How are you guys feeling? So, some of you may know me, some don't.
I'm a brazilian neurodivergent person and a few days I started to talk with other one randomly here, I said to her that was really difficult to see other brazilian that enjoy Bucky and other MCU stuff. She said that would be nice to make a place where we can meet and have fun together.
So if you're BR and like MCU, Bucky and wanna hang around I think I'm going to make a server on discord. You can say something on DM or in the comments.
Bucky figures out you're touch-starved. It ruins both of your lives.
The first time Bucky Barnes notices it, he almost wishes he hadn’t.
Not because it’s bad.
Because once he sees it, he can’t stop seeing it.
It starts small.
Tiny things.
The way you linger when people hug you goodbye, like you’re trying not to let go too quickly because you’re worried they’ll notice.
The way you sit too close to Alpine when the cat climbs into your lap at the Tower, burying your face in her fur with your eyes closed like the warmth means something vital.
The way you always seem surprised when someone touches you first.
A hand on your shoulder.
A quick squeeze of your wrist.
Natasha bumping her knee against yours during movie night.
Steve pulling you into a side hug after a mission well done.
You react every single time.
Not dramatically.
Just—
stillness.
Like your body pauses to absorb it.
Like you’re starving and trying not to look hungry.
And once Bucky notices, he starts paying attention in ways he probably shouldn’t.
Because Bucky Barnes understands hunger.
He understands deprivation.
He understands what it does to a person when they go too long without softness.
Too long without gentleness.
Too long without being held like they matter.
You come to the Tower after a HYDRA clean-up operation in Bucharest.
Former intelligence analyst.
Temporary consultant, Fury says.
“Temporary” becomes six months faster than anyone expects.
You’re clever enough to keep up with Tony, sarcastic enough to survive Sam, patient enough to tolerate Bruce’s nervous rambling, and somehow stubborn enough to call Natasha out on her bullshit without fear.
The team likes you immediately.
Bucky doesn’t.
At first.
Mostly because you’re too observant.
You look at him carefully.
Not fearfully.
Not pityingly.
Just carefully.
Like you’re trying to understand him without taking him apart.
He hates that.
Then he starts noticing things.
You don’t flinch around him.
You don’t stare at the metal arm.
You don’t ask questions about the Winter Soldier.
But sometimes he catches you watching him when you think he isn’t looking.
Not because he’s dangerous.
Because he’s alone.
That’s worse somehow.
The touch thing becomes impossible to ignore after a mission in Prague.
It’s ugly from the start.
Explosives.
Gunfire.
A narrow hallway collapsing before Clint can get civilians out.
You get trapped beneath part of a shattered support beam.
Nothing life-threatening.
Just enough to pin you awkwardly until Bucky and Sam can move it.
You laugh afterward.
Brush dust off your jeans.
Tell everyone you’re fine.
But your hands shake for almost an hour.
Bucky notices because he notices everything about you now.
Which is already a problem.
Then Natasha walks by and squeezes the back of your neck absentmindedly.
And you nearly melt.
It’s subtle.
Most people wouldn’t catch it.
But Bucky does.
Your eyes close for one second.
Your shoulders loosen.
Your breathing evens out instantly.
Relief.
Immediate and devastating.
Like your nervous system has been waiting for permission to settle.
Bucky stares.
You realize he saw.
Embarrassment flashes across your face so fast it hurts to witness.
You pull away immediately.
“I’m okay,” you say too quickly.
Bucky says nothing.
But something ugly twists in his chest afterward.
Not disgust.
Not judgment.
Something worse.
Recognition.
He starts testing theories after that.
Not intentionally.
At least that’s what he tells himself.
You’re sitting on the couch during one of Tony’s terrible movie marathons, half asleep beneath a blanket while everyone argues over which “Die Hard” movie counts as the best one.
Your feet are tucked under you.
Your head keeps drooping.
Without thinking, Bucky reaches over and brushes your hair away from your face.
Just once.
A small movement.
Barely anything.
You freeze.
Not frightened.
Just stunned.
Then slowly—carefully—you lean into his hand.
Like it’s instinct.
Like your body chose before your brain could stop it.
Jesus Christ.
Bucky pulls his hand back immediately.
You blink yourself awake, suddenly aware of what happened.
“Sorry,” you mumble automatically.
Sorry.
Like you did something wrong.
The word slices straight through him.
“For what?” he asks quietly.
You stare at the television instead of him.
“Nothing.”
Bucky doesn’t sleep that night.
After that, it gets worse.
For both of you.
Because now Bucky knows.
And now you know he knows.
The tension changes shape.
It becomes something alive.
Something breathing between you.
Bucky starts finding excuses to touch you.
Tiny things.
A hand at your lower back guiding you through crowded rooms.
Brushing shoulders in the kitchen.
His fingers tapping against your knee during briefings.
He tells himself it’s harmless.
Friendly.
Normal.
But he notices the way your entire body softens every single time.
And you notice that he notices.
One night you fall asleep in the common room while reading.
Bucky finds you there around two in the morning.
Curled sideways on the couch.
Blanket slipping off your shoulder.
Exhaustion written all over your face.
The Tower is quiet.
Everyone asleep.
He should leave.
Instead he kneels beside the couch and carefully pulls the blanket back over you.
Your eyes flutter open immediately.
Panic first.
Then recognition.
Then something softer.
“Sorry,” you whisper groggily.
Again.
Always apologizing for existing.
Bucky’s jaw tightens.
“You gotta stop saying that.”
Your brow furrows.
“For what?”
“For wanting things.”
The room goes completely still.
You look at him like he just reached into your chest and pulled something out barehanded.
Bucky realizes too late how honest that sounded.
You swallow hard.
“I don’t know what you mean.”
He almost lets you get away with it.
Almost.
Instead he says quietly, “Nobody touches you enough.”
Your face crumples.
Not dramatically.
Not crying.
Just—
wrecked.
Like no one was ever supposed to notice that.
Bucky feels suddenly, horribly protective.
You look away first.
“I’m fine.”
“No,” he says softly. “You’re not.”
The silence afterward feels intimate in a way that terrifies both of you.
Then, carefully—slow enough for you to pull away—Bucky rests his flesh hand over yours.
Warm.
Steady.
Gentle.
