can u do something cute and fluffy like ur last post but can we make it so hes like clingy one and he needs comfort for whatever reason u want idc
thank youuuu
- 🎱 anon
─ The Only Real Thing
pairing: clingy!jax x reader
Warning: none ig..
a/n: HAİİİİAİAİ TYSM FOR UR REQ İM SO HAPPY RN!! İ HOPE U LİKE THİS😭 remember English is not my first languagee
Jax woke up, practically shooting out of bed. His pupils darted wildly in the darkness, his chest heaving violently as he gasped for air. His hands immediately grabbed his own arms, checking to see if he was still holding his form.
He had had the same dream again. No, it wasn't a dream it was a loop. He was living the same nightmare over and over. Falling into a dark void, watching everyone in the Circus turn into Abstracted monsters one by one, and right as one of those monsters lunged at you, Jax couldn't move. He couldn't save you. And then everything would rewind and start over.
That famous, carefree smirk of his was completely wiped from his face. The walls of his room felt like they were closing in on him. He couldn't stay here. He couldn't be alone.
He didn't even remember getting out of bed or bolting into the hallway. His long legs automatically carried him in one single direction to your bedroom door. Normally, he'd kick doors open or obnoxiously sneak in using his spare keys. But this time, his hands were shaking so much that he could barely grip the doorknob. Luckily, the door wasn't locked.
As he rushed in, he saw your silhouette sleeping peacefully in bed In that moment, the invisible knot in Jax's throat loosened just a bit. You were here. You hadn't Abstracted. You were safe.
But that wasn't enough. He needed to be sure. with swift, silent steps, he approached the edge of your bed. Without even hesitating, he slumped onto the empty space, letting his weight sink into the mattress. He grabbed you by the shoulders and shook you lightly, but with an urgent demeanor.
"Get up," he whispered. His voice was completely devoid of its usual mocking tone; it was muffled and tense. "Hey. Wake up."
You blinked as you were pulled out of the depths of sleep. Seeing Jax's eyes fixed on you in the dark room startled you at first. You pulled the blanket closer to yourself as you tried to sit up.
"Jax? What... What time is it?" you mumbled, sleepy and dazed. "Who cares what time it is?" he snapped immediately. His voice came out much louder than necessary. He quickly cleared his throat and tried to slip that familiar, cocky mask back onto his face. "I'm just bored. Sleep is stupid anyway. I need you to talk to me."
"In the middle of the night?" you asked, rubbing your eyes. "Did you have a bad dream or something?"
Your question caused Jax to flinch as if he'd taken a physical blow. He quickly averted his eyes, fixing them on an empty chair in the corner of the room.
"What? Me? Don't be ridiculous," he said, forcing a layer of sarcasm into his voice. But his actions belied his words. He slid a bit closer to you on the bed. His long arms stretched out over your blanket, toward your legs. As if he didn't realize it, he pressed his hand down right next to your knee. He just wanted to make contact, to feel your reality. "I'm fine. It's just that Caine's stupid beds are super uncomfortable. And why are you asking so many questions anyway? Stop complaining and pay attention to me."
"Are you sure you're okay?" you pressed. You knew Jax. In any given situation, he would rather bite his tongue off than show a moment of weakness. But the way he was right now... that twitch in his eyes, his irregular breathing, and the fact that, despite normally invading your personal space uninvited anyway, he was now leaving almost zero distance between you two it gave everything away.
"I said I'm fine!" he snapped suddenly. His voice sliced through the silence of the room like a knife. "You just... talk too much. Shut up and sit down."
As he said this, his hand slid off your leg and found yours. He intertwined his fingers with yours so tightly, so desperately. you didn't say anything for a while. You just let him hold your hand. The tension in Jax's shoulders eased a fraction the moment your fingers touched. He slowly bowed his head, his long ears drooping backward. In the silence of the room, only the sound of your combined breathing could be heard. "Okay," you said softly. There was no point in pushing him further. Forcing him to take off his armor would only make him more aggressive. "Since we can't sleep... we can go to the cafeteria if you want. Let's get you something warm. Maybe it'll help." as you said this, you made a small backward motion to gently slip your hand out of his. Your only intention was to get out of bed and stand up. But the split second he felt your hand pulling away, creating a mere ten centimeter gap between you, every single alarm in Jax's brain started ringing. the loop triggered. the darkness in his mind that moment when you slipped from his grasp, when he couldn't protect you flashed before his eyes. "No!" His voice, completely abandoning the hushed argument from a moment ago, tore through the room like a panicked, primal scream. Before you could even process what was happening, Jax clamped both his hands onto your wrists. He pulled you toward him with such a sudden and violent force that you lost your balance on the bed and crashed directly into his chest. His long arms instantly wrapped around your back, practically locking you to his torso. He was panting, and you could feel his heart beating frantically against his chest.
"Don't go" he whispered. This time, there was no sarcasm, no mask. His voice trembled with desperation, and he pressed his jaw hard into your shoulder. "Don't get up. You can't go." "Jax... you're hurting me," you mumbled, trying to wiggle out of the vice-like grip of his arms. The moment he heard that his arms immediately loosened. He pulled back sharply as if the thought of hurting you terrified him even more. But he didn't let go entirely He placed his hands on your shoulders his eyes wide open, his pupils trembling as they scanned your face. There was pure fear in his eyes. "I'm sorry," he stammered, the words struggling to leave his mouth. "I... Just... don't pull away. Please." He swallowed hard, his hands sliding slightly down your shoulders to grip your arms. "I'm fine. Really. Just... you stay right there. Don't leave my line of sight." You saw that his hands were still shaking slightly. In that moment, you understood he didn't just want to be next to you. He needed physical proof to know that you "existed" and "hadn't disappeared."
You slowly raised your arms and wrapped them around his neck. This was definitely not the reaction he was expecting from you. His whole body went completely stiff at the contact. normal Jax would have shoved you away right now, saying "You're like a leech, back off." But in that moment, the person in front of you wasn't that cocky rabbit.
A second later, the reality of your arms wrapped around him broke all his resistance. Letting out a deep, shuddering breath, he buried his face in your neck again. He wrapped his arms around your waist and pulled you in, but this time being careful not to hurt you, treating you like you were a fragile object about to break. He just stayed there, his eyes squeezed shut, hiding his face in your neck, and letting all his weight rest on you. He held you so tight, it was as if letting you go would mean both of you dropping into that bottomless void. All sense of time was lost in the room. In this universe coded by Caine, time was always a massive lie anyway, but right now, holding each other in the dark room, it felt as though the seconds had frozen entirely. Jax's body was still trembling slightly in your arms. He had buried his face so deep into your neck that you could clearly feel the strange, cool sensation of his breath against your skin. His quiet, muffled, and shuddering breaths were the greatest proof of the breakdown happening inside him. "I'm here," you whispered, slowly beginning to rub his back, over his overalls. "It was just a dream, Jax. It's not real. We're all here."
"It wasn't," he mumbled in a muffled voice. The sound vibrated against your skin. "It wasn't just a dream. It was a loop. Over... and over... and over again..." He forced the words out of his mouth in agony, as if he were swallowing broken glass. Without lifting his head from your neck, his grip on your shoulders tightened a bit more. "Those disgusting black monsters... Abstraction. Everything was dark. And you..." He couldn't finish his sentence. He took a deep breath and swallowed. A fresh wave of trembling shook his body. "I couldn't find you. You were nowhere. Only... your glitched, broken voice kept echoing."
His words settled like a heavy weight on your heart. For someone like Jax who mocked everyone around him and acted like he didn't care about anyone to have his biggest nightmare be losing you both warmed your heart and broke it.
"But look, I'm right here" you said, trying to keep your voice as soft and soothing as possible. You pulled your right hand from his back and gently trailed it up to his nape, and from there to the base of his long ears. When your fingers began threading through that soft texture an involuntary, muffled groan escaped Jax's lips.
That touch relaxed him instantly. All his defense mechanisms, that prickly hedgehog-like attitude of his, simply melted away with a small touch on the back of his neck. "Don't leave me" he said once more. This time he was just begging. "I'm not leaving," you whispered. "But if we keep sitting like this, Caine is going to find us with herniated discs in the morning. Let's lean back a bit, okay?"Jax grumbled softly at first, as if he wanted to object his arms remaining locked around your waist. However when you nudged him gently backward, he stopped resisting. As he slid back toward the headboard, he pulled you right along with him. He was absolutely refusing to let any distance form between you. When you leaned your back against the headboard, he rested his head against your chest. He stretched his long legs out on the bed, while his arms were still wrapped tightly around your waist. Now, it was like you had completely become his shield. That sarcastic, annoying, and untouchable Jax was now curled up against your chest like a giant plush toy seeking comfort.
You began stroking him with rhythmic movements. With every touch, you could see his tremors slowly fading, his calm beginning to return in their place. "If you're looking at me with pity or something, I'll gouge those eyes out" he mumbled suddenly, his voice muffled against your chest. You smiled. Flinging a threat like that when he couldn't even see your eyes was such a classic Jax move. "I'm not pitying you, you stupid rabbit" you said, petting his head a little more. "I'm just thinking about how clingy you can be. If Pomni saw this, she'd definitely have a heart attack."
"Don't say that clown's name right now," he grumbled. He must have had his eyes closed. "Not a word of this to anyone. If you mention this to Zooble or Ragatha... I'll throw you in that digital lake and watch you drown." "Of course you would" you said in a teasing tone. "As if it was someone else begging me not to leave them just a minute ago."
"Shut up." Instead of sounding aggressive, his voice came out tired and drowsy.
He slid his hand slightly from your waist and found your hand. He carefully intertwined his fingers with yours and pressed your hand against his own chest, right where his heart should be. There was a rhythmic pulse there.
"I need to feel that you're real," he said in a whisper. That confession completely wiped away all his fake threats from earlier. "I just... I need to feel your pulse, your warmth. Otherwise, my mind slips back into that loop."
"Okay," you said softly. You continued rubbing his back with your free hand. "I'm right here until you fall asleep. I'll be here when you wake up too. And I'll be here when Caine drags us into one of his stupid adventures."
Jax took a deep, long breath. "Promise?" he asked, his voice almost as vulnerable as a little child's. "Promise," you said. "I will never Abstract. I won't leave you alone." Those words hung in the air, wrapping around the cold, digital silence of the room like a warm blanket. The last crumb of tension in Jax's body vanished. He leaned completely into your chest, holding your intertwined hands even tighter. After a while, his breathing deepened and settled into a steady rhythm. You couldn't tell for sure if he had fallen asleep, but it was certain that his mind had escaped that dark loop. Watching that peaceful, vulnerable expression on his face.But tonight, in this current silence, you both knew the truth. Only you could illuminate the darkness beneath his mask, and no matter how much he denied it, he desperately needed your light. Your fingers slowly drifted through his ears one last time, and resting your head on top of his, you closed your eyes in true peace.
Jax had tangled himself around you like a vine all night, not drifting even a millimeter away. He opened his eyes slightly in the morning, but instead of letting you go, he sealed his arms around your waist even tighter. He buried his face deep into your neck and took a deep, shaky breath. The remnants of last night's dark loop were still lingering somewhere in his mind. "Don't go," he mumbled in a sleepy, muffled voice, sounding more needy than ever. "Caine's stupid activities can wait. Just... stay here." When he lifted his head slightly to look at you, you saw his pupils trembling. That vulnerability from the night before was still on his face it was still too early to put on his famous sarcastic mask. His hand slowly rose to your cheek, his fingertips gently, shakily caressing your skin as if he were examining a priceless jewel.
"You're still here," he said, his voice full of awe, as if witnessing a miracle. "It wasn't a dream." When you started stroking his head with your hand, Jax nuzzled into your touch almost like a cat. He closed his eyes and leaned his head into your palm. "Rub my back," he whispered, his voice raspy and full of longing in the morning silence. "Play with my ears, say my name... Just... make me feel like I belong to you." "Jax.." you whispered trailing your fingers along his nape. "We're real. I'm with you." Hearing his name reignited that touch starvation inside Jax. Unable to hold back any longer, he pulled you closer and crashed his lips onto yours. This morning kiss was more possessive and much longer. As Jax kissed you, it was as if he was drawing your very soul into his own. As his lips pressed firmly against yours, and your tongues intertwined, a deep, vibrating moan slipped from his throat. That moan was the ultimate proof that all his defense mechanisms had collapsed. He laid you back onto the bed and hovered over you, wrapping his arms around your body like a chain. When he slipped his hands under your shirt and touched your bare back, you felt the heat in his fingertips practically burning your skin. He was kissing you with such fervor, with such desperation, that you knew among all the fake pixels in the circus, the only real thing was the two of you. "Don't leave me."
He parted from your lips for a second, trailing burning kisses down your neck and along your collarbone. "I can't let you go," he mumbled against your skin. "I'm terrified that if we separate for even a second, that silence will swallow me whole again. Keep holding me like this... whisper my name... make me feel like I'm yours." Jax rested his head on your chest again and raised your intertwined hands into the air. He locked his fingers with yours so tightly that...
He hugged you even tighter, tangling his legs with yours. Your hand on his back, your name on his lips... That morning was the most beautiful reality in the circus for Jax.
The Reader is dragged into the Last of Us universe and has no choice but to watch the events unfold or will she be able to change what was already written?
MINI-SERIES:
BUT DADDY I LOVE HIM - (ONGOING) (18+)
After harboring a crush on your dad's charming best friend, Joel Miller, you graduate college only to be confused by something he supposedly said to you, but then he and his daughter Sarah, reluctantly move away due to his work. Six months later, Joel returns to town, and you're desperate to confirm if his words were real. Both you and your dad eagerly await his arrival but for entirely different reasons. As feelings intensify, you realize that falling for him might not be temporary after all.
ONE-SHOTS:
It Only Falls Into Place When You're Falling To Pieces - Jackson!Joel Miller x Fem!Reader
There are a lot of people you thought would live forever. You swore Joel would be one of them.
I LOVE YOU, I'M SORRY - Jackson!Joel Miller x Fem!Reader
Your soulmate’s birthday is written on your arm, it just happened also to be the day the world ended.
NO COMPLAINTS - Joel Miller x Fem!Reader
In the peaceful town of Jackson, life seems stable. Ellie has found some sense of belonging, but for you, life remains a constant struggle due to the trauma you carry. You've faced loss, isolation, and danger, and you're not sure where you fit in. That's when you cross paths with Joel Miller, a man with a haunted past and a heart hidden beneath a tough exterior.
YOU'RE THE RISK, I'M GONNA TAKE IT - CEO!Joel Miller x Assistant!Reader (18+)
You help your boss, Joel Miller, buy flowers for his date. Or so you thought.
DO YOU MISS US? - Billionaire! Joel Miller x Fem!Reader
You were the perfect trophy wife—elegant, supportive, and always by Joel's side. But that wasn't enough because Joel always seemed to want more, and you were left wondering if he ever really wanted you.
to make things a little more organized I will be listing my favourite Bucky fics in the links below. I'd be happy if you checked them out and rewarded the wonderful and talented writers :)
Every fic and series has clear warnings. If anything might trigger you, be cautious. Minors do not interact. There is 18+ content.
I am a writer myself, so if your are interested in reading my work, check out this Masterlist of my main blog @marvelstoriesepic
Get yourself a snack, enjoy these wonderful series and leave some love for the creative writers :)
♤ - includes sexual themes
Bucky fic recs Masterlist
Also, this gif has me in a chokehold
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Something domestic [50k] @fandoms-writings
ex-military amputee!Bucky x fem!Reader
Summary: Needing an escape from the loud and busy city life, Bucky comes to stay with you on your little farm. He didn’t expect you, a hardworking and beautiful woman with struggles of your own, to take his breath away and make life a little less dreary.
{personal comment: This is one of a kind and it got stuck in my head immediately. The way Bucky heals is beautifully written and I love how the animals of the farm got included}
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For the love of the game @pellucid-constellations ♤
College Athlete!Bucky x Reader
Summary: Bucky Barnes was a menace. NYU’s top baseball player, he was used to girls falling at his feet and could smooth talk his way out of just about anything. You hated him. He couldn’t figure out why. So when the novelty of weekend parties and quick hookups finally wore off—and his feelings for you began to grow—he made it his mission to fix it.
{personal comment: I love the changes Bucky goes through and the way all the characters are portrayed. This story never fails to give me butterflies every time I come back to it}
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Undisclosed @pellucid-constellations ♤
Lumberjack!Bucky x Reader
Summary: Desperate to outrun a secret that could cost you your life, you seek refuge in a small mountain town. Its deep forests and small cabins make it the perfect place to hide, but the travel website hadn’t mentioned anything about the quiet, burly lumberjack that wouldn’t leave your thoughts. No one had warned Bucky about you either.
{personal comment: The story is so creative and I got hooked on the few hints of the reader's backstory in the first parts and how it got revealed. Overall, it was a great mix of angst, fluff and Bucky in love}
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Scars @chickenfics
Bucky x reader Western AU
Summary: Running from a past that haunts you and a future that is unsure, the last thing you wanted was to take up with a stranger. Strangers, you'd learned, are almost always more trouble than they're worth. But when dangers from the life you're trying to leave behind get too close for comfort, drastic times call for drastic measures, and the stranger you'd once feared becomes the only person you can trust -- and perhaps the only person you'd call your friend. Now you both just have to make it out alive...
{personal comment: I'm a sucker for Western AU's and this piece of art satisfied me to no end. I love how naturally a connection bloomed between the two and the way they learned about each other. I would give so much for being able to read this for the first time again}
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A World of Our Own @shreddedparchment ♤
Bucky x Reader Castaway AU
Summary: You and a man named Bucky crash land on a deserted island. Can the two of you come together and make it until rescue comes? After you begin to fall for the mysterious Bucky Barnes, will you even want to be rescued?
{personal comment: I was astounded with the idea of this story and the creativity that came with it. It was lovely to read how Bucky and the reader grew closer over time and how they dealt with getting rescued and having to adjust to a 'normal' life on mainland again}
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Just One Kiss @sarahwroteathing
40s!Bucky x 40s!Reader
Summary: Bucky Barnes has been chasing after you since he was ten years old, but you’re determined not to give in. How long can you hold out when all he’s asking for is just one kiss?
{personal comment: This is such a lovely series. Bucky is a sweetheart and those letters were giving me all the feels. I loved all the characters and how they are written}
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Awake My Soul [78k] @foreverindreamlandd
Bucky x reader
Summary: It's been five years since zombies first started walking the Earth, destroying anything and everything in their wake. Now, in this apocalyptic world, fighting for survival comes as naturally as breathing. The one thing you've learned ever since they arrived, though, is that the living can be so much more dangerous than the undead. When you stumble across two young, scared boys lost in the woods and being chased by walkers, you go against your better judgment and help them to safety. Little did you know that helping them would lead you to Bucky - an angry, grumpy, distrusting member of the camp Shield. Bucky has zero interest in having you enter his life. He's been hurt before and lost too many people to risk experiencing that kind of pain again, and he knows that there are secrets you aren't telling the group. Yet, when push comes to shove, and you're put at risk, he'll stop at nothing to keep you safe.
{personal comment: The storyline of this series is so creative and I was hooked since the beginning. So much thought went into this and the background of the characters, and I'm beyond grateful I got to read this lovely piece of art}
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Burn The Witch @dreamwritesimagines ♤
Bucky x reader
Summary: The mission was simple; get closer to the Winter Soldier and start a relationship with him to get the necessary information for your superiors to use.
Everyone told you not to get your feelings involved.
You should have listened.
{personal comment: I loved reading about how Bucky interacts with the two different personalities the reader portrays without knowing it’s the same person and how she switches between those two. The other characters are great as well and I really enjoy your writing style here]
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The Bienville @indyluckycharlie ♤
Modern!Bucky x reader
Summary: Bucky is the young CEO of his family’s publishing house. A year into the role and working his ass off, he’s finally taking a much needed vacation (upon the advice of his well-meaning family and friends).
Solo and feeling a little lost, Bucky finds himself getting a little attached to the front desk receptionist, a local who grew up on the islands and dreams of bigger things.
{personal comment: I've read this a few times already and will definitely do it again. I loved how Bucky relaxed more and turned so charming, and how they built that connection so naturally. I felt everything I read and it was beautiful}
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Harmless @shurisneakers
Bucky x Villan!Reader
Summary: Bucky volunteers to go stop a small time villain, but nothing can prepare him for what exactly he has to deal with.
{personal comment: I had so much fun while reading this and it’s so damn creative. It was lovely to read how they grew closer over time and the many things they did for each other]
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Heart to a Gunfight [38.3k] @lailannajacobs
Modern!Bucky x reader
Summary: You didn’t want to help Bucky Barnes make it through the party by pretending to be his fake girlfriend, after all, you had just met him. You also didn’t plan on the charade lasting as long as it did.
{personal comment: This is so lovely and I found myself grinning so much while reading this. But I also enjoyed the little angst in there and how they ended up together}
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Leave This Town @avengerofyourheart ♤
Mechanic!Bucky x reader
Summary: Your dreams of kissing your small town life goodbye are about to come true when an unexpected detour leaves you stranded. Meeting the handsome local mechanic has you rethinking your plans. Perhaps happiness is less about where you’re headed and more about the people you meet along the way.
{personal comment: I'm a sucker for Mechanic!Bucky and I really love this creative piece of art}
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Vacant Mirrors @whirlybirbs
Bucky x reader
Summary: Shit’s been rough. Shit was rough even before the blip. Dr. Hart shares an office with dr. Raynor, and you share a waiting room with Bucky Barnes.
{personal comment: I enjoyed this so much and went through so many emotions while reading it, feeling everything so vividly. This includs all I need of Bucky Barnes and I'm in love}
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The Two of Us [39.7k] @bucky-bucket-barnes ♤
Bucky x Avenger!Reader
Summary: You and Bucky go to investigate the phenomenon happening in Westview, New Jersey. While attempting to understand the issue, you yourselves are sucked into Wanda's world of pretend. Now, you believe yourselves to be the happily married Mr. and Mrs. Barnes; in real life, you are most definitely not a happy pair. It is up to you and Bucky to piece together what's happening while dealing with one another inside the hex.
{personal comment: We all love a good enemies to lovers and this was really exciting to read. It got me hooked so fast and I loved it till the end}
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Everything Backwards [35.2k] @buckybabybaby
Bucky x reader
Summary: When you make-out with a ‘James’ on a night out, you don’t expect to see him again, so imagine your surprise the next day when it turns out he’ll be your new sort-of-flat-mate. As Nanny for Peggy & Steve’s three children, you’ve hit the jackpot, but now the guy across the corridor is threatening to ruin it.
{personal comment: I really loved how Bucky softened and the way they formed a connection. The interactions with the kids are lovely, I enjoyed this so much}
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Sky full of Song [65k] @wkemeup ♤
Pirate!Bucky x Pirate/Siren!Reader
Summary: Despite the bitter resentment of the crew, you found a home on Captain Barnes’ ship; on the ocean where you belonged, at the side of a captain you swore loyalty and heart to. But when course is plotted for a legendary island, the secret that has kept you alive for years is threatened to be revealed.
{personal comment: This series is amazing and the storyline has such a nice flow to it, that had me hooked so bad. Bucky's so respectful and protective and I read this so many times already, it might actually be sad. But I'm in love with this art}
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365 Days @abovethesmokestacks
Bucky x reader soulmate AU
Summary: "You all know how it is, the one constant in this hellish life: You have a soulmate. No idea who it is, no clues whatsoever, only 25 years to find them. In 364 days, my time’s up. It sounds like a lot, but so does 25 years, and look where that got me. So, for better or for worse, I’ll try. I’ve got twelve months to find whoever my soul is knit together with."
{personal comment: I didn’t think I'd be into solemate au's but this was really lovely. The small glimpses into the life of Bucky in between really piqued my interest}
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All Good Things @sagechanoafterdark
Ghost!Bucky x witch!Reader
Summary: After only three days of dealing with the annoying specter haunting you, you break the rules and accidently give a ghost a body. So what do you do when you find out the man you’re now sharing your your apartment with isn’t really a ghost and that haunted touch is a little warmer than you realized?
{personal comment: The concept of this story is so interesting and captivated me instantly. I had fun reading this and went through a lot of emotions throughout}
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Wild horses [22k] @whitewolfbumble
Biker!Bucky x reader
Summary: Kicked out of school and exiling yourself in a town time forgot, one little incident lands the sights of the locally infamous Avengers biker gang square on you. Wild horses run faster and there was no chance to turn back now.
{personal comment: I'm smitten with this story, it’s so nice and I found myself relate to the reader so lany aspects. It’s some lovely work}
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The Thrill of the Hunt [12k] @rookthorne ♤
Scare Actor!Bucky x reader
Summary: Ancient game of cat and mouse, a fight for survival between a predator and their prey, wasn’t a new phenomenon — it had been practised for centuries and it was an art that very, very few perfected. For years you had chased the craving to find someone that had mastered the art of the hunt, and for Halloween, you had gone all out and visited a haven unlike any other.
