Mixed Feelings (2)

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.

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!

thank u so much 🥺❤️

Rae's Fic Recs

here's a list of all of my favorite fics, updated as i read them!

Nikolai Lantsov:

letters by @xsamsharons

nikolai x sick!reader by @lanstsov

Kaz Brekker:

congratulations by @genyaakostyk

how kaz brekker falls in love headcanons by @goldengoddess

Bucky Barnes

ribs by @buckyblues

heal me baby by @wkemeup

flight risk & no control by @wkemeup

disappear by @stxrvel

edited! in case you want to take another look at it 💕

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!

disappear

summary: when you disappeared from Bucky's life, he felt he had lost everything, until he realised that your presence was not the only thing that had disappeared.

pairing: bucky barnes x reader

words: +3k

warnings: just a little sadness at the beginning, but wait for it!

note: i don't know what got into me, but apparently my dream is gone and my head is racing with these writings. anyway, thanks for the support and enjoy!

Bucky spent weeks wondering why. Had he done something wrong? Had something he had said upset you so much? Had he become rude to you? He simply couldn't find a reason, and spent many nights just staring at the ceiling thinking that he was the cause of all his problems.

Because what other reason would you have for leaving if it wasn't himself? Maybe he wasn't enough, or you probably got tired of trying to understand him. Surely you found someone more stable, more alive, and you saw no reason to believe that Bucky deserved an explanation. Maybe he didn't even deserve that.

The only thing he had back was silence. The stormy silence that had been cured by nights spent together, talking, watching movies, doing whatever and coordinating so much that Bucky could only think you were made for him, and he was made for you.

But in the end, it seemed like he was the only one who thought that. Because you didn't hesitate for a second, when you surely had the chance, to walk out the door and never come back. You didn't even take your things with you, you just disappeared from his life without any kind of explanation.

The first few days were the worst. Confusion and denial took over his body so much that he went out every night to walk around the city, just to hope that he could find you somewhere, and that you could explain to him what the hell had happened, or what he had done wrong that had made you run away from him.

No one in the team seemed to know what had happened. They hadn't heard from you since the last time they'd been together, all having dinner at Stark's house. The last time Bucky had seen you. He couldn't get in touch with any of your family either, the only thing he knew about them was the city they lived in, but they used to move all the time.

After a while, hopeless and disillusioned, he had finally resigned himself. Something had gone wrong, or something had been missing, but he had failed your relationship. And he spent weeks like that, blaming himself for your surprising and inexplicable escape, and no one could ever change his mind. He withdrew into himself again, only coming out on missions or for the bare necessities; his presence souring as the days went by, hurt and pained by what you had done.

Bucky wanted to believe he didn't deserve it, but over time he came to believe that he did.

"Hey, Buck," Steve's voice woke him up, and he had to lift his head to look at his friend standing next to him, "We're heading back to the Quinjet now, you coming?"

Bucky watched him, sitting at one of the tables in the coffee shop in the city, the city where your parents lived. Or at least, the one he thought they lived in. Just thinking about it again, about you, about what had happened, fanned the flame of disappointment and the pain felt as fresh as the moment he realised you weren't coming back. Rubbing salt in the wound fell short of the feeling he felt at the mere remembrance of your abandonment.

"Go on, I'll catch up," he replied to Steve, who only pursed his lips and gave him a nod.

Bucky watched them leave, immersed in the storm of sensations he thought he had learned to tame months ago.

He looked down at his milkshake and sighed. Although a part of him, long before he had arrived in this city, believed he would feel hopeful about being there, the truth was that he had plenty of desire and reason to run.

But his body felt too heavy, and if he didn't believe there was a chance then he had no reason to be in a hurry.

He came out a couple of minutes later. The weather in the city was hot, which you always complained about because you couldn't wear a blazer for too long before you started hyperventilating or turned into a portable sauna. Bucky surveyed the buildings, feeling a strange, unwelcome familiarity run through his body.

He began to walk away from the cafeteria and closer to the team's rendezvous point to get back to Washington.

