A story about two people lost in the middle of arrangement not one of them wished for. It's about power and danger, hate and love. Will they find a happy ending?
Contents & warnings: arranged marriage, lots of fluff, slow burn-ish, sorcery, idiots searching for love, swear words, nsfw themes — please read warnings to each piece, reader discretion is advised
ART: @orukkart
have an idea for an entry? let me know in ask box!
bucky barnes x fem!reader | LIMERENCE SERIES PART 04
accismus. feigning disinterest in something while actually desiring it
WORD COUNT. 3160
SUMMARY. even with the help of your friends, neither of you can seem to get it right. this part is in bucky's pov - sharing the dual events from the part before
DISCLAIMER. angst angst more angst!!
PART 03 | SERIES MASTERLIST
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Bucky awoke to a chill on the side of the bed where you had slept. The space you occupied during the night, now empty. A void. Upon awaking, he felt dazed, sort of confused; unsure if the events of last night, or this morning in particular, happened at all or whether it was a hopeful fragment of his imagination.
But it was real, he knew that and it made it all the more hurtful.
He remained stuck in place for a total of minutes he couldn't bear to track; simply laid on his side, hand resting atop the spot where you had spent the night. Fingers tracing your absence, brain forced to acknowledge the scent you left behind. The scent of his shower gel from your body a forceful reminder that you're no longer here.
He retracts his hand and rolls onto his back, eyes focused on the ceiling above before he obstructs his sight with his palms. He groans into them for a moment, the grumbled noise an effort to externalise the discomfort residing within himself. Though it's no use, he can't discourage the guilt building inside; it's like a freight train, there's no stopping it.
For you to flee like that, after what he thought to be willing, genuine reciprocation, must've meant it wasn't what it seemed. He must've done something wrong, must've taken advantage maybe for you to just leave like that. And as he sits himself up, pushing back the covers from his still bare body, he looks down to the nightstand beside him; crinkled condom wrapper discarded atop, the condom itself also.
He stares at it for a moment, the sight of it recalling flashbacks from the time you spent together this morning. With his eyes cast on the reminder, it's like he can suddenly hear and feel and see the events from your connection; hear and feel and see you.
Finally, he pulls his gaze away, diverting like the sight hurt — and it did. It hurt to know that after what happened, you didn't want to stick around. He reaches down to the floor to pick up his pyjama pants and slips them on, covering his naked self. Planting his feet back onto the floor, a lingers in place for a moment, hands firm at the edge of the mattress like it was to aid him as he takes a second. He hasn't had this much trouble wanting to get out of bed for quite some time now.
And it's then his eyes drop back to the evidence on the nightstand again, used condom sat atop the wrapper like a taunt. Because that what it was, it was a provocation. A reminder that you didn't want him like he did you, that you didn't want this enough to stay.
Like he grows sick with those associated feelings, he stands and grabs it from the nightstand, balling it in his fist as he makes his way out the room — heading for the bathroom. He drops it into the trash can beneath the sink and looks up into the mirror above, eyes boring into his own as he stares at himself. Though his eyes soon withdraw, they divert away like he almost couldn't stand to look at himself.
His phone dings from the living room, from where he had left it last night, and it dings again. Bucky doesn't typically rush to chase after his phone, but not today, not if it could be you, definitely not if it could be you giving some kind of explanation.
With haste, he follows after those notifications, making his way into the other room. He picks it up to see two re-notified messages from Steve sitting on the screen from two minutes ago, the only two notifications on his phone. His texts read: 'I think she's here with Avery,' and 'Call me when you get this.'
He feels his heart pick up with beats, the quickened rhythm noticeable with thumps in his ears. Like a visceral reaction, his body has a response to the sight of your name: hands becoming clammy and shaky, breathing growing intemperate from the way air rushes to circulate his insides.
Bucky clicks on Steve's caller at the top, eager to know more. It rings twice, maybe thrice before he hears the voice of his friend on the other side.
