Work Text:
You can't help but hate the way they all treat you like some kind of cornered, injured animal, whenever people find out about what happened to you. As if they had the power to make or break you, a stranger who had the life-saving advice which could reverse everything that went wrong in your life.
But then again, maybe that was a selfish way of thinking. Maybe you gave them no choice, what with the way that you try to fight anyone who just wants to help.
When you first walk into the new Avengers compound, all you can think about is how different you are to who you once were. Things have changed here, sure - but maybe the things you can't recognize are just the things that the "new" you can't comprehend. Everything is so shiny and expensive-looking. This is nothing like the kind of life you and Bucky used to have.
You wonder if he'll be surprised to see you. If he'd even recognize you.
For the first time in months, you'd cleaned up a little. Valentina had forced you to, of course. Since the moment she found you, she hadn't shut up about your "media potential," making you wonder if she actually needed another soldier in her arsenal or a star for a new reality TV series.
The instructions were pretty clear. Get in the elevator, go up to the penthouse.
You stare at your reflection in the mirror in the elevator. Did you really get up early to do your hair, put on a light smattering of makeup with the few skills you had, and meticulously paint your nails, just for Valentina's approval? The truth was simmering deep inside of you, and the shiver which runs down your spine is clear evidence of your anxiety.
Bucky.
Oh, Bucky.
He used to be everything to you. And you thought maybe... maybe you could have meant something to him.
He was the prettiest man you'd ever seen. The sort of face you'd dream about. Blue eyes like the shadow of a glacier, sharp features which could have been carved from its ice. His hair was long, and you'd always wanted to run your fingers through it. Broad shoulders and large hands. You could just imagine the way he would use his fingers to-
Well, anyway.
Maybe, if time had worked in your favor, his small touches on your arm or knowing glances from across the room could have grown to mean something. Maybe those nicknames he used to call you were unique. Sometimes his friendly banter would border on flirting, and it would make you sweaty and nervous and shy. If you had more time, maybe eventually you would have grown the balls to actually tell him how you felt, and find out if he felt the same; instead of desperately hoping that one day he might just read your mind and know. Every mission was so easy, because the two of you were so in sync.
But then things went wrong. And when you found yourself again, you didn't go back.
Would he hate you for it?
Or would it be worse, if it never mattered to him at all whether you were there or not?
And anyway, it's been so long. So why do you still feel so nervous?
There's not enough time to think on a singular elevator ride. You hear the characteristic ding, and the doors slide open.
The first face to greet you is someone who wasn't even meant to be there.
A girl. She's frozen in place, staring at you, with a bag of puffed chips in one hand and a smoothie in the other. Her hair is blonde and short, but the features of her face are dark, like she went crazy with an eyeliner pencil, then forgot and rubbed at her eyes.
"Who..." She slowly looks around, as if an explanation would exist in the air around her. "Are you someone I should be fighting? Because if so, please let me put down my snacks."
"I hope not," you mumble. "I would hate to ruin your perfectly good smoothie."
"Thank God."
The stranger is Yelena. You've seen her on the cereal boxes. You watch her now as she takes a sip of her smoothie, nods, then walks away.
"There is a stranger here!" She calls, and her voice carries around the large foyer of the penthouse.
"I hear elevator ding!"
The Red Guardian seems to slide across the polished floors in his socks, which are missing several toes. "Ooh, Valentina has sent us pretty girl! Perhaps she is not so bad after all."
"Who is here?" You hear another voice ask from further away, and you're suddenly dreading what this is turning out to be.
Nobody told them you were coming?
The introductions are awkward - you have to somehow explain to them, as you are meeting them, that you will be one of them. You also have no idea how to answer the hundreds of questions they plague you with about your past, your powers. Where you're supposed to stay, when they don't even have a room prepared. What you want for dinner tonight.
You're all gathered around a table in the kitchen, talking. You've met Alexei and Yelena, the dynamic between the pair oddly charming. You meet John Walker, who appears casually less-than-interested in talking to you, but still hovers nonetheless. And you meet Ava and Bob - the former, stunningly beautiful, and the latter, extremely shy.
They're all so comfortable around one another.
"Is your hair naturally this color?" Yelena asks you, reaching out to twirl the ends around her fingers with a self-satisfied little grin.
Alexei scoffs. "You like this color, Yelena? I will do hair for you. I will do. It will look same."
"I would not let you touch my hair if you put a gun to my head," Yelena rolls her eyes and drops her hand.
"No gun. Just hair dye and scissors."
"Does this mean we're having some kind of press meet-and-greet later?" Walker exclaims, the idea just dawning on him, and you shrug.
"Well, Valentina did emphasize I should be dressed up, so I was expecting at least some kind of interaction with media..."
"Valentina didn't tell me to get dressed up," he mumbles. "I'm always the last to find out about these kinds of things."
"That's because nobody wants to see you in a sexy dress with your hair all curled, but they'd devour her." Ava smirked at Walker's irked expression. "Besides. She did tell us. I think you just weren't listening."
"Clearly you weren't listening, either," Walker snapped back, his eyes beckoning to Ava's pajama pants, and they go back to glaring at one another.
"Where's Bucky?" You ask, after some excruciating conversation - apparently none of them can sustain within the limits of "small talk" and can only ever divulge into extremely personal questions and life stories.
"Bucky?" Yelena repeats, crunching a chip between her perfect white teeth. "You know Bucky Barnes?"
"Sort of," you shrug. "I guess I used to."
Yelena exchanges a look with Ava. You catch the way she raises her brows, looks down at the table as if losing interest, and you know it will come up again eventually.
"Well, Bucky Barnes is probably crying or dancing or doing whatever secret thing he usually does in his room."
"You don't know?" You ask, brow raised.
You used to know.
You used to know everything about him.
But who knew if he was the same man?
You certainly weren't the same. So how can you expect him to be, after all these years?
"If you know him, you can share room with him." Yelena clasps her hands together, nodding enthusiastically. "It is decided."