It was there that you found your match.
Cloaked in nothing but black and shrouded in a sense of lethality, you would have to run from this shadow in an adrenaline fuel haze unlike any other. A chase for the ages, the very one you desired.
And if he caught you, your world would end as you knew it.
{personal comment: This is so thrilling and was really exciting to read. The switches between him as Bucky and then his character had me reeling}
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Want one? @hootyhoobuckaroo
Demon!Bucky x reader
Summary: The reader summons a demon by accidentally drawing an occult symbol in sandwich condiments. The demon, a strange yet oddly charming being by the name of Buchanan, begins to frequent her little apartment. It’s only a matter of time until she can make her way past his guarded exterior.
{personal comment: The story had an interesting concept, and I really liked it, it’s endearing}
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Drifting @real-jane
Bucky x reader
Summary: Bucky saves the life of a woman when she's buried in an avalanche. Faced with the possibility that his cover might be blown, Bucky must keep the woman alive, and try to keep her from finding out who he is... or what he's done.
How long can he hide?
{personal comment: I don’t read a lot of fics written in the third person but this did me in and I had to try. Couldn't stop, the writing style is captivating and I was really invested}
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A dish served cold @artficlly
Outlaw!Bucky x reader
Summary: After the murder of your pa, you go on a journey to find justice. Fate brings you to Crimson Junction for a reason, and that reason is Bucky Barnes.
{personal comment: This series got me so invested. I'm loving the captor/captive energy and although I do feel bad for Bucky, I am so grateful the reader doesn’t instantly fall in love with him and forget about the reason she tracked him down for in the first place. I got so excited when they talked about what happened and I'm thrilled to find out that there is going to be a sequel}
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Salt the earth @mallowswriting
Childhoodbestfriend!Bucky x reader (best friends to enemies to allies to lovers/Road trip AU)
Summary: Brock Rumlow is a slick, charming, wise-cracking businessman that you are lucky to have a claim to. Brock Rumlow is your fiance. brock rumlow is going to suffocate you.
Brock Rumlow is going to be surprised when you disappear, nothing left behind but a note. But once you’ve gone through with steps 1-4 of your 5 step escape plan, you find out that the ‘friend’ nat told you to meet - the ‘friend’ who is going to drive you across the country to the utopia of safety that is new york - just had to be Bucky fucking Barnes.
“If you’re so annoyed with the music, you can drive.”
“You’d never let me drive this car.”
“Exactly. Now shut up.”
{personal comment: Read all this in one go, just couldn't help myself. The way that connection forms again all throughout the bickering and heartfelt conversations and the way the backstory of them both is introduced is so captivating. This was a nice read}
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Something more @tellmealovestory ♤
bestfriend!Bucky x reader
Summary: After a bad breakup you ask your best friend to take your virginity. It’s just friends with benefits. What could possibly go wrong? Modern AU
{personal comment: Bucky is such a sweetheart, so soft and considerate, I'm so smitten and I really enjoyed the way the sexy times are written}
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That Summer @tellmealovestory ♤
Biker!Bucky x reader
Summary: You’ve spent every summer since you were a child in the idyllic beach town that you call home three months out of the year. This summer should be no different except for the addition of Bucky Barnes. Sparks fly upon first meeting, but it’s only a summer fling, right? Modern AU.
{personal comment: This made me feel so warm, it’s beautiful. I love this relationship and how it’s portrayed}
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It’s a Deal @justreadingfics ♤
boytoy!Bucky x reader
Summary: You’re out of a relationship of 10 years and you’re just in desperate need to get laid, no strings attached, no romance, no complications. You dear friend Natasha feels like she’s going to regret this later, but she might have the perfect guy to fulfill your needs.
{personal comment: I love fuckboy!Bucky falling in love and this was just what I needed}
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Relationship tutor @samingtonwilson ♤
College!Bucky x College!Reader
Summary: Bucky, a relationship novice, asks for your help in dating your friend. Unable to say no to him, you agree despite everyone and everything telling you not to.
{personal comment: Another beautifully written series. I love the many friendships, especially the little interactions with Sam. And Bucky's a lovesick idiot, and I find myself craving that a lot, so that was perfect}
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No such thing @sanguineterrain
College!Bucky x College!Journalist!Reader
Summary: You’ve been assigned to write a column for your school paper on the team’s spectacular running back. You don’t care very much for your university’s football team; you just can’t understand the hype, okay? Turns out your distaste for football bigheads was exactly on point: James Barnes is insufferable.
{personal comment: Sassy reader here and I loved it. Their bickering is everything and I enjoyed how they grew a friendship to realizing there is more}
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Breaking the Rules @redgillan
Modern!Bucky x reader
Summary: You hate James Barnes with a burning passion and the feeling is entirely mutual. Just when you think things can’t get any worse, you are tricked into attending his sister’s wedding as his girlfriend. Stuck with a bunch of strangers, you come up with a set of rules that are not going to last long.
{personal comment: I enjoyed this so much. It’s incedibly relatable, real and it’s enemies to lovers, so that’s a huge bonus in the first place. Bucky's backstory touched me and I love how she needed some time to process everything and not just jump at the chance to be with him}
Get yourself a snack, enjoy these wonderful series and leave some love for the creative writers :)
♤ - includes sexual themes
Bucky fic recs Masterlist
Also, this gif has me in a chokehold
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Something domestic [50k] @fandoms-writings
ex-military amputee!Bucky x fem!Reader
Summary: Needing an escape from the loud and busy city life, Bucky comes to stay with you on your little farm. He didn’t expect you, a hardworking and beautiful woman with struggles of your own, to take his breath away and make life a little less dreary.
{personal comment: This is one of a kind and it got stuck in my head immediately. The way Bucky heals is beautifully written and I love how the animals of the farm got included}
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For the love of the game @pellucid-constellations ♤
College Athlete!Bucky x Reader
Summary: Bucky Barnes was a menace. NYU’s top baseball player, he was used to girls falling at his feet and could smooth talk his way out of just about anything. You hated him. He couldn’t figure out why. So when the novelty of weekend parties and quick hookups finally wore off—and his feelings for you began to grow—he made it his mission to fix it.
{personal comment: I love the changes Bucky goes through and the way all the characters are portrayed. This story never fails to give me butterflies every time I come back to it}
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Undisclosed @pellucid-constellations ♤
Lumberjack!Bucky x Reader
Summary: Desperate to outrun a secret that could cost you your life, you seek refuge in a small mountain town. Its deep forests and small cabins make it the perfect place to hide, but the travel website hadn’t mentioned anything about the quiet, burly lumberjack that wouldn’t leave your thoughts. No one had warned Bucky about you either.
{personal comment: The story is so creative and I got hooked on the few hints of the reader's backstory in the first parts and how it got revealed. Overall, it was a great mix of angst, fluff and Bucky in love}
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Scars @chickenfics
Bucky x reader Western AU
Summary: Running from a past that haunts you and a future that is unsure, the last thing you wanted was to take up with a stranger. Strangers, you'd learned, are almost always more trouble than they're worth. But when dangers from the life you're trying to leave behind get too close for comfort, drastic times call for drastic measures, and the stranger you'd once feared becomes the only person you can trust -- and perhaps the only person you'd call your friend. Now you both just have to make it out alive...
{personal comment: I'm a sucker for Western AU's and this piece of art satisfied me to no end. I love how naturally a connection bloomed between the two and the way they learned about each other. I would give so much for being able to read this for the first time again}
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A World of Our Own @shreddedparchment ♤
Bucky x Reader Castaway AU
Summary: You and a man named Bucky crash land on a deserted island. Can the two of you come together and make it until rescue comes? After you begin to fall for the mysterious Bucky Barnes, will you even want to be rescued?
{personal comment: I was astounded with the idea of this story and the creativity that came with it. It was lovely to read how Bucky and the reader grew closer over time and how they dealt with getting rescued and having to adjust to a 'normal' life on mainland again}
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Just One Kiss @sarahwroteathing
40s!Bucky x 40s!Reader
Summary: Bucky Barnes has been chasing after you since he was ten years old, but you’re determined not to give in. How long can you hold out when all he’s asking for is just one kiss?
{personal comment: This is such a lovely series. Bucky is a sweetheart and those letters were giving me all the feels. I loved all the characters and how they are written}
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Awake My Soul [78k] @foreverindreamlandd
Bucky x reader
Summary: It's been five years since zombies first started walking the Earth, destroying anything and everything in their wake. Now, in this apocalyptic world, fighting for survival comes as naturally as breathing. The one thing you've learned ever since they arrived, though, is that the living can be so much more dangerous than the undead. When you stumble across two young, scared boys lost in the woods and being chased by walkers, you go against your better judgment and help them to safety. Little did you know that helping them would lead you to Bucky - an angry, grumpy, distrusting member of the camp Shield. Bucky has zero interest in having you enter his life. He's been hurt before and lost too many people to risk experiencing that kind of pain again, and he knows that there are secrets you aren't telling the group. Yet, when push comes to shove, and you're put at risk, he'll stop at nothing to keep you safe.
{personal comment: The storyline of this series is so creative and I was hooked since the beginning. So much thought went into this and the background of the characters, and I'm beyond grateful I got to read this lovely piece of art}
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Burn The Witch @dreamwritesimagines ♤
Bucky x reader
Summary: The mission was simple; get closer to the Winter Soldier and start a relationship with him to get the necessary information for your superiors to use.
Everyone told you not to get your feelings involved.
You should have listened.
{personal comment: I loved reading about how Bucky interacts with the two different personalities the reader portrays without knowing it’s the same person and how she switches between those two. The other characters are great as well and I really enjoy your writing style here]
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The Bienville @indyluckycharlie ♤
Modern!Bucky x reader
Summary: Bucky is the young CEO of his family’s publishing house. A year into the role and working his ass off, he’s finally taking a much needed vacation (upon the advice of his well-meaning family and friends).
Solo and feeling a little lost, Bucky finds himself getting a little attached to the front desk receptionist, a local who grew up on the islands and dreams of bigger things.
{personal comment: I've read this a few times already and will definitely do it again. I loved how Bucky relaxed more and turned so charming, and how they built that connection so naturally. I felt everything I read and it was beautiful}
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Harmless @shurisneakers
Bucky x Villan!Reader
Summary: Bucky volunteers to go stop a small time villain, but nothing can prepare him for what exactly he has to deal with.
{personal comment: I had so much fun while reading this and it’s so damn creative. It was lovely to read how they grew closer over time and the many things they did for each other]
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Heart to a Gunfight [38.3k] @lailannajacobs
Modern!Bucky x reader
Summary: You didn’t want to help Bucky Barnes make it through the party by pretending to be his fake girlfriend, after all, you had just met him. You also didn’t plan on the charade lasting as long as it did.
{personal comment: This is so lovely and I found myself grinning so much while reading this. But I also enjoyed the little angst in there and how they ended up together}
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Leave This Town @avengerofyourheart ♤
Mechanic!Bucky x reader
Summary: Your dreams of kissing your small town life goodbye are about to come true when an unexpected detour leaves you stranded. Meeting the handsome local mechanic has you rethinking your plans. Perhaps happiness is less about where you’re headed and more about the people you meet along the way.
{personal comment: I'm a sucker for Mechanic!Bucky and I really love this creative piece of art}
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Vacant Mirrors @whirlybirbs
Bucky x reader
Summary: Shit’s been rough. Shit was rough even before the blip. Dr. Hart shares an office with dr. Raynor, and you share a waiting room with Bucky Barnes.
{personal comment: I enjoyed this so much and went through so many emotions while reading it, feeling everything so vividly. This includs all I need of Bucky Barnes and I'm in love}
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The Two of Us [39.7k] @bucky-bucket-barnes ♤
Bucky x Avenger!Reader
Summary: You and Bucky go to investigate the phenomenon happening in Westview, New Jersey. While attempting to understand the issue, you yourselves are sucked into Wanda's world of pretend. Now, you believe yourselves to be the happily married Mr. and Mrs. Barnes; in real life, you are most definitely not a happy pair. It is up to you and Bucky to piece together what's happening while dealing with one another inside the hex.
{personal comment: We all love a good enemies to lovers and this was really exciting to read. It got me hooked so fast and I loved it till the end}
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Everything Backwards [35.2k] @buckybabybaby
Bucky x reader
Summary: When you make-out with a ‘James’ on a night out, you don’t expect to see him again, so imagine your surprise the next day when it turns out he’ll be your new sort-of-flat-mate. As Nanny for Peggy & Steve’s three children, you’ve hit the jackpot, but now the guy across the corridor is threatening to ruin it.
{personal comment: I really loved how Bucky softened and the way they formed a connection. The interactions with the kids are lovely, I enjoyed this so much}
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Sky full of Song [65k] @wkemeup ♤
Pirate!Bucky x Pirate/Siren!Reader
Summary: Despite the bitter resentment of the crew, you found a home on Captain Barnes’ ship; on the ocean where you belonged, at the side of a captain you swore loyalty and heart to. But when course is plotted for a legendary island, the secret that has kept you alive for years is threatened to be revealed.
{personal comment: This series is amazing and the storyline has such a nice flow to it, that had me hooked so bad. Bucky's so respectful and protective and I read this so many times already, it might actually be sad. But I'm in love with this art}
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365 Days @abovethesmokestacks
Bucky x reader soulmate AU
Summary: "You all know how it is, the one constant in this hellish life: You have a soulmate. No idea who it is, no clues whatsoever, only 25 years to find them. In 364 days, my time’s up. It sounds like a lot, but so does 25 years, and look where that got me. So, for better or for worse, I’ll try. I’ve got twelve months to find whoever my soul is knit together with."
{personal comment: I didn’t think I'd be into solemate au's but this was really lovely. The small glimpses into the life of Bucky in between really piqued my interest}
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All Good Things @sagechanoafterdark
Ghost!Bucky x witch!Reader
Summary: After only three days of dealing with the annoying specter haunting you, you break the rules and accidently give a ghost a body. So what do you do when you find out the man you’re now sharing your your apartment with isn’t really a ghost and that haunted touch is a little warmer than you realized?
{personal comment: The concept of this story is so interesting and captivated me instantly. I had fun reading this and went through a lot of emotions throughout}
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Wild horses [22k] @whitewolfbumble
Biker!Bucky x reader
Summary: Kicked out of school and exiling yourself in a town time forgot, one little incident lands the sights of the locally infamous Avengers biker gang square on you. Wild horses run faster and there was no chance to turn back now.
{personal comment: I'm smitten with this story, it’s so nice and I found myself relate to the reader so lany aspects. It’s some lovely work}
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The Thrill of the Hunt [12k] @rookthorne ♤
Scare Actor!Bucky x reader
Summary: Ancient game of cat and mouse, a fight for survival between a predator and their prey, wasn’t a new phenomenon — it had been practised for centuries and it was an art that very, very few perfected. For years you had chased the craving to find someone that had mastered the art of the hunt, and for Halloween, you had gone all out and visited a haven unlike any other.
It was there that you found your match.
Cloaked in nothing but black and shrouded in a sense of lethality, you would have to run from this shadow in an adrenaline fuel haze unlike any other. A chase for the ages, the very one you desired.
And if he caught you, your world would end as you knew it.
{personal comment: This is so thrilling and was really exciting to read. The switches between him as Bucky and then his character had me reeling}
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Want one? @hootyhoobuckaroo
Demon!Bucky x reader
Summary: The reader summons a demon by accidentally drawing an occult symbol in sandwich condiments. The demon, a strange yet oddly charming being by the name of Buchanan, begins to frequent her little apartment. It’s only a matter of time until she can make her way past his guarded exterior.
{personal comment: The story had an interesting concept, and I really liked it, it’s endearing}
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Drifting @real-jane
Bucky x reader
Summary: Bucky saves the life of a woman when she's buried in an avalanche. Faced with the possibility that his cover might be blown, Bucky must keep the woman alive, and try to keep her from finding out who he is... or what he's done.
How long can he hide?
{personal comment: I don’t read a lot of fics written in the third person but this did me in and I had to try. Couldn't stop, the writing style is captivating and I was really invested}
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A dish served cold @artficlly
Outlaw!Bucky x reader
Summary: After the murder of your pa, you go on a journey to find justice. Fate brings you to Crimson Junction for a reason, and that reason is Bucky Barnes.
{personal comment: This series got me so invested. I'm loving the captor/captive energy and although I do feel bad for Bucky, I am so grateful the reader doesn’t instantly fall in love with him and forget about the reason she tracked him down for in the first place. I got so excited when they talked about what happened and I'm thrilled to find out that there is going to be a sequel}
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Salt the earth @mallowswriting
Childhoodbestfriend!Bucky x reader (best friends to enemies to allies to lovers/Road trip AU)
Summary: Brock Rumlow is a slick, charming, wise-cracking businessman that you are lucky to have a claim to. Brock Rumlow is your fiance. brock rumlow is going to suffocate you.
Brock Rumlow is going to be surprised when you disappear, nothing left behind but a note. But once you’ve gone through with steps 1-4 of your 5 step escape plan, you find out that the ‘friend’ nat told you to meet - the ‘friend’ who is going to drive you across the country to the utopia of safety that is new york - just had to be Bucky fucking Barnes.
“If you’re so annoyed with the music, you can drive.”
“You’d never let me drive this car.”
“Exactly. Now shut up.”
{personal comment: Read all this in one go, just couldn't help myself. The way that connection forms again all throughout the bickering and heartfelt conversations and the way the backstory of them both is introduced is so captivating. This was a nice read}
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Something more @tellmealovestory ♤
bestfriend!Bucky x reader
Summary: After a bad breakup you ask your best friend to take your virginity. It’s just friends with benefits. What could possibly go wrong? Modern AU
{personal comment: Bucky is such a sweetheart, so soft and considerate, I'm so smitten and I really enjoyed the way the sexy times are written}
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That Summer @tellmealovestory ♤
Biker!Bucky x reader
Summary: You’ve spent every summer since you were a child in the idyllic beach town that you call home three months out of the year. This summer should be no different except for the addition of Bucky Barnes. Sparks fly upon first meeting, but it’s only a summer fling, right? Modern AU.
{personal comment: This made me feel so warm, it’s beautiful. I love this relationship and how it’s portrayed}
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It’s a Deal @justreadingfics ♤
boytoy!Bucky x reader
Summary: You’re out of a relationship of 10 years and you’re just in desperate need to get laid, no strings attached, no romance, no complications. You dear friend Natasha feels like she’s going to regret this later, but she might have the perfect guy to fulfill your needs.
{personal comment: I love fuckboy!Bucky falling in love and this was just what I needed}
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Relationship tutor @samingtonwilson ♤
College!Bucky x College!Reader
Summary: Bucky, a relationship novice, asks for your help in dating your friend. Unable to say no to him, you agree despite everyone and everything telling you not to.
{personal comment: Another beautifully written series. I love the many friendships, especially the little interactions with Sam. And Bucky's a lovesick idiot, and I find myself craving that a lot, so that was perfect}
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No such thing @sanguineterrain
College!Bucky x College!Journalist!Reader
Summary: You’ve been assigned to write a column for your school paper on the team’s spectacular running back. You don’t care very much for your university’s football team; you just can’t understand the hype, okay? Turns out your distaste for football bigheads was exactly on point: James Barnes is insufferable.
{personal comment: Sassy reader here and I loved it. Their bickering is everything and I enjoyed how they grew a friendship to realizing there is more}
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Breaking the Rules @redgillan
Modern!Bucky x reader
Summary: You hate James Barnes with a burning passion and the feeling is entirely mutual. Just when you think things can’t get any worse, you are tricked into attending his sister’s wedding as his girlfriend. Stuck with a bunch of strangers, you come up with a set of rules that are not going to last long.
{personal comment: I enjoyed this so much. It’s incedibly relatable, real and it’s enemies to lovers, so that’s a huge bonus in the first place. Bucky's backstory touched me and I love how she needed some time to process everything and not just jump at the chance to be with him}
Summary: You can’t take another night of hearing Bucky fuck a girl who isn’t you.
Word Count: 13.6k
Warnings: Bucky is a fuckboy (but he’s still a sweetheart); lots of talk about unrequited love (but is it?); mentions of sex; crying; lots of desperation; longing; heavy confessions; feels; happy ending
Author’s Note: This is written for the lovely cinema themed writing challenge of @elixirfromthestars ♡ I had this kind of idea for a while but when I read those lyrics it somehow immediately came back to my mind and I needed to make something out of it. This is kind of inspired by your Boulevard Confessions because I loved it so much! And damn, I've already written so much about roommate!Bucky but I can’t help myself lol, I love him. Also, this got a little long, I'm sorry. Still, I hope you enjoy! ♡
Hold My Hand "Pull me close, wrap me in your aching arms. I see that you're hurtin', why'd you take so long to tell me you need me? I see that you're bleeding, you don't need to show me again. But if you decide to, I'll ride in this life with you. I won't let go 'til the end." — Lady Gaga
Masterlist
You hear the giggling before anything else.
It’s always the giggling.
And, as always, it grates on your nerves.
It carves through the air, seeps into the walls, into the floorboards, into you. It tears its way inside and scrapes its manicured nails along the rawest and most sensitive parts of you, only to bury itself deep, where you can’t simply dig it out.
Then comes the keys.
The light, metallic jingle, so careless in its melody, but so troubling in its meaning.
Then the lock turning, the click soft and yet so irrefutable.
Then the door opening.
More giggles.
His breathy chuckles.
Then the door closing.
Shoes being kicked off, one hitting the wall.
You press the pillow harder against your ears, as if you could suffocate the sound before it reaches you, as if you could bury yourself deep enough under the covers to escape what you already know is coming. But you can’t. You never can.
Your brain usually does you the favors of drowning out the parts in the hallway, knowing it will probably make your heart stop in an instant. Today, it doesn’t do you any favors and you close your eyes, accepting the sting behind them.
And then, his bedroom door.
And if all that wasn’t torture enough, it was only the easy part.
Because now is when it really starts. It’s when your throat closes up, the breath in your lungs turns heavy, thick, impossible. Because no matter how many times this has happened, no matter how many times you laid here in your bed, still, so still, waiting for the agony to stop, pretending it doesn’t happen - it never stops hurting. It never stops breaking your heart - or whatever’s left of it.
At first, there is silence. The small period where you almost dare to believe, to hope.
But then comes the moaning.
High-pitched and breathy, hinting at a pleasure that strikes you with a hammer.
Someone else. Always someone else. Someone who is not you, someone who never had to try, someone who will never know what it means to ache for him like you do.
Then, quieter, but just as devastating, Bucky’s voice. The low sound of him unraveling. The sound of something slipping from him that you will never be able to take.
And that’s what breaks you most. That’s what turns the ache into utter misery. Madness even. It’s the inescapable proof that he has something to give - something deep, something intimate - and he is giving it away. Over and over again, but never to you.
You close your eyes, as always. It doesn’t help, as always. The sounds don’t stop anyway. The images come anyway - the touches you have imagined, the way his hands would feel against your skin, the way his mouth would shape your name if you were the one beneath him. The way he might look at you, if only he could see.
But right now, you are just the ghost in the next room, curled in on yourself, ears filled with the sound of someone else living the life you always wanted.
And in the morning, or right after, when the door will open again, when the giggling will turn to goodbyes, you will still be here, where you always are. Where you always will be. Waiting. Wanting. Breaking. Wishing you could turn it off, this feeling. This unendurable and never-ending heartbreak.
And that finally makes the tears flow.
They well up before they spill over, down the slope of your cheek, gathering in the hollow beneath your nose before falling onto the pillow and wetting it like a pool.
You squeeze your eyes shut, so tightly it should hurt, so tightly it should make them stop. But they come anyway. They come despite the barricade of your willpower, despite the way your body coils tighter in on itself. They come despite the desperate war you wage against them.
They come because you have lost. Because it’s too much.
The moaning doesn’t stop, and it’s too much. It’s the middle of the night, and it’s too much. It’s the third night in a row, and it’s too much.
Bucky’s hushed voice shatters something inside of you, you didn’t know was left intact a few seconds ago.
Your breath turns sticky, only half of it making its way up your throat. The other half stays attached to the walls of your throat like honey gone rancid. It refuses to leave completely, snagging and trapping you in the awful space between breathing and choking.
Maybe if it stopped altogether, it would be easier. Maybe suffocating would be gentler than this slow and unsparing death of heartbreak.
Your hands are shaking. You bury your face into the pillow, willing it to just take you as a whole and never let you leave again. The fabric muffles the shuddering sobs, but it cannot do anything for the way your body trembles. But you know that the sounds of pleasure in the other room will tune out the sounds of your cries. The pillow is being clutched so tightly, you might tear the fabric. But it’s your heart that’s being torn into so many pieces. So what is a pillow compared to the ruin of your heart? It’s nothing.
You are alone in your grief.
The moans stop for a second - abrupt, cut off mid-breath.
Bucky’s voice comes. He says something but you don’t catch his words.
