lovesreality - Tumblr blog

lovesreality · 1 year

Text

I Won’t Do That…

A/N: Trying my hand at writing for an MCU/Avenger favorite.

Disclaimer: A work of fiction. Obviously. It’s made up just like the character.

I do NOT give permission for my work to be translated or reposted on here or any other site, even if you give me credit. DO NOT REPOST MY FICS please! Reblogs, comments, likes, and feedback are ALWAYS appreciated.

********************************************

Inspired by lyrics from this Meatloaf song: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=9X_ViIPA-Gc

After a while you'll forget everything It was a brief interlude and a midsummer night's fling And you'll see that it's time to move on No, I won't do that I won't do that I know the territory, I've been around It'll all turn to dust and we'll all fall down Sooner or later you'll be screwing around I won't do that.

He was going to leave you. You knew it. He’d just returned, but your heart could already feel his pulling away from you.

You knew he was struggling with the nightmares that came back with a vengeance. Undermined by his best friend’s betrayal, cast aside like everyone else because the weak boy in the strong man’s body once again felt as though he had every right to charge ahead in his single-mindness, convinced he deserved a happy ending he’d concocted in his mind without considering the aftermath, the lives affected, those already grieving who would now feel the additional pain of not being good enough for him to stay with.

His method of communication had devolved to glares and grunts when you’d tried to talk to him. You knew from Sam his therapy wasn’t going much better. Not that he’d tell you. He tried to put on a good front when he was around you. He hadn’t returned to your home, but had gotten an apartment under the auspices of giving you space and reconciling his reality that once again he’d missed out on years.

Would it be different if he’d come right home after walking through a glowing circle on a battlefield half a world away? Or right after you’d said goodbye to Tony and consoled Pepper and Morgan? Or in the hours after Steve left and returned in almost the same minute as a shadow of the man you’d known?

You didn’t know. You couldn’t know because he wouldn’t let you. He didn’t want to listen when you’d tried to explain that while he had simply turned to dust and then back into flesh, you’d endured your heart breaking daily for five years. Forty-three thousand eight hundred hours without him. One thousand, eight hundred twenty-five nights you’d lay half-away, missing the feel of his arms around you.

You wanted to tell him that you even missed the less appealing stuff. The smells, like the stench of his workout clothes or even his morning breath. You would be happy to have the chance to nag him about taking his shoes off at the door and reminding him that Alpine’s litter box needed to be emptied. That yes, Sam was coming over for dinner on Sunday and he’d have to be at least cordial to your guest.

You didn’t get the chance. You hadn’t realized he associated you with everything that had gone wrong, with Steve’s leaving, with Nat’s sacrifice, with his team disintegrating once again in front of him. You didn’t know until Sam had opened his door to your sobs after seeing Bucky with another woman in his arms. You knew her name was Leah, and she worked at the restaurant Bucky ate lunch at often with Yori.

You’d been in relationships before. Nothing like you’d shared with Bucky, but ones that had given you insight as to what the signs are that a relationship is beyond resuscitation. The smile he’d given her as he looked down at her had been the sharpened blade needed to finally sever that last tie between your hearts.

Sam maneuvered you to his couch, handing you a box of tissues. He walked into the kitchen and returned with a beer for him and a glass of whiskey for you, sitting down next to you to gently rub your back as you tried to stop the tears that effortlessly poured down your face.

“What can I do, Sam? I know the territory, I've been around.”

“Y/N, you have to talk to him. Even if you want to end it, you need closure or you're never going to be able to move on.”

“Sam, seriously. I’m exhausted of mourning a relationship that ended five years ago. I’ve already had time to work through this. He won’t talk to me, and it’s time to let go.”

You heard a banging at his door, and your head turned to Sam. You knew that knock.

“Sam, what did you do?”

“Just hear him out. Please Y/N”

He rose quickly as the banging got louder, and opened the door to reveal an agitated Super Soldier who quickly stomped into the room.

“Y/N. What the Hell?!?”

“What? Why are you yelling at me, Bucky?”

“Your emergency transponder went off. I thought something happened, especially when your location was Sam’s apartment.”

Now it was your turn to become angry. You turned to your friend and snarled at him.

“Sam, I asked you a question. I’m waiting for an answer. Why did my emergency transponder go off? And why is Bucky still on that contact list? You told me you removed him!”

“Why would he remove me, Doll?”

“Don’t you ‘Doll” me, jackass! You lost that right when…”

“When what? When through no fault of my own I got dusted?”

“Hello. Earth to Sergeant Barnes. So did Sam!”

“Yeah, but you haven’t frozen him out. You haven’t ignored him. You welcomed him back with open arms. But your so-called boyfriend? Nope!”

“Well, my so-called boyfriend might have been welcomed back but he chose to never come home! Instead, you went and found someone else to go on a date with. A fucking date, James! Or was Leah just a one-night stand? Friends with benefits? What is her official title with you? Homewrecker?”

Instead of denying it, Bucky glared at you. “Don’t call her that. She’s just a friend.”

“Bullshit. And regardless what you want to call her… you know what. I’m done. I waited for you for FIVE FUCKING YEARS. I mourned you. I longed for you. But today? Today you made it quite clear that I wasted my time.”

“Doll, you need to let me explain.” “There is nothing that you need to explain to me, James. I’m over this. I once thought I’d do anything for love. But now? I won’t do that. I won’t lie to myself that you care about me as much as I care about you.”

You reached the door and turned one last time to see his face. It almost broke you... almost. You pulled the ring off your finger where it had sat for the last six years and laid it on the entryway table. You looked at him, and at Sam.

“Take care of him, Sam. Someone has to. He won’t let me, and I can’t keep this up. I’ll talk to you later. Goodbye, James. I do love you. I always will.”

You walked out and closed the door quickly behind you. You could hear the weight of the moment crash down on the love of your life on the other side of the door, but like they’d taught you in lifeguarding classes a lifetime ago, if someone you’re trying to save starts to drag you under, you have to get away from them sometimes in order to save them.

111 notes · View notes

lovesreality · 1 year

Text

A fresh start masterlist

Summary: The world is safe. Thanos is gone. What now?

Pairing: Post Endgame!Steve Rogers x Plussized!Reader

Warnings: angst, language, shy reader, plussized reader, virgin reader, fluff, falling in love, more to be added

A/N: I decided to turn this one into a little series

16.666 followers ‘16 days of requests’ celebration

A fresh start (1) - Support Group memories

A fresh start (2) - Post everything

A fresh start (3) - Where to Captain?

A fresh start (4) - Three man and a baker

A fresh start (5) - TBA

Keep reading

171 notes · View notes

lovesreality · 1 year

Text

A fresh start (1) - Support Group memories

Summary: The world is safe. Thanos is gone. What now?

Written for my 16.666 followers celebration. Requested by @elle14-blog1

Pairing: Pre-Endgame!Steve Rogers x Plussized!Reader

Warnings: angst, language, shy reader, plus-sized reader, mentions of loss of loved ones, support group, meet cute

A/N: This part takes place in the past. It’s how they met and a short prologue.

A fresh start masterlist

16.666 followers ‘16 days of requests’ celebration

Two years after the blip, support group meeting, …

“Welcome to our support group,” you shyly glanced up at the tall man holding out his hand. “I have never seen your face here before. Do you want to have a seat? We got tea and some cookies. I think Cherice will bring cake today.”

Keep reading

244 notes · View notes

lovesreality · 1 year

Photo

Sebastian Stan’s tongue

2K notes · View notes

lovesreality · 1 year

Text

*checks the age gap between me and my favorite actors*

also me:

19K notes · View notes

lovesreality · 1 year

Text

calmly, remember

summary: when an accident makes you forget the last seven years of your life, you're lucky to have someone like Bucky to support you in your recovery. except he's not the Bucky you remember.

pairing: bucky barnes x f!reader

words: +4k

warnings: angst. that's all.

note: this wasn't planned. at all. i had the day off and wanted to write something but nothing was coming to me enough to write another part of the outbreak or how to break a routine in one year, so i was just browsing tumblr until i saw something related to memory loss and this popped into my head. i thought i wasn't going to finish writing it but it came out more than i expected. and clearly this gives for a part two and even more, but at the moment i don't know when that will happen. also, i suck with titles, i think i'll change it later. meanwhile, i hope you enjoy it! feedback is always appreciated, thank u for the support! 💜

Bucky was right to be scared. He was right to feel his soul leaving his body and his heart bursting with pain. He was completely right to be frightened, unsure of the future and the opportunities it had taken with it. Bucky was right to feel that his world was crumbling, that he was left with half a heart to survive for the rest of his life.

But he was also right in deciding not to show how scared he was. He could have his nerves frozen inside his body and feel his blood boiling inside his veins, his whole insides churning and messing up without any compassion, but he couldn't let that rule his life. He knew that the only solution was to cope rationally and objectively, even if he wanted to burst into tears every ten minutes.

“Okay, everything looks good for now,” Bucky heard the doctor, along with the others who were in the room.

He had been standing in the corner of the room the whole time, not moving a millimeter barely to breathe. The mood was so bleak and melancholy that he feared the sadness would rub off on him if he blinked any faster.

“So, can you discharge her now?” Tony Stark asked, his body closer to the door than any other.

“Yes, she can leave after you sign some paperwork. I'm going to need her to come back for some monthly checkups and let me know if she comes to remember anything.”

“Of course,” Steve Rogers stated.

Bucky wandered his gaze over the other two men in the room and the two women behind them, Natasha Romanoff and Carol Danvers. They all looked wary, not taking their gazes off your figure lying on the gurney after the doctor finished checking something in your eyes. He didn't like the way their bodies moved, anxious to talk, anxious to ask questions. He didn't like how Steve constantly opened and closed his hands; how Tony crossed and uncrossed his arms over his chest; how Natasha suspiciously watched the doctor every time he approached you and asked what he was doing; how Carol glared at the man every time he told them there was no news or progress. They had overwhelmed you before with so many gestures and words that the orderlies had to take them all out almost by force.

In a way, Bucky understood them. He too had been terrified at the beginning, still was to some degree, but it had been a while before they began to regulate their behavior. Bucky understood that the situation was difficult for them, as it was for him, but they also had to think about what it was like for you.

You were on the brink of death and awoke to find that about seven years of memories had been erased from your head.

Bucky had not taken it well at first. He was in a constant panic and searched the internet for all possible solutions that could make up for the mistake that was made. He was anxiously talking to Wanda trying to convince her to find something to do. He had gone to Strange almost begging him for some spell that could fix everything. He had asked the doctor a hundred times on the verge of insanity if it was possible to fix it with another surgery. It had simply been the worst news he had ever been given in his life.

Until, by some divine miracle, the rational part of his brain took control of his thoughts and emotions. That's when his “there's nothing we can do” thought came. The rest of the team was surprised when they saw him calmly walking around the Complex and going on missions, when Bucky had finally understood that he couldn't stop his life for something he couldn't fix. He had to learn to live with that and he hoped the others would too.

But no, it seemed that moment of enlightenment hadn't come to anyone but him.

They returned to the Complex after signing papers and picking up medications with the orders the doctor had given them, some pills for the eventual migraines and muscle relaxants if needed.

The trip was tense. Everyone sent you wary glances and purposely averted their gazes when they saw you watching them. Bucky could tell you were starting to get nervous. Even more, anxious.

Lacking knowledge of your family's whereabouts and that your current address was the Complex, that was where you would spend the rest of the days of your recovery -although Bucky had other options in mind-. The doctor had put his buts in, believing that being in such a tense, busy and overwhelming environment as the main Avengers facility was could hinder your process of getting better, but Tony was very specific and quick to tell him that there was a part of the Complex, a wing, that they had almost completely isolated to keep you in a safe place and away from the stress of the job. The mechanic spoke confidently about how you would be totally at ease as if the decision was entirely up to the doctor, while giving Bucky a helpless look. Finally, to please Tony, the doctor agreed to let you go spend your recovery at the Complex.

Of course, it had nothing to do with the fact that Bucky was your husband.

The doctor who treated you for almost a year, from the time you arrived injured and near death, to your subsequent surgeries and recovery, always knew that the final decision was out of his hands. It was funny to watch Tony argue his points to influence his decisions, but in the end that was not something he had any power in. His gazes always turned to Bucky, waiting for a nod or a shake.

Tony knew that too. You had invited him to the wedding because you were closer to him than Bucky, plus they had to see each other constantly for work. They weren't best buddies, but they maintained a relationship that was professional and affectionate and friendly enough to keep you satisfied. That is, until the accident. Since that day, Tony had taken a completely different stance towards Bucky and he really didn't find it strange. He hadn't even been able to speak to him since the day he had almost apologized with his knees to the floor when they had to tell Bucky that you almost died because of a mistake.

Over time, Bucky had let go of the anger along with his realization that he couldn't do anything to change the past, but it seemed to him that Tony still felt guilty about what had happened.

Bucky looked away from the road when he saw you stir in your seat as they were about to arrive at the Complex. The team tried to make small talk after several minutes of traveling in awkward silence, but it resulted in a much more tense atmosphere with everyone turning their heads to look at anything but you like fish out of water.

Bucky watched you from his position in the back of the van as you moved forward to view the Complex facilities in delight. He couldn't help but smile after spending months in constant stress, realizing that you had done the same thing the first time you had gone over ten years ago.

Carol and Natasha took it upon themselves to guide you through the isolated wing of the Complex to the room you would be staying in. Bucky stayed a few floors down along with Steve and Tony in the living room.

“How are you feeling?” Bucky heard Steve ask next to him, as Tony quietly approached the bay window.

“Fine.”

