#marvel thunderbolts

[chaxan08]

Bucky: I know you're in love, Belova.

Yelena: I am not in love with Kate Fucking Bishop!

Bucky, staring at Yelena with a smirk: I never said with who…

Yelena, realizing: Shit. Anyway—

[nalian0vna]

[guardianjameslight]

How many of you were exited for Thunderbolts* since day 1? Because I was.

[lives-in-midgard]

They are back

[daydreamgoddess14]

💫 For Your Consideration - Act 3 💫

actor!Bucky x fem!actress!Reader (no use of y/n, l/n, reader is not described in any great detail. I save that for the gowns 💃)

Warnings: Hollywood AU, language, internet nasties, flirty!Bucky, a little power imbalance, age-gap (Bucky is around 40, actress reader is closer to 30 or younger if you prefer 🤭)... more to be added later.

Bucky Barnes, the suave and talented leading man of the 'Winter Soldier' movie series, finds himself on the red carpet circuit during awards season with his latest film 'The Howling Commandos'. But the season takes an unexpected turn when he crosses paths with a mesmerizing newcomer - the actress who has become the talk of Tinseltown with her captivating performance in her most recent film. Sparks fly as they navigate silly season in Hollywood, with a spotlight on their every move will their chemistry ignite a real life romance?

Note: I used Daisy for these insta posts just because their chemistry was so great, and the pictures fit perfectly. She's just here for the ~vibes~, not as a descriptor.

Tagging: @winchestert101 •

< Prev Act | Series Masterlist | Main Masterlist | Next Act >

NOVEMBER 2025

It was a small set with only a tight crew, so it was easy to pick out her voice amongst the group. She had her back turned, talking animatedly with someone from her studio. Her posture, her laugh, everything about her pulled him in like a magnet.

"You're staring," Sam’s voice broke through his thoughts.

Bucky shook his head and turned to look at his best friend with a glare, but Sam’s grin was too knowing.

"I’m not staring," he muttered, his face flushing.

"Right. Sure, just... looking intensely." Sam shook his head, still smirking. "You should just go talk to her."

Bucky turned his attention back to her. She hadn’t noticed him yet, but his heart still thudded in his chest.

“I don’t do this,” he muttered.

“You do today, buddy, that's the whole idea of the segment. And behave yourself, she's already nervous.” Sam slapped him on the back and headed in her direction, leaving him alone with his thoughts.

Bucky exhaled slowly, trying to relax himself. He’d been in front of cameras more times than he could count, had done press junkets in five different time zones in the same week. But this felt… different.

When she finally turned, her eyes scanned the room, then landed on him.

The shift was immediate. The polite, professional smile she'd just given Sam faltered, just for a second, as recognition dawned. Then it curved into something more genuine. Something warm.

He raised a hand in greeting.

She hovered in the space between them, clearly debating whether or not to cross the studio floor and go to him.

He was surprised when she did.

“Hi,” she said, and her voice was a little breathless, like she hadn’t expected any of their surroundings to be real until now.

“Hi,” he echoed.

“It's nice to meet you,” she held out her hand and he took it.

“You too, properly this time.”

They sat in the two velvet seats angled toward each other, while production assistants moved the lighting, the table, shifted her chair a little more, adjusted the set dressings…

For a second, they were quiet while they were fussed over.

Then she grinned. “So… this is happening.”

He laughed, relaxing an inch. “This is happening.”

She tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. “Do I get to tell you I’m a fan now, or should I wait until it’s being recorded?”

“Depends,” he said, leaning back. “Do I get to tell you I’ve seen your movie twice?”

Her eyes widened. “Twice?”

“Couldn’t stop thinking about the chair,” he deadpanned.

She burst out laughing just as the producer called “Rolling in thirty seconds.”

You heard laughter before you realised he'd arrived, you'd had your back to the door talking with a publicist from the studio.

They were lovely, and calming, but you couldn't help wishing you had Dani or Lulu around for moral support.

They could read your emotions and fears from a single breath.

When Sam Wilson, the man whose laughter you'd heard, gently placed a hand on your shoulder as he walked past, and smiled warmly, you turned to see Bucky in the doorway.

He looked just as composed as you remembered from the festival, though this time… there was something else. A softness around the eyes, maybe. The faintest smile tugging at his mouth as he spotted you.

Oh.

He was more handsome up close than you remembered. That wasn’t entirely fair.

