❄️ all the small things you do
Bucklena Week 2025 – Day 4: Domestic Bucky/Yelena
Pairing: Bucky Barnes / Yelena Belova
Rating: E (smut, domestic tension)
Spoilers: Thunderbolts (2025)
Word Count: ~4.4k
AO3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/68120881
Inspired by: Those Eyes by The New West
Summary:
Snowed in. No extraction. A battered safehouse and a handful of supplies.
For days, it’s just Bucky and Yelena—splitting rations, keeping the fire alive, settling into a rhythm that feels too much like home.
And eventually, they stop pretending to keep their hands to themselves.
all the small things you do
by Ninazadzia
xxx
“I close my eyes and all I see is you
And the small things you do…”
xxx
By the time we reached the safehouse, it was the middle of the night and well below freezing.
I’d given my jacket to Yelena hours ago—the only reason I hadn’t lost fingers or toes to frostbite was the serum.
“If this isn’t the right place, I’m going to kill Sam Wilson,” she muttered through chattering teeth.
I punched in the code Sam had given me. The keypad was an old SHIELD model—barely the size of my palm, scuffed and scratched, with three metal buttons and a cracked green screen. It took me three tries before the lock finally released with a groan. A green light blinked once on the panel, then went still. The burst transmission was sent.
Somewhere, on some off-site SHIELD relay or Avengers comms desk, someone now knew exactly where we were.
Whether they could reach us? That was another story.
The cabin was maybe a few degrees warmer inside. Barebones. A wood stove crouched in the corner, its metal sides dusted with ash, stacks of firewood leaning in a tarp-covered pile.
A single cot, a cramped kitchenette with dented MRE tins, and one crooked door—bathroom, probably.
No curtains. No rugs. Just wood, metal, and silence.
Yelena slumped against the wall. I could see her breath, curling in tendrils in the air.
“Cozy,” she muttered, sliding down to sit on the floor.
“You complaining?”
“Absolutely not,” she replied, letting out a deep exhale.
She didn’t have to say it out loud. After what we’d been through these last twelve hours, we might as well have been at the Four Seasons.
We’d barely made it out when the first explosions hit the facility.
I don’t know who fired first—ours or theirs—but the sky had lit up like the Fourth of July, and comms went to hell in under a minute. Sam’s voice had crackled through the intercom just long enough to shout the coordinates to the safehouse before it went dead.
The rest of the team got pulled before the second wave. We didn’t.
Yelena and I had been covering the western exit when the snow started. At first it was just flurries. Then the wind picked up, visibility dropped to nothing, and the blizzard swallowed the entire valley. By the time we broke away, the convoy was gone. It was just us, a pair of half-frozen packs, and the promise that if we could get to the safehouse, someone would find us—eventually.
No food. No water. Ten miles through knee-deep snow. She wouldn’t admit it, but she was limping by the second hour, bleeding through her pants. And me—well, I had the serum, which meant I could keep moving even when my body told me to stop.
But her? She’s not supposed to be out in this kind of cold for that long.
Nobody is.
Yelena looked like she was about to doze off.
“Hey,” I snapped, running over to her side. “Let me see your leg.”
I half expected her to protest, to say “can it wait until morning?” So when she didn’t, I knew it was bad.
She winced as she pulled down her pants, finally revealing the deep gash just above her knee.
My stomach dropped. It smelled putrid.
“Jesus, Yelena,” I managed.
I looked at her—she’d gotten hit by a stray piece of shrapnel right when we’d left the compound, nearly twelve hours ago. I noticed immediately she was favoring her left leg, and when I’d tried to ask her about, she’d brushed it off.
“I’ll be fine,” she’d said through grit teeth. “We can deal with it when we get there. Let’s keep going.”
I looked from her knee, and back to her.
I’d always known Yelena was tough—she was raised in the Red Room. I knew she was a fighter and a survivor, through and through. But it hit me then, just how much she was made of steel.
She mustered a laugh. “Pretty, huh?”
I just shook my head. “You should’ve told me. I would’ve carried you.”
“You offered, remember? I told you not to.”
