Bucky Barnes Fanfiction Collection

Superman

Summary: 21 days, 18 hours and 37 minutes, Bucky left for a mission, and you're waiting for him to come back.
Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Reader
Warnings: Angst with a happy ending. This story has a Steve Rogers version.

"Miss Y/N," a voice called you away from your thoughts once again. "Miss Y/N?"

You lifted your eyes, embarrassed, to see one of your students staring at your face.

"Yes, Carl?" you answered promptly.

"The movie is over it's been five minutes," blood filled his pale cheeks. "Are you okay?"

Carl was one of your best students. Actually, he was your best student. He was a straight A 13 boy, with a very kind heart.

"Oh," you stood up from your chair, looking at your students. "So... Can someone start talking about what we just watched?"

You could barely remember what the movie was about. Your mind was fixed in Bucky, your boyfriend and an Avenger.

21 days 18 hours and 37 minutes ago, Bucky had left the apartment you shared to a mission in another country – one he hadn't told you the name – and, since that day, you haven't had any news about him. He was expected to come back after 10 days but three weeks had already passed and no news had come yet.

You were worried, could barely sleep or eat, much less work. Still, there you were at work, 'cause you couldn't afford not coming.

"Johnny?" you pointed to the boy with a hand raised above his head.

When he started talking, you barely registered any of his words. The rest of the day was a flash as you just wanted to rush to your apartment. Maybe Bucky was home waiting for you.

When you got there, though, the place was just like you left it, empty and sad. So, you proceeded to what you've been doing for almost a month now, working beside the window that gave you a view of the street, wearing Bucky's huge hoodie. If anyone stopped by the entrance of the building, you could see clearly who it was with little effort.

Every time a taxi or a car stopped, you stood on your feet, expecting to see Bucky leaving it and looking up to meet your eyes.

Needless to say, it was never him.

When your phone rang by your side, you took a whole moment to identify it, and another one to answer, your heart pounding against your chest like a rock n' roll song. Maybe it was bad news.

You picked up with your hands shaking, just like every time.

"Y/N?" your best friend sounded on the other side, and you let out a heavy sighed.

"Hey," you answered without much energy.

"No news yet?"

You didn't answer for a moment, seeing as a car stopped by your street and a dark-haired head pop outside just to them reveal a skinny man, much to your sadness.

"No," you finally answered. "No news."

"Did you call any of his friends? Natasha, Steve...?"

"No response," you said without emotion.

Have a superhero boyfriend was never easy and you Bucky made sure you knew it when you started dating, three and a half years ago. You've experienced two or three days without news about him during big missions, but no more than that. 21 days? Far too long.

She sighed on the other side, and you knew what was to come.

"Y/N, maybe..."

"No."

She would suggest you should look at hospitals, and say that maybe he was dead.

Maybe tell you to forget.

"You ain't Lois Lane, Y/N," she whispered. "And he isn't Superman. He's not immortal, he's..."

"I know," you interrupted her. "I know that, okay? But I know he's fine. He is fine!"

Your call didn't last for long after that and you soon were alone again.

You were just a school teacher. Not a superhero, nor an agent, just a regular woman. You were quite a match.

You closed your eyes, muttering a prayer. You weren't one for praying, at least you weren't before days ago, but after Bucky disappeared you became a believer quickly. It was more often than not that you woke up after falling asleep by the window, praying to whatever could be listening to you while waiting for him to come back home.

"He's coming," you assured yourself in whispers. "He's coming."

With three more days like this one, your week came to one end, and your Saturday was a different version of the whole week. On the weekends, you just sat there right after waking up, dressed in the same hoodie – many times without any breakfast – and watched, prayed and hoped Bucky would come home. Then, after midnight, you would fall asleep with your face dripping with silent tears. That's what you did.

When you woke up, you knew things were different.

First, you were on a bed, and second, there were arms around you, one of them entirely made of metal. Strong and arms attached to the man you knew too well, snoring softly behind you, his grip strong around your fragile body.

"Bucky?" you whispered, one hand falling over his. "Bucky, is that you?"

He took seconds to answer, but you soon felt the smile against the crock of your neck.

"Hello, doll," he whispered, sleepy.

Turning around as fast as you could, you stared at your boyfriend's tired face. He was beaten up, that was a fact. His left eye was healing from what looked like a punch, his lips had a cut and his eyebrow a superficial cut, everything already healing.

"Bucky," you wrapped your arms around him, clinging to his body like your life depended on it. "I was so worried, I was so scared. I thought you... You..."

He shushed you with a small kiss.

"I'm so sorry," he whispered, touching your damp cheek, making you realise you were crying. "Our communication lines were cut off, the mission took much longer than we expected... I'm so sorry."

He tried to dry your tears but every time he did it you only cried more, to the point your tears were wetting his sleeping shirt.

"I entered and you were sat by the window," he whispered, trying to ignore the tears in his own eyes, touching your cheek. "You look so small with my hoodie. I missed you so much, I didn't know... I didn't... I'm so sorry."

His words only made you cling to him harder, your face stuck in the space between his neck and his shoulder.

"Don't do it again," you finally managed to say. "Don't ever do it again."

"I'll try, love," he answered, his lips pressed in the side of your forehead. "I promise, I'll try."