chapter three: in the blink of a crinkling eye
pairing: Bucky barnes x plus-sized!reader
summary: Six months ago, you were appointed to be Head Nurse to the Avengers by Tony Stark. Every day, you count your lucky stars, knowing the horrible past you quickly ditched back in England. It holds you back, restrains you, from getting close to anyone when on your new job.
That's until you met and fell in love with Bucky Barnes. The supposed assassin with a heart of gold, who seems to be eager to get to know you. To peel back your layers piece by piece, but could you trust him once you're laid before him raw and vulnerable?
warnings: language, fatshaming, self deprecation,
A/N: chapter three finally!! enjoy :) also comment if you wanna be added to the taglist!
Ever since that day, you and Bucky quickly became practically inseparable. Always sitting next to each other in meetings, he’d always come to visit whenever he could, and you’d always be jetted off to missions together.
It only took an hour or two for you to open up, pour all the poison that had slowly been burning away your insides, and the both of you lightening your burdens to each other in the dead of night. The dreams leave you both quite lonely.
You’re busy patching Steve up, just applying ointment to a bruise you’re both sure will disappear before he even leaves the infirmary. He comments on how happy you’ve seemed lately as you talk away about the plans you and Bucky have for the next weekend, discussing your idea to buy him some new clothes more suited to a man in the 21st century. And then Tony Stark walks in the room, wearing his classic thick, black sweater and looking worried as hell.
“Nurse! We need to talk.” He looks directly at you, and you flinch at his raised tone. He clocks on immediately, softening his approach. You lead him into a neighbouring empty room.
“What’s this about Mr Stark?” You remain, ever polite. You clasp your hands in front of you, smiling expectantly. He shoves his hands in his pockets, wondering how to phrase his next words.
“I know you’ve talked to FRIDAY about your spot at dinner…but I was just informed that you asked her to not have your meal sent to your room. Is everything okay? Do you need to speak to someone?” You’re well aware of what he thinks, what he’s insinuating. You’ve been here before, the last time Sharon made a mean comment about you was the last time you set foot in that damned dining room.
You swallow the bitter memory, making way for the sweet words about to leave your mouth. “No, sir. Everything’s alright with me. I asked FRIDAY to not send my meals to my room, because…well, I was thinking of coming to dinner tonight. Bucky talked me into it, and I think I should stop holding onto things that happen so long ago now.” You smile, letting your affection for the super soldier known.
He relaxes, but shoots you a confused look. “Metalbox? Really?”
“Yeah. We’re kind of good friends now.” He nods. “Alright, let me know the second anything changes or if anything is said that makes you uncomfortable. Okay?”
You nod this time, assuring him. He walks you out and lets you return to the infirmary, where Bucky is waiting for you. Your smile brightens by a millions Watts, but Bucky never seems blinded.
“Hey Buck!” You say, taking a standstill right in front of him. You haven’t really discussed how either of you stand on physical contact, but when he wraps you in a warm hug, you don’t fight it. You own arms end up around his middle, turning the embrace into something a lot more intimate, but too lost in each other to care.
The nickname of a nickname has him completely melting into every soft curve of you and never wanting to leave, forever entranced by the lingering scent of your lotion and perfume, the perfectly concocted pheromones only for him.
“Hey, doll. I missed you.” His tone is so soft, your heart can barely take it. What started off as a simple attraction has now fully snowballed into a crush of embarrassing proportions, and the fact that he even wants to be around you to this degree has you completely giddy.
When his words are such sugar, when his touch lingers just half a millisecond longer than it should, you are able to delude yourself he feels the same. You know you’re wrong, you just haven’t been shown such attention since you stopped being naturally amazing at everything as a child. But you dream anyway, of blue seas and black and gold.
“Missed you too. Did you have a busy day sparring?” He nods, keeping an arm around you as you both walk down the long corridors, arms welded like lovers to each other’s backs.
“Yeah, I got to practise giving Steve an ass whooping today to show the trainees how to defeat someone when held at knifepoint.”
“Oh, you have to show me sometime,” you say excited, trying not to show how hot you’re starting to run at the idea of Bucky dismantling someone despite the weapons they may yield. It makes you feel safer, snuggling up to him all that tighter.
