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hellfirebarnes · 2 months ago

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Slow-Burns Part 12

@crowleythesexydemon

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I split this up in several, shorter parts because I know the feeling when you want to read a fic but don't have the time or energy to get through a 10k+ words one. Also if you hate my writing you can just read part 1 and then leave it. Win-win I guess?

Anyway, this is set after Thunderbolts so if you haven't seen it - spoilers I guess? It absolutely does not follow canon, but yeah better to be safe than sorry.

Summary: Bucky has fallen. Hopelessly. And the only thing more hopeless is his team trying to help him get to the end of this slow-burn.

Bucky x fem!SHIELD!reader

2k Words or around there, I added more to a part and didn't have to energy to change this, we'll live

Fluff, ''normal'' violence and descriptions of injuries. For sure out of character stuff, but I am who I am. Your appearence is barely desribed what I can remember, I think your hair and a couple types what clothes you're wearing?

You're referred to as ''Agent'' and ''Sunshine'' in a desperate attempt from me to not use Y/N.

Let me know if there's anything else I should warn about.

Otherwise, enjoy :)

Bucky was pacing. Not just pacing. Broodingly stalking back and forth by the jet, jaw clenched so tight it could crack steel. The mission hadn’t even started, and he was already spiraling.

Two months. Two. Whole. Months.

Without you. Without even being in the same time zone as you. Without hearing you laugh at John’s dumb jokes, or stealing glances of you curled up with Bob on the couch like the human embodiment of serotonin. Without maybe-accidental-maybe-on-purpose touches in the hallway. Without your camera flash lighting up the living room. Without-

“Relax, Snowflake,” Alexei boomed, slinging a massive duffel over one shoulder. “It is just eight weeks. You won’t die. Maybe.”

“I’m not-” Bucky muttered.

“You’re sweating through your shirt.”

“I’m fine.”

“You’re in love and spiraling, my friend. It is very sexy, very dramatic, but not subtle.”

Ava raised an eyebrow. “Honestly? You do look like someone just stole your favorite knife.”

Bucky shoved his hands in his pockets. “It’s just the timing. I was gonna- I thought maybe-”

“Yes, yes,” Alexei said, grinning like a man who’d just won the lottery. “You thought maybe you’d finally say something to her before the world separated you. Very movie moment. Except now? You’ll mope like broken dog in the snow for two months. Classic.”

“I wasn’t going to say anything.”

“You should.”

“No.”

“Why not?”

“Because if she doesn’t feel the same-”

“Then you will know. And die. But at least honorably. Like warrior.”

Bucky groaned. He glanced toward the hangar entrance, heart stuttering - because there you were. Wearing a hoodie three sizes too big (probably John’s), holding two travel mugs, one clearly for him. You always did that. Always thought of him. And now he couldn’t breathe.

You reached them with a sleepy smile. “Did you think I’d let you leave without caffeine?”

He managed a quiet, “Thanks.”

“Bring me back something fun,” you said. “A knife. Or a grenade. Or, you know, souvenirs.”

Alexei elbowed Bucky hard. “Now’s your moment.”

“Shut up,” Bucky hissed.

“What?”

“Nothing,” he said to you, too quickly.

“You okay?”

And then it just blurted out. Like his body betrayed him.

“I’m in love with you.”

Silence. Your face froze. Mug halfway to your mouth. Eyes wide. Alexei’s jaw dropped. Ava audibly choked on air.

And Bucky? Bucky panicked. Turned on his heel. Power-walked up the jet ramp like the thing was on fire. Didn’t look back. Didn’t breathe.

“Bucky?” you called behind him, stunned.

But he was already disappearing inside.

“YOU SAID IT!” Alexei bellowed as he entered the jet, nearly snapping a seatbelt in half in his excitement.

“Shut up,” Bucky muttered, forehead buried in his hand.

“I mean, you ran away immediately, like scared deer, yes - but! You said it! My matchmaking magic worked!”

Ava flopped down in the seat across from him. “So. What now?”

“I die,” Bucky said flatly. “I die slowly, horribly, wondering for two months if I just ruined the best thing in my life.”

A pause.

Alexei: “Excellent.”

Meanwhile, you stood frozen at the bottom of the ramp, still holding the mug he hadn’t touched.

John strolled up beside you, yawning. “Did he finally crack?”

“…Yeah.”

“What’d he say?”

“I think he said he’s in love with me.”

John blinked. “Wow. Okay. That’s-wow. So. What are you gonna do about it?”

You didn’t answer. But a small smile tugged at your lips. And the mug still felt warm in your hands.

Bucky stared at the glow of the tablet screen in the dim tent light, blinking back fatigue. Coordinates. Intel briefs. Tactical layouts. All of it meant to keep him focused on the mission. Instead, all he could think about was you.

The way your hair had fallen across your face during that mission. The stolen polaroid. That half-second before the door blew open. And, most impossibly, that confession - forced out in panic as he boarded the jet.

I’m in love with you.

Why did he say it? Why couldn’t he have waited? Why was he so damn stupid?

Alexei caught his glazed expression from across the table. “Nyet, Bucky. You do not look like man prepared for covert ops. You look like man stuck in love story that is slowly killing him.”

Bucky grunted. “I’m fine.”

Alexei snorted. “You are not. Every time your comm buzzes, you jump like trapped cat.”

Bucky rubbed his temples.

Ava, sitting nearby, raised an eyebrow. “You’ve been checking your phone every five minutes.”

“Not-”

“Yes. You have.”

Bucky gave in. “Look,” he muttered, voice low, “I don’t know if she even wants me to have said it.”

“You said it,” Ava reminded. “That’s something.”

He sighed. “I don’t know if she knows what to do with that.”

Bucky stared out at the fading sunset, heart heavier with every passing day. Two months. Two months of silence, panic, hope, fear. Two months of waiting to see if he’d wrecked everything with five words. He wasn’t sure what scared him more: the confession or the wait.

The jet’s wheels hit the runway, the familiar rumble filling Bucky’s chest like a long-lost heartbeat. Two months away. Two months too long.

Alexei was already bouncing in his seat beside him, grinning like a kid on Christmas. “You survived! You look alive-ish! And maybe- just maybe- you will finally get to tell her again.”

Bucky’s jaw clenched. “Don’t remind me,” he muttered, eyes scanning the hangar.

And then, there you were. Standing just outside the tower doors, arms crossed, looking… tired. And impossibly beautiful. You caught his eye, and for a moment, the entire world shrunk.

As Bucky stepped off the jet, you were already rushing toward him, a tentative smile breaking across your face. “You’re back,” you said simply.

“Yeah,” he breathed.

The rest of the team swarmed immediately - John and Yelena arguing over who’d won the latest arm wrestling match, Bob practically vibrating with excitement, and Alexei already plotting “welcome back” parties in his head.

Bucky felt his heart hammering for reasons beyond the mission.

The team gathered together, laughing, joking. And Bucky was stuck in the middle, watching you.

You were your usual radiant self, teasing John like a sibling, dodging Bob’s near-adorations, and sharing sly smiles with Yelena and Ava.

He wanted to talk to you, to say everything he’d bottled up. But John and Bob seemed to conspire nonstop for your attention, and Bucky’s words caught in his throat.

Later you found Bucky alone on the balcony, staring at the city lights.

“You look like you’ve been through hell,” you said softly.

He finally let himself exhale. “I have. But I’m here now.”

You smiled, a quiet warmth in your eyes. “And I missed you.”

Bucky’s heart skipped.

“Me too.”

Bucky stood by the window in the common room, heart pounding like a war drum. You were nearby, laughing at something John had just teased you about.

Now or never, he told himself. He took a deep breath and moved toward you. “Hey,” he said, voice low but steady.

You turned, eyes bright and warm. “Hey.”

You stood there, words hovering between you, charged and unspoken.

Bucky tried again. “I-”

Suddenly, a booming voice cut through the moment.

“Bucky! Sunshine! You must come with me!” Alexei appeared like a tornado, arms waving wildly, dragging a giant, garish box decorated with hearts and glitter. “It is time! Time for Thunderbolts’ Greatest Romantic Evening!” he declared with grand flair.

You blinked, stepping back, amused.

Bucky groaned inwardly. “Alexei, what are you doing?”

Alexei grinned, unbothered. “Helping you! You want to win her heart, yes? Then we do this!”

He thrust the box at you. Inside, a chaotic jumble of candles, ridiculous love-themed decorations, and an embarrassingly large stuffed bear.

“Alexei, no,” Bucky started, but it was too late.

John chuckled nearby. “This is going to be a disaster.”

Bob hovered, eyes shining with a mix of adoration and confusion.

You laughed, shaking your head. “Well, this will definitely be a night to remember.”

Bucky sighed, realizing Alexei’s brand of matchmaking was impossible to resist, and maybe not all bad.

Alexei declared the common room off-limits to everyone but the “romantic committee.” That committee was basically everyone - who all had varying degrees of enthusiasm and terror about what they were about to unleash.

Bucky watched, utterly mortified, as glitter, rose petals, and fairy lights were strewn across every surface with wild abandon. Alexei was the ringmaster of chaos, barking orders and brandishing a tacky “Love Is In The Air” banner.

“Sunshine will be impressed. No woman can resist such glorious effort!” Alexei beamed.

You walked in, eyebrows raised, trying to hide a smile. “Are we sure this isn’t a prank?”

John nudged you. “Alexei’s idea of ‘romantic’ usually ends with a small explosion or an emotional meltdown.”

Bob was perched nearby, holding a giant heart-shaped balloon and grinning like he’d won a jackpot. Every few seconds he glanced at you, who was trying not to laugh at his puppy-like devotion.

Yelena and Ava exchanged amused looks, clearly enjoying the spectacle.

Bucky stood by the door, cheeks burning.

Alexei clapped his hands. “Now, Bucky! You must say something! Tell her your feelings. Show her you are worthy!”

Bucky swallowed hard. “I’m pretty sure she knows how I feel.”

Alexei narrowed his eyes. “No! She needs drama, my friend! Romance! Passion!”

Before Bucky could protest, Alexei handed him a ridiculously oversized bouquet of flowers - one so big it almost knocked him over.

Bucky smiled awkwardly. “I just wanted to say… I missed you.”

Before he could add more, John tossed a glitter bomb that exploded overhead, showering everyone in sparkles.

“Perfect!” Alexei laughed. “Romance!”

Eventually, the party was finally winding down. The wild glitter bombs had settled into a faint shimmer on every surface, and most of the team had retreated to their rooms or the common areas.

Bucky stood in front of his bedroom mirror, frantically brushing at his clothes and hair, trying to get every last speck of glitter off. The sparkle stuck stubbornly to his sleeve, and his jaw tightened in frustration.

A soft knock interrupted him.

“Bucky?” Your voice was gentle.

He turned to see you leaning in the doorway, eyes curious and warm.

“I thought you might still be awake.”

He gave a small, sheepish smile, wiping a patch of glitter from his cheek. “Yeah… just trying to get this crap off.”

You stepped inside quietly, closing the door, your gaze flickering to the wall across from his bed.

Rows of Polaroids, carefully pinned up. And every single one was you. Or the two of you - laughing, fighting side-by-side, sharing stolen moments, stolen smiles.

Bucky’s breath hitched.

You moved closer, he stood beside you.

“Did you… really take all these?” you asked softly.

He nodded, voice barely above a whisper. “Yeah. I guess I’ve been… collecting moments.”

You reached out, your fingers tracing one photo where you were both grinning after a messy mission.

Bucky’s heart pounded like a war drum in his chest, each beat louder than the last. It wasn't just nerves - it was everything. Weeks of stolen glances. Months of silent aching. Every second spent pretending he didn't want you this badly.

You looked up at him, eyes wide and glimmering, searching his face like you were trying to memorize it. Like maybe you were scared this moment might vanish if you blinked.

He opened his mouth, breath catching on the egde of a word that didn't even exist yet. But he never got the chance to speak.

Because you moved first.

You surged forward, hands fisting the front of his shirt like you were done waiting, like you needed him now or never. Your lips crashed into his, fierce and desperate, sparking a fire that had been smoldering for far too long.

His world narrowed to the press of your mouth against his, the sweet heat of it, the shocking force of want finally unchained.

Bucky groaned against your lips, a sound that rumbled from deep in his chest, primal and raw. His hands gripped your waist, fingers digging in like he needed proof you were real, like he was scared you'd disappear if he didn't hold on tight enough.

The kiss deepened in a rush of breath and movement. Your bodies fit together like you'd been made to meet like this - like your bones had been aching to collide. His lips moved against yours, hungry, reverent, starved. You moaned softly into his mouth, and it lit him up like a spark to dry tinder.

You moved closer, arms snaking around his neck, pulling him flush against you. Your fingers wove through his hair, tugging just enough to make him groan again. Darker this time - needier.

Your teeth caught his lower lip, and he gasped into your mouth, his breath stuttering. You took the opening and licked into him with slow, claiming strokes of your tongue, tasting him, teasing him.

He parted for you without hesitation. Like surrender was inevitable.

And it was.

Every touch, every breath, every shift of your bodies screamed the same truth: this had been building too long to be anything but inevitable.

Bucky tightened his grip, hands sliding up your back and pressing you to him like he needed to feel every inch of you- Like he'd waited lifetimes for this exact moment.

And maybe, in his own way, he had.

But then he pulled back slightly, breath ragged. And he looked at you like you were something holy.

“I can’t,” he said, voice shaking. “If you don’t feel the same…” His eyes darkened, vulnerable. His hand came up to cradle your face, metal fingers surprisingly gentle against your cheek. “It would break me. Completely.” He swallowed hard, a fragile hope blooming.

Then, the sharp buzz of the alarm pierced the air.

Bucky pulled away reluctantly. Looking between your eyes for a moment, then taking a step back.

“Duty calls,” he muttered, fingers fumbling to grab his gear.

The team was already assembled when you and Bucky arrived, adrenaline replacing any lingering quiet.

Val stood at the front, her voice steady but urgent. “We’ve got a hostage situation in a remote facility - high risk, high reward. Extraction and intel recovery are priorities.”

John cracked his knuckles, smirking. “Looks like we’re back in business.”

Bob’s face lit up, eager as ever.

Alexei grinned wider than anyone should be allowed.

Yelena and Ava exchanged quick glances, readying their gear.

Bucky’s eyes locked with yours across the room. No words needed, just a shared determination.

#james barnes #bucky barnes #bucky #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes fic #bucky x reader #bucky barnes fanfiction #bucky x female reader #bucky x you #james bucky barnes

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hellfirebarnes · 2 months ago

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guys you're saying how much you love Slow-Burns and it's almost over :(((((( when the last part is posted I might freak out and start writing a million bonus parts just to keep their story going

#hellfirebarnes

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hellfirebarnes · 2 months ago

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Slow-Burns Part 11

@crowleythesexydemon

PREVIOUS NEXT

Anyway, this is set after Thunderbolts so if you haven't seen it - spoilers I guess? It absolutely does not follow canon, but yeah better to be safe than sorry.

Summary: Bucky has fallen. Hopelessly. And the only thing more hopeless is his team trying to help him get to the end of this slow-burn.

Bucky x fem!SHIELD!reader

2k Words

You're referred to as ''Agent'' and ''Sunshine'' in a desperate attempt from me to not use Y/N.

Let me know if there's anything else I should warn about.

Otherwise, enjoy :)

Bucky wasn’t a sentimental guy. He didn’t keep keepsakes. Never had. Not before HYDRA. Not during. And definitely not after. Not until you.

He’d told himself the polaroid wasn’t a big deal. That he only kept it tucked in the box because he didn’t want Bob stealing it out of weird jealousy. That it didn’t mean anything. He told himself a lot of things.

But now, staring at the empty space where the photo should’ve been - the quiet, obvious absence - his heart was in his throat.

Gone. The polaroid was gone.

Bucky checked the floor. The drawer. Under the bed. Behind the nightstand. Inside the journals. Nothing.

It wasn’t just a picture. It was that picture. The one from the housewarming night. You'd looked so happy. And he… well. He’d looked like a man falling.

And now it was gone.

He sat down on the edge of the bed, trying not to spiral. But the panic wouldn’t go. Because deep down, it wasn’t about the photo.

It was about the fact that it was the only version of him he’d let himself keep. The one time he wasn’t hiding behind sarcasm or silence. The one time you leaned into him like you belonged there.

And now it was gone. Like maybe he’d never get another chance to feel that way again.

Team drinks were in full swing.

Bob had made cocktails for everyone, John was halfway to starting an unsolicited karaoke set, and Yelena was arguing with the speaker system. It was loud, chaotic, and somehow still comfortable - the kind of storm where the Thunderbolts thrived.

Bucky was in his usual corner. Drink in hand. Not drinking it. Watching you.

You sat on the armrest of the couch, laughing at something Bob had said, the camera placed neatly in your lap. You’d taken maybe a dozen photos already - team selfies, candid chaos, a snap of John falling off a bean bag that was definitely going on the fridge.

And then it happened.

Ava, who never took pictures, suddenly lifted the camera from your lap and snapped a photo of you and Bob mid-laugh.

You were close. His arm was behind you on the couch. Your head tilted toward him, mid-laugh, that easy, sunbeam kind of smile Bucky had memorized by now. And for a second - just a second - it looked like more.

Bucky felt it like a punch in the chest. He looked away before anyone could see the ache in his eyes. And promptly stalked into the kitchen.

“I need your help.”

Alexei blinked. “I thought you said that was a terrible idea.”

“It is.”

“Then why are you here, looking like you just stepped on your own heart?”

Bucky sighed, leaned against the counter, and rubbed the back of his neck. “The photo. The one from the housewarming night. It’s gone.”

“Gone?” Alexei gasped like someone had just told him vodka was extinct.

“I don’t know where it is, but… it meant something.”

Alexei immediately clasped both hands over his heart. “You are a poet.”

“Stop.”

“Do you want me to write you a ballad? Something tragic? Forbidden love, misplaced photo-”

“I want a new one.”