"Is she there?" Bucky immediately asks, tone sort of desperate in the way he speaks.
"Yes," he responds, voice momentarily quiet. It sounds like he's walking, maybe walking to create distance between him and girls in his room.
Bucky drops himself onto the sofa and sighs, head briefly falling back with what he presumes to be relief. "How long has she been there?" he questions.
"Not sure, I just got back. I could hear Ave talking to her when I came home," he grows quiet, letting a moment pass. Almost like he was debating whether he should share what he heard. Though he decides against it, thinking himself to have meddled enough.
"What's she like? Is she upset?"
"No, she seems fine," Steve replies into the phone. "I think you just need to talk to her."
"I was planning to, we spoke about going for breakfast— I don't know what happened."
Steve exhales on the other end of the call and hums a moment. Again, like he was deciding if what he wants to say will do more harm than good. "She's important to me because she's important to my wife, but she doesn't like when things… feel real. I think she got scared."
"Scared?" he repeats, thinking the worst of the word.
"Confused," Steve corrects himself. "She got confused, Buck, that's all," he comforts, trying to put his best friend's mind at ease.
Bucky grows quiet, suddenly his head is empty.
"Just talk to her. Come over."
He only hums, not quite able to speak.
"Don't beat yourself up, okay, buddy?"
He's withdrawn, sort of contemplative. "Yeah," Bucky murmurs into the receiver before he ends the call and drops the phone onto the sofa.
Bucky buries his face in his palms for a moment, trying think clearly. He knew you were okay, knew you were someplace safe, knew you didn't appear to be upset, and while he received answers to those pandering questions in his mind, one still remained: Why?
It seems that you were confused, maybe scared, but it doesn't quite explain it — not enough anyway. He thought you to be someone that he understood, presumed you to be his friend, not some chump you walk out on after some soulless, casual sex.
That wasn't what this was, and he refused to believe that you thought otherwise. It wasn't a meaningless morning to him.
He stays in place a moment more, eyes screwed closed as he taps at his thigh; forcing himself to think logically about this. Would it be worse to talk, or to leave it? Is it more effort than it's worth, or is it something worth working for?
He has no answers to these questions, so he stews on it for a little while as he fixes himself something to eat. But even as he cooked and ate, thoughts about what to do with you still remained.
Before he gives himself any more time to let his cowardice intervene, he abruptly stands from the little dining nook where he sat and makes his way to his bedroom down the hallway. He's quick as he readies himself, simply freshening his face and breath, changing into some day clothes also.
And as he heads out the door, he still wasn't sure of what he wanted to say, of how he wanted to go about this. He didn't what will come from this talk, or what it would mean for you both — but he needed to know, otherwise it'll continue to gnaw at him. He needed to know if this was his doing. He was certain nothing would make sense until he sees you, almost like being in your presence will magically make words find their place in his brain.
He knew that was wishful thinking, maybe overtly optimistic coming from such a particularly pessimistic individual.
But soon, he finds himself outside Steve's apartment, fist balled in the air as he hesitates to knock. He still didn't know what he wanted to say to you.
Yet, he knocks, soft, repeated taps permeating through the wood.
Avery opens the door, features pulled in a quizzical expression as she focuses on Bucky on the other side. "You're not supposed to be here," she speaks to herself, though it's audible. Her brows furrow at him on her doorstep. He should be at home.
"Nice to see you too," he jokes, smile faltering when he notices her face stiffen. He clears his throat, swallowing thickly. "Steve called…" he says, tone sceptical, eyes unintentionally narrowing.
"He told you to come here?" she clarifies.
He nods. "He said she was here and I needed to talk to her."
"Oh my god," she closes her eyes, head dropping forward slightly. "I sent her to you."
"What do you mean?"
"She wanted to clear things up, so she walked back to see you."
Bucky's eyes drift past a hangover Avery and to Steve closing the distance just behind her, a towel on his hips — seemingly just out of the shower. Avery turns around to her husband, a sort of scolding expression on her face as she looks at him.
