This world is an illusion, making you run mad after success, money and seek validation from idiots. Life always gives us new problems and pain. I like to come to my retreat to forget everything and transport myself to a dreamland. I do love to write fanfics. It is something I am passionate about but I have been in a 11 year hiatus. So I have stuck to reading for now. I love gardening, cooking, doing home projects. But goddamn do I hate cleaning. I love my kids to death but cleaning up after them is just a neverending chore. Enough of my rant... Back to reading...
A/N: It has been 12 years since I have written anything. I keep dreaming of writing again one day. I barely have time for myself, so it never happens. Today I really wanted to break the ice. Just wrote a little drabble that has been on my mind and writing it in midnight middle of my sleep.
P.S. Don't have time to do any form of proofreading. Just typing in my phone.
Warnings: None.
What took you so long?
48 hours ago, if anyone had told Bucky that this would be his future, he would have awkwardly laughed it off. His life always seems to take the most dramatic and surreal turns.
.
.
(2 days earlier)
When Bucky had first talked to you, he was instantly smitten. When he had become friends with you, his crush only became worse. He started imagining and fantasizing the perfect life with you.
The relationship, however, is a far cry from his fantasies. He, filled with shame and regret, wanted to breakup but no one could fool you. You saw right through him. You figured out, quite quickly into the relationship that even the slightest of touches causes his anxiety to spike up. Bucky didn't want to burden you with his problems.
That's the day you assured him, in kind words that he needn't feel pressurized to meet any for of societal timelines in a relationship. You started meeting up with a therapist to get the right resources to be his pillar of support. You were working diligently, with his consent, on his issues. He was grateful. He fell in love with you so deeply that it scared him.
Recently, a tiny thought started reverberating in his brain.
"What if, one day, you realize that he truly doesn't deserve this? He is not worth it. It has been more than a year. What has he offered you? He could barely kiss you on the cheek."
The mere thought of separation just created a visceral reaction in him: his palm sweating, his stomach twisting and he just wanted to puke.
"What's the matter Bucky? I can feel your eyes on me," you said, eyes still on your phone, with a smile on your face. That beautiful smile and the voice laced with love is enough for Bucky to stop that mini meltdown in his head.
"It's just ... " Bucky sighed, his broad shoulders slumping forward.
You kept your phone down and looked at his dejected posture. You went near him and held out your hands. He grabbed it almost immediately and you patiently waited, giving him time to articulate his thoughts.
"It's just... It has been more than a year now and I still get clammed up to even kiss ya." He mumbled grumpily but you know the sweat in his palms indicated that this has been eating him for sometime now.
"Bucky... Why are you so hard on yourself?" You said, rubbing your thumb across his palm. "You have progressed so much. Give yourself some credit." A playful smirk appeared on your face when you continued, "Besides, I don't care if you don't even give a kiss at the altar. You are stuck with me."
Bucky's brain just short-circuited. His jaw slacked a bit.
"What?-" You asked, clearly oblivious to what you just said
" You... would marry me?" Bucky interrupted with shiny eyes, his face filled with awe.
"Is that a proposal, James? You winked.
His face blushed a rosy pink. Pure joy danced in his eyes as you lovingly replied,
"Because if it is, I am saying yes, in a heart beat. Let's go to the courthouse right now."
A sheepish smile appeared in his face.
He couldn't stop thinking about you being his wife. He had this goofy grin the whole day, making every other Avenger curious.
......
........
(Present)
Your lighthearted words really did a number on your boyfriend, or must you say fiancé now.
This morning Bucky came to you with absolute conviction and said, "Are you sure you wanna marry me? I am going to hold you to your promise. I am taking you to the courthouse today."
"What took you so long?" You winked.
A/N: Holy shit! It is 5AM already. Gotta catch up on some sleep. Will be posting on AO3 later today. A little conversation with a fellow writer on AO3, LitaKino inspired me to write again.
P.S. And yeah, I am a bit outdated. "What took you so long?" is from the pilot of Dharma and Greg.
gif sent in by @buckys-wintersoldier a little while ago and the fic itself was an idea coming from this ask between myself and @nana1000night back in 2022.
Summary: Bucky protects a woman from being harassed after he recognises the perpetrators as his enemy's goons.
WC: 1.2K
Warnings: harassment, catcalling, gunfire
Read on Ao3!
--
The streets of Brooklyn had an edge tonight. The autumn air was crisp, the bite of the wind sharp enough to sting your cheeks as you quickened your pace down the dimly lit sidewalk. The sound of distant laughter and blaring car horns echoed around you, but it was the footsteps behind you that held your attention.
They had been following you for a few blocks now, growing bolder with each step. You could hear the low murmurs, the crude comments thrown in your direction, and despite your best efforts to ignore them, your heart raced with every word.
"Hey, sweetheart, where you off to in such a hurry?" one of the men called out, his voice dripping with mockery.
You kept walking, tightening your grip on your bag, praying that they would lose interest. But they didn’t.
The group of them — four, maybe five — started closing in, surrounding you with their leering grins and foul remarks. You could feel their eyes on you, like vultures circling prey. Your stomach twisted in fear as one of them stepped directly into your path, forcing you to stop.
“C’mon, don’t be shy, darlin’,” he said, his grin spreading wider. He reached out as if to touch you, but before his hand could make contact, a voice rang out.
“I’m sorry I’m late, sweetheart. I was looking everywhere for you; got caught up in the shops.”
The voice was deep, smooth, with a commanding presence that seemed to stop the world around you. You blinked, your body stiff with tension as you turned towards the source.
Bucky Barnes.
You’d heard whispers about him — about the mobster who controlled most of the city’s underworld with an iron grip. He was feared by everyone, respected by those who knew better, and completely untouchable. His name alone sent shivers down most people’s spines, but the way he approached now, so casually, so effortlessly, it was like the situation was already under his control before he even spoke.
Bucky’s steely blue eyes met yours, and there was a flicker of something softer behind them as he played along with the act. He reached for your hand, gently tugging you toward him as though you’d been waiting for him all along.
The men around you hesitated, confusion flickering across their faces as they sized him up. They might not have known who he was yet, but something about him — the way he carried himself, the dangerous glint in his eyes — put them on edge.
“Who the hell are you?” one of the men sneered, stepping forward as if challenging Bucky.
Bucky didn’t even blink, his arm sliding around your shoulders protectively. He didn’t need to answer. The way he looked at the man, with an amused smirk tugging at his lips, said everything.
From across the street, Bucky’s most trusted men — Sam and Steve — lingered in the shadows, watching the scene unfold. Sam, always quick to react, saw the way the situation was escalating. Without hesitation, he stalked over, his hand slipping inside his coat to grip the gun hidden within.
Sam approached one of the men from behind, pressing the cold steel of the gun to his back, careful to keep it hidden beneath his sleeve so as not to alarm you. His face was hard, his eyes locked on Bucky, waiting for the signal.
He raised an eyebrow, the unspoken question clear. Do we take them out?
Bucky glanced down at you, still holding you close to his side. His fingers brushed lightly over your arm, a silent reassurance that you were safe with him. Then, with a barely perceptible nod, he gave Sam the permission he needed.
“Let’s go,” Bucky said softly to you, guiding you a few meters away from the group, towards the safety of your car parked just down the street.
You followed him, your mind still racing, trying to process what had just happened. Who was this man? Why was he helping you? Your heart was still pounding, but something about his calm demeanor, the way he seemed completely unfazed by the danger, made you trust him, even if you didn’t fully understand why.
Bucky’s voice was low and soothing as he opened the car door for you, his hand lingering on your back for just a moment before he pulled away.
“You’re safe now,” he murmured, his eyes scanning the street behind him. He wasn’t done yet. Not by a long shot.
As you slid into the driver's seat, the sound of a gunshot cracked through the night air. You gasped, your hands gripping the steering wheel tightly as your pulse skyrocketed.
Bucky was already moving, his expression hardening as he turned back toward the scene. He didn’t need to look to know what had happened — Sam had done exactly what was necessary.
When Bucky returned to where Sam stood, the man who had dared to challenge him was sprawled out on the ground, blood pooling around him as he gasped for breath. The others — the rest of the gang — were already gone, running in fear for their lives, disappearing into the shadows.
Sam stood over the dying man, his gun still drawn, though it was tucked discreetly into his coat sleeve. He didn’t need to say anything; the message had been sent loud and clear.
“I have her safe,” Bucky said, his voice cold now, all traces of the charm he’d shown you earlier gone. He nodded toward Steve, who had come up to stand beside Sam. “You and Steve find them. They looked like new recruits from Zemo’s gang of misfits.”
Steve’s jaw tightened at the mention of Zemo. It wasn’t the first time they’d crossed paths with his gang, and it wouldn’t be the last. With a sharp nod, Steve and Sam set off in pursuit of the remaining thugs, their figures disappearing into the night like shadows.
Bucky remained where he was for a moment, his eyes locked on the body at his feet. The man coughed, choking on his own blood as he tried to speak, but Bucky didn’t care to listen. He was already done with him.
Turning on his heel, Bucky headed back to your car. You were still inside, wide-eyed and shaken, but otherwise unharmed. He opened the door once again, leaning down slightly to meet your gaze.
“Go home,” he said softly, though the steel in his voice was unmistakable. “You won’t have to worry about them anymore.”
You swallowed hard, your mind still reeling, but you nodded. Something about the way he spoke — the authority in his tone, the way he seemed so sure of himself — made you believe him.
Bucky stepped back, watching as you started the engine and pulled away, the taillights disappearing into the distance. He stood there for a while, his hands slipping into his coat pockets as he gazed down the empty street.
It was just another night in Brooklyn. Just another problem handled.
But something about the way you had looked at him, the way you had clung to his side without knowing who he was, had stirred something in him. Something unfamiliar.
With a low sigh, Bucky turned and headed into the darkness, his mind already back on the job at hand.
Tomorrow, the streets would belong to him once again.
Alexa, Play Go There With You ~ Bucky’s been having a hard time being okay with your work schedule now that you’re pregnant. An arguments ensues and after you only have one thing on your mind, so Alexa helps you set the mood.
There’s Been A Misunderstanding ~ You’ve been distant with Bucky, and he just wants to fix whatever it is that’s keeping you away from him. Little does he know, it has everything to do with your encounter with a nosy red headed assassin you’ve gotten the wrong idea about.
You Again? ~ Nat’s friend is having a bake sale and Natasha wants the Avengers to show their support. But a certain soldier already knows you from somewhere, and well... you’re not the happiest to see him.
Long Distance Teasing HC ~ How I feel like the Avengers would react to teasing (nudes + dirty pics) from their s/o over the phone while they’re away.
I’ll Take Care Of It Series
I’ll Take Care Of It ~ You’ve enlisted the help of Nat, Bucky, Steve and Bruce to keep Bucky unaware about your hospitalization. News flash, it doesn’t go very well.
Whatever It Takes ~ Bucky reverts to his old ways during a visit with your ex.
I’ll Take Care Of You ~ Bucky comes to see you in the hospital.
Nurse Bucky On Duty (HC) ~ Bucky assigns himself as your nurse after you’re released from the hospital. The signs read only insanely loving and smothering boyfriend antics ahead.
Taking Care Of Us ~ Your ex has left more bruises than the ones you can see ~ You finally get your hat in the mail stirring up all the feelings you thought you were done with, even though they’re not done with you.
Shy!Reader Reactions HC ~ How I feel like the Avengers would act when their partner doesn’t give them the reaction they want during sex/ gets reader out of their shell/ reacts to a shy partner in bed.
Let Me ~ You and Bucky shower together, and you give Bucky treatment he hasn’t had in a long time. ~ Or~ The first time you wash Bucky’s hair.
Different Types of Sex ~ Different types of sex I feel like Bucky has with his s/o.
It Takes Two Series
It Takes Two ~ Steve brings his buddy to his favorite Coffee Shop to finally show him the girl he can’t stop raving about.
It Takes Two Pt. 2 ~ It turns out that you do need a ride, and Steve and Bucky are more than happy to give you one.
It Takes Two Pt. 3 ~ Bucky and Steve make you eat your words… and other things.
Avengers Aftercare HC ~ How the Avengers care for you after blowing your back out aka how the Avengers do aftercare.
Avengers Boyfriends HC ~ The kind of boyfriends Steve, Bucky and Bruce are.
The Simple Things ~ Your sister is in town and Bucky’s been feeling a little forgotten about.
“Baby, I Fucking Love You.” ~ It’s been a long time of you secretly crushing on your best friend Bucky, and you finally decide to leave New York for a new beginning. Bucky also makes a decision.
Gentle Giant ~ You and your neighbor Bucky have will we, won’t we thing going on and you devise a plan to get him to tell you how he feels. It doesn’t go according to plan, or does it? - Or- Shy, beefy, neighbor!Bucky confesses his feelings.
Remind(h)er: Bucky lets his insecurities get to him when he sees one of Tony’s friends flirting with you, all he needs is a little reminder.
Remind(h)er Part Two: The aftermath of getting your ass in that back seat lol.
When You Fall (Avengers HC) ~ You have a habit of overexerting yourself, and your boyfriend is here to catch you when you fall.
Not So Much friends ~ You and Bucky make the team sick to their stomachs with this little oblivious thing y’all have got going.
I Can Handle It ~ Bucky only says what he means, and means exactly what he says. It’s about time you learn that. Or - A friendly night out leads to Bucky teaching you how to follow directions.
Lucky Ladybug Series
Lucky Ladybug ~ Bucky is a perfect father... to a baby girl who isn’t here yet.
Pity Pancakes ~ You only want pancakes if they’re genuine. / Tony and Steve talk too much, and you’re too pregnant, and too fragile to not be babied so now it’s Bucky to the rescue.
Enemies ~ Bucky hates that fucking pillow.
Mishaps on the Road ~ A rocky road and Bucky’s driving, what’s the worse that could happen? I mean the best...? In which a road pleasures you better than Bucky ever could.
Special To Me Series
Special To Me ~ Firsts are the worsts, especially when neither you or your devoted boyfriend Bucky are seeing the other’s point of view.
Especially ~ Bucky would think everything was cleared up, especially after what he said.
Work In Progress ~ Things aren’t perfect but it’s a work in progress and damn sure better than last time.
Best Bad Luck Series
Best Bad Luck {Part I} ~ You two have everything. The life you’ve always wanted; the love, the beautiful girls. Everything except each other.
{Part II} ~ You and Bucky’s past, present, and what could be a damn good future.
{Part III} ~ Things are finally the way they should be.
Too Good ~ You sound insane, you sound absolutely, positively insane when you tell your friends that you’re avoiding your amazing tinder date like the plague because… he fucks too good?
Speechless ~ Bucky can’t focus on gently destroying you because you happen think he’s... pretty?
All for You ~ Bucky’s not speechless anymore, actually he’s saying exactly what you need him to. ~ In which you get jealous and Bucky lets you know there’s absolutely no reason to be.
Lights On ~ You make a request that Bucky doesn’t like and he says his peace ~ Reader is feeling a bit body conscious and Bucky’s decided that just ain’t okay.
Can We Talk? ~ The paparazzi has got Bucky stuck in a situation he shouldn’t be. So groveling and good ole’ music apologies, and love confessions seem like a good use of his time, all while you’re at work of course.
Long Run (Series) ~
{Chapter I} - Not Nice Meeting You: Bucky’s has become privy to a new neighbor and she’s full of surprises.
{Chapter 2} - By Chance, On Purpose: After weeks, Bucky has another chance encounter with his snarky neighbor by chance... and on purpose of course.
Soon As I Get Home ~ You leave Bucky at home for a night out and he has some fun of his own; but not enough. Not nearly enough. So he’s giving you a call to tell you exactly how he feels.
Tell Me ~ You and Bucky like each other, a lot. But in a match made in idiot heaven you don’t think he could ever and he thinks the same. When becomes privy to some sensitive information he decides its time to turn the tides. In which reader is Tony’s niece and he best friend is a secret spewing loud mouth.
Tell Me {Part II}~ To be a good boyfriend, Bucky’s sure he’s got to keep his dick in his pants. To be a good girlfriend you wouldn’t be mad that Bucky wants to keep his dick in his pants. Except he’s barely holding on and you’re starting to wonder if your boyfriend ever wants you in the way you want him. Or the one where Bucky thinks he’s proving his love to you by staying sex-talk abstinent and you think Bucky is starting to lose all the gall he had a month ago. You’re both wrong and only sex can make it right.
Loving You ~ In which Bucky is trying to find the words to tell you how much he loves you and failingly succeeds… (with his dick in your spleen).
Avengers D%&k HC ~ Let's headcannon what kind of dick the Avengers have, shall we?
That One Avengers Ass HC ~ The Avengers Men and your ass. I really don’t know what else to say. (Or we could stop pretending this hc has a plot or purpose or anything of the sort!)
Gotta Start to Finish~ You shouldn’t have gotten involved with Bucky knowing you couldn’t handle it if things got serious. So you left before he could, but Buck deserves a goodbye. Except a goodbye is the furthest thing from his mind.
Too Much (Not Enough) ~ You’re doing a mercy breakup because Bucky doesn’t like you but he’s too much of a gentleman to take out the trash and Bucky.
Missin’ U ~ Bucky’s missed you, and you missed Buck. A whole lot of missin’ going on.
Don't Need You (Wanting You is Enough) ~ Bucky’s PTSD is developing itself in bouts of night sweats and he’s not coping well with his symptoms beginning to affect him as much as you. You both just have to reassure one another this is for the long run.
Comfortable (Loving You Forever) ~ Bucky loves the comfort of being completely known by you. The whole ordeal makes him want to love you for the rest of eternity (and also makes him want to grope you in the back of an alley)
No Regrets (What’s Done is Done) ~ Ovulation has you doing some odd things to Buck and he’s just along for the ride.
Look at Me (Look at Me, You Lookin’?”) ~ Buck has something he wants to show he just wants to make sure, are you looking?
A series of random Bucky Drabbles that I can't let go but don't have the brain to make the whole complete plot of.
Summary: That time when the reader accidentally fell asleep on a stranger’s shoulder in the subway ride home. The stranger in question, however, is none other than the former Winter Soldier, Sergeant James Buchanan Barnes.
Words: 1.4k++
Pairing: tfatws!bucky x female!reader
Warnings: none? just a really short fluffy moment with bucky.
Inspiration: Commuting home via train after long day of work makes me wish i had a shoulder to lean on while on the journey. And so, this idea was born from that thought.
Read my other works here: Masterlist
Y/N’s gaze was empty, staring to the distance, seemingly being swallowed by the void within her headspace. She had another long day at work; like any other weekday, grinding through the endless lines of words for each of her client’s documents until her eyes blurred.
The platform was noisy, filled with the clamour of people, the distant roar of the approaching train, and the faint buzz of conversations. The lights above her head flicker occasionally, casting brief shadows that danced along the walls.
The subway ride home was her daily ritual, one she usually endured standing among the crowded commuters. When she saw the train coming her way, relief washed over her. “Finally, I can go home,” she thought.
The doors slid open, and she was immediately pushed by the crowd behind her. It was as if her feet were lifted in the air, her body was effortlessly being dragged into the train. Since it was rush hour, the train car was packed. She had expected that but still, she couldn’t help but to let out a long sigh of exhaustion.
She slipped and weaved through the mass of bodies, knowing that it’ll be pointless. There’s no way she could get a seat now; she had to endure the 40 minute ride standing on the ache of her feet.
Her thoughts immediately stopped when she unexpectedly found an empty row of seats. Well, to be fair, there was one man sitting there, but regardless, it was empty enough for her to sit.
How fortunate she was.
A passing thought echoed in her head, questioning why it was empty, but she was too tired to think too deeply about it. The exhaustion from the long hours at work had dulled her curiosity, leaving her with just enough energy to be grateful for the peace and quiet. Too exhausted to question her luck, she sank into the seat, letting out a sigh of gratitude.
As she settled in, her mind couldn’t help but to dwell on the earlier question. Why does no one want to sit next to this man? She briefly considered the possibility that he might be a weird pervert or something. Thinking about it now made her slightly uncomfortable.
However, that discomfort didn’t last long as she overheard whispers around her, saying how brave she was to sit next to the Winter Soldier. Her eyes widened in realisation, and she discreetly glanced at him, noticing the telltale signs she had missed in her exhaustion: the gloved hands, the intense expression, the aura of danger that surrounded him.
She had heard of him. James Buchanan Barnes.
She studied about him in history class back when she was a school girl and saw him on the news in recent years. A member of the Howling Commandos. Steve Roger’s best friend. The Winter Soldier. The victim of Hydra’s atrocities.
Perhaps it was the fatigue numbing her instincts, or maybe it was the hint of vulnerability in his eyes that contradicted the ruthless image painted by the stories. Surprisingly, there was a burning sensation in her chest the more she heard the foul whispers around her. “These people really need to shut their mouths or…” She didn’t finish the thought.
Honestly, she was too tired to care if the man next to her was the Winter Soldier or Captain America himself. She was simply grateful that he wasn’t some sort of creepy pervert.
Next to her sat a lone man, his posture tense and his gaze averted. James Buchanan Barnes, the Winter Soldier, was accustomed to people avoiding him, their fear and whispers a constant reminder of his past. Today was no different, until Y/N sat down next to him without a second thought.
There were very few people who willingly sat this close to him: Sam, Mr. Nakajima, and perhaps his therapist. Strangers who were aware of him would never sit near him willingly. So when he saw her making a beeline towards him, he thought, “No way…”
Now, he couldn’t help but be aware of her presence.
Bucky straightened, expecting her to move away once she realised who he was. But she didn’t. She just sat there, her head lolling slightly as she fought to stay awake.
Bucky stole glances at her, noting the dark circles under her eyes and the way she seemed to radiate exhaustion . He noticed how her weary seemed to mirror his own, although for completely different reasons; hers from long hours of work, his from long hours of sleepless nights.
Despite her weariness, there was a quiet beauty about her that captivated him.
His eyes widened in realisation that he’d been staring at her. He noticed the concerned looks of the people around them as they caught him, their thoughts clear on their faces.
He chastised himself for staring. “Stop it, Bucky. You’re being a creep.” But he couldn’t help it. When her head finally drooped and she fell asleep, he felt a pang of concern.
“Where’s her stop?”
“What if she misses it?”
“What if someone tries to take advantage of her while she’s sleeping?”
As the train jolted, her head swayed dangerously close to the pole beside her. Instinctively, Bucky’s metal arm shot out, catching her head before it hit. She didn’t stir, her breathing steady and soft; he could feel how close her body was to his own.
Bucky froze, his body tensing as he tried to process the situation. His eyes widened; he didn’t know why but he felt his heart racing in his chest.
Before he could fully comprehend what was happening, her head lolled to the opposite side, landing gently on his shoulder. He felt a surge of panic, his breath hitching, but then she snuggled closer, her hands roamed along his right hand until her arms wrapped around his like he was a pillow.
Bucky’s heart continued to race, violently.
He felt a blush creeping up his neck, his eyes widening in surprise. His fists balled up into tight, clenched knots as he felt the softness of her breasts gently squishing his biceps in between them. “Oh god, what do I do now?” he panicked.
But time passed, feeling her steady heartbeat and the warmth of her body pressed against him, he found himself relaxing.
He began to notice the faint scent of vanilla that clung to her, a soft contrast to the sterile, metallic smell he had grown used to. Her breathing, initially steady, became slower and deeper; a rhythmic sound that somehow soothed his frayed nerves. He could see the faint traces of paper cuts on her fingers, remnants of a long day at work.
Despite her obvious fatigue, there was a certain grace in the way she moved, a gentle determination that intrigued him. Her soft, steady breathing started to sync with his own, creating a strange sense of calm that he hadn't felt in a long time. He admired the delicate curve of her eyelashes, the way her lips parted slightly as she went deeper into slumber.
This simple act of trust, falling asleep next to him, a man feared by so many, stirred something deep within him. It was a small, fleeting moment of normalcy that he found himself cherishing against his better judgement.
He relaxed into the seat, allowing himself to savour the unexpected comfort of her presence and touch. He decided to let her sleep. As the time passed, the crowd around them began to lessen.
The previously hostile atmosphere of the train car softened, and the once frenetic energy of the rush hour turned into a more subdued, calming environment. The stares and whispers faded into the background as Bucky's attention became entirely focused on the woman resting beside him.
His own fatigue began to catch up with him, his eyes grew heavy, a rare sensation for him these days. And before he knew it, his cheek was resting gently against her head, and he was drifting off too. His plans and destination were long forgotten, overshadowed by the soothing presence of the woman clinging to his arm.
