I'm taking a few weeks off from writing to sort some private stuff. I'll try to get as many chapters done as I can, so when I'm back I fave lots to upload.
Summary: Y/N lives the life she always dreamed about. a job she loves, a fiancé that does everything for her, and a house she dreamed of. There are hiccups on the way, but Y/N's still pretty satisfied with where she stands in life. Though a word can be powerful, especially if it's said to the wrong person. Y/N would never have thought that she ever gets to experience how bad it can turn out. For her and the loved ones around her.
Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Reader
Word count: 2k
Warnings: mentions of blood, cursing
Series Masterlist // Masterlist
Bucky lies there for a while and watches Y/N fall deeper and deeper into a sleep her body and mind desperately need. His hands unconsciously draw some motions on her back and arms, soothing her deeper into sleep and calming his own mind. It’s an act where he doesn't need to think. He’s just doing it.
At some point, his right leg starts to tingle uncomfortably before getting numb. Y/N’s lying on it, and though he doesn't dare to say she’s heavy, his leg deems to disagree. He swallows a few times, fighting against the urge to move his leg, but the fight is lost quickly. Barely five minutes later, he’s as careful as he can while he slowly slips out from under her. He tries his best not to shake her too much, and he manages to get his lower half out. The most difficult part is getting Y/N’s torso and head from his own chest, without waking her up. He freezes and looks at her in terror as she whines a bit just as she shifts away. He holds his breath for a second, prying that she gets right back to sleep, even his fingers are crossed. Y/N sighs and turns, her face now squished into the backrest. Relieved, he exhales, the trapped air, eyes closed. For a second, he contemplates kissing her head or stroking her hair, but then he argues that he doesn't want to wake her up in the first place, and he might do if he does something like that.
So, he shifts away silently and trudges into the kitchen. Once there, he fills the coffee machine with water and powder and yawns as he turns it on.He lanes back a bit to look into the living room, but all he’s able to see is one of Y/N’s naked feet that lies on the armrest, slipped out of the blanket.
On quiet soles, he slips back out of the kitchen, leaving the machine doing its job. He quietly slips past the converted bed and into the hall, up the stairs. He stops just in front of his study. For a moment, his eyes remain on the darkened brownish spot on the carpet. Almost everything is still dirty. The curtain rod and curtains have been removed for evidence, just as the cadaver of the dog ends everything else. Just the dried blood is still there. According to the pathologist, the dog was still alive when it was killed. Bucky kneads his lower lip with a shudder.
The question of how one had gotten such a large animal quietly into his house, while three people were present (one of whom was running through the whole house), never escapes his mind. It’s in a constant loop, together with a couple of other questions. Where the hell had he been hiding the dog? Where was he hiding? Is that the same person who writes the letters?
By now, he has a suspicion that the guy, whoever he is, could either make himself invisible or have been in the house the whole time. The only room they hadn't searched was the bedroom since Bucky was in there the moment, they entered the house. And if that was the case, then it's eating harder at him. He could've found the fucker and put him away, or he... or the guy could've easily overpowered him and could’ve done who knows what to him or Y/N.
He hopes that his team finds out where the guy had been hiding, and hopefully, they even find evidence of who he might be. They had taken some fingerprints off the door from their closet; in the hope they weren’t his or Y/N’s. All he has to do now is wait. This is deeply personal. Another question pops into his head. If this guy is the one who writes the letter and had been hiding in his house, in his study, he might have left something for him to find.
Bucky walks to his desk chair and presses a few buttons on his keyboard. The computer was still on. No one had bothered shutting it off after discovering the dog. He himself was too occupied to care for Y/N even to waste a thought of something like that. “What the hell were you doing here, Y/N? You usually don’t go in here.” Especially since she has most of her things in her office next door. Though Bucky must remind himself that she has done most of her work together with him in his office for the last couple of weeks. He has so much to do with his cases that they almost never see each other. So maybe it’s not that unusual for her to be here.
He looks at his computer, but it seems that Y/N hasn’t come far as it seems. He still needs to enter his password, and even after doing that, he’s greeted by his usual desktop. A picture of Y/N as she sits on the windowsill of her old apartment with a messy bun, a textbook on her lap, and chewing on a pencil. The light from outside is framing her beautifully. A small smile forms on his lips as he remembers the days he came to visit her, only to find her studying and not paying attention to him at all. Not that he minded. He likes watching her getting in a zone; even now, it's one of his favorite things to do.
Frowning, he looks around, trying to find anything unusual, but everything is as it's supposed to be. His gaze wanders from the keyboard, across the tabletop, and then stops at one of the four drawers, on the right side under his desk.
Each of these drawers has a lock, which is normal for a simple secretary, but only this one, the top one, is locked. He pulls a small key out from under the tabletop. For years he had been accustomed to hiding it with tape in a small niche at the bottom. He puts the key in the lock and opens it. When he pulls the drawer open, he’s greeted with the sight of several letters. He stares at them in disgust. He had shown them to Sam, and Sam had looked at them with concern. If it had been up to his colleague, those letters would have ended up with his boss, because they weren't joking letters to him. Sam has the suspicion that whoever sends them is ready to do way worse than just writing insults on his car.
Bucky, however, did not believe that someone was after him. For him, it had always been the pranks of young people. But now, he thinks differently. Slowly he flips through the letters and starts thinking. It's not the first time I've been confronted with threats, but these letters are different. They are personal, but not very detailed. They leave to doubt that the sender is very serious. I wonder who's behind all this. Is it someone I know? A criminal I arrested? Or maybe someone who feels unfairly treated by me?
He absentmindedly flips through the letters again, reading one before shoving them back into the drawer. “Your days are counted. There’s only one who wins, and it won’t be you. Appreciate what you have as long as you can.” Bucky scoffs and shakes his head. “Asshole.”
Disgusted, he’s about to shove the drawer shut when something catches his gaze. There, just between the side panel and the second drawer, is a piece of paper. It looks stuck, but with a small tug, Bucky manages to get it out. It almost looks like someone just shoved it here because he was too lazy to open the drawer. But the only one who could have done that was Bucky. Or Y/N. He turns the paper to look at it from all angles. It’s an envelope, closed but with nothing written on it. He grabs his letter opener from his organizer and rips the top open carefully not to destroy possible evidence. An unsettling feeling grows in his stomach as he pulls the letter out and folds it open to read.
Your days as a cop are over. We have set our eyes on you, and we will destroy you. You'll regret ever turning against us. Your family will suffer just as you deserve.
Bucky’s eyes flicker over it again and again until it registers. This is a letter, and it is different. Shorter, threatening. Worse even, it's been delivered right to his house. He throws the piece of paper to the others and slams the drawer shut with a shout. “You son of a bitch! Damn it!” Angrily, he slaps his hand flat down on the surface of his desk. A loud bang echoes through the room.Pain shoots through his hand. He looks down and notices the red pool forming on his palm. He had slapped his hand directly on the letter opener, and it sliced part of his hand open. “Fuck. Shit!” A beeping sound announces that the coffee machine finished brewing, but his focus lies on his bleeding now. Under more curses, he leaves the room to rush into their bedroom and straight into the bathroom. He rips the medicine cabinet open, pulls the first aid kit out, and rummages through it until he finally comes up with some gauze. His hand continues bleeding, steadily dripping red into the porcelain of the sink.
The gauze slips from his hand, and in his uncoordinated attempt to catch it, he slams his uninjured hand against the shelf under the medicine cabinet and knocks his deodorant and a few other utensils off. They clatter to the ground with a deafening loud crash that resounds from the walls. Bucky closes his eyes tightly, and curses, hoping that he didn’t wake Y/N up. “Fucking shit!” He bends down, picks up the gauze bandages, and quickly wraps it around his hand as tight as he can to at least attempt to stop the bleeding. He might need to wake Y/N after all if it doesn’t stop. With a sigh, he looks at the mess he made but decides to ignore it for now. Back in his office, he glares at the offending object that still has some blood on it and grabs his work phone from its loading station. If this asshole is now not only threatening him but his family, Y/N, he has to get her away.
The cigarette squeezes itself into the overflowing ashtray full of half-smoked cigarettes and cigar stumps. Heavily sighing echoes through the room. He should have stopped when he had the chance. But now he is under so much stress that it’s impossible. He turns away from the smoldering heap and turns to his phone, which takes his last nerve one of these days. Why don’t they hang up? How annoying. With another exhausted sigh, he picks up and takes the call. “Yes,” he growls, annoyed. He has too much paperwork to do and doesn’t really have time or willpower for any sort of call.
“Hello, Steve. This is Bucky.” He rolls his eyes, his irritation only growing. Well, that's just great. Especially when you think it can’t be worse. “Okay. What’s up?” No, he definitely doesn't want to talk to his soon-to-be brother-in-law.
“Steve, I-I know I’m probably the last person you want to talk to-”
“Uh-huh.” Steve grunts, eyes flicking back to his laptop and folders in front of it. Would it be rude to just hang up on him?
“You have to do me a favor.”
“Hmm. Do I?”
"Please. It's about your sister. I told you about the letters because Sam made me, remember?"
“Yes. What about it?”
“Well, they weren’t the only thing that happened. Three days ago, my car was painted red with some… not so nice scribbling.”
“White looked ugly anyway.” Seriously, Steve has a few other things he would like to say, but he bites his tongue. Even if he doesn’t like Bucky that much right now, he notices that he sounds kinda off. “Thank you very much.” Bucky doesn’t sound as annoyed as Steve would expect. Usually, they are constantly bickering. “Anyway, that wasn’t everything. Y/N came home last night from her trip. She called me early in the morning in a panic. She said she felt like someone was in the house. When Sam and I drove to her house, we couldn’t find anyone. We thought it was a false alarm until Sam found something in our garden. It was a dead cat or a raccoon. It’s had been fur pulled off, and it’s limbs severed.”
“Gross. Does Y/N know about this?”
“Fortunately, not much. She was too preoccupied to calm down further from a panic attack, and I was quick enough to shield her from view. But shortly after, she discovered a dead dog in my study. The organs were scattered on the floor, and his limbs were missing too. The animal was killed on the spot, the coroner said.”
“Wait a minute,” Steve stands up in his chair, blood running cold and thoughts spinning. “Will you just tell me she found the dog? Slaughtered in your study while you all were there?”
“Yes.” Bucky sighs through the line, and Steve starts pacing around his table, tempted to light another cigarette. “And how can that be? Didn’t you just say there was nothing in the house?”
“As far as we could see, there was nothing. We couldn’t find anything out of the ordinary. It wasn’t broken in, and the doors were all locked when I arrived.”
“Barnes, I swear to you, I’ll turn your neck the next time I see you. I reluctantly confided in you dating my sister. AND YOU CAN’T EVEN TAKE CARE OF HER?” His blood is boiling with anger. He loves his little sister more than anything, except his wife and his girls. And after what happened to their parents, he took care of her and only reluctantly shared her with Bucky. His instinct to protect her was and still is so great that he sometimes feels it to be impossible just to let her do her thing. He'd do anything to protect her. And now Bucky isn't paying attention, isn't able to protect her. Apart from the fact that he is obviously incapable of keeping promises to her, he can’t even take care of her as a policeman. As some sort of job. Scornfully, he snorts into the phone. “If she didn’t love you so much, I would have advised her against moving in with you.” There’s a short silence, and Steve knows he struck a nerve, a sore spot. Maybe he is being a little unfair, Peggy tells him often to tone it down, but it is his little sister they are talking about. His only family left!
“Please, Steve. I know you don’t like it. I don’t like it either. We screwed it up. I know that!”
“Good.”
“But that’s exactly why I’m calling you. I need your advice. I need your help!” A heavy sigh follows his words, and for a few seconds, there’s only silence in the line until Steve shakes his head in something that resembles disbelief and defeat. “What do you want?” Steve’s eyes catch on a picture frame on his desk. He has several there. One frame is filled with a picture of his wife, two of his kids, a family picture of them four with Y/N, and one of his parents. But the one that catches his attention is of his sister, of Y/N. She’s a few years younger and still in college. Her smile is bright and joyful. It’s one of the last pictures taken before a tragedy hit that still steals his breath and causes sleepless nights filled with anxiety. There’s a small pause before Steve hears the younger man sigh. “I think she had that weird feeling I was just telling you about because the guy was watching her from the closet. But we can’t prove it yet. I’m sure she won’t want to leave the house. But what she saw here today already makes her nervous, and I don’t think she’ll need any more action like that. If that asshole comes back again, I can’t guarantee her safety. He would have had the opportunity to hurt her today.” Steve's eyebrows raise. He knows almost everything since Sam has already informed him. As a prosecutor and also as a friend of his, Sam has always turned to him when he needed advice. Much like Bucky does right now. But the fact that the guy might have been watching Y/N is completely new to him. As a prosecutor, it’s relatively easy for him to get access to the police investigation files. Just one short mail, and he gets what he needs. He logs in on his computer and shoots a quick mail away, receiving an answer and log-in data just seconds later. Having a friend in a police department always is a plus for him. While he clamps the phone between his head and his right shoulder, he reads briefly through the reports. “And now you want me to talk to her?”
