Cursed

cursed

summary: Bucky is trapped with you after activating a curse, and the time you spend together waiting for it to be broken proves to be quite revealing.

pairing: bucky barnes x avenger!reader

words: +2k

warnings: nothing i think, just a few mean words maybe. also, English is not my native language so sorry for any mistakes!

note: i don't think i like the way this came out, so i'll probably re-write tomorrow morning. there's just something that still doesn't fits me. but if you like it, please let me know! i really love reading your comments, it's kinda inspiring. <3

The hallway was silent as Bucky turned the corner, having spent several minutes walking from his own room. Tony, Natasha and you had just returned from a mission with not very good news, considering that the one you wanted to capture had easily escaped by setting a rather clever trap for you, which was the least you could expect from a sorcerer.

However, that was all Bucky heard. Steve had communicated with him as soon as they had all arrived, informing him that they would be in the meeting room and that he should also attend as there was an important matter to discuss. But Bucky wasn't too concerned about that, and instead asked him about you.

“Oh,” Steve had blurted out, confused by Bucky's strange need to know about you; normally he was quite reserved and discreet, “She's not coming, she's in her room. But don't even think about-”

Bucky suddenly felt strange, agonising nerves coursing through his body. Had something happened to you? Were you hurt? No, you would have been taken to the medical wing. Then again... you might as well have come from there. Worry bloomed in his chest and he felt dizzy for a few seconds. Seconds in which Steve continued to talk to him about something, maybe about the meeting, but about what Bucky hadn't heard at all.

“Okay. Thanks, Steve!”

And he hung up on him.

Immediately, Bucky started on his way to your room in the Complex, which wasn't too far from his. For some reason, the closer he got, a sense of anticipation grew in his chest in a rush. He had never stopped to think about it, neither at that moment nor the other bunch of times it had happened to him, ignoring the feeling as if it were a normal, everyday occurrence.

Now, he approached your room, whose door was ajar, and he could clearly hear you insulting someone from a distance.

His metal hand lightly touched the door, moving it without making a sound. He watched you with your back to him, your hands in your hair and your posture tense and irritated. You let out a sigh, rather sharply, for which Bucky arched an eyebrow.

Bucky approached, and with his blessedly quiet footsteps as quiet as a butterfly's flutter, you didn't notice he'd come in and gotten so close until you felt a hand rest on the skin of your forearm.

You tensed.

A hand, it was touching you.

You turned suddenly, at the same time gripping the wrist of Bucky's right hand with a little more force than normal. The man was a little taken aback, frowning at your rudeness and, moreover, at the hostile way in which your gaze rested on his.

You didn't let go and simply stared at his raised eyebrows and strangely defensive posture. He seemed too surprised to formulate a word.

“What the hell did you do?” you hissed angrily and between your teeth, in a tone that sent a shiver up and down Bucky's spine. Suddenly, he felt cornered and helpless in a corner with no way to defend himself.

“What do you mean, what did I do?” he asked in confusion, his face contorting in shock the tighter you tightened your grip on his wrist.

Bucky feigned to pull his hand away, to try to wriggle away from your predatory stance that made him feel disarmed and helpless. You had never seen him in such a... savagely wrathful manner. His thoughts turned to your last conversation, to the last time you saw each other, trying to decipher whether he had done something wrong. Or if, during the days you were gone, he did something that could cause you to be so defensive of him.

But you didn't allow him to pull his hand away. It became a game of tug and pull, where you wouldn't let him leave your touch even though it seemed like you'd rather have him more than a mile away, or not see him again for days at a time.

“What are you doing?”

“Me?” you replied incredulously, and your expression grew much more quizzical if that was even possible, “What are you doing, you big idiot? Did you think it was fun to come and do that?”

“Do what?” Bucky replied, but for some reason he felt he was only making things worse with his questions, digging his own grave, “I just wanted to come and see if you were alright.”

“Oh yeah? And do I look okay to you? Do I look okay to you with this?”

You squeezed his wrist once more and Bucky cringed under your gaze. Okay, this exceeded any outlandish situation he'd ever been in before today.

“I don't understand what's wrong with you, but I didn't do anything wrong,” Bucky tried to defend himself, but his words felt like he was trying to put out a fire with a piece of cardboard, “If you're upset about the donuts, it was Clint who ate them. And I found out when they were out of the fridge. Or I would have stopped it, I swear.”

You frowned, your grip softening a little.

“Clint ate my donuts?”

“Isn't that why you're upset?”

“No, you idiot! It's because you're here... touching me! How did you even think of that?”

Bucky couldn't make sense of your exaltation. Since when was him doing that bad? He tried to think back to something he might have done wrong to suddenly want to chase him away like that, but there was nothing....