“A ballad?”

“A picture, Alexei.”

There was a beat of silence. Then, very slowly, Alexei leaned forward. “You want… me… to get you a new picture with Sunshine.”

Bucky regretted every life choice that brought him to this moment. “Yes.”

“You trust me with this?”

“No.”

“Then why ask?”

“Because Bob looked like he was about to propose, and I need a new one. Something that’s ...mine.”

Alexei lit up like a Soviet Christmas tree.

“Comrade,” he whispered, gripping Bucky’s shoulders. “This will be the finest photo ever taken. It will be warrior meets muse. It will radiate yearning. It will whisper: ’We are in love but have not admitted it due to mutual emotional constipation.’”

“Please don’t make this worse.”

“I would never.”

Alexei had a plan.

Unfortunately, that plan included turning off half the lights to create “moody, romantic ambiance.” Loudly shouting, “NOW! STAND CLOSE, YOU TWO, CLOSER!” like a deranged wedding photographer. Physically dragging you away from a game of darts mid-laugh and planting you next to Bucky like you were about to reenact a prom photo.

You blinked up at Bucky, cheeks flushed from laughing. “What’s happening?”

“I don’t know,” Bucky mumbled, mortified.

“DON’T MOVE,” Alexei barked, camera in hand. “LOOK INTO EACH OTHER’S EYES. LONGINGLY. LIKE YOU JUST ESCAPED CERTAIN DEATH AND NOW REALIZE LIFE IS TOO SHORT TO BE ALONE-”

John nearly spat out his drink. “What the hell is happening?”

Bob floated closer, peering at the scene. “Are they- Should we clap?”

“Alexei-” Bucky hissed.

“SILENCE! Passion is fragile!”

You, trying not to laugh, glanced up at Bucky again. “Should we… just pose?”

Bucky didn’t trust himself to speak. He just nodded once, jaw tight, and stood there, stiff as stone while you moved to stand beside him. Your shoulder brushed his. It burned.

You smiled. “Hey. Relax. It’s just a picture.”

He looked down at you. At the curve of your smile. At the way your eyes crinkled when you looked up at him like you meant it. Like you saw him. And he wanted to kiss you so badly it almost broke him.

Alexei snapped the photo. Then immediately took six more.

Bucky didn’t move. Because for just a moment, in the soft light, in the quiet after the chaos, it felt like maybe - maybe - he’d have a chance to make this photo mean even more than the last one.

“Could be worse,” You said, voice echoing off cold concrete. “We’ve got light. No broken bones. Only minimal blood loss.”

Bucky raised a brow. “You’re bleeding?”

“Not me,” you grinned. “You.”

He looked down. Shrapnel graze. Right shoulder. He hadn’t even noticed. “Looks worse than it is,” he muttered, brushing it off - or trying to.

The room wasn’t big. Maybe ten by ten feet. No windows. No comms. Just you. And him. And silence. Thick, stretched silence.

You’d gotten separated from the team when the building’s auto-lockdown tripped, slamming steel doors between you and the others.

Extraction ETA: unknown. Options: limited.

You sat down on a crate, one knee drawn up casually. You didn’t look nervous. He, on the other hand, felt like every molecule in the room was conspiring to break his self-control.

You were too close. Not technically touching distance - but close enough that he could hear the soft shift of fabric when you exhaled. Close enough that your perfume threaded through the air and stayed there. Close enough that when your eyes flicked up and met his, it did something dangerous to his ribcage.

“I know that face,” you said suddenly.

He blinked. “What face?”

“The broody one you wear when you think too loud.”

“I’m not-”

“You are.”

You tilted your head, smiling just enough to kill him slowly. “You always get like this after missions.”

“I just - like to decompress.”

You chuckled. “You like to brood in corners. There’s a difference.'' A long pause stretched between you. And then, softly, “You’ve been weird since the last team night.”

His heart stuttered. “I’m not-”

“Bucky.”

He looked over. Your expression was unreadable - something between amused and gentle and fond. It hit like a sucker punch.

“I took it,” you said. A bit rushed.

His throat closed. “Took what?”

“The photo. The polaroid from the housewarming night.” You glanced down. “I… saw it when I was trying to borrow something.'' He couldn’t speak. “I wasn’t gonna,” you rushed out. “I just- picked it up. And then I couldn’t put it down. It was just-” You hesitated. “It was ours. And I didn’t want to share it.”

That shattered something inside him.

You met his eyes again. “I’m sorry. I should’ve told you.”

He stepped forward. Just once. Enough to close half the distance. Your breath caught. “You kept it?” he asked, voice low.

You nodded. “I put it on my wall. Top center. Looks like it belongs there.”

God.

He moved again. Another step. Only inches between you now. The kind of distance that begged to be closed. That dared him to bridge it. He looked at you - at your mouth, your eyes, the way you watched him like you were waiting for something. Letting him.

“I wanted to kiss you that night,” he said, barely a whisper.

You swallowed. “I know.”

His heart was thunder.

And then-

BOOM.

The door exploded inward.

Smoke. Shouting. Alexei’s voice echoing: “I TOLD YOU I’D FIND YOU, LOVEBIRDS!”

John hissed from somewhere behind him, “Jesus Christ, were you two about to make out in a storage closet?!”

Bob flew in after. “Is everyone okay? You didn’t kiss yet, did you? I’ll be devastated if I missed it.”

You moved back quickly. Bucky froze. Everything snapped back to chaos.

And just like that, the moment was gone - ripped away by noise and fire and Alexei’s tragic sense of timing. But your eyes met his as you were ushered out. And something stayed behind in the quiet you’d almost made into something more.

Bucky hadn’t slept properly since the mission.

He was fine, obviously. Totally functional. Did a 10K run, fixed the punching bag Yelena had kicked off its chain, cleaned his gun twice. Normal things. Soldier things.

He hadn’t been thinking about how close your face had been to his. Or how your lips had parted just slightly. Or how your hand had twitched, like you’d almost reached for him. And he absolutely hadn’t been replaying your voice on a loop in his head.

“I didn’t want to share it.”

He wasn’t spiraling. Not even when he’d passed you in the hallway earlier and you smiled at him like nothing had happened. No tension, no unresolved moment, no explosion of feelings that had nearly gone off like a landmine in a locked room. You were cool. Friendly. Even joked with him about John nearly getting singed during the extraction.

Like you hadn’t almost kissed him.

And Bucky? He just nodded. Smiled back. Managed to say “he had it coming” without sounding like he was actively combusting.

Because he wasn’t combusting.

He was fine.

John walked into the gym. “You’re hitting that dummy like it owes you money.”

“It might.”

“You sure it’s not about that almost-kiss you didn’t get?”

The dummy’s head flew off clean.

“Whoa, okay,” John said, eyebrows up. “So we are talking about it.”

“We’re not.”

“You’ve been doing pushups like someone called your dog ugly, man.”

“I don’t have a dog.”

John smirked. “That’s exactly the kind of weird reply someone gives when they almost kiss someone and then don’t and now think she doesn’t care.”

Bucky glared.

John held up his hands. “Look, just saying - I saw the look on your face when Alexei blew the door open. You looked like someone shot your Christmas tree.”

Bob sighed. “I just think if people love each other they should say it.”

“No one said anything about love, Bob.” You mockingly sighed back.

“But you almost kissed. That’s like a contract, emotionally.”

You laughed, pouring yourself tea. “You’re very invested in this.”

Bob shrugged. “You’re my favorite. And he’s… well, he’s broody and tragic. It’s romantic. It’s, like, the foundation of all fanfiction.”

You snorted into your mug. “Oh my god.”

“I’m serious! The almost-kiss is everything. Now the next step is ‘intense pining while pretending nothing happened.’”

“…That’s oddly specific.”

Bob just beamed.

The team was scattered around couches, watching some terrible action movie John had insisted on. You dropped onto the seat nearest Ava, laughing at something Yelena said. Bucky took the spot across the room - far enough to not seem obvious, close enough that he could watch you without really meaning to.

And you looked at ease. Like always. Like your world hadn’t shifted.

He didn’t know what he expected. Maybe awkwardness. Maybe a follow-up. A nudge. A conversation in the hallway where you’d say, “Hey, about the mission…”

But you hadn’t. And it was killing him. Because now he didn’t know if you’d been about to kiss him too, or if you’d been letting him and regretted it. He didn’t know if you’d only taken the photo because it made a good memory, not because you wanted him.

So he stayed quiet. Sat still. Waited. Watched you throw popcorn at John and laugh. And pretended he wasn’t picturing you standing close, eyes soft, you voice low:

“It was ours.”

#bucky barnes #bucky #james barnes #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes fic #bucky x reader #bucky barnes fanfiction #bucky x female reader #bucky x you #james bucky barnes

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hellfirebarnes · 2 months ago

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A Touch Of You

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x fem!thunderbolts!reader

Contains: Angst, touch-starved Bucky, fluff, slow-burn, platonic Bob-reader, your hair is described to be long enough to braid and it's also descibed as silk once

Sum: Physical affection and touch comes easy for you, and it's making Bucky wish for the ability to be more like you

10k+ words (I went overboard with this shit)

I have a serious obsession with slow-burns and platonic Bobxreader being clingy besties, sue me.

(I cannot find who created the divider, if you know please tag them so they get credit)

NOT PROOFREAD

Enjoy :)

The Thunderbolts Tower was rarely quiet.

Not because of the chaos; although Alexei belting out 80s Russian rock in the kitchen or Yelena wrestling John over breakfast cereal certainly didn't help - but because it was full of life. People laughing, living, healing. A kind of noise Bucky didn't mind.

He sat in his usual chair on the far end of the room, worn leather, tucked into the shadows like a spectator watching a play where everyone else knew their lines.

And there you were again. Center stage. Sunshine incarnate.

You were cross-legged on the couch, giggling so hard your nose scrunched and your eyes nearly disappeared in the crinkles of happiness. Bob was beside you and you were leaning up against him without a second thought; arms wrapped loosely around one of his, your cheek resting on his bicep.

Bucky watched. He always watched.

It wasn't creepy, he told himself. Not in a leering way. It was just... fascination. You moved through the world like the rules didn't apply to you. You touched people like they were meant to be touched - casually, kindly freely. No tension or hesitation. No fear.

You tousled John's hair like he was your annoying little brother, clung to Ava's arm when you were bored, made faces at Alexei during movie nights, and once kissed Yelena on the cheek for winning at Uno. You were always smiling, always glowing, always warm.

But never him. Not out of avoidance. No, you were never unkind to Bucky. You greeted him with the same energy as everyone else, your laugh just as sincere, your banter just as quick. But it always stopped just short of a touch. A hand wave instead of a hug, a wink instead of a squeeze to the shoulder.

And now, as he sat in his quiet corner, watching Bob shift a little so you could get even more comfortable against his side, something hollow twisted behind Bucky's ribs.

It wasn't jealousy. Not really. Bob was a friend, a soft-spoken powerhouse who loved puzzles and kittens. And it wasn't like Bucky wanted you to lean on him like that. Except...maybe he did.

What he wanted- no, what he missed, was that kind of affection without expectation. Touch that wasn't calculated or careful. No mission, no seduction, no pity. Just... closeness.

He blinked. You were laughing again, eyes shining, and Bob had just placed a hand on your head in that absent-minded, affectionate way people pet their dog without even realizing it. And you leaned into it. Let it happen like touch was a language you spoke fluently and everyone else just stuttered through.

Bucky hadn't been touched like that in... He didn't know. He really didn't.

The realization hit like a whisper, cruel in its softness. It wasn't that you hadn't touched him like that. It was that no one had, not in a long, long time. He could still remember how it felt, though. A hand through his hair, a lazy cuddle on a rainy afternoon. Arms slung around his shoulders, not for protection, but for comfort. But now people touched him like he was either a weapon or a wound.

He shifted in his seat, the leather creaking softly. Ava glanced over at the sound but didn't say anything. She was on the floor, legs stretched out, balancing a tablet on her knees. Your laughter trailed off slowly, and you looked up just in time to catch his eyes across the room.

You smiled. He didn't. Not because he didn't want to, but because he wasn't sure how. You had a thousand-watt smile, the kind that could make flowers grow in winter. His was more... dusty. Like an old light switch that hadn't been flipped in years.

But you didn't flinch, didn't falter. You just gave him that same warm look you gave everyone else. Like he belonged in this room, in this team, in this strange, patchwork little family. And then you turned back to Bob, reaching for a blanket and tossing it over both your legs. Cozy and casual, like touch was no more complicated than breathing.

God, he wanted that. Not even you, not like that. He just wanted someone to lean against him like that. Wanted to be touched without flinching. Wanted to relax against another body without wondering if it would be the last time he ever did.

Later, when most of the team had filtered out, Bucky was still sitting there. Alone in his corner. You passed by with a yawn, blanket still draped over your shoulders.

''You should sleep,' you murmured as you walked past. ''Or at least stop brooding. You'll get forehead wrinkles.''

He didn't answer. Just raised an eyebrow in response.

You paused at that, eyes flickering to his. Something unreadable danced across your face for a second. Concern, maybe? Or understanding? But then, with the gentlest flick of your fingers, you reached out with just a brush of knuckles on his vibranium arm, Barely there. Like asking a question without saying a word.

''Goodnight, Bucky.''

And just like that, you were gone. He stared at the spot where your hand had been, no more than a ghost of contact, and felt something tight and quiet unfurl inside him.

Bucky was a student of war. Tactics. Movement. Survival. But lately, he'd started studying something entirely different: affection.

More specifically - how people touched you.

It started small. A passing observation. The way Ava brushed your arm when she walked by, Yelena leaned into you on the couch like it was second nature, how Alexei let you play with the ends of his beard while he grumbled but never pulled away.

But mostly it was Bob. Always Bob. It was effortless how you two fit together. How you moved around him like you were in your own orbit. How his hand would rest lightly on your shoulder during conversations, how you'd slide under his arm like it was the most natural thing in the world. He gave you piggyback rides in the hall, and you played with his fingers absentmindedly while reading on the couch. You were close in a way that made Bucky ache.

Because he wanted that. And he didn't know how to ask. So, he watched. He watched the patterns, the rhythm, the openings.

He noticed that Bob always smiled first, open and unguarded, and you responded like it was an invitation. He noticed the pauses too, the way you always gave people the space to say no, the flick of your eyes that asked ''is this okay?'' before leaning in.

Bucky started mentally rehearsing those small things. Little touches. A guiding hand to the lower back, a light graze on the wrist when handing you a mug. Not big things, not all at once. Just something.

But he couldn't do it. He'd get close. He'd raise his hand, and then his brain would flood with every warning it had ever learned. Not you. Not yet. Not like this. You'll mess it up. You don't know how. So he'd shove his hands back in his pockets and let the moment pass. Because you deserved better than someone who needed to rehearse basic closeness like a goddamn speech.

So he watched some more.

You first noticed being watched when Bob teased you at dinner. Something about the way Bucky looked up from his plate. Not irritated, not amused, just watchful. Your elbow had been pressed into Bob's side as you leaned over his tablet, your laughter easy and loud. And when you leaned back again, a flash of something flickered in Bucky's eyes. A breath too long, a blink too slow.

He looked like someone trying to memorize the moment. Just... what it looked like. What it felt like, to see it.

You weren't oblivious. You just didn't push. Didn't ask. Bucky wasn't the kind of man you cornered with feelings he hadn't invited yet. He operated like a tide - pulling away before he let anything close.

So you waited. And you watched, just like he did.

The mission was rough. Nothing catastrophic, just... messy.

Bucky took the brunt of it, as he usually did. No complaints, no calls for backup, just relentless movement until the job was done. You admired him for it. Always had. But you also hated it - how he treated his body like it was still someone else's to throw into war zones.

He slipped away afterward, as expected. No one really noticed. John was patching up his arm with Ava's help, Alexei was bragging about his kill count, and Yelena was already raiding the fridge. But you noticed. So, you gave it a few minutes, just enough time for him to think he'd gotten away with, before you padded into the lounge, barefoot and quiet.

And there he was. Facing away from you, shirt off, arms raised as he tried to stretch the tension from his back and shoulders. You could see it - all of it. The stiffness, the tightness, the way his body moved like an old machine that hadn't been oiled in years. He didn't hear you right away.

You stood in the doorway for a second longer than you meant to. Not staring, not quite. Just... seeing. The way he rolled his shoulder with a grimace, the muscles twitching under scarred skin, the metal arm glinting in the low light like something out of mythology. He was strong, yes, but he looked so tired.

''Bucky.''

He turned a little too fast, like he thought you'd caught him doing something shameful. You saw the flicker in his expression - the mask dropping into place. That same unreadable look he wore like armor. You didn't comment on it.

''You okay?'' you asked softly, stepping further in.

He gave a grunt that wasn't quite a yes.

You tilted your head, arms crossed loosely over your chest. ''You look like you lost a wrestling match with a garbage truck.''

''I won,'' he said, deadpan.

Your lips twitched. ''Barely.''

He huffed. Maybe a laugh, maybe just air. You moved a little closer, enough to notice the fine sheen of sweat still clinging to his skin. The tension in his shoulders was visible, like tight ropes drawn too hard.

''Sit,'' you said.

He blinked at you. ''What?''

''Sit,'' you repeated, nudging the back of the couch with your foot. ''I'm giving you a shoulder massage.''

He hesitated. A long beat of silence passed. You could practically hear the war happening in his mind. The part that didn't trust comfort, the part that didn't know how to accept it.

''I'm not gonna charge you for it,'' you teased gently. ''And it's not a trap. I'm just not a monster and I hate seeing you look like you've been folded in half and left in the sun to dry.''

That got the smallest twitch at the corner of his mouth. And he sat. Stiffly, cautiously. Like the couch might bite him.