“Yes. I’ll try again first. But if she wants to stay here, I’m asking you to persuade her to leave. Best you take her with you.” Steve laughs for a moment, stopping his reading. “Persuading is nice and good. I can book her a hotel, but how am I supposed to convince her to leave? I live six hours away from you. She'll never want to go that far away from her home, even if it pains me. Why do you think she's staying with you? “
“Steve. It’s an emergency. Do you think I’d call here?”
“I don’t think so. But I think you can forget that.”
“What?! Steve, she’s your sister. It’s understandable that you don’t want to do me any favors, but please think thi-”
“Shut up!” The man whispers into the phone, anger suddenly lacing his voice. It’s always there when he talks to the brunette, but just his accusation gets his blood boiling. He fumbles a new cigarette out of the box next to the ashtray and lights it. Startled by the noise, the secretary peers into the room, but hastily closes the door after being vigorously waved out.“I would take her with me the instant I get the opportunity. I should have done that when she met you. I'm just afraid she won't want to stay. That she might hate me. I want what’s best for her, and from my point of view, that’s not you! I don't like you, and that probably won't change so soon. If I would put my hatred for you over my sister's well-being, like you seem to think, then be sure that you would never have seen her again after the first meeting!” His words are filled with hatred and rage. Steve can feel his chest heave with heavy breathing and his pulse getting faster.
He has to admit that he glows at his achievement of rendering the man on the other line speechless. He might not have used that many words, but he feels like he got his point across just fine. The cigarette in his hand glows, emitting soft smokey swirls. Instead of taking a drag, he stops it into the ashtray.“I’ll talk to Peggy. I’ll call you in the evening. You’d better have talked to her.”
“…Okay.” The voice is silent, sounding a strange mix of startled and relieved. “Please promise me you’ll keep an eye on her when she comes to you. I just assume you’ll be the only one to get her to leave at all. If she doesn’t want to stay, you’ll just have to chain her to the sofa.” ‘Yeah.’ Steve mutters back, thinking that he won’t let her leave again if he actually needs to trap her in his house. They exchange a few words and agree that he will not call until at least six in the evening. Then he slams the phone on the station. With a huff, he gets up and leaves the office. “Cancel all my appointments for today and reschedule, please. I have things to take care of. After that, you’re free to go. Also, take the weekend off. I’ll see you on Monday.” He doesn't glance at his secretary as he leaves with hurried steps, plans already forming in his brain.
Bucky steps down the stairs. That asshole. What was he thinking? Angry, he goes back to the kitchen, carefully tiptoeing past the couch. He pulls a cup from one of the countless cupboards and fills it with hot coffee. Taking a sip, he promptly burns his tongue. Curses of various states leave his mouth. Certainly, his mother would smack him for that. Immediately, he peers over into the living room, hoping that the volume doesn’t wake Y/N up. Thank God. She's still sleeping. With the cup in his hand, he walks into the conservatory, stares out at the garden, and empties the coffee, again burning his tongue. Instead of getting back inside, he flops down into one of the chairs, disposing of the empty cup on the small side table. “What a mess.” His hand runs through his hair as he sighs deeply. For a moment, Bucky closes his eyes. Pictures instantly form in his mind, creating scenes he hopes he will never see in real life. He startles awake minutes later. A big yawn makes his jaw crack. He hasn’t been sleeping well without Y/N, and last night, after all these events, he wasn't able to sleep at all. So, no wonder he drifted off the second his eyes closed. With a quick to the clock, he sees that just twenty minutes have passed. In a swift move, he grabs the mug, rubs his eyes, and hives himself up. Wandering through the kitchen, he leaves the mug on the island and goes further to the living room couch. He kneels in front of the couch then and looks at his sleeping girlfriend. His fingers itch to stroke a fallen strand of hair out of her face, but he doesn’t. Instead, he puts his left elbow on the seat and leans his head in his hand. A smile forms on his lips. She’s really cute when she sleeps. His eyes slip close again the longer he listens to her steady breathing and the soothing sound of the ticking clock.
Summary: Eddie is a bit stressed, which is not good.
Pairing: Eddie Munson x Reader
Word count: 1.6k
Warnings: Car crashes, broken bones, mentions of blood
Masterlist
"Come on, bunny, hurry. God, Hop is ripping my head off if we're late!”
“Eddie! Calm down. He won't.”
“Ha! Have you ever seen him mad? I mean, really mad?”
Y/N watches on as Eddie practically rips his car door off to clamber behind the wheel. Rolling her eyes, she throws her bag onto the passenger seat and climbs in as well, though she’s softer with the door. Eddie quickly starts the engine and pulls out of the driveway. It feels like He’s flooring the gas pedal. “I have, yes.” Eddies head shoots to her immediately. “What? When?”
“Eyes on the road, Eddie!” Y/N’s hand tightens on the handle f her door as she stares at the dark and empty street. Eddies head snaps back to the road, but she can see the confusion still in his eyes. “I might have, accidentally, of course, kicked a stone through his car window. And obviously, it has nothing to do with the fact that he just gave me a lecture.”
Obviously.” Eddie laughs and takes a corner a bit sharper than Y/N would like. “Ed’s, could you just, slow down a bit?”
“Bunny, you know how Hop is. If I’m late, he will lecture me, and I'm not as brave to kick stones in his company.” Again Y/N rolls her eyes, but her free hand comes down to his thigh, squeezing softly. “Please, Teddie. I just want to live. A bit slower and closer to the speed limit, yeah? If Hopper is bitchy about us being late, I tell him it’s my fault. He likes me. My head will stay where it is.” She smiles reassuringly at him. “Besides. It’s El’s birthday. I don’t think she minds.”
“It’s not her I’m afraid of.” Y/N sighs. She knows Eddie is a skittish and anxious boy at times. She rather not have him behind the wheel, but he wouldn’t hear of it and didn’t give in. In favor of relaxing him, she drops the topic and fiddles a bit with his radio until she manages to get a tape in with a few of Eddie's favorite songs. A quick glance to her right shows that his stressed expression leans a bit to something resembling a bit more relaxed and comfortable. The drive to Hopper usually takes about twenty minutes, so Y/N relaxes the more time passes. Just ten minutes into the drive, she sees something, and her stomach drops. “Eddie! The deer!” Her nails bore into his tight, her other hand clamping around the door handle, and her eyes squeeze shut. She’s not sure what happens then. Her body gets thrown to the side as the car swerves to the left. He swears loudly, and then, suddenly, her body gets thrown forward; the seat belt cuts into her body. A crash. Silence.
Y/N keeps her eyes tightly shut and tries to breathe through the pain and shock. “Fuck! Bunny, you alright? Are you hurt?” Eddie's voice sounds strained and worried. All Y/N can do, though, is take a few deep breaths and breathe against the pain in her chest. “Y/N?”
“I-I… Chest hurts.”
“Fuck, shit! Alright, eh…. Let’s- let’s get out of here first, yeah?” Instead of verbally answering, Y/N nods. She takes two steady breaths and loosens her seatbelt. She opens the door and stumbles out of the car. Her eyes roam over the hood that curled around a tree, though it's mostly on the driver's side. She hears Eddie curse as his door shuts, and instantly, worry sets in. “Teddie! Teddie, are you hurt?” She practically runs around the back of the car, only to be met with Eddie leaning against the driver's side. He cradles his right arm against his chest. Blood is dripping from his nose and left temple. “F-fuck.”
“Teddie!” Y/N quickly skips to him, cradling his head in her hands, trying to study his face. His eyes are a bit unfocused, and in the dim light of the streetlamp a few feet away, she can see that his pupils aren't the same size. Concussion, probably a broken nose.
“Can you look at me?”
“Which one of you?” Y/N’s worry increases since Eddie sounds pretty sincere and confused. There’s no sign of his typical grin. “Eddie! Tell me what hurts”
“Eh… head, pretty bad, actually.” Eddie groans and slowly slips to the ground. Y/N tries her best to guide him. She looks up and down the street, but on this dark fall evening, there’s no car to be seen. “What else?”
“Arm, think it's broken. My ribs kinda hurt. And my left ankle.”
“Okay, alright. Think you’ll be alright for a sec? I’ll quickly grab my bag and try to reach Hop, yeah?”
“No, what ‘bout you? Anything hurts Bunny?” She frowns a bit. He had asked her that already, but to not worry him, she runs her hand through his curls. “Just my ribs, probably from the seatbelt, and might bruise.”
“No…” Eddie whines as if he himself hurt me. It sounds a bit like he broke his favorite toy while playing. “It’s alright, Teddie. Keep breathing. I’ll be right back.”
In a few seconds, she is at the passenger's side again and grabs her bag from the floor. She’s quick to find her phone and dials Hopper's number, but nothing happens except the annoying beeping. “Come on, Hop, come on!” The lien dies, and she tries again. Her right foot taps nervously against the floor, one hand pressing against her chest, which still hurts from the seatbelt. Then finally, the line connects. “Hello?”
“St-Steve?”
“Yeah, who’s there?”
“I-It’s Y/N.” Her voice starts shaking a bit, adrenaline seemingly leaving her body. “Finally, we’ve been waiting for you! Where are you?”
“Is Hop there?”
“Yeah, give me a sec.” She hears Steve call Hopper's name. “Are you alright? You sound upset.”
“Y-Yeah, we, eh… We’ve had an accident.”
“Wha-”
“Y/N! Where the hell are you?! Munson too occupied to brush his hair?”
“H-Hop-” Mor doesn't leave her lips; just a sob comes out, which quickly lets tears cloud her vision. “What's wrong, kid? Where are you?” Y/N tries to fight her sobs and tells Hopper about the deer. The policeman sounds calm, but Y/N knows he’s anything but. He might act grumpy all the time, but he secretly loves and cares for each one of them. The second they hang up, with Hopper promising to be there in ten, she feels totally exhausted and tired. Sniffling, she goes back to Eddie only to find him with his eyes closed, head against the car. “E-Eddie? Eddie!”
Still sniffling, Y/N is guided by Hopper through a set of doors. “Now, Y/N. He’ll be alright.”
“I-I know. Still s-scared me.” Hopper's Hand squeezes her shoulder softly, and walks with her through some halls until he stops in front of a door. “You okay? Rips alright?”
“Yeah, better, at least.” The man nods and knocks at the door but doesn't make any moves to enter himself. All he does is open the door and shove Y/N in. Though he has a small reassuring smile on his lips. She tries to smile as well, but she’s still shaken up. The accident has been barely more than an hour and a half ago and the shock from finding Eddie passed out still sits deep in her bones. It helps that she sees him smiling at her now as she turns to the bed in the small room. “Hey, Bunny.”
“Teddie.” She sighs a breath of relive and walks over to him, immediately pressing a longing kiss against his forehead. “How are you?” His hand comes up to softly wipe the few stray tears away. “Ribs okay?”
“You asking me?” Eddie only frowns at her, not giving any kind of answer. Y/N giggles nonetheless and nods. I’m okay. My ribs are just a bit bruised. Doctor gave me some painkillers. What about you?”
“I’m totaled. You can bring me to the scrapyard to my car. My CAR, Y/N!” Eddie wails theatrically, throwing his head back into the pillow. “Y/N only rolls her eyes and takes a seat on the bed by Eddie's hip, carefully taking his uninjured hand in hers. Her thumb strokes softly over his skin. “My arm’s broken, two ribs cracked, ankle sprained, and I have pretty little princesses dancing around my head, confirming I’m suffering from a concussion.” He pouts at Y/N. “You want to know what's worse?”
“What?” She smiles at him. He looks adorable. If you don’t count the injuries and the setting they’re in, she probably would pepper his face with kisses to make the pout stop. “None of these princesses are as pretty as you! Why can’t they look like you?” Y/N frowns at him and nods seriously. “Indeed, that’s bad. But I can tell you why.”