"And then you can tell us what he does all day in there," Walker chuckles.
"Well, no-" You stutter, shaking your head. "I knew him. As in, past tense. As in, a very, very long time ago-"
You hear your name from behind your shoulder, and the room suddenly feels cold.
You turn, and meet his eyes. That was one thing you're glad could never change. They're rounded and full of desperation, blue like a restless ocean, and his stare is so intense it feels like ice on your skin wherever his gaze touches. But they're still the same eyes you stared into so long ago, the same face - only maybe hardened by time and experience - and only slightly shorter hair.
"Bucky."
He's still gorgeous. Still makes your mouth feel dry, and your hands clammy. You just stare at him staring at you, and you don't know what to say other than, "Bucky," again, and you know you're embarrassing yourself in front of all of the others now with your lack of words.
It doesn't matter. None of it matters when he rushes you and folds his arms over your body in a tight embrace. He holds you tightly, desperately.
After several long moments - moments you wouldn't mind if they lasted forever - he releases you, holding you firmly by your shoulders, and smiles.
He lights up the room. You wonder if you're the only one who can see it.
And suddenly, all of that ice on your skin turns to warmth. It slowly works to melt away your anxiety, melt away the bad memories, the fears-
"You-" He's lost for words, shaking his head in disbelief. "You're here."
"Yes," you smile back - and for the first time in many months, it feels natural. "I am."
"I never knew what happened to you. God, how long ago was it, the last time I saw you?"
"A long time," you offer.
"Yeah, a long time," he repeats, and just chuckles - and it's a heavenly sound you want to live in - "Where have you been? And why-" He cut himself off, and you feel like you know what he was about to ask.
Why didn't you come back?
You can't talk about it in front of everyone else. Can't talk about it to him, quite yet, either. A part of you is glad he stopped.
"You look so beautiful. I mean, you look great. You look the same... as you did. Before."
You flush at his words, and his awkward bumbling, and you shrug. "Yeah, well. Time is much kinder to you than it is to me."
He makes it feel easy. Like you can step back into being best friends. "That's all serum, doll. You're just genetics."
"'Doll...'" Yelena mumbles the words, then her mouth falls open in some kind of realization.
Bucky shoots her a look you can't decipher. Yelena just purses her lips, then dramatically sighs. "Well, I think it is time for me to go. Everyone, it is time to go." She shoos them out of the kitchen one-by-one, leaving everyone slightly confused and chasing after you with their curious glances.
You're alone with Bucky in the kitchen now. You go back to feeling that dry-mouthed, awkward sickness.
He says your name again, and you want to smile. You want to cry. All of the feelings which have built up over years are fighting to spill out of you. But you just shake your head.
"Please," he asks, and his voice is so soft. Like he's really trying. But you just do what you're best at.
"I can't."
"It's alright. Let's just go somewhere, and just talk-"
"Bucky. Please." Your tone is sharp, defensive. "I... I just can't."
"Alright, alright..." He holds his hands up in mock deference, and there it is again - like a wild animal. The taste in your mouth is sour.
You don't want to be on a bad note. You'd only just gotten him back.
"I just... I'm not ready."
Bucky look at you. He nods, once, and just shows you that warm smile once again. "Hey, that's fine... Here, let me just show you around. 'S that alright, sweetheart?"
You always melt at the pet names he gives you - then, freeze back up again when you wonder what he calls the other girls. He must be in a relationship. Right? How could he not be?
"Yes..."
You nod, and allow him to lead you around. He does most of the talking. That's fine, because he never used to get to just talk and be listened to. And you love to listen to his voice. But now he seems like the man of the house, if that was even a thing... You like the comfortable way he carries himself, no longer a man haunted. People had to have listened to him now. The pair of you don't actually talk about the things that matter, but maybe you're comfortable enough for now that it can be put off to another day.
Bucky finds you a room. It's less of a bedroom, and more of an unused office space, but you're grateful for anything. Valentina had already made you give up your apartment - she wants her team to be a cohesive unit, and best way to do that is to do each other's laundry, wash each other's dishes, right? It sounds like a horror movie to you, letting others see the worst pieces of the way you live your life and calling that "team bonding."
You get to work right away, and promise Bucky that you'll speak with him soon. You hope he'll take that as a good enough hint to leave you alone.
"Hey," Bucky calls, leaning on the doorframe, and you can see the curve of the muscles of his arm. It reminds you of dreams you used to have, back when dreams could just be dreams instead of perpetual nightmares.
"Yes?"
He whispers your name as he looks at the ground, like he was just saying it to himself. "I'm just... I'm glad you're here. Take all the time you'll need. I'll be here."
You assume he's talking about you setting up your room. Only later do you realize he might have meant something else.
* * *
You fall into familiar habits.
Harmful habits. Habits like ignoring your problems, which means ignoring Bucky.
You hurt him.
You know by now that if presented with the same choice you were all those years ago, you would never just leave without a word. It was cruel. People's feelings were worth more than that. But what's done is done, and you can't take it back - and maybe it was better off that he was without you, anyway. You might just hurt him again with your stupid decision-making. Determined not to let it happen again, you keep him at arm's length. You'll just be casual friends. Work friends, even.
When he talks to you in passing, you just smile and nod. Make up some excuse that you have to do something.
When he comes to sit next to you on the couch, you go to the bathroom.
When he offers to make you coffee in the morning. You tell him you don't drink coffee anymore, that you prefer tea now, and something in his face changes.
The next day, there's a porcelain teapot next to the coffee machine, and packets of camomile, and it seems that somehow he just happened to guess your favorite.
He keeps reaching out in these small ways, reminding you that beneath all of the history, there might still be the man you once called your best friend.
But you also know that he knows you're avoiding him. Whenever you see him, you never see anger - only kindness. So you think it's working.
A week passes. You slowly are becoming integrated. The more you talk to them, the more you actually want to become a part of the team. You haven't been on a mission, yet, but that was fine, because that meant the world was mostly safe. Even when you were with the original Avengers, things became a lot more complicated when you had to make an appearance - and something told you that Valentina wanted you as part of the New Avengers, not to fight bad guys, but so that she could keep a close eye on you.