You stop breathing.
And then—
you turn your hand beneath his and hold on.
It ruins everything.
Because after that, neither of you can pretend anymore.
Touch becomes dangerous.
Addictive.
You start gravitating toward him unconsciously.
Sitting beside him.
Leaning against him during briefings.
Falling asleep against his shoulder during quinjet rides.
And Bucky—
God.
Bucky becomes obsessed with taking care of you.
Not in a controlling way.
In a reverent one.
Like he’s trying to make up for every year nobody held you gently enough.
He tucks blankets around you.
Rubs your back when anxiety hits.
Lets you thread your fingers through his metal hand because you like the coolness of it against your skin.
One night after a nightmare, you end up outside his room at three in the morning.
You look mortified to be there.
“I can go,” you say immediately.
Bucky opens the door wider.
“You can stay.”
You hesitate.
“Only if you’re sure.”
He almost laughs at that.
Like you still don’t understand he’d hand you every broken piece of himself if you asked.
That night you sleep beside him for the first time.
No sex.
No kissing.
Just sleep.
Your head against his chest.
His arm around your waist.
You fall asleep in less than five minutes.
Bucky stays awake almost all night.
Because nobody has ever trusted him with softness like this before.
And because he realizes somewhere around four in the morning that he’s completely fucked.
The team notices eventually.
Sam notices first, obviously.
“You got heart eyes,” he tells Bucky over coffee.
“I’ll kill you.”
“You brush her hair behind her ear like she’s in a Jane Austen movie.”
Bucky glares at him.
Sam grins wider.
“She looks at you like you hung the moon, man.”
That shuts Bucky up.
Because that part scares him too.
You do look at him differently now.
Like he’s safe.
Like he’s home.
And Bucky has spent almost a century being neither of those things.
The first kiss happens accidentally.
Which is a lie.
Nothing between you has been accidental for months.
It happens in the kitchen.
Late.
Rain against the windows.
You’re wearing one of his henleys because you left your clothes in the wash downstairs.
Bucky is trying very hard not to think about that.
You’re standing close enough that your socked feet brush his.
Talking softly about nothing important.
Then your hand lands absently on his chest.
Just resting there.
Warm.
Trusting.
Bucky looks down at it.
Then at you.
And something in his expression must change because your breathing catches.
“Buck,” you whisper.
He gives you every chance to walk away.
You don’t.
You step closer instead.
His metal hand settles carefully against your waist like he’s afraid too much pressure will break you.
You tilt your face up.
And Bucky kisses you like a man dying of thirst.
Slow at first.
Disbelieving.
Then deeper when you make that tiny sound against his mouth.
The kind of sound that tells him this means something.
Your fingers clutch his shirt.
His heartbeat goes completely feral.
When he finally pulls back, your forehead rests against his.
Neither of you speaks.
You don’t need to.
The devastation is already complete.
Loving Bucky Barnes is not easy.
Loving you isn’t easy either.
You’re both too damaged in complementary ways.
Bucky gives touch like it’s survival.
You receive it like oxygen.
Sometimes that becomes dangerous.
There are nights he holds you so tightly it borders on desperation.
Nights you cling to him like he’s the only solid thing in the universe.
You become each other’s comfort too quickly.
Too deeply.
But somehow—
somehow—it works.
Because neither of you asks the other to be healed first.
Months later, after a mission gone sideways in Madripoor, Bucky comes back bloodied and furious and shaking with leftover violence.
You find him alone in the Tower gym at two in the morning.
His metal fist has cracked one of the punching bags clean open.
“Buck.”
“Don’t,” he says immediately.
Like he can’t bear for you to see him like this.
You walk toward him anyway.
“You’re hurt.”
“I’m fine.”
You stop directly in front of him.
His breathing is ragged.
Eyes wild around the edges.
Still halfway in combat mode.
Everyone else in the world might fear him like this.
You don’t.
Very gently, you take his flesh hand first.
Then the metal one.
“You came back,” you say softly.
The anger breaks instantly.
Just—
gone.
Bucky folds around the grief of it with a broken sound in his throat.
And suddenly he’s holding you so hard it almost hurts.
His face buried against your neck.
You stroke your fingers through his hair.
“It’s okay,” you whisper.
No one has ever held the Winter Soldier through his terror before.
No one except you.
Bucky thinks, not for the first time, that this is probably what love actually is.
Not grand gestures.
Not fireworks.
This.
Being known completely.
And held anyway.
The proposal happens almost a year later.
Quiet.
Private.
Perfect.
You’re half asleep in bed, tangled together beneath soft sheets while rain taps against the windows.
Bucky’s tracing lazy patterns along your spine.
Your fingers are linked with his metal hand.
Comfortable silence.
Home.
Then suddenly he says, very seriously, “Marry me.”
You blink up at him.
“What?”
His expression turns nervous immediately, which is honestly absurd considering this is James Buchanan Barnes.
“I’m serious.”
“You’re asking me while I look like this?”
“You look beautiful.”
“I’m wearing an old Stark Industries shirt and one sock.”
“You still look beautiful.”
You laugh softly.
Then realize he isn’t joking.
Your chest aches instantly.
“Bucky…”
He brings your joined hands to his mouth.
Kisses your knuckles carefully.
“I spent a real long time thinking I was too broken for this,” he says quietly. “Then you walked in and started looking at me like I was worth something.”
Tears sting your eyes immediately.
“You are worth something.”
His thumb brushes beneath your eye.
“And you deserve to be loved out loud. Deserve to be held whenever you need it. Deserve somebody who notices.”
Your breath shakes.
“Buck—”
“I notice everything about you.”
That does it.
That destroys you completely.
Because he does.
He notices when you’re overwhelmed before you say anything.
Notices when you need quiet.
Notices when you’re touch-starved and crawling out of your own skin from loneliness.
Notices when you need his hand on the back of your neck to ground you again.
He notices.
And he never makes you feel ashamed for needing.
“Yes,” you whisper, crying now. “Yes, of course I’ll marry you.”
Bucky exhales like he’s been holding that breath for decades.
Then he kisses you.
Slow.
Tender.
Certain.
The kind of kiss that feels like being chosen.
And afterward you curl into him instinctively, your face tucked against his chest while his arms close around you immediately.