You let out a snort and kept a firm grip on his wrist, which was still on your forearm, his hands wrapped around it in fear.

“I think Steve must have been pretty clear when he told you.”

What?

“When he told me what?”

You arched an eyebrow. Steve hadn't told him? No, he said he would talk to him to tell him as soon as he left your room, as well as informing him about the emergency meeting they were going to have with the rest of the team.

“Bucky!”

An exalted exclamation from the aforementioned. Steve. You and Bucky turned to see the blond standing in the doorway, watching Bucky's grip on your forearm. A forbidden grip at the moment.

“What did you do?” he spoke again, this time in a reproachful tone, “I told you she was cursed, Bucky!”

Cursed?

“The sorcerer they were facing captured her. He cast a spell on her saying that, the next person to have contact with her, however fleeting, would fall into a deep sleep as they drifted away from her touch.”

Oh.

Oh.

“The meeting we called was to inform everyone, and because Tony decided to call Strange, but you,” he pointed at him with narrowed eyes, “I told you earlier on the phone because I knew you'd come running and be reckless. How the hell didn't you listen to me?”

Bucky didn't answer him. The truth was, he had a habit of not listening to what Steve told him, especially when it came to not doing something. Sometimes he did it on purpose, sometimes he didn't, like this time.

“Now,” you took your turn to speak, in the same tone of voice, reprimanding him just as Steve had, “you can't let go of me until Strange gets here.”

Bucky nodded his head once, not looking you in the eye. A sense of shame came over him, and for the first time he decided he had listened to Steve.

---

You had sat on the floor of your room minutes later. Steve had left, telling you FRIDAY or Tony would let you know when Stephen arrived, and warned Bucky again what would happen to him if he ever let you go.

But there was no need, it had already been made abundantly clear to him.

Now you were in a rather awkward silence. You kept looking angry, and every time your annoyed gaze met his, Bucky would direct it elsewhere in the room, pretending that your posters were something to admire or that the trees outside the window had some profoundly interesting mystery to solve.

But he didn't dare speak to you.

That's why you decided to take pity on him.

“Sam told me that on Saturday you accompanied him to see a game.”

Bucky looked sideways at you, crestfallen. His throat made a sound of affirmation before he looked down again.

“I didn't know you liked football,” you continued.

“I don't,” he finally replied. He let out a sigh and his hand on your forearm tensed slightly, “I just wanted him to leave me alone. That was the only way.”

“Yeah, you know Sam's always badgering you with outlets to irritate you, but he never expects you to actually accept, do you?”

Bucky arched an eyebrow at you.

“Just the same, it was a nice gesture that you decided to go along with him.”

“It wasn't an at-will decision, I was tired of him asking me every few minutes if I wanted to go to a club or climb a mountain,” he blurted out gruffly, his features retracting in annoyance, “I was overwhelmed. He coerced me indirectly.”

You let out a chuckle at his choice of words, and you found the sulky way in which he tried to defend his stance of not putting up with Sam and his presence under any circumstances too funny.

“I think deep down you enjoyed it.”

Bucky let out a snort, followed by a wry laugh. He shook his head and his gaze returned to the trees.

“There's nothing fun about going to a bar to watch a simple football game. We didn't even have to go out, we have a TV here.”

You curved your lips into a smile, watching his frown.

“So you applied the law of ice to him.”

“What he deserved.”

“What he deserved for wanting to get along with you?”

“For screwing with me. You said so yourself.”

You let out a laugh, now strangely nervous at his meek way of getting irritated when it came to Sam. Ever since Falcon had told you that he'd dragged Bucky to watch a game with him after weeks of bugging him about it, you couldn't stop a thought from running freely through your head: if you'd asked him, would he have said yes? You had a good relationship, or at least you thought Bucky tolerated you, but you didn't know if he'd go so far as to agree to a date with you.

Especially knowing what that meant or, to your misfortune, that he would ignore it altogether.

His tense posture prevented you from asking him that question.

“Maybe you would have felt more comfortable on the mountain.”

Bucky took a deep breath, as if to imagine the scenario for a moment.

“I think it would have been better with anyone else.”

Your heart leapt.

“Anyone?”

Bucky shrugged.

“Steve, probably.”

“Oh,” you blurted out heavily, your shoulders slumping noticeably.

Bucky watched you in the silence, his eyes deliberately scanning the features of your face. He then decided to take the initiative to start the conversation this time.

“So, someone cast a spell on you.”

No, not like that, you idiot.

You frowned, shaking your head slowly in a nod.

“Yes, a sorcerer,” you replied sarcastically and amused, a smile dancing on your lips.

Bucky nodded.