“Yeah, but if I’d known it was this bad—”
“—What? You would’ve insisted?” She scoffed. “Yeah. Like that would’ve gone over well.”
I clamped my mouth shut. She was right, and I knew it.
“I’ll get the first aid kit.”
I dug through the cabinet by the kitchenette until I found a dusty first aid kit, half-empty but better than nothing.
When I crouched back down beside her, Yelena tilted her head lazily toward me. “You look like you’re about to perform surgery.”
“Shut up,” I muttered, snapping the box open. The gauze was sealed, at least. Small mercy.
I peeled her hands away from her leg and inspected the wound. Up close, it was worse than I thought—angry red edges, heat radiating off it even in the freezing air.
I pressed the gauze firmly against her skin, careful—probably too careful—and she smirked like she noticed.
“You’re acting like I’m made of glass,” she said.
I kept my eyes on the wound, refusing to look at her face. I wasn’t thinking about how warm her skin was under my hands, or how she was watching me like she could tell.
My stomach tightened. “This is already warm. It’s been open too long.”
She raised an eyebrow. “And what? You’re going to diagnose me with infection, Doctor Barnes?”
“Not funny,” I said sharply, dousing a gauze pad with antiseptic. The smell stung my nose.
She smirked, trying to lean back like she wasn’t in pain. “I’ve had worse. Red Room summers, remember? A little shrapnel isn’t going to off me.”
“This isn’t the Red Room,” I snapped, louder than I meant to.
Her expression softened, but she didn’t argue. She stayed still as I pressed, cleaned, wrapped.
Antibiotics.
My mind kept circling the word like a warning. No internet. No comms.
Just me, a half-assed combat medic course from seventy years ago, and a kit that hadn’t been updated since SHIELD was founded.
“Any medicine in there?” I asked finally, motioning to the box.
She rummaged through it, reading off faded labels, butchering the names.
“…oh,” she said after a beat, almost casually. “Probably should tell you—penicillin and I don’t get along. Nearly killed me last time.”
My stomach dropped. “How bad?”
“Hospital bad.” She tilted her head at me. “So, no penicillin, yes?”
“Fantastic,” I muttered, digging through the rest of the kit.
My hands felt too big, too clumsy as I flipped through a warped SHIELD field manual I found wedged behind some cans. Stop bleeding. Set bones. Stabilize until evac. Nothing for this.
Three antibiotic names jumped out. One circled in pencil—amoxicillin. Useless.
I grabbed the bottle she’d set aside, squinting at the faded label.
“Bactrim,” I muttered.
Broad-spectrum. Non-penicillin. Should work.
“Should,” Yelena echoed, raising one eyebrow.
I met her gaze. “I’m ninety percent sure.”
“Ninety.” She smirked faintly. “I’ve survived worse odds.”
“This isn’t funny.” My voice cracked just a little. “If I get this wrong—”
“—then I swell up. Maybe I die fast. Better than slow infection, yes?” Her tone was maddeningly calm. “You’re stalling because you’re scared.”
She wasn’t wrong.
“You’re not dying on me,” I said finally, voice low, steadying. “Not from this. Not here.”
“I already told you,” she said, softer now. “I’m not going anywhere.”
“Damn right you’re not.”
She swallowed the pills without complaint. I stayed crouched next to her long after, watching her chest rise and fall, listening to the stove creak as the first logs caught. For the first time in twelve hours, we weren’t moving.
And I hated every second of it.
xxx
The fire in the stove had burned down to embers, throwing barely enough heat to keep the room from icing over. My breath fogged in the air every time I exhaled.
We hadn’t talked about sleeping arrangements—just a glance at the single cot, a look from me, an awkward pause from her—and I’d taken the chair without argument. It wasn’t much of a chair anyway. Every time I shifted, the old wood creaked like it was about to splinter.
Yelena lay curled under the blanket, back to me, shoulders hunched. She hadn’t said a word since I finished bandaging her leg, but every so often I caught the faint sound of her teeth clicking together when she thought I wasn’t listening.
Hours passed like that. Neither of us moved, neither of us sleeping.