Automatic now.
Natural as breathing.
Bucky presses his mouth against your hair and thinks, with something dangerously close to peace, that maybe ruin isn’t always a bad thing.
Because figuring out you were touch-starved ruined both of your lives.
A/N: Another one for the disabled and sick chicks. This story comes from a very vulnerable place for me, and my struggles over the past few months with body image and coming to terms with my own limitations. All bodies are beautiful, whether you’re fit, jacked, skinny, curvy, disabled, and anywhere in between. Mine is too, and I’m trying to remember that. All my love <3
Tags: Fem!Reader, Body Image, Chronic Illness, Disability, Chronic Pain, Chronic Fatigue, Flare-ups, Sick-Fic, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Physio/Physical Therapy, Amputee Bucky, Slice of Life, Established Relationship, Married Couple, Acts of Service, Domestic Fluff, Thunderbolts!Bucky
When Bucky enters the gym at the Watchtower, it knows to fear him. Stern brow and taped fists, he lays into the punching bag with brutal, practiced precision until it gives up plumes of dust, only to then bench press triple his body weight like it’s nothing more than the bar itself. The air smells like metal and rubber and sweat, beads of it running down and along his sharp lines, gluing his loose hair to his face and seeping through his workout gear and with every laboured breath.
But when you linger self-consciously in the doorframe, shrinking in on yourself as if you don’t belong, the folded sheet of paper with your regimen scribbled on it in ballpoint pen clutched between your fingers, the world decelerates and his jagged edges soften. Bucky’s eyes crinkle at the corners as he admires you and urges you forward. For a moment you feel a little taller.
It’s a battle just to be awake some days, let alone function. Physiotherapy is its own special brand of torture. Your energy is finite and fluctuating, results varied. The last gym, filled with its countless athletes and other perfect specimens of health and wellness, had only rubbed salt in the wound. You knew you could never be like one of the girls with their hair bouncing in time with their footfalls on the treadmill, or the ones with the worn out power belts that deadlift and it shows. No, you were an imposter in spandex, stewing in your own frustration that the universe had set your starting line so far back and pushed everyone else’s forward. It’s all you can do just to survive without crumbling into dust at a mundane task that sends your body over the edge.
The gym at the Tower seems no different on the surface. There’s still steel beams and concrete walls, monochrome colours and exposed bulbs. Individuals who move like water and hit like trucks train to carry the whole city on their shoulders, but this space has something the others didn’t, and if anyone could make you feel welcome in it, it would be your Bucky.
Bucky knew training. His form had been built on conditioning and discipline and blood. He had long cursed the protocols that were burned into him, but not if they could be made of use to you. He just had to make them…softer. Kinder. You didn’t have to hate it like he had.
It didn’t have to break you. And it wouldn’t, not if he could help it.
He’ll make your mats and resistance bands materialize out of thin air, laid out before you even step over the threshold. He takes your water bottle, the one in your favourite colour because it always brings a bit more light into your eyes, and fills with your choice of electrolytes from the stash he keeps, the condensation cold against your palm. He’s already got your playlist queued on the stereo system, filled with pop anthems and empowerment because he knows that his words alone aren’t enough some days.
There are days where you are in such pain that he is helpless to do anything other than comfort you. But any day that you are able to do something to build up yourself after crashing down, Bucky considers a good day, and he will stop at nothing to remove every obstacle in your path so you can do so.
He had stumbled across your physio binder while tidying up your bedroom one weekend. Page protectors stashed beneath your old workout clothes, filled with diagrams and exercises he had not once seen you doing.
“Hey, doll?”
“Yeah?” you’d called back from inside the walk-in closet—you had to admit, Valentina had great choice in design—where you were finally getting around to putting away your clean clothes.
He flipped through the pages. “Are you supposed to be doing this stuff?”
“What stuff?” Your poked your head out and scowled when you saw what balanced across his palms. “Hey! Don’t touch that!”
“M’sorry, didn’t mean to snoop but…sweetheart, this is important. Especially for you.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?” You ripped the binder out from his fingers and slammed the cover shut, shoving it into the nearest drawer with a thud, just to get it out of sight. “It’s not like it’s going to cure me, James.”
James. Oh, you were pissed. Bucky tread carefully from there, trailing behind as you stomped back into the closet and threw his dress shirts onto hangers with fire.
“I didn’t mean it like that. Just…this could make things more comfortable for you.” He encircled you from behind, arms wrapped loose around your waist. You didn’t push him away, which he took as a good sign. “Honey. You know I’ll never push you to do more than you can. You know that.”
The hot, frustrated tears that coated your cheeks had started to dry down and make your face feel tight. You tipped your head back to rest against his shoulder but let your face fall to the side to hide your dour features.
“I’m sorry. I know how difficult things are for you right now. I see it, alright? How hard you’ve got to work just to get through the day. I promise, it does not go unnoticed. And all I want is to support you through that.”
The tightening of his hold, that stable, comforting squeeze, was proof enough. Your walls began to splinter at his acknowledgement, coaxing out a whimper you couldn’t quite swallow.
“So maybe we can just do a little. Once a week, to start? You could even come down when I’m working out and we can do them together. How’s that sound?”
“I don’t know, Buck…”
“Hey, that’s alright. You don’t have to decide right now, just think about it. But I’ve got to know…”
You braced for impact.
“There’s a lot of papers in there. Takes time to accumulate all that. You must’ve been going pretty regularly at some point, so why’d you stop?”
You sniffled. “Wasn’t working…”
“Wasn’t working how, sweetheart?”
“…I tried so hard, did everything right. For months. Never missed a day or appointment. I was proud of myself. I felt stronger. Then I got hurt again, like I hadn’t done it at all. All that work, all that energy and effort, and it hadn’t mattered.” The tears wanted to well up again. Bucky hummed, letting you vent without intrusion. “It’s never going to fix me. So why bother?”
“Because it’s good for you, honey. It’s good to move, good to sweat a little. So we won’t push so hard, no big deal. I can find ways to motivate you and make it easier to manage. But I think a little is better than nothing, don’t you?”
You didn’t want to admit it, but he was right.
“…Okay,” you conceded.
“Yeah?”
“Yeah.”
