i mean uncle bucky is only uncool in the way that he's your dad's best friend. like he literally makes dad jokes and bullshit like that. he thinks he's funny and he ISN'T
but like as much as he teases you and you tell him how uncool he is, you know you're still enamored and everything he does is cool. you'll never admit it to a soul, OBVIOUSLY
and your friends think he's hot which pisses you tf off but whatever you can't really fight it because then it'll give you away...
but he's uncool uncle bucky and he always will be.
dad's best friend!bucky barnes x reader
word count: 9.7k
disclaimers: heed series warnings. please remember that this is fiction, not reality. series typical depictions of anxiety, serious injuries, hospitals, an accident, lotta arguing, j*bs mentioned.
a/n: I don't think reader has ever been more delusional than she is now. anyways... if you're still around for this series, I want to thank you. the next chapter is going to be the series finale. I hope you're all ready.
✦ series masterlist ~ previous part ~ series finale coming soon. ✦
by this point, you’re used to going longer periods of time without hearing from him. with time changes, and busy hours for the both of you, it’s only the nature of your relationship that days typically go by with each of you playing phone tag with the other. most days, you get a good morning or good night text, but it’s not a reason to worry when your phone doesn’t light up with the notification.
it doesn’t mean he’s not thinking about you, and it doesn’t mean he doesn’t love you. it’s just how it goes; you know that.
those truths don’t mean that it doesn’t bother you when you don’t hear from him, but so what? it’s a stupid little text. you’ll live without it.
besides, you have more than enough to be worried about right now.
as graduation approaches in only a few more weeks, you find yourself scrambling. you’re one of the few in your friend group who doesn’t yet have a job lined up for after graduation, still working through tedious job applications day after day in the hopes that something will work out.
you still haven’t talked to Bucky about the plan you’ve begun to develop in your head, a plan where you envision staying in LA beyond graduating. where Bucky comes to join you in this city that’s grown to be your favorite place in the world.
there hasn’t been any discussion about it beyond the little talks you had while he was in town, but you’re sure he’s going to love the idea. he wants to support you, and he seemed to be quite open to it when he was here. there’s a lot of factors to consider, you know that. it’s not easy to make that kind of decision. for instance, sure, he’s busy with business back home. that’s a sign of a good businessman, though, right? there’s no way he won’t be able to make it work here.
luckily, despite your fears about what will happen after graduation in terms of successfully finding a full-time job, your lease still has a few more months before it runs out. that’s plenty of time to find a job and hopefully finagle a way for Bucky to join you in LA.
because why wouldn’t he? you’ve left such a mess at home, alienating both Bucky and yourself from your family with the reveal of the relationship you never wanted to have to confess to. for months now, you’ve been able to avoid it, pretending it doesn’t exist in awkward phone conversations where there’s no need for the elephant in the room to be brought up.
Bucky moving here is the best case scenario for the both of you to start over, to live the life you’ve always dreamed. that’s what it would be for you to be able to live happily ever after with Bucky: a literal dream. a dream you’ve harbored since your early teens, dreaming and praying to call him yours and have that stupid fairytale wedding you’d imagined as a kid.
starting over here would be perfect, to get away from the critical eye of your parents and away from the guilt and shame that arose within you alongside the very start of your relationship.
besides, you’ve built a life for yourself here. you didn’t really expect to grow to love Los Angeles as much as you do; choosing to come here was a decision made out of desperation to get away from Bucky, to get away from your childish crush.
yet somehow, it’s become your new home. you hope that Bucky will be open to letting it be his new home, too, because as long as you’re together, it’ll be enough.
being with him is all you’ve ever wanted.
it has to be enough.
~~~
the last voicemail you have from him in your inbox was from last week. typically, he tries to call you every other day, even though most of the time you can’t pick up. your voicemail box is filled with a million different messages from him by this point; ones of him telling you how much he misses you, others of him speaking deeply and making debauched noises as he tells you how bad he wishes you were there with him while he jerks off. even though you hate missing his calls, you love having his little voice notes in your phone to listen to whenever you please.
he’s sent a scarce few texts since then, but you truly haven’t heard from him in days now.
you’ve texted and called him a few times over the last day or so, with nothing in return. it’s only instinct for you to grow concerned.
except you don’t have the time to be worried about him or the state of your relationship. you’ve finally secured an interview for tomorrow afternoon, a job local to your apartment here in LA. at this point, you can’t afford to screw up any interviews, no matter the position or the company. you’re about to be completely jobless post-grad otherwise, so your anxieties are going to have to leave you alone for the next 24 hours. you have so much more on the line than your stupid little fears about what’s going on with Bucky.
it doesn't help that this interview isn’t just any interview. the job is actually very well aligned to your interests, and the pay can’t possibly be beat.
if you’d heard from Bucky recently, or if you were fessing up to the fact that you were only interviewing for LA-based jobs, you would be gushing to him about how excited you are for the opportunity and how badly you want the job. he’s always been your number one supporter, no matter what, so he would tell you that you’re going to do amazing. he would tell you you’re perfect and if the interviewer can’t see it, then they’re the ones missing out.
you do wish you could have an Uncle Bucky pep talk right now, but you can’t tell him, not yet. you’ll find the right time sooner or later.
when you get home that evening, you think you’ve calmed yourself down enough from your worries and nearly gotten yourself into the right headspace for the interview. except apparently, you’re not doing as good of a job as you think you are, because your roommate comments on your depressed attitude.
“are you alright?” she asks as you put your bowl in the microwave, the inquiry taking you by surprise.
“yeah, why?” you reply, feigning ignorance as you shut the microwave door. “do I not seem alright?”
“definitely not, dude,” she tells you bluntly. “I see you like this all the time, all pouting and sad but pretending to be fine. but I know you have a big day tomorrow, so, out with it. what’s going on?”
the suddenness of her statement shocks you. you know your anxiety is a persistent issue, and that being away from Bucky doesn’t particularly help. but are you really that obvious about it?
