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justsomebucky · 7 years ago

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Three Hours

Summary: AU. A three-hour drive to the middle of nowhere with your boyfriend Bucky doesn’t end the way you expected.

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x fem!reader

Word Count: 1,746

Warnings: language, ridiculous amounts of fluff, apologies to bears for any assumptions made

A/N: This is my submission for the wonderful @mydragulesebastian‘s 2.5k writing challenge! Congratulations you talented goddess. Prompt is in bold. I needed a soothing balm post-IW.

You didn’t question your boyfriend of two years when he said he needed you to drive him three hours from the city. You didn’t inquire as to what could be so important that you leave as the sun was beginning to set. You didn’t ask why he couldn’t drive himself. You trusted him. He wouldn’t have brought it up if it wasn’t important to him, if he didn’t need you, and that was a good enough reason for you to hop in your car. You could do this small favor for someone you loved so much.

He’d been nervous all day, pacing back and forth like a caged animal. Maybe it had to do with this drive, though a quick glance told you his anxiety hadn’t lessened yet.

It was really strange for him to have this sort of energy since he was normally a pretty calm guy.

As he sat staring at the map on his phone, watching as the little GPS tracker showed your progress, you wondered what this was really about.

Was he in trouble?

No, that couldn’t be it. Bucky Barnes wasn’t really the type to start trouble. While his best friend Steve seemed to find it with ease, Bucky tried to stay away from it unless someone really needed him.

What could it be?

You didn’t realize you were frowning at the road ahead until he mentioned it.

“What’s wrong? Do you want me to drive?”

“I’m fine,” you insisted, switching hands on the wheel. “Put on some music or something, please.”

You didn’t want to hear your own thoughts anymore.

In your periphery, you saw him watch you carefully for a few seconds before he complied, switching to a station that played pop music.

“That?” he asked, hand paused over the buttons.

“Something a little less perky would be better.”

Bucky hummed at you, then switched it to an oldies station. A sweet melody filled your ears, and you smiled faintly.

“Thank you.”

---

Your car was the only one on that particular stretch of road at that hour, so you kept your high beams on to cast off the darkness. At this point you were just glad that no animals had decided to make an unexpected appearance in your path.

When you failed to stifle a yawn, you heard Bucky shift in his seat. He hadn’t looked at his phone or said anything for so long that you had assumed he’d fallen asleep.

“Doing okay, doll?”

“I’m all right. Are we almost there?”

“Almost.” Out came the phone map again. “Another half-hour or so.”

Questions were on the tip of your tongue: why are we out here in the dark? What is going on? Are you in trouble? Could you at least give me a hint, here?

Still, you said nothing, letting the sound of doo-wop groups of old distract you for the time being.

---

Your muscles were stiff by the time Bucky instructed you to take exit twenty-one down a winding road to a lot on the edge of a wooded area. You parked and shut the engine off before turning to him to see if you could finally get some answers.

“Are you gonna explain this? I mean, it’s just gotten a little weird, Buck.”

“It’ll be self-explanatory soon enough.”

“You didn’t make me drive out here to murder me, did you?”

Bucky made a face at you. “Hilarious. No, I asked you to drive so I could navigate. Pop the trunk, would ya?”

He must have packed ahead of time, because you didn’t know he brought a blanket and an actual picnic basket. You also didn’t know they still made picnic baskets like that because you’d only ever seen them on TV.

His arms were full, so you reached out to close the trunk before grabbing the blanket to carry.

“This is why you made me drive three hours out into the middle of nowhere? So we could have a night picnic in the dark scary woods while bears try to maul us?”

“No,” he huffed out, turning away from you toward the wooded area where a small path was lined with solar lights. “We are not here to be eaten by bears or anything else.”

You hurried to keep up. “You could have told me you wanted to go camping. I would have made sure we were all set with a nice tent, and-“

“We aren’t camping, Y/N,” he interrupted. “Just follow me.”

The air was still warm even though the sun had gone down a while ago, and for that you were grateful. Since you had no clue where you were headed, you didn’t think to bring a jacket or anything.

And really, who would have assumed that city boy Bucky Barnes would want to park himself in the middle of some trees? He was getting older, maybe he was having an identity crisis. Maybe Sam told him he went camping or hiking and bragged about it enough that Bucky felt obligated to go too.

Either way, you found yourself in the middle of a clearing, watching as Bucky took the blanket from your hands and unfurled it over the soft grass. When everything else was in place, he sat down on the blanket and patted the spot next to him. Reluctantly, you sat down cross-legged.

