Synopsis: Throughout your life you have been labeled "boring" because of your quiet, thoughtful attitude. For example, you weren't a fan of parties, frats or really anything that required you to be around big groups of people. But after being dragged to a party, you meet someone who seems determined to prove that you have an adventurous side as well.
Chapter Warnings: panic attack, anxiety, drinking, sexual harassment
Word Count: 1.5k
Prologue
“Please Y/n. You don’t even have to stay for that long.” Sitting on the floor of your apartment, you continued to track your eyes over the pages of your textbook. You weren’t really retaining any information, you hadn’t been since your roommate Wanda barged in five minutes ago and began pestering you to go to a frat party with her.
“Seriously, a night out would be good for you. You don’t even have to talk to anyone, but at least leave this apartment. Honestly, it’s getting kinda sad that you just sit here with your books every night-”
“OK.” You cut off her somewhat offensive rambling by roughly slamming your psychology textbook shut. “If you are so concerned about my social life I will, for forty five minutes, go to this party.” Wanda squealed and threw her arms around you.
“Thank you, I promise once you get there you’ll have so much fun!” Your face remained neutral but inside your stomach was beginning to twist itself into a tight knot. There was a reason you didn’t really like parties, of course you wouldn’t judge your friends for going to as many as they could, they just weren't your scene. “-oh, I’m gonna call Nat, she can bring over some tops for you to try, let me grab my phone, I’ll be right back.” You didn’t realize you had zoned out long enough for Wanda to bring your other friend Natasha into the equation. When Wanda left the room you tried to distract yourself from spiraling by watching the rain dance against the window. This is “cozy romance novel reading” weather, not “get wasted with a bunch of randos” weather, you thought to yourself, but then instantly shook your head and brushed your glasses up to rub your eyes. Maybe you were in desperate need of a party. Or not. Because frat parties were the worst. The last one you were at was three years ago during your freshman year: you went in excited to try something new, and ended the night drenched in someone else’s beer, with tears running down your cheeks and mascara staining your face. You didn’t know who spilled beer on you, but the tears and mascara combination was courtesy of having to watch the guy you liked make out with not one, but three girls that night. To top it all off, one of your heels had snapped, forcing you to walk home in 30 degree weather with no shoes. So you weren’t a fan of frat parties, and maybe you shouldn’t base your judgements on one awful experience, but you had never been party type before and that night seemed like a sign from the universe confirming, “you and parties do NOT mix.”
Wanda’s hurried footsteps interrupted the mental storm that had been picking up speed over the time she was absent.
“Ok, Nat is on her way, and she’s bringing options for shirts, and I have this new pair of heels that would look so-”
“No. No heels, sorry Wan.” You said somewhat sheepishly. You hadn’t known Wanda yet when you went through the frat debacle a couple years ago and for some reason you had elected to withhold that story from your two closest friends. You weren’t sure why you hadn’t brought it up, maybe you figured they would stop trying to force you to party every weekend, or maybe they would insist you give it another try. The latter is what you were afraid of, and knowing Nat and Wanda, the former was not likely to happen.
Wanda gave you a curious look, but if she thought something was off she didn’t say anything. Instead, she ran to the door as a buzz sounded on the intercom.
__________________________________________
An hour later, you were dressed in a long sleeved open back top, baggy jeans, and a pair of well loved (extremely dirty) shoes. Wanda and Nat practically dragged you out of your apartment and down the street, laughing and talking animatedly all while you stayed quiet and counted the yellow taxis that rushed past you.
When the three of you finally made it to the party, an inky darkness had settled over the city. The grass beneath your feet was still damp from that afternoon’s rain and you couldn’t help but frown at how humid it had become, dreading how suffocating it was going to be inside the house.
“Do you wanna grab something to drink?” Nat yelled over the bass as you tried to squeeze through the crowded entryway. You were immediately overwhelmed, strobe lights were flashing against the walls, music was shaking the floor and hot, sweaty bodies kept bumping up against you. You closed your eyes in an attempt to somehow center yourself. After a few seconds of futilely waiting for a moment of peace, you let your eyelids flutter open and to your annoyance, Nat and Wanda were no longer standing beside you. You knew it wasn’t their fault, and that they would never intentionally leave you alone, but you couldn’t stop the panic that began rising in your chest from the absence of your two friends. Not knowing what else to do, you shouldered your way through the mass of drunk college students, searching for a quiet place to stand and look for Nat and Wanda. You had scouted out a small, unoccupied alcove under the stairs and made your way to it. Two steps and you would have gotten some reprieve from the chaos, but instead a tall body blocked your path and sharp brown eyes eyed you up and down.
“Haven’t seen you at one of these yet.” His voice was slightly slurred and the mix of alcohol and cheap cologne pouring off of him was almost nauseating. “You lookin’ for someone to spend a little time with?” He asked inching closer and forcing you to press your back against the railing of the staircase. Now your breath was coming much too quick and the familiar numbness sprouting in your fingertips told you that you were on the verge of having a panic attack. You’d been through enough over the past years to recognize when one was coming. You also knew that if you could’t find a calm place to ground yourself in the next few minutes you were going to break down. With your mind in panic mode, you glanced over your shoulder and saw that the staircase you were pinned against led to a seemingly quiet hall. Deciding that was your only option, you shoved the guy’s chest and used his sluggish, drunken state as an opportunity to escape his grasp and head towards the stairs. You jumped over the “Stay Downstairs or Thor Will Kick Your Ass” sign that was haphazardly strung across the bottom entryway and took the stairs two at a time to get to the hall. There were no lights on in the corridor, but the strobes from the party downstairs provided you with enough light to find a doorknob. You desperately pushed on the door, but it was locked, so you ran to the next one, only to find yourself in the same situation. You didn’t notice the faint glow under the third door you tried and you almost cried in relief when the knob turned without any resistance.
You hurried into the room and closed the door, pressing your back against the cool wood and shutting your eyes. Starting at 100, you took a deep breath and exhaled counting backwards by three in your head. In your anxious state, you barely noticed the tears that were rushing down your cheeks. And you really had not noticed that you weren’t alone in this room.
“Uh, is everything- are you ok?” A baritone voice caused your eyes to shoot open as you desperately tried to figure out its source through your blurred vision. Bringing your hands to your eyes you began to furiously wipe away the tears, ignoring the slight burning caused by the friction from your shirt against your skin.
“Hey, whoah, hold on, you're gonna hurt yourself.” The voice said again, this time with more urgency. Suddenly, a pair of warm hands wrapped carefully around your wrists, gently pulling your hands away from your face. You were able to blink back enough tears to make out a head of blonde hair, broad shoulders, and kind eyes. The man in front of you continued to coax you down from your panic, and slowly the tears stopped falling as your breaths evened out. As embarrassed as you were that this saint of a man had to witness your anxiety attack you were grateful for his help. But just as you began to offer your thanks the door was thrown open, and a new, deep voice shouted over the blaring music downstairs.
“Steve, what the hell are you doing locked away in your-” his words trailed off as his steel blue eyes landed on your tear stained face…
Synopsis: You don't want to go on this mission and Bucky doesn't want the girl whose smile brings him happiness getting hurt. But what can either of you do when your job is to heal others? If only you had told him that you weren't ok, if only he had made sure you were right behind him.
-I do not consent to having any of my writing, under the username Orions- Athenaeum, translated, posted or published on third party sites, apps or platforms-
Bucky didn’t think there was anything worth enjoying in his new life. Of course he appreciated Steve’s unwavering loyalty and the ease that he brought Bucky after he was freed from Hydra. There also was Sam’s annoying banter which usually gave Bucky something to smirk about, but he would never admit that to anyone. When Bucky didn’t understand what a text message was, Wanda and Natasha helped him adapt to the technological “wonders” of this modern time. He was even glad when Tony would crack an “old joke” just to get under his skin, because Bucky knew humor was Tony’s way of showing he cared. While Bucky was grateful for everything his teammates did for him, there was still a very obvious void, that felt almost like a ten ton weight sitting on his chest, trying to steal his breath from him. That feeling of immense pressure and simultaneous emptiness only began to lessen about four months ago, on a balmy summer evening when Steve dragged Bucky to one of Tony’s lavish galas.
Bucky didn’t know who or what the event was for, in all honesty he figured Tony was just looking for another excuse to throw a party. The former Winter Soldier had been a part of the team for a while now, but these types of social gatherings never failed to make him feel extremely unsettled. Maybe it was the way he felt people’s eyes lingered on him for too long, whether it was from fear or judgment. Or maybe it was that the suit Natasha had helped him pick out was nearly suffocating him. It could have also been the glass filled with some unknown booze that felt uncomfortably heavy in his vibranium hand. All this to say, Bucky was certain the tension in his shoulders was palpable as he checked his watch for the thirtieth time that evening; he was waiting for the hands to tell him he had waited a respectful amount of time before he could seek out the comfort of his own room. Bucky reluctantly pulled his eyes up from his watch and began to scan the room, hoping to find Steve and with him some sense of calmness. His search was cut short when his gaze landed on a girl chatting with Peter near the bar. She had short y/h/c hair that reminded him of a girl from his own time, messier and not as curled perhaps, but classic nonetheless. Her long, black, strapless dress and sleek platform heels reminded him of something Natasha might have worn. He wondered for a second if maybe Nat had helped her pick out an outfit too. Deciding that was an utterly ridiculous thought a second later, Bucky found himself enamored by her smile. It was all he could focus on: that beautiful, perfect smile. One corner of her mouth curved up more than the other and her full red painted lips made it impossible for Bucky to look away. Seconds felt like hours and as Bucky continued to look at her, he found a smile involuntarily tugging at his own lips. Amazingly enough, he didn’t feel so out of place anymore.
“It’s rude to stare.” Bucky quickly jerked his head towards Sam’s voice. His smile immediately faded as he glared at his friend.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about, Wilson.” Even Bucky didn’t believe his words and chances were Sam didn’t either. Despite being a pain in the ass, he was smarter and more observant than Bucky liked to give him credit for. Sam rolled his eyes and ignored Bucky’s hint to drop the topic.
“Why don’t you go and ask her to dance?” Bucky couldn’t breathe. There was no way in hell he could do that. Standing across the room was the prettiest girl he’d seen and Sam thought it would be a good idea for him to ask her for a dance.
“Yeah that will not be happening.” Bucky tossed back the rest of the liquid in his glass, knowing that the pleasant burn of the alcohol would not affect him in the slightest. He wished it would. Maybe a little liquid courage was the push he needed to go over and speak to her.
“Look man, she’s gorgeous and really sweet, I met her this morning. All I’m saying is that she would totally say yes if you asked. She was staring at you too, by the way.” This morning. Bucky recalled Sam telling him he met a new member of the team earlier that morning. Maybe he would have the chance to see her again if she was the one Sam was referring to. Shaking his head to extinguish any false hope he had conjured up, Bucky realized that Sam was telling the truth; the girl was staring right back at him. After a few seconds, she raised her delicate fingers and sent a small wave. Bucky almost keeled over on the spot. Not knowing what else to do, he awkwardly raised his own hand back. She smiled. He smiled. And just like that Bucky knew he was a goner.
Four months later…
“No.” Bucky refused to change his mind. Steve rolled his eyes at his friend, who currently stood across the room with his arms crossed over his chest with a look that said, this is your final warning. Steve knew better than to try and push his best friend around, but this really was a mission that required her skills. There were dozens of hostages, and they would need medical attention. Not from doctors, but from her.
“Buck. You know I wouldn’t put Y/n in the field if I didn’t think it was absolutely necessary.” Bucky did not move. Steve sighed. And people call me stubborn. He thought to himself.
“I understand that you want to protect her Bucky, I really do. But she is a part of this team. Y/n’s an Avenger and her role is to heal people. Now, there are people who need her help and she is going to go and help them. If you would prefer not to lead this mission than I can have someone else take-”
“No.” Bucky was quick to cut off Steve’s offer. His tone was firm, but just below the surface Bucky was panicking. He didn’t want his girl out in the field. But if Y/n had to go, he couldn’t stand the thought of not being out there with her. Steve raised a brow.
“I’ll go. But you better make sure there is no way we’re gonna get ambushed. We’d better be prepared. I won’t hesitate to beat your ass if something happens to Y/n.” Bucky turned to leave the conference room as Steve muttered something under his breath.
“What?” Bucky snapped.
“I just said it seems like you care about Y/n an awful lot when she isn’t even your girlfriend.” Bucky knew Steve was trying to get him to admit that he was too scared to ask her out. But honestly, Bucky wasn’t in the mood for his best friend to play matchmaker. So, without a look back, he stormed out into the corridor towards the gym. He was set on taking his anger and fear out on some punching bags, but as he walked through the halls all he could think about was her smile. He needed that smile safe. If he could just wrap it in his arms and shield it from all the bad, he would be happy for the rest of his life.
————————————————————————
You were certain there had to have been some kind of mistake. The thick Manila folder that sat on your desk marked “MISSION BRIEFING” had to have been delivered to the wrong room. Bucky was just across the hall, so maybe it was for him. That had to be it, because there was no way they were seriously considering putting you out in the field after only four months of being on the team. You weren’t even supposed to be a field agent. Nick Fury had recruited you because of your powers. Sure, you could mend a broken bone and fuse a gunshot wound close, but that did not mean you fought on the front lines. It meant you waited until your team was back to the safety of the compound to help them. Refusing to open the folder you picked it up and made your way to Bucky’s door.
“Buck?” You called as you knocked on the cool wood. You gasped as it opened not a second later. Bucky was standing in front of you in all his post gym, sweaty, shirtless glory.
“Hey, doll. What’s up?” He asked with a smirk tugging at his lips. That damned smirk. You immediately drew your gaze away from his tight abs and pretty smile up to his eyes. Which, honestly, didn't help because you found yourself getting lost in a sea of deep cerulean blue. It seemed that every aspect of Bucky had an overwhelming effect on you. Deciding it was best to stare at the carpet instead, you fumbled with the folder before showing it to him.
“I think they gave this to me by accident, because I’m not usually in the field. Actually I’ve never been in the field and so it’s probably yours and I just wanted to give it to you.” Your words came out all in one breath and you kept your gaze focused on the floor at your feet. You felt Bucky gently take the folder from your grasp. You were ready to let out a sigh of relief when you felt his fingers thread through your own as he lightly pulled you into his room. As your heart beat began to quicken, the brief confusion you had felt quickly morphed into anxiety. Why didn’t he just take his mission briefing and send you on your merry way? He gestured for you to sit down on his bed as he sat next to you.
