𝑱𝒆𝒂𝒍𝒐𝒖𝒔
𝐵𝑢𝑐𝑘𝑦 𝐵𝑎𝑟𝑛𝑒𝑠 𝑥 𝑠ℎ𝑖𝑒𝑙𝑑!𝑟𝑒𝑎𝑑𝑒𝑟
𝑺𝒚𝒑𝒏𝒐𝒔𝒊𝒔: 𝑌𝑜𝑢’𝑟𝑒 𝑜𝑛𝑒 𝑜𝑓 𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝑠𝑤𝑒𝑒𝑡𝑒𝑠𝑡 𝑎𝑔𝑒𝑛𝑡𝑠 𝑑𝑒𝑠𝑝𝑖𝑡𝑒 𝑦𝑜𝑢𝑟 𝑙𝑒𝑡ℎ𝑎𝑙 𝑎𝑏𝑖𝑙𝑖𝑡𝑖𝑒𝑠 𝑜𝑛 𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝑓𝑖𝑒𝑙𝑑, 𝑤ℎ𝑒𝑛 𝑦𝑜𝑢 𝑔𝑒𝑡 𝑝𝑎𝑟𝑡𝑛𝑒𝑟𝑒𝑑 𝑤𝑖𝑡ℎ 𝐵𝑢𝑐𝑘𝑦 𝐵𝑎𝑟𝑛𝑒𝑠, 𝑦𝑜𝑢 𝑏𝑒𝑐𝑜𝑚𝑒 𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝑡𝑎𝑙𝑘 𝑜𝑓 𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝑑𝑎𝑦 𝑐𝑜𝑛𝑠𝑡𝑎𝑛𝑡𝑙𝑦. 𝑇𝑟𝑦𝑖𝑛𝑔 𝑦𝑜𝑢𝑟 𝑏𝑒𝑠𝑡 𝑡𝑜 ℎ𝑖𝑑𝑒 𝑖𝑡, 𝑦𝑜𝑢 𝑎𝑣𝑜𝑖𝑑𝑒𝑑 𝑒𝑣𝑒𝑟𝑦𝑜𝑛𝑒. 𝐵𝑢𝑐𝑘𝑦 𝑡𝑜𝑜𝑘 𝑛𝑜𝑡𝑒 𝑜𝑓 𝑡ℎ𝑖𝑠…
𝑾𝒂𝒓𝒏𝒊𝒏𝒈𝒔/𝒕𝒂𝒈𝒔: 𝑐𝑢𝑟𝑣𝑦!𝑟𝑒𝑎𝑑𝑒𝑟, 𝑠𝑢𝑛𝑠ℎ𝑖𝑛𝑒𝑥𝑔𝑟𝑢𝑚𝑝𝑦 𝑡𝑟𝑜𝑝𝑒, 𝑜𝑛𝑒 𝑏𝑒𝑑 𝑡𝑟𝑜𝑝𝑒, 𝑓𝑟𝑖𝑒𝑛𝑑𝑠 𝑡𝑜 𝑙𝑜𝑣𝑒𝑟𝑠, 𝑐𝑢𝑟𝑠𝑒 𝑤𝑜𝑟𝑑𝑠, 𝑠ℎ𝑎𝑛𝑛𝑜𝑛 𝑏𝑒𝑖𝑛𝑔 𝑎 𝑏𝑖𝑡𝑐ℎ(𝑙𝑜𝑣𝑒 𝚑𝑒𝑟 𝑡ℎ𝑜𝑢𝑔ℎ), 𝑝𝑙𝑎𝑡𝑜𝑛𝑖𝑐 𝑠𝑡𝑒𝑣𝑒𝑥𝑟𝑒𝑎𝑑𝑒𝑟, 𝑠ℎ𝑒／ℎ𝑒𝑟 𝑝𝑟𝑜𝑛𝑜𝑢𝑛𝑠 𝑢𝑠𝑒𝑑, 𝚑𝑎𝑝𝑝𝑦 𝑒𝑛𝑑𝑖𝑛𝑔！
𝐸𝑛𝑗𝑜𝑦！
𝐴／𝑁：𝑓𝑖𝑟𝑠𝑡 𝑜𝑓𝑓 𝑡ℎ𝑢𝑛𝑑𝑒𝑟𝑏𝑜𝑙𝑡𝑠* 𝑤𝑎𝑠 𝑆𝑂 𝐺𝑂𝑂𝐷 𝐼 𝑟𝑒𝑐𝑒𝑛𝑡𝑙𝑦 𝑔𝑜𝑡 𝑡𝑜 𝑤𝑎𝑡𝑣ℎ 𝑖𝑡 𝑎𝑛𝑑 𝑙𝑒𝑡 𝑚𝑒 𝑡𝑒𝑙𝑙 𝑦𝑜𝑢, 𝐼 𝑤𝑖𝑙𝑙 𝑏𝑒 𝑏𝑎𝑐𝑘 𝑡𝑜 𝑤𝑎𝑡𝑐ℎ 𝑖𝑡 𝑎𝑔𝑎𝑖𝑛. 𝐴𝑛𝑦𝑤𝑎𝑦𝑠, 𝑇ℎ𝑖𝑠 𝑤𝑎𝑠 𝑢𝑛𝑓𝑖𝑛𝑖𝑠ℎ𝑒𝑑 𝑖𝑛 𝑚𝑦 𝑑𝑟𝑎𝑓𝑡𝑠 𝑠𝑜 𝐼 “𝑓𝑖𝑛𝑖𝑠ℎ𝑒𝑑” 𝑖𝑡 𝑜𝑏𝑣𝑖. 𝐴𝑙𝑠𝑜, 𝐼’𝑚 𝑎 𝑙𝑖𝑡𝑡𝑙𝑒 𝑟𝑢𝑠𝑡𝑦 𝑛𝑡𝑚 𝑜𝑛 𝑚𝑒 𝑛𝑜𝑤…
In the bustling world of S.H.I.E.L.D., you found yourself navigating the complexities of espionage and covert operations. Despite your gentle demeanor, you were a highly skilled agent, proficient in hand-to-hand combat and advanced technology. Your days were filled with rigorous training sessions, strategic planning meetings, and high-stakes missions. Your kindness and empathy set you apart from your peers, earning you the respect and admiration from most of your colleagues. You couldn’t have felt more content with life itself. Well, until Fury decided it was time for a new partner.
Everything changed when you were partnered with Bucky Barnes, the enigmatic former Winter Soldier. Initially, your partnership was met with skepticism from both sides, as Bucky's brooding nature contrasted sharply with your warm personality. However, as the two of you embarked on missions together, a mutual respect and understanding began to form. Your unwavering optimism and compassion helped Bucky confront his troubled past, while Bucky's experience and resilience inspired you to push your limits. Together, you became an unstoppable team, blending their unique strengths to protect the world from emerging threats. Their partnership not only transformed their professional lives but also forged a deep, unspoken bond that neither had anticipated.