However, you do catch the displeased groan of his girl for the night. Drawn-out and petulant. Annoyed.
Bucky speaks again. Firmer, this time. Again, it’s too quiet to catch it.
And then you hear your name. It’s muffled still, but you would hear your name coming from his lips always and forever. You know the exact cadence of it shaping his mouth.
Everything in you halts. Your breaths are suspended somewhere in your throat, caught between shock and devastation.
The girl scoffs. It’s a snappy sound. Almost whiny. You would have rolled your eyes if you weren’t so troubled.
The moaning resumes. But it is quieter this time. Controlled almost. A courtesy. A mercy. But not for you. Not in the way you wish.
And it makes you know.
He asked her to keep it down. For you. He must have told her he has a roommate - you - and that they need to be mindful, that you might be trying to sleep.
Somehow, in all the infinite ways he could have cared for you, this is the one he chose. Not to love you, not to want you, but to make sure his flings don’t disrupt your sleep. As if that’s the worst of it. As if the noise is what truly keeps you up at night, and not the agonizing truth of it all.
Harshly, your teeth sink into your lip, fighting to stifle the sob that trembles on the edge of you. But again, you are losing.
Because hearing your name in the middle of something so intimate, spoken in the same breath of his pleasure, is pure anguish.
Because your name should not exist there. Not like this. Not casually sneaking into a mind occupied with pleasuring someone else.
If he were to say your name in a moment like this, it should be a soft whisper against your skin, entangled in sheets, buried in kisses that steal the air from your lungs. It should be something private, something sacred.
Not an idle afterthought. A consideration. A passing thought before he loses himself in someone else’s body. You have never heard him say any girl’s name before when sleeping with them, but hell you also don’t try to listen too closely.
You won’t talk about this. You never talk about this. When the morning comes and you meet Bucky in the kitchen for breakfast, you will not mention it. Just like you never mention the other nights. Just like you never dwell on the soft apologies he offers when they got too loud. And just like always, you will brush it off, force a brittle smile, and tell him that it’s fine.
It’s not. It never has been. And you don’t think you ever manage to make it sound like you mean it. But you are gone before Bucky can push or apologize again. Or see how deep the knife has gone.
Because he might be careful to be quiet. But he will never be careful enough to stop breaking your heart.
So what is the point?
You don’t want to do another morning like this.
You can’t do another morning like this.
Not three times in a row.
Not when the night has already taken your soul and what was precious of it, barely sewn together by the time the sun fights its way through the window.
Not when you know how it will play out. Like it has the day before. And the day before that.
The door to his room will creak open, the girl already gone. You will hear the shuffle of his bare feet against the floor, the sigh as he stretches, and the yawn that usually makes it past his lips. He never tries to stifle it.
And then, him standing there and watching you.
Disheveled. Bed hair sticking up in a mess. You never let your mind wander to how her fingers might have something to do with that. His shirt would loosely hang over his frame, probably thrown on in a hurry, collar askew, revealing a sliver of skin you shouldn’t be looking at.
That lazy and slightly flustered smile. Sleep still in the corners of his eyes, his lips, his voice, when he greets you with a scratchy morning.
Like nothing happened. Like he didn’t shatter you into a thousand unfixable pieces last night. And the night before that. And now this night.
You will do your best to greet him back without sounding pained. Focusing on making coffee. The way the steam normally curls into the air, the warmth of the mug in your hands. You will have to focus on it as if it’s the only thing keeping you upright.
And despite knowing you shouldn’t - despite hating yourself for it - you will slide a cup toward him. As you always do.
His smile would shift. Settling into something fond, something warm, something that digs its claws into your ribs and refuses to let go.
Because that’s usually the worst part. He’s always so sweet with you. Thoughtful, affectionate in ways that don’t count. In the ways that make you feel like maybe if you just hold on a little longer, if you wait just a little more, he might start feeling what you do.
But you are certain, he won’t.
Because for him, everything seems fine. For him, this will be just another morning. Another easy, comfortable start to the day. With his eyes on you and sipping his coffee, exhaling like he is finally at peace, and leaning against the counter with a lightness that always has your stomach all up in shambles.
He always makes it seem so normal. Starting conversation with you, talking to you as if nothing has changed. Like you didn’t spend the night curled in on yourself, swallowing down sobs so thick they feel like razor blades. Like you didn’t spend the night choking on the sound of him with her.
He never mentions them. Never says any of the girl’s names, not that you even know what they are. He never makes plans to see them again. Just another faceless but very loud girl. One to be forgotten.
But tomorrow night, there will be another.
Tomorrow night will be the same.
And in the morning nothing will have happened.
Only him standing there with his sleep-mussed hair and that sweet, easy smile, drinking the coffee you should have stopped making for him a long, long time ago.
You rise out of bed, not even aware of it. The cold air nips at your tear-streaked cheeks, your sheets thrown back in a mass of tangled fabric still warm from the ball your body was curled in, breaking in silence. The pillow is still wet.
Your hands move on their own, tugging on slacks, yanking a hoodie over your head as though the fabric could hide you, save you from the devastation caving a hole into your chest.
You fumble for your phone before throwing open your bedroom door.
The moans are louder again. Yanking at your resolve and laughing at the way your tears keep coming.
Your feet move faster. You don’t actually run, but it feels like running. Like fleeing. Escaping a burning building before it collapses. The living room comes into view and it’s like a cruel trick, like the universe is taunting you, because all you see are phantoms.
The coffee machine on the counter. How many times have you two stood there, still tousled with sleep, you making coffee for the both of you because Bucky burns everything. How many times did he lean on the counter, watching you with that stupid little half-smirk, pretending to judge your process but always humming in satisfaction when he took the first sip.
The bookshelf in the corner - the one you swore you could build on your own. And you tried, you really did, but the second the screwdriver slipped and you gasped out loud, Bucky was there immediately. Hands on yours, worry furrowing his brows, grumbling about your stubbornness and continuing to grumble when he passive-aggressively built it himself.
You sat cross-legged on the floor, watching him, pretending to be annoyed but secretly savoring the way he kept glancing at you, again and again, to make sure you were okay and giving you instructions as to how it’s done but throwing you a glare when you insisted on trying again.
The carpet. The same one you both collapsed onto after a night out with your friends, too tipsy to move, giggling like teenagers as you pointed at the ceiling, pretending to find constellations in the uneven paint. He named one after you. You named one after him. You fell asleep there, side by side, and when you woke up he was so close. So close.
The couch. The one he practically melted into last week when he had a fever, whining dramatically until you caved and brought him soup. He kept pulling you back when you tried to leave, pouting like a child, demanding your attention because I’m sick, doll. Can’t ignore me when I’m sick. Until you sighed and sat down, letting his head rest in your lap. He fell asleep like that. Snoring. And you didn’t have the heart to move.
And now he is in his room, tangled in her, moaning into her skin, kissing her - like it doesn’t mean anything. Like none of it ever meant anything.
Your breath is uneven, your hands shaking as you grab your shoes. The laces blur, your vision fogs, but you can’t stop.
You throw open the door to your shared apartment, barely thinking, barely breathing, only moving. It swings back into the frame with a sharp sound echoing through the hallway, louder than you had intended. But it doesn’t matter now. Because you are sure that Bucky doesn’t hear it. He doesn’t notice. He is otherwise occupied and you are utterly drained of thinking about with what.
The air outside the apartment feels different. Lighter and cooler, but it doesn’t bring relief. It’s thin and hard to pull into your lungs properly.
Natasha’s place isn’t far. Fifteen minutes on foot. You tell yourself that over and over, like a mantra, like something to grasp on.
No more moans. Lost to silence, left in a place that feels little like home right now. Still, they resonate in your skull, haunting reminders of that pain you can’t dismiss, that hurt that hangs off you like a heavy burden.
You slow your steps on the staircase and inhale deeply. It trembles on its way out.
You hate how fragile you feel. How breakable. Hate how much this affects you. How much he affects you.
But you keep walking.
Just yesterday, you talked to Natasha and she offered you to stay with her for the night, looking at you all sharp and knowing, but in her own way sympathetic. You declined. Because you thought you’d be fine. Well, you were wrong.
It’s past midnight now, completely dark, but you don’t care.
You know, Natasha will let you in. And that will have to be enough for tonight.
The city is alive even at this hour. Neon lights glow in the distance, their reflection shimmering in rain-slicked puddles that dot the cracked pavement. Somewhere across the street, there is a group of people laughing, and disappearing around a corner. A car flies past, with headlights unlocking long shadows lengthening down the sidewalk.
You focus on those things. On the shoes thumping against the pavement. The way the crisp air is somehow refreshing as it weaves through the fabric of your hoodie and stings slightly at the tear-streaked skin of your cheeks, keeping you awake and propelling you forward. Not that you need any more motivation to leave.
You wind your arms around yourself like a shield, like a last-ditch effort to keep yourself from falling apart completely.
You don’t look back.
Somewhere above you, there is a creak of a window opening.
It makes you freeze for a small second, before tightening your arms around yourself and picking up your pace.
Your stomach spins violently because fuck, you know that sound. You know the groan of that window when it moves, just a little off its hinges, just enough to make a noise you’ve heard a hundred times before. Because it’s the window of your apartment. And it makes a noise that has never felt so much like a punch to the gut.
“Y/n?”
You close your eyes.
“Y/n!”
Your name spills from his lips, laced with confusion, infused with something that makes your fingers clench around your arms.
You could ignore him. You should ignore him. Just keep walking, keep moving, pretend you didn’t hear.
But you can’t. You never can.
With a slow, dragging breath, you turn around.
Bucky is leaning over the frame, his torso reaching out the window, bare from the shoulders down. He is bathed in the hazy yellow glow of the streetlights.
His hair is messed up, brown tendrils all sticking in different directions. His brows are knitted in confusion. His lips in a frown so full of worry. And it’s just too much.
Too warm. Too intimate. Too familiar.
Your chest stutters, lurches, and swirls itself into a dozen moving shapes that hurt more than they should. Because he stands there shirtless. Shirtless. And you know why.
You swallow back your hurt, but it stays stuck in your throat and crawls right up again to make you taste it on your tongue.
You force your gaze away from staring at the curve of his collarbone, the slope of his throat, the soft lines of his skin, the hard lines of his muscles that she had her hands on just minutes ago.
“Where are you going?”
The tone highlights his concern, thick with the kind of worry that would have meant everything if it weren’t coming from him like this, not now. His voice is rough, remnants of the time already spent with that girl, but all you can hear is that damn worry in it.
As if you owe him an answer. As if he isn’t the reason your chest feels like it’s been hollowed out and left to rot.
You draw in half a breath and look away - down the street, down at your shoes, the bricks of your building. Anywhere that isn’t him.
“To Nat’s.”
It’s clipped and short. You don’t want to explain, don’t want to talk, don’t want to stand here in the night air beneath the window of the apartment you share with him like some pathetic wreck while he worries about you.
“Nat’s?” You can hear the bewilderment in his voice, the way he is trying to piece it together, the way his brain is already working overtime, scrambling to make sense of this - and you can practically feel the moment he decides he won’t let it go.
“Somethin’ happen?” His voice just won’t stop to be so perplexed, so concerned. It is softer now, but you only glance up at him briefly before averting your eyes again.
Because damn Bucky, yes, something happened. Everything happened. Every night that he brings someone home, every touch that belongs to someone else, every soft moan that isn’t meant for you.
All these moments, all these memories, every feeling left unsaid that swivels and stings and grows into what it is now - a storm inside your rib cage, a hurricane of almosts and never wills and why does it have to be like this?
But of course, you can’t say that. You won’t say that.
So you just shake your head, tighten your arms around yourself, and take a step back.
“Go back to bed, Bucky.”
Because you can’t do this right now. You won’t do this right now.
Not when you are already about to break.
“I- What?”
His voice is a little raspy, puzzled, and under any other circumstance, it might have been endearing. On a normal day, if this were some cozy Sunday morning and not the breaking stretch of midnight, you might have smiled at the sight of him like this - hair in a wild mess, eyes a little heavy from the day, bare shoulders shifting in the glow of the streets.
But this is not a Sunday morning. And nothing about this feels good or cozy or right.
You are so damn exhausted. So damn drained.
“You-” he starts again, brow furrowing deeper, but before he can get another word out, hands appear - slim fingers wrapping around the thick of his bicep, tugging, pulling, trying to drag him back inside.
Bile is pooling at the base of your throat.
She’s alone with him up there, in the space that you have spent so much time making into something warm, something filled with comfort. A space where you feel home. With him. And yet, it’s that random girl in there, laying in his bed, under his covers, in his scent, in him.
“Bucky, come on.” Her voice is thin and peevish, thick with impatience. And exhaustion you believe she has no right to feel when you are the one who has spent the time suffocating under her presence.
But Bucky doesn’t move.
His hand only grips onto the windowsill tighter, muscles in his arm locking.
And his eyes stay fixed on you.
Still searching. Still confused. Still trying to understand.
And it makes your hands clammy.
The way he looks at you like he is reaching for something just beyond his grasp, something that eludes him no matter how hard he tries to hold onto it.
He huffs out a breath that just borders on frustration when her fingers won’t stop pulling at him.
“Hold on, doll-” he calls out to you and unwinds her hands from his arm, barely sparing her a glance as he leans out the window again. There is a little something in his tone when he speaks to you again. Something like exasperation. But it’s not meant for you. “What’re you doin’ at Nat’s? Tell her it’s the middle of the goddamn night. Why would she let you walk over to her? She knows it’s not safe.”
You shake your head, already half turning away again. You just cannot do this right now.
“It’s fine. Just go back to bed, Bucky.”
“Y/n - hey. What’s wrong? What’s this about?” There it is. That softness in his voice. That concern. And it hurts. Because he doesn’t get it.
“Go. Back. To bed,” you repeat, sharper now, gritting it out between clenched teeth.
But Bucky has always been stubborn. And so infuriating. It’s like he doesn’t hear you at all.
“C’mon doll, did something happen? Talk to me,” he urges, voice gentle but he doesn’t seem to like the way you look as if you would bolt around the corner any second. His tone is coaxing in a way that makes you ache because this is what he does. This is what he has always done - pulling you in, making you feel safe, making you feel cared for, making you feel like you matter. Like he means it.
And it’s cruel. So cruel.
Because you are in love with him.
And he is standing in that window, bare-chested and rumpled from a night with another woman, while you are in slacks and a simple hoodie beneath him with your heart cracked wide open, bleeding into the pavement.
“I don’t wanna do this right now, Bucky,” you snip, voice losing patience. But you are so tired.
Bucky sighs and runs a hand through his hair, frustration growing, seeping into his voice. “You’re killin’ me here, sweetheart. Just tell me what’s goin’ on. It’s cold out, doll. You’re not even wearin’ a jacket.”
You swallow down a choked breath.
Because this is making things so much worse.
That he cares. That he is looking at you like this, like you matter, like you are his.
Like you are something he wants to figure out. And he wants to take his time with. Like he wants to fix you.
But you are not broken. You are just in love.
“Bucky,” that girl calls out again, dragging his name out, voice honey-thick and pettish. “Come on babe, let it go. Just-” She tugs at his arm again, nails skimming along his forearm. “Come back to bed.”
But he doesn’t move.
Doesn’t even glance at her.
His mouth twitches, jaw ticking as he exhales sharply through his nose, shaking her off with a firm roll of his shoulder. “Would you quit it for a sec?” His voice is edged now, tinged with a kind of terse impatience he seldom ever lets out. “Jesus, m’tryin to talk here.”
The girl huffs, clearly displeased, but Bucky doesn’t spare her another second.
But the one second he threw his head around at her was your chance. Your feet move before you can think, before you can talk yourself into staying, because if you do, if you let him pull you in, let yourself hope-
“Woah, doll, hey. Wait, I-”
His voice is frantic, stammering over its own syllables and filled with too many things your mind is too jumbled to focus on.
But it makes you stop your body in the midst of a step. And you grind down on your teeth against the frustration burning inside you.
You should keep walking. Shouldn’t have stopped.
But Bucky is leaning even further out now, his knuckles bracing against the sill, the night air tousling his hair, eyes wide and concerned, searching. One of his arms is reaching out, down to you as if he could touch you like this.
“Hold up, yeah? I’m comin’ down.”
You whip halfway back to him, brows snapping together, heart slamming against your ribs.
“No, you-”
He’s already pulling himself back inside, shaking his head as if it should be obvious. “I’m coming down,” he repeats, more insistent, more sure. Leaving no room for argument.
Your fists squeeze the fabric of your hoodie. Your stomach churns. “Bucky-” you try again. But he has already made up his mind.
“Wait there, alright?” His voice dips lower, steadier but still urgent. Resolute, as if he would run after you if you bolted down the street. “Doll. Promise me you’ll wait.”
Something in his tone, the look he is giving you, like he’s begging, almost a sweet-talking declaration. It’s catching your breath somewhere in your throat.
You could run.
You should.
You should turn right back around, disappear into the night, and leave him standing there, shirtless and confused and worried.
But you hold his gaze for just one long and heavy beat, then exhale shakily, shoulders dropping slightly.
“Okay,” you say weakly.
Bucky nods determined and taps his fingers against the windowsill, before rushing away, leaving the window wide open.
And you stand there hating yourself for waiting.
Hating yourself for hoping.
Technically, you could just leave.
Take a different route to Nat’s apartment, slip into the dark veins of the city where his voice wouldn’t reach, and let him walk out onto an empty sidewalk with his hair still tousled from another woman’s fingers and the taste of someone else’s lips still lingering on his own.
You could make him feel just a fraction of what you feel, with something hollow pressing up against his ribs when he finds nothing but cold pavement where you used to stand.
But you don’t.
You know you won’t.
Because it wouldn’t just frustrate him. It would hurt him.
And that’s the one thing you could never bring yourself to do.
Not Bucky.
Never Bucky.
You know him. The way he chews at the inside of his cheek when he’s trying not to say something reckless. The way his brows pull just a little too tight when he’s agitated but trying to play it off like he is fine. The way he folds his arms over his chest, not because he’s closed off, but because he needs something to hold onto.
You know exactly how he would react if he stepped out here and you weren’t there.
How the slight crease between his brows would deepen. How his fingers would twitch, opening and closing, like he’d missed his chance to catch you. How his lips would open and he would stare helplessly around and call your name.
And god, as much as this pain is devouring you from the inside out, pushing its way into the light but leaving you sitting in the dark, as much as your heart feels like being torn apart with unsaid words and unmet confessions - you cannot stand the thought of hurting him.
So you stay.
With feet planted on the concrete, fists clenched so hard, that your fingers start to cramp. You lift your trembling hands to your aching cheeks to hastily scrub away the fresh wave of tears surging forth downwards, willing your body to erase any evidence of your devastation.
But the more you wipe, the more it hurts.
You believe your cheeks are red from the effort of wiping so much, eyes swollen and puffy, your body trying to rebel against all of your commands.
Inhaling shakily, you force the breath down, down, down where you can pretend it doesn’t hurt so much. You angle your face slightly away from the building, hoping the dim spill of moonlight won’t betray your inner struggles.
Because the moment Bucky steps out that door, it will be the same as always.
He’ll look at you like you are his best friend. Like you are his safe place. Like you are the person he can always count on.
And you will look at him like you aren’t falling apart.
Like your heart isn’t unraveling at the seams.
Like you aren’t drowning in a love that will never be returned.
The door swings open with a force that startles you, the sound of it hitting the frame a little too sharp against the night.
Bucky storms out onto the sidewalk like he’s got something urgent to say, like the world might stop spinning if he doesn’t get to you fast enough. He doesn’t hesitate. Doesn’t pause. Just moves straight to you, his steps quick, closing the space before you can change your mind about standing here. He has a crumpled shirt thrown on and it hangs a little off. But it makes you want to run so hard.
His fingers wrap around your arms, not hard, not forceful but firm.
Those warm hands on you make you want to crumble.
His breath is coming fast, chest rising and falling, like he ran down the staircase to get here as fast as possible.
His eyes are so deep, deep and blue, roaming your face with so much intensity, searching and scanning and pausing.
Shadows cast over his sharp cheekbones at the way his brows are furrowed, his lips slightly parted.
“What’s going on, doll? You been cryin’?” His voice comes out rough and he talks fast. Urgent, breaths spilling over themselves as he rushed through the words, almost tripping on them in his desperation to get them out. “Why’ve you been crying? What happened?”
His thumb twitches against the fabric of your hoodie.
You open your mouth, close it again. Your throat is dry from the sobs you tried to silence earlier. You shake your head, a knee-jerk reaction.
“I was just going to Nat’s, Bucky. Nothing happened.”
It’s a weak excuse, said in a weak voice.
And you hate how it makes Bucky’s expression shift. That tiny wounded something that crosses his features, something that shouldn’t be there, because you did wait for him, you didn’t leave, but it’s still not enough. You lied to him. And he knows it. And he’s hurt. And you hate yourself.
He shakes his head, his jaw going tight.
“No,” he murmurs, eyes never leaving you, voice so low. “That ain’t nothin’, doll. C’mon. You’re runnin’ off in the middle of the night, how could this be nothing?”
You look away. Because if you keep looking at him, him with his concern and confusion and hurt all interflowing in the pool of those blue eyes, you won’t be able to hold yourself together much longer.
You swallow hard and force yourself to breathe slowly.
The sting behind your eyes is never really leaving you.
Bucky leans in, just a little. His grip on your arms tightens, but it’s not harsh. Only insistent. Desperate for you to give him something here.
“Somethin’ up with Natasha?” His voice is gentle, like he knows this has nothing to do with her, but he has to ask anyway to go through all the possible options of what might be going on.
“No,” you croak, barely managing the word.
He softens at the sound of it, but that frown doesn’t ease.
“What’re you doing then, huh? Why’re you running off like that? S’ not safe, you know that.” His voice is soft. Almost like he’s trying to soothe a skittish animal. But the concern is wrapping around every word. “What’s got you so upset, sweetheart? Talk to me, yeah? Please?”
His voice takes on a desperate intensity. Like he’s begging you to just let him in. To make him understand.
You bite down hard on your bottom lip, willing it not to tremble, willing your face not to crumble right in front of him, but the air is too thick for your airway, making it harder and harder to breathe.
And Bucky is looking at you, like you are breaking his goddamn heart. Like you took a shot straight for it.
He is so full of worry, it looks painful, the crease of his brow always there when he’s thinking too hard, when he’s feeling too hard. His lips are still parted, like he wants to beg for an explanation, for some string of words that will make this all click into place and turn this into something fixable.
Because Bucky Barnes fixes things.
But this might be the only thing he can’t fix.
His hands on you are a contrast to the way you feel as if you’re falling apart. You hate how much you just want to collapse into it, to let yourself lean into him, let him hold you up. Because he would. You know he would. He would pull you in without hesitation, wrap his arms around you like he has done so many times before.
But you don’t want him to hold you. Don’t want him to hold you like a friend.
You want him to hold you like he means it. Like you mean something more than the sum of all the nights you spent choking on your own silence, swallowing words you could never say.
So all you can do is stay frozen, bones locked, eyes burning, heart splitting itself open in the middle of the street where he doesn’t even know he’s killing you.
“I-”
You try. You really try.
But then the door swings open again. And the sound of it alone is enough to send a bolt of ice down your spine.
Because this time it’s her walking out.
She steps out onto the sidewalk like she has every right to be a part of this moment.
Like she hasn’t spent the first part of the night in Bucky’s bed. Like she hasn’t been touched by him, kissed by him, fucked by him, wanted by him in a way that you have only ever ached for.
Like she hasn’t taken something that was never hers to have.
But it’s not yours either.
She looks so composed, too. More put together than you would have imagined. Her hair smoothed, clothes adjusted, skin glowing in a way that tells you she wasn’t just sleeping up there - she was living in something you’ve been dying for. She probably took a moment in your bathroom to check herself, to fix her lipstick, maybe even to admire herself in the mirror while you were downstairs, breaking apart.
She had the time for that.
Meanwhile, you can barely stand.
Your body is alive with magnitudes of unspoken things, suffocating. You feel like you’ve been sanded down, like a piece of wood, leaving nothing but the ache and longing and all the words you can’t say. This destruction is slow and ruthless, it doesn’t come with an explosion, but rather a slow erasure.
Like you’re being unmade. Piece by piece.
Like you were never meant to be here in the first place.
And Bucky is still looking at you.
Not at her.
You.
And maybe that should be enough. Maybe it should mean something.
But it just puts more pressure on the knife that is already turning around in your flesh.
The girl doesn’t leave and Bucky stiffens.
“Bucky,” she drawls, almost lazy, like she’s bored with this already. “Are you coming back up, or…?”
Your stomach lurches.
You feel exposed, scraped raw, like you’ve been trampled over, flattened by something massive, left behind for everyone else to step around.
Bucky lets out a slow breath through his nose. His jaw works under pressure. And then, he huffs. Annoyed. Like she’s interrupting something important.
