Strike One (2)

strike one (2)

summary: Bucky is trying to balance his life after making you a part of it, but there were still some walls he needed to work on

pairing: bucky barnes x f!reader

words: 4k

warnings: i think none? lmk if you think i should add one. also, English is not my first language, so sorry for any mistakes!

note: i don't know how i got the inspiration, the cunning or the desire to write again. i feel like i have a weird relationship with it but i want to overcome it but i don't allow myself to. it's very strange and i hate it. but well, i was thinking very often about the first part of this and finally i could think of something harmonious to continue it. i hope you like it and i hope tumblr will make it reach more people this time.

- part 1: how to break a routine in one year

Bucky only knew that there was some sort of event. He awoke that Sunday morning to a constant pounding on his door, insatiable and irritating, followed by a female voice that, sadly, he had come to know all too well. His young neighbour had woken up early that day with the sole purpose of making him wake up grumpy and on the wrong foot; he had barely had three hours of sleep and felt like his body had been run over several times by a tractor-trailer. Did that feel like being sick? He couldn't feel it from the serum, but he thought it was something similar to how his body felt at that moment.

Bucky came to regret several times in those two weeks that he had made the decision to let that noisy neighbour into his life. Sometimes she was helpful, but other times she was too unwelcome, and though she didn't ask questions to fill the awkward silences around his half-told life story, Bucky knew she was dying to know what was really going on when his gaze wandered somewhere in the instance. Knowing that she had this curiosity made him too uncomfortable, sometimes he couldn't even bear it, but he knew he would have to live with it until the day he decided to tell her the truth or until he cut her out of his life for good.

Bucky… Bucky considered himself a man of patience. That life he lived in the shadows left him with a lot of bad things that he was still dealing with, and he would never dare say that anything good came out of it. There was nothing but heartache and suffering, both from himself and from the people he hurt. But patience was something that had endured in him despite all these upheavals in his life. As always, it was common for him to want to control every aspect of his life, a situation that required a great deal of patience to carry out with skill and perfection.

That Sunday morning, Bucky felt his patience hanging by a thread. He had heard something about an event being held in the building that day, when he arrived in the early hours of the morning where he lived, teenagers talking about it at the reception desk. He had a slight feeling that his neighbour had something to tell him about it at that moment. He sighed in defeat.

His body shifted, settling face down, his hands settled on either side of his body. He could simply ignore her and continue with his rest… However, he stifled a grunt against the pillow and slowly made his way towards the front door.

“We're going to be late!” Bucky heard clearly as he approached the door, “Thomas is going to finish all the sandwiches,” she mumbled through her teeth and Bucky swore he could see her cross her arms as she said it.

He opened the door wide, his neighbour's eyes quickly locked on his, and her grumpy expression changed to one of joy at the sight of him. Though Bucky was not the epitome of happiness at the moment. He was sure his features were set in cement, like his frown and pursed lips.

“It's seven in the morning,” was all the man could say, still refusing to open the door entirely.

Bucky watched his neighbour grimace “I can't believe it,” her brow furrowed in disbelief, but with a hint of grace shining in her eyes.

“I texted you last night if you wanted to join me in celebrating the building's birthday,” the woman began, her body pushing Bucky aside to enter, who could do nothing but close his eyes in frustration as he stepped aside to let her pass, “You didn't reply so I took it as a positive silence.”

Bucky frowned, a few flashbacks from the night before furrowing through his memory. “You couldn't think that maybe I didn't answer because I was busy?”

“Are you busy now?”

“No.”

Damn.

“Yes,” Bucky tried to rectify.

He heard his neighbour let out a laugh, in time with her anatomy shifting in front of the kitchen in his flat.

“How long has it been since you've made dinner at home? Your dishwasher has cobwebs in it.”

“What do I need to make dinner at home for?”

The woman turned to look at him, a confused expression on her face, “To spend time with yourself?”

Bucky snorted, starting to move back to his room, that time to change, because he entirely doubted she would leave him alone now that he was inside his flat.

