Confessed Feelings (3)

confessed feelings (3)

summary: Bucky finally confronts his thoughts and makes a decision.

pairing: bucky barnes x avenger!reader

words: +3.5k (this is the longest i have ever written!)

warnings: some bad words? i think there are no warnings this time. i just want to say that this is more from Bucky's pov, all his considerations, and at the very end the reader appears. i really don't know if that's a bit tedious, or if this is what you were expecting, but i still hope you enjoy it!

note: thank you so much for all the support, it has been overwhelming in the best possible way! literally your words inspired me and I was surprised to write this third and last part so quickly, so here it is!

Part 1

Part 2

Bucky Barnes was sure of three things:

1. That he wasn't good with words.

Bucky was a disaster at finding the right words, and in any situation or at any time, not for any specific thing. His passive-aggressive attitude was the product of a myriad of bad memories and experiences that, little by little, dulled the light in his eyes. The man he was in the 40s definitely no longer existed, he had died the day he had fallen off that train. The man he was now was nothing more than a vague and poor attempt to recover what he used to be, but without finding the right path and making mistakes at every step.

And that wasn't wrong. I mean, it's human to make mistakes, he used to repeat himself; but as time went on he found it a better escape to withdraw into himself rather than take the time to give voice to his thoughts and engage in a lot of emotions that, after so many years, felt strange and not worthy of his time.

After spending years carrying around guilt, remorse and helplessness, Bucky had given up on trying to find a way to communicate in any other way than by staring at people, mostly with a frown on his face. He found it better for people to believe that he was angry, or that he was bitter, simply so he wouldn't have to deal with small talk about feelings and things that made him vulnerable and, consequently, an easy target.

2. He was also not very good at expressing his feelings.

That was obvious, it went along with the first point. If Bucky avoided everyday talk even with most of his peers, he would avoid talk about his feelings even more. For him, it was like trying to swim in the desert trying to reach an oasis; a constant feeling of suffocation and hopelessness. Talking about his feelings was touching an unfamiliar wasteland; it had been so long since the last time that he didn't even know how to handle it effectively. And he used to be a Don Juan, who knew?

If he wanted to make a simpler analogy, Bucky was pretty good with guns, pistols and rifles, even knives and switchblades, but swords? That kind of extremely big, loud and much shinier knife? No, too ostentatious and pompous for his taste, as well as being too indiscreet. If there was something he didn't like doing, or didn't like talking about, why would he waste his time trying? If Bucky didn't know how to use a sword, even though it would surely be as simple as a knife considering the skills he possessed, knew and was familiar with, then why should he feel obligated to do so? After all, it was his choice, wasn't it?

Or maybe he was simply avoiding it because he didn't want to realise how simple it was, just as he didn't want to know that he'd wasted so much time just because... he was afraid. Afraid of doing it wrong, afraid of failing, afraid of disappointing, afraid of losing control again because he didn't know how to handle himself.

But no, of course he didn't feel that way, that would be fucking crazy.

3. But he was particularly forthcoming when it came to you.

This... Well, this was a prime example of what happened when you gave Bucky a sword expecting him to walk across a desert without a drop of water. He was lost. He was doomed.

When Bucky didn't know something or didn't know where he was going, he hesitated, he fretted, he panicked, and most of the time he would rather run away than realise that the wasteland stretching out in front of him was really a green screen that his deepest fears had put in front of him to frighten him, to distract him, to keep him hidden.

But, really, there was nothing in front of him. Only the very fear he refused to accept.

And he knew that made him a coward. For God's sake, he could take on thirty men armed with a knife, but he couldn't tell the woman he liked that he'd be happy to take her out to dinner. But did that fact encourage him to take the risk? Absolutely not.

And Bucky hated himself for it. He hated the part of himself that refused to talk to you because it was terrified, and he hated even more having the ability and strength to face it.

“You told her what?” Sam's exclamation jolted him back to the stage he'd been on for a couple of minutes. His gaze refused to meet Sam's and instead focused on your figure, sitting in front of the kitchen counter talking animatedly to Steve while you ate your favourite cereal. And he knew he had no right, he knew he'd brought this on himself, but he couldn't help the burning in his chest every time you smiled at him the way you smiled at Bucky. It was fucking painful.

And was that enough of an impetus for him to finally speak to you honestly? No, absolutely not. Fucking coward.

“Bucky, have you lost your mind?”

The aforementioned let out a sigh, noticeably exasperated. He averted his gaze to begin counting the bubbles that were accumulating around the rim of the full glass of Coke he hadn't even tasted since Sam had put it in front of him.

