Thank U So Much

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

your blog sucks

you should see my life

cowboy like me

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

pairing: bucky barnes x reader

words: 2k or so.

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

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

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

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

But no, it was only him.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Tell me you're on my side.

Me: I still think you should change your psychologist.

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

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

“Bad day?”

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

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

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

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

“Sometimes you laugh at my jokes.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Then why does it scare me so much?

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

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

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

“Bucky?”

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

“Are you all right?”

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

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

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

Bucky turned to look at her with a frown.

“What things?”

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

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

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

Bucky was silent for a few seconds.

“I don't remember saying that.”

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

And well, it was true.

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

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

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

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

“I don't like football.”

The woman let out a snort of exasperation.

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

“I could say the same about you.”

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

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

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

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

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

“I'm sorry.”

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

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

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

“And you probably won't again.”

“That's how bad it went?”

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

“It could have been worse.”

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

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

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

“I could tell you the same thing.”

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

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

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

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

“We'd be tied, you mean.”

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

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

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

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

“I... I don't know how to tell him.”

“You really want to?”

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

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

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

Then you'll find a way.

Don't push yourself.

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.

(in)dispensable

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

pairing: bucky barnes x avenger!reader

words: +2.7k

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

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

thanks for the support and hope you like it!

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

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

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

Did they really care?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Bucky took a few seconds to respond.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Well, everyone except you.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Who told you about Game of Thrones?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

"The what?"

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

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

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

"Like what?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

At home.

"Thank you."

"Anything for you, pretty girl."

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

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

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

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