“No, this is yours.” He finally said. The finality in his tone made you want to throw up. “Steve told me this morning. But I made him promise that there would be no combat, and I’ll be leading. There will be two other agents, so you’re not alone. The mission should be fairly quick, in and out and then we come home. I promise I won’t let anything happen to you.” His words were somewhat of a comfort. You also knew that the rest of the team was fairly confident in your abilities, since Nat, Sam and Steve had all trained extensively with you over the last four months. Bucky refused to spar with you but that's besides the point. Although, you weren’t really worried about not being able to defend yourself. You had been trained and ran through mission scenarios, but the weight of the briefing envelope in your hands was making this too real. It also didn’t help that every single agent wanted to rip you apart because you were given a spot on the Avengers without making it into SHIELD as an agent. You had tried to put yourself through training, but during your first field test, you instantly choked. All of the sudden the gun pointed at the enemy agent in front of you made your arms feel like lead. Your brain wouldn’t let you pull the trigger, so you stood there, frozen. You were positive you were going to be removed from the program, but when Nick Fury heard about your healing powers, you were suddenly offered a spot as an Avenger. So, to put it plainly, every single SHIELD agent hated you. They hated that you failed training and still got the most coveted title, they hated that you lived in Avengers Tower, they hated that you got everything they wanted. The real problem, which was much bigger than any jealous agent’s spiteful remarks, was that you could not stomach the idea of hurting someone. That was the reason why you failed your training in the first place, because bad guy or not, you were given the gift of healing. You were never supposed to cause pain and it seemed as if the concept of harming someone was against your very nature. Pulling the trigger on a paper silhouette was one thing. Aiming a gun at another human being was quite another. So while the training you had done prepared you for taking down enemies, you’re not entirely sure you could bring yourself to that.
“Ok.” Was all you could manage. Some time during your internal spiral Bucky had begun rubbing soothing circles on your back. Bucky was another aspect of this assignment that you had to consider. You weren’t sure how to feel about him going on the mission with you. Your relationship was a little confusing at times to say the least. You knew that you cared about him more than a friend would and he often made it seem like he felt the same way. You had felt this way from the very first night you met him, when he caught you staring at him and you awkwardly waved (who the hell waves at a hot guy across the room?) Bucky was also the first one to make you feel like you were truly part of the team. He would bring your breakfast to the lab when you were working mornings and didn’t have time to eat, he would make sure you had a good spot on the couch for team movie nights (it was coincidentally always next to him) and then there were time like these where he would comfort you and do everything in his power to make you feel safe and cared for. Basically, in the four months that you had known him, you were falling in love with Bucky Barnes.
“Ok, what, doll?” And those stupid pet names definitely weren’t helping you keep your feelings at bay.
“Ok. Sounds good, I guess I’ll see you at the hangar in a few hours.” You replied, unwilling to meet his eyes, you slowly picked up the folder and walked towards his door. An unnerving feeling overcame you as you heard the heavy wood close behind you.
————————————————————————
You figured the mission would not be a walk in the park, and as you sat in the middle of Siberia, with two agents that hate you and hostages with far more injuries than Steve had anticipated, you knew this easily made your “Top Ten Worst Days list.” Of course you were more than happy to help every hostage, that was the only part you enjoyed. However, the amount of energy it took to heal so many injuries resulted in black dots clouding your vision by the time you had helped the last hostage. The thing about your healing abilities was that you had to use your energy to heal others. Meaning healing their injuries literally exhausts you. And on top of the twenty broken bones, abrasions and burns you’ve healed, Megan and Nick had a few bumps and bruises from breaking down the door and restraining the guards that needed mending. According to Megan, Bucky told them to go to you since they need to be in top shape for the trek back to the safe house. While the safe house sounded pleasant, the fact that it was currently 40 below and that the shelter was three miles out in the middle of a forest, was not as pleasant. After you finished healing Megan’s bruised ankle, the dizziness that had settled in a few minutes prior was now overwhelming. If you could just sit down for a few minutes and maybe close your eyes, you would feel much better.
“Get up. We need to meet Bucky in a few minutes. A storm is moving in so we can’t take the jet back until morning. Bucky secured the hostages in an exit raft and we need to find the safehouse soon.” Megan sneered as she pushed your hands away from her ankle.
“Could I just have one minute? I’m not feeling-”
“You’re an Avenger, right? So get off your ass and start walking.” You hesitantly stood up, apparently too quickly because you began swaying and lurched forward, catching yourself against a tree. The frozen bark cut into your skin, slicing your palms. Willing your head to stop spinning you looked down at your bloodied hands. Another downside of your powers was that once your energy had been spent, it became nearly impossible for you to continue healing, which meant you could not help yourself or others when you were this exhausted. You heard Megan’s boots crunch in the snow as she began to walk, blatantly ignoring your compromised state. Since it appeared you had no other option, you began walking as well, but the edges of your vision were fuzzy and it felt like someone had thrown your head against a wall. If you could just get to Bucky maybe he would let you rest for a minute. No. You couldn’t ask him for that, Megan and Nick already thought you got special treatment for being an Avenger you didn’t need them to see parts of yours and Bucky’s friendship in the field. Plus, Bucky had been acting weird ever since you stepped foot on the quinjet. He called you by your last name and his usual soft eyes and teasing tone had left him completely. It made sense, you told yourself as you pushed forward, because this was his job, and he didn’t really care about you like that. The frigid chill had begun to seep through your suit, and though you had never been a huge fan of the cold, you were thankful for it now. It was keeping you awake and alert, the sting of the snow hitting your face gave you something to focus on so you wouldn’t pass out. Finally you reached the clearing where Bucky was waiting. You glanced up to find his concerned gaze looking you over. You used all your strength to muster up a smile and nodded your head to let him know you were ok. He seemed satisfied enough, and told the team to start walking.
How you managed to walk two miles you weren’t sure, but what you did know was that you were now falling behind the others. You were following Nick and Megan who had been keeping a fairly even pace with Bucky. But now, with the snow whipping all around you, you couldn’t see or hear any of them. Maybe this would be a good time to take a break. It would only be for a few minutes and nobody would notice that you had taken a breather. As the snow storm had progressed you had lost feeling in your fingers and toes, and it seemed like everything was moving in slow motion. You thought you reached out to brace yourself on a tree but instead you felt like you were falling. It didn’t hurt when you hit the powdery snow, its cold embrace only called you to rest your eyes. You obeyed and felt your eyelids slowly blink shut. I’ll only rest for a minute, you told yourself. Just as you were about to let sleep pull you under, you heard shouting. The voice sounded familiar as it called your name over the howling of the wind. You knew you should answer but you simply didn’t have the energy. Then, you felt strong arms lift you up and a familiar fresh, piney scent filled your nose. This is what Bucky smells like, you thought to yourself.
“Could you open those pretty eyes for me. Please, doll. I’m begging you, give me anything.”
Bucky sounded like he was talking underwater.
“You are not allowed to do this to me, I swear I’ll make it up to you but you gotta wake up so we can talk.” And why did he seem so worried? You wanted to tell him that you were fine but you couldn’t get the words out.
“Why wouldn’t you say something?” Bucky’s muddled voice had more of an edge this time. His sharp tone made sense, he had every right to be mad at you, it was you who was slowing down the mission and now he had to pick up the slack.
“I didn’t see her fall behind, she was fine a minute ago.” This time it was a woman who responded and somewhere in your mind you figured it was Megan. But you hadn’t been “fine a minute ago,” in fact you hadn’t felt ok for over an hour.
“You’re supposed to watch out for your teammates, so I’m going to ask again, why the hell did you not say something?” In your dazed state you realized Bucky was directing his anger at Megan not at you and well you felt some reprieve from the fact that Bucky didn’t seem too disappointed in you, you were beginning to slip further and further into the shadows of sleep. You knew you needed to stay awake, but you couldn’t feel anything, not the snow hitting your cheeks, or Bucky’s frantic pace, and your entire body felt completely numb. Time began to pass strangely after that moment, you heard some more gargled shouting before you felt your body being laid down on something hard. You found some odd burst of energy and forced your eyelids to open, looking up to find Bucky’s worried eyes desperately trying to hold your gaze. His eyes seemed glossier and much more concerned than normal, but you couldn’t figure out why.
“C’mon Y/n, I’ll get you warm and you’ll be alright. I’m gonna have to get your wet gear off first, but I promise I’ll make it all better ok, sweetheart? I love you too much to let go now.” Love? Why would Bucky be talking about love, he seemed so frustrated with you in the field. His face disappeared from view a moment later and you thought you heard the sound of fabric ripping. Bucky yelled for someone to get blankets and before you could tell him that all his shouting was confusing and much too loud, you surrendered yourself to the peaceful comfort of unconsciousness.
You didn’t know when you became aware of your surroundings again, whether it had been minutes or weeks, you couldn’t tell. You could smell burning wood accompanied by a familiar piney scent that you soon identified as Bucky, but you couldn’t open your eyes to confirm your theory. When you heard a deep voice laced with a Brooklyn accent from somewhere around you, you didn’t have to look at Bucky to know whose arms were protecting you.
“...Remember when we were in Queens and you made me go inside that old book store with you? We stayed there until they closed and you kept handing me books that would, “change your life, I swear it, Bucky.” I didn’t like reading much in the forties but I woulda stayed there with you for weeks if it meant I got to see that smile of yours every time you read something funny. I’ll take you back there but you gotta wake up first, alright?” Bucky’s words were soothing, and his soft voice gently lulled you back to sleep before you could answer his request.
Bucky was talking again when you tried to wake up for a second time,
“...Everything about you is perfect, doll, like how you always scrunch your nose when Sam’s cooking looks awful, but you eat it anyway with a smile on your face because you’re just happy he cared enough to make you something.” You wanted to smile for Bucky, open your mouth, say anything. But your head was still too heavy and you couldn’t break through the cloud of sleep that kept dragging you back under.
This time you could feel warmth running up and down your arms, as if someone was trying to coax you from sleep with their caring touch. You waited for Bucky to talk to you again, you found yourself needing his words to anchor you to consciousness.
“...You should’ve told me sooner, sweetheart, I coulda carried you, given you a little break. You know I would do just about anything for you right? Hell, I think everyone on this damn team thinks I’m weak when it comes to you. But you don’t make me weak, Y/n, you give me a reason to smile, you make me feel better about the world and like I’m not too broken to be a part of it…” You wanted to take Bucky’s face in your hands and tell him that he was not broken, that he was worth more than your words would ever mean. But it still seemed like too much work to open your eyes, so you kept them shut and let your mind slip back into sleep for a little longer.
————————————————————————
Your skin felt like it was on fire, that was the first thing you noticed when you fully regained consciousness. Something heavy was laying across your stomach and there was a solid presence holding you that seemed to radiate the same amount of heat as the crackling fire in front of you.
“Y/n? Doll? Thank God you’re finally awake, how’re you feeling?
At the sound of his voice you slowly turned to face Bucky and were met with a look of adoration in those blue eyes, which made you feel even worse for making him take care of you.
“I’m sorry I messed the mission up, Barnes.” Even though your sight was still a little blurry you could make out the confusion in his face. Pushing some hair out of your face he asked,
“You never call me Barnes, what’s up with that Y/n/n? And what are goin’ on about, “messing up the mission,” you didn’t do a damn thing wrong. If Megan and Nick had done their jobs as teammates you wouldn’t be in this situation. It’s my fault too ya know, I should've checked you over before I made you walk three miles. You looked a little tired when I first saw you but I think I tricked myself into believing you were safe, all I ever want is for you to be safe, Y/n.” You weren’t quite sure how to answer him, your brain felt like quicksand, trapping your thoughts from becoming words.
“And you never answered my question, Y/n, you feelin’ better?” You nodded slowly, during the time you had been asleep your body had slowly heated up, you had regained feeling in your limbs and your mind was feeling less foggy by the minute.
“Thanks for getting me out of there, Bucky. I mean, it’s not like I needed your help, I just wanted to sleep for a few minutes.” You attempted to lighten the mood by pushing out a laugh that sounded more like a light exhale.
“There she is, that’s the girl I love.” You whipped your head back with such force that Bucky had to place his hand on your neck to prevent you from giving yourself whiplash. You stared into his eyes, determined to find out if he was really speaking the truth.
“I do love you Y/n, I have from the minute I caught you smiling at Tony’s stupid gala. You’re perfect to me, in every possible way, from your smile to your soul.” Of course you felt the same way for him. Bucky was your best friend, he made you laugh and his heart and the care that he gave out freely never ceased to amaze you. You watched his lips turn into the most perfect smile and you found yourself smiling twice as big knowing that there was no moment in your life more wonderful than this one. Right before you could respond a shiver ran through you and Bucky turned you around so you were facing the fireplace again.
“Hey, Bucky?” you received a low hum and a kiss behind your ear in response. “You should really shower, you smell like an old barn.” He chuckled and replied, “Jeez, doll, I save your life and tell you that I love you, and all you do is tell me that I smell?” You could tell that Bucky knew you were teasing, but you didn’t feel like letting him off the hook quite yet.
“I guess I love you too.” You mumbled with an obvious grin in your voice.
“I know you do doll, I only wish you had said something sooner, then I woulda had more opportunities to torture you for makin’ fun of me.” With that, Bucky began to tickle your stomach, while still being wary of your injuries, earning an eruption of giggles from your mouth. After a few seconds Bucky pulled you back against him and whispered a soft, “sleep, sweet girl, I’ve got you,” into your hair. Your eyes slowly fell shut and you felt completely content, knowing you were safe in the arms of the man who loved you, and who you loved right back.
summary: while bucky is away with sam, you come down with a nasty cold, worrying him to no end
a/n: old fic rewritten for bucky :)
warnings: reader is sick with a cold, other than that this is all just comfort/fluff 🤍
my main masterlist
“Miss you more,” Bucky’s voice crackles through the speaker of your phone.
“And Alpine misses you, too, of course,” you giggle, reaching over to scratch the white cat snuggled up on the bed beside you, taking up the space where Bucky normally would be. For being just a little thing, Alpine sure knows how to sprawl out and take up space.
“She’s taking up the bed, isn’t she?” Bucky knowingly chuckles, settling back into the bed of the motel he’s staying in with Sam.
“Not anymore than you do,” you tease, making Bucky roll his eyes and laugh. You join him, but your laughter soon turns into a small fit of coughing.
“Y’okay, Sweetheart?” he asks, and once you catch your breath, your throat feels dry and scratchy.
“Yeah,” you breathe, clearing your throat one last time. “Just a tickle or something.”
“You sure?”
“I’m fine, Bucky, seriously,” you chuckle. “Just choked on my own air.”
“Alright. But you know I worry about you when I’m away,” he reasons.
“I do know that. But you don’t need to worry. I’m a big girl and I can take care of myself,” you feign annoyance, crossing your arms over your chest.
“Oh yeah? ‘Cause last time I checked, you still need me to rub your back to fall asleep,” he taunts right back.
