheek, but you didn’t mind. In fact, it kind of grounded you in a way, made you feel in touch with reality.
“… Are you crying because of me?” he asked softly again, his own hand finding it’s way across your waist and against the small of your back.
You looked into his eyes and stayed quiet. You didn’t know what to tell him: you were crying because of him, for him, but you couldn’t confirm that because he would only beat himself up about it more than he already has. He understood. Without you saying anything, Bucky understood. He had a funny way of looking into your eyes and knowing what was going on inside your head even before you did. He understood, and so he didn’t say anything, only pulled you closer to him. Finding solace in your chest, Bucky buries his head in the crook of your neck, wrapping his arm around your waist, the other one underneath your head, serving as a makeshift pillow. You wrapped both your arms around his head, cradling it to yourself as if it was the most fragile thing in the world. And to you, it was.
You waited for his breathing to slow down, to go back to normal, and you felt him relax in your hold. His fingers absentmindedly traced patterns and shaped on your back, and you closed your eyes, a smile gracing your lips. The silence in the room was only occasionally broken by a clap of thunder from outside. Anything else, you felt like, would break this moment you were in; as if it were made of glass.
“Bucky,” you whisper softly, and his hand on your back stilled, signaling that he heard you.
“You’ll be okay. I promise.”
Even though you couldn’t see it, he smiled, and his heart filled with warmth.
____________________________
All the days blended into one.
You didn’t really know why, or when exactly. All you knew was that you had felt empty for quite some time. It was one of those feelings where nothing specific was wrong, but nothing was right either. Nothing seemed to phase you anymore, nothing stressed you out, and, to put it lightly, you didn’t bother looking both ways when you crossed the street. Nothing brought you joy anymore, and you tried. You really did, you tried to pull yourself out of the funk you were in but nothing helped and you were left floating in this depressing limbo of suicidal-not suicidal. The bags under your eyes had only gotten worse as the days passed, from you refusing to sleep and late nights spent out on the balcony.
Bucky, he knew. He knew all of this, just as he knew everything else about you without you telling him. He could tell some days were harder than others, and some days it even looked like you were getting better. You felt like it too. But then you would crash and burn and be stuck in that same nothingness once again.
Natasha and Wanda spent as much time with you as they could, distracting you with movies, food, outings, spa days, and appreciated them, you really did, but it was never enough. You felt something missing in your life, your heart gripping in on itself and squeezing, searching for something else. Tony and Bruce brought you down to the lab sometimes, showing you whatever new project or gadget they were working on. It was cool, yes, but only for a moment. And then you were sucked back into your void state of mind. Steve and Sam dragged you out of bed most mornings to go on their daily runs with them, or to hit the gym a bit, to sweat it out. That, of course, didn’t work either. Everything you did was on autopilot.
The only difference between Bucky and the rest of them was that he never tried pulling you out of your own mind. He tried joining you in it.
He knew what it felt like, and so whenever he saw you out of the balcony, standing for what felt like hours looking out into the empty sky, he would wordlessly come stand next to you, and stare at the sky with you. When he noticed you hadn’t left your room the entire day, he would go up to see you. And he would find you there, underneath your covers, head resting between the pillows, and he wouldn’t ask. He would crawl, slowly, under the covers with you, and just hold you. Hold you like you were going to shatter at any moment, or like he was afraid you would push him away. But he still held you. He would pepper soft kisses on your head and down to your cheek, not saying a word to you.
For all of these things, you were thankful. Bucky brought you the most comfort. Just being next to him seemed to ease the storm in your mind, and you felt your usually tense body instantly relax in his presence.
Which is why this fight hurt you so much..
“What the hell were you thinking, Y/N?!” he yelled, angry with you. Sure, maybe what you did was stupid, and maybe he had the right to be mad. But you were still going to be defensive about it.
“What does it matter to you? I finished the mission, didn’t I!”
“Yes, you did, out of pure luck.”
“Well consider me charmed, then,” you huff out, rolling your eyes because you were frustrated at the fact that you were even having this conversation.
Yeah, so you threw yourself at a suicide bomber without knowing the bomb was fake. So what? All in a days work, and you couldn’t care less whether or not you had died, as long as you stopped him. Bucky didn’t seem to think so.
You watched him run his hands down his face, sucking in a sharp breath. He hadn’t even changed from the mission, gear suit still on, face smudged with dirt and blood. Was it his own? You couldn’t tell. He looked up at the ceiling for a moment, resting his hands on his hips, and chewed on his lip. He brought his head back down to make eye contact with you, and his gaze softened.
“Doll, I’m just looking out for you, you know that,” he stated simply and softly.
That sentence comforted you deep inside, but what came out of your mouth said otherwise.
“You’re not my babysitter, Barnes. I never said I needed you to take care of me.”
