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marvelstoriesepic · 1 month ago

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Angstober (day 10)

Pairing: College!Bucky x College!Reader

Prompt: Humiliation

Word Count: 2.2k

Warnings: Bucky is a jerk (he does have a sense of regret); reader is humiliated; mentions of self-doubt and insecurities; toxic and strict parents; hurt!reader; sad!reader; ending is quite open but not really happy

Angstober Masterlist

This is bad.

This is really, really bad.

You stare at the sheet of paper in front of you - the exam your professor just handed back, corrected. And it seems like there were quite a few things needing to be corrected.

82%

The number burns behind your eyes, but you don’t get your gaze to turn away. It sits there so innocently as if it doesn’t matter. As if there isn’t something at stake here. As if you could be satisfied with it.

Your mouth goes dry. You had studied days and nights for this exam, as you always do, buried yourself in textbooks, flashcards, anything to cram more information into your already overloaded brain. All for 82%.

Heat creeps up the back of your neck, your skin prickling with it, like embarrassment and dread decided to team up against you, merging into something gruesome, something you can’t escape.

Around you, students already started to pack up their bags, laughing, chattering, moving on. But you can’t move. You’re frozen on this bench, apprehension sinking into your bones and making them too heavy to lift your body.

Thinking that way over a grade - with it being objectively even a decent one - would perhaps be considered dramatic. Some fellow students had cheered at much lower numbers when the professor handed out the results earlier. And perhaps, you would have even been okay with this. Perhaps you could even allow yourself a tiny flicker of satisfaction if this were about you. But it’s not. It never is.

It’s about your parents.

It’s basically ingrained in them to scrutinize every part of you, every grade, every decision. They keep close tabs on everything you do, everything that may be a hazard for the path they laid out for you a long time ago. But you don’t walk this path voluntarily. You’re being pushed, forced to take steps closer to a dream you never claimed as your own. And that can only weigh a person down.

So maybe you’re not even that surprised about the grade. Pressure is a bitch. Especially when it’s boiling, simmering under the surface, until your mind can’t comprehend the simplest of information anymore. But they won’t consider anything like that when they find out. And they will find out. They always do. It’s like they have eyes everywhere, monitoring you, waiting for you to slip.

And 82%? You may as well have flunked the entire thing.

The last time you fell short of their expectations had been 86%. Funnily enough, it was the exam before this one, so that makes things even worse. Your parents had acted like you dragged the family name through the mud and intentionally smeared it all over just to spite them.

And every word they threw at you was laced with that cutting edge that usually ends up making you feel small, insignificant, stupid. Really, it doesn’t stop there.

You don’t live with them anymore. You took the chance and moved away for college the second you could, hoping for an escape, carte blanche, freedom, whatever the hell people like to call it.

But the distance wasn’t able to cut the ties. They’re still there. Their expectations, their rules, fighting for dominance in the back of your head and hanging over you like a dark cloud. And you know with chilling certainty that this 82% is going to rain hell on your head.

Your hands feel heavy, too heavy to lift, too heavy to even pack up your things like everyone else. You just sit, paralyzed by the weight of their disappointment that hasn’t even happened yet, but you know is coming.

“Y/n!”

Wanda’s voice reaches you through the haze, your thoughts had blurred into. Her voice carries hints of that teasing tone she loves to use on you.

“Pack up, slowpoke! I gotta catch my bus!”

“Yeah, right, sorry,” you mutter, blinking yourself out of that numbness that had been creeping in. You snatch up that exam paper and shove it into your bag, crumbling it in the process but not at all caring. It’s better out of sight. You throw the rest of your stuff into the bag as well and rush to the door of the lecture hall, meeting Wanda there.

You two take different buses to get home every day but always walk to the bus station together after the classes of the day are over. And thank god this was the last one of the day, the last one of the week.

A weekend to drown yourself in your sorrows is what you need.

“Soo…” Wanda sing-songs, a hint of something in her voice. “There’s this party tonight…” she trails off, giving you a sideways glance, eyes wide with expectation and a bright grin on her face.

You sigh. Heavily. Deeply. “Wan-” you start, already shaking your head without turning to her, but she doesn’t let you get far.

“Come on, Y/n,” she practically begs, drawing out the words. “You’ve been working yourself to death for weeks. And now that the exams are over, we don’t have anything due for ages! We’ve got time. And, well, don’t punch me for this, but you need to come out, let off some steam.”

You don’t give her much of a reaction as you carry on with your steps, head turned forward, watching the bus station in the distance grow bigger. This isn’t the first time she’s asked you this and it certainly won’t be the last.

“I’m not-” you start your usual rejection, but she is relentless, already prepared for your banter.

“I’ll make sure you have a good time. It’ll be fun, you’ll meet some new people, let loose a little,” she nudges you lightly, “forget about the dragons for a while.”

At that, a huff of laughter escapes your lips and you make out the triumph in Wanda’s eyes even though you’re still not looking at her directly. At some point, Wanda had resigned to calling your parents the dragons. You took offense at that for them for a while. Or you tried to at least but, honestly, it actually made your situation with them humorous to some twisted extent.

You want to argue. You want to dig your heels in and tell her no like you usually do. But you’re tired. Tired of this conversation, tired of the accusations of your parents - the dragons - you will have to prepare for, tired of that weight that never really moves off your shoulders.

So you really can’t be mad at yourself for this.

“Alright, fine, whatever. But just this once.”

Wanda squeals.

****

Yeah, this was a mistake.

The moment you and Wanda put foot into the room, vibrating with music that leaves you stumbling, eyes move over to you.

Actually, perhaps, it aren’t even many. But receiving attention from a whole bunch of people isn’t something that happens to you on a daily basis, so having those few students turn in your direction, ogling your form as you walk into the life of the party, overwhelms you with an intensity that forces you to halt.

You had hoped you could use this night to finally forget, to get an escape where no one would notice you. That doesn’t seem to happen. Wanda also doesn’t let you retreat back into the night, and find solace in a bottle somewhere far from here - somewhere quiet.

“Hey!”

You know that voice. You hate that voice and everything that belongs to its owner.

“Took a wrong turn there, sweetheart. Library’s the other way!”

There’s a laugh in his voice, the exaggerated mocking he always uses to taunt you, perfectly edged into it and you pretend not to hear him, only gripping Wanda’s arm tighter. His friends sharp laughter isn’t ignored that easily though, and you feel that well-known shame boil over far too easily.

“Oh, how would you know, Barnes?” Wanda shoots back, her voice mocking, but lacking that same playfulness she used with you earlier. A few more snorts from Bucky’s group follow but you don’t turn around as Wanda pulls you passed them.

You hate this. Already.

Bucky is at every party, so you knew he would be here. And you had tried to mentally prepare for his presence, steeled yourself against the jibes and insults he usually throws at you. Well, at least you had thought you were ready. But no amount of preparation could ever arm you against the venom sneaking into your thoughts at every word of his. How they latch onto the darkest corners of your mind, feeding the doubts already planted there.

It’s always been this way with him. He has always been this way. Since the first semester, it’s as if he has a vendetta against you, and you’ve become his favorite target. It started with him noticing you sitting over a textbook in the library, in the mensa, in study halls, all over campus really, and he made sure to always point it out. To make fun of it. To make fun of you.

Perhaps there is some warped entertainment in your discomfort that he savors. You’re an easy mark - soft-spoken, non-confrontational. You don’t fight back. Instead, you bury your hurt, swallowing the insecurities he rises in you, without showing a soul. Your parents were good at teaching you how to do that.

He doesn’t see how deeply his jokes cut, because you never let him see it. But you don’t think he’d care if he did.

“Does this not ever get boring to you?”

“It’s not like anyone’s going to remember you if you stay holed up in your books all the time”

“At some point, you gotta focus on the right things in life, sugar.”

Once they’re said, they never leave your head, always coming to the forefront of your mind in times you can’t handle them.

Now is one of those times.

“Wanda, I’m leaving,” you say, words holding the determination you needed all day, yanking your arm free from her grip, harsher than intended.

You need to get out of here, need to take a fucking breath, and get a taste of the cool air outside since the heat flooding your blood and skin makes it feel like you’re burning from the inside out.

You make for the door, but his voice finds you again.

“Now, hold on, where you goin'? Can’t leave yet, L/n. You just got here.”

You don’t stop at his bullshit, willing yourself to ignore him. But your fingers start trembling, growing slick with sweat.

“And hey, since I get the chance to talk to you… 82%?”

You freeze.

Your heart stutters, a cold shock icing your veins. It’s like the air has been sucked out of the room leaving you to search for oxygen. You don’t want to turn around, don’t want to give him the satisfaction of seeing your reaction, but you’re stuck. Glued to the spot, giving him and his words the power to anchor you in place.

“Really?” Bucky continues, voice still dripping with teasing mockery, unaware of your struggle. “With all those all-nighters at the library? I gotta say, Y/n, that’s actually impressive.”

The rushing sound in your ears devours everything else - the way Wanda jumps in to your defense, as always; the same menacing laughter of his friends - it’s all drowned out by the pounding in your skull.

Your hands ball into fists, nails digging into your palms. You feel the burn of tears, that familiar sting in the corners of your eyes, and you fight it. You fight it because the last thing you want is to cry in front of him, in front of all these people, all these damn prying eyes.

You turn around without even thinking, your gaze locking onto Bucky’s. He’s grinning that satisfied smirk, a gleam in his eyes but then, in a space of a heartbeat, his expression changes, falters. His smile is wiped off his face in seconds as his eyes widen. Shock enters his features, easing the lines and sucking out the color on his face as his lips part slightly, slowly.

You can’t place his reaction, but you figure it out when your body betrays you. Lips trembling, you pull your bottom lip between your teeth but you can’t do anything for the tears blurring your vision rapidly.

Bucky is still staring at you, frozen, gaping; his face a mix of something you don’t want to concentrate on. He’s not the one allowed to be in pain right now. He’s not the one allowed to feel the rising load of agony. So why the hell does he look like it?

You turn on your heel as the hot tears start gliding down your cheeks and your body doesn’t feel like your own as you hastily make your way to the door. Your hand flies to your mouth, hoping it will stifle the sound of the sob that emerges from deep within, trying to hold onto the last shred of control and dignity you have left as you bolt from the room.

You’ve never left a place this fast before.

Not even your parent's house.

🍁 October Writing Challenges Masterlist 🍁

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miilkybnn · 5 months ago

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james buchanan barnes

#TUMBLR MADE IT SOOO CRUNCHY JUST OPEN IT #milky art #marvel bucky barnes #bucky barnes #marvel #winter soldier #james buchanan barnes #my art #this was a doodle i was trying to figure out how to draw him #him so #hem #hhuheuhfuuhdhg #everyone say thank you to my boyfriend for finally making me watch winter soldier #all i think sbout is him now.... ..#mr barnes.... mr banres.....

