Temporal Infinity

temporal infinity

summary: you arrive at the Complex wounded and Bucky can't cope with the avalanche of feelings that come with the possible outcome of this situation.

pairing: bucky barnes x avenger!reader

words: +3k. i am TRULY sorry, this came out way too much longer than i expected, probably a lot of unnecessary words but i'm too sleepy to correct it. i'll see it tomorrow.

warnings: descriptions of injuries, blood and death. also A LOT of angst, i am sorry. i don't know what happened to me while writing this. English is not my native language so sorry for any mistake!

note: i just found it really funny and ironic that i'm listening to kiss me more while writing this, just fun facts.

Bucky felt his lungs fill with ice as he ran. The sound in the corridors was an annoying whistling in his ear, and the way his vision blurred every couple of minutes gave him a painful nauseating sensation that he knew he could only overcome by vomiting. His feet now moved on automatic, and his mind thought of nothing but getting there soon, getting there on time. His hands clutched at every structure he passed, steadying his body but shaking off the web of disjointed thoughts that barely allowed him to concentrate on what was happening.

That morning had started well. You were supposed to finally be back with the rest of the team -Steve, Nat and Clint- after two weeks since they'd left. Two weeks, fourteen days that had been tremendous torture for Bucky, because from the second day they had lost all communication with the team and had no idea what was going on. On the thirteenth day, Steve had managed to communicate with Maria Hill, telling her that he and Nat had been separated from you and Clint since the third day when they were ambushed. The building you were in collapsed and they had not heard from you for several days.

Bucky hadn't been able to sleep that night.

A rescue team went to the address Steve had told them they were at, with a medical unit on board. But Maria didn't say who needed that attention, though Bucky could sense it in a deep part of him. A part of him that refused to listen and that beat himself into silence at the thought of finally seeing you again after so many days and nights thinking about the endless possibilities; the myriad of endings.

He hadn't even noticed how dark the day had been since he woke up, or how everyone around him seemed so quiet. Or maybe it was him, who had drifted into his own world, the one where you came back from the mission and ran from the Quinjet to meet him, as you had hundreds of times before. Surely it was Bucky who was silent, and the rest of the world was running at a speed he refused to keep up with, because that part of him that didn't want to accept that small possibility kept nagging at his stability and the only way he found to quiet it was to walk at a slower pace. To reduce the odds to one: you had arrived safely. Everything was going to be all right.

But the moment FRIDAY announced to him in the training room that the rescue team had arrived, that small, demonic part of him had taken control of his body again. Now, Bucky was moving faster than the others, while they seemed to slow down as they accepted the truth that he'd been grimacing at and locking away in the back of his mind all day.

Now, Bucky was scared. He was scared to his bones.

As he turned the last corner of the hallway to get to the room he'd been directed to, he noticed Steve's body, sitting on one of the chairs in front of the door with the number he'd memorized in seconds, his head in his hands, his suit torn. His heart skipped a beat and, although he wanted to keep running, the pain in his chest and the uneasy tingling in his hands prevented him from hurrying any further. He felt he was reaching his limit.

Steve heard his footsteps and raised his head. Bucky quickly noticed the dried strands of blood, the bruises and the.... No. No.

"Bucky..."

The blond man stood up heavily, as if carrying his own body was too much at the moment. Bucky moved closer to him, but not too close, just close enough to shake his head. No. No.

"I'm sorry..."

He shook his head sharply. As more tears welled up in Steve's eyes after he uttered those words, Bucky hurried to open the door wide.

At that moment, he felt the blood rush to his feet. He had never felt fear as great as he felt at that moment, his body tense but light as a mountain of dry leaves, capable of collapsing in a mere autumn breeze.

You were lying on the stretcher. There were hundreds of machines around you, so many that Bucky could barely make out your body among them all. Your black suit was torn, there was blood everywhere, even on the floor under the stretcher, and soon Bucky had that vomiting feeling again.

His fingers were trembling, too weak to clasp his hands and have the strength to approach without collapsing. The pain in his chest had been replaced by a noisy emptiness; a silence so loud that for a moment he thought a bomb had exploded right next to him. When he felt his eyes water, he ran the back of his hand under them in an automatic action. Seconds later he didn't even remember doing it.

His steps forward, slow and fearful, felt numb, light and unsteady, as if you were trying to sink an empty bottle into the water, trying fiercely to return to the surface.

Clint was facing you, on the other side of the stretcher. His hands were resting on the metal edge and he hadn't left your side since you'd been brought back. Bucky barely glanced at him for a second, but Clint averted his gaze to look at the man with the metal arm, lost in a sense of unease like a castaway at sea, scared shitless but hoping to find land. To steady himself.

Bucky murmured your name, in a broken, strained sigh, like a prayer to an unknown god. Like a prayer to whoever was listening. He was already too close to the stretcher and too deep in pain to turn back and pretend that nothing had happened, that he would come back when all was well.

He watched you with eyes shining and abounding with a sense of brokenness. Your eyes weren't watching him, fixed on the ceiling as silent tears slipped away from you and got lost in the strands of your hair.

Bucky's hands burned to touch you, to squeeze your hand and pull you to his chest; his heart shrank with the need to make the pain go away, to take you and make the wounds in your body simply disappear to give way to the tranquillity of a secure future. The future you had promised him.

No, that couldn't be happening to him.

"Bucky," you whispered, barely on a breath.

He snapped out of it, a rush running down his back and the desire, the need, to care for you emerging from his chest with overwhelming force.

A few seconds passed as he made his way towards you, trying not to touch the machines too much.

Watching your face, after days of despair and worry, did nothing to change the drain on his hope. It slipped through his fingers like sand.