“Why?”
“They’re not me because that means you won't pull stupid shit as often, only to get me to see more than once.”
“Hey! That wasn’t my fault.” Eddie plays offense, but Y/N only giggles and leans in until she’s just mere seconds away from his lips. “I know.” Then she presses closer to kiss him. Eddie hums and his arms softly come around her, carefully pulling her closer. “If that’s what happens-” He kisses her again. “When I get hurt. I’ll do it again.” He manages to press a last kiss in before Y/N quickly sits up straight, glaring daggers at him. “Don’t you dare, Edward!” Her voice and Eddie's laughter echo through the hall. Hopper smiles at himself as she shakes his head in disbelief before he strolls back down the hall. “These kids.”
Summary: Steve comes down with a cold, but is it really just a clod?
Pairing: Steve Rogers x Reader
Word count: 1.7k
Masterlist
Y/N walks through the ankle-high grass, looking forward with a soft smile as her eyes gaze over all the pretty and colorful flowers. The smell is wonderful. Fresh and flowery. Soothing.
The only thing that’s a little annoying is the chill of the breeze. Goosebumps spread over her skin, and a small shiver runs down her body. And this sound. What is that? It’s a bit dull and faint, but it doesn't sound good. Could it be coughing? While she tries to listen, she turns and turns around, trying to find something. Someone!
The flower field slowly fades, but the coughing sound just gets stronger, louder. It takes a few more seconds for her to really start to wake up, but by the time her eyes slowly flutter open, she hears the coughing loud and clear. She blinks a few times and rubs her eyes to be able to focus on their dark bedroom, then she turns on her back and sits up a bit, eyes focusing on Steve lying beside her. He’s on his side, back to her, but his body is shaking and rocking with the violent, deep, and wet-sounding cough that sounds like they hurt and burn.
“Stevie?”
“D-Doll…” He stops answering for another round of coughing which lets Y/N’s mind ring with alarm. She sits up straight then, her right hand holding her up while her left hand gently strokes over Steve’s back. “That sounds nasty.” She tries to soothe him a bit, to get him to calm down and comfort. It takes a few more minutes, but then Steve settles down exhausted as he rolls on his back. His eyes are half-lidded as he pants. “Stevie, that isn’t just a cold anymore.”
“No, I’m fine. Probably swallowed wrong.” He coughs again, but it doesn't sound nearly as bad as before. “Sorry, I woke you up.”
“I’m not bothered by that, Steve. But maybe we should get you to a doctor? Let you get checked over. This cough sounds like it hurts.”
“Nah, ‘M fine.”
“Steve.” Y/N sighs, wants to say more, but Steve gifts her with a small droopy smile and pulls weakly at her hand. That alone is a sign that he’s not feeling well. He’s never rough with her, always paying attention that he’s as gentle and soft as he can be, but right now, he’s too weak even to attempt to pull her in. “Need cuddle, that’s all.” With worry on her face, she obliges his weak tug and lies down beside him, cuddled up to him with her head on his shoulder. “Stevie, you’re pretty warm. Are you sure you’re okay?” The heat emitting from Steve is enormous. More than usual, even. His shirt feels clammy against her cheek. “Yeah, ‘s just from coughing.” He clears his throat a few times and starts running his hand up and down Y/N’s side. She can hear the rattle in his chest, the slight bubbling sound that starts to worry her. She knows that this is no longer a common cold but something way more serious. Let’s make a deal, yeah?”
“Doll….” Steve’s eyes are closed, exhaustion written all over his face with a soft sheen of sweat. His brows are furrowed, and Y/N has the feeling that he’s concentrating, not to cough again. She sits up a bit more to have a better look at him.
“Steve. I don’t think this is just a normal cough, and if you’re still like this, with this rattle in your chest”, she pokes his chest right in the middle, “Then I’m taking you to a doctor. Okay?”
“Doll, that really not-”
“Are you arguing with me, captain?” Y/N raises an eyebrow, which makes Steve snort with a short following cough. “No, Mrs. Roger. Wouldn’t dream of it, ma’am.”
“Good.” She smiles and shifts down a bit to press a lingering kiss against his forehead. “So, you agree?”
“If I agree, does that mean you come back to cuddle me again?” She gives him a deadpan look because he knows the answer already. She would cuddle him anyway. Just as he knows, she’ll drag him to a doctor as soon as he’s awake, if he agrees or not. “Yeah, okay. Now come back here.” He presses a kiss to her forehead as she settles again. For Y/N, sleep doesn't come for the rest of the night. She stays awake, intent on listening to his chest, the little coughs, and the occasional wheezing.
Two days later, Y/N stroll through the sliding door, flowers in hand and a bag slung over her shoulder. She greets the woman behind the sign-in desk and skips right to the elevator. She trolls through the halls until she meets room 305. She knocks softly and enters without waiting for an answer. Steve lies in his bed, breathing mask on his face and eyes closed, though he perks up the second she enters the room. A lazy smile builds under the mask, and his hand comes up to pull it down. “Hey, baby.” His voice is slightly raspy, but that’s to be expected. After all, he managed to get pneumonia. “Hey, handsome.” She walks up to his bed and presses a soft, quick kiss to his lips. “Brought you something as cheer up and…” She rummages through her bag to pull out some pencils and a new sketchbook. “I brought this in my way here. Thought you might be glad for some distraction.”
“Thank you.” His eyes light up, and he makes grabby hands at her to pass the things over. With a soft laugh, she settles the flowers in the vase at the table opposite Steve and throws the old ones into the trash. “How are you feeling?”
“Tired.”
“Yeah?” She walks back over and settles in the chair that she has been occupying for the last two days. “Didn’t sleep well?”
“No.” Steve sighs and stets the pencils and sketchbook on his lap after inspecting it. “Been coughing a lot, barely slept at all.” Y/N’s brows furrow in concern, a hand shooting up to rum bis chest. Steve hums and his hand shoots up to grab her wrist before he brings it up to kiss her palm. Then his head falls back onto the pillow with an exhausted sigh. “Want to try and sleep now?”
“Can’t.” Suddenly his body is shaking with a round of hacking coughs, leaving him wheezing for air. Y/N jumps up and rubs his chest in hope of releasing him from some pain. It takes a few minutes for Steve to settle again finally. “Man, that sounds so bad. Should I get a nurse?”
“Nah, was here right before you came. It’ll be fine.”
“Doesn’t sound find t me, though.” Steve smiles lazily, still panting and trying to catch his breath. Y/N takes the mask from around his neck and settles it back over his nose and mouth. “Come on, handsome, get comfy.” She takes the pencils and sketchbook and puts them on his side table before she settles back on in her chair. She puts her feet on the mattress and looks through her bag until she grabs a book and pulls it out. “What are you doing?”
“Hush now. Close your eyes get comfy, and listen to me read you to sleep.” Y/N pages through the book until she finds the side Steve stopped at a few days ago. She glances over the book to catch a glimpse of her husband and finds the blonde lying on the bed with a gentle smile and soft gaze on her. “What?”
“You're reading to me? I love when you do it.”
“I know.” She smiles softly, clears her throat, and glares playfully at him. “Now, eyes closed! Sleep.”
“Yes, ma’am.” He settles and closes his eyes dutifully, which makes her smile. She clears her throat again and starts reading.
It doesn't take more than ten short minutes until she hears a soft snore coming from the bed. She continues reading out loud until she finished the chapter and mark it with Steve’s bookmark. She loves reading to him and has formed the habit of at least finishing the chapter she’s on since Steve once complained that she stopped in the middle and he couldn’t really dream then. How he knew is beyond her, but since then, she never did it again. Carefully she puts the book back into her bag and pulls her own out, and starts reading. All she can hear is Steve’s soft snores, the occasional soft cough, and the ticking of the clock on the wall. About an hour later, a nurse slips in and smiles at her. “Ah, he’s finally sleeping? Poor thing was hacking up a lung all night.” Y/N smiles back and nods as the nurse checks Steve over, noting dutifully and relieved that his fever is down too. Then she leaves them both alone again with the promise of returning with lunch in about an hour. “You stayed.” The raspy voice startles her out of her concentration, and the book almost falls from her lap to the floor. Still, she greets a sleepy, blinking Steve with a soft smile. “Of course.” She stands up and kisses his cheek, her hand carding softly through his mussed hair. “My husband’s in this hospital, after all.”
“Really?” Steve coughs slightly, hand flying to his chest as he tries to sit up but fails. “Should have introduced us.”
“Maybe I should.” She grins and kisses his temple while guiding him back down. “Now, how are you feeling?”
“Better. Thank you.”
“Great. Then scoot over. It’s been too long since I’ve got any cuddles.”
Steve laughs, which throws him into a smaller coughing fit, but he settles faster this time and scoots to let his wife slip in beside him. “I love you.” He kisses her temple and pulls her as close as he can. “I love you too.”
Summary: Y/N lives the life she always dreamed about. a job she loves, a fiancé that does everything for her, and a house she dreamed of. There are hiccups on the way, but Y/N's still pretty satisfied with where she stands in life. Though a word can be powerful, especially if it's said to the wrong person. Y/N would never have thought that she ever gets to experience how bad it can turn out. For her and the loved ones around her.
Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Reader
Word count: 3.1k
Warnings: dead animal, descriptions of blood and disembodiment, vomiting
Divider by Firefly-Graphics
Series Masterlist // Masterlist
The scream rips the men away from the lifeless animal. “Was that Y/N?”
“Shit!” Bucky throws the gloves and the garbage bag away, scrambles up from his crouched position and almost faceplants again as he trips over his own feet. He barely catches himself, twists his wrist slightly as he cushions his fall, and runs back to the conservatory. He looks around, but his girlfriend is not in the conservatory, the kitchen, the living room, or down the hall. “Y/N? Where are you?” He sprints up the stairs, taking two steps at once. Behind him, he can hear Sam following him. Bucky turns at the top of the stairs to run to the bedroom when his eyes catch the light coming from their shared office. He stops abruptly, almost making Sam run into his back. He’s breathing hard as he quickly steps into his room, squats down, and sees Y/N sitting on the floor. She’s pale, almost white, as if she has died sitting down if it wasn’t for her breathing. It's fast but shallow, and Bucky knows she’s not getting enough air if she continues like this. He inhales deeply to steady his breathing and then speaks to his girlfriend. “Y/N! Y/N, sweetheart, what’s wrong?”
But Y/N just stares ahead, a mask of horror on her face. Tears run down her cheeks, and sobs get stuck in her throat, making breathing even more difficult. “Baby. Look at me.” Gently he puts one hand on her shoulder, and the other softly cups her cheek. She doesn't react. There's no sign of recognition, no flinch, no stuttering breath, no eye contact. “Doll, you’re hyperventilating. Look at me. Try to breathe with me.” Bucky draws the air deep into his lungs, holding it for a moment before he ejects it again. He repeats it, trying to hold eye contact with Y/N, even though she doesn't notice him. The stiff woman makes no effort to copy him. Instead, her breathing gets worse and worse.
"Fuck!" Sam breathes out. His voice sounds raw, rough, almost hoarse. He sounds really shocked. Bucky looks up at him as he steps into the room. “What?” At first, he thinks Sam means Y/N’s state, but then he notices that Sam stares in the same direction as Y/N, with the same mask of horror on his face. Drawing his eyebrows together in confusion, he follows their gazes and draws in the air sharply.
A large German Shepard lies on the carpet, right between his and Y/N’s desk. The animal must have been beautiful when it was alive, but now its brown fur is drenched and sticky with blood. The abdomen has a large cut, skin splitting open, revealing the dog's organs that are scattered on the floor. The intestine is completely missing and instead hangs over the curtain rod like a garland for Christmas. The animal's head is smashed and no longer looks like a dog. The limbs are separated and neatly lined up next to the animal. Blood soaks the cream-colored carpet, leaving it lying in a large red puddle.
Bucky looks away bitterly and stares up at his colleague. Anger rises in his chest, and even though he doesn't want to admit it, fear is just as fast to grip his chest. "I thought you searched everything! What the hell is that?!" Angrily he gestures at what used to be a living animal. Silently he hopes the poor animal was dead before it was slaughtered like that. Sam also turns away and looks into his friend's eyes."I swear, I checked. There wasn't a dog here before; you saw me check it out. It was all clean. I don’t kno-," he leaves the rest of the sentence unspoken. Bucky also knows what his colleague is thinking just now. The guy is still here!