He didn't mind if they both missed their stop; the thought of walking her home crossed his mind. Maybe he could introduce himself properly, maybe ask her out on a date, and see if she wouldn’t mind spending more time with him.
The idea, though fleeting, brought a sense of warmth and contentment he hadn’t felt in years. When his consciousness drifted further into the dreamland, a soft smile tugged at the corners of his lips, his heart lighter than it had been in a long time.
And in the end, as the train continued its journey, people left the sleepy heads in their peaceful slumber, content in the rare moment of tranquility they had found together.
End.
Read my other works here: Masterlist
A/N: Thank you for reading this very short drabble! Hope you enjoyed it ♡
Glimpses of the grumpy chubby alpha!bucky's love life.
Summary: When Bucky was stuck in an unpleasant lunch with his co-workers; he thought about how nice it would be if someone comes and steals him away.
Navigation: Prequel || Main Story I || Main Story II || Main Story III
Pairing: chubby alpha!bucky x omega!female!reader
Words: 2.6k++
Warnings: a/b/o dynamics. no plot, just fluff. low-key body shamming, bullying, bucky and his omega being adorable. (tell me is there's anything else I missed)
P/S: Impulsive writing at 3am in the morning because I couldn't sleep, then left the draft to rot for weeks, now posted. Also tagging @serendipitouslife90 because she's the biggest fan of this au. Anyway, I hope you enjoy this short fic and happy reading! 🤍
Read my other works here: Masterlist
The morning sun filtered through the blinds of Bucky’s cubicle, casting narrow strips of light across his cluttered desk. The office was its usual sanctuary of muted tones and hushed conversations. Colleagues navigated the aisles like cautious explorers, their brief nods to Bucky barely concealing their unease.
He didn’t mind. In fact, he preferred it this way. Solitude was his comfort zone, and he relished the uninterrupted focus on his work.
Bucky tapped away at his keyboard, the rhythmic clacking serving as his meditation. His thoughts were like the lines of code he worked with; orderly, precise, and devoid of unnecessary embellishments. Socializing was a distraction he neither wanted nor needed.
The occasional murmurs of sympathy about his less-than-ideal body shape for an Alpha like him, or the prosthetic arm he wore to make up for his imperfection, had long since ceased to bother him. They were background noise in the symphony of his workday.
Two weeks had passed since Bucky had last seen y/n, their second date now a vivid but distant memory. Their time together had been cut short, both of them consumed by the relentless demands of their careers. Especially for Bucky, the high-pressure world of software engineering was unforgiving.
Ever since he was in school, he always had the knack for tech but as he grew up, his path lead away from it. Then after his abrupt release from military service, he was lost for a moment. He lost his position and quite literally his limb. After he was introduced to Stark Technologies for is prosthetic, his interest in tech bloomed once more.
Fast forward, he had transitioned to civilian life with a single-minded focus on his career. The transition from soldier to software engineer had been a challenging yet rewarding shift, one that demanded every ounce of his dedication.
His days were a blur of client meetings, coding marathons, and sleepless nights, leaving him barely enough time to recharge. Despite his best efforts, he couldn't escape the gnawing sense of guilt that tugged at him.
Y/n had been understanding, insisting that they could take things slow and that she was patient. Yet Bucky felt a pressing need to make up for the lost time, to show her that she was more important than the endless stream of work that consumed him.
His longing for her was a constant undercurrent in his daily routine, a reminder of the connection he cherished and the promises he hoped to fulfill, even amidst the chaos of his demanding schedule.
Lunchtime arrived with an uncharacteristic intrusion; Brock’s insistent presence. Bucky had settled into his usual corner of the break room, anticipating a quiet meal alone.
But Brock, with his usual smirk, plopped down across from him, completely unfazed by Bucky’s visible discomfort.
“You know, Bucky,” he started, his tone laced with false camaraderie, “maybe you should join us for lunch this time. Walk off that fat in your belly, and maybe, just maybe, might help you lose a few pounds and get that soldier body of yours again.”
The comment triggered a ripple of reactions around the break room. A few colleagues, particularly those who fancied themselves as superior alpha, snickered behind their coffee cups, enjoying the moment at Bucky’s expense. The rest of the room fell into an awkward silence; some looked away, unable or unwilling to get involved, while others exchanged nervous glances, wary of crossing the line with either of the alpha males.
Bucky’s mind raced with a mix of frustration and contemplation. Brock’s taunts were nothing new, but the timing was particularly irritating. With his packed schedule and the constant pressure of meeting deadlines, Bucky had barely had a moment to breathe, let alone deal with petty office politics.
The jabs felt like an unnecessary complication in an already strained day. His thoughts were a whirlwind of frustration; he wondered why he always ended up the target of Brock’s remarks and whether it was a reflection of his own choices or just Brock’s way of asserting dominance.
The palpable tension in the room only added to his mounting irritation.
Bucky’s jaw clenched, his irritation simmering beneath a thin veneer of politeness. “Yeah, sure. Why not?” He didn’t bother hiding the grumble in his voice. His work would have to wait, and so would his patience.
The café buzzed with conversation and clinking dishes, an atmosphere of forced cheerfulness that did little to mask the underlying tension. Bucky took his seat with a sigh, his mind already drifting to y/n, the image of her smile a soothing balm to his frayed nerves.
Brock wasted no time in launching his passive-aggressive jabs, each comment about Bucky’s weight or his vibranium prosthetic arm more cutting than the last. Bucky could feel the rage bubbling up, but he forced himself to stay calm, focusing instead on the thought of y/n. The warm glow of her presence seemed to wrap around him, even in the midst of Brock’s taunts.
Brock leaned back in his chair, a smirk playing at the corners of his mouth. “You know, Bucky, it's always something watching you eat alone. Maybe if you spent less time working and more time mingling; hit the gym with us after work or something. Who knows you might actually find yourself a date for once.”
The remark seemed casual, almost playful, but it carried a veiled sting. It wasn’t just about Bucky’s solitary lunchtime habits; it was a pointed jab at his single status, suggesting that his lack of romantic success might be due to his social ineptitude and undesirable body.
Bucky’s patience snapped. He leaned forward, his voice cold and controlled. “I don’t know, Brock. Honestly, it’s much better to be alone than to ‘mingle’ with someone who’s all bark and no bite.” He fearlessly maintained his cold gaze; eyes seemingly bore the words his lips never spoke. “…Like you”
Brock's face flushed a deep crimson, and his jaw tightened in a futile attempt to maintain composure. He muttered something about needing a smoke before hastily exiting the room, his pride stinging from the unexpected jab. The rest of the team sat in an uneasy silence, the tension almost tangible.
They watched as Bucky’s eyes bore into Brock’s retreating figure, cold and unyielding. There was something almost feral in his gaze, a silent promise of consequences that only someone with true authority and control could convey.
Everyone knew better than to provoke him further; Bucky's look was a chilling reminder that he played by his own rules.
Brock stepped out of the café, his frustration boiling over as he lit a cigarette. With each inhale of nicotine, he muttered darkly under his breath, cursing Bucky and grumbling about how that fat-ass loser like him had the audacity to undermine his clearly more superior alpha status.
His anger was a tempest, raging against the affront to his ego.
As he paced, his gaze drifted to the sidewalk next to the café, where a striking woman in a sundress was engrossed in her phone. The late afternoon sun highlighted the gentle curves of her figure, and her unblemished skin glowed softly, exposed at the back of her neck.
Brock’s eyes raked over her with a predatory appreciation, the male gaze undeniable in his scrutiny.
Her poised stance and soft demeanor hinted at an aura of femineity that intrigued him. A smirk curved his lips as he took another drag from his cigarette, already imagining how he might woo her, hoping that a little charm could be the distraction he needed from his bruised pride.
Back in the café, Bucky was still seated at the table, surrounded by the typical midday hustle, yet he remained ensconced in a bubble of tranquility. His attention was focused solely on his phone, where a soft, contented smile played on his lips. The noise of the café faded into the background as he read through y/n’s messages.
Each word from her was a thread that connected him to a part of his life that felt more real and meaningful than the relentless grind of his daily routine.
Y/n had inquired about his lunch, her questions laced with genuine curiosity. “How was your lunch?” “Was it any good?” “How’s your day been so far?” The inquiries seemed almost innocent, yet they carried a warmth that enveloped him.
And then, the message that tugged at his heartstrings: “I miss you.” It was as if her words had the power to reach through the screen and touch him directly, offering a solace that was hard to find amidst the chaos left from the prior event.
He missed her deeply.
The absence of her voice, the comfort of her presence. He wished that she could just steal him away; or perhaps he would be stealing her away?
Eitherway, he just wants to get out of here.
As he glanced at the time, noting that he still had about thirty minutes before he needed to return to the office, he made a quick decision. He would step outside for a moment, away from the unnecessary drama, and maybe give her a call.
The thought of hearing her voice, even if only for a brief conversation, was a beacon of light in his otherwise frenetic day. As Bucky stepped out of the café, his gaze remained fixed on his phone, where y/n’s last message glowed softly on the screen.
Unbeknownst to him, the scene unfolding just a few paces away was far less pleasant. Brock, still nursing his bruised ego from their earlier encounter by relentlessly flirting with the girl. “Come on, sweetheart, just one date.” Brock said, his voice low and laced with insincere flirtation.
He leaned in close, a smirk playing on his lips as his hand reached out, brushing against her exposed shoulder. Y/n recoiled slightly, her discomfort palpable. “I’m really not interested,” she said firmly, though her voice carried an undercurrent of unease. “and I have a boyfriend.”
Brock’s persistence only grew more insistent. “I doubt that. I can see you do not have his mark here,” he persisted, his hand lingering uncomfortably on her shoulder, close to where her mating mark supposed to reside. Despite her attempts to shrug off his advances, Brock didn’t relent. His touch was intrusive, and his words edged on harassment. And she can sense the scent of arousal coming from the alpha.
Y/n’s eyes darted around, seeking an escape from the unwanted attention. As her gaze fell behind Brock, she caught sight of a familiar figure; one that seemed to offer a lifeline amidst her distress.
“Bucky?” she called out, her voice tinged with both relief and surprise. The name escaped her lips before she could fully process the situation, her eyes widening as she took in the sight of Bucky walking toward them.
Bucky knew that voice. It was a sound that resonated deep within him, as familiar as his own heartbeat. He lifted his eyes from his phone, and the world around him sharpened into focus. The scene before him was both infuriating and unmistakable: Brock, with his sleazy smirk and inappropriate proximity, stood uncomfortably close to Bucky's omega, his hand hovering dangerously near her exposed shoulder.
A surge of primal fury shot through Bucky, a blaze of anger that burned through his veins and coiled tight in his chest. His eyes blazed with a fierce intensity, a low, guttural growl forming in his throat as he prepared to confront the intruder. His body tensed, ready to pounce.
But before he could make a move, y/n was already in motion. She leaped into his arms with a mix of desperation and joy, catching Bucky off guard. He instinctively wrapped his arms around her, holding her securely against his chest.
Her arms clung tightly to his neck, her face burying itself into the crook of his neck as if seeking refuge; shamelessly scenting him. Her warm breath and soft sighs was a soothing cure to his simmering rage.
The anger that had been boiling inside him began to fizzle away, replaced by a profound sense of relief and love. The sound of her happy purrs, the feel of her soft body pressed against his, and her intoxicatingly sweet scent; all of it made his anger dissolve into a tender, protective affection.
A soft chuckle escaped his lips, his arms tightening around her waist as he relished in the comforting closeness. “Hi, sugar.” he whispered, his voice thick with affection and relief.
Bucky's hold loosen as he leaned down, his gentle smile never faltering as he closed the distance between them. His eyes softened with affection, and he pressed his lips against y/n's in a kiss so tender it felt like a whisper. It was a soft, loving caress that spoke volumes more than words ever could.
But before he could pull back, y/n’s playful energy erupted. She cupped his cheeks in her delicate hands, pulling him down to her level with a sudden, joyful enthusiasm.
Her lips attacked his with a flurry of kisses; quick, warm, and full of exuberance. Each kiss left behind a trace of her strawberry-scented lipstick, creating a trail of smudged rosy color across his face. The marks dotted his forehead, his cheeks, his nose, and even his lips, a vibrant testament to her affection.
Amused laughter bubbled up from Bucky, the sound a rare and delightful departure from his usual stoic demeanor. His eyes twinkled with genuine mirth, his grumpy alpha persona completely melted away in the face of y/n’s loving onslaught.
He reveled in the smothering of her kisses, his initial tension and anger forgotten. A satisfied rumble vibrates on his throat, across his chest. The contrast between his earlier anger and the unrestrained joy he now experienced was stark; the shift was almost palpable.
Lost in their own world, the two seemed oblivious to their surroundings. Their display of affection was unabashedly public, a stark contrast to the earlier tension. Y/n looked up at him with bright eyes, her voice filled with eager excitement as she asked if he still had time.
“I want to steal you away.” she said with a playful smile.
Bucky’s smile widened, his heart swelling with happiness. “Of course, sugar. Anything for you.” he replied, his voice tender and filled with genuine warmth.
But as Bucky’s gaze shifted away from y/n and landed on Brock, his soft features momentarily disappeared. His expression hardened, the warmth in his eyes turning to ice. The switch in his demeanor was chilling; an instant transformation from the tender lover to a menacing figure.
The coldness in his eyes was a silent, yet unmistakable warning. It was as though a dark storm cloud had settled over him, a clear signal that Brock's earlier arrogance had crossed an unforgivable line.
The intensity of Bucky’s stare spoke volumes, a silent promise of retribution and a reminder of the strength behind his calm exterior. The abrupt shift in his demeanor was a jarring contrast to the affection he had just displayed, sending a clear message to Brock that any further provocation would be met with unspeakable consequences.
As Bucky and y/n walked hand in hand away from the café, Brock stood there, fuming and humiliated. His attempt to belittle Bucky had backfired spectacularly.
Inside the café, Bucky’s colleagues had their jaws dropped. They were astonished not only by y/n’s ethereal beauty but also by the sight of Bucky, usually so composed and reserved, smiling so openly. They were completely stunned by the unexpected display of vulnerability and affection from the grumpy loner.
The couple continued down the street, their hands clasped together. The afternoon sun cast long shadows as they headed towards their next destination.
Bucky’s smile was genuine, a rare and precious sight as he looked down; memorizing the way her hand perfectly intertwined with his. At that moment, James couldn’t help but think how much he wished y/n could steal him away more often.
Read my other works here: Masterlist
A/N: Thank you for staying to the end of the fic. Hope you enjoy reading it!
Everyone's Watching Him (But He's Looking At Her) (4)
Actor!Bucky Barnes × Assistant!Fem!Reader
< < PART 3 | Series Masterlist | PART 5 > >
Summary: Bucky begrudgingly undertakes his press tour and PR relationship with Sharon as you question if you can continue your job whilst watching him fall in love with someone else.
Warnings: shy & insecure reader, angst, idiots in love, miscommunication, soft fluff and an extremely happy ending 👀
Word count: 4.0k
A/N: photo credit by @bwsebastianstan, dividers by @vase-of-lilies
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You can’t even look at him.
That’s what destroys Bucky the most.
The past week he’s been completely deprived of the soothing comfort he feels when your eyes meet his in a crowded room.
You’re seemingly so disgusted that he would stoop so low as to fake an entire relationship to promote some stupid movie that you can’t even look at him.
Between all the cameramen, producers, make up artists and rotating allotment of interviewers, whose eyes are all focussed on him, you’re the only person in the room who isn’t gazing in his direction, when your attention is the only one he cares about.
Each time he looks up, eyes instinctively searching for you, it feels like a dagger twisting in his heart to find you’re still acting as if he’s not there. Bucky’s found himself perpetually stuck in your blind spot, and he doesn’t think he’s ever felt as alone and desperate for someone to notice him whilst simultaneously being the centre of attention, in all his life.
No one’s interested in the movie, the intricate plot, the dynamic between the characters or even the difficult stunts he performed himself, all anyones asking questions about is Bucky and Sharon’s supposed relationship and the manner in which they got together after months of filming.
He can’t blame Sharon for playing the part perfectly, like the extraordinary actress she is, this is her chance to create a name for herself in this ruthless business and she’s pulling out all stops to make it count.
But Bucky hates it.
This is not why he became an actor and it would mortify his younger self to think this is all his career boils down to.
“And cut!” Someone yells and all of a sudden the room bursts to life again. He’s barely focussed on the questions being thrown at him, opting to let Sharon take most of them because it feels less dishonest that way. The fewer words he says, the less lies come out of his mouth and it makes him feel ever so slightly less guilty lying to the entire world.
Sharon squeezes his hand to grab his attention and gives him a look which screams ‘try harder’, but because they’re surrounded by a hoard of people she can’t actually say it aloud.
Maria’s on the phone beside one of the cameramen, and even through all the bustling noise, he can hear the distinct sound of her making arrangements for ‘the happy couple’. Dread settles in his stomach which sinks beneath the floor like an anvil.
To top it all off, he looks beyond where Maria is standing to find you busy discussing something which much be exceedingly important with some other crew members. Normally you’d be watching on with a reassuring smile, and when his gaze would meet yours, everyone else would melt away and it would seem like you were the only two people in the whole world. But he can’t exactly blame you for doing your job.
Bucky suddenly feels extremely claustrophobic, caged in by the bright lights, cameras and people working in the limited space provided by the set. It’s like his body is viscerally holding in his last breath until you turn around and look at him, and he’s suffocating waiting for something he intrinsically knows won’t happen.
He stands up, waving off the make-up artists who are rushing over from their station to ensure Sharon and himself look perfect for the next interview.
“I’ll be back in a minute.” He mumbles, not waiting for permission he knows he wouldn’t receive before trudging away to his dressing room.
Bucky relishes the moment alone, away from the mayhem, having the space to take a breath and calm the swarming anxiety in his chest. It’s not as effective as the comfort you provide whenever you are in his presence, but he knows it’ll have to do for now.
At that moment Becks’ name flashes on his phone and guilt pangs in his stomach that he’s forgotten about until now. He’s been ignoring her calls all week - his excuse is that he’s been insanely busy since the premiere, but he knows the real reason is because she’ll be disappointed he hasn’t told you what she could so plainly read on his features when the three of you were in the same room.
He hits ignore once again with the internal promise that once he summons enough courage to disclose his feelings for you, he’ll return her call. Ringing with either fantastic news, or in need of consoling a broken heart.
“Bucky?” He hears your voice call his name and he immediately turns around to the source, heart skipping a beat seeing your eyes land on him for what feels like the first time since under the dim light outside the premiere venue a week ago. He takes a couple seconds to commit your features to memory, knowing burning the image in the back of his mind will help him gather the strength he needs to return to the monotonous stream of interviews.
“Yes?” Bucky enquires to break the silence, something that even now, when he’s positive you’re avoiding him because you’re opposed to his promotional methods, has never been awkward between the two of you.
“They need you back out there.” Before he can even so much as thank you for the instruction, you’ve closed the door and he’s all alone again.
He can barely function only seeing glimpses of you. There’s a certain quality about you that no matter how tired he is of answering questions and interacting with people, he’s never too fatigued to be around you. Time spent with you allows him to recharge, and without that it feels like he’s running on empty.
Bucky takes a deep breath, closing his eyes and picturing how he felt the night after the infamous Alexander Pierce interview when you stayed up with him until the early hours of the morning, laughing at old movies and throwing popcorn in each others mouths, before he carried you to bed and seriously considered climbing in next to you.
Those are the memories with you he cherishes, even more so now that you’re giving him the cold shoulder, and is what will keep him going for the rest of the day. Probably even the rest of his life.
And with that happy thought, he’s ready to take on the next interview.
* * *
You feel your heart sink below your stomach for what feels like the thousandth time this week.
Each interviewer is asking the same damn question, ‘how did the two of you get together?’, which of course prompts Sharon to deliver the same damn response each time. You could recite her answer word for word at this point, but it doesn’t make hearing it yet again any less painful.
It’s a recurring nightmare you’re unable to wake from.
You do your best to keep busy, which isn’t all that difficult when there’s a million different interviewers rotating through who you need to provide copies of Bucky’s ‘no go’ list in an attempt to prevent a repeat of what happened on Alexander Pierce’s late night show.
But Bucky and Sharon are the eye of the storm, everything revolves around them, so it’s impossible to avoid their relationship altogether, nor the hollow, sinking feeling settling in the pit of your stomach when you catch a glance of them lovingly smiling at each other.
With each rotation of interviewers your resilience dwindles further. It’s only been a week, but you’re just about ready to break. The doting glances, the constant stroking of his arm, the intertwined fingers, adoring hand kisses, are each an additional stab to the heart which brings you closer to your demise.
You really would think of them to be such a cute and affectionate couple if one half of the pair wasn’t the beginning and end of your whole world.
You want to go home and cry your eyes out until the headache you get from being dehydrated is worse than the ache in your chest from your breaking heart.
As someone yells ‘cut’, the room coming to life with a frenzy, you do your best to fight the urge to look at the main stage where Bucky is currently sitting. All your instincts tell you to sneak a glance, but you know deep down seeing them together will bring about a heartache you’re sure you’ll never recover from.
So as arduous as it is to avoid staring at the same eyes that bring you a never ending supply of comfort and reassurance, and that seem to soften each and every time they notice you, without fail, you choose not to. Because at this point, the fear of more agony outweighs the morsel of solace you might find.
Why are you subjecting yourself to this?
To him, you’re just an assistant. Someone to do the organisational tasks that he either doesn’t have time for or purely doesn’t want to. A job multiple people who aren’t life shatteringly in love with him are qualified for.
You’re positive there will not be a day that goes by in which you will not be in love with James Buchanan Barnes, but quitting as his assistant would allow you a small fragment of peace that constantly being around him and Sharon will never allow.
That even if he isn’t yours, you wouldn’t have to watch him be someone else’s.
Perhaps that’s the most tranquillity this cruel world can grant you now.
Are you really about to do this?
In your moment of reservation you make the mistake of looking over to Bucky, in hope that seeing the handsome face which never fails to give life to butterflies in your stomach, will remind you why you do this job, but what you see instead does the exact opposite.
Sharon leans over the minimal space between the two chairs and kisses him, lingering for a few agonising seconds before pulling away, all toothy smiles as they intertwine hands.
Your heart crumbles into irreparably small pieces and you have to force yourself to heave a shaky breath.
It is unfortunately not the first time you’ve seen the two share a kiss, but you determine to yourself it will be the last.
You’ve made your mind up. You can’t endure this any more. You’re done.
After the last interview tonight, you’ll hand in your resignation.
* * *
As you knock on the door and twist the handle in response to Bucky’s mumbled ‘come in’, you feel yourself approaching the bottom of the seemingly eternal abyss you’ve been falling into since learning that Bucky is dating Sharon.
When you feel the sensation while sleeping, you get the relief of waking up, but the past week has been a nonstop, agonising plunge.
Though you’re nervous about how he’ll react, and petrified that in a moment of weakness you’ll disclose romantic feelings you want to keep secret in order to justify your departure, you’re certain this is the right decision, and that provides you the drop of courage you need.
“Hi.” Even in just the single syllable you can tell he’s completely worn out, but there’s a hope and longing in his eyes at the recognition it’s you who’s entered his dressing room that even his exhaustion can’t quell.
He hasn’t even put up a defence to what you’re about to do, but even just by looking at him, at those damn steel blue eyes which shine bright enough to illuminate even your darkest days, you question if you can go through with it.
Bucky looks at you expectantly, knowing you must have come in for something. There’s a small part of you, despite what you’re about to do, that makes your stomach clench at the thought that even though you’ve been avoiding him the last week, he still smiles when he sees you.
“I’m handing in my two weeks.” You manage to say, but your voice is weak and lacking any kind of conviction. It sounds more like a question than a statement.
“What?” His smile turns into an expression of shock in the time it takes you to blink. He stands, knocking his chair backwards, but his eyes are wide and only focussed on you. “I don’t accept your resignation.”
“Well then it’s a good thing it’s technically Maria’s management company that employs me. I just came here as a professional courtesy.” You turn to leave, unable to look at the undeniable hurt in his eyes and on his features you’ve caused. That will be your legacy to him, your last action in his life will be wrought with the agony of abandoning him.
“Is that all I am to you? A formality?” His words make you pause. As much as you need to move on from your own heartache of watching him in a relationship with someone else, you can’t leave knowing he believes he means so little to you.