Your eyes moved from the ceiling, searching for his as you felt him move beside you. Finding them unleashed a joy in your chest despite the immeasurable pain you were going through, like the sip of cool water after hours of aimless running; like finding your home in a person's arms after years of running alone.

"Hi," you said, holding back a sob. You knew you couldn't hide the agony you were feeling, let alone the agony he would feel later, but you wanted to feel, even for a moment, as if everything was perfect.

As if you weren't really dying.

"Hello," he replied in a whisper, his eyes fixed on yours as one of his hands would have moved to cradle one of your cheeks, careful not to graze the small cuts you had on it.

"You know something? I thought a lot about what you said to me," you began, your voice breaking between words but trying to remain as steady as possible.

Bucky moved his hip closer to the edge of the gurney, watching you as if in that moment nothing else mattered; as if after that moment nothing ever ever mattered again.

"Which of all the things I said, sweetheart?"

His thumb stroked you gently, and the finesse courtesy of his touch sent shivers through the parts of your body that weren't numb from anesthesia, or the parts that didn't hurt. God, how you loved when he did that.

"If we had a daughter, I think I'd like her name to be Betty."

The lump in his throat became unbearable, and the first tears that escaped his pain-contracted face fell on your torn clothes. He watched you, and his gaze said a million things at once, while the hand that was on your cheek shook hard.

No, you couldn't say those things to him. Not at that time. Not ever.

Your left hand rested on his hand, and the ring on your ring finger glowed as if the promise of that future was taunting him; as if the universe had played a joke on him from the beginning, making him believe he could have it all only to have it all snatched away. How could he have hope after this? How could he go on living with your memories together haunting him, taunting his fateful destiny?

"You said- you said that was the name you liked best."

Your voice was a whisper, but Bucky could tell how hard you were trying to speak as steadily as possible. And he couldn't handle it, he just couldn't.

His eyes closed tightly and more tears rolled down his cheeks. With his head bowed, he sobbed loudly and the image broke your soul into a thousand pieces. You hated that this was happening, you hated that you were to blame for this suffering and you hated that you couldn't do anything to fix it. To help him. To stay with him.

"Yes," Bucky whispered, lifting his head to look at you again, though the mere image contracted his heart in pangs of genuine torment, "But you had told me you liked Victoria too."

You smiled at him as best you could, your hand tightening on his.

"I had considerable time to think about it. Victoria was my great-grandmother's name. The one who left me the typewriter, remember?"

Bucky nodded, his eyes never leaving yours.

"There was a time when I thought about naming my first daughter after her, but you captivated me from the moment you said Betty. I just wanted to play hard to get," you blurted out the last between a laugh and a wince, to which Bucky frowned, but said nothing about it.

"First? So you had time to consider having more?"

"Yeah, totally. I want a boy too."

Bucky smiled slightly at you, but without reaching his eyes fully, which were still awash with that agony and anticipated suffering he was not yet ready to endure.

"And what name would you give our son, love?"

"James."

Bucky frowned.

"James?"

"Yes," you replied with a slightly bigger smile, "It's a nice name, don't you think?"

Bucky just nodded, agreeing with you without hesitation. He finished settling his weight on the gurney, very careful not to brush against you, and lifted his other hand to accommodate your damp hair that was spilling over your face.

"I had also thought of another name for a girl, since we didn't agree on one last time."

You looked at him expectantly.

"Inez."

"I love it," you said without hesitation, your corners lifting, adorning your eyes bright with anticipation and missed possibilities, "It could be our third daughter's name."

Bucky let out a laugh, choking back a whimper in the back of his throat.

"How many of our children did you project?"

"Just those three. There could always be more."

"Yes," Bucky smiled ruefully, new tears gathering behind his eyes, "Maybe one will sneak in before the wedding."

"Oh, yeah. The wedding, right. I haven't finished arranging the invitations yet."

Your voice broke again, the feeling of the inevitable shaking your chest hard. You watched Bucky's contracted face, and you didn't want to suppress the urge to move your hands up to cradle his drenched face.

You smiled at him again, still mustering what strength you could to hold on for a few more seconds.

"I can't do this," he murmured, tears escaping once more.

"You'll be fine, Bucky," you assured him, wiping his cheeks with your thumbs. He shook his head frantically at your words, "Yes, Bucky. You're going to be fine, you're going to get through this, my love. And you're going to heal. You're going to be fine."

"No..." he sobbed.

Suddenly, you felt a stab of pain jolt through your body. You had to bite your tongue to keep from screaming in shock and to keep from scaring Bucky. The burning in the left side of your abdomen was becoming more and more present, the anaesthetic finally wearing off.

"I can't do this without you. Please, don't leave me."

"Yes, you can. You're strong, love. You're going to make it without me."

Bucky continued to deny, and pulled his head close to your chest to cry loudly. His shoulders shook violently and you felt the ravages of his suffering slowly shattering what tiny strength you had left.

"I'm going to miss you. Every damn day."

"I know, I'm sorry," you whispered, choking back tears just like him.

"This isn't fair," he mumbled through his teeth, his hands coming down to your shoulders, groping carefully not to hurt you, "It's not fair."

"I'm sorry."

Bucky lifted his head, and with tear-filled eyes watched you. Your body filled with a feeling of helplessness, your will to go on more alive than ever but a little strength couldn't change what was already written for your future. No matter how much you wanted, longed, wished or prayed, nothing was going to change that at that moment you were going to die and you were going to leave this man mourning your loss in life, empty and automaton-like for the rest of his days.