“Buck, you don't have to-”

“Really, I'm fine,” Bucky nodded, noticing Steve's incredulous look. He had to fight not to roll his eyes in disgust.

One thing the team had taken to doing constantly was treating him like a child, like someone who didn't know what he was feeling and didn't know how to control his emotions. That had been happening since the moment he accepted that he couldn't fix something that was out of his control. That you'd had an accident, you'd lost your memory, you'd forgotten him, and there was nothing he could do about it. He had tried everything, and there was nothing.

But the team thought his attitude was that he was trying to hide his feelings and, well, in part he was. He didn't deny that it still made him scared and angry to think of all the opportunities and moments that were gone along with your memory, but he was aware that showing himself that way in front of you wouldn't bring you any good. Unlike him and completely unaware of the truth, the team believed he was in denial. They believed that Bucky had been trying for months to avoid dealing with his feelings and that at any moment he would break down and suffer fighting the horrible reality.

Bucky had only responded to their unconscious attacks and questions with the truth, but it seemed the team was in more denial than he was.

“The doctor said the chances of her regaining her memory were high. Don't worry.” Steve patted Bucky on the shoulder to accompany his words, a sympathetic smile on his face.

“Steve, I'm not wor-”

“And she'll adjust well to the routine in this place. You know we'll be constantly keeping an eye on her and making sure she's okay, right?”

“I'd rather you stay away,” Bucky mumbled, his teeth grazing at the discomfort.

“What did you say?”

“Nothing.”

Bucky kept his distance at first. He wanted to first meet and see how you were adjusting to your new home and how you related to others. Besides, he was also a little nervous about talking to you. You had done it before, yes, at the hospital. You had introduced yourselves and asked him a few questions when he was around. But when Bucky finally confessed to you that he was your husband, it was as if something had disturbed the gravity around the both of you. Clearly Bucky was quick to notice that change in your behavior and began to pull away trying to give you your space and not overwhelm you, unlike others.

You had some memories with him, Bucky was sure. You had lost the memory of about seven years, and you had come to the team ten years ago. That would have been good for him and your relationship, except that in the beginning neither of you could stand the other.

That's right. You two hated each other's guts. And Bucky eternally regretted waiting until the fifth year of meeting you to make his feelings known to you. Because, at that point, all you remembered about him were his stinging comments and his cold, calculating stares. When he remembered the things he had said to you to hurt you on purpose, he would cringe and his body would tremble in rejection.

Before confessing, he had thought about the possibility of keeping everything hidden, maybe try to win your trust again and suddenly have what you had before. And maybe the Bucky of six years ago would have done that, wouldn't have hesitated to keep the truth hidden just to guide you down the path he wanted to walk. But the Bucky who was there, in year ten, couldn't look you in the eye and try to keep something in the dark. He knew it wasn't right and that lies usually backfired on the person telling them. Besides, ever since you had decided to try to have a relationship, you had made him promise never to keep anything from you, no matter how stupid or horrible it was. You had been in such a toxic relationship with him before that you only wanted to look out for each other's welfare. A relationship based on trust and communication was a good relationship.

And Bucky wanted to keep his promise, even if you couldn't remember it.

So he was keeping his space, but he was always aware of what you were doing. And that's why he noticed every time you would give him a questioning look and then pull back and focus your attention on something else when you noticed he was looking at you.

Bucky wasn't sure if it was a good or bad idea what he was doing. He could just walk up and talk to you, maybe you were willing to do that. Or you might think he was crazy for watching you from afar like he was an eagle and didn't want you near him under any circumstances. Bucky didn't know what to do, and asking the team wasn't in his options, so he just decided to do what he thought best.

One day, a couple of weeks after you returned to the Complex, Bucky met you casually. Really, casually.

He had spent a whole week in constant stress so he hadn't even been able to get near the side of the Complex where you were staying. He had been assigned an undercover mission and it had turned out to be a little more complicated than it seemed at first. There were too many fights involved in the end, but he had achieved his goal.

The day he arrived at the Complex he took a long shower and a long nap. It was the least he deserved. After waking up, he went to the kitchen to make himself a coffee because it was just getting light, when he saw you leaning on the kitchen counter.

You froze at the same time he did. Bucky wasn't expecting the first person he would meet to be you, he didn't even know you were already freely leaving your safe place, but life is full of surprises, apparently. Bucky noticed your wary gaze on him, how the cup you held in your hands had been halfway to its destination and how your body moved only to breathe.

He moved, continuing with what he had gone to do, despite feeling that captivating electricity coursing through his body and asking him to move closer to you. Moving his eyes away from yours felt like a sin and his body was almost reluctant to follow the directions in his head.

Bucky finally approached the coffee pot to notice the steaming liquid coming out of it. So, it was coffee that was in your cup.

He was a little hesitant to drink from the coffee you had made because he didn't know how you would react to his intrusion, so he decided to move to the other side of the kitchen where the drawers were and grab the first cereal to be found.

“You can have some of that coffee,” you spoke to him suddenly, resuming your movements and he could barely turn to look at you over his shoulder. “Clint did it.”

Bucky followed your eyes moving all over the instance, anywhere but on his, and even though he felt he'd had a year to prepare for this, it seemed completely insufficient: nothing would have prepared him to ever again hear your nonchalant voice directed at him the way you spoke to him before you decided to become a couple. Bucky thought that those years had been buried in the back of his head, that the situation you were going through wouldn't bring back memories he preferred to keep hidden, but thinking about doing it was easier than actually doing it.

He moved his body almost groaningly until he was back in front of the coffee pot next to you. Hearing you talking to him like that had knocked his mood to the floor. He wasn't too high either, that mission was both physically and mentally exhausting, but he was more relieved to be back at the Complex.

“I didn't see you this week,” you spoke again as Bucky thought you were about to leave the kitchen. He moved his head to look at you, his expression indescribable, you could barely describe him as dumbfounded and bewildered.

Bucky mumbled a few words before responding. “I was on a mission. Far away.”

“Mhm,” you hummed in response, and Bucky nearly melted at the sound. Even though he recognized your demeanor, because that was how you acted before when you wanted to get information out of him or when talking to someone you suspected was hiding something from you, he couldn't help but rejoice at finding little gestures that made him reminisce about the good times he had with you.

With more encouragement, Bucky poured his black coffee under the umbrella of your expectant indifference.

“How have the others been?”

He moved to stand in front of you with the cup in his hands, and could notice how subtly your shoulders slumped a little. He couldn't define whether in calm or ennui.

“It's been… complicated.”

“Are they very insistent?”

You turned your head to look at him, and Bucky nearly choked on the sip of coffee he'd taken. He thought you'd keep visually ignoring him and not turn to look at him like he was a life preserver in the middle of the ocean.

“They're horrible,” you barely whispered, your head bobbing closer in complicity. Far gone was your mask of coldness the moment you found someone to complain to about how terrifying those weeks at the Complex had been. “I feel like I can't move my hair without having someone behind me asking me if I want my hair combed for me or if I was moving it because I had a headache. Anything I do is over-analyzed and that's so…ugh, so frustrating.”

Bucky definitely didn't expect you to spew all those words in front of him, but he did understand how overwhelmed you must be and mentally berated himself for agreeing to you having visitors from the moment you arrived. His idea was that you would have time to clear your thoughts and to adjust to that new place on your own, but somehow the team managed to convince him to let them in from time to time to greet you because being alone too much all of a sudden wasn't good for your sanity.

He should have known better knowing how clingy and pushy his teammates were.

When he was around you, they behaved, but they seemed to pretty much take advantage of the times when he wasn't around to behave as they pleased.

“I hate being treated like I'm a piece of glass. I understand well what happened and its aftermath and that it affected them too much, but I can still live peacefully without needing them to do things for me. I'm not incapacitated or anything like that.”

“I understand.”

Wow, Bucky, couldn't you have said something much more interesting?

“I'm fine,” you continued speaking as Bucky noticed how your eyes were lost in the distance in the kitchen. “I really feel fine. But they're always on me like trying to convince me otherwise and talking about my memories every other time.”

Bucky furrowed his brow and suddenly felt the sting in his chest from anger. There was only so much Bucky had in life to control his temper and that was you. With anything else, Bucky was nothing but walking indifference. He didn't care about the fights the others on the team had, he didn't care about the decisions that had to be made, he didn't care about what the majority chose, he didn't care about the discussions about the rooms when they had to stay in hotels. But when it came to you, there was no stormo chaser that could withstand his tempestuous attitude.

The limit was that the others could get angry, fight and argue about whatever they felt like, but the moment that started to affect you, Bucky didn't hesitate to step up and shut them all up. That was one of the reasons he was the leader of the mission most of the time. It was easy to recognize his leadership ability, even if he tried to hide it through that window of indifference. He was very objective when it came to making tough decisions and was very capable of organizing whatever chaos had been created around him.

And, at that moment, Bucky felt he had reached his limit. He had let himself be convinced by the team to bring you here to carry out your recovery contrary to what he had thought of leaving you in the city with one of your closest friends that you remembered very well; and then he had let himself be convinced to let them invade your space when it was clear that they were not going to know how to behave around you and would overwhelm you just like they did in the hospital.

Bucky couldn't understand how he could have made such bad decisions about you. He felt he had completely failed you as your husband by not giving you a truly safe place in which to heal.

“I'll tell them not to come back,” Bucky told you after a few seconds in silence and your blank stare focused on his suddenly elated face.

“What?”

Bucky met your gaze. “This wasn't the way I wanted you to spend your recovery, and it's certainly not the way you should spend it. You should be calm, but I don't see that happening. I'm sorry.”

You watched his face, transfixed. Bucky looked quizzical for a few seconds at your dumbfounded stare and no response. His eyes moved around your face trying to figure out if he had said something wrong… until it all clicked in his head.

You didn't remember.

Yes, it seemed stupid because he'd been living with that thought all last year, but apparently he had to remind himself. For a moment, he had gotten so lost, not only in the familiarity of your ramblings and gestures, but also in the annoyance and self-reproach, that he had forgotten for a few measly minutes that you didn't remember. You didn't remember that protective side of him. You didn't remember how much he loved to sit and listen to you talk about others, good things or bad things. You didn't remember how much it made him angry when other people made you the least bit uncomfortable or angry. You didn't remember the way he showed that appreciation, that love for you.

That attitude Bucky was giving you was completely new to you. Surely it was like seeing a different person. Bucky mentally cringed at the thought that you must be thinking of him as a jerk who acted like a teenager and said hurtful things just for the fun of it.

At that moment, he would have liked to take more time when you were in the hospital to talk to you, so he could get to know you and you could see that he was different and not the same person he was six years ago. But at that time he felt so scared. Just the memory of your face contorting when he had told you he was your husband still sent shivers down his spine.

One thing he couldn't deny was that he had lived constantly, even up to that moment, in fear of rejection. When you had reacted that way that time at the hospital, Bucky had at first turned away in fear. But then he had tried to be nice to you, as if nothing had happened. However, he could tell that it was much more strange for you to see the flowers on the table in the room or to have him bring you lunch because the hospital food was so simple. It seemed that no matter what he did, that reluctant expression on your face would not go away.

Then, he stopped trying. He would only show up in your room when you were sleeping, in the daytime or at night, and when everyone gathered for the doctor's checkup. Bucky didn't know how to get back into your life and the very idea was driving him to the brink of panic again. So he tried to have that moment of enlightenment again, but all he got in response was that maybe he should continue to keep his distance.

At that point, Bucky didn't know what to do. It wasn't your fault to react that way because it wasn't what you remembered about him, that wasn't wrong. He felt again that incessant need to pull away and go back to watching over you from a distance, because the look you had given him was so similar to the others that it was scary. Too scary. The possibility that he could never get back even half of what you two had before danced around him like a taunt. The ring on his ring finger too heavy to bear.

“Thank you…? I think,” you replied at last, but without changing the quizzical look on your face.

“I'll talk to Steve,” Bucky announced, a little more impassively than he had planned, and took the cup tightly in his hands with the thought in his head to get out of the kitchen so he wouldn't keep invading your space.

He felt your gaze follow him until he was near the living room.

“Hey, wait.”

He heard your footsteps following him and planted his feet on the floor. He gave you a questioning look over his shoulder, waiting for you to say something. Bucky watched you move from side to side, shifting your weight on your legs, a clear sign of your nervousness. When you looked directly at the contents of your cup instead of his eyes as you spoke, he couldn't help a small smile.

“I'm sorry about that. It's just… This is too weird for me. I wish I could get close and talk to you because that's what my body wants, but my head keeps me alert and defensive when you're around. What I remember about you is not…”

You cocked your head and twisted your lips. Bucky thought that had been the kindest way to describe it.

“You don't have to apologize.”

“But I do have to!” you exclaimed, scowling at him. “It's been a year and you've been nothing but kind to me. You've given me space and time, unlike others-”

Bucky nodded strongly at your words.

“-but I've given you nothing in return.”

He relaxed his features, letting the tension dissipate away from his body. He momentarily pushed away his worries and negative possibilities because you stood there in front of him with such a contrite expression on your face that it caused him physical pain.

“You don't owe me anything, Y/N, okay? What I do I do because I want to, not because I'm expecting anything in return from you. If you feel like you need another week before you talk to me, that's fine, take it. If you feel it's a month, six months, a year, it doesn't matter. Take as much time as you need. Either way, anytime, you know where to find me. I'm not going anywhere.”

Bucky hadn't missed the journey of emotions that roared across your face and he was genuinely happy about it. It had been a while since he had seen you feel not only comfortable but joyful around him, that he had begun to think that those moments would only live on in his memory from now on. But, perhaps, that might not have been the case…

“Thank you, Bucky,” you murmured after sighing, and if Bucky hadn't been so attentive to you he surely would have missed it. Along with the small smile you gave him that would be enough to keep his sanity afloat for the rest of the month.