And then the doors to your seemingly worse nightmares appear. Simple, made of black glass and sliding open when it recognises the two of you trying to get in.
She’s really not going to eat all of that, is she? The cruel words ring in your head and you swallow hard. “Hey, we don’t have to go if you changed your mind. We can just go to that restaurant I was telling you about on Monday.”
How long will you let your fears consume you? You shake your head. “That’s awfully sweet of you, Buck. Really, but I want to. I have to try, at least. Plus, its not just her and me in there. There’s Steve, and Nat and Wanda’s just come back from her mission, and Thor’s visiting. And you’ll be next to me. Won’t you?” You look up at him bashfully, as if you expect him to say no.
You have no idea how much he wants to kiss you and that pout on your lips. “Yeah, of course I’ll be there, doll. Always.” You grin like you’re surprised, solemnly untangling yourself from his arms as you step inside. Not that you hate the physical contact, but the idea of partaking in such activities in the presence of other people makes you sweat. You’ve never been one to share details about your romantic life, expecting nothing but a dissection and a ridicule once your chest cavity opens. You know these groups of people may not be like that, but the strange pain still ascends up your chest. You feel Bucky’s presence behind you, though, warm hand just centimetres away from yours like a promise of quick reassurance.
The room falls silent, and you notice how you and Bucky are the last two members to enter, and so theres only two open seats — one right next to Sharon and another directly in front of her. You swallow, not knowing which position is worse when Steve warmly beckons you over to sit next to him, the seat directly opposite Sharon.
You smile and accept his offer, watching Bucky as he walks around the table to begrudgingly take a seat in between two people, blue eyes burning like he’d much rather swap with Steve. “Nurse! How nice of you to join us!” Tony beckons from the head of the table, and everyone cheers and welcomes you warmly, Steve patting your back gently. It almost drowns out the scoff.
You stay mainly quiet, keeping to yourself. It’s your first day here, in this dining room, and you’ll take some time to get adjusted. Hopefully a certain someone will keep her mouth shut and you’ll come back tomorrow.
“I’m glad you’re here,” Steve whispers down at you in between courses. “Me too, actually. This isn’t too horrible.” You smile just as the servers set down a plate of your favourite dish — a completely vegan chicken Alfredo and garlic bread — right in front of you, hot and steaming. Your stomach grumbles embarrassingly loudly and you try your best to stay oblivious to it, not noticing how Bucky’s eyes are trained on you, at how cute you look when you’re flustered.
He chuckles and you meet his eye, smiling warmly. You get through the meal without a single hitch, and it seems that someone’s chastised Sharon before you could enter the room. You’re eternally grateful to that person, whoever that is.
During the meal, you get to hear stories of the time when Steve was at “war” with Tony, of childhood incidents from the 1930s, and the way Bucky acts when he’s drunk as shit. Thor’s brought some Asgardian liquor with him, knowing even the finest wine in the Tower’s cellar wouldn’t even get him buzzed.
One by one, people start bidding goodnight, until it’s just Thor, Bucky and you. Steve has to be up at 5 tomorrow, to prepare for a meeting, or so he says.
“And then he calls me a son of a bitch!” Thor explains, loud enough for you to flinch. He and Bucky laugh in uproar, and the sound of it takes you away. You find yourself staring, at his tipped back head and his wide grin, so beautiful all you want to do is climb in his lap and kiss him senseless. You refrain, of course.
“Alright, I think it’s time for bed, Buck. Should we go?” You use your thumb to point behind you, and he nods.
“Yes, I would go anywhere for you, doll. All you have to do is ask.” You roll your eyes, not knowing intoxication also makes him a terrible flirt.