You turn back to look at him and it feels like you’ve been shot in the chest, seeing desperation and hopelessness brimming in his eyes. You’re the cause of that.
“Not even close, Bucky. You mean so much more to me, that’s the whole point.” You put all your effort into making your voice level and believable. You might be leaving him but the reasoning behind it is because you care too much about him, not too little. With time, you hope he can understand that.
“The whole point of what?”
“Why I’m quitting - do you really think I’d be leaving if you meant nothing to me?” There’s a flash of something in Bucky’s eyes that you can’t quite place, perhaps something of a revelation, but so much more profound.
“Then why are you leaving?” You can feel tears stinging the corners of your eyes. You are dangerously close to revealing deeper feelings you promised you’d keep to yourself, that you wouldn’t divulge to Bucky and put him in the awkward position of having to turn you down because he’s already in love with another woman.
The searing pain of vocalising your devotion, the inevitability of being rejected by him overcomes you and you find your heart won’t let the words of affection leave your lips.
You take a deep, steadying breath and find yourself staring at the floor merely because you don’t have the strength to look into his bewitching eyes.
“It doesn’t matter now.” Is what you say halfheartedly, though you do believe it. Surely it’s too late now to be of any consequence. He’s fallen for another woman, you’re just the expendable assistant, nothing can change that now.
“Yes it does! You matter to me, so why you’re choosing to leave my life matters to me.” Your heart aches. You might matter to him, but not in the way your heart needs. Not in the all consuming, life changing, inescapable way that plagues every second of his life as he does yours.
You can feel your heart beating in your throat as you respond to him.
“All I want is for you to be happy, Buck, and you’re happy with her. I’m not going to jeapordise that, but it doesn’t mean I need to torture myself by having a front row seat to your love story.”
“Doll, you are my happiness!” You try to ignore the way your stomach flips and heart clenches as a result of his words. He’s just trying to make you stay… he doesn’t truly mean that. But then he continues and your world comes to a complete standstill. “If you’re referring to Sharon and I, that’s all fake! I’m not dating her, I’ve never been interested in her like that, it’s all for PR.”
Your hands start shaking and knees feel weak as your mind works to process his words. This can’t be happening. It was all fake? But then your mind flashes back to the fondness in Bucky’s eyes as he looked at Sharon at the premiere, as well as the way your heart ruptured when Maria confirmed their relationship and you can’t give your heart permission to believe him.
“No… no, that’s not what Maria said.” You stammer, replaying her words in your mind as you had done continuously since that infamous night to ensure you hadn’t misinterpreted them.
“What did Maria say?” Bucky’s voice has an edge of irritation which is hard to miss.
“She said Sharon was your girlfriend, real girlfriend… that you’d started dating while filming together.” Maria had been sure, unwavering, almost clinically so. She left no room for doubt.
“I’m gonna kill her.” Bucky mutters, almost to himself. “Doll, none of it was real, purely written into the contracts for promoting the movie. I think Maria saw how I feel about you and for her own twisted reasons wanted to push us apart.” You have to remind yourself to breathe because every single cell in your body is so overwhelmingly focussed on Bucky’s words that even your vital functions have stopped.
“How you feel about me?” You repeat his words breathlessly, unable to process their true connotation for if you’re wrong, it would surely end your entire existence.
Bucky’s eyes stare into your soul in a way that they never have before. He looks resolute, but somehow simultaneously vulnerable. Though you’ve seen him at his lowest, the fragility he’s openly displaying makes you suspect that there was always one last wall he kept part of himself concealed behind, shielding himself from one last heartbreak he just couldn’t bare to endure.
You observe in his eyes he’s pulled that wall down, and it’s like you’re seeing him, all of him, for the first time. And you’ve never been more in love.
“I was gonna tell you last week, after the premiere, but then you left and…” He shakes his head as he gathers his thoughts. When he looks up his eyes are filled with intent and don’t leave your gaze as he steps closer. You allow him to grasp your hands in his, his thumbs swiping over the backs of your hands affectionately and it takes every ounce of strength in you not to melt into his warm, musky scented embrace. When Bucky speaks there’s a crack in his voice. “The thought of you leaving takes away all my air, I can’t fucking breathe thinking that in two weeks you’re going to walk out of my life and never look back. I need you. You are absolutely everything to me. You are in every moment of my life, regardless of if you’re actually present for it. It’s you I will always search for in a crowded room. Whose eyes I find solace in and whose smile gives my life purpose. I live to be the reason for that beautiful smile. You are who I want to tell every good piece of news to first. Whose hand I instinctively reach for when I need the reminder I’m not alone in this isolating spotlight. Every moment of my life revolves around you. You are the nucleus of my world that I cannot live without.”
“Bucky…” You feel like you’re about to collapse. Your mind is racing too fast for any coherent thoughts to form, but warmth and adoration fills your entire body like a sugar high.
“Doll, please, you are it for me. There is no one else, even if you do choose to leave. You are my definition of love. You will be the person who I compare everyone else to, and I can already tell you with absolute certainty that none of them will even come close. There will never be anyone else for me, because it always has been and always will be you.”
You feel like you’re floating on a cloud, euphoria flowing in your veins and a warmth blooming in your chest so fiercely it almost feels like an ache. Tears sting behind your eyes, but you compel yourself to not let them blur your vision. You want to remember the pure love and devotion in Bucky’s eyes, how he’s looking at you like you truly are the only one in the world for him. As if, when he looks at you, everything else becomes hazy and you’re the only thing he sees.
All those moments, all the shared tender glances and lingering touches, all the generously sweet words you hope implied more than a simple boss-assistant relationship, it wasn’t just your imagination wishing he reciprocated your feelings.
Bucky had felt it too.
It was all real. So earnestly real.
“Bucky…” You reach up and cup his cheek, wiping away a stray tear which gently trickles from the corner of his eye with your thumb. He leans into your touch, closing his eyes and savouring the care in your contact. His prosthetic hand, which is still holding yours, gives you an encouraging squeeze, and when he opens his eyes again, his gaze is overflowing with adoration. “You are my home. The only reason I was going to leave was because I didn’t want to watch you fall in love with someone else. Loving you comes as easy as breathing for me. There is no one else in the entire world that I will ever love in that way, only you.”
You don’t even have time to breathe, for when those words leave your lips Bucky decides he simply cannot wait a second longer before kissing you. Though, you’re not complaining, it’s an urge you’ve been supressing constantly since you started working for him.
This kiss starts fast and frantic, you’ve both waited entirely far too long to express your love that you’re eager to feel as much of each other as possible. Bucky’s hands roam around your back, pulling you flush with him as yours start by cupping his face, before tangling in the long strands of his hair.
But when the realisation hits you both that you don’t need rush, that in fact you’ve got the rest of your lives to explore and memorise the intricacies of each other, the kiss slows to a sensual make out, taking your time to enjoy each other and what you’ve been longing for since the moment you met.
“Bucky?” You mumble his name against his lips, but he doesn’t allow you to say more then a single word and take a quick breath before his lips have covered yours again. You’re not sure how long you’ve been kissing him, but he’s clearly not done with you yet.
“Mhmm.” He hums into your mouth, hands slipping below the hem of your shirt, gliding over the smooth, bare skin of your back, sending shivers down your spine. He touches you gently, like you’re a precious flower he doesn’t want to crush, but rather preserve and admire for years to come.
“Take me home.” He pulls back, and your lips already miss being connected to his. You’ll never get enough of him, even if you were to kiss him for the remainder of your days.
He looks at you with a fondness and amazement that makes you think he can’t quite believe you’re his, even though your heart has belonged to him for as long as you’ve known him.
You tuck a strand of his hair behind his ear so you can have an unobstructed view of how he’s looking at you, soaking up the confidence which inflates in your chest when he gazes at you as if you hang the moon and stars in the night sky.
“As you wish, my love.” Bucky affirms, the twinkle in his eye makes excitement surge in your stomach - the night is far from over. He kisses you once more, savouring the feeling and to tide you both over until you make it back to his place.
Bucky takes your hand and refuses to let go as he proudly walks with you by his side through the studio, not giving a damn who sees the two of you together.
Part 5 > >
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Summary: You finally confess your feelings to Bucky, hoping he might like you back. He turns you down.
Pairing: Bucky x Female!Avenger!reader
Genre: Angst, fluff
Warnings: Mentions of heavy drinking, no other significant warnings really without spoiling the plot 🤫
Word count: 6.5k
A/N: If you enjoyed this one, please do leave a comment / feedback / reblog! ❤️
Loving Bucky was like drinking honey. It was warm and comforting, sweet and overwhelming for your senses. You looked forward to seeing his face everyday and adored hearing him laugh, his whole face creasing when he doubled over at something funny you had said.
He had become an unlikely close ally since you joined the team. More than just a colleague. The time you’d spent together in the last year had been a defining period for you, as you had really grown to treasure his presence in your life.
God, the way this man made you feel. You didn’t think you’d ever be lucky enough to meet someone who would make you so happy.
It would be even better if you actually had the gall to tell him how you felt.
Being emotionally vulnerable was difficult. You wanted more, but it was scary. However, you recalled a piece of advice that one of your college professors had told you years ago, wise words which stuck with you. If you never try, the answer will always be no.
You had it set in your mind that you were going to tell him. You were, but maybe not today. You would wait for tomorrow. Or the day after that. Or the day after that.
Your inner turmoil was frustrating. You fought androids and aliens and god knows what else, but you were afraid of this?
It could mess everything up, you reasoned. If he didn’t return your feelings, then you would make everything awkward, and maybe you would lose him even as a friend. You didn't know if you could handle that.
Despite this, a tiny hopeful voice in your head told you that Bucky felt the same about you. The way he always looked for a reason to spend time with you, how he shared his deepest secrets with you. The way you always partnered up on missions, and how you always had each other's backs. The way he comforted you when you were sad, allowing you to cry on his chest, soothing fingers stroking your hair.
When you first joined the team, he had been the first one to properly befriend you. Your first encounter was in the kitchen, where you had ended up in the middle of the night after being unable to sleep.
You were shocked to see Bucky propped up on a breakfast stool at the kitchen island, book in hand. You had waved nervously at him, going over to the fridge to get a carton of chocolate milk.
“Can’t sleep?” he grunted. You glanced to see what it was reading, seeing 'The Hobbit' embossed in gold letters across a hardback cover.
“Yeah,” you said softly, tugging down at the hem of your sleep shirt. You hadn’t exchanged many words with him at this point, but he seemed friendly enough. “You want a glass?”
He contemplated for a second before he nodded. “Sure.”
You ended up sitting opposite each other, glasses of chocolate milk in hand.
“How come you’re awake?”
Bucky smiled wryly. “I have trouble sleeping.”
“Nightmares?”
“Something like that.”
You hummed to yourself, taking a sip of the sweet beverage. There was something childish but comforting about chocolate milk - you always used to have it with your mom when you were small.
“How you feeling?” Bucky asked, breaking the silence. “Settling in?”
You nodded, the grip around your glass tightening. “Yeah, kind of. Everyone’s nice.”
Bucky seemed to know that you wanted to say more, silently promoting you with his eyes to continue.
“Everybody seems very tight knit - I guess that makes me a bit nervous? Trying to fit in.” You looked down, chewing on your lower lip. "I've always had a bit of trouble with that."
“I get you,” Bucky said, eyes still observing you. They were the color of cobalt - stunning. “Don’t worry. I think you’ll do just fine.”
That was the first meeting, and since then, you had only grown closer to him. Your mid-night conversations were a frequent occurrence. At least once or twice a week, you’d find each other in the kitchen at ungodly hours. Over time, you had introduced other activities to pass the time - board games, watching TV shows, fun idle gossip. Each time, you were always accompanied by chocolate milk.
“My mom died when I was six,” you had told Bucky during one of your late night rendezvous, half a year into your time with the team. “I don’t have many memories of her, but I remember that whenever I was sick or sad, she would have chocolate milk with me. It always cheered me up.”
You exchanged nuggets of information about each others pasts, and soon, you were sure that Bucky knew enough about you to write your biography. You felt surprisingly fine, opening up to him about anything and everything.
The seasons passed in a flash, and it was suddenly the one year anniversary of your joining the team. You found Bucky in the kitchen once again, at 3AM on a Thursday. You had a smile ready on your face, though your limbs ached. They were littered with bruises and cuts from your latest mission, but seeing him put a bounce in your step.
Bucky was staring down at his phone, the glow illuminating his face in the semi-darkness. It was chiming loudly with notifications, his expression unreadable.
“What’s that?” you asked, making your presence known.
Bucky already had a glass of milk out for you. He placed his phone down, grimacing.
“Sam got me doing this online dating thing,” he said casually. Your smile fell, unable to hide your surprise. “Modern dating is kind of crazy. Women are so much bolder than in the 40s."
Online dating? What?
“I didn’t know you started online dating,” you said, trying to keep your voice light. You didn’t even know Bucky was Iooking to date. You were deflated - any hopes that Bucky returned your crush were promptly dashed. You tried to swallow your disappointment.
“I wasn’t, really,” he said. “I guess it’s not the worst idea, though.”
Damn you, Sam Wilson, you thought.
“You meet women in real life all the time,” you said, taking your usual seat across him. “No one catch your interest?” You played nonchalantly with your fingers, trying not to pick your nails - a nervous habit.
Bucky pursed his lips, eyes landing on you for a moment before he looked at the ceiling.
“Ah, I don’t know.”
“You met anyone nice so far?” you probed, your jealousy spiking.
“Early days,” he responded. He slid his phone across the surface of the island, showing you the dating app he had open. The girls were plentiful, all beautiful and clearly enthusiastic. Bucky’s inbox was full of flirtatious greetings, but you noticed he hadn’t yet responded to a single one.
“Hmm.” You struggled to keep your face neutral. You felt the sinking realization that he must have never thought of you that way. Otherwise, why would he be looking for someone when you were right there?
You couldn't focus properly on the conversation anymore, your mind racing as Bucky moved the topic onto something unrelated.
Fantasising about Bucky had been dangerous. You had spent so much time imagining the day you would finally confess, and he would reciprocate your feelings and you would have the happy relationship you yearned for. Even if you didn’t confess first, you were hoping he would.
Up until now, you had sometimes told yourself that Bucky was just being patient. That he was old-fashioned, so he was taking his time in courting you.
You realized now that you were simply never considered an option.
The next few weeks were torturous. Christmas was fast-approaching, but you were far from being in the festive mood. You had to put on a front with Bucky now, pretend everything was alright and not feel too tempted to ask about the progress of his dating life. Things were tough, and you were feeling unhappier day by day.
You had always known, deep down, that your feelings for him were more than just a crush, and had been for many months. It ached, the feeling of knowing your emotions were not returned.
One horrible part of you wondered why. Were you not sexy enough? Not smart enough? Not charming enough?
Maybe all of the above.
Seeing Bucky nowadays made you ache. You found yourself feeling sad whenever he cracked jokes with you, shared his thoughts with you, when the backs of his hands brushed against yours as you walked side by side.
He would find someone that he actually wanted to be with, to do all that and more. It wasn’t his fault, and you knew he had no idea that you were in so much pain, that he had single handedly eviscerated you.
Tony's Christmas party was a perfect opportunity to drown your sorrows. So cliché. You knew it was a bad idea, but that didn't stop you knocking back drink after drink by the bar, ignoring Natasha's requests to dance. After all, if all the Hollywood rom-coms you had watched were any indication, this was one of the key steps to getting over a guy.
The party was kicking off, and the room was spinning like a ride at a fairground. Your alcohol tolerance had always been low, and now you were paying for your actions. Your skin was burning hot and prickling, and you were struggling to walk straight. Although, this was exactly what you wanted - it was somehow cathartic, purging you of all the pent of frustration inside.
A dark figure appeared in your eye line. Your vision refocused until you realized who it was - your favorite, handsome face was looking very annoyed right now, mouth set in a firm line.
“You’re drunk,” Bucky stated, his voice filled with annoyance.
“Duh.”
“I’m taking you back to your room,” he said, his hand latching around your bicep.
“No,” you said indignantly, jerking away. Your face blanched at the sudden movement. “I don’t feel well."
Bucky rolled his eyes, opting to steer you towards the balcony instead for some fresh air. He shut the French doors behind you, allowing the silent night air to consume you, isolating the two of you from the crowd.
“Sit,” he said, gently helping you down onto a wrought iron bench. “What were you thinking? You know you can’t drink.”
“I know.”
“Something wrong?” Bucky knew that the answer was yes - there was no other reason for you to be drinking unless you were upset or mad.
“I wanted to forget,” you croaked, leaning your head back to get a proper look at him. The sight of him devastated you. He looked so beautiful, so far out of your reach.
“Forget what?”
You stared up at the ink black sky, at the stars. The night air was cool against your burning skin. Everything was quiet, save the sound of his breathing in your ear as he leaned close to you. In that intoxicated moment, you thought you had nothing to lose, forgetting that Bucky was truly your everything.
“How much I love you,” you whispered, tilting your head to look at him through beseeching eyes.
Bucky sucked in a breath of air. His entire stance became rigid at your words. The way you stared at him imploringly confirmed that he hadn’t misheard.
“How long?” He was frowning even as you gave him a trembling, sad smile.
“A long time.”
He raised his hand as if he wanted to touch you, but settled it back down on his thigh. Your face crumpled at his obvious discomfort.
“I don’t know what to say,” he breathed.
Those words alone were enough to make your throat tighten and the needles in your chest multiply ten-fold.
“Tell me you feel the same way,” you said suddenly. It was a plead. You hated how desperate you were in this moment, but you needed him to know how you felt, and you needed to know whether you had a chance. Call it liquid courage, but you felt like you had nothing to lose when you grasped one of his calloused hands in yours.
Bucky was silent for a long time, staring at you with sadness and regret in his eyes. You hated how uncomfortable you must’ve been making him. God, what were you thinking, burdening him with your feelings and putting him in this position? You scolded yourself mentally, feeling nauseous.
Your hand was tight around his, your knuckles white. With every silent second that passed, your fingers loosened, falling limp. His hand was warm, yet you had never felt so cold.
He pulled his hand free, clenching it into a fist.
“I’m sorry,” he said finally. Each word was a knife sinking into your chest. The realization hit you suddenly, thick and sour.
You felt bile rise in your throat. You stood up then, the floor shaking beneath you. You almost collapsed.
“Be careful - ”
“Oh god,” you whispered, squeezing your eyes shut. “I’m sorry. I need to go.”
You darted away with surprising speed, wrenching the doors open and hurrying back inside the room. You ignored the sounds of him calling you as you rushed through the crowd, trying to put one foot steadily in front of you and praying you wouldn’t fall.
Don’t cry. Don’t cry. Don’t cry.
You held the tears in until you returned to your bedroom, slamming the door shut. You bolted into the en-suite and fell onto your knees in front of the toilet, the acid in your throat finally seeing the surface as you vomited.
Your stomach heaved, emptying yourself of all its contents. But you couldn’t get rid of the horrible, cloying feeling in your gut that came with Bucky’s rejection.
You fell asleep on the bathroom floor, tear tracks on your face and fresh wound in your heart.
You were dreading seeing him the next morning. Thankfully, you arrived in the conference room before he did. The others were there already, gathered around the table. Sam took one look at you and snickered. You were dressed in black, hair in disarray and a pair of large sunglasses on your face.
“Someone had a bit too much fun last night,” he sang.
You grimaced, closing your eyes at the way his voice boomed in your overly sensitive ears. “Stop shouting,” you croaked.
Bucky entered a few minutes later. You kept your head down, refusing to look at him or otherwise acknowledge his presence. To the others, your hostility could be passed off as a result of your clear hangover. But the excruciating humiliation of your confession to him hung between the two of you, making you squirm in your seat.
You didn’t speak for the rest of the meeting, keeping your sunglasses on and staring stoically at Steve as he delivered the mission briefing. As soon as he dismissed the team, you jogged out of the room, but was accosted by Bucky in the hallway.
“Can we talk?” he asked loudly.
You didn’t want to make a scene. You put a fake smile on.
“Sure.” Your eyes were still swollen behind your dark shades as you tried not to let the sight of him bring out any more tears.
He led you into an empty room a few doors down. His face was set like stone, only the slightest crease in his forehead hinting at something akin to distress.
“I’m sorry if I hurt your feelings,” he said carefully.
“It’s okay.” You winced in discomfort, even just the sound of your own voice bringing you pain. You wondered if he had rehearsed a speech, to let you down easy.
“You should never drink that much again.” His voice was sharp, critical.
“I can take care of myself,” you said, taken aback by his tone.
“It’s not worth it,” he said, his attitude easing up. “I’m not worth it. I don’t want you to feel this way because of me."
You felt your shoulders sag. You felt so tired, defeated.
"I can't control the way I feel," you whispered.
Bucky kept a reasonable distance between the two of you, like he was afraid to go near you now that the pair of you were alone. You wished you could read his mind, know what he was thinking.
His next words were chilling. "You’re my friend, and I care a lot about you.”
The emphasis on the word ‘friend’ didn’t go unnoticed. The way he looked at you was orchestrated, pointed. He was letting you know, in no uncertain terms, what he wanted to say. You were almost grateful that he didn’t directly bring up how you had told him you loved him, as if to save you your last shred of dignity.
He stared at you now with such intensity, the meaning clear in the way he looked at you. We are just friends.
He was doing you a favour. Still, your heart shattered. Your hands were shaking. There it was again - that awful, stinging pain of rejection.
“Okay,” you said faintly.
“I'm sorry if I ever made you think that we could be anything more," he began. Tears gathered in the corners of your eyes.
“Let’s not do this,” you interrupted. If he kept speaking, you felt like you might die. You wished the ground would swallow you up.
Bucky licked his lips but remained silent.
“Please..." You hated how your voice shook. "I would really appreciate it if we could just move on. Let’s not bring this up again. It would really help me.”
Bucky folded his arms tightly across his chest, nodding stiffly.
“Okay.”
You backed away from him, grateful your eyes were hidden. You left the room and didn’t look back.
You managed to act normal around Bucky. Well, semi-normal. The rest of the team didn't even seem to notice anything was amiss - you still spoke to Bucky, managed to look at him as if the very sight didn't break your heart, kept a smile on your face.
But that was in front of them. For anything else which wasn't out of necessity or mission-related, you avoided interacting with him. When you woke up in the middle of the night, you no longer plodded into the kitchen, instead staying in your bed, sobbing and staring at the ceiling.
You no longer laughed and joked with him. You turned your attention to the others instead, talking to Steve and Clint and Natasha and whoever else was there, in a desperate attempt to hide the fact that you were trying to keep it together. You wanted to keep your mind distracted.
It was horrible.
Things would not be the same again, at least not for a little while. You needed time to make yourself get over him.
It was easier, when Bucky returned to the compound one night with a blonde on his arm. She was giggling and clinging onto him, and your heart sank when they stumbled into the elevator just as you were making your way to your floor.
You couldn't have been more shocked at the sight of them. Bucky had red prints all over his cheeks, and her lipstick was smeared. The smell of alcohol was in the air.
"You're not supposed to have civilians in here," was the only thing you managed to say, shock infiltrating your system. The blonde giggled.
"Oops."
Bucky only shrugged, his hand slipping into hers as the elevator rose. Your heart clenched.
He was doing this on purpose. He wanted to show you that he had no interest in you, leave you without any doubts. You didn’t know that Bucky had it in him, to be so cruel. If you weren't trying to hold back your tears, you would've almost felt impressed by his antics. The worst thing was, you truly understood why he was doing this.
You think you may have hated him in that moment.
The elevator doors dinged open, and you stumbled out. Tears began prickling in your eyes, and you were sure Bucky could see.
You didn't say anything as you marched to your room, the elevator doors sliding shut.
You had always been good at pretending. Pretending you were happy when you weren't, pretending you were calm when you were furious, pretending you knew the answer when you didn't.
Bucky saw past a lot of that. He could tell when you were lying, could see when you were holding back. He read you like an open book.
He was important to you, and still would be even if he had rejected your confession and rubbed the presence of another girl in your face. You told yourself that it was a good thing - he was performing a service, encouraging you to move on. Besides, he didn't owe you a thing. He could do whatever he wanted with anyone else.
You couldn't lie convincingly to yourself.
Bucky's birthday rolled around all too quickly. You had it marked in your calendar, though you would've remembered even without the reminder.
Despite your conflicted feelings, you wanted to get him a gift. You had planned the perfect one months ago and had enlisted Bruce's help in finding it. You still wanted to see the look on his face when he opened it.
