#and i have a heater in the most batshit place ever and its just in the way of Everything

[107thbarnes]

3:15 | bucky barnes

requested: bucky x reader with glasses

summary: basically in a lookout with bucky who loves to poke fun with glasses jokes/antics

a/n: got carried away but its okay cause it’s cute,,, enjoy fellas & feedbacks are so greatly appreciated! (i wear glasses too so shoutout to everybody who needs glasses, we’re in this togetha)

—————

“You brought a book to lookout?” 

Bucky incredulously looked at you, throwing his jacket on the bed. He shrugged his shoes, still eyeing you through the book, as he shook his head in disbelief. He has just gotten back from his evening run— spying, as he surveyed the surroundings where the two of you will be stuck in for two weeks. It’s been the eighth day and you’re already bored as it is. 

Putting down the book on your stomach, as you leaned against the headboard, you tilted your head at Bucky who’s currently taking off of his shirt. Ridiculous.  The most hated habit of his from the Tower yet he brings it here. 

“I’ve got nothing else to do,” you said, crossing your legs as you chucked your book at Bucky. It hit him on his metal arm as he coincidentally turned. “Can you not also take off of your clothes when I am here?” 

“I thought you like the view?” 

“You’re lucky I don’t have another book to throw at you.” 

Bucky threw the book right at you, making you move in the bed. The action made your glasses slid down your nose partially, and you irritably pushed it back. He disappeared into the bathroom with a towel slung on his shoulder as he chuckled softly as he watched you settling against the headboard again. Sighing, you try to find where you left off before Bucky has disturbed your reading. You badly wanted to read on one side but the situation with your glasses is annoying. You know how it is when you lean on one side, your glasses move against your nose and suddenly they’re misappropriated on your face. 

Moments later, Bucky emerged from the bathroom and the steam went right through your glasses because of the small confinement. He knew how much you hated it, and that bastard walked out of the bathroom with a damn smile on his face. His hair was sticking to his face, and he bent down right across form you, making the water splash on your glasses with tiny droplets. 

“Bucky! What the fu—.”

“Language, please.” 

“I am right here!”

“Oops, didn’t see you there.”

“Oh, please!”

Bucky spent another minute drying his hair with his towel, and you’re back with the book. This is so much better than using the sniper’s lenses by the window as you tried to look for any incoming men who will do some batshit crazy things and it makes you yawn, taking out the bad guys so many times. 

“It started snowing outside, did you see?” Bucky called out as he headed towards the small kitchen to try to make some breakfast for the two of you. 

“Brr,” you shivered, following him as you sat on the table, still carrying your book. “Was it cold outside?” 

“Yes.”

He placed down two mugs on the table, and cracked some hot cocoa packets over them. While he waits for the kettle to boil, he made some sunnyside ups as he toasted slices of bread as well, because eggs and bread are the only thing left in the fridge to cook. But you’re not complaining since Bucky can cook wonderfully. Breakfast food has been his specialty for the time being. You stuck to your book, your eyes following sentence after sentence as you’re stuck in your imagining world. Bucky whistled softly as he placed down the eggs on the table, still waiting for the toast and kettle. He used this time to let you read more as he exited the kitchen to walk to the window to check some unusual activity. 

Of course, there won’t be any, I was just outside, he thought.

Bucky walked back, and once hearing his footsteps on the hardwood, you place down the book as he took the kettle off of the stove and sat across from you. He poured some hot water on yours first, then his. You twirled the cocoa around your mug, waiting for the hot steam to lessen but it was too hot and Bucky has already starting to sip some from his. 

Screw it, you thought.

You brought the mug right to your mouth, already seeing the hot steam cover your glasses and you’re annoyed, and impatient that you do not care at all. Placing down the mug, Bucky chuckled across from you as you took your glasses off and wiped them clean with your shirt. 

Classic hot steam and mug situation with glasses. Wonderful.

“Hey.” 

“What, Bucky?” 

You were too busy slicing your toast to look up from your plate but Bucky didn’t say another word, and you ignored him. 

“Hey.” 

“What.” 

“Look up.” 

“Why?” 

Silence.

“Look up.”

Putting down the knife on the plate, you rested your elbows on the table, habitually adjusting your glasses. Bucky grinned now that he has your attention, and he suddenly and stupidly lifted his arm away from his seated body and raised two fingers up. You groaned at the notion, going back to eating. 

“Look up.” 

“Fine. I’m looking up.” 

Bucky grinned. “How many fingers am I holding up?” 

You looked at his fingers, and he wiggled it. Bucky tucked in his hair that flew behind his shoulders then raised three fingers as if to fool you. He’s making a fool of himself, and you groaned playfully— equally annoyed with the person you’re stuck with. 

He used to be quiet with you, timid, now he does stuff like this. 

“None,” you deadpanned. “If you keep doing that.” 

“I still have my metal arm.” 

“Even your metal fingers.”

“But then you have to take my metal arm off to take my fingers off.” 

“What?”

“I said, you have to take my metal arm off,” he prolonged saying the off, “to take my fingers off.”

Timid. He used to timid in the beginning of this mission, and even before you were recruited in the Tower. Timid. Quiet, whenever you would pop out to get something, he would quiet down whenever he and Sam would talk. Now he’s always talking, and you want to chuck another book at him, but you like the sound of voice, the drawl of it— enough that you listen and lean back on your chair as he rolled his sleeve to show you where his metal arm is connected. 

“Uh huh,” you said, drinking your steaming cocoa. It left the steam on your glasses and you didn’t even bother removing them. 

“You have to wipe your glasses so you could see.” 