You saw him give you a small nod and then begin to walk away, leaving as the sun's rays began to appear through the living room window. A strange feeling settled in your chest, and it seemed like a turf battle was taking place between your reluctance to accept that Bucky had changed and that you two had taken your relationship four levels higher than expected, and this new feeling that was akin to hope. You could barely recognize it.

You didn't know how you were going to begin to deal with the reality that you were married to Bucky, but you suddenly felt a little less afraid to know the history of the decisions that had brought you to this point.

You remembered the wedding ring that was tucked away in your nightstand drawer and how it shone just as brightly as the one you saw on Bucky's finger. Maybe you felt a little closer to being ready to start dealing with it.

997 notes · View notes

lovesreality · 1 year

Text

gray area (1) — bucky barnes

summary — you meet your new neighbor, Bucky, along with his friends and his son.

wc — 4k

series masterlist | navigation

You stand in the middle of your new driveway, staring up at the townhome that you now hold the keys to. You’d signed your name on the dotted line last week, and although it feels like forever since then, a part of you can’t believe it’s actually happening.

“Still not sure why you’re so against moving in with me,” Natasha, your best friend, grumbles as she grabs another box out of the truck of your car, “I mean, yeah, there’s a few bad things about my apartment complex, but—”

“Your next door neighbor shot his girlfriend last week,” you argue, then add, “And, half of the people that live there are selling drugs!”

“Okay,” Natasha rolls her eyes, “One, that girl was a bitch. She also survived, so it’s fine. And, honestly, Y/N, everyone is selling drugs these days.”

“I’m not,” you reply, sticking your tongue out at her.

“Right. You’re too much of a workaholic to be selling — or doing — drugs, anyway. I’m surprised they haven’t paged you—”

“Oh!” you exclaim, “I actually should go check my work phone. Can you get the rest of the boxes out?”

Being a nurse in the critical care unit of one of the best hospitals in your state, you have no choice but to be constantly thinking about your job. Natasha, who runs her own company, understands your need to be available 24/7, although she rarely expresses it. She thinks you hold yourself too accountable, but you disagree.

Being responsible is the reason you’re able to afford to live on your own at twenty four. Being responsible has landed you a great job, salary, and benefits. Sure, you’ve had to sacrifice to get it, and Natasha thinks you’re lonely, but you’re happy for the most part.

You check your phone and find nothing, then breathe in a happy breath. That means you’ll get to spend the remainder of the day unpacking and moving in. The boxes are lining the walls and starting to feel overwhelming; the clutter too much for you to handle.

Natasha comes strolling in a few minutes later, holding nothing but a lamp in her hand. You raise a brow, and she smirks.

“Seriously? That’s all you could carry?” you tease.

She shrugs, “I found some reinforcements.”

Before you can ask what she means, two men come strolling into your living room, both with boxes in their arms. Your jaw falls as Natasha laughs beside you, shamelessly checking them out as their muscles flex against their tight tee shirts.

“Where do you want ‘em, Natasha?”

Natasha whips her head over to you, “Babe?”

You swallow when both men look over to you. Up and down their eyes go, taking in your sundress and curled hair before respectfully looking back up at you. They smirk when you stutter under their gazes, then point to the free corner of the living room.

“Um, over here is fine,” you say, “Thank you so much, I didn’t—”

“It’s okay, Y/N,” Natasha interrupts, tugging on your elbow, “I already told them how we needed two big, strong guys to help us.”

The blonde sets his boxes down first, then steps forward and extends a hand. You give him a friendly, shy smile and shake it, ignoring the way his large hand engulfs yours.

“I’m Steve,” he says, “One of the big, strong guys your friend recruited.”

Your smile widens, “Hi, Steve. Thank you very much for being willing to help.”

“No problem, I—”

The other man shoves Steve’s shoulder, then grins at you and extends a hand of his own.

“Sam Wilson,” he informs you, squeezing your hand, “It’s such a pleasure. We’ve been wondering who was gonna take this place.”

“Now we know,” Steve cuts in, “So, what’s your—”

Your phone buzzes on the counter, and before you even realize what you’re doing, you turn and rush to it.

“Ouch,” Sam whispers, nudging Steve’s chest before turning to Natasha, “Boyfriend?”

“Worse,” Natasha rolls her eyes, “Job.”

“That’s why I retired years ago,” Sam grins, “Right, Cap?”

Steve’s eyes haven’t left you yet; watching as you slump your shoulders when you realize the alert is just a routine message from the hospital.

“Let’s go get the rest of the boxes,” Steve grunts, grabbing Sam by the shirt collar.

Natasha follows the men outside, and after a minute, you do, too. Steve is in the middle of pulling another box from the trunk when you appear outside, dress swaying in the slight breeze. Sam elbows Steve in the chest when he catches him looking, and the men exchange a silent glare before getting back to work.

“You guys really don’t have to do this,” you gush, placing a gentle hand on Steve’s bicep to stop him, “It’s okay, we can handle it. It’s only a few more, right, Nat?”

Natasha smirks, then shrugs innocently, “I don’t see the harm in letting them help, Y/N. You can always thank them properly later.”

Steve blushes at Natasha’s comment, but doesn’t play into the innuendo in the slightest. Instead, he turns toward you and gives you a gentle smile.

“We really don’t mind,” he says.

“Yeah, and he speaks for both of us, now,” Sam grunts.

You laugh and drop your hand from Steve’s arm as if to give him silent permission to continue. Just as his hands reach around the next box, all of you hear the loud, screeching voice of a toddler.

“Jamie incoming!”

Sam turns with just enough time to catch the four year-old launching himself into his arms, grinning from ear to ear at the promise of a hug from his uncle.

“What’s goin’ on, Jay-Man?” Sam asks, gripping the boy tight.

“Nothin’,” he smiles.

“I don’t believe you for a second,” Sam laughs, “Where’s your—”

“Jamie, you’ve gotta put shoes on before you run outside. You know better.”

You swallow at the sight of the man stepping off the porch of the house next door and into the grass, where he eyes the toddler resting in Sam’s arms. He’s wearing gray sweatpants and a tee shirt, sports messy brown hair, and has stubble that you’d bet is only there because he hasn’t gotten around to shaving.

“Relax, Buck, he’s a kid,” Sam replies, “Tell him, Jay.”

“I’m a kid,” Jamie repeats, grinning widely.

The man, the one who left the house following the boy, lets his eyes travel from his friends to you. He gives you a gentle smile and you do the same back to him, feeling your stomach twist and turn the longer his eyes remain on you.

“Aww!” Natasha squeals, stepping over to Sam and Jamie, “How old is he?”

“He’s four,” Sam states proudly, “You think he’s cute? He’s got my eyes, doesn’t he?”

You continue to stare, knowing you should stop but completely unable to. When his eyes — those devastatingly blue eyes — leave yours to travel down your body, you swallow. You hope he likes what he sees, but you don’t question where that thought comes from. The male gaze has never been one you’ve longed for, but right now, you can’t remember why.

His jaw ticks as he breaks into a smile, raising a hand and conducting a small, shy wave. You bite down on your bottom lip to conceal your own grin, waving back.

“So, he’s your son?” Natasha’s voice draws you back into reality.

Sam shrugs, “I mean, I take care of the rugrat, you know what I mean?”

Natasha nods, her eyes moving toward Steve when he scoffs, “Jamie is not Sam’s kid.”

As if to prove it, Jamie starts to squirm in Sam’s grasp, then makes grabby hands as he reaches for Bucky.

“Daddy,” he frowns, “Is it snack time?”

Bucky nods and steps forward, reaching out to collect Jamie from Sam, who sighs, now that his cover has been blown.

“C’mere, buddy,” Bucky says as he takes hold of his son, who immediately cuddles himself into his dad, “We can have a snack if you’re hungry.”

Your heart rate seems to speed up at the image of a father caring for his son so outright — something you never experienced so openly. Shyly, his eyes find yours as he adjusts his son in his hold, giving you a more forced, pained smile. You try to smile back in hopes of telling him that you find Jamie to be cute; that you’re happy to have them next door.

“C’mon, Sarge, you gotta meet the new neighbor, first,” Sam lectures, pointing over to you, “This is Y/N, even though she never actually introduced herself to us. Y/N, this is Sergeant James Buchanan Barnes, and his son, Jamie.”

“It’s just Bucky,” he immediately corrects, giving you another small smile as he offers his free hand out to you, “Nice to meet you.”

“Nice to meet you, too,” you reply, holding his gaze for a beat too long before your eyes catch on the little boy in his arms, “And it’s very nice to meet you, Jamie.”

He grows shy in his father’s arms and hides in his chest, earning a laugh from both you and Bucky.

“Sorry,” Bucky says quietly, “He’ll open up eventually.”

You shake your head, “No need to apologize. He’s very cute.”

As if the compliment was meant for him, Bucky’s cheeks grow pink. To try and conceal it, he looks down at Jamie and tries to get him to talk, but the boy refuses.

You try to think of something to say; a way to start up a conversation with Bucky, but Steve steps behind you — close enough that you can feel his body heat through your dress — and clears his throat.

“Want me to take the kid for a snack, Sarge?” Steve questions, noting Bucky’s blushing cheeks.

“Can we play superheroes, too?” Jamie asks his uncle, perking up.

“Of course, dude. We can fly on the trampoline and everything.”

Jamie grins and immediately reaches for his uncle, changing grips yet again. Steve laughs and grabs hold of the toddler, then looks down at you.

“Good to meet you, Y/N,” he says politely, then steps away and pats Bucky on the back, “You got this.”

Bucky’s face burns under the not-so-quiet encouragement from his best friend. Sam and Natasha grab more boxes from the car while simultaneously shamelessly flirting, which leaves you and Bucky outside in the cool air, alone.

“Sorry about them,” Bucky says quickly, “They make quite the first impression.”

You nod in agreement, “They do. Do all of you live over there?”

Bucky’s eyes widen and he shakes his head quickly, so quickly that you try not to laugh.

“God, no. The guys just come over to help me take care of Jamie. It’s, uh, just me over there. And Jamie, obviously.”

You laugh at the way he shakes his head, trying to collect his thoughts and stop himself from rambling. When he sees you laughing, he relaxes and even offers a chuckle at himself.

“Anyway,” he changes the subject, “What brings you to the neighborhood?”

“New job,” you answer proudly, “I’m a nurse at West County General.”

He cocks up a brow, “No kidding. Bet that keeps you busy.”

“It sure does,” you agree, “But, it’s really rewarding. I love it.”

He smiles as you smile, and when you see the tips of his ears grow pink, your grin widens. Sam and Natasha emerge from the house then, and they seem to burst whatever bubble you and Bucky have formed for yourself.

“I should check on Jamie,” he mumbles, already taking a step back, “It was nice to meet you, Y/N. Welcome to the neighborhood.”

You grin, giving him a shy wave, “Thank you, Bucky.”

He returns your smile and wave, letting it linger between the two of you for a second too long before he turns and hurries back inside his house.

When you turn around, Sam and Natasha are leaning up against your car, standing a little too close and looking a little too friendly. Clearing your throat loudly, you earn your best friend's gaze.

“We should be getting ready, huh?” you ask her, giving her a subtle eyebrow raise.

She sighs, “Yes. Thanks for the help, Sam. Hope we see each other again soon.”

He winks at her, then gives you a warm smile and a nod before taking a few steps back, inching toward Bucky’s house.

“Nice to meet you, ladies,” he calls, offering a wave before he turns his back and heads away.

“God, he’s so hot,” Natasha groans, “Like, did you see those muscles?”

You chuckle and grab her, pulling her toward your new home, “Come on. Wanda’s gonna be pissed if we’re late.”

“Oh, who cares,” Natasha mumbles, but follows your lead, anyway.

The bar that Wanda planned for the three of you to go to is loud and crowded by the time you and Natasha arrive. To celebrate your new move and career, Wanda demanded a night out with you. Naturally, Natasha caught wind of the plans and invited herself — which was fine with you, because you always feel safer having her around while you’re drinking. Wanda, on the other hand, wasn’t wild about the inclusion of your best friend. They put up with each other, but they aren’t fans. And to you, it’s obvious.

“Y/N!” Wanda squeals, “What do you think of this place? I thought it was cool, kinda has a retro vibe to it.”

“So retro,” Natasha quips, offering Wanda a smug smile.

You nudge Natasha in the side and look around, taking the place in. It reminds you of Wanda in a way that you’d expect her to like it, but you don’t necessarily care one way or another. A new area means new bars, new restaurants, and you know you have to figure out what you like and what you don’t.

“It’s nice,” you smile, “Thank you so much for setting this up.”

“Of course,” she beams, “Let me get us a round. They have a killer lime mojito.”

“Oh, bummer,” Natasha pouts, “I’m actually on this new no-lime diet. Mind getting me a vodka soda?”

Wanda takes a calculated breath, “Sure. Be right back.”

You snort as soon as Wanda disappears and turn around to Natasha, who is smirking proudly at herself. When she catches your raised eyebrows, she feigns innocence and shrugs her shoulders.

“What?” she teases, “It’s a real diet.”

“Mhm,” you hum, “Sure it is.”

“It is!” she laughs, then nudges you over to the two available barstools. You set your purse down on the bar and Natasha sits while you remain standing, not wanting Wanda to feel left out, “It’s new. I’m on a no-lime, all-new neighbor Sam diet.”

You let out a loud laugh, “Oh, right. He doesn’t even live over there, you know.”

“He doesn’t?”

“No,” you shake your head, “Bucky told me—”

“Bucky told you?” she gasps, grabbing your arms, “Oh, tell me exactly what Bucky told you.”

