Bucky One-Shots and Imagines

Comfort

You clambered down the stairs in a haste toward the kitchen, grabbing a plate and quickly loading it up as fast as you could. You didn't feel like talking to anyone, so you zipped in and out before anyone could even see you there.

Your feet padded softly against the wooden floorboards of the ground. The fork and knife in your plate tinkled and you groaned at all the noise you were causing. You heard Natasha talking to Bruce only a few meters behind you.

When you were finally in the safety of your own room, you breathed a sigh of relief, sitting down. You grabbed your radio from the side desk and crossed your legs, turning it up. At first it felt like you kept hearing words but you knew it was just your imagination.

When you really focused there was nothing there. Just static and white noise.

You pursed your lips in anguish, stopping the scream that threatened to slip from your mouth as frustrated tears rolled down your face. You picked up your plate of food and threw it across the room, making it land with loud crash.

Glass and rice sprawled everywhere and you ignored it, settling into your bed, still listening. It had been almost a year since Steve had left for Turkey on a mission and the last time you talked to him. He still wasn't back and nobody could get in touch with him.

You would still wait for him though, your radio turned up as you stared blankly out your window, waiting for the slightest bit of communication, even the most delicate hum of his voice, anything that would tell you he was alive and well. Everyone had deemed him dead.

Fury even had the nerve to organize a funeral. Of course you didn't go. You stayed at home, listening to the radio, waiting and believing in your heart and mind that he was alive. That he was gonna come back.

The only person who agreed wholeheartedly with you was Bucky Barnes. You'd admit it, Bucky was even more devastated than you were when he found out but over the course of the past few months he'd become your support system and you'd grown quite a liking to him.

Maybe a little too much liking.

Alright you'd also admit that you'd been thinking about Bucky a lot for the past few weeks. The way he hugged you, gripping you tight, his head buried into your hair, the way he smiled when you started rambling, the way you fell asleep on his lap and never ever had nightmares when you did sleep in his presence.

He was like your guardian, not sent to protect you but to guide you. You missed Steve and not a day went by where you didn't think of him but you were starting to slowly come to terms with the fact that maybe, he was really gone and the thought burned your chest but you knew you'd have to move on with your life one way or another.

There was word that they found the body and that night the tears wouldn't stop flowing. No one could understand what you were going through except for one brunette haired individual. He cradled you in his arms, and you cried and cried and cried, until you collapsed a heap on to the bed, sound asleep. That was the first step to your recovery.

Rinse and repeat.

Eventually you developed a guilty pleasure for the way Bucky looked. His dark hair rolling down to his neck in subtle waves, framing his sharp jawline, the way his eyes sparkled when he got excited like a sun trapped beneath an ocean, the way his muscles flexed even when he did ordinary tasks like lift up something off the floor or stir something in a pot and the taut skin of his back, bare to you as he worked out when you watched him train quietly.

You couldn't help it. Steve was gone.

And it had been long. Too long.

Steve Rogers was everything you could want in a man. He was smart, sweet, had a face sculpted by the gods themselves and never once failed to make you feel loved. Steve and Bucky were polar opposites. Steve was the soft sunlight of a Summer morning so why was it that you wished to taste the ice of the Winter so bad.