At some point, she pushed herself upright with a groan and limped toward the bathroom. I kept my eyes closed, pretending to be asleep.
When she came back, she didn’t lie down right away.
“You awake?” she asked finally.
I opened my eyes. “Yeah.”
She studied me for a beat, like she was deciding whether to bother saying what was already obvious. “You sleep at all?”
“Not even a little,” I admitted.
I didn’t have to say it out loud. Serum or not—it was freezing. We both knew it.
Neither of us said anything for a moment.
She crawled back into bed. Another ten, fifteen, twenty minutes passed.
My heart started to pound. The question was on the tip of my tongue.
It’s not like that, I told myself. It’s about staying warm. Survival. She needs rest. She’s not going to heal otherwise. She’s already fighting off an infection.
I finally forced the words out, half-muttering: “Would it help if I—”
“—can you just get over here?” she said at the exact same time.
I didn’t think. I just stood, joints stiff from sitting too long, and crossed to the cot.
“Okay,” I said, voice low, and sat carefully on the edge before lying down beside her.
The cot dipped under our combined weight. The blanket was scratchy, stiff, and too small for two people.
“You comfy?” I asked after a moment.
“Yeah,” she said, her voice already softer, sleepier. “No, this works.”
We tried not to touch at first, lying stiff and angled away, but the cot was too narrow. Her shoulder brushed mine. Her knee bumped my thigh. Neither of us moved.
Her knee brushed my thigh again, and I stared at the ceiling like it might give me answers.
Don’t move. Don’t shift closer. Just breathe. The cot is too narrow, that’s all.
That’s all.
The warmth hit slowly, sinking in, her body heat bleeding into mine. Her breathing evened out, soft and steady, and after a while, her head tipped closer, resting lightly against my arm.
I kept my eyes on the ceiling.
The air was still freezing. The room still smelled of smoke and damp wood. But I could feel the warmth of her through the blanket, seeping into every inch of me.
I didn’t let myself think about it. Not too much.
xxx
When I woke up, it was to the smell of hot coffee and half-burnt pancakes.
“Morning,” Yelena said, too cheerfully.
I shot up in bed, disoriented for a second, before I remembered where I was.
Still in the same cabin—in the same scratchy cot. The fire roared now, and outside the wind still howled against the windows.
But the room felt different. Warmer.
Yelena had some color back in her cheeks, and though she was still favoring one leg, she moved with a little more ease as she fussed with the skillet.
“How you feeling?” I muttered, voice sleep-rough.
“About a million times better,” she replied, setting a plate at the foot of the bed. “No promises about these. The mix expired a few years ago.”
I was already halfway through the first pancake before she finished talking. “I’ll take my chances,” I managed between bites.
She smirked, sitting on the edge of the cot. “You were out longer than I was.”
“Do you know what time it is?”
She shrugged. “Hard to say without a clock. But the sun went down an hour ago.”
“Jesus,” I muttered. A whole day gone.
Yelena broke off a piece of pancake and held it up like a toast. “Thanks for not killing me with your questionable antibiotics.”
“Thanks for making breakfast.”
She shrugged, chewing, then glanced toward the fire. The flames had caught properly now, throwing real heat for the first time since we got here.
I set my plate down, leaning back a little. “This is… warm.” My eyes shifted to the woodpile by the stove. “Do we have enough to keep it going?”
“We do now,” she said, too casually.
I turned to look at her. “Yelena—”
“What?”
“You didn’t.”
She didn’t even flinch. “I did.”
I exhaled through my nose, shaking my head.
“You were dead to the world,” she went on, unfazed. “And we need the fire. So.”
“You shouldn’t be—” I caught myself, letting the words die halfway.
Her mouth curved, just a hint of a smile. “Relax, Barnes. We’re a team, remember? You needed the sleep. I can handle a little firewood.”
I didn’t argue, but I kept my eyes on her a moment longer than I meant to. She ignored me, going back to her pancakes like nothing had happened.
xxx
The rest of the evening passed in small, practical movements.
We cleaned up what little mess “breakfast” left, each of us moving around the cabin in silence, too tired to bother with conversation. The fire stayed low, carefully fed, the heat barely stretching past the stove.
