another-writer

[another-writer]

happy Thursday the 20th

[another-writer]

Stars in the Sky

Bucky x reader

Word count: 2.2k

Warnings: tooth-rotting, cavity-inducing fluff. Kinda slow-burn. Kinda not.

Summary: You’re alerted to the fact that everyone seems to know how you feel about Bucky, except Bucky himself - you’re suddenly compelled to do something about it thanks to some quick intervention. Did I write another verison of something I already wrote because I like this better? Yes. Yes I did.

It’s a one shot on its own,  but it’s sort of a part two to this guy here

You often noticed a lot about Bucky’s habits. He drank green tea to help him sleep; he flinched at the sound of white noise from the radio. And sometimes - most of the time - he would glance up at the sky, raking in the moon, usually as he entered the compound after a mission. Once you prodded his rib, walking alongside him, and pointed up where the International Space Station could be seen - you remembered to look the date up for him - snickering endearingly at his interest. Since then, looking up at the ISS sort of became a thing between you both. Another time, when you tried to impress him again, he ended up correcting you -

‘That’s Mars, kiddo. Mercury usually comes around later in the year.’

Bucky would get the most smug look across his features, the only energy he would show as you both dragged your feet along with the rest of the team into the compound for a much-needed bout of recovery. It was well-natured competition, trying to spot the planets or map out constellations, debate who was right, or which constellation was better, or working to find the ISS first knowing when it would be in orbit. You knew little, but you would stay up to read random facts, just to fuel Bucky’s ramblings. Bucky could be grounded, earthed in reality, but his eyes absorbed the stars and held them close. It was poetic to see.

Keep reading

[another-writer]

fiction or nonfiction? mangos or peaches? chocolate or vanilla? piano or violin? matte lip or glossy lip? winged eyeliner or simple eyeliner? coffee or tea? orange or yellow? trends or memes? beach curls or straighten? pens or pencils? gel or ballpoint? to be kind or to be happy?

[another-writer]

A few years after Endgame, Rhodey looks at the world around him, looks at the destruction wrought, looks at the incompetence, and decides he’s going to fix it.

Rhodey runs for president.

It’s perfect. He’s a war vet, he’s a superhero, he’s seen the world and engaged in politics and business alike. He’s an aerospace engineer, graduated early from MIT. He’s calm in the face of uncertainty, assured at all times, and also able to reassure others.

It’s probably no one’s surprise that he’s a front-runner. Stark Industries and the Avengers immediately throw support behind him. He’s popular with veterans because of his platform and his history. He wins over America.

And as it’s getting closer to him clinching the party nomination, they start asking him who he will pick as his running mate. Rhodey, who knows better and who knows how to talk to the press, how to formulate answers, says what he’s really feeling anyways. That he never could imagine doing this with anyone but Tony at his side.

(It’s stupid. Tony has the politics and the smarts and the people skills to be a good VP, but he never, ever would have been happy there. Rhodey can’t help but think of it anyways).

The news goes crazy over it and Rhodey’s campaign manager actually has the balls to say to him that they should use this, run with it, because pro-Iron Man sentiment is still high, it’ll get them a massive buy in.

Rhodey doesn’t punch him, but it’s a close thing. He doesn’t fire him either, although he wants to. Tony isn’t a prop. Tony is...Tony is an open wound some days, still, but he’s not a prop for Rhodey’s campaign. Rhodey won’t use his memory.

Still, when Rhodey does win, he leaves a little spot for Tony in the Oval Office. Not an Iron Man helmet, or a memorial, or anything as gauche as that.

It’s a screw driver. Little, and worn, and left behind the desk.

Because they’re both mechanics, at the end of the day, and it’s time to get to work fixing this mess.

[another-writer]

Hiii would it be okay if I send in a request for Bucky later?🥰💜

Of course! I may be slow getting to it, but requests are totally welcome :)

[another-writer]

idk how you watch catws and not pick up on the fact that sam is absolutely a mirror of steve… they even straight up say it in the film.

“I do what he does, just slower”

[another-writer]

Now, look. This is gonna get weird, all right? It’s pretty freaky, but it’s safe. There’s no reason to be scared. 

 Ant-Man (2015) dir. Peyton Reed

[another-writer]

I still believe in heroes.

[another-writer]

Stars in the Sky

Bucky x reader

Word count: 2.2k

Warnings: tooth-rotting, cavity-inducing fluff. Kinda slow-burn. Kinda not.