“Nice to meet you,” you managed, your voice steadier than you felt as you stepped forward and held out your hand.

“You too, properly this time.” He said, his palm was warm against yours.

You were still recovering from the feel of it when the producer’s voice called out final cues.

As you both sat down, the lights flicked brighter and people milled around you.

It felt like you needed to get it off your chest, the fact that you were a fan, that you enjoyed his movies.

“Do I get to tell you I’m a fan now, or should I wait until it’s being recorded?” You asked cautiously, tucking your hair behind your ear.

You couldn't believe it when he said he'd seen your movie twice. Once, yes, you'd seen him there with your own eyes, but twice?

“Couldn’t stop thinking about the chair,” he told you calmly just as the director called rolling in thirty.

The sound of your laughter filled the set, the red light on the camera blinked on.

And just like that, it began.

“So, how’s playing Sally Bowles been for you?” He asked, leaning forward slightly, genuinely interested. More interested than he probably should be.

“Well, it’s a challenge,” she admitted, her body settling into the chair like she was finally letting herself breathe. “It’s so much more than just the party girl act. You have to balance the darkness and the energy, but also stay grounded enough to play a woman who is truly struggling with addiction and self-worth. There’s a quote I think about a lot by another Sally: ‘The contradiction of playing Sally Bowles is you have to be sober, rested, well fed and hydrated to play a drunk, addicted party girl.’��

He smiled, something catching in his chest. The way she spoke about her work, there was no performance in it. She meant every word. “That makes perfect sense,” he said. “Sounds like all of my prep.”

“Yeah? Hydration is the key, right?” She grinned.

That grin knocked something loose in him.

“So what drew you to The Commandos?” She asked, tilting her head. “Other than the obvious chance to play the brooding leader?”

He huffed a quiet laugh. “That was pretty high on the list. No, I liked that it didn’t let the character off easy. He’s messy, broken. Still trying to be good. That kind of struggle… it’s human.” He paused, then looked at her, really, looked at her. “Same with your Sally.”

She paused, just for a moment, and then nodded.

“Yeah. People think Sally’s all glamour, but there’s this slow erosion underneath. You can’t fake that. You have to build it in piece by piece. You had a guy that was already on his knees -”

“And I had to build him back up, piece by piece,” he echoed, feeling the words settle somewhere deep. She got it. Not just the performance, him.

“You made it feel like Sally didn’t know she was falling apart,” he added, softer this time. “That was the most devastating part.”

“Thank you,” she said, voice barely above a whisper. She cleared her throat quickly, like she was trying to shake off the weight of his compliment.

He wanted to say something else. Something funny, maybe, to let her breathe again.

“What about you?” She asked before he could, “you’ve done so many action-heavy things, do you ever just want to sit in a room and cry on cue?”

“I mean, I basically did that on set anyway,” he said with a smirk. “They just edited it out.”

She laughed again, and he couldn’t help but lean in closer, drawn in by the sound.

“Yeah. I like work that cracks something open,” he admitted. “Makes you feel a little exposed. You can tell when you’re in the room with someone doing that.”

“Like you were saying before, messy and human,” she nodded.

“Exactly,” he murmured, his eyes not leaving her face.

As the interview moved on, he found himself wanting to just listen to everything she had to say.

He usually hated interviews and talking about himself, but she seemed so open and curious, he wanted to mirror her.

“So, how did you end up working with Yelena Belova? She’s amazing,” she held her hands up in awe.

“She just called, out of the blue, said, “I wrote this with you in mind.” Which is either really flattering or really threatening,” he started eagerly.

“Or both,” she added.

“Or both. She has such a clear vision, and the way she directs people is incredible. It's made me really appreciate the creative process from a new perspective. I couldn’t say no. She's sharp. Fierce. Kinda terrifying in the best way… I've got a friend for life in Yelena. How about you? How did you end up swapping a stage for a movie set?”

“I guess this film was kind of an extension of where I already was, I’d been doing musicals on stage, and this just... happened completely by chance.”

“That old chestnut,” he rolled his eyes in jest and she reached out to swat him gently.

“It's true,” she insisted. “When I auditioned for this role, I wasn’t even on the list. I’d got my times mixed up, showed up at the wrong place. The stagehand shoved me on without checking anything. If he had, he would’ve sent me away… I was meant to be there. Otherwise I never would’ve gotten this role.”

He sat back in his seat with a soft smile.

“Haven't told anyone that before,” she blushed.