“Go home,” he flatly tells her, his attention still on you. Not even addressing her with a name. Perhaps he doesn’t even know it.
“Seriously?” she scoffs, crossing her arms. Her eyes flick between the two of you.
Bucky exhales another breath and drops one of his arms from you to scrub it over his face, pushing through his hair. He turns toward her just a little, stance rigid.
“Yeah, seriously,” he mutters, already turning back to you. “I’ll call you a cab if you need-”
“God, you’re such a dick,” she snaps, cutting him off, rolling her eyes with an exasperated huff. “Unbelievable.”
And then she’s gone.
But so are you.
You don’t even think about it. You just move.
Your arm slips from Bucky’s loosened grip, your body already shifting, already turning, already pulling you down the sidewalk, away from him, away from this.
It’s pathetic. You know this. But you have to get away.
Your vision is a blur, the streetlights smearing into a soft, hazy glow against the wetness welling in your eyes, and no matter how much you try to breathe through it, it’s too much. Simply too much.
You’re hurting. And you need to go. Now.
But Bucky doesn’t let you.
“Woah, whoah, hey!” His voice is quick, rushed, and then he is moving, closing the space between you. And this time, he cuts you off completely, stepping right into your path, right in front of you, blocking the way like a wall. He’s so broad in front of you, and so fucking present, making it impossible to escape.
You stop so fast it almost sends you stumbling back.
His eyes flick over you so quickly, so intensely, scanning for something he doesn’t understand but is so desperate to find.
“Alright,” he exhales, low and careful, holding his arms out as if ready to stop you again if you make a run for it.
“You want me to put you in chains to keep you still?”It’s a weak and failed attempt at humor.
And it’s not funny. Not even close.
His voice is too thin, too strained, and there is something in his eyes, something tight and aching, that makes it clear he is not even trying all that hard to make his joke work.
You don’t smile. Don’t look at him. Arms still around yourself.
Bucky’s throat bobs as he swallows, as he shifts his weight, as he lets out another slow and deliberate breath. He moves so slow. As if any tiny movement of him would make you walk away from him.
“What’s going on with you, mhm?” His voice is so soft. So concerned. Brooklyn warmth and worry combined with something gentler than you can handle right now.
“What’s this - this fight-or-flight thing you got goin’ on?” he continues, tilting his head just slightly, watching you too closely, reading too much. “You’re rushing off like the damn place is on fire. The hell is that about, doll?” Still so soft. So cautious.
His eyes are on you like you are the only thing in the world that matters, like he’s trying to solve you, like if he just looks long enough, he’ll figure it out.
But if he really understood, if he really found out, everything between you would change.
And you can’t handle that. You can’t handle anything at the moment.
“Just drop it, Bucky, alright?” It comes out sharper than you mean for it to. Harsher. A little spit of venom that you hate yourself for the second it hits the air. He doesn’t deserve your attitude. But you can’t hold it back.
You see the way it lands. The way his brows pull in tighter, the way his lips press together, the way his chest rises and falls so measured. But it’s all not out of irritation. He just tries to figure out where that came from. What is happening. What has you react the way you do.
His voice is even and calm. But oh so careful. “I don’t think I will, doll.”
You look anywhere than at him and his troubled face.
Your throat tightens so fast, you have to swallow hard against it, teeth digging into the inside of your cheek as you blink up at the sky like maybe that keeps the tears from spilling over.
And Bucky watches all of that.
His expression stays soft, but his eyes are burning with something deep, something real, something that makes you feel like you might actually drown if you keep looking at them for too long.
“Y/n,” he almost whispers, and it sounds so pained. “Why are you crying, sweetheart.” He’s so gentle, so tender, so fucking careful like he’s afraid that if he pushes too hard, you’ll just break.
You shake your head, arms around yourself tightening. “I’m fine.”
Bucky makes a quiet noise in his throat, somewhere between a sigh and a scoff, something deep and disbelieving.
“See, that’s bullshit.”
You’re about to turn again, but he anticipates and gets hold of your arms.
“Look,” he sighs, heedfully taking off a hand of you to rub it down his face. “You don’t wanna talk? Fine. You wanna bite my head off cause I’m askin’? Fine. But don’t stand here and tell me you’re okay. Because I’ve got eyes, doll, and I can see that you’re not.”
You want him to stop.
You want him to turn around.
You want him to leave you here to fall apart in peace.
But he won’t.
And you don’t know what to do with that.
And you break.
No matter how hard you bite your lip, it doesn’t matter.
The tears slip and streak down your face before there is anything you can do. A sob follows. You can’t choke it down. Your shoulders shake, your breath stutters, and your face tilts towards the ground as you bring trembling hands up to wipe at your cheeks, in a futile and desperate attempt to regain composure. It’s useless.
You feel so pathetic.
Embarrassed. Ashamed that you ran off like this. That you’re standing here, crying in the middle of the night, on a sidewalk with no explanation, making a fool of yourself in front of him.
And the second your face crumbles, his does, too.
The second your breath hitches, he is moving.
Strong arms envelope you, winding tight, pulling you straight into his chest like he doesn’t even need to think about it. Not for a single second.
You let him.
Because it’s either this, or you’ll collapse down onto the asphalt.
His grip is firm, grounding, warm in a way that makes you ache even more. His hand cradles the back of your head, tucking you against him, and you feel the press of his lips there, gentle, but somehow rough.
Like your pain is his own.
“It’s okay. Shh… it’s okay,” he breathes, pained and low, the words pressed into your hair, into your skin. Making space between your ribs. “Oh, doll.” He presses you tighter to him. His hand brushes over your hair. “It’s okay.”
There is something so deep and aching in the way he talks to you, like the sound of his own voice hurts him. Like you hurt him.
His other hand moves over your back, soothingly, trying to give you some strength.
“I gotcha,” he breathes. “M’here, doll. Okay? Just breathe. Gotta breathe for me, baby. Please.”
It’s a slip. Baby. A mistake.
And it makes you cry harder.
Because it’s so soft. Gentle. Because it falls from his lips like something that’s always been there, something that’s always belonged to you.
Except it hasn’t.
It doesn’t.
Not in the way you want.
You don’t know what he calls those girls he takes home. If they get to hear him say it. Girls who have felt his hands in places you never will. Girls who have heard his voice rasp against their skin in the dark.
But you are not one of those girls.
You never will be.
And you know you will never be able to untangle that damaging wrench in your stomach.
So hearing him call you that. Baby. Like it means something. Like it’s yours. Like it hasn’t been whispered in the dim glow of your apartment, murmured against someone else’s lips, someone else’s skin, just someone else just hours ago.
It’s too hard. too cruel.
You wish it didn’t matter. You wish it didn’t rip through you the way it does, splitting you down the center, carving you open.
But it does.
Because even if it doesn’t belong to you, you still want it.
So you cry harder.
Sobs wrack through you, your chest hitching with the force of them, your hands gripping the fabric of his shirt, clumping it in your fists.
Bucky feels it and he hears it and he grips you tighter, pulls you closer.
“Hey, hey, hey,” he coos, voice just above a whisper, more desperate now. Like he’s drowning in your hurt right along with you.
“Sweetheart,” he tries again, voice strained, thick. His lips are in your hair. “Please talk to me. Make me understand, baby, please! Tell me what’s wrong.”
But you can’t.
Because what the hell would you even say?
That you’re in love with him?
That you’ve been in love with him?
That seeing him with her - hearing the sounds that bleed through the walls, the ones you’ll never be able to unhear - feels like being skinned alive?
That you want him in a way you shouldn’t?
That you want him in a way he will never want you back?
You won’t.
So instead, you just press yourself harder into his chest and squeeze your eyes shut, letting him hold you like you are something precious. Like you are his. Even if you are not.
“Help me understand here, baby. Please,” he repeats with a voice so soft, that makes him seem afraid you might break apart completely if he speaks any louder.
Maybe he’s right. Maybe you’re already in pieces at his feet, shattered beyond repair, and he just hasn’t realized it yet.
He lets you cry when you don’t answer, hand stroking up and down your back, the other soothing over your head. He whispers into your hair, words you can’t even process, just the deep cadence of him, the low rasp of his voice against your temple.
His lips move to your forehead, brushing over it. His breath is warm against your skin. You don’t have it in you to pull away, but you wish you would.
Because none of this makes it any easier.
Because his hands feel too good, too steady, too right - and it’s a lie.
Because it’s him.
And that means it hurts.
You wish he would just go and let you have your pathetic heartbreak alone.
But Bucky Barnes has never been the kind of a guy to leave things unsolved.
He pulls back just slightly after a while, just enough to get a better look at you, and when you try to duck your head, to keep him from seeing too much, he doesn’t let you.
Strong, warm fingers cradle your face, thumbs brushing over the damp skin of your cheeks, tilting your head up and forcing your gaze to his.
He looks wrecked.
His brows are drawn, lips parted, chest rising and falling unevenly. His hands tremble just a little against your skin, but his grip stays firm. Solid.
“Don’t look away, doll. Eyes on me, yeah?”
You swallow hard, jaw tight. “You just ruined your good night,” you say, the words falling out bitter, self-deprecating, stiff with something that tastes like resentment but feels like heartbreak.
Bucky’s frown deepens, his lips pressing together, eyes scanning over your face like he’s searching for something, anything that’ll make this make sense.
“The hell I did,” he scoffs, shaking his head. Confused you even brought this up. “I don’t give a shit about her. Don’t even know her name, if I’m bein’ honest.” He lets out a huffed laugh.
But you don’t.
Because somehow this makes it worse.
And you hate it.
You hate that some part of you wanted her to mean something.
Because if she meant something, if she was special, then at least this ache in your chest would have a name. A reason. A shape you could hold in trembling hands and squeeze so hard that it stops hurting at one point.
Then, at least, you could maybe finally accept that there is no hope. No reason to hold on to those feelings.
But Bucky just shrugs.
It meant nothing. It never meant anything. Not with them.
Not with the girls that come and go, the ones who pass through his nights in the same easy way the hours do - fleeting, ephemeral, touched, and forgotten.
Not with anyone. Not even with you.
You have spent so long feeling this, holding onto it, trying to keep it hidden beneath layers of friendship and longing and careful restraint. You have spent so long pretending that it is fine, that it doesn’t matter, that you can live like this - on the sidelines, just the girl in the other room, in the shadows, in the spaces between what you want and what you’re allowed to have.
And he stands here and looks you in the eyes, telling you that it is nothing. That she is nothing. That they - all of them before her, and all of them after her - are nothing.
You can barely breathe past it.
You don’t say anything.
And Bucky freezes.
His hands, where they cup your face, stop their soft, absentminded strokes. His thumbs, which had been tracing reassuring circles along your cheekbones halt. His breath catches and his eyes shift.
There is something uncertain in there.
And then, his lips part. His brows go up ever so slightly. His pupils flare.
Something settles over his expression that you don’t recognize.
Like a switch has been flipped.
Like a puzzle piece has clicked into place.
Like suddenly he is seeing something in your eyes, something like an answer, something that has been there all along.
His fingers tighten, anchoring himself. Making it seem that if he lets go, if he moves even a fraction, something will break. In him, or you, you’re not sure.
He pulls back. Not far. Just an inch. But he needs to see you better. Just enough to search your face for something he needs to know. His gaze locks onto yours and holds you there, testing something, making sure.
His voice is hushed when he talks. Breathless.
“Is that what this is about?”
It’s quiet, the way he says it. Like he’s afraid of it. Like he’s careful with it. There is disbelief on his face. Astonishment.
You shake your head too fast, too sharp, like if you deny it hard enough, it’ll erase the way he’s looking at you right now. That it’ll undo the meaning of his words and the way they sit between you. Something fragile on the verge of breaking.
“No,” you say, but it barely comes out, barely sounds convincing. Your voice is hoarse, scraped raw form holding back everything you don’t want to say. Your lungs refuse to work in sync with the rest of you. You swallow, eyes darting away, grasping for something to latch onto.
But Bucky doesn’t let you.
“Doll…” It comes like a sigh. Weightless and soft. His hands don’t drop from your face, don’t loosen, don’t give you the space you’re so desperately trying to carve out between you. If anything, his grip grows more robust. Just enough to keep you there.
“Hey. Look at me.” His tone is low, carrying the kind of warmth you’d usually like to lean into, but now all you want is to get away from it. You don’t want to meet those stormy blues.
Bucky’s thumbs are sweeping, so feather-light, over the curve of your jaw, smoothing along the damp trail of your tears, and his voice dips even lower. Softer. He is so close.
“C’mon, sweetheart. Give me somethin’ here.”
It’s not fair that he gets to call you all those sweet names like he means them. Like you mean something. Like it’s not the same word he probably called her and all those others who got to have him, even if only for a night.
“I don’t-” you try, but your voice is trembling and thick with tears, and Bucky’s gaze shadows.
“Don’t what?” he coaxes, leaning in just a little, close enough that his breath skims your skin, warm and stable in a way you aren’t. His fingers slightly move against your cheeks, as if resisting the urge to pull you closer.
You shake your head again, your hands wrapping around his wrists - not to push him away exactly, but to have something to hold onto. You have no idea what to say.
“It’s- It’s not-” Your words trip over themselves, stuck somewhere between your throat and your ribs, tangled up in everything you’ve never let yourself say.
But Bucky just watches you, unreadable things swirling in those impossibly blue eyes. Wary things. Still so damn careful.
He exhales and his hands slide down, skimming the column of your throat, settling against the curve of your neck like he’s grounding you. Holding you both together.
“Doll,” he sighs, and it’s too much.
It’s not teasing. It’s not playful. It’s not easy. Not the charming lilt he likes to throw in his tone.
It’s vulnerable. Tender. Substantial.
“You’re breakin’ my heart here.”
And that’s what has another tear slip over your lashes.
Because you’re breaking his heart?
What does that even mean?
You were the one trying to escape the heartache he caused and now he tells you it’s his heart that hurts?
“Please,” he whispers, and his voice is wrecked, gravel thick in his throat. “Just tell me, doll. Tell me what I did. Tell me so I can fix it.”
His lips stay parted, trying to find air, trying to find some kind of solid ground. There is a sheen over his eyes.
“I can’t-” Your voice cracks, but you don’t look away this time. His hands won’t let you. He won’t let you.
His eyes are pleading.
“Can’t what, sweetheart?” he urges, dipping closer, voice just a rasp of sound between you. His thumbs wipe away the new tears and he winces while doing it as if it actually causes him pain that they fell.
The streetlight flickers above. It casts shadows across his face, highlighting the sharp line of his jaw, the tight pull of his mouth. His fingers flex against your face.
“Is it-” he starts, then stops, then starts again, throat bobbing and voice rough and hesitant. “Is it those girls?”
A shallow gasp slips from your lips. Fractured and tripping over something unseen. Your shoulders grow stiff.
You can’t answer. You only shake your head, not in denial, not in confirmation, but in something else, something tired and so fucking done with feeling like this.
You try to pull back, try to slip free from the heat of his palms, try to turn away. Another tear drops onto the back of his hand.
Your reaction must be answer enough.
Bucky’s head, Bucky’s hands, Bucky’s eyes, Bucky’s whole body - everything is moving so much, keeping you from slipping away, reaching for you, not letting you go.
A breath. A pause. Like his brain needs an extra moment to process what this all could mean. His breath catches in his throat and you can feel the exact moment he gets it.
The exact moment he realizes.
“Shit,” he breathes, so quiet you almost miss it. His grip tightens. It grows distressed. Despairing. Keeping you from leaving his hold, although you don’t stop trying.
You sob and his hands press into your cheeks, thumbs smoothing away tears like he can erase this, like maybe if he holds you tight enough, he can go back five minutes, five months, five years, to a time before he made you feel like this.
“Shit, doll, I-” His voice breaks, gravel and regret and anguish - and something so painful - landing with every syllable.
You don’t stop trying to pull back, trying to push him away. You can’t talk. You can’t stop crying. You can’t look at him.
But Bucky is devastated. And he is desperate. And he won’t let you go.
“No, no, don’t - please, Y/n, don’t.” He runs through his words, frantically getting them out, frantically trying to make you look at him.
He reaches your face again and holds on like it’s important. Your tears won’t stop falling. A whimper falls from your lips when you realize he won’t let you leave.
Bucky panics.
His swallow seems to hurt him. Everything he does seems to hurt him.
“Oh, sweetheart - fuck, fuck, I didn’t-” He lets out a rough breath, one of his hands letting go of you to scrub over his face, pushing through his hair in frustration.
Not at you.
At himself.
“Doll, I didn’t - Jesus Christ, I didn’t know.”
It comes out hoarse, scraped down to nothing but feeling. Each word drags from his throat like sandpaper against silence. Coarse and raspy.
And then he’s shaking his head, hands sliding to your shoulders, his hold firm, his eyes darting over your face like he is trying to memorize it, searching for the right words in the curve of your lips, the glisten of your tears, the way your breathing is a single shuddering mess.
“I didn’t - fuck, I didn’t mean-”
He seems to hold back a scream.
Sucking in another sharp breath, he squeezes his eyes shut like he’s in pain, angry at himself, wanting to go back and rewrite everything, tear out every page where he made you feel like you were anything but his.
You wish you could believe it.
“Bucky-” you croak out.
“No, don’t-” His head doesn’t stop shaking. His jaw is clenched tight. Hands shaking against you. “Don’t say my name like that.”
“Like what?” Your voice is whisper-thin.
His breath shudders out, and when his eyes meet yours again, they are so earnest. Glossy with a sheen of tears.
“Like it’s over.”
Your throat closes around your next breath, never making it reach your lungs.
Because what is he saying? Nothing ever had the chance to be anything.
“I didn’t know, doll,” he whispers, voice breaking. “I swear to God, I didn’t know. You gotta believe me, I - fuck, I never wanted to hurt you. Never wanted you to feel like- I didn’t think you’d-”
He cuts himself off, voice choking.
His hands drop suddenly, like he doesn’t even deserve to hold you anymore. Like the guilt is weighing them down.
And then, unsure and hesitantly, he lifts one of them again and pauses before cupping your face, waiting for something - permission, maybe, or just a sign that you won’t pull away this time.
When you don’t, when you just keep standing there, frozen and broken and bewildered, he lets his palm settle warm against your cheek, his thumb brushing so lightly it sends a shiver down your back.
“Tell me how to fix it. Tell me I can,” he pleads, like he means it. Like he would do anything. “Tell me what to do, baby. Anything. I’d do anything. Just gotta tell me. Please,” he chokes out.
Cars roll past you. There are voices in the distance. A neon sign flickers. But none of it touches this.
This thing between you.
Bucky’s hand shakes against your cheek. His breath stirs against your skin so ragged and he leans in. His forehead presses to yours, his body curling toward you like he doesn’t even realize he’s doing it, just needing to be close.
“I’m so sorry,” he gasps out. “God, I’m so fucking sorry.”
Never have you seen Bucky like this. He keeps things easy, keeps things light, and shrugs off pain like it never quite reaches him. But it does now.
It consumes him.
His fingers curl at the back of your neck, not pulling, just holding, grounding himself against you. And when you continue standing there, breath shaky, tears still trembling in your lashes, his whole body sags.
His chest heaves with a breath so deep it sounds like it’s costing him something.
“I never meant for this to happen. Please, believe me.”
His forehead presses harder to yours, seemingly trying to press his words straight into you, that maybe if he gets close enough you’ll feel how much he means them.
And you do. You just don’t know what the hell is going on.
He lets out a sound that resembles a sob. And then you feel the damp heat of a tear where his face brushes against yours.
Bucky is crying.
It breaks you. You don’t know what to do with all this pain. His and yours. Don’t know how to ever let it go.
You pull back. Just slightly. Just enough to breathe, to think, to process.
But Bucky’s whole body tenses, and his eyes squeeze shut as if he knew it was coming but it still pains him. Bracing himself for something he already knows is going to hurt. His hands drop to his sides.
And maybe that should give you some kind of satisfaction, a tiny sense of justice for the nights you spent lying awake, wondering if you meant anything to him while he had his hands on someone else.
But it doesn’t.
Because the way he is looking at you, when he cracks his eyes open again, when he meets your gaze with so much open ache, makes your chest hurt. It makes something inside of you quake.
“Bucky,” you start, but your own voice is so small, so lost. You shake your head, scanning his face, trying to piece it together, to make sense of something that refuses to fit. How the tables have turned. You just can’t seem to find the irony in it. “What are you even - I don’t - I don’t I understand.”
His throat bobs, thick and tight, and he pulls in a breath like it’s the last one he’s going to get.
“I love you.”
Your mind blanks. You flatline. Your knees go weak.
He says it like it’s the simplest thing to say. As if it is the most obvious thing in the world. But it isn’t.
Because if it was then why has he spent all those nights with those seemingly meaningless girls. Why has he let you ache for him while he touched someone else.
“I love you,” he says again, softer, trying to make sure you believe it.
But you don’t know how to.
Your lips part, but nothing comes out. You feel the words, heavy and warm and terrifying, but your body doesn’t know what to do with them. Your mind is screaming at you to run, to protect yourself, to build the walls back up before it’s too late, but your heart doesn’t listen.
Bucky’s hand trembles when it reaches for you, fingertips ghosting over your jaw, waiting, waiting, waiting for you to pull away.
You don’t and he steps closer again.
His whole body thrums as if he is scared to touch you but more scared not to. He looks at you with those red-rimmed and puffy eyes, so tremendously bare, holding onto your own eyes like he is drowning and you are the only thing keeping him afloat.
“Say something, doll,” he pleads, his voice so unsteady, that it guts you.
But what could you say?
Because love is not supposed to feel like this, to hurt like this. It isn’t supposed to feel like your heart has been split open and stitched back together all in the same breath.
But looking at him and at the way his eyes are just as pleading as his words, at the way he is breaking right in front of you - it makes you wonder if maybe it was hurting him all along, too.
“You-” you begin, voice barely more than a whisper. You have to stop, have to pull in a breath that doesn’t seem to want to settle, have to force your hands to stay at your sides instead of reaching for something - for him - that you don’t know if you can take. “But that-” Another inhale, sharp and broken. Your chest hurts. Your whole body hurts. “That doesn’t make any sense.”
Bucky exhales, long and slow and then he drops his head. Shoulders slumping, spine curling, like something inside of him, has just given out.
Guilt.
It sits heavy in his frame, in the set of his jaw, in the way his hands jerk like he wants to touch you but knows he shouldn’t.
“Yeah,” he mutters, a humorless little laugh escaping, barely more than a breath. He drags a hand down his face, through his hair, before letting it fall uselessly at his side. His voice is lower when he speaks again, raspier, weighed down by something that feels an awful lot like regret. “I know.”
You watch him, waiting. Because he owes you this. Because he cracked open something you weren’t ready for, something you tried to bury, and now you need to understand.
And Bucky must feel that. Because after a beat, after a deep, shuddering breath, he looks at you again.
“I didn’t think I could have you,” he admits, voice quiet. Cautious. The words fragile in his mouth. “Didn’t think I was allowed to even want you. To this extent, anyway.”
Air enters you unevenly, shaking on the way in like a shiver made of sound. “Bucky-”
“You’re my best friend,” he pushes on, stepping in just a fraction, like he can’t help himself. His voice is getting rougher, rawer, like something in him is unwinding too fast for him to stop it. “I didn’t wanna mess that up, y’know? Didn’t wanna lose you over somethin’ I couldn’t control.”
Something tightens in your chest. Something shifts.
“So you-” you swallow, shaking your head, trying to put it together, trying to make sense of it. “So you just went around to go get yourself other girls you can fuck?”
Bucky flinches. Actually flinches.
Gaze dropping in shame, his features form a grimace. “I tried,” he croaks out, gesturing at his chest with one hand. “Tried to stop feeling like this. Tried to move on, tried to-” He exhales sharply, tilting his head side to side, something torn playing out with the movement. “It didn’t work. Nothin’ worked. Didn’t even make it easier. But I was afraid to face it. Really face it. So I just kept going.”
It hurts.
It hurts in a way you don’t know how to hold. Don’t know how to carry.
You thought, for so long, that the way you love him, ache for him, is a one-sided agony.
But he is confessing to you, eyes red and weary, voice splintering, telling you that he’s been afraid to speak it aloud too.
That he loves you, that he tried to kill it, that he thought losing himself in someone else would somehow erase you from his mind.
Bucky’s words are a fist curling around your ribs, squeezing the air from your lungs.
It should matter. It should mean something that he’s standing in front of you, breaking apart, pleading for you to understand. Shouldn’t it be enough that he’s telling you it was always you? That no one else ever came close?
But he still touched them.
Still chose them, even if only for a meaningless night.
While you sat in your room, staring at the ceiling, wondering if you were going insane. While you clenched your fists so tight beneath your sheets at night, biting your tongue, swallowing it down, because Bucky is your friend and friends don’t ache like this.
And yet, he is telling you, showing you, he aches too.
But instead of sitting with it, instead of letting it consume him the way it consumed you, he tried to make it disappear.