“With magic,” you let out a laugh, “And it was my first time in case you were wondering too.”

Bucky sighed. His metal hand moved to rest behind his neck in a nervous gesture.

“I'm sorry, it's just that we hardly ever spend time alone. This is... weird.”

You scowled at him, again, and Bucky jumped in place running over his words.

“I didn't- I didn't mean it that way. I meant that- that we hadn't been the two of us before... like this, and we don't know each other. I mean, we do know each other, but we don't know each other very well, and this-this...”

The smile you flashed shut him up, pursing his lips in a frustrated gesture.

“Even if it wasn't like this before, I did look for moments to have alone time with you,” he blurted out suddenly, surprising himself.

You watched him frowningly, your shoulders squared with the tension of uncertainty. Your chest puffed out with a deep breath in surprise at his words.

Bucky wasn't lying. You mean, he would never say something like that just to say it.

Wouldn't he?

“Are you serious?” you couldn't help but ask.

Bucky licked his bottom lip, suddenly feeling the room shrink around him.

“Yes,” he blurted out, feigning a nonchalant tone, shifting his shoulders to emphasise his intent.

Suddenly, you felt bold, and decided to take the risk.

“So, if I had invited you instead of Sam, would you have said yes?”

“Of course,” Bucky replied without hesitation.

Your eyebrows rose, surprising you for what felt like the third time that afternoon. Bucky was watching you expectantly, nervous and looking rather out of place.

“Then maybe we could go out this weekend,” you suggested, unsure and testing a possibility.

Bucky didn't respond instantly, and with each passing second, the atmosphere grew a little more tense, or at least you felt that way. When your smile had almost disappeared completely, Bucky began to shake his head in assent.

“As long as it's not to watch a game,” he joked, and you felt your shoulders lighten once more.

You let out a laugh.

“I was thinking more like a restaurant.”

“A restaurant sounds good.”

“Thai food?”

“Okay.”

Bucky nodded, his eyes locked on yours. You pressed your lips together, trying to stifle the huge grin that wanted to plaster itself on your face, and Bucky's grip on your forearm suddenly felt more familiar and less rigid.

“Hey,” Tony's voice echoed through the speakers, “If you two are done flirting, Strange is here. He's heading over there right now.”

You felt your cheeks flush, but the fact that Bucky only smiled openly and spontaneously brought a warmth to your chest that made you feel more comfortable. And now you had a date with him.

Wow, who knew? All it took was a curse.

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.

(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?"

mixed feelings (2)

summary: the second time you found out about one of Bucky's appointments, it hurt no less than the first.

pairing: bucky barnes x avenger!reader

words: +2.5k

warnings: i think this is angsty and mention of some bad words, and also you know Englist is not my native language, so sorry for any mistakes!

note: you can blame your eyes tell (bts) for the way this turned out, because i had definitely planned something a bit different, and totally less sad than this. but still, hope you enjoy and thank u for the support!

part 1

part 3

The mission with Steve wasn't too bad. A pile of physical files to go through and upload, hoping to find a lead on who you'd been looking for for weeks, half discarded and half scattered in a room in the Complex waiting to be reviewed. And while Bucky and Sam were right when they said you and Steve had silences, this time they weren't awkward, just moments when the two of you were focused on your pile or files, and filled the silence from time to time with questions or funny comments. It was a little different than you thought it would be, and you made a mental note not to allow yourself to be talked down to again.

The only one that left you wondering of your few conversations, was the one you had on the way back, in one of the agency trucks, with Steve sitting across from you in the back of the car:

“Have you talked to Bucky lately?” he had said, his hands clasped in front of him.

You frowned at him before replying, “Yeah, we talked a bit before we left.”

Steve merely nodded, his gaze turning back to the landscape you were leaving behind, with the mountains and their white peaks and the breeze that heralded autumn. You stood watching him, waiting for him to say more, but he kept his words to himself as if he had gotten all he needed to know.

“Why?” you couldn't help but ask.

He turned to watch you out of the corner of his eye before returning his gaze, shrugging a shoulder, trying to downplay his sudden curiosity to know something about you and Bucky. Steve had always kept his distance from his friend's relationships, and he'd especially kept his distance from you, so it struck you as odd that he decided to ask now.

“Nothing specific. I just wanted to... know.”

And there the conversation died, mainly because you could quickly deduce that he wasn't going to say anything else no matter how many times you asked. But the thorn of doubt hadn't been able to leave your head for the past three days, incessantly wondering what it was that he really wanted to know, as you sifted through document after document from the large pile you had brought back from the empty facility. Steve accompanied you from time to time, and you were sure he noticed your glance at his figure from time to time by the half-smile he gave you but never turned to look at you.