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last-herondale · 8 months ago

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Almost

Bucky Barnes x FemReader!

Angst, heartbreak, longing, unrequited love

Hello! It’s been a while, but here is my Bucky fic that I promised from my poll!

The night air was cool and crisp against your skin. The wind was blowing slightly, not enough to be uncomfortable, but enough to cause stray pieces of your hair to swirl into the night as you leaned on the balcony of the Avenger’s tower. You could hear the music from the party inside, its rhythmic beat softly booming from within. It was Steve’s birthday party and it was a lively event that you, Nat, Sam, Bucky, and surprisingly Tony, had spent weeks planning. The guardians had flown in for the occasion, as well as Carol and Thor, who had Loki in tow with him. The night started off simple enough with a nice dinner at a fancy restaurant. It was just Steve, Bucky, Nat, Sam, and yourself at dinner while Tony was busy finishing the party preparations with Bruce.

You had wondered if dinner would be awkward at all. It had been 10 months since Bucky and Nat had broken up, and it had been a strenuous ordeal for the whole team. Nat had broken it off with Bucky, for personal reasons she had told you in confidence. You knew they had had problems during their relationship, problems mostly stemming from their mutual inability to be there for each other emotionally. It was a tough reality to face, for both of them. You often felt like the bridge between the two of them, being the one that both parties were able to confide in. It was hard to be impartial to either side.

On one hand, Natasha was your best friend. She had been ever since you joined the team. She had been dating Bucky when you first joined the team, and your friendship only seemed to strengthen once they broke up. You loved Nat, and treasured her friendship more than anything in the world. You were very surprised when she told you that she started seeing Bruce Banner a few months ago. Even though Bruce seemed like the opposite of Bucky, in all accounts she seemed very happy with him. And you were happy that she was happy…

But on the other hand, there was Bucky. He had been devastated by the breakup. He had wanted nothing more than to drown away his sorrows in booze and fill his nights with endless distractions. You had been very surprised when he had called you one night, asking if you wanted to hang out with him and Steve. Nat had been out with Banner that night, and the tower felt lonelier than usual, so you agreed.

The three of you had spent the night drinking and playing darts. It had been a fun night of laughter and jokes. You were almost glad to see Bucky as he once was, happy and carefree, but as the night wore on, and Steve tapped out around 4 am, it was just the two of you left at the bar. The two of you just sat at the bar, sipping the last of your drinks when you asked him how he was doing.

His facade had slipped away, the smile he had forced all night was gone, and instead he put his head down and let out violent sobs of anguish. “I miss her, god, she was…everything.”

It broke your heart to see him so miserable. You never knew he was in such a poor state. It had been 7 months since they had broken up at that point, and as far as you or Nat knew, he hadn’t seemed like he was upset about it. Why he decided to be so open in front of you… you couldn’t understand. But you comforted him, as best as you could. You stayed with him all night, agreed to take a walk with him and let him vent to you until the sun came up. When he finally passed out on your couch at the avengers tower, he woke up hours later and left without a word.

You thought that was the end of it. That it was just one drunk night that had him so emotional, but then he called again. And again. And again. Hanging out with Bucky started to become a normal part of your routine. Half of the time it was always with Steve, the three of you hanging out. But then Bucky would want to hang out with just you. Mostly you both would talk, sometimes drink, sometimes watch a movie or even sing some karaoke once the liquor started to hit. It was…nice.

You had made sure it was okay with Nat, of course. Asking her if she was bothered by you hanging out with her ex, but Nat seemed undisturbed.

“It seems like he needs a friend, and I know I haven’t been around for you a lot lately either. I’m okay with this, really. Whatever it is— and whatever it becomes.”

Despite your many assurances that nothing was going to happen between you and Bucky, Nat just brushed it off and teased you further about it. She was in a really good place with Banner and she seemed genuinely thrilled with the idea of you and Bucky becoming an item.

The idea had crossed your mind a time or two. Mostly when you were very intoxicated and alone with Bucky. It was hard not to be drawn in by the beauty of him. You’ve caught yourself staring at his arms when he was throwing darts more times than you’d care to admit, and whenever he would throw his arm around you in a fit of laughter, you couldn’t help but feel your stomach flutter.

Getting to know him on a deeper level made the idea of not wanting him even harder to deny. He was still very much hung up on Nat, that was clear, but whenever he let himself be vulnerable and he talked about his past and the things that haunted him, you couldn’t help but feel connected to him in a way that you hadn’t felt with others. Everything about him seemed to be drawing you in. It was a maddening cycle trying to stop yourself from catching feelings, but it was one you fought for the longest time.

Until tonight. The party had been the biggest eye opener to you since you started being friends with Bucky. Dinner was not an awkward affair, much to your surprise. Nat and Bucky were cordial with each other at the dinner table, even sharing a few laughs as you sat between them.

“How have you been James?” Nat asked. Bucky gave her a small smile. “I’ve been alright. I heard about you and Banner, congrats by the way.” Banner had proposed to Nat a few weeks ago. To your surprise Bucky had taken it rather well.

“Thank you, we are very happy,” Nat beamed. She gave you a quick glance and smiled. “Have you seen anyone Buck?” You opened your mouth to protest to Nat, but Bucky just laughed.

“I have been talking to someone for a little while now.”

You felt your heart drop to your stomach. This was the first you had heard of this. You kept a steady grin on your face as he continued talking. You thought you saw Nat flash you a Quick Look, but it was so fast you could have thought you had imagined it.

“Well, that’s awesome. I’m happy for you Buck,” Natasha smiled.

“Yeah, we’ve only been on a few dates but so far it’s been going well.”

The rest of the dinner felt like a strange blur. You remember sitting there, you remember eating, and you remember getting into the car to head back to the tower where the surprise party was, but any other detail of the night faded away into nothing.

Why did it bother you so much? You had no right to lay claim to all of Bucky’s attention. The two of you were friends, and nothing more. You had set that boundary yourself, for yourself to stop yourself from getting hurt. But then again, you had never gotten as close to anyone as you had with Bucky. There had been people in the past, those you thought had the potential to hold your heart, but nothing ever worked out with them.

When the party returned to the tower, an uneasiness settled deep into your stomach as people began to arrive. You tried your best to distract yourself with trivial tasks such as handing out drinks, messing with decorations, or just following Sam around and letting him talk your ear off. But as the party grew, so did the uneasy feeling in your stomach.

Who was this girl? Would she be here tonight? Would you be able to handle it if she was?

As these thoughts were swirling around your head, you decided that maybe it was time to talk to Nat about your feelings. You searched around wildly for any sign of her or Banner but came up empty. You saw Bucky momentarily, he was talking with Steve and your eyes met for a single moment but you quickly looked away. You needed air.

So, that’s when you stepped out of the party and had been hiding ever since. You sent a text to Nat to meet you outside whenever she could. You stood there a bit, swirling the drink in your hand and enjoying the breeze on your flushed cheeks. You heard the sliding door open and you turned expecting to see Nat.

“I need to talk to— oh, hey,” you caught yourself and pitched your voice higher as Bucky closed the door behind him.

“Hey, doll,” He said, his usual playful tone was a bit strained, “Everything okay?”

“Yeah,” you replied quickly, a bit too quickly, “I, uh, just needed some air.”

You moved a bit from your spot as he came to stand beside you. The smell of his cologne hit your nose as he sidled up next to you on the balcony, the leather of his jacket brushing against your arm momentarily. Your chest felt like it was contracting, being so close to him. As if the proximity alone was enough to unravel your whole being.

“How are you enjoying the party?” You choke out, refusing to look him in the eye, focusing instead on the city skyline below.

“It’s fine,” he began cautiously. It seemed, “It would be better if you would talk to me though.”

Your back stiffened at his words. You said nothing and yet he continued. “You’ve hardly said a word since dinner and we both know that isn’t normal. You didn’t even laugh when Sam made fun of Banner’s bowtie in the car.”

“Yes I did,” you said weakly.

“If you’re gonna lie to me, can you at least look me in the eyes?”

It was the brokenness in Bucky’s voice that made you turn to face him finally. His eyes were searching yours, trying to read every detail from your face. You bit your lip to keep it from trembling.

“Please, just tell me what’s wrong,” he begged quietly.

You opened your mouth, wanting to answer him, wanting to take away his discomfort at this moment, but the aching of your heart prevented words from coming out.

A choked out noise came from your lips just as the sliding door opened.

“—and I told him, I said—- oh hey!” Scott Lang said in a slur of words, having some unfamiliar guy in tow behind him.

“This are my buddies! Barnes and—“

“Leave Lang. Now.” Bucky said with icy venom.

You didn’t have to look to know that Bucky’s cold tone was enough to do the job as the door slammed shut again.

You wished you could follow Scott out of the situation, but you couldn’t. You took a deep breath, summoned your courage, and downed your drink in one fell swoop.

You shut your eyes right and clenched your jaw a moment as the liquor burned down your throat.

“I’m in love with you.”

The silence that followed there after was deafening. You opened your eyes and looked at Bucky. His expression was soft, his eyes a bit wide with the information, but there wasn’t any hint of anger or disgust.

“I…” he began, “I don’t deserve that.”

His eyes finally looked away from you, as if it was his turn to be embarrassed. His turn to feel ashamed.

“Look, you’ve been everything to me lately. You’ve put up with me when other people wouldn’t— when other people haven’t. You’ve cared for me, truly cared… and it’s lit a fire in my soul again. A fire I thought would forever be extinguished when Nat—- when we broke up.”

His eyes flickered towards you for a moment here and there. You held a steady gaze out towards the balcony, letting his words sink in as you felt your heart shudder at each word.

“I owe you more than I could ever pay back, and that’s why I know— I know I don’t deserve you.”

Suddenly your felt his bare fingers under your chin, his hand gently tilting you gaze to him. Tears fell down silently and touched his hand.

“Listen to me, okay, please,” he begged, his voice catching slightly, “I love you. Okay? I love you, I do. But you deserve more than me. You deserve someone whole, someone who has all the love you give them in turn equally back to you, and then some. I want what’s best for you, and I know deep down that I am not that.”

You did everything in your power to not turn into a whimpering mess, you held his gaze, ignoring the tears. You took a ragged breath and moved your chin enough for him to drop his hand.

“Tell me about her.”

Bucky sighed and put his hands in his pocket.

“She’s nice. Has her own issues, but she’s more like me. Broken like me.”