We took turns with the bathroom. She went first, and when it was my turn, she’d already retreated to the cot, sitting cross-legged and leafing through an old SHIELD field manual like it was a novel.
There wasn’t much privacy—just a thin door and the courtesy of pretending not to listen. She didn’t look up when I came back out, hair damp from the cold water.
By the time we were both done, the light outside had faded completely. We didn’t talk about the fire or how little wood was left.
We didn’t talk about the bed.
When she slid under the blanket, I followed without a word. It felt strange how easy it was this time.
The cot creaked under our weight. We lay stiff at first, angled away, until the cold forced us closer. Shoulder to shoulder, knee to knee, heat pooling between us under the scratchy blanket.
For a long time, there was just the sound of the wind against the cabin walls. Then, quietly:
“How long do you think it’ll be before they come for us?”
I turned my head slightly, looking at the dark ceiling. “Hard to say. Depends how bad it is out there.”
She was quiet for a moment. “What do you think’s going on?”
Images flashed in my head—the first explosions tearing through the facility, the sky lit up in streaks of orange and white, the way the comms went dead all at once.
“Worse than they’re telling us,” I said finally. “Extraction isn’t top priority.”
She hummed, low and thoughtful. “Then we could be stuck here for a while.”
“Maybe,” I admitted. “But we can’t stay here forever.”
I didn’t have to elaborate—she already knew. The cabin was equipped for a week—two weeks tops, maybe, if the weather was better. But the blizzard showed no signs of letting up.
If the others didn’t find us by the end of the week, we’d have to figure something out.
She shifted slightly, her shoulder brushing mine. “It’s day two, right?”
“Yeah.”
“Then we’ll make a plan on day six.”
I glanced at her, but she was already closing her eyes, settling into the blanket like it was a real bed.
“Right now,” she added, her voice soft, almost a murmur, “let’s just wait it out. We’ve got time.”
I stared at the ceiling again, listening to the slow rhythm of her breathing evening out.
Day two. Four more days until we’d have to think about leaving. Four more nights in this cot.
I didn’t say anything.
But—now that she was on the mend, and I knew she’d be okay—I didn’t mind waiting.
xxx
By the third day, it felt like we’d been there weeks.
Not in a bad way. Just… everything had slowed.
Mornings started with coffee—burnt, bitter, the kind of instant stuff you only drink because it’s hot, but Yelena handed me a mug like she’d just made us something fancy. We sat on opposite sides of the cot, sipping in silence, trading books we’d scavenged from the safehouse shelves.
At some point, we stopped asking who would cook. Whoever got up first just started. Usually her.
“Your turn to be impressed,” she said once, flipping something in the skillet with too much flair for what was obviously canned potatoes.
I glanced over from where I sat by the stove, half-smiling. “I’m shocked you didn’t burn them already.”
“They’re supposed to be this crispy,” she shot back, smirking.
Dinner usually ended in quiet bickering, the kind that wasn’t really arguing.
“You’re cutting that wrong,” I said one night, watching her hack into a loaf of stale bread with a combat knife.
“Then do it yourself,” she replied, handing me the knife without even looking.
I took it, muttering something about technique, and she grinned, leaning back against the counter like she’d won.
By evening, the cabin smelled faintly of smoke and stale coffee, and the fire crackled low. She read stretched out on the cot, leg propped up on my folded jacket. I cleaned up dishes or split wood, and every so often she’d glance up just to throw some offhand comment my way.
“You chop wood like an old man,” she called once from the cot, smirking over the top of her book.
I didn’t look at her right away. Her smirk lingered just a little too long, and something in my chest pulled tight before I forced myself to glance back at the firewood.
“Need I remind you—I’m 110 years old,” I replied.
“Sorry. I forgot.”
It wasn’t much. But it was a rhythm.
Easy. Familiar.
And every time she glanced up at me, or smirked when she caught me watching her cook, or shoved her book toward me to show me some random passage, I felt it—that pull.
The quiet kind. The one you don’t say out loud.
xxx
By the time we went to bed on our fourth night, it felt inevitable.