You huff, “Stop teasing me.”

“I’m not!” she protests, “I just want to know what your sexy new neighbor told you.”

“Stop.”

“Stop, what?”

You both turn and find Wanda standing there with three drinks in her hands, looking like she could use some help. Immediately, you grab one of them and set it down on the bar, then trade Natasha her drink for yours.

“Oh, Y/N’s got this really hot neighbor,” Natasha fills her in, sipping her drink, “Total DILF.”

“Nat,” you hiss, then turn to Wanda, “He’s just a nice guy. He’s got a four year old son.”

“Look at you, remembering details,” Wanda teases, and suddenly, she and Natasha are laughing together — like they’re actually friends.

“Oh, please,” you huff, downing half of your drink and listening to Natasha cheer you on before you speak again, “I’m sure he has someone, anyway.”

“He was blushing hard,” Natasha points out.

“He was?” Wanda gasps.

“Stop!” you demand, laughing as you take another sip, “Nat, why don’t we gossip about you and Sam, instead.”

She grins mischievously, “Yeah, I’ve definitely got my eye on him. But, that’s not as fun as watching you squirm.”

Wanda laughs, “Totally.”

You roll your eyes and finish off your drink, knowing Natasha is about to start in again, and you’re much too sober for it.

“Wanda, you should’ve seen the way Bucky’s friend, Steve, was flirting with her, too,” she continues, “He carried in boxes, and I’ll be damned, she even put her hand on his arm! And that man is all muscles. She loves to play innocent, but I think she knows what she’s doing.”

“She definitely does,” Wanda agrees, “I’m sure you’ve got both of those guys in a chokehold already. This will be interesting.”

You sigh, “Anyway.”

“Aw, don’t get all pouty,” Nat teases.

“I’m just not looking for that right now,” you explain casually, waving down the bartender for another drink, “I want a quiet life. My own house, my job, and my weekend outings with you guys. I don’t need some guy.”

They both soften as they stare at you, listening closely as you explain your feelings to them. They know how you’ve been handled by men in the past, and they understand that you’re not like them. You can’t let it roll off your back the way you do; you take it personally. You get hurt when you shouldn’t. You attach meaning to things where others don’t. Now, with your job and your improved mental state, you don’t feel like risking any of it over a man.

“Well, cheers to that, then,” Wanda breaks the silence, holding her cup up in the air, “Let’s get fucking drunk.”

You wake the next morning with regret, anxiety, and one big, fat headache. You groan and curse out loud at yourself, then climb out of the bed to get some coffee and aspirin in you. Briefly, you consider food, but the thought makes your stomach turn.

You spy a note on the counter in Natasha’s handwriting, which is the first thing that clues you in that she isn’t here.

Thanks for last night! Had to run. Chores to do at home. Still coming on Tuesday night with Chinese to help you unpack, so you better not be called in to work.

XOXO,

Nat

You smile at it as you fire up the coffee maker, then dig through the open box on your counter until you find the bottle of aspirin you always keep handy. You recap the night in your mind; the teasing about the neighbors, the drinks, the dancing, the drinks, the karaoke, the drinks. You hadn’t planned on drinking so much, but you wanted to let off some steam. Given that you work a fourteen hour shift tomorrow, you feel like you deserved it. Now, you’re not so sure.

After a few hours, your headache starts to subside and your stomach growls. Knowing you don’t have any food in the house and refusing to do an entire grocery store run, you resort to picking up takeout.

As you pull down the newly familiar street with a bag of food sitting on your passenger seat, you notice motion at the house next to yours. Steve is out in Bucky’s front yard, tossing a foam football around with Noah. You smile at the sight, then let your eyes travel a little further left. Bucky is pushing a mower down his lawn, shirtless, sweaty, and showstopping.

You groan when you realize you’re in shorts and a giant sweatshirt with messy hair; not at all presentable for him. Then, you scold yourself for even thinking that way.

We’re just neighbors. That’s it.

Regardless, you still try to fix your hair before you get out of the car. Steve recognizes your vehicle and waves over to Bucky, who stops the mower and walks over to his garage, where he grabs a cloth to wipe up his sweat.

You climb out of the car shyly, wondering if you should clear out your garage today just so this could be avoided in the future. Before you even lock the doors, Steve’s voice carries across the yard.

“Go ahead, buddy. She’s right there.”

You furrow your brows, gripping your food a little tighter.

“Good afternoon, Miss Y/N.”

You can’t help but grin as soon as you hear his little voice, and you forget all about your hangover and the bag of grease in your hand as you spin around.

“Good afternoon, Jamie,” you reply, watching the little boy’s cheeks grow pink, “Are you kicking your uncle’s butt in football?”

You gesture to the foam ball in Jamie’s palms, and shyly, he nods his head.

“Yes,” Jamie grins, “He’s not very good.”

“Excuse me,” Steve cuts in, “I’ve taught him everything he knows.”

“Everything?”

Your eyes move from Jamie and Steve to Bucky, who is approaching with a teasing grin. You stare as he brings his cloth around the back of his neck and wipes his sweat away, then drags his eyes from his friend over to you.

His muscles in his chest flex then, and you visibly swallow and look away. You swear you hear Steve’s low chuckle, but you don’t dare look over out of fear that the men will see right through you.

“Hi, Y/N,” Bucky greets you, watching as you hesitantly look back up at him again.

“Hi, Bucky,” you reply, trying to figure out what to follow up with, only to blurt, “Yard looks good.”

Steve snorts and you clamp your lips together, wishing silently that you could snatch the words right out of the air and back into your mouth.

Even so, Bucky’s lips tip up into a genuine smile, and you swear you see the high points of his cheeks go pink — just like Jamie’s.

“Thanks,” he says sheepishly, “I’m happy to help you out with yours anytime you need it.”

He watches as you recoil at his kindness, letting your shoulders drop and a pout form on your lips. Steve sighs audibly, but neither of you even glance his way.

“Thank you very much, I appreciate that,” you smile.

“You’re welcome.”

The two of you grow stuck in a trance of sorts as you explore him with your eyes; his tan skin, his chest, his softening belly that makes your knees feel physically weak, and his messy hair. His soft brown eyes that work all over your body, too.

“Wouldn’t want that food to get cold, Y/N,” Steve says knowingly, drawing you and Bucky away from each other.

“Right. I’ll let you guys get back to it,” you give Bucky a nod and he returns it, then you move your eyes down to Jamie, “Nice to see you, Jamie. Keep beating him, okay?”

Jamie grins, “Okay.”

Steve and Bucky both laugh and so do you, and with a wave to Steve, you disappear inside your house. You try not to replay the entire thing in your head as you set your food out to eat. You turn on a show on the TV that is only half hooked up, and just as you start to eat, you hear the lawnmower fire up again.

With minimal hesitation and refusal to think twice, you hurry over to your window — the one that faces Bucky’s — and watch as he pushes the mower down the side of his house. He’s focused, sweaty, and tan, and it stirs something inside of you. Careful not to get caught, you let your food get cold on the coffee table, Steve be damned. Bucky is a sight to see, and you find nothing wrong with indulging. It means nothing, you tell yourself. It means nothing. He’s just nice to look at, that’s all.

a/n: pleeeease let me know if i should continue writing this or not! so curious what your thoughts will be! reblogs are appreciated and thank you for reading <3

*i no longer have a tag list. follow @mackupdates to see every time i post something new!

278 notes · View notes

lovesreality · 1 year

Text

some sunny day

Daryl Dixon x f!reader Part I - Prologue

RATING ... this series will be explicit. this prologue is mature for canon-accurate dark themes/violence. LENGTH ... 1.9k(ish) CONTENT ... canon accurate mentions of violence, mentions of past domestic violence, eventual angst, eventual smut, eventual major character death(s)

“Who the fuck are you?” questioned a gruff voice you recognized well now, the first one who had suspected your presence – Daryl.

“We got a fuckin’ problem,” a gruff voice announced from the food storage room, the man’s words sounding as little more than a growl as he spoke. As quickly and quietly as you could manage you found a spot to hide beneath a shelving unit of cans, hopeful you’d go unnoticed.

You’d barely settled when two pairs of boots stopped right in front of the shelf you were under. This was the closest you’d been to the new inhabitants of the prison since they’d moved in…the first you’d heard any of their voices close enough to mean anything.

That wasn’t to say you hadn’t heard them at all – gunshots were frequent, and fairly soon after they’d moved in, you could swear you heard a baby’s cries echo through the prison throughout the day.

“What’s that?” another man spoke, calmer, more collected – stern. The leader and no-doubt his right hand.

“We took inventory in here and Carol’s been keepin’ track,” the gruff voice came again, annoyance and irritation thick in his words. “Stuff’s goin’ missin’. Stuff we ain’t eating. We got company somewhere in this prison.”

You could only hold your breath desperately, terrified to make any sort of noise.

“You sure?” the second man sounded again, his tone suddenly concerned and alert. “Not just Carl sneaking in here to grab an extra snack?”

Luckily the footsteps retreated again, the men carrying on their conversation, just in time for you to need to suck down a desperately needed breath, the air filling your lungs thick and heavy in the summer heat. When the door closed again you scrambled to your feet, quietly moving through the halls and back to the solitary cell block you were the sole living occupant in.

It was far from peaceful – you’d singlehandedly pushed the biters into cells and locked them in months ago – when the outbreak had happened. A mixture of guards’ and prisoners’ undead growls, snarls and groans filled your ears day after day, your only solace the moments you used to retreat to a guard tower outside.

It hadn’t been an option for weeks now with the new group making a home in the prison. You could hardly complain – they’d certainly made it easier to move about the prison for the most part, and it looked like they’d improved the situation outside as well. But you felt in your bones they wouldn’t understand you if they knew of your presence, and so you’d done your best to stay hidden.

The last thing you needed was to be discovered and kicked out of the only home you’d known for five years.

You lived day by day surrounded by guttural, disgusting variations of animalistic noises, only leaving your block to procure the bare minimum food. You were taking things you’d hoped they wouldn’t notice – you’d underestimated their dedication to having a life in-between these walls. A home of their own.

You could imagine you’d never be part of that picture – a criminal.

Laying back in the familiar hardness of your bed and covering your face with a too-stiff pillow to muffle the noise, you attempted to drift to sleep.

More weeks passed and your misery increased.

This version of living in prison was somehow even worse than being here when people were alive. You were desperate for fresh air, to fill your lungs with something that didn’t reek of rotting flesh. Every day your craving to feel the sunshine on your face and the soft, overgrown grass beneath your feet grew to exponentially unbearable amounts.

Two months of hearing them – passing conversations, children's laughter, quiet "welcome home"s. All of it built up to remind you just how alone you were.

And so it only made sense when you slipped up.

You’d snuck quietly through the halls and out to the yard, practically melting into a puddle the moment you felt the grass again, sucking in deep breaths of fresh, chilled air, hoping to be shrouded by the darkness of the night.

Cold metal pressing to the back of your head was certainly not part of the plan.

“Who the fuck are you?” questioned a gruff voice you recognized well now, the first one who had suspected your presence – Daryl. You couldn’t remember the last time you’d spoken – maybe it had been before all of this since you’d truly uttered a word, and the task presented a newfound level of difficulty. Anxiety bubbled in your stomach, threatening to boil over if you ignored it. You hardly saw another option, and the gun’s hammer being pulled back only added to the fear. “Don’t know how to talk or somethin’?”

“I…I’m a prisoner,” you explained, voice shaky and unfamiliar. Had you always sounded that way? “’m a prisoner. In the woman’s block.”

“How many o’ you are there?”

“Just me,” your replies came quick now, unwilling to displease the man who currently held your life in his hands. “Just me. Everybody else – they’re dead. They’re…undead. Got ‘em locked in cells.”

His hand grabbed your shoulder to spin you around to face him, his intense eyes landing on you. You nearly sucked the breath from him you were so beautiful and wild – hair untamed, dirty from a lack of general care of your appearance – and you were still beautiful. The orange jumpsuit wasn’t doing you any favors, but then again that wasn’t its purpose, either.

“Don’t lie to me,” he instructed, eyes narrowed as he continued to regard you with careful scrutiny. He continued to hold the gun to you, at your temple now, handing you a zip tie. It didn’t take a degree in rocket science to know you were meant to cuff yourself.

“Ain’t lyin’,” you replied, carefully slipping your hands into the restraints – fighting was obviously the bad decision to make here. It was better to show you could be trusted, could follow instructions – maybe then they’d let you stay.

“You the one been stealing our food?”

You couldn’t help the giggle that fell from your lips, one of your eyebrows raising as you continued to look directly into his eyes. “I’m the one that’s an actual prisoner here,” you remarked, voice entirely too playful for his current displeasure. “Technically y’all are the ones stealing, but I ain’t made a fuss about it. There’s plenty to share in there.”

He was done talking – he didn’t need to make the statement for you to know. He holstered his gun in his waistband, grasping your restrained wrists as he began to walk you back to the block they were presumably occupying. He announced himself loudly, uncaring that most of the members in his group were asleep in the middle of the night – he had more important matters to address.

“Found the fuckin’ rat that’s been stealin’ all the food,” he called out, his voice echoing between the walls. Slowly, one by one, the members of his group started to join the two of you, each of their eyes regarding you with the same intensity and distrust he had.

“Again, I think that’s a little rude considering I…was quite unfortunately here first,” you replied, using a gentle tone to appear the least bit threatening as possible. A man you also recognized stepped forward last, standing directly in front of you. It was only then that Daryl released his hold on you.

“I know you,” the taller man declared, his eyes glaring down into yours with burning intensity. You continued to inwardly reprimand yourself for needing precious fresh air and soft fucking grass so badly you had to out yourself.