You nodded, wiping at your face in vain. The tears kept coming, even if you didn’t feel sad. Even though you were pissed.

“I’m happy for you,” you said as happily as possible. You took a step towards the door but he moved in front of you, gently placing his hands on your shoulders.

“Wait, please.”

You didn’t fight him. You met his gaze in defiance and you swore you could have seen a smile creep on his lips.

“There she is,” he murmured.

You couldn’t help but smile a bit at him. Even though a million emotions were running through your mind at the moment, the idea staying mad with him never stuck for long. Even now.

“I need you to know how much I care about you. I need you to understand that. If you hate me for it afterward then I can live with it,” you opened your mouth to tell him you could never hate him but he kept going as if to purposefully stop you.

“I would still be in a very dark place if it wasn’t for you. I value your life significantly more than mine. I would die for you, I would kill for you. You are everything to me and more and I am so honored to be loved by you. I treasure you, I adore you, but I am no good for you. Please understand that. You deserve so much more than I have to offer. And I would hate myself if I broke your heart. And I would. I already have. And I hate myself.”

Suprisingling the tears stopped. You looked at Bucky and studied his face. He was sincere. He was broken, that you already knew. He had more ghosts than anyone else could ever imagine, and past that haunted him daily. But he was Bucky. And he was kind and he was gentle, and he was fierce and loyal.

And you loved him.

That feeling would not easily go away, no matter how much Bucky might wish for it to. But you decided then that you would hold onto that feeling for now. Even though he warned you, had told you he did not want anything further. It would be harsh. It would be devastating. It would be soul crushing.

But it would be yours.

“I think I need some time.”

That was all you said further. His hands dropped from your shoulders and you walked back into the fray of the party. You could feel his eyes on you as you walked through the lobby. People were dancing and drinking and laughing and having a blast. You walked past them all, not paying them any mind. Nat found you, tried to talk to you but you just brushed her off as you found the elevator.

You held yourself straight. Composed. Even when the door to the elevator closed and you were alone. Even when you walked down your corridor and found your way into your dark apartment. It wasn’t until you changed from your party clothes into your sleepwear, curled up in your bed, alone in the dark, that you began to cry.

#reader x marvel #marvel fanfic club #fan fic author #fic writing #james bucky barnes #marvel #bucky x reader #winter soldier #james bucky buchanan barnes #marvel bucky barnes #unrequited love #fem reader

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pixiexdusts-world · 10 months ago

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Incorrect quote

Bucky: Stop setting things on fire because you're curious about what will happen. What will happen is fire.

Y/n: But what if something else happens just this one time.

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mystictf · 22 days ago

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A Night To Remember

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Reader

2893 words.

In the heart of Brooklyn during the early 1940s, the world was caught in a tumultuous dance, as nations clashed and destinies were forged in the fires of conflict. Yet, even in such times, life managed to etch out moments of beauty, gentleness, and a burgeoning love. For James Buchanan Barnes - known to his friends as Bucky - and his close friend, you, this story began under the warm, flickering lights of a Brooklyn evening before shadows would lengthen into war.

Bucky Barnes, with his easy smile and affable nature, was the emblem of youthful vigour, a neighbourhood favourite who seemed to carry the sunlight with him. You, on the other hand, were the kind of person whose quiet strength and perceptive eyes often went unnoticed at first, but once seen, left an indelible impression. You and Bucky had known each other for years, your paths crossing in that comfortable rhythm of familiar companionship. But tonight was different - it was a night set apart. The evening began in the hustle and bustle of the Brooklyn streets, just as the shops were dimming their lights and the hum of daily life gave way to the sounds of laughter and music spilling out from neighbourhood doors. Bucky arrived at your modest apartment, a spring of wildflowers clasped in his hand, excitement dancing in his eyes. “You’re a sight for sore eyes, Bucky Barnes,” you teased, your eyes shimmering as they met his at the threshold. You had dressed with extra care - perhaps a little self-consciously - choosing a dress that was both modest and flattering, its fabric catching the warm light in a way that enhanced your natural grace. “I could say the same to you,” Bucky grinned, offering the small bouquet with a slightly theatrical bow. “For you, milady.”

You walked together, arms brushing now and then, to a nearby diner. The promise of warmth and good company made your steps light. Seated across from each other in a vinyl booth, you talked with ease as the world outside slowly gave itself over to the evening. Across the table, Bucky leaned in slightly, his voice becoming more earnest. “I’ve been thinking,” he began, “once… once I ship out, I won’t have this. The easy nights, the laughter, the…” He seemed to search for the right words, glancing at you with a vulnerability that was rare to see from him, someone usually so composed. “The people who matter.” You swallowed, your heart catching on the implications of his words. “Bucky, you’ll come back,” you said quietly, but with conviction. “You’ll come back, and we’ll make sure to create a thousand nights like this.” He looked at you intently, his expression softening, “I’d like that.”

With your meal completed, the two of you made your way to the dance hall, the sounds of a live band greeting you as you approached. The hall was alive with people shedding the day’s concerns in favour of song and rhythm - an echo of the relentless hope that pulsed through the city, no matter the storm on the horizon. The band was in full swing, and couples whirled around you both in a joyful blur. Bucky held out his hand, his blue eyes holding a question and a promise. “Dance with me?” You nodded, smiling, placing your hand in his. You both joined the throng on the polished wooden floor, the music washing over you like a buoyant wave. Bucky was a natural dancer, his movements sure and graceful, and together, you found an easy rhythm, an unspoken language. The world faded, leaving only the music and the two of you. Bucky spun you around, your laughter bright and clear as the two of you lost yourselves in the dance. Each step, each turn, became an affirmation of the unspoken bond growing between you - a fragile, beautiful thing nurtured in stolen moments. As the band struck up a slower tune, Bucky drew you closer, your movements slowing into something more intimate. You rested your head against his shoulder, closing your eyes and allowing yourself to savour the nearness, the warmth of him. “Tell me something,” you breathed, your voice barely carrying over the song. “Something you’ll miss the most.” Bucky was quiet for a moment, as if considering the weight of your present amidst the uncertainty of the future. “This,” he finally said, his voice carrying a subtle, wistful undertone, “dancing with you.” Your heart skipped, warmth blooming in your chest, and you tightened your hold slightly. “When you’re back,” you murmured, “promise me another dance? And maybe a thousand more after.” Bucky pulled back slightly, meeting your eyes with a sincerity that made your heart ache. “I promise.” His words were a gentle vow, a tether to your future. The music faded into the background, less of a presence than a feeling, a texture running through the space around you and binding the two of you together in that moment. As the band played on, time seemed to stretch and condense, suspending you both in a world of your own. The others around you blurred into insignificance, leaving you and Bucky in the centre of a vast, pulsating universe composed solely of shared hopes and unspoken dreams.

Eventually, the music slowed, coming to a close with the gentle hum of the band. Reluctantly, you stepped apart, but something ineffable lingered between you both - a promise of more than just another dance. Outside the dance hall, the evening air was cool against your flushed cheeks, and the stars above twinkled as silent witnesses to your budding romance. Bucky, with his arm companionably around your shoulders, guided you along the sidewalk, neither one of you eager to end the night. “Bucky,” you began softly, your voice a delicate thread against the backdrop of distant city sounds. “I want you to know how much tonight meant to me.” You paused, looking up at him, searching his face as if to imprint the memory into your mind. “It meant the world to me too, Y/N,” he replied, sincerity woven through every word. “You mean the world to me.” You both continued to walk, your hearts buoyed by the evening’s perfect simplicity. Bucky’s thoughts were a mixture of anticipation and a whisper of fear for what was to come. The war was a daunting spectre on the horizon, a reality set to reshape both of your lives - and yet, nestled within it was this single night of joy that spurred him forward.

As you reached your doorstep, the streetlamp above casting a gentle glow around you both, Bucky took a step closer, gathering his courage in the face of the uncertain future. “I won’t say goodbye,” he murmured, his hand reaching out to gently tuck a stray piece of hair behind your ear. “Only ’see you soon’. And I’ll be counting every day till I’m back.” You nodded, your voice steady even as emotion thickened it. “I’ll be waiting and writing letters even if I know you might not get them right away. When you’re far away, read them and remember that there’s someone here thinking about you.” Bucky smiled at that, the notion easing something tense within him. He leaned in then, pressed a soft, lingering kiss to your forehead - an unspoken vow, with the night air as your witness, before drawing back. “I promise I’ll come back,” he said, a determined edge threading through his words. “We’ll have that dance, and many more.” You nodded, offering him a smile filled with all the conviction and hope you could muster. “I’ll hold you to that promise, James Buchanan Barnes.” With one last lingering look, Bucky turned to leave, each step carrying him closer to the departure that awaited. But he left behind something no war could take away - the beginning of something precious, nurtured in the quiet spaces of dance and laughter.

In the days that followed, as Bucky prepared to ship out, you both held onto the memory of your night together as a keepsake against what was to come. And while the world around you both seemed poised on the brink of irrevocable change, your hearts held firm with the knowledge that love, first kindled in the simplest of evenings and sealed with a dance, was both your anchor and your guiding light home. When the world felt a little less bright, you would turn to those memories, letting the warmth and hope carry you through. And as the echoes of music played in your mind, you knew with certainty as deep as the endless sky that one day, Bucky would return to dance with you once more under the starlit Brooklyn skies.

The roar of engines filled Bucky’s ears as the transport plane shook with turbulence, flying high above a land so foreign and yet so beautiful under the sweeping vistas of a European sky. This was far from the Brooklyn streets he knew like the back of his hand - a world away from the warmth of home and lingering embrace of you as you shared that bittersweet farewell. Days blurred into weeks, and weeks blurred into months. War had a way of compressing time into a relentless cycle of missions and manoeuvres. Yet, amidst the chaos of conflict and the camaraderie shared with his fellow soldiers, Bucky found solace in the memories of that one perfect night.

When the sky exploded with artillery and the ground trembled under the weight of battle, Bucky closed his eyes for a heartbeat and let the rhythm of a remembered dance guide him through. In quiet moments, when the world seemed impossibly vast and the horizon insurmountable, he would pull your letters from his jacket pocket, smoothing the well-worn paper to read your words by firelight or the flickering beam of a flashlight. Each letter was a lifeline, with words of everyday musings, hopeful reflections, and steadfast affection, giving him strength. He pictured you writing them, your face illuminated by lamplight, and imagined the melody in your voice as you crafted each sentence - a symphony of warmth that accompanied him in the trenches. One night, beneath a canopy of stars that looked remarkably like those above Brooklyn, Bucky lay in his bunk, surrounded by the soft snores of sleeping men. With a letter unfolded in his hands, he traced your handwriting with the tip of his finger. Your latest had told stories of things big and small - the neighbourhood's resilience, your own pursuits, and little notes on the nights you’d spent dancing alone, awaiting his return. He smiled faintly, the edges of his worries dulling with each word. You spoke of a new dance that you had learned, your descriptions vivid enough that he could almost see you twirling around the small space of your living room. “Save that one for me,” he whispered to the empty air, a promise as steady and sure as when you’d last met. “You’ll have to teach me first.”

