This is my blog for my fanfic stories. I write mostly for Bucky Barnes from Marvel Cinematic Universe and Lalo Salamanca from Better Call Saul. I used to write here in Tumblr and I decided to move all my fics to AO3, but I missed it here so I will be posting my fanfics again from AO3 to here.
WARNING: Some of my Lalo Salamanca fics contain dark themes such as non-consensual rape, kidnapping, graphic violence, murder, threats of violence, and coercion. Consume these content/s at your own risk. MINORS, please DO NOT INTERACT with these fics. Or my blog as a whole.
Find my masterlist of fics here!
James Buchanan Barnes
Eduardo "Lalo" Salamanca
PS. I am not accepting any fic requests and no taglists, too! Apologies, but it's for my peace of mind hehe.
The boulder pushing punishment is iconic. But I think more people should know the reason Sisyphus was punished to begin with, which was for cheating death, twice.
The first time he cheated death, Sisyphus had just angered Zeus by revealing the location of the Asopid Aegina whom Zeus abducted. Which is super valid, fuck Zeus.
Sisyphus knew that Zeus would send the god of death Thanatos after him, so he prepared a trap and trapped Thanatos in the chains meant for him.
After that, nothing on Earth was able to die so long as Thanatos was in chains. Which meant no animals could be sacrificed to the gods. This angered the gods, who made Sisyphus' life so miserable with pain and illness that he would beg for death. And so he released Thanatos.
But then came the second time Sisyphus cheated death. As he was dying, he asked his wife to dump his naked corpse in the middle of the public square. Denied a proper burial, his soul ended up on the far side of the river Styx, unable to cross.
He complained to Hades and Persephone about how his wife disrespected him, and begged them to let him return briefly to the world of the living to scold her and make her bury him properly. They agreed, and Sisyphus returned to life. He then embraced his wife, and refused to return to the Underworld.
It's only when he finally died of old age that he was sent to Tartarus and punished with the boulder.
I don't remember where I've seen it, but I like the interpretation that Sisyphus doesn't have to push the boulder. He can choose to stay in Tartarus and rest. But he was promised that if he managed to push the boulder to the top of the mountain, he'll ascend to Elysium.
And Sisyphus, in his stubbornness and cleverness, refuses to give up on a challenge.
One must indeed imagine Sisyphus happy, planning and scheming about how he'll cheat the gods next.
Please keep interacting with this post because when I come to tumblr to procrastinate, this shows up again in my notifications and guilts me into writing again
Summary: An amnesia erases a memory in Bucky Barnes' head. He tiptoes whether the memory was worth remembering or worth burying.
Warning(s): PAINFUL and HEAVY ANGST, Pregnancy, Miscarriage, Abandonment, Traume
Tags: Angst, Amnesia
Pairing: James Buchanan Barnes & Female Reader Insert
Notes: This fic is for my 153 followers!!! Thank you so much for your support! Pls enjoy this angsty and long-ass fic. Feel free to leave your comments or feedbacks! This was barely proofread and edited because I just wanted to write something so, let me know if there are inconsistencies lol. Enjoy!!
“Your vitals are good,” The doctor said as he looked at the three men standing inside his office. His gaze landed on him as he sat on the medical recliner. “Recuperation was swift, as expected. I’ll clear you for on-field missions, but do come back in a month for a regular check-up.”
All men were quiet as the doctor scribbled notes on his chart, his back to them. Two exchanged glances, the other sighed as he stared at him. “What about those memories, doc? Will he get them back? Would there be recurring symptoms following what happened?”
The doctor glanced back and turned to face the men once again. “Ah, yes, in cases of retrograde amnesia, like Mr. Barnes here, he might recover his autobiographical memories over time. It’s highly variable. He could regain them fully, partially, or maybe never,”
“As per recurring symptoms,” the doctor continued, his gaze shifting briefly to Bucky, “nausea, vertigo, confusion and forgetfulness. All totally normal post-concussive symptoms. Mental health-wise, Mr. Barnes can develop mood swings, anxiety, depression. With his enhanced system, expect full physical recovery within 6 months, although mental and emotional recovery can take a year or more.”
Bucky sat back, eyes on the doctor and Steve, Sam standing beside him, Bruce watching quietly. The attention made him feel… detached from his own recovery. It was strange. One moment he could barely open his eyes on a crash cart, and now he felt reduced to a test subject—like the Winter Soldier. His stomach twisted at the memory.
“Well,” he slapped his metal palm on his thigh, “nothing I’m not already familiar with. I’ll be fine. This isn’t my first rodeo.”
“Buck…” Steve chimed, voice low. His lips were thin and curved downwards. Bucky hated the way they stared at him. The other two sighed but kept quiet. “Please don’t take this lightly.”
He chuckled and scoffed. “I am not. I am just… telling the truth. This isn’t the first time. Besides, I think I am better off without those memories. Like the doctor said, they were emotionally charged. Stressful. Good riddance, I guess.”
“We understand, James,” Bruce said. He paused for a bit before he continued, “but it was a good five years of your life. Just… take the rest. It’s only just a month.”
“Or two.” Sam said, hands on his hips. “We don’t want you hopping off the jet and forgetting where you are mid-air.”
“Ha-ha, funny,” Bucky mocked, eyes rolling, “can we just… go back to our lives? We’re done here, right, Ray?”
Ray, the neurosurgeon, nodded and gave him a thumbs up. Bucky towered over the old man as he stood from the recliner and puffed his chest out.
“Come back after a month.” Ray recalled as the men dispersed. “Check-up.”
Bucky nodded as he exited the door. “Yes. I’ll come back, alright.”
His strides were long and he breezed through the other three. The tragedy was over. He was more than ready to pick up where he left off. A bad fall and a swelling on his brain was just a hiccup, he had dealt with so much worse.
Steve caught up beside him, “Where are you going?”
“Training.” He said flatly. Isn’t it obvious? “I’ve been basically immobile for two weeks. And I can finally sign up for a mission.”
“Rethink the rest.” Steve exasperated. Bucky paused and faced him. The blond wore the same tired look on his face. “I meant what I said back at the bay. You should take that rest.”
He glanced around and found Sam and Bruce still standing a meter behind. They mirrored Steve’s countenance. Bucky was puzzled by their treatment of him after the accident. They all hovered and asked way too many questions. They sent him cake and flowers—something he appreciated—but thought was too much.
Bucky stood on one leg and exhaled through his nose. “Thank you, Steve. But, no thank you. And I also meant what I said back at the bay. This isn’t my first rodeo. As the Winter Soldier, I went through worse. I went through hell. I just fell five hundred feet from the sky after my chute failed.” He forced a smile after a beat. “That’s all.”
“You know that’s not what we mean.” Sam argued. “The memories, Bucky. They’re important.”
“Okay,” He shrugged, eager to terminate the conversation. “I remember my mother. Rebecca. Steve when he was skinny. I remember the war. Then the other wars. I remember my protocols. I remember the procedures.” He snickered, “What else do I need? Those memories were stressful. I don’t want that stress.”
The men were silent for a moment. Sam and Steve exchanged glances and Bruce shook his head before looking away. Was he really missing out on anything? His logic was solid in his head. People do not miss out on stress, you get rid of it.
Steve sucked air through his teeth. “It was… a really important part of your life.”
Bucky sighed and bit the inside of his cheek. He had lost more than he gained in his life. His resignation to fate’s cruelty was his coping mechanism. It was not exactly healthy but it got him by. Too many years and memories and time were wasted and taken from him. What was five years more of it?
“Yeah?” He scoffed, resuming his pace and walking forward. “Tell me about it.”
* * * * *
“Where are you going?”
Bucky groaned as his shoulders dropped. The redhead blocked his way with her head tilted to the side. Steve appeared from the corner out of nowhere.
“None of your business.” He gave her a fake smile. “Now, move.”
The blond walked closer while wiping his hands dry with a rag. “Where are you off to?”
“Jesus.” Bucky huffed, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Can you all stop with the… parenting? It’s getting weirder every day.”
Natasha looked over to Steve. Her eyebrows met as she stared back at him. He could tell the gears in her mind were turning. As if he needed guards. As if he was a ward. As if he was incapable. Bucky pushed the vexation down his chest, sucking air through his teeth.
“Why are you being so defensive?” Natasha asked with eyes on slits.
He fished for his keys in his pockets, foot already angled toward an exit. “I am not defensive. I am in a hurry.”
“To where?” Steve inquired further. The blond squinted at him and Bucky felt his eyes rolling but stopped himself.
“Fine,” he murmured, “out. Grocers. Shop.”
Steve sighed. Bucky looked away. An argument was already brewing in his head. He refused to indulge it.
“Are you sure you can—”
“Steve, I can manage.” He showed his palms in defense. “I am fine. I am not a child. It was just an accident, and I had many of those already.”
Natasha scoffed and crossed her arms. “We’re just worried, dumbass. Didn’t your therapist tell you that people are allowed to care about you?”
Bucky paused at her words and lowered his head. As much as he hated to hear it, he knew Natasha was right. There was so much care around him that it caged him. People tiptoed around him. He noticed how they would exchange glances, as if careful not to say the wrong thing.
He scratched his jaw and sniffled. He raised his head and nodded. Eyes still darted elsewhere. “Right. I’ll be back. Just… I just need some time… on my own.”
Natasha considered him for a while and Steve forced a smile. The redhead muttered an ‘alright’ under her breath before walking out. The latter walked closer, sighing.
“I’m sorry, Buck.” He offered, “I can tell that you think I am overbearing. Well, maybe I am. We’re both older than almost anyone we know, and that’s the thing—it’s just… us.”
Bucky shook his head. He sighed in return and wished he had not snapped earlier. “I take care of myself, Steve. I am fine, really. I really am.” His feet moved toward the elevator, body still turned toward the blond. “Look, I won’t be long. I’ll just grab a few things, alright? No need to worry too much.”
Steve did not say anything. There was an inexplicable look on his face. Bucky knew it was beyond his usual worries. His oldest pal had something he wanted to say but chose not to. Steve knew when not to push too many buttons. But at that moment, Bucky did not know whether it was helping or not.
He rode the elevator and stared out as the doors closed. His mind wandered as the box descended and took him to the lobby of the compound. He went to his car parked out front and drove it onto the open streets.
Bucky heeded Bruce’s advice and opted for the whole month’s rest. The rest included the pause in training and maximum physical exertion. His protests were silenced by the team’s hounding of his ‘safety and well-being’. Driving his car after his hospitalization was enough respite for him.
He parked at the nearby grocery mart. With his wallet already in his backpocket, he strutted in and scanned the aisles and the hanging signs above. Bucky was not sure what he was actually looking for. He did not know what came to his mind when he told Natasha that he was going to go grocery shopping. More so, even finding himself standing by the entrance of one. It was like a reflex, a muscle memory.
His brows furrowed as he stared at the lined aisles and fruits on carts. What was he going to buy? He found himself walking further into the aisles, wandering almost aimlessly like a child. His forehead creased deeper and he blew raspberries. Bucky could not remember the last time he ever went grocery shopping. His brain ran in circles as he tried to recall similar memories. There was nothing.
Is this what Bruce said? Five years of his life? Perhaps he did go grocery shopping inside those years. There was no way to remember those now.