Whatever. She's paying for your life now. That's her choice, and it'll also be your choice to make the best of it.
Another week passes. Then another.
You're forced to go on press tours, dinners, and shake lots of hands. You introduce yourself countless times to faces you'll forget by the morning, and smile at jokes that aren't funny so that Valentina can have the funding she wants. You don't hate it as much as you think you should, but it's because it's always been easy for you to pretend to be someone else. Someone that people actually like.
You get ready for events with Yelena and Ava. You watch movies with Bob. You listen to Alexei's stories. You even cook dinner sometimes, and leave it out as a silent offering for anyone who wanted to eat real food, and not just takeout or boxed mac-and-cheese for the fifth time that week.
Things aren't so bad here. But at the end of the day, work is work, and change is always overwhelming. More often than not, you find yourself finding relief in other settings.
You're in a bar one night, and you think you're safe from recognition because you're forty-five minutes away from the compound. It's dingy and dark, with very few people - none who would know you, or some who do and would rather stay quiet, since you come off like some sort of advocate for the law. Still, it's one of the better places you've discovered - you get to be alone, with nobody to bother you, and the music isn't so bad, and the drinks are cheap.
John Walker pushes his way in, and your illusion of a world where you can be someone else is shattered.
His eyes scan the room, and he does a little jolt when they stop on you. It seems reluctantly, he makes his way over to you. "Hey."
"Hey," you return.
You can feel his presence as he slides into the booth next to you, and you sigh. "You look ecstatic to see me," he chuckles. He raises a hand to indicate to the bartender to pass him a beer, and you grimace.
"It's not you," you say. "I'd be the same way no matter who came in."
"Even Bucky?" He asks.
You roll your eyes. "What is that supposed to mean?"
"Nothing, I just-" He shrugs. "Seemed like an anticlimactic reunion."
"I'm trying to avoid everyone," you retort.
"Yeah, well, why do you think I come here?"
The corner of your mouth lifts. "So am I the one intruding on your spot?"
"Pretty great place, isn't it?" He looks around the sad room and mutters sarcastically. The bartender sets his beer on the table, and he gives him a polite nod. "Obviously I come for the prices, not so much the vibes."
"Really? I'm kind of liking the vibes," you shrug, and smile into the rim of your glass as you take another sip. The bartender looked angry when you ordered a drink, but it was just silly and charming to you. How dare you make him do his job.
You just sit next to him in a comfortable silence for a little while - him, staring up at the basketball game playing on the TV, and you, inspecting the ice floating around in your cup. "So, what's up with you?" Walker asks you, and you look up.
"What do you mean?" You cock your head. You've never really talked to him one-on-one, and you aren't expecting the genuine interest which glimmers in his eyes.
He looks at you, and maybe you can see his face reddening ever-so-slightly. "I'm just wondering how you got yourself here, I guess."
"It's not an interesting story," you sigh. "Just got caught up in a bad situation."
"Ain't that the truth for us all," he chuckles, taking a swig of his drink. "So what's up with you and Bucky, then? He part of that... situation?"
"No. He was my friend - my best friend - a long time ago. But... I made a mistake." You shudder, and you try to make it clear in your tone that you don't necessarily want to say any more than that. "I hurt him. And I just think it's better for everyone if I stay away now."
"Well, it doesn't seem like he's experiencing the kind of hurt which might warrant your amount of guilt," John shrugs.
"It's just hard to explain," you settle.
"No worries. I didn't really wanna talk about him anyway," he says.
"So, what do you want to talk about?" You snort.
"Well. You," he sighs, nodding his head at himself with a charming sort of shyness, and his already-pink face blushes pinker. "I want to know more about you. I don't really know anything."
Maybe John Walker could be considered kind of cute, if you were going by... a state average, or something. All of that to say, he was no Bucky. But maybe it was time to climb that impossible mountain and get over him. You'd never been more than a friend to Bucky, and your endless pining was delusional and pathetic. Even now as you tried to avoid him, you could never stop just looking at him, and now... well, now you're disappointed, because you're realizing that every thought just leads back to him.
You shake your head to clear your mind of the idea. John is nice. But forcing yourself to flirt with a guy so you could get over another just never works out. It would only cause more problems - especially when all parties involved literally lived together.
John catches you staring at his face and grimaces. "What? I got something in my beard?"
"You call that a beard?"
The rest of the evening surprisingly floats by with ease. You get along with John. Most of the time, he's militaristic and serious... but with a beer in him, you meet the side of him which cares a little less about life, a little more about fun. And you actually don't mind his company. He laughs at your self-deprecating jokes, if you can even call them that. He tells you about the others - Yelena and Alexei, who fight over the L-seat on the couch, or Ava, who is surprisingly an amazing singer.
You'd taken an Uber here, and had planned to take one back, but Walker offers to drive you. You even talk the whole way back, sharing little stories back and forth about your time before heroism, before there was so much weight on your shoulders. He drives fast, and maybe you drank a little too much, because at some point you stick your head out of the window and feel the wind on your face. You feel free.
You're still laughing at something he said in the elevator ride up. You feel his arm on your back, coaxing you through your short breaths. The door opens, and your laugh dies in your throat.
Bucky is standing just a little ways away, but close enough for him to hear the ding and spot you with John.
"Walker," he says, his eyes flickering between the pair of you. You barely notice the way his nostrils flare.
"Barnes," John replies, holding open the elevator doors for you to step out.
"It's late." Was that an edge of annoyance in Bucky's voice? His brows are furrowed, his hands are on his hips, and you feel that prickly feeling like your elementary school teacher is mad at you. "Where were you guys?"
"Just out, man," John sighs. "Taking a night off. Are we not allowed to do that anymore?"
You hiccup. "Bucky, don't worry. We were at this amazing bar."