The duty to return, to keep the promise he made, weighed heavily but encouragingly on his shoulders. It fueled his resolve with each mission, each long march through foreign fields, and each night spent under the open sky. His determination, a silent vow kept alive by the memory of your touch, was more potent than the rationed meals or iron discipline keeping him on his feet. In moments of camaraderie with his fellow soldiers, when quiet confessions were exchanged around impromptu fires, Bucky would speak of you - your last dance, your letters, your plans for the future. His stories painted a tapestry of life beyond the battlefield, a beacon that drew others in with tales of love and hope. And so, as the months wore on and the seasons changed, Bucky moved through the war with a heart anchored by the promise of returning home. Your letters continued to be his guiding star, the constant reminder of all he fought for - the life that you would build together once the world righted itself once more.

War tested every limit of endurance yet inspired him with a newfound appreciation for life’s cherished moments. The memory of your laughter, the softness of your eyes meeting his, and the dance that played on in his mind with every step kept hope alive in the darkest hours. He knew, deep in his soul, that he had to make it back. For himself, for his brothers-in-arms, and most importantly, for you - the promise of a thousand dances waiting to unfold beneath the Brooklyn sky.

The train's rhythmic clatter over the tracks was a reassuring sound, one that seemed to resonate with the beating of Bucky’s own heart. As the city skyline of New York began to emerge on the horizon, he felt a mix of anticipation and nerves fusing together within him. This was it - the moment he had envisioned and longed for through the countless days and nights overseas. He stepped off the train into a bustling station, the sounds and smells reminding him of all that he had missed: the vibrant hum of life, the familiarity of the everyday lives being lived around him. There was an energy in the air, one that promised healing and new beginnings. Bucky shouldered his pack, its weight now lighter somehow, and made his way through the crowded streets. He wore his uniform, which drew nods of acknowledgement and met old acquaintances who shared similar war-drawn lines on their faces. Yet, despite the shared experiences, all he could focus on was the thought of seeing you again.

Brooklyn unfolded around him, every corner infused with memory. It was the same yet different - a city that had held its ground as the world changed. Finally, he arrived on your street, flanked by familiar row houses and the leafy trees he remembered so well. With each step, the air felt thicker, charged with emotion. As he approached your building, he paused, taking a moment to steady himself, inhaling deeply. He rolled his shoulders back, smoothing his hair with a hand that trembled slightly. This was a homecoming long overdue - not just to his hometown but to the person who had anchored him through every storm. He knocked, the sound echoing loudly in the quiet evening. Moments stretched infinitely, each second weighted with the anticipation of reconnection. Then, the door opened, and there you were - standing before him, more beautiful than even his most cherished memory.

For a heartbeat, you both simply looked at one another, absorbing years in the space of a glance. Then, you stepped forward, and before Bucky could even speak, you pulled him into a tight embrace. “Bucky,” you murmured, your voice thick with emotion. He closed his eyes, wrapping his arms around you, the feeling of you more comforting than anything he had imagined. “Y/N,” he replied softly, pulling back slightly to look at you, his eyes sweeping over your features as if imprinting them anew. “I promised I’d come back.” You smiled, that same brilliant smile that had illuminated countless nights for him. “And I knew you would.” You both stood there on the threshold, a connection both delicate and strong knitting you both back together. The unvoiced promise of your shared letters and dreams seemed to hum in the space around you.

Inside, familiar comforts surrounded you both. The apartment was filled with subtle changes and little touches that spoke of your life while he had been gone. You sat together, sharing stories and laughter, filling in the gaps time had etched with renewed warmth and understanding. As the evening wore on, Bucky’s gaze fell on the phonograph in the corner. He smiled, a memory sparking to life. “Remember that dance you promised to teach me?” Your eyes sparkled with mischief and affection. “I hope you’re ready to learn, Buck.” You stood, offering him your hand, which he took with a surness that had grown from your shared past. With gentle elegance, you placed the needle on the record. The room filled with music, and you led him in a dance like no other - you were in sync, moving effortlessly together, the rest of the world fading into insignificance. Bucky followed your lead at first, stepping carefully until the rhythm became part of him, allowing himself to be carried by the moment. You danced through the room, and it was as if every letter, every hope, and every dream that you both shared was manifesting here, now. He twirled you around, your laughter bright and freeing, and in that dance, the weight of distant battlefields began to fall away. Here, with you, he found his peace, his heart beating in time with the pulse of the city outside, resonating with the promise of a future that you would both build together.

Under the dimmed glow of the room, your movements eventually slowed until Bucky found himself holding you close, allowing the moment to seep into his very bones. Whatever lay ahead, he knew was the beginning - a continuation of the dance that had started long ago beneath a different sky, renewed with hope and the unbreakable bond that you shared. “Here’s to a thousand dances,” Bucky whispered softly, sealing the vow with another promise that would lead you both into your shared tomorrow. And in that quiet embrace, you both found closure and beginning, inextricably interwoven in the warmth of Brooklyn’s gentle night.

#marvel fic #soft bucky #marvel bucky barnes #bucky barnes x reader #bucky x you #bucky barnes #40s #40s bucky #bucky x reader #bucky fanfic #bucky barnes fluff #mcu #mcu fanfiction

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madds990 · 10 months ago

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#bucky barnes memes #bucky barnes #marvel bucky barnes #mcu #marvel #avengers #avengers memes #the winter soldier #marvel winter soldier #winter soldier #the winter soldier memes

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underthemexicansun · 9 months ago

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James “Bucky” Buchanan Barnes.

#bucky barnes #james bucky buchanan barnes #james buchanan barnes #winter soldier #sebastian stan smiling #Sebastian Stan #marvel #marvel cinematic universe #marvel mcu #marvel bucky barnes

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splendidreads · 2 years ago

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‘Take The Trash Out’

Just a blurb about Bucky catching your POS ex boyfriend being abusive.

Warnings: Abuse, cursing, mentions of sexual interactions, possessive/protective/angry Bucky Barnes, two idiots who finally realize they love each other. Oh, and Steve.

Word count: 1167

My first little blurb. Idk if I like it, but oh whale.

“How did you even get in here?!”

John scoffed, rolling his eyes as he crossed the room to Y/N, “What, you think that just because you’ve got some supers in your corner, means that I can’t get to you?” He shook his head, going ‘tsk tsk tsk’.

“You need to leave before I call said ‘supers’ to my room. Tony won’t take kindly to someone like you breaking and entering.” Y/N crossed her arms on her chest, her words loud and strong, but then John’s hand came up and grasped her face. A bit too hard.

“Let go of me!”

“No. You will shut that mouth of yours, and come back home with me.” His words were sharp, and threatening.

“No!” Y/N smacked his arm away from her, her cheeks red from how hard he held her, “We broke up over a month ago John, I don’t want you in my life. Now get out!”

Before Y/N could even blink, a painful smacking sound echoed through the room. A loud gasp came from her lips, her hand rising to hold onto her now throbbing face. Her eyes were wide, staring at the man in front of her.

“Y/N?”

Her eyes darted to her open bedroom door, seeing both Bucky and Steve standing there.. Seeing the look on her face was enough evidence for both men to realize what had just happened. Bucky’s jaw clenched as he and Steve both walked into the room.

“You need to leave.” Bucky walked up behind John, and John’s eyes narrowed.

“It wasn’t exactly a request.” Steve said, crossing his arms on his chest.

John tried to stand up straight, puff his chest out.. But he still looked small compared to the two super soldiers in front of him. Bucky’s eyes went to Y/N, who was standing there completely shocked, holding her face.

“No. She’s coming with me.” John said, crossing his arms on his chest.

��Look, either you walk out willingly.. Or I drag you out, in which case, you might not be breathing anymore.. you choose.” Bucky’s words were strong, deep, and quite threatening.

Y/N finally snapped out of her shock, and moved away from John, walking to stand behind Bucky and Steve. John’s eyes glared at her, his jaw stiffening. “Get. Out.” She said to him, putting her hand on Bucky’s lower back.

Bucky noticed it, and did his best to hide a smile.. but John noticed it as well.

“What, him? Really?” John’s laugh came out like a cackle, “HIM? Really, Y/N? He’s a murderer!”

“Don’t even get me started John. Fuck whatever you have to say! You have no words that would make me ever want you back. What I chose to do, is none of your business.. But, if you wanna talk about it, at least Bucky would treat me right! He’d sure as hell treat me better than you ever could!” Y/Ns words came out strong, staring up at John.

“But I know you, Y/N. I know what you like.. what you don’t like…” John eyed her up and down, a smirk forming on his face.

A chill ran through Y/Ns body, “No, you don’t. You wouldn’t have a single clue.”

“And you think he would?” John rolled his eyes, “He’s a hundred something years old, Y/N! He probably has problems getting it up-“

Those words were quite the mistake, and John was quick to learn that.

Bucky’s vibranium hand was on his throat quickly, lifting him up into the air, “John, I don’t like you. Never have. Y/Ns too good for you.” His words were deep, his eyes piercing through John’s while he wriggled in his grasp.

“Buck…” Steve’s voice warned, but Y/N shook her head.

“He deserves whatever he’s got coming to him.” Her voice said, crossing her arms on her chest.

A low growl emerged from Bucky’s throat, his hand tightening on John’s neck, “Just so you know, and I really want you to know this…” He lowered John down just enough so that he could speak into his ear, “If Y/N ever decided she wanted me, she’d make me the happiest man alive. And, just because you brought it up..” He chuckled, “I’ll make sure to let you know what it’s like, to actually satisfy her. I guarantee to you that I’ll hear sounds from her that you couldn’t even dream about.”

John gasped against Bucky’s hold, trying to fight against him, but his face was starting to turn the wrong shade..

Y/Ns eyes were wide, trying to process Bucky’s words.

“Buck, let him go.” Y/Ns voice came out soft, her hand reaching up to rest on his shoulder.

Bucky turned to look at her, his gaze softening. His grip on John however, did not. He moved him over, almost tossing him to Steve.

“Take this trash out, would ya?” He asked Steve, and he simply nodded.

“Let’s go.” Steve said to him, grabbing him by the scruff of his shirt.