Summary: You’re alerted to the fact that everyone seems to know how you feel about Bucky, except Bucky himself - you’re suddenly compelled to do something about it thanks to some quick intervention. Did I write another verison of something I already wrote because I like this better? Yes. Yes I did.

It’s a one shot on its own,  but it’s sort of a part two to this guy here

You often noticed a lot about Bucky’s habits. He drank green tea to help him sleep; he flinched at the sound of white noise from the radio. And sometimes - most of the time - he would glance up at the sky, raking in the moon, usually as he entered the compound after a mission. Once you prodded his rib, walking alongside him, and pointed up where the International Space Station could be seen - you remembered to look the date up for him - snickering endearingly at his interest. Since then, looking up at the ISS sort of became a thing between you both. Another time, when you tried to impress him again, he ended up correcting you -

‘That’s Mars, kiddo. Mercury usually comes around later in the year.’

Bucky would get the most smug look across his features, the only energy he would show as you both dragged your feet along with the rest of the team into the compound for a much-needed bout of recovery. It was well-natured competition, trying to spot the planets or map out constellations, debate who was right, or which constellation was better, or working to find the ISS first knowing when it would be in orbit. You knew little, but you would stay up to read random facts, just to fuel Bucky’s ramblings. Bucky could be grounded, earthed in reality, but his eyes absorbed the stars and held them close. It was poetic to see.

Keep reading

[another-writer]

The Avengers (2012) // Captain America: The Winter Soldier (2014) // Avengers: Infinity War (2018)

[another-writer]

Muted Colours

Summary: After a botched mission resulting in you taken captive, your team breaks you out.

Pairing: Bucky x reader

Word count: 2.2k

Warnings: None? Some really brief mention of blood? Also Bucky being a literal fluff because why not.

Bucky knew you had to be alive. Only because he refused to conceive of anything otherwise. He was lying awake in the common area of the compound on his back, several screens surrounding him with various information reading locations and identities of the people he had managed to apprehend on the mission that had resulted in you -

In you getting left behind.

The image sent Bucky spiralling. He didn’t see you get taken. But he remembered running back to the jet, last in line, Tony yelling through the comms for everyone to retreat back, being too overwhelmed with enemy fire. When the hatch closed, Bucky had searched desperately for you - thought it wasn’t as if there was anywhere in the small jet you could hide.

Tony and Sam had scanned from the sky for you before the jet took off; there wasn’t a trace of you. You weren’t answering on the comms. And the best case scenario was for them all to assume you were taken captive.

So the priority became to get you back. There was enough of a lead, but any known location didn’t happen to hold you. And over time, nearly a month, your absence had become more and more of a lead block in Bucky’s mind, absorbing light and energy and he refused to succumb to it.

‘Anything?’

Bucky sat up at Natasha’s voice breaking the silence.

‘Waiting for a breakthrough,’ he admitted.

Natasha raised a brow and leaned against the doorframe. ‘I don’t suppose you’ve thought about sleeping while you wait?’

Bucky bit his lip, unable to meet her expectant stare. ‘We didn’t have much time, and she got separated so early, I know, but … I feel like I should’ve been more careful.’

‘[Y/N] can watch herself the same as any of us can, it just … wasn’t her day,’ Natasha said. For morale’s sake, she was doing her best to minimise the uncomfortable pit in her stomach. ‘When we’re out there, all of us are equally responsible for each other. This isn’t just on you.’

‘So what now?’ Bucky asked, trying not to sound defeated.

‘You haven’t slept. Go to bed; I’ll wake Steve at a reasonable hour, we’ll work on it and wake you in the morning.’

Your hair was matted and you had dried blood from an open cut on your lip from your fight from last night. Given the circumstances, you were relatively well taken care of. You were a prize fighter in an underground tournament - your captors’ financial success depended on your survival. An Avenger participating against their will and purely for survival? Total cash grab.

So, at least you were guaranteed to live, so long as you kept winning.

Part of you knew you were lucky to be alive. On your first night in your cell, you worried about the others, whether they had all gotten away; the mission - hopefully - hadn’t been a total failure. You had been taken, sure, but perhaps in the midst of it all, the others had been able to complete it. They couldn’t have ended up where you were because you figured you would have fought them by now. You wondered whether they were looking for you. You thought about them nearly all the time - your training from Natasha (one of the most seasoned hand-to-hand combatants you knew) was what was keeping you alive in the ring; hers and Steve’s ability to maintain team morale kept you focused. But you missed Bucky the most. He was everything wrapped into one, your best friend, your confidant, a growing team player, an overall comfort zone.