The pangs became more and more present, and you remembered the doctor's words, a few minutes before Bucky arrived: when the anaesthetic begins to wear off, there will be little time left.

You moved your hands over his cheeks, over his eyebrows, along his forehead and jawline, until you reached the curve of his lips. You didn't know where you were going after this, whether to heaven, to a new life or to absolute nothingness, but what you did know was that there was no place in this vast universe you wanted to be without remembering every millimetre and faction of his face. There was no place you wanted to be without remembering the colour of his irises and the way his eyes would close and his brow would relax every time you stroked his temples, as you were doing at that moment.

A feeling of despair began to emerge from your chest, so strongly that for a moment it took your breath away. More tears rolled down your face as you watched him, for a moment quiet under the effect of your caresses on him, surely thinking for a minute that you were somewhere else, doing something else instead of agonising over a premature goodbye. Perhaps you were at your wedding, after your vows, kissing, or perhaps on your way to your honeymoon destination.

Your hands moved to intertwine behind his neck, and before he could open his eyes to return to this reality, you pulled him forward and joined your lips with his. Strong, clumsy and desperate, but with a need to let him know that you were still there, that you were doing your best even when you knew it wouldn't do any good, and that even if you weren't around afterwards, you would always be with him. A part of you would always be with him.

Bucky was so desperate too, so anxious for the touch, that he couldn't even coordinate his movements properly. He just wanted to feel you, wanted to know that you were still there, that he still had seconds to lose himself in his temporal infinity.

His lips on yours, probably for the last time, were like a balm. A warm sensation and a burning feeling of tranquility and peace was what overwhelmed you as Bucky, desperately, clung to your body to try to keep the life inside you; to try to lengthen the thread of destiny that had already been cut.

No one had ever spoken to him about death, even though he carried it on his shoulders. No one had ever told him what it would feel like to lose the one he loved. No one had told him that he would be in so much pain that he would tear out his heart with his metal hand so that he would never feel it again, so that he would never feel it again for the rest of his life, so that he could go with her because he would not be able to bear her loss.

No one ever told Bucky how he would know when death would come knocking at his door, taking away the only good thing he had in his life, the only good thing he had ever managed to keep with him even though he didn't deserve it. No one told him that death would be so vicious, so ruthless and brazen as to attack him from behind while he was unsuspecting.

No one ever warned Bucky that death is unexpected and knows no boundaries.

And he didn't need to hear someone's words to know that, if he took his lips away from yours, he would no longer meet your eyes gazing adoringly at him. It had already happened. Just like that. You were gone.

He hadn't even said goodbye, and the last thing you had done was apologise to him. And for what? For the unholy, sadistic act of chance? Or maybe because of the divine punishment you had been the victim of for all the atrocious deeds that filled his hands with blood.

Maybe it was his fault. Maybe he had caused all this.

"Y/N..." he murmured against your lips, unable to pull away any further to confirm what his bruised heart already knew, "Don't leave me."

One of his hands went around the back of your neck and the other around your waist to pull you as close to his body as possible, even ignoring the sticky feel of your shirt on his right arm.

"Please, wake up. Look at me. Y/N. Please ,don't leave me. I can't do it, I need- I need you to be with me. Please. I love you. Don't leave me."

His shoulders shook, like that moment when he had hidden in the crook of your neck to cry vehemently, but even then it was worse. Because your hands didn't caress his hair, and he didn't feel your breath on his neck.

You just weren't there.

"No, no, no. Please. Please!"

You weren't there, and it was his fault.

"Y/N."

No answer.

"You're my life. I can't..."

His grip on your body tightened.

"Stay with me, please..."

Hearing his broken voice was agonizing, and no one inside the room dared approach to pull him away from your lifeless body. He just rocked back and forth, clinging as tightly as it could to the possibility of seeing you again just to beg someone, anything, for mercy.

But that wasn't going to happen. Because deep inside him, in the place he hadn't been since you came into his life, he knew he didn't deserve that pity. He didn't deserve that pity. Years of killing proved it.

And he also knew that this was the beginning of endless misfortunes that would follow him until his last breath.

Because the only thing that gave him hope that everything would be all right was you. And now you were gone.

Now there was nothing. There was no one. He was alone.

There was nothing left. There was nothing left to fight for. There was only a deep darkness, an empty and eternal hole of suffering.

The only light that came, that brightened his days and made him bloom was gone. His sun had gone out, and with it had taken everything with it.

There was nothing left.

He was alone.

-----

i am sorry.

and i did use the names of taylor swift's album folklore, i'm not the least bit surprised.

your blog sucks

you should see my life

ivy

summary: you have to accept your fate as the wife of another man while the one you love decides to step back.

pairing: royal!au bucky barnes x reader (around 1800's)

words: +2.5k

warnings: very angsty? that's the word, isn't it? highly inspired by ivy (taylor swift always right) and i am not surprised. English is not my native language, so sorry for any mistakes! also, i'll probably edit this later, and add a few things to it. i only wrote this at midnight and I'm half asleep. EDITED! :)

that's it, hope you like it!

i'd live and die for moments that we stole on begged and borrowed time so tell me to run or dare to sit and watch what we'll become

The ballroom was more crowded than you would expect. People were moving around, laughing and dancing as best they could to the melody that echoed loudly from the band playing at the back of the hall. The sound of clinking glasses and laughing eyes were a constant under your gaze, sharp but cautious, as well as haughty and tense, waiting. Just waiting.

