winterswift

[winterswift]

can we pretend?

pairing: bob reynolds x f! reader.

summary: when you asked bob to pretend to be your fake boyfriend, you had no idea you'd fall so hard for him.

word count: 4,4k.

tags: fake relationship, pining, this is sort of grumpy x sunshine, except that instead of grumpy, he is shy and introverted. he fell first AND harder, mentions of y/n, a lot of fluff, sentry makes his appearance (kind of).

—there are mentions of a man harassing the reader but nothing overly excessive.

a/n: english is not my first language so there might be grammatical mistakes. this took longer than i expected, but i'm happy with the end product. the fake relationship trope is one of my faves, and i was quite excited to use it in a Bob fic. i hope you like it :).

Bob couldn't help but observe you. He didn't intend to do it; he was meant to be reading, but the sound of your voice distracted him. There was a man nearby, possibly too close to be regarded proper.

You did not appear to be comfortable; your body was rigid and your eyes darted around in search of an escape. Every time he approached closer, you took a step back.

He understood how it felt because he felt the same way with practically everyone. But he wasn't used to seeing you like this; you used to be confident, a ray of sunshine whose demeanor didn't quite suit with the grim New Avengers. He didn't like seeing you like that, small and insecure, almost afraid.

He felt compelled to do something, but he wasn't the sort to harm, so he waited. When the man left and you breathed a sigh of relief, he continued his reading. He pretended he hadn't noticed your footsteps approaching.

“Bob!" you exclaimed. You were overjoyed to see him; normally, no one reacts that way when they meet him. Except for you. "I was looking for you."

You settle next to him with a huff, your cherry smell overwhelming his senses. He adored your perfume but would never express it aloud. "I need to ask you a favor," you said, blushing as if embarrassed.

"What can I do for you?" he inquired, anticipating that you would want a book, as you occasionally did.

"I need you to pretend to be my boyfriend." He almost didn't understand you because you spoke so fast. He gazed at you with wide eyes.

"What?"

"Please!" you begged, anxiously. "I'd do anything for you. I will buy you anything you want, but please say yes."

He wasn't sure it was a good idea; he wasn't exactly boyfriend material, but seeing your eyes almost to tears, he couldn't turn you down. Not if you looked at him like that.

"F-fine," he agreed, hesitantly.

You let out an enthusiastic giggle and threw yourself into his arms with such vigor that you nearly knocked him off the couch. He gave you a few pats on the back before pulling away.

He wasn't used to that type of affection, especially after what had taken place in New York, but that was just how you were, warm and dazzling. You didn't appear concerned that he would use his powers on you.

"Thank you so much, seriously, it means a lot to me," you stammered. "It's just for a couple of days, until that guy stops bothering me. I've told him several times that I don't want to go out with him, but he will not take no for an answer. I'm desperate.”

He was enraged at the thought of someone making you uncomfortable; he told himself that he would pay more attention to that man and would not allow him to get near you. He may not have been the most intimidating member of the team, but he was confident he could get him off your back.

"Don't worry, I'll help you." Your thankful smile made it all worthwhile.

He had absolutely no idea what he was getting into.

The following days went by normally, but Bob noted the small changes. You appeared to want to spend more time with him; nothing was overstated; you simply sat next to him at breakfast and smiled. Sometimes you'd sit next to him as he read.

You never interrupted him because you were too gentle for that; instead, you remained by his side as a warm and soothing presence. You never compelled him to speak, you never exceeded his space; you were simply present. He appreciated it.

He began to feel safe by your side, not that he hadn't before, but that he did so more frequently.

It was one of those days when they simply existed next to each other that you started a conversation.

"Bob," you called, and he noticed your soft tone. "Are you sure you want to do this?" I know I practically forced you to say yes, but you may always decline. I don't want to make you uncomfortable; if you don't want to, I can ask someone else if-”

He had noticed that you spoke too quickly when you were nervous, which he found very adorable.

"No!" stopped you, and he grimaced instantly, realizing he had sounded overly enthusiastic."It doesn't bother me; if I hadn't wanted it, I would have said no. It's fine, really.”

That was only half the truth; it wasn't that he couldn't say no; rather, he couldn't say no to you.

“Good,” you replied with a relieved smile. "Thank you again; you really help me a lot."

"There's nothing to thank me for," he told you with a little smile. "Did you see him again?"

"No, I've been avoiding the places he usually goes," you answered, visibly annoyed. "I know he comes a couple of times a week, but I'm not sure when."

"Don't worry, we'll keep an eye on it," he assured you.

Bob kept his promise to her. The next day, he had asked Yelena for a list of everyone who worked for Valentina. The former assassin lifted her eyebrows and smiled, but said nothing.

It took him some time to find him, but there he was. His name was Daniel, and he worked on the tower's repairs. None of the workers were permitted to enter the floor where they lived, but this man seemed to disregard the rules in order to come closer to you.

Daniel had not returned to the tower, but that did not prevent him from staying near to you. It was embarrassing how closely he followed you like a lost puppy, but he wanted to guarantee your safety.

He didn't see him until a week later, when he was bothering you again. As you attempted to distance yourself from him, your face flushed with discomfort.

"Come on, beautiful, just one date," he urged, smiling condescendingly. Bob had a brilliant gleam in his eyes before approaching you.

You saw a tiny shift in his posture: his steps were firmer, and his hands were no longer fidgeting. His eyes no longer avoided you; they focused on you with such intensity that you blushed.

He approached you with a smile, standing next to you and wrapped his arm around your waist, drawing you closer to him.

"Hello, darling," he whispered, kissing your forehead. You attempted to hide your amazement; Bob had never been so affectionate with you, and even though you had technically asked for it, you had no idea how to react. "And who are you?"

Daniel swallowed hard, clearly intimidated. "I'm a friend of Y/N," he explained, shaking his hand. "Daniel."

Bob grasped his hand harder than needed. "How strange, she never mentioned you," he said, smiling. "I'm Robert, her boyfriend."

You tried to disguise a smile by hiding your face in his shoulder. You didn't realize Bob could be that petty.

Both enjoyed Daniel's annoyed expression; from that perspective, they appeared to be a loving couple. Nobody would assume they rarely touched hands.

"I don't want to take up more of your time, Daniel," you said. "See you later."

You instantly grabbed Bob's arm and pulled him out of the room. You did not want to spend any more time with that man. You spoke once you had gotten far enough away.

"That was incredible!" you exclaimed, laughing. "Did you see his face?"

Bob's shyness emerged at that moment. "Yeah, I hope that keeps him away from you."

"I hope so," you sighed. "Thank you, Bob."

He grinned at you, with a lovely blush on his cheeks. You wanted to express your gratitude for everything he was doing for you, so an idea began to shape in your thoughts.

"Hey, do you want to get out of here?" you said. The glitter in his eyes revealed the answer.

You led him to a new café that had opened a few blocks from the tower. When you heard out it was a cat café, you immediately felt Bob would enjoy it.

And you were not mistaken.

His smile when a kitten approached him warmed your heart. Bob surrounded by kittens was not an image you wanted to forget.

You took care of his order, and when you returned with two coffees, he was holding a little cat against his chest. You snapped a picture before he could resist.

"What are you doing?" he asked you.

"You two looked too adorable," you said with a smile. "I couldn't help it."

Bob shook his head with a smile, rebellious strands of hair fell over his eyes. You wanted to tuck it behind his ears, but you lacked the courage.

Both of them drank their coffees silently; you didn't want to press the conversation, and Bob was distracted with the kittens. You were astonished when he talked first.

"Can I ask you something?" You nodded slightly to encourage him to speak.

"Why me?" he questioned. "Why did you choose me?"

