pairings: bucky barnes x reader
warnings: angst, a fight, reader gets stabbed
about: a request that has been in my inbox for a long time (i'm so sorry) Could i request A fic where bucky or steve is giving civilian reader silent treatment?angst with a nice ending?

your anger is azure.

it drowns with the sea of its depth, cold with your silence and the tears that you can't help. it tinges your nails with a lack of oxygen, air stubbornly stuck in your lungs until it hurts yet feels better than the turmoil in your mind.

your anger drowns, cold in its waters and unforgivable in its waves. it pulls you down until you find a solution, a way to swim back up to the sun, to the yellow.

there seems to be no surface in sight beneath your sea, and you can feel the air lacking in your lungs, the blue tinting your fingernails, the verglas creeping into your bones. you don't think you've ever been this far down—deep enough for the amber to ebb away completely, erase the warmth that'll chase away the numbness of your fingers.

you reach for it anyway, sniffing away bubbles of tears that streak down your face after you look away from cold, tangled fingers.

your other hand reaches up to wipe away the drops, leaving behind salt that burns your skin. you prefer the ice of it.

you squeeze bucky's fingers lightly, the pad of your thumb running over his nails repeatedly. the sterility of the room you're in makes your anxiety worse, technology that you shouldn't even be able to see with your status—or lack of one—reminding you that even though you are a nobody, the man you love is not. your eyes catch on the worst of the many cuts on his face, and you run a nail right beneath it, careful not to touch it even if it's certainly not the worst he has arrived with. his cheek twitches and after a second of your gentle touch on his cheekbones, he leans into the familiarity of your skin.

a frustrated tear falls on your outstretched arm, making you retract your it, shaking your head so as to clear it. you bend down to get your bag, pulling out a box of band-aids you'd started carrying around for your boyfriend. the goofy designs you'd picked out with a smile only strain your lips as you try to keep your composure, shaky fingers tearing away the little papers and shoving them back in your bag before reaching over to bucky to gently press it to his wound. it'll heal by tomorrow, and the action is stupid when your boyfriend lays on a cot with a bullet wound, but it makes you feel useful and allows the layer of frost obscuring your clarity to begin to melt away with the heat of bucky's skin under the pads of your fingers.

you pat his cheek carefully before you let your anger bleed into your fear.

you shouldn't be doing this. you shouldn't be sitting next to your boyfriend in a chair that probably costs more than your entire rent in the avengers tower. you shouldn't be waiting for your boyfriend to wake up after he got shot and be sticking band-aids on the most minor cuts because it makes it easier for you.

you shouldn't be, but you do. because you love him with everything you have and you know he loves you too, so you can't understand why he can't love himself enough to take care of himself. you know his job is dangerous, but you cannot keep meeting an unconscious or bleeding bucky in the infirmary because he didn't follow instructions or came out guns blazing or was, simply put, absolutely fucking reckless.

you love him, but you cannot keep crying and running out of your apartment with shoes half on because you're afraid the love of your life might be dead.

"hey," a rough voice greets, a lazy smile tangled in the word. your hand gets squeezed lightly. "what a nice view to wake up to after getting shot," bucky laughs, quieting after a second once it pulls at his wounds. your deafening silence makes him cock his head at you. "how're ya doin', doll?"

his words are so casual; so innocent out of bloodied lips—so unfair to the situation, as if your heart doesn't stop with unbridled fear that this call from steve is because your boy went too far this time, that he won't be coming home.

"me?" you ask. "bucky, you were shot."

the man does a shrugging motion. "happens every month."

"well it shouldn't," you snap, unable to help it. you're so deep now; the pressure pushes on your chest. "you need to be more careful."

bucky's easy smile begins to fade. "are you bein' serious right now?"

his confusion is genuine, you can tell by his tone, but it aches, striking a chord that makes everything snap. "yes," you say incredulously. "why wouldn't i be serious about you not getting shot?"

"because it's not a big deal," bucky insists, pushing himself up. you stop him with a touch of your hand to his, helping him while you angrily shake your head at his objections. "i know what i'm doing, doll. i've been doing it for a while and i'm fine."