You couldn't stop moving around the room. You encountered countless new faces every time you turned a corner of the castle. It was definitely a huge party, surely worthy of celebrating an event of such magnitude as the one that day. Despite your reluctance to hold such a (gigantic) gathering, you were quickly convinced by the people you lived with in that place, who easily persuaded you by pointing out all the advantages that such a big celebration could bring to the town: besides generating more unity as all the people of the kingdom were present, it was also the perfect opportunity to create political and commercial ties with the regents of the neighbouring kingdoms.

It was, quite simply, the perfect moment for everything and everyone.

Except for you.

The engagement celebration party.

Your engagement to the new king of Anderland, Steven Rogers.

That morning went by too fast. Your mother showed up too early in your chambers, exclaiming that it was the big day where news of such magnitude would be made public and that you were surely entirely happy about what was soon to happen. Marrying Steve, the great and compassionate King Steve. Yes, it was a great event for the kingdom and the reputation of your father's legacy. Your sister, the ruthless Natasha, had appeared in your room in the same manner as your mother with a big smile on her face, and behind her her entourage of professional make-up artists who were going to fix you up for the rest of the morning, the Black Widows.

But the truth was, no, you were not entirely happy. And that fact, if they ever noticed it, was completely overlooked by your mother and Natasha, and even your father, to whom you were closest. It was only a few hours later, minutes before the great feast was to begin, that one person could see the misfortune you were trying to hide in the dull gleam of your eyes.

The Duchess of Vandurness, Wanda Maximoff. Your best friend and only confidante, the only one who truly knew the whole truth.

"By the gods. I haven't seen you this down since Roy passed away," Wanda commented as soon as she entered your room and noticed the dull expression that adorned your face, trying unsuccessfully to cheer you up after reminding you of your dog's death a couple of months ago, "Sorry, bad choice of words."

She approached you with a sympathetic expression, as if she could understand the pain that tightened your chest and the helplessness that left a lump in your throat, but the truth was you didn't know if she could understand.

"I know it's not the big moment you were expecting, nor with whom you were expecting it, but the faster it happens the less strong the pain will be. I promise."

And it was a lie. Of course it was. Wanda didn't lie often, mainly because she wasn't good at it, but when it happened you used to hold on tightly to that lie, because you preferred it to the agonizing grief that would come with accepting the raw truth.

The beginning of the night was hard, amidst fake smiles and hundreds of congratulations from both the townspeople and the kings of the nearby kingdoms. The sight of the pile of dresses swaying to the music and your family pretending that everything was perfect as they chatted animatedly with Steve and his parents, made you terribly anxious because you knew that, when the day was over, there would be no turning back. After that night, your days would be numbered and there would be no escape from the destiny that had been forcibly and fiercely marked in the book of your life.

A destiny in which you were marrying Steve, and not the man you truly loved.

Bucky.

"Everything okay, sweetheart?" You heard Steve's voice before you felt his arm around your waist. You lifted your head to watch his blue eyes sparkle under the chandeliers with a confessed adoration for your person, "You've been walking all over the place for a while now."

"Yeah, all good," you quickly replied and returned your gaze to the crowd of couples dancing animatedly, "I'm just feeling a little overwhelmed. There are too many people."

"Sure," Steve exclaimed, as if he had suddenly remembered how much you disliked being around people for so long, especially in celebration of an event that caused you nothing but torture, but he couldn't know that, "If you want, I can ask Wanda to escort you to your quarters. I saw her a few seconds ago talking to..."

"Steve," you interrupted him when he had raised his head to try to look for Wanda in the crowd, "No need. I'll take a walk around the courtyard."

"You sure? I can walk with you..."

"I'll be fine, I can take care of myself."

Steve's hand, the one that wasn't around your waist, held your hand as you gave him a tight-mouthed smile. He believed you without hesitation. Of course he did, he always did. He slowly approached your face, not taking his gaze from yours for several seconds, until his lips made contact with yours for a few brief seconds, as if he had all the time in the world to do better later.

His hand squeezed your waist lightly before he let go and gave you a deeply enamoured smile before pulling away and starting to walk to the Stark family table, one of the most important ones. The king, Tony, and Steve had a good relationship, both in battle and when it came to sitting down to talk business or just mundane things like planning a festival in their respective kingdoms to celebrate their recent business union. You could tell he was one of the few people Steve considered a friend.

You averted your gaze as your future husband took a seat between Tony and his wife, and took a deep breath which, for familiar reasons, caused a burning in your chest that you had been trying to control for months.

You began to make your way to the gold decorated glass door that led to a grand stone staircase adorned with beautiful green bushes, freshly trimmed that morning, with breathtaking floral arrangements.

As you finished descending the steps, you noticed Wanda seated to the left of the exit along with her brother, Duke Pietro Maximoff. Their gazes focused on your figure as you stopped to watch them, both so condescending and kind, willing to turn a blind eye as you walked to the back of the courtyard, knowing the way by heart. Walking with the same speed and emotion as hundreds of times before, days in a row and nights on the run, burning with the pain of stolen moments and tight-mouthed smiles full of anguish; expressions that tried to hide an affliction that they tried to appease with the warmth of two bodies.

A fiery grief that would never be extinguished.

"Bucky," you whispered like a prayer, watching the man through the window of the small gardening house where he spent most of his time, "Bucky."

You opened the door with a little more force than usual, and the man was elated for a few seconds. When your gaze met his, a bitter feeling welled up in his chest, and you felt the same sourness pass through your body as he turned his gaze to the ground refusing to continue to look at something that could never be his. Something that did not belong to him, nor something he would belong to.

You approached slowly, closing the door behind you, always bolted. You watched his body tense as you were too close to be able to brush his body with a breath. So close to love and so far from accepting the truth.

"The flowers are beautiful," was the only thing that could come out of your mouth, as you felt a burning in your eyes that you were sadly familiar with, "I would never have imagined that dahlias and lilies would create such a sight to behold as you arranged them."