“it’s just nerves,” you assure her. “I’ll be fine.”
as you deliberately avoid telling her the truth about your real concerns, you feel a pang in your stomach. the realization that you’ve never even mentioned his name to your friends here for fear of your crush being found out, and now the possibility of your relationship being discovered.
people that love and care about you, and you’re still too paranoid to tell them the truth. you truly can’t blame yourself for being hesitant, though; the circumstances are sketchy, you realize that. and you can’t fathom pushing everyone away in the same manner you’ve done with your family all because of who you love.
“you can tell me,” she tries, and the microwave beeps then. you take a deep breath and try to shake her off by focusing on your bowl, ready to eat so that you can avoid the topic. except your food is cold, and now you have to wait thirty more seconds to get out of this.
“I’m fine. promise,” you tell her. another pang in your stomach. you’re going to have to tell her, and the rest of your friends, the truth if you expect Bucky to become a part of your life here in LA.
you don’t know if you could handle the negative reaction you’ll get from admitting the truth.
she speaks your name, and you know this isn’t going away. the microwave continues to whir.
“come on. talking about things helps, and there’s no way you’ll be able to do well on your interview if you’re all worked up–”
“I’m not worked up!” you nearly yell back at her. “can you just leave it alone? for fuck’s sake! I told you, I’m fine!”
she doesn’t respond immediately, pausing for a minute after your outburst. the silence between you is deafening, and you immediately know you fucked up.
“fine. I’ll leave you alone,” she says before walking away, leaving you alone with the microwave now beeping at you once more.
you wish you could say that you weren’t quite sure why you reacted like that, why you felt the need to get so defensive over it, but you know exactly why you did: because you couldn’t handle it. you couldn’t handle the realization that you haven’t told her, and you can’t tell her, because how are you supposed to be able to say yeah, I’ve been fucking my dad’s best friend for the better part of a year now. oh, and we’re dating, because that will go over well.
you feel terrible. you just snapped at her while she was trying to help you feel better, all because of your fear and territorialism over this relationship that you’re still far more concerned about protecting than you should be.
it’s just because it’s been so long, you think, and that you’re freaking out because you haven’t spoken to him recently that you’re wired so tightly.
it’s because you’re petrified of what other people will think of you if you tell them the truth, a truth that they simply can’t handle, why? sure, maybe your relationship is wrong from most standpoints, but…
you love each other. you love Bucky, and he loves you. that’s all you need.
everything will fall into place. you’ll find a way to man up and tell your roommate and all your friends about your relationship before Bucky comes to LA, and it will surely go over far better than it did with your parents.
everything is going to be just fine.
more than fine.
~~~
when you wake up the next morning, you feel exhausted even after a full night’s sleep. you pray that it isn’t an indication of how the rest of your day is going to go.
when you look around for your roommate, you find that she’s already gone for the day. of course she is; why would she want to be around you and your sour mood after you went off on her last night?
it is what it is, you determine. there’s nothing you can do about it until you see her this evening and have the opportunity to apologize to her.
the very next thing you do is pick up your phone, searching for a text, a voicemail, anything from Bucky.
nothing.
it’s okay, you assure yourself as you take a deep breath and stand from your bed. you can worry about both of them later after your interview.
until then, you have to try not to let your thoughts consume you alive. thoughts of pushing away your roommate in favor of protecting, nay, hiding your relationship. thoughts of pushing Bucky too much until he just doesn’t respond to you anymore.
you know that isn’t the case. that’s not the case with him, it never would be. he’s not the type to just ghost you out of nowhere; he’s busy. that’s all. you don’t need to be that clingy, annoying girlfriend that constantly texts and seeks validation every five seconds that he’s still interested in you.
as you walk around campus, though, you’re still thinking about calling him. you think about telling him about your plan the next time you get a chance to talk to him, but will that push him even further away?
you’re going to have to tell him eventually, though, about your plan to stay here and your hope that he’ll follow you across the country. to get away from the critical eyes of your family.
you just hope your community here doesn’t look at you the same way.
you ponder simply sending him a text that might grab his attention, like, “hey! I have an interview today!” something that’s just enough to catch him in a few brief seconds when he isn’t busy, just to get a “good luck!” in return. anything.
worry about it later, you remind yourself. focus.
the more you consider your practiced interview responses in your head, the more you’re able to distract yourself from your concerns. it’s easier to fret about everything going on in your personal life than your professional one, but now is not the time.
you become an expert in how to explain what interests you about the company and the position, why you want the job and what benefits you would bring to them if you were to be hired. you pore over last minute research to ensure you’ve stored every possible piece of information in the small space in your head devoted to crushing this interview.
when the time comes, you’re ready, you think. your laptop is charged, your water bottle is full, and your hair is tidied.
except as you sit in the waiting room of the Zoom meeting, you can’t stop worrying. as quick as you can, you pull out your phone and hurriedly open your text messages. first, a message to your roommate—I’m sorry about last night, let’s talk later?—and a second, one you begin to type out that’s intended to go to Bucky.
I haven’t heard from you, are you alright? Can I call you in an hour?
just as you’re about to hit the little blue button to send the text, your laptop screen flashes at you, and the interview is on. you hurriedly drop your phone into your lap, forgetting about the text and readjusting in your seat to steady yourself.
here goes nothing.
the woman, Monica, is friendly and charming right off the bat, you acknowledge. a good back and forth between the two of you as you begin to exchange pleasantries, learning that she’s an alum from your university and that she used to hold the position you’re now interviewing for. all good signs, so far.
as you begin to give your elevator pitch, your phone begins vibrating in your lap. you try to focus, cursing yourself for not turning it off before the meeting started. reluctantly, you glance down at it for a mere second: it’s your mom calling you. your gaze flits back to the laptop screen before darting down to the phone once more when it has stopped ringing. Call me, her text reads.
you stutter over your words, but you refuse to let the small instance distract you, not right now; you can’t screw this up.
ven though you want to worry about it, you can’t. even though there’s something in your gut telling you, something is wrong, it’s not the time.
you take a deep breath to center yourself once the interviewer speaks again. you can do this.
and despite the minor setback, the rest of the meeting goes astonishingly well.