Bucky looks at you, then at John, and raises a singular brow. "That bar? That one you always go to, where the bartender looks at you like he wants to kill you when you order?"
You giggle, because it was true, and you're feeling a little airy in the head, and your confirmation makes Bucky fume. You can see the anger in his eyes bubbling, the way he points his metal finger at Walker accusingly.
"That place isn't safe, and she's obviously had way too much. Why would you-"
"Jesus, Barnes, relax. I found her there. And she got herself like this, so I just drove her home. If anything, I am taking extra care of her safety."
"Clearly, you aren't," Bucky states, then approaches you and takes your hand. "Come on, doll. Let's get you something to eat."
You look down at where your hands connect, and you can feel that tingle of warmth where his skin covers yours. You can't stop staring at it, and from out of the corner of your eye, you can feel John staring, too. And suddenly you can feel that he's angry, too, and you just don't understand why there is so much anger in one room over something so meaningless.
"Whatever, man," you hear John groan. "You know you're not the only guy who knows how to use a gun. I'm just as capable of protection as you are."
"She's literally a trained killer. She doesn't need protection," Bucky growls. "Just needs a little more care."
He leads you into the kitchen, leaving John standing there. You think he's going to chase after you, and argue some more - you know the pair of them don't have the happiest history - but something in John's eyes changes. You see him walk away.
Bucky takes a can of ravioli and dumps it into a slowly heating pot on the stove. You giggle again, because you can't stop yourself, and sit up on the kitchen counter across from him.
"What?" He looks over his shoulder. "Don't tell me that you've finally grown out of Chef Boyardee."
"Never," you smile. "Just funny, seeing you."
"Yeah?" He turns back, just stirring the ravioli, and he sighs. He sounds exhausted when he says, "How come you gotta be drunk to talk to me, now?"
Your lips press into a thin line.
"I don't know what you mean."
"Oh, you do." He's still bent over the pot, like he can't bear to look at you, and you feel so ashamed. He doesn't even want to see you. "Look, I... I'm sorry. I'm so sorry."
Sorry? "For what?" you ask, bewildered.
"For whatever I did that made you leave. And not come back." He finally turns, and meets your eye. "And whatever I did which makes you not want to talk to me, anymore. I've been beating myself up all these years, wondering... wondering how I could have hurt you so badly to make you run away."
"Hurt me?"
You blink at him.
"Bucky, you didn't hurt me. You didn't do anything."
His face is blank. "Then... then why-"
"Bucky, you're not the one who should be apologizing. I should. I just..."
And there it is again.
Every time you find yourself in this situation, trying to explain why, you just can't find the words. You don't want to make excuses, but you don't have anything reasonable to say. You don't want him to forgive you, because you don't deserve it, so it's so much easier to just stay silent.
But this was wrong. He thought he did something to make you leave. He's been taking on your guilt.
You look into his eyes, and there's so much heaviness. So much pain. And it makes you wonder how much you might have really meant to him, for him to care so deeply.
"I just couldn't do it. I couldn't... face you, after what happened to me. So I had to leave. And as time went on, I just felt worse and worse about making that choice, and now..."
His expression is thoughtful. He turns around to check on the ravioli, then opens a cupboard to get a bowl and pours in the contents of the pot. Then, he hands it to you with a plastic fork, the pasta inside steaming and warm. It's far from a five star meal, but it made you nostalgic for your childhood. It made you happy.
"Thank you," you mumble.
"Just eat," he says. "We should wait to talk more. Wait until you're sober, and you're actually ready. I don't wanna take advantage of you."
"You're not taking advantage of me," you argue. "Maybe I needed this to finally be able to speak. It's not like I don't want to tell you, Buck, but I just can't. It makes me..." And you choke up again, because all of the memories come racing back, and no amount of alcohol can save you.
You were a shell of a person when you came back from that mission.
The things you'd seen changed you.
He was no stranger to that. So why was it so hard for you to just tell him?
"It's alright," Bucky nods, and this time with a small smile on his face. "I know."
You look down at your food and start eating, slowly.
"We have all the time in the world to talk, so you can tell me when the time is right. Just... please don't shut me out again, doll. You're the most important thing to me."
You're the most important thing to me.
You feel your face flush. Maybe his does too.
"Alright. I... I'm sorry."
"There's nothing to be sorry for. Except maybe going out to that bar with Walker."
"He's good company, once you get to know him," you say, wanting to defend him after your night out. A night where you actually got to feel normal for once.
Bucky gives you a strange look. "Yeah, sure."
* * *
The next morning, the air feels a little lighter.
When you go into the kitchen, your tea is already prepared. You silently thank the tea fairy and take a sip.
Yelena is in a good mood. You're drawn to her by her quiet humming - you lean into the opened door of her room to find her folding her laundry.
"Hello visitor," Yelena smiles without looking up. "What do you want?"
"Just came by to say good morning," you smile back.
"Somebody is in a good mood," Yelena sighs. "Even though it is not even morning anymore. It is one P.M."
You do a double-take. "Oh. I didn't realize."
"I hear you go to the bar with John Walker."
You roll your eyes. "Is he going around telling everyone now? He just happened to find me there."
"No, not Walker. Barnes." You watch Yelena working at her clothes, and you can see the little smirk she wears on her face while she waits for you to ask.
You relent. Even the mention of his name ignites the burning feeling in your stomach. You think about the way he was leaning on the kitchen counter, last night - he was such a big man, with broad shoulders and pretty hands. "Well? What did he say?"
"He is just sulking because his special doll goes out with other man."
You can feel the warmth spreading across your cheeks. "That's just what he calls girls."
"I am a girl. He does not call me 'doll.' Even though I am extremely doll-like." She looks up and bats her lashes dramatically. "See."
"Well, maybe not you. But other girls," you say, and the words even taste sour in your mouth. Of course you weren't special. Many pretty girls out there were blessed to be called 'doll' by Bucky, and it made you want to scream and die just imagining it.