Bucky felt a shiver run through his body as he heard your voice crack. The temptation to raise his hands so that he could shelter you in his arms, trying to drown out and drive away the grief that also gripped him at those moments. But he couldn't... he shouldn't.

You raised one of your hands to rest on his shoulder, and though you knew he wanted to repel the gesture, he did not. He held still as you ran your fingers up and down the material of his shirt.

"I'm sorry," you murmured, choking back a sob.

"It's not your fault."

"I could have objected, I can make my own decisions."

"You couldn't have done anything. You couldn't change the decisions that were made before you were born."

The man turned his face to look at you, your eyes crystalline like dewdrops on flowers and the ground after a rainy day. His eyes narrowed as he tried to contain his suffering as you freely expressed it, because he did not want to collapse in front of you. He had always been the strong one, he couldn't let himself be defeated at that moment.

"I should have tried harder," you try to excuse yourself, but Bucky was already shaking his head in denial.

"There was nothing we could do. That's how it was supposed to happen."

His cold hand took yours, squeezing it a little as if that way he could appease the aching clamour of your need to be with him. Of him being the man you would soon marry, the one to put that ring on your finger, on the hand he held so tightly, as if just letting go of it meant he had to let you go forever; let you go with someone who wasn't him, and that was totally unacceptable.

"It's not fair. I don't understand why my father wouldn't listen to me. There's nothing he won't do for me, why not this time... not...?"

"Steve is a good man, Y/N, he'll know how to take care of you."

"No, no, no..." you shook your head repeatedly, trying to get the idea that you would spend the rest of your life with a man you didn't love out of your mind, "Don't you dare, Barnes."

"We've spent so much time pushing our luck, I feel like we're already running out."

"You started this! If we're burning now it's because of you, and now you don't want to do anything about it," your voice sounded desperate, trying to find a way out of this little war in which they had no chance of winning.

"The best thing we can do is to leave it here, just go our separate ways from now on. We can't risk it any more."

"You told me this wouldn't happen," your eyes quickly blurred with tears that expressed the uneasiness that haunted your stability like a threat, "And you said - you said if this happened, we'd leave. You said we'd leave! You said you weren't going to leave me alone."

"We can't do that. We'd spend our whole lives running away."

"So what of it?"

"Running away to survive isn't life, Y/N."

The fire that burned in the pit of your stomach didn't subside, it only seemed to grow hotter with every word that came out of the mouth of the man in front of you. The man who had promised you a life and was now tearing it all apart in front of you like a tiny sheet of paper.

You couldn't stop the sobs that came out of your mouth, that tried to give sound to the unbearable pain you felt knowing that there was nothing to fight for now.

A broken heart.

"You're a coward," you managed to say, then abruptly pulled your hands away from his. The look of rage and anger you gave him froze him for a few seconds, trying to understand that he had caused it with his insecurities and his infinite fear of ruining your life, "You said you weren't going to leave," your voice came out as a broken whisper, a sentence you repeated to try to convince yourself that what was happening couldn't be true.

"I'm doing what I think is best for you."

"What's best for me?" you exclaimed, incredulously. It seemed that the man in front of you was not the same man who smiled at you every morning when you had your clandestine meetings, lamenting the loss of his dreams, his promises and the living. "What's best for me is to be with you, Bucky! Not with Steve, not with my parents, not in this castle. If you're not here none of this will be worth it in the end."

"I can't give you what you need, or what you deserve. You're not going to have a good life with me."

"It's going to be a good life just by being with you."

Bucky pursed his lips, his eyes glazing over just like yours the first time you spoke. He was afraid to speak for a few seconds, feeling his breath hitch with every sullen breath he took trying to calm the runaway beating of his heart. His heart, which rejected everything that came out of his mouth.

The feeling of despair mixed with helplessness took over his resignation and he was quickly trying to find a way to make you see reason. To let you know that really this, all this suffering, was for the welfare of both of you. His lack and inadequacy of words made him feel incapable of anything for a moment. His world was falling apart.

"What are we supposed to do if he found out? He'd destroy this damn castle!"

You cringed as Bucky turned away from you and ran his hands through his dark hair. His exalted voice hadn't surprised you, you'd heard him angry a couple of times before, but that voice had never been directed at you with such rage and impotence. He had never looked at you the way he did now: scared, desperate and fearful of what might happen, whether you would continue all this from the shadows, as always, or whether you would decide to run away and not look back, knowing that you would live with a sign marked on your back with someone chasing you wherever you set foot.

And, sadly, he was right.

"I can't do this, Y/N, it's too... painful."

"But you can't just walk away. I'm covered in you. I'm your half and you're mine. Wherever we go, a part of the other is always going to be incomplete."

"Then I will rejoice in the knowledge that someday our halves will meet again, and be united as they once were."

His eyes watched you resignedly, and though you wanted to yell at him to try to talk some sense into him, you knew he was too stubborn. You took no comfort in knowing that he would suffer if he left, because you would be the same. At least he would have his freedom, he could freely start a life with whomever he wanted the moment he left this realm, but what about you? You would have to start a life, as queen, hand in hand with someone to whom you cannot, nor will you ever be able to, return the love he professes for you.

The adoration with which you looked at Bucky, how your hands worshipped him as if he were some kind of mythological god and how your body reacted to his, was something you could never give to Steve. It was something you could never give to anyone else you were with after Bucky.

He broke you. Something in you died that night as you watched him resign himself to losing the fight he'd started, but wasn't capable of fighting even because it was tearing him apart inside.