You stepped behind him, already rubbing your hands together for warmth. But you didn't start right away, gave him that last window to change his mind. He didn't move. Just exhaled slowly, like he'd decided to let the tide roll in. Your hands touched his shoulders and God. You felt the jolt before he even reacted. Like the contact itself was something he hadn't expected to feel. Not like that. Not innocent. Not kind.

You didn't speak. Just worked quietly. Gently. Your fingers kneading into muscle and scar tissue, slow and careful, no agenda, no teasing. Just... touch.

Bucky's jaw clenched. His eyes were closed now, head tilted ever so slightly forward. You could still feel the effort it took him to stay still, to not flinch. Like every cell in his body was trying to not run away.

But you kept going. You worked over one knot at a time. One shoulder. Then the other. Your thumbs dug into the curve of his traps and you felt the smallest, tiniest exhale escaped his lips. Relief, or surrender, or maybe both.

''You don't have to be made of steel all the time,'' you whispered. Still not pushing. Just offering.

His voice, when it came, was rough. ''It's not about being steel. It's just...hard.''

''I know.''

He shifted slightly, just enough to lean a little more into your hands, and it felt like trust. It felt like an entire chapter unwritten. And you didn't need him to explain it. You already understood. And even though he hadn't said a word, it was all there.

You pressed your palm flat against his shoulder blades, heat seeping into him. ''You're allowed to want this, you know,'' you murmured. ''To be held. Even without reason.''

He didn't answer. But his hands unclenched in his lap. And that was enough.

Ten minutes passed. Maybe more. When you finally stepped away, you did it slowly. Gave him space to rise again, if he needed to. But he didn't move. Just sat there, like the couch had claimed him.

You didn't ask if he was okay. Didn't need to.

''Get some sleep,'' you said gently.

He nodded. Still quiet.

You turned to leave, but just before you crossed the threshold, his voice caught you.

''Thank you.''

And when you looked back, his eyes met yours; unguarded. Just for a second. The door cracking open and the warmth finally starting to seep in.

Movie night was always a disaster. Loud, chaotic, half the team arguing about genre and popcorn flavors, and Bucky stuck in the corner, pretending to mind the noise when secretly he didn't. Not at all.

Tonight was no different. You were already curled up on the couch, head in Bob's lap, your legs stretched across Yelena's. Ava was on the floor beside you, leaning back against the couch. Alexei was dramatically recounting the story of the time you once braided his beard into a Viking pattern, and Bucky had to bite back a smile when you proudly confirmed it, already digging through a box of hair ties and clips.

And that was how it started. First, Alexei. You pulled him in front of you, knees to your chest, and with your tongue poking out in concentration, you began weaving his beard with surprising speed. He looked like a grumpy Norse god by the time you were done.

Then Bob. ''Ohhh it's your turn, you big beautiful labradoodle,'' you sang, tugging him down by the hand.

He didn't protest. Just sat cross-legged in front of you with the dopey smile of someone being completely adored. You started working small braids into his hair, murmuring nonsense as your fingers moved expertly, occasionally swatting his shoulder when he moved too much.

Bucky watched from his usual spot. Quiet, still, fascinated. You weren't just touching, you were focusing. You were being deliberate. This wasn't just casual affection - this was attention. Care. The kind that said: I want to do something just for you. He wanted that. Badly. Desperately. Not even for what it would lead to, but just for that. To be someone you focused on. Someone you chose, even just for five minutes, to pour softness into.

You finished with a flourish, tied off the last braid in Bob's hair, sat back with a pleased grin, and then - without fanfare - you pointed across the room. Right at him.

''Your turn, Barnes.''

The room went dead silent. All eyes turned to him.

You didn't flinch. Your smile didn't even waver. You just tilted your head and gave him that same sunlit warmth you always carried, like it had never once occurred to you that he'd say no.

Bucky blinked. What. His mouth opened, but no sound came out. He gestured vaguely to himself like he didn't understand the language you were speaking.

''You've got hair,'' you said, as if it was obvious. ''You've got a good head for braids. Longish, soft, a little tragic. I can work with that.''

''Tragic?'' he muttered before he could stop himself.

''Emotionally,'' you replied, already patting the floor in front of you. ''Now come on, don't make me beg. I'm on a roll.''

Bucky hesitated again. Not because he didn't want it But because the moment was so fragile. So bizarrely, heartbreakingly normal. Like if he moved wrong, it would shatter and you'd realize what you were asking. For him, not just some teammate, not just a body in the room, and you'd take it back.

But you didn't. You just kept smiling. So slowly, he stood up. Crossed the room, sat down, back straight and stiff as a board.

''Relax,'' you whispered behind him. ''I won't break you.''

You ran your fingers through his hair once, and he nearly forgot how to breathe. It wasn't just the sensation. It was the care, the softness, the quiet focus. You smoothed his hair gently, like it was worth something. Like he was worth something. And then your fingers started moving. Slow, practiced, weaving warmth into every inch of him.

The room around him faded. It was just your touch. Your hum under your breath, the warmth of your knees and either side of his back, the way you occasionally brushed a thumb over his scalp to settle a strand.

You didn't tease, you didn't rush, you just touched.

And Bucky sat perfectly still, his eyes closed, letting the door inside him creak open just a little more.

He wasn't in love with you. But in that moment, with your hands in his hair and his heart so soft it almost hurt, he thought: maybe I could be.

Bucky wasn't a man who touched first. He could take a punch without blinking, disarm a bomb with minutes to spare, and walk into a firefight like it was a coffee run. But reaching out to you? Terrifying.

Especially now that you'd touched him. Really touched him. Not on a battlefield, not in passing. But on purpose. With care.

You'd braided his hair like he was something worth decorating, worth sitting with, worth smiling at. And for the first time in years, he hadn't wanted to move. Hadn't wanted to retreat. He'd just wanted... more.

He thought about that moment for days. The warmth of your fingers, the way your voice softened near his ear, the lack of expectation. You hadn't asked for anything. You hadn't tried to pull him out of himself. You'd just sat with him, and for Bucky, that was almost more intimate than anything else.

So now he watched you even closer. Not just to learn - though, yes, he was still studying you like he might someday earn a master's in ''How To Be Near You Without Dying'', but because now... he was looking for openings. Tiny ones. Like the way you greeted Bob with a forehead bump and a grin, or how you'd slip your fingers into Yelena's sleeve when she was anxious. You didn't cling to people. You anchored them, And God, did Bucky want to be anchored.

So he tried. Tiny experiments. He started holding the door for you. At first, it was mechanical, just something to do, but you'd always smile and touch his shoulder on the way past. Every time. Like a thank you, like a secret handshake.

Next, he started handing you things. If you were sitting and someone tossed you a water bottle or remote or snack, Bucky would intercept it. And instead of just tossing it to you, he'd hand it. Palms brushing a second too long. Once, your fingers lingered. Just a beat. It nearly leveled him.

He started sitting on the couch instead of in his corner. Not next to you, not yet, but closer. Close enough to hear your breathing change when you laughed. Close enough to hand you the blanket when you curled up.

But what really broke him, what cracked something clean open, was when you fell asleep on Bob's chest again.

Movie night, a lazy rom-com. You'd started upright and within fifteen minutes had curled up under Bob's arm, your cheek pressed against his chest like you belonged there.

And Bucky? He didn't even feel jealous. He just felt cold. Not bitter or angry. Just... cold. Because now he knew what that felt like; your hands in his hair, your voice at his back, and he was starving for more.

He decided to try after the next mission.

Something low-risk. A simple retrieval, in and and out. You were paired with him this, which was rare, and he tried not to let it mean anything, but it felt like the universe had handed him a cheat code.

The mission went fine. A couple of close calls. You handled yourself like usual - confident, lethal, laughing through it all. And he admired the hell out of you for it. On the way back to the jet, you reached out instinctively and grabbed his wrist to yank him behind cover.

That one moment. That touch. He felt it in his teeth.

Once back in the tower, you peeled off first, stretching and yawning, calling goodnight over your shoulder with a lazy smile.

Bucky stood there in the hallway, still half-armored, heart thundering. Try now.

He walked to the kitchen and found the snack you always reached for after missions - those weird, spicy chips you claimed tasted like ''victory and regret''. You never bought them for yourself, said they were a ''reward food'', but you always lit up when someone remembered. So he took a bag. Bribery. Weak, but a start. Then he walked to your room.

He stood outside the door for at least a full minute. What am I doing? What if she's asleep? What if I look insane? But he made himself knock. Softly.

''...Come in!''

He stepped in like he was walking into a temple.

You were on the floor, stretching, dressed in soft shorts and an oversized hoodie he tried not to notice was Bob's. You grinned when you saw him.

''Well, hey Barnes. What's up?''

He held up the chip bag like it was evidence. You blinked, then beamed.

''Holy crap, you got the good ones!''

He nodded. ''Figured you earned it.''

You sat back, crossing your legs, tearing the bag open with a happy hum. ''You wanna stay?''

His brain short-circuited. ''If- yeah. If that's okay.''

''Duh,'' you said, patting the carpet next to you. ''I don't offer this floor to just anyone.''

So he sat, and you shared and talked. Then finally, he decided: now.

You were laughing at something he said. Your hand was on the floor beside you, his was a few inches away. Just do it. He slowly, carefully, let the side of his hand brush yours. And then... rested it there. Just barely touching.

You didn't look down, didn't call it out. But you did move your pinky until it hooked his. And Bucky forgot how to exist. You didn't say anything about it. Just kept talking, like nothing had changed. But your fingers stayed. Light, soft, reassuring.

And Bucky sat there beside you, pinky to pinky, the contact small enough to be missed by anyone else, but monumental to him. Because he'd finally done it. He'd reached out, and you'd reached back.

Bucky had a plan. Sort of. He'd been replaying that pinky-touch moment for days now. The smallness of it. The deliberate sweetness. How you didn't tease him or pull away. You just let it happen, and he didn't have to explain why it meant so much.

Now, he wanted to try something more. Not huge. Just... bolder. A tiny step forward. He wanted to initiate something. Not because it meant love or romance, but because his body was beginning to crave it. Crave that soft connection. Crave you, in the most innocent, desperately human way. He wanted to know what it felt like to hold you, even for a second.

So he planned for it. Not out loud, not with words, but with a thousand little hypotheticals in his head.

After a mission, maybe. Or in the hallway when you weren't looking. You'd be laughing, or tired, or just there, and he'd go for it - a simple hug. Arms around you. Quick, no pressure. But every time the moment came? He choked.

He was so close tonight.

Mission done. Exhausting but not dangerous. Everyone was filtering into the tower one by one, and you were the last to come in; suit half-zipped, hair stuck to your cheek, laughing at something John said before he peeled off down the hall.

And there you were. Worn out, but happy. Still glowing like you always did. You turned to him, smile softening, and said, ''You did good today, Barnes.''

That's all it took. The moment presented itself like a gift. Do it. Just reach out. He took a breath, stepped forward, his hands hovered awkwardly at his sides. Just a hug. Just a hug. But his body locked. What if she pulls away? What if it's weird? What if it ruins everything? His hands jerked back down.

Too late. You saw. Your eyes flickered to his. Quick and quiet. Understanding dawned across your face like a sunrise. You didn't make it a thing. Didn't joke or ask or tilt your head like are you okay? You just took a small step forward and opened your arms.

''C'mere, tough guy,'' you said.

You stepped in and wrapped your arms around him. A real hug. Chest to chest, face to shoulder. Warm, present, soft.

Bucky stopped breathing. He didn't move. Didn't know how to move. His hands hovered behind your back, unsure, trembling slightly like they'd forgotten what to do. And then you gave the smallest squeeze. Gentle. Safe. That did it, his arms came around you. Slow, careful. And then... all at once. They locked behind you, strong and tight and desperate, like he'd finally given up the fight and was clinging on for dear life.

He didn't mean to hold you so hard. He didn't mean to breathe you in like that. But he couldn't stop. Because your body was real. Warm, solid. And you weren't backing away, you weren't treating him like glass. You were just... holding him.

You shifted slightly to lean into the hug more, and he swore he could feel your smile against his neck. ''See?'' you murmured. ''Easy.''

He could've laughed at that. It wasn't easy, not for him. It was terrifying, dizzying, earth-shaking. But it was also the first time in years that someone had wrapped him up like this without blood or death or adrenaline. No life-or-death panic. Just arms, just warmth. And for the first time, he let himself sink into it. His heart was pounding - slamming, really, and he was sure you could feel it. He didn't care.

You didn't let go until he did. And when he finally eased back - slowly, reluctantly, like his arms had been superglued in place - your eyes met his, steady and bright. No teasing, no awkward silence.

Just, ''Anytime, Bucky.'' And a little smile. The kind that wrapped around his ribs and pulled tight.

He nodded. Couldn't speak even if he tried to. Could barely breathe. And as you turned and padded away down the hall, humming softly under your breath, Bucky stood alone in the hallway like he'd just come back from war. Except this time, someone had brought him home.

Bucky didn't sleep after that hug. He laid in bed, eyes wide in the dark, heart still thundering against his ribs like it hadn't gotten the memo that the moment was over.

You had held him. No flinching or pulling back, you let him cling like he needed it. Because he did, and you made it feel like it was okay. Like it was normal. You never said another word about it. And Bucky walked around the tower for the next few days like someone had filled his veins with warm honey and static electricity.

But with every inch you have him - every smile, every brush of a hand, every shoulder lean or passing touch - Bucky found himself wanting to give something back. He wanted you to know what that hug meant to him. Not in words. He wasn't there yet. And not in touch, his body still rebelled at the idea of starting something again. So instead, he watched again. Carefully, obsessively. And started to notice things about you. Little things.

You hummed when you were nervous, you always pulled your sleeves over your hands when you were cold even though you owned about sixteen hoodies, you liked your tea with honey instead of sugar, and you made up nicknames for everyone. He still wasn't sure if ''Ice Cream Soldier'' was supposed to be a compliment.

But most of all? You loved weird little things. Knickknacks, trinkets, gimmicks - stuff that made everyone else roll their eyes. You kept a plastic dinosaur on your nightstand, and you used pens with flitter ink. And you once got into a thirty-minute debate with Alexei about whether a wind-up chicken toy should be considered ''practical combat gear''. Somehow, you won that debate.

So Bucky made a decision. He couldn't hug you back. Not yet. But he could give you something.

A little mission in Eastern Europe. A side errand in Dubai. A stakeout with nothing to do but sit and watch. And right there, buried in a dusty antique shop next to a faded deck of Soviet playing cards and a pair of rusted brass knuckles, he found it.

A tiny, worn metal figurine. A cat. Its tail curled into a spiral, its ear too big, one eye slightly chipped. It looked hand-forged. Utterly ridiculous and useless. Perfect.

He bought it without hesitation. No one saw, no one knew. He brought it home and sat with it for an hour in his room. Just turning it over in his hands, wondering if this was stupid. If it made him look childish. If you'd even like it.

But then he remembered the way you looked when someone gave you something with no strings attached. He remembered your smile. And that settled it.

He didn't give it to you directly. He couldn't. So, he waited until the next movie night. Same couch, same usual crew. Everyone loud and sprawled and tangled up in a pile of popcorn and dumb banter.

You were curled up in your usual spot with Bob, your legs across his lap, a bowl balanced on your knees, laughing so hard you snorted. And Bucky sat one cushion away. Close enough to hear your laughter, far enough to not panic.

You got up halfway through to refill drinks, and Bucky slipped the little metal cat into the space you'd just left. Just where you'd see it. Not wrapped, not labeled... just there. And when you came back, you saw it immediately. You blinked. Picked it up. Held it up in the light with the kind of gentle curiosity that made Bucky want to crawl under the couch.

''Hey,'' you said aloud, holding it up, ''who left this little guy?''

Bob shrugged, Ava didn't even look, and John made some joke about it being cursed. Yelena grabbed it from your hand and examined it.

''It's ugly. I like it.''

You laughed and took it back, fingers closing around it protectively. ''Well, whoever left it - it's mine now.'' And then you smiled. That kind of soft, knowing smile, and your eyes flicked to Bucky. Just a second. Just long enough.

He didn't say a word. Didn't have to. You tucked the cat into your hoodie pocked and curled up again. And Bucky let out a breath he didn't know he was holding.

The next morning, you passe him in the hallway. No one else was around. You didn't stop him. Just walked by, slow and casual, and bumped your shoulder into his with a quiet, ''Thanks, Barnes.'' And kept walking like it was no big deal.

But he stood there in the hallway for a full minute, stunned stupid by how good that felt Not the thanks. The shoulder bump. Small, warm, and his.

From then on, it became a thing. You never asked for more, but Bucky... he started giving it anyway.

A protein bar slid across the table on mornings you looked too tired to grab one yourself, a spare set of hand warmers in your tac vest before cold missions, and a weird sticker he peeled off a vending machine that said ''KICK BUTT, GLITTER GIRL'' that he knew you'd absolutely slap on your laptop.

All of it anonymous, none of it subtle. And every time, your eyes would flick toward him with that soft little grin. You'd touch his arm when you passed, or lean your head briefly against his shoulder, or bump hips when no one was looking.

And Bucky... he thrived on it. Still unsure, still hesitant. But opening, inch by precious inch.

The team didn't mention it aloud. Not once. Not to him, not to you. But they noticed. They noticed that Bucky stopped bracing when someone walked behind him on the couch. That he started answering more questions with actual words instead of shrugs. That he let you rest your head on his shoulder once and didn't move a muscle the whole time.

They noticed how he watched you when you weren't looking. With that quiet awe of someone who's been in the dark so long that the sunlight still hurts, even as it heals.

And on a quiet afternoon when rain still misted against the windows everyone was off doing their own thing - Bob reading a fantasy novel upside down on the couch, Alexei asleep with a magazine over his face, and the rest scattered through the tower. You sat cross-legged on the floor in front of the couch, twirling the end of your braid between your fingers, frowning.

''It's coming undone,'' you muttered.

Bucky was seated on the end of the couch with a cup of tea he didn't remember making, and glanced over. ''Want help?''