He planted his hands on your shoulders whipped around to press a wet kiss to your cheek from behind, stubble scratching at your skin. “Okay.”
So, it begins.
He waits for a day that your schedule is light to breach the topic again. Even then, there’s no pressure. Just an offer, and an enticing one at that. Bucky Barnes is not above bribery.
“I’m heading up to the gym if you want to come along? I’ll take my shirt off,” he teases with a cheeky wink. You just roll your eyes, but follow along anyway.
Hook, line and sinker. Because yes, you would very much like to see that.
You find him on the couch one night, so late it’s early, reading by lamplight. Sleep evades you, and as you try to tiptoe across to the kitchen for a nice cup of tea, the pages come into view. He’s not reading one of his beloved fantasy novels tonight. No, these are…scientific articles, dozens of them. All about your condition. Research papers and medical studies arranged around him like battle plans.
“Super-soldier hearing, doll,” He murmurs, not even having to look up from the paragraph he’s engrossed in.
“Sorry, I didn’t want to disturb you.”
“You’re never a disturbance. Do you need something?”
“No, I’m alright. What are you reading?”
He sucks you into his orbit, your sleepy delirium no match for the warm arms that pull you toward the couch and into the cushions. “Want to make sure I understand what we’re up against here. Everything you’re dealing with, so I’m not pestering you with questions all hours of the day.”
“I don’t mind…” you yawn.
“I know, and thank you, but it shouldn’t have to be your responsibility alone. You can use that energy better elsewhere. M’sure I’ll still have things to ask you, these things can’t teach me everything. Just want to help the best I can.”
“What did I do to deserve you?”
“I ask myself the same thing every day I get to wake up with you beside me.”
Bucky is true to his word. He gets up early and preps with the same intensity he would for an op. Your chores disappear from your to-do list one by one, checked off with the sunrise and morning traffic as the backdrop. Smoothies appear in the fridge, protein powder and creatine masked by yogurt and fresh berries, and a truly overwhelming amount of banana. He’s folded and put away your clean clothes exactly where they belong, with the occasional sweet note pressed inbetween that flutters out when you pull them from the dresser.
A routine begins to take shape, and it feels like the sun coming out from behind the clouds. Your muscles loosen. Your head feels clear.
For a while you can almost forget about the pain.
For a while it works.
Until it doesn’t.
As soon as you open your eyes that morning, you’re near tears. They hover at the surface, threatening to overflow at the slightest inconvenience. You ache down to the marrow of your bones. Consciousness itself weighs down on you like a sandbag. All the strength you can muster goes into lifting the covers and putting your feet on the floor.
The moment he lays eyes on you after you’ve dragged yourself out of the bedroom, he knows. And you shatter.
“I was doing so well…” the words quiver as you voice them.
He moves like a bullet, discarding whatever he had in hand and bundling you against his chest before the first cry pierces the air.
“I hate this…I hate my body,” you sob into his sweatshirt, until wet patches bloom across the knit and you’re gasping between words. “I can’t even do something as simple as get up in the morning without it all falling apart!”
With his fingers threaded through your hair, Bucky holds you close so you don’t have to see the way he has to stare up at the ceiling and bite his lip or the tear that slips past his defences.
“Please don’t say that. I love this body. She works so hard, and she never gives up. Not once. She knows what she’s got to do, you just have to give her time…Look how far you’ve come already.”
“But I’m so tired…”
You mean it more than most people do. It’s deeper than that, and Bucky understands the words don’t do it justice. It means you are fed up. It means you are in pain. It means you’re at your limit, backed against the edge and teetering.
“C’mere,” he purrs, “let’s get you to back to bed, alright? I’ll make you something to eat, and we can have a slow day together.”
“M’sorry…”
Bucky steadies you as you amble back down the hall, the sheets still warm when he pulls them over you. “Not sorry,” he rumbles and kisses your forehead. “Just say thank you. I’ll take care of everything. You rest.”
He raids the kitchen for every indulgent comfort food he can find on short notice, bundling up as much as he can carry and depositing the spread across the bedside table to be forgotten about in favour of sprawling across the mattress and cradling you against him. He rubs your back until your heart rate attempts to match his and your breathing evens.
“…how did you do it?” you finally ask as the weepiness begins to leave you.
“Do what, doll?”
“Cope. With having no control over the changes that happened to your body.”
“You talking about my arm?”
You nod. He sighs.
“It took a long time, not to be at odds with it or be bothered by it. When I finally got the chance to process what happened…I can’t say that there wasn’t grief. Or anger, because there was a lot of that. I spent a long cursing Hydra, the fall, the war. I was mad at the world for doing this to me, because I knew I didn’t deserve it. And you don’t deserve this kind of pain, either. There’s no reason for it, you didn’t do anything wrong. But I had to learn that in order to live our lives and get through the day, we have to roll with the punches it throws at us. And yes, that sucks, and yes, it’s not fair, but we’ll never get anywhere if we stay stuck in the things we can’t change. Do you understand what I’m saying?”
You hum.
“You’re going to have days like today. But you’re also going to have so many good ones. It might not balance out, but it’s enough to keep going. You’re allowed to be pissed and frustrated or cry until you’re all shrivelled like a raisin,” he exhales in a chuckle. “You need to take a break, shut out the world for a while? We’ll take a break. You want to get angry and punch something? We can spar and you can give it to me with everything you’ve got to spare. But you can’t just give up, because good days are coming. I will be your crutch, I will be your advocate, your shield, your cheerleader. Anything you need to make it to tomorrow so you can have them.”
“…But I can’t help but feel…like I’m a burden on you.”
You might as well have slapped Bucky across the face. Shame rolls off of you as the ugly thought that has lurked in the back of your head for far too long claws its way to the surface, unable to meet his eyes as you say it. He bolts up, propped on his elbow to face you head-on with a determination in his eyes that you’ve never seen to such an extent. The grip of his hand clutching yours leaves no room for you to run.
“Listen to me. You are not a burden. You are the greatest thing that has ever happened to me. You give me purpose, and strength and joy that I never thought I’d get to have. I love you, and I love caring for you. Don’t think for a second that I don’t want to do this. I am exactly where I want to be.” He states it like an indisputable fact, and it tugs at something in your chest like a loose thread, threatening to unravel your whole worldview with a single motion.