"There's still a chance we may never see each other again," you murmured reluctantly, and his gaze met yours. The pain his gaze reflected was a mirror image of yours, and his shoulders slumped as he weighed the possibility he had not wanted to think about.

"Then we will meet where spirit meets bone."

His voice was a low, raspy whisper, out of tune with the speed at which his chest moved with his breathing. Unlike his body, straight and tense, his eyes said everything his heart truly felt, even though he knew he felt the same emptiness in his chest as you did. The emptiness of knowing you're going to lose what you love the most without being able to do anything about it.

You weren't ready for this. You weren't ready to give up, but you couldn't stand alone fighting for a lost cause, when a relationship like yours stands strong when they run hand in hand.

Tears welled up in your eyes as you knew there was no turning back.

"In a land forgotten by faith."

Bucky shook his head in denial, frantic because he knew what would happen next, but reluctant to stop you from making the one decision he had allowed you to make.

You moved quickly to him, and cradled his pain-stricken face. Your thumbs moved gently over his cheeks and he closed his eyes, enjoying your touch. The last he would feel, surely for the rest of his life.

"Goddamn, Barnes," you muttered closing your eyes and resting your forehead on his, "I should never have let you in. But how was I supposed to know?"

Your breaths hitched for a few seconds, as they did every time you lay down on the makeshift bed in that little cottage, just staring at the sky through the glass that adorned the ceiling thinking of the endless possibilities they would have if this wasn't their destiny.

"I'm sorry," was all he said. And certainly the last thing you would hear from his lips for the rest of your life.

-----

i didn't intend to end it here, but sleep overcame my ideas and my inspiration, sorry! edited!

(in)dispensable

summary: reader is discouraged, somewhat depressed, and Bucky tries to cheer her up in a way that doesn't seem like that's what he's trying to do.

pairing: bucky barnes x avenger!reader

words: +2.7k

warnings: thoughts of abandonment, suicide and self-loathing (if you feel this way, please seek help, you are loved<3). you know, English is not my native language so sorry for any mistakes!

note: it really fascinates me how therapeutic it is to write and let out what you think and what you want. and definitely with Bucky it's all 10000% better.

thanks for the support and hope you like it!

The city, from the farthest and highest point of the mountain, looked like a small drop of water falling on glass in the rain. It was a small glistening speck that seemed to fit on the surface of a finger, making you believe that it was possible to have an existence of an indispensable magnitude. But, at the same time, reminding you that being so far away as to see it so small -the city- only made you dispensable. You would raise your hand, mesmerised, drawing in the air the surroundings of that jungle of buildings, a faithful believer in the idea that you belonged to something, or someone, in that bright blur where you lived most of the day when you didn't have a mission to go to.

The truth was that, apart from your constant appearance at Avengers HQ or your inconsequential presence on some silly -and too lively for your liking- outings that your old college buddies put together, and on which you ended up only because one person, the only one you considered your true friend out of all of them, always convinced you to accompany her wherever she went. Those really weren't the best outings in the world, with those people just trying to convince themselves that they were still young and rebellious with no responsibilities other than studying, but just knowing that your friend always wanted you to be there made you feel different; as if you were really indispensable in someone's life.

Life had become really hard in the last few years; years in which you couldn't help but feel more and more lonely even though you were surrounded by people, even though you were surrounded by your family and friends. It was as if being with them was the equivalent of being locked in a soundproof room, with no sound coming out and no sound going in. Did people really listen to what you were saying? Did people really care about anything other than you doing your duties? Had they ever wondered if your dark circles under your eyes were really from lack of sleep? If the pallor on your face was because, in an act of lazy rebellion, you hadn't wanted to eat, or because you just didn't feel like it anymore? Had they ever wondered if you had any motivation to go on?

Did they really care?

The rustling of some branches behind you as a result of being crushed by someone's shoe brought you back to the reality in which that shiny spot was a blurred spot due to the amount of tears that gathered behind your eyes. Tears that wanted to come out so desperately, but you refused because no one could really know what was going on in your head. No, ironically, they would be scared away.

You didn't need to turn around to find out who had approached you while you were on night watch. You had been distracted for a moment, but you were capable enough to sense a threat from miles away. And the only threat you sensed was Bucky Barnes, coercing you to uncover that feeling you thought you were hiding too well for the well-being of everyone around you. Because you could carry that feeling and that regret, but they couldn't; it didn't matter if they didn't seem to realise it now, in the end it would be far more disastrous for them than for you. You still couldn't be that selfish...

His sturdy body planted itself to your right, mimicking your cross-legged position. Out of the corner of your eye, you noticed that he similarly stood watching the city from afar, probably trying to decipher what you saw in it that had you so captivated. But it wasn't the possibilities, it was the lack of them.

Your back, leaning against a small tree, arched imperceptibly to anyone's eyes, but not to his. For some reason and in some way, Bucky had learned to read and openly perceive your body's reactions to anything, good or bad. He could always decipher when you wanted to run out of a place or when you were so comfortable in a place that you didn't care if people were touching you, or if there were too many people to breathe. He had learned to read your body language in a way that often scared you, because you weren't entirely sure what it implied.

When he turned his head to look at your profile, the one solitary tear you couldn't stop rolled slowly down your cheek, as if it had been waiting for just the right moment for him to see it and notice.

But Bucky didn't come closer, he just kept his gaze on your face, because you knew he knew you didn't want him around at that moment. Maybe a little, yes, enough to keep you company, but not enough to comfort you.

Suddenly, you heard Natasha's laughter diagonal to where you were sitting where they had set up the tents for the night, and then it was followed by Tony's voice, who was claiming credit for creating a new nickname for Steve.

