#the urge to just wedge myself between these two fools on the couch like “Sup fellas? Come here often? [*poor attempt at a wink*]”

[downtherabbitholewithlucy]

💖The Girlies💖

[serpienten]

something sweet

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Reader

Summary: Bucky can’t stop thinking about the cute nurse in the Tower. She, on the other hand, doesn’t seem to be that into him.

Warning: reader being under a lot of pressure, some language perhaps

Word Count: 3.7k

A/N: Well, fuck me this is long. I’m actually scared it’s gonna be boring but I genuinely hope it’s not. Some of this dialog was pretty therapeutic for me to write actually so this fic is a tad close to ma black empty heart. This was for @sgtjbuccky ‘s End of Year writing challenge and I hope I’ve done the prompt justice, Salina. Thank’s for letting me participate :D Please leave some feedback if you like what you read!

* italicized parts are flashbacks

“You’re a punk.”

“Jerk.”

“Shut up.”

“You’re the one out here whining like a baby, maybe you should shut up.”

“Do you need reminding why I’m ‘whining like a baby’? I didn’t shoot myself, that’s for sure.”

Steve rolls his eyes, arms crossed in front of his chest. “I had it under control. No need for you to play the hero.”

“Yeah, right.” Buchy scoffs. The movement makes the wound on his bicep - no, correction, it makes his whole damn body sting like a bitch. He winces slightly and a groan rumbles up his throat. “It sure didn’t look like it. Forgive me for trying to save your life.”

"I don't need you to save my life."

“Don’t play the hero, Steve.”

“I’m serious. Thank you, but no thank you."

Bucky sighs. Bruises, black and purple blotches, scrapes and gashes litter his body and if he weren’t in so much pain, and under the influence of the strongest, most useless painkillers in Bruce’s possession, he’d deck his stubborn as fuck friend in the face. The only thing giving the brunette some sort of satisfaction is that Steve doesn’t look much better than him. Just with one bullethole less.

Bucky doesn’t mind being injured.

In a twisted kind of way, every hit he takes in the field frees him more than it weighs him down. He takes every cut, each drop of blood, every twinge of pain, the ripped skin and the scars and he tries to get better because, at this point, it’s all he can do.

But that still doesn’t mean he opens his arms like Jesus and welcomes rains of bullets or a storm of flying knives to hit him full force. He doesn’t have a death wish. Anymore, at least.

But this time, this injury, is Steve’s fault. And Bucky’d rather die than not take the chance of annoying the righteous, golden boy, I’m-the-standard-come-try-getting-on-my-level Captain America.

“Aren’t you at all worried about me? I could be dying. I could be dying and it would be your fault.”

“You can call it payback for Coney Island if you want.”

“Are you kidding me?” Bucky huffs indignantly, “It’s been seventy fucking years. I lost an arm and am about to lose my life, I think that’s enough.”

“Of course I’m kidding.” With a sigh that revealed nothing but exhausted irritatioin, Steve fell down next to him on the bed. “Stop being such a diva about it, you’ve been through worse.”

“You li-”

“I hope I’m not interrupting.”

Bucky’s head whips to the side and instantly, he grimaces again. Eyes flying shut, he gently re-adjusts the ice pack on his right thigh. He hears footsteps coming closer and his posture straightens a little.

“You two look like you got hit by a plane.”

He opens his eyes to see a woman wearing a white, light coat looking down at a clipboard in her hands. A lovely shade of lipstick colors her lips, which are curled up in a teasing smile, in a beautiful tint of rose. The woman’s eyes flicker over what’s in front of her quickly and even the stupidest person in the universe could tell that she seemed to be more than just an expert in her field. Her legs are spread slightly in a confident, stable stance, soft locks of hair framing her face which - Jesus Mary and Joseph - gives him a whole new reason to feel weak in the knees.

“Hi, Y/N.” Steve lifts his hand and gives her a little wave, as much as the gash on his forearm allows.