You blinked. Then your eyes lit up, slow and warm. ''Yeah. Will you braid it for me?''

Silence. Utter, world-shattering silence. Bob looked up from his book like he'd just heard a hun go off and Bucky froze mid-sip.

Your tone had been casual, like asking someone to hand you the remote. But Bucky felt his spine lock up like a snapped wire, his pulse suddenly very loud in his ears. His brain full-on short-circuited.

You tilted your head back to look at him, smiling. ''You don't have to if you don't want to-''

''No- I mean-yeah-no, I'll-sure,'' he stammered. ''I can try.''

You turned back around, still grinning like you knew exactly what you were doing to him. Bucky set his tea down, his hand was already sweating. What the hell did he just agree to.

The moment your back was to him, Bucky realized how close you were. Your bare shoulders peeked out from the loose neckline of your oversized shirt, and the soft scent of your shampoo drifted up to him like a punch to the senses. He reached toward your hair, paused, and immediately pulled his hands back.

''I-uh-I don't know how to braid,'' he said, voice strangled.

''That's okay,'' you said easily, not turning around. ''Just do your best.''

That was not helpful.

Bob, mercifully, looked up from his book again and took pity. ''Hang on, Sergeant,'' he said, reaching for his phone. ''We're gonna get you through this.''

Bucky shot him a look.

Bob raised both eyebrows. ''You wanna bail now or impress the girl with your incredibly subpar braiding skills?''

''I'm not trying to impress-'' Bucky began, but Bob had already opened Youtube.

''There are hundreds of tutorials on this. Oh! Here's one: ''How to braid your girlfriend's hair without making her leave you for someone who owns a comb''. Seems fitting.''

''I hate you.''

''You love me.''

The video started playing - hosted by a chipper woman with perfectly braided hair and way too much optimism, and Bob propped the phone against his knee, narrating helpfully.

''Okay, part it into three sections. Three, Barnes. Not two. You're not tying shoelaces here.''

Bucky narrowed his eyes. ''I know what three is, Bob.''

''Do you, though? Because you're holding two and looking confused.''

''Shut up.''

You were definitely holding back laughter now, your shoulders trembled with it. He finally managed to divide your hair into three semi-even pieces.

''Now cross the right over the middle,'' Bob instructed. ''Wait. Your right. No, her right. Shit- that's the same right. Okay... look, follow the lady in the video.''

Bucky glared at the screen. The woman made it look so easy, the braid just formed like magic. Meanwhile, his hands felt like they were wearing boxing gloves. He tried once. Fumbled. You laughed under your breath.

''Sorry,'' he muttered, fingers clumsy against the silk of your hair.

''No, don't apologize,'' you said, voice light and warm. ''This is the most fun I've had all week.''

He tried again. And this time, the strands twisted more like a loose knot than a braid.

Bob squinted. ''That's... something.''

You snorted. ''It's fine. Just keep going.''

And somehow, despite the odds, the braid started to form. Wobbly and uneven. Your hair curled under his fingers like it belonged there. And Buckt didn't realize he'd started smiling. When he tied the braid off with a small elastic you handed him, you reached back and touched it, beaming.

''It's perfect,'' you said, even though it absolutely wasn't.

Bucky looked away, ears pink. ''Glad I could help,'' he said, voice a little hoarse.

You leaned back slightly, head resting against his shin now, looking up at him with bright, grateful eyes. And Bucky carefully, shyly, reached out and brushed a loose strand of hair behind your ear. Not because it needed fixing. Just because he wanted to touch you again. And this time? He didn't panic.

Bob watched the whole thing from behind his book and just smiled. Didn't say a word. Didn't need to.

Gala nights were always chaos wrapped in satin. Everyone was too dressed up, the champagne was too expensive, and the music was more noise than melody. Somewhere between government posturing and forced socializing, it was easy to forget the mission was just to show up and look like you weren't going to level the place.

You, of course, were having the time of your life. Your gown, shimmering and slinky, dangerously backless, drew eyes across the room. But you didn't give them a second glance. You were too busy spinning in circles on the dance floor with Alexei, barefoot now, laughing so hard you nearly tripped over the hem of your dress.

''Is that-? Oh god, is that the cha-cha?'' Valentina muttered from the sidelines, looking scandalized. ''Tell me that's not the cha-cha. In front of the senators.''

''Mm,'' Ava hummed beside her. ''Technically, I think it's the drunk uncle version of the cha-cha. But yes.''

Valentina groaned, lifting her wine glass as if to drink away the embarrassment. ''She's going to give me a migraine.''

''She's not the one doing the shoulder shimmy,'' John said dryly, nodding toward Alexei.

And sure enough - there he was, twice your size and grinning like a man who had never known shame, twirling you dramatically and nearly taking out a waiter's tray in the process.

You didn't care. You threw your arms up, laughed like it was the only thing that mattered, and kept dancing.

Ava turned slightly, her gaze catching on the tall figure lingering near the edge of the ballroom. ''Barnes,'' she said, low enough that only he could hear. ''You gonna sit there forever?''

Bucky didn't look at her. He was too busy watching you. His tie felt too tight, his palm was clammy, and his heart was beating like he was in combat. He hadn't been able to look away from you all night. Your laugh, your touch, the way your eyes sparkled under the chandeliers like you belonged there more than anyone else in the room.

You'd already danced with Bob, who kept spinning you like he'd just watched Dirty Dancing. Then John, then Alexei. You flowed from one person to the next like it was nothing, like joy was just something that spilled out of you onto anyone willing to catch it.

And Bucky wanted to catch it. He almost stood. Almost let himself go to you like Ava was silently urging. But then the music changed. Soft strings. A slow waltz. Couples began to pair off, the lights dimmed slightly, warm gold flickering over crystal and silk. And Bucky panicked. Too intimate, too close. He sat back down, jaw tight.

Missed my chance, he thought bitterly. Typical. But then you were there.

Your voice gentle, like the music itself. ''Dance with me?''

His head jerked up. You were smiling. Hand out, hair a little wild from all your earlier chaos, eyes impossibly soft.

He blinked. ''Me?''

You tilted your head. ''Unless you know another hundred-year-old war criminal with a metal arm in this room?'' That started a laugh out of him, sharp and short. You stepped closer. ''Come on. One dance. I won't even try to spin you. Promise.''

His brain screamed run. But his heart? His heart stood.

Eyes drifted toward you and Bucky as you walked to the dance floor. He didn't look at them. He was too busy not tripping over his own thoughts.

You took his hands in yours and guided them to your waist with a warmth that had no edges. No agenda. Just you, radiant and calm, like you had all the time in the world to teach him what safety felt like.

''Just sway,'' you murmured. ''That''s all you have to do.''

So he did. You led, really. Kept the rhythm soft, let him find his footing. And Bucky was panicking. Because you were right there. So close. Too close.

Your cheek was nearly against his collarbone, your perfume was like summer and sugar and sunlight. Your hands were draped around his neck. And he was certain you could feel his heart pounding.

''Bucky?'' you whispered, barely audible. He grunted in acknowledgment, throat too tight for words. You looked up at him, the corner of your mouth tugging up. ''You're doing great.''

His breath stuttered. I'm not. Because it was too much. The warmth, the softness, the utter lack of fear in you. You danced with him like it was the most natural thing in the world. Like he hadn't spent years pushing people away. Like he hadn't built an entire life around silence and distance.

You didn't ask to be let in. You just walked through the door. And Bucky had no idea what to do with that. He kept waiting for the tension to snap. For someone to step in. For you to pull away. But you didn't.

The song ended slowly, fading into something else. And Bucky felt the loss of it like a pulled stitch.

You stepped back just slightly and smiled up at him. ''Thank you,'' you said, voice as soft as velvet. Then you leaned in and kissed his cheek. A brief press of the lips, barely a breath long.

But it dropped like a bomb in his chest. Your smile didn't fade. You just slipped away, walking off with Yelena toward some obviously doomed scheme involving the catering table and the rooftop.

And Bucky stood there. Absolutely still. A hand on his cheek like the world had just tilted sideways. He barely noticed Ava join him a minute later, champagne glass in hand.

She didn't speak at first, just stopped and looked where you'd gone. Then it came, ''So.'' She glanced at him. ''You okay?''

''No.''

Her mouth twitched. ''Realized it, didn't you.''

Bucky didn't answer. Didn't need to. Because holy fucking shit, he did. He didn't just want affection. He didn't just want safety. He wanted you.

He didn't sleep the night after the gala. He lay in bed staring at the ceiling, fully clothes, jaw locked and heart loud, your kiss still pressed to his cheek like a brand. Because it had just been a thank you, right? Just a soft, casual thing. You did that with everyone.

You kissed Ava on the head when she gave you the last slice of pizza, you curled into Bob's side during movie nights like it was your assigned seat, you ruffled John's hair when he was being a sarcastic little shit, and you let Alexei carry you around like a sack of potatoes whenever he pleased. You gave affection like it cost nothing. And maybe it didn't. But to Bucky it cost everything. And now he wanted more. God help him, he wanted you.

It got worse the next day. You were still you - sunlight in human form, skipping around the tower in mismatched socks, humming a tune no one recognized.

You found Bucky in the kitchen, your hair a little damp from a shower, eyes sleepy. ''Hi, soldier,'' you said, bumping your shoulder gently into his arm. ''How are your feet after that dance? Did I bruise you?''

He blinked at you. Then blinked again. Because you were wearing his shirt. Not like, his shirt - but the same Henley brand he wore all the time, one of those oversized soft cotton ones in a color that made his brain hiccup. And he couldn't breathe.

''I-fine,'' he croaked. ''You didn't. I mean. It was fine.''

You beamed. ''Good. Then you can dance some more with me next time.''

He nodded dumbly.

You reached for the cereal box above him, your arm brushing across his chest. He flinched, but not away, from surprise. From the way even the most accidental contact with you lit him up from the inside. You poured a bowl, hummed again, and wandered off like you hadn't just leveled his entire nervous system with a smile.

Later he sat on the couch while you tangled yourself into a pile with Bob and Yelena. Legs over laps, arms slung around shoulders. Bob played with your fingers absentmindedly while Yelena used your stomach as a pillow. You were laughing at something stupid Bob said, glowing with ease, and Bucky watched.

Not like a creep. Just like a man trying not to fall apart. Because every time you touched someone else, something in his twisted. Not jealousy, not quite, just a raw aching hunger.

You're not mine to touch, he reminded himself. You weren't. But God, he wanted to be yours.

And the team noticed. Not loudly. Not with teasing. But they saw.

Yelena caught him watching you over the edge of his book. She didn't say anything, just raised an eyebrow when he looked away too fast and pretended to care about page 62. Bob lingered in the kitchen one morning and passed Bucky a mug of coffee with a quiet, ''You know, she really likes it when people play with her hair without asking first.'' Bucky nearly broke the mug. Alexei gave him a firm, understanding nod once when he caught him staring at you. Didn't say a word just nodded like a man who'd once been there and survived it. And Ava? She said it best.

''Don't rush him,'' she told John one afternoon when the he scoffed at Bucky choosing to sit beside you instead of his usual armchair.

''I'm not rushing him,'' John snapped, adjusting his sunglasses. ''I'm just saying - either kiss her or don't, Barnes. This isn't high school.''

Ava, who had been watching you patiently teach Alexei how to play Go Fish, shook her head. ''She doesn't know,'' she said softly.

John scoffed again. ''She's not blind. She kisses that man on the cheek like it's a Hallmark movie.''

''She kisses everyone. But she's patient with him. Slower. Gentler. More careful. And I don't think she even realizes it.''

John looked unconvinced. ''She's affectionate with everyone.''

''Yes,'' Ava said. ''But she waits for Bucky. She reads him. She's been loving him in a language he can understand.

That shut John up for a full three seconds. ''...Disgusting,'' he muttered. ''You should write poetry or something.''

Ava only smiled.

It was a rooftop night. Cool breeze, blankets, and pizza boxes spread out across mismatched furniture like a half-hearted picnic.

You were leaning over Bob's arm, laughing too hard at something Ava said, and Bucky was trying very hard not to be annihilated by it. You wore shorts and an old hoodie that definitely wasn't yours, hair pulled up with strands curling at your temples. Your bare legs were tangled over Bob's your hand casually resting on his chest while you picked a fight with Alexei about movie trivia.

No one else thought twice about it. They were used to you - your sunshine, your warmth, the way you radiated affection like a second skin. It was just you, untamed and fearless. But Bucky? You were shattering him. Every time you laughed at Bob's stupid joke, every time you reached over to adjust John's hoodie string, or brushed Yelena's hair behind her ear. Every time your eyes sparkled and your hand stayed just a second longer than strictly necessary... it burned.

And it wasn't jealousy. It was a need. Please look at me like that. Please lean your weight against me. Please laugh into my chest. Please, please, choose me, without even realizing it.

The ache was getting harder to hide. He'd tried. God, he'd tried. He still sat closer to you now. Still let you rest your head on his shoulder sometimes. Still awkwardly and terribly braided your hair when you asked. But there were limits he didn't know how to cross. Like now.

When you leaned over Bob and mock-whispered something into his ear, giggling when he gasped and dramatically clutched his heart, pretending to faint. It was nothing. A joke. But Bucky felt it like a sucker punch to the ribs. And you didn't even notice.

''You okay?'' Ava murmyred from beside him.

He didn't look at her. ''Fine.''

She didn't push. She never did. Just handed him a beer and let the silence fill in what he couldn't say.

I'm not okay. I want to be the one she teases like that. I want her hand on my chest. Her eyes on me like I'm the reason she's smiling. I want-

He swallowed he cracked the beer open.

When the wind picked up and everyone started packing up, you wandered over to him. Hoodie sleeves pulled over your hands, cheeks rosy from the cold. ''Hey, soldier,'' you said softly.

He looked at you, and God help him - he melted. You gave him that smile. The one that made his lungs forget what to do. The one that used to feel like sunshine but now felt like the slow pull of a tide trying to drown him.

''You looked a little quiet tonight,'' you said, gentle, concerned. ''Everything okay?''

He nodded too quickly. ''Yeah. Just tired.''

Your hand reached up, brushing a leaf from his shoulder. He froze. ''Okay. Well, if you need to not be okay sometime, you know I'm here, right?''

Do you know what you're doing to me? He wanted to ask. Wanted to grab your hand and keep it. Just hold on to something warm for once. But instead, he just nodded. And watched you walk away.

The rooftop cleared, but he stayed behind. Alone, now. Just him and the wind and the echo of your laugh in his ears. And for the first time, the truth didn't whisper. It roared.

I don't just want touch. I don't just want softness. I want her.

In and out. Secure the intel. Light resistance. It was supposed to be simple. It wasn't. And when the explosion went off - too close, too sudden - it was your name that ripped out of Bucky's throat. He didn't see the flash. Just felt the shockwave. And then you were gone from his side.

You weren't dead. You weren't even seriously hurt. Just thrown, bruised, scraped up where you'd hit the wall, comm crackling as you cursed and coughed and told them you were fine.

But Bucky wasn't. He couldn't breathe. His fingers wouldn't stop trembling on the trigger of his rifle. He kept his body moving, eyes scanning, instincts in full soldier mode. But his heart was gone, back there, with you.

He didn't remember finishing the mission. Didn't remember getting on the jet. Didn't remember sitting beside you in the medbay while a nurse patched you up, your voice stubborn and playful as always. What he remembered was the sound of the blast. And the way his entire world collapsed for a second.

He didn't talk on the ride back. You kept glancing at him, frown between your brows, but he didn't look at you. Couldn't He just sat with his hands clenched between his knees, eyes blank, jaw locked like he was holding back a scream. The others noticed, but they knew better than to push.

You knocked on his door that night. Three soft raps. No answer, but you opened it anyway.

Bucky was sitting on the floor beside his bed, back against the wall, breathing hard. Still in his gear. Dog tags clenched in one hand, shaking. He looked up... and shattered.

''You shouldn't be in here,'' he rasped.

You stepped in anyway, gently closing the door behind you.

He shook his head, almost violently. His breath hitched and he pressed his palm to his chest, like he could physically hold something in. ''I thought you were gone.''

You paused. And then moved closer, sinking to your knees in front of him. ''I wasn't.''

''I thought you were.'' His voice cracked. ''I saw that explosion and I thought-I thought-'' He couldn't finish. Just closed his eyes, chest heaving. And then he reached. Arms out. Not confident or practiced, but desperate. Like he couldn't stand another second not touching you.

You moved into the hug without hesitation, and he broke. He held you like a drowning man. Like you were oxygen and he hadn't breathed in weeks. His arms crushed you to him, face buried in your shoulder, fingers twisting into your hoodie like they were terrified you'd slip away again. It wasn't soft, or gentle. It was fierce. A hug with everything he couldn't say.

''I'm here,'' you whispered, hand smoothing up his spine. ''I'm okay.''

His voice was low and hoarse, almost childlike. ''I can't lose you.''

You froze, just for a second. Then melted against him, curling into his lap like you belonged there. You didn't speak. Didn't need to. Because you felt it, now. The weight in his arms, the panic, the relief, the need. You'd hugged Bucky before, but he had never held you like this. And something changed inside you. Because suddenly all the times he'd flinched away, all the walls he kept up - it all made sense. He was afraid of it. Afraid of needing it. Afraid of losing it.

You pulled back just enough to look at him. ''I'm not going anywhere,'' you said softly.

And his eyes- God, his eyes. Like he wanted so badly to believe you, but didn't know how. You cupped his cheek and pressed your forehead to his.

You didn't say anything else. Didn't have to. Because the next day, Bucky sat a little closer on the couch. He lingered when you leaned into him. And when you rested your head on his shoulder? He leaned back.

And you started giving him more. More of your touch, more of your time, more of you. And the others noticed.

It was a quiet change. Not a thunderclap, not a confession, just... little shifts. Like how you still curled against Bob during movie nights, but now your feet somehow always ended up in Bucky's lap. Or how you'd still lean into Yelena's side, tug on John's sleeve, braid Ava's hair while teasing Alexei - but Bucky was the one whose hand you reached for when you needed comfort.