“Fuck you Y/N!” John shouted, as he was dragged out of her room.

“Never again!!” She yelled after him.

The room was silent for a long moment, Bucky’s eyes glued on the doorway, making sure that John was really gone. Y/Ns hand went to her cheek, finding that it was actually really sore, a soft gasp of pain escaping her lips. Bucky snapped out of his angry trance, and moved towards her.

“Doll.. Are you alright?” His eyebrows furrowed together, a look of worry in his eyes.

Y/N looked up into his eyes, his icy irises staring down into her own, “What you said…” She paused, searching his eyes, “Did you… I mean..”

“Did I mean it?” He asked, raising an eyebrow.

Y/N nodded her head, and his answer surprised her.

In one swift motion, Bucky’s flesh arm wrapped around her waist, pulling their bodies together. He lowered his head so that their foreheads met, his orbs staring into hers.

“I meant every word.” He said to her, his voice deep, yet comforting.

“Thank god.” Y/N barely finished her words before she wrapped her arms around his neck, and closed the distance between their lips.

It was a strong, passionate kiss, both of their mouths moving in sync with one another. Steve had actually come back to tell them that John was taken care of, but seeing them in each others arms like that… He smiled, and silently left.

Y/N slowly parted the kiss, breathlessly looking up at him, a grin on her face. Bucky chuckled softly, his vibranium hand coming up to gently caress where John had hit her. A shiver rolled through her body, the coolness of the metal was comforting against her hot flesh.

“Now… Since that’s out of the way.. how ‘bout we go put my words to good use, and see what kinda pretty little sounds that mouth of yours can make.”

#bucky barnes #sebastian stan #james buchanan bucky barnes #bucky barnes story #bucky barnes x female #bucky fluff #marvel bucky barnes #marvel bucky fanfic #bucky barnes and reader #bucky barnes imagine #bucky x reader #bucky x female reader #bucky imagine #bucky x you

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ralka-egoid · 2 months ago

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#the falcon and the winter soldier #tfatws #thunderbolts #winter soldier #bucky barnes #marvel bucky barnes #mcu #mcu fanart #doodle #fanart

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kaz11283 · 1 year ago

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Get Out!

Pairing: Bucky X Y/n (sneaky), Steve X Sis! Reader, reader x parents (platonic)

Rated: PG, some light make out, maybe cussing

Summary: You were left alone while your family went out to eat because you "didn't feel good" but someone had to keep you company. (I'm never any good at these)

"How did you get your parents to leave you alone for so long?" Your boyfriend mumbled into your neck running his nose along your collar bone causing you to shiver.

"Easy," you laughed as you carded your fingers through his soft dark brown hair, "I told them I had a virus that I must have caught from you after helping you with your homework." The two of you had been sneaking around for the last few months hoping that your parents or your brother wouldn't find out. It didn't help that he and Steve were best friends. Your breath caught as he ground his hips down into you. "Bucky."

"Helped with my homework? Is that what we're calling this now?" He smirked pulling your shirt over your head and tossing it to the other side of the room. His hands traced back up your sides and hooked under your arms pulling you up to sit on his lap as your fingers traced down his back, leaning forward you took his earlobe between your teeth and pulled slightly before kissing down his neck biting down just hard enough to leave marks.

"It doesn't matter what we call it, I know it's fun." You laughed as he laid you back on your back and hovered over you leaning down and placing a gentle kiss against your lips.

"I'm your no matter what you want to call this.". He smiled down at you. The sweet moment was cut short when you heard car doors slamming in your driveway.

"Out! Out the window!" You whisper jumping up starting to grab all his things that had been thrown around as he was pulling up his pants and climbing out the window. "Bucky! Hey!" You rushed over dropping a few things on the ground to grab a hold of his face and give him a kiss. "I'll see you later."

"Oh, doll, of course you will." He smirked giving you another kiss. You heard footsteps coming up the stairs as Steve called your name. "Gotta go." He left closing the window quickly behind him just as Steve opened your door.

"Dear God Y/n!" He yelled walking in on you without a shirt.

"It wouldn't kill you to knock Steven!" You screamed back at him grabbing your shirt from your bed. I was about to get in the shower. I've been throwing up since y'all left and I just feel nasty."

"Well, I brought you that pasta that you always get when we go, I knew you would be hungry." He placed a Styrofoam container on the end of the bed as you yelled out a thanks before closing your bathroom door. As he turned to leave he noticed a familiar shirt laying next to the window, bending down and picking it up he seen it was in fact Buckys.

"Stevie! James is here!" You mom yelled up the stairs.

He walked down to meet his friend at the door and smirked as he leaned against the door frame. "How ya feelin there, Buck."

"I, uh, I feel better. Must be some kinda virus going around.". He said rubbing the back of his neck.

"Must really mess with your memory too. Seeing as you forgot that y/n is my sister." Steve grumbled at him. "And you forgot your shirt in her room." He said tossing it at Bucky.

"I really care about her Steve, we were gonna say something eventually." Bucky studdered.