Suspicious.

“Y/N,” you heard your name in the distance. You turned your head, noticing Melissa, one of your roommates, one of the three with whom you shared the flat you were now in.

Everyone in the Complex had gone out, they just had things to do and you definitely had no plans to stay there locked in your room or wandering the halls alone. When you told Carla, another one of your roommates, she promptly asked you to go, as they were cooking a big dinner and not to celebrate anything specific, just to spend a Friday night comfortably and all together, and surely at the end they would watch a horror movie.

These moments were one of the reasons why you had decided to maintain a constant visit to the flat despite almost living in the Complex. Your roommates didn't hesitate to include you in their plans at any time, no matter where you were or what you were doing, they would wait for you to arrive to start.

Except this time Melissa, Carla and Tim had already started cooking when you wrote to them.

“There's more cheese missing for the sauce, would you mind going to the shop?” Tim looked at you with a little pout.

“But don't go to the one on the corner,” Carla spoke next, her hands nimbly chopping a vegetable on the wooden board, “When you arrived, did you see that Mrs. Williams opened her own shop on the first floor, next to reception?”

You nodded to Carla, as you started to get up and made your way to the counter in front of the kitchen to take some of the money you kept for shopping.

“Buy her a pound of mozzarella cheese and a pound and a half of cheddar cheese.”

“What's the difference from the cheeses at the corner shop?”

“Mrs. Williams' nephew made the cheeses she's selling and honestly, they're some of the best cheese I've ever tasted in my entire life,” Carla praised and Melissa hummed in agreement with her.

“We pulled out some of the one we bought at noon, and it's like a heaven of sensations exploding in your mouth. Just delicious.”

Tim let out a laugh and trotted over to stop in front of you at the counter, “Imagine Melissa with the same expression as Remy from Ratatouille.”

You accompanied him with a laugh as Melissa watched you with narrowed eyes, “If I didn't have my hands full with this fruit, I'd strangle you, Jones.”

You watched Tim roll his eyes before continuing on with his assigned task in the kitchen.

With the money in your hands, you hurried to the exit with a smile on your face. Being in the flat with them was like restarting your day, if it had been a bad one, or completely sweetening a bitter day. You turned the doorknob to open the door and stepped out, just as you heard the jingle of the elevator stopping on your floor. You started to walk straight to the stairs, because it wasn't too far from your flat to the reception, but a sharp intake of breath stopped you.

You looked up as he mumbled your name, “Y/N.”

“Bucky.”

The explosion of emotions in your chest was indescribable, and your heart was beating so unabashedly fast you could hear it behind your ears. The nervous feeling you'd wanted to get rid of since that afternoon you'd talked to him had returned, as if you'd never practiced breathing exercises to avoid looking as panting and shocked as you did that time. All to avoid him noticing how much his presence around you affected you, how easily he altered your senses and how your body reacted unconsciously to his actions and his looks.

“Hi,” you said faintly as he stepped out of the lift and stopped in front of you with an indecipherable expression. Sometimes you wish you knew what was going on in his head, or you wished you were confident enough that he would decide to tell you that sort of thing once in a while.

“Hello,” he replied, totally oblivious to the revolution going on inside you, just because he was there, in the building you lived in. What was he doing there? And it couldn't be a mistake, he knew you lived there, “Are you on your way out?” he asked, pointing at you with the nonchalant gesture he always had, as if he was made of stone and nothing ever affected him.

You hesitated a bit before answering, “Yeah, I'm just going to get something. The guys are preparing a buffet for tonight.”

You didn't know how you managed to make your voice come out nonchalant and unconcerned, at least enough so that Bucky didn't notice the unease coursing through your body. He nodded, half-smiling a tight-lipped smile.

“Fury told me the mission was excellent. Besides the documents, did you and Steve find anything interesting to talk about?”

You sketch a smile freely, almost mimicking his amused gesture, feeling your shoulders loosen for a few seconds and a calmness dominate your mind, “Actually yes, we talked a lot about... uhm.... the weather, and the dust...”

Bucky let out a laugh, letting go of that part of him that was extremely self-conscious when there were too many people around him. His eyes narrowed in the most beautiful way, standing out with a twinkle you couldn't quite put a name to, and the corners of his lips forming your favourite curve of his face. As he watched you, you had the fleeting feeling that his eyes were telling you a million things, treasuring that moment just as you were doing. But just as quickly as that thought came, just as quickly it vanished. And, again, Bucky tensed his shoulders.

“Don't think about it too much, it's not personal. Steve has a hard time sometimes finding the words to talk to the person he likes.”

You didn't know why Bucky was so restrained if there was no... wait, what the fuck?