The woman, Y/N, looks up from the clipboard and grins. Bucky’s heart stutters in his chest. “’Sup Steve.”

“Oh, you know, the usual.” Bucky looks to his side and furrows his brows at the lopsided grin on his blond friend’s face. How on earth does Steve know her and Bucky doesn’t? He gets injured tons of times more often than the man jumping out of airplanes without a parachute (a fact that, in retrospect, should definitely worry him more) and he’s never met her. Bucky’s eyes narrow and the mechanics in his left arm whir slightly as he clenches his fingers to a fist.

“Sergeant?”

“What?”

They’re both looking at him now, with equally anticipating expressions. Y/N must’ve said something because she re-adjusts to clutch the clipboard to her chest and clears her throat.

“I was asking if you’ve obtained any other serious injuries aside from the bullet wound on your bicep. I’ve seen a few cuts and scrapes, do you need me to take care of them right now or do you want to wait for Doctor Cho?”

“You- You want to look at my wounds?”

“Oh, uh, is there an issue?” Y/N’s eyebrows raised as she looks at him, taken aback.

“Wha- oh, no that’s not- I didn’t mean it to sound like that. There’s no issue. I...” he quickly explains, yet again reminded of his injuries when pain shoots through the backs of his thighs as he hastily scoots forward a little.

Y/N’s confused frown morphs back into genuine concern when he flinches. Something inside Bucky cramped painfully at the urge to make that expression disappear. She of all people, someone as breathtaking as her, shouldn’t be concerned about someone like him.

And then, she takes a step closer.

Bucky’s eyes widen. Simultaneously, he leans back. She notices it instantly and stops in her tracks, a helplessly puzzled expression on her face. “Don’t you want me to take a look?”

His breath hitches in his throat imperceptibly at her proximity. Bucky’s quick to realize that having her touch him when he’s already making a fool of himself without her hands on him wouldn’t be the best idea. He feels his heart thumping heavily in his chest as he shakes his head slowly.

“No, no it’s fine. I’m fine. Peachy. Perfect.” Internally, Bucky cringes hard.

Get your shit together, fuck’s sake.

The image of that white, fluffy cat thingy spreading its arms in a ‘What the fuck are you doing’ kind of way flashes through his mind and for a split second he clenches his jaw.

Steve next to him almost successfully stifles a laugh.

Y/N takes a quick step back and nods. “Okay, I’ll... I’ll tell Helen to hurry.”

She shoots Steve a look of complete and utter confusion, who in return replicates the exact pose of that damned cat Bucky’d just been thinking about, before turning around and leaving the room.

Bucky sharply lets out a breath he didn’t even know he’d been holding in the first place, deflating like a balloon filled with too much air. “Oh my god...” he mutters under his breath, over and over again, voice tainted with disbelief.

“What on earth was that?” Steve regards his friend with raised eyebrows. Bucky’s slumps forward, the ice-pack scrunching weakly, wedged between his abdomen and his upper legs, and both of his hands, one silvery metal and the other tanned flesh obscuring the view of his face.

“That was me being you.” His reply is muffled, just like the low whine he lets out right after.

Bucky’s eyes are focused on the long glass wall separating the kitchen from the living room. It’s only Steve and him sitting on one of the grey, soft couches, the former flipping through a book, glasses perched on his nose.

The blond glances at him out of the corner of his eye. “Quit it, will you?”

“Quit what?”

“You know what I mean. Quit it. It’s creepy.” Steve focuses his attention back to the black ink on the book’s pages.

“Fuck you, you’re creepy.”

His friend lets out a breath. “She’s not interested. Quit it.”

“Maybe you should change the record, I think it’s broken,” Bucky says dryly, flopping down on his back, flinging one leg over the backrest of the couch. He doesn’t tear his gaze away from the glass wall, or rather, what’s behind it.

Steve doesn’t deign to look at him. Instead, he simply pushes the glasses, as useless and unnecessary they may be, up his nose and continues reading.