“I’m good, so I don’t have to look at you anymore.” 

“Jackass.” 

“Language!”

When the steam disappeared on its own, you blinked rapidly with a smile on your face as you were met with Bucky’s self. He was wolfing down on his plate, leaving you almost no sunnyside up and you grabbed it away from him before he could even finish it.

“Hey! Leave some for me.” 

“Then cook some more.”

You soften as Bucky grabbed the plate from you, splitting the remaining food into halves. “I like it when you cook it,” you whispered, ever so softly as you put the egg on top of your toast. 

Bucky stopped chewing, his bread halfway through to meet his mouth. Slowly, he put down his toast, looking at the egg on top of his, and he cleared his throat. He removed it and slid it on your plate, and you grinned. 

“Gotcha,” you smiled, chewing on your food as Bucky leaned on his chair with his arms crossed. He watched you eat as he finished his own and wiped his mouth. He tilted his head, watching you wolf down— you didn’t realise you were that hungry. 

“Jackass.” 

After dinner, Bucky took the chair by the window joining you, as you peep through the dark. Steve called in earlier for updates but there wasn’t so now you’re back to surveying the night through the glass. Bucky reached for the book on your lap, his metal hand touching your thigh and you shivered instantly on his touch. It was extra cold tonight, it was snowing, the winds outside were no match for the thin walls, and the heater is semi-broken with all the loud creaking. When he saw you shivered, Bucky tensed up.

“Are you cold?” 

From his touch. 

Your thoughts went down to where it doesn’t and shouldn’t go— thoughts of how it feels underneath that metal hand of his, how it feels, the sensation of cold, and you shivered some more— “No,” you said, peeping again on the sniper. 

“You can use my jacket by the bed if you need more heat,” he offered, skimming past pages of your book. He reached the back of the book, and he skimmed over the summary. When he was finished, he placed down the book on your lap— and it happened again, that you just fake yawned to get away from this situation. “Seriously, use my jacket if you’re too cold.”

You knew he would persistent on things like this, so instead of refusing, you just stood up and reached the jacket from the bed. It still smelled like him, musky— and you breathed it in. For the past eight days when he would join you in the joint bed in the lookout apartment, it has been your favorite scent. It smells comforting. 

Eight days in— maybe even longer, back in the tower and it has got you reeling in for some of his smell. 

And touches.

You groaned, zipping up his jacket. He turned his head towards you, and looked concerned. “You okay?” 

“Yeah,” you lied, rolling up the longer sleeves over your wrist. What were you supposed to say? Hey, I was thinking of your smell— I love it, you thought. “Just a little headache.” 

“Go to bed then,” he offered again, switching from his chair to the one you just moved from, “I’ll be the lookout tonight.” 

“But you were the lookout last night,” you rambled on, sitting down on his chair. “I can do this.” 

“No good if you can’t concentrate with that headache,” Bucky persisted, looking at you. He leaned on the chair, tucking his hair behind his ear— and his metal arm glinted, God. “Go to bed.” 

No use in arguing with this man. 

“Let me read some more then,” you whispered as you padded towards the bed. You were thankful that it wasn’t as small as you thought it was. 

Although some mornings you would feel half of his body on yours and blankets would be tangled between the arms and legs, and you had to shove him off of you to breathe but he would still continue to doze off. 

“Don’t hog my blanket.” 

“I don’t hog the blanket.”

“Yes, you do.”

“Uh huh— whatever.”

Bucky watched you settle on your side of the bed as you opened your book. He found it cute whenever you would push up your glasses every now and then— but of course he wouldn’t want to admit it because Sam would ask always how and why he would’ve known. It would just end with Sam running around the tower, screaming at the top of his lungs, that Bucky— he has got some feelings, basically got his eyes on you. 

He also didn’t want to admit how his jacket looks good on you. 

Shaking his head, he realized how this mission is actually going to kill his heart if he has to spend anymore days with you. He cannot handle how much he has changed when talking to you— it makes him even nervous. 

To get his mind clean off of you, he attempted to clean his combat knives with the soft turning of pages in the background. Nothing was happening outside yet he still needed to be on the lookout just to be sure. Some time he would find himself glancing at you while you read with a sigh of contentment on your lips as you would turn another page. He went back to cleaning, listening to the turning of pages. 

Hours later, he heard nothing as it quieted down in the lookout apartment, except from the bustle from upstairs and down the road. It is past three in the morning. He glanced at the bed, and at your figure as you laid sideways. He found himself abandoning the chair, and padded towards you. He made sure his steps were silent aside from the creaking of it, as he turned to the side of your bed. He noticed you snoring softly, with hands on the book, and a crooked glasses on top of your nose. 

He chuckled, it was cute.

He started to reach out to wake you up but he fought against.

“Hey,” 

“Hey,” 

“Hey,” he said softly, as you twitched in your sleep. 

Silence. 

“Hey, sweetheart,” he whispered as he bent down. 

He watched your hair fall over your face as you nuzzled deeper into your pillow, and he stopped in his tracks. Suddenly, he doesn’t want to wake you up. 

So he did his best not to. His fingers slid through your face as he gingerly reaches out for your glasses, so you wouldn’t sleep on it. The last thing he wants for you is to have a broken pair of glasses. Then he tucked your hair behind your ear and reached for the book. He’s got to lift your fingers off of the hardbound book— and your fingers were soft, smaller than his, and he smiled softly at that thought, the thought of you. His heart is doing a marathon beating with nervousness and of you. When he succeeded in taking off of your book, he watched you bundle your hands up with the blankets. 

“You hog the blankets, sweetheart.”