He tried to fuck it away.
And now he looks at you like you are the only thing that has ever mattered, like the ground beneath his feet, is unsteady, like he is afraid you are going to bolt at any second.
You feel like the ground beneath your feet shits a fraction of an inch, not enough to send you falling, but enough to make you question if you were ever standing solid in the first place.
“But, doll, it-” he rushes forward, watching your pain, stepping into your space until there is barely anything between you. “It never meant anything. Swear to god, none of ‘em ever meant something to me.” His hands wrap around yours, squeezing, grounding, begging. “They weren’t you. Couldn’t be you. Didn’t matter how hard I tried, how many times I told myself to stop thinking about you because you’re supposed to be my best friend, but I wanted so much more than that - it didn’t matter. Nothin’ worked.”
He is struggling to force the words out, but he does. And they leave him with a catch in his voice. Faltering.
“I thought about you, sweetheart. Every fuckin’ time.” His voice turns frantic and he leans in to make it convince you. He watches your lips tremble and shakes his head quickly. “Thought about how you’d feel. How you’d sound.”
Your breath stalls.
Bucky swallows, taking a quick pause but continuing, voice growing softer. Lower. Reverent. “Tried to picture you instead. How you’d look under me, wrapped around me. So goddamn beautiful.” His voice cracks. “But it wasn’t you. And I know it was wrong, but I couldn’t help it.”
He stumbles over his words, afraid of saying too much, of pushing too far, or admitting too much - but it doesn’t stop hurting.
Even if you know it might not be fair.
But the thought of him with them, the thought of his hands gripping someone else’s skin, his lips murmuring something soft against someone else’s throat - it makes you sick.
And he sees it.
You try to blink back another wave of tears.
His hands are on your face again, thumbs swiping furiously at your damp cheeks like he can rub the hurt away.
“Please tell me I didn’t ruin this.” His voice cracks through the words, the panic breaking through. Your silence seems to suffocate him, squeezing his ribs until there is no space left for air.
“I’m so sorry, baby! I wish I could take it all back. I would.” His bottom lip trembles and he bites down on it before continuing. “Tell me I can fix this. There’s gotta be somethin’ I can do. Anything.”
You blink rapidly, vision swimming, breath hiccuping in your throat. You don’t know if there is anything to fix, if there was ever anything there, to begin with, but he is looking at you like there was. Like there is. Like it is still hanging in the air between you, waiting to be caught, waiting to be named.
And you want to catch it. To press it to your heart and cherish it.
But the wounds are fresh. Still bleeding. Still open.
The images you conjured up in your mind, him with all those girls. The sounds of him bringing one after the other home - the routine.
The giggling. The keys. The apartment door. More giggling. His chuckles. The hallway. His bedroom door. The goodbyes. The mornings.
But worst of all is that you can’t even blame him.
Because what was he supposed to do? Wait for something that was never promised? Hold out hope for something that was never offered?
You had no claim on him.
But still, you hate how he tried to fuck you out of his system. Hate that he couldn’t, that he’s standing here now, telling you it was all for nothing, that you were always in his head, in his bones, and that that somehow is supposed to make it better.
You don’t know if it does now. But you hope - you hope so dearly - that it will get better. If he’ll stick with you.
“No more girls.” The words choke out of you, weak and broken, barely a breath. But he jolts like you have screamed them.
“Never,” he breathes immediately, shaking his head as if to get rid of his own images, gripping you tighter, his thumbs pressing into your cheeks, his eyes burning through yours. “No more, baby. No one else. Not ever.”
Your breath catches, body sways.
There is a burn behind your ribs, not quite pain, but not far from it. It is something that pulses in time with your heartbeat. Too quick. Too uneven.
“Only you,” he adds, his forehead dropping to yours, noses brushing, his breath warm against your lips, his hands trembling where they hold you. “It’s only ever been you.”
Heat rises up your throat, something between nausea and electricity, a burst of too much all at once.
“I got a lot to make up for.” His tone is unraveling at the seams. But it sounds firmer now. Convicted. “I know that. I know I- fuck, I screwed this up before I even knew I had a chance. And that’s on me.”
You squeeze your eyes shut, because it’s too much - his voice, his touch, the way he is looking at you like you hung the damn moon when you’ve spent years feeling invisible to him in the way that mattered.
“I don’t wanna rush this, alright?”
You blink up at him. Your chest feels stretched too tight, as if the ribs themselves are holding onto something they shouldn’t, something too large, something too consuming.
“I don’t wanna mess this up more than I already have. I don’t wanna push or expect anythin’ from you - I just wanna do this right. For you.” His voice wavers on the last word, still scared of saying the wrong thing, scared of losing something he only just realized he had. “You understand me?”
You nod wordlessly. Almost feeling hypnotized by him. His eyes are so intense. So full.
“I’ve been waitin’ for this, hopin’ for this - Christ, I don’t even know how long.”
Your stomach flips, something curling in your stomach at the heaviness of his confession, at the realization that you weren’t alone in this. Maybe never have been.
“And now that it’s happenin’ - now that I have you, even if I don’t deserve it - I wanna take my time. I wanna make this good for you. Have to. I have to make this right,” he says, voice filled with something gravelly, rough like something barely holding together.
His fingers slide over your jaw, tracing along the column of your throat, memorizing the feel of you beneath his hands.
“And I hate-” his voice falters, eyes squeezing shut for a moment before he forces himself to look at you again. “I hate that it’s happening like this. That I hurt you first. That I didn’t see this sooner.”
“Bucky-”
He cuts you off with his eyes and a shake of his head.
“Please I- I gotta do this. Gotta say this, baby.”
You nod.
He closes his eyes again for a moment like he wants to go back and shake his past self by the shoulders, tell him to wake the hell up and stop hurting the one girl he ever cared about.
He continues, voice hoarse. “I would do anything to make this different. Better. The way you deserve.”
Your breath is shallow, not quite catching, but hovering just short of where it should be, as if your body can’t decide whether to brace itself for collapse.
You’ve spent so long breaking for him, wanting him in ways he never seemed to want you back. But now he is pouring his heart out and asking for something he already has but isn’t sure he is worthy of.
“You don’t gotta say anythin’ right now, doll,” Bucky whispers. Afraid of scaring you off. “I know I shoulda told you sooner.” He grimaces, disgusted with himself. “I shoulda known sooner. I was so fuckin’ stupid. So fuckin’ blind.”
You don’t even notice you started leaning further into him.
Bucky stares at you for a moment. You look back.
“I don’t deserve you,” he says quietly. Whispers really. He exhales shakily and you feel the breath fan along your cheeks. “But I swear to God, I will.”
You don’t weigh the hurt against the want, don’t let the war in your head talk you out of your next move.
Your hands reach up, curling into the fabric of his shirt and before he can say anything else - before he can tear himself apart further - you kiss him.
And for a split second, Bucky freezes.
Not believing this is happening, not expecting it even after everything he just told you.
But then, he exhales this soft and quivering breath against your lips, relief knocking the air out of his lungs.
One hand flies to your waist, pulling you in, the other threading into your hair. He kisses you back like he is starving, like he has been dying for this, like he can’t believe you are real and this moment is something he’s imagined a thousand times but never thought he’d get to have.
And he is so warm. So solid. His lips move against yours, soft and slow at first - savoring you, afraid to go too fast, to push too much. But when you let out a little sigh and your fingers tighten, Bucky melts, pressing in closer, enveloping you in his arms in a way that has you feeling he tries to make sure you never go anywhere else again.
He breathes you in like you are something holy, tilting your head and deepening the kiss. He is not forceful. He takes what he can get and he cherishes it. Like he said, he wants to take his time with you. It makes you fall in love with him even more.
It’s like he can’t believe you are even letting him have this. But he kisses you with a hope and a determination that this will not be the only time he gets to have this.
And when you pull back again, he rests his forehead against yours once more. You feel the way his chest rises and falls against your own, the way his breath shakes, the way his grip does not loosen at all.
“Jesus, doll,” he rasps, panting. “You tryna kill me?”
And the way he says it, the way he looks at you, so full of longing and desire and relief makes you realize that maybe he’s been suffering just as much as you have.
“I want you. It’s as simple as that. I’ve spent a great deal too much of my life already trying to convince myself that I can make do with less but I can’t. You hear me? I’m done. I’m not giving up. A life without you is not enough.”
pairing: new avenger!bucky barnes x journalist!reader
summary: After New York settles from the aftermath of The Void, Valentina throws a 1940s-themed fundraiser/gala at Camp Lehigh -- full of vintage charm, media presence and political handshakes.
The goal is simple: reintroduce the New Avengers to the world by honoring their humble beginnings.
Bucky is less than thrilled to be in attendance, but between staged smiles and ghostly memories, he meets a journalist who isn't hunting for a headline -- and for one night, he finds something that almost feels real.
Now, all he has to do is find her again.
word count: 7.3k+
author's note: this is heavily inspired by an event that my job puts on at the beginning of summer every year, a '40s to '50s themed summer social that has live music and beauty pageants and things like that
@makehydrafictionagain mentioned how much Bucky would like the music being played and i was filled with angsty inspiration lmao
this is still being worked on, im hoping to post the next part soon!
this has also been cross posting on my ao3!
The sleek van passes the old civilian checkpoint just off the main road, the path leading to the campgrounds paved and smooth where there used to be gravel. They pass through new wrought iron gates – Bucky feels it like a jolt beneath his ribs.
Camp Lehigh.
He hasn’t set foot here in decades. Not since the world was black-and-white, the air smelling of gun oil and burnt coffee. When he was just a boy thinking he was a man, proud to serve his country. Now it smells like freshly cut grass and citrus-laced bug spray, the smell of fresh food from the caterers drifting over the lawn.
As the van passes the small stage, where the band is setting up and refreshment booths are being arranged on the lawn, Bucky leans forward slightly to peer through the tinted window.
It's different. And somehow, exactly the same.
Bucky had heard rumors – mostly secondhand – about what Camp Lehigh had become. Something about a museum, or some kind of exhibit. Some kind of comment about an AvengersCon, or whatever that was. He never looked into it, never had a reason to. This place had belonged to another life, and he didn’t need to see what the world had turned it into to fit their versions of the past.
As the van rolled past the outer buildings, he recognized the old command center. It was cleaner, new signage and glass-paneled doors. Shinier than an army camp should be. He caught a glimpse of the barracks in the distance, the same ones where he used to think back to that scrawny version of Steve he left behind at home in Brooklyn, praying he kept himself out of trouble and knowing he wouldn’t. Whatever they were now – gift shops, exhibits, curated nostalgia – he didn’t know. He didn’t want to.
The van turned again, pulling up in front of the old mess hall. That much he had been briefed on, Valentina was waiting for them there. She probably had a speech ready – some finely crafted thing about legacy, unity, and the future. He sighed through his nose as he leaned back in his seat, already exhausted with the pretty words to encite applause, the carefully screened public Q&A, the eventual and dreadful mingling.
Yelena kicks the van door open before it fully stops, muttering something about “theatrical American pageantry”. Alexei follows with a wide grin, ecstatic for the event from the moment Valentina suggested it. Ava steps out silently, John behind her grumbling some nonsense under his breath. Bob steps out with a small smile, nervous but excited.
Bucky stays seated in the front for a breath longer, gripping the handle of the door.
This was the first place he ever learned how to hold a rifle. The place where he learned to fight, where he became a soldier. Before HYDRA, before becoming the Winter Soldier.
When he was just James Buchanan Barnes.
Nothing more. Nothing less.
He steps out of the car, closing the door behind him. Men in high waisted trousers and suspenders, women in tea-length dresses and hair styled in victory rolls were walking around and towards the mess hall. Some missed the mark of the time period, but it stirred something inside of him.
A time long lost clung to him as he took in the music, the laughter, the familiar buildings and clothing. It was like a familiar scent he couldn’t place, drawing out faded memories he hadn’t realized were there. The theme, the location, it was all a life he thought he had forgotten. A bruise he didn’t know was still there.
His jaw ticked as he joined his fellow Avengers, following them towards the mess hall. There was nothing more he wanted than to get back in that car and hightail it the hell outta this simulated memory.
“You okay?” Yelena asks quietly next to him.
They were all still getting used to each other, but a bond was formed after defeating The Void. Even now, even with all of each one’s repressed emotions, they seemed to be attuned with one another.
Bucky nodded, flashing her a tight, barely-there smile. “Yeah, all good.“
“I look like couch,” Alexei said in his version of quiet (which was about normal talking volume), “Like fancy American hotel couch.” He ran a hand down the fine red pinstriped suit. Yelena snorted.
“Fancy, yes.“ She muttered, adjusting the lapel of her white blazer. Both she and Ava had managed to convince Valentina to forgo the classic dresses of the time period (see: burned all suggested options) and instead, Yelena opted for a sleek ivory pantsuit with a fitted waist, and a white silky blouse underneath her white blazer. She wore red lipstick and vintage sunglasses that rested on the top of her head, her hair carefully slicked back.
Ava, in turn, wore a sleek dark gray pantsuit, simple and minimal. Her hair was pulled back into a simple, low ponytail, her low boots clicking along the pavement quietly as she took in the venue.
John followed them, trying to look casual in his three-piece navy suit, perfectly pressed with shoes polished within an inch of their life. “Some low-key event this is,” he scoffed, eying the cameras lying in wait as they get nearer to the mess hall.
Bob, in the middle of the group, looks around with a glint of wonder in his eye, his modest midnight blue three piece suit blending in perfectly with the theme of the event. He looked happy just to be included.
The crowd starts to notice the new Avengers being ushered into the building, chattering amongst themselves in excitement as the group is led behind the makeshift stage. Bucky straightens his jacket, a classic-cut brown suit, slightly reminiscent of his military uniform he only wore a handful of times.
The mess hall had changed. The kitchen area was closed off, and the walls and floor scrubbed clean of the past. The long tables had been taken away, foldable chairs now in rows in front of the temporary dais beneath the old flag displays. They were filled with politicians and press and whatever public had decided to come, dressed in an era that had long been gone. They watched the new team take the stage behind Valentina with eager, expectant eyes.
Bucky’s jaw ticked as he took in the details that he couldn’t tear his eyes away from. The music softly playing, the uniforms and costumes, even the decorations placed upon the walls.
1943, reimagined through a modern lens, bright and pristine.
He understood the point of the event. Honor the legacy left behind, celebrate the foundations. Remind the world of the Avenger’s humble beginnings, before introducing their new protectors.
But as he took it all in as Valentina began speaking to the crowd – the curated warmth, the scripted reverence – he wondered if anyone involved had stopped to think about what it would feel like for someone who had actually been here. Not in memory or footage or secondhand myth, but in boots and blood and years that didn’t come back.
It felt like stepping into a memory that someone else had written.
Valentina welcomed the crowd, and Bucky kept his expression neutral. The cameras were rolling, taking in the sight of the six new Avengers standing composed behind Valentina as she spoke.
“Tonight, we celebrate not only the legacy who came before – but the beginning of a new chapter.” She started with a dazzling, crowd winning smile. She was definitely good at commanding a crowd, that was sure. “This evening is not just about the past. It is about clarity. Accountability. What it means to move forward.”
The crowd clapped steadily, Valentina letting the words hang in the air for just a moment. Bucky heard Yelena sigh through her nose next to him.
“For too long, protection has been reactive. Unstructured. Heroism without oversight. That era is behind us.” She looked around the room, her tone serious and powerful. “Some of these individuals have operated in the shadows. Others have made mistakes in the light. All of them have stood between civilians and catastrophe without fanfare. And they’re still standing.”
He couldn’t help but be a little impressed, Valentina truly did know how to make a rousing speech. Using pretty words to cover up the heinous crimes each of them on the stage were certainly guilty of, enticing the crowd to look past their infamous histories and focus on the future.
“This team is not a revival.” She continued, the crowd hanging onto her every word. “It is not a replica of those who came before. It’s an answer to a world that has changed – and refuses to go back.”
“You asked who would protect you. This is your answer.” She lifted a hand to gesture behind her. “They are not the old guard. They are not gods, not myths. They are human . They are trained, they are prepared. And they are your new Avengers.”
The applause thundered now, the crowd cheering for them as cameras flashed. The six of them stood there, taking it all in.
Bucky stood perfectly still, hands at his side as his eyes roamed over the crowd, not necessarily looking at any particular person. The cheers and applause sounded hollow in his ears, like it’s meant for someone else. Anyone else.
Yelena’s eye twitched a bit like she wanted to roll her eyes at such theatrics, but she clapped once or twice. Alexei next to her was grinning, nodding a bit and clearly enjoying the cheers, shining under the light of the recognition he had always fought so hard for.
John next to him was tense, but gave a small, tight smile towards the crowd. He received cheers and applause before, almost a lifetime ago. He almost didn't know if he should believe in it now. Ava stood quietly next to him, glancing over the crowd before her. After so long in the shadows, being the center of attention felt… unnatural.
Bob at the end of the line clapped along, smiling gently at the crowd and his fellow New Avengers.
Bucky felt like a trophy on display, framed by scenes of the past and flashes of the future. The crowd looked upon them with hope, not seeing people that were barely surviving through the ruins of their own lives. He had been through war and worse, and yet underneath the bright lights and the public’s attention, this felt like his biggest battle yet.
The Q&A that followed was pretty mild, probably pre-screened by some poor unpaid intern to keep the theme light and comfortable.
Which, in Bucky’s opinion, made the evening even more fake than it already had been.
The mess hall doors opened, allowing the crowd to drift towards the old training grounds for the remainder of the evening. The sun dipped behind the trees, painting the sky in golden hues and allowing the breeze to cool the air a bit, easing the beginning of summer heat.
The old training grounds were practically unrecognizable now.
The sandy, dry ground was now a wide manicured lawn with paths cut through clusters of picnic tables and lantern-lit drink carts. Soft swing played off to the side of the lawn, something familiar. Couples already began to dance, laughter and happy conversations filling the air.
Yelena was posted by the lemonade stand, sipping on something pink with barely concealed judgement on her face as she watched people dance like it truly was the ‘40s. Bob stood near her, sipping on a lemonade of his own and quietly commenting to her on interesting outfits he had seen.
Ava was not too far off, moving quietly near the band where it would probably be most difficult to talk to anyone over the sound of the music.
John had been pulled into a conversation with a few decorated officials, shaking hands a bit too firmly and smiling a bit too wide.
Alexei – somehow – was surrounded by a group of older ladies as he laughed and told them stories about his younger days, spinning tales of questionable truth about his great feats.
Bucky lingered towards the edge, near the Legacy Walk, just beneath some lanterns that weren’t quite as bright. Close enough to say he made an appearance, and far enough to be left alone. All he had to do was avoid Val and any of the few Congressman (old coworkers?) that had come, and his evening wouldn’t be too annoying.
The music flowed through the air, filling him with memory and something warm. It was music he still liked to listen to, something that stayed the same even as everything around him changed.
A flash of muted navy caught the corner of his eye, even as the sun dipped lower, giving the sky a dusky hue.
A woman stood off to the side, several feet away from him. She stood before a board that detailed the early training days at Camp Lehigh, sepia-toned photos of fresh recruits lining the board. There was a small photograph of Dr. Erskine with a paragraph of his invention of the serum, another with Peggy Carter off to the side above a paragraph that spoke of her, leaving room for a larger picture of Steve.
Steve as Bucky had known him, when they were kids. Skinny, scrawny, short. A time so long ago that it was hard to believe it ever existed.
She was alone at the boards, her brows drawn slightly as she read small print that often got looked over. There was something about her, something quiet and unhurried. Like she was trying to understand, not just observe. She shifted her weight as she read the words, the motion revealing the soft fabric of her muted navy tea-length shirtwaist dress.
Bucky couldn’t help but focus on the dress – the clean seams, the modest collar, the belt cinched at the waist. It wasn’t a costume or some cheap recreation, it was something he had seen before. On train platforms, smoky dance halls, on women waving goodbye behind fences. A small brooch glinted near her collar. Even from where he was standing, he could tell it was too old to be trendy, too quiet to be decorative.
Her shoes were worn-in but polished, stockings with seams up the back covering her legs. Her hair was half up in loose victory rolls, half fallen from the breeze. She didn’t wear any of it like she was pretending.
For just a breath, it felt like someone had flicked a switch. The past bled through, and it was no longer a reenactment, a barely-there memory.
Just a woman who, in another lifetime, he would have asked for a dance.
A pencil was tucked behind her ear, and she held a small notebook in her hands. A journalist, perhaps. The thought brought him out of the past, bringing him back to reality.
But he couldn’t help but continue to notice her and her quiet, still demeanor. She hadn’t taken any photos (then again, Bucky didn’t spy a camera anywhere near her), and she wasn’t rushing to grab a personal interview with any of the Avengers present.
She brushed a strand of hair behind her ear, tucking it behind the pencil. Her eyes scan the final few lines of the board, tilting her head. “They make it sound simpler than it was.” She muses, quiet. “I always wonder what doesn’t make it onto these types of things.”
Her voice was soft enough that he wasn’t sure if she was just speaking to herself, or if she had noticed he had been quietly lingering nearby the whole time. Either way, a beat of silence passed between them as he considered her words.
“Most of it, probably.” He said with a shrug.
She glanced over at him finally, a small polite smile tugging at her lips. There was no surprise in her gaze, no bumbling over his name or his presence. She looked at him like he was just a man, no haunted memories attached.
“Everything here feels so.. Scrubbed clean. ” She mused, fully turning toward him, both her hands clutching her notebook in front of her. She stood casually, unhurried. “Like it’s been rewritten a few times.”
He let out a huff, something like a laugh. “You’re not wrong. It was never this.. pristine.” He sighed, observing the crowd with his hands in his pockets.
The woman nodded slowly, her gaze lingering on him for a moment. “I didn’t think it would be.” She murmured, and turned her gaze towards the crowd as well. “It’s strange to see a place try to remember something it never truly was.”
Bucky couldn’t help but silently agree. The music from the lawn drifted faintly through the open space between them – soft horns, gentle strings and piano notes filling the air around laughter and conversations too far away to decipher. A cool breeze passed through the lanterns overhead, flickering the lights across her dress, the fabric moving like memory.
“Are you a historian?” He asked, breaking the peaceful silence between them and glancing her way. She wasn’t as aggressive as the other reporters and journalists in attendance tonight, staying off to the side and quietly observing was certainly something out of the norm for such a profession.
“Journalist, actually.” She said with a small amused smile. “____ ____, with The Daily Bugle .” He raised an eyebrow at her, and she laughed. “Don’t hold that against me.”
That got a small chuckle out of him. “I can’t say I've heard actual good things from them, to be honest. Doesn’t really have the best reputation, especially with people like me.”
She looked at him with a small smile tugging at her lips. “I like to think of myself as a misclassified freelancer. Not all of us are trying to take down Spider-Man and the other heroes.”
“Why stay, then?” He asked. “There are plenty of other news agencies with better reputations.” He wasn’t quite sure why he was so interested, his whole plan for the evening was to avoid as much press as possible.
There was something about her that made him want to stay. A familiar feeling, like speaking to an old friend.
“It pays the bills.” She shrugged, her thumb brushing along the spine of the small notebook she carried. She tilted her head. “Also, my boss’s wife likes me a whole lot, so I think I get away with writing some quieter, more truthful pieces behind the front pages.” She said with an amused smile.
“Truthful pieces, huh?” He raised an eyebrow at her again, more amused this time. “Truthful and The Daily Bugle .. Kind of an oxymoron, don’t you think?”
She laughed again, nodding. “That’s a common thought. Not everyone looks for the truth in those papers, but some do.” She looked out into the crowd again, her smile fading into something more contemplative. “I write for them, mostly.”
Bucky followed her gaze in the pause that followed. A young boy in suspenders and a flat cap was trying to convince John to race him across the grass. Bob, near the dessert tables not too far away, quietly spoke to an older woman, smiling kindly at her.
It was nice to see that the event’s purpose was actually working, despite the internal conflict he felt at the time period theme.
“So,” he broke the silence, his voice low and curious. “What happens now? Gonna corner me for a quote, ask how it feels to be a part of the rebranding?”
Her mouth quirked, not quite a smile but almost there. “Would you answer if I did?”
“Probably not.”
“Then no.” She chuckled, smoothing a wrinkle out of the skirt of her dress. “I think the truth comes out better when you think no one’s watching, anyways.”
He huffed a laugh, considering her with a raised eyebrow. “That’s a hell of a philosophy for a reporter. Especially one for The Daily Bugle .”
She smiled, a kind and genuine expression. “I’m not here to sell anyone. I’m here to listen.”
He took that in. Her words were… refreshing. He thought he had dealt with all kinds of press, but this woman was different. She wasn’t biting for a scandal, snooping around for juicy gossip. She truly cared about her work, and about the people who read her words, the impact she left.
The music changed, the opening notes of low brass and soft saxophone slipped through the evening air, drifting around the couples who slowed down their dance to a gentle sway and softening everything it touched.