Once again you felt content with the life you had. Only a few months of working together, word spread you were partners with Bucky around the compound faster than you could think. Initially you didn’t mind. You didn’t think being his partner was such a big deal…until you heard your name a few too many times in conversations. It started with, the why’s. Why did fury choose them to be his partner? Then came, the what if’s. What if I was chosen? I’d fit the criteria much better.
You couldn’t care less about what they were saying, you knew your abilities and you knew your worth. That was until, the comments they were making became…personal. Constant picking you apart about your appearance, your personality, even the way you talked. You tried to ignore it for so long, but slowly, you started to believe them. What if he had a better partner? Someone who fit the criteria, the looks, the attitude.
When fury assigned the two of you to a week long mission, you were more than relieved. Seven long days away from all the whispers, and the glares. But the words they embedded into your mind…
Just wouldn’t go away.
———
Bucky entered the second hotel room of the week beside you with his duffel bag and a grumpy face. Most of the mission was merely a stakeout, something both of you were relieved to have, But you just had to distract him talking about god knows what, getting both of you spotted. The fight was brutal. There were multiple men against the two of you and it clearly wasn’t a problem for Bucky, but it was for you. He makes his way into the room and he grunts as he sees one bed.
Your brows furrowed hearing his rough grunt. You were standing behind him, not able to see the room completely yet. You walked into the surprisingly warm room, the heat seeping into your skin immediately. Finally turning your head to look at him, you follow his gaze to the singular bed sitting in the middle of the room. Your shoulders slump down, knowing it’s going to be a long night. “I’ll take the couch.” you say softly, tone sweet per usual, despite the fight against the many corrupt agents you just had.