You frowned and blinked rapidly, but without moving you commented, "They're awake," you didn't know if it sounded like an accusation or a question.

"As of a few minutes ago. It's just dawn," Bucky replied instantly. His body shifted slightly to settle on the grass so he could reach over to grab one of the dry leaves above him, and you couldn't help but tense up briefly thinking he was going to approach you, "Last time you went on a watch as long as this you fell asleep within the next hour. Did you bring a hidden energizer or something?"

His tone was jocular but gentle, discreetly direct inquiring about the unspoken likelihood that it was impossible for you to have spent all seven hours awake at will. And it was true, you used to fall asleep in every place as long as you had the chance. But it was also true that there were times when you were simply sleep-deprived; you had no way of falling into the whistles of the starry night in order to have a pleasant rest. Why? It was a constant worry.

"I think I was really looking forward to Tony losing the bet against Steve. It would be a first," you confessed, though it wasn't entirely true, and you were absolutely certain that Bucky knew it. The tone of your voice came out more muffled and strained than you had imagined, so you settled back into position and cleared your throat.

"What, they bet?" Bucky smiled as he turned to look at you with a new dry leaf between his fingers. You nodded slightly to him as you looked out over the city, and as the dark blue sky began to dissipate to make way for a beautiful orange hue, "Well, it was lucky for me that I wasn't there. I would have lost that bet."

"Would you have bet against me, Barnes?" you smiled through closed lips, the first smile to escape you that week.

Bucky took a few seconds to respond.

"Can you blame me for that? I told you, you always fall asleep on these watches."

You sighed, feeling a little lightness in your shoulders as the morning continued to take its way into the sky, "You have to have a little more faith in me, as well as Steve."

"Steve would never win a bet even if the odds were 99% positive."

You let out a light chuckle, still not turning to look at the man, "Then I guess he's having a run of good luck right now. You should ask him for a number to play the lottery."

Bucky twisted his lips, his gaze fixed on the shamrock he had just plucked from the ground, "That would be tempting fate."

You turned to look at him, finally. His head snapped up instinctively and his eyes connected with yours as if he'd been on autopilot, which, upon feeling your gaze on his body, reacted instantly. He had shifted position while you were talking, and now his body was positioned sideways, but right in front of yours, with his back to the rest of the team who were still standing up.

You were amused by the thought that, if it weren't for you, they would probably all have had to sleep on the ground, wrapped in their own coats and surrounded by dirt and insects. You knew, from the moment Stark briefed them before they left for HQ, that they would not make it in the Quinjet before it ran out of fuel. Due to some mishaps, they had to extend the journey to their destination so that the fuel tank had become unbalanced and, oddly enough, they had not packed any more spares that time. Luckily, the place where they had been staying had a promotion on sleeping tents at twelve dollars each. You didn't hesitate for a second to take several and pay for them.

So, thanks to you, everyone had been able to have a good night.

Well, everyone except you.

Bucky's eyes went to your hands, which were clasped in your lap with a small branch between your fingers. His gaze expressed what his mouth didn't want to utter, because you knew he didn't want to scare you, let alone make you feel uncomfortable in this very moment of vulnerability. But he didn't want you to be alone either.

You uncrossed your legs, stretching them out in front of you, and raised a hand in his direction. He didn't hesitate for a second, trusting your willingness, to take it and move closer to you.

"I was thinking we could go eat at that Italian restaurant tonight," Bucky posed as he intertwined his fingers with yours. You moved your head until it rested on his shoulder and he, feeling your body relax against his, rested his head on the crown of your head.

As his thumb began to draw circles on your hand, you allowed yourself to close your eyes to enjoy his affection. You allowed yourself for a second to think that this was a good thing, something you deserved and that he was willing to give you without expecting much in return. A situation that really applied to the case, but you were too stubborn to want to accept it that way.

"That sounds good," you murmured, ducking your head to where his neck and shoulder met, causing you to have to scoot closer and snuggle closer to him.

These moments, this whole moment since he appeared, were the most precious to you. Not only the fact that Bucky cared enough to come close and try to cheer you up, but also the fact that he waited for you to feel comfortable in his company, when you were feeling so depressed, and then he would come to you and try to draw you closer and let you melt into him as much as you could and wanted to, because he knew that, even if you were reluctant at first, you were only frightened by the idea of him being too close in your moments of weakness. That was a wall he had not yet completely broken through, but he knew not to tear it down, but only to wait patiently for you to remove each of the bricks that separated you, as you began to become more familiar with his presence and his caresses, which were totally foreign to you.

It had been a long time since anyone had cared for you in this way, and what you feared most of all was that they would walk away because they were tired of trying to understand you. It was a pretty justified fear, considering how many people had walked away from your life. And you remembered each one of them; their mannerisms and ways of talking, whether they liked salty food or sweet juices, or whether they'd rather spend a day climbing a mountain or go shopping all afternoon. You could remember every single thing about them that had left a mark on you, whether it was good or bad, but what hurt the most was knowing that they didn't remember anything about you. That you were just that, totally dispensable.

Yet, strangely, it wasn't like that with Bucky. And that was what scared you, what made you always defensive. And it also scared you that he might get tired of it, but it had been so long ago that, if he truly wanted to leave, he would have done so long ago.

"Just us or do you want to take the others?"

You noticed Bucky tense slightly, but he instantly relaxed his body and sighed, "I'd rather it was just us, but if you want them to go..."

"No," you interrupted him quickly, "More than two is a crowd."

His shoulder, and the half of his body you were leaning on, shook with briefness as he let out a laugh. His hand gave yours a squeeze before he brought it to his face and planted a kiss on each of your knuckles.