He was so into his own head that he did not realize he stopped infront of the canned goods aisle with a thousand yard stare. The labels blended into incoherent letters. Not words. Just symbols. Numbers and figures. Tomatoes with smiley faces and a thumbs up.
Bucky looked up and focused on a canned soup. He reached for it with his fleshed hand and felt a warmth. Skin. Smaller. He froze mid-reach and turned to his side. His gaze fell on the other person beside him. A woman. She was reaching for the same product.
He paused. A moment passed before he realized he was staring. At her. A stranger. Bucky pursed his lips and gave her a small apologetic nod. He offered, “Sorry. “
Way to go, weirdo.
Her arm dropped to her side and he watched her stare at him like he was a ghost. Her eyes were wide like a deer caught in headlights. Bucky was no stranger to people staring at him, especially when he was officially out in public many years ago, but the way she stared was different. He could not tell what it was. It unnerved him.
He tilted his head, not breaking eye contact with the woman. He felt his lips curve. Okay, this is starting to get weird.
“I’m sorry,” he chuckled, shrugging, “you can have the… soup. I don’t really need it.”
Bucky squinted and chewed the inside of his cheek. There was something about her that made him out of place. Nervous, even. She continued to stare at him, unblinking. Her eyes were relentless. Assessing him. Like she was waiting for something to happen. His eyes widened at that thought, what was going to happen?
“Can I help you with anything?” He asked.
The more Bucky looked at her, the more he noticed the hues of her eyes. Or the bags under them. The moles on her face. There was a familiarity he could not pin point. Maybe it was just the staring playing tricks on his mind.
The woman finally broke her silence when she sighed. And she blinked. Multiple times. Her mouth opened, as if to say something. He waited but she closed her lips. She did the action twice, before uttering her first words like an infant, “You… you don’t…”
She trailed off and that kept his eyes wider than before. “I don’t…” Bucky egged her on, “I don’t… want the soup. You can have it.”
It was his turn to blink. She staggered backwards, grip slackening on the cart’s handlebar. She uttered something under her breath before she walked past him, running out the store and leaving her half-filled cart. His gaze followed her, face pinched in confusion. What the hell just happened?
He angled his body towards the exit and saw her figure outside as she got inside her car and drove off. What did he do? Bucky looked up the soup once again. Chicken Noodle, the label said.
He scoffed, “Chicken noodle’s delicious.”
* * * * *
“Hi Bucky,” His head perked at the voice. He peeled his eyes from the huge screen to the source. It was Wanda. With Vision tailing behind her with bags. She smiled, “How’s vacation?”
Bucky paused the show he was watching about doctors and forced a smile. He felt his eyes roll but caught himself. “Good. Where’re you guys off to?”
“Norway,” Wanda replied, shrugging before turning to Vision. “Just a couple of weeks there. Unfortunately.”
“It’s a mission.” Vision added. Bucky could not help how his eyes successfully rolled. The android continued, “Fury sent us there. The arms dealer.”
As if he needed to hear that. The one month confinement had him sending off his teammates while he remained chained inside the compound. His days were set on repeat. Wake up. Eat. Watch TV. Read. Sleep. Eat again. Go for a run. He already ran across the compound grounds that he had spotted about two-hundred bird nests on the trees. The doctor’s warnings kept him from hitting the gym.
Bucky swore he could not take it anymore. That he would go insane before the day ended. And yet, another day would start and he was stuck in the same loop over again.
“Vis, you can’t say that in front of him,” Wanda admonished softly, whispering over to Vision. “Nat said he’s prone to sadness these days.”
“I can hear you talking, you know,” Bucky bobbed his head. “I’m not prone to… sadness, or whatever it is Natasha told you. It’s just a month. It’s nothing, just a blip.”
“Of course!” Wanda sang, “Lots of things to do, huh? Exciting ones. What have you occupied your days with, Bucky?”
He looked at their bags. He wanted to tell them to get on their way. But the look of genuine excitement on Wanda’s face, and the unusual robotic warmth on Vision’s had him sighing.
His shoulders dropped. “I enrich my mind by sleeping and reading. I learned that humans are deuterostomes. We develop assholes as our first opening in the embryo, mouths second. Also, I went grocery shopping the other day despite not actually having groceries to buy and got stared at by this woman.”
“A woman?” Both uttered at the same time.
Wanda moved and sat next to him. “You already met someone?”
He paused. Eyes wide at her sudden interest. One word caught his attention. Already.
“Yeah. At the grocery store.” Bucky recalled, “She stared at me. Like she knew me. Personally, I mean. We reached for this… canned soup at the same time. But when I told her she could have it, she left.”
Vision stepped closer, “Which store did you go to, James?”
“The one nearby?” He said as a matter-of-fact. “Forty-five minute drive.”
Wanda’s eyes shifted away before it went back to him. Her voice was quiet when she spoke, “Was it… chicken noodle soup?”
Her question made his brows meet. Bucky looked between Vision and Wanda and saw their faces etched with similar countenance. He remembered the look Steve had when he rode that elevator the other day.
He scoffed. “How… how did you know that?”
Wanda took a big breath as if caught off guard. She stood in haste and clenched her fists. She turned to Vision and smiled with thin lips. Vision faced her in resignation. She laughed, “Nothing. None at all. Nice chat, Bucky. We’ll see you when we’re back!”
“Wait,” Bucky stood and called after them as Wanda dragged the bag-carrying Vision by his arm. “Wanda. How did you know that?”
The pair disappeared from sight as they took the elevator to God knows where. He fell back on the couch and dragged his breath. The sound reverberated around the expanse of the living room. He recalled that day once again, as though it did not plague his thoughts already. Bucky looked around the quiet space. He was alone. Now more than ever.
“What the hell…” He whispered to himself.
He thought about his accident and amnesia. Did it have to do with that? It was difficult to put two and two together when a whole chunk was missing in his head.
Days passed and his encounter with Wanda and Vision still tormented his mind. There were moments when he would space out and his subconscious would drift on to that grocery store. To the face of that woman with unyielding eyes.
It was like a routine. He found himself staring at the entrance of the same grocery shop, car keys clenched in his fist. Bucky stood by the side of his car for a few minutes before it got awkward. He walked in, just like the first time a week ago, and scanned the aisles before him like the Terminator.
Maybe it was just a coincidence? That it was nothing and he was left out of a big dumb joke his co-workers were in on after his accident. But why did she stare at him like that? Like he murdered her family? Wait. What if… he did? As the Winter Soldier? That was always a possibility, wasn’t it?
Bucky dismissed the idea. It could not be. He remembered every hit and mission as the Soldier. He had made his amends. He already made things right. He had taken enough from his shitty therapist and escaped that internal hell.
His eyes glazed over the overhead signs in bold excited colors telling him about discounts and sales and coupons. He would be kidding himself if that was what he was looking for. He was searching for that same face. There was no one inside the store aside from the cashier on the till and the staff marking prices on the produce section.
Bucky sighed and his jaw slacked. At least he got to go out. Heaven knew how badly the compound made him want to pull all his hair out. He exited the store without so much as a glance from the other two people inside and drove back.
Guess he just had to continue on that TV series.
It had been two weeks into his medical exile and he was once again in the same store. There was a flower stand manned by a young man trimming the stems of white roses and pink anthuriums. He stood for about two minutes before he decided to buy a few bundles. Natasha was off to a mission with Tony and there was no one else to fill in the vase in the kitchen. He figured a pop of color would help lighten the mood.
The young man wrapped the bundles in an old issue of newspaper and handed it to him in a bag. He paid a hundred and told him to keep the change. Bucky went in, surprised to find five or six other people inside. His eyes scoured the aisles again until he locked in on that very familiar face. She was unmissable. He felt his heart skip a beat.
He walked to her unabashed and stopped beside her. He watched her almost jump out of her skin the moment she sensed his presence. She had the same bewildered look on her face. Her eyes rounded in the same way it did the first time they met. He could also see one thing—anger.
They engaged in a silent standoff. He watched her watch him. Her eyes drifted on the flowers in his hand. Bucky followed her gaze and handed out the bundles and shrugged. “Do you want them?”
Was it normal to offer flowers to random women? In the forties it worked. He was not so sure in the modern times.
“Are you following me?” She accused. “Do you think this is a joke?”
His eyes shifted. He dropped his arm and blinked at her. A joke? “I am not… that is not what this… is…”
“Then what is it?” Her voice was sharp but her eyes were sharper. She gripped her cart’s handlebar until her knuckles went white. “What do you want?”
Bucky scoffed and was taken aback. He looked around. He felt as though everyone was glaring at him. Nobody was. He turned back and met her gaze. “Nothing. I don’t want anything from you. You were the one who stared at me over a can of soup. I don’t even know you.”
Her head tilted and she paused. There it was again. Like a deer caught in headlights. She stayed still for a minute before her lips curved. She huffed at first. Followed by a roaring laughter.
Bucky remained where he was. He could not look away despite her gaining attention from other shoppers. He could not even help the same laughter bubbling in his chest. He laughed alongside her like a panic response.
Her laughter died down to a slow chuckle and she wiped the tears on the sides of her eyes. Bucky gave a tight-lip smile to people who stared at them. She clutched the side of her head and sighed.
She looked straight at him, face flat. “What the fuck is wrong with you, James?”
His body froze. When his name left her mouth, he was the deer caught in headlights. Was it safe to assume that at that moment it was normal for a stranger to know his name? He was the Winter Soldier, the defector, the world’s top fugitive for years. He went under scrutiny not just in one country, but in dozens.
But the way she said his name made it different. It was not how a stranger would utter it. Her tone. The cadence. The small break in her voice. His mind started to shift if the woman before him was even a stranger at all.
He shook his head and stared at her dumbly. She took a shaky breath and closed her eyes shut before she opened them again.
“I had an accident.” Bucky beat her when he sensed she was about to say something. “I fell out of a jet and landed head first. I hemorrhaged and the injuries caused amnesia.”
He did not know why but explaining to her felt like the right thing to do. Like it fixed everything. Her eyes raked every inch of his face before he saw her shoulders slumped. The expression on her face was tough to decode.
She was quiet for a while before she nodded. He did not know what else to say, and yet the standoff already appeared as if a truce. He chose to keep quiet to not ruin it.
“I think it’s better that way.” She hugged her bag to her front and shrugged. “You get to forget, and I get to move on. Lucky you, though.”
He watched her as he walked past him for the second time, leaving him baffled. He looked back at her cart abandoned half-filled like the last time. He could not peel his eyes away from the items. All mundane pantry stuff. Very ordinary.
What did she mean when she said those words? What did he do? What happened? His mind was filled with questions he knew he had no answers to. But Bucky knew someone who might have them.
The drive back to the compound was short as he sped through the deserted streets. His footsteps were heavy as he got out of the elevator, eyes already set on the blond walking into the kitchen.
“Steve.” He called.
Steve turned and considered the look on his face. “Punk. Where’ve you been?”
Bucky stopped in front of his friend and puffed his chest out. “Irrelevant. What do you know about Chicken Noodle soup?”
The blond paused and his brows met. He blinked long and hard before he bit his top lip. “That it’s… delicious?”
“No. I mean, yes,” Bucky shook his head, “that is not what I meant to ask. I met someone. A woman. That day I went grocery shopping. We reached for the same can of soup. Chicken Noodle soup. She stared at me like I did something wrong.”