She crawled under the covers and wordlessly nestled her head against my shoulder—a far cry from where we started, a few days ago. Given her position, it was guaranteed that she could hear my heart, relentlessly pounding in my chest.
I felt stiff against her, at first. Until she took a deep breath, and as she exhaled, wordlessly pulled my arm so it draped around her waist.
That one movement—innocent enough, but at the same time, loaded—made my pulse race.
She smiled, her eyes closed. “You nervous, Bucky?” she teased.
I swallowed. “Why would I be nervous?” I asked.
She cracked an eye open, smirking. “I don’t know. Am I the first woman you’ve shared a bed with in a century?”
“Well,” I said, my voice rougher than I meant. “That would depend.”
“On what?”
“On how we’re defining sharing a bed.”
Her eyes widened slightly. She didn’t move, but she suddenly felt… closer.
“Oh,” she said slowly, almost under her breath.
“Yeah,” I murmured.
Her fingers found mine then, threading through them casually, like it wasn’t a big deal.
But it was.
“That long, huh?” she asked softly.
I didn’t answer. Not out loud. But the thought flickered anyway—how many nights I’d spent lying awake since meeting her, wondering what it might be like if I wasn’t who I was, if the world wasn’t what it was.
I’d be lying if I said I hadn’t thought about it.
About her.
She was quiet for a moment before speaking again. “Tell me something.”
“Yeah?”
“Do you actually think we get out of this?”
I exhaled slowly. “I have to think that way.”
“Right,” she said, her voice almost unreadable. “Okay, then.”
She didn’t look at me when she spoke next. “Just wondering… if we didn’t—” She stopped, then tilted her head slightly, her hair brushing my chin. “Would it change anything? For you?”
I hesitated. “Change what?”
She glanced up at me, eyes catching mine in the dim light. “The way you’re holding out.”
My pulse kicked hard in my chest. “Yelena…”
“I mean,” she added, her tone deceptively light, “might as well enjoy what’s left of the world, right?”
For a second, the image flashed in my mind—her pulling me closer, the two of us forgetting everything outside these walls. But I shook my head.
“I don’t want it to be because of that,” I said quietly. “Because we think we’re not walking out of here.”
Her gaze lingered on me, searching.
“It wouldn’t be,” she said finally, so soft I almost didn’t catch it. “Not for me.”
I didn’t trust myself to answer, so I stayed quiet. But I didn’t let go of her hand.
xxx
For a second, I thought it had been a dream. Our conversation, from the night before.
The warmth, the weight of her pressed against me—it felt too good to be real. But when I cracked my eyes open, there she was. Still curled up beside me, her head tucked under my chin, our hands still loosely tangled where they’d fallen asleep.
Her breathing shifted as she stirred, and a moment later, her eyes blinked open, hazy with sleep.
“Morning,” I said, my voice low, rough from sleep.
“Hi,” she murmured back.
For a beat, we just lay there, looking at each other. The quiet stretched, heavy but not uncomfortable.
Then, slowly, like we’d both made the same decision at once, we leaned in. Her lips brushed mine first, soft, tentative.
I kissed her back before I could think better of it.
What started careful turned messy fast—neither of us willing to stop. She shifted closer, one hand sliding up my chest, tugging at my shirt. My arm tightened around her waist, dragging her flush against me, and she let out the faintest sound against my mouth that nearly undid me.
By the time I rolled us, bracing myself over her, we weren’t careful anymore.
Her fingers were in my hair, her leg hooked tight around my hip, and every part of me felt like it had been waiting for this.
“Yelena—” I muttered against her jaw, my breath catching as my hand slid under the waistband of her sweats.
She gasped, hips jerking up into me, and for half a second I froze.
I shouldn’t. Not like this. Not here.
Not when everything outside these walls is still waiting for us.
Then she caught my face in both hands, eyes dark and certain. “Don’t talk,” she whispered, voice rough, needy. “Just—touch me.”
That hesitation shattered.
My fingers slid lower, finding heat and slick, and the soft, choked noise she made in my ear almost killed me.