The question threw you off; choosing him felt natural, even instinctual. Furthermore, you did not want to confess that he was perfectly your type.

You inhaled deeply. "Because you are a good man, Bob. You are sweet and gentle, and you know how to listen to others. You make them feel seen. Not to mention that you're handsome," you admitted. "Who wouldn't want to have you as a boyfriend?"

You blushed beneath his gaze; he gazed at you as if you were the sun peeking out from behind the storm, as if you were something that only happens once in a lifetime. Doubt appeared in his eyes; he didn't believe the sincerity of your remarks, but you were speaking from the heart.

When he saw you weren't going to change your mind, he smiled at you; it wasn't exaggerated or overly bright. It was a warm smile, the type that brings out people's beauty and makes you want to get closer to them.

You wanted to be close to Bob.

Something shifted between you two that day, an unsaid understanding, an invisible string forming between you. A gravitational pull that neither of them could resist.

But not everything is perfect.

What about their little getaway? It was the cover of every magazine at the time. Their faces and furtive smiles had been shot, revealing the intimacy of the moment to everyone.

Valentina had something to say about it.

The woman showed up in the tower with a stomach-churning smile. You didn't like the glow in her eyes, and your body was screaming at you to get away from there.

Bob and you exchanged perplexed looks when she threw a magazine at you that had you on the cover.

"My little superhero lovers, I wanted to speak to you.”

They were certainly in big trouble.

You approached Bob, unintentionally seeking the reassurance his presence brought. Valentina must have noticed their fearful expressions when she spoke to them.

"Oh, don't worry, I'm not angry," didn't help them relax. "In fact, this is perfect. Two Avengers in love is just the type of PR we need right now. People enjoy good romance.”

You shifted uncomfortably; you two were not even dating. You would not be in that position if you hadn't made that idiotic request.

"But we don't—" you attempted to say.

"I don't care if you love each other or barely tolerate each other," she exclaimed, frustrated. "I need you to sell it to the public. Next Friday, there will be a charity gala; I need both of you to attend and be the perfect pair. Mel will send your outfit within a few days.”

Both attempted to object, but a single glance from the woman hushed them. "I'm not asking you. Do not fail.”

With that, she went out the door.

"I'm sorry, Bob," you apologized instantly. "This is my fault, I should have realized they were taking pictures of us. You don't have to go; I can tell Valentina that this was entirely my idea, and-"

"Hey, Y/N, breathe," Bob interrupted you, holding your hands. It's not anyone's fault; besides, I agreed to do this, remember? We're now a team, and I'm not going to leave you alone.”

Your frown softened as he spoke; he always manages to calm you down.

"What about the party?"

"We just have to show up there, I think I can survive a party," he told you. "Only if you go with me."

"Deal done," you said with a smile.

It was the night before the gala and you couldn't sleep, the mattress sank uncomfortably under your weight, the sheets that wrapped around you made you feel suffocated. Every time you closed your eyes, thousands of scenarios where everything went wrong began to emerge.

You took a couple of breaths, trying to calm the rapid beats of your heart. You couldn't help but feel anxious; generally, the public events you attended never ended well.

You began to reflect on the previous several weeks, thinking about how the situation had slid out of your grasp. You hated yourself for doing this to Bob.

Bob had been nothing but kind to you, and he chose to help you even though it was not his responsibility. Bob who gazed at you as if you had hung the moon and stars for him.

You had no idea what to deal with those feelings, and you never expected to feel anything for him. Of course, he was always handsome to you, but a relationship required more than just that.

And yet, there you were. Unable to resist your heart's longing for him.

You wanted to be the one who made him laugh out loud and earned his trust. You wanted to see the gorgeous blush that appeared on his cheeks whenever someone complimented him, and you wanted him to take you in his arms and never let you go.

However, he most likely did not feel the same way. You were sure that Bob was too kind to reject you, if you had the courage to declare your feelings and stop pretending.

Soft knocks on your door distracted you from your thoughts, and you reluctantly got up, wondering who was calling you at such a late hour.

Bob's blue eyes gleamed when he saw you, his hair was ruffled, and the deep black circles under his eyes made him appear exhausted. You raised an eyebrow when you saw the pillow he was holding under his arm.

It seemed that you had called him with your thoughts.

"Sorry," his scratchy voice from sleep made you shudder. "I didn't want to wake you, it's just that I couldn't sleep and didn't know what else to do."

You gave him a slight smile before opening the door. It was Bob's first time in your room, and he couldn't help but notice every single detail that made the space yours.

"Don't worry," you murmured, gesturing to the mess of blankets that composed your bed. "I couldn't sleep either."

Bob gave a tiny mumble of understanding; he was too nervous to say anything. Your scent was everywhere, and it was driving him insane.

You stifled a yawn as you took his hand and dragged him to bed. Bob followed you with unsteady feet, and the sight of you with tired eyes and a soft-looking pajama made his heart race.

They lay down with a good gap between them, but after a few minutes, you couldn't help but desire to be closer to him. You moved around, placed your head on his shoulder, and rested your arm on his stomach. You let out a relieved sigh as you felt the warmth of his body on yours.

Bob remained completely still; it was the closest they had ever been. Your breath tickled his skin. He lovingly enveloped you in his arms, and you almost fell asleep immediately.

He noticed your serene expression, the contour of your nose, your slightly parted lips, and how you clung to him. Unconsciously, he began to touch your hair, finding it difficult to understand that someone could feel secure with him.

"Y/N," he muttered, afraid to wake you. You made a sound that resembled an response. "Are you nervous?"

"A little," you sighed. "I don't trust Valentina's intentions, and it's my first time attending a gala with a partner. Well, you are not actually my boyfriend, but for them—"

Bob's laughter interrupted you. "I got it," he said, smiling at you. "To be honest, it's the first time I've attended an event like this. So I'm nervous, too."

Your fingers intertwined with his, and your thumb caressed his knuckles. "Don't worry, they'll love you," you remarked in a sleepy voice.

"It's not their opinion that matters to me," he murmured, but you were already asleep.

Bob let out a defeated sigh and closed his eyes. He instantly fell asleep with you beside him.

When you awoke the next morning, your bed was empty, but you were holding a pillow that did not belong to you.

They both ignored one other all morning, they were embarrassed and too frightened to engage in normal conversation. And the team's relentless taunting of you did not help.

Since they discovered you were in a "relationship," the comments haven't stopped; they never miss a chance to make you blush with their words.

So you decided to hide in your room until it was time to go to the party; however, you still needed to prepare.

You took your time showering and perfuming your body; Valentina had hired numerous people to do your makeup and hairstyle, so you didn't have to worry about it.

The makeup enhanced your looks; they applied an eye shimmer to you that complimented your clothing and made your glance appear more alluring. Your hair was done with gentle waves that cascaded down your back.

You couldn't help but huff at the color of the dress, yet it was still perfect for you. Valentina did her best.

The cloth was comfortable and hugged each curve of your body. It truly made you feel beautiful.

They gave you matching shoes and jewelry, and once you'd completed changing, you glanced in the mirror. You took a deep breath, attempting to settle your nerves. You needed to think that everything would be alright.

You strode down the hallway with your head held high, attempting to radiate confidence. Bob was probably waiting for you in the common area, so you increased your pace.

You spotted him before he noticed you. You were left breathless.

He was dressed in a black suit that appeared to be tailor-made, fitting perfectly around his shoulders and the muscles in his arms. His hair was slicked back with gel, and you were surprised to see that he hadn't shaved; his stubble appealed to you.

He spotted you at that very moment. You gave him a little smile when you saw his open mouthed expression.