Steve hissed and went still. His eyes closed on their own accord. He walked a few steps back and rubbed his nape. “Oh no…”
Why was everyone acting off? Was he late to something? Excluded on this Chicken Noodle woman who everyone seemed to be familiar with? He waited for Steve to say anything that would clear the questions pestering in his head.
“I can’t…” Steve began. “I wish I could show you. But you brought nothing back, punk. She’s the one you should ask.”
“Alright. First off, cut the shit, okay? This isn’t cute.” He snapped. Bucky felt his anger boiling in his chest. Frustration seeped in and had him clenching his jaw tight. “That woman thinks I am stalking her and she calls me ‘James’ like she’s known me forever. And now, you’re right here, telling me that I should ask her? What kind of bullshit is that?”
“Because I cannot possibly do it justice, Buck.” Steve countered. He gripped his hip and scoffed. “You want me to say something, anything? Hell, where would I even begin? She is the only one who could tell you what you want to hear. What you need to hear. Not me.”
“You can begin with this joke that I seem to miss out on.” Bucky quipped. “A name. An address. A story. Who the fuck that woman was.”
The ding of the elevator cut through their rising voices. Bucky looked back and saw Natasha carrying her duffel bag. Her expression was blank but he could tell by her eyes that she was bored.
“You want a name?” She walked closer and told him her name and address. Bucky blinked. Natasha shifted her weight and dropped her bag on the floor. “Steve is right. Ask her. So she can tell you what kind of asshole you really are.”
The obvious challenge in her voice made Bucky exhale heavily. He considered it for a minute. Did he really want to go to where that woman was? The mystery of her existence was like a mist over the blank canvas of his mind. There was uncertainty whether he wanted to know who she was or remain in blissful ignorance.
What if she was important, what would he do then? And if she was the opposite and a missable part of his life, what would he have lost?
Bucky reckoned the woman was important enough because Steve knew her. Natasha did. So did Wanda and Vision. Perhaps Bruce as well.
He looked at Natasha and Steve. His friend could not look at him and the redhead had daggers for eyes. He walked back and got into the elevator, sealing his fate. It did not take long before he was driving through the open streets. The sun had set and the distant lamp posts illuminated the asphalt but dimmed the foliage on either side.
It turned out to be an hour drive from the compound. He gripped the steering wheel as he sat on his car, eyeing the brick four-storey building out front. The sidewalk was empty and most of the building’s lights were off. He did not know which unit she lived in. He tapped his thumbs and took deep breaths.
He could still back out. It would be impossible to rest easy with the big question mark in his head, but was knowing what it was really worth it?
A figure appeared before his car and he stilled the moment his eyes adjusted. It was her. That grocery woman. Bucky got out of his car and slammed it shut behind him. He kept their distance with questioning eyes.
“So the store wasn’t enough?” She asked. He stared at her messy ponytail and noted how some strands fell on the sides of her face. “You really had to go here, huh?”
“Who are you?” He could not force his eyes from her face even if he wanted to. His mind was in overdrive, scouring every memory he had in his life for a trace of her. There was nothing. “Why do they know you?”
“Does it matter now? If you did know me, would it make a difference?” She countered, voice sharp.
“It would matter a bit, I guess.” He shrugged. “To be honest, I cannot stop thinking about you. You stared at me a little too long and a little too hard. My workmates know you. My friend does.”
She scoffed, looking away. “You really don’t remember me. Two years passed, and if you did, you wouldn’t be here.”
“That’s right.” Bucky dug his hands in his coat pockets and sighed. He said your name aloud. “I don’t remember, and I am here.”
“You said amnesia, right?” She squinted. Her hair flew with the wind and she crossed her arms. “What kind?”
“Retrograde.”
“So there’s still a chance you’ll remember.” She nodded, more to herself. She moved to a nearby car, and unlocked it. “Come with me. I’ll show you.”
Bucky thought about her invitation for a bit. He peered at her before he walked closer and got inside the car. It was a white Camry. He looked at the lack of stuff you would expect in a woman’s vehicle. It was sleek. Empty. Still smelt plastic-y. Likely just bought.
She got into her side and drove away. He turned and gave his car a glance as they pulled into the main street. The drive was silent and fortunately short. He hummed under his breath when he eyed where she took him. She turned the engine off and got out, Bucky followed suit.
A church? What the hell were they doing in a church?
The dark shadows limned over the church’s façade. The trees surrounding it somehow made it look menacing rather than holy. He studied the marble-like tiled stairs and the white concrete posts framing the huge double doors.
His head throbbed. An image appeared in his head. Him. A woman. Suffocating smiles. Flowers.
Bucky shut his eyes. His jaw tightened as he opened them again and zeroed in on her face. That face. The same one he just saw in his head.
“I figured I brought you here. Surely you’d remember.” She sniffled. Her breath was shaky before she continued. “This was the church where you were supposed to marry me.”
He caught his breath and stilled. He shook his head, the scenes playing over before his eyes like a trance, overlapping his reality. Bucky reached for the railing on his side and licked his lower lip. “You are my wife?”
She snickered. “Two years later and you still don’t listen. Supposed to, James. That means the wedding never happened.” She swallowed. He could see how her eyes watered. “And it never happened because you never showed up.”
Scenes surged into his head. A suit. Bowtie. Shoes. Hotel room. Steve calling after him. His thrashed phone. His speeding car.
“You left me at this altar two years ago.” She continued. “You humiliated me. You broke me. You ended me. Us. All because you were a coward.”
Coward. The word rang in his head and more images flashed. A sterile clinic. White walls and ceilings. A doctor. An ultrasound. Her tears. His fears. Doubts. Late nights. Missed calls.
Did he… have a child all this time? Bucky regained composure despite the hammering in his skull. He stepped closer to her and faced her. “Where is the kid?”
Tears fell down the curve of her cheeks. She stifled her sobs. Her eyes were unrelenting as she stared back at him. He could clearly see what was brewing in those pools. Anger. Recoil. Disgust. All things he had known too well.
“There is no kid.” Her voice broke. “It’s dead. I miscarried.”
Bucky stumbled back, hand gripping the metal railing like a vice. The wind was knocked off his chest. He blinked away the moisture itching his eyes.
“You could have ended it. Hell, you could have left even before I got pregnant.” She sneered. She wiped her nose with the back of her hand. “You just had to do it in front of my family and your friends. In a church you paid for. That child was never going to save us. Or you. Between you and me, I may be messed up, but you are a special kind of a piece of shit.”
She bridged the few inches from him and looked up. There was a disdainful curve on her lips. “Don’t ever talk to me again. Don’t you ever as much as see me. I want you to avoid me. I want you to forget me. Do you remember now? Are you satisfied? Or do you wish you never even remembered at all?”
She scoffed at him before walking past him and back to her car. The engine coming back to life went through the tresses of his mind. He could only look at the silhouette of her car as she disappeared into the night, leaving him stranded. Physically and mentally.
Bucky leaned on the railing. Why did he leave? He could have been married. Had children. Perhaps found a greater purpose in fatherhood, something he and Steve knew was almost impossible for men like them. How could he let it go?
He got home a couple of hours later. After trekking back to his car, he gave one last look at her building before he drove away. He saw Steve waiting for him in the living room, already in his sweatpants and shirt. His friend knew that his memory was back. He could tell with his vacant stare and heavy limbs.
Steve stood from the couch and watched as Bucky dragged himself closer. His eyes red and balance off-kilter.
The blond sighed. He began, “When I told you I wanted to show but couldn't, was because you didn’t bring anything with you to remind you of her. No photos. No nothing. You even stepped and destroyed your phone.”
Bucky turned to him and waited for his next words. Steve cleared his throat and sighed once again. “You told me you couldn’t do it. That you wanted to be selfish. You just got yourself back. That she was dragging you down. That… you would just ruin the kid and that…”
Steve trailed off and huffed. He sniffed and rubbed his eyes. Bucky could tell the next thing that would come out of his mouth was horrible. “...That you were glad she miscarried.”
The air hung between them like a heavy cloud. There was no reason to cry. Or lash out. He was numb. There was no pain. It was just a quiet and awful revelation of what those lost memories were. She was right. He never should have remembered it. It was the worst possible thing he could ever regain.
“I am a horrible person.” He finally spoke after his long silence. His mouth had dried and his throat itched. “I am a horrible, horrible person.”
Steve was quiet before he nodded. “To her, you were. But… you were scared, too. Underneath everything, you were just scared.” He pursed his lips and offered Bucky a small smile. “It’s time to apologize. You never gave her that. No more running.”
* * * * *
Bucky found himself standing before her building a month later. Fatigue ran through his feet but he shook it off. He was cleared weeks ago by Ray. The doctor said his brain was doing great and that he bounced back strong. He was numb to it but the missions provided a good distraction.
He clenched the keychain in his hand. It was tiny compared to his fist which made it a better hiding spot. He wanted to give her something, perhaps a proof that despite the fact that he remembered, he was willing to honor their past.
Her gaze hardened the moment she climbed down the stairs and spotted him. He looked out of place in his leather ensemble and naked metal prosthetic. He swallowed his anxiety and walked towards her, who was already frozen in her spot.
“I know you told me you never want to see me. But I just want you to hear me out, one last time.” His nerves wracked his system. He had thought of the words he wanted to say to her at that moment. He thought about writing them. Monologuing. Begging. But now that he could clearly remember her, who she was, and how she once filled his life, he knew better than to do any of those.
“I am sorry. It’s long overdue. And it’s not enough.” He exhaled through his nose. “I am sorry for everything, every pain I caused you. For the misery. And for leaving. And for… abandoning the idea of a family with you. You were right. I should have just left. I should have just told you the truth. You just… had the worst version of me at the best version of you,”
“I understand that you want me to forget you. A part of me wished I never pursued losing you inside my head. I see that now, very clearly. I will respect that. I will let you move on. And I will move as far away as I can as possible. I will act like… we never met.”
She nodded after the lull. Bucky waited for her to say anything. To free him from the torment. For a closure. But he realized it was not her job to give him that respite. She could choose not to, and if that was his penance, he took it and kept his mouth shut.
“Good.” She said and nodded. “You were the worst part of my life. And living with you was hell.”
Bucky drew a sharp breath and accepted it as truth. It sent a pang of pain in his chest, but he knew he deserved it. He opened his fist and showed her his palm. On it were two key chains. A white rose and a pink anthurium. They were her favorites.
“You were the best part of mine.” She took the trinkets and stared at them. Tears ran down her face and she bobbed her head. Bucky smiled. He took one last look on her face before he walked back. “Goodbye.”
it's like... i can write, i know how to write, i have been writing since 4th grade. the story's already fully marinated in my head but when my fingers touch the keyboard, suddenly my vocabulary just explodes into oblivion.
Summary: Is an eternity a curse if you could spend the rest of it with the person you love? For James Barnes, it is a gift. For you, it is a nightmare.
Warning(s): Mentions and allusions to murder and death, Mentions of past trauma, Extramarital affairs
Pairing: Immortal!god!James Buchanan Barnes x Immortal!Female Reader
You combed your fingers over your hair for the last time and watched as strands fell into loose curls that framed your face. The morning had just started but you were ready to call it a day. There were stacks of paperwork behind you—provenances, notarized copies of last will and testaments, and deeds—all sifted through, but never enough. Not even your most notable and trusted sources knew the name of the man you were looking for. A private entity, they say. A benefactor. A collector. A man behind the shadows. For all the years you had been alive, you were certain no one could be hiding anymore than you did all your life.