“keep your phone nearby,” Monica tells you once she’s done going through her list of questions for you. “you should be hearing from me very soon.”
“wow, thank you,” you reply with a bright smile. “thank you so much!”
as the meeting ends, you can’t contain your glee. there’s no way that actually went as well as you think it did, right? you have to be deluding yourself into thinking that this might finally work out for you, that everything might actually be going your way for once.
you pack up your things into your bag while your smile never once falters. the last time you felt this giddy and excited about something was when Bucky came to visit for Valentine’s.
it’s nice to have something to well and truly hope for, you think. to actually know what it means to be excited for the future.
as you pull your purse over your shoulder and walk out of the conference room, making to leave the building and head home, you begin to scroll through your texts. your roommate responded telling you that all is forgiven; that’s one relief, at least.
you check the text from your mother, the ominous Call me staring you back in the face. except you’re still over the moon with joy as you walk down the street and begin to head back to your apartment, ecstatic about the good news that you can’t wait to share with her. you click on the contact in your phone and dial her back as you walk.
“hi, honey,” she says into the phone, and yet you don’t catch her solemn tone as you practically speak over her.
“you’re not gonna believe this,” you ramble in your excitement. “remember I told you about the interview I had today? well, I just got out of the meeting, and it went amazing. she even told me—Monica, her name was—that I’m going to hear back very soon. she specifically said very soon, and it sounded like a good sign to me. I think they’re going to give me the job, Mom! can you believe it?”
“that’s amazing,” she replies, trying to remain excited for you, but her tone finally breaks through your enthusiasm and you manage to hear it this time. “I’m so glad it went well. I’m sure they’re going to offer it to you.”
“yeah,” you say, your smile fading. “what’s up, though? what did you need to tell me?”
she pauses for a moment, and your heart sinks into your stomach as her lack of response resonates in your mind.
“what is it, Mom?” you ask more firmly. your walking pace begins to slow, your heart beating quicker in your chest. something is wrong, and deep down, you know it.
after another beat, she continues. “I’m sorry I have to tell you like this, after your interview went so well. but I know you’re going to want to know this.”
“what’s wrong?” you reiterate more harshly, your voice beginning to strain.
“your Un-” she begins, but curtly interrupts herself.
except you catch it. you know exactly what she was about to say.
your uncle.
a million thoughts begin to race through your head.
the slip-up was a mistake, one made out of habit. of course she’s not going to refer to him like that anymore. you haven’t even brought him up in months, skirting around the topic instead, none of you willing to talk about it until the time becomes absolutely necessary.
is this it? has the time become absolutely necessary?
“Bucky,” she corrects herself, “has been in an accident.”
and it’s like the world stops.
your feet stop moving, and you freeze in place in the middle of the sidewalk. all the joy and excitement you felt just a few minutes before is gone, replaced by a soul-crushing agony from deep inside yourself.
“what?” you whisper, voice coming out small and fractured.
“he’s okay,” she assures you with a tone that’s somewhat more confident, “but he’s in the hospital.”
you blink a few times as your eyes grow watery, tears spilling over before you’re evening consciously aware of it. after the initial shock wears off, your brain goes into overdrive and you begin to panic. your feet suddenly begin moving again as you walk as fast as you can back to your apartment before you lose your composure in public.
“what happened? when did it happen?” you question as you begin piecing things together in your head. it’s been days since you’ve heard from him, why has no one felt the need to tell you about this sooner?
“there was an accident at work. it happened on Monday. he… he fell off a ladder. he has a serious concussion, and he broke his right arm. he’s beyond lucky he wasn’t hurt any worse than he is.”
you thank whatever higher power there is for saving him, you think, because you’re going to kill him yourself.
“Monday,” you utter, your anger growing along with your volume, “it’s Thursday! it’s been three whole days, and no one thought to tell me until now?”
“we didn’t want to upset you before your interview today,” she excuses of the decision, and you scoff before cutting off her next words.
“you don’t think something like this matters enough to tell me? are you serious? I don’t care what you think about me, or him, or our relationship. I had a right to know when this first happened. you should have told me, you don’t get to keep things from me, lie to me like this–”
“–don’t you start,” she bites, interrupting you in return. you’re still walking at full speed down the road, tears pouring from your eyes, and you want nothing more than to burst into full-blown sobs and start screaming.
it’s for the best that you’re still in public because having a meltdown would only make this far worse.
“don’t argue with me about keeping secrets and lying. not about this, not about him, not about anything. your father and I decided it was best to wait to tell you because your interview is more important, young lady, do you understand?”
you grit your teeth and force yourself not to yell back at her. more important than something this serious, more important than Bucky?
“and what about Bucky? why didn’t he tell me?” you ask.
she sighs somberly on the other end of the phone.
“the doctors have kept him in a medically-induced coma for the last few days until the pressure in his head came down. they woke him up this morning, and he agreed with us that it was best to wait until after the fact to tell you.”
“I want to talk to him,” you announce, “put me on the phone. now. please, Mom. please.”
“he’s asleep right now, okay? but I’ll make sure to give you whatever updates the doctor gives us?” she offers, and you shake your head even though you know she can’t see the motion.
“no. no, I’m coming home. I have to see him, I need to make sure he’s okay–”
“–no, you need to focus on classes and finishing your semester. he is fine–”
“Mom,” you cry out, and your soft tears finally turn into ugly sobs, unable to stave it off any longer. through your cries, you continue, “please. I know you don’t approve, I know what you think of him now. but, please, Mommy. I love him. I need to come home, I– I have to see him. please.”
it’s been a very difficult few months with the rift in your relationship with your parents over the last few months, but now, you can’t dance around the situation. right now, you need her to understand how pained you feel, for her to forget about how much she disapproves and understand how badly you need this.
