Winter Solider - Tumblr Posts
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.
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
life goes on
summary: when Bucky disappeared along with half the world, you lost your way, and when everyone came back you didn't know if life could go on.
pairing: bucky barnes x avenger!reader
words: +1k
warnings: slight mention of suicidal thoughts, constant thoughts of loneliness, and endgame spoilers (?)
note: highly, HIGHLY, inspired by life goes on by bts, a song that truly inspires me, you can listen to it while you read, if you want to 🥺
i would also like to say that this is not expressly focused on a romantic relationship, i just wrote some things that were already running around in my mind far away from the marvel theme and i decided to put it this way to give it some harmony. please take care of your mental health, see professionals if necessary, don't close in on yourself and, although it sounds tedious, changing your routine does make changes for yourself; you just have to follow the direction that your mind and body longs for the most. life goes on.
One day the world stopped, without any warning.
Screams filled the streets, dust and tears were carried by the wind, metallic birds fell from the sky, and the earth became a hell full of uncertainty and fear. Before entering the eye of the hurricane, everything was a disaster. You couldn't sleep at night because of the constant fear of not waking up, of being next. You couldn't eat because memories haunted your fortresses. You couldn't even go out without the nagging anguish that a wind would carry you with it into oblivion, where there was nothing but absolute nothingness, where no one remained and no one belonged. And, although the disaster was colossal, the wounds were far deeper than just physical affectations, everything soon fell into an indolent calm.
Suddenly, all was silent, and that became the new language of humanity. The passing glances, the unanswered questions, the heaviness of seeing someone cry every day. It became tiresome and tedious to leave the house as time went by. Some conformed, others took advantage, some could never move on and others forgot as easily as you forget the number of leaves you see in the street every day. It was, in short, a new apathetic people. There were people who still wondered how to breathe the air that brought back the memory of those who had gone, which had their essence, but others easily closed their windows or simply moved on. Because the memories were too much, because the memories were too noisy in this new world plunged into a collective silence.
Reality had changed so abruptly that no one could take a moment to hold on to anything strongly because of the existential jolt it left them with. But, in the end, none of those who remained mattered. Nothing mattered any more. There wasn't much to think about, the best thing to do was to move on because time forgives no one.
But then, the world came out of the eye of the hurricane and the winds began to blow everything in their path without remorse. Silence was once again filled by screams, shocked, frightened, disbelieving and pained. The people that had forgotten began to remember with regret, their eyes filled with tears because they thought that, after five years, there was nothing left to hope for. There was no reason to hope, life was just passing, but not continuing.
That was the circle you went through since the fateful day when Thanos snapped his fingers with the Gauntlet adorned with all the Infinity Gems: a dull thud, an absorbing silence and an incessant cry for hope.
After five years, life was not the same for you. Life had not continued during that time, it had stagnated in the memories and moments that lived and replayed constantly in your head freely, inhibiting you from any possibility of reasoning or empathetic deliberation. You were shut down, there was nothing left, no one left. And if the world had no regard for you, why should you have any regard for it?
That philosophy ruled your life for long, tedious and painful five years, in which you just wandered from place to place, with an extreme physical freedom but mentally enslaved to all your regrets and with a longing, yearning wail of silence that never left you no matter how many crimson drops rolled down the razor that used to be his. He would be so disappointed...
But then, one day, like an echo in the forest, the day came back. As if nothing had happened.
It was raining that day, you remembered it well. On the rooftop of a building, all alone and a victim of your own mind, while the world around you was once again plunged into uncertainty, you were just watching the sky, thinking, believing, wishing you could be close enough to forget, to silence that lament, to numb the anguish and the pile of emotions that overwhelmed you at night.
Your right hand had gripped the knife tightly when you heard the buzzing of your mobile phone, discreet but incessant, at a considerable distance. You watched the cautious, restrained movement of the clouds a little longer before reaching out to take the device.
Steve, you read the white letters at the top. He had never called you since you disappeared from the Complex, not a message or some kind of letter. You assumed Natasha had had the decency to explain to him that everyone mourned in their own way, though in time she would have begun a relentless search that did not go unnoticed by you. But you didn't want to be found, your new life was uncomfortably pleasant in the shadows.
Despite having had no communication for the past five years, you decided to take the call.