Bucky works fast. He looks at his fiancé again and hugs her, guiding her head into his shoulder, so she can't stare at the animal anymore. Then he picks her up. He’s careful since she’s still unresponsive and unable to hold onto him. He slips past Sam and carries her back to the bedroom. Slowly she starts to come back to her senses as he sits down on the mattress. Bucky holds Y/N on his lap, tightly embraced. “Doll, please. Listen to my voice. I have you. You’re safe with me; we’re both all right.” Sluggishly, her head sinks onto his shoulder, but her breathing remains erratic, though, Bucky thinks it already calmed down just the tiniest bit. He gently strokes her hair, hoping to soothe her. “Everything will be fine. I promise." He thinks for a moment, then pulls her closer to him and starts humming a song he knows she loves. They dance to it now and then in the living room if the moment feels right, and they’re both in the mood. He hums for a while until he notices that Y/N slowly calms down. At some point, he even starts singing the lyrics. His eyes flicker through the room, trying to gauge their surroundings. There’s nothing unusual, but Bucky has to admit that he has a bad feeling. But that could be because he just saw a dismembered dog in his own home. He doesn’t even want to imagine if that’s how Y/N felt today.
Y/N’s head gets heavier on his shoulder, causing him to look down. Her eyes are closed, her breathing flat. A small smile creeps on his face, and he softly kisses her cheek, holding her for a while longer. When Bucky’s sure that his girlfriend is deep asleep, he tries to be as careful as he can be while gently lying her down. He covers her with the duvet that Y/N took upstairs before getting dressed. Then he slips in right beside her, still pressing her tightly to his side. He keeps stroking her arm gently, soothing her in her sleep so she hopefully won't have a nightmare. He can hear his colleague's voice, who speaks frantically into his radio and asks for reinforcements.
Heavy footsteps echo through the house and deep voices bark instructions. I blink against the sun's blinding light but quickly close my eyes again. After ten minutes, I can feel my breathing deepening and slowly drift back into a restless sleep.
Warm arms wrap around my middle. I hear the voices from earlier; they are very close, somewhere in the hall. But someone is talking in my bedroom. Groggily I open my eyes. My head hurts like hell, and now that the sunlight dispels the darkness, it's even worse. How long have I been asleep?
I try to turn around, but the arms around me prevent me at first. My eyes slip close again, and I whine a bit until the arms loosen their tight grip. This time I manage to turn around.I sigh in relief. I didn’t notice until I turned that my side actually started to hurt a bit, and now, lying on my right side, the relief is immediate. I open my eyes again, still blinking against the sleep and light, only to be met with a man's chest.“Hey, doll.” A kiss is gently pressed to my hairline. Bucky briefly turns away from me again. “Okay, thanks, Sam. I’ll leave the rest to you.” His head turns back to me, and I look into his familiar handsome face. A small smile creeps over his narrow lips. His blue eyes, however, radiate concern, mustering my face and looking over every inch. “How are you?” The voice is also dripping with concern but has something that sounds like relief. I slowly straighten myself and stretch my body as best as possible while still cuddling up to him. Then I entangle my legs with his and scoot closer to nuzzle into his chest. The whole time Bucky’s eyes stay on me. I look up at him and smile, but something must have happened while I look at him because, in the next moment, all the pictures pop up in my mind.
Blood, limbs, organs.
Without warning, my stomach cramps, and throw up. It splashes all over myself, and on the uniform of the man next to me. But instead of jumping up and getting to safety, Bucky stays put. One hand is on my back and soothingly caresses it, while the other strokes my hair out of my face. “Come on, doll, sit up. That’s easier. Just like that.” Bucky is Quick to help me sit up. I choke a few more times until the taste in my mouth and the constant choking brings tears to my eyes. “Think somethings coming up?” His hand runs over my back, his voice soothing and warm against my head as he presses his lips to my temple. How he can kiss me while I’m full of vomit and, in general, pretty disgusting is beyond me. I’m not certain if something coming up; my stomach seems to think so as it clenches uncomfortably again. I only shrug. “Okay, let's get you to the bathroom. Can you walk?”
I shake my head. If I know one thing, then it’s that I don’t have any control over my legs at the moment. Right now, I wouldn't even dare to wipe my nose. Everything feels numb and paralyzed. I feel his arms come around my beg and under my knees, and suddenly, he lifts me up. He’s mindful of my queasy stomach and the vomit on my own clothes. Instead of carrying me to our bathroom, which might be closer, he carries me through the hall to the guest bathroom. Probably because it’s easier to clean later. I also know that Bucky often goes there if he needs to puke. He claims that the smell won't make us both nauseous this way.
Softly he helps me down, and to the toilet, then he vanishes. He comes back after a few seconds, wearing a new shirt and sweatpants. Bucky has a hair band on his wrist that he quickly slips off to wrap my hair into a loose bun. “That’s better, huh?” he smiles at me again and continues with his back rubs as another wave of nausea overcomes me, and I puke into the toilet. The smell and sounds alone would make me vomit on a normal day. Now that I feel bad already, it's like it intensifies. My stomach clenches so hard that it hurts, eliciting a sob from me as tears fall. Between puking and crying, it gets harder to get any air into my lungs; my nose is completely blocked now.
The whole time Bucky stays with me and doesn't say a word except silently encourage me to keep going, that it will feel better soon, and soothingly strokes my back. A knock on the door makes me look up tiredly. Bucky locked the door when he returned, which is pretty foresighted since a few strangers are currently in our house. Bucky’s eyes instantly flicker to mine, silently questioning if I’m all right for a moment. I whine a bit, not really wanting anybody to see me like this, but who knows, maybe it’s important, so I nod. “All right. I’ll be quick, sweetheart.”Again, he kisses my temple. I have to smell so bad, but he still does it. I admire him for that resilience. Bucky gets up with a soft squeeze of my shoulder and quickly steps out of the bathroom-. I watch him close the door as a groan slips past my lips. A new wave of nausea hits again, but nothing comes up this time. With the back of my hand, I wipe away the tears that are caused by the corrosive taste and effort. I retch a few more times, but nothing comes up. Confident that I’m finally finished, I flush the toilet. Getting on my feet is another struggle. My legs are trembling and weak, but with a tight grip on the toilet, I manage to push myself up and stumble to the sink behind me.
I fill one of the cups with water and rinse my mouth thoroughly before spitting it out and splashing water into my face.I look down into the sink for a moment, then close my eyes and hold my breath. When I look back up in the mirror, I’m startled by the image of the woman in it. Shit! Is that me? She' looks nothing like me.
My hand runs over my cheeks. The woman in my mirror is pale and looks like a goddamn corpse.Hardly recognizable rings start to appear under the eyes, which only stare expressionlessly into the mirror. The otherwise green eyes, which sparkle like emeralds, as Bucky always claims, seem dull and pale.
Almost lifeless.
Somehow disgusted, I turn my gaze away from the mirror and feel the urge to bend over the bowl again. Instead of doing that, I take a few deep breaths, briefly wondering where Bucky’s now. I decided to strip out of my soiled clothes. I manage to get them off without getting any of the vomit in my hair. I throw them in a pile on the floor and leave the bathroom. The hall is empty, so I find it safe to stroll through it to our bedroom. The second I pass the office, I close my eyes, a hand on the wall to guide me past it. I don’t know if the door is open or closed, but right now, I don’t even care. I don’t want any chance to find what I found earlier again accidentally.
I hold my breath for the whole four seconds until I finally reach the bedroom. I don’t waste any time and quickly slip back into bed, this time purposefully on Bucky’s side. I see that he already switched the sheet, where some of the vomit had landed. It doesn't smell like bucky anymore, but his pillow still does. So, I grab his pillow and snuggle into it, inhaling deeply and letting his smell soothe me. There’s nothing to see or hear from Bucky, only the voices somewhere downstair sound silently up to me.
For a moment, I think I can hear Bucky's voice. I pull the thinner throw blanket for the feet of our bed up to my chin because I suddenly feel quite hot and just the look at our duvet makes me feel like dying of a heart stroke.
After about ten minutes - or maybe just a few seconds - Bucky comes back. I can hear him call for me in confusion until he steps into the room. “Ah, here you are.” He strolls over to me and sits down at the bedside.He pulls the blanket back a bit to reveal my face. His expression softens as he looks at me. “Here. Take the pills and have a drink. They’ll help with the nausea.” He hands it to me, but I shake my head. A grimace of disgust. I hate taking medicine, and pills are my worst enemy. After spiders. Even as a small child, I was never able to swallow any kind of pills. Strangely gummy bears weren’t a problem at all.
Most of the time, I feel worse after taking a pill because it takes me so long to swallow the damn things. I try to pull the blanket over my head again, but Bucky quickly grabs it firmly to hold it down. “I know you don’t like them, but they’ll help you. Come on, doll. For me?” Puppy dog eyes! I hate them!
He pulls this move, and suddenly I do everything he wants me to. So, I sigh, defeated, sit up as much as I can without disturbing my stomach, and do as he tells me.
It takes me a few tries and almost the whole glass of water, but I finally succeed. “Good girl.” Bucky smiles and strokes my hair, but I slap his hand away with a grumble. Then I arrange the blanket around me so I can lay my head on his lap. “What are you doing?”
“Going to sleep,” I grumble and wrap my arms around his hips so that I can hide in his stomach. Without any kind of warning, I start to sob again. I don’t know where it comes from, but suddenly, I’m a mess.
Slowly his hand brushes through my hair, as he has done so many times today, and immediately it feels a bit better. “Shh... All right. I know it’s a bit much today. I’ve got you, sweetheart.” He sits a bit longer like that, continuing his motions. “Doll, everyone else is leaving. Sam called someone to make sure the house gets cleaned today. He’ll be back around noon to make sure.” He pauses for a moment. “Would you like to come to the living room with me? Maybe watch a movie?”Still crying, I nod and let go of him. He unwraps me from my blanket cocoon and squats down in front of the bed. “Come here, pretty girl. Let me give you a ride.” Bucky knows I love it when he carries me around, and a smile creeps onto my face. I wrap my arms around his neck and press my thighs against his hips. Bucky is comfortably warm. I bury my face in his neck, letting the tears continue to fall. “Okay. All passengers are instructed to keep a tight hold and enjoy the ride. We arrive approximately in two minutes at our destination: Livingroom couch. We wish you a joyful ride!” Bucky announces it with a loud voice, sounding almost like someone from a fair. I have to admit that it makes me giggle despite the fact that I'm still crying. He’s ridiculous.
I feel him standing up and walking, getting down the stairs and into the living room. Bucky lets me slide off his back. Then he lies on the sofa and stretches his arms to me. They seem so inviting that I let them wrap me up in an embrace and lie down on his chest, legs wedged between his and the backrest.
It’s a little uncomfortable. So, instead, I slide one leg over his, and immediately, it seems more comfortable. He hugs me tenderly and breathes a soothing kiss onto my hair. He gently caresses my back while one hand fumbles for the TV remote. He switches the TV on, and some movie pops up that neither of us pays a lot of attention to. The pills he had given me before starts to take their effect, and I can feel myself getting drowsy and tired again. I feel him gently spreading a thin blanket over us as I close my eyes and bury my face in his chest. “Sleep, sweetheart. I’ll be here the whole time.”
Summary: Y/N lives the life she always dreamed about. a job she loves, a fiancé that does everything for her, and a house she dreamed of. There are hiccups on the way, but Y/N's still pretty satisfied with where she stands in life. Though a word can be powerful, especially if it's said to the wrong person. Y/N would never have thought that she ever gets to experience how bad it can turn out. For her and the loved ones around her.
Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Reader
Word count: 1.9k
Warnings: none
Series Masterlist // Masterlist
It feels like an eternity. The whole time Bucky’s gone, I’m fighting my tired eyes and exhausted body. I don’t want to give into the bliss of sleep that tries to lure me in. The fear that holds is now less of what happened but more of what is to come. I know my mind well enough to know that nightmares will follow me into my sleep, making pictures up that are worse than what I would dare to imagine.