“okay. alright,” she gives in, her own voice a near whisper. “try and get on the next flight out tonight and we’ll get you back by Monday.”
“thank you,” you say, relieved. “thank you. okay. I’ll see you soon.”
you pull the phone away from your ear, ready to press the button to end the call, when you hear the words softly through the phone.
“I love you, sweetie,” she says, and the words punch you right in the gut. you can’t help but shed a few more tears at the sound of it.
you bring the phone back to your ear. “I love you too, Mom. I’ll be home soon.”
when you finally get back a few minutes later, the race is on to pack your bag and get to the airport as quickly as possible. it’s as though you’ve gained a second wind as you begin to break down all over again, cries erupting from your throat against your will as the stress of the situation hits you now that you’re away from prying eyes.
“oh my god, are you okay?” your roommate asks you the second she sees you. “what’s wrong? was the interview that bad? it’s okay, there will be other–”
“I have a boyfriend at home,” you admit to her through your whines as you start pulling random clothes from your drawer. “and– and he’s been in an accident. my mom just called me, and she told me, and I have to go home. I have to see him.”
“boyfriend?” she questions. “you never told me about… never mind. we can talk about it when you get back. is he okay?”
you wipe at your nose with the back of your hand, all the while you’re going crazy running around your bedroom grabbing everything you need to get on the plane. your mind is a jumble of mostly unintelligible thoughts as you try to remember everything you need and explain what little you can to her at the same time.
“yeah, I think so. but I can’t be here while he’s there, hurt, and alone. my family is probably there, but–” you pause, gulping and trying to figure out what to tell her. you’ll tell her the truth when you get back, when you’re in the right headspace, but now isn’t that time. “they don’t really approve of us.”
“right, of course,” she replies, and it’s clear she doesn’t know what else to say. you don’t blame her; you probably wouldn’t know what to say in this situation, either. “just be safe and text me along the way, okay?”
“I will,” you agree, throwing the last few things you need into your bag before turning to face her. “I should be back Sunday night.”
“it’s going to be okay,” she whispers before wrapping her arms around you in a hug.
it takes all your effort not to break down for a third time in her arms, but you finally manage to hold yourself together as you get ready to walk out the door.
“yeah, I hope so,” you whisper. “I really hope so.”
~~~
the lights are blinding, stark white shining into your eyes as you walk down the corridor towards his room. the scent of alcoholic sanitizer in the air doesn’t ease your nausea in the slightest as you anticipate the worst.
they say that the side effects of the concussion are minimal given the impact of the fall he took, that he’s lucky to not be suffering any symptoms worse than the ones he’s experiencing. they say that he’s okay.
you’ll make that determination for yourself when you see him.
when you approach the doorway leading to his room, your nerves spike. flashbacks filter through your mind of the last time you found yourself here, waking up in a similar room after your very own fall and resulting concussion.
maybe yours was your bad karma for corrupting him, and perhaps now he is facing his own karma for choosing to hold onto you after allowing himself to delve into sin with you.
you inch closer towards the open door and peek inside to see him laying in the bed, his eyes gently shut. the television plays quietly in the background, announcing the local news to anyone listening as though it could possibly distract a soul from the horrors that brought them here.
your feet move of their own accord as you finally enter, turning to shut the door behind you and latching it as quietly as possible. except despite your best efforts, it emits a sound louder than you’d hoped, and your eyes cinch tightly shut in mild frustration with the door, hoping you haven’t woken him.
“hey, kid,” you hear a hoarse voice speak from a few feet behind you.
you hurriedly whip around to face him, finding him awake and alert, smiling at you so beautifully. you race to the side of the bed he lays in as your heart rate spikes.
“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to wake you,” you utter, eyes scanning him up and down. he waves you off, unconcerned.
your fingers begin threading themselves through his hair ever so cautiously as you take in the sight of him. dark bags sit just beneath his eyes, redness circling his irises as your gaze finds his. his right arm sits across his chest in a cast, held up by a sling.
“you’re a fucking idiot,” you whisper, your free hand joining your hand in his hair as you lean in to press a kiss to his lips. “how the hell did this happen?”
he just chuckles softly. “it was an accident,” he says, and you roll your eyes.
“I don’t care if it was an accident or not, you need to be more careful,” you tell him, looking back and forth between his eyes. “getting the phone call that you were in the fucking hospital was not a fun one, do you hear me?”
“yeah, yeah. I remember something like that last year. hated every second of it,” he mumbles. “but it’s better me in this bed than you.”
your eyes nearly roll back in your head when he says that. “neither of us should have to be here. and I’m not the one who fell off a ladder, you dipshit.”
he laughs again.
“I’m fine, kid,” he whispers, bringing his metal fingers to your arm, drawing your hand away from his hair and bringing it towards him to place a kiss on your knuckles. “I’m tough. I’m going to be fine.”
you shake your head, beyond exasperated with him, but relieved that you’re finally here to see his state for yourself. hearing from others that he’s okay means nothing to you, because how are you supposed to be able to judge what exactly that means?
“you didn’t need to come all this way,” he tells you, and you scoff.
“of course I was going to come. I haven’t heard from you in days, and the first news I get is that you’re hurt? no way in hell I wasn’t getting on the first flight. you’d do the same for me.”
“yeah, well. you have more important things to focus on,” he says.
you know he’s trying to reassure you about his situation, but hearing him say that he believes he isn’t the most important thing in your life hurts. you love him more than life itself; you always have. he’s always come first for you.