"You told him to come here?"
"Yeah?" he shrugs, not quite understanding the reasoning for such a response. "I said he needed to talk to her."
"I told her the same thing," her eyes dramatically widen as she throws her hands up. "She's not here," she glances between the two guys as they turn to look at each other.
Steve pulls a sympathetic face to his friend, a polite contorting expression.
"Why didn't you tell me you called him?" she tilts her head at her husband. "I could've told her to stay."
"You were in the same room, I couldn't tell you without her knowing too," he diffuses the situation with a light, awkward chuckle. "Then I showered… I didn't know she left," he turns to look at Bucky apologetically. "Really, I didn't know, Buck. I would've called."
Bucky looks between either of them, brows pulled together as he focuses in on their faces. "When did she leave?"
"Fifteen, twenty minutes ago," she responds, eyes cast down in a way he's never quite seen on her before. She takes a second, she meets Steve's eyes and then Bucky's. "We're sorry. We thought we were helping," she admits, which again, it not like her at all. She must really be out of sorts with this hangover.
He only nods, gaze briefly scanning between either one of them before he disappears down the corridor — heading for the elevator at the end. He had grown increasingly more frustrated with the events of this morning, and he can't help but feel a little played. Played by himself, by his friends, by you, even.
It's not like he felt betrayed, but it was slowly working up to it. He likes being in the know, and with everything that's happened this morning, he feels completely out of control. Like he's jumping over hurdles that shouldn't have to be there. And as his motorcycle draws in closer to his apartment building, he still found himself stuck on what he wanted to say to you.
That's if you're even there.
And if you weren't, if you weren't there, he'd find it hard argue that things with just you aren't supposed to be. Not with how everything's played out this morning.
That slither of alien optimism he felt from earlier was slowly slipping away; he was struggling to remain hopeful. He makes his way up the stairwell, stepping up those few flights of stairs until he reaches his floor. He hesitates for a moment as he reaches the corner, like he was trying to prepare himself for you there, or much worse, if you weren't.
He subconsciously holds his breath as he rounds it, eyes falling to something, someone sitting beside his door.
It was you.
He steps closer, eyes meeting yours as you stand. You remain in place, while he closes the distance — shortly meeting you outside his doorstep.
"Hi."
The word was flat, though your expression and stance held weight: you looked awkward and apologetic, hands entwined in front of you like you didn't know where to put them. You're rigid, body tensed, he notices. He hates for you to feel like that around him.
"Hey," he says finally, moving to stand in front of you — leaving a marginal gap between you both.
You open your mouth to speak and shake your head, lips closing like you were struggling for what to say. You exhale and meet his searching eyes. "I really messed up," you utter and a self-deprecating scoff follows.
Bucky waits, he didn't know in what sense you meant that. Messed up with him, messed up by leaving, messed up how? He wasn't certain, so he hesitates to speak; awaiting for you to continue.
"I shouldn't have left like that," you admit, swallowing hard, almost like you were disapproving the moment of candour.
Bucky nods, a small, subtle smile lining his lips. His brows lift from their unintentional furrowing, expression growing soft upon hearing your admission. He waits a beat and opens his mouth.
"Why did you… leave?" he asks, words gentle. He doesn't want his words to feel accusatory, he only wanted to know for his own sake. He wanted to know whether the guilt he felt would be a short term emotion, or something much more.
You inhale deeply. "It was a lot," you sigh. "Not you—" you interrupt yourself, his face momentarily contorting regretfully. "I just ended things with Kyle, like last night and... I didn't expect for this to happen, you know?"
"Neither did I," Bucky chips in, eager for you to know he felt the same. He didn't want you thinking this was something he planned.
"I know," you nod, expression understanding. "But I'm…" you pause a moment, head tilting either side, kind of like you were weighing it within your head — deciding whether or not to say it. "But I'm glad it did," you meet his eyes focused intently on yours.
Bucky's smile grows and he nods, the action sort of coy. "Me too."