“I think your name is Rick,” you stated in return, nodding slightly when the briefly surprised expression crossed his face. “Y’all did a great job clearing the prison and the yard.”

“Didn’t bring you in here for you to kiss our asses,” Daryl growled from behind you. Rick shot him a look to silence him – your assessment weeks ago had been correct. Rick definitely called the shots in this group.

“I remember seeing you on tv a few years ago,” Rick continued, eyeing you up and down slowly, almost like he was taking your size into some sort of consideration. “Your trial was a big deal, wasn’t it?”

Your trial. It seemed so long ago now – so insignificant. Though really, it had always been.

“My trial was decided ‘fore I even walked into that building,” you remarked with a scoff, shaking your head slightly. It only made sense they’d want to talk about your criminal history – it didn’t mean you had to be excited. “People see a young woman that killed a well-respected businessman and they think I just snapped. Lucky they didn’t put me in the nut house.”

The gasps and murmurs that broke out amongst the rest of the group confirmed the fears you’d held for months now.

“He was your husband, wasn’t he?”

“Yes,” you confirmed with slight hesitation, voice wavering. Your late husband was perhaps the last subject you ever wanted to take on in a conversation, much less a conversation with perfect strangers. The situation at hand didn’t allow you to keep things to yourself. “My mean son-of-a-bitch of a husband. You want me to say I regret killing him, you might as well kick me out right now or let Daryl put a bullet in my head. I’d do it again.”

“You argued it was self-defense back then,” Rick continued, looking around to some of the other members in the group to break some of the tension from the intense stare the two of you held.

“I argue that it was self-defense now,” you replied with a light sigh, shrugging. You hadn’t been this open with people since the trial, shutting down after a sentence that many agreed was harsh considering your circumstances. “Let him hit me for years. Maybe I did snap.”

Rick regarded you up and down again carefully, his eyes lingering on your face before he turned back to the group that waited for his leadership, for his guidance. He walked to them slowly, glancing back in your direction. Daryl stepped closer from behind you, reaching around your waist to grasp your wrists again.

You’d almost melt under the physical contact after such a long time if it were any other situation. You still found his breath on the back of your neck raised goosebumps across your skin – you hoped he didn’t notice.

“Is everyone comfortable with keeping our guest in one of the spare cells for tonight so I can have more of a chat with her tomorrow?”

It was admirable that Rick was presenting the group with an option, but awaiting the responses from the group only caused the anxiety to build in you more, burning every inch of your torso. You swallowed hard as you watched the group discuss, throwing a look over your shoulder to Daryl’s direction.

Several minutes of back-and-forth lead to Rick turning back to face you, motioning for Daryl to walk you forward.

“That’s decided, then,” Rick stated – no room for doubt or argument. “We’ll lock you up in the cell at the end tonight and tomorrow you and I get to talk some more. Figure out what’s best to do here.”

A prisoner once again.

“Can’t I just go back to my block? We pretend this little run-in never even happened?”

The looks Rick and Daryl gave you were answer enough.

➛ AUTHOR MASTERLIST ➛ SERIES MASTERLIST ➛ THE WALKING DEAD MASTERLIST

459 notes · View notes

lovesreality · 1 year

Text

As you all voted - People Sexiest Man Alive 2022 (x)

365 notes · View notes

lovesreality · 1 year

Text

3K notes · View notes

lovesreality · 1 year

Text

Heart of Glass

Summary: You hate it when Bucky is mad, but it's a thousand times worse when you're the one he's mad at.

Genre: Angst, fluff

Warnings: Insecure reader, self-deprecation, self-harm (?)

A/N: I love stories like these so thought I'd take a stab at it. Please do leave feedback, they are always encouraging!

Length: 4.8k

It had taken Bucky a long time to open up to you. His journey of being able to face what he had done as the Winter Soldier was long and arduous, and still ongoing. He had vivid nightmares, ones which alleviated in frequency over the course of the last few years, but which still sometimes made an unwelcome appearance.

His own healing was a work in progress, so it was no surprise that it was still a struggle for him to divulge certain aspects to you. He found it difficult letting himself be vulnerable, even around people he trusted, and insight into his past had been offered to you in scattered pieces.

You had been patient, although you wished that Bucky would feel comfortable revealing more. You never judged him, and you just wanted to help and do your part in the recovery process, if you could. It was much worse hearing the exacerbated, hateful stories of the Winter Soldier from other people’s mouths - the Internet was a horrid place, and whilst there were still a lot of people who supported Bucky Barnes and the Avengers in general, there were just as many people who would not forgive him for being the Winter Soldier.

You knew that you shouldn’t have done what you did. You and Bucky had been together for just over a year, friends for three times that long. It hadn’t all been flowers and rainbows - it had been a tumultuous relationship and you had had your ups and downs, but at the end of the day, you knew you had found your person. You were both learning and growing together, navigating the tougher obstacles in your relationship with enthusiasm. You had finally found someone you were truly madly in love with, and you felt so lucky.

It wasn’t easy, working for S.H.I.E.L.D as an agent which was a demanding career in itself, and dating someone who was almost in constant danger and carrying out often life-threatening missions. But you made it work. Getting to love Bucky and have him love you back was worth anything, and you loved being able to see him smile and, what’s more, being his reason to smile.

On the same token, you hated seeing him unhappy. It was the most devastating feeling in the world, in times when he was disappointed in himself, or when he had woken up from a particularly bad nightmare, or after one of his mandated therapy sessions.

The worst thing was seeing him mad. And it’s a thousand times worse when you’re the one he’s mad at.

You knew that you shouldn’t have done it. You felt guilty as you passed your colleagues desk and your eyes naturally flickered to a familiar name in recognition. BARNES, JAMES BUCHANAN.

You frowned slightly, realizing that his file was on a pile alongside a couple of other familiar names. It wasn’t unusual for another agent to have his file out, particularly if he was looking into specific incidents that Bucky may have been involved in the past, but you had never actually seen it in front of you before.

Of course, it would have been easy for you to find the file and look for yourself. Everything had electronic copies these days, or you could have grabbed the physical copies from the archive. But you had never done it, as it just didn’t feel right. Reading up on your boyfriend’s past like his life was a history book.

Still, despite yourself, you paused. You found your hand reaching out and you took a deep breath of momentary hesitation before you flicked open the file.

An assortment of photos and documents were stacked neatly inside. You couldn’t help it as you found your eyes consuming the information, flicking from page to page. The guilt was building in your gut the longer you spent, standing slightly crouched over the desk, consuming the information with an uncomfortable lump in your throat.

You wanted to cry. You felt your hate for HYDRA increase ten-fold, thinking about all the pain they inflicted on Bucky to manipulate him into their own personal killing machine, thinking about how they had simply made him hurt all those people. Bucky often had the most stoic, cool exterior, but you knew inside he was just your soft, gentle boyfriend. The most beautiful man you knew had been forced to be an assassin against his will.

And now he had to live with the consequences. It’s so unfair, you thought as tears of anger pricked your eyes. You were a very empathetic person, especially when it came to him, and you found yourself feeling quietly furious.

You slammed the file shut, conflicted emotions making you feel both angry and guilty. You always had an idea of what HYDRA had made Bucky do, of course, but actually consuming the detail within his file had made it come to life in your mind. All you wanted during the course of your time with Bucky was to get a better view from his shoes, if only to help you relate a bit more to his suffering. You loved him so much and you wanted nothing more than to help him.

At the same time, you knew it wasn’t right, snooping like this. You always told yourself to just wait, and eventually Bucky would trust you enough to share everything.

You started to wonder if you had done something wrong as you slowly walked away from the desk, nibbling your bottom lip. You cleared your throat uncomfortably, frowning as the contents of the file plagued your mind. You decided you would have to come clean to Bucky about this.

—--- x —---

“What?” Bucky said quietly, cocking his head to the side as if he really had genuinely misheard you. However, as you studied the look in his eyes, you knew that he had heard every word.

“I know it was wrong. Bucky, I’m - “

“If you knew it was wrong, then why did you do it?” Bucky interrupted, his eyebrows drawing together as he frowned. Anger was starting to distort his face, and he kept his voice quiet and low.

You were mute for a long minute, your cheeks flushing as he stared at you, waiting for you to speak. You were both stood in your bedroom, you with your back against the window and his against the door. The distance between you felt painful.

“Do you know what a violation of my privacy that is?” He continued, his jaw twitching.

“I was just trying to - just trying to understand,” you said, trying to find the right words. “I just thought that if I knew what they did to you, then I could help you.”

“How would you be able to help?” Bucky was furious, but in that quiet, almost calm way that frightened you the most. His brow was slightly furrowed, corners of lips turned down into a frown, but the biggest giveaway was his clenched fists. They were shaking almost impercetibly.

It was scarier when he didn’t raise his voice, and your fingers twitched uncomfortably by your sides, wanting to reach out to him.

“I don’t know,” you whispered. “I thought that if I could understand what happened, then maybe I could help with your nightmares, help talk to you about the past.”

Bucky exhaled loudly, shaking his head. “Are you my therapist? What were you hoping to do, read my entire past and diagnose me?” He regarded you with a look of bewilderment and fury.

“No, I - “

“No, listen,” Bucky said, frustration rising in his throat, breaking his barely composed facade. “Do you have any idea how messed up that is? There’s a reason why I didn’t tell you everything at my own pace, and you went behind my back and fucking investigated me? How do you think that makes me feel? You couldn’t even respect me enough to let me tell you out of my own choice!”

You opened your mouth, but no words came out. You knew you had fucked up majorly. He was glaring at you, waiting for you to say something.

“I’m so sorry, Buck. I really didn’t have any bad intentions, I just - “

“It doesn’t matter,” Bucky spat out. “It doesn’t matter that you didn’t have any bad intentions. You think I’m proud of what I did as the fucking Winter Soldier? It haunts me, and I have to live with him for the rest of my fucking life. I - I trusted you, and you betrayed it.”

I let out a slight whimper at his words, knowing the venomous words he was spitting out was completely true.

“I have to fight so hard, every day, not to fall apart with the knowledge and memories of what the Winter Soldier did, what I did.”

“Bucky, please,” you said, taking a step forward, tears pricking your eyes. “I’m so sorry. I know I shouldn’t have done that, I am so, so sorry.”

Bucky shook his head, moving away from me and lifting his hands as a warning. “Don’t. Just - don’t.”

He turned his back, making to leave.

“Can we just talk about this?” You asked desperately, not wanting him to go. You were terrified that he wouldn’t come back.

“I need some space,” Bucky said sharply without turning to look back at you. He left and pulled the door shut with such force that you jumped, tears finally escaping.

You had no idea how you were going to fix this.

—--- x —---

Bucky and you had one rule. Never go to bed angry at each other.

It was a rule you had instigated. You hated going to bed whilst you were in the throes of a fight, and the first time you had argued - something petty, really - you had pouted at Bucky and demanded that you make up.

He was relieved at that time as it was such a silly fight and he was anxious that you would give him the silent treatment. But he laughed as you jumped into his arms, kissing his cheek and letting him know all was forgiven.

“New rule - we can’t go to bed angry at each other,” you had announced at the time.

“Yes, my liege,” Bucky had responded.

Bucky wasn’t answering your calls or texts. You left 15 voicemails and 24 text messages, all apologizing and asking him to talk. You knew you should give him space, as it was only fair for him to digest what had happened and process, but you felt like you couldn’t function.

You wanted him by your side so you could apologize over and over again and tell him, genuinely, how regretful you were.

There was no excuse. Your face was tear-stained and eyes puffy as you paced your apartment, the clock having struck midnight a long time ago, with no sight of Bucky.

When four AM rolled round, you finally passed out on the couch whilst waiting for him. When your alarm rudely woke you up at seven, you startled and immediately ran into the bedroom, although you knew he wouldn’t be there.

The bed was empty, still made from the previous morning and untouched.

You could cry all over again.

You hurried to get ready nonetheless, and made your way to the Avengers Tower. You were involved in some S.H.I.E.L.D projects that were being hosted there, and you knew it was the place Bucky was most likely to be.

You checked your phone obsessively on the way to the Tower. No calls or messages from Bucky.

You groaned internally. He had never ignored you like this before. The gravity of the situation was slowly growing heavier and heavier - he was your Bucky, the one who always took care of you and worried over you and was by your side almost 24/7 whenever he wasn’t out on a mission, but now he was actively avoiding you.

More and more fear started to creep into the mix alongside the guilt. Would Bucky leave you over this?

When you arrived at the Tower, you expected it to be a lot harder to find him than it was. But he was in the training room, the first place you looked.

“Bucky,” you said quietly as soon as you saw him. He was serving blows mercilessly to a punching bag hung from the ceiling, as if he needed the practice. You knew he was letting off steam. He was dressed in a t-shirt and sweatpants, his hair hanging over his forehead in sweaty tendrils, his face slightly red.

Bucky barely even flinched. He didn’t acknowledge you at all, eyes never leaving the bag in front of him.

“Can we talk?” You asked tentatively.

No response.

“Bucky, if you don’t reply, I’m just going to start talking at you, and I really don’t want to do that,” you said. All you wanted him to do was at least look at you.

Bucky stopped then and you heaved a sigh of relief. But instead of speaking, he simply wrapped a towel around his shoulders and turned his back on you, leaving out of the door on the other side of the room.

You felt rocks fall to the bottom of your stomach, and the urge to cry reared its ugly head yet again.

—--- x —---

Bucky hadn’t spoken to you for two days. He hadn’t returned to your apartment for two days.

You had cried all of those days. You tried to find him and corner him to make him face you, but after that day in the training room, he had really been avoiding you. You had only seen him once in those two days, and he immediately disappeared as soon as he saw you.