“And now you're here. Fate, huh?”

“Fate.” She whispered.

You were suddenly fully aware of his eyes on you. It felt like he was seeing straight through you, right to your bones. The air between you was taut.

“Fate,” you echoed, barely audibly, and for a moment, neither of you spoke.

Bucky cleared his throat, the corner of his mouth twitching. “So... can I ask how you feel about being immortalised by that poster?”

Your jaw dropped as you were momentarily caught off guard by the shift from intense to relaxed, then let out a laugh. “Well… it's weird because my face isn't exactly the main focus of our movie poster.”

Bucky grinned, settling back into his chair like he’d been waiting for the joke. “Really? I hadn't noticed.”

“Is that so?” You dared.

“Yeah, like I said earlier, I was taken in by the carpentry, to be honest.”

“You studied it, then?”

“Purely for research. I’m very thorough when it comes to furniture.”

“Well, if you know anyone that needs a chair model, my rates are negotiable.”

“I’ll talk to my agent,” he smirked. “That chair’s been living rent-free in my brain ever since.”

You couldn't help your grin widening at his comment. “Wow. Must’ve been some impressive craftsmanship.”

“It really was. Clean lines. Great structure. Memorable silhouette.”

“Memorable, hmm?” You pinched your lips together in an effort to hide just how amusing you found him.

“Unforgettable, actually.”

“You’re a lot more dangerous than you look,” you said, half-laughing as you settled deeper into your chair.

He raised an eyebrow. “Oh? That so?”

You nodded. “You’re funny, you’re sharp… people should be warned.”

“I’ll put it in my bio.”

Your smile lingered as you looked down at your lap. “Honestly? I was terrified to do this interview.”

He looked genuinely surprised. “Really?”

“Yeah. You’ve got that super cool guy, intense stare, probably hates small talk kind of reputation.” You shrugged, sitting back in your chair.

“I do hate small talk,” he agreed with a smile.

“I knew it.” Your laughed before adding, “You’re way more fun than I expected.”

“Don’t tell anyone,” he warned, “I’ve got a brand to maintain.”

“Ahh, too late! I’m screenshotting every joke for future blackmail,” you giggled.

“Guess I’ll have to keep being funny, then.”

He smiled like it was a promise.

You vaguely heard the crew calling wrap, but neither of you moved.

He glanced over as a technician leaned in to unhook his mic, and you stood, brushing your hands down your skirt, suddenly aware of his eyes still on you.

“It was really nice talking to you,” you said, your voice lower now, a little softer. It felt strange, trying to close the distance with words after talking non-stop for two hours.

“Yeah. You too.”

His gaze hadn’t dropped. It didn’t waver.

You hesitated, then stepped closer, heart racing. “I feel like... we’ve earned a hug?”

His mouth curved, his smile giving you butterflies. “More than earned.”

He pulled you into his arms, and for a second, the ground under your feet slipped sideways. He was solid warmth. His steady breath lingered against your ear, a contrast to your own shaky exhale, he had one large hand low on your back, the other pressing just firmly enough to make you forget how to stand.

You didn’t mean to linger. But you did.

So did he.

When you finally pulled back, your fingertips skimmed his arm a second too long, like they didn’t want to let go. He looked at you and you felt his gaze trap you, like a spark catching the hem of something flammable.

Someone called your name. You turned your head reluctantly.

And when you looked back at him, it was with a smile you couldn’t quite contain.

Bucky stepped outside into the fading light, the buzz of the interview still vibrating under his skin. He rubbed the back of his neck, trying to shake the ridiculous grin tugging at his mouth.

She’d surprised him. Undone him, a little.

It wasn’t just the way she looked, though, sure, that didn’t hurt, but it was the way she talked. The way she held her ground, made him laugh, made him feel like maybe he wasn’t so closed off after all.

They were supposed to be promoting their films. Instead, he’d spent most of the interview feeling like he was on a date.

He could hear Sam in his ear; “You should just go talk to her.”

He had. And now he didn’t want any of it to end.

His thumb hovered over Instagram. Her profile was already pulled up.

He didn’t even remember doing that.

His jaw flexed.

Her laugh still echoed in his ears, real and effortless. God, he hadn’t expected her to be funny. It messed with his head a little, how fast she’d gone from “the girl from the festival” to someone he couldn’t stop trying to impress.

Sam was waiting in the hallway, scrolling through something on his phone. “You gonna ask her out or just write sonnets about her in your Notes app?”