“What?” you exclaimed, surely with your eyes bulging and your brow furrowed. Your body tensed as you watched the gaze of the man in front of you turn wary and confused.

“What about what? Didn't he tell you?”

“Tell me-? Bucky, what are you talking about?”

“Well, Steve likes you. Probably from the moment he met you.”

You felt a ringing in your ears and the world reel for a few moments. You looked at Bucky's face without really watching, your mind miles away, at the little moments you'd shared with Steve, at the talks about movies, in the kitchen preparing anything, his attitudes on missions... his question when you were returning from your last mission.

But could he really have meant the same thing?

And why the hell wouldn't he mean the same thing?

Holy shit.

“I'm sorry, I thought he told you. But I didn't have time to ask him because I haven't seen him since you got back from the mission. It's like... he's avoiding me,” he added the last with his face contorted in confusion and disbelief, as if that was something impossible to believe, or as if Steve could never do something like that.

“No, well...” you interrupted yourself, your body jerking in unease as you stared anywhere that was Bucky's face, not really knowing what words wanted to come out of your mouth, “Steve didn't- he didn't tell me anything.”

Bucky let out a sigh, his body shifting slightly as he slipped one of his hands into one of his pockets.

“I should have known better,” he muttered, and now he was the one avoiding your gaze.

With your shoulders tense and your expression surely frizzled, your mind began to create a lot of conjectures that, if you said them out loud, you were sure would make no sense at all.

But Bucky, he was there, why else would he be there, in the building you live in?

“How long have you known?”

Bucky raised his gaze to meet yours. His eyes inspected yours for a few seconds that felt like an eternity, as if he wanted to discover something just by watching them, until he finally sighed before saying, “Not long ago, actually. Though I've had my suspicions for some time, he confirmed it himself a couple of weeks ago.”

Your brow furrowed.

“Is that why you walked away?”

“What?”

“Is that why you walked away from me, Bucky?” you repeated, grief searing your chest as the seconds ticked by without his response. A flame of hope flared in your chest, even though you had a feeling this wasn't going to end well, you refused to extinguish it, waiting, impatiently really, and scared, for the stupefied man in front of you to respond.

Bucky stirred, his chest rising and falling a little faster than normal, and his gaze dropped to various points in the hallway only to avoid looking at you as he replied, hesitantly, “No, I- I didn't walk away.”

Filled with sudden courage, you reproached him, “Don't deny it, Barnes. Coincidentally when I was at the Complex you were disappearing, even these last few days. Before perhaps I could say that our schedules crossed, but now?”

“Not now-” he hesitated, and your chest puffed out with anticipation. You knew it wasn't good but you couldn't stop now. You thought if you pushed him to the limit maybe he could say it, and you knew that wasn't the way, much less with him, but what he'd said had changed everything, and suddenly you found yourself with the wild need to hear something from him, something good, that would confirm everything you were thinking. But, “It's all the same Y/N, nothing has changed.”

You frowned at him, and clasping your hands together you ignored the pang of pain that spread through your chest, “Except everything changed, Bucky. You've been different when we're not alone. It's- it's impossible not to notice.

Bucky shook his head, his head shaking frantically, and for a moment you thought he was trying to convince not only you, but himself as well, “I have no reason to change just because I knew Steve liked you. Or are you assuming that knowing that bothers me?”

His suddenly defensive and haughty attitude, even though you knew it was one of his possible reactions, stunned you for a few seconds. You stared directly into his once soft, now hardened eyes, just to reassure yourself that he was there and wasn't going anywhere, even though you knew the illusion wasn't going to do any good. The fear that coursed through your veins you hadn't felt in quite some time, and the disastrous anticipation clouded your reason as his brow furrowed and he tilted his head as if he had just come to a conclusion.

“You think I like you, Y/N? And that knowing Steve likes you would make things a little different?”

Your lips parted, and suddenly you felt your mouth go dry. Bucky's blank expression as he said that pierced your chest like a dagger, his indifferent eyes fixed on yours, showing you your own agonised reflection from the bottom. You felt as if you had just fallen into a bottomless pit of sadness.

“I- no- I didn't mean it that way...”

“It doesn't bother me how Steve feels about you, Y/N,” he interrupted you in your poor attempt to pick up the central point of the conversation, and you felt like at any moment you might fall uselessly to the ground surrounded in your own tears and ache, “and it certainly hasn't changed anything either. I'm still me, we're still the same. If I want to get on with my life now or focus on aspects I hadn't thought about before, does that make me the bad guy?”

“No, Bucky, that wasn't what-”

He interrupted you again, “Then what's the problem?”