You gently move to him when he wraps his arms around your middle and pulls you tight to him, face buried in your soft stomach. “Mm, can we just stay like this for a while, please?” He flashes you his bright blue puppy dog eyes, and you can’t resist. Shoulders sag as you breathe out a laugh at him. “Just a minute, then we’ll get you back to your room. Okay?” He nods, pressing his gorgeous face against your middle once again, and you can’t help but smile. He’s adorable. You gently run your hands through his hair, completely oblivious to Thor’s hunkering form leaving his seat. "How is it that a woman as perfect as you exists even in the 21st century?" He drunkenly grumbles. "It's genetics, darling." You smile like you've been completely lovestruck, and it's inevitably gotten to your head. "No, doll, I'm being serious. You're so perfect, feels like I was made to complement you. So pretty…"
“Alright, time for bed. Come on.” You drag him up and he wraps his arms around your shoulders. He’s so heavy you find it hard to breathe and reluctantly pull away from his warmth. One arm around his back, you gently guide him to his room in the same fashion he’s brought you to the dining room. The entire time there, he rattles off every synonym for beautiful he can think of as you fight against a smile harder and harder. There is a drunken veracity to him in this moment, and you don’t have it in you to fight him in such a state. You haven’t had more than a glass yourself, leaving you perfectly capable of safely navigating the long corridor, planning to drop him off and safely retreat to your own room just beside his. But he pulls you in.
“Stay with me…please, doll. Need you.” His breath is hot against your ear, tone soft and needy. Like he’s two seconds away from getting on his knees and begging you.
You yield. “Okay, Buck. Let’s just get you to bed, alright?” He nods, head lolling against his shoulders. On your way to the bed, you trip over one of his socks, his shoes long discarded at the entrance, slipping. He catches you without so much as a second thought or grunt. Reminding you of his strength. His hands on your waist turn you around, and you let out a yelp as your back meets the bed, his chest meeting yours and knocking the breath out of you.
Your hands grip the sheets while you’re trying your best to not look at him, his kind words reverberating around your head. His supposed infatuation, though deep down you know isn’t true. It can’t be.
“Stop squirming. Look at me.” He whispers, metal hand cupping your face. He’s become more confident in using it when he’s around you, you’ve noticed. But you haven’t seen how much it means to him, to have someone who didn’t know him before, and only after. Someone who knows everything and loves him despite it. Now, the definition of love used in the previous sentence can be heavily disputed —is it platonic, or something more? He feels the latter brewing in his chest, but he’s more than happy with either option. He just wants you by his side, soft and warm and everything good in the world all wrapped up in one woman.
When your eyes meet his, the sky blue has you swallowing. It’s so clear you feel like you’re flying. Even with his crushing weight sandwiching you between him and the mattress, you ache for him. More than you’ll ever admit, even as his bitter-tinted breath washes over your face.
“So pretty…Do you know how much I fucking want you? Even when I can hear every whisper, every sigh, every goddamned sound you make in here when you’re alone, after we say goodnight. All I want is to knock on your door. Would you ever answer, if I did?” His eyes are glued to your mouth, the colour entrancing him. You let out the smallest sigh, and you feel his thumb rub against your lower lip, making your eyelids flutter. The motion stirs something inside you, deep and primal, rabid and wanting.
“Yes…” You respond before your brain has even a second to catch up, to filter your thoughts. You see his pupils dilate in real time, entranced by the sight as he takes you in, the metal pushing against your teeth no longer cold. He asks you like he hasn’t already knocked, albeit for other purposes, and you haven’t already answered at the drop of a hat.
He leans in closer and closer, and you both are aware of the current pace of your heart, slamming in your ears like you would upon a door. Your head tilts up as his moves down, hot lips just grazing along yours, igniting every bone in your body as your hands grab at his chest instead, and he lets out a breath. You swallow it, eyes closing, giving in to the desires you’ve kept locked in a bottle deep inside your chest, just under your diaphragm.
Then reality come hurtling towards you like a freight train.
“Bucky…stop.” You push a hand against his chest, surprised to feel his heart pounding just as fast as yours. You’re full expecting for push to come to shove, but to your almost disbelief, he retracts immediately. Completely off, and lying next to you, while you try to hold back tears.
You know the truth — he doesn’t really want you. He’s just drunk, and you’re the only female body around. Nothing more.
“Why are you doing this to me?” You gaze is fixed on the ceiling, unable to look at him even when he’s on his side, eyes trained on you. “After everything I’ve told you about my…my past. All the bullying, and the trauma, and the pain. Why—Why?” Several shaky breaths escape you, trying to blink back the tears.