But he stopped a few moments later

At the intersection, everything seemed normal enough, at least as normal as it could be in a congested city like that. Nevertheless, he sensed something strange in the air, as if the wind carried with it the ill omen of an impending disaster.

He scanned his surroundings keenly and shrewdly, alert to register every strange movement and ready to defend himself if necessary.

But there seemed to be nothing to worry about, unless he considered a woman's fallen shopping bag across the street a threat.

Bucky watched her figure, his hands tingling with unfamiliar anticipation. He began to feel the need to walk towards her, to see her, to touch her... but no. He stopped in time. It had already happened to him several times to go after a woman who looked exactly like you, but only earned a reproach, a bad look and disappointment. It had been a long time since he had stopped looking for you, and he wouldn't start looking for you now.

But the woman turned away just as Bucky was about to continue on his way, and he froze in place.

It was like a mirage. There was no way in the universe that anyone could look that similar... no, it was impossible.

Bucky clasped his hands, his breathing quickening in anticipation of events. He felt a tingle run through his body, and he didn't know if it was the product of surprise or fear. Despite the high temperature of the city, Bucky sensed a chill and his body shrank, suddenly feeling exposed and vulnerable. The pain in his chest, the one he hadn't felt in months, had just returned fiercely, stealing his breath as he couldn't tear his gaze away from the woman who had entered that building.

He didn't even hesitate when he started jogging in the same direction.

He had begun to hyperventilate even before he picked up his pace, gripped by his fear and his expectations. If it was really you, what was he supposed to say? How was he supposed to act? Was he supposed to look angry? Was he supposed to ask for explanations? Did he still have the right to do that?

He went up the stairs two at a time, not even knowing on which of all the floors you had probably stopped.

But he didn't have to try very hard to find out. On the fourth floor, at the end of the corridor, you were standing in the doorway. Bucky felt his breath taken away. It had been so long...

Your hair was long, much longer than the last time he'd seen you, with slightly lighter ends and slight waves that ended at the small of your back. You no longer wore rings, your fingers, on the door frame, were empty of them. Yet you were still dressed in the same way he knew: casually formal, but not uncomfortably so.

Bucky felt he was seeing a version of you so familiar, yet at the same time so unfamiliar and alien to what he remembered. It was strange to him that he could tell how much he knew about you just by seeing you from afar.

Suddenly, without warning, you turned around, closed the door and started walking in his direction. You didn't realise anyone was there until you reached the middle of the corridor.

Your little smile faded, the same smile you always gave him from afar or on the nights you spent together, knowing and mischievous, but as soft and loving as only you could make it, and Bucky felt his heart faint.

A thousand scenarios ran through his mind. You walking back down the hall, him following you and ending up in an argument. You, trying to ignore him and him claiming you for what you'd done. You, walking away, ignoring his suffering, leaving him behind as you had done months ago, totally insensitive and oblivious to the agonising life you had forced him to live since you left.

Bucky imagined it all in those few seconds when you were looking into each other's eyes, you with a confused expression and Bucky surely with a sour and frightened expression, but he definitely didn't imagine what, in the end, came out of your mouth.

"Hi," you smiled at him, as if it was nothing.

Bucky felt himself short-circuiting.

"Are you looking for someone?"

He watched you, and couldn't even decipher what he was feeling, nor what was going through his mind at the moment. Your gaze on his wasn't rude, it wasn't contemptuous, it wasn't scornful; you were looking at him the same way you did when you first met: with your relaxed, gentle, curious features. And how the hell was he supposed to act in the face of that?

"Wait," you blurted out suddenly, your eyebrows raised and your smile widening into a very peculiar joy, as if you had just realised something, but it couldn't be what he was thinking. Why were you still smiling? "Are you Mark, the one from Tinder? Because if you are, let me tell you, you look very, very different. Although I don't think Sophie would mind in the same way."

You let out a laugh, and a feeling that Bucky thought was gone bloomed in his chest again. Adoration.

But he couldn't answer you. He didn't understand what the hell was going on.

"Are you Mark?" your corners turned down and you arched an eyebrow.

"Y/N," Bucky blurted out, as if he'd just seen a ghost.