“I don’t know what I’d do without you.”
“Good thing you don’t have to worry about that, then.”
When you start to giggle and crack a smile again, red-rimmed eyes scrunched up in delight as you curl further into him, it’s infectious. His thumb skirts across your cheek and smooths your hair in tender passes “There’s my girl. One day at a time, alright? Think we can do that?”
“One day at a time.”
A/N: Thank you to my physiotherapist for rolling with the punches with me. You’re a real one, Steve.
Masterlist — I do not consent to my work being re-uploaded, translated or fed into AI. Taglist
Pairing: 40s!Bucky Barnes x reader.
Tags: AU where Bucky doesn't fall from that train. Fluff. Strangers to lovers. Mild fake-dating. Rain confessions. Peggy Carter and Steve Rogers play cupids. 4k words. This was suggested by @j3susforlif3 <3
Warnings: canon divergences. Possible grammar or spelling mistakes. Kissing, confessions, making out. Very brief mentions of period-typical misogyny (not from any of our lovely characters). A few uses of the word Y/N
Synopsis: After a chance encounter makes Bucky Barnes aware of your existence, he becomes determined to take you out on a date. The group of old ladies at church has been asking where your boyfriend was for months. What's your deal? If Bucky can pretend to be your loving boyfriend for one afternoon, he earns himself an actual date.
Wind wrapped around the buildings of the city. Old newspapers and fallen leaves danced through the streets. People clutched their hats and jackets, shielding themselves with their arms or briefcases. November was taking a step to the side, and so was the autumn, saying goodbye with one of the windiest days one had seen in years.
Your day had been a mess all around. During the hours of the night, your cat had kicked your alarm clock off your nightstand, shattering the glass against your floor. You had only found out about it that morning, when your mother had practically stormed into your room, reminding you that you were half an hour late to work.
Peggy—God bless her soul—had managed to cover up for you. A woman in a rank as yours walked a thin line: one tiny mistake, a drop of coffee on the afternoon reports or a misspelt surname on somebody's forms and you were as good as gone.
The SSR headquarters were bursting with employees walking from one room to the other when you arrived. That was the kind of chaos you had always known was there but had never noticed. Usually, by the time most of the workers arrived at the place, you were long since buried in work. Arriving early was a comfortable routine.
Not today, though.
Everything that could have gone wrong went wrong. Your desk was clogged with enough files to last you an entire week. For the sake of maintaining a calm mind, you had chosen to ignore the five men who had given you disapproving glances. On top of that, Peggy had arrived with two new transcriptions of intercepted transmissions for you two to decode.
After a full day stuck at your desk, you were at your wits' end. So when the cold afternoon wind hit your face, you had little energy in you to care. You had only one goal in mind: go to your favourite bar. It was small and usually not busy. The owner was a friend of your family's who always received you with open arms and a drink.
The bell over the door rang when you walked in. The shelter of four walls and a rooftop allowed you to sigh in relief. You sat down by the bar, on the same seat you had occupied since you could remember.
Mr Davis was the owner of the place. "Y/N!" he exclaimed with joy, whipping his hands with a cloth before making his way towards you. "My dear! How are you? Do you want the usual?"
"I'm good enough." You smiled and brushed your hair back into place with your hands. "Not today. Coffee will do."
"Coffee? At this hour?" he asked, surprised, and got working on your order nonetheless.
"Long day at work. And I still have some files to go over when I get home. I need the boost."
Mr Davis clicked his tongue. "You've been working too hard. You need to take a break. Hilda told me to invite you and your folks to dinner the next time you show up 'round here. Consider this my formal invitation."
You laughed. The Davises had never had any children, and growing up, you had been like a niece to them.
Mr Davis served you your coffee and then paused. His eyes looked ahead, at one of the tables near the back of the shop. Two men sat there. One with blonde hair, sitting upright, and the other one with blue eyes and a lazy smirk.
"There are two fellas looking your way." He grumbled like a protective father. "Should I say anything to them?"
"What?" You turned around to see what he was talking about. He was right; one of the boys was looking directly at you with no remorse whatsoever.
"It's all right. Nothing that hasn't happened before," you brushed off with a wave of your hand. Mr Davis shrugged his shoulders.
Over at the table by the window, a whole other conversation was unravelling. James 'Bucky' Barnes had his chin rested on the palm of his hand as his elbow supported his weight on the table. His pink lips were curled into the kind of smirk he played whenever he got his eyes on something that she wanted.
"Huh, and she's friends with the owner." Bucky drawled out. His eyes were glued on you. On the way, you sipped your coffee, taking pauses not to burn your tongue. On how beautiful your face looked framed by the few hairs that the wind had blown astray.
"I know her." Steve commented, taking a sip of his drink. That caught Bucky's attention.
"And you're only mentioning that now?" His eyes widened, almost baffled that his friend hadn't revealed that information sooner.
Steve shrugged. "I thought you had recognised her, too. She works at the SSR. Same department as Peggy—a friend of hers, actually."
"Huh," Bucky chuckled to himself. "Now this just makes everything better."
—
The days that followed, you were a staple in James Barnes' mind. He hadn't expected you to be. Bucky was always one to notice pretty ladies and was definitely not short on charm. Usually, he asked girls out to dance only to forget their names by the second week that followed. It's not that he meant to be a skirt chaser; he just hadn't yet found anyone who managed to charm him enough.
Until you came along.
Bucky went from never having recognised you around the building to seeing you everywhere, every single day. You lingered a lot by the coffee machine, Bucky had first noticed. You wore mainly blue dresses and the same heels every day. On Wednesdays, your hair was usually tied, and you had the habit of tilting your head whenever you laughed. Adorable.
One morning, Bucky stood with a forgotten glass of water in his hand, watching you as you took a few leather folders off the shelves before sliding them back in, but into a different spot.
"You're staring, pal," Steve commented, hands on the pockets of his trousers.
"Every time somebody stacks a file in the wrong folder, she personally rearranges it. Can you believe that?" Bucky's voice came out quiet and admiring.
Steve patted him on the shoulder before shaking his head in amusement and walking away. Bucky barely looked away from your figure when he did.
"I think it's working. At least it's definitely working on his side." Steve mumbled once he reached Peggy.