“Alright…” you give up your tough act and giggle like a little girl. “You do give the best back rubs.”
“Wish I could be there to give you one now,” he frowns.
“Only a few more days, Buck,” you remind him and yourself, trying not to get too sad before you have to fall asleep.
Bucky had told Sam a while ago that he wanted to step away from missions for a least a little bit. But this one was urgent, so Bucky agreed to break out of his mini retirement and assist Sam and Torres. It was supposed to be a short mission; in the States, quick, in and out, no complications. But the issue was bigger than expected, pushing out Bucky’s arrival back home an additional second week instead of just one.
“Feels like forever, though,” he sighs. “Just make sure you’re taking care of yourself, Sweets. Stay hydrated, get enough to eat, make sure you get enough sleep, all that good stuff. And I know it's late there, so I’m gonna let you go so that you can rest up.”
“Okay” you nod, knowing that although he can be overprotective of you, he only has your health and wellbeing as his priority, making it hard for him to be away. “I love you,” you hum timidly, sinking down below the covers to hide your mouth as you clear your throat again: the scratch in your throat seeming to stick around a little bit.
“I love you, too. Get some rest. And let me know if that tickle turns into something more, alright? I can come home early if you need me to,” he tells you.
“James, I’m fine,” you remind him. “Please don’t lose sleep worrying about me. I promise I will be fine, and then you can baby me all you want when you get back,” you wink.
“I certainly will, Sweets,” he laughs. “Goodnight.”
“Goodnight,” you echo, then turn the screen so that he can see Alpine. “Say goodnight to Dad, Girly.”
Bucky coos his goodnight to the kitten before telling you he loves you once more, just for good measure, with his promise to call you in the morning. Then you end the call, connect your phone to its charger, and cuddle up to Alpine as you sink into a deep sleep.
~♡~
The next morning, your alarm for work blares, and you wake up feeling awful. Your nose is fully plugged, your ears are itchy, and it feels like there’s something stuck in your throat every time you swallow. You groan, weakly pushing Alpine off of you as you realize you’re drenched in your own sweat.
With an exasperated sigh, you kick the covers off of your burning body to let the ceiling fan cool you off. But almost instantly, goosebumps prickle over your skin, and you start to shiver, which seemingly triggers a nasty, sharp coughing fit.
What the hell? Did that simple tickle really turn into a full blown cold? And overnight?
And as if he’s subconsciously telling you “I told you so” your phone rings on the nightstand beside you, with none other than the caller ID of your wonderful boyfriend’s smiling face on your screen.
“Hi,” you answer, trying your best to hide the rasp in your voice.
“Good morning, Sweetheart,” Bucky’s chipper voice greets, very much a contrast to yours. “How’d you sleep?”
“Fine,” you lie, thankful that he decided not to FaceTime you today because you can only imagine how awful you look if this is how you're feeling.
“You don’t sound fine,” he says in an accusatory, yet worried tone. “Sweetheart, are you feeling alright?”
“I’m fine, Bucky, I promise,” you lie again, yanking the blankets back over your shivering, sticky body. “Just… still waking up.”
“Oh, I’m sorry,” he hums apologetically. He knows your schedule, so he knew you’d be awake by now. But now he hears the exhaustion in your voice and feels bad. “I didn’t wake you, did I?”
“No, no,” you assure him. “Woke up just a few minutes ago. Just a little foggy this morning.”
“You sure that’s all?” he pushes. He knows you like the back of his hand, so of course he suspects something is up. Even through the poor connection of the phone call, he can hear something off in your tone.
“I promise. Please don’t worry about me,” you coo to him, although you wish you could just have him here to make you feel better.
But you know you have to hold strong so that he doesn’t drop everything at work to come back home to you. You know how important these missions are to him, but even though he always says nothing is more important to him than you, you’d never forgive yourself if he cut things short just because you have a little cough.
“Always worryin’ about you, pretty girl,” he rasps. “Hey, I’ll call you tonight, okay?”
“Okay,” you agree. “Have a good day, Buck.”
“You, too, Sweets. And please, do not hesitate to call me if you aren’t feeling good. I can come home to you, okay?” he reminds you.
You want to fight back. You want to insist you’re fine. But if you’re being honest with yourself, you don’t even know if you’ll be able to drag yourself out of bed to get ready for work.
“Okay,” you simply say. “Call tonight. I love you.”
“Will do. I love you, too, Sweetheart.”
You hang up, then groan, then roll over to face the furry friend in bed beside you.
“Girly, I think we’re calling in sick today.”
~♡~
Two days pass, and although your fever breaks, your cough only seems to get worse, meaning it’s getting harder to hide your state from Bucky. Every night on FaceTime, he notices your tired eyes and how you sniffle your nose every few minutes, in addition to the way you put yourself on mute to (not so) subtly cough into your arm.
You’ve only taken one actual sick day and have been working from home since, though you haven't completed much work because of how awful you feel. The best you can do is Zoom call into your meetings, which isn’t terrible since you can do them in sweatpants.
But one afternoon while you’re lounging on the couch - when you should be at work - Bucky randomly calls you.
Your heartbeat increases as you watch your phone ring.
Shoot. He doesn’t know you took off work, but if he finds out, then he’ll know something is up.
You feel bad for not picking up, but in the end, it’s for his own good. You don’t want him to put this project on hold for you. You can take care of yourself.
A text comes through next.
Hey! Just checking in. Can you call?
Before you even get the chance to try to formulate a text back, he’s requesting to FaceTime you. Instinctually, you decline the call.
Sweets pick up :(
He calls again.
And you give in.
You answer, the call connects, and within just another second, his smiling face is filling your screen.
“Hey, Sweetheart,” he grins, but his smile drops and confusion fills his face instead once he sees your background. "Why aren't you at work? Are you at home?"
You decide to give up your act, not having the energy to pretend any longer. You your head slowly and shamefully, then let out a nasty cough.
“(Y/n), you’re sick,” he croons.
“No I’m not. I’m fi–” you’re cut off by another shrill coughing fit.
“Bullshit. You’re sick and you’ve been lying to me,” he lovingly scolds you. “How long have you been out of work?”
“This is my third day,” you sigh. “Technically, I’m supposed to be working from home but the best I can do is Zoom meetings. My boss is chill about it, though.”
“Sweetheart, why didn’t you just tell me you’re sick? I can come home early,” he says like he has a hundred times before.
“Bucky, I didn’t want you to drop everything just for me.”
“You’re so much more important than any of this, (Y/n),” he shakes his head. “It’s why I asked to be taken off missions in the first place. You're worth more than any of this and you deserve my time and attention."
“But this is important to you, too. I know you always follow through with your commitments. You’re just so dedicated like that. I don’t want you to just up and leave. I didn’t want to be another worry for you.”
“Sweetheart, you know I’m going to worry about you no matter what. Especially when I’m gone like this. I wish you would have told me you’ve been sick.”
“I’m sorry,” you hang your head and sniffle. “I do miss you, but I don’t want to be an interruption.”
“Stop that,” he chastises you with a smile. “You. Are. More. Important."
“I know,” you sigh.
“I feel like you don’t, though,” his adorable smile turns into a slight frown. “(Y/n), you don’t have to do everything for yourself. I am always here for you… well, not physically right now. But I love you and I want to take care of you. If you’d just let me.”
“I love you, too,” you echo bashfully. “And I'll let you take care of me.”
“Good,” he smiles again, and proudly this time. "But you have to promise to text me honest updates about how you’re feeling. Do you have a fever?”
“I only had one for the first day. It’s really just a bad cough now. And the occasional body ache.”
“Sweetheart,” he groans. “How am I supposed to stay another week when I know you’re feelin’ sick?”
“Willpower?” you suggest feebly.
“I have no willpower when it comes to you, pretty girl. I’m absolutely weak for you. You know that,” he winks.
“We’ve been apart for longer, Bucky,” you giggle. “You’ll make it, I promise. And I will, too. Stay with Sam. Finish this mission. Then come straight home to me.”
"I will," he promises.
James Barnes is many things. He’s brave, he’s strong, and he’s confident. But he’s also compassionate, loving, and absolutely head over heels for you.
And to be honest, you’re not sure how you’ll make it another week without him, either.
~♡~
Four more days pass - meaning only two more until Bucky will be home - and your cold has completely left your body. After doubling up on vitamins, staying hydrated, and resting at home, you have made a full recovery. Maybe that cold was just your body’s way of forcing you to slow down and take a break.
Last night on the phone, Bucky had been more than relieved to hear you’ve been feeling much better. However, for some reason, he hasn’t called you this morning.
You brush it off, simply assuming he’s just busy. But what makes you worry is that he hasn’t even responded to your good morning text, either. In fact, your message isn’t even marked as ‘Delivered’.
You try to think reasonably. Maybe they’re somewhere there’s no service. Maybe he has his phone on the data-saving setting. It could be plenty of things, but your mind wanders to worrying about him. After all, you worry about him just as much as he worries about you.
To redirect your thoughts, you pull up the grocery app on your phone to order some essentials before Bucky gets back, since the fridge is getting a little bare. Then, you make yourself busy with tasks around the house such as laundry, dishes, and vacuuming up so much of Alpine’s white fur off the floors and couches that you’re shocked she still has an entire coat covering her body.
A few hours later, the doorbell rings, and you know it's probably the delivery person with your groceries. You glance at your phone to check the time (and your messages) and Bucky still hasn’t texted you.
With worry heavy on your mind, you toe over to the entryway, anyways.
But when you open the door, your gaze falls upon Bucky, in the flesh, with his duffle bag slung over his shoulder.
“Hi, Sweets,” he greets with a smile, dropping the bag and opening his arms.
“You’re not groceries!” you gasp, immediately jumping into his arms, wrapping your arms around his shoulders, nuzzling your face into the crook of his neck, and curling your legs around his torso.
“No, I’m not,” he laughs, squeezing you tight and holding you close to him. “Sorry to disappoint you.”
And upon hearing the call of her human father, Alpine comes prancing to the front door, mewling happily. Bucky manages to toss his bag into the house, corral Alpine back inside with him, and close the front door, all while you cling to him like a koala.
“Oh my god,” you sigh into his neck, taking in his aroma - slightly sweaty and definitely in need of a hot shower, but yet still so comforting. You lift your head to glance at him. “I missed you so much.”
“I missed you more,” he caresses the outsides of your face with his large hands as you uncurl your legs from him to stand on the ground. “Gonna take care of you all weekend, Sweets. You’re not gonna lift a single finger.”
“Bucky, I’m not sick anymore,” you giggle, wrapping your arms around his torso. “And you promised you wouldn’t come home early!”
“Sam overheard our call and knew I missed you. He demanded I go home to you. And I’m so glad you’re better,” he coos. “But I don’t need an excuse to spoil my girl,” he smirks as he sweeps you off your feet and makes a beeline for the bedroom.
“Bucky,” you can’t contain your laughter, watching how Alpine trails behind her dad in anticipation for some attention, too.
“You’re on bed rest, Sweets,” he whispers, gently laying you down onto the bed.
“Alright. But only if you keep me company,” you pout your lips, tugging at the fabric of his shirt to get him to roll into bed with you, and he slips right beside you, coddling you to his chest and holding you tight.
A shower can wait - you need to be in his arms right now.
“I wouldn’t dream of leaving you alone,” he says with a dainty kiss to your forehead.
~~~
thank you so much for reading! reblogs and feedback are absolutely the best 🫶
Summary: Everyone but you are at the cinema watching dumb movie marathons. You lay home in a sea of tissues, drowning in schoolwork with a pathetic fever. But what they don’t know can’t hurt them, right?
Pairing: college!Steve Rogers x reader, college!Bucky Barnes x reader, college!Sam Wilson x reader, college!Natasha Romanoff x reader
Word count: 6.8k
Warnings: sickness? just a really bad cold really nothing graphic, Steve and Bucky being a little overbearing, schoolwork (the biggest warning), angry reader
A/N: haven’t posted any of my writing since March 🤠 forgive me please and enjoy!! I have another one-shot coming soon though so you’ll get a little more of me than usual
Series Masterlist
Main Masterlist
As the hundredth whine from your lips sounds out today, you are glad that no one else is home. You would be scolded for being more dramatic than Sam during that week after his concussion while simultaneously yelled at for doing too much when you should be resting.
The words have since long started to blur together and the pen is clutched tightly in your hand without even touching the paper for half an hour. You can't remember comprehending the change from afternoon sun to complete darkness outside of your window, but you do know that you have piled on three layers of clothes only to tear them off of your overheated body in the last hour.
Fucking fevers. It's incredible how you forget how absolutely horrible they are between each time, but battling this one seems especially miserable when you have a test in four days. Your roommates had begged you to come with them to this god awful long Lord of The Rings marathon at the local cinema, but you were stressed out about the test enough without losing a full day of studying.
You have gotten some things done. It's just that your room is drowning in tissues, and the pills you've taken haven't done shit and your back hurts from sitting for so long. What you really want to do is take your comforter out to the couch and open all the windows with the AC on full blast. No—what you actually want is to be rid of this fucking cold and sit lodged between Steve and Bucky at the cinema, warm hands on your thighs with an obscene amount of chocolate in your lap. You know that Bucky would whisper random facts about the movies in your ear during the entirety of it, and that Steve would give him angry glares for speaking in the theater.
God, if it weren't for your body's excessive temperature, you would kill for them to hold you. It would suck in reality, because both of them run hot and that is the last thing you need right now. But you miss them. You miss them all the time lately and it frustrates you, because six months ago things weren't like this. Steve and Bucky were two of your annoying, though very sweet, roommates who bickered like siblings constantly at ungodly hours in the morning and left dirty dishes out in the living room (thank fucking god Bucky has stopped doing that).
Now, you dream weird dreams about them at night and shiver everytime they touch you. Calling you by name has suddenly turned into 'sweetheart' and 'bug' (still can't quite figure that one out), while merely the sight of Steve unintentionally flexing his bicep and Bucky moving his metal fingers makes you want to escape into your room. It's hard, because they are pretty much doing that everyday.
Worst of all is your resentment towards Natasha—she caught on so quickly that you barely managed to slip out of Steve's room the night you slept over before she confronted you about your feelings. She very conveniently left out the bet she and Sam had set up, but Bucky found out about that two weeks later and pushed Sam into some bushes. The latter complained about how Bucky didn't cater to his 'bush-related trauma' for much too long after that.
But at the same time, she reinforces your delusions about them liking you back. They are very protective of you, sure, but so are Sam and Natasha. Actually, that might have something to do with your constant knack of getting into the trouble rather than harboring secret, unconditional love for you. Natasha says they look at you with puppy dog eyes, but you think they just always look like that. And the constant touching and pet names are just—it's just who they are. You think.