The hardness of his expression broke your heart, and you were sure he could tell the tears that had welled up in your eyes because seconds after he spoke, you couldn't see him clearly. His figure was a blur, an ambiguous interpretation of how little you felt you knew him at that moment.

It was already impossible for him not to know. That he didn't know how much you liked him, or how much you longed for him to let you love him without restraint. Situations that were only going to live in your head now, like a bad memory of a lousy moment that shook your world to its foundations.

“If you think something has changed, then the problem is with you. Because I don't feel that anything has changed. Not with Steve and not between us.”

You didn't answer him. You let a couple of tears roll down your face, witnessed by his impassive, apathetic expression, which didn't even flinch at the flood of feeling running down your face. He just stood there, watching, as you choked on your own breath.

“We're still friends, aren't we? I don't see why that has to change.”

With your hope shattered and your heart in your hand, you tried to say, “Maybe.... Maybe about that- about that, Bucky, I don't feel the same way-”

But the loud sound of a door creaking open stopped your feeble babbling. You didn't even feel the strength to try, as if his harshness had ruthlessly consumed all your resilience.

“Bucky,” you heard a female voice, and you didn't have to turn around to recognise it.

You watched Bucky's lips curl into a small smile, “Hey.”

You turned around to look at her, though you were fully aware you knew who she was, you felt the masochistic need to confirm it. But seeing her there, standing in front of her closed door, right next to the door to your flat, didn't do anything for you or confirm anything other than worsen the pain of the lump in your throat you were trying to conceal, because you'd already shown him too much and you couldn't give him any more if he was just going to toss it aside like a crumpled leaf that was no longer useful.

“Fine,” you said to Bucky, turning to the front once more. He scowled at you, but with a cautious, softened gesture, forgetting for a moment the defensive attitude he had adopted, “Then nothing has changed, and nothing's going to change.”

Bucky half-opened his lips, his face suddenly contracting in compunction, or so you seemed to have noticed. But no, he had said all that so sure of himself, so confident of his words, that it was impossible that he was now regretting it. And yet, if that were the case, you didn't want to hear it. Not now, not later, not ever, preferably. You'd heard enough.

“Good luck on your date, Bucky.”

And you continued on your way to the stairs, barely grazing his shoulder as you passed him. The lump in your throat was unbearable, and the burning in your eyes from the tears that wanted to come out to freely express your pain was insufferable. With every breath, your chest constricted painfully, and for a moment, as you descended the stairs, you felt that you would not be able to bear it; that you could not cope.

And that frightened you. To know the gravity of the power you had given Bucky over you, over your feelings.

But you couldn't do anything more than get over it. Whatever it took, but you had to let it go and put it behind you.

cowboy like me

summary: a bad day for Bucky, a splendid week for the woman. mixed feelings and memories of a stormy past prevent Bucky from giving voice to his true feelings. (I'm really sorry I'm so bad at summary's)

pairing: bucky barnes x reader

words: 2k or so.

warnings: poor bucky letting his feelings get the better of him and saying mean things from time to time, sorry bout that. oh, and I wrote this in the third person, I don't know if that's a warning but still. and last but not least, English is not my native language so I apologise in advance for any mistakes.

also, the title of this and the part of the song quoted below only inspired the setting of this one-shot. the "plot" is independent of the theme song. I just have a bunch of taylor's songs that inspires me scenarios like this with independent plots, it's like a hobby. and ALSO, this is my first fic in here, and I really hope to do more parts in the future, especially when this semester is over. so, I hope you like it!

you're a bandit like me eyes full of stars hustling for the good life

It had not rained like this for quite some time. Lightning echoed in every part of the city and the drops were crashing against the window glass with the speed of a Maserati on a winding road; the sky was dark even though it was only four o'clock in the afternoon. Inside the room, the atmosphere was warm and comfortable, one of the reasons she stopped by at least five times a week. However, a few minutes before the downpour began, the whole atmosphere had turned so grey that for a moment it seemed as if the clouds were bringing a bad omen...

But no, it was only him.

The man who always sat next to her in the cafeteria to use one of the computers that the café provided as a service.

Besides the sound of the bell above the door and his soaked boots, it was his exasperated sigh that caught her attention before she looked away from her laptop screen.

His hair fell over his forehead with a few raindrops slipping from his forehead and temples, until they were lost under his jawline and mingling in the cotton of his shirt. The frown he kept on his face did not disappear as he tried, very unsuccessfully, to dry his clothes by shaking them slightly.

He would definitely do anything to keep that leather jacket and gloves on.

The smell of coffee and the hustle and bustle of the room contrasted with the calm but resignedly helpless attitude of the man who was running his hands heavily over his trousers as if they were a portable hairdryer.