You watched him walk away, his shoulders squared in defence and his whole posture hostile. You already knew that Bucky was some kind of dark man, someone who was going through something but wasn't able to share it with others. You didn't blame him, not everyone was as chatty as you. You'd tell your secrets to a rock. But the point was, even though Bucky wasn't a talkative man (and you'd learned that well these past two weeks, even though you were already “friends”), you knew that somehow he needed a little human companionship. Everyone needs it, right? At least to keep from going crazy.

So you tried to give him that company often, but you were very careful not to overwhelm him. You could tell he was someone who was already used to being alone, who probably had a routine and total control over his life. Sometimes you wondered how he could hide his feelings so well and what kind of circumstances had led him to be like that. Or what kind of people…

In the distance, you heard the sliding doors of his wardrobe and the sound of hooks clanging against metal. You smiled triumphantly inside, continuing your thorough inspection of the natural habitat of the specimen in his room. You made a mental note to come over someday to help him with the grooming.

“What are we supposed to do?” You heard his voice through the masses of air. You rolled your eyes as you realised he didn't even try to pick up his phone to check your messages.

“Today marks 10 years since the opening of this building.”

“And that's my fault?”

“Let me finish,” you approached the cupboard. A stack of cereal boxes and canned food was what greeted you, “The building owners planned a breakfast, a barbecue for lunch and a big dinner in the evening for all the residents. Completely free of charge. It's a day of spending it together, in each other's company. These are things we used to take for granted, but, as you noticed, a lot has happened over the last few years.”

Bucky came out as you finished inspecting the fridge. “Now everyone wants each other's company.”

“And you want each other's company?”

“I'm just going for the food.”

Undoubtedly, you noticed Bucky crack a half-smile at your comment as he walked nimbly towards the door trying to evade your gaze. You smiled triumphantly, again.

“We've never talked about that,” you commented warningly, as you walked towards the lift after Bucky closed the door to his flat.

“We haven't talked about a lot of things, kiddo.”

“I mean the blip,” you replied bluntly, and watched him directly as he pressed the button to call the lift. He held your gaze for a few seconds.

“I disappeared. There's not much we can talk about.”

“We could share emotions.”

The lift arrived and Bucky stepped in without a word. You knew that was his way of snorting and evading a conversation without really needing to because of the same mental and emotional exhaustion that kind of talk caused him. So you didn't push. But you didn't have to try to revive the conversation either.

“Is Emmet coming?” He did it for you, surprisingly. It didn't happen very often.

You turned to look at him.

“I mentioned it to him and he said he was going to see if he could. He's got some business to take care of.”

Bucky just let out an affirmative sound, his head bobbing in time.

He was always that way, cautious when talking about your partner. You didn't really know the reason why, when he brought it up it wasn't for too long, and he also didn't feel like hearing much about things related to him or your relatively constant fights lately. That's why you stopped using him as your complaint box when you realised that he didn't really even listen to what you said. What you really thought was that he was trying to be nice; he was trying to start a conversation however he could about a topic he knew was of genuine interest to you.

It was the little details that really mattered.

The lift stopped on the first floor and the first thing Bucky noticed was the bustle of conversation among the people on the floor. Then he noticed the number of people equal to the noise that filled the room. His gaze swept quickly around the room, his classic scowl making its presence known as his neighbour rushed out of the lift to meet one of his friends from the building.

Bucky watched them from afar, his hands clasped at his sides and a look that kept people from getting too close to him. This allowed him to easily weave his way through the sea of people there.

To be honest, he was quite surprised at how many people lived in the building with him. He felt that he really only knew two, and he had met by chance about five at most, most of them in the lift. But he didn't know anyone on his floor, except for his extroverted neighbour who approached him with a plate full of sausages, chicken nuggets and a kind of ham and cheese rolled up on a wooden stick. All over the centre, a small cup with a white sauce and flashes of some green spice.

“You have to try the nuggets with this sauce, they're a delight!” you exclaimed with a smile before popping the aforementioned combo into your mouth and closing your eyes enjoying the explosion of flavours.

Luckily, before Bucky could try to refuse your offer, another of the building's inhabitants appeared to entertain you as he slipped away victoriously.

