HII! I really adore your work, and wanted to request something that's been on my mind.
So, you and Bucky are enemies, you two absolutely DESPISE each other, but you two are the only ones that can drive the other absolutely insane. One day, you leave on a mission without him as your partner, and he realizes how quiet it is when his enemy isn't with him? (You can make this into an enemies to lovers trope, too!)
awww thank you! i LOVE enemies to loves, this was so fun!
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The first thing you notice when you walk into the briefing room is him.
It’s always him.
Bucky Barnes—sitting across the table, arms folded across his chest like a stubborn teenager, his mouth curved in that permanent little sneer that makes your blood pressure spike.
“Don’t look so excited to see me, sweetheart,” he drawls, voice low and biting.
You smile. The fakest one you can manage. “Oh, believe me, Barnes, if I had my way, you’d still be brooding in 1945.”
Sam groans under his breath. Natasha pinches the bridge of her nose. Steve mutters something about children, the both of you.
Because this is how it always goes.
You and Bucky don’t argue, you detonate. Every mission turns into a competition. Every victory into a battlefield. You don’t just push his buttons—you tear the control panel out of the wall and smash it at his feet. And he does the same right back, making you feel like the world’s most capable, most infuriated agent.
And honestly? You kind of love it.
Two weeks later, Fury shakes the foundations.
“Y/N, you’re with Natasha this time,” he says, sliding the mission file across the table.
You blink. “Not Barnes?”
“No.” Fury doesn’t look up from his paperwork. “He’s running recon elsewhere.”
You don’t argue. You just nod, grab your gear, and head to the quinjet with Nat.
But Bucky?
Bucky watches.
He tells himself it’s relief.
It should be relief.
No more hearing your sarcastic commentary in his earpiece. No more rolling his eyes at your smartass quips while bullets are flying. No more heated glares across briefing tables that make him feel like he’s burning from the inside out.
Peace. Quiet. A goddamn vacation.
Except—
When he steps onto the quinjet with Sam, the silence hits him like a brick.
It’s too quiet.
Normally you’d be needling him already, calling him “grandpa” or asking if he needed his reading glasses to check the coordinates. Normally you’d be leaning too far back in your seat, smirking when he muttered that one day he’d let gravity teach you a lesson. Normally there’d be an energy between you—sharp, restless, alive.
Now?
It’s just the hum of the engines and Sam yawning.
“Man, you look like someone just stole your arm again,” Sam mutters, strapping himself in.
Bucky scowls. “Shut up.”
But when the mission unfolds—quiet, efficient, almost boring—Bucky realizes something he doesn’t want to admit.
He misses you.
Meanwhile, halfway across the world, you’re breaking into a Hydra storage facility with Natasha.
It’s clean, efficient, surgical. Nat moves like water and you follow seamlessly. No snide remarks. No sarcastic commentary. No one breathing down your neck or muttering about your stance or grip or aim.
You should love it.
But the silence drags.
You catch yourself almost whispering one of your usual digs—the ones you save just for Barnes, the ones that light him up like kerosene on a flame. The ones that make his eyes narrow and his jaw clench, and for some godforsaken reason, make your pulse spike.
You don’t say it.
But you miss it.
Back at the compound, Bucky can’t sit still. He tries sparring with Sam, but Sam’s banter isn’t sharp enough, doesn’t land like yours does. He tries watching a movie with Steve, but halfway through he catches himself thinking how you’d heckle the dialogue until Steve threatened to walk out. He even tries working on his knife routine, but the rhythm feels wrong without you there to roll your eyes and tell him he’s compensating for something.
It eats at him.
The realization that the quiet he thought he wanted feels like a wound.
Three days later, your mission wraps. You’re bruised, exhausted, but successful.
When you step back into the compound hangar, he’s there.
Waiting.
Leaning against the wall like he wasn’t waiting at all, like his jaw isn’t tight and his eyes aren’t flicking over you from head to toe like he’s checking for damage.
“Lose a fight?” he asks, nodding at the cut on your cheek.
You roll your eyes. “Nice to see you too, Barnes.”
“Didn’t say it was nice.”
“Didn’t say it was for you.”
And there it is—that spark, that flare, that familiar heat.
But this time, it feels different.
Because this time, the way his eyes linger makes your stomach twist. The way your heart kicks up makes your throat dry.
And for the first time, you realize: maybe you don’t despise him as much as you pretend to.
The next mission proves it.
Back to normal. Back to chaos. Back to Barnes and Y/N, the world’s loudest dysfunctional duo.
The target: another Hydra compound. You breach together—shoulders brushing, voices snapping in each other’s earpieces.
“Left hall,” he growls.
“Wow, Barnes, thanks for the directions. I was totally about to head into the broom closet.”
“God, you’re insufferable.”