I stroked slow at first, teasing, just to feel her tremble. Her thighs opened wider, greedy, and I slipped two fingers inside, curling just right. Her nails bit into my shoulders, her hips rolling shamelessly to meet every thrust of my hand.
“Fuck,” she gasped against my neck, her breath hot and uneven. “Bucky…”
I pressed harder, faster, my palm grinding against her clit, and she broke apart under me—half-silent, half-strangled gasps she tried to bite down on, her entire body tightening, clutching me like she never wanted me to stop.
I couldn’t look away. Her mouth fell open, her head tipped back against the thin pillow, and she was gorgeous like this—wrecked and shaking and mine.
I couldn’t stop. Wouldn’t. My name slipped out of her again, desperate, like a plea, and I groaned, burying my face against her throat.
The cabin door burst open.
“Jesus Christ,” someone barked.
We froze—but only for a second.
“Well, don’t you two look cozy,” Walker drawled.
Thank fucking god—we were still under a blanket. So even though it was obvious what we were up to—at least they couldn’t see anything.
Ava leaned against the doorway, smirking like she’d just caught us with our hands in the cookie jar. “Should we come back later?”
“Don’t encourage them,” Walker muttered.
Ava shot him a sideways look, smirk tugging wider. “Please. Like you’re one to talk.”
Walker scoffed. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
“You know exactly what it means,” she said, a little too fast.
Walker muttered something low, almost swallowed—and looked away, ears just barely pink. Ava’s smirk sharpened anyway.
Yelena’s shoulder brushed mine under the blanket, and we exchanged a quick glance.
Huh.
I looked toward the door, my voice rough. “Give us a minute.”
Walker snorted. “You’ve got thirty seconds before I drag you out myself.”
Ava rolled her eyes, already turning away. “You’re welcome for the rescue, by the way. Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do.”
The door slammed shut.
Yelena cracked an eye open, flushed and smiling wickedly. “Finish what you started,” she whispered, voice low and wrecked.
I didn’t need to be told twice. My fingers curled deep again, finding that perfect spot, and she tightened around them, desperate. I groaned, pushing her through it as she came hard—biting down on my shoulder to keep quiet, trembling against me while I held her through every shudder.
Her breathing slowed eventually, her face still buried against my neck, and I pressed a kiss to her temple without thinking.
“The rescue team is here,” I managed.
I should’ve felt relieved. I didn’t.
“Hooray,” she mumbled against my skin.
“They’re going to make us move,” I said quietly, my pulse still racing.
She tilted her head just enough to meet my eyes, her smirk softer now. “So? We’ll pick this up later.”
And as her hand slid down to grab mine, still between her legs, I believed her.
Whatever waited for us outside, this wasn’t over. Not by a long shot.
xxx
“When we're done making love
And you look up and give me those eyes
'Cause all of the small things that you do
Are what remind me why I fell for you”
Greetings, fellow BuckLenas! It is with great pleasure we announce the Second Annual Bucklena Week.
We will be celebrating from July 20th to July 27th, 2026. Mark your calendars!
We will be using the following prompts:
1. Mon July 20, 2026 - Family
Steve & Nat are alive. Melina too! Chosen Family. Found Family.
2. Tues July 21, 2026 - Alternate Universe
Drop them in other worlds you love, get as wacky as you want! exp. fantasy, ancient, pacific rim, attack on titan, twilight. anything! Or replace your ship with them. drop them in a romcom, movie, tv show, anime, book.
3. Wed July 22, 2026 - 5+1
5 times Bucky, 5 times Yelena, 5 times whoever whatever. Make a list, any list.
4. Thurs July 23, 2026 - Memory
Yelena & Bucky have a past together. Red Room. Or Post Winter Soldier, Post Red Room, Pre Thunderbolts. Or Repressed/Missing Memories.
5. Fri July 24, 2026 - Porn Without Plot / A/B/O/Omegaverse
we just want them to tie the knot.
6. Sat July 25, 2026 - Getting Together
first confessions, first kiss
7. Sun July 26, 2026 - Songfic
any song you want. any world.