Another onslaught of heat crashes over your tired body, and you give up completely. There comes a point where even you can't force yourself to work anymore. It's too draining. Instead you gulp down another pill, turn off the lights and throw yourself onto your bed. You groan out of pleasure, but know that it will soon disappear only to be replaced by torturous discomfort.
Yeah, it's good that they aren't here. Gathering the energy to deal with a smug Sam and overbearing Natasha is not in your capacity.
Besides, facing them in this state feels embarrassing. You'll pull yourself together by the time they come home. Just a short nap, and you'll fix your hair. Just twenty minutes of sleep, and you'll put on something presentable. Just some rest, and you'll look good for them.
"Ah, shit—why's it fucking pitch black in here?" Sam seethes as he now limps on his newly stubbed toe, reaching for the hallway light.
The living room is empty and so is the kitchen, they notice that pretty quickly. Usually when you're home alone you cook something elaborate with music blasting in the background, or rewatch that show for the thousandth time. Bucky always gives you a hard time for it, but he usually ends up watching it with you anyways.
"Y/n?" Steve calls out, taking off his jacket before hanging it up on the rack placed by the door.
"Hey, bug—we're home!" Bucky says, walking further into the apartment while searching with his eyes.
The lack of answer gives them anxiety, even though it's probably nothing. Might've gone out. It's Saturday night after all. But you don't really have many close friends outside of them. Unless you're on a date, which quite frantically makes Bucky want to throw up. Yeah, he chooses not to believe that for his own sake.
Natasha bites off another section of her snickers, the one she made everyone stop at the gas station for, while toeing off her shoes. Shoe-free household since you moved in, but exceptions are allowed in emergencies. If you knew that both Bucky and Steve have on theirs right now, you would be mad. But Natasha isn't about to nag about that—she's more focused on getting a huge glass of water for herself. She knows those idiots will take care of whatever's going on.
Steve knocks on your door, waits for too many seconds before calling out for you again.
"Y/n? You okay?" he asks, leaning against the wall.
And because Steve is a considerate man, he doesn't open the door without an answer. But the same can't be said for Bucky—he shoulders past the former and pushes down the door handle without even so much as a sound. He is met with resistance as soon as he steps over the threshold, but all of it comes from the guy behind him.
"Buck—no," Steve seethes through a whisper, trying to pull him back by his shirt unsuccessfully.
Your room is as dark as the rest of the apartment was. Warm and stuffy, rid of any fresh air from outside of the four walls. You've been in here for a long time.
The small strip of light coming into your room reveals your figure splayed out over the unruly covers, a sign of tossing and turning in your sleep.
"Let her sleep, Buck," Steve sighs, rubbing his forehead with the back of his hand while leaning against the doorway.
It would be near goddamn foolish to ever expect him to listen. Steve isn't surprised when Bucky steps towards your bed anyway. He lowers down into a crouch, reaching his right hand out for your face.
"Christ, she's burning up," Bucky sighs, pushing himself up to his feet again.
"Shit," Steve answers, passing the threshold into your room while forgetting the previous reservations he held. And as if Bucky's judgement isn't enough, he presses the back of his hand to your forehead. Steve's hand is normally warm, but your skin is a hot furnace against the lines and creases of his palm.
"Fuck, we just left her here all alone." Bucky shakes his head. "We watched fucking Lord of the Rings that we've seen a million fucking times and she laid here suffering with a fucking fever."
"Tone it down with the 'fucks', will you?" Steve tells him.
He turns on the small lamp standing on your bedside table, soft light revealing the dozen tissues spilling out of your trash can. There's not much doubt about your sickness now.
"What do we do? Oh god, what do we do?" The brunette starts pacing as if he has never been more stressed in his life.
"Calm down, Buck. It's a cold, not a heart attack." Steve raises his brows, turns around to glare at his friend. "You've taken care of me dozens of times when I was like this as a child. Go get a glass of water and a few Tylenols."
It seems like it takes a few seconds for Bucky to register Steve's words. Even then he looks anxious, as if he doesn't want to leave. This makes Steve nervous, because Bucky never acts like this, but then again he feels the same way. That's why he told his friend to get you medicine instead of himself.
But Steve could never deny Bucky anything, even if it costs him time watching over the girl he almost certainly cares for more than a friend should. He ignores that part though, and pushes himself up to a stand.
"I'll go," he sighs, gesturing for Bucky to replace him by your side.
The short trek towards the kitchen is filled with anxiety. Why does his heart beat so fast when it's probably just a cold? He just told Bucky to calm down despite feeling anything but calm himself. Just gotten very good at hiding it through the years, he supposes.
Steve has never been the caretaker. He so desperately wanted to be that person during his childhood—the fierce protector, the strong hero, the one bullies cowered away from instead of running towards. Maybe he has been overcompensating for his lack of heroism in his early years now with his friends. The guilt is always eating him up if even the slightest thing happens, because most of the time he can stop those things now. Steve is tall and muscular, fast too, and he's not afraid to speak up anymore.
But things like these—sicknesses—he cannot help except for pouring water down your throat and make sure you're comfortable. Because he wants you to be comfortable so badly, as the slightest sight of pain in any shape or form makes him as gloomy as Sam on days where his favorite football team loses. Steve has known for a while now that you—the girl living on the other end of the hallway who curls up at his side on movie nights and bakes him cookies after each test he's had—is much more than just a roommate. God, he waits by the door for you to come home like a puppy, for goodness's sake. Gets a hard on at least once a day no matter what you are wearing.
And Steve really likes this thing he and Bucky has going on with you. That caretaking thing that he never has gotten a chance to do is now so natural. He and Bucky has adapted this protector-role in your life that makes Steve feel so good. He likes making you happy, making sure you're safe. Like he has a purpose.
"She alright?" Sam speaks up as Steve passes by his room, changing out of his thick sweatshirt to a thinner t-shirt.
"Not really. She has a fever," Steve answers, both hands filled with water, pills and more tissues.
"Oh, shit. How bad? Dr. Wilson bad?"
"No." Steve rolls his eyes. One time Sam helped patch you up and now he has been calling himself Dr. Wilson ever since. "We're taking care of it. She hasn't woken up yet."
"Well, just call for me if she gets tired of your needy asses and wants some Sammy loving instead."
Steve raises his eyebrows, shakes his head like he always does, and moves on. He purposefully quiets his steps down while walking past the occupied bathroom—a fuzzing Natasha is not what you need right now. You already got two overbearing people in your room.
The door is shouldered open by Steve as he returns, realizing as soon as he steps inside that your eyes are open, tiredly nodding along to whatever recap Bucky is giving you of the movies. Steve stays silent, setting down his gifts beside you before crouching down. Soon enough you have him staring up at you, that ever present frown in between his brows.
"Now, will you tell us why in the goddamn hell you did not call or text any of us to say that you were sick?" Steve asks sternly, though his hand is gentle on your head. "Excuse the language."
You let a chuckle slip despite his lecture, because of course he needs to apologize for the very tame curse words inserted into his sentences. Of course Steve scolds you before even saying hello. Such a dad.
"You were at the cinema..." you croak out, glancing down at your intertwined fingers.
"So?" Bucky says with a look on his face that reveals he has no idea what you are talking about.
"I thought you wouldn't notice if I just—didn't think it would get this bad." You pout visibly. A bead of sweat has formed in your hairline, steadily making its trek down your forehead.
"Wait a minute, Y/n—you thought we just wouldn't notice you holing yourself up in your room for days until you were fine again?" Bucky raises his eyebrows, nearly rolling his eyes on you. It sounds dumb now that he says it out loud.
"Yes..."
"For god's sake, bug." He lets his palms scrub over his face while Steve sighs, balancing on the scale between amused and concerned.
"I didn't want to bother you! Besides I'm—this is not my finest moment. Kind of disgusting right now," you say.
"Now, c'mon," Steve tells you with a pointed gaze. "You know we don't care about that."
"You look fucking adorable right now. Just a little shiny, that's all." Bucky pokes you in the forehead, earning an offended gasp from your lips.
"Hey! I have a fever, asshole. I can't help it." The expression on your face is offended, but inside it's all warm and fuzzy because he called you adorable. Bucky fucking called you adorable.
But the playful grin on your lips soon turns into rumbling coughs, hiding your face into your elbow to avoid spreading saliva all over the two men beside you.
"Hey, hey. Take some water, Y/n. Here." Steve's hand flies to your back, rubbing gently, while reaching out the glass towards your lips.
Your throat is all scratchy and sore, and coughing up half of your lungs does not help in the least. But gulping down the cold liquid soothes the pain for the moment, even though most of the water drops down your chin.
"Should I...uh—"
Bucky reaches his hand out towards the box of tissues on your nightstand. Calloused fingers brush over your skin as he rids it of the stray drops, a metal hand tilting your chin up.
It's entirely too silent as you sit and let your face be dried like a toddler. Steve puffs up the pillow behind you, readjusts it until your face is getting enough support.
You don't say anything. Nobody says anything. The two of them work in tandem as they usually do, and have done since they were little boys, while making sure you're as comfortable as you possibly can be.
Soon enough there is a fan dragged in from someone else's room (you think there might be an angry Samuel barging in here any minute to demand it back), three boxes of napkins on your bedside table (you did not know there were that many napkins in your apartment) and four blankets on your bed in case you start shivering again (you do not own four blankets).
You get up to go to the bathroom and end up being carried instead. Being left alone is something you have to literally beg for, because you might, in their words, "pass out". The door remains unlocked as a compromise.
It's sometime around 12 am that you switch off the lights, still feverish and so tired of the sickness already. Mostly you're tired of the babying. But you don't say anything about the fact that both Steve and Bucky remain in your room, sitting on the goddamn floor even though you've told them several times that you have a desk chair and a bean bag. Actually, they have their own beds right on the other side of the hallway. Stupid boys.
They fall asleep pretty quickly, if judging by their snores. Both of them will deny their obnoxious sounds in the morning when you tell them. It makes you happy in one way, because Bucky usually has trouble not staying awake for hours on end grumbling over everything under the sun. Steve is sometimes found in the kitchen at 3 am when you go up for a glass of water, staring blankly out of the window as if he has the entire world resting on his shoulders. On the other hand, you're now the only one awake with your misery and overthinking.
Steve and Bucky definitely cares about you. For you. That much is clear from the past few hours. But to which extent? Is this what they would do for any of their friends? You would like to think so. It feels self-centered to not believe that. But they have been so adamant on making sure you're safe and alright and comfortable today—telling funny stories to distract you and getting caught up in those meaningless, petty fights they know you enjoy so much. Stroking your cheek, calling you sweet names and constantly making you drink water. College boys don't act that way towards their friends, or anyone at all really. You don't know why they are like this.
At the same time, the sweet things have become almost too much. You didn't think it was possible. But it frustrates you that this has become a whole savior-situation for them. Maybe you should want that now. Many girls do—not having to lift a finger while two men come at your every beck and call, and you usually do too. But the thing is that they are not listening to you. They are deciding things for themselves about you.
There comes a point where being helpful and taking care of someone transcends into being condescending. You absolutely can dry away water from your chin yourself. You can go to the fucking bathroom by yourself too, and would actually prefer it that way if you had a say in it.
Maybe you're just sick to the point of extreme irritability. You're probably overreacting to their sweetness because of everything happening in your life right now—this comes at the worst possible time with your final exam for the year in just three days. The final grades for most of your classes come anytime now as well, and you're not sure you did so well in all of them. You haven't even gotten a job for the summer either because no one wants to hire you. It's all pretty shit at the moment.
Barely anything is in your control right now. Not even your own health and how you choose to deal with it, because there are two men hovering over you every second since they came home. This is the first breather you've gotten in way too many hours. You're actually surprised they fell asleep before making sure that you did too, but happy that they did.
Another hour passes before you give up. It's too hot in here, despite cracking the window open half an hour ago, and the fan doesn't do you any wonders. The air is too thick from the small space being occupied by two giants and a sick girl for hours on end, and your bed is too soft.
You silence your coughs as you sneak out of your room out onto the living room couch. It's colder out here. Quiet.
You fall asleep within two minutes.
"Sweetheart, wake up."
"C'mon, Y/n."
"Let her sleep, you assholes."
"She's burning up, for fuck's sake! We gotta do something!"
"Throw cold water on her."
"What the fuck, Sam?"
You groan, stirring awake while your eyes reluctantly flutter open. It feels like they have been glued shut. The fever-aches hit you instantly, distracting you from the mumbled voices right beside you as they try to gain contact.
"She's alive, at least," Sam says right before leaving the room. You barely notice.
"Y/n, hey, can you hear us?" Bucky asks, on his knees in front of the couch.
"Yes," you croak out, rubbing your eye while squinting. It's still early judging by the dimmed morning light coming into the apartment. "Wha—“
"Why did you leave? You have a 103 degree fever, baby. We have to cool you down."
You simply shake your head, letting out a distant hum while sinking down into the pillow once more, letting your eyelids close.
"C'mon. Sit up," Steve tells you, sneaking his hands around your back to push you upwards before you even have a chance to react to his words.
There's too many sounds around you, too many voices and hands prying your body around. You want quiet, like how it was when you went out here a few hours ago. What you sought after from the beginning.
"I want to be alone."
"Well, we're not going to fucking leave you alone right now, Y/n," Bucky says, stress practically seeping out of his pores.
Steve returns from the kitchen. You didn't notice him leaving. He reaches a cold, wet rag out to Bucky who immediately presses it to your burning forehead.
"I can do that myself."
"Nonsense. Just rest," Steve tells you.
"I'm serious. Guys, it's fin—"
"Can you get me the pills on her nightstand?"
He turns his head over his shoulder, nodding for Natasha who disappears into your room without so much as a blink to confirm. Your frustration grows with each second—Steve just entirely ignored you to speak over your words. He doesn't usually do that.
Red hair comes into view again, at least as much as you can see of her from underneath the rag covering half of your eyesight. She tosses the bottle, and you're lucid enough to try and catch it. Bucky grabs it instead.
But when he pours out a pill and begins prodding at your lips you push him away. It's too much.
"Bucky, stop!"
This is the thing with the two of them—you love being cared for like they watch over you, but right now it just feels demeaning. As if they believe you can't do anything by yourself, as if you will fall and break your bones each time you stand or confront someone who has done you wrong without bodyguards crowding your space. Their intentions are good, so good, but right now it feels like unnecessary babying. You are a grown woman who just happens to have very bad luck, but that doesn't mean you can't handle yourself at all.
As your yelling echoes through the now quiet room, their expressions fall, even though they did not look too chipper to begin with. Bucky inches back just slightly. Your tone was harsh enough to know that something is wrong.
