Brace yourselves - it's a long one, guys.
The team watches fondly as you and Sam sprint down the corridors of Stark Towers. You and Sam got along like a house on fire, but you were always winding each other up, playing pranks on each other, and occasionally teaming up to play pranks on the rest of the team.
From the second you set foot in the tower, they all fell in love with you. And who could blame them? You were adorable. Everything you did warmed the hearts of others, from washing Tony's suits for him, to plaiting flowers into Steve's hair, to crying hysterically whilst binge watching Doctor Who.
You burst into the room, squealing "hide me!" at the top of your lungs. Laughing, Thor pulled you behind his body, draping a blanket over your giggling form. Sam stalked in, a look of thunder in his eyes as he scanned the room for you. The only person in the room who was not laughing, was Bucky Barnes. No matter how hard you tried, you could not get Bucky to like you. Nothing worked. You had baked for him, fixed his jacket when it tore, made him coffee just the way he liked it, but he was just as cold and aloof. You didn't get it. Why didn't he like you? Tony had told you not to worry about it, that 'Frosty the Hitman' didn't really like anyone, except from Steve. But he didn't really seem to actively dislike anyone, except you.
Bucky grunted, standing up and stalking out the room. Sam pulled a face behind his head, making Y/N giggle through the throw blanket that concealed you. Instantly, Sam leapt on you, tickling you as "punishment for your sins", rendering you oblivious to the communicative looks your teammates were exchanging.
From an outsider's' perspective, it looked very much like two simultaneous seizures, but the series of eye rolls and flinging hands were over the welfare of a certain angry soldier. None of the team had any idea what had gotten Bucky so riled up, but they intended to find out.
Eyes squeezed shut, you pulled the comforter up to your face, your hands clenched around the soft cotton. For the last twenty minutes, a constant stream of loud noises, largely consisting of crashes and expletives, had come from directly beneath you. You weren't stupid; you were fully aware of the risks of being in Stark's tower and it had been ambushed overnight before. The last time someone broke in, you had gone to investigate and ended up with a knife in your thigh. It had been excruciatingly painful, and you were in no hurry to endure either the stabbing or the many, many stitches you'd had as a result again.
However, Stark had upped his security game and the voice was strangely familiar. You guessed it was Steve, seeing as he had proved himself quite the insomniac. Like you, he had awful nightmares and you would not wish to let anyone suffer through them alone
You crept down the stairs, taking utmost care to tread lightly as you did. You would hate to wake anyone.
"Steve?" You whispered, pushing open the door to the kitchen. "Stevie, are you okay?"
You were met with silence, no sign of the person who had been making such a noise not five minutes earlier. Your shoulders dropped, your eyes scanning the kitchen just in case you had missed them.
Well, seeing as you were up, you might as well get yourself a chocolate milk.
The little tub of powder resided on the top shelf in the cupboard, roughly a foot too high for you to reach. Ordinarily, you would get someone to reach it for you, or climb on a chair. However, you did not fancy your chances of wrestling with furniture at 3am.
So you climbed.
You had done it many times before, so it was practically second nature. You balanced yourself on your knees on the countertop, reaching up for the chocolate powder. Your hand found it in the dark, and you triumphantly wrapped your fingers around the little jar, sliding it off its shelf.
"What the hell?" A voice made you jump.
"I can explain!" You squeaked. "I came down looking for a burglar but they went and I couldn't find anyone and I wanted chocolate milk and I couldn't sleep and Steve has nightmares and I couldn't find a chair but I can climb so...."
"Yeah, you can shut up." The person came closer, the light casting their figure as a silhouette. "You're givin' me a headache."
"Bucky, is that you?" You asked, squinting at the tall male. His metal arm glistened in the dim light, giving him away. "Are you... Crying?"
"No." He hastily wiped at his eyes with his flesh knuckles. "There was somethin' in my eye, thas'all."
You leapt off the counter top, flinging yourself at the super soldier and wrapping your arms around his abdomen, feeling his muscles tense at your touch. Only then did you realise he was shirtless, his golden brown skin hot against your tshirt, his sweats soft against your bare legs. He pulled away from you as you slid your hand up his torso, relaxing a little as your hand cupped the back of his neck.
"Do you want chocolate milk?" You mumbled, muffled by his chest. "It always cheers me up when I'm feeling down."
You looked up at him, concern clear in your earnest eyes. He nodded uncertainly, and you beamed up at him. He watched as you turned, scooping powder into glasses, your hips swaying gently as you stirred. His mouth ran dry as his eyes trailed the length of you, lingering on the curve of your legs and the soft curls that had escaped the knot your hair was twisted into. He tried very hard not to look at your ass, barely covered by your batman underwear, but it was proving difficult.
"Y'okay?" You asked softly, holding the glass out to him. The two of you drained your glasses in silence, you hopping from foot to foot as you often did in awkward situations. You smiled at him, but he just grunted in response. Once again, you wrapped your arms around him, pressing your face into his chest.