Bucky knew the tune immediately, the melody settling over him. Moonlight Serenade, originally performed by Glenn Miller and his orchestra. He hadn’t heard it in years – or at least not outside of a scratchy record or a half-remembered dream.
The woman noticed the music change as well, her head turning slightly to the band. Her eyes lit with a small, surprised kind of fondness, her lips gently curling into a pleased smile.
“My grandmother loved this song.” She murmured softly, almost to herself.
She turned to him, her eyes catching in the warm lantern lights above them, her smile soft and real . For a moment – just a heartbeat – he was just a kid from Brooklyn again, standing beside a woman who looked like she belonged to a time he thought the world had left behind.
He felt the words forming before he even realized they were there – dance with me. A phrase from another lifetime, on the tip of his tongue. A question from swing halls and Saturday nights and memories still innocent.
She studied him for a moment, the gentle smile on her face making his chest tighten. “You alright?” She asked, her voice as soft as the music.
Before he could think too much about it, he opened his mouth. “Would you like to–”
“Excuse me, Sergeant Barnes?”
A tall, skinny man with a suit far too crisp for the occasion stepped toward them, coming too close for Bucky’s liking. He could practically smell the ambition rolling off the man, his laminated press badge swinging around his neck.
“Chase Harrington, The Daily Post . I was wondering if I could ask you a few questions, just a couple minutes of your time for a quick quote or two on tonight's turnout–”
The man spoke fast and came close, his entire presence exhausting Bucky immediately. “I'm pretty sure we covered all of that at the Q&A earlier,” Bucky sighed, trying to brush the man away.
“Oh, yes, of course,” Chase nodded, pulling out his phone regardless. “However, I was hoping to get a moment of your time to talk about how it feels to be back in Camp Lehigh. I mean, it must be jarring to be back in a place where you trained too, and to find it all turned into a piece of history about your buddy Steve Rogers–”
Bucky’s jaw clenched and he took a step towards the woman, who silently watched the exchange, slipping his hand into hers. He flashed the man a tight smile that didn’t reach his eyes. “Sorry. I was promised a dance, and this song is almost over.” He didn’t listen to another word the man said as he pulled her along to the other dancing couples. She followed him easily, a small smile creeping up her face as she slipped her small notebook into her belt at her waist.
They moved across the lawn, their steps unhurried as they joined the other couples moving to the band playing low and slow. The melody curled around them in the air - wistful and old, golden and soft.
His left hand settled at her waist, his right holding hers gently as she rested her free hand upon his shoulder. The distance between them was small, but respectful. They swayed side to side gently to the music, their feet moving in small steps that he led her through. It was a familiar blueprint, one that he hadn’t used in decades but had somehow never forgotten.
He had danced like this before, once.
Before HYDRA, before the war. Before his entire life had become endless battles.
And yet this didn’t feel like a memory. Not entirely. The surrounding music and the soft lighting of the lanterns made it easy to fall back into the time before, but the warmth of her hand was real. The scent of her perfume – something soft and floral. The way the lights twinkle in her eyes as she looked up at him, like she was seeing him , and not some headline.
For the first time all night, the noises faded. Not just the people around them or the eager press, but the memories of past and present that were constantly battling finally lulled into silence.
There was only the soft grass beneath his shoes, her slight hum to the melody, the sound of a song he thought he’d never hear like this again.
“You’re good at this,” she said softly, looking up at him with a knowing smile.
“I’m a bit rusty.” He mused, looking down at her. The movements came to him easily, even after all this time. They swayed steadily to the music, momentarily lost to a time that few were left to remember. She looked up—not analyzing him, just quietly taking him in. Her gaze was steady, warm. Grounding in a way he hadn’t expected.
“Did you ever go dancing when you were younger?” She asked, her head tilted a bit. Her tone was curious, not digging deep for some scandalous piece.
“Yeah,” he chuckled, smiling fondly at the memories. “Brooklyn had dance halls on every corner back then. Even when you were dead broke, you could afford to swing someone around for a night.” He mused. Before he was shipped out, he spent most of his time dancing the night away, trying to ignore his impending fate on the battlefield.
“Did Steve ever join you?” Her tone was soft, but not cautious. Just genuine curiosity.
Bucky huffed a soft laugh, remembering that scrawny version of Steve he had grown up with. “I made him go a couple of times.” He glanced past her shoulder, looking into the past with fond eyes. “I don’t think he liked it very much. Always said everywhere was too crowded, too loud. But really, I think he just felt out of place.”
She hummed, an amused glint in her eye. “It’s hard to imagine Steve Rogers feeling out of place.” She mused, following his steps perfectly in their small swaying circle. “It must be strange, to remember a different version of him than the one the world celebrates.”
He looked down at her, almost surprised that she voiced a thought so quiet inside him he didn’t even have the words for it. “It’s… a little strange, sometimes.” He admitted. “But I was happy for him. He was always so small, growing up. Always sick, always bruised and bloodied from some fight he wouldn’t back down from. I worried less, when he got all… big.”
She took in his words, letting them settle over her. The corners of her lips tugged into a soft smile, an amused gleam in her eye. “You know, even when you were in office, I didn’t think you could talk this much.”
He snorted, “It’s not often I take such an immersive trip down memory lane.”
For the first time in years, he didn’t feel like a symbol for the future or a past mistake. He felt... Like he belonged right here, in the present. Like he finally fit in with the time, even if it was only for one song.
She was quiet for a moment, her gaze over his shoulder and past the dancing couples, towards the softly lit silhouette of Camp Lehigh. “It’s hard to imagine this used to be a military camp.” She murmured. Her gaze flicked up to his. “You trained here, didn’t you?”
“Yeah,” he nodded slowly, his eyes drawn to the outer buildings. “Long time ago. Back then it was all dirt and concrete, drills and training and all that.” They were all clean and curated now, scrubbed clean of the grit and dirt and sweat he remembered. The grounds used to smell of gun oil and metal and mud, and now it was… Catered hors d’oeuvres and manicured lawns.
“And now it’s a pretty picture of what life was like before the war.” She mused. He breathed a laugh, agreeing more than she realized.
The swell of conversation had dimmed into a soft murmur as the tune changed into something more positive, almost cheerful. Louder trumpets, something soft and sweet, something like coming home. A blonde woman with a rich red dress with a heart-shaped collar stepped closer to the mic.
“ Never thought that you would be standing here so close to me, ” She sang soft and low, her voice velvety and curled through the crowd like smoke. “ There’s so much I feel that I should say… ”
Bucky slowed his movements, his steps unconsciously pulling their bodies just a fraction closer. He didn’t quite recognize the melody, not in the way he had with the others or the one before. But the words pulled at something in his chest.
“But words can wait until some other day…”
Something in the woman’s expression had shifted, her body becoming a bit more relaxed and comfortable under his hand. She watched the singer with a smile that had softened, a distant look in her eye. A memory worn at the edges, but still bright.
“My grandmother used to sing this.“ She said quietly, like a confession. “First to my grandfather when he came home from the war. Then to their kids, and then to me. I remember it always sounding like a lullaby.”
“It’s been a long, long time…”
“It’s one of those things that stayed with her.” She added, a small melancholy smile tugging at her lips. “Even after everything else started to fade.”
“Haven’t felt like this my dear since can’t remember when…”
He couldn’t find the words to respond, the words lodged somewhere deep beneath the weight of the melody.
“ It’s been a long, long time… ”
Every word of the song pressed on something old, something he thought had faded away. A half-healed wound that was almost proof he was still capable of feeling.
His gaze drifted back to the woman singing, her eyes closed as she cradled the mic like it was something fragile.
“ You’ll never know how many dreams I’ve dreamed about you… ”
“ Or just how empty they all seemed without you… ”
“I'm not quite familiar with this one,” he admitted eventually, his voice soft and quiet. “It was… after my time.“
She hummed, nodding like she understood just what he meant. “After the war.”
“Yeah,” he murmured, looking down at her. “I missed that part.”
“ It’s been a long, long time… ”
There was no need for words as they swayed to the rhythm, slow and steady, the space between them smaller now. The rest of the world faded away – no crowd, no cameras, no expectations. Just her, him, and the melody that bound them together, sharing something neither of them could name.
He wasn’t sure how long they’d been moving like that — if it had been seconds or hours. The world had blurred into soft edges, leaving only her in focus.
The final note of the song lingered between them, fading like it was reluctant to let go.
A new melody broke through the soft silence – brighter, faster, full of brass and rhythm. It pulled away from the low murmurs and soft memories, enticing spinning skirts and laughter to take their place as the dancing couples around them traded in their gentle sways for twirls and skillful quick steps. The melody was lighter, cheerful, bringing everything back down to earth.
Their movements slowed as the spell the music had woven around them gently unraveled, their hands falling away from each other. She looked up at him, a soft smile tugging at the corners of her lips.
“Thank you for the dance,” she murmured, the distance between their bodies still close and intimate. Secure, almost.
“Thank you for the escape.” He said softly.
“Am I interrupting your courtship ritual, old man?”
Bucky sighed deeply through his nose, immediately recognizing the sarcastic, heavily accented tone. He glanced over his shoulder, leveling a dry stare at Yelena. She stood there with an eyebrow raised, her eyes flicking between the two of them with the subtlety of a sledgehammer.
“What do you want?” He grumbled. She sipped on her glass of lemonade. Were those… jalapeños? Floating around in there?
“Valentina’s looking for you. Something about group photos. Or sacrificial offerings.” She said between sips, shrugging. “It’s hard to tell with her.”
Bucky sighed through his nose, taking a step back from the woman to give them a respectable amount of space. “Thanks,” he muttered, his voice flat. Yelena grinned.
“Anytime, Romeo.”
He fought the urge to roll his eyes, turning away from Yelena. The woman next to him seemed to be fighting an amused smile.
“Duty calls, I guess.” He huffed.
She nodded, her expression softening, the warmth in her smile steady and comforting. “Wouldn’t want to keep the sacrificial offerings from their fate.” She teased.
He huffed a laugh, the corners of his lips tugging into a faint smile. He lingered for a moment, hesitating. Something about this woman felt like home, and he wasn’t ready to give it up again. “Will you be sticking around?” He asked almost a little too casually.
She shrugged. “I haven’t finished my report just yet.”
He nodded, slowly. “I’ll find you later, then.”
She said nothing, just nodding softly – quiet and understanding. He finally, reluctantly, pulled himself away from their small, secure little bubble, the air between them echoing of something unfinished.
Bucky suppressed a sigh as he turned to follow Yelena through the crowd as she sipped on her spicy lemonade, weaving through the dancing couples and groups. He trailed behind, the weight of the evening and all its memories slowly settling over his shoulders once again with every step.
It was nice to forget about everything, for a moment.
Somehow, both he and Yelena managed to avoid being stopped as they passed clusters of vintage wearing guests mid-laugh, servers balancing trays of drinks, the occasional camera flash. Bucky moved through it all like a shadow, his mind still caught somewhere in the echo of the past.
Every detail of the event had been carefully curated, every moment choreographed, but that dance… that hadn’t felt staged. It hadn’t felt like something crafted to sell some kind of story.
It felt… unexpectedly real.
Dancing with her was a breath of fresh air. There was no need to explain who he was before or what he had done since, no great expectations or images to uphold.
Up ahead, Valentina stood with the rest of the new Avengers. Her smile was as polished as her shoes, nodding along with a perfected smile as a senator gestured grandly. Her hand swept in their direction without missing a beat as the two of them joined the group, pulling them into whatever scheme or performance she had planned next.
He barely caught any words spoken as his gaze turned back towards the people mingling and dancing, trying to lay his eyes on the woman he had danced with. There was something about her calm presence and honest words that made something in his chest pull tight, something that made him feel... normal.
In the span of two songs, she had somehow managed to make the night feel less like a job and more like a memory. One that was safe, real. One that didn’t belong to anyone else. A sense of normalcy that he didn’t realize he had missed.
And now that it was gone, despite just being only moments ago, he felt the absence settle in. Something quiet and unexpected, something he hadn’t realized he was holding onto until it slipped away.
“Barnes,” Valentina’s voice cut through his thoughts like a knife, pulling him back to the present.
He tore his gaze away from his search of the crowd, meeting her eyes. Her professional smile hadn’t faltered in the slightest.
“Are you with us?” She asked lightly, though he could see the slight irritation in her eyes.
“Present,” he muttered, fully facing the group now.
She turned back to the senator with a dazzling flash of teeth. “You know how camera shy he gets,” she joked.
Yelena rolled her eyes as Valentina continued sweet-talking the senator, John nodding a bit too much at something he clearly didn’t hear. Bob stood quietly nearby, Ava next to him observing in silence. Alexei was still beaming, observing the crowd with a satisfied look on his face.
Cameras flashed and hands were shook as the senator launched into a well-rehearsed speech to Valentina made for onlookers to tune their ears to, Bucky standing next to the others a bit too much like he was waiting for a drill sergeant to bark at him.
“Why are we all here, again?” Ava grumbled, quiet enough for Valentina to miss.
“Probably to make sure we don’t make anything explode.” John huffed, his hands clasped in front of himself as he scowled.
Bucky snorted, an almost-amused smirk tugging at his lips. “Smile like you believe in democracy, Walker, or Val might use you at her next charity event.”
The senator’s voice droned on – something about courage, integrity, and unity in uncertain times. Some regenerated version of whatever Valentina was selling at the speech at the mess hall, words that never quite held their shape in real life.
The six of them played the part of a loyal team well. Nodding when expected, shaking the right hands, standing for photos.
It’s strange how much publicity was needed to be a hero.
He wasn’t sure what unsettled him more – how good he had gotten at this kind of thing, or that it didn’t bother him as much as it used to.
Not as much as it used to.
His eyes drifted towards the dancing couples again, towards the edge of the lawn, where shadows had gathered and the music was soft. Where she had been.
She was gone now, somewhere in the crowd. Or maybe just on the edges, observing quietly. If he hadn’t felt the warmth of her hand just minutes ago, he could have believed she had never existed.
Their moment had passed.
But something in him didn’t want to let it go.
Valentina managed to keep them occupied for the remainder of the night, skillfully locking each member of the new Avengers into conversation with anyone who had even the smallest amount of political or financial sway. She moved through the crowded lawn like a conductor – smiling, gesturing, steering them towards the right faces, the right camera angles, the right words.
Bucky endured it, if only barely. Valentina was obviously much more experienced in this field of dealing with people, so he had little argument when she pushed him towards a different direction. He stood wherever needed, muttered something polite when prompted. Pictures and handshakes and tight-lipped smiles filled his evening.
Whenever Valentina finally gave them all a dismissive wave – an unspoken you’re free, go away – the event had started to slow down. Music floated through the air at a softer, slower pace, leaving only a few dancers swaying to the melody. The crowd on the lawn had thinned down to small clusters of lingering guests sipping on watered down drinks, others slipping quietly towards the parking lot to head home.
He didn’t head for the bar or rejoin the others, instead drifting towards the quiet edges of the thinning crowd.
Whether or not he meant what he said about seeing her later, here he was.
Looking for her.
Underneath the soft lantern light, the journalist from earlier sat alone at a bench on the edge of the lawn. Her ankles were crossed, her notebook in her lap as her pen moved in short, steady strokes across the page. Her hair had fallen down a little bit more since the dance, hanging looser around her shoulders.
She hadn’t noticed him as he approached, focused on her notebook as she wrote down the events of the night from her eyes. He stood quietly, wondering what parts made it down.
And if any of them included him.
“Successful night?” He asked, his voice low enough for her to hear but not enough to spook her.
She glanced up from her notebook, her eyes brightening with recognition. “You found me.” She murmured, her lips tugging into a smile. She scooted over a bit to make room for him on the bench.
He chuckled, and sat down next to her. “Honestly, I didn’t expect you to still be here.”
“It is getting pretty late.” She sighed, as she picked up her phone to check the time. “I gotta submit my report before midnight.”
His eyebrows raised just a bit at the time, 10:45pm. He hadn’t realized it had gotten quite that late. “Cutting it close, huh?”
She huffed and rolled her eyes, a small grin on her face. “Story of my life.” She glanced at him again, an almost mischievous glint in her eye. “Do you think the night was a success?”
“Hmm,” He hummed, leaning back on the bench as he eyed her. “Are you trying to get one last quote out of me?”
She laughed, closing her notebook. “I am a journalist at heart, Mr. Barnes.”
He huffed a small laugh, his lips tugging up into a soft smile. “That’s true, I guess.” He gave a small shrug. “It was an eventful night that served its purpose.”
She hummed in thought as she looked at him with a curious expression, before tucking her pencil back behind her ear and standing up from the bench. She smoothed out the navy skirt to her dress, and gave him another smile. “I should be off, then.”
He stood as well, something inside of him squeezing at the thought of their time ending. “Long drive home?” He asked, his hands slipping into his pockets.
She shook her head. “Not tonight, at least. I got a hotel for the event, I’ll head back to New York in the morning.”
He nodded, quiet. For a moment, he thought about saying something – anything, really, to keep her from leaving, to keep this woman who felt so much like before things had gone wrong from leaving. But the words refused to leave, lodged somewhere low in his throat.
“Goodnight, Mr. Barnes.”
“Goodnight, Ms. ____.”
She started down the path towards the parking lot, the soft light shining on her hair and catching the faint swish of her dress.
He stood there, watching her go, part of him regretting not asking for an email or something, part of him wanting to walk her to her car but not wanting to be overbearing.
And then – halfway down the path – she glanced back over her shoulder. Nothing dramatic, no lingering stare or coy smile. Just a quiet acknowledgement, like she knew he was still there. Like she expected him to be there.
Their eyes caught for the briefest moment, and she gave him the smallest curve of her lips. Then she turned away again, and disappeared towards the parking lot.
It shook something inside of him, the way she made him feel seen . It was a bit unsettling, but… grounding. Like for a second, he wasn’t just a soldier to be used, but a person .
He hadn’t expected her.
And now, he wasn’t quite sure how to stop expecting her.
SUMMARY: Task Force 141 had been ambushed during a mission and was then soon to be asked to train a new recruit for the team. They expect the soldier to fall into a certain category and get their hands full when they actually meet the soldier
WORD COUNT: 1.6K
CW: cussing, a little of combat
A/N: hey yall idk if imma keep writing. i rlly liked mw2 n esp ghost and theres not alot of slow burn stories so ik i had to make one. this may get finished or not. i guess it depends on how much traction or how much enjoyment i have writing it lol
01
Loud music blasts through the surround system of the bar. People’s blood is flowing, the alcohol is pouring, and the music pumps the crowd up. The whole bar was filled with a mixture of lonely people, alcoholics, or just people looking for a fun night. It was almost sad that the only way these people felt any serotonin, was through drugs or sex. At a secluded table, there was a couple conversing quietly on personal business. The man was a much larger build and had fluffy mutton chops. He had a very charismatic look and smiled at the woman across from him. She had a much smaller frame in contrast to the larger man.
She gave him a warm smile, but it was soon replaced with her original stoic face. His large veiny hands held a large manila envelope, making it look tiny as he placed it onto the table to hand to the blonde. “Laswell, this is Siren” the gruff man started. “She is one of our current main spies and also is known for being the best sniper” The woman nodded and then he proceeded to talk, “She wishes to soon be a new addition to the 141 Task team and I believe has more than potential…” He tries to persuade the woman. She brings her hand up to her head and sighs. “Siren? Is there another name or is that the only name she goes by, Captain?” He shakes his head and says “that's her only name recorded. She is known for not being able to be identified by a profile and her high level of secrecy.” She laughed “Price, you know she’s a new recruit. How much experience does she have?” She opens the envelope and quickly scans the report.
“Siren is from Russia. She was somehow trained from the age of 12 and refuses to talk about her experience with her trainer. She never spoke about family or any personal ties besides the military,” Price states. “Apparently, she has taken out several head leaders and has a long list of killings of soviet military leaders while in Russia. She had to run as a refugee for a couple of months till she found us. I understand the lack of physical proof of her performances, but Laswell…” he says with full confidence and quieting down at the end. He shifts closer to the woman and persuades, “she would do well with us. Siren has proved herself to me and I hope she can to both you n Shephard as well. She wishes to join us in our missions.” Captain says to the blonde. Kate sits back in her chair and continues to read Siren’s resume. A sigh falls from her lips and Price awaits her answer.
Strobe lights dance across the bar while people try to find their own sense of euphoria in the mixture of sweat, alcohol, spit, and other mixtures that many would wish to not think about. The thick humid air that had already filled the dance floor was now filling the rest of the large room. Many wished to seize their own moment in the club or even feel the slightest bit of being alive. For all their efforts and money, they yet would still go home feeling as if they fell short. But hey, the night is still young and is still attainable.
While that was going on, in some forest, Siren was sitting up in a tree watching a group of three soldiers walk cautiously through the trees and try to make out anything through the branches. She took out her prized possession, Poseidon. Poseidon was her sniper and she had always been attached to it since she took it. It originally was not hers, but when she stole it, it felt as if it belonged to her. Plus the horrible person it was stolen from deserved to lose such a perfect beauty in her opinion. Siren watched them through her scope and silently peered toward the soldiers. Two of them were next to each other while there was another following a little behind them. It was evident that the lone soldier was struggling to keep up and as they walked, they almost seemed to be injured. The soldier had an irregular step and was much farther from the group. Siren locked the center of her scope to the center of the soldier’s head and took them out with no hesitation. As she watched the body disappear from the tall plants on the ground, there were two other soldiers left to take down.
The two kept walking slowly until one told the other, “I need to piss.” They both stopped and the other soldier turned their back while groaning. As the soldier started to pull down their zipper, it was the perfect time to take out both of them and that was exactly what Siren did. She took out the one with their back turned first and then hit the one pissing. At first, she wanted to get more hands-on but did not want to get piss on herself.
She climbed around some trees and went higher. She prefers to sleep in the trees in between missions. Living off the grid is the only way she can survive without the Russians finding her or at least that's what she says. It's really just to ease her mind about them finding her. Plus, she never really minded it. She always was in the trees when possible and always wondered how good of a sniper she would’ve been if it was any different. One thing she enjoys much more than she did in Russia was nature. Russia was absolutely beautiful to her, but the people ruined it. Well, person. Regardless, it also helped her learn astronomy as a random interest. The astronomy helped her immensely with directions of where she was at, where she was going to, and where she was coming from.
When she looks back on her younger years, all she can really ever recall was her training. She can never really recall certain memories before or anything in between the lessons she was given. As much resentment she had built up over the years towards her apprentice, she still had an almost sickening appreciation for the lessons she learned, but still wondered how things could have played or been different. She knew it was better to not dwell on the past and sit in her own self-pity, but if she didn't, who would? Siren always allowed herself to mourn, but in a more proper, scheduled manner yet, she still could not heal from what cannot be recalled.
She finally sets up camp for the night and noticed it was a full moon tonight. She said a tiny prayer to the sky, a habit she picked up in her teen years. Not like she actually believed in a certain god, but she did believe in a higher being blessing her in weird ways. Someone up there blessed her with trees and nature all around her. War is a disgusting sight to see, but the before and after were always her favourite. Her main struggle with a god was why would they even create such madness in humans. Maybe God is some sick masochist. When she didn’t really believe in anyone, she saw the prayer as a nice way to talk to ‘someone’ before bed.
The whooshing of the helicopter was not helping the current condition of 141. They had just gotten picked up from a mission that got ambushed. They were stationed in Las Almas and were looking for an Iranian terrorist, Hassan Zyani. Apparently, there was more than expected and somehow Soap came out with two bullet wounds and Gaz had a stab wound. Luckily the rest made it without major injuries, but were still suffering from massive headaches or smaller faults. Besides the loud helicopter propellers, the team sat in silence. The air was filled with a huge tension of mixed emotions.
There was a lot of anger, fear, sadness, and pure madness running through the whole team's heads, and were trying to calm themselves the whole ride back. The adrenaline also was not helping with their emotions, so they knew to stay silent. When they finally landed, both Johnny and Gaz were taken out of the helicopter and then rolled to the medical branch of the base.
Ghost knew Johnny was going to be fine, but there was still this worry and a little bit of anger with himself. Their ‘bromance’ was definitely noticeable, especially when listening to them talk on the radio; the constant banter, telling shitty ‘war jokes’, or even better yet, the constant playful flirting. The two loved to tease each other till brotherly fights that the rest of the team sometimes has to break up. Ghost sees the whole squad equally as brothers, but Johnny was definitely and obviously even more than a brother to him. Their type of friendship goes unmentioned, yet still known by everyone and anyone.
Ghost got called to speak with Price and have a chat with Shephard. He groaned to himself as he was already pissed with himself for the fuck ups on the mission and really did not want to hear a lecture about it. The two men gathered around an RV while the helicopter slowed down. Price was close to the screen while Ghost was sitting in the back, resting his hands in the arms of his vest. An older man filled the screen and was waiting for the two men. Shepherd had news, which the captain was already aware of.