"I get that the two of you are trying to help me right now, but I can lift my own fucking fingers!" Your face is hidden beneath your hands, head tilted back with a groan.
You can almost feel how their faces change right in front of you, postures tense up. It's not what you wanted—that is their reaction when being confronted, and this is not a scolding. At least you didn't intend it to be from the beginning.
"I just want to sleep right now, okay? I'm not going to die." Your voice softens into a whisper, a large contrast from the previous yelling that has the room quiet as a mouse.
Another three seconds of silence pass after your statement. Now they won't say anything? Steve runs a hand over his mouth, looking away from your gaze. Nervous.
"Uh...okay." He nods, despite looking like he doesn't want to agree. "Just—just take the Tylenol. If it gets worse you'll tell us, right?"
You don't really answer in the way he wants you to, which is not at all. You can tell by the way he purses his lips. Bucky just looks scarily neutral, as if he's schooling his face with every ounce of willpower in his body.
"Alright, boys. Scatter," Natasha says, waving her hands towards their rooms like she's directing an airplane. You guess that's about the organization you need to coordinate the three of them.
Before you can catch Steve and Bucky's conflicted glances, and Sam's slightly shocked expression, you roll around to face the back of the couch. As peace falls over the room, so does sleep once again.
Steve and Bucky take turns tiptoeing into the living room to watch over you each hour.
Natasha sits in the living room chair reading from her iPad when you wake up. It's dark outside—you've been asleep the entire day. She has a cup of tea and half a cookie left on her plate sitting on the table, and does not even stir when you speak up from out of nowhere. Damn her spy skills.
"What time is it?" you croak out, so unbelievably hoarse that you can't even believe words are coming out of your mouth. You kind of regret speaking at all.
"7:32," she tells you while pushing a glass of water your way. The glass is devoured immediately.
While drying away the stray drops of water from your skin, you put the back of your hand against your forehead to realize your fever has gone down significantly. Not gone entirely, you think, but so much better. The only thing worse is the lack of anyone else in this room besides you and Nat.
"Where is everyone?" you ask her, pushing yourself up slightly until you sit up in the couch.
Natasha must instantly clock your hesitant tone, the slight trace of regret in your voice that manages to seep out through your cold-affected throat. She turns your way, leaning forward slightly.
"Hiding in their rooms."
Your face soon gets buried in your hands, leaning back with a groan from your lips.
"I was too harsh on them, wasn't I?" you say suddenly, letting her decipher your muffled words. "Fuck, I upset them. I was too mean."
"No, no. Hey, no," Natasha interjects, clasping her hand around your wrist to reveal your face again. "Babe, you are allowed to have boundaries, and they're not allowed to be bitchy about that."
"But I—they were just trying to help and I went off on them," you whine. "They haven't even talked to me since this morning. I feel like shit about that, Nat."
"They didn't talk to you 'cause you've been fucking asleep, that's why," she says. "And just because their intentions are good doesn't mean they have the right to be around you."
Natasha raises her perfect eyebrow, glancing over her shoulder towards the empty apartment behind her. Her words hit you like a fucking truck no matter how cliche that sounds, regardless of the fact that you have never taken any sort of advice of this sort to heart before. They never used to apply to you earlier.
"You decide that. And I'm sorry that their egos were bruised, but they need to learn how to respect people's wishes even when they believe they are doing the right thing by disregarding them," she tells you.
"Yeah," you breathe out. "Yeah, you're right."
"Sure as fuck I am," Natasha agrees. "Now go tell them that."
"I don't want to," you whine.
"But you have to. They're not gonna learn if you ignore them. And I know they're dying to check up on you."
"They haven't been in here?" you ask, trying to sound more curious than disappointed. Why are you disappointed? You were the one who wanted space.
"I banished them after they kept checking your temperature as you slept seven times within an hour."
Your eyebrows shoot to the roof. Actually, that makes you annoyed. It's cute, but you were sleeping! You had just yelled at them for invading your space and privacy! Goddamn men who worry too fucking much!
She smirks as you struggle your way up from the couch, angrily making your way towards the end of the hallway to your best ability in this state. The knocks on their doors are loud. Both doors open almost at the same time.
"Get in Rogers' goddamn room, Barnes," you mutter, before shouldering your way past the blonde wall of muscle looking entirely too confused for your liking. He's way too cute like that, and you're supposed to be angry.
The two men follow you like obedient puppies, sitting down on Steve's bed when you gesture towards it. You sway slightly after closing the door, resulting in someone shooting up from their position, but quickly falls back when you shoot the brown-haired guy a glare.
For what must be at least five seconds, you stare at the two young men now sitting on Steve's bed, staring up at you nervously as if you are the principal and they've been called into the office for disobedience. It's kind of fun, but you tire quickly of the staring contest, and instead run the back of your hand across your forehead with a sigh.
"I do just fine by myself," you say all of a sudden. No warning, no explanation. "And yes, it's really sweet that you two want to help, but you've completely ignored me and what I want since I got sick. That's not okay."
What started off strong and confident has now turned into looking anywhere but their eyes as you speak. Why are they making you nervous?
"I have boundaries when I'm sick too, you know? And it doesn't exactly feel like you actually care about me when you just push and prod at me like I'm some doll instead of a person who told you repeatedly that I didn't want your help."
You can't really see their reactions, since you're...not looking at them. Instead you have your arms engulfing themselves, fingers picking on your skin and the hem of your shirt nervously. You're not used to confrontation. Almost no training in scolding people at all. Especially not when it comes to people you care about so deeply. But it has to be done, according to Natasha. And maybe you know that she's right.
"And I'm mad at you. But I know that your intentions are good, and this doesn't have to be a big thing...but I just wanted you to know how I felt."
Too many seconds of silence passes after your little speech is done. The only sound in the room is your collective breathing. You're still looking down to the floor, watching your toes wiggle as a distraction.
"You can speak now, if you want to," you add timidly after what must have been half a minute.
The sound of Bucky letting out a long pent up breath almost makes you laugh, but you school your expression as you finally look him in the eyes. He almost burst watching you so fidgety, refusing to look at either of them.
"I'm sorry, babe," Bucky says, volume nearing on a whisper. He didn't mean to say that last word. "I just—I get kind of panicky when people get sick. You know, Steve—"
"I know about Steve's sickness, Buck," you tell him.
"Yeah, but...sometimes when he was like this it would be a life or death situation. Y/n, I've been the one to call 911 several times when I didn't think Steve would make it."
"I didn't know that," you say. "That it was that bad."
"He would start off exactly like you." Bucky pauses for too many seconds, scrunching his nose before shaking his head. "This fucking cough that would never disappear, and then the high fever. But I guess you have a better set of lungs and heart than he did back then."
"Oh, I—I don't know..."
"You're not about to go into heart failure because of a stupid cold," he says, but you think it's more of a reminder for himself. Steve looks at him funnily, as if he's almost sad by Bucky's words. Maybe he didn't know how much his friend saw during their childhood.
"We're sorry we ignored you, Y/n," Steve speaks up. "Now after, I...I can see that we were too overbearing. And you're right, that's not okay. But I don't want you to think we don't view you as a person. That's not true."
His blue eyes do that soft, concerned thing only Steve can pull off. It kind of pisses you off. You're supposed to be mad, but it's hard. Okay, you actually forgave them before you even entered the room, but they don't know that yet.
"Well, it kind of felt like you didn't," you mutter, looking away.
"I know. You don't deserve that," he answers. "I'm really sorry, sweetheart. I promise I'll do better."
You can't help but let the tiniest of smiles grace your lips. They barely notice it, you think.
"Okay. I guess I accept your apologies. But, this doesn't mean that I don't want to be helped at all—it just means that it will happen on my own terms. No more extreme coddling and babying."
Bucky gives you an amused smirk, rubbing his chin with his fingers. God, he would fit in perfectly in a douchy frat house. Idiot.
"You're kinda cute when you're yelling at us, you know?" he tells you. You think both you and Steve share the exact same reaction—Bucky gets a slap to the back of his head from the latter while you just scowl at him.
"You're such a jerk. That is not what you should take with you from this situation," you seethe, even though heat is traveling to your cheeks in an almost unhealthy pace. Goddamn him and his charm. You blame it on the fever.
"Punk," Steve mutters, shaking his head in disapproval while Bucky just ducks away from any further violence. There's still that smug grin on his face though.
"Bucky is a lot more likeable when he's shy and quiet, don't you think?" You turn to Steve, ignoring the brown-haired man now pouting at you. You've already forgotten why you're in this room in the first place. And damn it, you're starting to feel that you're not exactly top condition right now, and you know you have to sit down soon.
"Uh-huh. Is a lot easier to keep in line, at least."
"Hey! I'm right fucking here, you know? Don't talk shit about—"
Bucky doesn't get to finish his sentence before your seemingly healthier state turns critical in just a few seconds. The standing up for too long with a fever and no source of energy for two whole days finally takes it toll, and the clear focus you had on your boys turns into a big blur. A thud sounds through the room as your side crashes into Steve's drawer, balance lost completely before you could even notice you were dizzy in the first place. Within a second you're on the floor with a throbbing pain in the back of your head.
"Ow."
"Fuck," Bucky breathes out as he gets to his feet with Steve right on his heel, crossing the few feet's distance between you. "I know you just said we shouldn't coddle you...but—"
"It's fine. I'll give you a pass," you manage to get out while rubbing the back of your head, a small chuckle escaping your lips.
Strong hands pull you up to your feet, embracing your unsteady body so your head rests against Bucky's chiseled chest. Steve has his palm on your back, searching for any kind of contact.
"What happened? Are you okay?" he asks while Bucky leads you to the bed, forcing you to lie down.
"I don't think it was such a good idea to stand for that long," you say with a tired smile.
"Well, I tried to tell—" Bucky stops himself in the middle of the sentence, catching himself doing exactly what he promised he wouldn't. You grin at him, patting his thigh the best you can from your position.
"Good boy. Already learning."
The man blushes like a grown man has not done ever. You don't notice though, of course you don't, and his momentary weakness remains harmless. Steve doesn't point it out, because he's too engrossed by looking at the now sore spot at the back of your head. But you never notice, and Steve almost begins to think you're avoiding the signs on purpose. You should have noticed by now. Sam and Natasha certainly have—they can't give either of them a break when it comes to teasing about you.
"Fuck, this is the last thing I needed," you groan, putting your hands up to cover your face while leaning back into what now feels like Steve's thighs. When did he move you?
"Know it sucks, bad timing and all that, but maybe a sign to take it easier?" Bucky says, though he has to clear his throat first to rid it of the thickness he gained from your little comment earlier.
"What d'ya mean?" you mumble, eyes closed.
Maybe you were overreacting earlier. Now, with their hands in your hair and stroking your legs soothingly, you feel great. As if they really do care about you. But it's different now, you guess.
"Sweetheart, you've been stressing yourself to death this past month. You have this irrational fear, which is completely wrong, that you will fail all of your classes when you absolutely are not going to," Steve tells you.
"Maybe..." you mutter.
"Yeah, lay it down, will you? 'M only taking it easy on you with the scolding now 'cause you're sick, but it's actually worrying. Don't know why you think so low of yourself when it comes to school. You've done great the entire time."
"I can't help it," you whisper. "But I really don't want to study anymore. I'm tired."
Steve chuckles at you, shaking his head. "You don't have to. If you're good to do the test in two days—and I really mean if—you're already perfectly prepared. Been studying for a month. God knows I ain't ever studied that long for an exam."
"I know..."
"But even without me and Steve...helping, I, uh—are you gonna be fine 'till then?" Bucky asks, a new concerned frown in between his eyebrows appearing.
"You are allowed to help me, Buck. I never said that you couldn't," you tell him. Your eyes are closed, deep breaths being taken to rid yourself of the nausea. Despite this, you notice his restlessness over the thought.
"Yeah. I guess. Just don't want you...don't want you to be sick anymore," he mutters under his breath, as if though he wishes you could not really hear it.
This is the Bucky you usually see. The one who's a little shy and has trouble expressing his feelings, except if it's anger. Then he has all the willpower in the world to act on it. The guy who cares very deeply about his friends and becomes closed off when he can't help them.
"Not super excited about this either, Barnes," you whisper, arm thrown over your face to shield you from the rest of the world.
"We're on last name basis now, huh?" Steve says. You can hear the smirk in his voice.
"Uh-huh." You nod to your best ability. "You deserve that."
"She's just practicing her future last name, Stevie," Bucky speaks up, wearing a grin that falls just as quickly as it appeared. A dreaded, wide-eyed expression dawns upon his face as he stares at the two of you. The realization is painful.
"What? What did you just say?" You lift your head up from Steve's lap, staring at Bucky who's now beet red.
Summary: Bucky Barnes was aggressive, annoying, and—worst of all—a hockey player. Not your type. At all. But, unfortunately, your roommate.
Word count: 5.5k
Warnings: Minor injury, idiots in love <3, some angst, pining
a/n: My first fic in a century!! Thank you so much for reading if you’re still here. Depending on how this does I hope I’ll have motivation to write more! College athlete Bucky never fails to get me inspired :)
Masterlist
~~
“What’s this punks name again?”
The breath you let out was long and excruciating. “I am not repeating myself.”
“C’mon, y/n,” Bucky whined, knocking his head back on the couch. He watched you bustle around the kitchen from his inverted vantage point. “How the hell am I supposed to swoop in and save the day if I don’t even know the kid’s name?”
“Okay, well, first of all—” the fridge door clicked shut with a swift motion of your hips “—he’s not a ‘kid’. I’m pretty sure he’s a few months older than you.”
“Semantics.”
“And second of all,” you stressed, pointing a butter knife in his direction. “There will be no ‘swooping in’. I’m going to have a nice date and you are going to go hang out with your puck rabbits or whatever they're called. There will be no thinking about me and no swooping in my vicinity.”
Bucky rolled his eyes, kicking up from the couch and rounding the kitchen counter to pick at your sandwich. You knocked his hand away several times, but you both knew it was futile. In the months you’d been living with the hockey player—who was far too big for the small, shoebox of an apartment you leased—you’d learned that food was non-negotiable for Bucky Barnes.
There were many other things you’d learned about him as well. He sang in the shower, but only when he thought you weren’t home. He had an annoying penchant for using your $30 lotion—again, when he thought you weren’t home. And he loved to throw his massive, smelly gear just about anywhere it would land right when he got home from every practice.
He didn’t really care if you were home for that last one.
Bucky was the last person you thought you would be rooming with when you posted that ad last summer. A small, quaint room previously occupied by your now engaged (and traitorous) best friend, you assumed someone like-minded to yourself would have taken you up on your offer. The price point wasn’t egregious and the building was relatively close to campus.