It hurt so much. Like someone had stabbed you and, what’s more, was twisting the handle.

You knew you deserved it. You had really hurt Bucky, but part of you was still terrified of what he would do. How long would he wait until he decided to speak to you again? Was he going to break up with you?

You didn’t know how to fix it. You were ashamed to tell Sam, even though you wanted to ask his advice on what to do. You had done something so bad that you didn’t want to face his disappointment, too, although you were certain Bucky may have already told him.

Still, it hurt so bad. All you wanted Bucky to do was hug you and tell you it was alright, instead you were met with indifference and the back of his head. He wouldn’t even look at you.

You would rather he shouted at you, screamed at you, anything to actually make him talk and acknowledge your existence. But he continued to ice you out, and your heart was breaking.

—--- x —---

Bucky knew he loved you even before you officially became a couple. He loved how funny you were, how hard working you were, how you always listened to his side of the story, how you took care of him and patiently explained anything to him that he still didn’t quite understand about the modern world.

There were a lot of great women, but to Bucky, you had stood out. From day 1, you had cared about him. Little things, like asking about his favorite songs from the 40s, making sure his head was covered with your umbrella when it was raining even though your shoulder was getting wet, ensuring he got three solid meals a day and that his favorite snacks were stored in the pantry.

Bigger things, too, like letting him share the burden of his past with you without ever a word of judgment or disdain, encouraging him to visit his parents’ grave on the anniversary of their death and making the journey with him, sharing memories of Steve whenever Bucky was missing him. You were his rock, and he felt like he had mined the most precious diamond.

He knew he could tell you anything, but his sordid past as the Winter Soldier was still something he was trying to overcome himself. He was ashamed, and part of him was worried that you would suddenly think less of him. See him as the monster that he used to be, the monster that he sometimes saw himself as.

He hated the thought of poisoning your mind with unsavory images of himself and the knowledge of what he had done.

He was so angry to know that you saw his file. But the majority of his feelings came from the fact that he was so laden with guilt. He didn’t want you to know the ugly truth when all you had seen of him so far was the better version of himself that he was trying to be.

How could he forget his past when you knew every disgusting detail now, too? When you had now also seen the faces of all the people he had killed?

At the same time, he believed you when you said you were just trying to help. That was just your nature. He knew that you genuinely thought if you understood, you could offer assistance and ease his silent torment.

But anger prevailed, and he found himself ignoring you for days, even though he felt so immature doing it. He just couldn’t face you right now, even as you stared at him with wide, hopeful eyes. He could barely avoid meeting your gaze and instead chose to turn away completely, as if pretending you weren’t there would alleviate the pain. He was afraid that if he looked at you a little too long, his resolve would shatter.

—--- x —---

It was exceptionally poor timing that your birthday rolled around after five days of total radio silence from Bucky. You had forgotten, actually, until you entered the Tower and a fellow agent had wished you a happy birthday.

You gave her a weak smile as you muttered some made up plans about how you would be celebrating.

You wanted to burst out crying when you saw Bucky that morning, in the kitchen at the Tower.

He was leaning against the kitchen island, a smile on his face, a smile you hadn’t seen for almost a week. He was talking to an agent, a decent girl you had worked with before. You liked her, actually, as did a lot of people. He was talking to her about something, looking more relaxed than you had seen him since you had the fight.

He hadn’t noticed you as you observed the two of them. You didn’t think anything flirtatious was going on, but still, it hurt to see him smiling softly at someone else when he hadn’t paid you any attention for so long.

Part of you wasn’t sure if Bucky was going to speak to you today. But it was your birthday, after all - he always made a big deal out of it, asking you what you wanted to do and making sure you got a cake and flowers and all the romantic works. He always told you that you were his greatest gift, and so he couldn’t miss celebrating the day that you were brought into the world.

If he didn’t speak to you today, you think you would be sick.

You were so caught up in your thoughts that you didn’t realize the agent Bucky was talking to was leaving, and as she walked past you, you felt Bucky’s eyes on you. You met his gaze hesitantly, blinking wordlessly.

He paused, and you could almost see the gears turning in his brain as he decided what to do.

His smile dissipated, and he turned his back on you.

When you returned home that night, you cried your eyes out. You sat on the couch forlornly, staring at the door, half-expecting him to burst through at any moment with an apology and kisses waiting to be pressed onto your lips.

Midnight struck, and you went to bed alone.

—--- x —---

Six days.

Bucky had not spoken to you in six days, and honestly, he felt like shit.

He had never been so angry at you before, but he was surprised at himself that his silent streak had lasted so long. To be honest, the time had passed quickly, as he had kept himself as busy as possible.

As Bucky came down from his angry high, the feeling of guilt and sadness overwhelmed him at the thought of you being unhappy. He knew that this period of time would be tough on you, although he stood by his point that you should not have read his file behind his back, especially as you knew how sensitive he was about his past.

And yet, ultimately, he recalled that you only had his best interests at heart, even if you were going about it the wrong way. He sighed as he approached the Tower elevator, stepping inside just as Sam came running down the hallway, shouting at him to hold.

Bucky stabbed the close door button repeatedly, cursing as Sam slid past just in the nick of time, punching him playfully.

“You in a mood, princess?” He snickered, taking note of the dark circles under Bucky’s eyes. “You been up all night with your girl?”

Bucky let out a tsk. He sighed as the elevator descended.

“No. Haven’t spoken to her actually,” he admitted.

“Woah, wait. What do you mean?” Sam asked when he realized Bucky was being serious.

“Had a fight,” Bucky said reluctantly.

Sam frowned lightly. “On her birthday?”

Bucky froze as he opened his mouth to clarify that the fight had began a few days ago. His mind racked to confirm today’s date.

Shit. It was your birthday yesterday.

“Oh fuck,” Bucky said, head lolling back to bash against the glass elevator wall.

“You okay, man?” Sam asked, clearly concerned.

“I messed up,” he sighed in response, pinching the bridge of his nose. God, now he wanted to cry. How could he do this to you? He was already beginning to feel like he’d gone overboard with his reaction as the days passed and the red haze of anger dissolved from his eyes, clouding his better judgment, but now he truly felt like he had gone about everything so wrongly.

You had always gone on about the importance of communication in a relationship, and how you both needed to work together to overcome any challenges, and that one of the things you valued the most was being open and honest.

He imagined you sat alone at home, on your birthday, waiting expectantly for him to turn up.

His chest hurt.

—--- x —---

You lay down in bed as the sun set, darkness filling the room.

You had the covers over your head as the tears wet your pillow, your head hurting so much from all the crying and dehydration.

Your world was truly coming down around you. You were about to lose the best thing that had ever happened to you. Bucky was going to leave you, and it was your fault. The past few days had really unveiled your most deep rooted fear, that the love of your life was going to abandon you.

“You’re so stupid,” you whispered to yourself. “So stupid. So fucking stupid.”

You ignored the incessant buzzing of your phone. Your friends had been calling you since your birthday yesterday, concerned that you hadn’t picked up even once. You didn’t care. If Bucky wasn’t here, then you just wanted to be alone.

You always knew you weren’t good enough for him. Always knew that he would leave you eventually. Out of all the people in the world, what on earth would make him choose you?

You threw the covers off of you as a new surge of rage overwhelmed you.

“You are so fucking stupid!” You screamed out loud, letting the anger seep through your body, expel through your lungs. You stormed over to your mirror and punched the glass once, twice, until it cracked and sliced your knuckles, blood trickling immediately over your hand.

Bucky was going to leave you.

Your knees buckled and you collapsed onto the floor, head hanging as tears dripped down onto the carpet.

“So stupid,” you continued in a whisper. “So useless, so stupid, so -”

“What the fuck are you doing?” Came a loud voice, and your head snapped up with such speed that your head spun.

Bucky was standing in the open doorway, expression aghast as he took in the sight of you. Red, swollen eyes, bleeding hand, sitting in front of the broken mirror.

“Bucky,” you said weakly, voice trembling. He had come back to break up with you.

You always knew he would do it eventually. Your relationship was too good to be true.

“Oh my god,” Bucky hissed as he darted forward, moving down on his knees to join you and gently lifting your wounded hand. “What have you done?”

You started to cry again, feeling so pathetic. Bucky shook his head, eyes frantic.

“No, no, no, doll, please don’t cry,” he said, his voice softening.

“I’m sorry,” you garbled, voice thick with guilt. “I know I fucked up, I know. I’m so sorry Bucky. Please don’t leave me.”

The desperation in your voice broke Bucky’s heart. He wrapped his arms around you, holding you as tight as he could without hurting you, pressing his lips against the top of your head.

“Listen to me. I’m not going to leave you,” he said firmly. He pulled back and studied your face carefully, trying to keep his voice steady for your sake. “I need to patch you up, okay?”

You sniffled, nodding once before he stood up and disappeared into the bathroom. He reappeared with a first aid kit, kneeling down once more and inspecting your hand.

“Why did you do that, doll?” He murmured, a pained look in his eyes as he began to clean you up. It wasn’t a serious injury, just a scratch compared to some of the other battle wounds you had received in the past, but the idea that you had done that to yourself made Bucky so sad.

“I’m sorry,” you whispered again. “I’m just - I don’t know. I’m so angry at myself. Please will you forgive me? For everything?”

Bucky’s eyes welled up as he paused with his tending to your hand, biting down hard on the inside of his cheek to stop himself from crying. You were the most important person in the world to him and he had been pushing you away, had completely forgotten your birthday, and you had hurt yourself because of him when all you wanted was to help him.

“I forgive you,” he whispered, kissing your forehead tenderly. “Will you forgive me?”

“There’s nothing to forgive you for,” you insisted as he resumed cleaning your wound. You could see his eyes were wet, and you were nonplussed at why that would be.

“Yes, there is,” Bucky said, wearing a look of shame that you didn’t understand. “I know that your heart is always in the right place. Instead of talking to you about it, I just shut you out. No matter how angry I was, I shouldn’t have done that. I hurt you.”

He worked quickly, bandaging your hand and slowly holding your wrist after. His solemn blue eyes finally met yours.

“I love you so much. I should have stayed to talk, but I just… left. I shouldn't have done that.” He took a deep breath. “I walked away because I couldn’t stand the thought of you knowing everything. Knowing all the people I’ve killed - some of them innocent people. Read about how cold I was, the - the complete lack of mercy I showed. I am a monster.”

“Bucky,” you whispered, lifting your good hand to tenderly touch his face. You were hesitant, as if you were afraid he would withdraw from your touch. Instead, he leaned against your palm, eyes closed. He turned to press a kiss into your hand.

“I thought - “ you began, taking a deep breath at the insecurity and uncertainty that still plagued you. “I thought you were going to break up with me.”

Bucky’s eyes opened to stare at you forlornly, as if hurt that you would even have this thought.

“Never,” he said firmly. “You have no idea how much I have missed you.”

You launched yourself into his arms then, willing Bucky’s strong arms to encircle you. He did just that, holding you close as you sobbed quietly into his shoulder.

“Let me make it up to you, okay?” Bucky murmured. “Belated birthday celebration.”

“It’s enough that you’re here,” you whispered.

You still had a lot to talk about, but you felt so much better now that Bucky was standing by your side again. Maybe everything was going to be alright.

6K notes · View notes

lovesreality · 1 year

Text

s.w.a.l.k.

40s!bucky barnes x f!reader; [3.4k] summary: No one at his battalion knows about her, but they all see Sgt. Barnes writing the letters. Everyone wonders what does he have to say—how can so many words fit in him when he has so few to spare most of the time, but at the end of the day, all that matters is that when he receives his replies, Barnes looks happy. Glowing. 📝: this was based on this post. if you like it, reblogs and comments make all the difference. talk to me about it and i’ll adore ya. 🏷️: established relationship, letters, angst, longing.

masterlist | series masterlist

ㅤㅤㅤJune, 1943.

If there was one thing Bucky learned during his first weeks on duty, it was how to write.

Who would've thought?

Not Steve, that's for sure. As a matter of fact, Steve's first letter replying to Bucky involved the words 'damn Buck, didn't even know you could write' and while that was hilarious — like, really, very funny, Stevie, you're oh, so hilarious, Bucky wrote back — it was nothing compared to the gift he received from you.

The first letter you sent back to him proved to him why it was important that he wrote. It was crucial that Bucky learned how to verbalize all those feelings and thoughts pent up inside his mind because here, stuck between trenches, men, gunpowder, and the smell of death, he learned the truth about how ephemeral and fragile everything was.

Bucky needed you to know that amongst the rocky current of the waters of life, you were a lifeline.

His sweetheart.

+++++++ +++++++

The first time he wrote, it was short, objective, but sweet.

You'd been his girl for five months before he was shipped out, and Bucky had never been head over heels before.

The unfairness of it all didn't go unregistered.

Of course Bucky would find the one person he wanted to spend all of his time with just before everything everywhere went to shit. Of course he'd find the gal who he enjoys talking to for hours, with no end in sight—the girl who not only can keep up with him but makes him speed up sometimes to catch up. The girl who likes Steve.

(That one had been a big one. Nothing turned Bucky off more than when one of his dates met his best friend and treated him like dirt underneath their shoe, or grimaced, or sighed as if talking to Steve was a chore they had to put up with in order to be on his good side.

Not you.

Bucky introduced you to Steve, went to get a drink, and came back to the two of you laughing like you'd been best friends since childhood. He'd been so fucking happy to see Steve getting along with a girl of his that for a moment, he'd forgot you were his girl.

Between the two of them, you were not just his date. Those last few months, whenever Bucky left the docks to meet you or after he picked up Steve from the mass and the art classes he taught the children, they went to your neighborhood to share a beer and talk to you. All three, together.