My tea is finally empty, and the sun starts to rise, slowly filling the room with a bit of light that doesn’t come from the lamps. The rain is slowly getting less and less, the wind receding to a breeze. Usually, that is the time I would open each and every window close to me to smell the freshness that rainfall brings and let the breeze into the house to bring a bit of fresh air in. but I don’t get up, don’t even move much. I turn a bit to lie on my back, staring at the blank white ceiling. Sam had been right. Everything is where it’s supposed to be; nothing is out of order. A few magazines lay elsewhere, but those were the ones Bucky frequently reads, and the fruit bowl is a bit emptier. But I conclude that this is because I can’t expect Bucky to stop living in our house just because we had a fight, and I was gone for a week. All the small changes I can see are plausible signs of a human being living in this house.
I notice a bit of dust as I turn onto my other side and face the room again. I probably should clean up a bit.
The thought pops into my head, making me snort. How ridiculous is that? Here I lie, after a panic attack and almost frightened to death because something feels really off, and what I think of is cleaning the house. Especially since I’m not a big fan of cleaning up. Unfortunately, Bucky isn't either, so we created a plan to divide housework between us, so we take turns. It entails everything from bringing the trash out, cleaning the house, washing the laundry, changing the sheets to garden work, and cleaning the cars. We quickly learned that both of us like some chores more than others. Bucky loves getting the cars clean and taken care of. That’s not a surprise since he always had a fable for cars, but what did surprise me is that he loves changing the sheets of the beds and taking care of the laundry. He does that while whistling or blaring music through the house. More often than not, I can find him dancing ridiculously around. Sometimes he ducks his head in embarrassment and gets back to work, other times he’s so carefree he pulls me in, and we dance for hours. Housework is totally forgotten.
In exchange, I love cooking and garden work since that relaxes me deeply and takes my mind off patients and cases. Those chores are not divided that evenly. They pop up more on the chart of who loves to take care of them. No one can complain like this, and at times we switch it up. Bucky always complains that we just should leave the ones we like on our charts and divide what we hate. But I always try to tell him that he should cook from time to time, just to make sure he’s not dying or living off fast food when I’m not around. He hates it but agrees.
I wait a few more minutes, hoping Bucky will return any moment. I desperately want to lie down with him, cuddle into his side, and try to sleep while his heartbeat and steady breathing soothe me. But Bucky doesn’t come. A sigh leaves my lips, and I push myself up tiredly, back into a sitting position. I look around, contemplating what I should do. I don’t feel up to going to bed alone, but sitting here isn’t any better. More tea would be good. So, I get off the couch, grab my empty mug, and leave the duvet behind as I walk to the kitchen door. I stop just outside, looking through the slit, but I don’t see anyone. When did Bucky get up and away? Are they somewhere in the house?
I listened for a moment. Nothing. Did they really leave me alone? I would actually call myself a runaway animal and not particularly curious if it wasn't about my patients. But now I can't deny it. I want to know what’s going on.
I open the door and step into the kitchen. It is vacant, so I walk over to the sink and put the mug in there for later, then I venture over to the glass door. It's open, and I know for a fact that it was closed. Bucky and Sam said all doors are shut. Did they go into the garden? While it rains this much? I stop in the frame and peer out into the garden. It’s still drizzling a bit, but solely the sun is making its way through the clouds. The garden is lighted up enough that I can see two man way back by the shed. I squint a little trying to see what they are doing, but I can’t really make anything out. I am about to shout for them when Sam turns around. He stops for a moment before his hand slaps on Bucky’s arm. A bit confused, he looks up, saying something, but all Sam does is nod in my direction, and Bucky’s gaze follows. What's that? Is there something lying? A cat? Nonsense. I shake my head at the thought. What would he want with a cat? Whatever my fiancé’s holding in his hand, he puts it in Sam's hand, and quickly jogs towards me. When he gets closer, I see he’s wearing gardening gloves. “Sweetheart, what are you doing up? I thought you would be asleep.” I only shake my head at his words, still staring at his hands in confusion. “Please, baby, go back inside. Not that you catch a cold. You’re hardly wearing anything.” I look down on myself and blushed. Oh, my God. He is right. The robe has opened slightly, revealing that I wear hardly anything underneath hastily tighten the ribbon again, pulling everything so it covers my half-undressed state. Bucky removes his gloves and throws them on one of the chairs in the conservatory.
Then he turns me around by my shoulders and leads me back into the living room. “Sweetheart, please. You should rest.” He wraps the blanket around my shoulders again, and as he lets go of me again, I quickly grab his wrist. Maybe I grab too tight because my fingers turn nearly white, and Bucky hisses slightly. I can’t tell if it’s because I hurt him or he’s just surprised. “Bucky, what have you found? Why do you have to wear gloves?” I look at him and see his face trying to put on a mask of innocence, though his eyes won't meet mine. “What are you hiding from me?” My voice is soft and confused. Maybe it holds a bit of hurt because his eyes instantly switch to mine.
You don't have to be a genius to see that he’s feverishly searching for an answer. His gaze quickly wanders to the left and focuses on a dirty spot on the kitchen island that does not exist. Slowly he wrings his wrist out of my grip, lifting my hand to press a soft kiss against my palm. “Don’t worry. Just a dead animal. Looks like a raccoon. Sam is so friendly and... disposes of it.” He squeezes me and disappears shortly afterward. I’m still perplexed and look at the door. He lied. It’s not like it never happened before, but suddenly I feel highly offended. The anger of the past week flickers through my mind. Why would he dispose of it right now if it's just one random animal? In the rain? It could’ve waited till the weather is better.
I am feverishly thinking about what to do next. I really should go back to the bedroom. The couch is nice and all, but I won't be able to fall asleep on it anyway. Shaking my head, I get up, clutching the duvet to my body and lifting the bottom so I won’t fall over on the stairs. The whole track up my mind is occupied by the fact that Bucky definitely tries to hide something from me. In our bedroom, I walk over to the open closet and grab a pair of Bucky’s sweatpants and an old shirt of his. Then I shut the door. I just turn around as a thought comes to my mind and lets me face the door again. Was it open when we left?
I stare a second longer, but then I throw the thought overboard. I’m probably just being paranoid. I turn back to our bed, ready to climb in, but then I reconsider. Fine, if you're keeping a secret about what you found, it's got to be something you don't want me to know about. Ergo, it must be something you want to keep from me. What if this isn't the first thing that's happened? Otherwise, you'd have come home alone, like always. There's nothing scary about a dead animal. Besides, that feeling doesn't come from a dead animal. Something alive was here.
I decide to swallow my fear and go to his study. If he’s hiding something, I will likely find something in there. I found out years ago that Bucky was writing a digital diary. But he doesn't know that, and I’m not going to tell him. However, a big chunk of my brain shouts at me not to do that. It’s a major act of distrust, and I don’t really want to be that kind of person that snoops around in the highly personal stuff of their lover. And it’s probably difficult to explain what I have been doing at his computer anyway, though it’s more of a shared office. With a highly guilty conscious, I leave our bedroom and walk a few feet to our office door. I quickly slip inside and walk to Bucky’s desk but accidentally knock over his trash can. It falls, and its contents fly onto the floor, some paper balls rolling around. I roll my eyes with a groan. Bucky always crumbles his papers into small balls. Sometimes out of boredom, so he can try and throw it through the room, hitting several targets, he thought about before, and sometimes just because he’s frustrated. I actually have a small basketball basket hidden under the bed that I want to gift him. He can mount it to the wall opposite his desk and put the trashcan under it. Maybe I don’t have to clean up so much then. I lean down to quickly pick them up, but then my gaze catches something else. What's that?
I stand back up and walk over to the light switch. The room’s still pretty dark so I can’t really see anything. The small room lights up, so I turn back onto the floor to the spot that caught my attention. But what I see is not what I expected. A scream leaves me.
Summary: Y/N lives the life she always dreamed about. a job she loves, a fiancé that does everything for her, and a house she dreamed of. There are hiccups on the way, but Y/N's still pretty satisfied with where she stands in life. Though a word can be powerful, especially if it's said to the wrong person. Y/N would never have thought that she ever gets to experience how bad it can turn out. For her and the loved ones around her.
Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Reader
Word count: 2.7k
Warnings: dead animals
Divider by Firefly-Graphics
Series Masterlist // Masterlist
The second I sit down, a shiver runs down my body. My eyes are open wide, roaming the whole room as if expecting to find a murderer hiding behind our armchair or standing in a corner. Though I quickly notice that nothing looks different from usual. Bucky seems to sense my apprehension. He’s mindful to keep close to me, sitting next to me. He’s so close that my entire left side is pressed to his right. It feels comforting. From his guarded eyes, I can see that he’s ready to jump in front of me at any moment, and a strangely warm fluttering feeling fills my chest. I always knew that Bucky’s protective, even more about me than everybody else. But this expression and his body language do something to me that feels strange. A good kind of strange. I feel protected, safe. Loved. All the doubts and bad thoughts that have plagued me the last week are like they’ve been blown away, and what remains is my undeniable affection and love for the men beside me. Bucky turns slightly, pressing his lips softly against my temple before he leans away. “Okay?” This one word holds so many questions at once. Am I okay? Am I fine to lie down here? Do I feel something strange?
Instead of answering and telling him about my dream on the way home, telling him of this uneasy feeling that accompanied me the whole drive, I just reside to a small nod. It’s not like it's that important, and it has nothing to do with the situation I'm in right now. This nightmare was probably just a fraction of my guilt.
Sam chews on his lower lip and looks out of the window onto the street. Apparently lost in thought, he strides over to the window. I watch him while Bucky continues to hug me a bit until he slips from the couch to crouch in front of me. He pulls the edges of the duvet closer to me, angling his head to look into my eyes, seemingly making sure I’m fine for now. “I’m good.” I smile a small one that actually feels genuine. Sam turns around then a small, pained smile on his lips. “Hello, Y/N.” I nod at him and hold the blanket tighter. Redness creeps into my face when I realize I was sitting in nothing but my underwear, robe, and blanket. Briefly, I think about getting back upstairs to get dressed, at least in proper sleepwear, but then I would have to walk by myself, and I'm not ready for that yet.
So, I try to hide my embarrassment to ensure I’m properly covered. To my surprise, or not, really a surprise, Bucky made sure of it already. He smiles at me, his left hand coming up to cup the apple of my cheek, and runs his thumb over the skin. “I’ll make your tea now, yeah? I’ll be right back.” He kisses my other cheeks softly before he stands up and vanishes. I hear him puttering around in the kitchen as Sam steps away from the window to sink onto the cushions beside me. “How are you feeling?”
“Peachy.” He nods, a slight shade of embarrassment creeping into his features. “Shouldn’t have asked. Sorry.”
“’S all right.” I shrug, concentrating on my lap and the pattern of our duvet. “I looked around and didn’t find anything suspicious. I, eh… I hope that’s somewhat reassuring.” I free a hand out of my cocoon, not revealing anything major, and place it on his arm, softly squeezing it. “Thanks, Sam.” I smile at him, noticing his grateful one. Though even he seems to hide something. His eyes don’t meet mine, but before I can grill him on it, knowing that he will spill the beans if asked, Bucky comes back. He holds a steaming mug, carefully balancing it not to spill its contents. He curses lightly as it starts burning his finger, but he keeps his steady pace until he reaches the couch and carefully passes the mug onto me. “It’s hot, doll. Be careful.” Then he sits back down beside me, his hand gently lying on my knee, squeezing softly to ground and comfort me a bit longer.
He waits for me to take the first few sips. The warmth fills my tummy and body, flooding me with relief and calmness. Sam clears his throat before talking; his eyes trained on Bucky. Look down at myself, noticing that I reveal a bit more than I would like, but I can’t hold the duvet and mug simultaneously. “So, to make it short. There was nothing conspicuous in the house. I looked around, but could not find anything unusual for my circumstances. The doors are all locked, and I couldn’t see any signs of a break-in. Windows neither.”
“Good, thank you.” Bucky nods gratefully at Sam. Was he just looking in the house? What about the garden? Up until that moment, I haven’t thought about the possibility that someone or something might have been in the garden, but suddenly my gut tells me something is wrong, I can’t really say if it’s really in the garden, but now that Sam didn’t mention it, I can’t stop thinking about it.
“Bucky. Can you come with me to the kitchen for a moment? I have something that...” Sam stops for a second, his eyes flickering to me and back to my fiancé. It’s silent for a few more seconds; then, he continues to speak. “I have something that might interest you. I don’t want to drag Y/N into this. Y/N, it won’t take long, promise.” Sam gives me a smile again. It’s not one of his serious ones. I know that right away. That smile is supposed to calm me down, but it doesn't work; instead, it brings me more on edge. I still know something’s wrong, and Sam trying to cover something up or keep me in the dark doesn't make it much better.