You took a deep breath in and out through your nose. Remembering your team kept your hope steady but you couldn’t let it distract you. You weren’t sure how long you had been here, but you were embarrassed to admit you weren’t sure how you would get out.

You didn’t know exactly where you were, either. You had awoken in a cell, after falling unconscious, and were promptly led into an arena with a crowd of spectators. When a stranger - lumbering, tall, bloody and bruised - lunged at you, you figured you didn’t have much time for questions and quickly acclimated to the situation.

Currently, you were re-taping your knuckles to stem the bleeding sustained last night, as you were escorted to the ring through musty, poorly-lit corridors. You didn’t know who your opponents were. They were all good fighters - agile, strong, fast. You figured you were lucky, rather than better. You handed the gauze back to the guard walking you. Another opened the door.

A handful of dim spotlights lit the arena. The steel door was shut behind you, creating an echo that sent the spectators into a frenzy. You were welcomed by the buzzing crowd placing last-minute bets and screaming in excitement for you. The only thing that separated you from them was a steel fence.

Suddenly, you heard a strangled, stifled cry - it contrasted against the frequency of the spectators and your eyes flitted to the crowd who instantly were kicked into an unfamiliar mania.

Among shouts, the dim lights were accompanied by bright flashlights. You saw armoured men and women swarm the arena.

Heart pounding, you kept your eyes on the door where your opponent should have entered from, nearly going dizzy from the suspense before you steadily backed away to your own door. It would have been just your luck if you were arrested too.

But no one was letting you back out. You pressed yourself against the door, hearing bullets fire and rocket off the concrete as the arena’s guards began firing.

The door opposite you then swung open, hard enough to smack harshly into the wall and after a beat -

‘James?’

His stance was solid; rifle aimed and ready, black bulletproof vest and combat gear, dusty and matted like he had run through a war zone. But when he saw you, his eyes softened, and he lowered his weapon. You noticed how tired he looked. His skin was unusually pale.

‘God, I never thought I’d see you again,’ he breathed.

The sofftness of his voice constrasted sharply; it was as if everything else was muted.

Bucky wasted no time, striding across the arena, ready to engulf you in his arms and take you away, but when you faltered and immediately took a step back, he slowed and stopped a few feet away from you.

Your hands were in fists, shoved in the pockets of your black cargo pants; your entire body was aching to the point where it was numbing, breath hitched. Your bones felt like metal scaffolding scraping against each other. It was as if you finally felt tired. You stood stiffly, looking much more menacing than you felt. The light from the corridor behind Bucky flooded the otherwise dimly-lit room. You were able to leave - yet, part of you didn’t want to accept it in case it wasn’t true.

Bucky bit his lip. A strand of hair had fallen over his eye; he was trying to find a balance between his reaction to seeing you and keeping his focus. His stare honed in on a dark, blackening bruise under your right eye, your bleeding hands matted with dirt.

Bucky’s instict kicked in, grounded by the gunfire. As much as you were clearly hurt, it wasn’t the time to worry over the damage. He had to get you out first.

‘[Y/N], we don’t have time,’ he said carefully, taking the tactical belt from around his waist and holding it out to you; there were several grenades and a shotgun hanging from it. A small earpiece balanced between his fingers.

Your teeth gritted. As a strange discomfort swelled in your stomach, you took the belt with a shaking hand and wrapped it around you, adjusting the length so that it fit, and put the earpiece in place. A chill ran down your spine when your earpiece picked up familiar voices. Goosebumps rose on your arms.

Relieved, Bucky lead you out from where he had come. Your corridor was free from fire; you saw a handful of unconscious guards lying on the floor. The sounds were muted for a while, and slowly they began to grow again. But it wasn’t the sound of a gambling crowd, or arrests, it was pure battle.

‘Stay behind me,’ Bucky said lowly.

The both of you worked in tandem, you staying more careful since you were largely unprotected, shooting then taking cover.

When you worked your way to the main hanger, a hundred feet from the entrance, you spotted Natasha across the room from the corner of your eye and were nearly decaptitated by the flying red, white and blue shield before ducking and allowing it to slam into a guard behind you.

That damn platter of patriotism.

You bit your lip, a grin forming on your lips. You picked the shield up and used it to defend yourself  as you fired several bullets all meeting their targets, before using all your might to throw the shield back in Steve’s direction.