Yeah, you were definitely going to be eaten by a bear.

“We could have picnicked on the roof of our building, you know,” you pointed out, glancing around as your eyes finally adjusted to the dark.

There were fireflies all around you, offering a light show for free.

Bucky nudged you. “That’s something you couldn’t see from the roof of our building.”

His voice was so soft, so different than normal that you turned to look at him in question. His eyes held a faraway look, like that moment was something he’d been hoping would happen for a while now.

That’s what got you, that look of wonder in his normally stormy blue eyes. He’d grown up in the city and didn’t really get to experience this sort of thing very often.

And besides, any time spent with him was worth it, no matter the setting.

You laid back on the blanket and nearly gasped at the sight of a million stars twinkling above. You had been so focused on Bucky and your own thoughts that you didn’t even notice.

“Okay, Barnes. You got me.”

He let out a laugh before scooting a little closer to lie back too. “Was it worth the three-hour drive?”

“Yeah.” You turned your head to smile at him. “It’s beautiful.”

“Good, because any minute now it’s going to get even better.”

“What do you mean?”

Bucky’s eyes flickered back to the night sky. “Just watch.”

---

It took only ten minutes or so for anything to happen.

The moonless sky with its millions of tiny flickering stars stared back at you while you waited. Those minutes were silent, filled with contemplation. It was you and Bucky against the whole universe and you couldn’t help but feel a little encouraged.

Life could be so rough sometimes. There were days, weeks even, when you would get caught up in your work or bills or repairs or anything, really. You’d spend hours worrying, feeling anxious enough for both you and Bucky for whatever reason on any given day.

Those problems all seemed so small the moment the first meteorite blazed a path of light above you.

And you always thought after every meltdown, after the feelings finally melted away for a brief respite, that maybe Bucky was your anchor. Bucky was the one who helped put everything in perspective when all you wanted to do was give up. Bucky trudged with you through the mud until you felt light on your feet again.

This whole time, Bucky was trying to get you to see the universe for what it was - endless possibilities just waiting for you to look up and notice.

A wave of emotion crashed over you, and you reached over for his hand. You intertwined your fingers with his and watched as more streaks tore across the sky.

“So is this romantic or what?” There was a small smile on his lips; he knew the answer to that already. “I read about this meteor shower weeks ago and I just knew we had to see it.”

You squeezed his hand gently. “Definitely romantic, Buck.”

“Good.”

Bucky pulled away after a minute or so, ignoring your protests as he sat up and rummaged through the picnic basket.

You scoffed. “I was totally about to suggest cuddling. Your loss, mister.”

He muttered something unintelligible as his movements became more frantic.

You sat up too, peering over his arm to try to see what he was doing. “What are you looking for? It’s a bit late to eat, don’t you think?”

“Not food,” he mumbled, yanking the basket closer as if he was shielding it from view.

“No?” It was too dark to see, anyway. “What’s in there then? Wine?”

The telltale sign of glasses clanking together made you think it was either wine or champagne. You were just about to suggest drinking whatever it was before it got warm, but stopped when you saw something tumble to the blanket.

You leaned over, trying to reach for it from where you sat. “Is that what you’re looking for?”

Bucky set the basket aside and grabbed the small square before you could get your hands on it.

“Well, is it?”

“Yeah,” he said, running a hand over his face. He looked nervous again, and as your eyes flitted down to the small box in his grasp, you finally realized why.

“Oh my god,” you whispered, eyes wide. “Bucky…”

“I didn’t mean for you to find it first,” he groaned, shaking his head. “Dammit! This was going so well!”

You reached out and put a hand on his arm. “Buck, I promise you, nothing is going wrong. Just…just say what you want to say.”

His blue eyes flickered to yours, and he was silent for a beat.

Your heartbeat picked up the pace as you held his gaze.

Then, while light streaked across the sky above you, while fireflies sparkled and crickets sang a love song for you both, Bucky Barnes shifted to a kneeling position in front of you and opened the small box in his hand.

Really, what were three hours compared to forever?

---

#sadies2.5K #bucky barnes x reader #bucky x reader #bucky barnes imagine #bucky barnes fanfiction #bucky barnes cheese plate story #jsb three hours #jsb writing challenge submission #sorry if there are errors I'm posting at the deadline

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justsomebucky · 7 years ago

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Broken

Summary: AU. There’s something about a painting that you just can’t shake.