His gaze swept over your body, admiring how the dress highlighted your beauty, hugged your physique, and made you appear like a goddess descending to earth.

"Golden?" he inquired with a playful smile, admiring the hue of your garment.

You rolled your eyes. "Well, I'm supposed to be Sentry's girlfriend, with the power of a thousand suns, blah blah," you stated as you approached him. "I had to match, you know?"

"What-what are you doing?" he stammered as you placed your palms against his chest.

"You have your tie crooked," you said, removing the knot with ease. Bob held his breath as you completed your assignment. "Done."

"Easy, Bob, I don't bite," you winked. He murmured something you didn't understand before offering his arm to let you start your way to the door.

"Let's get out of here."

The venue was full, and the sound of so many voices mingling assaulted your ears. You gripped Bob's arm a little tighter.

He was equally nervous, his body shivering slightly against your side. You felt compelled to soothe him, so you entwined your fingers with his and gently squeezed them.

You moved closer, your lips brushing across his ear. "Breathe. We're in this together."

He offered you a faint, strained smile, but it was enough for you. His arm wrapped around your waist, warm and firm, as you both entered the building.

All eyes were on you, the star-crossed lovers, as Valentina had described you. Something about you grabbed attention: your silent complicity, the way you orbited one other, and your inability to stop looking at each other.

Nobody would ever suspect it was a meticulously planned performance. Or that's what they wanted to believe, but you knew some things couldn't be faked.

Bob let you lead the discussions, watching with interest as you enchanted others with your charm. He only spoke when necessary because he still struggled with social interactions. Instead, he remained by your side, always with you.

He hadn't missed the looks some men gave you, so he made certain they knew you weren't alone. That someone was looking after you, even if he was aware you didn't need it.

The night flew by as you both approached the bar for a drink. The lights had darkened, and there were a few couples dancing. You had a small grin on your lips and a sparkle in your eyes, as if you wanted to dance but didn't dare to ask.

Bob didn't want to pass up the opportunity, even though he didn't like the thought of so many people watching him. He extended his hand to you in a subtle invitation. You could barely conceal your surprise.

"Come on," he said, guiding you onto the dance floor. You restrained a smile.

"I didn't know you liked to dance," you joked, wrapping your arms around his shoulders and drawing closer to him.

“I'm a terrible dancer," both of them began to sway to the beat of the music. "But it would be a crime not to dance with you."

“Smooth" you chuckled as he spun you around. "Thank you, you are the perfect partner."

When he glanced at you, his eyes had a golden shine in them, but you didn't say anything; you just smiled and put your forehead on his shoulder. That simple act of confidence touched Bob's heart.

Your hair tickled his chin, and your perfume dulled his senses. Your skin felt warm where his hands touched you, and the steady ebb and flow of your breath helped him stay grounded.

He genuinely wanted to kiss you, but he didn't dare. Not there, not where they were exposed to the eyes of others. So they continued to dance, till their feet hurt.

And when you were bored of the music and the people, you proposed leaving. It wasn't your first time attending an event in that building; you were familiar with the space and knew you had to show Bob the view from the terrace.

You led him along the empty hallways, hands clasped and bursting into little giggles of hardly restrained joy. You could feel the excitement in the air, the expectation of what could happen.

The cool night air sent shivers down your spine, as you walked closer to the balcony to take in the view; you'd always enjoyed seeing the city at night.

"Isn't it beautiful?" you stated, feeling Bob's warmth next to you but not taking your gaze away from the city.

"It is," he said, staring at you.

Bob took advantage of your distraction to look at you, noting the way the moonlight reflected on your features, the sparkle in your eyes, and every mole and freckle on your skin. He gazed at you as if he wanted to remember you forever.

You were heartbreakingly beautiful, and it took his breath away. And, God, he loved you with such devotion that even the worst parts of himself yearned for you.

"Are you okay?" you asked, your fingertips gently brushing against his knuckles. "I hope tonight wasn't too much for you."

He shook his head slightly. "It was...fine. I had fun, how about you?”

"I always have fun when I'm with you, Bob," you remarked, smiling sweetly.

His heart raced, and he knew he needed to kiss you. He couldn't leave the night without trying the taste of your lips.

"I've wanted to do something all night," he said, his voice dropping an octave. The intimacy in his tone caused you to lean closer to him.

"Oh, really?" you inquired with bright eyes. "What is it?"

"This," he said, and then he kissed you.

He kissed you desperately, like a beast eager for you, as if he wanted to take every breath that left your lips and claim it for his own.

He claimed your lips as if they were all he needed to survive. And perhaps it was.

His fingers trembled as he grabbed your waist, not out of nerves or fear, but out of barely restrained despair. For the desire to explore your skin.

The world melted away under his touch, the sound of the city scarcely audible in your ears; on that lonesome terrace, only he and you existed.

Your lungs burned, but you didn't want to let go, so you clutched to him tighter, wrinkling the neck of his shirt with your fingers. Bob's arms gripped you securely, and you knew he wasn't going to let you go either.

Your heart raced as his darker eyes met yours, he placed his forehead to yours. They remained motionless for a minute, the only sound coming from their heavy breathing.

You let out a giggle. “God, I like you so much. I'm glad I asked you to be my fake boyfriend.”

Bob laughed, and his chest vibrated against yours. "Yeah, maybe we should change that," he told you. "What do you think? Do you want to be my girlfriend? This time, for real."

"I would love to," you smiled, sealing your words with a kiss.

Asking him to pretend to go out with you was the best decision you'd made. And as for Daniel, let's just say your boyfriend made it clear to him that you were no longer available.

thanks for reading!

[winterswift]

you know a fic is good when it has this

[winterswift]

I love making moodboards for my fics instead of writing them

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should I publish my fics in spanish too? 🤔🤔

[winterswift]

i've been writing a bob fanfic for AGES but i can't finish it. i keep adding more scenes ajsnks i need help 🫠

[winterswift]

she's soooo so so pretty, i miss her so much :(

All of Natasha's Dresses/Skirt looks in the mcu.

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★ group grocery run

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amo este concepto, justicia para las fics en español ☹️

Imagine teaching Bucky Spanish like:

Bucky: “so how do you say ‘my name is Bucky’?”

y/n: “mi nombre es Bucky”

Bucky: “how about ‘I like plums’”

y/n: “me gustan las ciruelas”

Bucky: “and ‘my girlfriend’”

y/n: “mi novia”

Bucky: “then ‘I like my girlfriend’ would be…’me gustan mis novias’?”

y/n: *scoffs* “mis novias”????????

Then y/n slaps his arm bc how dare him have girlfriends in plural 😭😭😭

[winterswift]

i can't stop crying, i'm so happy for her

[winterswift]

quiero seguir cuentas de marvel que hablen en español :( se siente raro hablar siempre en inglés

[winterswift]

today is my hozier concert. i'm sooo excited!!!

[winterswift]

this was so sweet :(, you touched my heart with this, I know these kinds of topics are difficult to write about but you portrayed it in such a beautiful way, there is pain and sadness but there is also tenderness and hope. you really outdid yourself on this, i loved it 💗

who did this to you? 𐙚 b.b

pairing: new avenger!bucky barnes x abused!reader

warnings: mentions of abuse, domestic violence (not committed by bucky!) mentions of trauma, themes of fear and recovery (please read the warnings)

summary: bucky notices the bruises before you ever say a word. as the truth unravels, he steps in—not just to protect you, he makes sure you're never hurt again.

word count: 5.3k (i went a little overboard)

author's note: i have been wanting to write this for quite a while, and i'm glad i did. enjoy my loves, your feedback and thoughts are always appreciated!

It started small.