Bucky roamed the hallways on your floor the morning of his birthday, frowning slightly when your bedroom door opened, Bruce appearing in the frame. He caught a glimpse of where you were perched on your bed, face flushed in mild excitement.
Bucky gave Bruce a smile which may have looked more like a grimace, the latter giving him a polite nod before continuing on. Your door swung inwards, but Bucky stuck a hand between it and the frame, poking his head through.
"What's that all about?" he asked, curiosity getting the better of him.
You shuffled something behind your back. You hadn't spoken to Bucky much as of late, barely acknowledging any of the awkward encounters that had occurred in the past months, instead choosing to face him with a professional-politeness.
"Nothing," you said, not particularly aware of what it would look like to have Bruce emerge from your bedroom.
"Is something going on between you two?" he asked directly. He gave a laugh void of humor, the sound escaping him in a huff. "Do you have a thing for emotionally damaged men?" He gestured to himself with his vibranium arm.
The small smile on your lips fell. Anger simmered in your eyes.
How could he? How could he reduce his feelings for you to nothing and stomp on them like it was trash?
You stood and marched towards him, a wave of fury overcoming you, thrusting a wrapped parcel into his hands.
"He helped me get your present, actually. Happy birthday," you spat, watching as Bucky's mouth fell open silently. You pushed past him, unable to look him in the eyes, feeling your stomach twist.
Bucky remained rooted to the spot, fiddling with the wrapping paper hesitantly before he ripped it open.
It was a first edition copy of 'The Grapes of Wrath', excellent condition. The subject of Bucky's favorite books came up after your first encounter when you saw him reading 'The Hobbit'.
"Is it about angry grapes?" you had asked, confused when Bucky laughed. He promised he would buy it and lend you the book one day.
Bucky's ground his teeth, every cell in his body telling him to go after you. But, for all the reasons he had told himself since the day of your confession, he made himself stay put.
Bucky had missed out on a lot in his life since falling off that train in the Austrian Alps. His whole trajectory had changed, and instead of growing old in his century, he found himself in the 21st, thrust into the modern world and navigating his new life.
He always thought, back in the 40s, that he would meet a nice girl and settle down after the war. He would live in a cozy, tiny home and have three kids, maybe four.
He missed out on that and more - though he had been quite the playboy back in his time, he had never experienced true love. He had never met that one woman he would die for.
Bucky had commented off-hand once on how lucky Steve was to meet Peggy before he went into the ice. Steve had reminisced on that with a bittersweet smile, before telling him, you’ll find your Peggy.
Falling in love with you had blindsided him. At first, he viewed you as a friend, a sweet girl who he grew to trust.
Then, he realized that he was slowly being drawn to you, like magnets he couldn’t pull apart. He realized that everything you did was endearing, that you occupied his thought space all the time, that having you around helped him feel comfortable, safe.
You were young, determined, and so innocent. You were somebody who deserved someone as pure and good as you. You weren’t his Peggy - you were something more, so unique and unapologetically you, and he wanted you as his person so badly.
But you deserved someone good. Somebody like Steve, who stood for the best values and only acted for the good of mankind. Not someone morally-gray and jaded like Bucky.
He wanted someone to spend his life with, for sure. If he couldn’t have his idyllic life in the post-war period, then he still wanted to find a partner in this new, still-unfamiliar time.
You fit that profile. He wanted you.
But he would never forgive himself if he weighed you down with his sins.
When you told him you loved him, his heart had broke. He wanted to tell you how much he valued you, how he dreamed of kissing you. He wanted to be a part of your happy ending.
But how much of a happy ending could he really give you? Could he give you children, knowing they would always be in danger from his enemies? Could he give you a wedded, domestic life, when all he knew was how to fight and cause pain?
He had to make his sacrifice for the greater good. Even if he had to crush you, he had to do it.
Someone like Bucky wasn’t supposed to get happy endings. You were, but just not with him.
You couldn't stand to be around him anymore. It was affecting your concentration, your work. It reached a breaking point two weeks after Bucky's birthday, when you requested to speak to Steve privately.
"You want to leave?" he asked, his face appalled.
You nodded curtly. "You’ll still be able to contact me, if you really need me. But I don't think I can stay here anymore."
Steve didn't look as confused at your profession as you expected.
"Is this about Bucky?"
You cringed. God, did he know about everything that happened?
"I don't know what's going on between the two of you," he clarified quickly, "but I can see that something happened. He's not the same, either."
"I'm not in a good place right now," you admitted shamefully. "I'm not saying that this is goodbye forever, Steve. But for my own sanity, I think I need a break."
Steve heaved a sigh. "I know you wouldn't ask unless you really needed it. And you don't need my permission, you know."
"I know," you said, giving him a small smile. "But I just wanted to let you know that I'll be here whenever the team needs it. Emergencies only," you joked. "But for now I think I'll get out of here. Maybe go upstate."
"Have you told him?"
"Don't need to," you said, defensiveness creeping into your voice.
"I think he would like to know."
“We’re not really on speaking terms,” you said bluntly.
Steve clasped a heavy hand on your shoulder. He knew better than to argue. He was sure you’d figure things out for yourself, anyway. “I’ll miss you.”
Now that you had completed the professional courtesy, you decided that you would leave in a few days. You still had some matters to wrap up, and to say goodbye to your teammates. You loved them, and they deserved a proper farewell.
"This isn't goodbye," Nat had said sternly, pulling you into a tight hug. Her voice was quiet and soft in your ear as she whispered, "If you need me, I'll be there."
You squeezed her tight, threatening to tear up. "Thank you."
"Keep your ass out of trouble," Clint had said, winking at you. “And check in with us now and again, yeah?”
Sam was clearly unhappy about everything. And he definitely noticed that you had picked a day to make your announcement when Bucky was conveniently away from the compound.
"Am I gonna see you again?" he asked, raising his eyebrows after you'd embraced.
"Couldn't get rid of me if you tried," you promised, punching his arm.
You retired to your bedroom that night, sure that Bucky would hear the news later after he came back. You kept your phone switched off and door locked for the rest of the evening, making sure the your belongings were packed.
Just past midnight, you crept out of your room, duffel bag over your shoulder. You made your way through the compound, down the floors into the underground garage. Bucky's motorbike wasn't there - he still hadn't returned.
You were grateful. You climbed into your car, and tossed your belongings in the back. You had to stop thinking about him - if you let yourself do it for too long, you were afraid you wouldn’t be able to go.
With a heavy heart, you left this chapter of your life behind.
Your phone rang for days afterwards. Missed calls, voicemails left unanswered, texts left unread.
You couldn't bear to face him. If you pretended he didn't exist, maybe it would ease the pain.
You didn't know where you were driving to. You simply knew you had to get as far away as possible, clear your head. You were at a crossroads, and you needed to pull yourself together, but for now you would allow yourself to wallow.
You had been spending each night in a different motel. Wake up, drive, sleep. Wake up, drive, sleep. You wanted to put as much distance between yourself and Bucky Barnes as possible.
You had no idea how you had gotten everything so wrong. Did you really misinterpret the signals? Was every intimate moment between the two of you simply platonic?
You didn't want to feel so beat up over a guy, but he wasn't just any guy. He was the first man you had ever loved.
Life was funny, sometimes. You supposed that you couldn't always expect happy endings.
You kicked open the door of the latest motel, a bag of takeout in your hands. You noticed the dark, shadowy figure on your bed in an instant, your hand sliding to the dagger sheathed in your belt on reflex. Before your brain even had time to catch up with what you were seeing, you had aimed and launched it, shocked when a familiar voice rang out.
"Calm down, tiger," he rasped. The bedside light flicked on, and Bucky was suddenly there, twirling your dagger between his fingers. He tossed it to the side, letting it land on the carpet with a soft thud.
A week had passed since you last saw him. Seeing him sent an electrifying jolt straight through your core.
"What are you doing here?" you asked. You were shocked, but your first thought was that something terrible had happened. "Is it the team? Are they in danger?"
Bucky looked irate, his jaw clenching and unclenching. His hands were knotted together, worry hiding beneath his anger.
"I've been calling you for days. You left without saying goodbye. Hell, you left without saying anything." His voice was gruff and accusatory.
That gave you the answer you needed. The team were fine, and he was simply here to rant. You felt the initial shock of his appearance wear off.
He stood up and stepped towards you, and that was when you noticed the state he was in. His usually close shaven beard was slightly unkempt, and his eyes were bloodshot. He looked worn out.
"Yeah," you retorted, "I kind of did that on purpose."
"Why?" His voice was a whisper. "Why would you do that?"
You were exasperated. You did not envision yourself having to explain your decisions to him. His appearance both delighted and depressed you. It was tiring, having these two sides battle each other whenever you saw him. Your love for him versus his heavy rejection.
"I can't be around you anymore," you admitted, your voice tight. "I thought I could, but I can't."
"Why the hell not?" he pressed stubbornly.
"You know why!" you cried out. "Why are you doing this to me, Bucky? I told you I loved you and, okay, you don't love me. Fair enough," you said, frustrated. "But to go out of your way to hurt me? Remind me that I'm nothing more than a friend? Bring other girls back to the compound so you can fuck them?"
Bucky flinched. "I never - "
"No!" you shouted, cutting him off. "You don't get to do this, Bucky." You felt wetness on your cheeks, and realized you were crying. It only made you more exasperated. "You don't get to tear my heart out of my chest and come here when I've been trying to get away from you."
He stormed up to you, hands reaching for you, but you batted him away.
"Don't!" Your hand hit his chest, barely moving him an inch. "Just stop! Please!" Your voice broke, and you shook with tears. The dam had broke, and seeing him here was just too much.
"Please don't cry," he pleaded, his face anguished.
"What are you doing here?" you asked, your voice breaking. "What do you want from me?"
Bucky looked so upset, taking another step forward, but you walked backwards until you hit the door.
"You don't want me," you exclaimed through your tears. You needed him to understand how much pain you were in just by seeing him. "You can't be here, Bucky. I can't look at you and remember how you just don't love me back."
Bucky pulled you into his arms, tightening them when you struggled. He was stronger than you - you had no choice but to become a prisoner against his chest. You were crying as you had many times before in his hold, but this time it felt different. Your heart was pounding and you were aching, wanting to melt into him but also aware of the anger and sadness flaring within you. It was torture.
"It hurts too much," you managed to get out through your wailing sobs.
He didn't say anything until you stilled. He let you cry, your tears soaking through his shirt. Your quiet sniffs and hiccups accompanied his words when he finally spoke.
"You weren't supposed to appear in my life," he said, his voice tense. "You weren't supposed to be so wonderful, so comforting. You made me feel so safe."
You didn't say anything, confusion rendering you temporarily speechless.
"I thought I was fine on my own. I've been a soldier all my life, just focusing on fighting everyone else's battles. And then I met you."
You had no idea where this was going as Bucky's arms seemed to tighten all the more around you.
"It felt...strange, how I wanted to kiss you. How I wanted you there, next to me, all the time.”
You looked up at Bucky, really taking in his exhausted eyes, his chapped lips, the way he was looking at you now with an exquisite softness.
"I felt like I was doing something wrong. I thought - I don't want to - ruin you," he said. "You are so young and have your whole future ahead of you and I didn't want to bring you down with all of me. My history, my demons, my baggage. And I ended up hurting you."
A spark of hope appeared, wanting to ignite into a flame. You expelled a shaky breath.
"Do you love me?" you asked, your fingers digging into his shoulders as he continued to hold you.
He nodded, his words like velvet. "How could I not? Of course I love you."
Of course, he said. But your insecurities prevailed, and you shook your head.
"You did a good job of hiding it," you said sadly.
Bucky closed his eyes regretfully.
"I know. I don't know what I was thinking. I thought if I could push you away, make you fall out of love with me, you would find someone worthy."
"What makes you think you're not worthy?" you retorted.
"Some days, I feel like no amount of good deeds I do can redeem me," he murmured.
"Bucky," you said slowly. "You're one of the best men I've ever known. Your heart is so kind."
"I'm sorry." He grasped one of your hands, brought it to his lips, kissing the back of your hand. "I'm sorry I hurt you. Part of me thought you would shrug, get over it and find someone else."
Your smile was full of sorrow. "Then you have no idea how much you truly mean to me.
Bucky cupped the side of your face. Seeing you in this state had truly been a wake up call for him. When he found out you had left the compound, all his resolve had crumbled. He realized that he had hurt you so deeply that you couldn’t physically be around him. That was when he knew that the connection between the two of you was too rare to let it slip, when he felt an immense pain at the idea of never seeing you again.
Having you in front of him now was heartbreaking. Your eyes were puffy, and you looked tired and so frail. He loved you, and you were supposed to take care of the people you loved. He swore on his life that he would dedicate himself to showing you what you really meant to him.
"When you asked me what I'm doing here," Bucky said, a hopeful smile on his face, "It's to tell you that I love you, so much. And I'm here to take you home."
You nodded, fresh tears filling your eyes, except this time they were borne from happiness.
"Let's go."
He had already packed your belongings for you, you realized when he released you to hoist your bags over his shoulder, which he had placed by the door. He paused, slipping his hand into his pocket and placing a tiny kid-sized carton into your hand. "Almost forgot. For the journey."
Chocolate milk.
You threw your arms around him, jumping to hook your legs around his hips. He dropped your bags as you kissed him, his hands reaching to support your thighs as he returned it with equal passion.
"This room is paid for," you gasped into his mouth. "Let's go back tomorrow."
He was silent when he walked back to fall onto the bed with you on top of him, his mouth never once leaving yours.
Happy 6k!!!! That’s so exciting and you deserve it :)
Can I request Bucky & touch starved?
.⋆｡Small Adjustments｡⋆.
Bucky Barnes x plus size reader
To Bucky, touch brought with it pain and suffering but maybe it can be different with you
Warnings: touch starved!Bucky, fluff, mutual pining, mention of torture, bit of hurt/comfort
WC: 1.3k
6k Follower Celebration Bingo
Library- @hannibals-favourite-meal-library
It was an unspoken agreement amongst the Avengers that under no circumstances was Bucky to be touched. There were one too many instances of him lashing out at even the smallest of touches and after Peter’s arm was almost broken when he grabbed Bucky’s shoulder to steady himself after tripping, the rule was firmly set in place.
Touch had always been the harbinger of pain to Bucky. He had experienced and survived thousands of experiments; he knew the difference between acids just based on how much they burned him when they made contact with his skin. He knew what it was like to be ripped apart from the inside out as he was stitched back together while fully conscious. Bucky’s nerves were permanently scarred with each and every moment of pain, ensuring that he would never forget what he had gone through. Needless to say, he appreciated the physical distance the Avengers afforded him, even if it did make his chest ache sometimes.
He saw the friendly touches between them all— a hug after a hard mission, a clap on the back during training, even the occasional platonic cuddling during movie nights and he couldn’t help but be envious, especially when it came to you.
You were, by far, the most affectionate person he had ever met. You didn’t hesitate to wrap yourself around anyone who needed a hug, your hand was quite frequently clamped with someone else’s (Natasha’s or Wanda’s more often than not). You weren’t selfish with your touch and though it could be deadly thanks to your training, Bucky knew that you would never hurt the people you cared about.
“Barnes~ where are you!” Bucky’s lips curled into a gentle smile as your voice floated through the hallway, immediately brightening up the entire building.
“I’m in the kitchen, doll!” He shouted back before your footsteps quickened and you burst into the room. Your eyes, although still bleary with sleep even though it was 2 in the afternoon, positively sparkled as soon as you spotted the ex-assassin. Bucky raised an eyebrow at you, and you flustered slightly, looking down at what you were wearing.
“I thought I lost that shirt.”
“Yeah well don’t leave your stuff out if you don’t want someone to steal it.” You shrugged as you skipped over to the pot of fresh coffee still sitting in the machine.
“I seem to remember putting that shirt away, in my closet, in my locked bedroom.” Bucky took a sip of his own coffee.
“I don’t know what to tell you, I think old age is finally getting to you.” You tried to hide your warming cheeks behind your mug but he could see right through you.
“Whatever you say doll.” A comfortable silence settled over the both of you for a moment before you cleared your throat.
“So… we have the place to ourselves today,” Bucky knew what was coming, “wanna binge-watch Supernatural with me?” You looked up at him with such a hopeful expression on your face, it made his heart skip a beat.
“I don’t know, I was planning on going for a long run today.” His voice tilted up but in your post-sleep haze, you couldn’t pick up on the shift in his tone. Immediately, your eyes dropped and your bottom lip poked out. Bucky’s stomach flipped and suddenly all he wanted to do was to scoop you up into his arms and kiss away your pout. Instead, he blurted out quickly, “Hey, hey. I was just teasing. Of course I’ll watch with you. Gotta see what Sean and Dan get up to.”
You sniffed. “It’s Sam and Dean and you know it. Don’t pretend you’re not as obsessed as I am.” The band around his heart loosened.
“Yeah sure. You want Chinese or Thai?” He fished his phone out from his pocket.
“Like you even have to ask.” You retorted.
——————
You felt like you were sitting next to a feral cat as the food coma finally set in. Empty boxes of food were scattered around the coffee table in front of you while yet another episode started up but it wasn’t as if you were paying any sort of attention to the screen in front of you.
Somehow, during your feast of questionable takeout, Bucky had migrated from where he had been perched on the other side of the couch to sitting beside you, the thick muscle of his thigh almost touching your knee where you were curled up. His blue eyes stayed glued to the TV while he sighed heavily and leaned back into the couch cushions.
You held your breath as his shoulders dropped, leaving barely an inch of space between you. This was the closest Bucky had ever gotten to you and you would be damned if you fucked this up. Of course you knew about his aversion to touch, you had even witnessed his violent response to it first hand but Jesus did you want to feel the heat of his skin, the strength of his body as he hugged you.
Bucky was undoubtedly your best friend out of all the Avengers yet he was the only one to have never felt your embrace.
Your body trembled as you tried to keep yourself still. You didn’t want to accidentally brush against him and send him scrambling off but you also didn’t want to move away and give him the impression that you didn’t want him near you. And selfishly, you did want him beside you if only to fuel your hopeless crush on the man.
There was a gunshot on the screen, startling you. You jumped and suddenly, you were half on top of Bucky.
Your palm spread across the expanse of his stomach, letting you feel the hardness of his abs and the warmth that radiated off of him. The tip of your nose brushed against his as your eyes locked. You both stayed there for a second before the reality of the situation hit you squarely in the chest.
“Oh god Bucky I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to.” You threw yourself back against the arm of the couch as panic bubbled up in your gut. Bucky remained frozen where he sat, both his hands slightly raised as he looked down at his lap. “Bucky I-“ Your voice was thick with tears.
You shook your head as you pressed the heels of your palms to your eyes, desperately trying to keep them away. How stupid were you? You knew you should’ve just given him some more space, paid attention to the TV so you would know if something would startle you. Do literally anything else besides jumping on the man with severe trauma. You messed everything up.
“Doll,” Bucky cooed as his hand gently wrapped around your wrists, slowly pulling them down so he could look at you, “I’m not mad.”
“You’re not?” He chuckled softly, now bringing your hands into his lap so he could hold them.
“How could I ever be mad at you? I know it was an accident but more than that, I know you would never want to hurt me. I’m safe with you.” You could feel the slight tremble in his hands like he was struggling to keep touching you but Bucky refused to let go, he even shuffled closer to you. You nodded but stayed quiet. He finally smiled. “Besides, I think it’s time I got one of those famous Y/N hugs. Not now of course, I’m way too fucked up for that, but soon.”
“Don’t be mean to yourself Barnes,” you scolded, “lots of people hurt you. You get to be patient with healing. We just make small adjustments, build up to it y’a know.”
“Yeah, small adjustments.” His right hand slid into your left, your fingers intertwining as you both melted back into the couch, your eyes drifting back to your show that neither of you would be paying any attention to. After a few minutes, Bucky’s thumb began to rub against the skin of your knuckles, a delicate back and forth that both sent a flurry of butterflies into flight in your stomach and ignited your cheeks with a blazing heat.
Summary: In which you feel like Bucky’s ashamed of you.
Word Count: 3.2k+ (god i really thot i could shut up for once huh)
Pairing: biker!bucky x reader
Warning(s): a liiil angst. i tried to make this lighter than the moment
a/n: i genuinely thought this was gonna be shorter lmao and mercury retrograde’s kicking my fuckin ass so i offer you this trash
Girls like you don’t go with guys like him.
You hear it all the time. Maybe not directly, but those words are there, hiding in every are you sure or it’s only a matter of time or you’re too good for him.
You never really cared much about what they had to say. They don’t know him like you do. They’re not there for the moments in which you are.
They don’t see him soft. They don’t see his sleepy eyes and gentle smiles in the morning, the crinkles beside his eyes when he grins at you. The childlike enthusiasm he has when he’s talking about things he cares about. They’re not there for when he’s sweet and needy and cuddly and never wants to let you go.
They don’t see him sad. Tear tracks on his cheeks and the littlest whimpers that escape when he’s still trying to hide the fact that he’s crying. The way he clings onto you for grounding when he feels like he’s drowning in misery. The way he’d stay up blankly staring at the ceiling because he’s coming to terms with the fact that he can’t carry the weight of the world on his shoulders no matter how capable of it he projects himself to be.
They see him tough. They see him when he’s scowling and brooding and using his huge stature to intimidate. They see him angry, they see him fight.
But they don’t see him in love. They don’t see him love you.
Yet another AO3 bot situation - please spread the word!
Hi, it's me again, the person who wrote that viral post about fanfiction plagiarism! Today I'm here to warn you about abuse perpetrated by bots who have stolen AO3 usernames.
There's currently an epidemic of bots going around leaving (apparently random) horrible, hateful comments on people's fics. This isn't the first time bots have invaded AO3, but the big problem with this wave is that they're using real AO3 usernames to do it.
I learned about this when another writer contacted me after receiving the following comment on their story:
Now, while that is my username, I DEFINITELY did not leave this comment (and anyone who would leave something like that on a fic should be slapped! What an awful thing to post). This fic is in a completely unrelated fandom that I have never participated in, nor has that author participated in any of my fandoms, so the probability of it being some intentional fandom drama thing to make me look bad is also low.
The writer whose fic the comment was left on enlisted the aid of some friends and tracked down other guest comments with unrelated usernames attached, which is pretty strong evidence that they are being left by bots at random.
The TL;DR: If you receive a cruel comment from a (Guest) with an actual AO3 username attached, it's most likely from a bot. Please do not lash out at or dogpile the AO3 user who owns that name, and who in all likelihood has no idea that their name has been hijacked for evil.
If finding this kind of comment on a fic, even left by a bot, is likely to upset you, I would recommend changing your comment settings so that only users who are logged in can leave comments. To do this, edit your story settings, and under "Privacy," select the radio button that says "Only registered users can comment," as shown below.
Please spread the word to other AO3 users! And if you see mean guest comments on other fics, maybe let the author know that it's probably from a bot and not a real person who thinks their writing is bad.
summary: you are in love with bucky barnes. for a long time, the both of you were joined at the hip but then your team stops being paired with his on missions. he stops inviting you over for movie nights. when it finally looks like things are looking up, you hear bucky talking with steve and... it's not good.
word count: 11k
warnings: insecure!reader, miscommunication, hurt/comfort, canon-level violence, gun violence, mention of blood & death
note: this is almost as long as all of the other imagines i've posted combined and also took me a week to write. be gentle with me, i love it dearly. also, translations for the norwegian i used are at the end.
title credit: billie eilish
masterlist - request - support my work? - ao3
You’re not sure where you went wrong, honestly. The signs were all there. Bucky kept you close in the compound, watched your back on missions, invited you to his room to watch movies with him. All of those things on their own were innocent and platonic, sure, but then he looked at you. Bucky really looked at you. Bucky looked at you like nobody else in the world has ever looked at you. It made you feel special. It made you think you were special - to him, at the very least.
But you should have known better. You were only an agent, a damn good agent, but much further down the food chain than Sergeant James Barnes. Of course, his attention to you was too good to be true. You should have known.
It happens slowly at first, just like gaining his attention did. You find yourself in his wing of the compound less and less; you spend more time training with your Strike team than curled up in his bed and catching him up on the movies and TV shows he missed while under Hydra’s… Employment. It helps, though. You had felt yourself getting rusty on missions. While you ratcheted up your team’s training schedule, it helped whip you back into shape. Your reaction time was back, your aim was better, your endurance was certainly not taking the hit it had been when you were spending three nights a week laying in bed and snacking with Bucky.