“Y/N,” he sounded relieved, as well as agitated.
“Steve.”
“They came back. He came back.”
You remembered how you had sat on the cement of the rooftop, your head spinning dizzily as you tried to focus your eyes on something. As you continued to clutch the razor tightly, your pulse racing at the possibility you'd given up on months ago.
“Don't you dare lie to me, Steve.”
“I'm not lying to you. He's here, at the base, and he wants to see you.”
At that moment you hung up on him, and the journey back to the Complex after five years had never felt so long. As you started on your way, you could see that what Steve said was true: everyone was back. People were celebrating, shouting, cheering, angry and grimacing in bewilderment - what did it mean that now everyone was back when they had learned to live with half the world mourning their loss? You had no idea, the only thing that was on your mind was that he was back. Bucky was back, after five years.
You were also confronted with the news of Tony and Natasha's death, and, upon arriving at the Complex, that Steve had aged another eighty years.
The flood of emotions that ran through your body those days, you couldn't even assimilate them one by one, the news coming one after the other. That's why, when you finally saw him, you collapsed in his arms and possibly cried for the rest of the night.
The days passed too slowly. You had your loved one back, but you had also lost three close friends, whom you had deliberately ignored all these years. The weight of the decisions you made weighed too heavily on your shoulders and in your heart, and you felt that as time went on you only withdrew into yourself until you were nothing but a blurry, cumbersome stain on the ground.
But Bucky was there, he was always there. His hands on yours, his thumbs on your cheeks, his whispers near your ear and his hands caressing your back at night.
Getting back to normal was an odyssey, but it was not impossible.
Little by little your mind was filled with new memories, moments that would bury everything you did those last years, learning to make peace with yourself.
“How can you accept my love when you won't even accept your own?” Bucky once said to you. The smooth tile of his eyes soft and understanding on yours.
It took you too long to accept it, but you had.
To love yourself, to love him, to accept your past and make amends for your mistakes, to learn to live daily and healthily with yourself.
And that day, with Bucky's fingers intertwined with yours, your bodies lying on the grass in the backyard of his house, watching the clouds pass by and clear the blue sky, your mind at peace and finally living together in a cosy silence, you realised that you were wrong. Like an arrow in the blue sky, another day that flies by.
Life does go on.
Steve Rogers leaves dishes in the sink.
His face in the end is screaming internally
I apologize if this has been done before but it popped into my head when I was rewatching Spiderverse
Sleepy Tony doodle cuz it’s been a sleepy day…
I’m procrastinating so much this weekend it’s not even funny ;_;
Burned At Both Ends - James "Bucky" Barnes
Happy (late) Halloween!!! Been thinking about James "Bucky" Barnes as of late, so thought I would write this kinda scary scenario for the spooky season, even tho this is a very different type of scary.
This is very angst filled, so just beware of that lol. And warning, mentions of torture are in this. So if you're uncomfy with that, might wanna skip this one.
~~~~~~~~~~
If it wasn't for his eyes being visible, you never would've recognized him.
All around his eyes were coated with a sort of black eyeshadow, making him look intimidating, even more so with him wearing a freaky looking mask and a metal arm. But one thing was for sure, you knew his eyes.
You knew that was Bucky.
A shot rang out, hitting metal loudly. Your ears rung violently, making your head spin.
At first, you were sure you were dead. The gun was aimed at you, but it never hit you.
You looked up with wide eyes, seeing that famous red, white, and blue vibranium shield covering your torso. Right beside you was your best friend, Steve, giving you a once over with concern before being ripped away from you by your former boyfriend.
You were frozen in shock, seeing Bucky alive, but not...himself. He was alive, but why was he fighting his best friend and why was he trying to kill his former partner? That gun was aimed at you, the love of your life pulling the trigger.
You weren't a super soldier like Steve, but against your better judgment, you made a move to help him. It was a split second decision, your heart ruling your head in attempt to help your best friend, no matter the consequences.
From the corner of his eye, Steve saw you running for the assassin's gun that was pointing at his head, immediately calling out for you to stop. But it was already too late.
You reached for the gun, the split second decision paying off for as soon as the gun's aim jolted it fired off a shot, just missing Steve's head.
Steve looked on in wide eyed horror as he almost came close with death, again.