But Yelena just shakes her head. "No, stupid. You are Bucky's special. He used to talk about you before you came. We thought you weren't real."
"What?" You know you're just falling for Yelena's bait, but you can't help yourself. "What would he say?"
"Oh, you know. Most beautiful girl in the world. So smart. So sophisticated, very very real girl who actually exists."
"Okay, now I know you're messing with me-"
Yelena starts giggling. You've heard her throaty laugh, but you've never seen her giggle, and somehow it feels sarcastic.
"I'm sorry," she says, waving her hands in the air. "It's just funny because I'm not."
"Well," you huff, tapping your foot on the floor anxiously. "Even if he did say that, it was a long time ago. Things are different now."
"I don't think so, doll," she says, imitating his voice, and then doubles over in laughter.
In between wheezing breaths, she makes out words which shatter you: "Bucky Barnes is in love with you, and I think that you are in love with Bucky Barnes, but you are punishing him for something... so you drink with John Walker."
In love with you?
"Not possible," you state, turning around to leave. Yelena's jokes were just making you feel sick, because while your mind kept reasoning, It's not real, and, how could he ever love you after what you did?, your heart is asking, what if it's true?
Normally you were so good at separating your desires from reality. But things were changing too quickly, recently. And you barely know these people.
You stalk back to your room. There was some kind of important gala you had to attend that night, anyway. Valentina had made an extremely big deal about how different this gala was supposed to be - full of important people, not just for their money, but for their influence in government. A gala with lots of shaking hands and making promises. Since you didn't realize you'd woken up so late, you had to start getting ready as soon as possible, because the last thing you wanted was for Valentina to take one look at you and decide you need a prep-team to make you look ridiculous instead.
You're sitting in your room, fanning through the expensive dresses strung up in your closet - none of which belong to you, and feel wrong to even touch - when there is a knock on your door.
"Go away, Yelena," you shout, because after all of that you're honestly kind of offended. She was messing with your feelings.
"Not her," a deeper voice responds, and opens the door without further warning.
Bucky's presence is so big, you would know it's him before you see him. The smell of smoke and sunlight, the smooth whirring sound his metal arm makes whenever he moves. You turn around and find him smiling at you, and you feel self-conscious about the pajama pants you're wearing and have owned since you were thirteen.
He just stares at you for a moment, before finding his words. "I just wanted to see how you were feeling, doll. After last night."
You smile weakly. "My head hurts a little, but honestly, Bucky, it was barely anything."
"You probably feel better because you ate," he nods, commending himself. "Well, that's good then. If you need anything, just let me know, but I'll let you get ready-"
"Bucky," you call, and you don't know if you're brave enough to ask - but maybe now was the time for second chances, for becoming a new, better person. "Why do you call me doll?"
He chuckles. "It's called a nickname, sweetheart-"
"No, I know, but I mean..." Your voice falls down to a mumble. "Is it just something you say? Or does it... does it mean something?"
"Do you not like it?" Bucky slinks into your room, thrusting his hands into his pockets sheepishly. "'Cus if you don't, I'll stop-"
"No, I'm not saying that," you say. "Just that... Yelena told me something today."
His gaze narrows. He takes a step forward, then turns to close the door behind him, and you feel like your heartbeat jump into your mouth.
"What did she say?"
Your eyes inspect his, looking for any sign of... of what, you don't know. But he only looks sincere, cautious. Not embarrassed. Or angry.
"She said you used to talk about me."
He slowly nods. "Well... yes. I talk about you a lot."
Talk. Like present tense.
"What kind of things would you say?"
He bites his lip, and you melt on the inside. You see the conflict in his eyes, of whether or not he should tell you. And you want him to say the words so badly, but you're so afraid of what it could mean.
Eventually, he says your name softly.
"I told them that I thought you and I would always be together."
You exhale, but you don't know if it's necessarily relief you feel. It would feel like disappointment, maybe, if you weren't already expecting the blow. "Right. We were great partners."
"That's not what I meant."
He stares at you, and you stare at him, and you hate him now for how he's making your heart flutter so violently.
"Then just say what you mean."
It’s the worst feeling in the world - soul-shattering, heart-crushing, when his phone rings. Not his regular phone, but the phone, which means that somewhere out there in the world there’s a problem which needs the Bucky Barnes solution. The ringtone is a particularly eerie tone of beeping which makes your skin break out in goosebumps. Quickly, you realize that your own special phone is not ringing, which means they don’t want you to go with him.
Bucky hesitates, almost as though he might not answer the call, but you both know the kind of person he is - never shying away from responsibility, putting other’s problems before his own. He looks at you apologetically, before reaching into his pocket.
“Yes?” He speaks into the phone, voice low and husky. His brow is furrowed in concentration as he listens to who you assume is Valentina on the other end. “Right. What about the others? Oh.”
You wait patiently. You trust him enough to know he’ll tell you honestly.
He just sighs when the interaction is done. Puts the phone away without a good-bye.
“There’s some kind of disturbance. Infiltration at Interpol. She wants Yelena, Ava, and I to check it out.”
“Just the three of you?” you ask. “Are you sure that’s safe?”
“She thinks it’s nothing major, but is sending us just to be safe. But she can’t have all of us going, because she needs us to appear at the gala.” He narrows his eyes at you. “You’re her star, being the newest of us, so you have to be there.”
“Oh.” Your face falls. “Well… okay.”
Bucky suddenly steps towards you and reaches out, as if he’s about to touch your face, and your breath catches in your throat - but his hand stops in the air. His eyes are cloudy, full of hesitation - eventually, his hand falls, but not before slightly grazing your hair on the way down and sending shivers down your spine.
You feel pathetic. Touch-starved. You want him to hold you so badly. You want to hold him, and tell him you’re so sorry. That you’ll never leave him again.
Instead, you fight against every instinct telling you otherwise, and take a step back.
“Be safe,” you say.
“I’ll see you later tonight,” Bucky replies. “Then we’ll talk. I promise.”