Two millennia later, a crack opened in your mind. A life. Travelling from one part of the globe to another was an experience, but you knew you were not truly living. You were witnessing. Just passing by. You realized you wanted a purpose. Something you were good at. History. No book nor text in this world outmatched the events you had to live through. You had seen most of it all.
You began to work as an independent arts dealer after the war. You traced every known artwork there was—books, paintings, diaries. None of those were credited under your name, you hated to be written in vanity disguised as legacy. You always evaded being photographed ever since it was invented.
After the feminist movement, you began to work as a translator. And a Historian. You moved behind the scenes. Ghost writing books. Mentored men who happily took credit for your knowledge and work. You did not mind. It was amusing how vast the human ego was. Immortality took it away from you long ago.
There was a part of you, the human part, that wanted vulnerability. You supposed even immortality could not just erase your original biology, you simply ignored that small urge. He was there. In every fifty years, he was always there.
You took your handbag and walked out onto the streets. There were no cars driving by despite it being a Monday morning. You ran into morning joggers and some men in suits who stared at their cell phones more than they did the sidewalk. One thing you liked about the twenty-first century was the irrelevance of layers of clothing and elaborate wigs and parasols and feathers. Everyone wore whatever they wanted and it was liberating, in a way.
You turned to the next block and stopped at the very familiar building in front of you. In the sixteenth century, it was nothing but an expansive marsh. The eighteenth century saw an elite restaurateur with an iron fence and a wooden sign. In the nineteenth century, it was a diner that served cheap bread and porridge to locals and travelers alike. And now, you could not fathom how cobblestones were replaced by cement and towering skyscrapers that seemed to kiss the sun and the sky. It was now a ‘four-star’ hotel and restaurant.
Light raindrops fell and you rushed inside the establishment, cursing the drizzle despite the sun shining outside. You combed your hair once again with your fingers and brushed off the droplets on your silk blouse and pencil skirt. As you turned to look for vacant tables to your left, your shoulders dropped. Your brows met and you focused on a man, sitting alone with his back to you. Even through the undercut, you would recognize him in a heartbeat.
You stepped forward and paused just beside him. It took him a second to look up at you from his laptop. Your jaw slackened.
“Mr. Barnes,” you whispered, barely believing yourself, “fancy meeting you here.”
James stood, his chest puffing. His lips parted and closed. You knew he was as surprised as you. Meetings outside your centuries of rendezvous were rare, or just never happened at all.
“You’re… here,” he chuckled, nodding, “wow. Are we supposed to meet… today? Has it been fifty years already? I…”
“No, no.” You laughed in return. “I just… was here in Brooklyn for a job. I thought I’d pass by and hang out here and grab lunch. I never thought you would go here… outside of the…”
“I go here,” he smiled, “I hang out. You know I bought the place. Years and years before.”
“I know, James.” You hated to think about it, but you swore every time you saw him, he only looked younger. Him in a blazer was not in your bingo card. “You bought it with a few gold coins and a punch in the face.”
“Henry. Such a tool.” He laughed. You could not help yours as you remembered the other man’s broken wrist. “Well, he’s dead and we’re not. So, would you join me?”
You pointed at the empty chair across his. “This seat’s not taken?”
“It is.” He sighed. “Yours. Forever yours.”
You paused and stared at him for a beat before you nodded. You licked your lip and squinted playfully. “As it should be.”
He blinked and beamed at you. You did not realize how much you missed seeing his boyish smile. And how blue his eyes were as though it was the color of the ocean with the sun at its peak. James motioned for you to sit and you obliged. He sat right after you.
“So,” he began, “this job. What is it about?”
You placed your bag on your lap and shrugged. “Oh, it’s this… scroll. I work as an arts dealer on the side, what the youngins call “freelancing,” and I find artifacts, valuable paintings, antique jewelry, even books and journals and I buy them and sell them to the highest bidder.”
“What book are you looking for exactly?” James asked. He sipped on his cup of coffee before he called a waiter.
“It’s supposed to be this scroll taken from the library of Alexandria before some part of it burned down during Caesar.” You explained. A waiter came and you gave your order before he scurried away. “It’s a medical book. Really old papyrus. Very sensitive. I was told it was sold to this private benefactor in Cairo decades ago. I’m trying to locate him, but, I guess you can’t really find someone who doesn’t wanna be found.”
James hummed under his breath. He closed his laptop and rubbed the stubble on his jaw. “This scroll… does it have… anatomical studies by Herophilus? Ancient Greek and Egyptian studies?”
You blinked. Several times. Your jaw dropped for the second time. It was only at that moment the pieces started to connect. The lack of paper trail. The whispers about the ‘private entity’. You threw your head back and laughed. Of course it was James. Who else could be good at hiding their existence any more than you did?
You looked back at him and covered your open mouth. “God. Why didn’t I even think about you? I was looking for this ‘mysterious shadow’ when I should have known it was you all along.”
He chuckled at your surprise. “You wouldn’t have known. I… took it after I… brought you back from the… dead. I wanted to make sure you were alright. No one was there to help me.”
You paused, then sighed. Acceptance about your unending life came easier as years passed. It surprised you even when you realized that the anger you had already burned out. Perhaps you no longer had that fire, only the embers left at its wake. Forgiveness came quickly after that. To yourself. Your former husband. To James.
“I forgive you, you know?” You pursed your lips and gave him a wistful smile. You could see the flex of his jaw. “It took me a while, but here I am. You gave me a long life. I’ve learned so much. I’ve seen too many things. I had way too many days on my back. I can’t imagine being in your shoes. Being older and all that.”
“It’s nothing if I could spend it all with you.” The warmth in his eyes made way to the flutter in your chest. As if you were meeting him again, in a different light, for the very first time in centuries. “And I mean it. I am sorry for bringing you into this misery. It’s hard to watch everyone age and die. I’m sorry if I forced this on you. I just… love you, too much. Now I realize, I just didn’t wanna be alone.”
You nodded. James always said all the things you had always known just by looking at him. You could not tell whether it was because you knew him well enough or because you knew you still loved him despite everything.
“I’m sorry for the agreement I made,” you remembered the day that started the distance between you, “the fifty years. Since sixteen-thirty-one. That must have been lonely and hard for you.”
“No,” he shook his head, “don’t be sorry. I did it. I made a rash decision. You were right. I should have let you be. I never should have brought you back. I was… selfish—”
“No, James,” you looked at his eyes. There was regret in them and you wanted to take it away, “I meant it. What I said by the river in Euphrates. I would spend an eternity with you if I could. Not a short life with my dead husband. Not with my father who sold me for a herd of sheep. And certainly not under that dusty shack I used to live in. But with you, the man I ran away with, and married in Bath in fourteen-fifteen.”
Your own coffee came and you thanked the waiter before he left. Your appetite had dwindled and you wondered if you would have felt the same way if you met him in twenty-forty-two, exactly fifty years since you last saw him in nineteen-ninety-two. You laughed with him then. Dined with him. Told him stories about Italy and South Asia. You worried what would happen to your agreement now that you realized you missed him. Your husband.
“Are you saying that you still… love me?” There was moisture on the sides of his eyes as his throat bobbed.
“I’ve always loved you,” you paused before you smiled, “even when I hated you. Or wished I never met you. Why would I keep meeting you every fifty years if I did not?”
He sighed in relief and wiped his face with his palm. You felt a weight fall off your chest. He was the last piece of the puzzle to your freedom. You realized being free was never putting thousands of miles of distance between you and James, but forgiving him and accepting the fact that he still occupied a space in your life. The same space that allowed you to fall in love and hope before.
“Isn’t that what old married couples do?” You asked and he laughed.
“Old married couples,” he shook his head, still laughing, “yes. I suppose it is.”
“We’re the oldest couple I know.” You said with a shrug. “The most successful marriage, too.”
“Successful marriage,” he parroted your words, “I like that.”
You both fell quiet for a while. It was a comfortable silence. You did not feel the urge to leave or fiddle with an item of your clothing. You wanted and chose to sit in front of him. There was no rush. No war to go to. No funeral to attend to. Just you and him.
“Can I propose another agreement?” James spoke after the silence. You tilted your head to the side and he took it as his cue. “...Can we make it a decade instead of fifty years? I know time passes by quickly now. But… I don’t like not seeing you for a long time. Also, we have phones. Maybe we can chat? Or call? Do you have that thing called… Instagram? Whatsapp?”
You chuckled and watched him take out his phone. He was awkward with it and it was no surprise. So were you with yours. You rarely used your phone, and if you did, it was always work-related.
“I don’t. I don’t use those.” You took your own device from your bag and brandished it to him. “I prefer not to. I hate socializing nowadays.”
James sighed once again and dropped his phone carelessly on the table. “Thank God. I don’t use those as well.”
He hissed through his teeth and gave you a sheepish smile. “So… is that a yes?”
You leaned against your chair and stared at your hands atop your bag. You nodded. “Okay. A decade. Calls and texts. But don’t always expect me to be available because I am always traveling. I’ll be in Italy in two weeks. And back to Athens a month after.”
James nodded. He did not say anything but you knew he understood. It frightened you how much he chose to understand you even after all the things you have been through. You could not believe how he stayed the same even as centuries passed. Circumstances before did affect him, and yet, he was always there. Just waiting. And it terrified you to no end because you knew it was you whom he was always waiting for.
“I’ll be here.” He smiled. “You know that, right?”
Summary: Is an eternity a curse if you could spend the rest of it with the person you love? For James Barnes, it is a gift. For you, it is a nightmare.
Warning(s): Mentions and allusions to murder and death, Mentions of past trauma, Extramarital affairs
Pairing: Immortal!god!James Buchanan Barnes x Immortal!Female Reader
The cinch of your belt around your waist made you sit up straighter. Sweat gathered around your nape, the stiff padding on the shoulders of your blouse added to the waft of heat inside the cramped diner despite the winter.
You had hesitated to let yourself in five minutes ago. His eyes and unmissable presence were absent. Had it been hundreds of years ago, you would have wondered and irked you to no end. Now you only found yourself fixing the crease of the table mat, confident he would appear like he always did before. Also, it was the war. It tore through more than governments—reducing people into numbers, into statistics—unraveling the quiet rhythm of mundane living. Violence and death loomed just above. Fighter jets. Tanks. The mere presence of the military. It was all the papers wrote about.
Roaring laughter from uniformed men filled the tables and the counter. The servers were curt and breezed through in odd urgency, as though an insurgency would come knocking at any second. The turning of newspapers mixed with the chatter in the air, bold fonts screaming of losses and wins and hyperbolic hearsays from the frontlines.
When would men realize that war was the only calamity they could prevent? Throughout the years of your life, you had seen ruins of temples and kingdoms that once swore they would be worshipped forever. Now they were merely displayed in a museum.
A set of boots drew closer and halted just beside you. You looked up and saw him. He was clad in the same uniform as all the men inside. An olive drab wool coat with a khaki tie pressed neatly beneath it, and a pair of olive wool trousers ironed to a sharp crease. His cap was tucked snug in his arm, the other buried deep in his pockets. The insignia on his sleeve told you he was a sergeant.
You could not believe he enlisted.