Your face contracted in confusion.

"Do I know you?"

Suddenly, Bucky felt a discomfort sweep through his body. He didn't even stop to consider the situation fully, his mind was already scheming the thousand reproaches he wanted to make to you for leaving him. For leaving, and taking everything about him with you.

"I don't know what you're doing, but it's not funny," his voice came out rude and curt, reflecting the anger that mingled with the jumble of thoughts that were creating a dilemma in his mind.

"Excuse me, but I think you've got the wrong person. I... I don't know you."

"Of all the things I thought you might say to me, if we ever met again, I didn't think you'd stoop so low."

Your eyebrows rose in surprise and indignation. Bucky knew that look all too well.

"Look, I don't know who you are or what you're doing here, but I'm not going to let you talk to me that way."

"You don't know who I am?" Bucky exclaimed incredulously, "So that's how fast you forget two years together, huh?"

"But what are you talking about?"

Bucky was about to refute again. He came within an inch of blurting out everything that had been rattling around in his head for the past few months where his only company had been his shattered mind and deteriorating heart. He was angry, he was sad, he felt disarmed and vulnerable, his head was filled with words of hatred, resentment and bitterness... but he couldn't get a single word out. Not when you looked at him as if he had grown a second head.

Not when he'd noticed you clasping your hands at the sides of your body, leaning slightly forward, resting your weight on your right leg and scowling so hard it looked like it might stay that way forever. No, Bucky knew you well enough to be able to deduce the truth just by facing you, and at that moment, in addition to being angry, you were defensive, scared and confused.

But he couldn't understand...

"You don't... remember me?" was what came out of his mouth, trying to make sense of the conjectures his mind was coming up with. He hadn't even meant to say it, thinking out loud guilelessly.

"I think I said quite clearly that I have no idea who you are."

Your face, hardened with anger, remained fixed and determined looking in his direction.

Bucky felt like he looked like jelly, trembling and fragile.

Then, suddenly, your gaze softened. You opened your hands and settled into a more communicative position, more open to civilised talk.

"What is your name?"

He felt the sting of tears welling in his eyes.

"Bucky."

"Bucky," you repeated, savouring his name on your lips just as you had the first time.

His pulse jumped into a frenzy, and he had to clasp your hands so that the trembling in them would stop distracting him from thinking about the possibilities.

You were there. You really were there in front of him.

"I..." you spoke again, this time looking more nervous, "Well, I don't know how to tell you this tactfully, considering no one seems to have told you before. So I'll just say it. I lost my memory."

You lost your memory.

But... what the hell?

You must have sensed the big question mark on Bucky's face, because you hastened to add, "Three years ago I was in an accident on my way home. A truck hit my car for running a red light. I was in a coma for over four months and, when I woke up, I didn't remember what I had done with my life for the past five years. I didn't remember many people who claimed to be my friends, and I had a hard time re-adjusting to the routine I had already established."

You paused, waiting for the man in front of you to weigh and process the information.

"For my recovery, I came to live with my parents and decided to stay when I finished. They never mentioned anything about you. Do you live around here?"

"I live in Washington," Bucky replied automatically.

"Washington," you cocked your head, recalling the information your parents had given you, "Well, they just told me I used to live there before the accident, nothing beyond that."

Bucky was dumbfounded, trying to comprehend, analyze and correlate the facts only to realize that yes, there was no way you were lying to him just to get him off your back. And though he wanted to focus on the flood of guilty feelings that washed over him at the thought of spending months cursing your name only to find out now that you'd been in the hospital, Bucky could only focus on the last thing you'd told him.

Your parents hadn't told you about him. Absolutely nothing, not even about the rest of the team you'd fraternized with so much. Bucky would have preferred to say and believe it was a surprise, but it wasn't really.

Your parents never hid their contempt for your relationship with him. In the beginning, when you moved in with him, they called you every three days just to try to convince you to move back home with them, saying that a good-for-nothing like him couldn't give you what you needed, let alone what you wanted. You never listened to them, obviously, but those situations stayed in his head for a long time, and intensified after you disappeared from his life without a trace.