A cold shudder runs through me as I furrow my brows. Bucky instantly squeezes my knee again, probably thinking I’m against being left alone. Which I am.
Bucky stares at me for a moment. Eyes gentle but calculating. It feels a bit like I’m in one of the interview rooms at the precinct, ready to be squeezed out for any information I possibly hide. However, he looks much gentler than any officer in movies and series.
Bucky then pats my knee again and leans in, pressing a few kisses to my cheek. “I promise I’ll be right back, okay, doll?” I simply nod, watching as he stands up. Instantly dread fills me, but Buck leans back down again to kiss my forehead. “Shout for me at any moment. No matter what it is. I’m just a few feet away.” I watch him follow Sam, then. They vanish into the kitchen, the sliding door slipping shut, though Bucky keeps it a few inches open, before he turns around to face Sam. Through the slit, I can see Bucky taking a seat on a stool by the island. He’s angled so that he can see me too. For a moment, our eyes meet, and he graces me with a small smile, eyebrows raised. He motions to my mug, encouraging me to keep drinking the tea. I take another sip for good measure, seeing a pleased grin spread onto his lips until his focus shifts to Sam, who I’m unable to see from my spot.
It takes two more sips until the realization really sets in that I’m all alone again. The sounds come back to my mind, playing tricks on my brain. My breath hitches as I hear a creak to my left. My eyes jump to the window, trying to see anything suspicious, but all I can see is half of the tree in front of our house. The rain still pours heavily, and the tree branches slap around as the wind plays with them. “Just the rain and wind, don’t worry. You’re fine.” I try talking to myself again, concentrating on breathing steadily. I don’t want to panic once again, and not over nothing nonetheless.
The more I continue breathing in, trying to steady my breath, the more I notice how silent the house is, except for the quiet conversation in the kitchen. What they don’t want me to hear still worries me, but at least they manage to soothe me back from my panic attack. A yawn slips past my lips again. I feel exhausted as if I just ran a marathon, so I deposit the mug on the coffee table and shove the duvet around a bit until I’m able to lie on my side, facing the backrest. My body seems to weigh a ton, my eyelids heavy with tiredness, though my mind is still fairly awake. The feeling of wrongness, however, just doesn't want to go away. It lingers in my mind like the fear of an upcoming test in school. And now that I’m alone, I get a little cranky with all the thoughts, fear, and secrecy. What the hell is going on here?
Bucky closes the door behind him but just so far that he can still look into the living room. Then he takes a seat on a stool, mindful to have Y/N in his periphery. He sees Y/N look at him with a look on her face that he doesn’t like. So, he graces her with a small smile, motioning for her to continue dirking and smirks as she dutifully takes a few sips. The urge to stick his tongue out in a playful manner rises, but he shoves it down, knowing it’s not the time for such fun. Then his focus shifts to Sam, who leans beside the door against the wall. “So? What did you find?” Sam raises a questioning eyebrow, silently asking how Bucky thinks he did, but Bucky just rolls his eyes. “Come on, man. You ask me to follow you so she doesn’t hear anything, and you want me to believe you just want to have a small chat? I don’t suppose we have a new case; otherwise, I would have gotten a text or a call.” Sam’s silent for a second, but then he uncrosses his arms and pushes himself away from the wall to sit opposite Bucky. “Touché. We didn’t get a new case. Though… You... didn’t tell her about your letters, did you?”
“Are you crazy?!” Bucky’s voice raises slightly, and he instantly cringes, briefly looking into the living room, pleased that Y/N doesn’t seem to have heard anything. He levels his voice back down to an almost whisper. “Of course, I haven’t. I don’t want to know what she would say. Besides, they’re not threatening or anything. I don’t take them very seriously.”
“I remember we had that conversation before.” Sam shakes his head, a hand running over his hair. “I don’t think they’re just empty threats, Barnes. You should start taking them seriously, especially since she’s back home now. She might accidentally find one in your mail one of these days.” He stares at Bucky but concentrates on Y/N, who is just about to lie down. He doesn’t want Y/N to find one. Hell, he doesn't want to get any of these letters! Whoever sends them has strange humor. “But that’s not what’s important right now. What about the daub on your car?”
“Sam, where are those questions going? No, I didn’t mention it either.” Bucky shakes his head in annoyance. When should he have told her? As she lied, crying and shaking in his arms a few minutes ago?
“We didn’t talk the whole week she was gone. She didn’t reply to my texts and calls, but Wanda told me she was fine, so I stopped bothering her. Why are you asking all of a sudden? What’s wrong with you?” Sam briefly looks at the conservatory door, gaze wandering further to the sliding door into the living room and back to Bucky. He looks at him seriously, mouth opening and closing again as he seems to doubt what to say. In the end, he begins to speak. “Come with me. You should see this.”
Bucky glances back through the cracked door into the living room. Y/N is not be seen now. Hopefully, she lying down, trying to sleep. She’s been awake a while, and Bucky worries for her. Despite what she thought days ago, he loves her so much he sometimes just wants to lie on the floor and cry about his happiness and luck. He’d never do anything to harm her, at least not willingly, though he has to admit that he didn’t do a good job of that in the past few months. Sure, work is hectic, and they had a few major cases that needed full attention, but he could have made sure to be home a bit more. He has a home office where he could do research and paperwork. He wants to make sure to be there for her now, more than ever.
He lets go of the sight, sighing, and follows Sam through the glass door, into the conservatory. “Sam, what the hell? Where are we going? I promised we stay close!”
“We’re not far. Come on.” The garden’s not exactly small, but since Y/N likes to buy small solar lights in different sizes, there’s enough light to recognize the little path that leads to the shed. When Y/N and Bucky decided to move in together, they went house hunting. After months and months of searching, Bucky was lucky enough to get a hint from a witness that a family member sells their house. Y/N instantly was all in, and practically fell in love the second she saw it. It wasn’t in their price range, but Bucky made it work. Y/N doesn’t need to know that he kind of guilt-tripped the poor man a bit and bribed him with self-made cupcakes until he went down with the price, enough for them all to be still happy about it.
They follow the path, and Bucky curses internally that Sam didn’t even bother to get their raincoats. In a matter of seconds, they’re soaked through. The wet clothing clings to his skin and a shiver runs down his body. Even though it's hot outside over the day, the rain cooled the air enough and it feels ten degrees cooler now. Being completely wet doesn't help.
Far back in the garden, almost at the fence behind the shed, Bucky can see what Sam wants to show him. He stops next to his friend and looks down. "Oh... Oh, my..." His breathing picks up a bit, shocked at the sight in front of him now. His eyes wander back up to look at Sam. “What the hell is that?”
“I think it used to be a cat or something. Hard to say. The fur is completely missing. Without legs, I can’t tell.”
“I can see that.” Bucky kneels down, takes the small flashlight from his utility belt, and lights up the dead animal's body, he inspects it for a moment. It’s really small and thin. From its shape, it could be a cat or a raccoon. Maybe a young one. He doesn't have much time to really look at it because the smell starts to burn in his nose, making his eyes water and his sight blurry.
“The blood doesn’t look like they just chopped off the animal’s legs a few minutes ago. That’s probably been a couple of hours ago. And it’s starting to smell.” He stands up again, pockets the flashlight, and looks at the sky. It’s lighter than just a few minutes ago. It won’t take long before the clouds might vanish and make room for the sunrise.
“Should I take pictures?” Bucky nods and runs his hand through his wet hair. “We should send it to the precinct to let the doc look over it. And we need to be fast about it before the sun fully raises. If she sees it – shit... I’ll get a bag and some gloves. And no word to Y/N.”
Summary: Spencer's girl has to leave for business, and he doesn't take it well.
Pairing: Spencer Reid x f!Reader
Word count: 800 words
Masterlist
Goodbyes.
Spencer had many of them throughout his life, starting with his father. All of his life is laced with them. His mother, then long time nothing despite minor friendships. Then Gideon happened. It broke his heart. For a long time, he reduced himself to reading the letter again and again until he could understand that this goodbye was necessary.
It continued with Maeve. This time he was broken on the inside, and only his colleagues and time managed to pick the pieces back up and heal him. However, it left a scar on him.
Alex left after he got shot, and for some time, he blamed himself, even though he knew it wasn’t his fault at all.
Then Derek. His leave Spencer could understand. He saw it with Hotch and Jake. He wouldn’t want that for Derek and his son.
They all left and confided in Spencer. Each of them left something for him. Though there were more. Elle, Kate, Emily.
That’s why he’s vibrating with fear right about now, standing in the middle of the hall in an airport for the worst goodbye this life could come up with.
“Spence, what’s with this face? It’s only for a few weeks.” All he can do is shake his head, somehow holding his tears at bay-. He feels miserable. After Maeve, he never thought he could feel worse, but this does feel much worse. “Sweetness, you leave all the time and come back. Why is this so hard for you?” Again, he shakes his head. He has no idea. He knows shell only begone for two, three weeks max. but it just feels different. Like a part of him is leaving, ripping a hole in his heart that will yearn to be filled once again. “Baby.” She steps closer, cupping his cheek as her flight gets called out for boarding. “I’m coming back.”
“You can’t promise.”
“Of course, I can, Spence.”
“No.” He shakes his head again. He knows the statistic for accidents, plane crashes, kidnappings, and such things. To be fair, anything of this happening to her is highly unlikely, but he sees it every day on his job. So, why should it be different with her? “Okay, I might be unable to promise, but what I can promise is that I’ll try everything in my power to come back to you as soon as possible. Yeah?” Her eyes search his for an answer, but Spencer’s unable to give her one. All he feels is sadness and pain. “I don’t want you to go.” His voice is small, almost childish even. She sighs in front of him, a tint of annoyance accompanying it. “Spence, we had it before. I need to go to this conference.”
“I know.”
“You still can come down there for a weekend.” Again, his head shakes a soft no. “Would just miss you more when I need to leave you.” Overhead the call for barding gets repeated, and she knows she has to leave in the next five minutes not to be this one passenger everyone needs to wait for. “Baby…” her hand strokes his cheek as tears finally slide down. “Don’t make it harder for me too.” She can feel her eyes water, too, but she blinks a few times to get rid of the threatening tears. “Come on one, pretty boy. Give her the kiss goodbye.” Derek approaches behind Spencer, clapping his back softly. She called him for support after she noticed that Spencer really having a difficult time with her leaving. She gives him a grateful smile before directing her gaze back at Spencer and pressing a soft kiss to the corner of his mouth. “I’ll call you when I’ll land, yeah?”
“And before bed and in the morning and…”
“I know, Spence. I’ll call at lunch too. Don’t you worry too much, yeah? It’s just a conference and some workshops. I’ll be fine. We’ll see us soon again, and it will feel like I never went away at all.” She gives him a smile, but Spencer feels differently. He misses her already, and he knows the next few weeks, he will feel even worse. But he nods, knowing it’s inevitable now. So, he leans forward to connect their forehead for a few seconds before he pulls her in for a deep, longing kiss. He tries to transmit his love and everything beyond through it, hoping that she knows exactly what he’s unable to say.
But his girl, his beautiful, wonderful star of a woman, smiles at him as if she understands exactly. For a last time, she presses a quick kiss against his lips with a whisper of goodbye and then… Then she’s gone. All Spencer sees is her flowing hair vanishing in the masses of people.
Summary: Y/N lives the life she always dreamed about. a job she loves, a fiancé that does everything for her, and a house she dreamed of. There are hiccups on the way, but Y/N's still pretty satisfied with where she stands in life. Though a word can be powerful, especially if it's said to the wrong person. Y/N would never have thought that she ever gets to experience how bad it can turn out. For her and the loved ones around her.
Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Reader
Word count: 2.4k
Warnings: none
Series Masterlist // Masterlist
“Sweetheart. Doll, it's all right. I’m here." His hands keep their motions on my back, one coming up to run over my hair, softly pressing my head firmer against his chest to provide more comfort and possibly make me feel as safe as he can in that particular moment. He comforts me just like a child who had fallen off a bicycle, rocking back and forth, and strangely enough, I don’t mind one bit. I soak up every bit of him, every word, every touch, every smell, but I still can't calm down as much as I want.
It's impossible.
I’m too upset. The shock and fear swirl in my brain, letting no room for any other emotion or feeling. It’s as if a wall blocks my mind, impossible to climb or break down. Even though he’s here, reassuring me of my safety, the sounds are still running amok in my head, and thoughts circle back and forth without me being able to catch them. Dark eyes, whispering voices, looming footsteps. Flashes of knives in the moonlight.