Michael, one of the waiters who occasionally gave them ham and cheese croissants on Saturdays when they were both there, approached the sulking man and, seconds later, they both disappeared into the kitchen behind the till.

The screen of her mobile phone lit up as she tried to refocus on the reading she had to do.

Betty: I still don't understand how not wanting to visit your abusive dad in hospital is an important topic of conversation in a counselling session. I mean, the words abusive father say it all.

Tell me you're on my side.

Me: I still think you should change your psychologist.

Betty: I know! But at that clinic it's 30% cheaper than getting a private one. But, I already have a solution, next week I'll...

The squeak of the chair next to her being dragged startled her and her mobile phone almost flew out of her hands. The grumpy man, now a little drier, dropped the weight of his giant body on the poor chair so that it squeaked as if complaining about the man's rudeness. He stared at the computer screen on as if it held the solution to all his problems.

“Bad day?”

“Just an unfortunate string of inconveniences since I opened my eyes this morning,” he commented seriously and gravely as he began to move his hands over the keyboard. He hadn't looked at her when he spoke, which was not unusual, but at the moment it felt inappropriate, “Nothing I'm not used to.”

The woman turned her head to look at the twenty-seven pages she still had to read, and it seemed too tedious a thing to spend her time on now that Bucky had arrived.

“Is there anything I can do for you? I'm going to apply for a job at a daycare, maybe I could start practicing with you.”

Bucky faked a laugh, rather bitter and strained the kind she was used to hearing, “Very funny,” he said, his gaze dark and fixed on the screen.

“Sometimes you laugh at my jokes.”

“When they're funny,” he blurted out as soon as she finished speaking, instantly regretting it but not showing it in his body language.

“Hey! Don't hurt my feelings like that. What happened with your therapist? If you want to talk about it, sure.”

She watched his body tense and how he made no attempt to hide the bitter expression on his face as soon as the word "therapist" left her mouth. The woman thought she'd made a poor choice of words, yet Bucky felt unsettled by how strangely easily she seemed to be able to read his attitudes. Since when had she started doing such things? Had she always been that way? Had he let his guard down that much these past few weeks?

“Just... trouble, in general,” he pronounced her name with feigned gentleness, sending a shiver down her spine. Had he noticed by now? So soon? She thought, hastily.

“Okay,” she mumbled, trying to keep her composure as her mind worked at full speed, “I understand if you don't want to talk about it.”

No, he couldn't have noticed. Regardless of how damaged and broken she was inside, she knew that wasn't something Bucky paid the most detailed attention to. And, even if that were the case, there wasn't a person on the planet who knew her better than he did at this point, so if he wanted to walk away and leave her to not deal with her problems and constant chatter, he would have done so long ago.

Bucky sighed deeply, the movement of his chest aching from the lump in his throat. His hands moved on automatic over the keyboard, digging into things he already knew, spending the time just trying to divert the train of thought that wouldn't leave him alone. Anyway, is it really so bad for someone to know me like that? He thought, as the woman returned to her reading, it's not bad to be vulnerable once in a while, she's not going to hurt me. I know, I know.

Then why does it scare me so much?

His hands clasped as a third presence appeared between them. Michael, with a giant grin on his face, set two medium-sized cups of coffee on the small table they shared in front of the window. The woman's, with milk and sweetened with vanilla, as she always asked for. Bucky's, black, plain and cold, the way he always drank it.

The girl sitting next to him and the barista shared a couple of words in a conversation that seemed to be too funny, because she kept laughing. Why did he find her laughter annoying? Was it because it was too loud, or because it sounded too high-pitched unlike her normal laughter? When she laughed with Bucky, her tone was softer, gravelly, delicate and jovial. He couldn't describe the sensation that burned in his chest every time her eyes narrowed at her smile, or every time she brought her right hand to her chest, over her heart, as if she couldn't bear to laugh anymore, but at the same time holding back the pain in her cheeks so she wouldn't stop.

Michael didn't get that. No, he wasn't getting what Bucky was.

“Bucky?”

Her chuckling voice disconnected him from the bizarre conjectures in his mind, and he turned his eyes to her. She was looking at him with a rueful smile and her cheeks were too flushed.

“Are you all right?”

The aforementioned reveled in the sight that was plastered in front of him, with her sparkling eyes and the way her lips curved, before replying, “Yeah, all good.”

When he noticed Michael was still there, his shoulders tensed and quickly his gaze refocused on the sea of words displayed on the screen in front of him.

“You're too stiff,” he heard the woman's voice again a few seconds later, “Are you sure you don't want to do something to distract yourself? There are a lot of things coming to mind right now.”

Bucky turned to look at her with a frown.

“What things?”

“Um, last week you told me you've never played twenty questions before.”