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x fem!reader

Word Count: 2,742

Warnings: language, bad art references, mean people suck, cheesiness, i needed fluff okay?

A/N: This is my (super late - sorry!) submission for Carley ( @asirenscalling) first writing challenge. My prompt was the song “Broken” by lovelytheband which I had never heard before taking this challenge and now I hear it all the time. PS I don’t know anything about art but I know lots about loneliness.

Your head tilted to the side a little, as if that would give you a better answer as to what the hell you were looking at.

You were at an exhibition that featured some of your friend Steve Rogers’ art, which was the only reason you even bothered showing up. Steve was a good friend and you were happy to support him even if crowds weren’t your thing.

There were so many people standing around holding overpriced glasses of champagne and rosé, so many people who looked like they fit in even as they walked right past the work of artists they never heard of. Their snobbery was polluting the atmosphere. That’s why you were sort of off by yourself, moving at a slower pace so that you could experience each section as an artist like Steve would have wanted.

The exhibition, entitled “An Emotional Life,” was supposed to represent the spectrum of human emotions, divided into sections which contained hand-selected contributions from several different artists.

You were standing in the section aptly titled ‘Confusion,’ staring at something that looked like a Jackson Pollock meets a paint-by-numbers, only even messier.

“Totally confusing. Well done,” you muttered, moving down the line to the next section, ‘Loneliness.’

The first few pieces were cliché…an empty room, a single tree in a wheat field…the typical visual representations of the word itself. They didn’t interest you; you knew scenes like that well enough in your daily life as a single person in an overpopulated city.

Loneliness and aloneness didn’t always go hand-in-hand for you, though. Sometimes you relished the solitude, the way that you could go about your free time however you pleased without having to consider someone else as you would in a relationship.

No, there were far worse situations that made you feel lonely.

There were times when you were excited about something but had no one to tell, no one who would listen and try to feel excited for you, too. Going to the airport usually brought a lonely feeling with it, because while everyone else had someone to see them off or greet them upon return, you were always traveling alone. Seeing other people hug goodbye or kiss hello sometimes left you with a pit at the bottom of your stomach.

That was the same feeling the next canvas gave you the second you laid eyes on it.

You could tell right away that it was one of Steve’s. The style was the same (not to mention the SR in the corner), and you were once again blown away by his talent.

The piece, titled ‘(Un)relatable,’ featured a man sitting on a subway car, his elbows resting on his knees with his hands clasped together in front of him. His head was down, but you could still see enough of his face to see he was handsome. He looked uncomfortable at best.

Why?

The people closest to him were turned away from him, one with a look of disgust and one with her own look of discomfort. Others were standing and holding on to the hand rail though there were open seats on either side of the man.

It took you a second to try to figure out why they were avoiding him. Your eyes scanned his face, his hair, his clothing…

That’s when you realized that he had a prosthetic arm. It was metal, but his long sleeve hid most of it well enough. The hand, though…his hand was obvious.

You took a step closer, squinting a little at the man’s features. His expression made your heart ache; it was pretty clear that this was why he looked so uncomfortable. Everyone knew loneliness, but you couldn’t fathom what it must be like to be him knowing that people could be that cruel.

“It’s a little exaggerated, but not as much as you might hope.”

You whirled around at the familiar voice and faced your friend, Steve Rogers, for the first time all night. “This is stunning, Steve. Your work is beautiful.”

“Thanks.” He gave you a smile. “Glad you could make it out. I know this isn’t your thing.”

“That man…who is he?” You turned back to the painting, eyes drawn to his face again.

Steve moved to stand beside you. He put his hands in his pockets with a soft sigh. “That’s my best pal, Bucky. As you can see there, he’s got a prosthesis. Not everyone is kind about it.”

“How did he feel about being a subject for your art?” you asked, side-eyeing Steve. “This seems pretty personal.”

He shrugged. “Buck’s a good guy, he didn’t mind too much. He just told me to not expect him to come see it here.”

Someone shouted for Steve, and he gave you an apologetic look. “Gotta go. I’ll see you soon, okay?”

“Sure,” you agreed, giving him a quick hug.

“Thanks again for coming!” He gave you another smile, then left you standing alone with his art once again.

Your eyes flitted back to the man on the subway.

---

The next few days went by without anything out of the ordinary happening. Work was the same, your home life was the same…the only thing that felt different now was you.

You had to see it again.

