Different oneshots between Marvel Cinematic Universe's Bucky Barnes X Y/n (Female Reader) Most of them are an alternative universe, so doesn't match the mcu Storyline, some do, some don't, some oneshots are big, most are average sized or small, (In...
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Title: Whatever you say.
Summary: Never in a million years did you think, you did be sitting around with enemy from a different organisation.
The first time you crossed paths with Bucky Barnes, it was during a high-stakes mission that went south fast. You had orders from your organization, and he had his own orders from the Avengers, and both of you weren’t about to let the other succeed.
That night ended in a fistfight on a rooftop, with you nearly tumbling off the edge before he caught your wrist, a flicker of something unreadable in his eyes. You’d shrugged him off and disappeared into the night, but something about that moment lingered—annoying and persistent.
Now, months later, you’d run into each other enough times to know exactly what to expect: tension, insults, and your fists clashing mid-mission as you both scrambled to stay a step ahead of the other.
But tonight was different.
The mission had gone horribly wrong. You’d both been after the same target, but someone had gotten there first, setting off explosions that had triggered a lockdown in the building, trapping you both inside. Now, you were stuck together, holed up in a cold, dark basement, dust and rubble covering the floor. You could barely see a foot in front of you, but you could feel him close by—his presence annoyingly familiar.
“Great,” you muttered, rubbing your temples. “Of all the people in the world to be stuck with, it had to be you.”
“Trust me, the feeling’s mutual,” Bucky shot back, his voice gruff in the darkness.
You leaned back against the wall, exhaling sharply. “You know, if you hadn’t decided to play hero, we wouldn’t be in this mess.”
He snorted. “And if you hadn’t tried to grab the intel right out from under me, we’d both be on our way home.”
You rolled your eyes, even though you knew he couldn’t see it. Silence settled between you for a moment, broken only by the occasional drip of water somewhere in the distance. It was strange, sitting here, shoulder to shoulder with your so-called enemy, trapped with no choice but to wait for the dust to settle.
A few minutes passed, and then Bucky shifted, his voice breaking the silence again. “What exactly is it you’re after, anyway? Why do you keep showing up to my missions?”
You scoffed. “Please. As if I’d tell you. Maybe if you weren’t so busy playing superhero, you’d understand not everyone thinks you’re a saint.”
His jaw tightened, the faint outline of his face just visible in the dim light. “It’s not about being a saint. I’m doing what needs to be done—same as you.”
“Funny,” you replied, voice dripping with sarcasm. “You say that like we’re on the same side.”
He looked away, but not before you saw something in his eyes, a flicker of something deeper, almost sad. “Maybe we’re not as different as you think.”
You fell silent, thrown by his words. For the first time, you wondered if maybe there was more to him than the stoic, brooding soldier you’d come to loathe. You shifted uncomfortably, suddenly very aware of how close you were, his arm brushing against yours in the tight space.
“Maybe,” you replied quietly, not entirely convinced, but unable to ignore the strange feeling tugging at you.
The silence returned, heavier this time, charged with something you couldn’t quite name. You tried to focus on the mission, the intel you’d lost, anything but the fact that you were here, alone, with him. But then his voice broke through again, softer this time.
“Why do you hate me so much?”
You blinked, taken aback. “I… I don’t hate you. I just don’t trust you.”
He nodded, as if he’d expected that. “Fair enough. I wouldn’t trust me either.”
There was a vulnerability in his voice, something raw and real, and it threw you off balance. For the first time, you felt like you were seeing a glimpse of the man behind the mask.
“You don’t make it easy, you know,” you muttered, surprising even yourself with the softness in your tone.
He huffed a laugh, and for the first time, it didn’t sound bitter. “Guess I’m not used to making friends on the job.”
The tension between you shifted, softened, and you felt yourself relaxing, just a little. You glanced at him, studying his face in the faint light. Despite everything, there was something undeniably magnetic about him, something that made it impossible to look away.
“Maybe I don’t hate you,” you admitted, almost grudgingly. “But you’re still insufferable.”
He grinned, his expression almost boyish, and you felt your heart skip a beat. “I could say the same about you.”
You let out a laugh, genuine for the first time, and the sound seemed to hang in the air between you, warm and unexpected.
The silence that followed felt different, almost comfortable, as if the walls between you had finally begun to crack. Without thinking, you shifted closer, your shoulder pressing against his, and he didn’t pull away. Instead, he turned to face you, his gaze intense, searching.
Before you could process what was happening, his hand lifted, brushing a strand of hair away from your face. His touch was gentle, careful, and the gesture left you breathless, your heart pounding in your chest.
“You really don’t hate me?” he murmured, his voice barely above a whisper, his gaze flickering down to your lips.
You swallowed, your pulse racing. “I… don’t know.”
The air between you felt electric, heavy with something unspoken. He leaned in, his breath warm against your skin, and for a moment, you forgot about the mission, the rivalry, everything except the feel of his presence, the way his gaze held yours.
“Tell me to stop,” he murmured, his voice barely a whisper, his lips hovering just a breath away from yours.
But you didn’t. Instead, you closed the distance, your lips brushing against his in a tentative kiss, one that quickly deepened as the tension that had been simmering between you for so long finally ignited. His hand found your waist, pulling you closer, his touch both gentle and possessive, as if he’d been waiting for this moment as long as you had.
When you finally broke apart, breathless, his forehead rested against yours, his eyes dark and intense.
“This doesn’t change anything,” you whispered, half to convince yourself.
He smirked, his thumb brushing over your cheek. “Whatever you say.”
But as you sat there, wrapped up in his arms, you couldn’t shake the feeling that maybe, just maybe, things had already changed.