"Wanna tell me why you were crying?" You asked innocently. Bucky's heart swelled. He was so awful to you, and you were still just as sweet.
"Wasn't crying." He muttered, shifting one arm to loosely return the hug, making you beam against his stomach.
"Sure you weren't." You bit your lip to stifle a giggle at Bucky's indignance. Seeing you relax, Bucky allowed himself to wrap his other arm around your lower back. He couldn't help it, his metal hand dropped to touch the lace of your underwear. As the cool metal met your delicate skin, you squealed, leaping out of his arms.
"I'm sorry!" He yelped, hot footing it out the room. He had intended to explain himself but instead opted to run from the situation, leaving you alone and confused.
There was nothing you hated more than mornings. As always, you were sat on the sofa, an enormous mug of coffee in your hand as the team teased you. You had long since been branded the 'innocent one' and would surely never live it down. Natasha had begun the days' round of Y/N teasing upon glimpsing the size of your mug, asking if you 'liked them big' through hysterical laughter. Sam had soon joined in with something about finally putting your mouth to good use, with Steve rounding it off on you 'being tired after a long night. This had resulted in you storming into the kitchen to strop, yelling about cocky super heroes as you went. It was there you had remained, legs crossed on top of the kitchen counter as you pondered the easiest method of constructing a voodoo doll.
"Alright, Frosty?" Sam grinned, swaggering into the kitchen, accidentally revealing the blushing super soldier as he did. Bucky had been waiting outside the kitchen for some time, attempting to build up the courage to explain his actions to you.
"Another big one, please." Sam winked at you as he handed you the cup. "After all, that is how you like 'em, right?"
You scowled as you took his cup, hopping off the worktop to pour in more coffee from the pot. Bucky's mouth once again ran dry as he took in a glimpse of soft skin. Why did you have to look so damn irresistible all the time? It was seriously distracting.
Sam swaggered out of the room, whistling obnoxiously, a grin on his face almost as big as Y/N's cheeks were red. You smiled briefly at Bucky.
"Morning, soldier." You said, climbing back up onto the counter. Your dress slid up your thighs a little, revealing just enough bare skin to make Bucky's heart hammer.
"Mornin'." He grunted, making to leave.
"Don't go, Bucky." You said softly. "If you want, I'll leave, but you shouldn't have to go."
He shook his head in protest.
"Why do you hate me, Bucky?" You cocked your head to the side, fingers absent mindedly sliding up and down the side of your coffee mug. Bucky's gaze was transfixed, watching your digits caress the white porcelain. How he would love to feel the gentle touch of your fingers, to feel your hand heavy in his. To feel your palm slide against his, or your fingernails scrape against his scalp.
"I don't hate you." He mumbled. Words did not come easily to Bucky.
"Then why do you act like you do?" You seemed hurt by his lack of response, tears threatening to spill from your eyes. Bucky's heart throbbed, wanting to pull you into his chest. To hold you tight and never let you go.
"I .... " He spluttered. "I have to go."
With that, he dashed out of the room, once again leaving you, confused and alone.
You hated the gym.
You had never, ever enjoyed exercise. How something that made you red faced and out of breath could be good for you was beyond you, but you had to keep in shape. On more than one mission you had found yourself running ridiculous distances, and Steve had coerced you into working out. To 'make it easier'.
You had done a single session with Steve, vowing never to do it again as you left.
Between the two of you, you had reached a compromise. Yoga was something you had long since enjoyed, so Maria had sought out an instructor for you. Along with your twice - weekly sessions (the instructor was a ridiculously attractive Brazilian, so naturally Natasha had joined) you went out for a jog every day, using the treadmill in the gym on rainy days, and partaking in Steve's more "experimental" training methods.
That was how you came to be suspended in mid air, supported only by a worryingly aged bungee, attatched at one end to your ankle and the other to a ceiling beam, flailing your four limbs in the direction of the wall. Should you be able to reach the wall, you hoped you would be able to kick off it and turn a somersault, before beginning the heinous process again.
You made a mental note never to listen to one of Steve's "brilliant ideas" ever again.
A sudden jolt made you start. Panicked, you looked up, only to find notice the aforementioned worryingly aged bungee had in fact frayed, leaving you falling to the floor in what promised to be an ungainly heap.
As you gathered your senses, you realised your ungainly heap had grown a few limbs.
"Easy, sugar." The mouth, presumably belonging to the limbs, grunted.
You scrambled to get up, only to find yourself thwarted by a knee that had found its way into your lower back.
"Sorry, sorry!" You squeaked.
"Can you get off a' me?" The limbs flailed, inadvertently jabbing you in the ribs in the process.
"I'm trying!" You wailed. Your scrabbling at the floor was proving fruitless and the limbs seemed to be becoming more agitated.
"You can say that again." The unnamed person finally seemed to be detaching themselves from you. This was good, you thought to yourself. You had been beginning to wonder if you were doomed to be stuck with them forever.