“Lieutenant” Price greeted. “Ghost,” Shepherd said sharply, ignoring Price. “Whatever the hell happened in Las Almas tonight does not matter anymore and we must move on. We will be able to get you guys back out there in the next couple of weeks, don’t fuck up again.” Shepherd lectured in anger. “Speaking of which, there is soon to be a new recruit joining you. Price was the one who is extremely adamant about an addition to the team and I ask you to go and train her for the next couple of weeks while we wait for recovery from today’s mission,” he finished.
Ghost’s balaclava covered any reaction if he had any, whether it was confusion, anger, or defeat. It was always hard to identify any emotions on Ghost’s face due to the covering. The only way of knowing how he felt was through his voice and that's it. The lieutenant was very harsh yet also dismissive on today’s mission, which did annoy Ghost slightly, but he understood the mistakes made that day. “Copy Lieutenant. When should we expect her arrival?” Ghost’s raspy voice finally joins the conversation. The elder answers sternly, “She will be here by 0530. You must give her a warm welcome and introduce her to everyone.” Ghost ‘copies’ his orders and the elder dismisses himself. Captain Price seemed almost thrilled that Shepherd cleared the new recruit and was soon to be training. Price also had a little gut feeling that the new recruit was going to also be teaching the team some lessons.
summary - You were not someone people paid attention to. The daughter of Alexander Pierce that was only to be seen and not heard, that was the extent of what people knew about you. It was all people seemed to care enough to know about you. Surely, it was enough for Steve Rogers to know about you and it was enough for him to hate you for it.
(Steve Rogers biker au)
warnings - toxic/abusive parent, violence, angst, semi-slow burn, descriptions of physical and emotional trauma, language
having ocs is like she's my daughter. she's my power fantasy. i'm giving her everything i hate about my personality. she's a war criminal. she's never done anything wrong in her life ever. i love her. i hate her. i'm making her life miserable. who did this to her. she's unlikeable but everyone should like her. she's baby. she does cocaine in the bathroom
everyone tagging this "me but my ocs are guys" get OFF my post this post is for mean and irredemable wretched bitches who PERCH ON THE CEILING and HISS AND SCREECH and are SO CRINGE and SUCK SO BAD. FICTIONAL CUNTS ONLY!!!!!!
Dark Webs Masterlist (Dark! Peter Parker x Reader)
SYNOPSIS: Peter Parker dealing with the aftermath of his father-figure no longer around. With the world as he once knew changing around him, Peter finds himself lost and hopeless as he tries to navigate this new world. However, darkness and isolation begins to consume Peter. Who will be the one to pull Peter back up after hitting rock bottom?
Prologue
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Epilogue
Desc: You're in an abusive relationship, and Arvin Russell saves you. Maybe you save him too. WARNING: if you don't like reading about any abuse, even fictional abuse, do not read this. Angst, fluff, mutual pining, and a happy ending, I swear.
Word count: 10k
“Where were you last night?” Warren asked, sounding nonchalant as he stared into the fridge, searching for nothing more than the answer.
You knew better. After living with the man for about a year, you knew the question was loaded with tension, and that the wrong answer would certainly cause him to erupt.
You didn’t want another eruption. You had felt the pain of constantly being on guard for so long, it was nearly the only thing you knew, and it was sickening to remember that his outbursts were far worse for you.
But you didn’t know how to answer. Honestly, you had no good explanation that would satisfy him.
“I asked a damn question.” He spat, and you jolted from your spot, having been intently cleaning the dishes in the sink for the last ten minutes.
“I- just out, Warr-”
Warren took no time in slamming the fridge door, walking towards you in an aggressive, authoritative sway, his hand already becoming a fist.
He was already pissed, and you swallowed, feeling the tears accumulating yet again, hoping he would keep his hands to himself.
“Lying bitch.” He muttered, staring you down. “Probably trying to go and fuck other men, huh? Well guess what, Y/n?”
You already knew what was coming.
“You’re a used up, filthy, arrogant skank. Ain’t no woman of God, you are, and every man out there can smell the scent of a whore. Get it?” He shoved you for good measure, and you choked back tears.
You did your best to balance against the kitchen counter, knowing that you weren’t stable enough to stand on your own. You couldn’t even look at him, instead choosing to stare at the floor.
He didn’t like that.
“You hear me? God trembles when he looks at you. You’re a sick disgrace of a woman. Killing our own baby,” He shook his head solemnly, as if it genuinely upset him. “You’re less than human.”
He finally ended this long tirade that you had heard so many times before, with a piercing slap against your cheek, causing you to cry out, broken sobs tearing out of your throat.
------------
Warren had a deceiving look about him. Barely anyone could tell that he was like this, mistreating his own girlfriend for something that wasn’t her fault. He was a dirty blonde, with sharp green eyes, and he was very tall, having been a football player in his high school days.
Everyone in Meade thought the world of him. Because he knew how to turn on the charm as if it was nothing but a game, easily using others, finding any way to make someone pliable to his nature. You had fallen victim to that long ago.
He had come by your house, delivering newspapers to your father’s doorstep, which seemed so innocent at the time. But all it had taken was a little sweet talking, acting as if he actually cared about your potential career, calling you beautiful, and the next thing you knew, he was in your bedsheets with you.
Again, something pretty innocent. It wasn’t your fault, but you couldn’t help but feel that if you just hadn’t given in, things wouldn’t be so bleak now.
After that, you had found out that you were pregnant, and Warren had been ecstatic. He had said that being a father was all he wanted, and it was clearly a sign from God. You were meant to be together.
You knew now that Warren had just wanted to improve his image further. And so, he had pressured you into moving in with him, where things seemed to be happy. He had often treated you well here, but you quickly saw it was an act.
The day you had woken up with your underwear soiled, dyed red with your blood, was the day you saw the real Warren.
Miscarriages were common. You knew that much, because your mother was a midwife, and you had even known then it wasn’t your fault.
Warren had begun to scream at you, throwing cutlery and dishes your way, calling you a devil, most probably sent as a temptation from God. His idea for the miscarriage was that you had probably slept around, cementing the idea that you were a whore in his head. You had only ever slept with him.
He had beat you so hard that day, you were unable to walk for at least the next few days.
The worst part was how he had insisted that he had done it for your own good. That you needed to be punished in some way for righteousness, and you were too sick and tired to argue.
Then he had refused to be even near you, which really hurt you. Warren gaslighted you into accepting that everything was your fault, and that you needed to repent, to stay with him, in order to maintain virtue with God.
Now, as you sat on the floor of the kitchen, quietly crying as Warren paced around, you knew he had lied the entire time. He had only wanted you to stay in order to maintain his reputation as a kind gentleman, one who took in a knocked up woman after so many men wouldn’t.
He needed a punching bag. He needed someone to prove his worth, as an authoritative figure, so he wouldn’t feel insecure.
Even with your immense sorrow, you were grateful that you had never brought that child into this world. At the very least, it was one less person that Warren could abuse and manipulate.
“Y/n.” He spoke again, causing you to flinch as you did your best to look up towards him. “You know why I did this. You know.”
Here it was, the grand reason for your beating today.
“Never in my life, did I think I’d have to tell you this again, but you can’t just go out on your own.” He kneeled on the floor. “People will talk, and then it’ll be the end of this.”
If you were in a better mindset, you would’ve recognized that the end of this was a good thing.
“You’re so damn disrespectful, you know that? I ought to throw you out.” He inhaled, anger getting to him again. “I know you’re too fucking slow to tell me what you were up to, but damn it, Y/n, you would never survive without me. This house? This lifestyle? All me.”
Warren wouldn’t even let you get a job in the first place. And he had already assumed the reason for your outing yesterday, even though you had simply gone on a walk. Wondering if you could just throw yourself off the bridge, into the river.
He leaned in and began to whisper. “You need discipline. You need to know your place in the world, if you were fending without me. You got no idea how lucky you have it.”
And so, Warren explained that tomorrow you were going to start a job at Meade’s local gas station, which was run by Donna. Not helping out at the pump, but working at the convenience store, which was just great.
As you picked yourself up off the floor, sniffling as you wiped away your tears, you felt terrified. Not because Warren was forcing you into a job, but because it was a change that could ensure your freedom.
Unfortunately, Warren also mentioned taking your pay cheque since there was no reason for you to need your own wages. Apparently that was a benefit you didn’t need, since you were there for your own good.
Still, he didn’t realize that any time away from him was really a blessing, not a curse.
-------------
When you finally got ready for your new job, as Warren stood over your shoulder, making sure you weren’t wearing anything inappropriate, you felt sick.
You had no idea what Warren had told Donna about you, and you knew it couldn’t be all that great, considering that this was supposed to beat you into shape.
As you sat in the car, you hoped that Warren was wrong. That this would be a positive change, and that he was just using you for money. Maybe he was just trying to scare you.
When you were dropped off, the sun was so bright, you could barely keep your eyes open, and you wondered if that was the consequence of staying indoors most of the time. You felt a pleasant warmth, as the fresh air wafted through the window of the car.
Warren waved at Donna, who was a cheery black woman, and before you could open the door to get towards the convenience store, he yanked your arm back. Out of anyone’s sight.
“Do not fuck this up.” He whispered, then kissed your cheek so it looked as if he had said something tender. Your skin, from the sudden unwarranted contact, felt like it stung, and you walked out of the car, sickened again.
At least you were away from this man for now.
------------
“Well, aren’t you a quiet one?” Donna said, because her instructions about the store and it’s management only caused you to nod in reply.
You just weren’t very sure what to say. You felt shy, especially because of how accommodating Donna was, always telling you that it was fine if you didn’t understand everything on the first day.
And you were worried that you might mess up your newfound solitude. The store wasn’t very busy at all, so it was really just a lot of cleaning and occasionally charging people for gas.
“Warren said you were rather reserved, but I didn’t think he meant like this.” Donna jested during your break, as you sipped on some peach tea from the convenience store refrigerator. “You’re not scared of me, are you?”
You shook your head quickly, knowing that Donna was a total sweetheart, especially in comparison to Warren.
“Alright, good.” She leaned in, gently squeezing your arm. “You’re such a hard worker. Last thing I want is to scare you off.”
You nodded, and finally smiled at her, which seemed to soothe her spirits. The big takeaway for you was that Warren hadn’t told her you were a big burden or a chore to work on, or even a wild animal to tame and discipline into shape.
His first mistake.
Donna insisted that you could take a slightly longer break, but she saw a customer confused with the gas pump sticking it into a crevice that certainly shouldn’t exist in your car.
She immediately took off after asking you to watch the store, which didn’t need to be said, but you were still grateful for her presumption that you were to be asked instead of told.
You began to tidy up a bit, seeing a bunch of miscellaneous stuff in the aisle in front of the cash register that needed to be put away. You also noticed that you were beginning to bruise, where Warren had yanked you. A bad reminder.
Then you sat at the register, waiting for who you assumed would be the customer who messed up the gas pump.
The door rang, and you turned to see him.
------------
Arvin was having a really bad day.
First, he had to kill that couple- Carl and Sandy, names that he was trying not to forget- and it was only thanks to his instinct, that something was off about them. If he was being honest, they deserved it, since he had seen their heinous crimes in those rolls of film, but that still did not ease the general paranoia inside him.
He had only been trying to hitchhike after killing Preston, something that was always going to happen, regardless, and now he had more blood on his hands.
Everything always seemed to go wrong for him.
His eyes teared up for a moment, but he wiped them away, thinking of Lenora. She had been too good for this world, too kind, and it had eaten her up as a result, and now it was up to Arvin to set the world right. To punish those who had acted unfairly.
Now he had walked back to his childhood home in Meade, where he was sure things would get better. How could they not?
Arvin thought about his father, and his mother, and wondered if things had always been set in stone. If things were always supposed to go poorly. But he decided that he lived in this world too, and so he was going to take his own space in it.
Arvin walked into the gas station’s store counterpart, looking for sustenance, for something that would take his mind off the general situation. As the door shut, he saw a girl- no, a young woman, probably just within the cusp of adulthood like he was.
She was shy, anxious in a way that was plainly written across her face. There was no hidden intention here. The woman was curling inwards, her posture screaming that she didn’t want to be noticed, which was rather similar to Lenora, or even Arvin himself.
The difference was that although Arvin was quiet, he was never unassuming. He knew her just through familiarity, and he silently hoped that her life wasn’t too hard, or that he wouldn’t be burdening her. Maybe it was wishful thinking, but he kind of wanted her to look happier, just for her own sake.
You were silent, unable to judge the man who had just come in. He had heavy dark circles under his eyes, as if he hadn’t slept in a month, and he seemed silent, but you caught his eyes roaming across the entire store.
If you had to guess, he was doing his best to be sure nothing was bad around here. Not a terrible assumption, considering how quickly innocent people seemed to get caught into things around here.
You held your breath, hoping he would ask you if he needed help, and the man took off into the aisles, his determined eyes scaling the different assortment of goods like it was second nature to always be looking around like that.
“You got jerky?” His voice rang out suddenly, making you jolt in your spot. You paused for a second, and then stood up, shaking, unaware of what to tell him. You didn’t want any trouble.
“...Not sure.” You admitted, and he gave you a look, not really a mean one. More as if he was a little confused.
“Are you new here?” He asked, quietly, and you nodded quickly, which made him sympathize a little. Even though he was having a tough time, he was not going to take it out on you.
“Okay. Here’s an idea. We can look for it together.” He compromised, instantly enjoying how your face lit up a little at that. “Must be easier not to have shitty customers, huh?”
“...Yeah. Thank you.” You finally spoke, the faintest sound coming from your mouth. This stranger was awfully nice, considering that you were kind of wasting his time here.
He ducked his head, strangely embarrassed at the subdued timbre of your voice, but he found it sweet. It was a lot like him, like his own sense of self a lot of the time, or at least how he used to be.
Something about you two, wandering the store together, looking through several shelves for the jerky, made you feel kind of warm on the inside. No one really seemed to trust you that much so quickly, and this guy really was not ugly either. You felt a twinge of guilt at that, as if Warren was over your shoulder, again calling you a whore, but you knew a simple thought like that was out of your control.
It wasn’t as if Warren was all that faithful, either.
You took a glance at him, watching his expression as he furrowed his brows, biting his lip in confusion, staring at all the different products, and you knew he was just dedicated. Probably one of those guys who would always see things through.
It was like you had suddenly become part of a team, as you also scoured through, shaking your head as he looked at you questioningly, your mutual body language enough to keep communication going. The man was silent but friendly enough, and you knew you’d be sorry to see him go.
Suddenly, your eyes came across the red packaging of the jerky you were looking for. “Is it this?”
Arvin turned, seeing you hold two packages, one beef, one pork, but he was barely paying attention to that. You looked so proud of yourself, a still hesitant but much larger smile adorned across your face, and it seemed to him that you were grateful to help him. To be there for someone.
He was reminded vaguely of his mother, who had been the same way, and he remembered that his own father had met her here in Meade, in a diner. He brushed that aside, and made a small mental reminder to go visit that place anyways.
Arvin was right. You did look a lot better happier, and he hadn’t made things worse. If anything, he was glad to have been a positive influence on you.
He just didn’t expect you, with your rather somber expression before, to have such a lovely, light visage, and it made his heart beat a little harder. Again, he was reminded of so many people he had known, but now there was a new feeling, like he would do anything to make sure you were smiling.
Until, of course, he remembered you were just a random employee here, but nevertheless, it was present.
“Sir?” You asked timidly.
He coughed. “Yeah- sorry-”
“It’s fine.” You smiled shyly, staring at the ground. “I just want to know which type you prefer.”
Well, Arvin knew the answer to one thing. He was not going to be able to get you out of his mind for a bit.
“Ah, actually…” He swallowed. “I guess I don’t really have a preference. I’ll get both.”
You waved him over, and walked to the cash register, where you rung him up for about $2.19.
He paid, with change, and you gave him a bag of both beef and pork jerky. It was here, where your hand gently touched his, that Arvin took a small look at your wrist, seeing a fresh violet bruise. He felt taken aback, suddenly understanding your earlier emotions perfectly.
Was it just an accident? Or had someone done that to you?
He, against all odds, would guess the latter, especially because you were so fraught with anxiety earlier. Arvin’s lips formed a thin line, wondering why things seemed so awful for everyone out there, and he wished not for the first time that he could change it.
“Thanks, uh…” He looked you straight in the eyes, the contact feeling strangely personal.
“Y/n.” You supplied, and he had a soft smile, which resonated into his rather worried eyes.
“Thank you, Y/n. Nice to meet ya.” He shook your hand, taking an awful lot of care not to touch the bruise. “I’m Arvin Russell.”
Arvin is a nice name, you thought. It sounded friendly, and at this point, that was what you needed.
You gently moved your hand away, and then realized that maybe Arvin had seen your bruise. You knew what a battered woman usually looked like to people, but for once, you didn’t want pity. You felt like it was your fault anyways.
As he waved goodbye, expression delicate, but happy, you didn’t feel anything but the new beginning of a friendship.
------------
Arvin would have never gotten this far if it wasn’t for his noticing of details, little facts that other people would miss. He was the one who noticed when Lenora seemed upset after those boys had hurt her in school. He was the one who noticed when she was happier, and then sadder, after Teagardin had had his way with her.
So it made a lot of sense why his mind kept replaying the interaction with you.
There were just too many clues. Why you drew yourself in, why you chose to be at the counter instead of around the store, as if you were scared to take up space, because maybe someone or something was pushing you to feel that way.
And that new, fresh bruise. You had pulled your wrist away, like it was a bad memory, and it made Arvin feel sick, remembering how easy it was for abuse to strike at any moment.
Arvin thought about visiting again. He felt like he didn’t have much else to do, considering that he had run away from Knockemstiff, and he figured that you were worth helping, or at least talking to. It would set this constant pitter patter in his stomach at ease, because he could never let anything go.
He was in his abandoned childhood home now, finding it desolate and dark, in the middle of the night. Arvin didn’t have anywhere else to stay. If anyone was going to come to evict him for squatting, he’d leave, but for now, it was a sullen place that he could still call home, even with all the worthless memories attached to it.
He thought of his mother, again, wishing she was here to hold him as she did when he was small. Or his childhood best friend, his dog, who was killed not far from here.
Everything seemed to end in death.
Arvin turned on his side, lying on the couch, which had become dusty after years of disuse. He decided, then and there, he didn’t want you to become forgotten like that. He was going to see you again, tomorrow.
He chewed on the jerky, feeling exhausted, but hopeful.
------------
“Next!” Donna called, waiting for people to come to the cash register. Today was a busier day, because it was Saturday, so most people wanted to get gas for their outings.
You were manning the coffee station, where everyone was also picking up their morning cup of joe. It wasn’t anything you didn’t already do at home, honestly, but the lack of screaming from Warren made it a lot easier.
Warren, on the other hand, seemed a little more subdued. Maybe his job as a construction worker was finally giving in with breaks, or maybe it was that you had seen him after coming home from work, in his car, up in between a hot redhead’s legs.
It didn’t surprise you anymore, and as a result, it barely hurt you. There was nothing you could do to change him, so you could only be content that when he was fucking someone else, at least he wasn’t beating you.
Still, you knew this wasn’t what you thought life would be, as you handed coffee off to another customer. That general sense of melancholy, of wishing for things to be different, would never really go away.
“Y/n.” A newly familiar, soft drawl called your name, and you jerked your head upwards in surprise.
Your next customer was a familiar, doe eyed, floppy brown haired savior.
“...Arvin.” You smiled at him, a real genuine, glad smile, wondering if fate had heard you cry out, and sent the best possible remedy. “What can I get ya?”
As you stared at him, you noticed that again, the poor boy had such a heavy, worn down expression, as if he was tired of existing too, the dark circles only giving you an impression that he was tormented. Just like you.
He sighed, staring at the menu, and then asked for a black coffee, which made you nod your understanding. It was an early morning.
Arvin, in his own world, felt the words he was about to say die in his throat. It wasn’t that you were hard to talk to, in a bad way, more that he felt like when he was still in high school, and the pretty girl in his english class had just given him her notes.
Maybe that was a poor analogy his mind was coming up with. It was that Arvin really enjoyed being taken care of, being supported in the way that he would support others, and the way that you had leaned in today, asking him in such a domestic nature what kind of coffee he wanted?
It made him turn red, knowing that he tried to ignore this before, but: you were a cute, sweet girl, with a doting glance of the eyes that could turn him to jelly if he wasn’t careful, and he was never one to put up much resistance to that. The same inner pride he had felt when you found the jerky yesterday, he felt again now, seeing you comfortable with yourself for once, straightening and relaxing your shoulders when you saw him. It was intoxicating.
He always wanted you to look like that.
Jesus christ, Russell, keep it together. You’re trying to help her, remember? He admonished himself.
Still, a part of him was being selfish, even if it was for your greater good. He was going to find out what- or more importantly, who was doing this to you.
“Here’s your coffee, Arv.” You gingerly handed him his cup, since it was so hot, and he took it, face turning red at the nickname. You were already treating him like a close friend, which really just indicated to him that you were in desperate need of one.
Just like Lenora.
As he tried to remember that, instead of how cute “Arv” sounded coming out of your mouth, he realized that maybe he could multitask being a good friend with his mission.
God knew that Arvin was lonely too.
He asked you, if you’d be free to maybe go and talk for a bit, and you agreed, knowing that your break was coming up soon. Donna winked at you, saying to take an extra few minutes for being such a cool girl, and you laughed at that, which made Donna giggle.
“Sure are opening up, huh, Y/n?” She waved at you.
Arvin froze too, unaware that you could have such an angelic tone in your laugh, but again, he knew this was just those stupid, unwarranted feelings. He needed to do the right thing first.
All the while hoping he could hear it again at some point.
As you sat at the outside picnic bench, Arvin first took off the lid of his coffee cup, and took a deep sniff, the aroma of caffeine awakening his senses.
You snorted quietly, which made Arvin grin, which made you smile in return. He had a lovely smile that stretched to his eyes, causing his skin to wrinkle, and you were satisfied to see that he looked a little less exhausted this way.
He was so… offbeat, but in such a cute way. Like a little boy who had been bullied his whole life, and chose to become this quiet, but sweet individual. Your instinct could’ve been way off, but in comparison to Warren, Arvin looked out for you.
It was as if he understood.
Even now, his eyes darted towards the outer area, looking at the streets and the forest up ahead, wanting to be sure of your safety.
“Everything alright?” He asked, sipping on his coffee.
“In what way?” You wrinkled your eyebrows in confusion.
“Oh. Well…” He swallowed. “At the store, you were struggling a bit before. And you seemed… quiet. So I just wanted to be sure if everything was good.”
“It is. This job is good for me.” You replied, trying to convince him, hoping that he would buy your half-truth.
He did, and he nodded, looking a bit more satisfied. Still, something was on Arvin’s mind.
“Is the coffee good?” You asked, just making conversation, as you drilled a line into the picnic table with your fingernail.
“It is.” Arvin demonstrated by taking a sip. “Better than a lotta other gas stations, that’s for sure.”
“That why you took a smell of it before? Trying to judge the taste?” You jested, and he laughed, more loudly than you thought he would have, but that was okay. You wanted to make him laugh, to be a positive person in anyone’s life.
It was a good change.
“No, you silly woman.” Arvin scrunched his nose, blinking his eyes. “Sometimes we all need a hit of caffeine as fast as possible, you know?”
“Ah. You’re real tired, then.” You acknowledged, gesturing towards his eyes. “From the way you sniffed it, you looked like some of the cokeheads you see around here-”
Now Arvin really lost his composure. He started laughing, unable to stop, until he slapped the table. He would’ve never guessed you were so naturally funny, but then again, you were keeping yourself in before.
The thought sobered him. It was strange, knowing that something was keeping you down, and yet, he wondered what kind of awful situation such an endearing person could be in.
It had been all of a couple of minutes with you, and he was so attached.
“Sorry, Y/n. I didn’t expect that from you.” He admitted, and you raised your eyebrows. “You were so quiet yesterday-”
“To be fair, it was my first day.” You interjected with a smile. “Just shy.”
Arvin would call bullshit on that. You were trying to change the subject, to distract him, trying to keep things lighthearted so he wouldn’t find out too much. Every victim did this, and you were no exception with how you started talking about how lovely your job was, and what a sweetheart Donna was, and how great this one diner was, if Arvin wanted breakfast, and he did, but he was at a tough junction here.
Did he act like a good friend, or did he bring up his suspicion? Some people would get anxious, and deny whatever was happening to them, in order to seem “normal” or well-adjusted. It made Arvin all the more concerned.
He rationalized that being a good friend would be helping you, and then he missed whatever you said.
“Arv?” You addressed him again, your voice softer, but still cute. You were quick to doubt yourself because of Warren, but Arvin didn’t want that. “Do you want to-”
“Go to the diner?” Arvin supplied, trying to show that he was listening, that he did care for what you had to say. “Sure. I’m beat.”