And now it made sense.

You hadn't abandoned him. You had an accident, you lost all your memories of him, and your parents took advantage of that heartbreaking situation to finally achieve their goal: to separate you from him for good.

And it hurt. It hurt like bloody hell. Not just what they'd done, but Bucky had spent days blaming you, cursing you, believing you'd gone to someone else who could give you more than him, finally succumbing to your parents' desire. And no, it wasn't possible for Bucky to know something like that had happened, but it hurt him that it hadn't been long before he'd begun to think the worst of you, as if you didn't deserve the benefit of the doubt.

Bucky looked up, not quite sure when in the midst of his musings he had lowered his gaze, and rested his eyes on your wary gaze. Even without knowing him, you seemed genuinely concerned.

"I'm sorry," you said quickly, "I have no idea why my parents didn't tell you."

"I can figure it out," he muttered bitterly.

You let out a snort and your expression quickly changed to anger, "I'm going to talk to them about it. I can't believe they were so inconsiderate."

Bucky couldn't help but let out a chuckle. You had changed, but not by much. You still looked like a little girl throwing a tantrum when you got mad, and him saying that about you definitely used to piss you off too.

"Did we know each other a lot?" you asked, the anger fading from your features to give way to intrigue.

"We lived together."

Your eyebrows rose in disbelief.

"And my parents never considered telling me?" you exclaimed, sceptical.

"I'm not surprised," Bucky commented, a bitter smile creeping onto his face, "They never approved of our relationship."

Your head jerked up, expressing a denial of your parents' behaviour.

However, the information you had just gained felt overwhelming. A few seconds ago, the knowledge you had of the five years wiped from your memory was that you had lived with your parents most of the time, and that you had recently moved to Washington shortly before the accident. Honestly, you found it surprising that your parents would lie to you just to keep you away from a man you apparently used to really love.

And just the thought that he must have spent all those months believing you had abandoned him, it made you feel an emptiness in your chest that surely didn't compare to the emptiness he must have felt, and only because of a deception. It's not as if you were now trying to get back together with him just by knowing that, you don't remember him, but you were sure that if he had known that, it might have been a little more encouraging, either to move on and forget your relationship, or to build a new one. But your parents wouldn't let you make that decision.

"I'm really sorry, Bucky."

"It's okay, it's all right, love."

Bucky blurted out the nickname he called you by most of the time without even realizing it, until he watched your face contract in surprise and discomfort.

"I didn't- I didn't mean it like that," he tried to excuse himself, "I mean, maybe I did, but it's not at all appropriate right now. I'm sorry."

"It's okay," you smiled at him through tight lips, and Bucky mimicked you.

His eyes stayed locked on yours, and though you certainly didn't remember anything of your time together, a warm feeling formed in your chest.

"So, we lived together."

Bucky smiled, "Yeah, we'd been together for ten months when we moved in."

"How long were we together?"

"Two years and three months."

You raised your eyebrows.

"Wow, that's definitely my longest relationship."

Bucky let out a laugh and you sheepishly joined him.

You played with your fingers, lacing and unlacing them in front of you, a nervous gesture that Bucky was quite familiar with. He was about to tell you that he could go away, leave it at that, and wish you a good life, but you beat him to the punch.

"How about we go down to the cafeteria?" you suggested, leaving him speechless for a few moments, "I mean, to talk. I guess you spent a bitter time not knowing the truth, I think the least you deserve is a little time."

At the time, Bucky didn't understand how he could have ever even considered that you would do something with the sole intention of hurting him. He got more hurt himself as time went on.

"Well, if you're comfortable with that, I'm fine with it. But if you want me to leave, that's okay too. I'll understand."

"No," you exclaimed quickly, "I don't have a problem. On the contrary, I have a lot of questions, so I hope you have the afternoon off."

Bucky remembered Steve and the rest of the team, making a mental note to write to him that he would return to Washington later.

His mouth widened into a smile, as you began to walk further towards him, heading for the stairs.

"As long as you need."

ohmygodness, i promise all of this gets an explanation in part 3 🥺🥺

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.