“Mrs. Barnes.” His cadence told you he was surprised.
You stood and met him eye to eye. “Sergeant.”
“I hope I didn’t keep you waiting for long,” he sighed. He looked younger with his hair combed back and his clean-shaven face. You noticed how his blue eyes were devoid of its usual warmth, like stone cold marbles. “I took a call before I left. They said it could not wait.”
James held your chair and motioned you to sit. You did as he bid. He took his seat across from you after. He placed his cap on the table and fixed his already immaculate tie.
“Why?” You asked after the lull.
He looked at you with furrowed brows. “What do you mean, doll?”
“You dodged wars years ago. We went into hiding for all of it.” There was an inexplicable rumble in your chest. “Why did you choose it now?”
James let out a long breath and closed his eyes shut. His jaw ticked and lips were drawn into a thin line. When he opened his eyes again, he leaned closer and nodded in resolve. “I need to die. People are getting… suspicious. I need to appear as if I was killed in action. It’s the cleanest way possible.”
You stilled for a beat before you nodded to yourself. There was nothing you could do or worry about. It was a reality both of you faced every hundred years or so. Humans age and die. The existence of your undying life was an anomaly. And people did not like matters their religion or science could not explain.
“Your name?”
“Will remain James Barnes. Although the boys back in the camp called me Buchanan for some reason. Bucky. Perhaps I’ll add that to my identification next time.” He smiled for the first time. You did not.
“Your house?”
His head jerked to the side. “Our house. It will still remain so you’d know where to find me.”
“I’ve travelled this world from north to south and east to west, James.” You blinked and felt the fatigue in your jaw. You had not realized you clenched it shut the whole time. “I’ll manage.”
You were quiet for some time before you asked again, “How about the servants?”
“All dismissed.” You sighed at his words. Centuries of people leaving, you never fail to lament over how they all passed through your life like seasons changing. You stared at the only permanent figure of your existence. “The next time they will hear about me is how I died. They’ll be thankful I did not let them starve in my absence.”
You were quiet for some time. None of you called for a server. The diner was so bustling that no staff came either. Your mind kept replaying his words, on how he needed to die. Like he could die. You had no idea how old James truly was or how he came to be. You just knew that he existed. Ever since.
You remembered him, not the man sitting before you now, but the man you fell in love with, almost two thousand years ago. You remembered your petrifying marriage to your uncle in the fourth century. How your former husband and murderer beat you to death after learning about your affair with James. Everything since your rebirth was a blur. It took you hundreds of years before realizing your immortality was a burden and you preferred lying six feet under.
“How was the rest of your travels?” He asked, breaking the trance of your thoughts. “I was surprised when you returned my letter. I apologize if the war soured Britain for you.”
You chuckled but caught yourself. The soft laughter stunned you. “You apologize as if you were the one who declared war against the Nazis. There’s no need for an apology. It was only my travels that were soured, and not my life.”
“I don’t know but I feel compelled to,” he laughed in return, “where are you off to next?”
You hummed. The war limited your choices. There was not much to enjoy. Food was rationed. People hid or were displaced. It appalled you whenever you caught yourself only thinking about your amusement at a time when everything was falling apart.
“I’m thinking about staying in Manhattan for some time. I took on a unit at Alwyn Court.” You shrugged. “Ride out the war. I’ll give it a few more years and everything will be back to normal.”
James nodded at your plans. There was a strange comfort in talking to him. It was the same sentiment you had when you decided to write him back from Exeter two years ago, and your sudden enthusiasm in travelling back to Brooklyn for your rendezvous. You felt a shift in the previous years of being alone and playing the passerby in every person you met. Your heart clenched a little. Your hands trembled a bit too painful. You were back to crying at night. It was crippling.
“I… I plan to write your address,” you looked at him. His fingers clutched the sides of his cap, “you’re my wife. I wanted to write your name for the… at the event of my passing. You’ll be visited by officers. They’ll give you my belongings. I was hoping you’d arrange my funeral.”
Your eyes shifted to your hands on your lap. The idea of his death was peculiar. You knew death for him was impossible, and still, it kept you quiet in an unfathomable manner.
“Am I supposed to cry, then?”
There was a push-and-pull in your gut. You wanted to refuse him. To tell him he could do it himself since he was not actually dying. And yet you felt as if you owed it to him although you knew it was quite the opposite.
“If you want.” You looked at him and sighed. He gave you a small smile. “Whatever sells the illusion.”
You scoffed. Softly. You scratched at the prints on your skirt. Your toes curled inside your cuban heels. After a long beat, you spoke, “Do you still love me, James?”
It only took him half a second to nod. “Yes. After all these years and the distance. A million times yes.”
A heaviness weighed on your chest. You found it hard to breathe. Tears stung your eyes and you sniffled. “I don’t know… what to do with that… love. It’s suffocating me. I don’t know if I should be okay with everything or to just not think about it and wish for this world to end.”
“Isn’t that what you asked of me?” You wiped the tears on your cheeks. You could not look at him. You remembered every word. “On that cliff. In Euphrates. That you’d spend eternity with me if you could. Are you telling me… you didn’t mean it?”
Your breath quaked. “I meant it then. I loved you then.” You shook your head and laughed bitterly. “How do you do it? You should hate me. I am ungrateful. Isn’t this what humans wish for, an eternal life?”
James reached his hand out to you. You stared at it. “You are not ungrateful. And no, I do not hate you. I understand. I will understand. I have an eternity to wait.”
Your gaze shifted to his. His eyes were back with its warmth. Visions of him, every version in every century flashed in your head. All looking at you with the same softness. Always across you. Always right in front of you.
You nodded. A lot of times. You sighed. “Fine. I’ll cry at your funeral.”
You both sat in silence for a couple more minutes before James had to go. A call again, he said. It was surreal to learn he was taking orders now. You did not dare ask about it and walked out of the diner with him. Cold air greeted you as you stepped out. You stopped at the curb and stared at his Cadillac.
“This will be yours the moment they’ll ship me to London.” He said as he opened the car door. “I’ll write. As I always do.”
Snow gathered on the streets and on the growing industrial buildings. You did not say anything as he went inside his car. You watched him wave and smile, before he drove off onto the busy street. Your feet remained where they were as you watched his car turn into a silhouette in the snowy streets. It was the first time you wondered when you would be hearing from him again.
Summary: Is an eternity a curse if you could spend the rest of it with the person you love? For James Barnes, it is a gift. For you, it is a nightmare.
Warning(s): Mentions and allusions to murder and death, Diseases, Mentions of past trauma
Summary: Is an eternity a curse if you could spend the rest of it with the person you love? For James Barnes, it is a gift. For you, it is a nightmare.
Warning(s): Mentions and allusions to murder and death, Diseases, Mentions of past trauma
Pairing: Immortal!god!James Buchanan Barnes x Immortal!Female Reader
Tags: Immortality, Mythology, Alternate Universe
Notes: This fic will contain four chapters!! Hope you enjoy, and as always, I appreciate all the support! Thank you!! 😁🫶🏼
Link to Masterlist
30 March 1840
Your low heels clicked on the cobblestone streets. Taking a deep breath, your eyes glazed on the view before you—gloomy skies, carriages, manure on the ground. May it be the Americas or Central Europe, everything was the same. Women were draped in their skimming bell skirts and tight bodices. The men wore frocks and waistcoats with their fitted trousers. It was a tiresome sight. The heat pricked on your skin despite the first weeks of spring.
The establishment up ahead had glass windows that made patrons look as if they were a spectacle. Couples, families, solitary salesmen and travellers alike crowded the space. The brick building was pristine and fresh, you wondered if he had anything to do with its renovations. Even the wrought iron fence shone despite the saturnine weather.
For all the tedium and second-guessing in your journey, you stepped forward. There was a knot in your chest. Your stubbornness—perhaps your pride. And yet at that point, how different were the two? It was a task to distinguish with the longstanding anger you sustained in your heart for him. Him. That man.
The bell rang above you as you opened the door, the heat and the smell of various delicacies filling your nostrils. You remained standing and closed the door behind you. There was no need to look around to search for the same blue eyes you had known all your life. Your fists clenched on their own as you fought the turmoil in your mind. Facing him is a betrayal to yourself, to your suffering. But the freedom you had now was what he offered, in return, you only had to meet him. He wanted to see you, talk to you, make sure you were still well.
Had it been another, they would have swooned. You were not like any other. Perhaps that was the biggest part of your curse.
You dismissed a server with a tight smile when he asked about your table. It was his way of telling you that you were an obstruction by the entrance. You kept your head held high as you waved through tables to reach the table on the farthest corner, closer to the pair of eyes following your every move. The lace trimmings of your skirt were rough against your palm—smoothing your sweaty skin against the intricate embellishment. He stood from his seat in anticipation as you neared, a sigh that slacked his shoulders did not escape your eyes.
“Mrs. Barnes.” He said. He was swift to pull the chair out for you.
You blinked at the name but remained standing. “James.”
James cleared his throat and went back to his side, offering the seat with a gesture. His eyes glistened underneath the candlelight. A small and uncertain grin curved his lips as he waited for you to sit down. After a beat, you humored him. He mirrored you, signaling for a server.
He nodded, more to himself. “You came.”
You allowed him to fill in the silence. Despite the hushed conversations nearby and distant bursts of laughter, the dead air held your throat in a vice. You felt as if you should say something. Your mind would not let you.
“I always thought you would forget,” his voice droned from ear to ear, “fifty years is a long time, even for me. And you… isn’t it? How were your travels? Greece is beautiful at this time of year. You never write back… so… I just want to know.”
Fixing the napkin on your lap, you fidgeted on the loose threads and sniffled. It was difficult to play nice. Why couldn’t he just leave you be? To let you disappear until the world exploded in on itself?
You fought between shutting him out and letting him in. There was an immense distance in the middle of your existence. Not just the table, but the oceans you placed in between, the time you spent away from him, and the hollowness in your heart he once occupied.
“I never write back because I don’t see the need to.” You righted your gaze and stared straight at him. “I made it clear when I asked for a separation. It seems to me you could not hold your end of the bargain.”
“I intend not to,” his jaw flexed, the curl on his brow betraying his emotion, “that was my decision, I also made it clear. You are my wife. No distance shall alter that truth.”
“I haven’t truly been a wife for you, have I?” You breathed through the heaviness sitting on your chest, “I never felt like your bride, James. Four hundred years later that sentiment never changed. A thousand years before I may have, but I was young. Whatever I felt was a product of my naivety.”
He went still for a moment. The server arrived and placed the dishes you knew he ordered beforehand on the table. James laughed bitterly under his breath. “I know you’re trying to hurt me. This is how you punish me, isn’t it?”
“No more than the eternity you forced upon me, James.” Anger crept into your chest. Your eyes were cold as you looked at him. “You just couldn’t let me die. I would have gone to my grave with the love you so long for from me.”
“Do you believe my… immortality is paradise?” His brows furrowed. “You did not just… die. You were murdered. Your then husband stoned you to death. Was that your mercy, dying with fear behind your eyes?”
The stones plagued bruises on your skin, cutting deep, drawing blood. Heavy, like weighted knives pressing on your body. It haunted you on end for centuries. You tried your hardest to bury your past, the realization that it was not just a dream—but a memory, once a reality—festered and rotted you on the inside. You were a corpse, a shell, a ghost walking through life.