“Okay, cool.” You leaned in, like you wanted to touch his hand, but you felt shy again, like that was too forward, and you weren’t sure of his reaction. “See you after my shift’s over?”
Arvin smiled, trying to act like he didn’t need affection or closeness himself, but it was true, no matter how hard he denied it. His hand craved yours.
------------
The diner was bustling for a small town. There were about three waitresses, based on Arvin’s general idea of who was coming and going through the kitchen, and yet it seemed terribly busy. People were everywhere, at the counter, in the booths, and it took all his willpower to pull you and him into a booth.
He was shy, but he knew you probably didn’t have the nerve either.
The waitress, a friendly, platinum blonde, asked for your order, and you asked for a ham and cheese on rye bread. Arvin asked for the same.
“Copycat.” You snickered, finding it easy to joke with him.
He rolled his eyes, mockingly, and you found yourself missing this. Being around people. Being around someone who cared for your words, for your own personality, not telling you to shut up or to fuck off. It was like you kept realizing how awful your situation was.
“Can’t help it if you have good taste, N/n.” He teased, giving you your own nickname.
“Is that who we are? Arv and N/n.” You grinned, cheering yourself up, not wanting things to be so evident. You didn’t want to sour the mood, especially when the man in front of you tended to look sour already.
“If you want to be.” Arvin took a small leap of courage and grabbed your hand, enveloping your pinky with his own. “We’re buddies now. Partners. We look out for each other, like we looked out for that jerky.”
No one had ever been so kind to you, and all you could do was shake your pinky.
Arvin was a little bit of a jerk, though, and he pretended like he was seeing your bruise for the first time, as he tilted your wrist. Actually, he could see a lot more, faded ones, accumulated after weeks and weeks of beatings, and he knew he was right. You were being hurt by someone, and there was no way to deny it.
Unfortunately, you were good at taking his mind off what he needed to do, and all it took was the food’s arrival.
You took a bite of your sandwich, clearly starving, and said with your mouth full: “Ifs sho gwood!”
It was good, Arvin admitted, giggling at how your mouth was full, after taking his own bite of his own sandwich. It felt… familiar.
It was only when he looked to the right of the booth, and saw a redheaded waitress, that he remembered. His mother worked at a diner, and it had to be this one, because her ham and cheese sandwich had tasted the same.
Tears began to accumulate in his eyes. His mother, who he’d never see again, her memory lived so strongly in little pieces of life, like this.
“Arvin…” You looked at him with concern. “What happened?”
You handed him a napkin, and he was grateful for your thoughtfulness.
“My mother used to work here. She met my dad here, and then they moved away together.” Arvin felt a lump in his throat. “They both died when I was a kid, though. Seems like that was the last time things could be happy.”
“I’m sorry!” You immediately ducked your head. “I shouldn’t have suggested this place.”
“No, no.” He wiped his tears away quickly. “There’s no way you would’ve known that. Don’t blame yourself. Besides…”
He leaned in, like he was telling you a sweet secret, just for the two of you. “I would’ve never been able to remember her without places like this. You did good.”
Your expression turned fond, eyes softening at that. A genuine compliment, where you weren’t getting paid to be good, made your heart feel more bonded towards Arvin than maybe you ever did with anyone else.
You felt a strange, new sorrow, though. That must’ve been why Arvin looked the way he did all the time, and it made you feel awful, wishing you could just wrap your arms around him and protect him. Take away the pain somehow.
You were only so empathetic because you had been through a lot yourself, but Arvin didn’t know that.
“Your momma would be proud of you, Arv.” You said, and he tilted his head in confusion.
“How would you know that?”
“Well, anyone who’s this nice to a lady must’ve had a good momma.” You said with such certainty, that he couldn’t really argue.
“Yeah. Thank you, N/n.” He smiled uncertainly, feeling bashful yet soothed by your compliments. It wouldn’t take much for him to admit that he loved the feeling, that he was glad someone saw him for a good person, and that someone was you. “I just find it amazing how they met each other here. Guess it really does happen anywhere.”
“Well, yeah. We met yesterday and now we’re talking like we’ve known each other for a while.” You responded, not really thinking about the takeaways of that.
Arvin spluttered for a second, gulping down the last bite of his sandwich with some struggle, while you thought over what you said. There was no way you could say that without thinking about it, right?
But you were right, in a way, as he thought about it. You were sweet, and resilient in a way he hadn’t expected, and humourous when you wanted to be, and God, you were so pretty. Arvin had been keeping these thoughts to the back of his mind for hours now, but it was difficult when you were staring across the booth at him like this.
You were beautiful, in a way that he hadn’t really understood or felt about a girl before, but now his mind was constantly thinking about the fact. You were cool, understated in a way he understood, and you didn’t seem to judge his antics. In fact, maybe you shared them.
He understood, now, why his father had taken so quickly to his mother.
Arvin wanted to ask you to come with him, to be with him, so he could take care of you, so he could make sure that none of those telltale bruises would ever happen again. He would never forgive himself if you weren’t safe, and all he wanted was to feel love, to feel safe, preferably with you.
“Oh, sorry, Arvin.” You gave him a toothy, apologetic smile. “Didn’t realize how that would sound.”
You didn’t sound as if you were disgusted by the thought though, and the truth was, you weren’t. You wanted to be with the sullen, on guard man, much more than you wanted to be with that angry, egotistical narcissist. Arvin was so much more, in such a small amount of time, he was always careful of your presence, making sure you were accommodated fairly, and he had treated you as a friend mutually.
And you were not kidding when you said he was cute. He was adorable, having soft, curly wisps of dark brown hair that could be comparable to an angel, and even his tired nature made you want to do nothing more than hold him by a fireplace until he fell asleep.
You had these thoughts yesterday, but now they had grown tenfold. You wished life could be different, but you knew you didn’t have much time or energy to even bring up the topic to Arvin. You didn’t want to scare him off, especially with your current situation, and even if he did accept it, you didn’t want to burden him.
You mentally decided that a friend was better than nothing. Life had become better this way, and that was all you could think.
“Not a worry, N/n.” Arvin smiled, for real, knowing that you could come back to this topic later. Now, before you could distract him again, he picked up your wrist.
“I’m terribly sorry, Y/n, but I gotta know, for your sake.” He whispered, sounding deathly serious, his hand and eyes pointed towards the bruise. “What is this? What’s happening to you?”
Your eyes dropped, not because you didn’t want to answer, but because it felt so fast. It was so close to when it happened, you couldn’t help but relive his constant beatdowns, his grasp, so tight, where it felt like your skin was going to be torn off.
You began to shrink into yourself again, your eyes tearing up, feeling sick and horrid and tired of Warren. He even ruined your friendship with Arvin.
“I fell.” You lied, feeling shame take you over, but you didn’t want to hear Arvin tell you your abuse was your fault. Honestly, you didn’t really think he would, but you weren’t in a great state of mind, what with the lies Warren kept telling you.
“Fell.” Arvin scoffed, but then you began to really tear up, and he was immediately so, so sorry. He stood up, and walked to your side of the booth, sitting next to you, wrapping his arms around your shoulders. A tight, firm, hug.
“Don’t cry, please. I’m sorry.” Arvin hugged you with even more reassurance, rubbing his hand over your back, which was contact you hadn’t felt in so long. The memory of being so beloved by someone, of being supported, made you cry harder.
You leaned into his neck, the tears wetting him, and he felt horrible, especially because he was right. You were being hurt by someone. He was only glad that you could cling onto him for now, and he let you cry for a bit, knowing it was going to take time.
“Whatever it is, it’s not your fault, because we’re gonna get through it together. We’re the jerky buddies, remember?” He tried. Arvin wasn’t the best at cheering people up, but you sniffled a little, and then hugged him back tighter, so grateful for his unwavering belief in you.
“My-” You swallowed, unsure of how to start. “M-My boyf-”
“Take your time, please.” He whispered, letting you cling to him as long as you needed to. Arvin began soothing ministrations with his fingers into your scalp, hoping that would calm you down a little.
You took a deep breath in, and then started, knowing it was all going to come out in a rush.
“My boyfriend, or I guess warden, if you will, actually, that’s what his name means! His fucking name, Warren, means warden, what a red flag, right?” You began to pinch at the skin of your palm, trying to find a way to take the pain out somewhere else. “I met him a year or so ago and he acted like he loved me, like he wanted me, but then I had a- a miscarriage, and he destroyed me, Arvin, it’s not right, I know it’s not right, but he hurt me and beat me and he only keeps me around because it makes him feel better-”
Arvin swore, under his breath, if he ever met this Warren guy, he was going to kill him. He could feel his heart turning blacker with anger, with how the cowardly people of the world preyed on the vulnerable, and it made him utterly sick of it all.
It was Lenora, it was him, it was even you.
He nearly asked for a description of Warren, so he could go out and hunt him right now, but you were shaking, the truth of the matter causing you to break down.
Arvin was shaking too, but rigidly, with anger firing through his veins. He held you, trying to calm himself down, because he knew there had to be a right way to help you.
You were still picking away at your palm, so he gently pried away your hand, choosing to let his hand comfortingly envelop yours.
“That’s not your fault. That would never, ever be your fault, Y/n.” Arvin squeezed your hand. “You hear me? Fuck Warren, okay? That’s by far the shittiest thing I’ve ever heard. He doesn’t-”
Arvin tried to compose himself here, knowing that his feelings couldn’t matter in the situation.
“He doesn’t deserve you. No one who cared so little for you, deserves you, Y/n.” Arvin was desperately trying to convince you, to change how Warren saw you, because he saw so much more. A strong, perseverant woman, buying into this man’s gaslighting and abuse, was one of the great injustices in the world.
He told you as much, that you were so great, whispering it into your ear reverently, and you realized that yeah, Warren was a liar. It was something you knew all along, but having Arvin to back you up made you feel stronger, that you were validated, and that it was not just you.
Arvin held your hands close, and whispered. “Is there any way you could get away? Maybe try to take more shifts at the gas station until you can move away?”
“Warren takes my paychecks.” You replied, looking towards the floor.
“Okay, here’s an idea. You and I can try to take them back, or tell Donna that you don’t want your paychecks sent to Warren. I’ll help you leave, Y/n.” He brought your face forwards, so your eyes would look into his, seeing his serious and genuine expression, his mouth hardened with anger. “I swear to you, I’ll help you.”
You nodded, and hugged him again, while Arvin told you to be careful when you went back there tonight. Hopefully, it would be your last.
------------
You were shrieking, as Warren immediately slapped you as you walked in.
You fell to the floor, in front of the bottom of the staircase.
“Bitch! UTTER- FUCKING- CUNT!” He howled, every word emphasized with a kick to your gut. “This is how you fucking repay me, is it?”
You didn’t reply, feeling your vision black out, but Warren picked up your head by pulling your hair.
“Answer me, fucking dammit!” He spat on your face, causing you to cry out. “You were nowhere in goddamn sight when I came to pick you up from work today. Donna tells me you left with some fucking boy to the diner, huh? Said ‘a friend of yours’ but I know better, bitch.”
He pulled you up by your throat, and slammed you against the stairs, again nearly causing you to be knocked out.
“I knew you were too much of a damn whore. This is what you been doing, all this time? I give you a good job, a good chance to redeem yourself, and you’re out there practically fucking another man at the diner.” Warren began to throttle you.
“I didn’t sleep with-” You tried to counter him, tried your best to defend yourself, the closest you had gotten to actually screaming back at him.
He was visibly shaken, and smacked you again, and again. “Liar!”
After a beat of silence, he spoke again. “I should just kill you.”
You were nearly begging for this, not knowing your actions with Arvin would have such a repercussion.
“But I’ll give you one more chance.”
You knew it was somehow too good to be true, because Warren still needed something to control in his life. He walked away, leaving you to black out at the bottom of the stairs, bruises already forming.
------------
Arvin was struggling to breathe.
His body was shaking off the adrenaline of having killed again, something that would never really leave him, but it had to be done.
Lee Bodecker, local police officer of Knockemstiff, had tracked him down after he had killed Preston. Honestly, Arvin knew it was too good to be true, that he would be able to get away scot free with his murders (vengeance, or justice, if we’re being honest), but the last thing he expected was Bodecker.
The man had been desperate, shooting at him near where he used to pray as a boy, but Arvin was too fast and killed him first, leaving evidence of Carl and Sandy’s murders next to him. Whoever found Lee was going to find a hell of a lot of footprints.
So Arvin was running now, gun still with him, knowing that he was going to have to run away for good. No more reminiscing about the past.
The only issue was that there was no way he could abandon you now, not after he had pledged to himself and you that he was going to protect you.
He was ready, now, to run into the gas station store, to just tell you everything so that you could choose to come with him, and he had a good feeling you would. Arvin couldn’t rest until this final thing was complete.
When he did walk into the store, things were eerily silent.
“Donna?” He called out, not seeing the black woman anywhere in sight.
“Donna’s not into today. Taking a day off. I’m supervising for now.” A man’s voice responded, and he felt the tension in the room increase. There had never been a man working at the store before.
You were trembling when Arvin saw you. Behind the counter, you were shaking and doing your best not to, as the blonde man next to you smiled, as if everything was alright. Your body, and face now, had received even more bruises, and Arvin nearly yelled.
He had to keep himself together, but he was still high off the adrenaline of having killed Bodecker. All he could feel was righteous anger, that he hadn’t been man enough to ask you to stay with him yesterday, that you had been beaten to a pulp without him. How could he not have prevented this?
Arvin wondered, wildly, if you still trusted him, or if you hated him for leaving you behind, but either way, he was going to try and fix this. It wasn’t something he could let go.
He wasn’t sure if the man behind you was Warren, though, and from the way he was smiling, Arvin had no idea how to finish this. How to take you away from this. It began to feel hopeless.
“Hey-” He tried, maybe to ask you if you could leave, but you shook your head, and he didn’t know what to do.
Arvin walked towards the counter, buying a pack of jerky, again, while you rang him up, shaking. You wrote the receipt, as you usually would, your hand moving quickly, and you flipped the paper over into his hand. He began to walk away.
To the supervisor, things seemed normal so far.
Arvin read the receipt. One pack of beef jerky - $1. That’s Warren help
He swallowed, rage getting the better of him again, and turned around.
“So you’re the bastard who’s been… been beating her.” He uttered, body rigid in place as he stared the blonde man down.
“Don’t listen to this lying skank. It’s all makeup, she does it to herself for pity.” Warren said, with a cold, calculated look. “I know you can do better than to get caught up in this, in some whore who would spread her legs for any man.-”
“You’re wrong.” Arvin huffed out, feeling the urge to kill heighten. How dare he? How dare Warren try to gaslight him into believing that? “Y/n and I have never done that, and I don’t need that to help her. You’re a sick, twisted, liar. A sinner.”
“Sinner? Oh, the only sinner here is the woman who intentionally killed her child. Isn’t that right?” Warren leaned in towards you, causing you to flinch. “She might act hurt, but the truth is that she’s ruthless, inhuman scum.”
Arvin clenched his teeth. “If that makes her a sinner, I must be the devil.”
And he launched himself forward, his fist catching onto Warren’s stupidly smug face, causing the man to gasp out as they both fell. Before Warren could even get up, Arvin was punching him, over, and over, causing blood to fall from his now broken nose, and you began to weep in the corner, unable to look, but fearful for the outcome.
Warren had been a jock in high school, so he was still capable of catching Arvin’s fists, and launching him backwards, standing.
He punched Arvin, causing the skin on his cheekbone to split open, a small wound in comparison to Warren’s nose, but it began to bleed and sting.
“Arvin!” You cried out, fearing that he could die, and knowing that if that happened, there was no way for you to live past that.
He heard your voice, and knew that even if he was furious enough to kill Warren with his bare hands, he needed to end this quickly. For your sake.
Arvin pulled the gun that was inside his coat pocket, the gun that had freshly killed so many people already. His father’s gun.
He didn’t even have to think about it, he just fired a shot.
Straight into Warren’s chest, sending him crashing to the floor.
The recoil of the shot caused Arvin to shudder, and the sound of it caused you to scream in fear.
Warren was still blubbering on the ground, a coward to the very last second, and Arvin finished it off with a final shot to the head.
He was dead now. It was finished.
You were crying, extra hard now, and you slowly sat on the floor, the tears coming out as quickly as they could. You were crying out of so many different emotions.
It was over. The man was gone, he could never hurt you in the way he had before, and it was really thanks to Arvin. Arvin had been the one you were looking for, the one to save you, to protect you in harsh situations like this. You weren’t sure, but you felt like you loved him, that you were thankful you met him when you did, that whatever he spewed about being a devil couldn’t be further from the truth. He was your angel.
But the reality was that this was still a harsh situation, and you were still traumatized. The vulgarity of the fight you had witnessed was abhorrent to think about, but it was a reminder that this is what it had taken to get away. And the fact that it could’ve ended an entirely different way, with Warren still living, still having his way over you, still treating you like a slave-
“Hey. I’m here.” Arvin came closer to you, and he gingerly wrapped his arms around you again, which made you sob, but you hugged him back even tighter. “It’s okay, it’s okay.”
“I thought you were going to…!” You couldn’t even finish the awful sentence.
“No. I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have…” Arvin began to tear up now, feeling like he should’ve protected you from seeing that. “I’m sorry you had to see that, Y/n.”
He couldn’t help himself from breaking down, now, telling you about Lenora, and how something so similar had happened to her, and how he had to kill so many people out of survival, out of his own urge to just live.
You huddled with him, hugging him, caressing his back and arms, trying your hardest to comfort this boy who had to grow up so fast, as he cried and cried into your shoulder. You hated knowing that this had to happen to him, and to you, but now you had each other.
He was careful not to touch your bruises too hard, but your scent, your warmth, kept him comforted, as if he felt a lot safer now, in a new era, where things weren’t as bad.
“Y/n.” Arvin whispered, causing you to look at him and let go. “We gotta run away, right?”
“Yeah.” You whispered back. “We gotta get outta here.”
------------
You and Arvin had both packed two knapsacks, full of your belongings from your house and from Arvin’s childhood home. You had also stolen a fair bit of snacks from the gas station.
Arvin was holding you close by the road, your hand intertwined with his, and he even told you: he was never, ever, letting go. He didn’t want to see you get hurt again.
His other hand was out, on the road, as he tried to hitchhike, and eventually, a Volkswagen station wagon, in cherry red, stopped for you. A hippie was driving it, and welcomed you aboard.
As you and Arvin sat in the back, the large seat accommodating both of you, he yawned, as it had been such a long day. You echoed his yawn, and he leaned his head onto your shoulder, as you leaned your head onto his. You began to fall asleep, the toll of your lives finally escaping you.
------------
“Y/n.” Arvin whispered, and you woke up with a start, the station wagon still shaking as it drove. “Sorry. Just thought I should let you know the hippie’s droppin’ us in Georgia in an hour or so.”
“Georgia’s nice, Arv.” You replied, squeezing his hand, wondering what would come next.
He began to turn red again. “I… uh… I had a funny dream… well, really-”
“Tell me.” You looked at him, intent on listening.
“...Well. I was your husband. You were my wife, obviously. We had a nice big house and a little kid and a dog and God, did it feel real-”
You looked at him in surprise. “You think of me like that?”
“Well, yeah.” Arvin looked out the window, before he lost his nerve just by looking at you. “You’re my… well… oh, I don’t know.”
“Your waitress at the diner.” You playfully quipped, leaning on his shoulder again.
“Yeah, exactly!” He grabbed both of your hands, suddenly excited.
“But Arvin, don’t you feel like…” You swallowed. “Like you deserve someone better? Someone who isn’t a fuck up?”
Arvin immediately frowned, and then leaned in really close, his nose brushing your own. “You’re not a fuck up, darling, you are perfect. Anything that idiot did to you… it’s not you, it’s him. Get it?”
You nodded, knowing he was right, but you were really just so grateful to have his unconditional love, and to know that he felt the same was a huge relief to you.
His face still hadn’t pulled away, and you were beginning to blush from such close contact. It had been literally a year or so.
But your eyes caught his bruise, on his cheekbone, and you sighed.
"Arv. I'm sorry." You gently touched the side of his wound, wishing that you could make it go away. "I just wish I could…"
"Protect me?" Arvin replied, quietly. "That's exactly how I feel about you. Everytime I look at you, I just want to protect you from the dangers, the awful people of the world. Because you're a good person, Y/n."
His words were heartfelt, and you held him close, choosing to gently kiss his bruise.
"That's the most I can do to take it away." You whispered, but Arvin's face flushed a deep red.
"I-" He couldn't respond appropriately with words, so instead, he kissed your cheek, and your eyes, where you had a slightly puffy bruise, and then your other cheek, and then your nose.
Now Arvin was staring at your mouth, watching as it was half parted. He had never done anything with a woman before, and it felt like everything was moving slowly. He wanted to be honest with you first.
"I love you." He spoke quietly, but genuine adoration was in his tone. "I think I already did love you when I saw how happy you were to help me find jerky. Or even just talking to me on a whim. I've never met someone who would be so willingly close to me, N/n, but for me, it's you."
He hugged you again, practically pulling you onto his lap. "I wish I had been there all this time. To take care of you, to make you safe, to hold you close, like this. I wish I had met you before that guy even got anywhere near you. I wanted to run away with you, that day in the diner, You are my favourite person, and if that doesn't convince you how important you are, I don't know what will."
You opened your mouth, trying to respond, but Arvin continued his little speech into your neck.
"And uh. I don't know if you know this, but you're gorgeous. Like if you had been in the movies, Sophia Loren would've had some competition." Arvin heard you laugh, and then grinned. "Being serious here. You're so strong, and smart, and pretty, and funny, and beautiful-"
"Pretty and beautiful might be the same damn thing, Arv." You drawled mockingly, and he laughed. "But thanks. That's very sweet of you to say."
Arvin frowned again. Obviously being lied to for so long had changed your perception.
"'M not just saying it." He sighed. "I really mean it."
You blinked, and then held his face.
"It's been a long time since I've said or felt these words, Arv, but I love you too. You're like my-" You swallowed, feeling more tender as his brown eyes bore into yours. "My angel. Maybe that's silly, but you did protect me, and I only wish you didn't have to do so much. I just want to hold you and let you sleep in my arms, because you always seem so tired, and I don't want you to fend for yourself."
Arvin smiled at that, a real soft, fond, smile, like he had found someone who met his match. No one had really ever described him like this. You were sweet, and he ducked his head in bashfulness, his hair brushing your own, as he smiled.
"Thank you, Y/n." He kissed your forehead. "We can be there for each other. I swear by that. And I did sleep on you, just now, but I'll gladly do it again."
You giggled, but nodded.
"Your angel, huh?" He teased, and you sighed.
"Well, you kind of look like one too. Big, brown doe eyes, soft cheeks, soft hair…" At that, you gently touched his hair, using your fingers to scratch his scalp.
Arvin’s brain basically short circuited, not expecting that sensation to be so riveting, to feel like the very center of his skull, of where he got migraines, was being massaged. He felt desperately hot all of a sudden, and it wasn't a sensation he was used to.
His eyelids closed, as his eyes rolled back into his skull, and before you could move your hand away, he looked at you again.
"Do that again, please-" He requested with such a polite tone, you could only comply. "Ohhh… that feels so wonderful."
You blushed, not believing that you were causing him to react like this, and he suddenly gripped your hands, clearly turned on by this turn of events.
"I've never-" Arvin spoke first, and you looked at him with mild surprise.
"Never? Anything?"
He shook his head and you raised your eyebrows.
"I don't mind being, well…" You said as much as you could, and Arvin grinned.
"Not that I don't want to, N/n, but I'd hate to take things so fast. I wanna be sure that," He swallowed. "That I have your trust."
But he still hummed, leaning in, watching your pupils widen with satisfaction.
"This is a good first, I think." He whispered, and you nodded.
He leaned in all the way, his lips just brushing yours softly, and then he really kissed you, only with the slight inexperience of a newbie. In fact, from the way his lips were softly plying away at yours, you would've guessed otherwise.
His hands came around your waist, and then his arms wrapped around you in a hug, causing you to smile into the kiss. Maybe if you were lucky, you and Arvin would hug forever.
Still, the mischievous part of you stroked his hair again, and you quite literally felt him moan into your mouth.
"That's not very angelic of me." Arvin said dryly, but still hugged you, placing one final kiss onto your lips.
lesson learned masterlist [tom holland smut series]
Pairing: Tom Holland x female!reader
Description: Ever since you met the mentor for your study subject, Tom Holland, you set yourself the goal of being spread across his desk and being fucked senseless by him someday. You try everything in your power to achieve that goal.
Tags: smut, ta!tom, tom with authority over reader, college!tom
Total series word count: 22.5k
Warnings: SMUT 18+ DNI if you're a minor, mention of slut-shaming, swearing, consumption of alcohol (no intoxicated sex though!) [see under the cut and individual chapters for specific warnings]
part one // part two // part three // part four // part five
Extras: Pics of Tom that make me think of this fic (re: lesson learned tag on my blog)