Despite all of the personal progress you were making, and the professional progress you were making as your team improved under your new schedule, you feel like something is missing. And you know something is. Bucky still looks at you in a way that makes you feel like the world is shrinking until it's just you and him. He still hangs around while you train your team, giving you little pointers on how to tell them to improve. He still has your back on missions.
But movie nights stop.
You don’t dare confront him because you know he’s still recovering from everything that Hydra put him through - the things they forced him to do. To question his actions would be to question whether or not he knows his own boundaries and you know he knows. Hopefully that he knows that you know that he knows. But still, it sort of aches when he pulls away like that because you’re not even being assigned the same missions as Bucky anymore. Your team used to run smoothly underneath his and missions would be completed in half the time allotted.
Now, though, you haven’t been on a mission in almost two months - let alone on a mission with Bucky and his crew. Ugh. You put your back into sparring with your weakest recruit, hoping to whip her into shape on the off chance that you’d be assigned another mission. She gets a few hits in because you’re distracted thinking about Bucky and how smoothly he’s pulling away from you but when you buckle down you take her to the ground easily. A jab to her throat, a sweep of your leg, a twist of your hips paired with a shift of your weight and you both go down like a sack of rocks. You let her struggle for a little bit longer before putting her out of her misery and making her tap into submission.
When you stand, you’re breathless and grinning. The recruit takes your hand and you pull her to her feet. “You did good, Private. Really holdin’ your own now.” She grins brightly.
“Thank you, Corporal!” She chirps, “I know you have a lot going on; it’s so nice that you said you’d give me extra training.” You both begin walking to the changing room because she had mentioned that she has a date with another recruit and you almost want to pretend like you have something to do, too.
“No problem,” You wave her off at the door, “I know y’all think that I have a lot goin’ on, but I don’t. Just me, myself, and I.” You shrug. “Go on, get ready for your date. I’m goin’ to work out some more.” The recruit nods, a twinkle in her eye as she turns to head into the change room but she pauses and looks over her shoulder.
“I shouldn’t be saying this, Corporal, but the team talks. They say that you and Barnes have a little somethin’ somethin’ going on.” She winks and shimmies her shoulders a little bit. “So you can go ahead and be not busy all you want.” She disappears before you can register the fact that you’re more on edge than ever. Your back hurts from how quickly you’d straightened out with surprise and your throat feels thick and tight. You had thought that there was something there - because of the way he looked at you and through you at the same time - but there wasn’t. His repeated distancing from you told you that, and that was fine. It had to be fine.
You have to be fine.
You take a deep breath and try to push your recruit’s humor-filled eyes out of your mind. It doesn’t matter what your team thinks, what his team thinks, what you think. It matters what Bucky thinks. You’ll put Bucky before anything and everything, even if it means risking your job and your happiness. The frustration that comes with the knowledge that he doesn’t feel the same way about you, despite the signs that had managed to convince you otherwise, burns off on the treadmill as you push yourself. You’d learned from the best when it came to burying your emotions and stubbornly not thinking about them so that’s what you do. You run until your mind is nothing but the bum-bum-bum of your rabbiting heart, the measured inhale and exhale that comes with endurance exercise, the feel of sweat dripping down your neck and under your shirt. Your mind calms in the familiar burn of your muscles and you finally push Bucky out of it.
For at least half an hour.
When you fish your phone out of your bag you have three messages from Bucky waiting and you groan. Just when you’ve finally put him out of your mind, he’s found a way right back in it. “The perils of finding a home in another person,” You muse out loud, opening the messages he’s sent you.
hey.
And then, ten minutes later, there’s another message.
you busy tonight?
Finally, after that, the message that came in less than five minutes ago.
team misses you.
Of course, being close with Bucky leads to close relationships with the other Avengers, too. Well, closer than your average Corporal is. As far as you know, you’re one of the only Strike team leaders that have spent any time with them casually or outside of active missions. It makes your heart warm, even as you frown at his message. Team misses you, he had written. Not I miss you. Team. You shrug it off and reply.
Not too busy tonight. Just got done training Private Ikeda & doing a workout of my own.
You chew on the inside of your cheek while you wait for his reply, but you can’t wait. It sounds weird to leave it at that, so you send another message.
Movie night with the team?
You can’t help yourself -
Or movie night with just us?
Bucky replies to your third message almost right away. You figure he was probably looking at his phone, typing out a reply, but you wonder if he was just waiting for you to be done sending messages. (In all of the time you two have texted he’s become used to the fact that you’re a serial double texter. Sometimes you’re more of a quadruple or quintuple texter.)
can steve join us?
You smile at your phone then. Maybe Bucky isn’t back to normal, but maybe he’s damn close. You’re just glad that he’s inviting you back to his room for movie night, even if Steve’s going to be there. (You have nothing against Steve it’s just… You miss your alone time with Bucky. Sure, you’re in love with the guy and think that he might feel the same way for you, but it’s more than that. The movie-night-intimacy is different when there are other people there and you crave what it’s like when it’s just you and Bucky.)
Sure! I hope he’s in the mood for a good 70’s movie. That’s where we’re at, right? What time is good for you two?
You blow out a breath and tuck your phone back in your bag, heading to the showers. You’d been making your way through the decades with Bucky and had just started the 70’s when he’d started tapering off your time spent together. Hopefully, his invitation means things are going to be going back to normal despite how strange it is that he’s inviting Steve.
Again, you’d like to be able to call Steve a friend of yours. He’s a good Captain, respects you professionally and personally, and isn’t the blushing flower the media likes to portray him as. You’ve spent more than a few times bent over wheezing as he tells you some raunchy story from his time post-serum in the Army or pre-serum in 1930’s Brooklyn. In those moments you felt Bucky’s eyes on you, gleaming as you got along with his best friend. Those were also those moments that lent to your belief that maybe he held a fraction of the feelings you had for him, but when movie nights stopped you chalked things like those moments up to wishful thinking.
You shower quickly and then pull on the change of clothes that you’d brought with you. Just simple sweats and a sweatshirt with comfortable slides. As you gather your things and slip your phone in your pocket, you think about changing but it’s Bucky. (And Steve.) Neither of them will care. The most that you do is stop by your room to drop off your bag and fill up a water bottle to take with you. Like most movie nights go, one of you will end up ordering takeout so you don’t worry about eating anything even though you can feel your hands shaking. You have two messages from Bucky when you finally check your phone in the safety of your room.
steve says he’s okay with 70’s movies. he suggested rocky. how does that sound?
seven works for us.
Your eyes move to the time at the top of your screen. It’s six-thirty, but by the time you get to Bucky’s room, it’ll be six forty-five so you turn on your heels and head that way. There’s nothing wrong with being early, you try to tell yourself, it has nothing to do with how much I want to see Bucky. In your eagerness, you forget your water bottle on your nightstand.
Works for me! See you then.
Several people stop you on the way to Bucky’s room but you politely excuse yourself from the conversations. Tony has a weird look on his face when you tell him where you’re going, but you brush it off. He’s Tony Stark - he just looks like that sometimes. You’ve come to get used to it working for him and, also, being in his orbit via your friendship with Bucky. He thinks faster than you can comprehend so strange facial expressions come with the territory.
When you hit Bucky’s door, you hesitate. Normally you would let yourself in but everything has changed, so where does that leave you? Should you knock or would that distance yourself more from him? You sigh in frustration and your shoulders hike toward your ears as the tension you’d managed to run out of your body comes back and tightens around your spine. You finally decide to knock but before you can make contact, you hear voices approaching the other side of the door. You freeze after hearing your name from Bucky, stress holding down every syllable. Your hand hovers over the wood as you listen to what he’s saying.
“-should be here soon,” He sounds stressed, “I don’t know what to say, Steve.”
Steve’s voice joins Bucky, a deep timbre that cuts through the supposed soundproofing the apartments at the compound have. “Just tell the truth, Buck. Anything else won’t be genuine, and we all know you’re not a good liar.” Your eyebrows climb until they’re nearly launching off of your forehead. What the hell is Bucky trying to lie to you about? At one time you had thought that you knew Buck like the back of your hand - not as much as Steve does, of course. But you had thought you might have been close. But now you realize that you don’t really know him at all, do you? Although, he doesn’t have to tell you everything. You certainly don’t tell him everything.
“Yeah,” Bucky continues. It sounds like they’re literally standing on the other side of the door, “And say what, punk? Sorry I asked Tony to keep us separate on missions? Sorry I can’t stand to be around you without feeling sick to my stomach? Yeah, that’ll go over like a sack of bricks.” Your heart drops out through your ass and finally, your arm moves back to your side. Involuntarily you take a step back because he has to be talking about you. Who else would he be talking about? You’re the one that hasn’t been on a mission with your team in two months when, before, it was at least once every other week with Bucky’s team. You’re the one who can’t seem to pin down a time to go back to your regularly scheduled movie nights with him because he’s resistant. You’re the one that witnessed Tony’s confused face when you said Bucky and I are goin’ to have a movie night, Tony, I really have’t get going. He had said your name.
Oh, God.
You’d misread all of it. Every single thing. All of the time spent together, the way that missions went, the looks he was giving you. He didn’t… He doesn’t like you. It almost sounds like he hates you.
What had you done to make him hate you?
You hear Steve sigh through the door and can practically see his hands on his hips. “You know sayin’ shit like that won’t go over well. You’re not dumb, Buck, so stop actin’ like it. This all is above my pay grade. You do what you have to do.” Bucky groans. “No, I’m leavin’. I don’t wanna be here for this conversation. I had enough of that in the ol’ days.” You take several silent steps back when you hear Steve approach the door even more. Bucky’s voice comes through clearer like he’s hastily followed after.
“No!” He practically shouts, desperation hanging off of his exclamation. Your stomach drops even more, if possible, and you set your jaw to try to keep the tears at bay. You’ve never heard anyone so desperate to not be alone with you, and it hurts you in insecurity that you thought that you had buried long ago. “Steve, don’t go. I can’t - I can’t do this if we’re alone together. I can’t stand it!”
“Just be honest!” Steve returns, just as close to the door and loud as Bucky had been. “It’s not that hard, Buck. You’ve been dead honest with me since the ’20s. Why is this any different?” You don’t want to hang around to hear his answer. It’s almost seven now and you’ll have to disappear to your room before you deal with whatever emotions you’re having, otherwise, people will ask questions.
You turn and flee back the way you came, keeping your steps silent so that the super-soldiers with their God damn super-soldier hearing won’t catch your escape. When you’re down the hallway it doesn’t matter as much, because Bucky’s door has opened and their argument spills into the hallway, covering the slamming of the door as you head back into the main atrium and out of the Avenger’s wing. The emotional pain is so overwhelming that it’s physical, an aching settling in your chest and behind your ribcage. The voices are following you like Steve is trying to leave and Bucky is following him, and they’ll be on you at any moment. You slip into an elevator and just stand there once the doors close.
You just have to get back to your room. Tomorrow is the first of the month and they’ll post new missions then. All you have to do is get back to your room without seeing Steve or Bucky, deal with your emotions, and then begin mission prep for whatever you’re assigned for this month. You jam the button for your floor and as the elevator starts moving you realize that you might not have any missions. Especially if Bucky asked Tony to stop assigning your teams together - you had thought that the Avengers liked you well enough, but what if they were just putting up with you because of Bucky? What if now that he hates you - the thought burns its way through your body and hot tears begin tracking down your cheeks - what if they don’t want anything to do with you, either? Would Tony punish you for whatever you’ve done to make Bucky act like this? Would he bench you - and by extension, your team? The elevator opens on your floor but you don’t step out.
Okay, new plan.
“FRIDAY,” You ask in a shaking voice, “Can you tell me where Tony is right now?”
“Mister Stark is currently in his office looking over the schedule that Captain Rogers has provided.” You try not to cry more when it sounds like the AI is pitying you. How fucked up does your life have to be for an AI created by Tony Stark to pity you?
“Can you take me to that floor?” You ask, “Can you lead me to his office?”
“Of course, Corporal. Would you like me to tell him you’re seeking a meeting?”
“No,” You decide, wrapping your arms around yourself, “No, I just need to stop in and see him.” FRIDAY doesn’t reply but the elevator hums to life again, taking you higher than the third floor that your wing was on. You climb further than you think possible and the elevator finally opens on the seventh floor.
“Mister Stark’s office is at the end of the hall,” FRIDAY informs you. You thank the AI and step out of the elevator to wipe at your eyes. Hopefully, your face isn’t puffy or red, but if it is there’s nothing you can really do about it. Tony will just have to ignore it.
You hesitate outside of his office door. While Tony is still technically the head of the Avengers, he shares most of his duties with Steve. They balance a lot of the responsibilities, even down to scheduling. Steve lays the month out in the way that he thinks it should go, and passes it to Tony who will make any changes that he sees fit and, if Steve agrees with them, that becomes the schedule. You know that you should talk to Steve and Tony together because of this, but if Bucky had gone to Tony to override his best friend you sure as shit would too. You don’t care that it’s breaking every rule that you’re technically supposed to follow. This is an emergency and you absolutely will break rank to get what you want.
What you need.
Finally, after nearly ten minutes of standing outside of Tony’s office and trying to calm yourself down, you knock on the door. From inside there’s panicked shuffling and then a muffled who the fuck is at my office this late? which is followed by a much louder, intentional: “Come in!”
You barely open the door before you’re slipping in. Tony sits up straighter when he sees you. “What are you doin’ here? Thought you and Team Elsa were havin’ a movie night?” You make a strangled noise and shake your head, opting to stand near the door rather than approach.
“I need a favor.” You grit your teeth and shake the thoughts rumbling in your head away just for a few more moments. “I want my team on as many solo missions as possible this month.” His eyebrows climb but you hold your ground. “We’re good for it and we haven’t been out of this place in two months.” Tony sighs and drops his head into his hands.
“I can’t do that. Sure we have missions open, but they’re all for one person. Not the right kind of solo.” He looks at you, something unreadable brewing behind his eyes. You respect Tony. Hell, you might even consider him a friend. But you’ve never been able to read what he hides behind his brown eyes. (Of course, you’re sure that you’ve never been able to read anyone considering what you’ve just found out about Bucky and the way it’s directly opposite what your assumptions had been.)
“So just send me.” You shrug, “I don’t care what anyone else has told you about my skills as a leader or an agent, but I’m good at what I do. My team is the most efficient Strike team you have and it’s because of me.” He looks like he’s been caught, but you don’t dwell on that. “I need to get out of here, Tony. I need to get out and stay out for at least three days as soon as possible or I am going to go insane and do something I regret.”
“Like what?” He challenges.
“Like quit.” You volley back.
“So you know that Barnes told me to stop assigning you together.” Tony leans back in his chair, looking haggard. You don’t answer but you don’t break eye contact, either. “I can do my best to get you on the roster for at least one recon this month, but I can’t guarantee anything. I’m not the only one that has to agree.”
“Well,” You open the door behind you, “You have until tomorrow to get him to agree, Tony. I can’t handle being stuck in this compound because Barnes doesn’t trust that I can do my job.” You bid him goodbye before whatever argument was bubbling below the surface could escape Tony. He’d looked shocked at your candor and blatant lack of recognition for the fact that his rank is technically higher than yours, despite not being enlisted like you are. You wish that wasn’t true because you feel the desperation clawing up in your chest and how willing you are to throw your rank around to get what you want, even though you really shouldn’t.
Halfway to the elevator, you realize that Steve might be ditching Bucky so that Bucky will talk to you, but also to go over whatever decisions that Tony’s making. You turn around and take the stairs down to your floor, thanking whatever God that may be listening that you run into nobody. By the time you hit the wing where your team and another stays you are practically sprinting to get to your room. You hit the door hard, shaking so bad that it’s hard to get the door open. But you manage. You manage to get inside and get to your bed before you fully collapse in on yourself.
When the sun rises, you’re still awake. You’ve long since stopped crying and boxed up all of your emotions, shoving them into the back of your head so you can focus on your schedule for the day. You have the first half of the day free and then some exercises to run outside with your team so you take your time making breakfast and getting dressed.
You take your time until you remember your impromptu meeting with Tony the night before when your emotions were running high. Almost immediately your stomach is in knots and you’re out your door. Ikeda is there with her best friend, chatting in the hallway about the prior’s date. You’re sure you know the friend’s name but it escapes you as you barely acknowledge the fact that they’re there. The schedule is in the main atrium, on the first floor, and you’re sure that Bucky and the others will be there checking since it’s so early, but you can’t find it in yourself to care.
You just have to know if you’re going to be stuck in the compound for another damn month being ignored by someone you thought loved you.
There’s too much empty energy in your body to justify taking the elevator, so you take the stairs. Focusing on how your heart rate raises with every step you take helps keep your mind off of the pain that’s creeping back in now that you aren’t putting your whole focus on compartmentalizing. It’s there, under the surface of your skin, just waiting for someone to tap on your armor and spill out for everyone to see. You can’t let that happen - you don’t want Bucky, or anyone else to know, that his lack of care for you hurt you so deeply and so much that you went running for the first mission you could find. Despite that, you have to take a second before entering the atrium to wipe at your eyes and school your face.
There’s already a crowd forming around the schedule and you grit your teeth as you fight through it. Natasha is there at the front, looking over the papers with an unimpressed look. You barely notice her when you finally make it past all of the other Strike team leaders - maybe if you had looked closer you would have realized that Bucky was on her left side, watching you search the paper for your name.
There’s one mission scheduled for the end of the month with your team - a quick in and out protection gig, nothing special. It frustrates you the way that Steve and Tony set the schedules up. What is the point of going from the last of the month backward? To make it inconvenient?
You get antsy when you’re halfway through the schedule and your name doesn’t crop up again, but then you sag with relief. There, on today’s date, you’re slotted for a ten-day solo mission into Norway. You’ll be flying out in the afternoon and then it will be you, the Norwegian/Russian border, and a system of safehouses for a blissful ten days to get your shit together. Natasha hums when she sees what you’re looking at.
“Shame you’ll be gone so long.”
When you look at her, she’s looking at the man on her other side even though she’s speaking to you. It’s the first time you realize that Bucky is there and you immediately shut down. You have to put those emotions away, especially if you’re leaving today. He has an unreadable expression on his face and opens his mouth to speak, but you cut him off and glance back at Natasha.
“Not such a shame. Give me time to get my priorities straight.” You shrug. “Now if you’ll excuse me, I have to pack.” You turn and fight yourself back out of the crowd, but you know that Bucky is following you. You can practically feel his presence behind you as you break free of the crowd, his strong chest and broad shoulders taking up the space behind you like there’s a brick wall tethered to you. It sets you on edge. You keep going, set on ignoring Bucky, but he refuses to let that happen.
He’s stubborn and you know this, but you still startle when his strong hand wraps around your wrist to catch your attention. “Hey, where were you last night?”
“What?”
“You bailed on our movie night.”
You look at Bucky, eyebrows raised. Honestly, you’d almost forgotten that was the plan for the night before. You’re still swimming through the emotions and trying to digest what you’ve found out about the man standing before you so your head is a little foggy. That and the mission is now taking up a lot of your bandwidth. “Oh,” You say, “I’m sorry. I forgot.”
The hurt crosses his face so quickly that you’re not sure that’s what you saw. In fact, you’re sure that’s not what you saw, because how could it be? How could he be upset that you missed movie night when he said those things about you? When he’d begged his best friend to stay because being alone with you makes him sick? You scoff before you can help yourself, looking away from Bucky. It hurts to look at him, like taking a hammer to your chest every time you inhale. You used to love looking at Bucky, watching the way his face lights up when Steve tells a joke or Sam does something dumb. You loved watching how his brows furrowed when he was trying to figure something out, or the way that he drew his lower lip between his teeth when working with a new piece of Stark tech. You used to love that you know how much it means to him that Tony trusts him to not only hand over prototypes but to take whatever advice the tech-savvy super-soldier gives back. When you look back to Bucky, a story Steve once told you wafts to the forefront of your mind.
He used to drag me’n whatever girl he had on his arm to the Stark Expo every single time it came around. It’s no surprise he’s already so used to the twenty-first century. Buck’s whip-smart and loves technology. It just makes sense.
“You forgot?” Bucky brings you back to the present. “You were the one that asked to have it.” A frown tugs at his face and you want nothing more than to smooth out the lines between his eyebrows. You grit your teeth, shoulders once again hiking up toward your ears when you process what he’s said. Like you’d forced his hand into agreeing to spend time with you.
Taking a deep breath, you try to keep yourself level. “I forgot,” You repeat again lamely, “I’m sorry, okay? Maybe we can set one up when I get back from Norway.”
“Maybe?” He echoes, taking another step toward you. He’s basically pressed up against your body, “What’s up with you? This isn’t like you.” Bucky’s concern looks real, but your hurt is so palpable that you can’t see past it. It thrums on your skin, pinpricks up and down your arms from where his hand is still wrapped around your wrist and tethering you to the spot. It burns over your body and reminds you just why you went to visit Tony, begging for a way out of the compound. Everything clicks into place and you remember what your therapist once told you about anger. Anger, she had said to you after a mission gone wrong, is a secondary emotion. Anger is almost always triggered by something else - like hurt, or sadness, or grief. At that moment, trying to figure out what to say to Bucky that will get him off your case long enough for you to disappear into the Norwegian wilderness, you feel that spark ignite.
All of the hurt and grief that’s swirling inside of you like a storm coalesces into a stick of TNT. It’s heavy in your stomach and you think you’re going to pass out but then it ignites. The explosion is metaphorically deafening as the fire rockets through your body, leaving a burnt-out shell of anger in its wake. You’re pissed - at yourself, at Bucky, at the fact that you’re in love with Bucky and he can’t stand you, at Tony, at Steve. You’re pissed off at everything because being pissed off is a hell of a lot easier to deal with than the strangling sadness you’d had before. Bucky takes a step back as he watches you go from eager-to-leave to shaking-with-rage. “What-”
“Oh, that’s rich coming from you, Barnes,” He flinches and it leaves you with some sick, twisted sense of satisfaction. Later, when you’re alone in the wilderness, that will surely turn into twisting dread or sadness but for now, you let the gratification guide your tongue, “Like you were ever really honest with me about who you are.” His face goes blank for a brief second, taking in your words, but by the time you realize what you’ve intended to say and what he’s heard you say, you’re already marching back to your room to pack for your mission. Everything after that passes in a haze of emotions. You pack your bags, collect your weapons from the armory, and by the end of the day, you’re waiting in line to get onto the jet that will drop you in Kirkenes. There are a few recon missions heading out that way and you’re angry all over again when you see Bucky standing near the cockpit with Steve.
You should have known that if there was Hydra activity in Russia that they’d be going. Luckily you won’t be anywhere near them, checking in when you get to Kirkenes and then hiking to Hesseng to make the first safe house. Surely they won’t be anywhere near your route - if God is real, you think, I will be alone for a blessed ten days. Bucky looks like he wants to talk to you when you find a seat on the jet, but Steve cuts him a look and you pull your missive out of your hiking backpack as the jet takes off. You want to go over the route before you get to Kirkenes so you don’t have to do anything but check into the first safe house, make sure it’s still safe, and then head out for your next stop.
There are only five safehouses on your list to check, but they’re some of the most critical. Four of the five are in Norway but the last is just over the border in Russia. God forbid you fuck up your job and then, one day, someone needs the safehouse and it’s compromised. A shudder runs through you at the thought.
After checking in and making sure of the safe house just outside of Hesseng you’ll hike on to Melkefoss. There's two there but they’re only two miles apart. You’ll plan to stay in Melkefoss for the night, maybe even make it to the second safe house before sundown tomorrow. After Melkefoss, you’re heading straight for Vouvatusjärvi. After that is the hard part: getting over the Russian border without being caught so that you can get to the final safehouse in the Pasvik Nature Reserve. Your report says that if you hike nonstop it’ll only take you about thirty hours to get from Kirkenes to the Pasvik Nature Reserve. You bet that you can get this mission done in five days, tops.
Of course, that’s if everything goes right. Plus that’s not even counting the time that you’ll have to take to get from the Kirkenes Airport to the actual town where the safe house is. You tuck the report away, sit back in your seat, and groan. You run over the list in your head, mouthing the names of the places you’re going, making sure to commit it to memory. Kirkenes, Hesseng, Melkefoss, Vouvatusjärvi, Pasvik. The rest of the flight passes like that and you’re secretly glad that the two Avengers at the front of the plane don’t confront you. They have almost ten hours to do so - the average flight from NYC to KKN is sixty or so hours, but with Stark text that’s slashed almost entirely. The thought makes you sick to your stomach and you learn forward, setting your elbows on your knees and holding your head in your hands.