"Just don't hurt her." Steve said turning back to go inside.

~~~~~

Announcement: I feel like I'm still rough around the edges and I need some practice but I am happy with how this one turned out. I figured I would do another Bucky because his request and drabbles are a little empty right now.

#bucky fanfic #avengers bucky #james bucky buchanan barnes #james bucky barnes #bucky barns x reader #bucky barnes #au bucky x reader #bucky x you #bucky x y/n #bucky x reader #bucky x female reader #marvel bucky barnes #bucky barns imagine #bucky barns fanfiction #bucky barns x y/n #james barnes x reader #james barnes #james buchanan barnes #james barnes x you

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marvelstoriesepic · 2 months ago

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Latte (He)art

Pairing: Barista!Bucky x Coworker!College!Reader

Summary: Your sweet coworker at the café you work at part time is the only thing able to brighten your day. So it’s only practical that he always ends up in the same shift as you.

Word Count: 7.8k 🐻☕🧋🍪

Warnings: Reader having College stress; mentions of a single mother (not reader); some coffee is spilled; Bucky is a sweetheart; Bucky is worried

Author’s Note: This little piece is written for @elixirfromthestars writing challenge. I actually planned to write this a month earlier but life got in between lol. Here it is now. I dearly hope you enjoy what I made of your lovely prompt.

🤎Coffee Cup🤎 “So we’re swapping our cups, and after a while, we’re swapping a glance. And I can think nothing better than starting the year with a drop of romance.” -Anthony Lazaro

Masterlist

The windows of the coffee shop receive more of your attention than the assortment of pastries you’re supposed to prepare to showcase behind the counter.

It’s fifteen minutes before Bucky’s shift starts and your belly flutters at the thought of seeing him again.

The early morning sun filters through the windows, offering a soft glow that casts warm beams of light to sweep across the floor and catch the glistening frosting on the cinnamon rolls. Their sweet, spiced aroma laced with hints of vanilla and brown sugar wafts through the air.

However, your gaze is more drawn to the street outside, scanning the road for a short mop of chestnut hair.

You like to snag shifts before the classes of your day start, relishing in the early morning hours and being satisfied with getting some work done before studying. But in the two and a half months since you started working at ‘Barnes Brown Beans’, you had come to recognize Bucky seems to prefer working in the morning as well. So, he actually may be the main reason.

Also, you’re usually, coincidentally - or so you tell yourself - paired with him anyway.

You’re grateful for this job. The shop’s close proximity to your university makes it an easy commute and the wages are fair. That’s a blessing in itself. But more than that, it was George and Winifred Barnes, the owners, who initially made it easy for you to love this job.

Winifred had greeted you with sweet enthusiasm at your job interview for a part-time job, making you instantly feel more at ease. After asking a few routine questions and warmly assuring you that the position was yours, she shifted the conversation to your studies with genuine interest and asked if you were good with balancing work and university life - a mother's worries.

It didn’t take long for her to start gushing about her children. She explained to you how her son, Bucky, had been helping out at the coffee shop ever since high school. Instead of pursuing college, like many of his peers and his best friend Steve, he chose to stay in New York to help manage the family business. “I’m sure you two will get along well” she had said with a kind of knowing grin you couldn’t make sense of.

She even shared with you that his little sister, Rebecca, always had a burning passion for studying architecture abroad. Unfortunately, the Barnes simply couldn’t afford a college education for both children, so Bucky decided to step up, taking on more responsibility at the shop so his parents wouldn’t be overwhelmed and relieving them of some stressful work, allowing his sister to follow her dreams.

She spoke with so much love and gratitude she held for her son, it almost made you tear up. She mentioned that Bucky never once showed resentment or regret for the path he chose.

Instead, he took pride in his role, and you could see it too. During your brief time working with him, you noticed how he carried himself with a quiet determination. There is genuine joy in the way he treats customers, always kind and attentive, and he always puts so much care into every small detail of his work.

He also loves to tell you about the exams his sister passed, and the friends she made; pride in her success evident when he speaks about her.

You admire him. He’s selfless, hardworking, and full of heart.

So it’s just logical that his parents gave him so much responsibility early on and made him part of the management.

You don’t mind that one second though, because he takes his authority incredibly seriously and usually shows up for his shifts earlier than he needs to.

It’s why your gaze is drawn to the panes of glass at the front once again.

You got in at 7 today, getting enthusiastically greeted by George - as he told you to call him on your first day - and tasked with the usual morning routine. So, as he disappeared into the small office room at the back of the shop, you had started prepping the food equipment and putting it on display.

The shop wouldn’t open until 8, so you still had some time to breathe before the morning rush would start, but you always feel some kind of gratitude at the way George lets you handle yourself at the front while waiting for Bucky to arrive at 7:30 to help out.

Admittedly, you didn’t get that much done yet, caused by the thought of seeing Bucky walk in through the door at any minute.

You saw him just 4 days ago at your last shift, but the giddy anticipation is all the same and you only have three and a half hours with him today before you have to leave for your classes.

The buttery, sweet, and slightly nutty smell of the freshly baked croissants you’re currently rearranging wafts from the trays and reaches your nostrils, but gets ignored the second you hear keys jiggling outside, and your attention snaps to the door.

“Morning doll!”

Bucky’s smooth voice comes through the door with him, cheerful as always as he greets you with a charming smile, and your chest flutters. A rush of cool air hits your exposed skin from outside, but his grin is warming you back up quickly.

You fumble with the croissant in your hand, but recover in time and throw him a smile of your own, hoping you’re able to mask the excitement you tried to hold in all morning.

“Morning, Bucky,” you greet him back sweetly, turning your attention back to the pastries, pretending to focus on your task at hand.

Out of the corner of your eye, you watch as Bucky pulls off his coat and then makes his way over to you, hovering over your shoulder, while putting on his apron. You try to hide the way your hands get a little clammy in the see-through gloves you’re wearing while touching the food.

You tend to the fruit danishes, their glossy, golden crust filled with rich cream cheese and topped with plump raspberries, blueberries, and apricots.

Carefully placing each in its designated spot, you only manage to breathe a little easier when you feel Bucky move over to the coffee machines, their steady hum filling the quiet space as Bucky busies himself.

“Smells amazing, doll,” he calls over his shoulder and you can hear the grin in his voice.

You let out a soft laugh, glancing at him briefly before putting your head back around. “Didn’t make them, Bucky,” you explain, tone playful but modest.

Brewing coffee and clinking mugs are the only sounds you hear before Bucky’s hum reaches your ears. “Maybe you should,” he states, teasing laced with a hint of sincerity. “Bet they’d be gone in seconds.”

You’re grateful that Bucky isn’t in your line of sight because you feel heat creeping up your neck, coloring your cheeks. Your laugh is a little breathless, a little more insecure than you intended.

A few weeks ago you had casually mentioned your love for baking when Bucky had asked about your hobbies, and ever since he loved to bring it up every once in a while.

“I don’t know about that.” You try for nonchalance, but the blush doesn’t leave your face.

“Gotta give yourself more credit, doll,” he replies easily, his words wrapped in that effortless charm of his. You hear some more clinking of cups as he makes one for himself, just like every day. “Want coffee?”

He asks every time. You decline, like every time. Though he never fails to ask.

And it never fails to make your morning feel just a little bit brighter.

****

Watching Bucky create his latte art has become one of the highlights of your day. There is something mesmerizing in the way he moves, pouring the steamed milk with such precision and focus as if each cup would get graded by an artist.

You’ve noticed how much care he puts into it, the way he pauses before finishing, always needing it to be perfect.

You can tell when Bucky isn’t quite satisfied, like right now, as he holds up the cup that looks flawless to you. But there is a twitch of his mouth, a slight hesitation in his hand as if he’s debating whether to start over or risk making it worse with one more pour.

It’s adorable, really. To you, they all look perfect, but he holds himself to a standard that’s somehow both admirable and endearing.

Today, Bucky was the one already there when you arrived at 8 am, along with the first customers of the day.

The scent of fresh coffee had filled the air as you stepped inside, a soft murmur of conversation around you setting the tone for the morning rush.

He was stationed behind the counter, together with one of your coworkers, Peter. It didn’t escape your notice that Bucky caught your eye immediately, flashing you that warm, easy smile even before acknowledging Mr. Nakajima, a frequent visitor.

It was a small gesture but it excited you nonetheless.

Mr. Nakajima, or Yori as you’d heard Bucky call him, now sits in his usual corner, peacefully sipping his tea; his quiet presence a constant in the shop.

The older man always seems content to watch the people go in and out of the shop, observing the ebb and flow of the crowd, wrinkled hands wrapped around his cup as if savoring the warmth.

Bucky often took time to sit with him when things were slow, sharing long and comfortable conversations that seemed to be meaningful. There is something about the way Bucky treats Yori that tugs at your heart.

It seems, that right now Bucky is comfortable with leaving Peter and you to attend to the ebbing crowd as he makes his way to Yori's table and slowly lowers himself in front of him.

You deliberately turn away although there isn’t much to do for you right now since the morning rush is over and Peter attends to the only customer in the shop right now. So, you mindlessly wipe down the counter, not because you’re not interested, but if you spend any more attention on the guy you might get overwhelmed by the awe he arises in you.

The way Bucky smiles when he talks to the old man, the way his face lights up with that blinding, heart-stopping grin - it has a dizzying effect on you. And the laugh he lets slip every so often, low and full of warmth, makes it hard to concentrate on any coffee orders.

Bucky stays at Yori's table for a while. Every now and then you make out his face turning in your direction, lingering a little but you stay focused on your work.

“Y/n?”

The sound of Peters's voice makes your head snap over to him, blinking in expectation.

“Sorry, uh, you seemed a little distracted for a sec,” Peter says with a shy laugh, scratching the back of his neck, eyes flickering not so subtly over to Bucky.

Alright, maybe you have looked a few times. Whatever.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” you mumble, doing your best to ignore the knowing grin spreading across Peter's face. Thankfully, a girl around your age approaches the counter, saving you from the growing awkwardness. You flash her a smile and focus on her order.

More customers start to stream in, the café again beginning to buzz with activity. Bucky, noticing the crowd building up, excuses himself from Yori’s table with a friendly pat on the old man’s shoulder. He steps back behind the counter, his easygoing demeanor never faltering as he joins in beside you. You share a quick smile.

Working with Bucky always makes it fun in some sense, time slipping by too quickly. Before you know it, it’s time for you to head out for your first class of the day.

You step away from the counter, untie your apron, and grab your things, already feeling reluctant to leave Bucky’s side.

“Already time to go?” Bucky asks, turned in your direction, his voice carrying that familiar deep drawl. There’s a slight disappointment laced in his tone, that doesn’t escape you.

“Yeah,” you sigh, “first class is-“

“History,” he finishes for you, without missing a beat.“I remember.”

You hadn’t expected him to recall such a small detail about your schedule, surprise registering on your face. But you quickly push out a smile, nodding at him, your heart doing a little somersault.

“Hold on,” he insists quietly, already moving to snap up a to-go bag and carefully placing a croissant inside. With a casual grin, he holds it out for you to take. “On the house.”

This isn’t the first time Bucky has given you something to go, insisting you take it as a gift. But it never gets easier to accept his small acts of kindness. You hesitate, not making a move to take the bag and Bucky’s smirk only deepens, playing the same game you’ve had before.

“Take it, doll,” he drawls, dangling the bag in front of your face with a playful glint in his eye. “Can’t let you go to class hungry, now can I?”

You can’t help but roll your eyes with a smile tugging at your lips, and snatch the bag from his hand with mock annoyance. “Fine, but this is the last time,” you warn, rather weakly it seems, considering the way Bucky leans against the counter with his arms crossed, smirking at you in an amused manner.

“You know it’s not. Can’t fault me for taking care of you, doll. You haven’t eaten anything all morning.”

His words are casual, but the way he says it, the unspoken concern that lingers, makes giddy warmth rise in your stomach, spreading to your face and heating your skin.

You hope it’s not that obvious, so you just sigh again, dramatically, and exaggerate an eye roll as Bucky lets another cup get filled with coffee, eyes remaining on you, a chuckle fleeing his lips.

You make your way to the door of the shop, knowing you’d just pay him back by slipping some money into the tip jar when you’re in earlier than him.

“And no leaving dollars in the tip jar, sweetheart,” Bucky calls out behind you, the smug amusement clear in his voice. “Ma told me about that.”

Busted.