Reaching the back exit of the building, he could tell that there were still more people to be seen living in the place with him. The pool was empty, for now, but there were a considerable number of children running around it, hiding behind trees and eating together with their parents. Most of the families occupied almost every table in the building's gigantic courtyard, that Bucky could hardly find a remote one to sit at in relative peace.

He was actually surprised that he had gone so long without knowing that all those children lived in the building.

But hey, the less he knew, the better. He'd never know at what point he'd have to pack up and leave.

“You're good at sneaking out,” Bucky heard your voice approaching, and didn't even bother to turn around. He continued to scan the front, the city streets and the small shops that lined the streets nearby.

Before you sat down, you watched him. His hands were folded on the table, his posture less tense than before but still alert. You knew he had heard you, you knew more or less how to interpret his body language.

“I brought you some things I thought you might like,” you commented as you took a seat across from him, being careful not to deprive him of the view, whatever it was that captivated him so much about it.

“I didn't know there was a café there,” you heard him say as you arranged the small plates you brought on the tray. You turned to see what he mentioned, and sure enough, you saw the café you went to almost every day before you took the shuttle to work. They made the best cappuccino you'd ever tasted in the whole city.

“You've missed out on so much by being cooped up in your four walls.”

“My four walls are comfortable,” Bucky rebutted, his brow slightly furrowed, “Besides, I do go out.”

“Yeah, but you're too busy thinking about who knows what to notice the things around you. We could take a tour sometime, I know these streets well.”

“No, thanks,” he replied almost as soon as you finished speaking, as he took one of the cups of food you had brought him, “What's this?”

“Dulce de leche, I think.”

“It looks too sweet.”

“It is, but it's ultra delicious.”

“Have you tried it yet?”

“Yes, it's a recurring dish in Mrs. Mildred's kitchen. She lives on the third floor with her grandson and a little dog. She gave me a cup of the sweet stuff for my birthday last month,” you told Bucky, watching her from a distance. She was an amazing person; even with how little you had interacted with her you could tell.

“It's too sweet,” you heard Bucky say, his lips twisting into a pout. You watched him set the cup with the dulce aside, willing to turn a blind eye to it for the rest of the day.

“You definitely don't seem like the type to be a dessert fan. You should try Mrs. Maria's ham and cheese croissant. It's very fluffy, it has such a soft texture that you feel it melts in your mouth,” you commented as you approached the plate with the food you had pointed out to him, “She told me once that it's her grandfather's recipe; she told me that they don't taste as delicious as they did for him, but his children love them. And believe me, they're the best I've ever tasted.”

Bucky kept his eyes fixed on yours, for a little longer than you thought normal.

“So, you know everyone in the building?”

You smiled slightly.

“I like to think so. I know that Mrs. Sarah is a taco fanatic thanks to her husband Manuel, and that Mr. Alfred on the fifth floor hates Mrs. Mildred's dog, and that her grandson takes the little dog for a walk right around the same time Mr. Alfred goes out for his four o'clock walk. I also know Mr. and Mrs. Sawyer, they have two children, Veronica and Tom, they are big lawyers who live on the top floor of the building, the one with the biggest flats,” as you told Bucky about someone, you would discreetly point them out so he could recognise them and, strangely, it seemed like he was really paying attention to you.

“So yes,” you concluded after a while of introductions, “I know almost everyone in this building.”

“Am I excluded from that list? Because technically you do know me, we're not strangers.”

“Maybe not, but if someone asked me about you the only thing I could tell them would be your name and where you live.”

“Why would anyone ask you about me? You don't have to know everything about me to be an acquaintance.”

“You know a lot of things about me.”

“Against my will.”

“But you do.”

Bucky rolled his eyes. Little did you notice that, between your introduction and his short talk, he had finished almost every cup of food you had brought him. YYou were about to ask him if there was anything he wanted to repeat so you could bring it to him, when the crash of an object followed by an almost stony silence stole the show.

A boy had kicked a ball, which had hit Bucky's left arm.

His tension was instantaneous. You saw him go from a flaccid jelly to a stone in a matter of seconds. It seemed exaggerated to you how everyone stared at the place where you were sitting, waiting for the moment when the man would explode or something. You didn't know how, but it seemed incredible to you that Bucky had been able to deliberately ignore all the stares from the moment he came out of the lift to the moment he sat down at that table, to that moment. You had told him about the many people, mostly nobles, who lived there, but you had neglected to mention how indiscreet and gossipy the other part of the people who shared the building with you were.