Before either of you can change your minds, he turns and leaves, closing the door behind him and leaving you alone in your room.
* * *
The first hour of the gala is hell.
You’re a peacock, fanning out feathers for strangers to gawk and reach at.
You’re wearing a midnight-blue dress, admittedly flattering on your figure. Without Yelena to do your hair, you’d settled for just curling it, but the curls had quickly fallen out to become more like waves. Your makeup was plain, but still enhanced your favorite features, and you think you looked halfway-close to something pretty. And you still felt like yourself, so you were happy.
But being here, talking to these people… it was almost too much to handle.
When you reach the point where you can’t possibly conceal your true emotions on your face, you catch Alexei shooting you a wink from across the room. He struts over to your group, playfully slaps the man - who has had a hand on your arm this entire conversation - on his back, and enters the circle.
“I remember a fantastical story from glory days in Soviet Union, and I must tell immediately!”
He begins gesticulating excessively, giving you the perfect outing to excuse yourself, and you feel a rush of relief. Alexei really was such a thoughtful guy - no wonder he was such a kind father to Yelena. It honestly made you a little jealous, but that in itself was its own kind of personal issue.
You scan the room to find Bob and John wallflowering together - not quite talking to one another, but just hanging around, either waiting for the food to come out, or for Valentina’s sign that we had milked these cows for all their worth. You approach them gingerly, and upon spotting you, Bob waves you over.
“Hey,” he says, beaming at you. Bob wasn’t technically a “new Avenger” with the rest of you, but you think you and him share the same boat as a Valentina keepsake to keep an eye on. “Alexei saved you as well?”
“We’re gonna owe him big time after this,” John chuckles. His eyes then turn to you, and scan you up and down. “Hey. You look… great.”
“Thanks,” you smile. “You’re not too shabby yourself.”
Bob looks between the two of you. “Yeah, you guys both look great. Was it necessary for me to be here tonight too, though?”
You shrug. “Yeah, you’re moral support. Valentina’s orders.”
“Do you feel morally supported?” He asks you, and it sounds like a genuine question.
“Somewhat,” you say, at the same time that John replies, “Hell no.”
“That’s probably because I haven’t been morally supporting,” Bob shrugs. “I didn’t know that was my job. She doesn’t really talk to me anymore.”
“You’re not missing out on anything,” John says. “But you know how you can morally support me? Go get me another glass.” He hands his empty champagne flute to Bob, who now holds it alongside his own.
He nods enthusiastically. “Okay. I’ll be back.”
You watch him walk away, and feel the heat of John’s gaze on your neck when you do.
“Subtle,” you say.
“Subtlety won’t work on him,” John grins. “You have to tell him directly, and even still sometimes he won’t understand what you want from him.”
You turn your eyes back to John. He has his chest puffed out in his suit, and his hair is well-groomed. “Did you shampoo your beard for this, Walker?”
“Of course. Only the best for you.”
“For me?” You raise a brow. “You mean for Valentina.”
“Yeah, sure,” John shrugs. “But she’s not too impressed by me nowadays, if you couldn’t tell.”
“And you think I am?”
You laugh, and he just swats at you dramatically. “Yeah, yeah. Don’t act like you’re not fighting the urge to jump at me in this suit.”
You smile, but for a brief second, in your heart, it hurts.
You know he’s flirting. At the bar, he was probably just being friendly, and so were you. You’d gotten to know one another, but it was nowhere near the kind of setting of a date. And yet this was very different - his implications were clear.
And it just feels wrong, even when you know it’s really not.
Your heart belongs to Bucky. It will always belong to Bucky. Even if he doesn’t want it, you don’t think that means you can just take all your feelings back. They’re still there, and they’re still very real.
You can’t just turn them off. And finding someone else was never the right way to get over someone.
John notices that slight lapse in your concentration, the brief crease in your brow. He just shakes his head, the smile on his face turning from one of genuine thought to then one of frustration.
“I don’t have a chance, do I?”
You hesitate. “What?”
“Are you trying to lead me on?” The volume of his voice slowly rises, and you suddenly feel a rush of anxiety course through your veins.
“What?” Your voice is an echo.
“Nothing,” he grimaces, teeth flashing, and you remember that while John Walker is usually a good man, he is known to be quick to anger.
You take him by the elbow, and quickly lead him out of the room - you don’t want the others to see what hasn’t happened yet, but could. In a hallway just outside of the banquet hall, you try to look him in his eyes, which are at the same time actively trying to avoid you.
“Hello?” You snap. “John, look at me. What are you saying right now?”
“God, it’s nothing,” John sighs. “I know, I know… I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have said that.”
“‘Leading you on?’” You purse your lips. “Look, we had a great, friendly conversation the other night at the bar, but if you thought it was anything more than that, then that was your mistake and not mine.”
You were sure of this. You might have been drinking, and you might have considered the idea of using John to get over your feelings for Bucky - and you already knew that was a horrible thing to think - but you had also dismissed the idea, and you truly hadn’t flirted.
“I thought…” He shakes his head. “No, you’re right. I shouldn’t be letting my emotions get the better of me anyway, at these kinds of public events.”
You just stare at each other for a moment, considering one another.
“I’m sorry,” he mumbles. “It was stupid. I just got frustrated, and I took it out on you.”
“Thank you for apologizing,” you nod. “Let’s just forget about it and be cool. Are we cool?”
He nods back to you, but you realize his expression is like that of a mask - you can no longer read his true feelings.
“Yeah, we’re cool.”
* * *
The next morning, you wake up to the sound of yelling.
This actually wasn’t an uncommon occurrence in the compound, but this time, you could tell something was off. The clattering of metal on metal, like maybe... a pot? A pan? You knew especially that something was wrong once you heard the singular fire of a gunshot - that made you get up and move pretty quick.
You quickly slide a hoodie over your tank-top, and slip out of bed to head towards the noise. You first see Yelena and Bob sitting on the couch, completely still and deathly silent, “watching” a TV screen which is not on. Behind them is a great commotion.