"I don't know… I think…" you pause, seemingly stuck for words.
He notices, but he doesn't want to help you out — he wants to know what you think and feel uninterrupted. He can wait, he doesn't mind that. He only wants to learn the contents of your mind.
"I think I've just been a coward," you chuckle faintly, head shaking.
"I could've tried harder," he admits.
You shake your head at him, declining. "No, this is on me. I knew what I wanted, but I took the easy option," you shrug pitifully and close your eyes. "But I uh… I think I just need some time… time to just… I don't know, figure out what I need."
This is all going south, this isn't how he wanted this to go.
He looks down to his feet a moment before he looks back up at you, though your eyes are no longer on him. They've withdrawn from him, but he doesn't chase after the connection again. He simply focuses off to the side of you as he gives you a nod.
"I never know what I want to do."
He can only hum.
"I do— I do… I do like what we have… and this morning… it was great, but—"
"Don't," he interrupts, head shaking. "Don't do that."
Why are you trying so hard to deny this?
You resume, ignoring the pleading shakes of his head. "I feel like I'm just going to end up hurting you, Bucky."
He takes a step forward to close the distance, though you take one back, creating the distance.
"I never know what I want and I'm just going to mess you around, you know that?" you wait a moment. "You've just got your life back, I don't want to be the reason it all goes to shit."
Bucky scoffs, the sound of growing frustration. "So what?" he shrugs, eyes narrowing at you. "What do you want to do?"
"I don't know, that's what I'm saying," you waft your hands theatrically.
You say you don't want to hurt him, yet your dishonesty is hurting him. He hears you talk about yourself like you're some monster, like you're someone damaged — but look who you're talking to.
"Do you want me?" he interrupts, speaking over you. His features are pulled desperately.
"It— I don't— it's not that easy," you scramble.
"Do you want me?" he repeats.
"It's— Bucky—"
"Do you want me?"
"It's not—"
"Yes or no."
"Yes," you snap. You breathe out, exhalation long and uneven.
Bucky mirrors you, exhaling deeply. That's all he wanted, all he needed. Why are you making this so hard?
He doesn't say anything for a minute and neither do you, you both sort of study each other — eyes honed in on the other. It was almost as if you were waiting for the other to speak, to give in first.
"But it's not that easy," you speak first, breaking the silence. Words soft and unforgiving.
He stays quiet, almost like he's rejecting it. Shaking his head slightly, he sighs and steps aside, moving out of the way. He feels the weight of your gaze on him, though he doesn't dare meet it.
"I'll uh…" you halt and divert your eyes from his. "I'll see you around."
"Yeah."
His response didn't sound hopeful, didn't sound like he was counting on that chance. It was more like he wanted it over with, wanted to cut this conversation short before it just harms him any more than it has.
Bucky feels your eyes land on him again, though this time, he meets them; noticing them well with a resistant, defiant tear. He subtly shakes his head, forbidding the hurt that it caused him to see you like that.
But you don't stop, neither does he try to make you. You simply step around him and head for the stairs, hesitating to round the walled corner. With your back to him, he focuses on you — watching you seemingly battle with yourself before eventually disappearing around it.
He pitifully, and rather pathetically stills in place for a moment more. He waits in the same spot a second longer hoping for you to run back around that dreaded corner. Though you don't, you never do. And it's then he thinks this, whatever this is or apparently was, to be over; that he believes it to have ended as quick as it started.
He's not going to make you want to be with him.
⎯ ☆ ⎯
had part 3 & 4 in my drafts for weeks but been reluctant to post bc no one cares😔
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Hello, I am Ramadan Hamed from Gaza. My family and I live under a war of extermination, during which the occupation completely destroyed our house. We are left without shelter, food or drink. We are in famine. No one can imagine how we live in the harshest conditions. We lost everything we own. It is a very fierce war. I want you to help my family by donating so we can live and rebuild the house. Gofoundme link is in my bio. If you can't, share the video on my page. Watch the last video on my page
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