Bucky glanced at you quickly, admiration amalgamating in the pit of his stomach. You looked like yourself. Or at least, your survival instincts were kicked in. Whatever you had been through, at least you were able to hold your ground.

It wasn’t long before Bucky was ushering you outside, the Quinjet hovering in the distance and approaching. The fight began to wind down behind you, arrests were being made; you thought you heard Tony talking to one of the cops but everything began to blur. When you stepped outside of the steel doors and felt the freezing air on your skin, saw the beginnings of the sun filtering through the dark sky lighting it a delicate purple - it all fell away. You welcomed the biting cold, the pinpricks along your arms and the tussling wind caused by the Quinjet’s engines as it landed close to you. You could have lay down and gone to sleep there and then.

When you entered, you couldn’t help it: you unfurled the utility belt and dropped it lazily in the corner, accepting the shock blanket that Bruce offered you, and wrapped it around yourself, allowing your knees to buckle, and curled up contentedly on the floor of the jet behind the passenger seats. It was an inconvenient placement, but it was available. And at least it was clean.

You heard footsteps, your team entering the jet, which prompted you to sit up and lean against the wall. You felt the shock blanket fall around you but your arms felt too heavy to lift it back.

‘[Y/N], lemme take a look,’ Bucky’s voice was gentle; he knelt in front of you, hand edging towards yours, picking it up and unravelling the botched layers of bandages. His touch was gentle and familiar and it didn’t take long for you to melt into him; a lump formed in your throat and your eyes began to water.

You watched him work, wincing at the sting of the anti-septic. ‘So,’ you breathed, steadying your voice, eyes flitting to the team, ‘we got everyone this time?’

Your humour was met with a ripple of relief that ran through the aircraft; despite their obvious success in getting you out and shutting the underground arena down, you had noticed a tension that you badly wanted to lift. It was as if they were waiting for you to give the green light.

‘Glad to see you in one piece,’ Natasha said as Bucky applied a paste to the bruise under your eye. ‘We should’ve brought snacks.’

You smirked. ‘Yeah, you should have.’

Bucky snickered, mostly out of repose, lifting your hand after sealing the bandage, and kissing your palm gently, leaning over to then kiss your forehead before engulfing you tightly. You felt the heat creep up your neck - Bucky wasn’t usually affectionate in front of other people.

‘Ease up,’ you said, meaning to sound affectionate but your exhaustion was amplified. ‘I’m all gross.’ As he pulled away, you squeezed his arms, calming him.

Bucky bit his lip, his forehead creasing slightly like he was finally starting to feel the overwhelming wave flood him. ‘Doll, I’m so s-’

‘James, c’mon don’t,’ you wavered, your eyes glossing over his face, taking in his piercing eyes that were glazed with comfort but also concern. You ran your fingers through his hair tenderly, resting your hand on his cheek. ‘I’m here. I’m fine.’ You looked up at the others. ‘I’m grateful you guys came for me,’ you said shyly, unable to find the words to express how you felt.

But they knew that. And you saw it in their eyes and heard it in the way they brushed off your thanks in various ways. And you would be forever thankful for the understanding that had been built between you.

‘I just haven’t eaten properly in a while - Sam, don’t you usually have protein bars or something?’

‘I think this is the first time you’ve ever asked for one.’ Sam smirked and pulled one out from a duffle bag where Bruce had pulled the shock blanket from.

He knelt in front of you, tearing the wrapper, and holding the protein bar out for you. You sat up straight and took it; the dryness of its texture was usually unwelcome, but now it overloaded your tastebuds. Bucky sat against the wall next to you, his hand holding yours securely; Natasha knelt next to Sam, reaching around you to re-adjust the blanket around your shoulders as Steve uncapped a water bottle for you to drink from. Your insides turned fuzzy from the literal bubble they created around you.

On the journey home, you melted into the warmth; the questions about your experience were broached but not pushed; your responses were met with patience, and your questions of where you had been taken were answered but you all quickly melted into the banter and the comfortable silence that followed as you grew tired in the aftermath of the adrenaline rush.

You leaned back against Bucky, head resting on his shoulder as his arm curled around you. Under the heavy smell of smoke and dust in his tactical gear was the comfort of his chest and the welcome, familiar fit of his hand.