Good friends.

Bucky had, many times, joked that you and Steve were an item on your own—the nerdy duo, the smarty pants, the firecrackers. If Steve alone was trouble, Bucky was now damned because his dame was trouble too, and she took none of it home. No—when trouble knocked on your door or his, you faced it with your chin held up high and your hands ready to throw fists.

He'd seen it first hand; the day someone called Steve a fairy and you became part woman, part beast.

That's when he knew he was in love.

That was also a couple of weeks before he was shipped off.)

Regardless of how everything was just not right, Bucky tried seeing the good amidst the bad.

You had asked — no, demanded — he wrote to you as soon as he had a pen and paper in hand, and Bucky could only obey.

The first time was tentative. Fragile, and uncertain.

The letter had been small, and filled with apologies, words scratched out at the last minute, not even a full page long. What could he say? He didn't want to fill your days with the gloom and darkness that loomed over the battalion.

Then, your reply arrived, and Bucky's feelings grew roots inside of him.

Like vines that catch on a wall and become something alive; his ribcages were now filled with words of yours, and they grew, green and vast, as quick as weed, and watered by the memories of you alone.

When he opened the first letter and read the words,

to my Bucky,

he knew there was no turning back.

It must've been the first paragraph that did him in.

The way you spoke to him through paper was so similar to the way you spoke in person that for a few moments, just for a few precious minutes, Bucky could swear you were sitting right next to him, talking in his ear.

Call him crazy or not, but in the breeze, Bucky sensed your warmth. Your perfume.

He knew that was impossible—uncountable miles separated you two, and it was cold in there, colder than he expected.

Nothing but the smell of men, dirty mud and metal hung in the air, but—

he sensed it.

The words carried you in them:

ㅤㅤㅤto my Bucky,

You wrote! Thank you, thank you, thank you. Threefold I thank, so that three times the words come back. Good gods, how I missed you, Jay. I miss you in the mornings, and I miss seeing your frame walking out of the docks coming my way—call me crazy if you want to, but even the smell of your body when you hugged me just to make me yell in spite because the stickiness would cling to my clothes; I miss all of that, too. Don't you dare hold back anything that crosses your mind, ya hear me? I wanna know it all. I don't give a damn if it's ugly, if it's red, if it's horrible and nothing that you would one day say to a dame—I'm yours, James, and nothing about this world is okay or right anymore, so don't you dare hold back the things you'd want me to know. I'm here to listen to everything you're willing to tell me, the same way I'm about to spill my guts about these days here without you, as if you were here sitting on the edge of my bed and not many miles away, somewhere I don't even know, surrounded by people I'm not sure are being good to you like they should.

He read that paragraph so many fucking times that he remembered the words by heart.

'I don't give a damn if it's ugly, if it's red, if it's horrible.'

How had he found you?

He hugged the paper that day.

With eyes searching sideways to see if anyone was paying close attention to him and his silliness, Bucky sniffed the paper and was gifted with a surprise—there was the lingering scent of your perfume there.

That day, he learned the mistake of hugging a letter so close to your heart, where he wished he could keep it: his tears would stain the words, and his longing for you in his arms instead of a piece of paper would make the thing crease, which is the last thing he wanted.

He later found a good metal box, and that's where he decided he would keep your letters.

With a sticker seal from Brooklyn on the lid, Bucky secured the box within his possessions and picked up a pen and paper.

He'd tell you everything. Not because he had much to say or because he was letting the dark thoughts creep around the corners of his mind, but because he wanted to.

If it came out a little woozy, it was alright.

You understood him even when he didn't understand himself.

ㅤㅤㅤMy sweetheart,

I'm a fool for thinking I'd have no words to say to you. Ever since I got your letter, I feel like I should be walking around with a pen and paper with me at all times, 'cause all I wanna do is tell you all the stupid and important things that happen around here.

The words I'll probably use the most and that you'll see in every letter, I should leave out in the open right at first: I miss you. Goddamn it, I do. I didn't know I could miss someone this much—maybe Steve, 'cause I'm used to having him by my side, and my family, but other than that, I only hoped. And now I do. I'm gonna say this many more times, but I can't wait for all of this to be over so I can not miss you.

Speaking of my ma and the girls—have you found the address I gave you easily? I hope you did. I told Ma in my letter that she should be expecting a visit from someone important to me soon, and that I was devastated that I had to be fucking here instead of there in a moment like this, but I want her to have someone intelligent and important to talk to when I'm here. The girls are young. Kids. These are times too dark for children, and you're exactly the type of gal Ma would hope I brought home—does it count if I'm bringing you home, but from afar? Sending you home. I like the sound of that.

I met a couple of cool guys around here. I'm keeping this paper with me to tell you about their stupid ass jokes, but most of them are too dirty. Don't frown at me—I'm not keeping anything from you, sweetheart, they're just crude and stupid. The shit that man says, y'know? You'd roll your eyes at most of them. I smile to myself every time I think about that.

The Lt. around here told me he likes the way I work. Apparently my aim's good not only in the kitchen flippin' pancakes or throwing darts to impress ya. I'm good with a rifle. I dunno if you wanna know about these gritty details too — tell me to shut the hell up like you always did if not — but since you told me to loosen my tongue, I'm telling you that: I'm a sniper. That means I'm usually in the shadows with my eyes squinting in the direction of the enemy, just looking for a breach. I do my job well. Apparently, they're thinking of upping my rank. I also don't know how to feel about that, but one of the guys here — one of the cool ones, don't worry sweetheart, I'm not hanging around the 'bad influences' (and I write this thinking of you and Steve with your judging ass looks, just so you know) — his name's Morita, and he said that when the battalion is formed and everyone has their Sargeant, we can go back home for a weekend before we're shipped off somewhere else.

A lot of shit is 'classified'.

I know. I can hear you snorting, rolling your eyes. Ya hear that, beautiful? I'll be telling you a lot of 'classified' shit. Tell no one, 'cause I don't know how much they know or not.

Do they have ears and eyes everywhere? Probably. I get the sense they do. Everything you learn, pretend you don't. If Ma asks you something that you know and she doesn't, put on that pretty face of yours that fools Mr. Hirako from the store into giving you any information and tell her "ah, Miss Winnie" (I bet she'll ask you to call her that, she's gonna fuckin' love ya) "I don't know, but we should always pray for the best, right?" She'll buy it, 'cause most people buy anything you say. All they see is that angel face.

I adore that angel face so much. I wish you could fool the entire world into being less idiotic and behave like grown people who can solve their shit with words instead of using something so animalistic like these weapons.

Around here all I think about is our late-night conversations about humanity. I hope you're studying a lot, 'cause one day, you're gonna make this world a little better. 'm not sure where I stand on hopes for the future or not, but if this war ends, there might be some.

Ah! I learned something fun today by overhearing one of the conversations: apparently, when soldiers have someone to write to, they use special little acronyms. Like a secret, y'know? I'll be teaching you the ones I learn, 'kay? You're my special agent, now. You tell me all the info you got on the people over there, I tell you everything I know from the people over here, and together, we keep each other sane.

I'll be finishing this one off with Sealing With A Lot of Kisses. Do you miss my kisses? 'Cause I sure miss yours.

I know not every letter's gonna be light and fun like this one, but I hold your first letter close to my chest every night. It reminds me that you're the one who makes things shine for me. There at home, and here in the darkness, too.

It's dark in here, sweetheart.

I learned to close my eyes and think about the starry sky we loved looking at when we were on our dates at the fair, or walking home late at night. Remember the cinema walks with Stevie and I? That's where I go to when it's too dark, too stinky, too ugly. The things people say around here make the hair on the back of my neck rise, sometimes. Talks of experiments, and the messed up from from over there using humans in all sorts of shit... I'm glad that only men are stupid enough to think that fighting to the death is a solution. I'd hate to see you walking around here more than I hate seeing the sight of blood or still bodies. You don't belong here. I think no one does.

Please, can you do me a favor? Send me another picture of yours? I only have one. I can't risk losing this one and not having another picture of you to stare at. If you leave me with nothing but my fellas' ugly mugs to stare at, I'm gonna have to come back disowned.

I hear a lot of talk around the camp about shipping, so I'll leave you for now. I hope my words find you at peace, and that they bring you some comfort. I carried the papers with me everywhere so they musn't smell nice, but at least it smells like me. I'm sorry if my scent is different now. If it's bad, lemme know. I liked the thing you did with the perfume. My box smells of you. I open it only once a day, to make sure it doesn't go to waste. It's keepin' me sane, and it puts a smile on my face every time I get a whiff of it.

With a lot of adoration in my heart, goodbye for now, sweetheart;

S.W.A.L.K.

yours, J.B.B.

"Congratulations."

It says a lot about how much Bucky pays attention to the folk around here that he recognizes the voice of Morita. He looks up and is met with black hair and slim eyes. "Thanks, Jim."

Morita points at the log that Bucky's sitting on. "Mind if I join ya?"

"Not at all."

"Thanks." Morita sits with a grunt. Everyone around the base is tired—living on the edge with the minimum only makes a human being gruff and annoyed, but Morita still has that aura of someone whose head is right on their shoulders. "I was terrified there for a moment."

"Of what?"

"That they'd make me Sargeant."

Bucky chuckles. "With that aim of yours? Nah."

"Not my thing, Sarge. But I already told the Lt. that I wanna be under your watch. My aim might not be the best, but I've seen yours."

"Have ya?"

"Sure did. I'm good with explosives, though. If you need someone to blow some shit up, I'm your guy."

Bucky puts down his rifle, glad about the cleaning job, and shifts his focus to Jim. "I'll definitely remember that."

"Good, good." The silence that stretches for the next moments proves to Bucky what he already knew—Morita's one of the good folk. He rolls a tobacco, lights it up, and offers it to Bucky.

'Those things smell nasty, Buck. Put that shit out.'

'Oh, c'mon, sweetheart. It makes me light and loose.'

'It'll also make your gums black, your teeth yellow, and your breath stinky. D'you want me to kiss you forever?'

'That shouldn't even be a question'.

'Then lose that.'

He loves when things spark a memory of yours. Bucky shakes his head with a smile on. "Nasty things. Thanks, Jim."

Morita smokes a few puffs with his eyes glued on Bucky, who feels watched and analyzed.

"Who told ya to quit?" Morita asks through clouds of smoke.

Unlike most people, his questions don't come lidded with annoying prodding. Morita's older than Bucky—at least five, or maybe ten years on him, and Bucky liked his presence from the get-go because it was always like this; easy conversation without that feeling of someone snooping around in your life with nothing to offer back. "No one told me to quit, specifically..."

"But they told ya it was nasty, hm?"

Bucky chuckles. "It is a nasty habit."

"Can't argue with that."

They sit in silence as the cigarette's tip burns orange every now and then. The sky is the only thing they have to watch, and Bucky relaxes his back against the three.

Eventually, Morita speaks up again. "You think we're going somewhere cold? Hot?"

Something tells Bucky it'll be cold. He shivers at the feeling that sweeps through him like an omen. "I wanna say hot. My body says cold."

"Ah, fuck me." Morita stubs the tip on his boots' sole, and rests his back on the tree too with a big sigh. "If there ain't a single opportunity to drink 'till the cold is forgotten, 'm gonna find a way to blow that mustache motherfucker myself."

That makes Bucky laugh. "I wouldn't say no to that." I wanna go home. "Blow all of 'em up and we'll go home faster."

"Fuck, I wanna go home," the whisper is so soft that Bucky looks to the side, and finds Morita looking at him. "You ever thought we'd have to live through this bullshit?"

"Never."

"Me neither." Morita looks up at the sky. "My partner says humanity's clinging to the wrong shit and that's why we're losing our way."

Bucky heard Steve and his friends for long enough to recognize a cue when he sees one, and answers with, "They sound smart," before sighing deeply. "Mine says it was the break between the idea of 'technology' and separating that from nature that fucked us up."

It's the first time he talks about you with someone, and he feels that the information is stored safely.

"They sound smart, too," says Morita. "D'you think we'll get to go home for a bit?"

That's what they were told, but Bucky's learning not to trust people's words too much. "It's what they told us. I've been told not to trust bosses too much, though."

"Your partner said that?"

"Yup. She claims everyone who's in charge of others lies to some degree."

Morita's laugh is loud, and nasally. Bucky fucking adores it. "As someone with two kids, she sure knows what she's talking about."

"You lie to your kids a lot?"

Morita cackles. "Sarge—wait 'till you and your babe have kids, and then we'll exchange letters. There's either lying or losing our minds. Or losing the kid. So lying it is."

"I'll send you letters when it happens to ask for advice."

"I'll spare some for you."

Bucky likes the sound of that. "Tell me about your kids?"

The request is met with a smile, and Bucky forgets all about the wrongs and the dark sitting there with Morita.

In the back of his mind, all he thinks about is telling you all the good bits of this conversation later on.

He'll share everything with you.

And then, when the time comes, he'll come home.

↳ my inbox 💌 | tip jar ♡ ↲

557 notes · View notes

lovesreality · 1 year

Text

“i’m in my slut era” i say as i open tumblr to read fanfictions of characters who don’t exist

13K notes · View notes

lovesreality · 1 year

Text

The Woman in the Avengers Compound (prisoner of my own mind series pt 4 - s.r)

masterlist

series masterlist

summary: a hydra prisoner is found close to death in the middle of the desert after a raid. As she struggles to adjust to normal life, she finds herself wanting to live again, for herself and for someone who is becoming increasingly special to her.

a/n: Writing this was a struggle as I was sick during the last few weeks. So sorry for the late upload!!. Please reblog or like or follow or comment if you enjoy this, I put a lot of work into my writing! love you guys and thanks for the support.

warnings: ANGST, descriptions of torture (will be in italics in longer paragraph, the small lines of italics are just thoughts), blood, wounds, depression, suicidal thoughts, alcohol, drugs, violence, sex

word count: 2.6k.