“enough,” you whisper, wiping your eyes before your tears begin to fall. “I’m here, and that’s all that matters.”
he slides over in the tiny bed, his large frame already taking up the majority of the space, but he doesn’t seem to care very much as he adjusts to make enough room for you to lay down with him. you’re hesitant to do so because of his injuries, but at the same time, you’re selfish. you want to be here for him in every way possible. you want to give him this comfort, the safety and security of knowing you’re here for him. you want more than anything to just feel him.
you lay on your side beside him and his free arm wraps itself underneath you and around your waist, tugging you in tightly against him. you rest your head carefully on his shoulder and look down to see where his arm sits in a cast.
“you can’t afford to be breaking your arm in ladder falls, old man,” you tease of him, “you already lost one to a stupid accident. imagine having two stupid stories to tell.”
“nah, I’ll just tell people the shark liked the first bite so much that he came back for seconds,” he jokes, and you can’t help but laugh. you lightly smack his chest as you break into a fit of giggles.
“you’re never letting me live that one down,” you say through your laughter, and his chest rumbles with his own laughter.
“of course I’m not,” he assures you as his face tilts downwards, leaning in just enough to place another kiss to the top of your head.
the two of you lay there for a few minutes in silence as your fingers trace patterns over the fabric of the gown covering his skin. you’re finally able to relax thanks to the close contact, thanks to being able to see him with your own two eyes.
“was it your parents that told you?” Bucky whispers, reluctant to break the peaceful moment, but his curiosity grows too great to avoid asking the question.
you swallow. “yeah, my mom did,” you admit, and he hums in response. “why? have you seen them?”
“they were here when I woke up yesterday. filled me in on what happened, and all,” he says. “they told me you had an interview yesterday? how did that go?”
your heart nearly stops beating in your chest. you’re not ready to have this conversation with him, not right now. except you have no choice but to address it, so you try your best to be casual about it in your response.
“uh, yeah,” you mumble under your breath. “went well. dunno if I’ll get the job, but maybe.”
you hope that the casual, non-chalant tone you use will throw him off the scent, that he’ll get the hint you’re not interested in talking about it.
because how can you? how can you tell him right here, right now, that you have a plan you’ve been keeping from him?
he’s going to agree to it, though. he will agree to it, because he loves you. there’s an opportunity here for the both of you, and he’s going to see it.
or maybe you know that you’re lying to yourself, hiding your deepest fears in a locked box in your mind so that you don’t have to face the pain that you know may follow from having this conversation.
except you know now, after not just the last year but the last four long years, that you’ve found where you’re meant to be. albeit by a happy accident, you know that LA is where you’re meant to be, the same way you know that you’re meant to be in Bucky’s arms for the rest of your life.
so why can’t you make both of those things happen?
“I’m sure it went great,” he continues. “they’ll be more than lucky to have you. I know I am.”
the sentiment makes your lips turn up into a soft smile, and a flush of warmth passes across your cheeks.
“yeah, it was actually great,” you admit. “the woman I spoke to seemed pretty eager to have me join the team.”
“that’s amazing, kid. where’s it at? somewhere close by, I hope?”
fuck.
you begin to sit up from your position on the bed, looking down at him as you do.
“actually, I’ve been meaning to talk to you about that,” you admit. the look on his face is almost indeterminable, except you know him well enough by now. you know he’s confused, wondering what bad news it is you’re about to share with him.
“it’s there. in LA,” you start, and continue to ramble on before he can say anything else. “it’s an amazing opportunity, and I know you seemed to like being there when you came to visit in February, didn’t you? when we talked about it, you said–”
“I said that the city isn’t my scene,” he interrupts you with a biting tone, and you’re taken aback by his brazenness. you continue, your eyes narrowing in mild anger with his inflection.
“you said that you’d be interested. that it would be nice to have a place out in the valley, somewhere close enough to the city–”
“kid, stop,” he interrupts you. “that was all… that was all just talk. I had a great time coming to visit you, sure. but you seem to have gotten this idea in your head, that, what? I’d be interested in moving there?” he says it almost condescendingly, as though it sounds like a joke. finishing his sentence with an unamused laugh underlining his words.
your jaw stutters as you try to think of what to say next.
“just hear me out for a minute,” you try. “this is a great job opportunity for me. excellent, even. if you just listen to me for a second, then maybe you’ll realize this is exactly what we both need. a fresh start away from everything, where we can just be ourselves and not worry about people looking over our shoulders, judging us at every turn. how are we supposed to be together like that? it’s not like people don’t know us, don’t know–”
“who cares what they think?” he says, raising his voice. “who cares? I couldn’t give a rat’s ass about that, because I love you, kid. and your parents– we can figure that out, you hear? we don’t need to keep running and hiding! I know I’m getting real fucking sick of it, aren’t you?”
“of course, I am, but that’s why we should do this! we need to get away, somewhere–”
“what are you really trying to run from here, kid?”
the question takes you by complete surprise, and you do a double take. you have no clue how to answer that as he stares you down, waiting for your response.
“I’m not running,” you whisper. except your words come out low and broken, as though you don’t even believe them yourself.
“except you are,” he argues. “you’re running, like it’s the only option you have. but we can figure this out, if you come home, and we figure it out together.”
“are you implying that we can’t work things out if I stay there? that if I choose to move, then, what? that’s it? you’ll give up and won’t even try to work this out with me?”
he sighs, realizing how harsh he sounds. “no, no. that’s not what I’m saying. I don’t want to give up, I just… don’t see how it can work out if you’re there, and I’m here.”
“so, come with me,” you urge, and his eyes fall shut, his head shaking.
“I can’t move to California, kid. I have a business, and a whole life built here. you have to know that moving isn’t in the cards for me.”
he goes quiet, and you remain silent, too. you don’t know what to say now, what it is you’re supposed to do.
you sit there for a few moments, every sound from outside the door sounding infinitely louder in your ears as you suffer in silence, unsure what comes next. just when your lips part to say something, anything, he speaks up.
“listen, kid, my head is starting to hurt. let’s talk about this later,” he suggests, and you tilt your head back down to avoid his gaze..