But weeks ticked by, and you started getting desperate. Your landlord wasn’t a nice lady, something you were positive she took pride in, and she decided that a rent increase was the perfect way to ring in the new school year. You were on the verge of destitution, and as it so happened, the only other person as desperate as you was the starting center for your college’s hockey team.
You hardly got along. It had taken weeks for your eye to stop twitching every time he tumbled through the front door at three in the morning, and even longer for you not to feel an infuriating aggravation at his random, nighttime smoothies. You supposed he probably felt the same about your cleanliness rules and your incessant reminders about trash days. Because Bucky was in charge of bringing the trash down those long, apartment steps. Not you.
But you’d be lying if you said things hadn’t gotten easier as of late. Conversation flowed more smoothly, things that made you seethe before were only mildly annoying, and Bucky was being… considerate? You weren’t quite sure what to call the random cups of coffee he brought home on occasion. Or his sudden urge to warm up your car when he had a morning class before yours.
There was also the case of that party last weekend. A frat party with far too many drunk men and not enough common sense, you had had the urge to leave the second you got there. But Wanda had dragged you along for the sole purpose of driving her home after she got hammered, so you were essentially stuck.
It was fine at first. Hot and crowded and loud, but fine. You kept a general eye on Wanda and scrolled aimlessly on your phone in the armchair you claimed. And then it wasn’t fine, because a man twice your size was encroaching on your space and unrelenting.
“What kinda girl comes to a party and doesn’t even wanna talk to anyone?”
“You want to come up to my room and watch a movie or something?”
“Hey, I’m talking to you, bitch.”
You weren’t even aware that Bucky had been at that party. It wasn’t surprising—the line between fraternities and sports was blurred at your college—but the space he took up as he intercepted the man in front of you was.
~~
“There a problem here?” Bucky posed, crossing his arms over his chest, his presence looming above your seated position. His weight shifted to his toes.
The man didn’t miss a beat. “Yeah, you. Move.”
“Wanna fucking tell me what to do again?”
“Fuck you, man.”
A harsh shove to Bucky’s chest was all it took for a right hook to echo in the living room of the frat house. There was chaos. Grunts and screams from the drunk people surrounding the unnecessary fight created a cacophony of unpleasant sounds that seemed to get the attention of someone in charge. The man—Brian, you had now learned based on screams—was pulled back from Bucky and getting chewed out by some president or manager of something.
And Bucky was seething, chest rising and falling laboriously as he wiped at the new bruise forming on his face.
Fights were not uncommon. But this one had been about you. For you.
“Bucky?” you asked when the crowd calmed and Brian was no longer in the room.
You watched his back release its tight coil. He turned. “Are you okay?”
The words were almost lost in the noise of the crowd, but he was close enough that they created a tactile vibration across your skin. His pupils were dilated and he looked so disheveled it would have been charming if there wasn’t also a cut forming on his brow.
“Y/n.”
It took you a moment to realize that you hadn’t answered him. Your response fell out of you as if you’d been shoved. “I’m—I’m fine.”
He grunted, but it was more of a puff of air. “The fuck was that guy?”
“I don’t know,” you replied, realizing by the way you swayed that you had stood up at some point. “He just—”
“We’re going home.”
“What? I can’t, I’m here with Wanda. I’m driving her, Bucky, I can’t just leave.”
He grabbed your wrist, the grip achingly soft compared to the blows he was landing minutes before. “She left with that British guy she’s been on and off with. Asked me to tell you.”
That explained his random appearance. Your brows pinched as you took in the information, eyes cast down to the angry red marks marring Bucky’s knuckles. He’d been in fights before. So many fights. On the ice.
This was different.
“I haven’t been drinking—I can drive myself home. You don’t have to leave,” you shouted over the music now bumping in the room.
He didn’t respond, not verbally. He pulled you to his front instead, leading you through the impossible crowd until cool night air began melting into your skin. His silence was strange. Bucky’s favorite activity was talking your ear off until you told him to shut up, but right now… nothing. Even his earlier words had been clipped.
You felt responsible for easing the tension in the air as Bucky continued to guide you to your car. You hadn’t told him where you parked, but he seemed to know the exact location anyways.
“You really don’t have to leave with me,” you mumbled. “It wasn’t a big deal or anything.”
“It was a big deal.”
~~
The drive home had been silent. The walk to the door had been as well. Bucky spent a few minutes appraising you in the overhead light of the living room when you got inside, but after that there was nothing. He went to his room and you went to yours.
There was no discussion about it the morning after, either. Bucky apparently wanted to pretend nothing ever happened, so you respected that. Even now, you ignored the fading cuts on his hands as he shoveled food into his mouth.
Bucky’s next words were muffled by a mouthful of bread. “Well where’s this dude taking you at least?”
“Ice skating.”
The cough and sudden exasperation was very expected out of the man next to you, Bucky’s next words hardly containing syllables. “Huh?”
“We’re going ice skating,” you reiterated. You picked up your lunch and headed for the living room, ignoring the slightly heaviness in your chest. “It’s winter and ice skating is festive. The rink on campus has decorations.”
“Without me? Y/n, you’re gonna let some guy who probably doesn’t even know how to skate—”
“Bucky—” you attempted to interrupt.
“—drag you around the rink like a rag doll?” he continued, holding his hand up to mute your incoming speech. “I’ve asked you to come by the rink, like, a ton of times. You’ve never shown any interest.”
You rolled your eyes and shot him a cross look as he picked your feet up from where they rested on the couch and dropped them into his lap. He went on with his rant for a little while longer, knocking his head back against cushions and accusing you of being a bad roommate. You had a few rebuttals of your own, but there was a reason you had never accompanied him to the rink.
A good reason.
You didn’t date athletes.
It was true that simply going to visit Bucky at a practice, or letting him be the one to drag you around the ice like a rag doll, wouldn’t mean you were in a relationship by any means. But it would be an extra step. And if you were being honest with yourself, it would only take a few of those extra steps for the irritation you felt towards Bucky to melt into something else.
And you didn’t date athletes.
You did not.
You didn’t have the time, nor the patience, to put up with the cheating, the anger issues, or the crazy schedules. And there wasn’t a single athlete you’d met at your sport-centered university that was willing to compromise on any of those subjects. Especially the cheating. You’d learned that the hard way after dating a lacrosse player for approximately one month before receiving the dreaded DM from a girl you had never met.
The man hadn’t even given you the courtesy of pretending he didn’t know what she was talking about. He just admitted to his wrong-doing and shrugged. Shrugged.
So athletes were not exactly in your good graces when it came to dating.
“Are you even listening to me?” Bucky cut through your thoughts, patting your shin in impatience.
You blinked and reoriented yourself, focusing on the hairs that fanned across Bucky’s face. “Of course I am,” you lied. “But my answer is still the same. I’m going on my date and you are not going on my date.”
He groaned, apparently giving up as he cradled your legs closer to him to lean over and grab the remote from the coffee table. He flipped the channel to ESPN—typical—and you ate your sandwich, silently cursing him. He had a TV in his room.
“When is it?” he suddenly asked, breaking the silence that had knitted itself into a comfortable blanket over the room.
“Tonight,” you answered plainly.
The arms atop your legs tensed.
~~
The dichotomy of the man sitting beside you was impressive. On one hand, he was so full of himself that he had missed almost all of your conversation starters due to being so transfixed by his reflection in the rink’s glass. He had yet to ask you a single question about yourself and had insisted that the four other girls skating tonight were in love with him.
On the other hand, he was, quite possibly, the most uninteresting person you had ever met. You were usually very quick to laugh, but every word out of his mouth was almost painful. He wouldn’t stop talking about his ex-girlfriend, gave you one word answers about anything other than baseball, and was honestly really terribly at ice skating. You were no pro either, but you found yourself on your back every time he tried holding your hand.
The tumble five minutes ago had you seeking out the penalty box on the side of the rink. You needed a break, you had told him, hoping he would continue on making a fool of himself and give you a moment alone. But he followed you instead, and was now sitting beside you, talking about baseball.
You supposed that was better than making you fall while talking about baseball.
“I bet we could do that,” he remarked, pointing out onto the ice and catching your attention. A couple who clearly had more experience than you was twirling each other around. “We definitely could. I pick up good speed.”
You cringed. “I really don’t think we should try, Sean. My tailbone is already pretty bruised.”
“Oh, c’mon! I won’t try the throwing part, just the twisty stuff.”
“We are literally on rental skates. You will kill me,” you deadpanned. You were tired at this point and seriously questioning why you thought ice skating was a good first date idea.
Well, there actually was an answer for that. But you were not going to think about the hockey player that popped into your head when Sean asked you on a date in the dining hall last week.
Definitely not.
“I’m not going to let my date think I’m boring,” Sean groaned, yanking you up from your seat.
You gave a few tugs and words of resistance but they were ultimately useless. You figured it would be just as useless to tell the guy you already thought he was boring. He probably wouldn’t even hear you.
On unsteady skates, Sean guided you to a mostly cleared corner of the rink and gripped your forearms. He squinted as he surveyed the area, the corner of his mouth turning up in a way that made your stomach roll. This entire date had been a bad idea.
“Maybe we should just watch them do it,” you tried, words wavering.
“No!” he grinned. “No, we got this. It’s gonna look so cool.”
And then you were spinning. You’d never been spun against your will before, but it sucked. Your skates kept getting stuck in the divots in the ice and the grip on your forearms was close to bruising. You were starting to get dizzy and Sean showed no signs of caring. God, he really was dragging you around the rink like a rag doll. Bucky was going to get a kick out of this.
“Okay, ready?” Sean called, an unwarranted jubilation in his tone.
“What?” you yelled.
He didn’t answer you. Instead, he let go, and you went flying in another direction without a clear path. It only lasted a moment, but the sound of your head smacking onto the ice signified the end of that movement. You landed on your arm next, and then your back. Again.
This time felt different though. Your head was spinning and there were muted pinpricks trailing up to your wrist. The ache there was dulled compared to the biting iciness in your back, but as soon as you tried leaning on it to get up, it became sharp.
“Oh shit!” came Sean’s laughter-filled gasp. “My bad. I really didn’t mean to let go.”
You blinked a few times to clear the blurriness from your vision but it proved unhelpful. “I think… I think my arm’s broken.”
“Wait, seriously?” he asked, wobbling down to a seat beside you.
“Yeah, it’s—”
“Everything okay over here?” a voice interrupted. You tried blinking again to take in the man that towered over the two of you, but the lights overhead washed him out.
You recognized him…maybe? You felt like you were going to throw up.
Sean answered for you. “Yeah, man, we’re fine. She just fell.”
“Y/n, are you okay?” the man asked, ignoring your date completely.
“Do I know you?” you slurred.
You thought you heard a curse. “What made you think throwing her around was a good idea?”
“Dude, it wasn’t even that fast. Or my fault. She just couldn’t keep her feet under her.”
“Well, dude, maybe you should go home.”
Sean scoffed. “Right, and who’s going to take this one home?”
Your head was starting to hurt with all of the back and forth. The man that just joined, the taller one, kneeled down beside you. His blonde hair cast a harsh glare that had you squinting again.
“You want me to call Bucky?” he asked.
Bucky? How would he know Bucky? Blonde hair began morphing into a man in your memory, and you reached for the material of his shirt, looping it between your fingers.
“Steve Rogers?” you mumbled.
The man, now identified as Steve, sighed. “I’m calling him. Go home, Sean. Her roommate is coming to get her.”
There was more discussion, something about Steve having the authority to kick him out and Sean not understanding what all of the fuss was about. Steve warned him about something and Sean scoffed as if the situation was beneath him. And then he left.
Steve was then in your line of sight again, brows pinched together and a bright orange vest covering his shoulders. His hands hovered in front of you as if you’d break if he touched you and you almost found it funny. Steve was a huge guy with a lot of authority on Bucky’s team, but right now he looked like a scared animal.
“Why are you dressed like a construction worker?” you asked.
A small smile graced his face. “I’m working at the rink today. Everyone on the team has to take shifts during the holidays.”
“Hmm,” you hummed. “I think my arm is broken.”
“I know. I’m pretty sure you have a concussion too. Let’s get you off the ice, yeah?”
You tried to nod, but that hurt too much so you let Steve assist you in shakily standing up. He guided you to the seats by the rental skate counter with a soft but sure hand on your back, asking some guy named Antonio for an ice pack. Everything around you felt like a fever dream.
Gentle touches rolled the sleeve of your sweater back to reveal a swollen wrist that Steve immediately covered with an ice pack.
He cursed again. “Well he’s gonna be pissed.”
“Who?” Your head swayed with the question.
Steve looked up to meet your gaze, lips parting to answer, when he was replaced by a different face. Your brain was having trouble keeping up with everything, obviously, because Bucky was in front of you now. He was kneeling between your legs with his hands on your face and you had no idea where Steve went.
“What the fuck?” you blurted out.
“Hey, y/n.” Bucky spoke your name low and soothing, his fingers moving to your eyes where he pried them open one at a time and looked for something you couldn’t see. His next words were directed over his shoulder. “Maybe a concussion. Tell me what happened again?”
“Sean Marcus was being an ass. Flung her all over the place,” Steve replied.
“Why are you here?” you interjected, trying to focus on one thing at a time. “I told you not to come on my date.”
Bucky moved his assessment to your arm next, shifting the ice pack. “Never really agreed to those terms.”
He turned back to Steve after that, having another discussion that you barely understood. Bucky absentmindedly fiddled with the material of your jeans as he spoke, and you put all of your energy into not face planting on the ground. This past week had truly been a series of terrible events with terrible men.
After some amount of time elapsed, you were walking to the parking lot with a jacket thrown over your shoulders and Bucky continuously jutting a hand out each time you took a step. He was very well versed in concussions, apparently.
“Okay, in you go, killer,” Bucky prompted, opening the passenger door.
You eyed the front seat, scrunching your face up. “My arm hurts.”
The man in front of you seemed to soften, his shoulders dropping on a long exhale. “I know, sweetheart. But we gotta go to the hospital to fix that. I’ll make sure it doesn’t hurt anymore.”
“I should just call Wanda. Or Nat. You don’t have to be the one to take me.”
“I can take you just fine.”
“Why do you want to you? Aren’t you busy?”
Another long sigh, this one accompanied by hands on your shoulders, fingers at the base of your neck. “Get in the car.”
His eyes were boring into yours, searching for something, or maybe already finding it there. You still had your arm cradled to your chest and you titled your head to the side as you observed him. There was something else to his gaze that you couldn’t quite describe. It reminded you of his expression after he came home from a rough game. Angry. Discontent.
“You’re being weird,” you commented, breaking the silence you had created.
“You broke your arm and smacked your head on the ice,” he simply replied, as if the statement was an explanation.