8. Mon July 27, 2026 - BUCKLENA DAY - Enemies to Lovers
FIGHTING. VENEMOUS WORDS. enemies as widow and winter soldier, or enemies as strangers, enemies as teammates.
Make sure to use the hashtag #BucklenaWeek2026 wherever you post your creation.
On Ao3 make sure to submit your fanfiction to the Collection: BucklenaWeek2026.
Send us a message on discord (join here!) or ask if you'd like to notify us on your creations. We'll be sharing them on the discord and the tumblr blog.
For frequently asked questions please refer to our FAQ page. For any other questions send us an ask!
Fanart Sources:
steve, bucky, yelena and alexei by ele_nnk1201
tangled au art by yuntach2007
tablet art by nagaori_mvf
reflection in eyes art by yuntach2007 + bw!yelena & tfatws!bucky by hattersdesigns
back kiss (x, tumblr) by friends_chan13
bucky buffering kiss by yuntach2007
kid bucklena dancing by toshiro-taichou
chokehold fight by mvbckup
We will be ACCEPTING LATE SUBMISSIONS after BuckLena week is over.
This means from July 28th to August 28th you may post any day for any prompt and we will include it in our ao3 collection and the @bucklenaweek blog.
Not me trying to edit Chapter 3 of Horizons to Battlegrounds and instead writing 1500 words of a Bucky x Yelena fic idea...
Yeh I knew watching Thunderbolts* was gonna get me obsessed with Bucky again.
Before anyone @ 's me for shipping them because Yelena is potentially AroAce;
BEING ARO AND OR ACE DOESNT MEAN YOU CAN'T HAVE FULFILLING RELATIONSHIPS.
BEING ACE IS NOT THE SAME AS CAN'T/DOESN'T/WON'T HAVE SEX.
ASEXUALITY IS A SPECTRUM AND GUESS WHAT? IT CAN CHANGE OVER TIME.
THAT IS NOT APHOBIA/ACEPHOBIA/AROPHOBIA, OR ERASURE. THAT'S INDIVIDUAL REPRESENTATION.
YOU ARE NOT LESS ACE IF YOUR ASEXUALITY FLUCTUATES.
YOU ARE NOT LESS ACE IF YOU HAVE RELATIONSHIPS.
YOU ARE NOT LESS ACE IF YOU CHOOSE TO HAVE SEX FOR ANY REASON.
YOU DO NOT HAVE TO REMAIN ALONE FOREVER JUST BECAUSE YOU ARE ACE (Unless you want to)
Don't like the way someone writes a character? Write it yourself. And move the fuck on.
Yelena MAY or MAY NOT be Aro Ace, and to my knowledge, it has NOT been explicitly confirmed, though most headcanon it.
Movie! Yelena actively seeks out touch, hugs and physical contact. (This does not mean she can't be Aro Ace.)
Comic! Yelena denies being Lesbian, but does not explicitly state she is asexual, and the line in which she states she "isn't anything" is taken out of context.
That being said, Movie! Yelena and Comic! Yelena are not the same. Comic Yelena could be AroAce even if her Movie counterpart is not. (though I agree it would be Ace erasure if she is confirmed Ace in the comics and they choose to ignore that in the movies. Go argue with the movie writers if they do, not the fandom.)
It is not Aphobic to write a character commonly headcanoned as Ace, as Allo, when they have NOT been explicitly confirmed in canon.
I would love more Ace representation, and I think exploring Aces having meaningful relationships through fandom and fanfic is important. Labelling everyone who ships any Ace character with an Allo character as Aphobic WILL discourage fanfic writers from doing this, meaning we are less represented.
Just fucking let other people play with dolls. Contrary to popular belief, what someone else chooses to do with a fictional character doesn't impact you, Don't Like It, Don't Read It.
- Sincerely, someone who is Ace and is really sick of people calling anyone an Aphobe who ships them.
welp, I gave in........ I gave into my need to write for Bucky x Yelena and this was born, somehow (I've been unable to finish a WIP for like, 2 to 3 years).
anyway, here's the fic!
it's a mess of a moonlight (won't cha share it with me?)
hope all you lovely Bucklena fans like it as much as I loved writing it! any feedback is welcome, too!!