"are you?" you ask sharply, meeting his eyes as you adjust the pillow behind his head. you can't find it in yourself to notice or care about the tears that are gathering in your eyes, making your skin prickle with frustration. "because i get a call every time you come back from a mission because you were stabbed or shot or jumped in front of or on something that could have killed you."

"look, you might not understand because you're just a civilian, but—"

"'just a civilian,' bucky?" you repeat, hating the raise of your voice but you can't see with the darkness of the deep, lost in your anger.

bucky winces immediately at his own words, shutting his eyes. "i didn't mean it like that—"

"i'm your girlfriend. i am the person who is scared out of their fucking mind every time you leave for a mission because you don't take care of yourself! because you're always hurt and it feels like i stand vigil at your bedside more than i do anything else."

bucky's face pinches at your words. "you don't have to do this. if this is something you don't want to do, if i'm too much a burden, you don't have to do it."

you can feel the first tears beginning to slip past your eyes as you squeeze them shut. "you don't get it," you cry. "i love you so much, bucky. i will do this if i have to because i love you but all i want is for you to be okay—i want less injuries, i want less pain for you and i just don't understand why you just aren't more careful."

he says your name in a slow breath. "i do what i have to."

you sigh defeatedly, shaking your head at him as you wipe your cheeks. "you're impulsive, bucky. you're careless."

bucky's jaw sets at your words. "you don't think i know what i'm doing."

"that is not—" you begin, but bucky doesn't let you finish.

"that's what you're saying to me right now, and it's unfair. you don't know what goes on, you don't know what i have to do. i'm as cautious as everyone else is—"

"then why are you the only one that is consistently in the medbay? why is it that you're always here, injured, and everyone else is fine?"

bucky swallows hard, eyes raising to meet yours, hard and swimming in anger. "i know what i'm doing," he growls. "i don't want to talk about this anymore."

"bucky—" you insist desperately, your face sticky.

he murmurs your name in a soft voice that indicates anything but soft, cautious, bubbling with irritation. he looks at your tear-streaked features and turns, rendering the conversation over.

-

you think his silence hurts more than yelling would.

you don't live together but you might as well, your apartment draped in bucky with his clothes littered with yours and his toothbrush next to yours; pairs of his shoes lay on the floor and his favorite cereal sits half-full in your pantry.

your apartment still smells of him, carrying his smile and voice and the lingering feeling of his love from his presence usual enough for his room at the tower to go cold with disuse. it hits you harder when you realize he hadn't been by in three days, the same amount since you'd heard a word out of him.

your texts are left unanswered, most unread, and your calls go without being picked up or returned. you miss bucky. you miss talking to him every day and waking up with him next to you; you hurt for his smile and his touch. you know he's angry, but it's unbearable how much of a hole he makes in your life when he isn't there.

you wake up heaving and alone on the fifth day, sweat cooling your forehead as you reach for bucky's usual side of the bed, panic running up your throat until you remember your predicament, and you reach for your phone to check for missed calls, terrified that you'd see a copy of the one from steve in your nightmare, tons of urgent messages of i'm so sorry and have you heard?

you barely realize you're crying until a tear falls on the screen of your phone, making the list of contacts pull when you try to scroll. you rub it away, wiping at your eyes as you sniffle, and pull the phone to your ear, listening to the beeping and eventual voicemail of bucky's that you've grown too familiar with.

you blubber a plead of are you okay? your voice is bundled in sobs and you squeeze your eyes shut when your reality seems too familiar to your nightmare, begging bucky to push this fight away for just one word. anything so you know he's safe and not dead somewhere.

you press end call and resist calling him again, letting your phone drop to your lap as you cry, refusing to sleep for the rest of the night.

-

you're foggy with exhaustion and fear when you get ready in the morning, the little energy you have left spent on worrying that your phone has not buzzed with a response from bucky. your mind flashes with a memory of your nightmare as you stare at your unforgiving phone, and fear strikes you with the possibility of bucky actually being gone.

you shake your head, hoping to clear away the images and decide to head up to the tower; just for a glimpse and an assurance that bucky is fine—alive, confirming that your reality and your nightmare have not suddenly converged in a sick act from the universe.

your head feels full of cotton when you arrive, leaving you distracted as you brush past everyone who has the time to notice you, barely saying hello to the receptionist who normally greets you, oblivious to her frazzled state.

you don't notice the specific buzz in the tower, mistaking the worried agents that hurry in the halls as anxious to leave. nobody pays attention to you when you ask them where bucky is, either shaking their heads distractedly and running off or ignoring you altogether.

finally, you spot natasha's familiar figure alone in a conference room, her features pulled in distress you can't bring yourself to scrutinize as she reads through a file. she's startled when your hand gently taps her shoulder, her eyes unfocused when she looks up until she realizes it's you. her eyebrows furrow as she scans you, pulling you closer.