By the time you've calmed down Bucky and Steve have sat down across from you and sent you into another tailspin. You wonder what Bucky looked like when he said those things to his friend, if they were surprising to Steve. How many times had he heard his friend complain about you? How many times had Bucky asked Steve to be the buffer between the two of you, only to cancel your movie nights when he was refused? You spend hours thinking about it and honestly, you’re surprised you're not a little green with how badly your stomach is churning.
The plane touches down and you’re the first one off of it, despite being at the entire other side of the jet’s seating area. Your bag is heavy on your back, but not as heavy as the weight of your thoughts. There’s several cars waiting on the tarmac for other agents, but you’re not taking any of them. You were given your orders: do not leave any fingerprints, do not give anyone your name, do not take any cabs. (Of course, that makes your fifteen minute drive from KKN to Kirkenes into a two and a half hour hike and then your seven minute drive from Kirkenes to Hesseng an hour and a half, but you understand why they’ve given you orders like that.)
The wind bites as you make your way to the trail that you’ll follow to the town. You pull up your mask and tug down your beanie to cover most of your face. You’re halfway across the tarmac when a car pulls up next to you, its electric engine humming near silently. You ignore it as the window rolls down, Steve ducking his head to look at you.
In a rusty, unpracticed accent he says, “Går du vår vei?” Bucky laughs from the passenger seat. You snort at the come on and continue walking, the car easily keeping pace with you.
“Nei.”
Steve pouts after Bucky translates what you’ve said but then leans over the console. There’s no malice or hurt on his face when you glance at it, but his voice leaves no room to argue. “Sett deg i bilen. Vi kan kjøre deg til Kirkenes. Fifteen minutes versus two and a half hours is a no brainer, Corporal.” His voice carries the weight of an order, but none of the heat that would go with one. You stop walking, chewing on your cheek and debating on just how much trouble you’d be in if you kept walking to the trail, but it’s not worth it. Plus, he’s right. You’ll get to Kirkenes in fifteen minutes and it’s only fifteen minutes of being in the car and ignoring everything about Bucky and Steve.
It’s tense, just like you thought it would be, but it’s over before you know it. When Steve asks if you’re okay as you’re getting out of the car, you pause. You look at Bucky. He looks back at you. Finally you sigh and shut the door behind you, leaning down and speaking through Steve’s open window. “Beklager. Jeg føler meg uvel. Det er sannsynligvis en forkjølelse som går rundt komplekset med tanke på hvor syke andre mennesker føler seg.”
Like everything else in your life, the mission goes tits up. Getting dropped off just outside of Kirkenes had put you way ahead of schedule, but then finding squatters in the safehouse had put you hours behind as you had to figure out what to do about that. To top it all off, you never make it to the safehouse outside of Hesseng. You’re in the forest when you feel someone watching you, tracking you through the trees and cold air. It’s subtle, but the hair on the back of your neck stands up and your hand goes for your firearm before you really even process what’s happening. There’s spatterings of cabins in the woods and you clock one in the distance.
Barely, you see the flash of a muzzle pointing out of a second story window. You’re fast, but the bullet that hits you in your shoulder is faster. You don’t go down and manage to fire off three shots before you set yourself up against a tree. The bullets don’t stop and you can hear whoever’s shooting at you yelling in Russian. Hydra? Or just a Russian seperatist hiding out over the border in Norway? To be honest, you don’t care to find out.
Your adrenaline is still high, keeping the pain at bay as the blood pours down your front. You don’t bother trying to return fire because you’re too far away. Instead you pull up the emergency frequency on your watch transceiver, hoping that anyone is close enough to hear your broadcast. You tap out the morse code on the watch face, hoping to God that Tony Stark knew what he was doing when he put one of the Army’s more tried and true communication machines into a fucking smartwatch.
Code Silver: Dah dit dah dit. Dah dah dah. Dah dit dit. Dit. Pause for space between words. Dit dit dit. Dit dit. Dit dit. Dit dah dit dit. Dit dit dit dah. Dit. Dit dah dit.
Hesseng: Dit dit dit dit. Dit. Dit dit dit. Dit dit dit. Dit. dah dit. Dah dah dit.
You wait when the gunshots slow down, daring to stop your call for backup and peek around the tree. The pain is beginning to settle in again and it makes your vision sway as you look for the muzzle in the window again. You don’t see it, but you do see the person coming out the front door and heading your way. Oh, fuck. Instead of repeating your message, you press the hand opposite to your hurt shoulder into the painful, bleeding wound to keep yourself from bleeding to death. You know that you’re going to get reamed for leaving your bag behind, but you’ll make quicker time by leaving it underneath the tree.
Sure, you’re going to be easy to track. The through-and-through bullet wound is practically gushing blood down your front and your knees feel weak as you crash through the underbrush. All of your training is out the window as you feel the wooze of blood loss creep up on you. That was fast, you think. Way faster than I thought it would happen. I thought I had more time. Your foot crashes through a pile of leaves that had been perched on the edge of a sharp drop, and you tumble down - rolling and rolling and rolling until you’re sure that you’re going to be sick. When you land you realize that there must have been a landslide or something, because where you had fallen from is jutting out compared to the rest of the small cliff face. There’s just enough room for you to press your body back into the sharp rocks and hard dirt - just enough room that if your attacker looks over the edge they won’t see you.
After a few moments filled with the sound of blood rushing in your ears you go back to your transceiver.
Message repeat: Dah dah. Dit. Dit dit dit. Dit dit dit. Dit dah. Dah dah dit. Dit. Pause for space between words. Dit dah dit. Dit. Dit dah dah dit. Dit. Dit dah. Dah.
Code Silver: Dah dit dah dit. Dah dah dah. Dah dit dit. Dit. Pause for space between words. Dit dit dit. Dit dit. Dit dit. Dit dah dit dit. Dit dit dit dah. Dit. Dit dah dit.
Hesseng: Dit dit dit dit. Dit. Dit dit dit. Dit dit dit. Dit. dah dit. Dah dah dit.
The watch face is covered with your own blood. Your hands shake. You do your best to not think about Bucky because, well, Jesus fucking Christ you’re dying. You’re dying and your brain wants to think about Bucky and how you left that mess? You bite back a groan and press your hand back to your wound. They have to know - whoever is hearing your emergency broadcast has to know you’re hit. It’s so hard to think past the haze of pain and blood. It’s like someone shoved a hot fire poker into your shoulder and then filled the hole left with lava. It’s white-hot and hard to think around. You alternate between pressing down on your shoulder and sending out more broadcasts.
Mayday: Dah dah. Dit dah. Dah dit dah dah. Dah dit dit. Dit dah. Dah dit dah dah.
Mayday: Dah dah. Dit dah. Dah dit dah dah. Dah dit dit. Dit dah. Dah dit dah dah.
A haze begins to settle around your vision and your throat is dry. Fuck, fuck, fuck. You go back to your transceiver and don’t even bother to check for any returns from your first broadcast. There’s two or three, but you don’t have time to answer them.
Agent down: Dit dah. Dah dah dit. Dit. Dah dit. Dah. Pause for space between words. Dah dit dit. Dah dah dah. Dit dah dah. Dah dit.
Mayday: Dah dah. Dit dah. Dah dit dah dah. Dah dit dit. Dit dah. Dah dit dah dah.
Mayday: Dah dah. Dit dah. Dah dit dah dah. Dah dit dit. Dit dah. Dah dit dah dah.
You begin to choke on your own blood, not actually sure how that’s possible. Maybe when you fell… Maybe when you fell something happened. Your chest hurts, but is it from the bullet wound or because you broke your ribs? Regardless, you can taste iron on your tongue, feel the vibrations of return messages, hear your phone ringing in the distance. It’s so hard to keep pressure on your wound, you’re so weak now… What if you… You could just send one more message… One more mayday or Code Silver? Would that save your life?
A shadow looms over you and you look up, hoping that it’s another agent or… Really, you’re hoping that the shadow is Bucky but it’s not. The shoulders aren’t broad enough and the hair is too light to be him. You groan and tip your head away hoping to open up your airway and so that you don’t have to watch whoever is in front of you shoot you one last time. You pass out before they even pull the trigger again. The soft haze of unconsciousness settles over you and it feels good. The numbness creeps up your wounded side, lapping the pain away like the ocean on a beach. Wherever you feels warm and soft, and you sigh.
If this is what dying is like, you’re not that mad about it.
Then, as you float down the river of slowly dying via blood loss, you think about Bucky. It’s hard not to think about him because you love him. You’re in love with him. You know that you’ve hurt him - and hurt him badly. What had you said to him? You’d said… Back in the compound… Your voice floats back from the darkness around you, snarling and angry like a cornered animal. “Like you were ever really honest with me about who you are.” You feel the hot trail of tears down your cold face even though you’re sure that you’re dead and, honestly, it doesn’t make a whole lot of sense for a dead person to be able to cry. At least now you’ll be able to see if there’s an afterlife. Maybe you’ll get stuck on Earth and be able to haunt Bucky, to apologize to him from beyond the grave.
But maybe you’ll just leave him alone. If he couldn’t stand to be around you when you were alive, what are the odds that he’ll be able to stand you if you’re a ghost? The pain that strikes through you is so real for a moment you’re convinced that you’re alive, that it’s the second bullet ripping through your body, but then you groan and begin to gasp for breath. You’re sobbing. The emotions in your chest are ripping up out of the trunk of your body and through your mouth because you can’t handle it. You can’t handle the fact that you’re either dying or dead so early in your career - your life. You can’t handle that Bucky has apparently fucking hated you for your whole relationship despite how eager and sure you were that he might have felt some love for you. You can’t handle that you’re not sure whether or not you’re already dead or if you’re just somewhere between life and oblivion, about to fall off of the face of the Earth in some God damn fucking forest in Norway.
With a rattling breath, you’re thrust back to the waking world in a much softer place than the bed of twigs and rocks. The air around you is cold as you gasp through the resurgence of pain from your shoulder. Your other hand comes up to press against it - finding gauze and a sling to keep you from moving. “Wha’ the hell?” Something rustles from behind you and then Steve comes around the couch that you’re laid out on, a plate of food in one hand and a cup of tea in the other.
“Good, you’re awake.” He sits on the coffee table in front of you and the smell of his food turns your stomach. “We were wondering when you’d wake up.”
“We?” The pain makes you groggy and unable to logically think about your situation. Steve, obviously, heard your mayday call. Nobody else is in the room, even though when you look your eyes roll and you groan again as it makes you feel sick. The pain is expanding like shaving foam into every part of your body, making it hard to think.
“Buck and I,” Steve says around a bite of his sandwich. He chews for a second, takes a sip of his tea, and then sets his cup to the side. “He’s out gettin’ more meds for your shoulder.” You think you’re going to be sick.
“Fro’ where?”
This time, Steve waits until he swallows his bite before he answers. While he chews he observes you and, past the pain, something about it deeply unnerves you. He looks like he’s reading your mind and enjoying what he finds. One of his eyebrows rises and he shakes his head. “Buck was right about you, kid.” Steve sighs. “We’re at the last safe house you cleared. Figured it was best until the other agents who responded tracked down who shot you.”
Your neck hurts from looking over at Steve, so you relax and watch the ceiling spin slightly above you. Most of the pain is radiating from your shoulder so maybe… Had you been shot again? “How m’ny times I get shot?”
“Once. We were in the area.” The clatter of porcelain tells you that Steve has set his food and drink down. A second later he takes your cold, clammy hand in both of his warm hands and sighs again. “You’re lucky. He was goin’ for the kill. How’d he get the drop on you?”
And that’s the million-dollar question, isn’t it? How in your head were you about your relationship being built on the foundation of your misunderstanding? Was Bucky right? He asked Tony, told Tony, to take you off of missions with his team. Had he been picking up your slack on missions until he got tired of it? No - you know you’re good at your job. You have to be. You’re a Strike team leader for crying out loud. But - how much of that was Bucky? How much did you rely on him? You make a strange choking noise when you realize that must be why he hates you - he’s always been cleaning up your messes.
And now you’ve dragged him into another mess while he’s got other things to worry about. Steve says your name to get your attention but you’re already spiraling. Between the pain and the realization, you start crying again, taking deep and heaving breaths that leave your entire body aching. Steve stands, calling your name again, but you shake your head and do your best to weakly push him away. “I didn’t know,” You say in way of explanation, “I didn’t know that’s why.” What had Steve just said? Bucky was right about you, kid.
Outside, over the soft wind of nightfall in Norway, you can hear a car pull up and then a door shut. It serves to make you cry harder, clutching at your shoulder as you imagine all of the ways that you’re going to apologize to Bucky and also quit your job. There’s a moment of pause from Steve as your crying ratchets up a notch, emotions loosened by your realization and whatever pain meds they had given you. The door bursts open, slamming against the wall with such force you can feel the couch shake underneath you.
“Buck…” Steve straightens, holding his hands out in front of him like he’s calming a wild animal, showing them that he means no harm.
“I leave you two alone for half an hour and I come back to this? What did you say?” Bucky’s voice is low and dangerous. You clench your eyes shut, turning your head toward the back of the couch so you don’t have to look at him when he inevitably comes around to confront you about how careless and reckless you were. If hearing him say those things to Steve about you, you can only imagine how awful it’s about to be for him to say them to your face. He and Steve bicker for a few moments before Bucky’s heavy footfalls signal he’s moving around the couch. The first thing he does is peel your hand away from the bullet wound on your shoulder - you hadn’t realized how tightly you were clutching it. When Bucky finally gets you to let go he covers your hand with his and calls your name softly. The pain begins to recede now that your fingers aren’t digging into the tender flesh around your stitches and it clears your head a little bit.
That doesn’t mean you’re not convinced that Bucky, the man sitting on the edge of the couch and trying to coax you to look at him and stop crying, doesn’t hate you. Steve makes his way to the door and hesitates, “I’ll give you two some time. I think you need to have a talk.” His voice has a weight that you don’t fully understand and then he leaves. You calm down enough to stop sobbing, but your lip still wobbles as Bucky rubs one hand up and down your free arm, the other still clasping your hand. “Can you look at me?”
“I don’t wan’ to.” You close your eyes and rest your neck. Bucky feels like he’s sitting right next to you, warming your side, and if you open your eyes you’ll be able to see him. You’re not sure you can handle seeing the disappointment on his face. “Please, I can’t…” The hand that had been caressing your arm moves up - his fingers skate over your collarbone before he cups your face.
“Sweetheart, please.” And, Christ. Bucky sounds so desperate and broken that you have to look at him. “What happened? It’s not like you to miss movie night and… Tony said that… Said that you went to him ‘n requested a mission to keep you out of the compound. Said you threatened t’ quit.” You want to be angry. You want to be able to yell at him and ask him what the fuck he means, but you can’t. Between the gunshot wound, the emotional pain that comes from Bucky hating you and also thinking you can’t do your job, the way his hand feels on your face… You can’t do anything but furrow your eyebrows and let your lip wobble. You hate being so vulnerable but you hate that it took learning that your best friend fucking hates you to get to that point.
“Yeah,” You whisper, “Yeah, I did.”
Bucky sighs and rubs his thumb over the arch of your cheekbone. “Why?” His voice sounds choked and you don’t know why. What does he have to be upset about? You shake your head, half to respond and half to try to knock his hand away from you. How long had you dreamed about such an intimate touch? How many nights had you woken up from dreams of his hands on you, only to shiver in your empty bed? “C’mon, sweetheart, you can talk to me. What’s wrong?”
“Does it matter?” You snap, finally looking at Bucky. He looks nearly as wrecked as you feel - you’re sure that you don’t look any better. His face is blotchy like he’s been crying, and Bucky looks haggard. He looks like he hasn’t slept since the jet ride to Norway. “Does it really matter?” He sighs and leans closer to you until he’s kneeling next to the couch. Bucky being so close to you sends your head spinning again because, despite how hurt you are physically and emotionally, he’s still Bucky. He still smells familiar to you - safe to you. He still feels like home, despite everything.
“Of course it matters,” He says, eyebrows furrowed. You almost feel bad because he looks so genuine and worried about you. It makes your stomach churn again because it’s so opposite to what he had said to Steve behind a closed door. And say what, punk? Sorry I asked Tony to keep us separate on missions? Sorry I can’t stand to be around you without feeling sick to my stomach? Yeah, that’ll go over like a sack of bricks. You think you might be sick. “Hey, what’s goin’ on in that head’a yours?”
You shake your head, but Bucky’s hand stays fast on your cheek. His hand is big, warm, and soft. In your dreams, they’re always calloused and rough, but you still love holding them. Briefly, through the haze of everything going on, you wonder if he moisturizes. “How’s your stomach feelin’?” You whisper, eyes misting up again. There’s a better way to go about this, sure, but you’ve been shot and you’re on God knows how many pain killers. You just want answers so that when you leave your job and move away, you’re not worn down with what-if scenarios.
Bucky flinches just a little bit, eyes moving back and forth between yours as he begins to put the puzzle together. You don’t have to say anymore and you know it. He’s whip-smart and a quick thinker. Plus, how hard would it be to forget that he’s alone with a person who makes them sick? You know the moment that he puts it together because the color drains from Bucky’s face and he pulls his hand away from your face. “Sweetheart…”
“It’s fine,” The world spins around you again when you turn your face to the back of the couch again, “It doesn’t matter. Just leave the medicine ‘nd I’m sure Steve’ll give it to me.” After a moment, you add: “Better yet, I can do it myself. You two don’t even have to be here.” You set your jaw and, if you could, you would get up and head to one of the bedrooms or the kitchen just to get away from Bucky. That being said, you’re trapped until he decides to take your advice and scram.
When Bucky speaks, his voice is impossibly quiet. If you weren’t so attuned to him you might not have heard it. “You heard me? Talking with Steve? Is that why you skipped movie night?”
“You weren’t being quiet.” He cups your face again and gently moves you to look at him. You’ve been crying for a while and thought you were done, but when you look at Bucky and he’s crying - fat tears rolling down his cheeks and lip wobbling - another wave of tears hits you. He looks destroyed by the realization that you overheard his conversation with Steve but in your defense, he knew you were coming over and still decided to stand by the door and announce his hatred for you.
“It’s not what you think,” He shakes his head, moving from the floor to sit next to your hip. It can’t be comfortable for him, but you can’t think past your scrambled brain because now both of his hands are on your face, gently holding you so that you two can hold eye contact. “Please, please, you have to believe me.”
“Why?” Your uninjured arm moves like someone is puppeteering you, hand settling on Bucky’s wrist to hold his hand to your face. It feels nice, especially after getting shot and then hunted like an animal through a Norwegian forest. You’ll drink up all of the soft human contact you can get before he decides to leave you to your devices. “Why should I? I heard what you said.” Bucky shakes his head again.
“Oh, God, darling. I promise you that what you heard wasn’t what you think.”
“You said I make you sick.” Your voice breaks and the wound on your shoulder pulses as you heave a breath, trying not to start sobbing again. “You said you can’t stand to be alone with me.” He shakes his head again - for the third time? - and then leans forward. Several things come to your mind: he’s going to kiss you, he’s going to kill you, he’s going to use your head as leverage to push himself up off of the couch and leave you to take care of yourself.
Instead, he leans forward and presses his lips desperately to your forehead. “Sick with nerves, sweetheart. With nerves. I can’t be alone w’you because I’m dizzy with it. Can’t handle bein’ alone because I’ll make a fool’a myself and… And… You mean too much to me to do that.” His face is still dangerously close to yours and Bucky looks so earnest. His hands are shaking on your face and you’re speechless. He looks so vulnerable, so open. “I asked Tony to stop sendin’ me on missions with you; I didn’t know he was goin’ to stop sending your team out. I’m sorry, I’m so sorry.” Your hand flexes on his wrist.
“I thought… Bucky, I thought you hated me.” He shakes his head, eyes falling closed as he takes a shaky breath.
“Never,” He presses his forehead to yours and the closeness takes your breath away, “I could never hate you. Sweetheart, darlin’, I love you. I’m in love with you and I don’t know what to do about it. I was tryin’ to get advice from Steve but he just said… Just said I should tell you.” Despite being literally face to face, Bucky doesn’t open his eyes. You can see the light sunspots that dot over his nose and cheekbones, every eyelash of his closed eyes, the way his eyebrows are furrowed. He takes another deep breath. “I guess I should’a just told you.” The idea of Bucky - strong Bucky, funny Bucky - being in love with you is almost laughable but at the same time… You’ve wanted this, dreamed about this, for so long… Your body feels warm underneath the pain and hope bubbles in your chest. Now you’re blinking away tears for a different reason.
“Bucky,” You whisper, running your hand up his arms and to his shoulder. When he doesn’t open his eyes, you say his name again. “Bucky.” Finally his eyes open and you can see the fear in them. You smile, albeit wobbly, and press your face forward until your nose nudges against his.
“Why didn’t you just tell me?” You whisper, “Why did it take me gettin’ shot for you to tell me? Buck, I’m in love with you too. I’ve been in love with you. That’s why I was so desperate to get out - couldn’t be in that compound w’ you when I thought that you hated me.”
“Because I’m me. I’m… I’m the Winter Soldier.” He shakes his head, jostling his nose against yours. “Why would you love me?”
“You’re not the Winter Soldier,” You argue, bringing your hand from his shoulder to the back of his head, “You’re James Barnes. Bucky. You’re as close to perfect as anyone can get, I think.” He laughs softly and refutes it, but you press on. “You’re a good person and a good Avenger. I wouldn’t lie, promise.”
“Only when you say that you forgot about our movie night, huh?” For a moment you think that he’s actually mad about that, but then you register the soft smile on his face and the soft movement of his shoulders as he laughs. “We’ll have to take a redo when we get home, Sweetheart.”
You brush your lips against his, “No Steve this time?” Bucky chuckles, a sly grin on his face as he moves even closer to you so that he can speak before inevitably kissing you.
The door slams open again, the man himself rushing into the safehouse. “We gotta make tracks, Buck! Just got word that the gunman is headin’ back this-” Steve stops gathering things up and shoving them into a duffel bag when he sees Bucky leaning over you on the couch. “Oh.”
Bucky takes a deep breath through his nose and leans back to look at his friend over his shoulder, face dark with frustration. “Yeah, Sweetheart, without Steve this time. Because I’m goin’t kill him.”
Går du vår vei? // Are you going our way?
Nei. // No.
Sett deg i bilen. Vi kan kjøre deg til Kirkenes. // Get in the car. We can drive you to Kirkenes.
Beklager. Jeg føler meg uvel. Det er sannsynligvis en forkjølelse som går rundt komplekset med tanke på hvor syke andre mennesker føler seg. // Sorry. I feel unwell. It's probably a cold that goes around the complex considering how sick other people feel.
Summary: Bucky takes you under his wing when you become the outcast of the new special forces team working with the Avengers.
Request: by the beautiful @sergntbarnes - insecure reader agent who works alongside the avengers, other agents make fun of her abilities so Bucky offers to help her train, the other agents become jealous of their bond and taunt her enough to make her want to quit
Prompts: “Something There” from Beauty and the Beast and “Who did this to you?” - prompts in bold
Warnings: swearing/rude language, canon level violence, weapons/guns, gunshot wounds, minor character death, hospitals
Word count: 6.7k
A/N: so I’ve combined this request with prompts I selected for @pagesoflauren‘s I love y’all 3000 challenge because I thought they fit perfectly together (challenge post here)
Dividers by @maysdigitalarts
Masterlist | Ask me anything | Taglist
There's something sweet, and almost kind, but he was mean and he was coarse and unrefined.
You hadn’t expected your first day on the job to be easy - working with a specialist team of agents alongside The Avengers would surely instil anxiety in most, but you hadn’t expected it to end like this.
“You’re the runt of the group, Y/L/N. Know your place.” The team captain snapped, boiling your blood and making you detest the man even more than the earlier events of the day.
Hamish Galloway - SHIELD special forces leader. Experienced tactical leader of the FBI SWAT team for over a decade. Proficient in judo, karate and taekwondo. Specialises in firearms, also has a background in explosives.
And now, for whatever reason on his part, your worst enemy.
“I expect more tomorrow. I’m only being lenient because it’s day one.” Lenient? Earlier he screamed directly in your ear that you ‘weren’t pushing hard enough’ in front of the entire team, adding extra weight to the barbell you weren’t strong enough to hold, almost breaking your arm when you buckled under the additional load. That wasn’t your definition of lenient. That was bordering on reckless endangerment.