You watched him warily, for his good humour had suddenly vanished. He was staring at the tray you had brought, not even showing signs of breathing.

“Trevor,” you heard a female voice in the distance, cautious and reprimanding.

You turned just barely to observe a boy, he couldn't have been older than 10, walking in the direction of the table where you were standing. You knew Bucky wasn't going to do anything, he would just stay like that until all the people dispersed, ignoring them and ignoring also his own feeling of running away, or he would wait for the right moment to leave the event and, most likely, not meet any of these people again for weeks.

You fervently hoped for the first option.

“I'm sorry, Mr. Barnes,” you heard the boy say, the ball he hit Bucky with lying under his armpit.

You noticed Bucky turn to look at the boy, a little uneasy as he realised how many eyes were on him, as if expecting him to start screaming. All he did was give the boy a nod and the kid walked away with a smile. The children's shouting resumed and the people dispersed.

Bucky barely turned to see your surprised face.

“What?”

“That boy knows you.”

“Surely.”

“How? I thought you weren't talking to anyone.”

“Maybe he saw me at some point picking up the mail.”

You frowned. You were trying to play it down, and yes, it probably wasn't that important. You didn't know why it gave you a strange uneasy feeling.

“What's the matter, don't you like not being the only one who knows my full name?”

“Ha ha, that's funny, Barnes.”

“It's no big deal, I'm not a public figure or anything.”

You nod briefly, your mind trying to forget the subject quickly. No big deal, Bucky was most likely right.

“Anyway, we were just talking about how little I know about you.”

“Mmm, I think we were talking about the food.”

“Don't do that, Bucky. At least tell me your birthday.”

The aforementioned grimaced, “For what, you want to throw me a party?”

“No,” you replied. Bucky arched an eyebrow at you and you shifted in your chair, “Maybe.”

He stared at you, perhaps weighing what the consequences of saying it would be or thinking about how to get rid of you so he could get back to his room. He let out a sigh, his shoulders slumped and his gaze lowered.

“March 10th.”

“Funny, the same day as Chuck Norris.”

“Who?”

You shook your hands and head, “Never mind. Tell me what your favorite colour is.”

“You're pushing your luck.”

“I'm just trying to get to know you.”

“Why?”

“Why what?”

“Why do you want to get to know me?”

“Why wouldn't I want to? You're my neighbour, and you're not as bitter as you want to make it seem.”

Bucky kept his gaze on yours for a few moments longer. You knew you were really pushing your luck, and while this wasn't the longest conversation you'd ever had with the man, it might be one in which you'd gone the furthest in knowing something about him, even if it wasn't so personal. Now you knew his birthday! And it was only a couple of weeks away.

Ignoring the icy expression that had taken over Bucky's face, you began to brainstorm ideas of how you could celebrate his birthday without it really being a super celebration. Bucky didn't seem like the type to celebrate with big parties… He didn't really seem like the celebrating type at all. But it doesn't hurt to have cake on the day of your birth anniversary. Thinking about a celebration made you think about people: what people did Bucky know that he liked to have attend his birthday party? Hm, in the hypothetical case there was one, of course. You barely knew the date, it was like the tip of the iceberg compared to knowing the people he surrounded himself with outside the building, apart from you.

Your lack of attention didn't allow you to notice Bucky's sudden change in attitude. He didn't know why he suddenly felt so uncomfortable out there, surrounded by all these people with cool lives and huge smiles. It was as if he felt… out of place. As if he didn't really fit into that painting that everyone was a part of on that artistic stage that was life. Including you.

Bucky didn't know what your sudden and intense interest was in knowing him. If your intentions really were genuine; if he really could trust you blindly, how could Bucky know that you were not a person sent to…?

He shook his head. Enough thoughts for today.

“You shouldn't,” Bucky's voice snapped you out of it, your gaze finally noticing his icy expression and his mouth twisted in displeasure. Seeing him like that so suddenly caused your stomach to flip. What had you done wrong?