“Yeah, but—”
“And then that douchebag did nothing about it,” Bucky interrupted. “So please, y/n, get in the car so I can help you before I find him and kick his ass. Because you know I’m not above fighting people.”
You blinked, and then slid into the front seat.
The drive was quiet. You’d never been in Bucky’s car before, but the spinning in your head didn’t give you much space to inspect it too closely. You caught hockey gear in the back, a keycard to the rink dangling off the rearview mirror, and a small collection of hair ties in one of the cupholders. One caught your attention.
“Hey, this one’s mine.” You picked up the purple band and rolled it between your fingers. “Thief.”
Bucky snatched it back. “Mine now.”
He made a sharp turn that had you sucking air between your teeth and repositioning your arm. Bucky sent you a quick, achingly apologetic look.
“Sorry, almost there.” A long beat of silence and then a mumbled, “I should keep your hair tie. You won’t be able to do your hair alone with a broken arm anyway.”
~~
Your wrist was fractured, not broken. You also only had a minor concussion. This was all great news to you, especially since they told you after administering a hefty amount pain reliever. To Bucky, this was apparently terrible, life-altering news.
After practically body slamming into the front door of your apartment, he chucked his wallet and keys down on the kitchen counter and began grumbling to himself as he opened and closed kitchen cabinets. You watched from a distance, half amused, half concerned for the rusting hinges. He finally found what he was looking for—a cup—and continued to mutter to himself as he filled it with gatorade.
“Are you… okay?” you asked tentatively.
Bucky ripped the freezer open and manhandled three to four ice cubes. “I’m fine. You are not.”
“I’m okay now,” you assured. Bucky stalked over to you anyways, pressing the sports drink into your hand that was not wrapped in a cast.
You looked down at the glass and sent him a baffled look. He nodded at it and raised his brows, a silent demand for you to drink.
“Okay. And why do I need to drink gatorade?” Your words were slow.
“You were just on the ice and haven’t had any water for at least three hours.”
“Bucky,” you began. “I was ice skating recreationally for about thirty minutes. I don’t need to replenish my electrolytes.”
“Will you just… will you just drink the damn drink?” he groaned, gesturing to it with a firm hand. “Jesus, I can’t take care of you when you go and get yourself hurt by idiots. So just let me do what I know I can do, alright?”
“You don’t have to take care of me.” You were beginning to raise your voice, matching some of the frustration in the room.
Bucky threw his hands in the air, tugging at his roots on the way down. He moved further into the kitchen and leaned against the counter with stiff, rod-like arms propping him up. And then he sighed, long and profound as if this was the hardest conversation he’d had all year. His head hung heavy between stiff shoulders and you felt the environment shift.
You almost wanted to intervene on his thoughts again, to make some comment about the dishes in the dishwasher or pretend you were going to go take a nap. But he had something to say, something you needed to hear, and so you stayed. You blinked and clenched your fist in the uncomfortable silence, but you stayed.
“Y/n, I want to take care of you,” Bucky breathed out, words still directed toward the floor, almost too low to make out. “I’ve been tryna get you to see that for weeks now, but you’ve either got no clue or you want absolutely nothing to do with me.”
You stopped blinking, stopped fidgeting, stopped breathing altogether. You watched as Bucky drummed his fingers against the counter and still refused to look up. You swallowed hard because you weren’t clueless, but also because you wanted everything to do with Bucky Barnes.
And nothing at the same time.
“Bucky…” you began, with a tone of surprise you weren’t sure was believable.
“Don’t do it yet,” he stopped you. “Don’t…don’t tell me no yet. I’m still pissed as hell that you got hurt and you shouldn’t be alone with a concussion. I don’t need you avoiding me when you can’t even drive a car.”
“You’re being presumptuous.”
He snapped his head up, his eyes rushing back and forth between your own. The drumming on the counter ceased, instead replaced by balled up fists turning white under days old cuts and fading bruises. He didn’t say anything. You searched the empty air for a reply.
“I wouldn’t avoid you. I don’t know if I could avoid you—not anymore. You’re sort of a big part of my life now.” A good start, you thought. Not a real answer, but not a rejection.
Bucky bit the inside of his cheek and eyed the drink still perspiring in your hand. You set it down at his observance, moving closer to his slumped posture in the kitchen.
But Bucky stood up straight at your movement, becoming guarded, stiff. “I shouldn’t have said anything. Bad timing, just forget it. You should try and get some sleep.”
“I don’t want to forget it,” you softly spoke, shaking your head.
He clenched his jaw. “And I don’t want to hear that you don’t feel the same way about me that I feel about you. Not right now. I feel like I’m going insane, watching you go out on dates and having my best friend tell me that my girl—that’s not really my girl—is all banged up on the ice because of some asshole.”
You opened your mouth to speak, but Bucky kept going, now pacing in the kitchen. “I mean, y/n, you’re my everyday. I wake up and you’re making coffee. You text me in class to ask what I need at the grocery store and then I call you after practice to make sure you got back to the apartment. I think about you so god damn much and I can’t believe there was a time in my life that I didn’t get to end my day in a home that has you. And you’re just my roommate. You want nothing to do with athletes, I get it—” he added, catching your eye in the middle of his rant, “—but, shit, I haven’t even looked at another girl since… well it doesn’t even matter.”
“Tell me,” you whispered. There were a million other things you could’ve said, a million explanations that would have made sense. But the two soft words stopped Bucky from tracking holes in the ground. They shoved him from his shallow breaths and made him look at you.
And, god, did he look at you. You must have been worse for wear. A hospital visit mixed with one too many tumbles onto solid ice probably had your hair in disarray and your face pressed with exhaustion, but his gaze was revering. Candy-coated red with soft blues melting below brows that fluxed with the movement of his lips; Bucky was beautiful, and he was looking at you as if you matched.
His tone confirmed as much, light and saccharin as he said, “That dumb movie a few weeks ago, the one about the superheroes. Your friends wouldn’t watch it with you so you made me. You were so excited even though it was awful and you were out like a light within the first hour. You rolled over onto me and I wasn’t gonna wake you up so I sorta just held you.”
He paused, trailing his eyes up to the light fixtures. “At the risk of sounding pathetic, it felt like I had you, you know? Like we were going through all our usual motions, but after I annoyed the hell out of you and you told me off, you were mine. I can’t… I can’t really picture that with another girl.”
There were very few times you had considered yourself speechless. But with Bucky Barnes standing in front of you, red-faced and vulnerable and still wearing the stupid hospital nametag they made him put on in the waiting room, you had no words. There was none of the arrogance you usually associated with him, no short-temper or pestering taunts. It was just Bucky, and he was pouring his heart onto the kitchen floor. For you.
“You get why you can’t tell me no just yet?” he asked, trying to get something out of you. Anything. “You can break my heart, but let me just make sure you’re okay first. And I can’t beat the shit out of Sean if we aren’t on speaking terms.”
The laugh that left you was one of disbelief, but the breathiness and accompanying tears fit the heaviness of the room. Your glossy eyes met Bucky’s and something flashed on his face, but it was soon out of your line of sight because you were kissing him. You were kissing him hard and your bodies were too close for the cast between you but it didn’t matter.
He didn’t respond at first, hand hovering at your back. But then he did and the cold linoleum of the kitchen floor was gone from your bare feet. He sat you on the counter, so gently, as if you were glass, and you let your hand brush against the cracks and divots of your home. The one that Bucky came back to every night to see you.
The one that had housed so many nights of confusion and longing and denial.
The one that had Bucky kissing the life out of you on the kitchen counter.
He pulled away first, forehead pressed to yours. “Didn’t think I’d ever get to do that.”
“You can do it again.”
“Oh, I will, baby.”
Laughter met in the air between you—sweet, short, intertwined. There was so much you wanted to tell him, so many instances like the one he shared before where you were left questioning boundaries and feelings and lines. But, you figured, there would be so many opportunities to tell him. So much time together.
“I texted Wanda that night,” you shared, interrupting the kisses he was pressing to your cheek. “After I woke up and you had taken me back to my room.”
He smiled against your skin. “What’d you say?”
“I told her I was an idiot—that I was falling for the enemy.”
Bucky ran a soft hand along the back of your head, a smirk lighting up his face. He was slotted between your legs and kept his other hand firmly pressed onto the kitchen counter, caging you in, making sure your arm didn’t hit the cabinets.
“And is that true?”
“I don’t know,” you hummed, connecting your foreheads once again, wanting to stay impossibly close. “Try to cure my broken bone with gatorade again and we’ll see.”
Synopsis: You don't want to go on this mission and Bucky doesn't want the girl whose smile brings him happiness getting hurt. But what can either of you do when your job is to heal others? If only you had told him that you weren't ok, if only he had made sure you were right behind him.
-I do not consent to having any of my writing, under the username Orions- Athenaeum, translated, posted or published on third party sites, apps or platforms-
Bucky didn’t think there was anything worth enjoying in his new life. Of course he appreciated Steve’s unwavering loyalty and the ease that he brought Bucky after he was freed from Hydra. There was also Sam’s annoying banter which usually gave Bucky something to smirk about, but he would never admit that to anyone. When Bucky didn’t understand what a text message was, Wanda and Natasha helped him adapt to the technological wonders of this modern time. He was even glad when Tony would crack an “old joke” just to get under his skin, because Bucky knew humor was Tony’s way of showing he cared. While Bucky was grateful for everything his teammates did for him, there was still a very obvious void, that felt almost like a ten ton weight sitting on his chest, trying to steal his breath from him. That feeling of immense pressure and simultaneous emptiness only began to lessen about four months ago, on a balmy summer evening when Steve dragged Bucky to one of Tony’s lavish galas.
Bucky didn’t know who or what the event was for, in all honesty he figured Tony was just looking for another excuse to throw a party. The former Winter Soldier had been a part of the team for a while now, but these types of social gatherings never failed to make him feel extremely unsettled. Maybe it was the way he felt people’s eyes lingered on him for too long, whether it was from fear or judgment. Or maybe it was that the suit Natasha had helped him pick out was nearly suffocating him. It could have also been the glass filled with some unknown booze that felt uncomfortably heavy in his vibranium hand. All this to say, Bucky was certain the tension in his shoulders was palpable as he checked his watch for the thirtieth time that evening; he was waiting for the hands to tell him he had waited a respectful amount of time before he could seek out the comfort of his own room. Bucky reluctantly pulled his eyes up from his watch and began to scan the room, hoping to find Steve and with him some sense of calmness. His search was cut short when his gaze landed on a girl chatting with Peter near the bar. She had short y/h/c hair that reminded him of a girl from his own time, messier and not as curled perhaps, but classic nonetheless. Her long, black, strapless dress and sleek platform heels reminded him of something Natasha might have worn. He wondered for a second if maybe Nat had helped her pick out an outfit too. Deciding that was an utterly ridiculous thought a second later, Bucky found himself enamored by her smile. It was all he could focus on: that beautiful, perfect smile. One corner of her mouth curved up more than the other and her full red painted lips made it impossible for Bucky to look away. Seconds felt like hours and as Bucky continued to look at her, he found a smile involuntarily tugging at his own lips. Amazingly enough, he didn’t feel so out of place anymore.
“It’s rude to stare.” Bucky quickly jerked his head towards Sam’s voice. His smile immediately faded as he glared at his friend.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about, Wilson.” Even Bucky didn’t believe his words and chances were Sam didn’t either. Despite being a pain in the ass, he was smarter and more observant than Bucky liked to give him credit for. Sam rolled his eyes and ignored Bucky’s hint to drop the topic.
“Why don’t you go and ask her to dance?” Bucky couldn’t breathe. There was no way in hell he could do that. Standing across the room was the prettiest girl he’d seen and Sam thought it would be a good idea for him to ask her for a dance.
“Yeah that will not be happening.” Bucky tossed back the rest of the liquid in his glass, knowing that the pleasant burn of the alcohol would not affect him in the slightest. He wished it would. Maybe a little liquid courage was the push he needed to go over and speak to her.
“Look man, she’s gorgeous and really sweet, I met her this morning. All I’m saying is that she would totally say yes if you asked. She was staring at you too, by the way.” This morning. Bucky recalled Sam telling him he met a new member of the team earlier that morning. Maybe he would have the chance to see her again if she was the one Sam was referring to. Shaking his head to extinguish any false hope he had conjured up, Bucky realized that Sam was telling the truth; the girl was staring right back at him. After a few seconds, she raised her delicate fingers and sent a small wave. Bucky almost keeled over on the spot. Not knowing what else to do, he awkwardly raised his own hand back. She smiled. He smiled. And just like that Bucky knew he was a goner.
Four months later…
“No.” Bucky refused to change his mind. Steve rolled his eyes at his friend, who currently stood across the room with his arms crossed over his chest with a look that said, this is your final warning. Steve knew better than to try and push his best friend around, but this really was a mission that required her skills. There were dozens of hostages, and they would need medical attention. Not from doctors, but from her.
“Buck. You know I wouldn’t put Y/n in the field if I didn’t think it was absolutely necessary.” Bucky did not move. Steve sighed. And people call me stubborn. He thought to himself.
“I understand that you want to protect her Bucky, I really do. But she is a part of this team. Y/n’s an Avenger and her role is to heal people. Now, there are people who need her help and she is going to go and help them. If you would prefer not to lead this mission than I can have someone else take-”
“No.” Bucky was quick to cut off Steve’s offer. His tone was firm, but just below the surface Bucky was panicking. He didn’t want his girl out in the field. But if Y/n had to go, he couldn’t stand the thought of not being out there with her. Steve raised a brow.
“I’ll go. But you better make sure there is no way we’re gonna get ambushed. We’d better be prepared. I won’t hesitate to beat your ass if something happens to Y/n.” Bucky turned to leave the conference room as Steve muttered something under his breath.
“What?” Bucky snapped.
“I just said it seems like you care about Y/n an awful lot when she isn’t even your girlfriend.” Bucky knew Steve was trying to get him to admit that he was too scared to ask her out. But honestly, Bucky wasn’t in the mood for his best friend to play matchmaker. So, without a look back, he stormed out into the corridor towards the gym. He was set on taking his anger and fear out on some punching bags, but as he walked through the halls all he could think about was her smile. He needed that smile safe. If he could just wrap it in his arms and shield it from all the bad, he would be happy for the rest of his life.
————————————————————————
You were certain there had to have been some kind of mistake. The thick Manila folder that sat on your desk marked “MISSION BRIEFING” had to have been delivered to the wrong room. Bucky was just across the hall, so maybe it was for him. That had to be it, because there was no way they were seriously considering putting you out in the field after only four months of being on the team. You weren’t even supposed to be a field agent. Nick Fury had recruited you because of your powers. Sure, you could mend a broken bone and fuse a gunshot wound close, but that did not mean you fought on the front lines. It meant you waited until your team was back to the safety of the compound to help them. Refusing to open the folder you picked it up and made your way to Bucky’s door.