And Bucky... God, Bucky was changing. Subtle things. To anyone else, probably invisible. But not to the team. He never flinched now. Not when you brushed your knee against his, not when you tossed a blanket over both of your legs. Not when your head dropped to his shoulder and stayed there through an entire episode of Jeopardy.

He even initiated things, once or twice. A hand on your back, a squeeze to your arm. The kind of touch that was casual from anyone else, but from Bucky Barnes? It was a goddamn declaration.

Ava watched the way Bucky's eyes always found you first. Not just when you entered a room, but when you laughed, when you moved, when you fell quiet. She saw it like a pulse - how in tune he was with you now. Like he was always listening for your heartbeat.

Alexei didn't understand it in so many words, but he stopped teasing Bucky about being grumpy. Just gave him a single, hearty slap on the back one afternoon and said, ''You are less haunted now. Good. Keep petting her hair, it seems to be working.''

Bob never said a damn thing. He just started sitting a little farther away during movie night, with a small, knowing smile.

John was the only one brave enough to ask: ''So... is this a thing now?'' and got and simultaneous death glare from Yelena and you that promptly shut him up for a week.

And Bucky felt it all. Not just your hands, not just the way your affection lingered now - longer hugs, softer looks, quiet touches that felt like they meant something. No. He felt the way you chose him. You still loved everyone. That hadn't changed. You were still sunshine, still chaos, still a tangle of hugs and shoulder squeezes and kisses on the cheeks and tangled limbs. But when it came to him? You were gentler. Like you were holding something sacred. And it made his heart ache in the most beautiful, terrifying way.

You never talked about it. But one night, when everyone else had wandered off, you padded up to Bucky's room and knocked twice. When he opened the door, you were already stepping in, hoodie sleeves over your hands, bare feet quiet on the floor. You didn't say anything. You just curled up next to him on the bed, on top of the blanket, side pressed to his - cheek on his shoulder. And Bucky wrapped his arm around without hesitation. Like he'd been waiting. And maybe he had. Because something had shifted. You weren't just affection now, or just comfort. You were something that scared the hell out of him. Something he wanted.

You and Bucky were in the common room long after everyone had gone to sleep, arguing about which of you could win in a game of ''sneak tag'' - a stupid version of hide-and-seek Alexei had invented with suspiciously complex rules and the very real possibility of someone getting a concussion.

You were giddy with exhaustion, barefoot and wrapped in a blanket like a cape. Bucky was stretched out on the rug, shirt untucked, hair messy, smiling that quiet way he didn't even realize he was doing now.

''You forget I used to rob people,'' you'd said, gesturing dramatically with a Snickers bar. ''I'm a ghost in socks. A phantom.''

''You tripped over a chair yesterday.''

''That chair moved, Barnes.''

He chuckled, and you decided then and there that the sound was your new favorite thing.

Somehow, between laughter and whispered trash talk, the game actually began. You set the timer. Ten minutes to sneak from one end of the tower to the other, tagging your opponent before they reached the kitchen. Simple.

Except Bucky was fast. And quiet. And probably cheating.

You darted through darkened corridors, ducked behind furniture, and nearly screamed when he appeared out of nowhere beside the elevator. He didn't tag you, just grinned - wild and sharp and boyish - and ran. You chased him like a storm. By the time you skidded into the kitchen and cornered him, breathless and flushed, your laughter was nearly silent. So was his. You had him trapped against the counter, both of you panting, noses inches apart in the dark. He was smiling. But his eyes were wide. Almost awed.

''You lost,'' you whispered.

''I let you win.''

''Liar.''

He didn't argue.

You were both still catching your breath when you looked at him. Really looked at him. The way the moonlight hit his face, the way his hair stuck to his forehead, the way his chest rose and fell like he'd just run through something much more dangerous than a hallway. And it hit you. How much you wanted him. Not affection, not comfort. Him.

And before your brain could catch up to your body - you kissed him. Soft. Barely more than a breath. Your lips pressed to his like a secret. Like a question you didn't mean to ask. And for one perfect second - he kissed you back. Then he blinked, and he was gone.

No words. No anger. Just... retreat. Like he couldn't breathe. Like he had to escape before he shattered completely. And you were left in the quiet dark, your fingertips and lips still tingling from where you'd touched him.

You didn't sleep that night.

You knocked on his door at 7:04 a.m. No blanket, no jokes, just you.

The door opened slowly, and there he was. Hair wet from a shower, hoodie pulled on inside out, eyes tired - but calmer.

''I'm sorry,'' you said, voice small. He stared at you. ''I didn't mean to do that. I mean- I did, but I didn't think, and you panicked, and I get, I just-''

''Don't apologize.''

Your mouth snapped shut. Bucky stepped back, letting you in.

''I wasn't mad,'' he said softly. ''Just... scared.''

You nodded, stepping inside. ''I know.''

''I didn't want to run.''

''I know.''

''I've just never wanted something this much and not known how to have it.''

You looked up at him, something tender folding open in your chest. And Bucky didn't think this time. He just moved. Closed the distance, tilted his head, and kissed you. Not soft. Not unsure. But with all the weight of what he'd been trying to hold in. Days, weeks, months of trying to bury a feeling that refused to die.

You melted into it, hands finding the collar of his hoodie, lips curving into the kiss even as his hand cupped the back of your neck like he was still afraid you'd slip away. But you didn't. You stayed.

And when you finally pulled back, both of you breathless, foreheads pressed together in the quiet...

He whispered, ''You didn't steal that kiss.''

You smiled. ''Did I not?''

''No,'' he murmured. ''I gave it to you.''

And just like that... Bucky Barnes stopped running.

#bucky barnes #james barnes #bucky #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes fic #bucky x reader #james bucky barnes #bucky x you #bucky barnes fanfiction #bucky x female reader #bucky barnes fluff #bucky barnes slow-burn #bucky barnes fanfic #bucky fanfic #bucky fluff #james bucky buchanan barnes #james buchanan barnes #bucky barnes angst

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hellfirebarnes · 2 months ago

Text

Slow-Burns Part 10

I read your comments on the previous part and audibly said ”oh babe, no…” Sorry lovelies 😘

@crowleythesexydemon

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Anyway, this is set after Thunderbolts so if you haven't seen it - spoilers I guess? It absolutely does not follow canon, but yeah better to be safe than sorry.

Summary: Bucky has fallen. Hopelessly. And the only thing more hopeless is his team trying to help him get to the end of this slow-burn.

Bucky x fem!SHIELD!reader

2K Words

You're referred to as ''Agent'' and ''Sunshine'' in a desperate attempt from me to not use Y/N.

Let me know if there's anything else I should warn about.

Otherwise, enjoy :)

He was ready. Bucky had mentally prepped for this date all week - thought about what shirt to wear (plain, dark grey, sleeves definitely rolled), practiced normal-person conversation, even asked Ava if she thought it would be weird to bring flowers.

“Just don’t bring a knife bouquet,” she’d said. “Too on brand.”

Everything was set.

Until he walked into the briefing room and saw you. Fully geared up. Standing next to John.

John, who looked way too smug for 8:15 A.M.

Bucky’s stomach dropped. “What’s going on?”

“Change of plans,” Val said, sipping coffee like she hadn’t just detonated a bomb in Bucky’s chest. “Intel in Poland needs immediate follow-up. Agent and Walker are wheels up in an hour.”

“But-” His mouth opened, then shut. He couldn’t say we had a date. That would sound ridiculous.

You shot him an apologetic look as you tightened your holsters. “Val pulled me late last night. I tried to text you but your phone was off.”

Of course it was. He’d been brooding in the gym with punching bags and self-loathing.

John clapped him on the shoulder. “Don’t worry, Barnes. I’ll keep your girl safe.”

Bucky nearly launched him out the window.

Later that day Bucky was in the kitchen, staring at the kettle. It wasn’t boiling fast enough. Nothing was happening fast enough.

“Your face is very punchable today,” Yelena commented as she passed through.

“She’s gone,” he muttered.

“She’ll be back,” she said, stealing a cookie and vanishing like smoke.

And then-

clomp, clomp, clomp

Enter: Alexei. Wearing clunks.

“You are moping,” he said grandly.

“I’m existing.”

“Wrong. You are wallowing. It’s pathetic. Like wet raccoon.”

Bucky shot him a flat look. “What do you want?”

Alexei flung himself into a chair and sighed tragically. “I miss Sunshine too.”

“You saw her this morning.”

“Yes. And now it is afternoon. We are lost without her. Bob tried to make tea and somehow set fire to a mug.”

Right on cue, Bob poked his head into the room. “It was science.”

“Go away,” Bucky grumbled.

Bob sat beside him anyway, folding into the chair like a loyal, slightly overgrown golden retriever. “I miss her voice. Her energy. Her soul-light.”

“She said she’d text when she landed.”

“I missed her even before she left,” Bob added mournfully.

Alexei nodded in deep agreement. “She brought balance. Now the tower is 30% more grim.”

Bucky drank his tea and said nothing. What could he say?

He missed you like gravity - constant and unrelenting. And somehow worse now that you were finally on the verge of something, something real, and it was just put on hold. Suspended in time. Like his heart was buffering.

Bucky was back in the gym, punching the bag so hard the seams were splitting.

Bob entered, holding a polaroid album. “Look what she left behind,” he said, holding it like a sacred text.

Bucky stilled. The picture on top was of you and him, blurry from motion, you laughing mid-spin, his arm reaching to catch you before you fell. A moment. A memory.

“She brings the sparkle,” Bob said softly.

Bucky exhaled, sitting down on the mat.

“Do you love her?”

He didn’t answer right away. But the silence was an answer.

“…I think I do,” Bucky admitted. “It’s stupid.”

“No,” Bob said gently. “It’s you. And that makes it brave.”

On day five without you, Alexei cornered Bucky with Bob's clipboard.

“I have reviewed potential courtship options for her return. Picnic? Star-gazing? Knife-throwing performance?”

Bucky blinked. “You made a list?”

“I made seven. Bob has flow charts.”

“Please stop planning my love life.”

“Too late. Bob ordered candles. And a tiny projector.”

Bucky buried his face in his hands.

Bucky was in the hangar the second the jet touched down.

Tried to play it cool. Failed immediately when he spotted you - tired, windblown, laughing as you slapped John’s shoulder on the way out.

You spotted Bucky instantly. And for one flicker of a moment, the rest of the world disappeared. You grinned at him. His chest hurt in a way that felt… right.

“I brought you a souvenir,” you said, walking straight into his space, like always.

“Oh?”

You held up a tiny snow globe with a grim-looking statue inside. “Polish war monument. Very on theme.”

He took it. Didn’t let go of your hand. You didn’t pull away.

Today was the day. Finally. No misunderstandings, no interruptions. You had been back for nearly five days. And he was going to ask you out again. Properly. Just you. One-on-one. Not Bob clinging to you like a needy golden retriever. Not John mock-flirting just to annoy Bucky into spontaneous combustion.

Just… you.

He even had a plan - he’d make you coffee (he’d learned exactly how you liked it), and take you up to the towers rooftop garden, where it was quiet, filled with sun and climbing ivy. You loved that spot. He’d practiced the sentence three times already:

“I want to take you out. Just us. Not as a mission. Not as friends.”

It wasn’t Shakespeare. But it was honest. And terrifying. And long overdue.

Bucky knocked.

Nothing.

He frowned. Knocked again.

Still nothing.

Then a familiar voice behind him: “Dude.” He turned. John Walker, arms crossed, eyebrow raised. “You didn’t hear?”

“Hear what?”

“Mission call-in. Two hours ago. Immediate deploy. Eastern Europe. High-stakes recovery op. Messy.”

Bucky’s stomach dropped.

“Gone already. She left with Ava and Yelena.”

“What? Why wasn’t I-?”

“Team rotation. Val said you’re on backup. Guess she thought you could use a break.”

John clapped him on the shoulder. “Tough luck, Romeo.”

And with that, he walked off, leaving Bucky standing in the hallway like a man who’d just missed the last train.

Bob was moping. He sat on the couch, staring at a photo of you with glassy eyes. “It smells like less joy in here.”

Alexei paced dramatically in front of the TV as if giving a wartime speech. “They send her away when love is blooming. This is sabotage. Maybe Hydra is involved.”

Bucky sat at the edge of the couch, silent, jaw clenched, hands tight around a forgotten mug of coffee that had long gone cold. He felt… robbed.

“I was going to do it,” he muttered.

Bob blinked. “Do what?”

“Ask her out again. Really ask her. No backup, no confusion, just-” He exhaled. “And now she’s gone.”

“She’ll be back,” Bob said. “You’ll get another chance.”

“You don’t get it,” Bucky snapped, more harshly than he meant. “What if I don’t? What if every time I try, something gets in the way?”

Alexei stopped pacing. Looked at him with rare seriousness. “Then you make sure that next time… nothing does.”

On the mission, you crouched beside Ava in the shadows of an abandoned facility. Your earpiece buzzed with static and nerves.

“Target two neutralized,” Yelena’s voice crackled through. “Still no sign of the intel case.”

You wiped dirt from your cheek. “I hate night ops.”

“Because you can’t flirt with Barnes in the dark?” Ava teased lightly.

You shot her a glare. “I don’t flirt.”

Ava snorted. “Honey, if you smiled at him any harder, I’d need sunglasses. And I say that with love.”

You didn’t say anything out loud, but part of you wished you could stop time. Go back. Stay in that moment on the tarmac, when you’d handed him the ridiculous snow globe and he’d looked at you like you were the whole sky.

You were back. That should’ve been enough. You were safe, laughing, smiling again, sitting on the worn couch in your post-mission hoodie, surrounded by the team like nothing had changed.

But Bucky was cracking.

Because Bob was draped on the floor beside you like an overgrown Labradoodle, handing you a tea he made himself (which should’ve been illegal), and telling you about the time he accidentally bent an elevator door because he thought it was attacking Yelena.

And you were laughing. Not a polite laugh either. A real one. The kind that reached your eyes. The kind that made Bucky feel like he was bleeding inside his ribs.

John was on your other side, tossing popcorn at you like you were twelve. You were mock-bickering again - about which of you had made the better shot in Romania, which of you had the more dramatic entrance, which of you was clearly the superior field operative.

“I literally saved your ass,” you said, mouth full of popcorn.

“You’re welcome for the opportunity,” John replied.

“I’m going to throw you into traffic.”

“You already did. In Berlin. Twice.”

“I’ll do it a third time.”

“I’ll wear shin guards.”

Yelena cackled. Ava rolled her eyes fondly.

Bucky stood by the doorway, a drink in his hand, untouched. He hadn’t moved in fifteen minutes. He didn’t know how.

Every second, every glance at you, made his chest feel like it was too small for his heart. Like something was pressing against the inside of him, trying to crawl out - a need, a truth that wouldn’t stay buried much longer. He’d thought about kissing you every minute since you left. Now he couldn’t even say hi.

The Russian storm cloud that is Alexei swept in, scanned the scene once, and zeroed in on Bucky like a missile. “Why do you look like you just watched your puppy get married to someone else’s dog?”

Bucky didn’t respond.

Alexei followed his line of sight. Bob had just brought you a small blanket “because you get cold when you’re sleepy,” and you were patting his head like he was a loyal pet.

Bucky was internally combusting.

John leaned closer, whispering something that made you roll your eyes and smile without looking away.

Alexei squinted. “Ah. This problem again.”

“What problem,” Bucky said flatly.

“You are doing the brooding statue thing again. Not sexy anymore. Just sad.”

“I’m not brooding.”

“You look like you are six seconds away from monologuing to a piano.”

“I don’t-”

“Enough.” Alexei clapped his hands. “You love her.”

“I didn’t say that.”

“You didn’t need to. It is leaking out of you like microwaved borscht.”

Bucky looked down into his untouched drink. “I was going to ask her out again. Then the mission happened.”

“So now you sulk?”

“I’m not sulking.”

“You are. You’re sulking and letting Bob steal your woman.”

“She’s not- Jesus Christ.”

Alexei leaned in. “You want my help?”

Bucky narrowed his eyes. “Absolutely not.”

“Perfect. I will help anyway.”

Ten minutes later chaos was brewing.

Bob was now playing you a playlist of “songs that made him think of you.” John had moved on to teasing you about what your superhero name should be. Ava had left to do recon. Yelena was placing bets with herself on when someone would finally snap.

Bucky stayed rooted to the wall, fists clenched at his sides.

And then—

“SUNSHINE!” Alexei shouted. “COME. I NEED YOUR OPINION.”

You blinked up. “On what?”

He pointed directly at Bucky. “On whether he looks like a man in love.”

The room fell silent. Bob blinked. John snorted. Bucky nearly dropped his glass.

You stared at Alexei. “What?”

“He has a face,” Alexei said, waving his hands dramatically, “like he has swallowed a poem. You must tell me - is it love or is he dying of foreign heart disease.”

Bucky choked.

You blinked rapidly, clearly trying not to laugh. “Are you- what is happening?”

“He has feelings,” Alexei said, gesturing wildly, “and you, you ignore him like he is wallpaper.”

“I do not,” you laughed.

“Do you ever pat him on the head? Do you ever make him tea?”

“I—”

“Do you ever whisper inside jokes that make him feel like the moon has risen inside his chest?”

There was a pause. A very long pause. And you looked over. At Bucky. Your eyes locked. Something flickered between you. Still unsure. Still cautious. But present. Real.

And then Bob, in his infinite timing, held up a tiny stuffed bear. “I got this for you.”

You turned, beaming. “Bob, that’s adorable.”

Bucky didn’t move. Didn’t speak. Just felt everything - every pulse, every regret, every unspoken word - rise to his throat and get stuck there.

Alexei turned to him, whispering under his breath like a disappointed coach. “I give you moment. You waste it. You are lucky I do not start matchmaking again.”