Y/n’s mouth dropped open as she stepped into the compound. Steve watched her eyes sparkle at the lobby. Bucky grinned and Natasha laughed slight, making her face flush with color. The lobby has the giant avengers symbol on the wall, illuminated by LEDS. The floor was a pretty grey tile, so clean it mirrored the actions of everyone. In the center was a stage with holographic monitors and a giant globe in the center. Control desks stool circling the stage as well as a few nice chairs. She counted them, coming to ten. She couldn’t think of that many avengers. She decided to ask someone later.

“Friday, is Y/n’s room ready?” Tony asked. “Oh, and where’s Pepper and Morgan?” Y/n looked around confused as to who Tony was talking to. She jumped away from the wall as a woman spoke, scaring her.

“Yes, sir, Y/n’s room is ready. Pepper and Morgan are in your apartment,” Friday spoke.

“What is that?” Y/n whispered to Bucky, who now stood at her side.

“I am Friday, Mr. Stark’s digital assistant, however I am here to help all of the Avengers,” Friday spoke once again.

“Oh… thanks,” Y/n swallowed, still slightly creeped out by the robot. Steve chuckled from behind them at her disturbed face.

“I’m going to my room, all of you get some rest. Someone show Y/n where her room is,” Tony yawned, and walked off towards one set of stairs in the corner of the room. Natasha was already walking off with Bruce, Clint was nowhere to be found, and Thor had murmured something about being tired and had started walking to his room.

“I can show you, our rooms are right next to each other,” Steve smiled.

“Mines the opposite hallway, so I’ll see you later, Y/n. If you need to talk or anything feel free to visit,” Bucky patted her shoulder before walking towards the apartments.

“Thank you!” Y/n called out before turning to Steve. “Ready.”

“Follow me,” he started walking towards where Bucky was heading. They walked in a comfortable silence. When Bucky turned left ahead of them, they instead turned right and began walking down a nice hallway. The walls were white, the floor the same tile, and gold accentuated lights lined the ceiling. They approached a carved f/c door, and Steve stopped. There was another door across from it, one that was light blue “So this is your room, that’s mine,” he pointed to the light blue door literally right across hers. She bounced on her heels, excited. Steve grabbed the knob and pushed inward, letting the door open. Y/n’s mouth dropped open at the gorgeous room. It had nice hardwood floors with fluffy f/c carpet in certain places. A four-poster bed sat off to the left, also covered in different blankets and pillows of different shades of f/c. There was a nice dark wooden dresser, along with a television on the wall across from the bed. There were two more doors that piqued her curiosity. How could the room get any bigger?

“Oh my god, it’s beautiful! How did they know my favorite color?” Y/n stepped inwards before turning to Steve. He smiled sheepishly.

“After you told me I requested Tony make it a little more nice for you,” he scratched the back of his neck. She met his eyes, and he was startled at the tears in them. “Hey, I’m sorry, did I do something wrong?” He asked slightly panicked, confusion filling his eyes.

“No, no, I’m just not used to nice things. Thank you, Steve, really,” Y/n wipes at her tears, smiling while she sniffled. Steve grinned again before walking towards one of the doors. He open one that led to a gorgeous bathroom. The floor was grey tile, the walls a light shade of f/c. There was a marble counter with two sinks, and a large walk in shower. There was also a large clawed foot tub separated by a wall, and even the toilet looked fancy. Y/n opened a closet in the bathroom, revealing empty shelves and a washer and dryer.

“This is just for bathroom storage, your actual closet is in your office.”

“I have an office?” Y/n’s eyes widened as Steve grinned. Steve beckoned her to follow him, leading her to the other door she had seen. He stopped aside to let her open it. She audibly gasped as it revealed a large office. There was a wooden L-shaped desk in the corner, along with a nice looking desktop computer. In another corner was an empty bookshelf and a leather armchair with a fluffy blanket. Opposite of that was an easel and a set of drawers, which she realized was full of canvases and brushes and paints as she opened them. There was another wardrobe with yarn and thread, markers, pens, pencils, all kinds of different art supplies for many different hobbies.

“We didn’t know what hobby you had, so I asked Pepper and Morgan to just pick out whatever they could think of,” Steve smiled. Tears were full on flowing down her face now.

“Thank you so so much,” Y/n wiped them away, smiling at Steve, cheeks red.

“Of course,” he simply nodded. He pulled his phone out as it buzzed, the screen illuminating his face. Y/n bit the inside of her cheek. He really did have a nice face. She looked away as he glanced up to her. “Natasha and Wanda want to take you shopping now, how’s that sound?” She swallowed nervously.

“But you guys have already spent so much on me, and what if they don’t like me?” Steve shook his head.

“No way they won’t like you. And don’t worry about the money, please. We want to help you, and money is never an issue when you’re friends with Tony.”

“Okay, but I’m paying you all back as soon as I find a job.” Steve started to argue, but she cut him off. “No buts, Captain.” He simply sighed in response.

“They are waiting for you in the lobby.” She smiled shakily at his words, before walking towards her door, him in close pursuit. As they left her room, the door swung shut without prompt. Steve watched, eyebrows raised.

“Your abilities really are impressive,” he remarked as they stood outside his door now.

“Great for when you don’t want to get up and turn the lights off,” Y/n giggled. Steve snorted. “Well I’ll see you later, Steve,” she began walking down the hall.

“Be safe!” Steve called as he opened his door, smiling as she gave him a thumbs up, walking backwards. Y/n became slightly clammy as she approached the lobby. Natasha was now talking to another red-headed woman, who smiled as Y/n approached.

“Y/n, this is Wanda. Wanda, Y/n,” Natasha introduced them.

“Nice to meet you,” Wanda started to stick her hand out, but retracted it when she looked into Y/n’s eyes. Y/n looked at her questioningly. “I can read minds,” Wanda smiled. Y/n wasn’t too surprised.

“Sorry, just not too used to touch that isn’t, uh, painful.”

“No worries,” Wanda smiled. Natasha watched the interaction.

“Alright girls, let’s go.”

Twenty minutes later, they were at Target. They walked through the self-care aisle first.

“Hey, Y/n, can I ask about the scars on your arms?” Natasha asked softly. Y/n glanced toward her as she put some shampoo and conditioner in the cart. Something about Natasha and Wanda made her feel comfortable, so she nodded. “Why do they not heal?”

“We’ll, I’m not one hundred percent sure. I think it’s because they only injected part of the serum at a time, then they would, uh, cut me. So before they gave my the full serum I could heal to the point of having scars, but not fully enough to get rid of them,” Y/n sighed, thinking of the scars along her back too. She didn’t exactly feel pretty with them, although she had never actually seen the ones on her back. She made a mental note to check them later.

“I think they’re badass,” Natasha smirked, making Y/n laugh.

“Thanks, Natasha. Although, sometimes they are painful.”

“Call me Nat,” she smiled. The girls laughed and talked their way through the aisle as they added things Y/n needed. Toothbrush, toothpaste, soap, makeup, deodorant, even expensive perfume that Y/n had tried to convince them she didn’t need. After that they shopped for a ton of new clothes. They had multiple carts by the time they were done with just that section.

“Now I know you’re going to refuse, but Steve requested I make you buy things for your room,” Wanda smiled. Y/n sighed, goddamn you Steve Rogers Wanda’s words still made Y/n’s cheeks heat up. Nat raised her eyebrows but said nothing. They proceeded to force Y/n to buy a bunch of decorations for her room from multiple stores, and every book she put her hand on at the store was thrown into her cart. Wanda and Nat had gone across the store to pick out some things they thought Y/n would like, coming back with nail polish, bracelets, a few simple rings, and a few other random items.

“Can we please be done?” Y/n practically begged as she watched one of Tony’s assistants load an SUV with her bags of stuff. Natasha shook her head.

“One more place, then we’re done.”

A few minutes later, Y/n was starstruck in an antique media store. There were tons of older books and decorations. What really struck her was a gorgeous old record player, which she ran her fingers over gently. Natasha wordlessly took it and put it on the counter, and Y/n finally didn’t protest. She added a few records that were her favorite, ones that reminded her of her parents. She also filled the cart with books, taking recommendations from both Natasha and Wanda. She was exhausted as she they finally drove back to the compound, but her fear of nightmares kept her up. It was 6 in the evening when they got back to the building. All of the bags (which was quite a lot) were piled in the lobby. A man looked at the bags sullenly and began to pick some up.

“Hey!” Y/n called. The man stood up and turned towards her. She walked closer to him. “Hey I can get those bags, no worries,” she smiled.

“Are you sure? There’s a lot,” the man raised his eyebrows. Then he glanced back at Nat and Wanda and his eyes lit up in recognition. “You must be Y/n. I’m Happy, Tony’s head of security.”

“Nice to meet you, I’m Y/n. But trust me, I can handle the bags.” On that note, she bowed her head to Happy and turned to Wanda and Nat. “It was lovely to spend time with you guys, I hope we can be friends.”

“We already are,” Wanda smiled. Nat nodded in response. With that, she started walking toward her room. The other three watched as the bags, which were now floating in the air, followed her.

“Damn I wish I could make my groceries float,” Nat mused.

“Your boyfriend is a giant green scientist, make him carry it all” Wanda snorted.

“That he is,” Nat shrugged.

It was around eleven at night when Y/n finally finished putting away all of her new things. Her clothes were tucked and hung away, somehow she had overfilled the massive bookcase and so there were small piles of them laying around. An older record was spinning around as she changed into her brand new pajamas. Her new phone still sat unopened on her dresser. She fell back into her bed, eyes staring at the ceiling. Y/n realized she wasn’t getting sleep any time soon, despite her tiredness. Instead, she changed again, this time into black shorts and a tank top.

The hallway was dimmed as she wandered through it, tiptoeing as she glanced at Steve’s door. She thought about going to Bucky’s room, but she didn’t remember which hallway he had gone down. She thought about asking Friday, but the woman in the wall still made her nervous. Instead, she opened random doors to find closets, offices, guest rooms, and more. There was one sign that said workshop, which she thought would be cool to explore another night. She perked up when she saw the other sign though, and opened the door for it. She was amazed at the gym. It was large, a big field of mats in the center formed a sparring ring, and different machines were spread throughout the room. There was also markings that led to a pool and hot tub, a large rack of multiple weapons, a shooting range, and multiple punching bags. She decided to start with a run on the outdoor track. The air was cooler than expected, but as she ran she got warmer. It was a mile long track, but she veered off and decided to run around the building. It was dark out, the moonlight being the only thing illuminating the path. She was slightly intimidated by the silence of the night, but she ran anyway. She had to give the serum some credit, if she wasn’t part super soldier the run would have been much harder. When she got back to the gym, her legs were sore but she decided to try all of the different machines with her newfound strength. She also practiced using her power to throw knives at targets, which was what she was doing when Steve walked in. The knife hit the tip of another knife already embedded in the bullseye.

“Yes!” Y/n threw her hands up, smiling.

“Impressive,” Steve spoke from the doorway, wearing a pair of grey sweatpants and a white tank top. She immediately turned to him, smiling.

“Thanks. Being a super soldier can actually be pretty nice sometimes,” she watched as she made the knives soar back to the rack.

“Yeah,” he smiled. “What are you training for?”

“Nothing really. Just can’t sleep,” Y/n shrugged as she looked at the sparring mat. A grin infiltrated her lips, making Steve raise his eyebrows. “Teach me to spar?”

“We can try,” Steve teased, walking over to the mat. Y/n followed. He taught her basic punches, kicks, and dodges. “Alright, start in ready stance, and go!” They began to fight, he was surprised at how good she was, dodging excellently and landing a good amount of hits on him. After a particular dodge that made Steve stumble, she giggled.

“Come on, Stevie, you’re supposed to be better than me.” Steve jolted slightly at the nickname, then scoffed with a smile before he managed to kick her leg out from under her, sending her sprawling to the floor.

“I am better,” he laughed. She jumped up from the floor, then shook her head.

“I hope you know I could easily put you on the ground if I used my powers.”

“I don’t doubt it,” he looked down at his watch. “It’s almost three.” Her eyes widened in surprise as his words made her realize how tired she was.

“Guess we should get to bed,” Y/n shrugged.

“Yeah, I’ll walk you,” Steve nudged her with his shoulder and they left the gym, walking to their rooms. They discussed their music tastes as the trekked back to their doors.

“It was so strange when I came out of the ice, I listened to so much new music and it was mind-blowing,” Steve shook his head as she laughed.

“I can imagine. All the curse words,” she grinned. “I need to catch up on music too.” They finished talking as they approached the 2 painted doors.

“Well, it was nice sparring with you, we’ll have to do it again sometime,” Steve sighed with a smile.

“Next time I’m not holding back,” Y/n nudged him with her shoulder. She tried to ignore the tingling that went down her arm.

“Good, I don’t want you to,” Steve smiled. She smiled back as she opened her door. She turned to face him one last time. “Night, Steve.” As she closed the door, she heard him respond softly.

“Night, Y/n.”

TAKING REQUESTS TO BE IN TAG LISTS FOR ALL FUTURE WORKS

1. please comment if you want to be in THIS series tag list (I will only tag you in the prisoner of my own mind story chapters)

2. please comment if you want to be in the ALL WRITING WORK tag list (you would be tagged whenever I post any of my own writing)

Previous Chapter Next Chapter: In Progress

4 notes · View notes