A shift in the way you smiled—no longer bright and easy, but tight-lipped and fleeting, like you were trying to convince yourself it still came naturally. A hesitation in your laughter, once the sweetest sound in the Watchtower’s echoing corridors, now muffled, forced, or absent altogether.

The others chalked it up to stress. Missions have been tense lately. The team didn’t exactly operate in peacetime.

But Bucky…Bucky saw more.

You were the team’s secretary. The one constant in a whirlwind of chaos. Efficient, organised, always one step ahead of everyone else. You had memorised every operative’s dietary needs before the kitchen staff had.

You knew how to read between lines of mission reports, handle fallouts with the media, and you were the only person Yelena trusted to refill her coffee exactly right. Your desk, tucked near the central hub, was where people came to decompress, vent, even smile.

You made things work. You made the team work.

You were the light that steadied them all.

But lately… that light had gone out.

Bucky noticed first. He always did. Watching people wasn’t just habit—it was an instinct. A soldier’s reflex, sharpened by a lifetime of reading danger in the twitch of a hand or the flicker of a glance.

He noticed how your shoulders curled inward like you were trying to disappear into yourself, or how your arms folded across your stomach, elbows tucked in tight as if they were armour.

You flinched when anyone passed too closely behind your chair. You stopped walking through the halls with your usual spring—started hugging the walls, choosing longer routes that avoided high-traffic zones.

When Yelena clapped a hand to your shoulder in greeting, a simple, affectionate gesture—your entire body jolted like you’d been hit. Not just startled. 

Terrified.

The room had gone quiet at that moment. Even Alexei paused, a half-eaten sandwich frozen in his hand. Ava had gone still beside the mission board, her eyes narrowing slightly.

You recovered too quickly. Smiled too fast. “Sorry, nerves,” you’d said, brushing it off, grabbing the nearest file and practically sprinting from the room. But Bucky had already seen too much.

And then the bruises.

They started subtly. Shadows beneath the cuff of your blouse that could be passed off as bad sleep, maybe a knock against a desk corner.

You were clumsy sometimes—everyone knew that. A walking hurricane in heels, Yelena liked to tease. You once tripped over your own shoelaces in front of Val, and no one had let you live it down for a week.

But these weren’t accidents.

There was a splotch of purple just visible beneath your collarbone, dark and irregular. Faint, yellowing fingerprints on your wrist that looked like they were trying to fade, but kept stubbornly coming back.

A raw, angry mark that peeked out from your hairline one morning, like someone had gripped your jaw too hard—someone tall enough, big enough to loom over you, strong enough to leave a handprint in their wake.

Bucky saw that one when you bent down to pick up a report you’d dropped. Your blouse’s collar dipped slightly, just enough to reveal a line of bruising that trailed from your neck toward your shoulder like a hand had wrapped around you and squeezed.

His hand clenched into a fist on instinct.

He didn’t say anything right away. He knew better. But he watched. Quietly, intensely. Not just because he cared, but because something inside him roared with the need to protect you, something deep and territorial and dangerous.

The same thing that made him stare holes into the security cameras when you left the compound for lunch, or that made him scan every incoming message with a new, sharpened edge.

He began checking your schedule.

Not overtly. Just… looking. Noting when you left the compound. Who signed you out. When you came back, and what your face looked like afterward.

You used to return from errands with little smiles and tiny stories—“The deli guy gave me an extra pickle today,” or “Some lady on the street said I had pretty earrings.” But lately, you came back quieter. Shoulders tighter. And you always avoided his eyes.

One afternoon, he asked you if you were okay.

You smiled—again, that damn smile. So polite, so practiced. 

“Yeah. Just tired. Thanks for asking Bucky”

But being tired didn’t leave marks on someone’s throat.

And when you walked away, Bucky watched you disappear down the hallway and felt something cold curl in his gut. Something he hadn’t felt in years.

He knew pain. He’d lived it. Breathed it. Worn it like a second skin. But there was something worse about watching you endure it.

Something far more dangerous.

And whoever had hurt you?

They’d just reminded him exactly what he was willing to protect.

Still, Bucky didn’t act rashly. He waited. Watched. Gathered more than just bruises and broken glances. He needed to be sure—of what you were dealing with, of who was doing this to you, of how to approach without sending you further into yourself.

The wrong move could make you shut down entirely. He knew trauma didn’t unravel with questions—it needed patience. 

Stillness. Safety.

So he waited until the Watchtower cleared out for the evening.

The others had trickled out one by one—Yelena dragging Alexei into a sparring match he didn’t ask for, Ava and John disappearing into the training room, Val locked in her office for a late-night debrief.

The corridors fell quiet, fluorescent lights humming low overhead. Bucky lingered near your office, watching the shadows stretch along the floor, the door slightly ajar with the warm glow of your desk lamp spilling out into the hall.

You were still there. Of course you were.

You always stay late now.

“Hey,” he said softly, stepping into your office once the others had gone.

You didn’t jump—but he saw the way your shoulders stiffened. How your fingers paused on the keyboard, curling slightly as if preparing for something.

Your eyes stayed locked on the screen for a moment too long, and when you did glance up, they were wide and glassy with that familiar, haunted look.

The one he recognised too well.

The one he used to see in the mirror.

“Can I talk to you?” His voice stayed quiet, gentle—like coaxing a wounded animal out of hiding. He stood just inside the door, hands in the pockets of his black jacket, posture non-threatening but steady. He wouldn’t crowd you. He wouldn’t touch you. But the one thing he wouldn’t do is walk away.

You swallowed, throat tight, and gave a small nod.

“Sure.”

But the word was fragile. Like it had been stitched together with effort.

He crossed the room slowly, pulling the door shut behind him—not all the way, just enough to give the illusion of privacy without making you feel trapped. Then he moved to the chair across from your desk and sat, leaving space between you. Letting you decide what came next.

You glanced back at your screen, like you were searching for a reason to stay distracted. Like if you just kept typing, none of this would be real. But your hands didn’t move.

He waited a beat, then spoke, low and careful. “I’ve been noticing some things.”

You didn’t answer.

“I don’t mean to scare you,” he added. “I just… I’m worried about you doll”

Your shoulders tensed again. That flinch. That tell. He saw it before you could mask it. And when your arms folded across your stomach, hiding your bruised wrist, he knew.

You were protecting yourself from more than just a conversation.

“I know something’s going on,” he said. “And I don’t need the details if you’re not ready. But I need you to know that… you don’t have to do this alone.”

Still, silence. But your eyes were starting to shine, tears gathering at the corners as you stared down at your keyboard like it held all the answers.

“You’ve been flinching at every touch,” he went on, his voice nearly breaking. “You don’t smile anymore. You avoid everyone like they’re gonna hurt you. And those bruises—”

“Don’t.” Your voice cracked as the word came out, sharp and desperate.

Bucky’s breath caught. But he didn’t move. “Okay,” he said immediately. “I won’t push. I swear.”

The silence that followed was thick—trembling between confession and collapse.

And then your lip quivered. You shook your head once. “I didn’t mean for anyone to notice,” you whispered, voice so soft it almost didn’t reach him. 

“I thought I could handle it.”

Bucky leaned forward, slowly, carefully. “You shouldn’t have to handle it.”

Your chin trembled. “I didn’t want to be a burden. Everyone’s got their shit. Missions. Scars. Who wants to hear about the secretary who made the mistake of falling for the wrong guy?”

His jaw clenched so tightly he thought he might crack a molar. “Who did this to you?”

You didn’t answer.

But your silence was answer enough.

His tone darkened, low and steady like steel cooled in ice. “Tell me who put their hands on you.”

You shook your head again, fast this time, panic blooming across your features. “Bucky—don’t. Please. It’ll just make it worse.”