Bucky’s voice is worried, strained, trying to sound calm for me, though I know he is anything else but calm. He probably is pretty upset, not really grasping how to help me. And maybe he’s feeling afraid himself, though for a whole other reason. He tends to panic when I do, but he’s better at masking it and calming down. His body is rigid and stiff with tension, yet his hands are gently against my body and skin. He smells so typically Bucky, woodsy with a mix of his deo and aftershave. Sweat mixes in from a long day at the precinct. The slightest smell of gunpowder comes to my mind.
Bucky pulls me even closer to his chest, hugging me tightly and pressing his lips to my temple. I don't let go of him, not even for a second, clinging to his shirt as if my life depends on it. And at the moment, it feels like it.
Somehow, I actually feel like a child, when he’s holding me like this, softly rocking back and forth, kissing my temple now and then, or stroking my hair. Given my profession as a therapist, you'd think I'd be more in control, but somehow, I seem to have a blockage. Getting so attached to Bucky is the only way for me to get some kind of peace and deal with the demon in my mind.
His hands slowly loosen from my body to slowly come up and cup my face. I whine as he leans back a bit, holding my face softly. He is careful as he lifts it from his chest so that I look at him. My vision is blurred with tears, making him a swimming mess. His thumbs gently perform a comforting dance over my cheeks, brushing tear tracks away. That gesture makes me feel a little better the longer he continues doing it. “Y/N. Look at me. I'm here. It's all right. Sam’s looking around, but so far, no one’s in the house. I still asked him to triple-check. Okay?” His eyes stay on my face, staring intently at me until I nod the smallest one I ever did. “Do you think it could have been a false alarm this time?” His eyes are gentle, knowing of the loaded question he asked. He never puts my feelings into question, and he doesn’t want now, I know that. But he needs to make sure every possibility is looked at. I can understand that. It still stings.
I stare into his eyes, hypnotized by their worried blue for a second. I hesitate for a moment, thinking about his question and what he said. It could actually have been a false alarm. At least I didn't hear anything suspicious in the house. Nothing I know doesn’t belong. Sure, there were the typical sounds of houses. Setting wood, crackling of devices, and so on. Well… I know that there was something unusual, like eyes watching me from somewhere, but there was nothing that indicated a difference. I nod timidly, still sniffling, before shrugging. The feeling from earlier is still there. I can feel eyes on me, mustering every inch of my body, as if it’s looking into my soul.
With his thumb, he rubs a tear out of the corner of my eye, and he smiles at me. It has a mix of sadness in it. He leans forward again and hugs me gently, giving me a kiss on the forehead, then on my lips. It’s just a quick peck, there to comfort me and provide a feeling of safety. I let myself fall forward, more into his embrace and his chest. “Okay.” One of my hands loosens its grip on his shirt but doesn’t lose contact altogether. I let it roam around him, coming forward to his chest, resting it between our bodies, right over his heart. His heartbeat is strong under it. I can feel each lub dub. The constant rhythm brings comfort and peace into my body that not even his voice can create. My eyes close on their own accord, and I concentrate solely on feeling him, his heartbeat, his life.
“Tell me what’s going on." His voice is soothing and composed. It seems to have only a slight tone of tension in it, and that makes me a little puzzled.
Why does he sound tense when he thinks it's a false alarm? When he’s sure and checked that no one’s in the house?
Bucky rustles a bit around, lets go of me for a bit to grab the rumpled duvet off the bed, and wraps it around my shoulders. I haven’t noticed that I’m shivering until the sudden warmth envelopes me. His arms come back around me, holding me tenderly. I sigh and put my head on his shoulder as he strokes my back. “I don’t know,” I mumble into his shoulder, way too silent to be heard if it wasn’t for his ear almost directly at my head. My tears finally let up, but I still sniffle now and then. “I-I woke up because… the rain, I think. I don’t… I don’t think there was something else. Maybe the neighbors cat.” My voice is still a bit shaky, but instead of focusing on it and my shivering, the fear still deeply residing in my bones, I try to focus on Bucky’s hands around me. “I turned back around and tried to go back to sleep. I almost drifted off, but... there was, well, how shall I put it? There was just a- a feeling."
“A feeling? What kind of feeling? Threatening?"
“Not really threatening. It was more like... like someone’s watching me. Here. In the bedroom. I don't know. Everything seemed perfectly normal. I couldn't hear or see anything that was somehow different, but… still. I had a feeling something was wrong. It scared me. But I didn't know what it was. I sat up and took a good look around. I even wanted to go through the house, but then I panicked." I take a deep breath. “Feels pathetic now.”
“No. It’s never pathetic to be afraid of something, doll.” Bucky knows that I have strange feelings. Strangely enough, he never seemed to be deterred after I told him, never acted as my ex-boyfriend did. He had portrayed me as crazy and, at some point, threatened to have me committed because the accident and death of my parents had left me with some damage. I still have nightmares about it, but these feelings aren’t a side effect of deep trauma. Bucky never put into questioning that he wants to stay with me. He often even relies on this feeling and always takes it seriously. From time to time, he involves me in his work, which was strictly forbidden, but he doesn’t care, always tells me that no one will ever find out, and if they did, he just puts me down as his therapist, which probably isn’t allowed either. He shrugs it off. Bucky gives me case files and asks me for advice. Mostly, I can tell him if I have a particularly bad feeling about a person or statements in the report, and somehow that seems to help him. I still have no idea how much help this is supposed to be, but he keeps asking me for my advice, so I figure it is enough. Sometimes it feels like I’m just confirming a suspicion he already has. However, when I have strange feelings at home, it is usually nothing serious. We shrug it off and have a good laugh, though before we do, we always investigate. But it was never like this. Never like I’m being watched.
"Okay. So, you looked around, saw nothing, and hid. I assume you called me directly, then? Did anything else happen after that?" His voice keeps gentle, hands continuing their pattern as I hear a door close downstairs and light footsteps on the stone floor. I shake my head and wipe my hair that clings to my tear-stained cheeks off my face. For a moment, we’re just silent, but then I swallow thickly past the lump in my throat and look at Bucky. “Hmm... After I hung up, I-I just sat in the bathtub. I guess I just imagined everything afterward. I thought- I thought I heard noises. Something like... door creaking, rumbling, or footsteps. Now that I think about it, the window looked like there were eyes.” My voice fades, and I see past Bucky into the hallway where Sam has reached our floor to look through the rooms. After a few seconds, I look down at my hand on his chest, where his heartbeat still drums a steady rhythm. "I can't tell you if any of this was real. Now, I doubt it myself." Suddenly the thoughts of my ex-boyfriend come to my mind. My hand on Bucky’s chest instantly tightens into a fist on his shirt, eyes panicky looking into his. My voice is urgent as I speak up next, hurried to get him to believe me and a bit too loud, causing Sam to pause in his steps to glance at us. "Bucky, I'm not crazy. I certainly wasn't imagining the feeling. It may have been delusions in the bathroom, but this," I gestured across the room. “I’m sure I wasn’t imagining it! There was something here.” My voice becomes a little softer and quieter again. He looks at my face and nods. “It’s okay, I believe you." He pauses, pushing me softly off his lap, and just keeps my legs on his thighs. His gaze swiftly flies to the hallway, where Sam waves before he disappears downstairs. Then Bucky directs his gaze back to me, softly takes my face in his hands, and leans forward so our foreheads touch.
"Okay, babydoll.” He leans back and presses a soft kiss on my forehead. The softness and warmth of his lips let me shudder a bit, and my eyes close on their own accord. “How about you get comfy on the bed, hm? Maybe snuggle up into my shirt or something and try to sleep. I'm going downstairs with Sam to talk about what to do now. I’ll be quick and bring some tea back up." For a second, I just stare shocked at him. Did he just suggest leaving me alone again?
Instantly my head shakes as vehemently as I can. I can feel a crack in my neck, but I don’t pay it any attention as panic floods me yet again, and I try to cling to Bucky again. “Sweetheart, I understand that you don’t want to be alone. But I need to talk with Sam.”
“No… please…” Bucky takes a deep sigh, his hands still cupping my face, staring at me as if he’s able to look into my soul. Sometimes I think he actually can. His deep blue eyes turn soft then, and he just takes me into his arms, swaying me from side to side, while pressing kisses all over my face. “All right, doll. Want to come downstairs, too, then? Just promise that you rest on the couch for a bit. I’ll make some tea and talk to Sam in the kitchen.” His head ducks a bit to have a better view of my face. “That way, I’m just a few feet away.” Tentatively, I nod, knowing that it’s a better option than staying upstairs all alone. The feeling still hasn’t left me, but the adrenaline is slowly fading, leaving me tired and exhausted.
He pushes my legs off him and stands up, immediately reaching for my hand, but I pull it back for a moment. "D-don't you want to look around, too?"
“What for? I already did when we arrived, doll. And I was in this room the whole time, with you. There's no one here. Besides, we would give Sam the impression we don’t trust him, and I really don’t want to make him cry now." A snort leaves me. It's unexpected but welcome because I actually feel a little light afterward. Bucky’s grin is indication enough that he’s pleased with his joke, so he leans forward to press a kiss to the corner of my mouth. I let my gaze wander through the room for a moment, then I, too, get up and finally take the hand he holds out for me. “We probably should get your robe, yeah? Won’t show Sam what he’s not supposed to see!” Bucky smirks and another small smile slips on my lips. It feels like it’s the first time in years. His hands gently pull the duvet off me, before he quickly runs into the bathroom to grab my robe. He helps me slip it on and carefully closes it before tying a small bow with its ribbon. A small giggle leaves me as his fingers tickle my sides, and as I look at Bucky, I can see happiness in his eyes, indicating that he’s incredibly relieved to see me smile again.Despite the summer heat, I grab the duvet again to take with me. I still feel some kind of cold with the adrenaline leaving, and the tiredness sinking in. The throw blanket on our couch won’t do anything to keep me warm. He holds my hand tightly as he guides me downstairs and to our couch in the living room, passing Sam, who waves with a small smile.
Bucky’s grip on my hand is not as tight to hurt, but still tight enough, so I can see how tense he is, even if he tries to hide it.
Immediately an alarm bell rings in my head, and my feeling tells me he knows something he isn't telling me. But I feel too tired to investigate. It probably can wait a bit.
Summary: Y/N lives the life she always dreamed about. a job she loves, a fiancé that does everything for her, and a house she dreamed of. There are hiccups on the way, but Y/N's still pretty satisfied with where she stands in life. Though a word can be powerful, especially if it's said to the wrong person. Y/N would never have thought that she ever gets to experience how bad it can turn out. For her and the loved ones around her.
Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Reader
Word count: 3k
Warnings: angst, panic attacks
Series Masterlist // Masterlist
The rain rattles against the window. Fast, strong, and loud, driven by strong gusts of wind. A few branches of the big tree in front of the window bang against it now and then, creating a horror soundtrack for the sleep-driven mind.
I open my eyes, feeling somewhat unfocused for a moment. I rub my eyes tiredly, feeling like I’ve only been asleep for an hour, though I can’t really remember when I even fell asleep. Everything from leaving Wanda to now is a bit fuzzy. Thankfully I’m alive and not in a hospital or crashed somewhere on the street.
I rub my eyes a few times, nuzzling back into my pillow. I try to remember what I did after getting home. I know my energy level was near to empty, so I probably had just enough strength to lock the door and get up the stairs. I can’t remember if I even turned the lights on. From the heap of clothing on the floor, I know that I must have undressed at least. A quick glance under the blanket reveals me in practically nothing but my panties and a pretty short and revealing tank top. So, I got in my sleep shirt, at least. Huh.
Though I doubt that I took a shower. My hair’s dry, and with such low batteries, I probably wouldn’t have been able to stay any longer than necessary.
I practically fell asleep the second my head hit the pillow. That much is clear.
Sleep-drunk, I turn around again, this time to look at my other side, searching for a body that should be lying there, warming my back, snuggling, and pulling me into a warm embrace. Protect me from raging storms outside and nightmares inside.
But Bucky’s not there.
The bedside me is as cold as if he had left it hours ago. I rack my brain to try and remember if he even had been in bed when I crawled in. If he had been home at all. But I come up empty. If he’s on night shift, he won't be home till at least eight in the morning.
A sigh leaves me that sounds more defeated than I feel. Just a few more hours, and I can make up with Bucky. Apologize and coddle him. Maybe even with a nice breakfast?