Bucky’s jaw clenched and he swallowed deeply, gazing at the floor between you two. He looked up at you through his lashes, and you could see the hurt in his eyes. He didn’t mean it like that, and you knew it, and you knew you had struck a nerve.
“I know you don’t feel like living is worth it anymore. I know you couldn’t give less of a shit what happens to you out on the field. But let me tell you something, sweetheart, and you listen to me real good,” he started, pointing a finger at you, visibly getting more frustrated by the second.
“I lost everything. I lost everything I had in life, and other than Steve, I’m never going to get it back. I lost the person I was before HYDRA, and I’m never getting him back either. I found my comfort, and I don’t plan on losing it anytime soon.”
You looked at him with slight confusion in your features, heart jumping at what he was insinuating.
“Why are you telling me th-,” you started to ask, but he just shook his head.
“Do you have any idea how difficult it is for me to see you like this everyday? I want nothing more in life than for you to feel the way you used to again, for you to feel like life is worth living. But seeing you pull some shit like what you did today…” he cut himself off, bringing his fingers up to rub his eyes, and he took a deep breath, turning to the side.
You waited with baited breath for him to finish, not willing to break the atmosphere he had somehow created by speaking. He swallowed again and turned his head toward you.
“I thought I was losing you,” he whispered, and your heart pulled. Your mouth felt dry as he stepped closer to you, reaching out his arms as if approaching a wounded animal.
“I thought I would never see you again,” he continued in the same soft tone, bringing his hands up to grab each side of your face, and he locked eyes with you.
“I thought I would never be able to hold you like this again. I thought I would never see your pretty eyes, or your beautiful smile again. I thought I had nobody to hold at night when my own mind became too much for me.”
A semi-familiar sting became apparent in the back of your nose and eyes, as he stroked your cheekbones with his thumbs. Bringing your hands up to rest on his own, you let out a breath you didn’t know you were holding.
“Bucky, why…,” you started, and let the words die in your throat when you saw his eyes gloss over with tears.
He shook his head, as if in disbelief, and his eyes raked over every part of your face like he was taking it in, before coming back to meet yours.
“I don’t want to lose you, damn it, not when I’m so close to having you,” he breathed out in barely a whisper.
And at this, you felt the first tear in months wet your cheek, and he wiped it away quickly, like he didn’t want to see it at all.
It was like something had snapped in you and you realized there was a reason why you had felt so awake whenever you were with him. Bucky bit his lip as his own tears fell, and he furrowed his brows slightly, drinking in the sight of you coming to realizations in his hands. You moved closer to him, you didn’t know how it was even physically possible, but now you were breathing the same air and your noses were touching and everything felt like it was in slow motion. It was as if you had tunnel vision, and the only thing you could see were his eyes boring straight into yours.
“James…,” you let out softly, and his breath hitched. Tears spilled over his lash line and he felt like his heart was about to burst. He nodded once and rested his forehead against yours, letting out a shaky breath.
You brought the hands that were resting on his own up to meet his face, and then the back of his head, and then around his neck.
“James,” you repeated, wanting to say something but not knowing exactly what, or how. But, in classic Bucky fashion, he gave you a half smile with closed eyes and nodded again.
“I know. I know.”
His lips met yours, tenderly, like he was afraid you would crumble if he pressed too hard. You pulled him in closer by the back of his neck and kissed back, only harder. You were drowned in all things Bucky- his smell surrounded you, you tasted his lips on your tongue, you felt like you were floating with just his hands holding you in place. It sent your head spinning, and he broke the kiss when he needed a breath of air.
At this point, without you even realizing up until now, your cheeks were soaked in tears, blurring your vision but you could still see him smiling down at you.
This was the piece you needed, and you had always been so close to getting it but so far away from reaching it. He knew your coffee order, he knew your favorite movie. He listened to all your favorite songs and watched your favorite shows with you even if they made no sense to him. He knew when to talk, but when to stay quiet and just hold you in his arms. He knew when to stay away in general, when you needed time alone. And you knew when he needed a hand to ground him when his nightmares took him too far, and you knew when touch became too much for him. You knew his training schedule, the way he made his toast in the morning, and the body wash he used almost religiously. Your lives worked together like clockwork, and you were only just seeing it now.
Bucky hugged you, wrapping his arms around your neck as opposed to around your waist, this leaving him in a more vulnerable position, both physically and emotionally. Your arms came up underneath his shoulders and you lightly grazed his back with your fingers, feeling him relax underneath your touch.
“Thank you,” he mumbled quietly into your hair, and chills went down your neck at the feeling.
“What for?”
He was silent for a moment, then stilled, and pulled back to rest his hands on your shoulders and look you in the eyes.
“For being an angel.”
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