[another-writer]

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[another-writer]

Stars in the Sky

Bucky x reader

Word count: 2.2k

Warnings: tooth-rotting, cavity-inducing fluff. Kinda slow-burn. Kinda not.

Summary: You’re alerted to the fact that everyone seems to know how you feel about Bucky, except Bucky himself - you’re suddenly compelled to do something about it thanks to some quick intervention. Did I write another verison of something I already wrote because I like this better? Yes. Yes I did.

It’s a one shot on its own,  but it’s sort of a part two to this guy here

You often noticed a lot about Bucky’s habits. He drank green tea to help him sleep; he flinched at the sound of white noise from the radio. And sometimes - most of the time - he would glance up at the sky, raking in the moon, usually as he entered the compound after a mission. Once you prodded his rib, walking alongside him, and pointed up where the International Space Station could be seen - you remembered to look the date up for him - snickering endearingly at his interest. Since then, looking up at the ISS sort of became a thing between you both. Another time, when you tried to impress him again, he ended up correcting you -

‘That’s Mars, kiddo. Mercury usually comes around later in the year.’

Bucky would get the most smug look across his features, the only energy he would show as you both dragged your feet along with the rest of the team into the compound for a much-needed bout of recovery. It was well-natured competition, trying to spot the planets or map out constellations, debate who was right, or which constellation was better, or working to find the ISS first knowing when it would be in orbit. You knew little, but you would stay up to read random facts, just to fuel Bucky’s ramblings. Bucky could be grounded, earthed in reality, but his eyes absorbed the stars and held them close. It was poetic to see.

Keep reading

[another-writer]

Stars in the Sky

Bucky x reader

Word count: 2.2k

Warnings: tooth-rotting, cavity-inducing fluff. Kinda slow-burn. Kinda not.

Summary: You’re alerted to the fact that everyone seems to know how you feel about Bucky, except Bucky himself - you’re suddenly compelled to do something about it thanks to some quick intervention. Did I write another verison of something I already wrote because I like this better? Yes. Yes I did.

It’s a one shot on its own,  but it’s sort of a part two to this guy here

You often noticed a lot about Bucky’s habits. He drank green tea to help him sleep; he flinched at the sound of white noise from the radio. And sometimes - most of the time - he would glance up at the sky, raking in the moon, usually as he entered the compound after a mission. Once you prodded his rib, walking alongside him, and pointed up where the International Space Station could be seen - you remembered to look the date up for him - snickering endearingly at his interest. Since then, looking up at the ISS sort of became a thing between you both. Another time, when you tried to impress him again, he ended up correcting you -

‘That’s Mars, kiddo. Mercury usually comes around later in the year.’

Bucky would get the most smug look across his features, the only energy he would show as you both dragged your feet along with the rest of the team into the compound for a much-needed bout of recovery. It was well-natured competition, trying to spot the planets or map out constellations, debate who was right, or which constellation was better, or working to find the ISS first knowing when it would be in orbit. You knew little, but you would stay up to read random facts, just to fuel Bucky’s ramblings. Bucky could be grounded, earthed in reality, but his eyes absorbed the stars and held them close. It was poetic to see.

Keep reading

[another-writer]

Stars in the Sky

Bucky x reader

Word count: 2.2k

Warnings: tooth-rotting, cavity-inducing fluff. Kinda slow-burn. Kinda not.

Summary: You’re alerted to the fact that everyone seems to know how you feel about Bucky, except Bucky himself - you’re suddenly compelled to do something about it thanks to some quick intervention. Did I write another verison of something I already wrote because I like this better? Yes. Yes I did.

It’s a one shot on its own,  but it’s sort of a part two to this guy here

You often noticed a lot about Bucky’s habits. He drank green tea to help him sleep; he flinched at the sound of white noise from the radio. And sometimes - most of the time - he would glance up at the sky, raking in the moon, usually as he entered the compound after a mission. Once you prodded his rib, walking alongside him, and pointed up where the International Space Station could be seen - you remembered to look the date up for him - snickering endearingly at his interest. Since then, looking up at the ISS sort of became a thing between you both. Another time, when you tried to impress him again, he ended up correcting you -

‘That’s Mars, kiddo. Mercury usually comes around later in the year.’

Bucky would get the most smug look across his features, the only energy he would show as you both dragged your feet along with the rest of the team into the compound for a much-needed bout of recovery. It was well-natured competition, trying to spot the planets or map out constellations, debate who was right, or which constellation was better, or working to find the ISS first knowing when it would be in orbit. You knew little, but you would stay up to read random facts, just to fuel Bucky’s ramblings. Bucky could be grounded, earthed in reality, but his eyes absorbed the stars and held them close. It was poetic to see.