You looked Bucky dead in the eyes as time seemed to slow, looking with him with the most emotion you could conjure, but only a cold dead expression was looking back.
Bucky looked to his left, as if he suddenly heard something, looking back at you with furrowed brows. What...?
Bucky grabbed you harshly by your arm that was already extended out towards his gun. You winced when he squeezed your wrist tightly, forcing you to his chest, the grip so strong you heard a sickening pop and a rush of pain shooting to your shoulder, then your wince loudened into a yelp.
"Y/n!" You could hear Steve yell, but a sudden sharp pain in the back of your skull caused the world around you to darken until your vision went completely black.
The one thing you remember before you came to was how cold you felt, not your entire body, but you felt the rough feeling of cold metal wrapping around your waist. Then you were awoken by being not so gently placed on a table, metal as well, you gathered, from the hollow sounding thud it made when the back of your head slammed against it.
Your eyes were still closed, but they began to tighten even more shut when your vision went white, light shining so brightly on your face that you could feel the heat from the electricity.
You forced yourself to open your eyes when you felt harsh hands grab onto your limbs, pushing your legs together and your arms by your side, seeing unfamiliar men surround you as they fastened buckles over your body.
You immediately started to struggle, promptly shouting out various obscenities at your apparent captors, until you received a hard slap to your cheek, your head turning from the force, and a voice shushing you in a soft voice.
With angry eyes, you turned to look at who dared to assault you, but your angered expression quickly turned into one of shock when you realized who was in front of you. "Pierce?"
Alexander Pierce, the well respected and charming Secretary of the WSC and head of S.H.I.E.L.D., was standing right in front of you, a wicked grin of his face.
"What? Why?" You couldn't form a coherent sentence, the bump on your head and lack of information causing you to stutter.
"Yes, I know you probably have a million questions for me Agent L/n, but fear not, I will answer the most important one." Pierce spoke arrogantly before he paused for dramatic effect, "I am Hydra." He revealed, still sporting that grin of his that usually would be make a person feel welcome or supported, but all it did now was make you sick to your stomach.
You still almost couldn't believe it, there was no way Pierce could be with Hydra, you always thought he was loyal to S.H.I.E.L.D.
"I know it's probably a shock, but we don't have time for that now." Pierce lowered himself down to sit beside you, placing an unwelcome hand on your knee that he deemed friendly. "I need you to tell me everything about Steve Rogers."
You furrowed your brows. "What...?"
"Your friend has become a bit of a nuisance these past couple weeks, and I need to know how to find him. Now, you must know a great deal about Steve, you two being so close and all."
Now you understood, Hydra wanted to take Steve out, him being too much of a threat.
"I do hope you cooperate, dear. I've always thought you were a kind woman, I like you, but if you don't tell me what I need to know them I'm afraid we'll have to take more extreme measures that I'd really like to avoid."
You scowled, trying not to show your panic as a couple men readied various weapons of torture, as you tugged at your restraints. "You must not think too much of me if you think that I'm gonna tell you anything about Steve."
Pierce frowned slightly, sighing as he nodded his head. "I was so hoping you wouldn't say that." Pierce nodded to his guards, then to the other two men. "I hope you won't be so stubborn when they start working."
From the corner of your eye, you saw the love of your life watching the situation from the sidelines, a cold dead expression on his face. Why was he just letting this happen? "James..." You called out weakly, your heart breaking when he looked like you were speaking another language. He truly didn't know who you were, did he...?
Pierce gave you another wicked smile before he left the room, ordering his men to follow out.
Your lip trembled as Bucky walked out, leaving you to the mercy of your captives. Please, don't leave me here...
You could've thought the cliché thing, that Bucky leaving you hurt worse than any physical pain you could ever be put through, and that would be true; but honestly, it was the last thing on your mind when the assigned torturers started doing their job.
Ever since you first joined the military with Steve, you had been trained and taught what to do if you got captured by the enemy. Of course, no matter what stupid move you made, Steve never let you get caught. Until now...
At first, you tried not to scream. You didn't want to give these sadistic men the satisfaction. But no matter how strong you thought, and knew you were, any person can be broken.
You focused on Steve, the brother you never had. It was all that kept you from giving up. You could not let these people know more than they already did about him. You couldn't let yourself be the person to get him killed.