You turn the corner to see that in the kitchen, John is holding a frying pan as he would his shield.
Across from him, Bucky is glaring. His hands are on the counter, and you can see that where his metal fingers lay, there are four neat indentations in the granite countertop, and a pistol lay flat on the table just beyond his reach.
You can sense his anger, even from far away.
Yelena looks up at you, and wildly beckons for you to come over - and to do so quietly! But you just have a sinking feeling that whatever they’re fighting about might have something to do with you.
“I told you, nothing happened-”
“Hell will freeze over before I believe a single word that comes out of your lying, filthy mouth-”
Something fluttering in Bob’s hands catches your attention. You look at him, and he holds up a magazine page.
Your heart drops.
It’s a picture of you, holding John’s elbow, leading him out of the banquet hall. In huge, bubbled letters, the photo is captioned, “Behind Closed Doors: Possible Avengers Secret Romance?!”
How could they have even published it so fast?!
“Even if something did happen, you have absolutely no right to react this way-”
Somehow, it was the wrong thing for John to say - Bucky looks as though he might leap over the counter to kill him.
“What the fuck did you just say to me?”
“Look, I’m not saying- Hey!” John sees you from across the room. “Tell this fucking freak to stop trying to kill me!”
“Bucky, what’s going on?”
Bucky whirls to you, and you can see the raw emotion which lights up his eyes. He doesn’t necessarily look angry at you, the same way he was looking at John, but his expression is one of internal torment.
He tears his hand away from the counter - little granite pebbles scatter across the floor. He just turns and walks away, towards his own room.
“Oh, no,” you hear Yelena mutter, seeing the destruction of the very expensive kitchen nobody ever uses. “Valentina will be mad about that.”
You follow your instinct and follow him. “Bucky, wait!”
You follow his fiery footsteps down the hallways, until you reach his door. You’d never been inside. He storms in, but leaves his door slightly ajar, and you know it’s a half-hearted invitation. You step in.
Bucky is sitting at the foot of his bed, with his face in his hands.
“Bucky,” you call softly.
“I know,” he mumbles.
“Just tell me what’s wrong,” you try.
He is still. So you do what feels right, and go to sit next to him on the bed.
He doesn’t look up, even when he feels you next to him.
“Did… did you shoot at John?”
“I wasn’t going to actually hit him,” he grumbled. “I missed on purpose.”
“Right.”
You sit with the knowledge for a moment.
“So… are you angry about the newspaper article?”
He lifts his head ever-so-slightly.
“You’re a grown woman. You can make your own choices,” he mumbles. “And I definitely have no right to be… upset… about any of it.”
“Bucky, that…” you stutter. “Look. Whatever you think happened, definitely did not happen.”
“What do I think happened?”
You press your lips into a thin line. “I was leading John out of the room because he was angry with me. He whisper-yelled at me that I was leading him on, and I told him I had only ever been friendly to him, and I didn’t want him to cause a scene.”
He looks up and stares at you. As if trying to find some sort of trace of falsehood on your face.
You would never lie to him.
“Then all that means is I have a different reason to be just as mad at him,” he growls.
“Bucky.”
His stare is blank.
“James.”
His gaze softens.
“Can we talk now?”
He nods at you.
“Then tell me everything. Tell me why you feel so strongly about this stupid-”
“You know why I feel this way, doll.” Bucky’s voice is raw, and serious. “You know I’ve always felt this strong about you.”
“I don’t, James,” you urge. “I won’t ever know if you don’t tell me.”
“I love you.”
You hold your breath. You just want him to continue, uninterrupted.
“I’ve always loved you. Since the beginning. You tore my heart out when I thought I lost you forever.”
Your heart breaks.
“Bucky-”
“And I’m sorry I was aggressive with John. But seeing that picture… And seeing you, laughing, coming out of the elevator the other night, I just-” He stops himself, and sighs. “My heart can’t handle it. So just tell me the truth. I can only move on when you tell me to.”
You take his face into your hands. His stubble scratches against your palms, and you can take in the full scent of him - like smoke and pines, cold water and ash. Your faces are so close, they’re almost touching. You stare hard at his lips, rosy and full.
“Bucky, I love you. Please don’t ever move on.”
His lips crash onto yours, and the rest of the world goes dark. All you can focus on, all you can feel, is him.
His kiss is so passionate, so desperate, that there is no room for the shyness which normally comes from first kisses. He kisses you like he needs air to breathe. You use your hands on his face to steady you, but soon his own hands are snaking around your sides to hold you by your waist. You feel fire wherever his fingers touch, even through the fabric of your clothes.
With one hand, he reaches up to your neck, while your hands slip up to play with his hair. He’s moving with you now, his tongue reaching for yours, and you let out a small whimper at the sensation of your body folding into his.
He pulls away, and you almost whine. He looks into your eyes with a question, and you just nod.
“Are you sure-”
“Please. I want this. I want you.”
“You want this?”
His lips find your neck, and he begins to lap at the sensitive skin there - you sigh, letting him explore the most that he can with your hoodie on. “Bucky, I’ve wanted you to touch me for so long-”
“Take this off,” he grunts, pulling away and pulling your hoodie off over your head. You’re left in your tank top, without a bra, and the stiff peaks of your nipples are easily seen. You look up, and Bucky’s stare is like that of a starving man’s as he gazes at your figure.
You’re suddenly shy, and you go instinctively to cover yourself with your arms - but he only wrenches them away, and looks up to meet your eye.
“Sweetheart, you’re so beautiful,” he sighs. “You have to let me look at’cha.” He takes his metal hand and holds it at your throat, to pull you in for another kiss - this time, aggressive and demanding. “Tell me how much you want me.”
“Bucky, I need you,” you groan, in between the kisses, which are slowly becoming sloppy. Bucky’s lips move down back to your neck, then now to your exposed chest, and he leaves glistening saliva at each step. You want the marks on your neck, you want the signs of his touch to remain - and most of all, you want everyone to know you belong to him. “I’m yours.”