Keep reading

[another-writer]

The Avengers (2012) // Thor: Ragnarok (2017)

[another-writer]

Stars in the Sky

Bucky x reader

Word count: 2.2k

Warnings: tooth-rotting, cavity-inducing fluff. Kinda slow-burn. Kinda not.

Summary: You’re alerted to the fact that everyone seems to know how you feel about Bucky, except Bucky himself - you’re suddenly compelled to do something about it thanks to some quick intervention. Did I write another verison of something I already wrote because I like this better? Yes. Yes I did.

It’s a one shot on its own,  but it’s sort of a part two to this guy here

You often noticed a lot about Bucky’s habits. He drank green tea to help him sleep; he flinched at the sound of white noise from the radio. And sometimes - most of the time - he would glance up at the sky, raking in the moon, usually as he entered the compound after a mission. Once you prodded his rib, walking alongside him, and pointed up where the International Space Station could be seen - you remembered to look the date up for him - snickering endearingly at his interest. Since then, looking up at the ISS sort of became a thing between you both. Another time, when you tried to impress him again, he ended up correcting you -

‘That’s Mars, kiddo. Mercury usually comes around later in the year.’

Bucky would get the most smug look across his features, the only energy he would show as you both dragged your feet along with the rest of the team into the compound for a much-needed bout of recovery. It was well-natured competition, trying to spot the planets or map out constellations, debate who was right, or which constellation was better, or working to find the ISS first knowing when it would be in orbit. You knew little, but you would stay up to read random facts, just to fuel Bucky’s ramblings. Bucky could be grounded, earthed in reality, but his eyes absorbed the stars and held them close. It was poetic to see.

‘Hey, [Y/N]?’

‘Sam,’ you replied distractedly, looking up at him from where you sat on the living room floor, Tony’s blueprints spread out in front of you.

Sam had poked his head around the door frame. ‘So, Natasha and I know you’re into Barnes and I bet her ten bucks I could get you guys to admit it. For the sake of my pride, could you just ask him out and then give me credit if Nat asks?’

You blinked and your mind went blank.

‘Wait, what?’

'I said I could do it in two weeks -’

Blood rushed to your cheeks. ‘Okay, thanks Sam,’ you said through gritted teeth.

‘- and I really wanna win this -’

‘I know,’ you seethed.

‘Oh, and we know Bucky likes you too -’

‘I know!’

Wait - what?

Your mind scrambled immediately, only just clocking what Sam had said.

‘Hey,’ Sam cheered lightly, smacking the doorframe in victory, deciding to ignore your panic-stricken state, ‘yes you do, that’s the spirit! Also, if you don’t do anything about it, I’ll resort to telling him because we can’t take the pining.’

You gathered yourself, unable to even respond to his last statement.

‘Go - away.’

But Sam was already out of sight before you could speak. You heard his footsteps began to distance, and your shoulders slumped, realising just how tense you had become in the past thirty seconds.

Was Sam right?

You and Bucky had a relatively fast friendship; you both were able somehow to encourage each other in the most childish activities which developed into a mutual trust. You told yourself you appreciated your other friends in the same way, but you couldn’t help it - you had an undeniable soft spot for Bucky. It just was never considered romantic to you because ... well, it wasn’t as if it could go anywhere. It wasn’t as if Bucky felt the same way.

You ran your hands through your hair, clutching it at the nape of your neck. There was a chance Sam was wrong. Perhaps you were unknowingly obvious in your feelings for Bucky - which was embarrassing enough - but ... Of all the bad dates or failed relationships you’d had, it wasn’t as if Bucky decided to step up to the plate.

But what if Sam was right?

The idea of pretending that Sam had never said anything to you was more attractive than acting on his words. But the worry that he would go to Bucky weighed heavily on you over the next couple of days. Needing his own space, Bucky tended to be in and out of the compound, sometimes spending nights in his own apartment not too far away. You were banking on the probability that if Sam and Bucky weren’t in proximity, you wouldn’t have to worry too much.

But you felt slightly paranoid, and you busied yourself with work that wasn’t even important to find an excuse to spend time alone. You hated how irrational you felt towards the situation. If Sam was going to out you anyway, you figured you may as well take things into your own hands.