Soon, all that you knew was pain. Steve wasn't in your mind anymore. All memory of what the outside world was like faded away. You couldn't keep track of how many days you were stuck on that torture table. It felt like you had been there for a century. Who knows? Maybe you actually had been. Every time you've passed out from the pain, they could've put you in cryo and you wouldn't know the difference.
There was only one thing on your mind: you wanted the pain to end, you needed it to end. But it didn't, so many times you came close to breaking, begging for the torture to stop. But the pain was so great, you didn't know how much longer you could handle it.
Then, there was one day when the torture just...stopped.
For most of the time you've been captured, you've been strapped to this metal table, not even getting a cell. You would be forced to sleep on that table, your alarms being the tools you were prodded with in the supposed mornings, only given food and water to be kept alive. But one day, your assigned torturers never came into the room. The day before, you heard the distant sound of chaos, for whatever reason. You still heard people walking down the halls of wherever you were kept, but never the harsh stomps that usually indicated you were going to be tortured that day.
Then you heard it, the screams. But accompanied with the screams was gunfire, glass shattering, you might've even heard a couple explosions. The sounds all around you reminded you of your time in the military, even if you didn't see as much action as Steve, it brought you back to that horrible place. The light that was constantly shone on you, it started to feel like heat from an explosion. Screams echoed in your ears, you felt like you were going to die.
You screamed in terror when you heard the door to the room bust open, the force of whoever opened it so strong it knocked the door off its hinges, flying across the room. And in came Bucky, but it still wasn't him. Even without the mask and eye makeup, he was still the Winter Soldier.
In any other situation, you would've been overjoyed to see him. But considered the situation he put you in, the sight of him made you cower away. You couldn't stop the scream that escaped you when he stomped toward you.
*earlier*
He was heartbroken. This isn't what he wanted. This was the last thing he could ever want.
Bucky watched as the Winter Soldier grabbed you, in a way that he never would, delivering you to Hydra. No...please, anything but this. Bucky wanted to scream, curse, fight the Winter Soldier, fight whatever the fuck Hydra put inside him. This wasn't him, he would never hurt you. But there was nothing he could do, he wasn't in control, he was trapped in his own mind.
He heard you call out his name, but he didn't respond in the way that he wanted to. He wanted to cry as he heard your screams as Hydra started to torture you...he did this, this was all his fault. He promised to protect you, and he did the exact opposite. He hated this, he hated himself. He tried to fight so hard, he fought until he broke through, Bucky broke through, but Hydra was quick to destroy his mind again. You couldn't be the person to make the Winter Soldier fail his mission, the Winter Soldier never failed his missions. This time wouldn't be any different.
"I'm with you to the end of the line." Then he finally snapped, the Winter Soldier wasn't in control anymore.
Bucky went back to find you, to save you, he just prayed he wasn't too late.
Bucky killed everyone he saw. Shooting, cutting, stabbing, exploding. He didn't even blink an eye. All these people had a part in making the Winter Soldier, it was fitting they were killed by their own creation. Bucky was happy to be the karma that they all deserved.
Then he found you, finally, on the same table he last saw you on. Bucky's eyes filled with angry tears, seeing every visible mark on your body that was placed on you against your will. But worst of all, the look on your face when you saw him.
Now he knew how you and Steve must've felt, it was like you were looking at complete stranger, and someone to be feared. You were scared of him. You, the person who he knew used to love him the most. But now, you must've hated him.
Bucky couldn't even go anywhere near you without causing you to scream, trying to break out of your restraints. He was scared you were going to hurt yourself, and he couldn't let that happen. It broke his heart, but he had to tranquilize you for your own safety. He couldn't help you if you kept trying to fight him. "I'm sorry." Bucky whispered as your eyes fluttered closed.
Bucky carried you in his arms as gently as he could, walking past every Hydra agent he killed and out of the facility. He figured it was safe enough to take you to your own apartment, he wanted you to be in a familiar environment when you woke up.
Bucky untensed slightly when he entered your apartment, it wasn't that different to how you used to decorate back in the day, it brought him some comfort that your style hadn't really changed. As he laid you down on your bed, he noticed the picture that was on your nightstand.