"We can also order takeout, from your flat, and watch a movie."

You smiled against his neck openly, and Bucky felt your cheeks twitch causing a flutter in his chest and a current throughout his body. An immeasurable happiness stabbed into him from that instant and he hoped it wouldn't go away too soon.

"That sounds better, honestly," you admitted without wiping away the expression of happiness and unable to hide that the tension on your body and mind had disappeared at a slow pace since he arrived, but certainly effective in the end. As always, "We could watch The Hobbit. Steve told me you liked the book since it came out."

Bucky put a grimace on his face that, for obvious reasons, you failed to notice, "We could also watch Game of Thrones."

Your head snapped away from his shoulder like a spring and you watched him with a frown. Bucky felt his heart stop for a moment and resume its march at a faster pace than usual. Had he ruined it already?

"Who told you about Game of Thrones?"

"Natasha," he replied, confused by your reaction, "Sh told me that you had started it but hadn't finished it yet. I thought- we could watch it together."

A few seconds passed during which you weighed the possibility very carefully, so many that Bucky felt that at any moment you would throw your arm around him and walk off back to where the rest of the team was, leaving him lying there with a bitter feeling in his chest.

"Is that a bad idea?" he asked, fearful of your answer.

You turned to look at him with a frown, and promptly shook your head, "No, it's not that. I just didn't think it was the kind of content you'd want to see."

Bucky took a deep breath before replying, "Why? It's set in, like, the same setting as Lord of the Rings, right?"

You pursed your lips, "Well, yeah... but- did you even see the trailers?"

"The what?"

You smiled broadly at him and denied tersely, "We'll talk about it better when we get back to the Complex, okay?"

"Natasha said it was a good series," Bucky commented with a frown.

"I'm not saying it wasn't. I just think she left out a few important details."

"Like what?"

Your mouth went dry for a few seconds as you watched his eyes glitter in curiosity and intrigue. It seemed like the very fact that you were putting him on the spot about watching that series with him made him want to push harder to make it happen. And because you knew yourself, you were going to give in. At the end of the day, he was sticking to the consequences.

"Hey, lovebirds!" Tony's exclamation stopped you from answering Bucky, though you certainly hadn't even thought about what to say, "Our transport is coming. Move it or you're going to have to learn to live with these beetles."

You watched the mechanic turn around to once again approach the place where everyone was already packing up their tents. A sigh escaped you, and you couldn't help but wonder at what point it dawned so quickly.

Bucky's hand did not leave yours as you stood up and helped him do the same.

His other hand, equally hidden by his black leather gloves, cradled your face and you inevitably leaned into his touch. His eyes scanned every part of your face, as if trying to make sure that everything was all right, that you really did look better, not just because you didn't want to worry him, but because you felt it inside you. You knew he didn't want a feigned emotion, and because for that very reason it wouldn't take him long to realise that you were lying to him, you didn't bother to do so.

When his scrutiny of the expressions on your face left him unsatisfied, he asked with his face contracted in ill-concealed anguish, "Feeling better?"

You smiled at him before saying, "Yes, Bucky."

Your hand released his, but only so that you could wrap your arms around his neck and draw him into an embrace that, though it caught him off guard, he was quick to reciprocate. It was as if his body reacted automatically to your body's actions. Bucky relaxed his shoulders and melted into this display of affection as if he was hungry for your touch and wanted to enjoy every second of it. He breathed in your scent of vanilla and coconut essence that he felt made him dizzy with adoration every time he sensed it near, but that in turn was how he wanted to feel every time he was near you.

At home.

"Thank you."

"Anything for you, pretty girl."

You gave him one last squeeze before breaking away and taking his hand again to start walking towards where the others were.

Bucky had a goofy grin on his face, which was the equivalent of your tilted lips and slumped shoulders, which might be very little to anyone's eye, but not to Bucky's. To him, that was everything.

"But seriously, are you going to tell me what's wrong with Game of Thrones?"

hi, can i just say your writing and just all your work in general is chefs kiss, like youre an amazing writer!:)

hi! omg, thank u so so much, your words just made my week, thank you for taking the time to read my stuff, i really appreciate it!

wow, this caught me off guard. but thanks! and an excerpt of what I'm writing and will probably upload it tonight:

I told you she was cursed, Bucky!

and I dare to tag @ithinkhesgaybutwesavedmufasa, @charnelhouse,@1800-fight-me and @moonbeambucky without knowing if they'll actually see it, but I'm taking a chance.

wip tag game

I was tagged by @firefly-in-darkness, @flamencodiva, @calaofnoldor & @hoboal87 to share the latest line from your work in progress and then tag as many people as there are words in the line.

Since I was tagged four times, I’m going to share four lines from the last two wip’s I have recently worked on.

Dean request for Karaoke Night:

“Try me.”

Tagging: @deanwinchesterswitch @gone-to-fight-the-fairies

A Knight’s Tale AU for Firefly’s Movie Challenge:

He remembered the urgency with which he had first told Steve it was a bad idea. No one hired a woman blacksmith. A widowed one at that.

no pressure tags: @writingsoftheloser @sarcastic-coffeedrinker @whitestarbucky @xbuchananbarnes @princessmisery666 @fablesrose @deanwanddamons @tinymalscoffee @indyluckycharlie @negans-lucille-tblr @callmeluna @starks-hero @donutloverxo @cocoamoonmalfoy @peridottea91 @wonder-cole @sweeterthanthis @wickedsingularity @smediumsmeatbae @ladyofmaidensandwine @a-little-counter-esperanto @angrythingstarlight @deaan + the original 4 who tagged me 😉