Some of the team members are sitting around the dining table, chattering and laughing faintly. There’s Natalia. Wanda, Sam, Tony. And Y/N.

To Bucky’s chagrin, Steve had told Sam about what had happened that day he first saw her. Ever since then, there isn’t a day Bucky doesn’t see Y/N around somewhere.

And it’s torture.

He can’t seem to be in the same room as her without embarrassing the fuck out of himself and quite frankly, it’s annoying. Steve’s and Sam’s giggles in the background don’t help at all. He constantly fumbles for words, acts insanely clumsy and, according to Tony, looks at her ‘with hearts flying out of his stupid eyes’. In his defense, he can’t exactly help it though. Her presence is addicting. She’s smart, makes him laugh (which isn’t an easy feat to achieve), smells like heaven and has a smile and laugh that threaten to make his knees buckle over every single time. 

Bucky’s so into her, Steve’s started to call Wednesdays ‘Whinedays’ because Bucky has been using the blond’s free day to his whiny advantage.

Of course, all of this would be a hell of a lot easier if she were into him too.

The only issue: She isn’t.

At least that’s what he thinks.

Y/N never fails to amaze and confuse the crap out of him. She flirts with him and shoots him down the second it looks like he might make a move. She touches him sometimes, gentle brushes of knuckles against knuckles or a soft squeeze to his bicep, but as soon as he steps a little closer, she’s jumps back like he just attempted to slap her. It sort of puts a damper on the rapid beating of his heart.

Bucky heaves out a sigh and closes his eyes, raising his hands to rub them over his face.

”Are you coming tonight?”

“To Tony’s rooftop soiree? No, thank you.” Bucky tilts his head to look at his friend.

“You might enjoy yourself. Once in a while, you really should show up.” Steve says it so nonchalantly and so smoothly Bucky has to furrow his brows. Ever since the brunet had joined the team, he’d been largely given the control over when and where he wanted to go. It was a well-known fact that the former Winter Soldier disliked parties for many reasons and most people had accepted that not ten horses could drag him near big crowds. And Stark’s parties were infamous for their loudness and for being on a whole other level of anxiety-inducing. Almost everyone had accepted his wish to not be forced to attend events like that, except for the Captain.

“No,” Bucky replies, a finality in his voice that would’ve put an end to most conversations. Most.

There’s a pause. Then, Steve pushes out a sigh and puts a colorful, completely scribbled over piece of paper to mark the page in his book, setting it down on the table. He shifts his sitting position so that his whole body is now turned into the direction of his sprawled out friend.

“I know you’re strictly against parties. And I respect that- I do.” Steve says with more urgency when Bucky snorts. “But this time, it’s not that big of a deal. There aren’t many people invited, just some field agents, the team and a few others. It’s a small event. I know you can handle that.”

Out of the corner of his eye, Bucky can see Y/N leaving. Sam waves at her just before she exits the room. His mood instantly darkens a little. With one smooth movement, both of Bucky’s feet are planted on the ground and he sits in an upright position. “Quit it, Steve. I’m not interested.”

“Go out with me. Just once. One time‘s all. Whaddaya say, doll?”

“Bucky, I...”

Serenity settles in the tower the second the little party on the rooftop starts.

It’s how Bucky likes it.

Calm. Quiet. Peaceful.

All the commotion he dislikes with a passion is safely up on the roof, far away from the living quarters and anywhere Bucky wants to be at anyways. He likes being by himself. Alone but not so lonely, wandering the seemingly never-ending hallways of the more than large building absentmindedly, until the never-ending hallways end and his absent mind decides whether to go left or right or straight ahead. Bucky’s discovered many things about the tower that way. Empty rooms that might’ve been discarded since the day the structure had been built, storage spaces, rooms with unused training machines and high windows that give a breathtaking view of the city Bucky calls home and also not.

He’s discovered many things on walks like these but, still, he’s nowhere near having discovered everything.

Tonight, he’s somewhere on the seventh floor.

