Fuze-line

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Your feet were dragging across the floor as you made your way to the training room through the large and empty corridors of the compound.

3 a.m. was your favourite time to train because you'd be alone and away from the stares that Sharon gave you as you punched a punching bag or did cardio on the mats. The large windows in the training room reflected the moons light at you every time you'd train, making you feel like you were in the most beautiful fantasy movie.

You pushed the doors open harshly and entered the room, feeling a bit tense after a mission gone wrong. Your neck felt tight as if someone was strangling you gently, putting more pressure on your oesophagus every time a memory of the mission played in your head. The muscles in your arms urged to hit or throw anything, longing any kind of impact to release the tension growing in your body.

You looked up when you entered the spacious room, and saw a certain super soldier beating the life out of a already dead looking punching bag. He was wearing some shorts and a really thin and loose tank top, revealing almost every part of his chest and stomach. He didn't even realise you walk in at first, that's how hard his focus was on destroying the bag that hung from the ceiling. The tension that was once heavy on your muscles relaxed at the sight in front of you.

   "It looks dead already, Buck," you said slightly raising your voice as you made your way to the knife throwing area. His head snapped to you and his posture completely altered. He stood up straighter and turned around so his side faced you, like he was covering something.

You raised an eyebrow at him and turned to face your body completely towards him. "3 a.m. is my time to train," you smiled teasingly.

He smirked from the side and shrugged, turning only his head to look at you. "Sorry I-"

   "I'm fucking with you," you cut him off, trying to suppress the laugh that threatened to escape your throat.

The thing with Bucky, was that he never showed anyone his metal arm. He'd wear long sleeves and barely leave his room, only letting Steve in for a while. When he did need to come out, he wore a glove that covered his hand, so nobody could see it.

You walked up to him slowly, now aware of what he was trying to hide. His body was completely turned so his metal arm was out of sight.

   "What are you doing?" He asked in a hushed but defined tone. "Don't," he took a step away from you, looking at the floor instead of you.

You didn't listen to his pleads as you walked closer and closer to him, causing his to give you a warning look.

   "Why'd you hide it," you asked in a sympathetic voice. He turned his head to you, his face trying to hold onto the firmness he was desperately trying not to let go. You were inches away from him, waiting for an answer.

He huffed a laugh. "Why not. It's a literal murder weapon. Not something to show off,"

You looked him in the eyes for a couple of seconds trying to find more answers in his ocean blue orbs that refused to let anyone in. You took your hand and slowly reached up to him, or rather, to the side of him, forcing him to face you.

He didn't say anything, or pull away. He let you turn his body around, but his face had nothing but fear and worry plastered on it. You could feel him slightly shake, which caused you to grip his side tighter, letting him know that it was fine.

His front was facing towards you now, a thin layer of sweat covered his body from the workout he previously endured. His metal arm was in your view, so you took your gaze off of his eyes and down at the arm.

It was your first time seeing it and it was beautiful. The silver looked brand new as it shined in the moons light emitting from the windows. Your eyes widened at the sight of it.

   "Woah," your breathed as you stared at the glistening metal. You looked up at him, "Can I touch it?" You whispered as you looked into his wide eyes. He just stared at you for a while, thinking of something to say.

   "Y-you're not scared of it?" He stuttered. A gentle smile appeared on your face, making his slightly relax. You let go of his side and both your hands slowly reached up to grab his metal wrist.

   "I think it's pretty," you shrugged, smiling.

His breathing hitched as your hands made contact with the metal. You rubbed your thumbs on the metal plates that ran down his forearm. You gripped his wrist tighter and your turned it around, making his palm face upwards.

The plates moved slightly, adjusting to the new position it was in.

   "Holy shit that's cool," you beamed as you kept turning his hand around, mesmerised with how it moved each time. Your movements and grip was gentle, even though he couldn't feel any of it.

Bucky's gaze never felt your hand, carefully watching your every move, afraid he'd hurt you some how.

Because of the tank top, the fuze line where his skin met the metal was visible. It was scratched and had a red tint to it, implying he'd try to get rid of it somehow.

   "Did it hurt?" You asked him as one of your hands ran up his arm, gently touching where his skin was scratched. The other stayed on his wrist, but held onto it gently, so he could pull away at any moment.  "Like, fusing it together with your normal skin?"

He didn't know what to say. He didn't know why he trusted himself enough to let you touch it, but it felt right. Something stopped him from pulling away, and he didn't fight it.

   "I wasn't wake when they were putting it on me," he whispered.

Your gentle gaze returned back to his face, your finger still tracing up and down the fuze line. You let go of his arm and stepped back slightly.

   "Thank you," you whispered back to him. "For showing me. I think it's beautiful,"

His muscles visibly tensed and relaxed from time to time. "You weren't scared of it?"

   "Why would I?" You told him smiling, creasing your brows slightly.

   "Because I killed people with it?" He relaxed completely now, as if he got used to the somehow welcoming tension in the room.

Despite being completely horrified of what he just let you do, he was happy there was someone out there who didn't treat him like an outcast.

You huffed a laugh, "I like it, Bucky," you pointed to it lazily. "You don't have to hide from me."

From then on, Bucky started letting you sit to his left, where he'd never let anyone sit. He started to trust himself with his arm, but only with you. He'd never let anyone else sit or stand on his left side beside you and Steve.

The rest of the avengers noticed, smiling at the progress that Bucky is making. They teased you about it, but you didn't care.

All you cared about is that Bucky trusted you.

It was progress.

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James "Bucky" Barnes ImaginesWhere stories live. Discover now