He stood up, jaw rigid, fists clenched at his sides. The chair scraped quietly behind him, but he didn’t move toward you. Didn’t crowd. Just stood there, vibrating with barely contained rage.

But it wasn’t at you.

“I would never let anyone hurt you again,” he said, his voice rough now, fighting to stay gentle. “But you have to let me help.”

Your eyes met his cerulean irises then. And something inside you cracked.

Because he didn’t look at you with pity.

He looked at you like you mattered. Like your pain mattered. Like he saw you—really saw you—and it didn’t make him walk away.

And something about the way he said it, like a lifeline broke you.

You told him everything.

From the first time it happened, when your ex shoved you against a wall during an argument over a text message. To the second time, when he slapped you so hard your lip split open. The cycle became normal. You had started covering up bruises like second nature, lying to your friends, flinching at shadows.

Two nights ago, he’d come home drunk, angry. He dragged you by your hair into the bedroom, wrapped a hand too tight around your neck, and left purple thumbprints beneath your jaw.

You had to call in sick the next day. Told Val it was the flu. She didn’t question it.

Tears streamed silently down your cheeks, but Bucky never looked away. His face was tight with rage, his jaw clenched so hard you thought he might break a tooth. His metal hand had curled into a fist again, knuckles whitening where they met synthetic plating.

“I'm gonna kill him,” he said, barely above a whisper.

“No,” you croaked, your hand reaching to grip his wrist. “Just… just get me out of there.”

“You don’t have to ask,” he said.

He helped you out of the office, holding your arm with such care, like you might shatter if he used too much strength. He led you to his motorcycle, the matte black vehicle parked beside the Watchtower’s bay doors.

You hesitated. “I don’t—”

He handed you his helmet and said, “You’re safe with me.”

And you believed him.

The wind was sharp against your face, your arms clinging around his waist as he drove through the dusky streets toward your apartment. Your heart thundered the entire ride—not from fear of falling, but from the feeling of escape.

At your place, you let Bucky in and stood frozen in the doorway. Your keys shaking in your hands.

“Tell me what you need,” he said.

You walked numbly toward your bedroom and began pulling a small duffel from the closet. Bucky followed, surveying the apartment with quiet calculation.

The broken picture frame on the floor. The hole punched in the hallway drywall. The cracked phone screen beside your bed.

You gathered clothes, toiletries, your journal, a worn copy of Pride and Prejudice. Bucky packed in silence, folding your shirts neatly, rolling your socks with care.

When you turned to get your toothbrush, your hands were trembling too badly to hold it.

“I can’t…” you whispered, finally falling apart.

Bucky was there in an instant, arms wrapping around you, pulling you into the solid warmth of his chest.

“It’s over,” he murmured into your hair. “You’re not going back there. I won’t let you.”

You sobbed into his shoulder, your body wracked with grief and relief all at once. For the first time in years, you believed it. 

You were leaving.

Bucky had decided to take you to his apartment, given how late it was—and how you didn’t want the rest of the team knowing about any of this. You couldn’t bear their questions or the way they might look at you differently if they knew the truth. What you needed right now wasn’t a spotlight—it was safety.

And Bucky, somehow, had understood that without you ever having to say a word.

Tucked away in a quiet corner of Brooklyn, it felt like a sanctuary: minimalistic but lived-in, with dark wood furniture, shelves lined with old books, framed black-and-white photos, a few of them being Steve's, and soft lighting that bathed the space in warm, golden hues.

There were blankets folded over the back of his couch, plants that looked surprisingly healthy, and a record player in the corner with a small stack of vinyls beside it. The scent of sandalwood lingered in the air—warm, masculine, grounding.

“Bathroom’s through there,” Bucky said gently, “and the guest room’s yours for as long as you want it.”

You nodded, wiping your face with your sleeve.

He handed you a folded pile of clothes—one of his blue Henley shirts and a pair of grey boxer briefs that would sit loosely on your frame.

“You can sleep in these,” he said. “I’ll set up fresh towels, and if you need anything—anything—you come get me.”

You changed in the bathroom, staring at yourself in the mirror. The bruises on your neck looked even more vibrant in the soft light. You touched them lightly, then pulled Bucky’s shirt over your head. It was warm from his hands, and it smelled like cedar and something unmistakably him.

You sank into the bed that night with clean sheets, the window cracked open just enough to let in the cool night air. Bucky’s home felt quiet in a way yours never had. Not silent from tension—but peaceful. The kind of quiet that comes with safety.

You curled into the soft mattress, wrapped in a blanket that smelled faintly like him, and for the first time in two years, you slept without fear.

Safe. Protected. Free.

You woke up with a gasp.

The remnants of the nightmare clung to you like cobwebs—suffocating and sticky. Flashes of fists in the dark. That voice slithering in your ear, venomous and cruel. The oppressive weight on your chest, the cold dread of being trapped with no way out.

Your heart thundered, breath tearing in and out of your lungs like you were still running, still being chased. Your skin was damp with sweat, your hands shaking uncontrollably as you pushed the covers away and bolted upright in bed.

The room swam around you—familiar and unfamiliar all at once. Dimly lit by the glow of a streetlamp outside, walls painted in shadow. The silence rang too loud.

You couldn’t stay.

Before you even registered the movement, your bare feet found the cool hardwood floor, each step down the hallway echoing softly. You didn’t knock. You didn’t need to.

Bucky’s door was cracked open.

He was awake. Sitting at the edge of his bed, elbows braced on his knees, his metal hand cradling the back of his neck like it ached. He looked like he hadn’t slept at all. The soft light from the city cast silver lines across the sharp angles of his face, tracing the tension in his jaw, the furrow of his brow.

Your voice trembled, more breath than sound. “I had a nightmare.”

His head snapped up immediately, eyes locking onto yours. The shift was instant—soldier to protector. In two strides, he was in front of you.

“Hey,” he murmured, voice low and soothing. “You’re okay. I’m right here.”

His hands came to your shoulders—not forceful, just present. Anchoring. His touch was warm and steady, and it sent a tremor through you that wasn’t from fear this time, but release. Like your body finally allowed itself to feel how shaken you were.

Your lip quivered. “Can I stay?”

He nodded before you even finished the question. “Always.”

You didn’t hesitate. The bed welcomed you like a long-lost memory—soft sheets, a comforting dip in the mattress, the faint scent of his soap clinging to the pillow.

You curled into the center of it, small and tentative, feeling like a ghost of yourself. Like you might disappear if the shadows swallowed you up again.

Bucky moved with care. He didn’t rush. He pulled the blanket up over your trembling frame, tucking it gently around your shoulders. Then he slid into the bed behind you, close but not suffocating, the heat of him already beginning to thaw something frozen inside you.

His arm hovered behind you for a moment. He didn’t assume. Didn’t take. Just waited.

When you shifted ever so slightly—just enough for your back to press lightly against his chest, his arm came around you. A quiet, protective barrier. His metal fingers splayed carefully against your stomach, grounding you in the here and now.

You exhaled a shaky breath, your eyes slipping shut for the first time all night. The tension in your body began to unwind, thread by thread. His scent, clean and faintly earthy filled your nose, mingling with the sound of his heartbeat against your spine and the steady rhythm of his breathing.

And then he whispered it, his voice barely brushing your ear, soft and sure and steady.

“I’ve got you.”

The words sank into your skin like warmth, like truth. No promises he couldn’t keep. No hollow reassurances. Just a vow, solid and unspoken, in the way he held you like you were something worth protecting.

You blinked slowly, a tear slipping free and soaking silently into the pillow.

For the first time in as long as you could remember, you believed it.

You were safe.

Not because the nightmares were gone—but because Bucky was here when they came.