Bucky drops his bag onto the floor and strips off his jacket, tossing it onto the bed. His eyes linger on you for a moment before he speaks, his tone gruff and rough around the edges per usual. “You don’t have to sleep on the couch.”
You shrug his response off, tossing your bag on the clearly rough couch. “You’ve had a long night buck, it’s fine.” you insisted, meeting his eyes.
You’ve both had a long night, but clearly his was longer. He was doing most of the work. He tossed and dropped any agent that came your way, despite knowing you could take them. He was covered in light bruises and had dried blood in places you adored.
However, you were fine.
Attempting to prove your point, you took a seat on the couch, the material of it clearly out of date. You stretch your legs out, being the perfect size to fit “comfortably” on it.
“See? Comfy.” you say, forcing a smile onto your lips.
Bucky just stares at you incredulously for a long moment before shaking his head violently as if trying to clear it. He mutters something under his breath, likely something harsh given his tone. He stomps over to the couch and grabs you by the wrist, pulling you to your feet with surprising strength. His grip was firm, but not tight enough to hurt you.
"Stop being fucking stupid."
His voice is surprisingly gentle despite the harsh words. He towers over you, his expression a mix of frustration and exhaustion. Without letting go of your wrist, he points to the bed.
"You're not sleeping on this couch. You're tired too."
Your eyes flicker between his, knowing his stubbornness is just as bad as yours. “Okay.” you mutter. Bucky lets out a sigh of relief as you agree, finally releasing your wrist. He watches you settle into the bed before he approaches it himself, climbing in on the opposite side. "Try not to kick me in your sleep." He mutters, rolling onto his side facing away from you.
You nod in response, despite knowing he can’t see you. Your body slips under the comforter, a relaxed sigh falling from your lips before reaching over pulling the antique thread, turning the lamp off. “Goodnight Bucky.” you say, voice barely above a whisper.
Bucky doesn't respond right away, his breathing slow and steady in the darkness. After a few moments, he mumbles quietly. "Night." His voice is unusually vulnerable in the dark, lacking the usual sharp edges.
The nightfall sets in, the outside city darkening. But you couldn’t seem to fall asleep. Maybe it was the endless thoughts racing through your head, or the countless nights you had to force yourself to stay awake. You turn over, facing Bucky’s back, his chest slowly rising and falling. His name fell from your lips smoothly, keeping a hushed tone. His body remained still, his back facing you. He inhales slowly, holding his breath as if waiting to see if you'll actually wake him up or if you'll just go back to silence. He doesn't make a sound.
“I’m guessing you’re asleep, but…thank you for today. I know I give you a migraine most of the time but, you never let me come out of these kind of missions hurt…I really am grateful for you. You’re probably not gonna hear this anyway, but I had to get it off my chest.”
Bucky remains absolutely still, barely even seeming to breathe. Your soft whisper hangs in the darkened room. After a moment that stretches uncomfortably long, he shifts slightly, rolling onto his back. Without looking at you, he mutters gruffly, "Don't thank me for doing my job."
Your ears perk up hearing his hushed tone, quickly you retort, “Your job wasn’t to protect me the way you did.”
In the darkness, he turns his head slightly towards you. His expression is probably thoughtful, though you can't see it. His voice comes out in a rare moment of vulnerability. "Would you prefer I let you get yourself killed?" The question carries a hint of irritation, but something else too.
You send him a glare, despite the darkness his baby blues are as vibrant as ever staring at the ceiling.
“Sometimes.”
He wasn’t meant to hear that, it truly wasn’t meant to leave your lips, but it did…and, oh did he catch it quicker than you could regret the words.
His eyes narrow slightly at your whispered admission. He's silent for a long moment, the only sound being the distant hum of the city outside. Finally, he turns his head to look at you, his gaze intense even in the darkness. "And why the fuck would you want that?"
With a shrug of your shoulders, turning your head to meet his eyes, you finally confess.
“You have people that care about you out there, I could never live with myself knowing you died trying to protect me. You know, the other agents…they say, I’m not made for this kind of stuff.”