Bucky shoved him lightly. “Shut up.”

“Bucky-thinks-he’s-slick-but-he’s-smitten,” Sam’s singsong voice followed him down the corridor toward the exit.

But Bucky’s heart was thudding louder than Sam’s teasing.

She was unexpected.

Sharp, grounded, warm. And more than that… interested. Maybe?

And he already wanted more.

He wondered what the appropriate amount of time was to wait before sending her a message.

What did normal people do?

He didn’t do this. Didn’t date, didn’t flirt. Barely socialised.

He finished his movies, promoted them when he was told to, and then disappeared back to quiet routines and the safety of anonymity.

But The Howling Commandos was different.

It was already generating as much buzz as his Winter Soldier series ever had, maybe more… but this wasn’t just popcorn cinema. This was the first time his name had been mentioned in conjunction with awards season.

And to campaign? To be in with a shot?

He had to step out of his comfort zone.

Maybe that started with a DM.

He mulled it over for a day or two.

Then the promotional clips dropped.

And because the studios had money to make and investors and fans to please… They started with a clip of the hug.

He knew it had reached a fever pitch when Sam sent him a TikTok with the caption “That’s not an interview, that’s foreplay.”

He read Sam's accompanying message and gritted his teeth, speaking his own reply into existence, “this is all out of context and you know it.”

He scrolled past another fancam titled ‘I fear we are in our enemies to friends to lovers to Academy Award-winning power couple era.’

He shut the app. Opened it again ten seconds later.

This was ridiculous. He’d done movies with Oscar winners, shared red carpets with people he grew up watching.

But she was the one he couldn’t stop thinking about.

He watched it all unfold, his heart bouncing off the walls of his chest, but he still hadn’t messaged.

It wasn’t just the hug, or the interview.

It was everything.

He stared at her profile photo in his DMs.

Typed a message. Deleted it.

Typed again.

hey, was great meeting you yesterday. you did great, it was the most fun I’ve had in an interview in a long time. BB

You watched the promo clips drop from a hotel room.

The room was quiet except for the soft hum of the air conditioner. You were curled under the duvet, your phone held inches from your face, the screen cast a pale blue glow over you.

There’s ship names, screengrabs, slowed-down footage of you both, memes, headlines… So many headlines.

“Interview Chemistry Sends Fans into a Frenzy”, “Cabaret Queen and Commandos Star: Something Brewing?”

You curled further into bed, feeling more overwhelmed with each flick of your thumb.

Twitter was a war zone.

Your name was trending. His name was trending.

Every clip of the interview had already been dissected, subtitled, turned into thirsty little edits that made your stomach flip with secondhand embarrassment.

“the way he LOOKS at her???”

“they’re already married in my mind”

You dropped the phone to your chest, breathing out slowly.

It had all felt so real in the moment. You weren’t performing. You’d forgotten about the cameras halfway through, forgotten about the entire world watching.

And now you had to wonder - you couldn't not - was he performing? Was he playing up to the camera? Knowing it would generate… this?

Every time you refreshed, there were a hundred more posts.

Edits. Threads. Think pieces.

Some were calling it PR genius.

Some were calling it love at first sight.

You had to laugh at that one.

It was just an interview. Two people talking.

You'd had coffee dates with less eye contact.

And yet...

You watched another clip, muted.

The moment right after you'd teased him, when he looked at you like he knew things he wasn’t supposed to.

Your stomach flipped, traitorous and warm.

You opened Twitter again and switched to the Trending page.

Big mistake.

It sent you spiraling.

Should you have said less? More? Did you come across too eager? Was it that obvious that you liked him?

The internet certainly thought so.

You watched clips of the interview stitched next to slowed-down footage of the hug.

That only sent you further downwards.

How long would it be before the comments turned? Before you were portrayed as desperate? Fake? Scheming?

It wouldn't be the first time.

You locked your phone, tossed it to the other side of the bed like it had burned you.

Tried to breathe.

Tried not to care.

Your chest felt tight, your heart raced.

You needed your dad.

He'd pick you back up, with a hug, a large gin and his famous lemon drizzle cake.

Across the bed, a notification lit up your screen.

Followed by a buzz against the soft sheets.

You sighed, expecting another alert, another headline.

But it was a message. From him.

You stared at it.

Read it twice. Three times.

Your stomach twisted, then swooped.

Ok.