“And yet, here you are—can’t seem to get rid of me.”
It should feel the same as always. It doesn’t.
Every shove, every hissed argument, every sarcastic comment is electric. Not just antagonism. Something else. Something that makes your skin feel too tight.
And then—
You’re pinned against a wall, a Hydra agent’s knife inches from your throat.
Before you can react, Bucky’s there.
Metal arm flashing, a grunt of effort, and suddenly the agent is down, Bucky’s chest pressed against yours, his breath hot on your face.
“Careless,” he snarls, but his voice shakes. “You could’ve—”
“I had it under control,” you snap, though your pulse betrays you, hammering too fast, too hard.
For a second—just a second—his eyes drop to your lips.
And you realize you’ve been fighting him for so long, you forgot to ask yourself why.
After the mission, you find him outside the compound, sitting on the steps, moonlight silvering his features.
He doesn’t look at you when he speaks.
“It’s too quiet without you.”
Your heart stutters.
You laugh, because you don’t know what else to do. “Is that your way of saying you missed me, Barnes?”
His jaw tightens. “Don’t push it.”
But then—finally—he meets your eyes.
And it’s not hate you see there.
It’s something heavier. Something raw.
Something that makes you step closer, until there’s no space left between you.
“Tell me again,” you whisper.
His voice is rough when it comes. “It’s too quiet without you.”
And then—finally, finally—his mouth is on yours.
Not gentle. Not soft.
But desperate.
Like he’s been fighting this war as long as you have.
Zukka fic where Sokka's flirting gets increasingly obvious so that Zuko will finally clue in. But Zuko never notices. EVER. And Sokka is getting to the point where he's confessing his love in public just to get a reaction.
Zuko: *yawns*
Sokka: I love the way you do that, it's really hot.
“Not so bad, but it’s mostly been continuous assessment this year, so there’s only three-”
Hux dropped his bag on the table, drawing glares from the other students. He ignored them, setting a coffee cup and several cans of red bull on the table.
“Oh, please, tell me you’re not…” Ren began.
“Oh, he is,” Phasma answered him, resting her chin in one hand as they watched Hux mix his caffeine drinks indiscriminately. The horror of the concoction was written across Ren’s face as he watched Hux lift and swirl the contents.
“We, who are about to die…” he muttered.
Hux caught his eye, a manic gleam shining in his own eyes; “Salute me.”
Armitage Hux, student, overachiever and amateur beverages alchemist, has long survived on excessive caffeine to see him through deadlines and exams. This is the story of what happens in the aftermath.
My long suffering college AU is finally here! Read it on AO3 here.
The Marks We Make by witty_name on AO3 ~ 255,302 words ~ 12/12 ~ Mature ~ No Warnings ~ Klance
Lance McClain constantly dreams of the day he'll finally meet his mysterious soulmate. They don't say much, if anything at all, but they leave him with gorgeous paintings temporarily tattooing his skin. It's not exactly the situation he hoped for, but when he feels the connection between them, he can't bring himself to resent them. As much as he wishes his soulmate would just talk to him, he's resigned himself to being patient. In the meantime, he has a loving family and good friends to help him get by.
Keith Kogane dreads the day he'll finally meet his obnoxious soulmate. He's just an art student who's struggling to find his place in the world. There's so much he hasn't been able to control in his life, and the thought of having a soulmate, just another thing in his life which he also has no control over yet can't do anything about, is a little terrifying. So he ignores the words that occasionally appear on his skin. He has other things to focus on: like being a new student at a big university where his childhood friend and step-brother go.
So normally we don’t do two recs in one day, but yesterday (3/20/19) this fic finished. I have been following this fic for a really long time. It has made me laugh, cry, and many other emotions. I really suggest every klancer read this fic. You will not regret it. Have a good night (or day, or afternoon. Idk your time zone). -Jess
Btw! The author is on tumblr!! Go follow them now!!! —> @wittyy-name
“So, what does he call you?” Varric asks one evening, in the tavern. When Dorian raises a questioning brow, Varric explains, “You’ve got that whole name... endearment... thing going on. What does he call you?”
Dorian answers matter-of-factly: “Dorian.” Then he takes a swig of ale.
Well, that doesn’t quite cover it. Dorian, said pleadingly, said sleepily in the mornings. Said with a laugh and a hint of exasperation. Shouted on the battlefield. Said brightly at the sight of him, as if his continued existence is always a marvellous surprise. Whispered into his ear at pointless formal events. Said like a curse or a prayer in their bed. Said tiredly, with a shoulder leaning against his, as a quiet request for company. Said with such obvious, terrible love. He's never heard his name sound so unnecessarily complicated, or so good.
He pauses, and thinks. “Oh, and ‘bloody idiot,’ once.”