"y/n?"

"do you know where bucky is? i'm so sorry for bothering you, it's just that he hasn't talked to me in days and i'm getting worried."

"uh, i'm not sure," she answers, her tone edging towards disoriented. "how did you get in here? does bucky know you're here?"

"i just walked in." you shrug. "and i don't think so. i sent him a message but he hasn't read anything i sent him for days. do you know where he could be?"

"you can't be in the tower right now," natasha tells you. "there's a possible threat and no one was supposed to be let in."

your stomach drops, the bitter taste of anxiety already at the back of your throat. "i didn't... i didn't know that—a threat?"

nat hesitates before she responds.

"a singular person, probably not from hydra, possibly not powered but likely armed. he got into friday and so we have no surveillance. chances are that it's not that big of a deal, we just need to contain him before anyone gets hurt," she explains reassuringly. you trust her, having met her many times, so you let yourself shake off some of the concern you feel, nodding at her.

"okay. do i leave?" you ask, feeling guilty for being such a burden while there's something going on.

natasha shakes her head, guiding you to the back of the room. "no, it's best you stay in one place. from what we know, this guy is aiming for avengers primarily but everyone else isn't completely safe. just stay here, okay?"

you nod, a wave of dread washing over you as you fall into a chair, watching as natasha picks up the folder again. "we don't know how he looks yet, but we have some suspects that i'm going to get downstairs. don't move," she instructs and walks out of the room.

it'll be fine, you try to reassure yourself, pulling at the skin of your hands in nerves, reminding yourself that bucky will be okay and next to you by the end of the day.

your eyes drift to the rest of the room, falling on a paper natasha dropped in front of the door. you stand and walk toward it, picking it up and feeling chills as you examine the suspect's face, blinking fast when you read why he hates the avengers so much. you catch the words winter soldier and freeze, ice prickling down your spine. you move to leave the room and get it to natasha when you catch sight of bucky's frame through the window next to you, his front slightly turned from you as he discusses something with someone over the comms.

a freezing unease makes you turn towards the door, only sinking deeper when you notice the face you just saw in the paper live outside, angry eyes scanning the crowd until they land on bucky. everything seems to move unbearably slow as you glance back at the paper no one else has seen, the blade the man's fingers are curled around seizing your attention, and then he begins to sprint.

towards bucky—your bucky and it feels like no one can see it in time.

you might not be an avenger, but you think quick as you read the intent reading across the man's face, picturing the scenario where you try to push bucky away but he doesn't budge, and another where you stay put and have to visit bucky at the medbay once again because of something you could've prevented.

inevitably, you take off too, the paper slipping from your hands, ignorant to the commotion as people finally begin to descry the situation. although you're not as fast as him, in a few quick steps, you've jumped in front of bucky protectively before the suspect has, extending your arms to cover more space. your mind rings with the reminder that bucky goes through this all the time—that he recovers from injuries like these within a week—but you argue that he shouldn't have to, already resolved in your sacrifice as you steady yourself in front of your boyfriend.

you've been as sure of few things as you wait the millisecond it takes for the man to plunge the knife meant for bucky into your side.

his eyes become panicked as they meet yours in realization until they gloss over in the next second, a shot you can't tell the source of muffled by the burning impact of the blade. you stumble back, bumping into bucky, only able to watch as the man in front of you falls to the ground. your fingers meet the cold of the handle that erupts from your stomach until they find warmth in the blood that begins to seep through your shirt.

bucky says your name frantically, hands holding you to lean against him. you blink fast once the pain begins to set it, an unbearable heat spreading through you. your head lolls to his chest, gulping as you breathe deeply, trying to ignore the adrenaline that is quickly running out with time that is passing by at a speed you can't tell. bucky slides down to the floor with you in his arms as gently as possible to get you to sit down, calling for help, brushing hair off of your face. his fingers are coated in red when you catch sight of them, shiny blood you know is yours gleaming in the light.

you can barely take a full breath, yet you're unable to help the relief at the knowledge that at least bucky was okay as you're wheeled off to the medbay.