For some reason, you couldn’t get ‘(Un)relatable’ out of your brain. It was such an everyday scene; a subway car full of strangers who weren’t interacting was pretty common in New York. Maybe the discomfort the man felt was common, too.

But his face…there was something about him that was drawing you in and you couldn’t shake him.

You went back to the exhibit four days after opening night, feeling kind of uncertain as to what you expected to find when you saw the painting again.

There were a few college students standing around in front of the ‘Loneliness’ section. They were pointing to a few things in some other pieces, but none of them stayed in front of Steve’s painting for long. That gave you a chance to swoop in and stand in front of it, fully prepared to analyze it further. Maybe a second study would give you the closure you needed to stop thinking about it.

Instead, that ache returned to your chest. It was dumb, but you desperately wanted to step into the painting’s scene and sit beside Bucky. You wanted to glare at everyone around him and make them feel as small and uncomfortable as they had made Bucky feel.

You wanted to be lonely there with him.

The loneliness was seeping from his posture. It dulled his gaze and though laugh lines were painted around his eyes, there was no sign of a smile. Every detail, from the stitched eyebrows to the creases at his mouth, made you want to curl up beside him until he smiled again.

It may only be a painting, but the man in it was real, and he was out there somewhere feeling the same way you felt. You were so lost in your thoughts that you didn’t even notice when a man in a baseball cap moved closer to the painting for a better look.

“I’m sorry,” you said, stepping out of the way. You were hogging the painting when you should really be getting home. Nothing during this second viewing had changed how you felt about the piece. It might have actually made things worse.

“No problem,” the man said, his voice soft. He didn’t even look at you, and you didn’t get a good glance at him, either.

It was usually interesting to see someone else discover the painting, to see them digest the meaning and the feelings it provoked, but he offered no outward signs. Eventually, the man’s posture deflated, and he turned to leave.

He glanced over at you, eyes widening when he realized you were still standing there. He gave you a nod, then turned and quickly walked back to the exit.

Your heart was racing, though, because you recognized him almost immediately.

Bucky Barnes had shown up after all.

---

The guy at the front desk knew you by name now, that’s how many times you’d bought a ticket for the exhibition that week. That evening was the last time the exhibition would be up and running. They were going to shut it down to make room for a new one tomorrow.

Bucky hadn’t been to see the painting again, at least not while you were there. You began to wonder if you were showing up again and again for the painting or to maybe catch another glimpse of him, which was probably weird.

Okay, it was definitely weird. Bucky probably hadn’t expected to see someone there in front of his painting. He probably hadn’t expected to see someone staring at him when he turned around. If the situations were reversed, it would have made you exit the gallery immediately, too.

Yet there you were again, back in front of the painting. This time, you wanted to observe other people’s reactions to the art. Maybe it would give you a better sense of how he had felt that day on the subway.

First you saw an elderly couple approach, and the woman almost immediately made a face, tugging on her husband’s arm to get away from the painting of the ‘delinquent.’ How the hell she got that impression from the art, you had no idea, but it pissed you off. Didn’t she see the way the others were treating Bucky? Hadn’t she noticed the look in his eyes before passing judgment?

The next to approach were two teenage girls. “I still would,” the redhead declared with a giggle, as if Bucky’s prosthetic arm was what made his compatibility debatable. Her friend rolled her eyes, though she was laughing too. These girls clearly thought they were worthy of someone like Bucky, though their shallow behavior made your stomach turn a little. A prosthetic arm didn’t make someone less attractive, but their attitudes certainly made them so.

You looked away, staring at the painting until they finally left.

A third person approached in that short amount of time, but you didn’t bother to look up. What was another comment, really? You couldn’t handle more of the same, and it only made you feel worse for Bucky. He had to live this daily.

“Don’t.”

Your eyes flickered to your right, where Bucky Barnes was standing again, watching you.

Your anger and disgust from the previous visitors dissipated at the sight of him.

“Don’t what?”

“Don’t pity me,” he answered, nodding once at the painting. “Steve took artistic license with what he remembered from that day.”

“Oh.” You turned back to the painting. “Set the scene for me, then.”

Bucky sighed, shifting his weight on his feet a little, his hands still in his pockets. “We were on our way home. I was standing on the platform waiting for the train, and I forgot myself for a second.”

“Forgot yourself?” Your brows furrowed as you tried to picture it in your head. “What do you mean?”