Sam had said two weeks. You could work with two weeks.

By the time the following Thursday had rolled around, you had come up with a semi-constructed plan. Or, more of a back-up plan. If things felt like they were going south, you could easily distract him with the meteor shower that was on that night.

You managed to set everything up within an hour, early in the morning, taking a little longer to bring everything there in the first place. For the sake of your sanity, and making sure no one could walk in on your masterpiece, you asked FRIDAY to keep the top floor on lockdown (after alerting Stark, the man would freak if he’d found out somebody had done so without any warning); you were shuffling back into bed by sunrise, mind flooded with every possible scenario of what could come.

You wondered if Bucky would have said something by now if he did like you. He hadn’t, but perhaps it was for the same reason you hadn’t either - you hadn’t really allowed yourself to feel that way. Sam had pretty much opened the floodgates. 

You took a deep breath and leaned back against your door, sliding to the floor so your knees were drawn to your chest and held your phone in your hand, pausing for a moment before messaging Bucky to come to the compound that night.

Around six in the evening, you had FRIDAY re-open access to the top floor and had been waiting since - purely out of nerves - for Bucky to arrive.

‘You been waiting long?’ he asked, stepping out of the elevator nearly an hour later at your agreed-upon time.

You leaned into him instrictively as he put an arm around your shoulders, walking with you to the balcony.

‘No, you’re just in time,’ you breathed, sliding the door open, walking out first and gesturing for Bucky to follow you.

‘And remind me what we’re doing up here again?’

‘We haven’t hung out in a while,’ you reasoned, ‘it’s been weird.’

‘It has been ... but if I think about it, we usually hang out closer to the ground.’

‘Just trust me on this, Barnes,’ you promised.

Or don’t, you thought. It could go horrifically wrong.

It was cold outside, but not windy or wet or humid. The air nipped at your neck and fingers and sliced through your clothes. You realised you had honed in on the strand of Bucky’s hair that had fallen by his eye, flicking slightly in the breeze and looked away at the skyline. The sky was clear, dotted with stars. You walked and maneuvered so that Bucky’s back was immediately facing what you had set up; he was looking at you curiously but didn’t seem suspicious.

‘What’s going on?’ Bucky whispered.

You put your hands on Bucky’s shoulders and pushed gently, prompting him to turn around.

The balcony overlooked multicoloured lights dotted around the otherwise pitch black city, lighting the fallen snow like stained glass, the foreground standing conspicuously against the ink sky.

There were electric lanterns placed on the coffee table and armrest of the couch emitting warm white light that spread over the couch cushions and a mountain of blankets. A reed diffuser producing the scent of a bonfire and another that smelled like roasting marshmallows sat on a smaller side table next to a record player that was currently silent. You stared at it in contempt, thinking it was stupid to have it there. God, this whole thing was stupid. But you honed in on the telescope you had worked on for three days to modify. For some reason, it grounded you; it was like a distraction.

You watched Bucky take in the surroundings; his Adam’s apple was bobbing and his lips curled into a smile as he shook his head and rubbed his forehead.

‘What is all this?’ he asked, but he sounded … contented. Gratified.

Your hands were in fists, pushed into the pockets of your hoodie. Frankly, most of you was ready to run away.

‘I know you’re to be obsessed with this stuff,’ you said. ‘There’s a meteor shower tonight ... Thought it’d be nice.’

He nodded, thoughts spiraling and eyes glazing over. ‘This - this is amazing, I - ... thank you.’

You bit your lip, smiling fondly at his reaction, perching on the arm rest of the couch with your feet on the seat. ‘What was that thing again, your mother getting you a telescope?’

‘You know that story.’

‘Yeah, but I like it,’ you reasoned, resting your chin on your hand.

Bucky looked down, and you noticed a pink tinge to his cheeks you weren’t sure was a consequence of the cold or your words.

‘When my ma piled together a few pay cheques once and bought me a telescope?’ He paraphrased your words, sitting next to you. ‘It must’ve been like this big –‘ he added, placing his hands about a foot away from each other grinning at the memory. ‘I could barely see anything from it but I -’ He paused, seeming self-concsious like he usually did - ‘I’d, like, imagine there was this city on the moon and I’d think about how I’d get there one day.’

You felt your heart flutter his story, almost overwhelmed with how endearing it was, and decided to distract yourself. You took one of the blankets and draped it over Bucky’s shoulders, not missing the knee-buckling yet contented look he was giving you. You picked up the silver thermos from the coffee table and the dark blue mug and poured out a helping of green tea.