Ok.

You weren’t going to read into it.

You picked the phone up like it might bite, thumbs hovering uselessly.

What were you even supposed to say?

Thanks? You too?

God, you were an adult. A professional. Get it together.

You typed a reply.

Deleted it.

Tried again.

Sent.

Regretted.

Immediately locked your phone again and buried your face in the duvet.

You didn't expect a reply, but there was another buzz.

He called you doll.

Who were you kidding, he probably called everyone doll.

You replied again, another response that absolved him of any need to reply.

You set your phone down slowly and stared at the ceiling with a stupid smile.

You were in so much trouble.

God help you if he replied again.

God help you if he didn't.

[arcadiaforever]

After exams

[rayofsuunshiine]

And just like that.. I’m back on my Bucky Barnes bullshit.

[missymysticc]

On a call with Bucky!

[chaxan08]

Yelena: I'm still trying to figure out why you're going out with me.

Kate: Because you're sweet and funny.

Yelena: Well, Barnes says I'm moody and quiet, so one of you is lying.

[nalian0vna]

Nothing could've prepared me for this

[bondedcloud]

Marvel’s Thunderbolts Trailer

[guardianjameslight]

Bucky, why are you lying?

[multiverseofseries]

The final trailer for ‘THUNDERBOLTS*’ has been released. In theaters on May 2.

[lives-in-midgard]

Bucky and Yelena's Thunderbolts poster

[daydreamgoddess14]

What's it take to get your number?

What's it take to bring you home?

Here she is! My first Bucky fic (😬)

From my Valentine's Lovebomb event, this one is for Emily 💜

Bucky Barnes x F!Reader insert, no use of y/n, no applicable warnings - just some cute fluff while I dip my toe into another fandom.

Masterlist

Of all of the things Yelena had talked you into, this was undoubtedly the worst.

And she had, of course, talked you into some truly awful shit.

If she could see you now, scowling into your margherita, she’d probably throw something at you.

Hey! Smile a little, huh?

As it happens, the thought of it does make you smile.

She's been good to you since you met. Being Valentina's PA was often an utterly thankless existence. The way she'd collected up Yelena, Alexei, John Walker and the others had been admirable.

Adding Bucky Barnes into the mix had been a goddamn coup.

They mostly went about their business as instructed and paid you little to no attention, but Yelena had spotted you still working away late into the night just before Christmas. She'd disappeared and returned twenty minutes later with cartons of Cantonese food which she insisted you shared.

Since then, a tentative friendship had blossomed between you both.

At the bar, there’s plenty of small talk going on in the background. Lots of organising.

The tables have been arranged loosely in a grid with plenty of space between them to move around.

Not that you have to move anywhere.

The instructions have been made very clear.

Yelena read them out with such glee, you suggested that she go instead.

So you sit, and you wait… then they ring a bell and the men come in and also sit down, yes? Hmm… says you have five minutes. Seems not long enough? Then bell goes again and you stay in your seat. The men move around and you have more handsome men to talk to! Fun, right?

Oh yes. Great fun. So much fun.

Next time Yelena suggests speed dating, you’re going to drag her kicking and screaming with you.

You steal a glance at the time, only a few minutes until the shitshow kicks off.

You signal the waiter for another drink, god knows you need it.

A couple of deep, cleansing breaths and the bell goes.

The noise and activity around you does distract you.

You glance around quickly at the couple of people around you, the beautiful women in their barely there dresses, poker straight hair and lashes so long they could be used as a fan.

You’ve made an effort, of course.

A certain blonde pain in your ass made sure of it.

This top, this skirt, these shoes.

She threw them at you.

Girl, the skirt has pockets!

The woman at the table next to you looks completely underwhelmed by her first five minute attendee.

Her eyes wide and her mouth in a fixed line.

The poor guy loosens his tie nervously.

A tie? Yikes.

He seems uncomfortable, clearly aware of the unfavorable impression he's making.

You’re almost transfixed by the car crash about to unfold in front of you.

This has got to be more entertaining than your date, right?

This is the shit you could watch all night long.

A low cough alerts you to your own car crash.

You steel yourself, a fake smile already in place.

“Hey,” he says.

The smile begins to slip.

You know that voice.

Why do you know that voice?

How do you know that voice?

By the time you actually look at him, the smile is long gone.

“Oh fuck.” It could be a whisper. It could be a squeak.

Either way, it’s barely audible so of course he heard it.