“I took my hand out of my pocket,” he explained. “They all saw it, and chose not to sit beside me. I guess it’s weird, I don’t know. I don’t usually do that in public because it’s not…it doesn’t look like a real arm. But I liked it better when I had to pick one out.”

“What happened?” You looked over at him again. “Why did you…have to pick it out?”

The corner of his mouth lifted and his blue eyes met yours again. “What happened to my arm, you mean? It’s a long story.”

“Oh,” you said again. For some reason, you weren’t sure what to say to him without weirding him out further.

A stretch of silence passed with the two of you standing together, both unsure of what to say next.

“So anyway,” Bucky spoke up again, “don’t feel bad for me. They might not have been the most pleasant people, but it wasn’t as bad as it seemed.”

He was just about to turn and leave when you finally found the words you wanted to say.

“I don’t,” you countered, turning toward his retreating form. “I don’t feel bad for you, I feel…this is going to sound dumb, but I feel connected in a way. You sit there –” you gestured to the painting “- and you are surrounded by people every day on the subway, but for their own selfish and idiotic reasons, they don’t interact with you. You’re alone in a crowded place.”

Bucky didn’t say anything, just turned back to face you with interest on his features now.

You took that as a good sign to continue.

“I might not have the same reasons, but I feel that way all the time.” You looked away, moving closer to the painting. “You feel separated from the rest of the world. The part that hurts the most is your expression, the look in your eyes…Steve couldn’t possibly have made that up, it looks far too real. You look like life has just been beating you down so much that you’re…”

“Broken?” he supplied quietly.

Was that the word you had been looking for?

“Maybe, maybe not. What does that even mean? Who decides the level of loneliness that breaks you?”

“It’s personal.” Bucky shrugged. “I felt a little broken that day.”

“But you were with Steve, obviously. You spent the day with a friend.”

“If you know Steve, then you know what he’s like. Mr. Perfect couldn’t ever relate.”

“I thought loneliness was universal.”

He was about to reply, but a man in a green vest walked over to you both. “I’m sorry to interrupt, but the gallery is closing early for a private party. Please finish up your visit.”

As soon as he walked away again, you glanced at Bucky. “I guess that’s it, then.”

“Yeah.” He rubbed his chin. “I’m sorry, I didn’t even catch your name?”

“It’s Y/N,” you supplied, backing away slowly. “Thanks for the chat. I’ll…well maybe I’ll see you around sometime.”

Bucky moved in your direction, his hands still tucked in his pockets. “Do you want to, uh…maybe go get some coffee? We could keep debating our misery?”

There was something in his eyes this time, something hopeful, a spark of sweetness that wasn’t reflected in the painting. No, this was something new, something that your company had provoked.

This time, your smile was bright. “I’d like that.”

---

Steve opened his own art gallery later that year. Opening night just happened to fall on the sixth-month anniversary of your first coffee date with Bucky Barnes, so the two of you were going to stop by and show your support before going out to dinner.

When he spotted you, Steve made his way over to give you both a hug, then led you to his newest piece that was the center of this latest exhibition.

It was called ‘(Un)broken’ and it was your debut as a subject in a painting. In it, you and Bucky were sitting on the subway together, your arm entwined with his while you smiled at each other.

You already loved it.

Steve had given you the original painting of Bucky, the one that had brought the two of you together, as an anniversary gift, but he informed you first thing that he was keeping this new one to ‘brighten up his gallery.’

“What do you think?” Steve asked, unable to hide his smile as he watched you both for reactions.

“It’s amazing,” you told him sincerely, eyes bright. “Do I really look like that?”

“Happy?” Bucky asked. “Beautiful? Like you’re in love? Yes to all three.”

“Good.” You gave a nod at the painting, then looked back to Steve. “It’s amazing and accurate.”

Steve chuckled. “Glad you like it. What about you, Buck?”

“What’s not to like?” Bucky had a small smile on his face as he took in all the painting’s details. “It’s a vast improvement on the last one.”

“The painting or the subject?” you asked, raising an eyebrow. “Because I happen to love both paintings and their subject.”

Bucky’s smile widened as he looked at you, his blue eyes searching yours for a second.

You held his gaze, grinning when you felt his metallic hand reach for yours, intertwine your fingers, and give your hand a little squeeze.

“I love you, too,” he said simply.

---

#ascwritingchallenge #bucky barnes x reader #bucky x reader #jsb broken #jsb writing challenge submission #not even sure if this fic makes sense tbh

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