He suddenly pushes you - albeit, gently - down onto his bed, and he places his fingers between your skin and the waistband of your shorts. Slowly, he inches them downward, until you are finally fully exposed before him.
“Yeah, this is all mine,” he whispers. His eyes are glazed over with pure desire, as he slowly swipes at your slit with two, gentle fingers, which come away slick with your wetness.
You whimper at his brief touch.
“I’ve barely even touched you, doll. And look how wet you are for me.” You watch him put his fingers in his mouth to taste you. “Shit. Spread wider for me, doll.”
You obey his commands instinctively, your legs inching wider. He takes his fingers and spreads your folds open, looking at your pussy, and fisting at the thick outline you spot through his pants.
“Play with yourself,” he commands.
It’s strange, the way you are so shy, but you’d do anything he asked of you without hesitation. Slowly, you take your fingers and reach down between your legs, to the throbbing heat of you, and slowly work at your clit in slow, agonizing circles. Just watching him watch you was making you wetter - you’d never masturbated in front of anyone before, but the combination of embarrassment and pleasure was life-changing.
As he watches you, he takes his own clothes off. He pulls down his underwear to reveal his thick, throbbing cock, and you marvel at the size of him. The skin of his tip is pink, and the rest of the skin is dark - you want to see how he tastes, see how he’ll fit in your mouth. You know he’ll completely stretch out your pussy, and you just can’t wait-
You slip your fingers inside of you, but he takes your wrist to move your hand away. With one hand, he takes a swipe of your slickness and rubs it over the head of his cock - and with the other, he slowly enters a metal finger into you.
He pumps himself simultaneously as he pumps his fingers into you, and you sharply inhale at the feel of him. You stare at his face, at the way his mouth is slightly ajar, and then down to his cock, already beading with pre-cum at the head. A moan escapes your mouth, and his finger-fucking becomes faster, curling up to hit that sweet spot inside of you-
With his thump, he applies slow, circling pressure to your clit at the same time, and you moan.
“Good girl,” he grunts. “I want them to hear you. I want them to hear how good I’m making you feel.”
“Oh, fuck-” you moan, as the pressure inside of you builds. His own pumping is becoming faster, his grip tighter. “Please… Please, Bucky-”
“Use your words,” he nods. “You have to tell me what you want.”
“Bucky,” you breathe, the pleasure inside of you building your courage. “I… I want you inside of me. I want you to fuck me.”
“Yeah?” He keeps pumping his fingers into you, watching you through slanted, hungry eyes. “Beg.”
“Please,” you whimper. “Oh, fuck, Bucky, please just fuck me-”
Bucky pulls his fingers out of you, and you gasp at the withdrawal. He releases his cock from his hand, which is so hard it’s pulsing. He pulls you towards the edge of the bed, and he stands and then takes your legs on either side of his waist.
His head nudges at your entrance, and you whimper. He uses his hand to coat his length with your slickness, staring down at where your skin meets and groaning.
You can’t take the tension. You reach down to touch at your clit, hoping to relieve it, but he slaps your hand away.
He looks at you angrily. Then, with his metal hand, holds you down by your waist.
“I’m controlling this, sweetheart. You’re going to feel me stretching you out now, alright?”
You shiver in anticipation. “Please…”
“In my dreams I have you like this,” Bucky mumbles. “Laid out in front of me. Dripping, and begging for me to touch you. I bet you dream about me fucking you, too. Don’t you, pretty girl?”
You nod desperately.
“You don’t dream about guys like Walker fucking you?” he taunts.
“No,” you moan. “Never. Only you, Bucky.”
“Yeah, I know,” he smirks, and slowly enters you.
You can’t contain the moans which sound, loud and demeaning, as he pumps in and out of you - slowly at first, indeed stretching you out, and then increasing in speed as he loses his self-control.
His grunts every time he slams into you, his balls slapping against your skin, and you devour it. He pushes his hair back with one hand as he holds your waist with the other, and fucks you with so much force you feel like you’re losing your breath with each vivid moan which escapes you.
“You’re taking it so good. Just keep saying my name, sweetheart,” Bucky drawls.
“Oh, god, James,” you cry, and feel the tears pricking at the corners of your eyes at the mere fullness of him - but you love it so much. You love the way you can feel him reaching the deepest, most sensitive parts of you. You’re so glad he’s in love with you, but you think it wouldn’t matter if he hated you what with the way he’s fucking you so good.
“That’s right,” he grunts. “Cum all over my cock, pretty girl. Fuck-”
The pleasure builds until it peaks inside of you - and you burst, feeling yourself shuddering and clenching around his length as you scream his name.
He moans, but doesn’t stop the pounding - he rides you through the entirety of your orgasm, and then when you’re shaking and pressing against him to ease some of your sensitivity, he still doesn’t stop. You feel him pushing deeper and deeper inside of you, even as you’re crying because of how sensitive you are, and the overwhelming sensations building up and threatening to spill over again.
Bucky doesn’t stop until his own eyes glaze over, and his thrusts become rough and primal. His fingers grip at your thighs so hard you think he’ll leave bruises. He roars, and you can feel his warmth spilling inside of you and painting your insides white.
He’s out of breath, staring down at you. At where the two of you connect.
You look up at him, and he’s ethereal. He’s the most gorgeous man you’d ever seen, with a slight sheen of sweat across his brow, and his hair long and wild.
“Fuck,” he breathes, and you smile.
He pulls out of you, and you can feel his silvery cum slowly drip out of your slit, onto his bedsheets. He quickly finds a towel, and comes to gently clean you up.
He smiles at you shyly.
"Stay here with me, tonight?" he asks.
"Of course," you reply.
You sit up, and he pulls you into a tight embrace. Skin-to-skin, it feels like fireworks going off across your body. It feels like all of his warmth is being shared with you, and all of the sudden, everything you'd ever worried about disappears.
"I love you," he whispers into your ear.
"I love you," you say back.
And you realize that together, you can work through it.