“Fancy seeing you here,” he grins, slightly incredulously.

“What are you doing here, Bucky?”

“Same as you, apparently.”

“Did you follow me?”

“Why the hell would I follow you?”

“That’s what I’m trying to figure out. Did Yelena put you up to this? I’m going to fucking kill -”

“She didn’t put me up to anything,” he held up his hands in surrender. “And, I’d like to see you try,” he adds disparagingly.

He’s not wrong.

“So, why are you here?”

“Sam thought it would be a good idea. He says I’m too introspective.”

“Nice. He’s such a good friend,” you bite back.

“Right? He’s got enough charm for both of us.”

“So you don’t want to be here either?”

“Does it look like it?” He frowned.

“Fine. So we sit in silence until you can move on.” You tell him sternly, reaching for your drink and taking a long gulp. You signal the waiter again for another.

He scoffed and shook his head.

“I’m not sitting in silence. Sam says I should talk more, so let's talk,” he declares, and you just roll your eyes at his stubbornness.

“What the hell is there to even talk about?” you ask, “you literally have no idea who I am?”

Bucky seems undeterred by your attitude.

“What kind of books do you like?” he asks casually. “What kind of… seriously?” You eye him suspiciously.

“Yeah, you’ve always got your head in a book. You say I don't know who you are but I've seen you. Recommending stuff to Yelena - not to me, though - so what do you like to read?” He leaned forward on the table, making it wobble.

“Anything,” you mutter with a sigh, “everything, really. The classics, fantasy, thrillers, romance.” He nods along as you speak. “What about you?” You ask hesitantly.

“I’ve been reading the classics lately, actually,” he admits.

“Oh sure,” you roll your eyes.

“Hey, it’s true. I just finished Pride and Prejudice.”

“And did you enjoy it?” As you ask your question, the bell rings out.

“Gentlemen, time to move on to the next table please,” the organiser calls out.

“Hold that thought, doll. Guess I’ll see you around?” He stood, waiting patiently for the man in the tie to move along.

The woman at the neighboring table suddenly seems thrilled with her new date. Bucky offers her a smile, and she responds with a giggle.

He takes his seat at the next table, but instead of engaging with his new date, he leans back over to you.

“I loved it. I like the chemistry between Elizabeth and Darcy and the layers of their relationship. It’s probably my favourite romance.”

The woman next to you looks a little put out.

“Your favourite romance? Which others have you read?” You can’t help but ask.

The man directly across from you is growing increasingly annoyed, watching the conversation unfold with a sense of irritation, like he's watching a tense tennis match.

“I liked it more than Jane Eyre, and Wuthering Heights.”

A small, surprised smile curves up the corner of your mouth as Bucky continues to ignore his next date.

“Uhh, excuse me?” she interjected, her voice laced with irritation.

“Sorry ma’am, I’ll just be a minute.” Bucky calmly replies, not breaking eye contact with you.

“I’m not a fan of Wuthering Heights either, I tried to be in my tortured youth.” You admit.

He laughs and it’s… magical.

“Any others you’d recommend?”

“North and South -”

“Gaskell?” He confirms, you nod. He mirrors your nod, a small smirk crossing his face.

“Yeah, another brooding gentleman and headstrong woman.”

“Huh, sounds familiar.”

“It does, doesn’t it?”

Meanwhile, your new date grows increasingly impatient, tapping on the table incessantly, while Bucky's date becomes frantic as she attempts to catch the organiser's attention.

The man at your own table finally interjects, addressing Bucky directly.

“Excuse me, buddy, you're supposed to move on after five minutes, you know?”

“Sorry man, just seeing where this goes,” he shrugs before looking back at you. “Got any newer recommendations? Feels like I’m… stuck in the past sometimes,” he grins lopsidedly.

“Romance, or something else?”

“Let’s stick with romance,” he leans in with his elbows on his knees.

“Try Emily Henry,” you tell him as your new drink arrives.

“Excuse me sir, you do need to move on?” The waiter insists as he carefully places your drink down.

Bucky sighs, turning back in his seat to face his actual date.

“Finally, I might be able to grab a quick minute before the bell goes -” your date starts with a smile.

“Emily Henry, huh? Book Lovers author? I saw it but didn’t pick it up,” Bucky leans over again.

“I’ve got a copy, I’ll bring it over.”

“That’s great, thanks.”

“And North and South, too?” You ask.

“I look forward to it.”