If his goal was to make you want to quit, he was succeeding flawlessly. Your first week on the team, he made your life pure hell, singling you out as his clear least favourite for reasons unbeknownst to you, relentlessly torturing you during training sessions, team briefings and even in your down time. Though the other agents didn’t degrade you to the same extent, they didn’t stand up for you either.
“You’re so far behind the rest of the team, Y/L/N, you really think you should be wasting time baking?” Galloway retorted one night as you casually manoeuvred around the compound kitchen in sweats. It was 9:00pm on Friday, your work day finished more than two hours ago, yet he was still on your ass about your apparent ineptitude. All you wanted was some quiet alone time where he wasn’t screaming abuse at you. Was that really too much to ask?
As Galloway scoffed and went to exit the kitchen, a less familiar face strode in. You knew him by name as James Barnes, but hadn’t been formally introduced since moving into the facility. The two men harshly bumped shoulders as neither moved out of the other’s trajectory, thick tension filling the air without a single word spoken.
From what you knew of your fairly limited experience within the compound, James kept to himself most of the time. He was never around the other Avengers whilst they were training or what limited view of their team meetings you had. The only glimpses you’d had of him were when he came to the kitchen late at night, after everyone else had already eaten, to prepare himself food away from prying eyes.
“I swear I wanna sock that guy in the jaw every time he opens his damn mouth.” James commented off handedly as he opened the fridge, fetching a water bottle. You weren’t even sure he had noticed you by the other side of the room.
“Tell me about it.” You mumbled, flashing him a small, knowing smile. An extending, growing awkward silence filled the room as you both stood at opposite corners, trying not to look each other directly in the eye as you waited for the other to speak.
“Whatever you-”
“So, how long-”
You both started speaking at the same time, a tinge of red flushed on James’ cheeks as you graciously motioned for him to speak first.
“I was just going to say whatever you're making smells really good.” His voice held a tinge of nerves, which juxtaposed his burly frame and abrasive entrance to the room.
“Thanks, they’re brownies. They’re pretty much done if you’d like a taste.” You offered, the hesitation clear on his face as the cogs behind his strikingly blue eyes worked overtime as he formulated a response. For a moment you thought you overstepped, he looked as though he wanted any excuse to run as far away from the kitchen as possible, but a small, tentative smile crept onto his lips as he accepted.
“Any particular reason why Galloway has it out for you?” James unexpectedly filled the silence as you handed him a slice of the brownie, still warm and gooey, freshly out of the oven. From what you could decipher, he was more the silent, brooding type who wasn’t practiced in starting a conversation - you appreciated his effort.
“Not quite sure why, but he thinks I’m not a strong enough agent to be on the team. If it were him making calls on personnel instead of Fury, he would have fired me day one.” You admitted not quite meeting his piercing eyes, slightly embarrassed at being so open about your incompetence with a complete stranger.
“Well, if your capability in the kitchen is anything to go by, you’d be a fantastic agent - these are incredible!” He remarked with a smile, taking another large bite, crumbs falling onto the front of his shirt, his sympathy going a long way to calm your nerves. You thanked him, chucking when he awkwardly brushed the crumbs away, not noticing the few caught at the sides of his mouth.
There was an ease and comfort which settled over the conversation as you continued to chat and snack on the brownie. Words flowed effortlessly as you conversed with him, discussing life, what led you both to living in the compound, laughing about how much of a fright you got the first time FRIDAY’s voice woke you from a deep sleep.
Talking with James was the first time since moving in you had felt somewhat at home in the wide and expansive compound it was so easy to feel insignificant in.
It was late into the night when you finally noticed that time had gotten away from you. As much as you thoroughly enjoyed spending time with the mysterious man who in one night had made you laugh more than you probably had the entire month prior, you knew you needed to hit the gym early tomorrow if you were going to prove your worth to Galloway.
“I’m sorry to end this so soon, but I have to get up bright and early tomorrow for training. Got to catch up to this impossibly high standard Galloway’s setting me.” You forced yourself to say, even though all your instincts were telling you to stay and savour the time you could with James.
“I could teach you.” He blurted out, standing with you as you went to leave. “I mean, not that you need teaching, I’m sure you’re a fantastic agent, I just meant that I could train with you, help you out a bit, you know, if that's what you wanted.” The way he stumbled over his words, his cheeks and the tips of his ears turning a bright shade of red, you found adorable.
The rumours you heard about The Winter Soldier seemed the furthest from reality as you stared into James’ anxious eyes - he looked more like a frightened kitten than an assassin.
“I’d love that James, thank you.” His slate blue eyes sparkled as you accepted his offer, the twinkle awakening butterflies in your stomach and for a reason you weren’t sure of, a warm tingling in your chest.
“If we’re going to work together, please, call me Bucky.”
Now he's dear and so unsure, I wonder why I didn't see it there before.
“Make sure you bend your elbows, hands wide, a little bit wider - like this.” Bucky instructed, nudging your hands along the bar until they were precisely where he wanted them, the side of your hand tingling where he touched you. Even from your position, laying down under the barbell, his face upside down, he looked just as gorgeous as when his face was illuminated by the dim moon light in the kitchen.
“Perfect, now you’ll want to engage the muscles not only in your arms, but your core as well - make sure to keep your upper arms parallel to the ground. Perfect, just like that.” His hands stayed protectively near the bar, not assisting you in carrying the weight, but ready to aid if you found the bar too heavy to lift. Your attention remained on the barbell in your grip, but you couldn’t help but notice the intense focus in Bucky’s eyes to ensure you didn’t injure yourself. A stark contrast to how Galloway treated you your first day.
The encouragement from Bucky only spurred you on. After one week of training together, you were able to lift more weight than you had the week prior with Galloway breathing down your neck. Funny how not screaming in someone’s face actually helps them perform to a higher standard.
As you made your way over to the leg press machine, Bucky gallantly adjusting the weight for you, you heard sniggering from the other side of the gym where the other members of the team were training together.
“Figures, the only friend she can make is the murderer.” You heard Galloway not so subtly say to one of the other agents as Bucky’s face fell, shyness and dejection taking over his whole demeanour. You got the feeling he overheard quite a few conversations just like this one, and chose to ignore them.
“You got something to say, say it to my face!” You yelled harshly as you abruptly stood from the machine, striding over to Galloway with enough rage coursing through your veins to power the entire compound for a month. He met your incensed glare with his own hostile, and slightly disgusted, stare. “What’s your fucking problem, huh?”
“God you’re pathetic. Get yourself and your homicidal boyfriend out of my face.” He waved you off, as if you weren’t consequential enough to spend energy even looking at, which only enraged you further.
“You have no right to talk about him like that!” The fury simmering in your chest threatened to bubble over as Bucky’s strong arms pulled you back.
“He’s not worth it.” He said in what you deemed to be much too calm of a voice given the situation. Bucky’s arms relaxed you immediately, the gentleness of his touch, the soft strokes of his thumbs over your biceps soothed you as if this wasn’t the first time he held you in such a tender manner.
From that day on, Bucky and you were inseparable. Besides Steve (who was usually preoccupied with leading the Avengers team), you were the only person who bothered to stand up for him in the compound, and from your perspective, he was the only person who believed you were an essential component of your team.
Bucky, who previously made excuses to spend every spare moment locked in his room, avoiding any social interaction with the other inhabitants of the compound, including having meals at ridiculous times to evade the other Avengers or agents, was now highly anticipating moments he would get to spend out in the open with you.
He eagerly looked forward to any time he got to share with you, whether that was a quick coffee break on work days where all you would have time for was quickly venting about a new way Galloway found to torture you that day, or weekends where you had the time to teach him how to bake gooey centred brownies, go for nature walks, or into the city to show him your favourite book stores.
You bought him a relatively cheap Polaroid camera so that he could capture the memories you made together and quickly print them out to keep plastered in his room. He treasured the camera as if it were worth a million dollars, snapping pictures of your adventures and keeping them safe on his wall where he could reflect on the souvenirs of his precious time with you.
You even showed him how to take a selfie - turning the camera around and taking a snap of both your smiling faces. That particular picture he kept in his wallet and every time he caught a glimpse of your enchanting face, a warm smile spread over his features. A reminder he was not alone in this cruel world.
You shared stories about your childhood, and laughed over the mischief Bucky and Steve got up to in their youth. He felt comfortable enough to tell you about his parents and sister, memories he had never revealed to anyone before, even Steve.
A fluttering feeling spread through his chest whenever he looked at you or heard your voice. He knew he was attracted to you - that was a feeling he had experienced before, but this went further than that.
He could trust you.
Slowly, piece by piece, he showed you the ugly parts of himself he kept hidden from scrutinising eyes, believing the world, who already cowered from his dangerous past, would only judge him further for.
These were pieces of him you cherished the most. The bewitching, if rough around the edges, parts that he only exposed to you. The parts that he called flaws, but you adored because they made him who he was. And that person was perfect in your eyes.
After about a month of spending everyday together, he finally found the courage to inform you fully about his past, detailing every horrific deed he performed in service of HYDRA. He nervously balled his hands into fists inside his pockets, swaying back on the balls of his feet as he stared down at the ground, unable to look you in the eye.
“So that’s everything, and why most people know they’d be safer as far away from me as possible.” He said in a tone that indicated he expected you to make an excuse to vanish completely from his life, and you suspected there had been others who had done exactly that.
“I can see what you’re trying to do, push me away because you think it’s easier to live life by yourself than to be let down by people leaving. But I’m not afraid of you Buck. You were brainwashed, you didn’t have a choice.” You explained, stepping closer to him and attempting to catch his line of sight. “I’m not going anywhere.”
A soft, almost incredulous, smile tugged at the corners of his mouth. It would take time, but you were going to prove to him that you were in this for the long haul.
Because you were his, even if he didn’t know it yet.
She glanced this way, I thought I saw, and when we touched, she didn't shudder at my paw.
Bucky was sure he had never been this nervous in his entire life. His stomach was doing somersaults and the palm of his flesh hand was sweating so profusely that he kept nervously rubbing it down the side of his thigh.
A museum date. They were your exact words. Date. How could one, four letter word instil more fear in him than any social interaction he had experienced since regaining his life? You were the person he felt most comfortable around, and yet, you also had the capacity to fill every nerve in his body with an unrelenting anxiety.
He could have sworn that the sun shone solely to encapsulate your beauty when he met you at the front of the compound; as if the clouds parted to shine a spotlight just for you.
Seeing your smiling face only worsened his nerves. Not only was he stressed about the date, but now he was also contending with how absolutely stunning you looked in that off the shoulder top. He could feel his heart beating in his throat as you complimented how his shirt made the blue of his eyes stand out.
If it were possible, he would have stopped time in that moment so he could revel for eternity in the warmth and rapture your words brought him. He wanted to inject that feeling into his veins and become addicted to the high which was your affection.
The train ride to the museum was filled with you remarking how excited you were and how long you had been waiting for an opportunity to visit your favourite exhibits. Bucky couldn’t help the nagging feeling at the back of his mind that any word he said could ruin this perfect moment, or even worse, his entire relationship with you.
He knew he was overthinking this. You already proved that he could tell you anything and you would patiently listen, not judge him for the thoughts and emotions he had been trained to suppress under HYDRA. But he didn’t want to mess this up as he had a habit of doing with everything else in his life - this perfect bond he formed with you had quickly become the most important in his life and he couldn’t afford to damage it in any way.
Once reaching the museum, you slowly moved through the exhibits, taking your time to examine each piece, remarking on aspects you enjoyed but also commenting on the features which weren’t your favourite. In truth, Bucky didn’t know anything about art. He agreed to come to the museum purely because he wanted to spend as much time with you as possible, so he listened intently to your critique, nodding along and smiling at how much you seemed to be enjoying yourself, hoping at least a small part of that happiness was due to his presence, not just the thrill of being surrounded by your favourite art.
You stopped in front of a painting of a landscape, rolling green hills and a gradient blue sky.
“This one’s beautiful. The technique used for the sky is so seamless.” You commented as Bucky stood next to you, cocking his head as he took in the artwork. He wanted to be as proficient as you in evaluating and appreciating the artwork, but it wasn’t his forte.
In truth, Bucky thought you were more beautiful than all the art hanging on the walls combined, but he didn’t have the words, nor the confidence, to tell you that.
“Oh, this is one of my favourites!” You squealed, drawing a stare from some of the other patrons as you dragged Bucky towards one of the framed paintings.
Bucky observed the way you held his metal wrist, unflinching, excitement filling your eyes so much that he suspected you hadn’t given a single thought to how you were currently touching him. The part of himself he hated the most, the part that could cause horrendous trauma and every other person recoiled from, you were holding as if it needed love and nurture.
How could someone ever look at him and see anything other than destruction and suffering? Especially you, who was the complete opposite of everything he had been moulded into by HYDRA.
He was rough and jagged, like broken glass, you were smooth and soft, like satin.
He was as dark and harsh as the night sky during a thunderstorm, you were as beautiful and serene as a sunrise on a cloudless morning.
His mind could simply not comprehend why you didn’t look at him the way everyone else did, with intense loathing and paralysing fear. And yet, here you were, delicately holding his metal hand and looking up at him with large, innocent eyes, as if he were as harmless as a ladybug.
“Gorgeous.” He muttered after you asked him whether he liked the painting, but in all honesty he was only looking at you. Enthralled with how your face lit up with excitement and pure joy, and how you had gazed at him with such fondness, as if he were one of your favourite paintings.
It was at the exact instant he thought he never wanted this moment to end, that your phone started ringing.
With an apologetic look you answered it, your expression soon turning serious as you ushered him out of the museum and towards a taxi bay. An urgent mission for the special forces team to a HYDRA base in Maine, the location of which had only just been discovered, had come up and they needed you back at the compound ASAP.
You fiddled with his flesh hand as you both sat in the back seat of the cab, your head resting on his shoulder as the tall city buildings passed you by. Even with the prospect of a mission as soon as you returned to the compound, you continued to talk about the art, making sure to ask Bucky what his favourites were and if he were interested in going on more museum tours with you, which he had no hesitation in agreeing to.
“Stay here while I grab my go bag, I want to say goodbye before I leave!” You called over your shoulder as you ran off to your room once you reached the compound. Steve, who was standing at the entrance assisting the team prepare for liftoff, wiggled his eyebrows at Bucky.
“What?” He asked innocently even though he knew exactly what Steve was alluding to.
“You two are real cute together.” He commented and Bucky could feel his face heat at the suggestion the two of you were more than simply enjoying each other’s company.
“We’re just friends.” Bucky insisted, unable to meet Steve’s eyes as he bluffed. It wasn’t a complete lie, you hadn’t spoken about being more than friends, but Bucky knew his feelings towards you went well beyond friendship.
“Friends don’t look at each other the way you two do.” Steve remarked as if it were as obvious as the sun on a cloudless day. Bucky opened his mouth in protest, but Steve beat him to it. “Don’t try to deny it, Buck - I’ve known every girl you’ve ever had a crush on. You haven’t looked at any one of them the way you look at Y/N, even Dot who you swore you’d marry when you were eighteen.” Steve added with a laugh, not one intended to mock, but one that expressed his satisfaction, almost relief, that Bucky was finally happy.
“When I’m with her, Steve… I don’t know how to describe it. It’s like she’s a sunset, warm and inviting. She’s seen the hideous and splintered parts of me that I don’t want anyone to notice, and piece by piece showed me how even something that’s damaged can be cared for. Everyone’s always trying to fix me, tell me how much there is wrong with me. Y/N never asked me to change, she's perfectly content with me as I am.” He wasn’t sure where exactly these words were coming from, they sounded more profound than anything Bucky had spoken before, but he knew he could be completely honest with his best friend. “I know, it sounds stupid.”
“It’s not stupid, Buck. It’s love.” There were some moments Bucky hated that Steve could read him as easily as a book, this was one of them. Steve seemed to have noticed Bucky’s feelings before he himself could even get a grasp on them.
Love? Bucky had never said it to anyone before, with the exception of his family growing up. He wasn’t even sure he ever told Steve he loved him like a brother.
Once he regained control of his life, the concept of reciprocated love seemed like an impossibility. Bucky held a deeply rooted hatred for everything he had become, so much so that he believed it was irrational to think he could find someone that would be willing to stick around long enough to find out about his past, let alone spend the rest of his life with.
But here you were, taking him on a museum date fully aware of his history, holding his metal prosthetic as if it weren’t a weapon of mass destruction, looking at him with a tenderness in your gaze that no one had ever before.
And all Bucky wanted to do was spend every minute of every day making you as happy as you made him. Was that love?
“Thank you for an amazing day Buck - I’m sorry it had to end so soon. We’ll resume the museum dates when I get back!” You pressed a gentle kiss to his cheek and flashed him a brilliant smile before joining your teammates on their way out of the compound, the combination of which had Bucky’s knees weak.
Even though he helped train you, and he knew beyond a shadow of a doubt you were as physically and mentally strong as you could be, he couldn’t help the way his stomach churned at the sight of you boarding the jet.
It wasn’t that he didn’t have faith in you - you were excellent, it was your teammates he was concerned about. They never seemed to have your back, whether it was in the gym or out in the field. But he now needed them to, when it counted the most, when your life was on the line.
It was in that moment, watching the jet soar into the warm afternoon sky, he realised something that would keep him awake until he knew you were back home safe and sound.
You were his source of strength, but also his greatest weakness.
New, and a bit alarming, who'd have ever thought that this could be?
Get in. Secure the intel. Get out.
That was the mission. Simple. Easy. Routine.
Or at least, it should have been.
“Keep watch, Y/L/N.” Galloway ordered obnoxiously, as the rest of the team covertly followed him into the facility, guns drawn, fanning out in pairs to take separate corridors.
“That’s not the plan, teams of two - you’re my partner, we’re supposed to stick together.” You said in a harsh whisper.
“I don’t have time to argue - it’ll be quicker for me without dragging you along. Now stay here and keep a lookout.” He spat, rushing off into the facility before you had time to pick a fight. “Fucking bitch.” You heard him mutter before he was out of earshot.
Your blood boiled as you waited at the cold entrance to the facility. You had half a mind to follow him in there and do the job Fury assigned to you - but you also didn’t want to give Galloway any additional reason to want you off the team. You wanted to prove yourself useful, you were an asset to this team and if the way you were going to demonstrate that was by standing guard, then so be it. That's what you’d do.
Time slowed significantly as all you had to watch were the trees lining the facility rustling in the wind, the same cold, uncomfortable breeze which made you wish you were anywhere other than standing guard like a first year trainee. As time ticked on, anxious thoughts surfaced in your brain the longer you were kept waiting - it was meant to be a relatively simple mission, surely it shouldn’t be taking this long.
Impatiently tapping your foot on the ground, you continued to wait until movement out of the corner of your eye caught your attention. For a second, when you turned in the direction of the motion, you thought your mind had been playing tricks on you, that was, until a tall, broad man with shoulder length brown hair came rushing at you.
All you had time to do was raise your weapon in defence as he stormed you, barrelling through you like a bowling ball. You struggled against him whilst on the ground, his body crushing yours underneath his weight.
Other agents, dressed in the same black armour emerged from the tree line as you fought with your attacker. Using your knee, you managed a kick to the groin and a punch to his face as he recoiled in pain.
You pushed his limp body off you as you took cover behind a barricade beside the door, bullets flying over your head as you finally managed to get your hand to your gun and pull the trigger to do away with the brunette agent who had attacked you.
“HYDRA’s breached the border, west side. I need backup now. I repeat, I need backup at the west entrance now.” You commanded into your earpiece. A crackle of static filled your ear before a response finally came.
“On my way.” Was all you heard from who you believed was Galloway.
In a gap between shooting, you managed to stick your head up enough to count the enemies you were facing. Six. You didn’t have time to wait for backup, with that outnumber, they’d be able to storm the facility from multiple angles - you needed to act now.
Readying your weapon, you chose your timing strategically to lean around the barrier and fire shots, hitting a couple of the agents square in the chest. Two down, four to go.
Between gunfire you could hear them speaking a language you didn’t understand, and when you peaked out to take aim again, the team had split up, two of them remained with their weapons pointed at you, the other two headed around the base in the safety of the tree line.
“Two headed to the north entrance.” You spoke into your comms, your focus remaining on the agents which were remaining behind.
When there was another cease in gunfire, you poked your head around the barricade, only to find the agents spilling up and moving in separate directions around your hiding place. Panic filled your chest as your gaze flitted around - soon enough they would each find their way to the opening on either side of the barrier and have a shot straight at you. You’d be trapped.
Before you had a chance to find another space to take cover, the blonde agent behind you started shooting. You returned fire until a hot, sharp pain tore through your abdomen. Blood started coating your torso as you doubled over in pain, managing to get out a few more futile shots before collapsing behind the barricade.
You swore aloud as gunfire from the other direction started, shifting as much as the pain in your side allowed, you fired back before bullets soared in from behind you. Another sharp pain tearing through your abdomen, the direction of where the bullet came from you weren’t sure.
You slumped to the ground, each of your hands finding the wounds in your stomach in an attempt to stop the bleeding. Your muscles started spamming, causing your hands to shake and your breathing to become shallow.
The agent with blonde hair smugly walked up and stood over you, kicking away your weapon which lay beside you. From here you could see his deep green eyes and crooked teeth hiding behind a sly smirk. Raising his gun, you stared death straight in the face as you looked down the barrel of his rifle.
“She’ll bleed out here. Let her suffer.” The other agent spat in a thick German accent as the blonde agent lowered his weapon.
The last sound you heard was the crunching of shoes in the grass as the agents entered the facility in a single file line. Clutching the bullet wounds in your stomach, you knew in this state you weren’t going to be able to apply enough force to stop the profuse amount of blood seeping out of them.
A chill ran down your spine as you started feeling dizzy and light headed. You no longer had the strength to maintain pressure to the wounds. Your arms flopped to your side, your body becoming rigid, the clouds gently swirling above you the only view you had as your vision started to blur.
And that’s when your world went black.
True that he's no Prince Charming, but there's something in him that I simply didn't see.
A throbbing ache reverberated through every inch of your torso, and a sharp, searing pain punctured your forehead which was so agonising you needed to squeeze your eyes shut for a good few minutes until the pain subsided.
You were in what looked like a hospital room. Dim sunlight peeked through the blinds, illuminating the room in an ethereal glow as the memories of the mission came flooding back to you. A bouquet of flowers bloomed by the door, the sight of which would normally have been enough to lighten your mood, but not today. Not when the pain echoing throughout your whole body was a constant reminder of your failure.
Not when laying in this hospital bed was the evidence which proved Galloway right - you weren’t good enough to be on the team. Not able to take on a couple of HYDRA agents without getting shot. Weak, you could hear Galloway shouting. Pathetic.
Snippets of moments stitched together in your mind until you were able to recollect the full picture of what transpired at the base. Sitting alone at the back of the jet as your teammates whispered about you at the front, Galloway leaving you so he could complete the mission, the taunting tone of the German agent who stood over you and chose to let you bleed out rather than end it all right then.
You should be dead. The agent should have put a bullet through your brain. And somehow, living with the knowledge that they should have killed you seemed far more terrifying than the concept of actually dying.
Whilst under the effects of anaesthesia, you missed Bucky’s reaction to the news of your condition. He was ropable. Face red in anger, eyes bulging, jaw clenched shut, muscles tensing. Steve had to hold him back from strangling Galloway when he implied you were at fault for the predicament which left you almost lifeless.
You could have died. You perhaps should have died and that instilled enough fear and rage in Bucky that he could have burned down the entire facility. He probably would have to, if it weren’t for the knowledge that you were recovering in the medical ward on the floor directly above him.
Once word spread that you were finally awake, Bucky did not hesitate in running to your room. Nothing, not even a determined Fury, who was insisting you have no visitors until he could get a debrief from you, was going to stand in his way. He needed to make sure you were alive with his own two eyes.
“How are you feeling? What did the doctor say? Are you in pain? Who do I have to kill?” There was an undying distress to his voice, his concern so evident that it punched you in the gut and for a moment all you could do was stare breathlessly into his worried blue eyes. Clearly given the wounds you sustained, you were far from okay, but they were no longer life threatening.
“I’m fine.” You managed to mumble as his eyes roamed your frame, surveying all of you, a grimace crossing his face at every bruise to your delicate skin.
“Who did this to you?” These words were firmer, stern, seemingly satisfied that your wounds weren’t severe enough to warrant immediate attention from him, choosing to instead focus on seeking revenge, punishing whoever hurt you.