Bucky sighed. “I’m trying.”

“You are thinking about trying. Soon it will be too late.”

And this time, Bucky didn’t argue. Because he knew Alexei was right.

#bucky barnes #james barnes #bucky #bucky barnes fic #bucky barnes x reader #bucky x reader #bucky barnes fanfiction #bucky x female reader #bucky x you #james bucky barnes

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hellfirebarnes · 2 months ago

Text

Slow-Burns Part 9

@crowleythesexydemon

Anyway, this is set after Thunderbolts so if you haven't seen it - spoilers I guess? It absolutely does not follow canon, but yeah better to be safe than sorry.

Summary: Bucky has fallen. Hopelessly. And the only thing more hopeless is his team trying to help him get to the end of this slow-burn.

Bucky x fem!SHIELD!reader

1.2K Words

You're referred to as ''Agent'' and ''Sunshine'' in a desperate attempt from me to not use Y/N.

Let me know if there's anything else I should warn about.

Otherwise, enjoy :)

Bucky was in the kitchen, minding his own business with a glass of water and half a protein bar, when the front doors slammed open like someone had kicked them.

Correction: someone had kicked them.

“I win again!” Yelena announced, arms up in victory, staggering only slightly.

Behind her, you were clinging to a coat rack like it might save your life.

“Yelena,” Bucky said slowly, “what the hell-”

“Victory, Barnes,” she said, grinning. “Two vodka bottles, three cocktails, one suspicious flaming shot, and your little sunshine just tried to drink me under the table.”

You pointed at Yelena with deep conviction. “She cheats. She’s Russian.”

“I am better,” Yelena countered proudly.

You groaned and peeled yourself off the coat rack. “I’m gonna die.”

“No you’re not,” Bucky muttered, stepping in before you could faceplant. He caught you around the waist and whoa. You melted into him like it was the most natural thing in the world.

“You smell safe,” you mumbled into his chest.

He blinked. “That’s… nice?”

Yelena saluted. “She’s your problem now,” she said and strolled off humming “Toxic” by Britney Spears.

Bucky managed to get you into your room with only two near-death wobbles and one time you accidentally hit the wall and apologized to it.

You flopped back on your bed with a groan.

“You want water?” he asked.

“No.”

“Ginger tea?”

“No.”

“You want to keep your liver or…?”

You groaned louder. “Stop being so nice. I’ll fall in love with you.”

His breath caught. Hard. But you didn’t seem to notice - eyes closed, one arm over your forehead like a tragic 18th-century poet.

He knelt beside the bed, watching you with cautious affection. “You’re going to feel like hell tomorrow.”

You opened one eye. “You’ll still be here though?” Then - before he could stop you, before he could process it, you leaned forward.

You kissed him. Just a quick, warm peck at the corner of his mouth.

And then you promptly face-planted onto your pillow and muttered something about “space horses” before falling asleep.

Bucky sat there like he’d been hit by Thor’s hammer.

The next morning you walked into the kitchen looking like you'd lost a fight with a blender. Yelena handed you a bottle of coconut water and a fist bump.

John said, “Hey, starshine. You look like someone who made bad decisions and worse friends.”

You groaned. “Someone put a hit out on my skull.”

Bucky was already making toast for you.

You looked up, sheepish, as he slid the plate in front of you. “Hey. About last night…”

He paused. Heart leaping. Maybe-finally-

“I’m sorry if I crossed a line,” you said. “I was so drunk. That was… just drunk me being dumb.”

Bucky smiled. Not because he was okay. But because that’s what you do when someone pulls the rug out from under your whole heart.

“No worries,” he said, soft. “Didn’t even register.”

“Oh thank god,” you exhaled. “I’d hate to make things weird.”

Too late, he thought. Way too late.

Bob walked in just in time to sense the emotional tension and announce: “Something sad just happened, didn’t it?”

Alexei followed behind with waffles and said, “It is fine. We will fix it. With matchmaking and carbs.”

And Bucky? He sat in silence, trying to convince himself he hadn’t just tasted something perfect, only to be told it didn’t mean anything at all.

You hadn’t meant to find the box. You’d been looking for an extra patch cable for your comms unit. Bucky’s gear was the neatest of the team’s (which wasn’t saying much - John once stored grenades in his sock drawer), so you’d poked into his cabinet, meaning to just borrow and leave a note.

What you found was a metal box tucked in the back, labeled in faint, near-faded Sharpie: “Journals. Old.” You didn’t open it. Not at first.

You’d picked it up, and weighed it in your hands. Thought about how heavy it must be to carry your whole life like that - years, maybe decades, of someone who never really let anyone see past the armor.

And you hadn’t meant to snoop. You hadn’t. But there was a photo tucked under the lid, half-sticking out - like it had been placed there and forgotten.

You pulled it free. And saw yourself.

Or more accurately: yourself, blurry and mid-laugh, seated on the common room floor surrounded by empty takeout containers. Bob had snapped it, clearly. And next to you - Bucky.

Looking at you. Really looking. Like you were gravity and he was just… orbiting.

Your heart caught.

At that exact moment Bucky was pacing outside the rec room while Alexei and Bob scribbled on a whiteboard:

“OPERATION: COURTING SUNSHINE”

“I can’t do this,” Bucky muttered, running a hand through his hair.

“You can,” Bob said, drawing a stick figure holding flowers and then labeling it “You but handsome.”

“You are a super soldier!” Alexei exclaimed. “You have faced Hydra, aliens, and American bureaucracy! You can ask a girl to coffee!”

“Not this girl,” Bucky mumbled. “This one makes my hands go stupid and my mouth stop working.”

“She kissed you!”

“She apologized for it!”

“She was drunk, Bucky,” Bob reasoned, kindly. “She probably doesn’t remember how soft you looked after.”

“Soft?!”

Alexei placed a meaty hand on Bucky’s shoulder. “We will make her fall in love with you.”

“Please don’t.”

“It is already happening.”

Later in your room, you were still holding the photo when someone knocked. You shoved it under your pillow like a teen hiding contraband and opened the door to find - of course - Alexei.

He beamed. “Walk with me.”

“Do I get a choice?”

“No.”

He led you down the hall like he was walking you to a secret treasure. Which, honestly, with Alexei, was entirely possible. When you got to the training floor, he stopped, looked both ways, then whispered, “It is time.”

“For…?”

“For Bucky to begin his courtship.”

You choked. “I- what?”

“He does not know I am telling you,” he said cheerfully. “But it will help him feel like he has agency.”

“Alexei-”

“Just… let him be awkward. Let him bring you tea. Let him say something strange and broody that means ‘I like you.’ He has been trying to impress you with his knife-throwing skills for a month.”

Your mouth fell open. “That’s what that was?”

“He is very subtle,” Alexei said proudly. “Like tank.”

That night you sat curled on the couch in the common room with a book and a vague sense of unease. Not bad. Just… buzzed. Something was coming.

And then - Bucky walked in. Not in stealth mode. Not with his usual “if-I-don’t-make-eye-contact-I-can’t-be-emotionally harmed” energy. No. This time he came in carrying two mugs of tea. And he sat beside you. Not too close. But closer than usual.

“You like lemon, right?” he asked.

You blinked. “Yeah. You remembered?”

He nodded. You sat in silence. He fidgeted. Took a sip. Set the mug down. Then said, too fast, “You doing anything Saturday?”

You stared. “…Uh, probably not?”

“Cool. I mean- not cool that you’re free, just- ...cool, ‘cause I thought maybe we could-” He paused. Frowned. “Never mind. That sounded less stupid in my head.”

You bit back a smile. “You’re asking me out?”

“…Yes?”

You tilted your head. “Like a date?”

“…Yes?”

You nodded, slowly. “Okay.”

He blinked. “Okay?”

“Yeah. Just, maybe make sure Alexei doesn’t show up with a boom box.”

“No promises,” Bucky muttered.

You sipped your tea and nudged his shoulder.

And from the hallway, Bob fist-pumped silently. Alexei wept into a sock like it was a tissue.

#bucky barnes #james barnes #bucky #bucky barnes fic #bucky barnes x reader #bucky x reader #bucky barnes fanfiction #bucky x female reader #bucky x you #james bucky barnes

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hellfirebarnes · 2 months ago

Text

Slow-Burns Part 8

@crowleythesexydemon

PART 1 PART 2 PART 3 PART 4 PART 5 PART 6 PART 7 PART 9

Anyway, this is set after Thunderbolts so if you haven't seen it - spoilers I guess? It absolutely does not follow canon, but yeah better to be safe than sorry.

Summary: Bucky has fallen. Hopelessly. And the only thing more hopeless is his team trying to help him get to the end of this slow-burn.

Bucky x fem!SHIELD!reader

1.6K Words

You're referred to as ''Agent'' and ''Sunshine'' in a desperate attempt from me to not use Y/N.

Let me know if there's anything else I should warn about.

Otherwise, enjoy :)

Bucky knew something was wrong the moment Bob walked into the gym with a clipboard.

Not a weapon. Not an energy drink. A clipboard.

“Uh-oh,” John muttered, ducking into the hallway like he could sense it too.

You, meanwhile, were upside down on a mat, mid-stretch, and waved. “Hey, Bob. What’s up?”

“I have prepared a schedule,” Bob announced. “For Bucky’s courtship initiative.”

Bucky dropped his dumbbells mid-rep.

You blinked. “Wait. What now?”

Bob beamed. “I’ve been doing research. Love is a very specific chemical cocktail involving serotonin, oxytocin, and sometimes pancakes. I’ve created a multi-day plan to help Bucky seduce- no, woo you properly!”

“Bob,” Bucky hissed, red-faced. “What the hell-”

“I even made themed days,” Bob continued proudly, flipping the clipboard to reveal a chaotic chart with glitter stickers. “Today is Compliment Blitz Tuesday. Tomorrow is Proximity and Eye Contact Wednesday. Friday is tentatively titled Emotional Vulnerability & Muffins.”

You looked like you were trying very hard not to laugh. “This is… a lot.”

“It’s science,” Bob said solemnly.

Yelena, walking past the gym with a smoothie, peered at the clipboard. “You missed Subtlety and Dignity Day.”

“I moved that to next month.”

Hours later, Bucky was still simmering with embarrassment, crouched behind a case of gear to avoid further romantic sabotage. You popped your head around the corner, grinning.

“Hey.”

He rubbed the back of his neck. “You’re gonna laugh at me again.”

“Nope. I promise.” He squinted at you. “Okay, I might laugh again, but with love.”

He gave you a look. “Bob told the entire base I was trying to woo you. With pancakes.”

You leaned a shoulder against the wall beside him. “Honestly? It was kinda sweet.”

“Sweet?” he echoed, startled.

“Yeah. I mean, chaotic and absolutely deranged. But sweet.”

He looked at you then, really looked - eyes bright with amusement, arms crossed, completely comfortable in his space. He still didn’t know how he was supposed to talk to you without falling further in love.

“So,” you said casually. “Which day is today again?”

“Compliment Blitz Tuesday,” he muttered.

You waited, tilting your head. “Well?”

He sighed. “You’re the smartest, kindest, funniest person I’ve ever met. You’re stupidly good at your job. And… your laugh makes me forget all the awful things I’ve seen.”

You blinked.

He immediately panicked. “That was too much. That was too much. Forget it-”

“No,” you interrupted gently. “That was… perfect.”

And he forgot how to breathe.

On the observation deck, Alexei stood beside Bob, overlooking the city. “You are reckless and emotionally unstable,” he said.

“Thank you,” Bob replied.

“But I will admit… that plan sort of worked.”

Bob smiled. “We’re getting closer.”

“To what?”

Bob pointed dramatically. “To love.”

Bucky walked in like a man going to war.

Bob’s clipboard was missing (mercifully), but everyone knew what day it was. Ava had smirked the moment he walked in. John made a show of stretching like he was prepping for a very intense eye contact session.

And you? You were curled on the couch in one of Yelena’s hoodies, reading a book and drinking tea, looking so cozy and unbothered that Bucky’s entire internal monologue short-circuited.

He sat down on the couch beside you. Close. Not too close. Just close enough to fulfill Bob’s mission parameters for Proximity Day.

You looked up. “Hey, stranger.”

His heart did that thing again - the one where it tried to climb out of his chest and swan dive into traffic. “Hey.”

“You doing okay?”

“Yeah,” he managed. “You?”

You smiled. “Getting through this book. Might need backup on chapter 10. Feels cursed.”

“I’ll be here.”

You grinned. “My proximity hero.”

He laughed before he could stop himself. Progress.

Bob passed by with a tray of snacks and whispered, “You’re doing great,” like a football coach mid-game.

Then tripped and almost face-planted into a plant, causing Alexei to shout, “COMMIT TO THE ROLE, BOB!” from the hallway.

You didn’t look up from your book. “Should I be worried about whatever weird cult the team is running now?”

Bucky blinked. “Only if they try to bring out the muffins.”

You chuckled. “You’re different lately.”

“Different how?”

“You seem more… I don’t know. Present. Calmer.”

He thought about that. “Maybe I’ve got better reasons to be.”

You tilted your head at him, thoughtful. “That sounds like the next step. Eye contact.”

He stiffened. You met his eyes, warm and curious and completely unaware of the internal free-fall happening behind his blank expression.

“Bucky?”

“Hmm?”

“You’re staring.”

“I know,” he said quietly.

Yelena, Ava, and you were partnered up for drills. Bob was running the session, which meant it had turned into more of a dance class meets improv theater. Alexei had inexplicably brought out an accordion.

Bucky stood to the side, pretending to check equipment, but really just watching you. The way you moved. The way you laughed with Ava. The way you stuck your tongue out at John when he shouted unsolicited notes from across the room. You were magic.

Absolute chaos in a hoodie and combat boots. And Bob’s dumb mission? It wasn’t even about proximity or eye contact. It was about watching you live - really live - and realizing how much he wanted to be part of that.

To be someone you chose.

That night, he found you alone again, looking out over the city.

“Hey,” you said, nudging him with your elbow when he joined you. “We survived another day of whatever this week is.”

He nodded. “You make it survivable.”

You smiled. Quiet. Soft. You stood like that for a long time, close but not touching, the kind of silence that spoke more than any plan Bob could draw. Bucky didn’t need proximity to know how far he’d fallen. But standing next to you?

He really, really hoped you might one day fall with him.

Val’s orders had been clear: in and out, no fireworks, no attention.

Bucky had paired with you without argument - mostly because you’d wordlessly slid the mission file across the table to him before Val even finished reading off the details.

And now, beneath the cover of darkness, the two of you were crouched outside an abandoned safehouse with faulty comms and a growing sense that something was off.

Bucky scanned the perimeter. “Movement. Inside, second floor.”

You nodded, adjusting your gear. “I’ll take the rear. You breach.”

He paused, eyes on yours for a moment longer than needed. “Be careful.”

You smirked. “I always am.”

It was supposed to be abandoned. But as soon as Bucky stepped through the crumbling hallway, he knew you weren’t alone. Footsteps. Heat signatures. Wrong ones. His instincts kicked in just as the first shot cracked past his shoulder.

“Ambush!” he shouted into the comm. “Fall back-”

Your voice came back, breathless and sharp. “Negative. I’m pinned. East stairwell. Two armed-no, three.”

His stomach dropped. He could hear you breathing. Fast. But steady. You were holding your own.

Bucky crashed through the corridor, taking out one of the gunmen with a brutal blow from his vibranium arm. Another was downed by a precise shot from his pistol.

And then - he saw you. Back to the wall, blood at your temple, eyes on fire. But alive.

You ducked as Bucky sent the last guy through a table, and before he could even breathe, you were grabbing him.

“Are you okay?” you gasped. “You were out of range- I didn’t-”

“I’m fine,” he said, but his voice cracked. “You-your head-”

“It’s nothing.” But your hand was shaking.

And then a beam overhead creaked, dislodged by the earlier fight, and came crashing down toward you - too fast, too heavy, too-

You shoved him hard to the side. It missed him. But it clipped your shoulder, and you went down hard. His voice ripped out of him like something primal.

He’d carried you the last block to the rendezvous point. You weren't unconscious. Just exhausted, banged up, and hurting.

“You’re an idiot,” you rasped.

“You threw yourself in front of a steel beam.”

“Because you weren’t looking up, Barnes.”

“I never look up,” he muttered, trying to keep pressure off your shoulder. “That’s why you’re usually next to me.”

Your eyes fluttered, blurry and half-focused on him. “Don’t be mad.”

“I’m not mad.”

“Liar.”

“I’m…” He trailed off. Swallowed. “I’m scared.” That made you go still. “I’ve been scared since I met you,” he added quietly. “And I don’t think I’ll ever stop.”

Your lips parted.

Then Bob’s voice came over comms: “Extraction team inbound. Is Bucky crying? Should I bring tissues?”

You snorted, pained but amused.

The next day in the med bay, you were patched up and teasing him again by afternoon.

The others came and went - Yelena brought snacks, John complained about the mission logs, Ava threatened anyone who interrupted her nap on the spare cot. Alexei brought a bear-shaped balloon. Bob made a chart called “Times Sunshine Has Saved Bucky’s Life” and pinned it above your bed.

But it wasn’t until everyone else cleared out that Bucky sat beside you again, quiet, fingers fiddling with a cold pack he wasn’t using. “I’m glad you’re okay,” he said, eyes fixed on the floor.

“I’m glad you’re okay,” you replied. “We make a good team.”

He looked at you then. And it hit him again.

Not a crush. Not a passing thing. But love. Big and terrible and aching.

And after this mission, after the way your voice had sounded when you yelled his name-

He wasn’t going to keep pretending it wasn’t real.

#bucky barnes #james barnes #bucky #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes fic #bucky x reader #bucky barnes fanfiction #bucky x female reader #bucky x you #james bucky barnes

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hellfirebarnes · 2 months ago

Text

Slow-Burns Part 7

@crowleythesexydemon

PART 1 PART 2 PART 3 PART 4 PART 5 PART 6 PART 8

Anyway, this is set after Thunderbolts so if you haven't seen it - spoilers I guess? It absolutely does not follow canon, but yeah better to be safe than sorry.