“It would have been better.” You swallowed the lump in your throat, moisture stung your eyes. “I wouldn’t need to dream about it. To remember it. To live through it again and again. It would have released me.”
“You did not deserve to die.” His shoulders were even as he rested his hands on the table. You let your eyes graze over his face. He was clean-shaven, side burns framing his squared jaw, along with his thick combed curls. Far from the face of the man you met at your father’s silverware store outside the temple of Nabu in Borsippa. “Not by the hands of someone so worthless.”
“So now I cannot die.” You snorted. “The ultimate joke. Did you know I caught the influenza in France two years ago? It was the worst. Children and the elderly died from the sickness. Laywomen thought it odd how my symptoms came and went, that how I recuperated was… different. I left then. That is the kind of life you gave me, that you think I deserve. Instability and permanence.”
Your food grew cold, untouched. Your appetite dwindled despite the venison and oysters before you. James shared your displeasure as he only tinkered with his utensils.
“You could never get sick, but I could. Your bones won’t break. But mine would. Your skin is untouchable, but I could cut mine and bleed.” Your head tilted to the side, meeting his unwavering gaze. “I could ‘die’ a thousand ways and a thousand times, but I would heal every single time. That is what you gave me. An eternity of mortality.”
“You do not have to suffer from all that. I could protect you. Isn’t my provision enough proof for you?” James picked up his table knife and fork and sliced through the meat. Your eyes followed the harsh movement of his hand. “Boarding, lodgings, ship fare, allowances. I give you everything. With me, you are more protected. More… normal.”
“Nothing about this is normal. No amount of money will ever make me or you normal. I’ve been alive since the fourth century, James,” you lowered your voice, leaning on the table, “Remember Babylon? Hellas? Rome? Because I do. I still do.”
He stopped his hand and dropped the knife and fork. He swept his palm over his face and huffed, back against his chair. “I never forgot. Like how I couldn’t forget your corpse. Like how I scoured every text and witchcraft and the occult just to bring you back. Do you want me to be sorry?” James blinked and pursed his lips. “I am not. I apologize, but I am not sorry.”
Your lips quivered as the moisture turned to tears rolling down your face. It took you a while to muster up your words. He gave you what you have always known and yet you could not take it. Your old and long life was your curse. James was your captor. The immortality was the cage. You were nothing but an animal locked inside it.
You sneered, “You selfish bastard.”
The napkin crumpled in your fist and you threw it on your plate. You stood from your seat and found yourself walking out of the restaurant.
Summary: Working for James Barnes was not a simple reality, despite what others say. But when you swapped bodies during the night of a blood moon in Mexico, things came harder tenfold.
Pairing: CEO!James Buchanan Barnes x Female Reader
Notes: Sorry for the delayed update. My kitten is fully healed now, yey!! Please enjoy this second part and I appreciate all the feedback and likes and reblogs!!! <3333
Link to Masterlist
Chapter 2: In My Shoes
The sun was at its peak when you landed in Mexico. Bucky’s personal driver was waiting at the gate with his car. You wanted to hail a cab to the apartment complex but there was no discussion with him. You never understood why he always insisted on having you picked up by his driver for the last four years. It was a huge favor, sure, you did not have to commute and it cut back on gas and fare costs.
One of the traits Bucky had was his attachment to control. You could not blame him. He was efficient, he worked like a machine. If everything was under his strings, that meant it was idiot-proof and just as efficient as he was.
The tinted window of the car offered the view of the business district’s mirrored skyscrapers and fancy boutiques. The soft vibration had your head buzzing, your side plastered on the door. The smell of leather itched your nose.
He gave no definite answer to your idea. He likely already forgot about it, as always. Why would you expect him to remember, anyway? Not like he had plenty of time to consider you, and yet, it nagged on your chest. You did not know what exactly you wanted him to think or feel, but you thought after all you had done, maybe he would actually think about it at least.
The large gap between you and Bucky was conspicuous. Why were you taking it personally? Your sulking was unprofessional but there was no helping it. You did not want to see him or talk to him or sit next to him. Anywhere but not next to him. You wanted to quit. Yet there you were, stuck with merely a few inches in between.
“What’s the schedule for today?”
You could pretend you did not hear him. You took his tablet from your laptop sleeve instead and turned it on. Scrolling the screen, you found the itinerary and grimaced at the text.
“The company president set a museum visit at three PM.” Great, a field trip. As if you needed one. “And a luncheon at five.”
He hummed and huffed. You chanced a gander to his side only to find him already staring at you. His lips were a thin line. Was he mad? Your eyes flicked away in an instant and caught your breath. You blinked and tilted your head up to look at the sparse greenery instead. Who cares if he was mad.
You felt his eyes on you as you arrived at the complex. It was a high rise building with the same glass and steel façade as the rest. You grumbled at the boring recurring themes of business capitals. New York or Santa Fe, it was the same soulless rat cage.
Both your luggage were tended to by the valets at the lobby while Bucky took care of your unit keys. When he handed yours, you took it without a word and walked straight to the elevator. He caught up with you in large strides just as the doors were about to close. His eyes darted to you with a deep furrow on his brow. You did not spare him a glance until the elevator dinged and opened at the twenty-third floor. You stepped out first and raced to your door. Bucky was behind you as you shut your door to his face. A sigh escaped your lips the moment you were alone inside your unit, your back against the locked door. Thank God, you could finally breathe. He sometimes acted like a velcro cat. The moment you thought you understood him, he surprised you with a brand new trait, every single time.
You peeked over the keyhole and saw him still standing before his own door, his eyes fixed on yours. He inserted his keycard after a few seconds and went inside, clearing the hall. You closed your eyes and leaned your forehead on the door. A smile would have sufficed. It would have been professional. It would have been enough. Your pride would not let you grin without twitching an eye.
The space was vast compared to your preference for small spaces. Floor-to-ceiling glass windows boasted the concrete jungle outside. There was a queen-sized bed and a sofa set. A huge TV plastered above the mother of pearl cabinets. There were portraits of abstract art hanging and vases with flowers displayed on each nightstand and table. Funny enough, the room was painted in your favorite color.
You sat on the bed and found your luggage by the sofa. You laid back with a grunt and rolled around the mattress. Just the thought of the museum trip wore you out already. The hosts’ generosity with the itinerary made you cringe. Their hospitality was better suited somewhere, not to your employer. Bucky was a predator in his world. Buying companies and tearing them apart was his expertise. You sometimes wished he had other mild and fun business ventures, but he flourished in private equity and it was his brand.
The hours passed and sleep evaded you. It took everything in you to take a quick shower and dress yourself appropriately for the museum tour. Your bag was filled with the same necessities, not exactly for you, but for your boss.
You looked at your watch and paced around the room to kill time. A minute later, your phone pinged and the text notification flashed on your lock screen. It was from Bucky.
‘Time to leave.’
You pocketed your phone and nodded to yourself. A month. Survive the month with the overlord, then you quit. Right. Great plan.
With the tote bag hanging on your shoulder and your keycard on one hand, you unlocked your door and found him waiting. He was in a royal blue short-sleeved polo shirt, he kept his beige trousers and somehow he still looked put together. Your floral midi shirt dress was the easiest choice, even then you seemed like you barely survived a storm.
You locked your door and you walked ahead of him, aware of his piercing eyes on the back of your head. The drive to the museum was almost as insufferable. You plastered yourself against the door once again and refused to speak, not that you had anything to say. The silent standoff made you want to guffaw. You could not believe you were giving your boss the cold shoulder.
Your side of the door opened, the arrival entirely slipped out of your mind. On the other end was Bucky, standing with his hand on one of his pockets and the other on the handle. There was no telling on his eyes as he wore his sunglasses, but his lips were in a tight line. You stepped out of the car, facing him for a moment with a flat countenance. He sniffled and closed the door behind.
“Let’s be inside.” His hand snaked around your lower back as he guided you forward. You held your breath and blinked at him. “They’re waiting.”
The sigh you held back scratched at your throat. His touch sent a warmth on your skin, your mind itched to move away from his grasp and yet the wicked part of your brain wanted to stay. Your mind was your biggest traitor. The admiration you nursed in your chest for him was something you buried for years under professionalism and sanity. The likes of Bucky Barnes had no business desiring the likes of you.
People buzzed as you both entered the museum. You had not noticed the marble floors or the thick pillars reminiscent of baroque architecture or the large portraits of dead fictional people. There was a sea of tourists as you spotted one of the hosts by the reception area clutching her flimsy phone. You directed Bucky and his guards as an excuse to get away from his hands before you lost your mind.
You did your best to evade his area of vicinity and his lingering stares for the next minute. You were introduced to the hosts, their board and two owners. The men were hard to miss with their mustachioed faces and bulging bellies, Sergio Varquez and Leandro Fernandez Muñoz. Researching their company and what they stood for was your routine and you liked what you knew about them.
“Ah,” Sergio began after a full belly laugh, “Forgive me, Mr. Barnes, but I wanted the first meet in this lovely museum so you could see the culture! It’s fun compared to boring meeting rooms and glass walls, eh?”
You blew a breath subtly and picked at the lining of your sleeve. Your ears perked when your boss sighed and gave an awkward chuckle.
“I prefer wherever.” When will these pleasantries end? A mental image of boarding a plane away from your current location brought relief to your nerves. “But I couldn’t deny you your hospitality. So, thank you, this is like a holiday instead of a business deal.”
“Let’s not talk business!” Leandro exclaimed, “We’ve only just met, let’s pretend we’re all friends.”
Your eyes found Bucky’s side profile. He blinked before he squinted, sighing after. “Sure.”
Bucky Barnes does not play with his food. You could tell he was displeased with it all and would very much love to cut to the chase. Both Sergio and Leandro turned to you and offered a smile, to which you returned in full beaming glory. “I would love nothing else!”
The two men hoarded the group to the exhibits. You dragged your feet portrait after portrait and statue after statue, feigning interest and amusement. If it were your day off, it would have been genuine. Your boss behind you made the whole ordeal insufferable.
You licked your lips and shook your knee as you stared at the array of statuettes on the right wing. There were less people crowding the area and you could use the brief respite until somebody summoned you. You glanced around and everyone was immersed on the history of the Aztec empire and their rituals when you took steps away from the horde.
Your shoulders slacked and you let out a long sigh. You felt your lungs deflate with the promise of solitude. The tour would likely end in an hour and a half. A long way to go. The statuettes were perched on plexiglass pillars with placards below. You mindlessly let your eyes wander over the texts, not fully comprehending who the deities reduced to a stone were supposed to be before you.
“Why are you ignoring me?”
His voice made you jump. You clutched your chest as your heart raced against your ribs. Why can’t this man just leave you alone?
“Jesus Christ,” you huffed and blinked in succession, “why do you have to sneak like that… sir…?”
“You did not answer my question,” his hands found their way on each of his hips, you looked away, “why? What’s caused this? Do you think I wouldn’t notice?”
You clapped your hands together and intertwined them. Looking back to his eyes, you pursed your lips and forced out a smile. “Nothing, sir. Just… jetlag. Tired. Flight. Long. No sleep.”
Bucky stared at you with a flat face. He flexed his jaw as he sighed through his nose. “Is this about your idea?”