“HYDRA agents.” You muttered, though the look which flashed across Bucky’s face informed you that wasn’t what he meant by the question. He most likely knew from the mission report who was directly responsible for your current state.
“No, I mean who on our team allowed this to happen?” You found his words endearing, if not completely naive, to wholeheartedly believe that you could do absolutely no wrong, that there must be someone else accountable for the events which occurred at the base.
“It was all my fault Buck.” It was all you had managed to think about since you woke up - your own incompetence was the reason you were in this hospital bed.
“This was not your fault.” He assured, but you knew he didn’t know any better.
“Yes it is, Bucky. I let the team down, I was on lookout but there were just too many of them. I couldn’t stop them all by myself, and-”
“Where the fuck was your partner?” The volume and tone of his voice startled you, the vein in his forehead bulging with stress.
“Galloway left.” You answered hesitantly, although you were unsure why. It wasn’t you who broke formation.
“What do you mean he left?” The hoarse roar which erupted from Bucky’s chest was unlike anything you had heard before. Even though his anger wasn’t directed at you, you involuntarily flinched in response.
“No, doll, please, I’m not mad at you.” He remarked in a much softer tone when he noticed your reaction, reaching out to comfort you, but stopping himself before making contact, thinking better of it. His eyes quickly blinked away tears which threatened to fall, his bottom lip quivering.
You knew Bucky would never intentionally cause you harm, he had once joked he would rather cut his right arm off than to ever see you cry - but after the ordeal at the base, your nervous system was still on high alert, ready for anyone to pose a threat to your physical well-being.
“I could never be mad at you. I’m just relieved you’re alive. Wouldn’t have a clue what I’d do without you.” He let out a large sigh. You took that moment to lean forward and instigate contact with him, interlacing your hands with his. Staring down at how your smaller fingers entwined with his one rough, calloused hand and one smooth, metal hand, you missed the adoring smile Bucky couldn’t stop spreading from ear to ear.
You made him soft. Before you he was the brooding, dreary Super Soldier whose own mind couldn’t move past the comprehension that his own hands had taken countless innocent lives. Now, the most beautiful, benevolent person he ever met was holding those same hands as if connection to them could heal your wounds themselves.
Bucky had time to contemplate Steve’s words while you were away on your mission - it hadn’t taken him long to come to the conclusion he did in fact love you. The one person who he could be vulnerable with, who he wanted to make laugh for the rest of his life, who he would die to protect.
“I don’t know what I’d do without you either Buck.” You said looking back up at him, his eyes returning a tenderness you knew was reserved solely for you.
“You’re never gonna find out cause I’m not going anywhere.” He mimicked your words from the day he finally told you about his past.
Unspoken affectionate words were passed in the desperate look exchanged between the two of you. Your breathing quickened, the sharp pain in your side more prominent now, but your focus remained on Bucky’s steel blue eyes as he leaned forward, closing the space between you.
The gentleness in which he touched you made your heart flutter. His lips brushed over yours, his hands framing your face with a tender touch which in itself told you everything you needed to know about how he felt.
Bucky pulled away once he felt you grimacing in pain from the injury to your side, only to rest his forehead against yours. For a moment, all he did was study you earnestly as you caught your breath, wincing slightly as you cradled the stitched wound in your lower abdomen.
“I love you, Y/N.” He admitted once your breathing returned to normal and you opened your eyes to stare back into his.
“I love you too, Buck.”
You felt safe and secure as you slowly drifted off to sleep in his arms, his hands ever so gently snaking around you, being mindful of every injury to your skin, the doubtful and insecure thoughts which plagued your mind earlier long forgotten. Bucky had a quality about him, a heartfelt belief in you that made you feel capable of anything.
He placed tender kisses to the top of your shoulder and whispered sweet nothings in your ear as you closed your eyes, only strengthening the attachment you were forming with this overtly affectionate Bucky. You could get used to this.
Who'd have guessed they'd come together on their own, there may be something there that wasn't there before.
Warnings : R18, Eventual Smut, Anxiety, Heat cycles, things aren’t what they seem, unwanted attention.
Word count : 1734
Masterlist
Summary : As an unmarked and lonely omega you find a flyer for a service called The Omega Retreat.
You are paired with a compatible alpha to spend your heat or just a week at a luxurious cabin at a forest resort. Amenities and Utilities included. Enjoy the beautiful scenery, fresh air, as well as the company of an alpha of your choosing. What could possibly go wrong?
You got your affairs in order, took the time off from work, and packed your bags. Now you were simply counting the days until you could see him, and as your heat had already been slowly approaching, there wasn’t much time left.
With each phone and video call, it seemed to be all either of you could talk about. But, when the day finally came, he seemed just as doting as your mother. Although, it was more amusing to hear these things from him than it had been from her.
Your spirits were at their highest, yet as you felt your heat prick at your skin, it left an unnerving feeling in your belly. Having to procure birth control for the first time was nerve-wracking enough, and yet you were already conditioned to fear your body's natural functions.
You try your best to shake the negativity away, even at the last second, as you finish packing your car and are ready to leave.
You're snug in the driver's seat, looking back at your locked front door. A moment all too similar to the day you came home from the hospital, thankful that your mother brought you your car and even more so that you were even alive.
You took a deep breath in and gave a heavy exhale. All before turning to your phone and sitting in the passenger’s seat beside your purse. Another one of Bucky’s messages of encouragement lit across the screen. You felt a stray tear threatening to trickle down your cheek, only to be wiped away with a single drag of your finger.
You quickly pulled your hand from your cheek and threw the car in reverse before rolling out of the driveway and out onto the street.
You were flying on a cloud of determination, feeling airier by the second. It was easy to ignore the subtle rise in your body temperature as you glided towards your destination. It was only during a brief pit stop that you were able to fan at the thin sheen of sweat that had built over your skin.
You needed some gas and maybe a quick snack—nothing that should have delayed you too much. You pulled into a large service gas station off the highway and stopped by one of the pumps before stepping out of the car.
It was still so warm out, with only a small breeze in the air to help cool your skin. You swiped your card, pulled the nozzle, and stuck in the fuel filler to fill the tank as you locked the car and left to find a snack in the adjacent convenience store.
You pulled your phone from your back pocket as you stepped inside. There was a message waiting for you from Bucky, just a little ‘hey, have you left yet?’
You tapped at the screen to type back, just letting him know you’d stopped for gas and still had some distance to cover until you’d be at the resort.
You hope he was excited, and maybe even as nervous as you were to finally see each other.
You tucked the phone away again as you stepped down towards the drink coolers at the back of the store. There were a few cork boards stapled up by the bathrooms, and old business cards for bakeries and auto repair were tucked beside a familiar but faded red flier.
You pulled a soda from the cooler and toed a few steps closer.
You felt a small flutter in your stomach when you read the ‘Omega Retreat’ title. It was almost the same piece of paper that brought you this far, and it was nice to see it again before journeying across the finish line.
You took the paper between two fingers, pulling it forward for a better look. Instead, you found another flier tacked up behind it—another faded picture with much more somber messages.
It was a poster for a missing Omega.
The word was set in bold to convey how dire the situation was. The woman on it was smiling, cracked only by a thin white line in an old bend in the paper. Below was a number to call if you had any information about where she might be, but two of the last digits were too faded to decipher whether it was 78 or 10.
There were always rumors of Omega’s being sought after and even stolen from their homes and families. It was something that you and many others like you hoped was not better than a legend.
The picture was old, leaving no doubt that if this woman hadn’t been found by now, she never would be. It made your stomach drop as you let the paper fall back over top of it.
You felt a familiar sense of unease bubbling in your belly. What if that girl was you? What would that do to your family if they never saw you come home?
You shook your head and wandered back into one of the narrow aisles. You were so tired of feeling scared, and you wanted to only focus on the good things that awaited you. The resort had wonderful reviews, and of course they boasted about safety if anything were to happen. If your prince charming turned out to be a monster in disguise, then you should still be safe.
You paid for your haul of twizzlers and Sprite before finally making it out to your car to drive away. That little gas station disappeared behind you as the road stretched out ahead. It wasn’t incredibly scenic until you approached the property. Green hills and a plush forest line either side of the road before the main building comes into view ahead. It was bigger than you’d expected, but not as rustic as the cabins. It was professional and comfortable.
You pulled into an empty space in the parking lot, taking another breath before cutting the engine and looking back at the building. This was it; he’d be here. An alpha is waiting here just for you.
The air in the car grew thin, and a thick wave of sweat finally started to drip down the back of your neck. It felt as if you could start shaking, and a familiar sense of terror bubbled in your stomach alongside the budding of your heat.
You just breathe, taking in only as much air as necessary before calming your rising nerves. Things would be better; you wouldn’t be alone this time.
You give yourself a small smile before reaching to unbuckle your seatbelt and falling short upon receiving a knock at your car window.
You’d nearly kicked yourself out of the driver's seat upon hearing it. All efforts to soothe your own anxieties are destroyed at the hands of some young employee trying to get your attention.
His face was left red with embarrassment at scaring a guest, and you could barely hear him stuttering out his sorries.
You crack the door, offering an apology for not having seen him.
“I really didn’t mean to scare you, ma’am. We thought maybe you needed some help with your bags.”
“Oh, uh sure.” You pulled yourself out of the car, purse hooked over the bend of your elbow, and keys tight in your hand as you rounded the car towards the back to grab your suitcase for him.
He reeked like a nervous beta, which was oddly reassuring to you. Betas are like a blank slate to heats and ruts and are often helpful mediators, so the little employee’s presence helped to calm you just a little bit. He grabs your suitcase, and you proceed to look at the car doors before following him into the building. It was bigger on the inside than you had expected, lavish and modern at every inch as well. You see the other waiting couples being all lovey-dovey, some awkwardly sweet, and a few with steely faces.
One couple stood out as a redhead and a tall blonde, surrounded by an icy atmosphere. She barely gave him the time of day, and he almost looked like he was gritting his teeth. It put into perspective how meeting strangers might end horribly.
“Go ahead and have a seat; I can take your name and find your reservation.” The employee was quick to steal your attention before showing you to an open chair in the foyer.
“Oh, of course,” you say with a weak smile before giving him the needed information and sitting down in the soft seat as he sets your bags by the chair.
You watched as the little beta shuffled to the front desk as a rogue dribble of sweat ran from your hairline and rounded towards the back of your neck. With all the mixed scents in the air, it seemed to rile up the heat that bubbles beneath your skin, making it spike ever so slightly. You felt like the only heated omega in the room, and it made you more and more self-conscious.
The feeling of budding heat added to the building dread in your belly, a greatly unwanted side effect from years of painful cycles.
But, things would be different this time; you would have someone to carry you through the heat this time. It was the only sentiment that soothed your nerves as you burrowed further into the cushy seat.
You felt a few eyes trailing towards you, several from staff, and most were edged with concern. You watched as that same beta was speaking to another employee at the desk before grabbing one of the phones and pressing it to his ear.
You took a calming breath, understanding that you may have to wait a while after arriving so early. It seemed to be working too, making your scent blossom with a sweet sense of building tranquility. It was a pleasant first for you, but such pleasantries never seemed to last, and as another stranger approached you their robust scent broke your calming bubble.
Long legs brushed past your knees, and as you looked up at their owner, you saw a familiar face.
You’d only seen his profile once before rejecting it, but you couldn’t remember his name. You felt sick to be under his gaze, your stomach twisting from him standing so close.
“Hey there.” He gave you a devilish grin as his brown eyes narrowed down at you.
Summary: Nat works her magic and 'accidentally' double books you and Bucky for babysitting. The kids don't want either of you to leave so you end up babysitting together and thanks to some imaginative play the night progresses perfectly.
Author's Note: I definitely took inspiration for this from the Bluey episodes "Fancy Restaurant and Double Babysitter." It just seemed like such a fun idea! Steve and Nat's kids are about the same ages as Bingo and Bluey, 4-5ish and 6-7ish. Thank you all so much for reading! Much love always! ❤️❤️❤️Divider by the sweet @firefly-graphics thank you Daisy! 🥰
Warnings: super sweet fluff and fun, Bucky's a little shy at first but by the end he knows exactly what he's doing.
“Almost ready?” Steve asks from the doorway of the bedroom.
Nat turns and smiles. “Just five minutes.”
The doorbell rings.
“We’ll get it!” their two daughters, Lily and Rose, yell simultaneously.
The sound of slapping feet and giggles disappears down the stairs before you hear them scream, “UNCLE BUCKY!”
“My two favorite girls!” Bucky coos as he kneels down to embrace them. “Ready for lots of junk food, scary movies and staying up late!?”
Lily and Rose nod their heads vigorously and don matching grins.
“There will be none of that,” Steve tsks as he walks into the foyer, hands on hips.
“AW DADDY!” Lily whines.
“You’re no fun!” Rose adds.
Steve just scoffs as Nat walks in with a confirming smile.
“I just love it when you all gang up on me,” Steve grumbles.
Nat pats him on the back sympathetically and Bucky chuckles.
“Alright you two. Off you go,” Bucky says. “We’ll be just fine. Have fun!”
Just as Steve is helping Nat into her coat the doorbell rings again. Everyone, but Nat, turns with confused expressions before Steve and Bucky exchange questioning glances.
“Nat?” Steve asks.
She shrugs nonchalantly and opens the door.
“Hey babe,” Nat says as she greets you and holds her arms open.
You smile brightly and rush in to hug her.
It takes you a moment to realize you have an audience and when your eyes lock on Steve’s puzzled face your brows furrow.
The girls momentarily distract you when they start squealing in happiness and tug at your pants in greeting. You kneel down to squeeze them both before asking Nat, “what’s going on? What did I miss?”
“I was about to ask the same thing,” Steve says with a warm smile as he hugs you.
Bucky just stands to the side, his eyes glued to you and his mouth hanging open.
“Nothing!” Nat exclaims excitedly. “Steve and I are leaving.”
“Ok! You two have fu…” you trail off when your eyes land on Bucky.
“Did you double book?” you whisper to Nat.
“Double book?” she repeats, feigning misunderstanding.
Bucky clears his throat and wipes his palm on his jeans before extending his hand.
“Hi, I’m Bucky,” he says.
You introduce yourself, noticing the way his cheeks turn pink when your skin touches his.
Steve drops his head with a shake then looks to his wife who’s standing there looking smug.
“I didn’t realize you already had a sitter,” you say. “I can go?”
“NO!” Steve, Nat, Bucky and the girls screech.
“You should definitely stay,” Nat says.
“Of course, the girls would be so disappointed if you left,” Steve adds.
“WE WOULD!” Rose says in her sweet voice. “Please stay!”
“YES you have to stay!” Lily pleads. “Now we can play fancy restaurant!”
The two girls squeak with excitement before rushing off with a yell. “We’re going to set it up!”
Steve and Nat finally get out the door and leave you and Bucky standing there.
“So,” Bucky starts and rubs the back of his neck.
You smile and move toward the kitchen.
“Have you eaten dinner yet?” you ask him.
“No,” he sighs while he pats his stomach. “But I’m starving!”
Your gaze falls to his large hand spread across his abs, the soft fabric of his Henley pressing against his muscles and accentuating them.
When your eyes move upward you catch him wearing a smirk and quickly turn your focus to the cabinets for food.
“I’m sure I can find something quick and easy to make,” you assure him.
As you move around the kitchen and pull things from the fridge and cabinets Bucky follows you, offering help where he can and asking you about how you met Nat.
“Are you sure we haven’t met before?” you ask him.
His eyes wander over your features, lingering on your lips for a moment too long before he blinks and says, “no way. I would definitely have remembered.”
You capture your bottom lip between your teeth and continue mixing the mac and cheese and when you steal a look his way you can see the pink color on his cheeks just above the dark scruff of hair.
A loud crash from the girls playroom alerts you both and Bucky quickly stands.
“I’ll go check on them.”
You finish up the mac and cheese and serve it into two bowls then set them on the table.
He returns just in time.
“They were just trying to set up the table for their restaurant,” he explains.
“I love how imaginative they are,” you muse. “They always come up with fun ideas!”
Bucky agrees before pulling out your chair.
“Thanks for cooking,” he says. “I’ll do the dishes.”
“No problem and great!”
You sit and dig in, enjoying the easy conversation the flows between the two of you.
The girls rush back in the kitchen just after Bucky places the last dish on the drying rack.
“READY!?” Rose asks, her tiny hands clasped together and a chef hat sitting crooked on her head.
The apron she’s wearing is tied haphazardly at her waist and there are several toy utensils sticking out of the pockets.
You and Bucky exchange a smile.
“We’re ready!” you tell the girls.
Lily whispers something in Rose’s ear before Rose rushes off with a giggle.
“That was our chef,” Lily explains. “The restaurant is just this way.”
She holds out her hand and waits for you and Bucky to follow.
“You have to hold hands,” Lily says as she walks you two toward the play room.
Bucky’s eyes go wide and he turns to you.
“Mommy and daddy always hold hands on dates!” Lily exclaims.
You give Bucky a reassuring smile. “I don’t mind if you don’t.”
“I definitely don’t!” he says and holds out his hand.
You take it and walk the rest of the way hand in hand.
Lily runs ahead and stands behind a makeshift pile of books, turning over some papers. You and Bucky stop in front of her and she states, “welcome to our fancy restaurant. Do you have a reservation?”
“Ummm,” Bucky starts. “Yeah, two for Barnes,” and he looks at his watch. “Six pm.”
Lily runs her finger down the paper. “I don’t see a Barnes here,” she says.
Bucky looks nervously to you then back at Lily.
“Are you sure?” he asks.
Lily sighs. “Did you call to make a reservation?”
“Oh,” Bucky says. “No, I didn’t! Is that bad?”
“YES!” both Lily and Rose yell. “But don’t worry,” Lily continues in a whispered voice, “you can just call now.”
Bucky stands there, clearly unsure of how to handle this and you think quick, reaching with your free hand into the back pocket of his jeans to pull his phone free.
You poke him in the chest with it. “Quick call!” you whisper shout. “I’m hungry!”
The girls giggle and watch Bucky.
“Uh…RIGHT!” he says and pretends to dial his phone.
“Hello, fancy restaurant. How can I help you this evening,” Lily says as she picks up her Minnie Mouse phone.
“Hi,” Bucky answers. “I’d like to make a reservation please.”
“Certainly,” Lily responds. “How many?”
“Two for James Barnes.”
“James?” Rose chimes from behind the play kitchen. “Who’s James?”
Bucky laughs. “That’s my first name but your dad has been calling me Bucky since we’re kids so it kind of stuck.”
Rose shrugs and Lily pretends to scribble something on the paper. “Great,” she says.
She hangs up the phone and repeats her welcome from earlier.
“Barnes for two,” Bucky states.
“Ah yes!” Lily sings. “Right this way.
In all the commotion you and Bucky stopped holding hands and when Lily realizes she stops short and puts her hands on her hips, a mirror image of her father, and gives you both a stern look.
“HANDS!” she shouts.
Bucky reaches over and takes your hand, gently stroking his thumb across your knuckles.
“If I knew I had a date tonight I would have dressed the part,” you lean over and whisper to him.
His lips lift into a boyish smirk. “You look perfect doll.”
Lily pulls his attention away and he misses the way his words make you react.
The table that’s set up is kid size and after Bucky pulls out your chair he sits in his and it makes you nearly fall over with laughter.
“What?” he asks with a grin.
“Oh my god,” you giggle.
Lily and Rose join you tableside.
“Would you like to hear the specials?” Rose asks.
“Sure,” Bucky answers.
“You’re still supposed to be holding hands,” Lily says. “On the table.”
“Oh!” you say and reach your hand across for Bucky’s. “Like this?”
“Perfect!” Lily says with a satisfied smile. “Now Chef Rose. The specials please.”
Rose rattles off a list of random food pairings that have you and Bucky trying not to burst out laughing. You somehow hold it together and place your orders, watching as the girls run off toward their play kitchen.
“This is already the best date I’ve been on,” Bucky says.
“Me too!” you agree. “The service is amazing!”
You say the last part loud enough to make sure the girls can hear it and their excited squeals warm your heart.
“I mean it,” Bucky says. “I’m having a great time.”
After he admits that out loud you can tell he’s slightly embarrassed so you’re quick to assure him you are too.
Lily brings over play plates and utensils and periodically checks in as you wait for your ‘food’ to be prepared.
The ease of your conversation with Bucky makes you feel comfortable and safe and the more you talk to him the more you like him.
Rose joins Lily for the presentation of the food and both you and Bucky are impressed with the spread.
“Wow this looks delicious!” he says eagerly.
The girls look pleased and excuse themselves in a flurry of fancy bows and unintelligible mutterings.
You and Bucky pretend to eat the food, laughing and sharing stories. Lily sneaks over and whispers, “don’t forget to feed each other!”
She tip toes away and you can feel her staring.
“She’s watching and waiting isn’t she?” you ask Bucky.
He subtly nods and pretends to scoop his spaghetti. He holds up the small fork and you laugh again, the pink plastic tiny in his hand.
You lean forward and he meets you half way, pretending to feed you a bite. A cheer erupts from behind you and the girls yell, “again!”
After sharing more bites and a special ‘fancy’ dessert Lily and Rose present Bucky with the bill.
“Hope you enjoyed your meal doll,” he says to you. “I know I did!”
“It was delicious!” you exclaim. “We definitely have to come back!”
Lily escorts you toward the door of the play room, instructing you once again to hold hands and bids you farewell.
While you and Bucky are strolling down the hall you hear the girls whispering to each other and Bucky squeezes your hand.
“I don’t think the date’s over,” he mutters.
You cover your mouth to stifle your laughter.
Rose skips over and stops in front of you and Bucky so you have to stop walking.
“Time for a smoochy kiss!” she says happily.
“YES! YES! Smoochy kiss time!” Lily sings.
Bucky looks down at the two girls and kneels so he’s eye level.
“Aw girls,” he says, “I’m not sure we can do that.”
“But” Rose says, her eyes big and shining. “Daddy and Mommy always smoochy kiss!”
You tug on Bucky’s shoulder and he stands again. You smile at the girls and lean up to press your lips to his cheek.
“There,” you say. “How’s that?”
Two sets of pouty lips turn to you and their tiny voices say in unison, “that’s a cheeky kiss! Not a smoochy kiss!”
Bucky wraps his fingers around your biceps and studies your face.
“Maybe if I give you one?” he says, his tone questioning.
You nod and wait for the press of his lips to your skin, closing your eyes briefly and opening them to find him staring at your lips.
The girls stomp and whimper, clearly not satisfied.
“Might as well give them what they want,” you whisper, pressing yourself closer to him.
His right hand slides up your arm and grazes the curve of your neck before he cradles your cheek and brushes his thumb at the corner of your mouth.
He dips his head as his metal hand slides around your waist and splays across your lower back. His dark eyelashes lower and he moves closer. Your fingers grasp at his Henley and you give him a little tug.
“Bucky, you can kiss me now.”
He nods lightly and his nose bumps yours, his lips hovering so close you can feel his warm breath.
“I hope I can keep this PG,” he whispers before pressing his lips to yours.
Your hands glide up to his shoulders and then to the back of his neck, fingernails gently scraping along his hair when he pulls you so close there isn’t a breath of space left between you.
The sounds of the girls screeching and screaming finally pulls you out of the kiss and you bury your face in his neck.
“THAT…” Rose starts with sparkling eyes, “was the best smoochy kiss EVER!!!”
“Can you do it again?” Lily asks, dancing in place.
You giggle and peck Bucky on the lips.
“Girls it’s just about time for bath and bed,” you tell them.
“Aww but we want to keep playing fancy restaurant,” Rose whines.
“I know. But we can play in the bath and then I’ll read you a bedtime story! Any one you want!”
The two girls beam up at you and then look at Bucky.
“You’ll play too Uncle Bucky, right?” Rose asks.
“Of course!” he says. “But first you two have to clean up.”
They groan but agree with shuffling feet and head back to the play room.
You watch them go until you feel Bucky’s eyes on you. When you turn to face him he grabs your hand and pulls you around the hallway and presses you against the wall.
“One more smoochy kiss?” he asks.
“Yes,” you murmur and meet his lips in a soft kiss.
“They’re smoochy kissing again!” Rose squeals!
“They do it way better than mommy and daddy!” Lily giggles. “I can’t wait to tell them!”
“We’re never gonna hear the end of this doll,” Bucky winks.
“I think this is exactly what they wanted,” you whisper.
“You’re exactly what I want,” he says before kissing you again. “And I plan on getting as many kisses as possible after those two go to bed.”