The morning sun filtered gently through the blinds of Bucky’s apartment, casting warm strips of gold across the hardwood floors.

For the first time in over a year, you hadn’t woken up with your heart pounding in fear. No yelling, no slamming doors. Just the subtle hum of city life beyond the window, and the distant sizzle of bacon in a skillet.

You padded out of the bedroom in Bucky’s oversized shirt and boxers, clutching the sleeves around your palms. The faint scent of him lingered in the fabric—cedar-wood, leather, and something warm, like late summer.

Bucky stood by the stove, his hair damp from a quick shower, grey T-shirt clinging to the breadth of his shoulders. When he heard your footsteps, he turned slightly and gave you a soft smile.

“Hey, sweetheart” he murmured, voice low and scratchy from sleep. “Hope you’re hungry.”

You nodded, grateful, eyes stinging. It was in the little things—the way he slid a cup of coffee toward you without asking how you liked it, because he already remembered. 

Later that day, the team found out.

Yelena had noticed first. She cornered Bucky in the Watchtower’s armoury after morning briefings. “What’s going on with (y/n)?” she demanded, arms crossed, eyes sharp. “She barely said five words. She jumped when Alexei dropped his water bottle. I know bruises when I see them.”

Bucky hesitated, jaw tightening. But when Yelena added, softer this time, “I care about her too,” he gave her the truth.

Word spread in a ripple. Quiet, but powerful. By the end of the day, the team was different.

It started with your phone. You were sorting through mission reports in the comms room when it buzzed beside you, and you flinched hard enough to drop a pen because without looking, you already knew who it was. Him.

John, usually, cocky caught the look on your face and immediately picked the phone up himself.

“Give me your passcode,” he said steadily.

You hesitated. “Why?”

“Because if this asshole’s still texting you, I’m blocking him. And if he’s tracking you, we’re disabling it right now.”

You blinked at him, lip trembling. John just held your gaze, patient. Protective.

“Okay,” you whispered.

Ten minutes later, your ex was blocked. His number, email—gone. John handed the phone back like it weighed nothing, but you knew it had been a thousand-pound chain.

Bob, quiet and sweet, began programming something on the side—a digital firewall. One you didn't even ask for, but he gave it to you anyway.

“If he tries anything online, you’ll be notified. But he won’t get through. I made sure of it.”

You could’ve cried.

Ava began walking with you more often. No words. Just always there—on your way to the labs, when you stopped by the kitchen, even when you headed out to grab lunch across the street.

“I know what it’s like,” she said one day while the two of you sat on a park bench eating sandwiches. “To feel hunted.”

You looked at her, stunned. Her face was unreadable, but her hand brushed yours for a moment, just enough to remind you that you weren’t alone.

Then there was Alexei. Loud, boisterous, intimidating. He walked into the common area one afternoon with three grocery bags in hand and plopped them dramatically onto the table.

“You like those little orange cracker fish?” he boomed showing you the goldfish crackers he had gotten. “I bought five bags. And some juice. Juice is important.”

You stared at him, stunned.

“I don’t—”

“Shush little one,” he said, winking. “You part of us. Thunderbolts always feed Thunderbolts.”

Your laugh broke out before you could stop it. It felt foreign. Strange. 

But real.

Alexei beamed like he’d won a medal.

Slowly but surely, the team wrapped you in something new. Something stronger than fear. Stronger than pain.

When you needed to go to the mall for more clothes—things that weren’t tainted with memories—Yelena and Bob went with you.

Yelena stuck close to your side, pretending to be indifferent but always scanning the crowd. Bob carried all the bags with a goofy grin. He even helped pick out a new hoodie. It was soft and warm and maroon.

“You should feel safe in your skin,” Yelena said simply, handing you a matching beanie. “Even if you’re still growing into it.”

Back at the Watchtower, life began to feel... lighter.

You started laughing again. At Alexei's terrible jokes, at Yelena’s savage sarcasm, at Bob’s quiet mutterings when tech didn’t work. Even John, in all his arrogance, could make you smile.

There was a movie night every Friday now and Bucky always sat next to you, sometimes with a pillow between you both to give space, other times with his shoulder a solid warmth at your side. You’d found yourself leaning into him more. Not because you had to. But because it felt right.

And he never pushed. Never demanded. Just let you exist next to him. Sometimes he’d hand you a blanket without saying a word. Sometimes he’d offer half his popcorn. Sometimes, his fingers would brush yours, warm and careful, and linger just a second longer than necessary.

You slept more. Ate more. Laughed more.

One day, Ava caught you humming in the hallway, arms full of supplies. She stopped in her tracks.

“What?” you asked.

“You’re glowing,” she said quietly.

You blinked. “I—I am?”

She gave a rare, small smile. “Like someone who remembers what sunlight feels like.”

One night, after Yelena dropped you off, you returned to the apartment Bucky always insisted was open to you. You let yourself in with the spare key. It was late, and he was half-asleep on the couch with a book in his lap. He stirred when you closed the door.

“You okay sweetheart?” he mumbled.

“Yeah,” you said.

He nodded, eyes drifting shut again.

You sat beside him, curling your legs up, and rested your head against his shoulder.

He didn’t move. Didn’t ask. Just reached for the blanket draped over the armrest and pulled it gently over you both.

It was the safest you’d ever felt.

It had started out as a good night.

One of those rare moments where the city lights felt warm rather than harsh, where laughter didn’t feel like something you had to fake.

The team had dragged you out—gently, persistently, lovingly.

“C’mon,” Yelena had said, slinging her arm over your shoulder. “Burgers, milkshakes, greasy fries. We deserve it. You deserve it.”

You hesitated. It had been a while since you went to any public diner. Too many memories. Too many shadows. Too much risk of seeing him.

But tonight? You nodded. Just once. Just enough.

The diner was loud with neon buzz and the clatter of plates, the kind of classic joint with red booths and checkered floors. Bucky slid into the booth beside you while Yelena and John sat across. Bob and Ava took the seats at the edge, Alexei immediately requesting the biggest burger they had.

Jokes flew easily. John was ranting about ketchup crimes. Yelena argued that mayonnaise was the superior condiment. Bob kept trying to order fries but the waitress only seemed to hear Alexei’s booming voice.

You were laughing. Honest, soft laughter that made your chest ache.

Then the door jingled. And just like that, the warmth bled from the room. Laughter dimmed. The sizzle of the grill and clatter of dishes became distant, muffled by the sudden roar of blood in your ears.

Bucky stilled beside you.

Your ex stood in the doorway, flanked by two men you didn’t recognise—thick-necked, sneering types with clenched fists and hooded eyes. But it was him you saw. Him, with that awful smirk, like nothing had changed.

Like he still owned the air you breathed.

Bucky noticed the way your body tensed, your fingers gripping the edge of the table. “Hey—”

Your ex’s eyes landed on you, and he stepped forward, raising his voice.

“Well, look who it is. Didn’t think you’d crawl this far downtown. Guess word spreads when you’re spreading your legs for every man in New York now, huh?”

The sound of the booth creaking was the only warning before Bucky stood.

Yelena’s fork clattered onto her plate.

John was on his feet in seconds, positioning himself directly between you and your ex.

“Take that back,” Bucky growled.

Your ex only sneered, moving closer. “What, you gonna fight me in front of your new playgroup? Cute. Didn’t think the Winter Soldier was into charity cases.”

You flinched.

Bucky didn’t.

“I know what you did to her,” Bucky said, low and lethal.

Your ex chuckled, but there was unease in his posture now. “What? You mean the bruises? Bitch liked it rough. Don’t tell me you haven’t noticed.”