You paused before scoffing at him playfully. Your hands waved around vaguely mid-air with your shifty eyes. It was difficult to look at him. “No. Of course not!” Lie. “I could never. I understand.”
Your voice rose a pitch higher. His brows were furrowed as his blue eyes bore on yours. Bucky refused to say another word and you knew that he knew he was right. You always hated it whenever he was right.
“Alright!” You said, defeated. “Fine. I feel… I am upset. Rightfully so. For your information, sir, I have been working for you for almost four years. I think I earned actual consideration on my ideas instead of, ‘I’ll think about it.’ or a ‘Is that all?’ or ‘Thank you.’ or a ‘We’ll talk about it some time.’ but we never end up talking about it at all.”
You caught your breath and saw Bucky standing on one leg, eyes unmoving. His laser focus on you unnerved you to your core. “I am competent, I know that. I give you whatever you want. Hell, I’ll move mountains for you, but for just this one idea, you can’t even care to listen to me!”
He ran his palm over his stubbled jaw and shut his eyes tightly. He took a deep breath and opened them again. “You have to understand it’s not that easy for me, okay? I have always thought about your ideas. It’s just not plausible. What you’re asking for is a big risk I cannot take.”
“I’m not saying you’ll have to change things right away.” You motioned your hand to your side, “See? This just proves that you are lying. You do not listen. I just… perhaps… we or you can assimilate. Aren’t you tired of being… cruel?”
“Cruel is how I survive.” He stepped closer, voice lower. “Cruel is how I built an empire from nothing. You do not understand what I had to sacrifice to build this and keep it standing.”
“I do. And I can see it.” You blinked away the moisture building along the sides of your eyes. “I don’t need to understand it because I see it and I feel it. This whole thing you built, this… this empire… is run by cruelty but I know you aren’t all that.”
Your hands moved to your right once again and your knuckles hit against metal. The clang echoed about the space. You hissed and grasped your hand. In your peripherals you saw the turtle-like statuette wobble on its pillar, the placard with the name ‘Macuilxochitl’ askew. You gasped but Bucky reached swiftly and righted it atop before turning back to you. There was an odd zap in your right arm, but the moment had you wrapped in, you dismissed the sensation.
Bucky shook his head. “Doll… I can’t. The idea you have is… absurd—”
“Absurd?” You interjected, hiding how your voice broke as frustration made its way to your chest once again. Your head turned to meet his eyes. “Or is it just not cruel enough?”
You withdrew, steps hurried as you walked to the nearest restroom you could find. It was inexplicable why his disapproval meant so much that it weighed on your chest. It did not matter a couple of years ago, scratched ideas were normal in the corporate realm. You wanted to squeeze your brain out if that meant you would stop the madness pervading it.
The tour went by quickly as your head was stuck in an internal trance. You survived the luncheon with the hosts and your dreaded colleagues with whom you had to catch up to and brush up with. You always hated them back in New York. They were just like Bucky. A shiver of sharks in a shallow pond.
You could not escape hitching a ride with him as you head back to the complex after the events of the day. No one was kind enough to heed to you or your discomfort. You folded in on yourself as you reclaimed your sulking throne on your side of the back seat. Still, his eyes followed your every move. You could feel him watching your every breath, no matter how invisible you tried to make yourself be.
The radio on the car spoke the local dialect. You only caught the words eclipse and rojo. You chewed on the inside of your cheek until the car stopped and you found yourself marching to your unit, locking the door behind.
The day just dawned on you as soon as you sat on the floor by your bed. Tears rolled down your cheeks and you realized you just called Bucky cruel. You did not mean it, you were just mad. Your frustration took over at the moment and you wanted to take it back.
There was no taking it back. He was your boss and you called him that as if it was a fact. You could tell him you were sorry and then quit. You could send a soft copy of your resignation letter and book a flight back to New York. Surely he could manage a deal without his lousy secretary. What were you compared to his Harvard and Stanford VPs and Directors?
You went to your luggage and grabbed all your belongings. The glass walls were stained with the downpour already thundering outside. Really? Rain? Of all the days, it had to rain now?
It was resolute in your mind that you were leaving. You could send the letter as soon as you boarded the plane. You booked your flight and paid a hefty fee for the urgency. With your luggage dragging behind, you exited the unit and locked it as you stepped out. The ride in the elevator was so slow that you felt your palms sweat. This has got to be the stupidest thing you’ve ever done in your life.
You surrendered your keycard to the receptionist and explained the billing to the unit. They offered to let you stay in the lobby as the rain surged outside. You insisted and persisted, asking assistance in hailing a cab to the airport instead.
The cab was upfront after a ten-minute wait. You tugged on your luggage out of the building and met the cold wind and huge droplets of rain. Your dress was soaked through your coat and you gasped as thunder rolled into the orange-lined dark skies.
The driver greeted you with a loud voice through the downpour. He spoke in a local dialect and you responded with your broken Mexican. He got out of the cab and helped you with your bags into his open trunk.
“Where do you think you’re going?” Bucky’s voice behind you made you turn. He was in his white shirt and pajama pants, stepping out of the building’s door in bare feet. “Are you leaving?”
You looked at the cab driver and at him. You heaved a deep breath to fend off the chill in your bones. “I am done. I quit. I can’t do it anymore, sir. I have been thinking about it. Months now. I’ll send you the letter when I’m on the plane. And I’ll turnover all company property as soon as I’m back in New York.”
“No,” his eyes were wild. His clothes were wet and stuck to his body like a second skin. “You can’t leave. Over an idea I reject, you do this to me?”
“It’s not just an idea. It may be insignificant but I am worth more than that.” You jabbed your finger his way. “I can’t let you do that to me.”
“I already told you my reason.” He insisted, moving closer. You both failed to notice how everything got darker and how the light was tinted red. “It’s not that easy for me. It’s just not up to me. I have investors and the board. They will slit me open if I deviate.”
“Isn’t it your… company?” Your knees buckled under you and your legs swayed. You breathed through the pounding in your head and the gurgling in your stomach. “You have… you can…” You blinked through the nausea and reached everywhere. “Bucky…?”
Your vision speckled in static and swarming hues. You watched as Bucky clutched the side of his head, an arm outstretched to you. He took unsteady steps closer as he mumbled. You barely heard it but you knew he called out your name in the haze. Your breath was coming in short as a wave of dizziness billowed upon you.
His hand came in short to yours as his eyes closed and he hit the ground. You uttered his name before you felt the heavy pull of gravity, a set of voices surrounded you as your own vision darkened.
The reblog chain is one of the things that makes Tumblr unlike anywhere else. All the notes on reblogs are attributed to the original post, no matter which branch people actually liked or reblogged. We want to keep encouraging conversations, and give contributors the recognition they deserve.
Soon, you'll be able to like, reblog, or reply to any part of a reblog chain, and that note will go to that reblog's author. Each reblog will have its own counts, instead of one aggregated number from every version of the post. And yes, you’ll be able to like multiple posts in one chain.
If a reblog doesn't add anything, the love flows up to the last person in the chain who did. Your post doesn't lose notes just because people spread it quietly.
Past notes will stay on the original post — we're only changing what happens from here on out. Retroactively re-attributing all of them would be... a lot.
This is just the beginning. More changes are coming as we keep building this out – stay tuned!
Summary: Working for James Barnes was not a simple reality, despite what others say. But when you swapped bodies during the night of a blood moon in Mexico, things came harder tenfold.
Pairing: CEO!James Buchanan Barnes x Female Reader
Notes: Sorry for the delayed update. My kitten is fully healed now, yey!! Please enjoy this second part and I appreciate all the feedback and likes and reblogs!!! <3333
Link to Masterlist
Chapter 2: In My Shoes
The sun was at its peak when you landed in Mexico. Bucky’s personal driver was waiting at the gate with his car. You wanted to hail a cab to the apartment complex but there was no discussion with him. You never understood why he always insisted on having you picked up by his driver for the last four years. It was a huge favor, sure, you did not have to commute and it cut back on gas and fare costs.
One of the traits Bucky had was his attachment to control. You could not blame him. He was efficient, he worked like a machine. If everything was under his strings, that meant it was idiot-proof and just as efficient as he was.
The tinted window of the car offered the view of the business district’s mirrored skyscrapers and fancy boutiques. The soft vibration had your head buzzing, your side plastered on the door. The smell of leather itched your nose.
He gave no definite answer to your idea. He likely already forgot about it, as always. Why would you expect him to remember, anyway? Not like he had plenty of time to consider you, and yet, it nagged on your chest. You did not know what exactly you wanted him to think or feel, but you thought after all you had done, maybe he would actually think about it at least.
The large gap between you and Bucky was conspicuous. Why were you taking it personally? Your sulking was unprofessional but there was no helping it. You did not want to see him or talk to him or sit next to him. Anywhere but not next to him. You wanted to quit. Yet there you were, stuck with merely a few inches in between.
“What’s the schedule for today?”
You could pretend you did not hear him. You took his tablet from your laptop sleeve instead and turned it on. Scrolling the screen, you found the itinerary and grimaced at the text.
“The company president set a museum visit at three PM.” Great, a field trip. As if you needed one. “And a luncheon at five.”
He hummed and huffed. You chanced a gander to his side only to find him already staring at you. His lips were a thin line. Was he mad? Your eyes flicked away in an instant and caught your breath. You blinked and tilted your head up to look at the sparse greenery instead. Who cares if he was mad.
You felt his eyes on you as you arrived at the complex. It was a high rise building with the same glass and steel façade as the rest. You grumbled at the boring recurring themes of business capitals. New York or Santa Fe, it was the same soulless rat cage.
Both your luggage were tended to by the valets at the lobby while Bucky took care of your unit keys. When he handed yours, you took it without a word and walked straight to the elevator. He caught up with you in large strides just as the doors were about to close. His eyes darted to you with a deep furrow on his brow. You did not spare him a glance until the elevator dinged and opened at the twenty-third floor. You stepped out first and raced to your door. Bucky was behind you as you shut your door to his face. A sigh escaped your lips the moment you were alone inside your unit, your back against the locked door. Thank God, you could finally breathe. He sometimes acted like a velcro cat. The moment you thought you understood him, he surprised you with a brand new trait, every single time.
You peeked over the keyhole and saw him still standing before his own door, his eyes fixed on yours. He inserted his keycard after a few seconds and went inside, clearing the hall. You closed your eyes and leaned your forehead on the door. A smile would have sufficed. It would have been professional. It would have been enough. Your pride would not let you grin without twitching an eye.
The space was vast compared to your preference for small spaces. Floor-to-ceiling glass windows boasted the concrete jungle outside. There was a queen-sized bed and a sofa set. A huge TV plastered above the mother of pearl cabinets. There were portraits of abstract art hanging and vases with flowers displayed on each nightstand and table. Funny enough, the room was painted in your favorite color.
You sat on the bed and found your luggage by the sofa. You laid back with a grunt and rolled around the mattress. Just the thought of the museum trip wore you out already. The hosts’ generosity with the itinerary made you cringe. Their hospitality was better suited somewhere, not to your employer. Bucky was a predator in his world. Buying companies and tearing them apart was his expertise. You sometimes wished he had other mild and fun business ventures, but he flourished in private equity and it was his brand.
The hours passed and sleep evaded you. It took everything in you to take a quick shower and dress yourself appropriately for the museum tour. Your bag was filled with the same necessities, not exactly for you, but for your boss.