“of course,” you mumble, quickly standing from the bed and stepping away. “yeah, sure. I’ll let you get some sleep. we can, um… talk later.”
“hey, no, you don’t have to leave–”
“I’m sorry, Bucky. I’ll see you tomorrow,” you say, refusing to look back up at him as you step away, opening the door and ignoring whatever he says as you walk out.
how can you face him right now, when you feel so stupid? why did you think that this could work out as well as you had hoped and dreamed it would?
because you’re just a stupid kid, you remind yourself. you’re a dumb kid who doesn’t know anything about the real world or real life, the same reason you’ve managed to find yourself in this position with your parents and now with Bucky.
what the hell do you know?
~~~
when you walk in the door at home, you don’t know how to feel.
over the last twenty-four hours, you’ve gone through quite the whirlwind of emotions. from your nervousness, to blissful excitement, then to pure fear and panic, you’ve been through the ringer and don’t quite know what you’re supposed to feel now.
you’re mad at yourself for bringing up this discussion with Bucky while he’s in the hospital before having the opportunity to do it on better terms, before you could find a way to be more graceful about the discussion. you’re frustrated for letting yourself get this idea stuck in your head that Bucky would move with you, that you could both have your cake and eat it, too.
you’re sad that you left him there, alone, now that you’ve made it back to your parents’ house. you flew all this way just to see him, and for what? you’ve run away from him, again, and you’ve now let yourself end up butt-hurt just because you ended up in an argument that didn’t go your way?
there’s too much going on in your life right now for this to be at the forefront of your concerns, and yet, it is. because that’s what Bucky means to you. he’s your everything.
as you walk towards your bedroom, you’re exhausted, and a deep part of you has a terrible thought. a thought that you almost hope you don’t get the job, because then, you would no longer be obligated to stay in LA and you could move in with Bucky as you’d told him many months ago that you would.
you hate yourself for thinking it, recalling how ecstatic you were just the night prior upon the success of your interview. you love LA, but you love Bucky more. you think.
at what point do you have to start putting yourself first?
all these years, you’ve pined over Bucky. you’ve longed to have him, to be with him, to call him yours the way you finally do now. for the majority of your time on this earth you’ve placed him at the center of your universe.
moving to California was the only thing you’d ever done for yourself, even if running away from him was the primary reason for doing so. even if he was still at the root of that decision, you’d done it because you knew you needed to grow up once and for all.
you never did get over Bucky like you’d intended to when you told yourself that college was the opportunity for you to do that “growing up.”
and yet, regardless of that fact, you’ve grown in so many other ways. Bucky aside, this move was one of the best choices you ever could have made for yourself.
would you be throwing it all away if you came back to New York just to continue choosing him over yourself?
as your thoughts continue to circle, you hear a soft knock on the door jamb, and you turn your head to see your father standing there.
“hey,” he begins cautiously, “how was Bucky today?”
you take a deep breath, unsure of how to approach this discussion with him. you’re soon reminded of the time you found yourself standing right here, in your bedroom, the vision of your father punching Bucky out after walking in uninvited.
except the look on his face now is forlorn. he’s hesitant, likely even more confused than you feel about how he feels about the situation.
at the end of the day, you remind yourself, Bucky and your father have been best friends for over three decades now. the kind of familial relationship that develops after knowing someone for so many years doesn’t just go away overnight; he is likely genuinely concerned just as you are.
“he seems to be doing alright,” you say, plopping yourself down on the edge of your bed. “you wouldn’t be able to tell that he just came out of a coma yesterday, that’s for sure.”
a gentle smile passes his face as he steps inside the room, slowly sauntering inside before taking a seat next to you on the bed.
you take a deep breath. he’s going to bring up your relationship with Bucky, you know it. and if the past few conversations you’ve had about the exact same topic are any indication, then this isn’t going to go well.
“when we were in high school,” your father begins, “Bucky was… kind of an asshole.”
you laugh at that. “you could say the same about him today,” you joke, and he laughs along with you in response.
“yeah, well. more so back then than he is now,” he continues. “he was the kind of guy who went around chasing skirts, you know. didn’t really care about the women he went out with, and… it took him a while to grow out of that.
“when your mom and I started going together, though, he knew better than to cause any trouble. he knew that I was serious about her. and, well, some of her girlfriends at the time had been on the… receiving end of Bucky’s stupid shenanigans, to say the least. it took a really long time for him to finally win her over, before they finally became friends, too.”
“I didn’t know that,” you mumble, and he nods.
“it wasn’t until we were in our mid-twenties, when Bucky finally grew out of his womanizing phase, before he and your mom finally began to get along. I was so glad when they finally became friends, because I didn’t know how I was supposed to choose between them if they hadn’t. your best friend, or the woman you love? that’s not a decision to be made lightly, and I never wanted it to come to that.”
he pauses for a few minutes, staring down at his hands crossed in his lap before continuing.
“when you were born, Bucky adored you. he vowed to take care of you, to be there for everything, every milestone. all of it. he watched you grow up.”
“dad, please, I promise you that nothing untoward ever happened when I was a kid, he never–”
“I know, I know,” he nods. “I know he would never do anything of the sort, but I also never expected that he would–”
he cuts off mid-sentence, and a pit settles in your stomach. here comes the argument, the part where he tells you he forbids this, that Bucky will always be the same idiot he was as a teenager.
“when I saw… what I saw that day, I was livid. beyond anything I’d ever felt in my life, because how could he? how could he take advantage of my daughter like that?”
“dad, please–”
“let me finish,” he says calmly. “I didn’t understand how anything like that could ever happen under our noses, under my own roof. I didn’t understand how he could betray our family’s trust like that.”
you’re still waiting, waiting for the outburst, waiting for the ultimatum. waiting for whatever awful thing is happening next.
“I still don’t understand it, and I don’t know that I ever will. but the point I’m trying to make is this: I don’t want you to think that your mother and I aren’t still here for you. I don’t want you to think… that you have to choose, between us and him.”
you blink once. twice.
what?