She dropped the book she had been holding and smiled. "Only on his side?"
"They haven't exactly talked yet. Bucky saw her at the bar you told us to go to and has been looking for her everywhere since. He's observing and not acting—which, honestly, is unusual for him."
Peggy hummed. "I'll take care of it."
—
That same afternoon, Peggy found you at your desk. You were yawning and rubbing your eyes to try to keep yourself awake. One of your cheeks was reddened for having rested it against your knuckles for too long.
"Hello, busy lady," she said softly as she walked in. "Can't have you sleeping at work."
"You're right, Peg. I'm so sorry, I—"
She cut you off before you could continue. You didn't have to apologise to her, ever. She knew exactly how hard you worked and how much your job mattered to you.
"I have something that might wake you up. If you could be so kind, please find Sergeant James Barnes and have him fill these out." She placed yet another stack of paper on your desk.
She walked out, almost biting her lip. A nudge in the right direction, that was all. Bucky Barnes would certainly be capable of waking you up and hopefully even charm you enough to agree to go on a date with him.
You would get on like a house on fire. Bucky was all easy charm but also had a big heart. You were more than witty enough to keep up with him and grounded and welcoming in a way that would accept his hopes and fears.
For months you had complained about men who only talked about their accounting jobs and didn't bother holding doors open. Men who would cut dates short because they wanted to catch something specific on the radio, or men who would step on your feet when dancing.
During one of their dates, Peggy had told Steve how upset she was that she could always go out with him but had to leave you behind. She had fallen in love with a truly amazing man, and she wanted the same for you. Ergo, plan Bucky.
—
Bucky looked bored out of his mind. He was slumped on his chair by the time you found him. His pen had been set aside. A choice he had made to fight against the urge to scribble over the table like a schoolboy.
The cuffs of his shirt were wrinkled, certainly not the way he wanted to look when you shared your first conversation. He had it all planned out. He would comb his hair using that expensive hair gel he had bought for his sister's wedding and wear that tie with the red lines that his mother always insisted made him look more handsome.
Bucky had a whole suave speech rehearsed in his head. He would brush his arm against yours when walking towards the coffee machine and drop the witty comment that better suited the day. Something about a co-worker, or the news, or the weather, or music and literature if he had the luck to find out what you were interested in.
But fate works in interesting ways. "Sergeant Barnes?"
Bucky's gaze lifted from the wooden table. The moment he realised just who was standing in front of him, he stopped like a deer caught in the headlights. Your earrings were shaped like two flowers, and your lips were coloured red like a rose—would you like it if he gave you roses? Did you prefer some other flower? Or would that perhaps be too bold? Bucky didn't know you, after all. But, oh, he wanted to.
You cleared your throat, calling his name a second time. "Mr Barnes?"
Bucky shook his head as the embarrassment struck him back to reality. "Hello…ma'am… yes, yes, that would be me. Just 'Bucky', please."
"Right, Bucky." You paused, smiling through the briefly awkward moment. You opened the folder that held the files and dropped them on his desk. James Buchanan Barnes. Twenty-seven. Unmarried. Fought in World War Two. Former Howling Commando.
"Howling Commandos, huh? I think I've heard about you," you murmured, hands clasped together over your lap.
Bucky's heartbeat tripped. You had heard about him—even if just a glimpse of his name, you knew who he was. "Well, thank you. I'd like to think we did some good."
You hummed to yourself. "So do I."
A beat of silence followed as Bucky filled out the various blank spaces. You looked at him. The way he almost pouted when he focused and how he almost seemed to whisper the words he was reading to himself.
"You work here awhile?" said Bucky after a few more moments.
"Me? Yeah, for a couple of years already. Joined a few months after Peggy."
"Huh. It's odd we haven't crossed paths before. I would certainly remember if I had met someone as beau—interesting as you before." That Bucky Barnes smirk was starting to crawl onto his features again. The boy had his moves planned out like a chess player about to win a tournament.
"Interesting?" you laughed, just as he had intended you to do. "You barely know me. How do you know I don't live in an apartment with no furniture and have no hobbies outside of my job?"
"I'm good at reading people. As for me not knowing you well yet, there's a very easy solution to that. And you're in luck, doll, because I am very happy to oblige." He leaned back on his chair, almost too sure of himself, with his arms open and inviting.
"You're asking me out on a date, James Barnes? Right here at work?" you teased him. This man was amusing, and there was no way that you would make things easy for him.
"Our shifts end in two hours. I can ask you again by the entrance at six sharp if you'd like."
"Very well," you finally agreed. "Find me, then."
—
Time flew after that conversation. What had gotten into you? You were an independent woman, not a teenager who blushed over some pretty fella winking an eye at her and asking her to meet him after school. And there you were, with your pulse raised high due to something other than caffeine.
You couldn't explain this feeling, and neither did you want to. Bucky was a guy you had only just met but who you had been aware of for a while. He had that about himself; he was impossible not to notice.
Hanging out with him could certainly do you no damage, right? After all, almost every old lady in town had been beginning to wonder why a woman as beautiful as you had found no partner yet. Which led you to the perfect idea.
If Bucky were truly determined to show he was a good man for you, he would certainly have no trouble in going with you to the local church's event on Sunday. For the last few years, you had been attending those simply because the ladies liked having you there. You were a young woman with a lot of charm who was always interested in hearing their stories and sharing gossip.
Over time, however, the conversations shifted away from Mrs Hughes' husband and Lillian's wild teenage boyfriends and closer to your romantic life. Just when would you bring a handsome man on your arm, they wondered.
That very weekend was the answer.
When Bucky found you by the exit of the SSR building, looking a wee bit too sure of yourself, he knew trouble was coming—and he, for one, loved trouble.
"Here I was thinking I would have to convince you to let me take you out, but that face tells me you already got a plan of your own." Bucky crossed his arms and leaned against the wall.
You smirked, crossed your arms and took a step closer. "If you want to play this game, we will play it for real. The ladies at church have been insisting I bring a man over to their events."
Bucky's face brightened with mischief. "I see where you're getting at. I stand by your side, on your arm, all afternoon long. I ain't against the idea of it, doll, but it's not exactly what I had in mind when I pictured us going on a date."