The man arched an eyebrow, intrigued by how his mind played him, but quickly replied, “Do I look like the kind of person who plays the twenty questions?”

“Not really, but that day you told me you were willing to try it if I played it with you.”

Bucky was silent for a few seconds.

“I don't remember saying that.”

“Sometimes you don't remember a lot of things for convenience, Barnes,” she teased innocently, but Bucky knew what that meant: you're always evading me when I'm trying to help you.

And well, it was true.

“I imagine you don't remember Sam's invitation to you three days ago either.”

“What invitation?” he played distracted, as he pretended to vehemently read what he'd Googled.

“He asked you to join him to watch a game at the bar two blocks from your flat.”

Bucky hummed as he pretended to think about what he'd just heard, even though he remembered it perfectly. And he knew that earlier in the day he'd left it on hold, which was a clear and express no, but he hadn't said that to the woman who was now staring at him.

“I don't like football.”

The woman let out a snort of exasperation.

“This is why you have no friends, Bucky.”

“I could say the same about you.”

Bucky knew it was a joke. She'd said things like that to him before and it had never bothered him; he knew she didn't mean it in a derogatory way or to make fun of him. She would never do that. But subconsciously, he couldn't stop his mouth from blurting out the words he didn't want to say; words he would never have thought to say to her.

“I know you've had a bad day, Buck,” she spoke again after a few seconds, “But I just want to distract you.”

“I don't need your help, I can manage on my own.”

“Okay, let's just... change the subject, shall we?”

Bucky pursed his lips, but didn't dare connect their gazes.

“I'm sorry.”

“It's okay," she mused, and didn't speak again until a couple of seconds later, “How was your date?”

He gave a small smile before saying, “I'm sure you waited for a reasonable amount of time so you could satiate your curiosity.”

The woman let out a laugh, the kind that had the ability to calm Bucky's countenance for a few moments, before replying, “It's just that ever since I met you I didn't think I'd ever see you going on a real date.”

“And you probably won't again.”

“That's how bad it went?”

Bucky twisted his mouth, only remembering the image in the background of his neighbour's flat.

“It could have been worse.”

“Maybe we're just not cut out for dating.”

After a long moment, Bucky turned his head to watch her pursed lips. Her expression seemed downcast, but she pulled herself together quickly when she felt his gaze on her.

“What we've done or who we've been in the past, doesn't define what we can do or be now,” he reminded her of the words she always said to him when he felt he didn't deserve something good, and watched her nod at his words with a small smile, “Don't torment yourself thinking about it, neither of us had a choice.”

“I could tell you the same thing.”

Bucky smiled, sincerely, and for the first time since he had awoken that morning.

“I apply the philosophy you preach perfectly, I'm a great disciple.”

She elongated a sarcastic laugh that widened Bucky's grin. What was it about her that drew you in and bewitched you like that?

“In a trauma contest, you'd take first place, Barnes.”

“We'd be tied, you mean.”

The woman smiled at him, and between their looks, they both knew they were only hiding the truth behind the humour. Bucky didn't often do it, but since he'd met her, and considering that was something she often did -using humour to cover up the truth she'd rather not accept, or simply to hide the pain-, he'd gotten such a habit of doing it every so often that even his therapist was a little put out the first time he joked about one of his traumas in front of her. It was a very strange scenario that was never repeated.

“I'm sorry for the way I acted earlier,” Bucky took the floor again, a little more relaxed than when he'd arrived soaking wet in the cafeteria, “It's just... I killed my neighbour's son.”

“No,” she replied quickly and firmly, as she did every time a similar topic came up in their conversations, “It was the Winter Soldier. It was a person they created to control and disenfranchise, that wasn't you. It wasn't the Bucky I know. I'm sorry to hear that, but... it wasn't your fault, I know that whatever they did for your mind was always rejected by your body, even if you couldn't control it.”

The man half-opened his lips, wanting to say something, wanting to give voice to the jumble of thoughts concurring in his mind, but nothing managed to come out other than incoherent babbling.

“I... I don't know how to tell him.”

“You really want to?”

Bucky nodded, looking into the woman's shining, understanding eyes as she brought one of her hands up to cradle the side of his face.

“Then you'll find a way. Don't push yourself.”

He rested his right hand on the hand the woman held on his cheek, and leaned his head slightly into her touch. Although the stress and tension did not disappear completely, it did give way to a relaxing and lively sense of calm and stillness. Bucky didn't know if she had done it on purpose or not, but her words, though few, brought back a harmonic undertone he hadn't allowed himself to return to in a long time.

Then you'll find a way.

Don't push yourself.

suggie, i see you and i adore you! thank you so much for your constant support, it means a lot to me 🥺

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!