Wilson, noticeably grumpy, pushed the soda out of his sight and planted his forearm on the table in front of them, leaning forward allowing Bucky to sense the irritability emanating from him. Honestly, Bucky didn't think Sam would take it seriously when he told him, just to get it off his chest, but the man had breathed in sharply with his eyes fixed on him, as if he could suddenly see and judge his every mistake.

So this is why, Bucky mentally told himself, I just shouldn't talk to anyone anymore.

“Look, man, I know you're older than me and I owe respect to my elders, but what the fuck was going through your head when you decided that doing that was a good idea?”

Barnes rolled his eyes, “It's not to make a fuss.”

“Oh, no, no. You're telling me that you like someone, but to really like her, for a relationship, and then you tell me that you dismissed her that way like she was a piece of old cardboard. And not only that, but that woman is Y/N!”

“I didn't dismissed her away like-”

“Ah, ah, ah,” Sam interrupted him, raising his index finger and wagging it from side to side in denial, “You have serious commitment and communication issues.”

“Can you hardly tell?”

Sam lowered his hand, leaning over his forearm to observe Bucky's hard, impassive expression.

“Why do you think it's wrong that you like her?”

“Steve likes her.”

“No, Steve liked her.”

“No, he likes her. What he said was to not make me feel bad, but I can read between the lines.”

“Then you have lousy reading comprehension, Bucky,” Sam shook his head, “Steve liked Y/N, past tense. He told you there was nothing wrong with you wanting to date her, why are you reneging and twisting his words?”

“I'm not reneging-”

“Bucky,” Sam exclaimed, shushing him, “The problem isn't with Steve or Y/N, you're the one who wants to believe that all this drama you put together is necessary. Why?”

I can't tell him, Bucky thought, he's going to judge me. He's definitely going to. And who wouldn't? I would if I were in his place. For a moment, it frightened him how easily his mind played with his stability, leading him to believe, as it always did, that the problem lay with the others. That the others didn't understand, that they would never be able to understand what he thought or felt. It didn't allow him to see how much simpler and more bearable things would be if Bucky talked about them, if he could communicate, in that way that so terrified him, with others.

“Why, Bucky?” Sam insisted, and a pique of unease ran through the aforementioned's body.

“Damn it, Sam, will you just drop the subject for the hell of it?” Bucky raised his voice, gripped by his emotions, but instantly regretting it.

“No,” Sam shot back in the same tone of voice, “It's not right that you're always thinking of yourself this way. It's not healthy, Bucky.”

“In what way?” he asked sarcastically, letting out a short, unfunny laugh.

“The way you make yourself believe that you don't deserve any good. That everything that happens to you, a product of your own actions, decisions and fears, is some kind of punishment for everything they made you do in the past. And now you'd rather believe that Steve lied to you, that he didn't tell you the truth when he told you that he was moving on from Y/N and dating someone else, all because you want to hold on to the idea that you don't deserve it. That you don't deserve her. But, in case you haven't noticed, you're not the only one you're hurting with those self-destructive thoughts.”

Bucky watched him with a frown, his face feigning an expressionlessness that tried to hide the terror he felt at the mere thought that it was so easy for Sam to dig through his actions to uncover his worst fears. He felt exposed, vulnerable, an easy target...

“Maybe I don't fully understand what you are going through with this transition, but what I do know is that you are not going to get anywhere by letting your fears take over. If you keep this up, there's going to be nothing left of you in the end. You have to come out, Bucky, you have to believe that you really deserve what you have now, what you can have,” he said, and pointed discreetly into the distance at you, where Natasha had joined the conversation.

Sam's eyes were fixed on his, with a determination and confidence that made him wonder - why was he really telling him all that? Did he really want to make him feel better, or was he just pretending because he really cared more about what you felt than what he was going through? The things he was saying... they weren't strange, but they weren't welcome in Bucky's mind. What was he saying? That his feelings were valid? That was something new.

He was probably free of HYDRA's control, free of the Winter Soldier, but he wasn't free of the fears and doubts, he wasn't free of his subconscious, which constantly found ways to make him believe that everything good in his life came at a cost. No one could be so happy in such a short time without paying a price for it. It was impossible.

Wasn't it?

“Dude, just... think about it, okay? I can realize it's hard for you to push guilt and fear away from your decisions, but you have to do it, Bucky. You have to start trying so you can start living again. Believe me, there are a lot of good things you are missing out on as you ponder whether you are worthy of the good things you feel. But you are, Bucky, you have to know that, you can't let doubt become your guide. You are more than that.”