“I can’t say that I’m okay with any of this, but what I have come to realize is that you’re an adult who can make her own decisions, now, and I am not willing to lose my only daughter over this.”
you’re honestly shocked beyond belief as the sentiment he’s expressing to you settles in your mind.
choosing to sleep with Bucky, choosing to be with him, you were never going to get to have the fairytale romance you dreamt of as a little girl simply because of who you were to each other. there was never going to be an open-armed welcome from your family upon telling them you were in love; there was always going to be a fight, a terribly disagreeable reaction on their end from learning such news, albeit a very warranted reaction.
it was never going to be smooth sailing, and no, you never expected your parents to approve in the slightest.
but this, what your father is telling you right now?
this might be the best possible outcome you ever could have hoped for.
“your mom is still working on getting over her anger, as am I, but we’re in agreement that you are too important to us to let you go over this. so… we aren’t going to interfere, or argue with you over it anymore, alright?”
you’re rendered entirely speechless, instantly reaching your arms out and wrapping yourself around him in relief.
“thank you, Dad,” you mumble into his shoulder as you hug him. “thank you.”
you sit there for a few minutes as the tension you’ve felt between the two of you for months finally begins to melt away, as you finally begin to feel like you might be able to find a way back to normal. that what felt like the end of your world wasn’t truly the end.
“we’re here for you,” he says, “and if he ever pulls anything funny, he’ll regret it until the end of his days.”
you laugh, although somewhat somberly, as you finally pull away from the embrace. “yeah, well. we’ll see if it even works out. my interview yesterday went amazing, as I’m sure Mom told you. and… I really want the job, Dad,” you confide in him, “but it’s in LA. and I’m going to miss him. and both of you, too, of course.”
“look at me,” he encourages, and your soft eyes find his. “you’re strong, and you’re smart. and while the decision is yours whether or not you take the job, if you get the offer, I want you to think about what’s going to be best for you, not anybody else. the rest of us will still be here. but you owe it to yourself to seriously consider the offer, even if it means…”
“losing Bucky,” you mumble.
“yes. and I don’t just say that because of everything that’s happened, but I say that because it’s true. you’ve worked so hard for your degree, and you deserve the job, if that’s what you want.”
“I do really want the job,” you whisper. “I really hope I get the offer.”
“then you should take it. you’ll have our full support. we’ll just have to come visit you more often,” he tells you with a smile, and you return it with a laugh.
“that would be great, Dad. thank you.”
~~~
you walk down the same corridor to the same bright, ugly hospital room as the day before. the same sterile smell permeates your senses as you walk more confidently to his room now, although you’re still nervous after your conversation the previous day.
no matter what happens, you’re not leaving his side. you’re going to spend every minute you can with him today until you have to get on a flight back to LA tomorrow, argument or not.
when you see him this time, he’s already awake, eyes fixated on the television as he eats jello from a plastic cup that rests on the table in front of him.
“that’s not a very healthy breakfast,” you say as you walk into the room, and he looks over at you for a few seconds before breaking into a smile after processing your words.
“yeah, well, when you’re a sick man like myself, they let you have whatever you want for breakfast.”
you walk up to the side of the bed and look over at the screen on the wall. “you also should not be watching TV with a concussion, Bucky!” you exclaim, reaching for the remote where it sits in his lap, immediately clicking the off button.
“I was watching that,” he says, but there’s no fervor behind his words. instead, he slowly shifts over in the bed as he did the day prior, once again allowing you to sit with him.
the both of you go quiet, the elephant in the room making itself known after your argument the night prior.
“let me help you,” you whisper, reaching for the spoon in his hand. with only one free hand available to eat from his cup, it falls over on the table as he reaches for it, and you immediately reach out to help him.
as you extend the spoon of jello out in front of him a few moments later, he mumbles, “I’m not a baby,” but doesn’t hesitate to wrap his lips around the plastic.
“thank you,” he says shyly afterwards. you softly hum in response, slowly feeding him the rest of the jello in the cup while you both remain in silence.
“I’m sorry about yesterday,” he finally says once he’s done eating. “I shouldn’t have blown up on you like that. I didn’t mean to upset you.”
“it’s alright,” you assure him with a smile as you lay down next to him. “I don’t know… where I got that stupid idea in my head from. it’s fine.”
“it’s not stupid,” he assures you, metal fingers tracing up and down your back. “I didn’t mean to make you feel like I thought it was.”
you hum in acknowledgement. “thank you,” you whisper. “but, can we talk about this later? I have to leave tomorrow, and I’d rather just be here with you than try to make any monumental decisions right now.”
“of course,” he says, planting a kiss on your head. you sigh in relief and settle in closer to him.
“how are you feeling?” you ask him as you settle in next to him. “are you in any pain?”
“not now that you’re here,” he says, and he hears you scoff. “what? don’t believe me? it’s the truth, your presence instantly cures all my ails.”
“if only it worked like that,” you jest, and he continues.
“seriously, though. I’m feeling better than I should given the circumstances.”
“or maybe you’re just loaded up on pain meds,” you giggle.