He walks with the shadows dancing around him and tranquility following wherever he goes. Gaze lowered, his footfall is silent as a cat’s. Bucky knows his way around darkness like the back of his hand. After all, it’s where he’s spent most of his life. Out of sight. Surrounded by cold, calculated silence and darkness.

Left. Straightforward. Right. Right. Left.

The only source of light is the low gleaming neon emergency exit sign at the end of the hallway.

Right. Straightforward. Straightforward. Left.

That’s when he hears it.

Bucky stops in his tracks.

Furrowing his brows, he strains his ears, listens into the darkness. There’s nothing at first but then the sound’s back. It’s far away but if there’s one thing Bucky can rely on, it’s his hearing.

The brunet follows the sound, hearing it rise in volume with every step he takes and every corner he rounds. Delicate notes conjoined in a gentle melody wrap around him the closer he gets until they’re all he can hear and all he can feel, and he stands in front of a door that’s slightly ajar. There’s no light peaking through the slight crack.

Who on earth plays a piano without any light?

The melody still floats around his head and curiosity takes the better of him, prompting him to quietly push open the door.

Like countless other rooms in the building, this one has floor to ceiling windows. The city lights illuminate the room eerily and throw long shadows across the floor, but the view is something to die for.

Just like the person Bucky notices in the room next.

“I’m sorry, I don’t think I can...”

“No, don’t apologize, I shouldn’t even have...”

His breath hitches in his throat when he recognizes her and he’d very much like to hit himself for the stupid, loud gasp that leaves him because it startles her and cuts of the beautiful melody. Y/N whirls around and looks at him with wide eyes while Bucky takes a step forward and raises his hands reassuringly. As soon as she recognizes him, she lets out a deep breath.

“Jesus, Buck, you almost just gave me a fucking heart attack.”

“Sorry, doll,” he smiles, sheepishly. “That wasn’t my intention.”

“What was your intention then?” she sounds amused and her heartbeat is still going a little too fast and Bucky’s thankful she doesn’t seem to think he was creeping on her or anything.  

“Definitely not scaring you,” he grins and takes a few tentative steps closer to where she sits at the piano. It’s the only thing in the room and for a split second, Bucky makes a mental note to ask Tony if he even knows that this room exists. “Did you walk here in the dark?”

She shakes her head and points at a flashlight lying next to her on the floor.

“Well, I hope you’re proud of yourself,” she says, “Usually, people don’t have an easy time sneaking up on me.”

“Jumpy?”

“Just very attentive. You wouldn’t stand a chance when my guard is up, Barnes.” Y/N looks up at him teasingly when he’s next to her and scoots a little to the side, making space for him on the piano stool. Bucky sits down and the stool creaks precariously under his weight. Y/N giggles softly at the skeptical look on his face. Bucky’s heart shoots to his throat at the sound.

“If it breaks, you’re buying a new one, beefy man.” She snakes her arm through his and pulls him a little closer. It’s a close fit, Bucky’s ass is half on the stool and half off but he can’t and would never want to complain about being so close to her.

“Did you just call me fat?” He feigns offense and feels his heart jump in his chest when she giggles again.

“No no no, you’re all muscle, sweetheart.” She says, a wide grin on her face as she squeezes his bicep teasingly. “I like it.”

“Really.” Bucky looks at her with a raised eyebrow and a lopsided, silly smirk on his face. “Well, aren’t you something sweet.”

On the outside, Bucky’s surprisingly calm. On the inside, however, he’s freaking out. Y/N’s so close and she’s calling him sweetheart and giggling like a literal angel and if Bucky doesn’t get up and run away right now, he’ll probably be stuck on her for all eternity. Not that he’d mind, but his heart can only take so many rejections.

Y/N’s only reply is a soft smile and she rests her head on his shoulder as silence settles once more. Bucky lets his eyes wander over the piano. She’s been playing mere seconds ago but what’s notably missing are the notes.

“How long have you been playing?”

“Since I was a child,” she replies, gently pressing down the keys while she talks. “I used to practice every day but now I only do it once in a while.”