Bucky smiled sadly when he saw the picture was of you and him. He wasn't one to look in mirrors too often, but he still knew he looked so different. His eyes looked full of life and full of love for you, and his smile was genuine. And you looked just as beautiful. Bucky wanted to take this as a good sign that you still held some love for him, if you kept this picture next to you every night you slept. But after everything that's happened, any feelings for him were probably long gone.
Bucky thought about leaving before you woke up. He didn't want to scare you, but he didn't want you to be paranoid about being hunted by him if it ever crossed your mind.
When you woke up, your eyes shut tightly as soon as they opened, the pain from your wounds being the first feeling you felt. You struggled as you sat up, but you noticed how your wounds were dressed, and your dislocated shoulder fixed. Then you noticed you were on a bed, your bed, in your apartment. You quickly remembered what happened before you were knocked out, and you shot out of bed as fast as you possibly could and grabbed one of your handguns that you kept hidden underneath your bedside table.
You silently exited your bedroom with your loaded gun, keeping it pointed to the floor as you entered your living room. You stopped yourself from gasping when you saw the Winter Soldier sitting on your couch. You froze as he made eye contact with you, but his eyes weren't expressionless like the last time you saw them. "Why did you bring me here?" You asked sternly.
"It's your apartment, isn't it?"
You grit your teeth, was this some sort of elaborate plan to get more information out of you? Was Hydra using Bucky against you now?
As soon as Bucky stood up from the couch, you raised your pistol up at him. "Do not." You ordered, keeping a firm grip on the firearm.
Bucky felt a sense of pride, proud that you were ready to defend yourself, even from him. But from seeing the way you held your gun firmly but your index finger barely touching the trigger, and how your heart was beating rapidly with your breathing uneven, he knew you wouldn't shoot.
"I'm not going to hurt you." Bucky said softly.
"Why should I believe you?"
"Because I...I love you." He stuttered, tears coming to his eyes.
Your heart skipped a beat, your hold on your gun loosening to the point you almost dropped it. "James?" You whimpered.
Bucky only nodded weakly, before he broke out into quiet sobs.
You quickly discarded your gun, setting it down and speed walking over to Bucky. You let out a short cry as you wrapped your arms around him, almost not believing that this was really happening. Bucky was alive, your Bucky, not the Winter Solider.
"I'm so sorry." Bucky sobbed, not wrapping his arms around you in return, so afraid to hurt you any more than he already has.
You shook your head. "It wasn't you." You whispered.
You weren't surprised at how easy it was to stop being scared of Bucky, but then again, you weren't scared of Bucky. Once you realized the Winter Solider wasn't in control, you had no problem embracing the love of your life.
"I hurt so many people..."
"You weren't in control, Buck." You pulled back to look at his tearstained face, gently wiping away some tears from his cheek.
Bucky flinched, not used to such loving touches from anyone, in such a long time. He risked lifting his flesh arm, tenderly grabbing onto your forearm, running along his hand until he reached your own. "I missed you so much, Y/n." He kissed the back of your hand, causing your bottom lip to tremble, seeing him being so gentle with you forcing tears to come to your eyes.
"I've thought about you every second of every day, James. All this time...I thought you were dead." You cried, allowing your tears to fall.
Bucky, for the first time in ninety years, genuinely smiled. "I love you so much. I've missed you so much too."
You smiled back at him tearfully. "I love you, and I'll never stop loving you, no matter what."
~~~~~~~~~~
ugh, spain without the s.
Мы друг другу предназначены.
Представляешь, предназначены?
И моя рука в твоей, и мое сердце в такт с твоим.
Твои глаза, что смотрят вперед, и мои, что спасают тебя от ран.
Наверное, где-то ошиблись и привязали нас слишком крепко. Стальной нитью.
Так, чтобы не разорвать. Чтобы мы не смогли, а другие пытались.
Огнем, пулями, приказами. Да кто же сдержит?
Когда ты бежишь ко мне — лучше не стоять на пути.
Когда я прижимаюсь к тебе — меня не оторвать ничем.
Или нам только кажется? Или только нам на глаза пелена упала, что вместе до конца? Что паутина не для нас липка?..
Знаешь, я не хочу так думать. Не хочу знать, что нас друг от друга забирают. Не будет другого меня, а если будет, то такой, что все равно тебя любит. Или полюбит.
Другой судьбы нет, как бы не противились.