You turn you head with a faux helpless look, which only sends him into a fit of laughter, the sound rich and full, echoing through the shop, and your heart bursts, ignoring the people standing in the line wearing looks between confusion and annoyance. Laughing quietly yourself, you let the warmth of the moment fill you up, then quickly slip out the door before the flustered grin on your face can betray you any further.

With the door closed, the sounds of the café seal off behind you and you find yourself lingering just a second longer than the last time.

****

“Girl, I’m telling you, that’s nothing! I accidentally made a girl’s latte with cow's milk although she’d ordered oat. Chased her down the street like a lunatic, I mean she could have had an allergy and whatnot. Turns out it was just a preference and she didn’t mind. Talk about embarrassing.”

You chuckle along to Gina’s story, dusting the cappuccino in front of you with a sprinkle of cinnamon, scents mingling together.

Regina - or Gina as she prefers - is always someone you enjoy working with together. She’s incredibly open-minded and carries that vibrant energy you need to get through the day. She’s got a few years on you but never fails to make you laugh.

While brewing coffee and selling them, she loves to tell you about her little boy, Nikita. You’ve seen pictures of him on her phone and he’s adorable with puffy cheeks, dark curls, and dark green eyes. He must have those from his father.

You know she is a single mother and you admire the way she takes it with pride, finding peace in her situation and insisting that she and Nikita are better off without his father.

You’ve also come to find out that 'Barnes Brown Beans' wasn’t the only job she had but that George and Winifred are so much fairer than her other boss, being supportive and trying to give her shifts that accommodate her schedule so she could pick up Nikita from kindergarden early enough to still have time with him every day.

Another thing that makes this job so valuable.

Earlier was a brief lull in the crowd, allowing you and her to chat. The conversation had drifted into the realm of embarrassing work stories. You shared one of your own, recalling how, in your first week, you had prepared a to-go coffee. You felt that nervousness that comes with starting a new job and as you tried to slide the cup over the counter to the customer, your aim had been far too enthusiastic. The cup sailed past the edge, spinning gracefully through the air before landing in the trash bin.

You hoped that perhaps nobody really saw what happened besides the slightly perturbed man in front of you. But since you shared this shift with Bucky and he always seems to have an eye on you, of course, he was a witness. You remember the way his laugh had erupted, uncontainable, filling the air behind the counter. He had leaned against it for support while you stood there, cheeks burning.

He didn’t make you feel bad though, helping you remake the coffee and almost sheepishly adding that the same thing happened to him once. Only, in his case, it was a porcelain cup. And it didn’t land in the bin. The image of it crashing to the floor, shattering into tiny pieces as coffee splattered everywhere, was enough to make you feel a little less embarrassed.

“Something funny?”

The familiar voice catches you off guard and you look up from the register. Sure enough, Bucky is strolling up to the counter, hands casually tucked into his jacket pockets and that handsome grin on his face that always causes your stomach to do flips.

“Bucky?” you ask, a soft, confused laugh escaping you. You feel your heart jump in excitement and try to tone it down. He wasn’t supposed to come in for a few more hours, and you had already resigned yourself to the disappointment of missing him today. You’d seen the shift schedule last week and the realization was like a cloud casting a shadow over your mood.

So, seeing him standing in front of you only makes a smile stretch wide without even thinking.

“I think you’re a little early,” you assess, voice light as you ring up the girl standing at the counter. Handing her the cappuccino, you glance back at him, the small transaction barely registering as your attention stays fixed on Bucky.

His grin only widens as he shrugs with a kind of faux nonchalance, letting his gaze sweep across the room. His smile stays in place, even as he steps aside for a middle-aged man approaching you.

“Couldn’t stay away,” he teases with that signature edge of playfulness that always gets to you.

As you start to prepare the man’s coffee, you can feel Bucky’s gaze on you, watching your every move. It’s a weight you’ve grown fond of - his silent observation that makes you more aware of yourself, in a good way.

You flash him a quick smile before refocusing.

“Also had to know how that exam went,” he adds casually, leaning in just a little, but you’re aware of that curiosity his voice always carries when he asks you about college. Or anything about your life, really.

You huff out a small laugh, ringing up the man’s order and sliding his coffee across the counter before turning your full attention back to Bucky. “Wasn’t as hard as I thought it’d be,” you answer him, a hint of relief in your tone since you had been stressing about this exam for weeks. “I think I did okay.”

Bucky leans against the counter now, propping himself up in that relaxed way of his, eyes never leaving yours. You’re glad you get to talk to him, glad that Gina attends to the only current customer right now and you have a second with Bucky, but the unknown power his gaze holds over you threatens to overwhelm you.

“What’d I tell ya, doll? Of course, you did great. Smartest girl I know.”

You snort, but your heart races. He always seems so sure of your success, having this confidence in you, that you feel you lack sometimes and it makes warmth pool in your gut. “Well I guess I’ll have to thank you, then,” you reply, smile present and voice light but the gratitude is real.

His scent - a mix of something warm and clean, almost earthy, and his cologne - cuts through the usual aroma of coffee beans and pastries. It’s grounding and you have to remind yourself to focus as you move toward the coffee machines.

“Do you want coffee?” you throw over your shoulder, fingers already hovering over the buttons.

Bucky straightens up in your peripherals and you make out the shake of his head with that soft smile on his face. “Don’t wanna keep you from work. I’ll make it myself, thanks doll!”

The door to the café swings open and three girls walk in together, laughter filling the room as they make their way over to you. Bucky’s movements snap your head back to him as he casually slips behind the counter, stepping up to the coffee machines and you head back to the register, keeping awareness of his presence as always.

Since Bucky’s shift doesn’t start yet, he stays lingering behind the counter and engages in conversation with Gina when he notices you getting busy again. From where you stand you can hear snippets of their conversation - Bucky asking about Nikita and when he gets to see him again.

You never realized they are that close but the thought of Bucky caring about that little boy instantly heats your skin. There’s a softness to imagining him in that role, and you can easily picture how good he must be with kids.

After all, you’ve seen it before - the way his face lights up when he catches sight of children toddling along beside their parents, the way he bends down to their height, engages them in little conversations that always leave them giggling or grinning from ear to ear. It’s endearing and really no wonder that every child he talks to seems to adore him.

But what really tugs at your heart, what causes a flutter deep in your chest, is the subtle way Bucky’s attention keeps drifting back to you.

Even in the middle of his chat with Gina, you can feel his gaze lingering on you. There is a quiet fondness in the way he watches you go about your work, always wearing that soft expression.

It’s not like he’s checking if you’re doing your job right - nothing about it feels critical or scrutinizing. Instead, it’s as if he’s simply enjoying observing you, absorbing the way you move through your tasks, as though he’s eager to learn all the little details that make up your routine.

And surprisingly, it doesn’t make you as nervous as you might have believed. If anything, there is something soothing about his attention, like a silent reassurance you never knew you needed.

Occasionally, throughout your shift, Bucky strikes up conversations with familiar customers - frequent flyers whose names he already knows by heart. You catch bits and pieces of their easy small talk, but even then, his eyes always find their way back to you.

And every time you meet them, your heart swells with hope that perhaps the reason he came in early for his shift might be you.

****

Your week has been nothing short of overwhelming and frustrating - packed with assignments, papers to write, and facts to memorize. To top it off, a fellow student had yelled at you for breaking his pen, and you still remember that disappointed glint in your professor's eyes after failing to give him satisfying answers in class.

It feels like you are constantly juggling everything at once, and somehow, the balance has tipped entirely.

Sleep has become a rare luxury, replaced by caffeine-fueled study sessions that stretch into the early hours of the morning.

As you walk to the café for your afternoon shift, a heavy sigh escapes your lips, the exhaustion settling in your bones.

You rarely work afternoon shifts, but this one fits perfectly behind your friday classes and you have been too swamped the rest of the week to pick up any shifts at all.

Your pace is slower than usual, feet dragging slightly on the pavement. There is no real need to hurry today. Normally, your steps would quicken as you approached the café, that familiar, sweet sign with its three big B’s always managing to lift your mood.

But today the excitement isn’t there. Not when you know Bucky has the day off. Without him there, the urgency to get to work just isn’t the same.

But, thinking about it, it might be for the best that Bucky is not around today. You can’t imagine you look all that appealing right now, with dark bags under your eyes - the kind that no amount of concealer could hide. Your skin has that worn-out, dull shimmer to it - the kind that no amount of caffeine could mask.

You catch a glimpse of your reflection in a shop window as you pass and wince slightly. The fatigue shows in your features, and for a moment, you’re thankful that this day won’t include the possibility of Bucky catching sight of you in this state.

You’re partly relieved to have a shift where you can simply focus on getting through it without feeling self-conscious. There is no need to hide how utterly drained you feel because you really couldn’t care less how your appearance would affect your customers. You just need to make it through these few hours, go home, and hopefully, finally get some rest.

You pull open the door, gathering what little composure you can muster. The all-known blend of rich coffee, baked pastries, and warm, cozy air greets you as always, along with the chatter from the packed room. It’s busy, as expected for this time of day, but the environment surprisingly helps ground you as you weave your way through the crowd, slipping between patrons.

Your eyes catch Winifred at the back, her beaming smile a quick but comforting sight before she disappears behind the office door with a wave.

Side-stepping two men chatting near the line, you get a clearer view of the counter and freeze - feet refusing to continue.

Thanks to the work schedule you know who your coworkers are today. Peter was assigned, as well as Wanda, a nice, but slightly odd girl with a thick accent and laser-like focus on her task.

You had prepared for them both. But it isn’t Wanda standing next to Peter behind the counter.

It’s Bucky.

Your heart jumps into your throat and you’re not sure if it’s because of the surprise of seeing him or because of how unprepared you feel in this exact moment. You didn’t even check your hair in a car window before entering.

He’s here - on his supposed day off - laughing with a guy on the other side of the counter as he works the espresso machine, his movements smooth and practiced; no surprise there. His presence is so casual and effortless that you find yourself thinking your tired eyes might have looked at the wrong day on the schedule and perhaps you aren’t even supposed to work today. Though Winifred wasn’t at all surprised to see you.

Your head spins at the simple thought and yet a ripple of warmth shoots through you at the sight of him, making you momentarily forget just how drained you are.

While every fiber of your being wants to feel self-conscious about your tired eyes and the imperfections on your skin, craving to stay hidden between the line of people, the longer you watch him work, it gets overtaken by something else.

That same old lightness that seems to follow him wherever he goes and sticks to you when you’re near enough, soaking into your veins and filling them with energy. You can practically feel them fizzle.

You would have liked to linger in this moment just a little longer, but it’s cut short abruptly when he spots you. His polite smile brightens instantly, eyebrows moving up slightly as his eyes lighten up.

You flash him a smile in return, though you can feel it wobble at the edges, probably more sheepish than anything else. Maybe it even comes off as a grimace with the exhaustion weighing on you, but you quickly break eye contact and resume walking.

For a moment, you make out Bucky’s hand pausing mid-motion, hovering above the counter before he slides a to-go cup to the waiting guy on the other side.

Passing by, you can feel his gaze trailing after you, burning softly against your skin, a quiet but intense presence that follows you even when you’re not looking.

You busy yourself with dialing in for the shift, wrapping your apron around your waist, doing your best to shake off the fatigue and the flutter that Bucky’s unexpected presence elicits in you.

From behind you, you catch the sound of his voice, though it sounds a little distracted, asking the next customer to repeat their order.

You glance back, quickly greeting Peter as you pass, but your focus is drawn to the pastry case, where a small woman waits for service. You keep your hands moving, bagging up her choice of pastries - two croissants and four scones - but make out Bucky’s head turning in your direction a few times.

You steal a glance at him from the corner of your eye, noticing the slight furrow in his brow as he works. He’s a little slower now, less sure in his movements than when you first walked in. It’s subtle, but you can tell his focus is slipping. Something about his energy has shifted.

Minutes pass and the three of you stay busy with the steady stream of customers. You remain behind the pastry case, preparing the treats for the eager crowd. In between transactions, you notice Bucky taking a step in your direction, hesitating each time like he wants to step closer but keeps pulling himself back at the last second.