"That's where my deal goes," you continued. "If you successfully manage to pretend that we've been in love for months in front of the ladies—who, believe me, have the sharpest instinct for lies and terrible men that I've ever seen—you win yourself a date. For real. Just you and I."
Bucky paused, pretending to weigh out his options while knowing perfectly well what his answer would be. "Now we are speaking the same language. Don't wear your nicest dress on Sunday; save that one for our date."
If those were your terms, then so be it. Bucky would learn to play by your rules.
—
Bucky picked you up early that day. He wore a suit much better tailored than the ones you had seen him wear at work. His hair was combed back—he looked every bit the gentleman he wanted to show you that he could be.
He was smiling easily, pretending as though he hadn't been thinking of this all week long. "Well, good afternoon, sweetheart."
You laughed and closed the front door behind you. "You are getting a tad too easy on those pet names."
Bucky shrugged and offered his arm out for you to take. "Me? I'm just getting into character. Making sure I am in the right mindset if I have to pretend to be your fella all afternoon long."
Bucky's family owned an expensive car, which he had parked right in front of your house. It was New York, but the war and the previous economic crisis had made cars a rather rare sight. There was more behind James Barnes than what you had expected. The distance to Mrs Wiley—Rosie, as she always insisted that you called—was short enough to walk, but Bucky had insisted on driving you.
He opened the door for you, of course. He drove slowly and made just the right amount of small talk. You discussed what your story should be. How you met, where your first date had been, and which song you liked to dance to together the most. Bucky told you about his interests and paid particular attention when you told him yours.
Mrs Witley's house was a light colour, and the gates on the front were adorned with various types of flowers. On the back, she had an even wider garden. Every time, she insisted on hosting the meetings and events. She had the habit of serving everyone more tea than what they could actually drink.
Bucky was standing up straight and with his chin up. His arm had been laced through yours. He knocked on the door and waited for a reply.
"Are you nervous?" You asked him.
He shook his head, self-assured. "Not one bit. Too busy thinking about where I'm taking you afterwards."
Before you could bite back, the door was opened. "Y/N, darling! Finally, you're here. And Christopher Columbus, you brought a man with you."
Bucky smiled and nodded his head. "Pleasure to meet you, ma'am. I'm James."
"Come in, you two. I must tell all the ladies that you have finally found yourself someone!"
The rest of the women were gathered around a table in the backyard. They were sharing stories but completely quieted when you walked in. All of their gazes turned towards you in adoration.
Rosie grabbed Bucky by the arm, affectionately pulling him in front of you. "This is James—look at him!"
All the ladies gasped, some even standing up and walking towards you. "Is it true?" Lillian asked you, "Are you truly going steady?"
You laughed and you nodded, squeezing Bucky's arm. In return, he smiled sweetly. "Yes, yes we are."
"Tell us, James, how did you meet? What do you do for a living? Are you certain you treat her fairly?" They asked all at once.
Bucky chuckled. One flash of his baby blue eyes, and he had each and every one of the ladies under his spell. Bucky Barnes was handsome and charming and knew exactly how to use that to his advantage.
He complimented their dresses and the food. He scratched whatever his ma had told him about flowers and used it to create small talk with Mrs Witley. From time to time, he kissed you on your cheek and whispered something in your ear. You leaned against him and sipped your tea.
"Let us tell you, James, we've been waiting forever for her to bring somebody for us to meet," Mrs Hughes added. "She's such a lovely young girl, and we're more than thrilled that she's found you."
"Thank you, ma'am. I'm just doing what any man in his right mind would do." Bucky's hand brushed your back. His head stood high, as though he were proud of himself.
"You remind me of a boy I used to know when I was twenty-three. Oh, the old times," Lillian lamented. "I always thought I would marry him. He had the same eyes as you."
Bucky laughed. "Well, I don't make it a habit to break hearts. There's nothing for you ladies to worry about." They all cooed in return. One of them even started to whisper about wedding plans: which dress would look the best on you, if your hair should be braided, and who they were or were not inviting.
Bucky smirked and turned to look at you. He leaned down and pressed his lips against your ear. "You better have nothing to do tomorrow night, 'cause I'm claiming that date you owe me." His breath was warm, and his words made you feel giddier than they had the right to.
"I guess you've won, then," you sighed out, surrendering and not complaining.
"You ever doubt me?"
—
By the time the meeting ended, clouds had cast over the sky. The chatter had extended longer than you had intended. The ladies had been all too preoccupied with the boy in your arm.
"I didn't mean for this to drag out this long, Bucky. I'm sorry." You apologised once outside the house.
"None of that. My pleasure."
Then, hesitantly, you stepped closer. You rose on your tiptoes and placed your hand on his arm for balance. You pressed your lips against Bucky's cheek, and he nearly melted on the spot. Thunder rumbled in the distance. "I'll see you tomorrow."
"You're not walking home. It's about to rain. Let me drive you, please." Bucky begged, almost, in a low murmur.
"Alright."
He drove you home quietly. Over the span of a single afternoon, you had grown comfortable with his presence. You had expected it to be hard, to struggle to hold Bucky and smile as though you were in love with him. You thought that he would stumble over his words and act like a man who was just eager to get his prized date.
You made dating look believable, and maybe you believed it, too.
When Bucky pulled over by your house, you knew exactly what to do. Rain droplets stained your hair and clothes, and he had insisted on getting rained on with you. Under the storm, Bucky looked more electrifying than ever. He opened the door of the car, stepping aside for you to get off.
"Bucky," you murmured.
He hummed in response instantly. His lips were parted and his face was too close. You had stopped breathing because there was something else you needed. "I actually enjoyed today."
"Me too. Good that you did, because I ain't letting go of you now."
You stepped closer, heart on your throat. "Don't you dare."
Before you could notice, your lips were on his. With a rush of boldness that you had no idea where it had come from, you pulled him by the shirt. Bucky Barnes wasn't a fool, so he kissed you back. He wrapped one arm around your waist; it was warm despite the rain, and it made your whole body tingle. His free hand cupped your cheek, angling your face just right.
He wouldn't let you pull away, and you could not find it in you to complain. You hooked both of your arms around his neck. Bucky kissed you deeper, and you bit his lip. He laughed and squeezed your waist to scold you.