Bucky knew how to spot a person's lies like a pro. The way they moved, how they breathed or if they were sweating, even the way the words came out of that person's mouth were leading clues to make him conclude that someone was lying to him. But Sam... Sam wasn't. His posture was tense, his gaze stern but determined, his breathing calm and slow, normal, his face free of layers of sweat.

Sam wasn't lying to him, he wasn't messing with his mind. No one was messing with his mind but himself, and that made him think that maybe, just maybe, Sam was right. It sounded crazy, his subconscious was denying the possibility through a tantrum, refusing to let him believe that what Sam was saying was actually true, and that little dilemma made him realise something:

“That sounds like a long way off.”

Sam sketched a half smile, resting one of his hands on Bucky's shoulder, “I know she'll understand. Or better, if you let her, she can come with you.”

---

Steve had spoken to Bucky days before you left with the blond on your first mission after four months. And he remembered it perfectly, as if it had been that very morning, as he weighed Sam's words and the reality of Steve's words. He had intercepted him at the gym, the place Bucky had designated as his personal therapeutic place, where he used to spend most of his days. He knew he wasn't going to find you there because at that moment you were with Natasha, both of you in the equipment room as you helped the spy prepare for her next mission.

Yep, Bucky was avoiding you and very blatantly not trying to hide it.

“Hey, Buck,” he recognized Steve's voice echoing through the gym.

“Steve,” Bucky greeted him back, barely turning to watch him nonchalantly enter the place.

“I hear you've been talking to Emily these days.”

“Yeah,” Bucky replied nonchalantly, “She seems nice.”

“And what about Y/N?”

The pounding on the sandbag stopped abruptly as soon as Bucky heard your name leave Steve's lips. His brow furrowed and, coupled with the erratic rhythm his heartbeat had taken on, Bucky felt like this conversation wasn't going where he wanted it to.

“What about her?” he asked, suddenly defensive, and the blond didn't miss that.

Steve shrugged, cocking his lips, “I thought you'd try something with her.”

“I never said that,” he replied quickly with a frown, turning to look at his friend.

“Well, I assumed, after what we talked about last time.”

“You mean when you told me you liked her?”

“No, I mean when I told you that you didn't have to be self-conscious just because I told you I liked her before.”

Bucky didn't erase his gruff expression, but on the contrary, it intensified as he deciphered Steve's words that his subconscious knew, but hadn't allowed himself to parse the right way the first time.

“Whatever, Steve, she doesn't feel the same way,” the black-haired man turned his attention back to the bag, but didn't make a pretense of hitting it again. His mood had faded.

“You'll never know if that's true unless you ask her. What have you got to lose?”

“Time?”

“Please, Buck. I've seen you around her, she makes you feel good, comfortable.”

“She doesn't make me feel anything,” he exclaimed through his teeth, interrupting him, an angry flare flaring in his chest.

Steve sighed, finally deciphering his partner's reluctant attitude.

“You're scared of how you feel because she makes you think you really deserve it, aren't you?”

Bucky turned his face to look at him, but said nothing.

“She makes you feel like you deserve a chance. And now you don't believe it.”

Bucky hesitated for a few seconds, Steve easily noticing the dilemma inside him, but just as quickly as it came, just as quickly it went.

“She doesn't make me feel anything,” and he continued to pound the bag in front of him, harder and angrier than before, as if to make his decision clear.

Thinking about that conversation again made his stomach do a flip. It had taken him a long time to realise that his greatest fear was already a reality, that he had been wasting his time hiding behind a branch and being a bitter hothead because everyone already knew, everyone already knew him. The people around him knew more about him than he knew about himself, and even they knew that it scared him.

He hadn't even succeeded in trying to hide his fears from the world. All he had done was try to excuse his bad decisions behind them. Some soldier he was, huh.

Coming to that conclusion made him realise that you too were among that mass of people who knew him all too well. And now, two days after his conversation with Sam and sitting against the wall of the Quinjet returning to the Complex after a mission with you, Bucky still hadn't found the words to tell you all about the emotions that blossomed in his chest every time you were near him, or every time you smiled at him or told a joke that normally wasn't funny, but your sparkling eyes automatically brought a smile to his face that he didn't even bother to stop.

However, realising the truth did not mean that he was no longer afraid. On the contrary, he was terrified. Mainly because he knew you were going to be angry, and he didn't blame you, you had every reason to be. But he knew it would only make him more nervous and he wouldn't know how to handle his emotions in the environment. Now, time had run out for him. He could no longer postpone this talk with the excuse that he was still thinking. Besides, his fear was also justified in the future, in not knowing how to cope with a relationship, what commitment and trust were all about. Would he do it right? How did he know he wouldn't throw it all away the moment his insecurities took control of himself? Because of those doubts that wouldn't leave him alone, Bucky knew that the path he was taking now was one of vulnerability at its finest.