He returns to the register every time, tending to the next person in line, but there is an urgency in his movements now. His hands got quicker again, fingers tapping impatiently against the counter as he waits for the coffee to brew and his gaze falls back to you every so often but you avoid it.

Another few minutes tick by and you begin to settle into the rhythm of the shift when a sudden shout rings out from the front.

Your head snaps up, eyes locking onto the group of people stepping back from the counter hastily, startled by the splash of coffee that arcs through the air.

The cup that had caused the commotion clinks against the counter, slipping in Bucky’s hand and his other one shoots out to hold it steady before it can meet the ground alongside the coffee that was in it moments before.

“Shit, I’m so sorry,” Bucky exclaims, his voice thick with frustration as he shakes his head at himself, wiping the spilled brown liquor from his hands. He quickly puts away the cup and apologizes again to the man it was meant for and the crowd of people who got startled.

The customer, a guy who looks to be in his mid-twenties, holds up his hands in a placating gesture, clearly not bothered by the accident. His jacket sleeve is stained with coffee, but he brushes it off with a casual shrug. “No worries, man, really. Nothing happened, you’re good!”

Bucky doesn’t seem to relax. You can see the tension in his jaw, the way his shoulders are still tight as he remakes the drink with stiff, almost mechanical precision. You’ve never seen him so rattled but then again, he has been unfocused ever since he saw you.

Work continues steadily for the next half hour, with the rush of patrons finally starting to taper off. The café gradually empties, the throng thinning out until only a handful of people remain, some of them sitting in booths going on with their conversations.

You catch sight of Bucky leaning in closer to Peter, murmuring something you can’t quite make out. Peter nods, and without another word and a small pat on Peter’s shoulder, Bucky steps back from the counter.

This time, his hesitation is gone as he strides over to you.

He stops beside you, eyes on your profile. “Hey,” he speaks softly, voice low.

You finish helping a boy, thanking him for the tip before turning to Bucky with a small smile.

“Hey,” you reply, voice matching his softness but quieter. You turn your attention to the young girl in front of you, requesting a cookie. Reaching for a bag to tuck the treat inside, you continue the conversation, though your eyes stay focused downward.

“Didn’t expect to see you here today,” you comment, sensing his gaze on you.

“Yeah, uh, I took Wanda’s shift,” Bucky responds, his voice a little more tentative now. You notice him shuffling slightly beside you, standing up straighter.

He offers no further explanation as to why he picked up the shift, and you don’t feel the energy to ask about it. For some reason, the simple act of bagging a cookie while talking to him feels like a juggling act your tired brain isn’t quite up for.

So all you manage is a noncommittal hum in response.

The girl leaves with her cookie and Bucky stays beside you, solid and unyielding in his gaze. It presses on you like a weight as the moments pass.

Your stomach flutters uneasily when you realize there’s no line left to distract you, no excuse to stay busy.

You move automatically, reaching for the paper bags, rearranging them with a bit more force than necessary, trying to give yourself something to focus on, something other than Bucky’s eyes burning into you.

“Are you okay?” he asks finally, slowly and lowly, as if the question is something private meant only for you. It is. You feel the shift in his tone, the way he leans in slightly as if he needs a sincere answer to his sincere question.

It pulls your attention to him and you reluctantly lift your head, your heart twisting at the sight. Bucky gazes down at you with an expression far more serious than you’ve ever seen. His blue eyes, usually filled with a glimmering light when he looks at you, hold an amount of concern that seems to have an impact on his stiff muscles.

“I’m fine, Bucky,” you declare gently, smiling at him in hopes it’ll reassure him, though even before the words have left your lips completely, you felt it wasn’t entirely convincing.

Bucky studies you a moment longer. His eyes trace your features, dark brows hanging low, but you don’t take your words back.

Then, after a pause he lets out a long drawn sigh, hanging his head in defeat. He obviously doesn’t believe you, but he doesn’t push it. The concern in his eyes remains but he lets it go, stepping back from you slowly.

He walks over to the coffee machines, deliberately trying to feign casualness. He grabs a cup and turns the familiar button after checking if Peter needs some help at the register, the whirring sound of brewing coffee filling the brief silence between you.

“You want some coffee?” he asks, like clockwork - just as he does every time you work together.

Without thinking, you open your mouth to decline, as usual. It’s almost muscle memory at this point, your automatic response. But then, mid-through, you pause. Another shot of caffeine can’t hurt. You can use the energy to get home safely without passing out after this shift.

The cup fills, steam rises, and Bucky turns to you when you take too long to answer.

You hesitate for a beat, then shift your gaze away, feeling a little awkward. “Yeah, I’ll take one,” you decide, stepping beside him to grab yourself a cup, eyes not moving to him.

But before you can reach for one, Bucky’s hand wraps gently around your wrist, halting you. The touch is light, but enough to make your pulse quicken. “Hold on,” he remarks, his voice filled with concern rather than confusion. “You never want coffee when I ask.” His intense eyes search your face again.

“If you always expect me to say no, then why do you keep asking?”

Bucky doesn’t respond immediately. He just keeps looking at you, quietly pleading for honesty. “That ain’t the point,” he softy counters but his voice carries insistence. “Something’s wrong.”

You sigh. God, you’re tired. You really need that coffee and you’d certainly feel terrible for getting annoyed at Bucky. He’s just trying to figure you out. He cares. That thought alone presses against the wall you’ve been trying to maintain all day.

Gently, you pull your wrist from his loose grip, and he lets his hand fall back to his side, though his gaze doesn’t waver.

“Nothing’s wrong.” Damn, that came out hollow. “I’m just a little stressed,” you add when he starts to shake his head, “and I could use a cup. It’s just coffee, Bucky.”

You see the muscles in his jaw tighten and his hand comes up to run through his hair.

“It’s not just coffee, darling,” he sighs. There’s a pause in which he assesses you again, then he continues. “Alright. Don’t take this the wrong way, doll. You know you’re a beautiful gal, but… you look like you’re about to drop dead.”

Your eyebrows shoot up. It looks like tiredness comes with an attitude, because your mind foregoes the part where he called you beautiful, only hearing the other side.

“Well.” You draw out the word. “If you don’t want me to drop dead, then let me have some coffee.” There is a bit of edge to your tone you hadn’t exactly intended, but you’re too tired to smooth it out. You also don’t wait for him to respond, quickly reaching for another cup and pressing the button before Bucky can grab your arm again.

Bucky stays quiet for a moment, watching you with those piercing blue eyes that seem to see right through your walls. He doesn’t look angry - just worried.

As the coffee pours you hear him take a breath. “Alright,” Bucky says quietly, almost under his breath. “I’m sorry, Y/n,” he adds after a short pause. Firmness, sincerity, and perhaps an amount of regret are all wrapped in his tone.

He used your name. You haven’t heard him say your name since the first time working here. And never with that much conviction.

“I didn’t mean to upset you. I’m just… worried.” His voice softens even more, it sounds almost pleading and he takes a quick glance back at Peter, who was busy attending to the few patrons mingling about, before refocusing on you, his hand brushing over his hair. “I’ve seen you stressed before. Like when you kept going on about how worried you were for that exam. I watched you go through the stuff you had to learn in your head while remaining so incredibly focused and sweet during work. I admire that, Y/n. I must’ve told you a thousand times you’d ace it, but you wouldn’t believe me.” He chuckles lowly, sheepishly, and he licks his lips, before continuing. His gaze leaves you, mind seemingly far in his memories.

“Or your first day here. You were so nervous about making a mistake. You asked so many questions, were so interested in everything. I kept thinking about you all day. Every day, really.” He took another deep breath. It comes out a little unsteady and his eyes quickly flicker over to you, not quite meeting your own, but still searching your features.

“But this… this is different, and- I don’t know. I don’t like it. Hate it, honestly. Seeing you like this.”

His words hit you deep. The genuine concern and sincerity in his tone make your chest tighten, throat closing up and you feel yourself losing your breath as he takes a small step closer, eyes now fully on yours again. The nerves in his voice that had been there are gone now. Because he’s sure of what he says next. It’s clear in his tone.

“But, sweetheart, even through it all, you still manage to be the most beautiful girl I’ve ever seen. Drop dead gorgeous, honestly.”

You let out a surprised huff of laughter, partly because it’s easier than acknowledging and processing the meaning of his words. Heat creeps up your cheeks and all you feel like doing is bolt out of the door at the other end of the room but your feet are rooted to the spot. Perhaps, the floor would just give away and you’d fall deep down into the unknown.

That still would be kinder than standing in front of Bucky right now after his heavy confessions, feeling too vulnerable under his soft gaze.

You’re not able to meet his eyes, dropping your head. You know he is still looking at you. You don’t have to feel it to know it. That gentle expression, the reassuring smile - like he’s silently conveying that everything’s okay.

“Let me make you feel better, yeah?” Bucky’s voice is barely above a whisper, gentle, yet filled with intent. He gives you a moment, letting his earlier confessions sink in, before taking hold of the now full cup that is meant for you. Your eyes widen slightly when you see him grab the can of freshly steamed milk, an almost eager smile tugging at his lips.

“Are you pulling your latte art on me?” you ask with a light laugh, some of the tension in your chest loosening. There is a little bit of a teasing note in your voice now, your heartbeat beginning to slow.

“Sure am, doll!” Bucky grins proudly, lifting the cup higher. His brow furrows in concentration as he carefully pours the milk with a steady hand, his tongue briefly poking out as he narrows his eyes to get the design just right. You had seen him do this many times before but never for you.

The precision and dedication he’s giving to something as simple as your coffee makes your heart swell. You’re the one watching him now with a soft smile, utterly mesmerized by how serious he’s taking it.

You take a glance at the other cup - the one Bucky had made for himself and an idea hits you. Steam still rises from the liquid inside, the scent of fresh coffee meeting your nose.

You look around the counter, spotting the milk pot Peter had just set down and, without a second thought, you pick up Bucky’s cup, ready to return the favor. You lift the milk and begin to pour.

“What are you doing, doll?” Bucky’s gaze stays fixed on the cup in his hand, but his smile is beaming, curiosity lacing his words.

“I don’t think I need to tell you that,” you retort, your voice playful as you guide the milk with careful precision, weaving your hand in the practiced motions until you’re satisfied with the design.

Bucky’s chuckle is warm and soft and for a moment, it feels like the world shrinks down to just the two of you, the quiet intimacy cutting through the noise of the ebbing café.

Bucky finishes his work and sets the milk pot back down. There is a slight hesitation in his movements as he hands over the cup for you, a touch of nervousness creeping into his stance. You smile up at him and offer the cup in your hand to him. His hands are a little clammy as they touch yours. You swap coffees.

Your mouth falls open as you take a glance down into the cup. In the creamy white foam, a delicate rose is perfectly etched, its petals spiraling gracefully outward. Surrounding the rose are tiny, intricate hearts, floating around the bloom. The detail is so mesmerizing that all you can do is stare at it.

“This is incredible, Bucky,” you breathe out, voice filled with amazement. When you look up, he’s already watching you. He’s breathing deeply and his smile is in place. But there is also something in his eyes he doesn’t try to hold back - pure adoration, shining clearly like he just can’t hide it anymore.

He holds his own cup carefully, as if it’s something precious, something fragile, as if even the tiniest movement would mess up the heart in white swirling in his cup. Though, you feel like the simple heart pales in comparison to the masterpiece he’s created for you.

“It’s beautiful,” you say quietly, a hint of shyness in your tone. You feel a tiny amount of embarrassment but Bucky just keeps smiling, so warm and incredibly fond, that any hint of insecurity melts away.

“Learned it for you,” he admits it softly, his words slipping out like a secret he’s been holding onto for too long. Your heart skips a beat, eyes widening slightly before you look back down at the cup, tracing the design over and over again with your gaze.

“I love it, Bucky. I love these little hearts,” you address admiringly, almost dreamily.

Bucky is beaming above you, and although he shakes his head softly, his smile never leaves his face. He takes in a deep breath, seemingly needing to compose himself and looks down at his own cup, at the heart in it.

“Well,” he vocalizes, affection surrounded by a playful edge, “my heart’s bigger.”

You laugh, rolling your eyes playfully. “Don’t flatter yourself, Barnes. It’s the only thing I know how to do.”

He chuckles, that vibrating sound, that always makes your chest feel lighter. “I can teach you,” he offers, his bright blues looking deeply into your eyes, so full of affection that it makes your breath catch for a second.

And in that second - because that’s all it takes - everything shifts. For the better. Always for the better, because it’s hard to feel anything negative when Bucky smiles at you the way he does.

“you deserve

the kind of love

like hot coffee between your lips

that loves you gently

but makes you bold

and gives you life between the sips”

- a.b.

#elixirscafe #barista!Bucky #bucky barnes one shot #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes fanfiction #bucky fic #college!reader #marvel bucky barnes

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