His expression darkens slightly as you speak softer and softer, almost like you're ashamed. His voice drops lower too, mirroring yours. "So you'd rather get yourself killed than hear them call you a goddamn baby one more time?" He asks sharply, though his voice isn't angry.
You shake your head, letting his words hang heavy in the air for a moment longer. “So you would get a new partner you wouldn’t have to worry so much about. Someone who doesn’t give you a headache every mission.”
His eyes linger on yours for a long moment, searching for something. When he finally speaks, his voice is rougher, his words tinged with a hint of something that sounds almost like... disappointment?
"I don't want a new partner."
Oh.
Your eyebrows furrow in confusion, his words throwing you way off track. “Why?” You ask, your voice softer than before, almost…vulnerable.
He pauses, his mind racing with reasons he shouldn't tell you. But in the dark, with only you listening, he finds himself answering honestly. "Because they're not you." He says simply, turning his gaze back to the ceiling.
Heat rises to your face, strawberry tint covering your cheeks, his words sending a flutter through your chest. “What’s so special about me Buck? I mean, you always act like you’d rather be anywhere else instead of here…with me.”
His jaw clenches as he hears the uncertainty in your voice, the same uncertainty that makes you hesitate on missions, that makes you second guess yourself. He turns his head to look at you again, his expression serious. "You're the most infuriating person I've ever met," Bucky exhales sharply, a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth despite himself. "And stubborn as hell." He adds, rolling onto his side to face you fully now. His eyebrows furrow slightly as he stares intensely into your eyes.
"But you're good at your job."
Your eyes widen slightly, a small smile creeping onto your lips. “You think so?” You ask sweetly, your tone impossibly softer than before.
His eyes lock with yours, and he finds himself getting drawn in, like he always does when you look at him with those gorgeous eyes of yours. He swallows hard, ignoring the strange feeling in his chest.
"You're a better shot than half the men out there,"
His eyes study your features in the moonlight, noting how your expression has softened entirely. He's aware he's probably said too much, gotten too soft - but somehow, it feels right. His voice drops even lower, definitely vulnerable.
"And don't you dare fucking get yourself killed."
The smile lingering on your face grows wider, your eyes never leaving his. “How can I? whether I like it or not, you’ll be there to save me.” You mutter, resting your head against the pillow, getting a better view of his softened features. He lets out a quiet snort, but there's no real annoyance behind it. More like... fondness? God, when does he ever get like this with anyone?
"Damn right I will. Even if it means putting up with your sweet-ass attitude every goddamn day."
You roll your eyes, despite the sweet smile playing on your lips. “I’ll take that as a compliment Barnes.” You retort, studying his face for moment too long. You’ve never really looked at him like this. Really looked at him. His steel blue eyes, the stuble covering his sharp jaw, the small dimple when he smiles every so often, his subtle nose scrunches when he talks. He’s perfect. He catches you staring, his gaze lingering on yours for a beat too long. Something unspoken passes between you, a connection that's been building slowly over the months. He clears his throat, breaking the moment.
"Shut up and go to sleep."
———
The sun rises over the city, seeping strongly through the hotel blinds. Your eyes flutter open, meeting Buckys peaceful expression. His lips are parted ever so slightly, and his chest slowly rising, falling just as slow as it risen. For the first time in weeks, you slept, better than you ever had specifically. You let out a content sigh, before rolling out of bed, heading to the bathroom, running a hot shower. Preparing yourself for the day. You and Bucky had to go back to the compound, meaning you had to deal with the group of agents that constantly tore you apart, piece by piece.
You stare in the mirror, taking in your appearance. You didn’t look like the other agents, the other girls in the force were rough around the edges, yet they were so pretty, you were just…you. You swing the door open, dressed in your tactical suit only to meet Bucky’s eyes. Who in which was already dressed and ready to leave.
“Let’s go.”
———
They left the hotel, heading to the car. You tossed your bag in the back and hopped into the passenger seat. The car usually buzzed with energy on these drives, filled with laughter, debates about god knows what, and endless banters. Now, the silence was a thick blanket, suffocating any attempt at conversation. Each mile deepened the palpable tension, the unspoken words hanging heavy in the air. Every glance felt like a dare, every breath amplified in the quiet.
About halfway into the drive, your leg started bouncing – the nerves were kicking in. You just didn’t have the energy to listen to the agents trash-talk you, especially with Bucky sporting bruises while you barely had a scratch.