“Why?”

“I guess I’m just too busy now. Being a nurse is more stressful than one would think.” She pauses for a moment and Bucky thinks she hesitates before continuing. “It’s not just physically, you know? Mentally, it’s no walk in the park either.”

She’s not looking at him, instead, she’s fixing her gaze on the black and white keys of the piano.

“I think you’re handling it amazingly,” he confesses, looking down at her.

Y/N chances a glance up at him, seemingly searching for something in his eyes. Perhaps she’s looking for a glint that reveals dishonesty, something that signals her that he’s making fun of her for being so weak. When she finds nothing, though, because why would Bucky be dishonest to her of all people, another sigh leaves her.

“Thanks.” Her reply is a faint whisper that he surely would’ve missed if his hearing wasn’t so advanced.

“You know,” he lifts his right hand to touch her arm that is linked with his left, “if you need someone to talk to... I just- I- I’m here if you need anything. I just want you to know that.”

All of a sudden, tears well up in her eyes. It catches Bucky off guard. It was supposed to be sweet but apparently, he’d said something wrong. He’s about to apologize but she cuts him off.

“God, Bucky, I know. I know... Thank you so much.” She buries her face in the crook of his neck and Bucky can feel her tears dripping hotly onto his skin. “I’m sorry I shouldn’t even be crying right now. It’s so stupid.”

Her sniffling and stifled sobs break his heart into millions of pieces. “It’s not stupid, Y/N.” He disentangles his arm from her to wrap it around her shoulders, voice urgent and leaving no room for protest. “It’s natural. Besides, I’m no one to judge, you know that. I’m a mess.”

“You’re one of the strongest people I know, Buck. If anyone’s a mess here, it’s me,” she says. “I mean, I feel guilty even being around you sometimes because all I want is to talk to you because I know you’d understand but it’d make me feel so fucking guilty. Unloading all that crap on you that literally sounds like a luxurious vacation compared to what you’ve been through.”

Y/N lifts her head to look at him and Bucky sees the streaks of tears on her cheeks. He can’t help but reach up and cup her face in his flesh palm, softly brushing over the skin of her cheek with his thumb. “Stop. You hear me? What happened in my past is the past. I’m not suffering anymore, thanks to everyone around here. You’re suffering right now. And I’ll be damned if I let my past stand in my way of helping you. Do you understand?”

She squeezes her eyes shut and Bucky feels her leaning into his touch. His heart skips another beat. “You know what else?” he says after a short pause. Y/N hums, opening her eyes to look at him questioningly. “You help me too,” he murmurs. “Just... you. I feel better when you’re around. You help a lot.”

A wet chuckle bubbles up Y/N’s throat and she lets her head fall forward, a wall of hair shielding her beautiful face from his eyes. She wraps her fingers around his right wrist and Bucky swears to all the Gods and the devil down below that he feels her lips pressing to the palm of his hand. “Charmer.”

“Nah, darlin’. Just bein’ honest.”

It’s in another moment of silence they spend in each other’s arms that he realizes something. “Hold on, is that why you said no to going out with me?” he asks tentatively, because it’s such a stupid thing to ask in a situation like this. Y/N’s cheeks blush in an adorable rosy color.

“I’m just not really doing this stuff right now. It’s not you, please believe me.”

Instead of answering, she shrugs in embarrassment. “Maybe.”

Bucky chuckles in disbelief. “Right now, I don’t know if I want to kiss you or shove you off a bridge for thinking I wouldn’t want to listen to you.”

“Can I pick?”

Quickly, he leans forward and presses a kiss to her forehead, before pulling her into a bone crushing hug.

Y/N squeals in surprise at both actions and laughs while wrapping her arms around his torso.

The city lights give the room and eery glow and large shadows wrap around them like a blanket. They’re in a room on the seventh floor in the Avengers Tower while everyone else is up on the roof partying but Bucky’s never been happier than with her in his arms.

And he doesn’t think that’ll change anytime soon.