Summary: Bucky has fallen. Hopelessly. And the only thing more hopeless is his team trying to help him get to the end of this slow-burn.

Bucky x fem!SHIELD!reader

1.3K Words

You're referred to as ''Agent'' and ''Sunshine'' in a desperate attempt from me to not use Y/N.

Let me know if there's anything else I should warn about.

Otherwise, enjoy :)

Bucky entered the kitchen like it was enemy territory. He had a mission. A plan. A mental flowchart.

Step One: Talk to you. Like a normal person.

Step Two: Make you laugh. Naturally.

Step Three: Try not to die of mortification.

He found you exactly where he knew you’d be - sitting on the counter, legs swinging, cradling a cup of coffee, and arguing with John over who should’ve made breakfast.

“I made coffee,” John was saying.

“That’s not food,” you replied. “That’s a coping mechanism.”

Bob was hovering near your knees, head resting on his arms on the counter like a golden retriever who needed constant emotional validation. Alexei stood near the fridge humming something suspiciously like a wedding march.

Bucky cleared his throat.

You looked up immediately, eyes lighting up. “Hey! You’re up early.”

“Thought I’d make pancakes,” he said. Casual. Like a completely chill person who didn’t spend last night writing your name in a notebook like a high schooler with a crush.

Yelena, passing through, stopped mid-step.

John blinked. “You?”

Bob gasped. “That’s so romantic.”

You looked at him, surprised. “You don’t have to do that.”

Bucky gave a tight smile. “I want to.”

He grabbed the mixing bowl before anyone could say anything else, hands already shaking slightly. You slid off the counter to help, bumping your shoulder against his as you reached for the flour.

“I didn’t know you cooked,” you said.

“I don’t. Much. Learning.” He glanced at you - close, warm, smiling. He was definitely going to burn these pancakes.

Twenty minutes later the pancakes were… edible. Mostly.

You laughed after biting into one. “You added cinnamon?”

“I read it softens the taste.”

“I like it.”

Alexei smacked Bucky on the back. “He’s cooking for you! This is phase one! Courtship begins!”

“Alexei,” Bucky said through gritted teeth.

“He’s starting the ritual!” Alexei declared to the room like a town crier.

John groaned into his coffee. “I can’t be here for this.”

“I live for this,” Yelena said, smirking.

Bob practically sparkled. “You’re courting her like a storybook prince! That’s so pure.”

Bucky was going to need another war to hide in.

But then you leaned in closer and whispered, “Don’t let them scare you off. This is really sweet, Bucky.”

He didn’t speak. Couldn’t. Just nodded, ears burning.

Later that day, the team had scattered to their usual haunts. You sat on the floor near the couch, surrounded by polaroids and a sketchbook. You were humming to yourself, completely at ease.

Bucky stood in the doorway for several seconds before Ava passed by and bumped his shoulder. “You survived step one.”

“I almost choked on cinnamon batter.”

“Still counts.”

He hesitated, then moved into the room and sat on the floor across from you.

You glanced up. “Hey again.”

“Whatcha working on?” he asked, leaning closer.

“Just sorting through the mess. Trying to figure out which of these deserve wall space.” You lifted a polaroid of you and Yelena caught mid-laugh, flour on your faces. “This one’s a strong contender.”

He spotted one of him and Bob crammed into frame, Bob holding up peace signs while Bucky looked halfway to escaping. With you in the middle - beaming.

“You should put that one up,” he said, pointing to it.

You laughed. “You think?”

He nodded. “You look happy in it.”

You looked at him, just a moment too long. “So do you.”

And for one terrifying, beautiful second, he felt like a guy who might actually deserve a moment like this.

Alexei was hiding behind a plant, whispering:

“Mission Update: The Boy has made Contact. He has Initiated Pancakes. We are Go for Operation: Barnes Gets the Girl. I repeat—Go.”

Ava, who was walking by, stopped and looked at him. “Alexei, you’re talking into a fork.”

“It’s a metaphor.”

It had taken days. He’d mentally rehearsed it during missions, in the shower, in quiet elevator rides. Hell, he’d even gone back to that stupid notebook, where Operation: Court Sunshine now had a small constellation of checkmarks beside things like:

• “Make her laugh” ✅

• “Don’t combust while making pancakes” ✅

• “Speak actual words” (working on it)

Now it was time for the next terrifying step.

Step 4: Ask her out. Alone. For real. Like a grown man.

He found you finishing up a cooldown stretch, flushed from sparring with Ava, hair pulled back, eyes bright with victory.

“Hey,” he said, trying not to sound like a nervous wreck.

You beamed. “Hey, you missed it - Ava nearly threw me through the wall.”

“I’m sure the wall deserved it.”

You laughed. Victory.

Encouraged, he cleared his throat. “So, uh. I was thinking. Maybe we could-” He coughed. “You know... Go somewhere.”

Your head tilted. “Like a mission?”

“No-no, not a mission. Like a… not-mission.”

“…A recon?” you guessed.

He blinked. “Not really...more like… I was thinking we could check out that new place downtown. The café. You mentioned it. The one with the plants?”

“Oh!” your face lit up. “That place looks so cute!”

He nodded, nerves clawing at him. “So. Maybe this weekend?”

“Totally! I’ll tell the others!”

He froze. “Wait - others?”

Too late.

Saturday Bucky stood beside you outside the greenhouse-style café with a polite, quiet smile and the sinking feeling of a man who had just asked someone out on a date - but instead accidentally created a social event.

Because walking toward you were all of them.

Bob waved enthusiastically from a block away.

Yelena had sunglasses and iced coffee already in hand. “Who decided brunch? I love brunch.”

John looked at Bucky with unfiltered judgment. “This was your idea?”

Alexei was dressed like a suburban dad on vacation, arms wide. “It’s a beautiful day for love!”

You looked delighted. “This is gonna be so fun.”

Bucky wanted the ground to swallow him.

Inside the café, Bucky sat squished between a hanging fern and Bob, who had somehow already convinced you to sit beside him and was telling you an enthusiastic story about a stray cat he’d met that morning. Yelena was stealing sips of your drink. John kept playing with the salt shaker like it might explode. Alexei was… filming something?

Every time Bucky opened his mouth to say something to you, someone else got there first.

“So then I told the cat, ‘You deserve love too!’” Bob was saying.

You giggled.

Bucky tried again. “So, about this-”

“Oh! Look at this cake!” you gasped, turning to Yelena. “We have to try that.”

Bucky leaned back in his chair. He was two inches from a potted monstera and one emotional breakdown from giving up entirely.

“Honestly,” John muttered, “this is painful.”

Bucky shot him a look. “What is?”

“You. This.” He gestured broadly. “You tried to ask her out and now we’re all here. Like emotional bodyguards.”

“I didn’t mean to-”

“She doesn’t know it was supposed to be a date, does she?”

“No,” Bucky grumbled.

Alexei plopped down across from them, slapping a muffin onto Bucky’s plate. “This is good for the heart! Resistance builds character. Fight for her!”

“I was trying not to make it a fight,” Bucky muttered.

Alexei winked. “That was your first mistake.”

The group had splintered a bit as they walked back, with Bob bouncing between every conversation and John loudly arguing with a pigeon about sidewalk ownership. You slowed your pace next to Bucky, sipping the last of your coffee.

“Thanks for suggesting that,” you said. “It was nice. Really chaotic, but nice.”

“Yeah,” Bucky said, watching you smile. “It was… something.”

You glanced up at him. “You okay?”

He hesitated. Then nodded. “I will be.”

You didn’t ask what he meant. Just bumped your shoulder gently against his. You walked a little closer after that.

And even though Bucky had failed spectacularly at asking you out - he still wrote “Step 4.5: Try again” in his notebook that night.

#bucky barnes #james barnes #bucky #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes fic #bucky x reader #bucky x female reader #bucky barnes fanfiction #bucky x you #james bucky barnes

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hellfirebarnes · 2 months ago

Text

Slow-Burns Part 6

@crowleythesexydemon

PART 1 PART 2 PART 3 PART 4 PART 5 PART 7 PART 8

Anyway, this is set after Thunderbolts so if you haven't seen it - spoilers I guess? It absolutely does not follow canon, but yeah better to be safe than sorry.

Summary: Bucky has fallen. Hopelessly. And the only thing more hopeless is his team trying to help him get to the end of this slow-burn.

Bucky x fem!SHIELD!reader

1.3K Words

You're referred to as ''Agent'' and ''Sunshine'' in a desperate attempt from me to not use Y/N.

Let me know if there's anything else I should warn about.

Otherwise, enjoy :)

The living room was a mess.

Yelena and John were yelling over the TV. Bob was trying to build what he claimed was a “treat tower” out of Oreos and pretzel sticks. Alexei was playing the Russian national anthem on his phone, loudly, for no reason. Again.

And in the middle of it all were you, cross-legged on the rug, helping Bob reinforce his structure with toothpicks.

Bucky sat on the edge of the couch, trying to look like a person who was totally relaxed and cool and not desperately in love with the woman on the floor surrounded by snacks and chaos.

“Bucky,” you said suddenly, tilting your head back to look at him upside-down. “Wanna help?”

His mouth went dry. Help? With a snack tower? With Bob? While you were smiling at him?

“Sure,” he said. It came out hoarse.

Before he could move, John flopped onto the couch next to him and tossed a ball of socks at you. “You never did laundry last week. Admit it.”

“Your evidence is circumstantial,” you replied, catching the sock and throwing it back. “That could be anybody’s weird smelly sock.”

“Don’t change the subject!”

Bob popped up beside you like a jack-in-the-box. “Hey, you want to test the structural integrity of the top floor?”

“Obviously.”

And just like that, your attention was gone again.

Bucky swallowed hard and sat back defeated. Trying to act normal around you when John and Bob existed was like trying to shout during a hurricane.

Bucky was watching the team train from the training room's observation deck, arms folded, expression unreadable, when Ava appeared beside him.

She didn’t say anything right away - just leaned on the railing and watched Yelena sweep John’s legs out from under him.

Finally, Ava spoke. “You know, for a trained assassin, your poker face sucks.”

Bucky didn’t even flinch. “Not trying to hide anything.”

“Mmm.” She gave him a look. “You’re doing the brooding thing again.”

“I’m always doing the brooding thing.”

She smiled faintly, turning toward him. “You’re not the only one who notices the way you look at her.”

That made him pause.

“She doesn’t,” he said eventually. “Or she does and she’s being kind about it.”

“She’s not being kind,” Ava replied. “She’s being herself. That’s why it matters so much to you.”

He stayed quiet, eyes drifting back down to the floor where you were laughing - completely at ease between John’s antics and Bob’s constant orbit.

“I keep waiting for the right moment,” Bucky admitted. “But they’re always there.”

Ava snorted softly. “Yeah, because they love her. That’s not going away.”

“I know.”

“You think being close to someone like that will be easy?” she asked. “You’re not falling for someone quiet, Bucky. You’re falling for someone who makes chaos feel like a home.”

He blinked at her.

“You want her attention?” Ava said. “You’ll have to earn it. Not with noise. With presence.”

He looked down at you again. And this time, he didn’t just see you. He felt the ache of wanting to be someone you could look at the way you smiled at the rest of the team. The way you smiled at him when no one else was pulling at you.

“Thanks,” he said softly.

Ava gave him a half smile and walked away.

That evening you were grabbing tea when you spotted Bucky leaning at the doorway, casual but clearly unsure of what he was doing there.

“Hey,” you greeted, warm as ever.

“Hey,” he replied. Then, braver this time, he added: “Did the snack tower survive?”

You laughed. “Bob tried to eat it mid-structural test. So… no.”

He grinned. “Sounds about right.”

You stood in silence for a beat, but it wasn’t uncomfortable.

“I liked seeing you laugh today,” he said, and instantly regretted it.

But you just blinked, then smiled, a little softer than usual. “I like when you try to laugh,” you said. “You’re getting better at it.”

Before he could say anything else, Bob’s voice echoed down the hall: “SUNSHINE! YELENA’S DESTROYING MY NEW OREO BLUEPRINT!”

“Coming!” you called back, already turning. But before you left, you bumped Bucky’s arm lightly with your elbow. “You should’ve joined us.”

He watched you go, heart in his throat. Maybe next time… he would.

Val looked far too smug for this hour.

“All right, sunshine patrol,” she said, clapping her hands once. “You’re headed into the charming little arms of an illegal weapons facility disguised as an olive oil distribution center. Get in, disable the transport grid, recover intel, don’t die. You know, Tuesday.”

You blinked blearily. “Do we at least get actual olive oil?”

“No,” Val said. “You get Bob in cargo pants. That’s your reward.”

Bob raised both fists in the air. “I love cargo pants!”

John groaned into his coffee. “It’s too early for him to be like this.”

Yelena slumped dramatically over the table. “It’s too early for anything.”

Alexei slapped a hand down on the map. “We go in hard. We go in fast. And we protect Sunshine with our lives!”

“Alexei,” Bucky muttered, “we’re all in the same amount of danger.”

“Not emotionally,” Alexei replied, with a very pointed glance toward Bucky.

It was supposed to be clean. Quick.

Instead, you were running down narrow metal walkways, gunfire ricocheting off walls, with Bob carrying the server hard drives over his head like a toddler with a bucket of toys.

“Bob, why-” you started, ducking under a burst of gunfire.

“I don’t want to crush them in my pockets!”

Bucky took out a guard coming up behind you, catching a glimpse of your wild grin through the chaos, hair wind-blown, tactical vest half-unzipped, laughter on your lips even in the heat of it.

You tossed him a flash drive mid-run. “You trust me too much,” you shouted.

“No,” he shouted back, “I just know what you can do!”

John jogged past them both. “God, are you flirting? Now?”

“Always,” you deadpanned, leaping over a pile of crates.

You made it out. Muddy. Bruised. Still laughing.

Alexei had an arm around Bob’s shoulders as they climbed into the jet. “Look at us! Victorious! And clearly, this mission proves that Sunshine and Bucky are soulmates, no?”

Bucky nearly tripped on the ramp.

You blinked. “Wait- what?”

“Absolutely,” Alexei said, entirely unfazed. “You threw a USB across a hallway into his heart!”

“That’s not where I was aiming,” you said, biting back a smile.

Bucky felt his brain short-circuit.

John gave a long-suffering sigh and climbed aboard. “Somebody sedate him.”

On the jet Bucky sat across from you, watching you curl up against the wall, one earbud in, hair mussed. You looked soft in this light. Tired and beautiful and so very real.

Alexei dropped into the seat beside him, nudging his knee. “You know, you’re going to have to do something eventually.”

Bucky didn’t look at him. “What if I mess it up?”

Alexei looked at him, strangely serious for once. “You won’t. Because it is not about being perfect. It’s about being genuine. And you, my brooding friend, are the real thing.”

Bucky glanced at you again. You were mouthing the words to your song, unaware of them.

Alexei leaned in a little closer. “You love her.”

Bucky exhaled. Yeah. He did.

And the terrifying part? It didn’t feel like a falling anymore.

It felt like coming home.

That night, back in his room, Bucky sat on the edge of his bed, staring at a small, wrinkled note you had scrawled on a post-it once during a mission debrief. Just a silly doodle of him next to Bob with the caption: Thunderbrooding & Goldie B.

He’d kept it.

He rubbed a hand over his face, heart pounding. Then stood. Opened a drawer. Pulled out a small, slightly dusty notebook.

And began to make a list.

“Operation: Court Sunshine.”

1. Don’t panic.

2. Talk to her like a person.

3. Make her laugh.

4. Show up.

5. Be someone she can lean on.

6. Ask her on a real date.

7. (Bring snacks.)

8. Try not to die of nerves.

9. Don’t let Bob beat you to it.

#bucky barnes #james barnes #bucky #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes fic #bucky barnes fanfiction #bucky x reader #bucky x female reader #bucky x you #james bucky barnes

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hellfirebarnes · 2 months ago

Note

Just powered through the first five chapters of Slow Burns, and eeeeee I love it so much! Your writing is wonderful!

aaaaaaa🥺🥺🥺🥺 thank you sosososo much!!!! You’re too sweet ❤️

#hellfirebarnes

0 notes

hellfirebarnes · 2 months ago

Text

Slow-Burns Part 5

@crowleythesexydemon

PART 1 PART 2 PART 3 PART 4 PART 6

Anyway, this is set after Thunderbolts so if you haven't seen it - spoilers I guess? It absolutely does not follow canon, but yeah better to be safe than sorry.

Summary: Bucky has fallen. Hopelessly. And the only thing more hopeless is his team trying to help him get to the end of this slow-burn.

Bucky x fem!SHIELD!reader

1.4K Words

You're referred to as ''Agent'' and ''Sunshine'' in a desperate attempt from me to not use Y/N.

Let me know if there's anything else I should warn about.

Otherwise, enjoy :)

The Tower had two personalities. Loud and unhinged by day, quiet and dimly lit at night. The kind of quiet that let your thoughts wander into dangerous territory if you weren’t careful.

You stood at the stove, barefoot in sweatpants, hair pulled back haphazardly. A pan of eggs sizzled in front of you. You weren't even really hungry, just… restless.

Behind you, a cabinet creaked open.

You didn’t have to look. “You’re about to ask if I made enough for two.”

A low, familiar voice answered. “No. I was gonna pretend I didn’t want any until I smelled it, and then pretend to be surprised.”

You turned, smiling. “Hi, Bucky.”

He was dressed in what passed as pajamas for him - black sweatpants, faded navy t-shirt, hoodie unzipped just enough to show a little collarbone that you refused to have feelings about. He looked good in the half-light. Tired. Soft.

“Bad dreams?” you asked gently, sliding some eggs onto a plate.

He hesitated. Then nodded.