Your eyes, which at every turn tried to avoid his, had finally connected with his. Your expression was what it used to his, stoic and expressionless, and he definitely didn't like it. He already missed your smiling, animated gestures that contrasted too much with his, but in a beautiful way made him feel complete, even if he had spent days denying himself that just because he was scared.

“I...” he began, before you looked away again and they fell into another awkward silence, “I'm sorry. And I know you might not want to forgive me, and that's okay, I understand. I also know that you probably don't want to listen to me after- after what I told you, but I promise this will be the last you'll hear from me if you never want to see me again afterwards.”

You watched his clear eyes from a distance, his pupils slightly dilated that you could detail clearly thanks to your skills. He moved his thumbs over his clasped hands, in what you deduced was a nervous gesture you hadn't seen him make before, and you didn't know if it was because of that or the simple need to want to hear him, that you silently agreed without taking your eyes off him.

And Bucky understood, he was an expert at deciphering looks. Your looks.

“It took me a long time to realise that what everyone was saying was true,” he began, his gaze anchored on yours, “I've spent so much time locked inside myself with the memories, with the guilt, the remorse, the- the sadness, that now I feel like that's all I know. I can't acknowledge how you feel about me because I feel I don't deserve it, that's true. I can't accept that you love me even though you know what I did, that you know what I'm carrying on my shoulders, and that's something I'm going to have trouble getting rid of,” he watched your sad expression, “But I will, I know I can do it now.”

“And I'm going to apologise, probably forever, for trying to excuse myself behind lies just because I was scared. Steve was right, I'm terrified that you would make me feel like I deserve something good, just because I spent years believing I would live out a divine punishment for everything I did. I know better now, but... that doesn't make it any less scary.”

“My point is: I'll work on it. I mean, I want to. For you. For me. I want to accept what you give me openly and I want to have the ability to give you the same, and more, back. Because that's what relationships are all about, isn't it? Reciprocal affections. I know I'm going to make it, now I am... but I also know it's going to take some time, and I don't want to tie you down to the uncertainty of what may or may not happen in the future. However, it's your decision. But whatever you choose, I will always, forever, wait for you.”

Bucky watched you warily, his heart beating wildly and uncontrollably within his chest. At some point, he had leaned forward to get a better view of you, or simply to emphasize his words, so you could tell he really meant what was coming out of his mouth, and wasn't just getting the words out for the sake of it.

He noticed your flashing eyes, clouded in a couple of tears, and for a moment he paused to wonder if he had said something wrong. You didn't even answer him, and Bucky felt his body begin to sink into resignation.

You blinked a couple of times, trying to get a clear view of him, of his face and his expectant features. The hundred emotions coursing through your body at that moment left you in an ecstasy you couldn't describe, and you didn't really struggle to find what to say to him -you knew exactly what your answer was- you were simply stunned by the way he opened his heart and soul to you, knowing that he was entrusting you with something that, until moments ago, he treasured warily as his own and over which only he had power: his fragility, that vulnerable part of himself that he always hid from the world, exposed to you.

And you loved him. More than before, if that was possible.

You braced your hands to lift yourself off the ship's floor under his anxious gaze. You walked to close the space between you, and sat down again, this time, facing him. The way you looked at him made his world reel, wondering if he really had to go through so much to realise what he was missing; to realise that maybe he did deserve it.

Well, he had to erase that maybe, but he'd already said he was going to work on that, hadn't he?

“I can wait for you, Bucky. And I can walk you to the end of the world if you want me too.”

Bucky was the one who approached, knowing you were keeping your distance because you wanted to respect that he wanted to take his time. His hands, sheathed in his black leather gloves, cradled your face with a softness you could even feel through the rough material. A small smile took over his face, his eyes sparkling with the anticipation of a new possibility; a possibility in which he could be happy.

“Thank you,” he mused, pressing his forehead to yours.

Your hands wrapped around his wrists, holding him firmly but not too tightly, just to let him know that you were there, and that you were going to be there until he decided to walk away, if he did in the end.

His happy sigh brought a smile to your face, and the two of you stood together holding hands for the rest of the trip back to the Complex.

----

the ones who asked to me to tag them: @ladyfallonavenger @wanniiieeee

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!

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.

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

I told you she was cursed, Bucky!

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

wip tag game

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

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

Dean request for Karaoke Night:

“Try me.”

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

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

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

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

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!

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