You looked at your watch and paced around the room to kill time. A minute later, your phone pinged and the text notification flashed on your lock screen. It was from Bucky.
‘Time to leave.’
You pocketed your phone and nodded to yourself. A month. Survive the month with the overlord, then you quit. Right. Great plan.
With the tote bag hanging on your shoulder and your keycard on one hand, you unlocked your door and found him waiting. He was in a royal blue short-sleeved polo shirt, he kept his beige trousers and somehow he still looked put together. Your floral midi shirt dress was the easiest choice, even then you seemed like you barely survived a storm.
You locked your door and you walked ahead of him, aware of his piercing eyes on the back of your head. The drive to the museum was almost as insufferable. You plastered yourself against the door once again and refused to speak, not that you had anything to say. The silent standoff made you want to guffaw. You could not believe you were giving your boss the cold shoulder.
Your side of the door opened, the arrival entirely slipped out of your mind. On the other end was Bucky, standing with his hand on one of his pockets and the other on the handle. There was no telling on his eyes as he wore his sunglasses, but his lips were in a tight line. You stepped out of the car, facing him for a moment with a flat countenance. He sniffled and closed the door behind.
“Let’s be inside.” His hand snaked around your lower back as he guided you forward. You held your breath and blinked at him. “They’re waiting.”
The sigh you held back scratched at your throat. His touch sent a warmth on your skin, your mind itched to move away from his grasp and yet the wicked part of your brain wanted to stay. Your mind was your biggest traitor. The admiration you nursed in your chest for him was something you buried for years under professionalism and sanity. The likes of Bucky Barnes had no business desiring the likes of you.
People buzzed as you both entered the museum. You had not noticed the marble floors or the thick pillars reminiscent of baroque architecture or the large portraits of dead fictional people. There was a sea of tourists as you spotted one of the hosts by the reception area clutching her flimsy phone. You directed Bucky and his guards as an excuse to get away from his hands before you lost your mind.
You did your best to evade his area of vicinity and his lingering stares for the next minute. You were introduced to the hosts, their board and two owners. The men were hard to miss with their mustachioed faces and bulging bellies, Sergio Varquez and Leandro Fernandez Muñoz. Researching their company and what they stood for was your routine and you liked what you knew about them.
“Ah,” Sergio began after a full belly laugh, “Forgive me, Mr. Barnes, but I wanted the first meet in this lovely museum so you could see the culture! It’s fun compared to boring meeting rooms and glass walls, eh?”
You blew a breath subtly and picked at the lining of your sleeve. Your ears perked when your boss sighed and gave an awkward chuckle.
“I prefer wherever.” When will these pleasantries end? A mental image of boarding a plane away from your current location brought relief to your nerves. “But I couldn’t deny you your hospitality. So, thank you, this is like a holiday instead of a business deal.”
“Let’s not talk business!” Leandro exclaimed, “We’ve only just met, let’s pretend we’re all friends.”
Your eyes found Bucky’s side profile. He blinked before he squinted, sighing after. “Sure.”
Bucky Barnes does not play with his food. You could tell he was displeased with it all and would very much love to cut to the chase. Both Sergio and Leandro turned to you and offered a smile, to which you returned in full beaming glory. “I would love nothing else!”
The two men hoarded the group to the exhibits. You dragged your feet portrait after portrait and statue after statue, feigning interest and amusement. If it were your day off, it would have been genuine. Your boss behind you made the whole ordeal insufferable.
You licked your lips and shook your knee as you stared at the array of statuettes on the right wing. There were less people crowding the area and you could use the brief respite until somebody summoned you. You glanced around and everyone was immersed on the history of the Aztec empire and their rituals when you took steps away from the horde.
Your shoulders slacked and you let out a long sigh. You felt your lungs deflate with the promise of solitude. The tour would likely end in an hour and a half. A long way to go. The statuettes were perched on plexiglass pillars with placards below. You mindlessly let your eyes wander over the texts, not fully comprehending who the deities reduced to a stone were supposed to be before you.
“Why are you ignoring me?”
His voice made you jump. You clutched your chest as your heart raced against your ribs. Why can’t this man just leave you alone?
“Jesus Christ,” you huffed and blinked in succession, “why do you have to sneak like that… sir…?”
“You did not answer my question,” his hands found their way on each of his hips, you looked away, “why? What’s caused this? Do you think I wouldn’t notice?”
You clapped your hands together and intertwined them. Looking back to his eyes, you pursed your lips and forced out a smile. “Nothing, sir. Just… jetlag. Tired. Flight. Long. No sleep.”
Bucky stared at you with a flat face. He flexed his jaw as he sighed through his nose. “Is this about your idea?”
You paused before scoffing at him playfully. Your hands waved around vaguely mid-air with your shifty eyes. It was difficult to look at him. “No. Of course not!” Lie. “I could never. I understand.”
Your voice rose a pitch higher. His brows were furrowed as his blue eyes bore on yours. Bucky refused to say another word and you knew that he knew he was right. You always hated it whenever he was right.
“Alright!” You said, defeated. “Fine. I feel… I am upset. Rightfully so. For your information, sir, I have been working for you for almost four years. I think I earned actual consideration on my ideas instead of, ‘I’ll think about it.’ or a ‘Is that all?’ or ‘Thank you.’ or a ‘We’ll talk about it some time.’ but we never end up talking about it at all.”
You caught your breath and saw Bucky standing on one leg, eyes unmoving. His laser focus on you unnerved you to your core. “I am competent, I know that. I give you whatever you want. Hell, I’ll move mountains for you, but for just this one idea, you can’t even care to listen to me!”
He ran his palm over his stubbled jaw and shut his eyes tightly. He took a deep breath and opened them again. “You have to understand it’s not that easy for me, okay? I have always thought about your ideas. It’s just not plausible. What you’re asking for is a big risk I cannot take.”
“I’m not saying you’ll have to change things right away.” You motioned your hand to your side, “See? This just proves that you are lying. You do not listen. I just… perhaps… we or you can assimilate. Aren’t you tired of being… cruel?”
“Cruel is how I survive.” He stepped closer, voice lower. “Cruel is how I built an empire from nothing. You do not understand what I had to sacrifice to build this and keep it standing.”
“I do. And I can see it.” You blinked away the moisture building along the sides of your eyes. “I don’t need to understand it because I see it and I feel it. This whole thing you built, this… this empire… is run by cruelty but I know you aren’t all that.”
Your hands moved to your right once again and your knuckles hit against metal. The clang echoed about the space. You hissed and grasped your hand. In your peripherals you saw the turtle-like statuette wobble on its pillar, the placard with the name ‘Macuilxochitl’ askew. You gasped but Bucky reached swiftly and righted it atop before turning back to you. There was an odd zap in your right arm, but the moment had you wrapped in, you dismissed the sensation.
Bucky shook his head. “Doll… I can’t. The idea you have is… absurd—”
“Absurd?” You interjected, hiding how your voice broke as frustration made its way to your chest once again. Your head turned to meet his eyes. “Or is it just not cruel enough?”
You withdrew, steps hurried as you walked to the nearest restroom you could find. It was inexplicable why his disapproval meant so much that it weighed on your chest. It did not matter a couple of years ago, scratched ideas were normal in the corporate realm. You wanted to squeeze your brain out if that meant you would stop the madness pervading it.
The tour went by quickly as your head was stuck in an internal trance. You survived the luncheon with the hosts and your dreaded colleagues with whom you had to catch up to and brush up with. You always hated them back in New York. They were just like Bucky. A shiver of sharks in a shallow pond.
You could not escape hitching a ride with him as you head back to the complex after the events of the day. No one was kind enough to heed to you or your discomfort. You folded in on yourself as you reclaimed your sulking throne on your side of the back seat. Still, his eyes followed your every move. You could feel him watching your every breath, no matter how invisible you tried to make yourself be.
The radio on the car spoke the local dialect. You only caught the words eclipse and rojo. You chewed on the inside of your cheek until the car stopped and you found yourself marching to your unit, locking the door behind.
The day just dawned on you as soon as you sat on the floor by your bed. Tears rolled down your cheeks and you realized you just called Bucky cruel. You did not mean it, you were just mad. Your frustration took over at the moment and you wanted to take it back.
There was no taking it back. He was your boss and you called him that as if it was a fact. You could tell him you were sorry and then quit. You could send a soft copy of your resignation letter and book a flight back to New York. Surely he could manage a deal without his lousy secretary. What were you compared to his Harvard and Stanford VPs and Directors?
You went to your luggage and grabbed all your belongings. The glass walls were stained with the downpour already thundering outside. Really? Rain? Of all the days, it had to rain now?
It was resolute in your mind that you were leaving. You could send the letter as soon as you boarded the plane. You booked your flight and paid a hefty fee for the urgency. With your luggage dragging behind, you exited the unit and locked it as you stepped out. The ride in the elevator was so slow that you felt your palms sweat. This has got to be the stupidest thing you’ve ever done in your life.
You surrendered your keycard to the receptionist and explained the billing to the unit. They offered to let you stay in the lobby as the rain surged outside. You insisted and persisted, asking assistance in hailing a cab to the airport instead.
The cab was upfront after a ten-minute wait. You tugged on your luggage out of the building and met the cold wind and huge droplets of rain. Your dress was soaked through your coat and you gasped as thunder rolled into the orange-lined dark skies.
The driver greeted you with a loud voice through the downpour. He spoke in a local dialect and you responded with your broken Mexican. He got out of the cab and helped you with your bags into his open trunk.
“Where do you think you’re going?” Bucky’s voice behind you made you turn. He was in his white shirt and pajama pants, stepping out of the building’s door in bare feet. “Are you leaving?”
You looked at the cab driver and at him. You heaved a deep breath to fend off the chill in your bones. “I am done. I quit. I can’t do it anymore, sir. I have been thinking about it. Months now. I’ll send you the letter when I’m on the plane. And I’ll turnover all company property as soon as I’m back in New York.”
“No,” his eyes were wild. His clothes were wet and stuck to his body like a second skin. “You can’t leave. Over an idea I reject, you do this to me?”
“It’s not just an idea. It may be insignificant but I am worth more than that.” You jabbed your finger his way. “I can’t let you do that to me.”
“I already told you my reason.” He insisted, moving closer. You both failed to notice how everything got darker and how the light was tinted red. “It’s not that easy for me. It’s just not up to me. I have investors and the board. They will slit me open if I deviate.”
“Isn’t it your… company?” Your knees buckled under you and your legs swayed. You breathed through the pounding in your head and the gurgling in your stomach. “You have… you can…” You blinked through the nausea and reached everywhere. “Bucky…?”
Your vision speckled in static and swarming hues. You watched as Bucky clutched the side of his head, an arm outstretched to you. He took unsteady steps closer as he mumbled. You barely heard it but you knew he called out your name in the haze. Your breath was coming in short as a wave of dizziness billowed upon you.
His hand came in short to yours as his eyes closed and he hit the ground. You uttered his name before you felt the heavy pull of gravity, a set of voices surrounded you as your own vision darkened.
Do you have tips to get the best ai fanfiction prompt. I want to start writing fanfiction but I don’t know what to prompt
if you want to start writing then my advice is to actually write it yourself instead of letting a machine do it for you. “ai prompting” is not writing.
write what you want to read, but the most important part is that it’s you who do the writing