Once he was done kissing you silly, he pulled away. You were soaking wet and breathless. "Bold," Bucky whispered.
"You bring that out," you replied. When Bucky tried to slowly strip himself away from you, you pulled him back in. "Come in," you said, nodding towards your house. "You'll catch a cold."
"I think the chatter about dating me might've got to your head. Don't your parents live there?"
"They do, yes." You looked unfazed by what you were suggesting.
"You think I should meet your ma? After I just kissed her daughter like that? How am I supposed to explain all this?" He gestured to both of you—the wet clothes, the messy hair.
"Good for you, James Barnes; you are very good at inventing stories."
This list will be updated regularly! Kindly give these authors your thanks with your love, likes, reblogs and comments for their efforts!
*contains mature content or has been marked as 18+ by author. Please respect their wishes for MDNI.
Jackass - @aquaticmercy
Everyone is horrified that Bucky is flirting with a married woman, but then they realise there's a reason why.
Touch and Go* - @crybabycabin
he's the winter soldier, and you're just you. but when your skin touches his, he becomes bucky barnes again. (or: the soulmate fic where touch is everything and bucky barnes will fight his way back to you, one broken memory at a time.)
Barnes Family Circus - @danysdaughter
bucky barnes thought saving the world was hard—then he tried running the household for a single day while you were sick.
First Class* - @superbassbuck
Bucky is the pilot everyone knows. Top of his game, perfect safety record, and no room for nonsense on his flights. He doesn't chat much with the crew—rarely even cracks a smile. He's respected, but also feared. But when you—his wife—is on board, he turns into complete mush.
Sweet On The Job - @danysdaughter
when newly-appointed congressman bucky barnes reluctantly hires the sweetest, most radiant assistant imaginable, he doubts your place in the cutthroat world of politics—until you prove you can run it and melt his guard all at once.
The Winter Sodlier - @knowledgeableknitter
Once a soldier, now a suburban dad, Bucky Barnes wages war on crabgrass and lawn fungus, to build a safe, joyful home for his son.
The Quiet Side of Thunder* - @fawniswriting
When a visit to his office leaves you shaken, Bucky becomes determined to take care of you.
The Year I Came Home - @heldbybarnes
"The tango isn’t just a dance—it’s a confession. And tonight, Bucky bares his soul to the world." Part IV of The Mirrorball Effect
Blood Upon the Snow - @cheekybarnes
You’re bleeding out alone in the snow and your brain does the only mercy it has left: runs every version of Bucky Barnes you’ve ever known in hopes that the real one makes it in time.
Rivers Edge* - @wildflowersandvibranium
You live alone in a secluded woodland cottage, your life is peaceful, shaped by nature and routine. Until one autumn morning brings an unexpected intrusion when a wounded stranger appears at the rivers edge.
The Rented Boyfriend - @heldbybarnes
you hire bucky barnes to pose as your boyfriend for a chaotic family reunion. it’s supposed to be a one-weekend performance… until his possessive touches and the way he looks at you stop feeling like an act.
Salt & Steel - @ilovolderman
After saving a pirate from drowning, you spend more days together than planned. You grow closer, and what was meant to be a short stay becomes harder to leave.
The Strawberries - @godmadeaterribleerror
Bucky keeps you secret from his team, but your effect on his life might not be something he can hide.
Elevator, Baby!* - @aquaticmercy
The team thinks Bucky has a crush on the tower’s interior designer. They don’t know that they’re already married.
Isn’t it Obvious? - @knowledgeableknitter
Bucky is recognized in a bar, you confront (and punch) the drunkard who made a hurtful ‘Winter Soldier’ comment. Bucky pulls you away and asks why you care so much. Isn’t it obvious?
Lipstick Stains - @aquaticmercy
You leave lipstick marks on Bucky’s face.
Overkill - @crybabycabin
a minor car accident, a sprained wrist, and a seventeen-year-old who learns exactly why you don't rear-end the winter soldier's girlfriend.
Return to Sender - @semper-nox
In present-day Britain, you buy a small wooden box at a flea market and find a bundle of unsent WWII letters addressed to Bucky Barnes, written by his mother and sister. You mail them back with a brief note, expecting nothing. What you get instead is a quiet, steady correspondence, and the slow, gentle way two lonely people learn to trust the page.
Anesthesia Haze - @w1nter-fairy
After waking up from surgery still under anesthesia, you meet a ridiculously pretty stranger who claims to be your boyfriend. Convinced he's too perfect to be real, you spend the next hour flirting with him.
People Watching - @jamesbbcrnes
after the funeral of his sister, bucky finds himself sitting in a park. your dog crashes into him, spills his coffee, and the rest is history.
Sticky Confessions - @juniebjonesin
bucky moves into your spare room expecting nothing more than four walls and a place to sleep. instead, he finds floor-to-ceiling bookshelves, sticky note conversations, late-night takeout, and a girl who always puts herself last.
Hey, does anybody knows any "Bucky x Reader" fics where reader is sick and he's taking care of them? I'm sick and tired, almost died from my treatment and having some stomach issues..
I'm kinda needing some comfort Bucky stuff because usually I don't have anyone to take care of me and need to do it by myself.
So if you could recommend a few stories for me I would appreciate so much. You can DM me, comment or even reblog this with recommendations.
(ALERT! This isn't my art, just a few random pictures that makes me feel like he's holding me while my world is ruining)
Hey, does anybody knows any "Bucky x Reader" fics where reader is sick and he's taking care of them? I'm sick and tired, almost died from my treatment and having some stomach issues..
I'm kinda needing some comfort Bucky stuff because usually I don't have anyone to take care of me and need to do it by myself.
So if you could recommend a few stories for me I would appreciate so much.
(ALERT! This isn't my art, just a few random pictures that makes me feel like he's holding me while my world is ruining)
Hey, does anybody knows any "Bucky x Reader" fics where reader is sick and he's taking care of them? I'm sick and tired, almost died from my treatment and having some stomach issues..
I'm kinda needing some comfort Bucky stuff because usually I don't have anyone to take care of me and need to do it by myself.
So if you could recommend a few stories for me I would appreciate so much. You can DM me, comment or even reblog this with recommendations.
(ALERT! This isn't my art, just a few random pictures that makes me feel like he's holding me while my world is ruining)
