pov- imagines

CLEMENTINES- B. BARNES

pairings: bucky barnes x reader, platonic!natasha romanoff x reader, platonic!steve rogers, other mentions of avengers
warnings: language, mostly fluff but there's angst if you squint real hard in the beginning
about: inspired by a scene in criminal minds i randomly remembered and prompt reader carrying around food for bucky since he forgets to eat
a/n: literally so excited to share this with you guys. i have a couple of fics i really do like and want you guys to read, and this is the first of them!

"i thought this was a real mission," bucky grumbles, shifting uncomfortably in the tight black suit tony had forced steve to force on him. he's stuffed into a tiny black chair outside the office where you're supposed to get called into, although neither of you has for most of the day.

"this is a real mission," steve insists for the second time from next to you, also shoved inside a too-small chair and a tux. "probably one on the harder side, too," he mutters.

"'thought missions were supposed to have dirt and blood and fighting. not entitled, rich assholes and idiot government officials. 'was actually hoping to avoid all of that."

you sigh in agreement, looking up at steve while you shrug, "i think i'd rather have that, actually. at least tony takes me out to eat after." bucky grunts in agreement, and your attention lifts to him, narrowing your eyes as you examine him from head to toe, well aware he probably forgot to eat breakfast after his run and is starving due to his rapid metabolism.

steve is about to respond—probably pretend to disagree even though you heard his stomach rumble a few minutes prior—when sam opens the door to the office, nodding to him, "the other old white guy needs you in here. 'gotta suck you in, sorry."

steve sighs heavily before getting himself out of the chair and entering the room.

you stare at the closed door, the reason why you and bucky are the only ones left outside in the hallway pretty damn clear to you. feeling hungry at the anger, you go to pull open the zipper of your bag, the deep color matching the blazer and pencil skirt pepper had hung up on your door that morning.

you pull out one of the clementines you'd hastily shoved in there before you left, the bright orange fruit in your fingers, nails already digging into and splitting open the skin. a minute of silence where you simply strip away the peel while he looks at your hands passes by, his eyebrows furrowing as little droplets of sticky juice fall on your expensive skirt.

you eat a slice once you manage to remove it, humming at the taste of the clementine that you break with your teeth. as you pull off another slice, you catch his observing eyes follow your finger as you lick away the orange bubbles that remain on your nails. smirking, you tear off a slice and hand it to him, watching as he eyes it wearily for a moment before taking it from your hold and biting into it.

it goes like that for a few more minutes, you handing him slices and occasionally popping some into your mouth while you discuss what you're going to eat later, and all the shows you want to watch later on, and last weeks' mission.

you go through the two clementines stuffed inside your purse, and neither of you ever go inside the stupid conference room.

-

it's three in the morning when natasha walks out of the training room to find you peeling clementines, two small baggies laid on the table, one filled up and one seemingly about to be.

"what the hell are you doing?" she questions, making your eyes drift from the orange skin peels between your fingers to her without a flinch at the disturbance. you stare at her for a silent moment, continuing to peel the fruit in your hands distractedly.

"i'm peeling clementines," you answer obviously after a few seconds of silence, looking back down at your work once you realize all the skin is gone. slices are broken apart, aromatic juice smelling of citrus spraying on your skin and the marble countertops beneath you.

"okay," natasha says slowly, walking towards you, "why are you peeling oranges at..." she turns to look at the digital clock on the stove behind you, raising an eyebrow, "three thirty-eight in the morning."

"clementines," you correct swiftly, gently storing the pieces of fruit inside the little baggie that natasha has noticed has the name bucky written on it, a goofy little heart drawn next to the word. she cocks her head at the sight of you filling it up with two more clementines than the other one had.

"fine, why are you peeling clementines at three thirty-nine in the morning?" she obliges. you shrug, popping a piece from an unmarked baggie natasha assumes is for you into your mouth.

"personal reasons."

natasha snorts, walking over to stare at you from a closer distance, "please. there's nothing personal in between these walls. it's why nothing with anyone's name on it is ever actually eaten by that person."

"i like clementines." you reply simply, "and, please, you really think anyone would eat something with my name on it? or yours, for that matter?" at the slight cock of her head, you smirk to yourself, knowing you're right.

"they'll eat something that says bucky," she points out, stealing a slice from your baggie.

"i know, which is why i won't leave this out," you zip up the small bag, shaking it gently before placing it next to you. you close your own bag as well, scrawling your name on a small piece of tape as well as a small note reminding everyone what would happen if you woke up to find your fruit gone. then, you pull out another one, labeled nat, and lay it in front of her. "good night," you say as you walk away, bucky's bag swinging gently in your hand.

-

the mission—definitely more entertaining than the goddamn conference you and bucky never went into, by the way—is finally, thankfully, over. you're all tired and annoyed at the fact you have to sit in the boring conference room, debriefing, but none of you have a genuine excuse to not be here this time, so you sit and blink slowly, answering questions that steve and tony already know the answers to and monotonically reciting the events of the mission.

while someone in the front discusses their job, you think back to the last time you saw bucky eat something, unsurprised but disappointed to realize he hadn't since the morning. you know it isn't his fault, he just forgets. it was never a priority in hydra, and it isn't a particular priority now unless he's passing out or you're shooting him a death glare while worriedly shoving food between his hands—or at the worst, his lips.

you bend to pull out the bag you'd guarded better than the files you were assigned to steal, pleased to find it in perfect condition before opening it and offering one of its contents to bucky right next to you. he looks from you to the little clementine slice you hold in between your index and thumb before plucking it from you and pushing it between his lips.

you hand him the whole bag, gesturing to the little label with his name when he frowns a little, thinking you were giving him something you'd packed for yourself. you wink at him, opening your other pocket and pulling out your own little bag. he grins a little at you, realizing how hungry he is and spending the rest of the meeting with the juice from the clementine sticky on his fingers.

you discover it's on his lips too after it's over, when you're both sitting on the couch, bowls of food sitting in front of you on the table, still untouched and ready to be eaten as bucky's lips move against yours, citrus of the clementine sweet on your tongue.