what if you picked some flowers for barnes and were anonymously leaving them by his cot, until one day he catches you doing so .. ? πΊπΌπΈ
π’π’πͺπ¨π°π― π΅π° π΅π©π¦ ππ°πΆπ΅π©
β―β―β―β―β―β―β―β―β―β―β―β―β―β―β―β―β―β―β―β―β―β―β―β―β―β―β―β―β― ΰ¨ A Barnes x reader fic ΰ§ β―β―β―β―
Β» a/n: sorry this took forever,, i didn't know what to write #lol gif by @eris-ships !
At this moment, the platoon was stationed smack dab in the middle of Vietnam, like sitting ducks waiting to get caught in the next local crossfire. They were somewhere by the Cambodian border, Hanoi to the north, Saigon to the south, and thousands of miles away from home.
The safest place for an American in Vietnam was on a plane out of the country. The second safest place was Saigon, the capital of the South. In such a situation, every single beating heart was under immense pressure. A sort of impending doom would fall over entire campsites and the soldiers anxiously awaiting their departure from their own manmade hell on earth. Life was repetitive, hellish.
Barnes and a small squad of about seven men returned from patrolling base camp. There had been signs of human tracks left dangerously close to camp and so a search party looking for tunnel entrances scoured the land. In vain, nothing was found. Their waiting demise was still lurking, a mere couple hundred yards from basecamp. The tension of failure held itself presently in Barnes. His muscles tightened up involuntarily, he was walking on the thin ice of fate and there was nothing he could do about it, a man is only so strong, so smart, so thorough after all. The knots in his muscles made him a man hard as stone. His well-worked tan, jagged features and drawling dialect painted the picture of a dangerous lone soldier, someone you only spoke to with importance as a motive, someone you only gave attention to if you could bear under his domineering gaze.
Barnes took a seat on the side of his bed, reaching to untie his boots, a flash of colour caught his eye instead. Laying on his pillow was a neat little bundle of colour. It popped, as if painted vividly amongst a room of sad greys, beige whites and dull greens. A couple privates closest to his bed had noticed them as well. None felt brave enough to make any remarks or questions, instead they all watched Barnes' face, waiting for a reaction. There was none.
Barnes was one step ahead. He knew the way you looked at him with unawarely hopeful eyes. A look of curiosity, shy admiration. The way you were the only woman on the base who wasn't repulsed by his cold animalistic-esque behaviour.
Over the next few weeks, new bundles of flowers appeared on Barnes' pillow, each as vivid as the last. Orchids, several variations of lilies, lantanas, chrysanthemums. Bob was playing the long game. As he saw it, there were two options; he could scrutinise your routine and catch you off guard. Or, he could let this go on for a little longer, enjoying the attention, and confront you when he felt the time was right. There was a much less serious side to him, one that was flattered by the attention to an understated degree.
"Care to explain?" Stood in front of you, Barnes held a fire lily between his index and his thumb, twirling it slowly. There was an amused twinkle in his eye. His tone was unchangeably firm as it often was, but his demeanour was playful. He was the cat who caught the mouse. He held the flower at face level with the same sort of energy a piece of evidence from a crime scene was handled with, rather than evidence of affection.
You gasp, totally embarrassed. Think schoolgirl who's just dropped her diary in front of her crush and the pages filled with his name in big red hearts just fell out in front of his feet. Your face flushes a bright shade of pink, the bravery and casualness on your face he admired so often no where to be seen as your eyes widened like a deer in headlights. It was checkmate, you couldn't deny.
As you side step around him, he lets you walk away. You can feel eyes burning through on the back of your head, watching you leave.
Totally embarrassed, you don't leave any flowers on his pillow the next day. Or the day after that, or several days afterwards. Life continues again, into the monotone routine it was before. You avert your eyes from Barnes any occasion you share a briefly close vicinity, you pretend what happened never happened.
One night, before entering your tent, you see the flap has been pushed aside and got stuck; someone had been in your tent. It was dark outside, a chilly breeze blew against your back, as if to entice you to enter. The inside of the tent was dimly illuminated, but even without any lighting you could made out the silhouette of a tall figure inside. Tall, broad shouldered, with the glow of a cigarette tucked between his lips. His boots sounded like soft crunches on the tarp below his feet as he walked towards you, eyes half-lidded. He cocked his jaw side to side letting the cigarette be wedged further from his lips as it burnt down to the butt. Robert exhaled smoke, not directly into your face but close enough that it stood between you and him. He was daring you to say something, to do something.
"Care to explain?" Barnes chuckled at your comment. An homage his own comment a couple days previously. For a moment you could of seen a flash of endearment appear then disappear in his eyes, like a wave rolling onto then tumbling off a shore. With no shame, he remains looking down at you for a long moment. It was your turn to be the interrogator. He wouldn't give you the satisfaction though, instead strolling off.
Inside your tent, you looked for what had been tampered with. Something must have been. There, on your pillow, a fire lily lay.