He notices your leg bouncing, his grip tightening on the steering wheel. He knows how much their words cut you, even when you try to hide it.
He’s always known.
Bucky had overheard the agents’ whispers, their words like tiny needles pricking at his conscience. They spoke of your involvement, their doubts and judgments laced with a thinly veiled disdain. He clenched his jaw, fury simmering beneath his stoic exterior, but he never brought it up. How could he? He didn’t want to burden you, didn’t want to add to whatever weight you were already carrying. So he swallowed his anger and kept silent, the words festering inside him, unsure how to broach the subject without causing more pain.
Without thinking, he reaches over and places a hand on your knee, giving it a gentle squeeze.
You glanced at him, then quickly averted your eyes to the passing scenery. "Sorry," you muttered, fighting to still the nervous tremor in your leg.
He squeezes your knee again, his touch lingering longer than necessary. "Don't apologize," he says gruffly, his voice laced with a protectiveness he can't quite hide.
"You've got nothing to be sorry for. They're just jealous of what you've got."
You shake your head, a quiet scoff falling from your lips. ”Jealous..” you repeat, voice barely above a whisper. What could they possibly be jealous of? Take Sharon for example, beautiful, tough, skinny. She had the whole package, then there was,
you.
Practically the opposite.
He glances at you, his expression softening. "You," he says simply, his hand still resting on your knee.
"They're jealous of the way you can take a punch and keep moving forward. They're jealous of your heart, even though they don't understand it." He pulls into the compound, the cars and noise immediately overwhelming. He turns to you before you can unbuckle your seatbelt, his eyes serious. "Listen to me," he says, his voice lowering.
"No matter what they say or do today, remember."
The words tumbled out before he could catch them, he hadn't planned to say anything, hadn't even realized the thoughts were there, but suddenly they were spilling from his lips, effortless and raw. Each syllable hung in the air, surprising him as much as they must have surprised you, a confession he didn't know he was ready to make.
“They’re jealous.” you repeated.
A ghost of a smile touches his lips as he nods approvingly. "Damn right they are." He releases your seatbelt, his hand hovering momentarily before dropping away. "Stick by me, yeah? If anyone gives you shit, just look my way. I got your back."
You smile softly, before opening the door grabbing your bags, falling into step beside Bucky.
“Always saving me Barnes.”
He chuckles softly, the sound rumbling in his chest. "Someone's gotta," he teases, his arm brushing against yours as you walk. As you enter the compound, the familiar faces turn towards you, whispers and stares immediately filling the air. He feels your tension, his hand instinctively reaching out to rest on the small of your back. He guides you through the crowd, his presence a wall of protection between you and the judging gazes.
Steve was waiting at the end of the hall, a knowing look on his face.
Your eyes darted between them, and by the look on Steve’s face, you knew how this was gonna go. "You know what? You guys can catch up. I'm gonna head to my room and crash." You said, leaving no room for argument. You practically sprinted down the hall until you reached your room. You slipped inside, closing the door behind yourself, before collapsing onto the bed.
———
As soon as the door closes, Bucky turns his attention back to Steve. "She's been getting a lot of shit lately," he says, his voice low and even. "I don't like it."
Steve nods, knowing exactly what he’s referring too. He’s not deaf, he hears the way the other agents, including Sharon talk about you. He hates it. You’ve told him numerous time not to say anything but sometimes he can’t bite his tongue. Steve runs a hand through his hair, "She handles it really well," he admits. "Too well sometimes. She won't complain, she won't fight back. She just takes it." He uncrosses his arms, his expression stoic.
"It's like she doesn't care what they say."
They kept at it, rehashing the same points for what felt like an eternity, before Bucky finally announced he was heading to your room. The knock on your door was tentative at first, then a little louder, the sound echoing through the quiet room like a drumbeat. When he didn’t hear anything back, he figured you were asleep, or at least trying to be. He gently pushed the door open, stepping inside and carefully shutting it behind him, as if not to disturb the peaceful atmosphere he imagined you were enveloped in.
He stands there for a moment, his eyes adjusting to the darkness. He can see your silhouette on the bed, hear the soft sounds of your breathing. He walks over to the bed, sitting down on the edge. "Hey," he says quietly, reaching out to gently shake your shoulder.