“Excuse me!” Your date interjects loudly.

You look down at the table with a blush as Bucky turns away again.

“So, how long have you been single?” You hear your date ask as the bell goes again.

“And move on again please, gentlemen.” The organiser smiles.

Your date does so, following Bucky with an angry frown.

With another table between you, you assume that’s your additional ‘date’ with Bucky over and turn to greet your next date.

Now, from three tables away, Bucky calls down the row to you.

“Hey, doll, there’s a new bookstore opened by Sam’s place. We should check it out?”

You nod to placate him while disgruntled voices around you mutter and curse his interruptions.

The bell rings again and everyone moves on once more.

From five tables away he asks about the recipe for the pasta dish you made for lunch with Yelena last week.

From seven tables away he shouts to ask whether you saw the last episode of Traitors.

“That is enough, sir. I'm afraid I'm going to have to ask you to leave,” the organiser says with exasperation at the next bell.

“But we're getting along so well,” he protests as two waiters try to lead him to the door.

Giving up, he gives you a half shrug and a wave.

“See ya later, kid.”

He leaves without further disruption.

You turn back to your latest date but your enthusiasm has left the building with Bucky.

Despite the tedious hour that follows, no conversation manages to match the level of engagement you experienced in your initial encounter.

You had been under the distinct impression that he had no idea who you were. Of all of them, Yelena was the only one who made an effort. Alexei occasionally pulled you into conversation, usually when he needed an additional body on his side in an argument, but Bucky walked past your desk almost daily without a word or a glance.

You couldn't help but wonder why he chose tonight, of all evenings, to engage with you.

He could have ignored Sam's suggestion to attend. He could have ignored you completely.

You'd given him an out, offered to sit in silence.

His casual comment to your second date echoed in your mind: “Sorry man, just seeing where this goes.”

Those simple words had hinted at a deeper curiosity or interest, beyond just passing time at a speed dating event.

It had been both impressive and frustrating to see the usually stoic Bucky calling across tables, asking you questions about your job, how long you'd worked for Valentina, with an animated excitement that seemed to be reserved solely for you.

The organiser called time and you wrapped your coat tightly around you, the mid-February nights were cold and you were ready for bed.

You shot Yelena a brief text, letting her know you had arrived home safe and sound, choosing to leave her hanging when it came to details about the event.

After a fitful night, you arrived at the office the following morning, books safely nestled in your bag.

Yelena is parked at your desk, her feet casually propped up as if she'd taken permanent residency.

She raised an inquiring eyebrow.

“So, did you find the love of your life?”

“I'm never doing that again,” you warn with a pointed finger in her direction.

“Really?” A familiar voice behind you asks. “And here I thought you had a good time.”

You turn around to see Bucky standing there, his gaze fixed on you with a cheeky smile.

Yelena can barely contain her excitement, her grin widening even further.

Her feet hit the floor with a thud as she eagerly joins the conversation, eyes darting between the two of you. She turns first to Bucky.

“Wait, you were there?” Her question laced with disbelief.

Bucky shrugged nonchalantly, as if it were the most natural thing in the world for him to have attended a speed dating event.

“Yeah, and?” He asked, his indifference only increasing Yelena's excitement.

“You went speed dating?” She asks incredulously. He doesn't look at her as he answers, he looks only at you.

“I went speed dating.” He confirms.

“And all you got were book recommendations?” You add, reaching into your bag to hand him the two books.

“Well I was kinda hoping I got a little more than that,” Bucky smirks, his expression filled with a hint of mischief.

Yelena's eyes widened, her gaze darting back and forth between you and Bucky.

“Wait, what's this? What's with you two?”

“I mean, I did think you were scared of me-” he began.

“You don't scare me,” you cut in firmly.

His smile widened further.

“Good to know.”

Yelena watches the exchange with wide eyes.

“This is so weird,” she mumbles to herself.

“So, you think you'll do it again?" You ask him brazenly.

Bucky grins at your bold question.

“Maybe,” he muses before adding with a twinkle in his eye, “but only if you're there.”

FIN

[trrsseea]

The Choices We Make

pairing: Bucky x reader

warning: non

Bucky sat on the edge of his bed, staring at his vibranium hand. The dog tags around his neck clinked softly as he shifted, the sound somehow heavier than usual. Y/n was in the kitchen, humming to herself as she made breakfast, blissfully unaware of the war raging in his mind.