As you gradually untangled yourselves, the limbs gradually revealed themselves as belonging to Bucky. You wished you'd got a few extra "accidental" jabs in for good measure, the "trying" comment having not gone amiss, despite being remarkably on-brand with Bucky's attitude.
"Thanks for landing on me." He grunted.
"I didn't mean to!" You cried, indignant. It wasn't like it was your fault that the bungee had snapped, and it definitely wasn't your fault he'd been under you when you fell.
He said nothing in response, getting to his feet and stalking off, his cheeks slightly flushed from your ordeal. Dressed in sweatpants and an old grey top, he had clearly been intending to work out, maybe spar with someone. A few stray hairs had escaped the bun he'd scraped his hair into, falling softly around his face, the shirt he was wearing riding up as he walked, revealing a strip of golden brown abdomen. His grey sweats were riding dangerously low, something you noted with a furious blush.
How was it fair for someone so grouchy to look so good?
There was nothing you liked more than rainy days. Curling up on the cushy sofas under a blanket with a mug of hot chocolate while watching Serena van der Woodsen gallivant round New York in increasingly ridiculous plot lines was your idea of a perfect Sunday morning.
Bucky was not having a good morning.
He'd gotten up early to train to find the gym already in use, and gotten in the shower to find the hot water out of circulation. So, after a freezing shower, he was heading for the kitchen to get some toast and coffee. Maybe some bacon.
He padded into the living room, spotting you on the sofa. You stretched your legs under your blanket, lazily stretching your arms with a small yawn.
You turned towards him as he drew closer to you, flashing him a brilliant smile.
Oh lordy, he thought to himself. Here we go again.
Bucky adored your smile.
He trudged on past you, heading for the coffee pot.
"I made some not long ago." You glanced up at him. "Coffee, I mean. Should still be warm."
"Thanks." He grunted, pouring himself a large cup. He leant on the worktop as he sipped, largely ignoring your attempts at making small talk.
It wasn't that he didn't want to talk to you. Quite the opposite, in fact. He wanted to spend time with you, find out every little detail. Hear about your day, the pets you had when you were younger, your favourite movies.
You absolutely melted Bucky, and he wasn't really sure what to do about that. Every time he saw you, his body froze and he felt the strong inclination to behave like a complete asshole.
"Why do you hate me?" Your voice snapped him out of his train of thought.
"What?" He asked, bewildered.
"Why do you hate me?" You repeated, hurt and confusion clear in your voice.
"I don't hate you, I..." His voice trailed off. "I jus', I don't..."
"I've been nothing but nice to you." You continued, anger clear in your voice as your volume raised. "All this time, I've tried to help you, go out of my way to do things, and you're nothing but awful to me."
"I'm sorry, I..." He found himself lost for words.
"I just don't understand." Your eyes became glassy. "What have I ever done to you to make you hate me so much?"
Your bottom lip quivered, and Bucky felt as if his heart might explode as your eyes brimmed with tears.
"'M sorry." He scrabbled to find the right thing to say. "Wait, no, no, don't cry. I'll, I'll find you a tissue. Or somethin'."
He searched frantically for something to dry your eyes with, snatching up a napkin and hurrying across the room to where you were curled on the sofa, placing the crumpled tissue into your hand.
Bucky's experience with women was plentiful, but largely occurred roughly 80 years prior or whilst brainwashed. And they were largely not crying. He was not good with crying women.
He reached out, awkwardly patting your shoulder. How did Steve do it?
"Please, don't cry." He begged. "I'll cheer you up. I'll get pizza, I'll, I'll - I'll do a dance, if you want."
You laughed, bringing your hand up to your face and gently wiping a tear away with a knuckle.
"There now, sugar." He said, gently dabbing under your eyes with a tissue. "You're too pretty to cry."
Your cheeks flushed violently as he wrapped his flesh arm around you, resting his hand lightly against your back. Hugs, he knew, were comforting, and he could easily get used to the feeling of your soft skin.
"I'll make you chocolate milk if you stop cryin'." He murmured softly.
"How's a girl to refuse an offer like that?" You looked up at him, rubbing your nose with the back of your hand.
Those eyes got him every time. Bucky thought he might give you the moon if you asked for it.
Climbing to his feet, he padded across the kitchen to where he remembered the small jar to be, overly aware of you just two steps behind him. You nodded gratefully as he handed you the drink, taking a long sip.
Suddenly, Bucky jerked forward, smashing his face into yours.
For a second, you thought he was going to headbutt you, but his lips found your and you realised.
The super soldier was not, in fact, attempting to attack you, but he was kissing you.
And once you'd gotten over the initial shock, you were really quite enjoying it.
You pushed yourself up onto your tip toes, kissing him fiercely. Your little fingers wound their way into his hair, pulling him down towards you.
All you could see, all you could think, all you could feel, was Bucky.
And finally, everything felt like it made sense.