"You awake?"
You hummed softly, burrowing deeper under the covers and pulling the blanket over your eyes, "I'm sleepy, Buck," you whispered, your voice muffled by the fabric, hoping he'd get the hint and let you drift back to sleep.
He chuckles softly, the sound barely audible. "I figured," he murmurs, his hand lingering on your shoulder. Leaning closer, he whispers conspiratorially, "Had enough of their crap for today, huh?" His voice is gentle, teasing, but there's an undercurrent of concern.
“Just tired.”
He sits there for a moment, watching you pretend to be asleep. His mind races, putting together the pieces of your act. You always do this, retreat into yourself when things get tough. He pulls the blanket down from your face, his eyes searching yours. "Bullshit,"
Your eyes met his, locking in a silent battle of wills, before flickering nervously between the two. A soft, almost imperceptible sigh escaped your lips. "Just let me sulk for a little longer," you mumbled, rolling your eyes, despite the tell-tale blush that was already creeping up your neck, betraying your attempt at indifference.
“You can sulk all you want, but you're not getting out of talking to me," he says firmly, his eyes searching yours. He can see the exhaustion, the frustration, the hurt behind your mask.
You sat up, the blanket falling to your lap. Your eyes, tired yet somewhat, alert, bored into his, a silent command hanging in the air. "Talk," you demanded, the single word laced with a mixture of curiosity and amusement.
He leans back, a small smirk playing at the corner of his mouth. "Why do you let them get to you so much?" he asks bluntly, his voice low and serious. His elbows rest on his knees, hands clasped together as he watches you intently.
"I mean, seriously."
His question caught you off guard, eyes widening slightly in surprise. "I don't know," you confessed, the words tumbling out in a rush. "It never used to bother me, not like this. I'm not sure what changed." The truth was, you were just as baffled as he probably was. It was strange, this sudden wave of insecurity. You used to revel in your appearance, in the way you stood out from the crowd like a vibrant splash of color against a muted background. You embraced being different, even relished it. But now? Now, all you wanted was to blend in, to disappear into the sea of sameness, to be anything but the person you once were.
He studies your face, noticing the way your posture has become more defensive. "When did it start bothering you?" he asks, his voice softer now. He's close enough that he can feel the slight tremble in your hands. "Because I gotta say, it's been eating you up lately."
You broke eye contact, your gaze drifting towards the worn floorboards as you pondered the question, the weight of unspoken insecurities pressing down on you. "It started... when I became your partner," you finally admitted, the words barely above a whisper. A bitter laugh escaped your lips, devoid of any real humor. "They always said I wasn't a good fit for you, that I was all wrong for Bucky Barnes. Too sweet, too cheerful, too…bright, and somewhere along the way, I started to believe them." The vulnerability in your voice was palpable, a stark contrast to the usual confident facade you presented to the world.
You shook your head, gaze darting around the room, desperate to avoid the intensity of his eyes. "Sharon was pretty clear about it," you mumbled, the words laced with a bitter taste. "She said you deserved someone like her. Skinny, beautiful, tough as nails. And she's right, isn't she? Look at you right now, Bucky, going all soft and sentimental on me. It's not a good look."
The words hung in the air, even Bucky didn’t know what to say. His eyebrows furrowed as he processes your words, a flicker of hurt crossing his features before hardening into determination. He leans in closer, his voice dropping to an intense whisper. "First off, Sharon can fuck right off. Second, since when do I give a damn what she thinks I deserve?"
“You don’t. But I do.”
Your admission seemed to resonate within him, his heart skipping a beat as his gaze locked onto yours, an intensity burning in his eyes that made your breath catch in your throat. "And what do you think I deserve?" he asked, his voice a low, husky whisper that sent shivers down your spine. The air crackled with unspoken emotions, the weight of his words pressing down on you. "Because from where I'm standing," he continued, his voice thick with sincerity,
"I think I deserve you. All of you."
His confession hit hard, sending a rush of anticipation through your veins. There was no room for hesitation – every part of you had been longing for this moment. You looked into his eyes, a silent question passing between you two. Seeing only desire mirrored back, you surged forward, closing the distance between each other with a desperate urgency. Your lips crashed against his, a collision of pent-up emotions and pure longing.