“Same,” you murmured, nudging a plate toward him.

You ate in silence for a while. Side by side at the counter. The fridge hummed quietly behind you. Somewhere deep in the Tower, something beeped and reset itself. The world outside didn’t exist.

“You always this generous with your midnight cooking?” Bucky asked eventually, voice quieter now.

You smiled without looking up. “Only for people who share snacks with me on stakeouts.”

He huffed a tiny laugh. He wasn’t sure how much longer he could do this - be near you, know you like this, feel your warmth in the quiet, and not do anything about it. But he also didn’t want to rush anything. So he just ate his eggs. And stayed a little longer.

The off-grid training grounds were several hours into the woods, set against hills and pine. No cell service. No towers. No backup.

Val called it “team recalibration.”

Everyone else called it a nightmare.

“I’m not saying this place is haunted,” John said as he kicked open the cabin door, “but if a ghost asks me to get out, I’m leaving.”

“You are not leaving,” Yelena said. “You are suffering like the rest of us.”

There were three cabins in total. And it was somewhat assumed Alexei and Bob would take the first one, with you, Yelena, and Ava in the second, and Bucky stuck with John in number three. That was until the arrangements were revealed.

“Agent and Bucky, you’re in cabin three,” Val announced, like it was nothing.

John choked on his water. Yelena looked like she’d been waiting for this. Bob dropped a granola bar in shock. Alexei? Beamed like a man who’d just solved world peace.

“My time has come,” he whispered to no one.

That evening in cabin three Bucky stood awkwardly in the doorway as you set your bag down. The cabin was small. Too small. One room, two cots, and the world’s most judgmental kerosene lamp.

“This okay?” you asked, glancing at him.

He nodded stiffly. “Yeah. You?”

“Totally.” You were lying, but only a little.

You settled in - Bucky reading in silence, you flipping through a deck of Polaroids you'd already taken.

He watched you from the corner of his eye. The way your fingers lingered on each image. How your smile changed depending on who was in the frame. He could tell when you hit the photo Yelena had taken of you and Bob earlier. Your whole face lit up.

“He really likes you, huh,” Bucky said quietly.

You smiled, not looking up. “Bob? Yeah. I think he’d follow me into a volcano if I asked.”

“He would,” Bucky said, too quickly.

You looked at him, something amused and knowing in your eyes. “You jealous?”

Bucky froze. “Of Bob?”

“You’re the one who brought it up.”

He opened his mouth, then closed it again. His ears had gone pink.

You leaned back on your cot, watching him with an easy smile. “Relax, Barnes. I’m messing with you.”

He didn’t answer. But the tension in his shoulders dropped just a little.

The next day started with mud, yelling, and Alexei trying to invent new exercises on the fly.

“Three laps!” he bellowed. “Unless you are Sunshine, in which case you may do one and then rest!”

“She’s your favorite now?” John demanded.

“She is my destiny now!” Alexei announced.

Bucky nearly choked on his water.

The entire day followed that chaotic pattern.

Bob orbited you during warmups. You and John argued over the most efficient rappel technique, which ended with you shoving him into a river (he deserved it). Yelena dragged you into competitive sparring while Ava watched, amused.

Bucky, always nearby, stayed mostly quiet. But he saw everything.

The way you laughed with them. Teased. Protected. Belonged. How you were the gravity in the center of this storm of broken, volatile, half-saved people. And how you somehow made him feel like part of it too.

That night the stars were sharp and endless above them. The woods quiet. A fire crackled outside somewhere - Alexei leading a dramatic retelling of how he’d once survived an explosion “with nothing but sheer will and my elbow.”

Inside cabin three, it was quiet.

You sat cross-legged on your cot, a blanket around your shoulders, Polaroid camera in your lap. “I keep taking these,” you said, lifting the camera, “because I think one day I’ll want to look back and remember what this all felt like.”

He watched you carefully. “And what does it feel like?” he asked.

You hesitated, then met his gaze. “Like maybe this is the first place I’ve ever truly belonged.”

Bucky didn’t know what to say. Not exactly. So he reached for the camera. Held it up. And took a photo of you - quiet, wrapped in starlight and warmth and honesty.

You reached for it when it popped out, but he held it back again, just like he had the first time.

“This one’s for my wall too,” he said.

You blinked, surprised. Then your smile returned, soft and bright and achingly kind. “Good,” you said. “Then maybe I’ll start showing up in more of your memories.”

He looked at you. And his heart felt like it was overflowing.

Valentina stood at the head of the table, a sly smile playing on her lips. “We’ve got a situation,” she began, tossing a dossier onto the table. “A gala in Monaco. High-profile. Our intel suggests a potential arms deal going down under the guise of charity.”

She looked around the room, her gaze settling on you and Bob. “Agent, Bob, you’re going in undercover. Posing as a couple.”

Bob’s eyes widened. “A couple? Like, dating?”

Val smirked. “Yes, Bob. Dating. Try to act natural.”

Bucky’s jaw tightened imperceptibly. He glanced at you, who met his gaze with a shrug and a small smile.

Alexei leaned over to Bucky, whispering loudly, “This is perfect! A little jealousy might finally push you to confess your feelings.”

Bucky shot him a glare. “I’m not jealous.”

“Of course not,” Alexei said, winking.

You descended the grand staircase at the gala in a sleek black gown, your hair elegantly styled.

Bob, in a sharp tuxedo, offered his arm. “You look stunning,” he said, genuinely.

“Thank you, Bob,” you replied, taking his arm.

You mingled with the guests, laughing and chatting, all the while keeping an eye out for the target.

Bucky, stationed across the room in a security uniform, watched you closely. Every laugh, every touch felt like a punch to the gut.

Yelena sidled up to him. “You look like you’re about to explode.”

“I’m fine,” Bucky muttered.

“Sure you are,” she said, smirking.

Back at the Tower, the team gathered in the common room, debriefing over coffee.

“Great job, everyone,” Val said. “Agent, Bob, your cover was flawless.”

Bob beamed. “Thanks! She’s a great fake girlfriend.”

You chuckled. “And Bob’s a surprisingly good fake boyfriend.”

Bucky remained silent, his expression unreadable.

John clapped him on the back. “Cheer up, Barnes. It’s not like they’re actually dating.”

Alexei chimed in, “But maybe they should be. They have chemistry.”

Bucky stood abruptly. “I need some air.”

Later that night, you found Bucky on the rooftop, staring out at the city lights.

“Hey,” you said softly.

He turned to you, his expression softening. “Hey.”

You stood in silence for a moment.

“You were amazing tonight,” he said finally.

“Thank you,” you replied. “Bob was great, too.”

Bucky nodded. “Yeah, he was.”

You looked at him, your eyes searching. “You’re not jealous, are you?”

He met your gaze. “Maybe a little.”

You smiled. “Good.”

He raised an eyebrow. “Good?”

“It means you care,” you said, stepping closer.

He reached out, brushing a strand of hair from your face. “I do.”

You stood there, the city lights reflecting in your eyes, the tension between you palpable.

#bucky barnes #james barnes #bucky #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes fic #bucky x reader #bucky barnes fanfiction #bucky x female reader #bucky x you #james bucky barnes

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hellfirebarnes · 2 months ago

Text

Slow-Burns - Part 4

PART 1 PART 2 PART 3 PART 5

@crowleythesexydemon

Anyway, this is set after Thunderbolts so if you haven't seen it - spoilers I guess? It absolutely does not follow canon, but yeah better to be safe than sorry.

Summary: Bucky has fallen. Hopelessly. And the only thing more hopeless is his team trying to help him get to the end of this slow-burn.

Bucky x fem!SHIELD!reader

1.9K words

You're referred to as ''Agent'' and ''Sunshine'' in a desperate attempt from me to not use Y/N.

Let me know if there's anything else I should warn about.

Otherwise, enjoy :)

Your doorframe almost didn’t survive.

Alexei came in first, balancing three boxes and a potted plant shaped like a bear. “Room feels too small for someone as mighty as you, but we will expand it with spirit!”

Bob followed, his arms overflowing with mystery bags. “I wasn’t sure what you needed so I brought—uh—snacks, a humidifier, extra chargers, three pairs of fuzzy socks, and a lava lamp. The good kind.”

John was behind them, dragging a flat-packed shelving unit like it personally offended him. “This thing has 87 parts. I’m betting 40 of them are pointless.”

Yelena appeared moments later, already opening drawers. “Okay, closet space is trash. We’re rearranging immediately.”

Ava hovered by the door, amused. “This is like watching raccoons redecorate.”

You stood in the middle of it all, arms crossed, grinning like an idiot. It felt like a hurricane of affection.

Through it all, Bucky stayed back. He helped carry your heavier boxes that morning before the chaos started, working in quiet rhythm beside you. But once the others arrived, he ghosted again, slipping away with a low “Just let me know if you need anything.”

You noticed the absence more than you should’ve.

The chaos died down eventually. Yelena left you with a handmade vision board. Bob had insisted you keep the lava lamp “for emotional ambiance.” John offered a high five and then complained about how your bathroom was better than his.

Now, it was just you. A quiet room. And a box labeled Memories sitting untouched by the window.

You were halfway through stringing up your fairy lights and Polaroids when you heard a soft knock.

“Yeah?”

The door creaked open, and Bucky stepped in, “You need any help?”

You smiled, surprised and grateful. “Yeah. Come in.”

He crossed the room slowly, taking it all in. The string lights. The mismatched throw pillows. The soft hum of music from a half-packed Bluetooth speaker.

You handed him a few photos.

“Where should I start?”

“Anywhere. It’s kind of a patchwork.”

You worked in silence for a while. He moved carefully, deliberately, asking before placing anything. You told him which corners to double-tape. You didn’t talk much, but the space between you felt easy. Warm.

He paused at one photo. “You and… her?”

You looked up. It was a Polaroid of you and a woman laughing in the rain, soaked through, hair tangled, city lights behind you.

“Jules,” you said softly. “We met in training. She was everything I wasn’t - loud, fearless, allergic to rules. I used to think she’d burn out first, but… she made it. She transferred to intel overseas. Still texts me weird memes at 3 a.m.”

He handed it back gently, like it mattered.

“This one?” he asked, pointing to another - a blurry but beautiful image of a sunset behind what looked like a battered pickup truck.

“Oh,” you chuckled. “I was hitchhiking through Colorado. This guy picked me up in that truck. Barely ran. But he had this old cassette tape playing Fleetwood Mac, and he gave me a cherry soda. We drove for five hours and didn’t talk once. Just the music and the wind. One of the best afternoons of my life.”

Bucky didn’t smile, but something in him eased. “You take these yourself?”

“Yeah. I like the way Polaroids freeze a moment. They don’t give you time to frame it perfectly. Just… click. You have to live with what you caught.”

He looked at you then. Really looked at you.

“You always remember everything?”

You shrugged. “The things that matter.”

The next photo you held up was of a rooftop at night, string lights, and two glasses of wine on a small table.

“This one?” he asked, voice rougher now.

You hesitated. “That’s… from a night I let myself hope I wasn’t as alone as I thought.”

Bucky didn’t say anything. But he reached out. Gently took the photo. And pinned it beside the one of you in the canyon.

His hand brushed yours, lingering for a moment too long. Your breath caught. But you didn’t pull away. And neither did he.

You had just settled into a blissful evening of nothing: no alarms, no missions, no group chaos. You were wearing sweatpants and socks that didn’t match. A cup of tea steamed on your nightstand. Your lava lamp (Bob’s gift) bubbled quietly. Peace.

So naturally, that’s when it happened.

“SURPRISE!” came a chorus from behind your door, followed by what sounded like at least one confetti cannon misfiring.

You opened the door slowly. Mistake.

Yelena stood at the front like a party general, flanked by Bob (carrying a tray of jell-o shots), Ava (already sipping something suspiciously alcoholic), and John (wearing a “THIS IS MY FUN SHIRT” T-shirt). Alexei appeared behind them in a glittery party hat and a “Welcome Home, New Warrior!” sash he had clearly made himself.

“What is this?” You blinked.

“Housewarming party!” Bob beamed.

“You didn’t think we’d let your official move-in go uncelebrated, did you?” Yelena said, already pushing her way in.

“But I-” you protested.

“Too late,” Ava said. “There’s pizza coming and Alexei made a playlist called ‘Songs for Strong Daughters.’”

“It has Whitney Houston!” Alexei added proudly.

An hour later the common area had been overtaken. Balloons tied to chairs. String lights glowing extra bright. Bob had made a sign out of glitter and foam that said WELCOME SUNSHINE, OUR FAVORITE (DON’T TELL JOHN).

You floated through it all, overwhelmed in the best way. Yelena insisted you try all three versions of her spiked lemonade. Bob taught you a weird card game you immediately forgot the rules to. John kept complaining about the music but refused to leave.

You laughed more in two hours than you had all week.

And, through it all - Bucky. He stood near the edge of the room, sipping from a plain cup, eyes quietly tracking you. He hadn’t said much. But whenever you looked over, he was already watching you. Like he couldn’t help it.

Later you had your camera out, snapping Polaroids between sips of wine. Yelena making a face. Bob holding two beers like dumbbells. John caught mid-eye-roll.

You turned and raised the lens toward Bucky.

He started to shake his head.

“C’mon,” you said softly, stepping closer. “Just one.”

He hesitated. Then nodded.

You clicked the shutter—whirr-click—and the square popped out. It was slightly blurry, but the image was unmistakably him. Relaxed, for once. A tiny almost-smile that made your stomach turn over.

Before you could say anything, he surprised you.

“Your turn.”

“What?”

“You’re always the one behind the camera,” Bucky said, stepping forward slowly. “Let’s fix that.” He took the camera gently from your hands. Your fingers brushed.

You stood in place, watching him like you weren’t sure this was real.

Then—click. The photo slipped out. He caught it before it fell.

You reached for it, already smiling. “Let me see.”

But he didn’t hand it over. Instead, he held it just out of reach, expression unreadable. “I’m keeping this one,” he said, voice low. “For my wall.”

You blinked. Your chest did that soft, slow ache thing it always did when he let something honest slip through the cracks.

“Your wall, huh?”

He looked at the photo again, then at you. “Yeah. Seems like it’s missing something.”

Before you could reply, a loud, delighted gasp echoed across the room.

“WAIT A MINUTE!” Alexei bellowed, jolting everyone nearby.

He stomped over, pointing between you like he’d just discovered gravity. “You two! You’re the match! How did I not see it before?”

“Here we go,” Yelena muttered into her drink.

“I have been wasting time setting you up with strangers when my glorious friend Bucky has been brooding like tragic royalty over you for months!” Alexei continued. “Why didn’t I think of it before? I am an idiot!”

Bucky looked like he’d prefer to be anywhere else on Earth. You were covering your mouth, trying not to laugh.

“Alexei-” you started.

“No, no, do not try to talk me down. I am fixing this! You will have romantic training montages! Sparring sessions full of longing! One of you will get injured and confess feelings in a hospital bed-”

“Alright, that’s enough,” John cut in, dragging Alexei away by the sash. “You’re done.”

“I REGRET NOTHING!” Alexei yelled over his shoulder.

The room was in stitches. Bob handed you a shot. Yelena raised a toast “to inevitable love.” Ava laughed so hard she spilled her drink.

And through it all, Bucky stayed beside you. Quiet. Still holding that Polaroid.

You leaned in a little, voice barely above the music. “You’re really gonna keep it?”

He looked down at the photo, then back at you. “Yeah,” he said, softer than before. “I want to remember tonight.”

You didn’t say anything. But your smile said enough.

Val slapped a file down on the table, already mid-rant. “Simple infiltration. In and out. No surprises. Which means, naturally, something is going to go sideways.”

Yelena raised a hand. “Do we get to blow something up?”

“No.”

Alexei raised a hand. “What about someone?”

“Also no.” Val rolled her eyes and flicked a look toward you, who had just dropped into a seat between Ava and Bucky.

“You’re team lead on intel,” Val said. “They’ve been moving data through a shell company in Madrid. We need access. No blown covers, no trail.”

“Copy that,” you said, already scanning the file.

Bucky sat quiet beside you, jaw clenched, knuckles brushing the edge of the table every so often like he wasn’t sure what to do with his hands. He hadn’t talked to you much since the party. Since he kept that photo.

Not that you minded. You hadn’t said anything either. But you'd smiled when he walked in this morning. Just for him. He was still trying to recover.

The team split: Yelena, John, and Ava created distraction on the street level while you and Bucky infiltrated the top-floor server room of a sleek, glass building downtown.

It should’ve been easy. And it was - until the door sealed behind you and the power cut out.

“Great,” you muttered, flicking on a small penlight. “Of course this happens when I’m the one with the file.” You bent to work on the manual override. The penlight trembled slightly in your hand.

“You good?” Bucky asked quietly.

“I’m fine,” you replied. But you weren't - not entirely.

You hated tight spaces. Not a full-blown phobia, just… a lingering thing. A relic from a mission gone wrong years ago. You didn’t usually talk about it.

Bucky noticed anyway. He didn’t say anything else, but he stepped beside you, close enough to cast his calm over you like a weighted blanket. You worked in tandem, your fingers on the lock, his flashlight on the wiring panel. Close enough that his arm brushed yours every few seconds.

You didn’t move away. Neither did he.

The moment the power returned and the door released, you were back to mission mode. The others regrouped at the extraction van.

“Smooth job,” John said, passing you each water bottles. “Except for the part where you two got ghosted by electricity.”

You rolled your eyes. “It was barely twenty minutes.”

“I would’ve chewed through the door,” Bob offered helpfully. “Just saying.”

Alexei grinned. “That’s why we didn’t put you in charge of intel.”

As the team bickered good-naturedly in the back of the van, Bucky sat beside you, hands resting on his knees, shoulder just grazing yours.

No one commented. But you noticed. When you turned slightly to look at him, he was already looking at you. Neither of you said anything.

But the silence between you felt less like distance now. More like something unspoken, steadily building.

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