Yelena stood up behind John, her face carved in steel. “The next time you touch her,” she said flatly, “will be the last time you have hands.”

Your ex stepped forward as if to challenge, but John didn’t move an inch. “Try it,” he warned. “Give me a reason.”

You saw it—the twitch in your ex’s jaw, the way he coiled his fist. He swung at Bucky.

But Bucky didn’t just dodge. He caught the punch mid-air.

With his metal hand.

The crunch of bone was audible and a gasp ran through the diner.

Before anyone could react, Bucky gripped your ex by the front of his jacket, lifting him clean off the floor. The metal arm locked around his throat with frightening precision. The air stilled. Your ex's feet dangled.

“If you ever look at her again,” Bucky snarled, voice sharp and shaking with rage, “if you so much as breathe in her goddamn direction—I will rip your spine out and hang it from the Watchtower gates.”

His voice didn’t rise. It didn’t need to. It was full of restrained fury. Of violence barely held back. His eyes had darkened, steel-gray and burning.

Your ex gurgled, his hands clawing at Bucky’s grip.

“Do you understand me?”

A choked nod.

Bucky dropped him like trash.

Alexei stepped forward then, looming over the two henchmen. “You want to try luck?” he asked them casually. “I haven’t punch anything in weeks.”

The men looked at each other, then down at your ex, now coughing on the floor. They backed away.

“You’re not worth it,” one muttered, and the other practically dragged your ex toward the exit.

Your heart was thundering. Your breath short.

Bob slipped into the seat beside you. Ava stood near the door, eyes scanning the street for any lingering threat.

Bucky turned to you, jaw tight, shoulders still trembling with adrenaline. But when he looked at you, his expression softened immediately.

He crouched in front of you, hands open. “You okay?”

You nodded shakily, tears welling.

Yelena handed you a napkin. “He’s gone,” she said quietly. “He’s never coming near you again.”

John was still standing like a human shield, arms crossed.

And Bucky... Bucky cupped your cheek with his hand. It was warm, comforting, his thumb brushing away the tear that escaped.

“He doesn’t get to touch you. Not now. Not ever again.”

You leaned into him, trembling.

“I was so scared,” you whispered, barely audible.

Bucky pressed his forehead to yours. “I know, sweetheart. But it’s over. He can’t hurt you anymore. Not while I’m breathing.”

And for a moment, even in the shattered remains of what should have been a peaceful night, you were wrapped in a shield stronger than steel.

You had them.

You had him.

You were safe.

You didn’t speak on the way home.

No one made you.

Bucky drove, one hand on the wheel, the other occasionally brushing against your thigh—anchoring, grounding. The rest of the team took a second vehicle, giving you space. After what happened, you needed it.

You stared out the window, watching the neon blur into streaks of yellow and red, feeling like you were floating somewhere outside yourself. Somewhere between fear and relief.

The silence between you and Bucky wasn’t heavy—it was steady. Like the calm after a storm. Like quiet waves still curling back from the shore.

When he parked outside the compound, he turned to you slowly.

“Do you want to be alone?”

You shook your head.

He didn’t ask again. Just took your hand gently, led you through the compound, through the hallways, up the stairs. When you reached your room, he hesitated at the door.

“Can I stay?”

You nodded.

Inside, the room felt untouched by the chaos of earlier. Soft lamplight, a rumpled blanket on your bed. Familiar, safe.

You kicked your shoes off and sat on the edge of the bed, fingers twisting in your lap. Bucky crouched in front of you again, like at the diner, his hands resting on your knees.

“You’re not weak for being scared,” he said. “You know that, right?”

Your throat tightened. You nodded.

“But he’s never going to get to you again. I won’t let him. None of us will.”

You looked at him. The way his eyes held yours, soft but strong. The way his presence wrapped around you like armor. The way his touch was always careful, like you were something breakable but worth protecting.

And then you whispered, “I don’t know how to stop being afraid.”

Bucky leaned forward. Pressed his forehead gently to yours.

“You don’t have to. Not right away. But you’re not alone anymore. We’ll fight it together.”

You closed your eyes.

And when he climbed into bed beside you, when his arms wrapped around you and pulled you against the steady thump of his heart, you believed him.

Not because the fear was gone.

But because for the first time in so long, you weren’t carrying it alone.

He pressed a kiss to your temple. Whispered something you didn’t catch—but it didn’t matter.

It sounded like safety.

It felt like home.

a/n: this fic is one i hold close, because i have experienced abuse/dv in my previous relationship, and i had no idea how to leave, and writing this helped, a lot. i do hope that every person that is trapped in this cycle will find their bucky—someone who makes them feel safe and loved. i am grateful i found mine. if you're a victim or know someone who is struggling, please don't be afraid to seek for help. i promise it does get better once you leave. (google dv helpline, your country's hotline should appear)

[winterswift]

someone on tiktok said that lewis looks like a mix between tom holland and tom hiddleston, and now i can't unsee it

LEWIS PULLMAN . . . Jake's Takes THUNDERBOLTS* Interview

[winterswift]

jealousy, jealousy

pairing: bucky barnes x f!reader.

summary: you couldn't help but feel jealous every time you saw bucky and mel together, but to him, you were just a good friend; you had no right to be angry. you had decided to keep your feelings to yourself, until one day everything collapsed.

word count: 2k.

tags: friends to lovers, pining, jealous reader, mentions of y/n, poor bucky has no idea of anything, or does he?, fluff, soft bucky, light angst, injured reader.

a/n: english is not my first language, so there might be grammatical mistakes. my obsession with this man has reached levels I never thought possible. i wrote this thinking about how i really got jealous when i saw bucky and mel in the movie. oh my god, i think I'm losing my mind. however, hope you enjoy the fic.

You poked your waffles with a grunt. It was the third time that week that Mel had come by the tower to drop off the itineraries Valentina had assigned to everyone, which in itself wouldn't be a problem if it weren't for Bucky's growing closeness to the girl.

It had been six months since you officially joined the New Avengers, Bucky and you were very good friends, so it was natural for him to ask you to join his team. Powers like yours would be very helpful to them.

And since you had a soft spot for him, you couldn't refuse.

“Why are you stabbing your waffles?” Yelena asked as she sat down next to you in the kitchen. The blonde followed your gaze, seeing Bucky and Mel having a conversation. “I see. You're doing it again.”

“I'm not doing anything,” you murmured, embarrassed, earning a playful look from the former assassin.

"Of course you are; you're staring at him.”

“I'm not looking at him; I'm looking at the wall behind him,” you heard a laugh behind you. You shot a glare at Bob, who was trying to hide a smile.

"Oh, honey, you're so bad for him.” Yelena and Bob gave you some friendly pats on the back, with false expressions of sympathy on their faces.

“You know, I don't like it when you team up against me,” you said, shifting in your seat. “You are supposed to help me.”

“There's nothing that can fix that little head of yours,” you scoffed at that comment.

Your eyes went back to Bucky, your chest tightened when you saw the smile he gave Mel, the one he often gave you. You couldn't help but feel jealous of the girl; she was pretty, smart, and so kind that you couldn't even get mad at her.

You had no right over him, but your heart longed for him, and that was beyond your control. Sometimes you wished you could erase the feelings you had for him.

“Wow, Y/N, you're doing the electric thing again,” Yelena's startled voice brought you back to reality.

When you looked down at your hands, you saw small electric waves surrounding your fingers. You had the ability to control energy and electricity; usually, you could control your powers perfectly, but it seemed that every time Bucky was near, you lost all concentration.

“Come on,” Bob took you by the arm as he pulled you out of the kitchen along with Yelena. You were lucky that those two were your friends. “You have to tell him.”

“It's not that easy,” you said with sadness.