It wasn’t her fault. She was perfect—kind, smart, patient, everything he didn’t think he deserved. But that was the problem. Wasn’t it? She deserved someone who fit into her world. Someone who understood memes without needing them explained. Who didn’t get overwhelmed by crowds or who could actually laugh along with her friends instead of feeling like an outsider in their world. He didn’t belong here. Not at this time. Not with her.

Y/n walked in her hair slightly mussed from the morning, wearing one of my old shirts. She was holding a tray balanced carefully in her hands, carrying a breakfast, golden French toast and two steaming mugs. I assumed one was tea for her and the other, black coffee for me. Her face lit up with her usual radiant smile, a look so serene and angelic that she seemed almost otherworldly.

She smiled even brighter, which I didn’t think was possible as she handed me a mug. “Morning, sleepyhead.” I looked up and took the coffee, but the warmth of the mug did little to ease the cold feeling in my chest.

“Y/n, we need to talk,” I said, my voice low but steady.

She frowned, placing her mug on the table with a soft clink. “That sounds ominous,” she said, followed by a light giggle, unaware of just how right she was.

I took a deep breath, staring into the dark liquid swirling in the mug I held tightly. “I’ve been thinking… maybe this isn’t working.”

Her brow furrowed. “What do you mean?” At first, she didn’t understand, but then she realised it.

“We’re fine. Aren’t we?” she asked, her frown deepening as her eyes searched mine.

I shook my head, unable to meet her eyes. “You deserve someone… normal. Someone who understands your world, your jokes, your friends. Someone who isn’t stuck in the past.”

“Bucky,” she said softly, sitting beside me. “Where is this coming from? Did something happen?” She sounds worried and places her hand gently on my knee, her thumb moving in slow, soothing circles.

“It’s not one thing,” I admitted, setting the coffee down. “It’s everything. You’re young, Y/n. You have your whole life ahead of you. And I’m… I’m old. I’ve lived through things you can’t even imagine. And sometimes, I feel like I’m dragging you into my mess.”

She stops the movement of her hand “That’s not how I see it,” she said firmly.

“I know,” I said, finally meeting her gaze. “But it’s how I feel. And I don’t think it’s fair to you. You could be with someone who doesn’t come with all this… baggage.” I gesture to myself.

She stared at me for a long moment, her expression unreadable. Then, she stood up, crossing her arms. “Okay, let’s break this down. First of all, yes, you’re older. But that doesn’t mean we don’t understand each other. And you’re not the only one who has been through tough things. Everyone has baggage, Bucky.” She says firmly not letting her shields down.

“It’s not the same,” I argued.

“I’m not saying it’s the same baggage,” she countered, her voice steady, “but we all have something we fight.”

“No, it’s not,” she admitted, her tone softening. “But it doesn’t have to be. We don’t have to be the same to make this work.”

I sighed, running a hand through my hair. “Y/n, you’re too good for this. For me.”

She let out a short laugh, shaking her head. “You don’t get to decide that for me. I knew who you were when we started this, Bucky. I chose this. I chose you. And yeah, it’s not always easy, but what relationship is?” She smiled slightly at me.

I looked up at her, the walls I’d been building around myself starting to crack. “What if I can’t give you what you need? What if—”

“Stop,” she interrupted, sitting back down beside him. “What I need is you. Flaws, baggage, your dad jokes, and all of you. You don’t have to have everything figured out, Bucky. We can figure it out together.”

I was silent for a long moment, the weight of her words sinking in. “What if I can’t be enough?”

She moved to sit on top of me, each leg on one side, and placed her hands on my cheeks, her gaze locking onto mine. “Then we deal with it. Together. But you don’t get to push me away because you’re scared. That’s not fair to me.”

I stared at her, my throat tight. “I don’t deserve you.”

“Maybe not,” she said with a small smile. “But I’m not going anywhere.”

I wrapped my arms around her waist, pulled her close, and buried my face against her, inhaling her familiar scent. She responded by wrapping her arms around me, holding me just as tightly.

I let out a soft laugh, shaking my head. “You’re stubborn.”

“That’s why you like me,” she whispered into my ear brushing her lips softly against it.

Without thinking, I lifted my head closing the distance between us, and pressed my lips softly against hers. The kiss was tender, lingering for a moment as if we both needed the reassurance.

And for the first time in weeks. I felt a flicker of hope. Maybe we could make this work Maybe I didn’t have to do this alone.