His fingers brush your temples frantically, absorbing the salt as he talks over himself. “Wait…Wait no. I— Doll, that’s not what I meant. I’m sorry, I’m so sorry I don’t wanna make you cry. No, no no, not what I meant, not what I—“ You turn to meet his eyes, grabbing his wrist in yours and unable to stop yourself from stroking the inside of it with your thumb.
“Then what did you mean? I’ve told you, how people treat attraction to me like a joke. And then the second you have some alcohol in your system, you start acting the same way?”
“But it’s not a joke! I’m not joking when I call you beautiful. I think—I know you are, doll. Why else would I say it? You know I hate lying…” As you gaze upon his distraught expression, you realise the error of your ways, knowing he probably won’t remember any of this. So what’s the point of wasting your breath twice? For now, you accept it, lock it away for another day.
“Alright…Let’s just go to bed now, okay? I’m tired, baby.” The nickname slips out absentmindedly, and the way his mouth falls open lets you know that you didn’t overstep as his tongue traces his lips in the same way you wish to do so.
“Yes! Let’s get my pretty baby some well deserved rest. Works too hard…” His eyes begin to close with his hand still fondly placed on your cheek, but you jerk him awake.
“No, Buck, not like this. Properly, let’s find you some comfy clothes and tuck you in. Come on.” You stand up, extending a hand to him. God, he looks so pretty from this angle, staring at you like you’re his sun and it’s a lazy picnic in the park. He entwines his fingers with yours, again bringing up that feeling of desperation in your system but you tamp it down. You gently hum the latest song stuck in your head as you get him ready for bed, slowly taking off his socks and handing him his comfiest pair of sleeping shorts, informing him of every step before you take it so you can give him the chance to tell you if you’re about to do something he doesn’t want. What you don’t realise is that there is nothing you could do that he wouldn’t welcome. He knows you wouldn’t hurt him, only show him the gentle warmth he’s been deprived of for decades with your light fingertips and heavy gaze. You turn your back as he changes, giving him some privacy.
He doesn’t let you leave, scared you won’t come back to him. He’s never been like this, so desperate to keep you by him. You’ve only known each other a month, and you two often stay up together when he knocks after a nightmare, either diffusing the bomb in his head with mellow hands, or holding him tight as you both lose your worries to some old sitcom you introduced him to. In your heart, you can’t find yourself to leave, either. And so you use a spare toothbrush he keeps in his bathroom to get ready for bed, stealing one of his shirts he handed to you with the brightest, most beautiful smile you’ve ever seen. When you throw it over your head, you relish in the remnants of his cologne and something else, something so innately Bucky, that all you want is to bury yourself in his scent intertwined with the magic fabric of his shirt, which turns out to be loose on you.
You set your hair, marvelling at how big he is, that his shirt is loose on every part of your body. A secret part of you wonders if he’s done it on purpose, intending to give you his clothes and opting for this looser fit…You quickly dispel the notions, ditching your bra and formal outfit on the floor, rubbing your tired eyes.
Bucky lays on his side, facing you and taking you in as you walk out. He lets out a groan and you wonder if it’s related. “You look so pretty in my clothes…fuck. Come back to bed, beautiful.” He outstretches his arms, making grabbing motions at you with his hands like an adorable child. You chuckle at his neediness and brush off the compliment as you settle into bed next to him, suddenly shy of the space in his bed you’re taking up. It’s been ages since you slept in the same bed as someone else…but you try not to dwell on it.
Bucky flips around immediately, sliding a warm arm around your waist and pulling you closer, eyes already closed. He’s so hot, practically a furnace when he pulls you in, like he can’t stand to be apart from you. What has the alcohol done to him?
“Good night, doll.” He rests his head in the crook of your neck, breathing in your scent. His warmth is beautiful, and your glad his eyes are closed so he can’t see the absolutely wanting look plastered over your face, so deep it makes you physically ache inside your chest when you lift a hand to stroke through his hair, so soft like the sigh that escapes him. Like you soothe him, and it’s all he’s been waiting for.
“Good night, Buck.” Sleeps comes quite easily.
NEXT PART