“Buck?” You called as you knocked on the cool wood. You gasped as it opened not a second later. Bucky was standing in front of you in all his post gym, sweaty, shirtless glory.
“Hey, doll. What’s up?” He asked with a smirk tugging at his lips. That damned smirk. You immediately drew your gaze away from his tight abs and pretty smile up to his eyes. Which, honestly, didn't help because you found yourself getting lost in a sea of deep cerulean blue. It seemed that every aspect of Bucky had an overwhelming effect on you. Deciding it was best to stare at the carpet instead, you fumbled with the folder before showing it to him.
“I think they gave this to me by accident, because I’m not usually in the field. Actually I’ve never been in the field and so it’s probably yours and I just wanted to give it to you.” Your words came out all in one breath and you kept your gaze focused on the floor at your feet. You felt Bucky gently take the folder from your grasp. You were ready to let out a sigh of relief when you felt his fingers thread through your own as he lightly pulled you into his room. As your heart beat began to quicken, the brief confusion you had felt quickly morphed into anxiety. Why didn’t he just take his mission briefing and send you on your merry way? He gestured for you to sit down on his bed as he sat next to you.
“No, this is yours.” He finally said. The finality in his tone made you want to throw up. “Steve told me this morning. But I made him promise that there would be no combat, and I’ll be leading. There will be two other agents, so you’re not alone. The mission should be fairly quick, in and out and then we come home. I promise I won’t let anything happen to you.” His words were somewhat of a comfort. You also knew that the rest of the team was fairly confident in your abilities, since Nat, Sam and Steve had all trained extensively with you over the last four months. Bucky refused to spar with you but that's besides the point. Although, you weren’t really worried about not being able to defend yourself. You had been trained and ran through mission scenarios, but the weight of the briefing envelope in your hands was making this too real. It also didn’t help that every single agent wanted to rip you apart because you were given a spot on the Avengers without making it into SHIELD as an agent. You had tried to put yourself through training, but during your first field test, you instantly choked. All of the sudden the gun pointed at the enemy agent in front of you made your arms feel like lead. Your brain wouldn’t let you pull the trigger, so you stood there, frozen. You were positive you were going to be removed from the program, but when Nick Fury heard about your healing powers, you were suddenly offered a spot as an Avenger. So, to put it plainly, every single SHIELD agent hated you. They hated that you failed training and still got the most coveted title, they hated that you lived in Avengers Tower, they hated that you got everything they wanted. The real problem, which was much bigger than any jealous agent’s spiteful remarks, was that you could not stomach the idea of hurting someone. That was the reason why you failed your training in the first place, because bad guy or not, you were given the gift of healing. You were never supposed to cause pain and it seemed as if the concept of harming someone was against your very nature. Pulling the trigger on a paper silhouette was one thing. Aiming a gun at another human being was quite another. So while the training you had done prepared you for taking down enemies, you’re not entirely sure you could bring yourself to that.
“Ok.” Was all you could manage. Some time during your internal spiral Bucky had begun rubbing soothing circles on your back. Bucky was another aspect of this assignment that you had to consider. You weren’t sure how to feel about him going on the mission with you. Your relationship was a little confusing at times to say the least. You knew that you cared about him more than a friend would and he often made it seem like he felt the same way. You had felt this way from the very first night you met him, when he caught you staring at him and you awkwardly waved (who the hell waves at a hot guy across the room?) Bucky was also the first one to make you feel like you were truly part of the team. He would bring your breakfast to the lab when you were working mornings and didn’t have time to eat, he would make sure you had a good spot on the couch for team movie nights (it was coincidentally always next to him) and then there were time like these where he would comfort you and do everything in his power to make you feel safe and cared for. Basically, in the four months that you had known him, you were falling in love with Bucky Barnes.
“Ok, what, doll?” And those stupid pet names definitely weren’t helping you keep your feelings at bay.
“Ok. Sounds good, I guess I’ll see you at the hangar in a few hours.” You replied, unwilling to meet his eyes, you slowly picked up the folder and walked towards his door. An unnerving feeling overcame you as you heard the heavy wood close behind you.
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You figured the mission would not be a walk in the park, and as you sat in the middle of Siberia, with two agents that hate you and hostages with far more injuries than Steve had anticipated, you knew this easily made your “Top Ten Worst Days list.” Of course you were more than happy to help every hostage, that was the only part you enjoyed. However, the amount of energy it took to heal so many injuries resulted in black dots clouding your vision by the time you had helped the last hostage. The thing about your healing abilities was that you had to use your energy to heal others. Meaning healing their injuries literally exhausts you. And on top of the twenty broken bones, abrasions and burns you’ve healed, Megan and Nick had a few bumps and bruises from breaking down the door and restraining the guards that needed mending. According to Megan, Bucky told them to go to you since they need to be in top shape for the trek back to the safe house. While the safe house sounded pleasant, the fact that it was currently 40 below and that the shelter was three miles out in the middle of a forest, was not as pleasant. After you finished healing Megan’s bruised ankle, the dizziness that had settled in a few minutes prior was now overwhelming. If you could just sit down for a few minutes and maybe close your eyes, you would feel much better.
“Get up. We need to meet Bucky in a few minutes. A storm is moving in so we can’t take the jet back until morning. Bucky secured the hostages in an exit raft and we need to find the safehouse soon.” Megan sneered as she pushed your hands away from her ankle.
“Could I just have one minute? I’m not feeling-”
“You’re an Avenger, right? So get off your ass and start walking.” You hesitantly stood up, apparently too quickly because you began swaying and lurched forward, catching yourself against a tree. The frozen bark cut into your skin, slicing your palms. Willing your head to stop spinning you looked down at your bloodied hands. Another downside of your powers was that once your energy had been spent, it became nearly impossible for you to continue healing, which meant you could not help yourself or others when you were this exhausted. You heard Megan’s boots crunch in the snow as she began to walk, blatantly ignoring your compromised state. Since it appeared you had no other option, you began walking as well, but the edges of your vision were fuzzy and it felt like someone had thrown your head against a wall. If you could just get to Bucky maybe he would let you rest for a minute. No. You couldn’t ask him for that, Megan and Nick already thought you got special treatment for being an Avenger you didn’t need them to see parts of yours and Bucky’s friendship in the field. Plus, Bucky had been acting weird ever since you stepped foot on the quinjet. He called you by your last name and his usual soft eyes and teasing tone had left him completely. It made sense, you told yourself as you pushed forward, because this was his job, and he didn’t really care about you like that. The frigid chill had begun to seep through your suit, and though you had never been a huge fan of the cold, you were thankful for it now. It was keeping you awake and alert, the sting of the snow hitting your face gave you something to focus on so you wouldn’t pass out. Finally you reached the clearing where Bucky was waiting. You glanced up to find his concerned gaze looking you over. You used all your strength to muster up a smile and nodded your head to let him know you were ok. He seemed satisfied enough, and told the team to start walking.
How you managed to walk two miles you weren’t sure, but what you did know was that you were now falling behind the others. You were following Nick and Megan who had been keeping a fairly even pace with Bucky. But now, with the snow whipping all around you, you couldn’t see or hear any of them. Maybe this would be a good time to take a break. It would only be for a few minutes and nobody would notice that you had taken a breather. As the snow storm had progressed you had lost feeling in your fingers and toes, and it seemed like everything was moving in slow motion. You thought you reached out to brace yourself on a tree but instead you felt like you were falling. It didn’t hurt when you hit the powdery snow, its cold embrace only called you to rest your eyes. You obeyed and felt your eyelids slowly blink shut. I’ll only rest for a minute, you told yourself. Just as you were about to let sleep pull you under, you heard shouting. The voice sounded familiar as it called your name over the howling of the wind. You knew you should answer but you simply didn’t have the energy. Then, you felt strong arms lift you up and a familiar fresh, piney scent filled your nose. This is what Bucky smells like, you thought to yourself.
“Could you open those pretty eyes for me. Please, doll. I’m begging you, give me anything.”
Bucky sounded like he was talking underwater.
“You are not allowed to do this to me, I swear I’ll make it up to you but you gotta wake up so we can talk.” And why did he seem so worried? You wanted to tell him that you were fine but you couldn’t get the words out.
“Why wouldn’t you say something?” Bucky’s muddled voice had more of an edge this time. His sharp tone made sense, he had every right to be mad at you, it was you who was slowing down the mission and now he had to pick up the slack.
“I didn’t see her fall behind, she was fine a minute ago.” This time it was a woman who responded and somewhere in your mind you figured it was Megan. But you hadn’t been “fine a minute ago,” in fact you hadn’t felt ok for over an hour.
“You’re supposed to watch out for your teammates, so I’m going to ask again, why the hell did you not say something?” In your dazed state you realized Bucky was directing his anger at Megan not at you and well you felt some reprieve from the fact that Bucky didn’t seem too disappointed in you, you were beginning to slip further and further into the shadows of sleep. You knew you needed to stay awake, but you couldn’t feel anything, not the snow hitting your cheeks, or Bucky’s frantic pace, and your entire body felt completely numb. Time began to pass strangely after that moment, you heard some more gargled shouting before you felt your body being laid down on something hard. You found some odd burst of energy and forced your eyelids to open, looking up to find Bucky’s worried eyes desperately trying to hold your gaze. His eyes seemed glossier and much more concerned than normal, but you couldn’t figure out why.
“C’mon Y/n, I’ll get you warm and you’ll be alright. I’m gonna have to get your wet gear off first, but I promise I’ll make it all better ok, sweetheart? I love you too much to let go now.” Love? Why would Bucky be talking about love, he seemed so frustrated with you in the field. His face disappeared from view a moment later and you thought you heard the sound of fabric ripping. Bucky yelled for someone to get blankets and before you could tell him that all his shouting was confusing and much too loud, you surrendered yourself to the peaceful comfort of unconsciousness.
You didn’t know when you became aware of your surroundings again, whether it had been minutes or weeks, you couldn’t tell. You could smell burning wood accompanied by a familiar piney scent that you soon identified as Bucky, but you couldn’t open your eyes to confirm your theory. When you heard a deep voice laced with a Brooklyn accent from somewhere around you, you didn’t have to look at Bucky to know whose arms were protecting you.
“...Remember when we were in Queens and you made me go inside that old book store with you? We stayed there until they closed and you kept handing me books that would, “change your life, I swear it, Bucky.” I didn’t like reading much in the forties but I woulda stayed there with you for weeks if it meant I got to see that smile of yours every time you read something funny. I’ll take you back there but you gotta wake up first, alright?” Bucky’s words were soothing, and his soft voice gently lulled you back to sleep before you could answer his request.
Bucky was talking again when you tried to wake up for a second time,
“...Everything about you is perfect, doll, like how you always scrunch your nose when Sam’s cooking looks awful, but you eat it anyway with a smile on your face because you’re just happy he cared enough to make you something.” You wanted to smile for Bucky, open your mouth, say anything. But your head was still too heavy and you couldn’t break through the cloud of sleep that kept dragging you back under.
This time you could feel warmth running up and down your arms, as if someone was trying to coax you from sleep with their caring touch. You waited for Bucky to talk to you again, you found yourself needing his words to anchor you to consciousness.
“...You should’ve told me sooner, sweetheart, I coulda carried you, given you a little break. You know I would do just about anything for you right? Hell, I think everyone on this damn team thinks I’m weak when it comes to you. But you don’t make me weak, Y/n, you give me a reason to smile, you make me feel better about the world and like I’m not too broken to be a part of it…” You wanted to take Bucky’s face in your hands and tell him that he was not broken, that he was worth more than your words would ever mean. But it still seemed like too much work to open your eyes, so you kept them shut and let your mind slip back into sleep for a little longer.
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Your skin felt like it was on fire, that was the first thing you noticed when you fully regained consciousness. Something heavy was laying across your stomach and there was a solid presence holding you that seemed to radiate the same amount of heat as the crackling fire in front of you.
“Y/n? Doll? Thank God you’re finally awake, how’re you feeling?
At the sound of his voice you slowly turned to face Bucky and were met with a look of adoration in those blue eyes, which made you feel even worse for making him take care of you.
“I’m sorry I messed the mission up, Barnes.” Even though your sight was still a little blurry you could make out the confusion in his face. Pushing some hair out of your face he asked,
“You never call me Barnes, what’s up with that Y/n/n? And what are goin’ on about, “messing up the mission,” you didn’t do a damn thing wrong. If Megan and Nick had done their jobs as teammates you wouldn’t be in this situation. It’s my fault too ya know, I should've checked you over before I made you walk three miles. You looked a little tired when I first saw you but I think I tricked myself into believing you were safe, all I ever want is for you to be safe, Y/n.” You weren’t quite sure how to answer him, your brain felt like quicksand, trapping your thoughts from becoming words.
“And you never answered my question, Y/n, you feelin’ better?” You nodded slowly, during the time you had been asleep your body had slowly heated up, you had regained feeling in your limbs and your mind was feeling less foggy by the minute.
“Thanks for getting me out of there, Bucky. I mean, it’s not like I needed your help, I just wanted to sleep for a few minutes.” You attempted to lighten the mood by pushing out a laugh that sounded more like a light exhale.
“There she is, that’s the girl I love.” You whipped your head back with such force that Bucky had to place his hand on your neck to prevent you from giving yourself whiplash. You stared into his eyes, determined to find out if he was really speaking the truth.
“I do love you Y/n, I have from the minute I caught you smiling at Tony’s stupid gala. You’re perfect to me, in every possible way, from your smile to your soul.” Of course you felt the same way for him. Bucky was your best friend, he made you laugh and his heart and the care that he gave out freely never ceased to amaze you. You watched his lips turn into the most perfect smile and you found yourself smiling twice as big knowing that there was no moment in your life more wonderful than this one. Right before you could respond a shiver ran through you and Bucky turned you around so you were facing the fireplace again.
“Hey, Bucky?” you received a low hum and a kiss behind your ear in response. “You should really shower, you smell like an old barn.” He chuckled and replied, “Jeez, doll, I save your life and tell you that I love you, and all you do is tell me that I smell?” You could tell that Bucky knew you were teasing, but you didn’t feel like letting him off the hook quite yet.
“I guess I love you too.” You mumbled with an obvious grin in your voice.
“I know you do doll, I only wish you had said something sooner, then I woulda had more opportunities to torture you for makin’ fun of me.” With that, Bucky began to tickle your stomach, while still being wary of your injuries, earning an eruption of giggles from your mouth. After a few seconds Bucky pulled you back against him and whispered a soft, “sleep, sweet girl, I’ve got you,” into your hair. Your eyes slowly fell shut and you felt completely content, knowing you were safe in the arms of the man who loved you, and who you loved right back.
