Hi, Can I Just Say Your Writing And Just All Your Work In General Is Chefs Kiss, Like Youre An Amazing

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

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

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

I told you she was cursed, Bucky!

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

wip tag game

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

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

Dean request for Karaoke Night:

“Try me.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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.

Trying to convince yourself to write like