“I think that's my decision,” despite feeling it was a completely wrong scenario, you kept your gaze steady on his.

Bucky was an enigma and you wanted to figure it out. Not as an experiment, not as a science project and not as charity, but just to deconstruct his persona and really know who the man was before society. The connection you felt with him was strange, ambiguous, but for a while you thought it was reciprocal. Maybe it was just one-sided. You're a good listener, so you've been told. Also that you talk too much, and that sometimes people prefer to let you be around them just so they don't bother you and make you think they care about you, when they're not really listening. Who's there for you when the night is darker than ever?

You didn't know if Bucky had that someone, but you knew he looked just like a person going through a very, very dark night.

His phone rang. Suddenly his attention was focused on something else as he pulled his phone out of his pocket. You watch his eyes sweep across the screen, the rush of emotions fleeting and rushing.

"Gotta go," he mutters without looking up from the screen. You felt it all happen so fast that you barely noticed when he got up from his chair.

“Okay, s-see you tomorrow,” you stammer, watching his figure walk away through the crowd without knowing if he really heard you.

Your heart felt heavy inside your chest. You felt fully aware of it pounding inside your body, your own chest closing in on itself, giving you a strange suffocating sensation you hadn't experienced before. But you couldn't stop thinking about him. What to do. How to do it. When. Where. How…

A hand on your shoulder startles you, your heart pumping wildly as you notice a woman beside you. Mrs. Sawyer, Tina Sawyer.

“I don't understand how you could get close to that man. I fear for your life every time I see you near him,” she commented graciously, as if she expected you to laugh or something.

You watched her with a frown.

“Don't talk about him like that, he's not a monster.”

Tina clicked her tongue, her hands moving in a nonchalant gesture. It made you incredibly angry that she was talking about Bucky like that, and why? She didn't even really know him.

“Relax. Just yell if you need help. The walls aren't that thick.”

“Tina, don't-”

“Ah! I remembered why I came,” the woman interrupted, a wicked grin forming on her face, “Your boyfriend's here. And he doesn't look too happy to have seen you sharing a meal with someone else.”

Amidst the masses of air, your gaze collided with Emmet's. Sadly, Tina was right. His body was leaning against a pillar of the building, right next to the door to the back exit. His scowl and his arms crossed over his chest were a clear sign of his annoyance, and for some reason, him being annoyed by that didn't give you the best of feelings.

But you sighed, tried to neutralise the look on your face and started to approach your boyfriend. You had a feeling that things were not going to get better from here.

the introverted urge to find 1 person you feel comfortable with and do literally everything with them

it is not an evil thing to look at yourself with kindness. your life was never meant to be a punishment

Today was my birthday and it wasn't such a bad day, but coming home knowing I have writer's block without being able to vent like I want to and choking on words and thoughts is too stressful. I've also recently been diagnosed with depression and anxiety and while I'm not alone I can't feel completely comfortable; that was something that writing provided for me, a safe and healthy place, and now I can't even have that.

bucky barnes masterlist

updates! 12-10-23

angst (a) fluff (f) smut (s) ongoing (*) masterpost

ˏˋ°•*⁀➷ one-shots

cowboy like me invisible string ivy (a) (in)dispensable (a) (f) temporal infinity (a) cursed (f) disappear (a) (f) patient zero (f) life goes on (a) (f) a piece of heaven (a) (f) the 5 stages of (my) life (a) (f) (s) closer (a) one of those days (a) not my one (a)

ˏˋ°•*⁀➷ mini-series

the feelings trilogy (a) (f)

bittersweet feelings mixed feelings confessed feelings

the outbreak (a) (f)

part 1 part 1.5 part 2

hate is a strong word (a) (f)

part 1 part 2 part 3

i don't wanna live forever* (a) (f)

part 1 part 2 part 3 part 4 part 5 part 6 (5%) part 7

ˏˋ°•*⁀➷ series

calmly, remember*

lethal double play*

how to break a routine in one year* (no updates)

three months in strike one the part where it gets weird strike two

read my only steve rogers oneshot here: birthday love present

thank u so much for reading! love u all <3

my toxic trait is that i like to yearn for things more than i like to actually do those things