-

bucky's anger is carmine.

it burns with the kiss of his fingers as he intertwines them with yours, fire-hot enough for the glaze of it to stain your fingertips even when without his touch still pressed, the remains only the print that is left on a piece of tape. the hand he once held tingles with the need for him to cradle it again—to show you once more that he still loves you through the smoke, that the only reason he is so angry is because of the heaviness of his care.

"bucky?" you ask quietly, wincing when pressure is applied to the wound on your abdomen. it's unintentional, simply a flash of pain that you try to blur away, but bucky catches it anyway.

he doesn't respond to your call of his name, but lets the hefty weight of his worry cloud his anger for the moment where you cringe.

"are you okay?" he asks instead, deep and heavy and still tinged with the frustration you've never seen directed at you.

"'m fine," you lie, swallowing back a lump that nearly hurts with the way your doctor's fingers dance across tender skin.

bucky sees through it, drawing soothing circles into your skin. he wants to ask, you can tell, but he's holding back the words, well aware of the bite they come with.

"you were going to get hurt," you explain quietly, glancing at the doctor to watch as she places bandages on your abdomen. "you didn't see him in time, nobody did. if he had gotten you, you wouldn't have gotten off like i did."

"i'm used to it," bucky reminds, "i have super healing. i would've gotten off easier. i don't understand why you would... why were you even there?"

"not necessarily," you insist, "what if he had gotten vital organs or blood vessels? i got lucky because he was aiming for the kill with you."

he mumbles your name with a sigh, finally meeting your eye.

"i had to see that you were okay," you say in response to his next question. "you weren't answering and i had a nightmare," you continue, honest in the way you know you can be with him. bucky's face softens a little in guilt, moving to apologize but you don't let him, resolute in saying why you were there—admitting it to yourself in a way you didn't want to. "i had to make sure you weren't dead. i just needed to see you for myself."

it's silent for a few seconds, unbearable in a way that you're not used to. you tear your attention away from the bandage when the doctor gives you a nod and takes her leave, tilting your chin up to look at bucky. he's scanning your face, clenched jaw relaxing in shame when he heeds the exhaustion in your face, the pain that pinches your features, the dull shade of fear that hides beneath your irises. he rubs the back of your hand, ducking his jaw to press a gentle kiss to your fingers, newly clean after he washed away the blood in tense silence.

"i'm sorry," bucky murmurs, his grip on you tightening as if realizing that he could have lost you again. "i'm so sorry, honey, i should've been better at—at everything. i shouldn't have just ignored you and i should have listened to you."

"i just want you to be safe," you sniffle, sight blurring with tears long overdue. "i love you, bucky. i want you to come back home to me safe and sound. i'm sorry if you thought i didn't trust you."

"no," bucky starts, tenderly wiping tears from your cheeks as they fall, pressing his lips to your forehead. "i know, sweetheart. i was so stupid, i'm so sorry."

his lips finally meet yours, and you let yourself sigh in relief against him, your forehead falling against his. he's warm and solid and whole, safe in your touch. you turn slightly instinctively, sucking a breath when a pain jolts in your side.

bucky pulls away and scans you immediately, a hand shooting to steady you just in case. "are you okay?"

you nod. "didn't remember my... state."

bucky's lips thin. "about that. how about i be more careful in missions and you try to not get stabbed?"

you huff out a laugh, wincing when it pulls at your stitches. "i'll try my best if you do." your eyes widen in recognition when your phone turns on with a vibration, the date and time showcased. "don't you have a mission today?"

bucky shakes his head, "i'm not leaving your side until you're all healed, sweetheart. 'already talked to steve and he's already got someone to cover for me."

your lips part, fingers reaching for the ones bucky pulled away. "you don't have to."

"i want to," bucky asserts with a nod, and then pulls away to pick up his bag after his eyes glimmer in remembrance. "to start..."

he pulls out a box of band-aids, giving you a grin as he takes one out, motioning to the little cut next to your eyebrow. "pink with sunflowers okay?"