“yeah, maybe I am, but at least that means they’re working.”
after your conversation dies out, you both go quiet for a while, your eyes shutting as you lay with him. even though the circumstances under which you’re here are far less than ideal, you’re still elated to see him, to be able to spend time with him.
you hope it’s not one of the last times you get to have this. you still hope that you get to have this forever, until the end of your days you wish you could be wrapped up with him.
who knows if that’s in the cards for you, though.
when his eyes have fallen shut and you hear the soft sound of his breathing telling you he’s asleep, you carefully stand from the bed, trying not to jostle him as you make your way to shut the door and turn off the lights.
he just barely stirs when you get back into the bed beside him, rousing just enough to wrap his prosthetic arm around you once more and pull you in tight before dozing off again.
you look at him carefully as he sleeps, as though memorizing the sight of his beautiful face, the way his eyelashes rest on his cheeks. the bags under his eyes have improved slightly since the day before, and you’re still cautious to reach out and touch his broken arm.
you wish more than anything that you could stay and take care of him until he’s all better, to watch him carefully and make sure he doesn’t do anything that might make his injuries worse. even if you’d been here on Monday when the accident happened, you know there would have been nothing you could have done about it; you couldn’t have stopped him, couldn’t have protected him from it, no matter how much you wish you could’ve.
there’s no bigger wish in your heart for him to have nothing but the best.
yet here you are, telling him you want him to uproot his entire life just to make you happy. in hindsight, it was a far bigger ask than you made it out to be, yet for some reason you couldn’t see that. perhaps you’d been blinded by the fact that now that you’re together, and now that you’ve survived the absolute worst situation that could have possibly happened when you were discovered by your parents, there was nothing else bigger than that in your head that you believed could tear you apart. that if you could survive being found out, you could survive anything.
you just wanted to have everything, for it all to be perfect.
yet you know the world isn’t perfect, and it’s never fair. it’s not fair that the love of your life is a man you never should have gotten with, and it’s not fair that you both can’t just be normal.
you’re going to have to leave him tonight, and it’s going to hurt, knowing that you won’t have clarity on where you stand and what the future holds. it’s going to be painful knowing that you won’t know the next time you’ll get to see him, the next time you’ll get to touch him, if you accept the job and don’t come back to New York in the near future.
it’s going to absolutely destroy you if this doesn’t work out, you think to yourself.
but even deeper down, you know that you’ll survive. you know that you’ve suffered heartbreak because of Bucky before, and if it happens again, you know you’re going to survive it again.
you just have to hope that it doesn’t come to that.
✦ masterlist ~ series finale coming soon. ✦
gif creds @/linusbenjamin
uncle bucky tag list: (send an ask or dm to be removed)
it pains me to say the answer is false. he has not had a vasectomy
THAT'S NOT TO SAY HE WON'T GET ONE FOR READER
the concept of impregnating you is insanely scary for him because jesus christ you are still a kid and in his eyes, I mean, he can't fathom you having a kid
of course, the horny side of him will occasionally indulge in dreaming of filling you to the brim, knocking you up--
but irl that would be a nightmare. not happening.
maybe a vasectomy is in the cards for him in the near future.
okay but like the idea of uncle bucky and reader fucking on a family vacation or whatever is hot
sue me idk
DUDDEEEEEEEE
so like
i was supposed to write a chapter like this last summer, like, after the events of simple + real, before she goes back to college. i was gonna write family vacation, uncle bucky gets invited, shenanigans ensue….
i unfortunately did not end up doing this so forgive me
BUTTTTT
Some of the thoughts i had for it included:
- they get a two bedroom place and reader was forced to sleep on the sofa sleeper
- but obviously uncle bucky isn’t gonna have that so after everyone goes to bed she would sneak into his room and they had free reign to (QUIETLY) fuck and then cuddle and spend the nights together
- unfortunately this is also dangerous if readers parents wake up in the middle of the night
- but they would also have to set alarms so that reader would leave his room before the set time her parents would wake up
- they would be able to convince her parents to go on a lot of date nights and enjoy the time together, which obviously leads to bucky and reader getting to spend time alone together given that they are a new couple and yeah. actually spending time together rather than ONLY fucking.
we can still pretend this is canon. even if it’s not. I CAN PRETENDDDDDDDD
uncle bucky spanking reader cause she called herself “not pretty”
anon the instant I saw this I was like, that’s SO uncle bucky core oh my god.
the vision I have for this is probably something along the lines of, maybe they're getting ready to go out. perhaps she's getting ready at his place, or maybe she went to his place after getting ready so that they could leave from there yk. and so they're probably going to a halfway nice dinner or something
so maybe she's wearing a dress, and they're in his room as he's getting dressed himself. she's staring at herself in the mirror and suddenly remembering why she doesn't like this dress, nitpicking all the things about herself she doesn't like (this is so me core even my mom yells at me for this)
and then he comes up behind her and sees the upset look on her face, the way she's frowning.
"what's wrong? not excited to go out with your dear old uncle?" he taunts, pulling your hair away from where it sits on your neck and pressing a kiss to your flesh.
"no, it's fine," you respond. "just... i shouldn't have worn this."
"why not? you look hot in your little sundress, baby," he murmurs, continuing to focus his hands and lips on your body as he speaks.
you scoff at him, an immediate response to his compliment that you don't even think about considering as true.
that grabs his attention.
"the hell is wrong with you? you don't believe me?" he asks, meeting your gaze in the mirror.
"come on, Bucky. it's not like I'm that pretty, or anything," you repeat. he absolutely fucking despises those words, hates that you sound so calm and normal about it. as though the words don't faze you.
"what are you on about?" he questions as his displeasure grows.
"I'm just saying, it's not like I'm the definition of beauty, or anything."
ok and then that is when lil mr uncle bucky gets pissed alright
"you shut your damn mouth," he orders, grabbing your hand and tugging you with him towards the bed. "you don't talk like that."
"Bucky, what the fuck--" you try, but before you know it, he's seated on the edge of his bed and yanking you closer by your hips.
pushing you over his lap, your chest laying atop his thighs, and your hands pulled behind your back.
"you wanna say that again?" he goads, lifting the hem of your skirt up to reveal your flesh covered in lace panties.
"it's not that big of a deal," you try again, and his hand comes down on your ass, hard.
"you're gonna learn to keep your damn trap shut when I tell you to, and to stop talking about my girl like that, you hear me, kid?"
~~~
ok thank u anon for reading i so badly missed my anons<3 let's pray I can keep them on this time... but if not then just know i love you all dearly and it hurts my heart not to be able to hear from you guys, but I simply can't let the haters talk their shit for my mental health.