“Come on, Y/N,” Lena tried to cheer you up. “You can you create energy fields with your hands but not talk about your feelings?”

“That's exactly what I'm saying,” you nodded.

“Oh my God, you're impossible,” Bob let out a resigned sigh.

“It's just that… I don't want to lose him. I'm afraid of ruining everything.”

It was better to leave things as they were, even if your feelings were suffocating you. You couldn't bear to ruin things with Bucky.

It was late at night, and you couldn't sleep. You had a nightmare where Bucky rejected your feelings; it felt so real that you woke up distressed and with tears in your eyes.

You decided to go to the common room to try to quiet your thoughts with movies. Watching romantic comedies hadn't been your best decision, but you wanted to pretend, for a moment, that maybe someone would love you one day like in those stories.

You had a tub of ice cream in your hands and tears streaming down your face when Bucky found you. He approached silently, seeming to hesitate before sitting down next to you.

His eyes landed on the television; you were watching Me Before You, one of your favorite movies, despite how sad it was. Although the scenes made you cry, that wasn't the real reason for your sadness, and Bucky seemed to notice.

“What's wrong?” His question made you look at him; you quickly wiped away your tears, even though he had already seen them.

“Nothing important,” you received a disapproving look from him. He hated it when you did that. “It's just that… I don't know. I guess I just got sentimental; sometimes I wish someone would love me that way.”

“Anyone would be lucky to have you, you know that, right?” His sweet words made you smile with bitterness.

I don't want just anyone; I want you. You thought, but the words died before they reached your mouth.

“Come here,” he asked, opening his arms for you to snuggle into them. You didn't hesitate; you took refuge in him.

It was ironic that the person who bothered you also consoled you, but it was Bucky, and he cared about you.

You closed your eyes as you rested your forehead against his shoulder; your muscles relaxed when he started running his fingers through your hair. You fell asleep to the sound of his breathing.

The next morning, you woke up on the couch with a blanket covering your body and a hot coffee beside you.

You regretted going on a mission with Bucky; you didn't have much of a choice because the whole team had to go, but that didn't mean you enjoyed it.

You despised having witnessed the exact moment Mel called him to send him the coordinates of the location they needed to visit, as well as the way his voice softened every time he spoke with her. You despised the smirk that developed around the corners of his mouth.

You wanted to shout and shatter something, or throw yourself on the floor and cry like an infant, but you couldn't let it affect you while he was there.

You clinched your jaw and forced yourself to stop staring at him. Yelena didn't say anything, but she gently squeezed your hand, as if to say, "I'm here for you."

You took a big breath before returning to your task. The mission did not go as planned; what was intended to be something simple quickly became a battleground when they were ambushed and attacked. They barely made it to the tower on their feet.

You ran away from everyone as soon as the elevator doors opened; almost everybody sensed you weren't in a good mood so they didn't try to stop you.

You had spent all of your energy using your abilities, therefore you needed to clean your wounds before gathering enough power to heal them. All you wanted to do was hide in your room and disappear till your heart stopped hurting for a man who clearly did not love you.

You barely made it to the bathroom, grimacing at your reflection. You had messy hair, tired eyes, and a gash on your cheek; your most severe wound was on your ribcage, where a knife had cut you.

It was superficial, yet the bleeding would not cease. You groaned as you removed your shirt to wipe the cut; the blood had made the cloth stick to your skin, and even the slightest movement caused you to see stars.

Bucky approached you at that very time, his face filled with worrying. He attempted to seize the hydrogen peroxide from your hands, but you dodged him. The two fought for a few seconds before he immobilized your wrists with his hands.

"Stop being so stubborn," he told you. You wanted to be upset at him, but you couldn't. "I want to help you."

"I can do it alone," you said under your breath. You heard him huff.

"Let me see," he said as he lifted you onto the counter and positioned himself between your spread legs. You shuddered as his fingertips grazed over the skin of your waist; he touched you with such tenderness that your heart wrenched.

He carefully cleaned your wound, aiming to cause as little damage as possible. You observed him working in silence.

“Done," he said softly as he finished bandaging you. "Let me see your cheek."

He was too close, and his warm breath tickled your skin. He washed the dirt off your face with a wet towel, taking cautious of the minor wounds you had here and there.

You avoided his glance; the depth of his blue eyes always made you nervous. He looked at you carefully, as if he wanted to memorize your face, and you had no idea what to do with it. His fingers lifted your chin, causing you to look at him. He smiled as he caught your gaze.

"Are you going to tell me what's bothering you?" His voice was gentle, but you could tell it annoyed him deep inside. Since he discovered you crying on the couch, you had remained distant from him, and he couldn't understand why.

"There's nothing wrong, Bucky. I am just tired, that is all."

"Stop making excuses," you closed your eyes; you really didn't want to argue with him. “Y/N.”

Your heart raced, just as your breath, and you had a lump in your throat. All the emotions you'd been suppressing for months were about to explode.

"I don't want to do this," you muttered, getting up from the counter to leave the bathroom, but he stopped you. He came even closer to you.

“Please," he begged, with an unidentifiable expression in his eyes. "Just...tell me if I did something wrong, if there's anything I can fix."

Immediately, you felt guilty because you didn't want him to feel bad. Your inability to control your emotions wasn't his fault.

You ran your hands through your hair, unsure what to do; you didn't want to lie to him, but neither did you want to tell him the truth. But you couldn't keep feeling this way; whether he rejected or embraced your feelings, you had to tell him.

"You can't fix my feelings," you said, laughing sadly. "It's just that, god, I can't even be near you without losing my mind. I can't stand seeing you with her, and I know you don't owe me anything, but— "

“What are you talking about?" he asked, seeming confused.

"I'm talking about the fact that I like you, Bucky!" You finally exploded. "I can't go a moment without thinking about you; every time you're near me, my heart races, and I feel such a strong urge to kiss you."

You inhaled deeply, unable to keep the words from leaving your mouth. You felt much better after confessing your feelings.

Bucky's eyes darkened as he neared you; you attempted to back away but smashed with the wall. You were surrounded by his warm body.

"God, you don't know what you're doing to me," he whispered, taking your face in his hands before kissing you.

You melted against him; this was not an innocent or gentle kiss. He kissed you till your lips burned and your body craved more. He kissed you as if he intended to devour you.

His arms drew you closer, taking care not to touch your wound. You intertwined your fingers in his hair and pulled lightly.

"I don't want anyone else; it's you; it's always been you," he said softly against your lips. "I have longed for you from the first time I saw you. How could I not adore you when you are the most beautiful thing I've ever seen?"

Your cheeks were stung by his words. You gave him a soft kiss on the sharp line of his jaw, as he leaned his forehead to yours. He flashed you a smile that could outshine the sun.

“I want to be with you.” He told you, "I want to wake up tomorrow morning and see that beautiful face of yours next to me. Maybe court you like I used to in my time, if you let me. What do you think?“

You nodded before bringing him closer and kissing him once more. He chuckled softly at your enthusiasm. "I'll take that as a yes."

"Of course I do, Bucky," you said. "I want everything if it's with you."

"Good, because I want the same thing too."

The sorrow you felt had finally disappeared replaced by something warm that was beginning to bloom within you. You weren't sure how things would turn out, but with Bucky by your side, you weren't concerned. You wanted to spend every moment with him.

"You know," he replied a few moments later. "You look cute when you're jealous."

"Shut up."

You definitely had nothing to fear.

thanks for reading!!

[winterswift]

i'm about to finish the Bucky fic I've been writing, i'm soo excited!!

[winterswift]

[winterswift]

Your camera rolls when you’re dating Bucky Barnes 📸

ᓚ₍⑅^..^₎♡