‘Think you’d still wanna go?’ you asked, handing him the mug that he cupped with his right hand for warmth.

‘Maybe one day,’ he shrugged, sipping his tea before setting the mug on the table. ‘I kinda like it down here too much at the moment.’

The momentary silence that settled was relishing, and you shared a look with him that felt new, weighted with something - a sort of warmth - you hadn’t seen before. Or, perhaps you just hadn’t noticed it.

‘So, Barnes,’ you cleared your throat, and leading him to the telescope, ‘you are promised a clear night; Venus is in orbit and there’s a meteor shower predicted for nine o’clock right until five a.m tomorrow.’

You knew he hadn’t dropped his curiosity. To his credit, you wouldn’t have either. But nonetheless, he was transfixed as

‘What is this for?’ His tone, though somewhat calm, was becoming slightly taunting. You didn’t hear malice, but you were slowly becoming more and more self-embarrassed.

You couldn’t tell him. The words were caught in your mouth. Even if you were brave enough to let him know how you felt, you had no idea how to express it.

‘For the meteor shower,’ you shrugged, ‘why else?’

‘[Y/N] ...’

‘James.’

‘How come no one else is here?’

‘Well, not everyone’s a space nerd like you.’

You falted under his gaze, and then it clocked. Bucky was giving you that look. When he figured something out before you did, outsmarted you, when you conceded in the last debate over Perseus being a better constellation than Orion.

And you wanted to throw up. You folded your arms over your chest, feeling your entire stature become stiff.

‘Oh my God, you know.’

Bucky shrugged casually. ‘Yeah, but, I wanna hear you say it.’

You clenched your jaw, trying to stifle the embarrassment bubbling in your gut. You can settle this. You’re rational. Don’t say anything. Deflect it back to the telescope. Something. Anything.

‘Were you always this annoying, or is that new?’

Oops.

You hoped you sounded as nonchalant as you meant it.

Bucky scoffed, the laugh lines around his eyes creasing. ‘Oh Doll, ‘m sorry, c’mere,’ he snickered as he closed the distance between you, englufing you in a warm embrace.

His arms locked comfortably around your waist and you blushed furiously when you felt him kiss your forehead and rub his hand on your back soothingly. Stiffly, and slowly, you wound your arms around him, heart jolting when he took it as invitation to hold you tighter, swaying ever so slightly.

You were thrown and confused, more so than sad. You were preparing for dismissal anyway. But you still felt a hollowness. Still, it was the most physically comfortable you’d ever felt. Bucky Barnes in a blanket was a gift to the world and you didn’t want to let go.

‘In defense,’ he said, ‘I didn’t really know until today.'

'’M not actually upset Barnes, you know that,’ you said casually, though your voice was tight.

‘I know,’ he said quietly. There was an underlying uncertainty in his voice. ‘You - ... You’re braver than I am, you know that?’

You cringed at yourself. ‘Jesus, ‘m so sorry -’

‘[Y/N], no, shut up.’ He leaned back, to look at you, the distance only fractional between you both. ‘You’re doing what I couldn’t.’

Doing what he couldn’t?

‘I didn’t think I should tell you,’ he continued, not quite able to meet your gaze as his voice began to trail. ‘Things were so comfortable, I thought you’d want them to stay the same.’

Bucky was looking at you like … like you had put the stars in the sky. Like you had single-handedly painted the snow and built the city skyline. It was head-spinning and unfamiliar and it made your heart beat wildly when he leaned his forehead against yours. He paused for just a moment like silent question, before softly pressing his lips to yours, your eyes closing as you eased into the kiss, arms going around his shoulders, as if you had done a million times before, holding him until you both needed air. As he pulled away, Bucky pressed severeal kisses - once, twice, across your cheeks, making you grin helplessly before steadying him straight, catching him with glinting eyes packed with a thousand constellations.

Before long and as if fuelled by some new energy, you ushered him to look into the the eyepiece, wanting him not to miss anything. The rest of the night was taken up by Bucky searching the sky, playing around with the telescope to get a better view, and pulling you in front of him, showing you the stars and falling cosmic debris. It was breathtaking, undeniably, but you felt it was only fair to admit that the starry-eyed glaze across Bucky’s features was more distracting at that moment.

And sure, you owed Sam big time. But for now, you felt privileged in the way Bucky shared the stars with you.