И неожиданно, обухом по голове, я кричу? падая. Ты кричишь, хватая воздух рукой.
Так не должно было быть. Отчаянье — удавкой на горле. Кости — вон из тела.
Небо, покрытое ржавчиной, нас делит на бесконечное множество.
Ветер сдувает нас пылью и не возвращает назад.
И будто сотни лет, как мы знакомы, разбиты. Не склеить, не сшить, не спаять.
Как же легко это оказалось.
Мы слишком самонадеянны и платим беспамятством.
Представляешь, мы друг другу были предназначены.
Представляешь, не могли жить без глаза в глаза, без губ в губы.
А что сейчас? Кто я, кто ты?
Человек без прошлого. Отголосок войны.
Раньше — мы.
Сейчас — по отдельности.
Я
И ты.
Was Bucky just chillin’ in Shuri’s freezer next to the hot pockets when N’Jadaka invaded Wakanda or did he just hear all the explosions from his little farm with the goats and go “Huh...better not” and just bake a cake or something?
Because the Royal Family of Wakanda was the only thing keeping him safe and without Shuri, or T’Challa, or their mother in charge, it’s more than likely that he would’ve been forced to flee and go back into hiding or Killmonger would’ve tried to kill him. Emphasis on try, because even with one arm I’m pretty sure Bucky could kick some serious ass...just a thought...
Or better yet, did Killmonger know about Bucky and send a team or something to kill him while he and T’Challa were essentially acting out the plot of the Lion King? Since Bucky has a lingering reputation for taking out politicians JFK and likely royalty anyway?
Hello, we’re gonna talk about Bucky Barnes. I know, shocker. A totally new concept for which I have never written the likes of before. (Oof, I sound like Elizabeth Bennet. Neat!) As well as the beautiful and inspiring Agent Margaret ‘Peggy’ Carter. (Yeah, I put her full name and not Bucky’s cuz y’all already know how much I admire him.)
We all have our opinions on the latest and last Avengers movie Endgame. Whether it be that Tony shouldn’t have died. Natasha shouldn’t have died. Peter Parker and Nebula should’ve been adopted by Tony Stark. All popular opinions and theories and reasonably acceptable alternate endings. (Personally, I agree with all of these and I’m genuinely upset that the actors contracts ended on that note.) Now the opinion that has become the main topic for this post is the ever-so-popular argument on the ending for the former Captain America, Steve Rogers. No, I’m not talking about giving his shield, mantle, and title over to his friend and teammate Sam Wilson. I actually think this was a smart move on the directors part, if a little untimely. Sam would’ve always been Captain America, though he would’ve had to wait until Bucky got his turn. I’m getting off course and y’all have to deal with that, sorry. Anyway, I’m talking about Steve going to replace the stones and staying in the past.
It was cute. It was, truly. Hero gets the girl and all that jazz. And it would’ve even made sense, if not for the obvious. The obvious being that Steve’s ending did not in any way capture the story of his life. Or Peggy’s. He was so incredibly selfish that his actions would’ve ruined his characters if not for other factors. He disrupted the entirety of her life. Peggy founded S.H.I.E.L.D. Peggy Carter got married. Peggy Carter had children. Peggy Carter had a fulfilling career and life. She died of old age surrounded by the people who loved and admired her the most. Hell, she even got to ease the guilt and sadness caused by Steve Rogers’ supposed death. Not many people get to say that. She was a wonderful and amazing woman. Not to mention a feminist icon. All of it, nearly her entire life was undone by one dumbass she kissed once. Just once. Yes, she missed him, wished it could’ve been something more, maybe even fantasized on what could’ve been a few times. But she was content, happy. She didn’t deserve having her path screwed up and her family blown out of existence. Especially not to the man who kissed her niece just days after her funeral. The disrespect. (If you ship Steve and Sharon, that’s on you.) Peggy probably never even knew that Bucky was still alive, if Steve told her along with what happened to Bucky, I’d like to believe that she sure as shit pitched a fit to Steve about his idiocy. Because who the hell abandons their best friend, their brother, in a world where they are either hated or constantly misunderstood. I know, I just know, that if there was a way to send Steve back, she would’ve. For Bucky’s sake, if nothing else. But there wasn’t and Peggy Carter is nothing if not a reasonable and thoughtful woman.
She knows that Bucky can handle it. We all do. But he shouldn’t have to do it alone. He deserves more than that. Yeah, he has Sam. But, in the movies, Sam is shown to barely tolerate Bucky, sometimes aligning with him to save the world whenever the situation calls for it. I love the Stackie friendship. I think it’s great, honestly. But we have to remember that canonically, Sam just doesn’t like Bucky that much. And he has every right not to. Regardless of the brainwashing, Bucky did try to kill Sam on multiple occasions. And Sam wouldn’t be Sam if he just forgave him, even if Bucky did apologize for his actions and tried to make amends. And, yes, in the FATWS trailer they appear to be friends or at the very least friendly. But there is over a year-and-a-half distance between Endgame and FATWS, giving them plenty of time to get better acquainted as more than frenemies and on-and-off allies. But I’m not talking about in the near future, I’m talking about post-Endgame, where they haven’t quite gotten that far. There’s camaraderie there, which is good, but I felt that, realistically, it only exists because they both know that they’re gonna be stuck together for a while and know better, know that they have to make the most of the situation.
Honestly, it makes the entirety of the Captain America storyline, where it is explicitly stressed that Steve and Bucky are close friends who’d do just about anything for each other, a moot point. I’m not trying to offend the Stucky shippers, really. Stucky makes more sense that Steve and Sharon anyway. I’m just referring to the fact that Steve and Bucky aren’t a canon couple in the sense that they were never specifically written as one. (And I stg that if they follow up on the rumors that say that Bucky and Sharon will be a couple, the producers and directors and story writers will be catching my fucking hands.) It just doesn’t make any sense that Steve would spend so much time mourning Bucky, constantly implying how much he needs Bucky in his life, then doing everything and anything to ensure Bucky’s safety only to leave him for the first woman who ever looked at him in interest. Especially since it usually takes less than a year to get over a crush and homie had over seventy years, nearly ten of those where he could have consciously gotten over her. But with Bucky, he might not have had a lot of time with him, but it was always supposed to have meant that he would have waited for his friend to get better. Bucky wasn’t dying, Bucky wasn’t about to leave him behind. If anything, Bucky was just as eager to get better so he could reconnect with the only person who could even marginally understand him and his trauma. (Natasha could have, too, but they killed her, so...) The only people who even like Bucky are Shuri and T’Challa, who re-dubbed him as the White Wolf. (In the comics, the White Wolf was the adoptive brother of the Black Panther, so T’Challa and Shuri and Mother Queen Ramonda straight up adopted Bucky Barnes into the royal family. This is based on the rumors that Bucky will be replacing Hunter as the White Wolf in the MCU.)
Point is that Steve left Bucky behind, their friendship being a main plot point in all of the Captain America movies, and it makes no sense and makes it seem like their friendship meant nothing when Steve went back to Peggy. Hopefully, they can remedy this in FATWS by making old Steve a kind of mentor to the new Captain America and a sort of guidance towards Bucky. Steve’s entire personality was his compassion, consideration, and commitment to the people he cared about and his morals which he is often bull-headed about. I love Steve Rogers. Captain America is one of my favorite superheroes. Chris Evans portrayed this character perfectly and really brought the character to life. But what the fuck was that ending. All I’m saying-she says after like four paragraphs-is that they could’ve done worse.
i cant believe bucky barnes isn’t real and here holding me right now
Bucky: Rules were made to be broken!
Sam: Yeah, well, bodies weren't!
Where’s the essay OP
Peter Parker, also known as the popular hero ‘Spider-Man’, is roughly 16-17 years old (in the timeline I’m using), meaning he was born in either 2001 or 2002. Contrary to popular belief, this places him firmly in the ‘Gen Z’ category, rather than in the millennial category than many place him in. By extrapolating this information, we can conclude that Peter Parker not only knows what a furry is, but has to constantly grapple with the fact that his spider-centric identity is, in fact, his fursona. In this essay I will—
I know there is hope in these waters, but I can’t bring myself to swim, when I am drowning in this silence.
So I suppose having Bucky Barnes fall in love with you just comes with being Captain America, huh? That guy sure has a type.
Winter Soldier ~ Bucky Barnes
Why do they both look like a kicked puppies . 😢 Also both of their names start with b's! 😂
The inner machinations of her mind are an enigma