I snuggle up into my blanket and pull Bucky’s sleeping shirt up to my nose, inhaling the familiar and calming scent. It smells intensely of him, of his aftershave, a bit earthy but pleasant, as if he had worn it just a few minutes ago. It’s so incredibly calming. I slowly fall back into a light slumber, thinking of the morning when I will see him again. Of his eyes, his smile, and the tight hug I’ll wrap him in.
But then I get an oppressive feeling. Something feels off. Different. It’s weird. I can't really point out what it is, but it makes me feel uneasy, haunted. As a child, I would imagine red eyes behind my window, creepy figures under my bed, or a monster in my closet. Now I know that all these things aren’t real and for the eyes, no one can look into the windows on the first floor.
My dream from hours ago pops back into my mind, and panic grips me again. Is someone in the house? A burglar? A killer?
Instantly my eyes are wide open, staring into the darkness of the bedroom without seeing much. All the sleepiness and tiredness I felt seconds ago is blown away. My senses are sharpened instantly.
The smell in our room is somehow different than usual. However, I can’t really pinpoint what exactly smells different. Otherwise, nothing’s moved, there’s no noise in the house, and even the stupid neighbor's cat meows her little soul out of her body, like every night, even despite the rain and harsh wind.
Everything’s the same. The fact that everything seems to be as it should doesn’t reassure me at all. Instead, all these little facts increase my panic and fear. There’s nothing unusual in this room, and yet I know something is wrong, like someone’s watching me. Should I go check it out? No, you're crazy. Just because you can't hear anything doesn't mean there's nothing here. Go and hide! Or call Buck.
I look around, contemplating where to hide. Under the bed and in our walk-in closet are pretty obvious hides. In every novel and horror movie are theses the hiding places victims go for. So, I look further around. A chest of drawers, a mirror, bedside tables, lamps, the small couch at the foot of the bed, bathroom.
Where should I go now?
At lightning speed, I reach for my smartphone, which has been charging on my nightstand, grab my robe from the foot of the bed, and run to the bathroom door. I rip it open, rush in, press it close again, and quickly run the lock. I look around in a panic. What's next?
I know that such a small thin door won’t hold possible intruders off for very long. If someone wants to get in, they will. One way or another.
My eyes flicker around, but even in this room aren’t as many hiding options. I could squeeze beside the toilet and the wall, try to empty the towel cupboard and squeeze in there or sit down in the bathtub. I decide to take the bathtub, even though it's not better than hiding in a closet. I pull the dark blue shower curtain close to protect myself from possible glances, risking that I can’t see anyone incoming as well.
Just then, I manage to take in a somewhat steady breath. I begin to tremble because suddenly, despite the warm summer temperatures, I am freezing cold. Restless, I look in the direction the door is in.
“It's okay, Y/N. No one's getting through. You locked the door. I guess your fantasy is playing games with you, and you're scared for no reason. And now you’re talking to yourself, great.” Trying to talk courage to myself… doesn't work.
It never has for me. I usually need someone else to hold me, talk to me, and calm me down. And usually, this someone is Bucky or my brother.
This feeling I have now, though, is not entirely new. I’m just not used to it anymore, haven’t felt it in a long time. I always was good at feeling when something is different around me. When people are oppressed and don’t want to show it to anyone. If someone lies, it’s even easier. I usually know it instinctively, but I never say anything. I have learned that sometimes it's better not to dive into things or talk about them. I can feel changes in the atmosphere of rooms, which doesn’t necessarily mean I know what’s wrong. I just know something is wrong, just like now.
My gaze wanders through the room again, slower this time. No weapons are recognizable except for Bucky’s razor or my hairbrush. The display of my phone flashes briefly. A text from my service provider. Bucky smiles at me from my lock screen, and a big wave of longing overcomes me. Suddenly it hits me.
Bucky!
I quickly enter the pin to unlock my phone, redoing it two times because of my shaking fingers, but finally, I manage, and a picture of Bucky and myself flashes in front of me. It’s from the day he proposed. I was so happy. Steve had made the picture and sent it to me later on. Bucky has me tightly wrapped in his arms; my feet are lifted off the ground as he swings me around. Or faces showing all the happiness in the world.
I quickly click on the icon for my address book, then find Bucky among my favorites, and without hesitation, I click on it. I don’t think about it, don’t think about the possibility that I might be overreacting and disturbing him. My brain is frozen in panic, and all that might be of help is him. I can feel my chest hurting with my fast breathing, which makes my mind panic a bit more. I curl into myself, trying to make myself as small as I can as it rings and rings. The robe is thrown on my lap, a weak attempt to keep my bare legs warm against the cold bathtub. The call rings and rings, but then, finally, his voice.
“Y/N, sweetheart. Hi.” Bucky sounds surprised, and I don’t blame him. After a week of radio silence, and now suddenly, I’m calling him in the middle of the night with heavy breathing, I probably would be surprised too. “Why are you awake? Though you would be sleeping by now.” He stops speaking as if waiting for an answer, but all I can do is listen to the silence while I still try to calm myself down enough to even breathe normally. “Um… Listen, doll. It’s bad timing right now. Can we talk when I get ho-”
“Bucky!” It bursts out of me, sounding more breathless than I would like but still loud enough that I wince. My eyes fly to the bathroom door, despite the curtain blocking my view. “C-come home. Please,” I whimper, and I know it sounds pathetic. “S-something’s wrong. I’m scared. Please!” Suddenly his voice becomes deadly serious, and he falls into a professional attitude that he rarely shows to me. “What’s going on? Are you all right?”
“N-no.” I feel the tears finally welling up, and I sniffle. My throat blocked with unshed tears. “S-somethings off.”
“Is someone in the house?”
“Yes. N-no. I-I don’t know, Bucky.” A sob breaks loose, and I quickly try to stifle it by shoving my free hand to my mouth to cover it. “P-please come home.” I sob aloud again, feeling the tears run down my cheeks. There was a brief silence. Then his voice sounds again. “Okay, sweetheart. Try to calm down for me, yeah? I’ll leave right away. I’ll be there in a few minutes. Are you somewhere safe?” I start nodding until I remember that he can’t actually see it, so I stutter out a short reply. “B-bathroom.”
“Okay, that’s great. I want you to stay there and be as silent as you can. I’ll be there in a few and get you. Okay?” Silence, then he asks again. “Okay, doll?”
“Y-yeah, okay.”
“Good… I love you. Everything will be all right. I promise.” And then silence; not even his breathing can be heard, just the steady beeping of a dead line. He hung up. I take a few seconds to try and breathe, to stop the tears flowing while my fear has a tight grip on my throat, squeezing it shut with each inhale I try to take. And then the guilt slams in. What am I doing? What if I just imagined this? What if he comes home for nothing?
My thoughts wander back and forth, unable to decide between ifs and buts. It adds to my panic. I can hear the blood rushing in my ears, feel my throat squeeze shut. In a last attempt to calm down, I wrap my robe around me. It aids as a calming blanket and keeps me as warm as a flimsy thin fabric can. But even that only manages to comfort for a minute or two before the spiraling starts anew.
I can feel the full-blown panic attack. Shivers run through my body, leaving me cold and sweaty. My breathing is so fast and erratic that it almost feels like I'm not breathing at all. My grip is tight on my phone, so it might break.
Blood rushes through my ears, so loud I’m not really able to hear anything past it. In general, all my senses seem to be subdued to the barest minimum. Since the lights are shut off as well, I can’t really see much anymore. And every sound that might be in the bathroom is strangely distorted and echoey.
Doubt spreads, even though I had never been wrong with my assumptions, at least not gravelly. Surely there are occasional situations in which I am not on point. Scared when I think someone is around, and it turns out it’s just a stray cat or a raccoon in our trashcan. After all, I'm not a psychic, and no one is infallible. Nevertheless, I am right more often than not. Oh, how I hope that this time is no different.
I can't tell how long I've been sitting there, squeezed as small as I can be, clinging to my phone and robe. My eyes are squeezed shut, so tight that I can already see stars dancing. My chest hurts, rising with quick, harsh breaths that don’t provide enough air. My head is fuzzy, and I feel dizzy and nauseous. A whimper leaves me as I hear something. A sound, almost like a banging.
More banging, like doors that are pushed open with such a force that they hit the walls. The thump of something falling over. Heavy footsteps in the house. Something pounding and rattling breath sounds nearby. The dripping tap seems unnaturally noisy in the otherwise silent room, and in the window, I imagen seeing eyes. Red, dark, and evil, lingering for me to be inattentive just to strike then.
My skin tingles with tension, and it feels like hundreds of small ants are walking over it. I shudder, burying my face deeper into my knees, bending more forward. It gives me more security, though it makes it harder for me to breathe than it already is. Somewhere in my mind, I recognize that I might pass out if I don’t calm down anytime soon.
I try to concentrate on my surroundings, try to find four things I can feel. My skin, my phone, the robe, the bathtub.
Three things to smell. “Candle. Bucky’s shaving cream. S-soap.” I start whispering, hoping that my own voice might calm me, though it’s nothing more than a breathless sound in the air.
Two things to hear. “Thunder. F-footsteps.” With wide eyes, I realize that I don’t just imagine them. They are really here. Someone is really walking through our house! A panicked sound escapes me; my eyes transfixed on the spot of the curtain I know the door is behind.
The handle of the door turns. I can hear it rattling, and the slight squeak Bucky still hasn’t fixed. Scared, I hold my breath, not able to look away, though it quickly throws me into a coughing fit that I try to stifle. My chest hurts as if someone squeezes it so tightly that I can't properly inhale.
It turns once again. Absolutely frightened, I let a squeak slip, instantly slapping a hand over my mouth to silence myself. Someone knocks on the door, with more and more force.
Then, boom. Boom.
I flinch violently, hitting my head against the tiled wall but don’t dare even to make pained noise. My nerves can't take it anymore. I watch the handle turn again, and I don't know what comes over me, but suddenly hysterics overwhelm me, and I start screaming while hiding in my own legs again. “Go away! Leave me alone… Please.” The last word is nothing more than a frightened whisper. Tears stream down my cheeks, my own crying ricocheting from the walls, sounding louder than they should be to my oversensitive ears. I throw my phone somewhere to my feet to cover my ears, shutting out any kind of noise. I slowly rock back and forth.
“Doll! Y/N! Open the door. It’s me. It’s Bucky! I brought Sam.”
“No. No! Go away. Leave me alone!” I cry out, shaking my head, hoping to drown out the false voice. “Y/N, please. Listen to my voice.” I shake my head. I don’t want to listen. I want them to go away, to leave me alone. I want Bucky.
“You called me fifteen minutes ago. You said there’s something off. Remember? I came as fast as I could.” A hand slaps softly but urgently against the door. Pleadingly. “Please let me in.”
I kinda do recognize the voice. It’s so familiar, so comforting. “B-bucky?” I whimper his name, it’s no more than a silent breath, but he still hears it. “Yes, doll. Can- Can you open the door for me, baby?”
Nothing keeps me in the tub, then. I scramble up and shove the curtain away, almost stumbling over my robe as I practically jump out of the bathtub. The rug slides a bit on the floor, sending me stumbling to the door. I crash into it but ignore the pain in my right shoulder. My hands tremble so badly as I try to grab the key. It slips out of my hand for a second, falling to the floor and slithering a few inches away from me.
Whimper after whimper leaves me as I pick it back up and fiddle with the lock until, finally, the heavenly sound of the door unlocking sounds. I throw the door open and instantly fall into the open arms that await me, not even checking if it’s actually Bucky. The warm embrace is comforting, though, and the smell that instantly hits my nose lets me know that the man is who he said.
I start wailing like a frightened animal. I sob and cling to him, bury my face in his chest and my nails into his shirt as his arms come around me, surrounding me with a feeling of calmness and safety. “I’ve got you. You’re safe now. You’re safe.” He speaks softly to me, lips brushing against my hair and ear, hands drawing patterns on my back.
Slowly he guides us back to the bad, step for step. I barely feel him sitting down and pulling me on his lap. My senses are filled with the comforting smell and familiar touch of him. Just him.
Summary: Y/N lives the life she always dreamed about. a job she loves, a fiancé that does everything for her, and a house she dreamed of. There are hiccups on the way, but Y/N's still pretty satisfied with where she stands in life. Though a word can be powerful, especially if it's said to the wrong person. Y/N would never have thought that she ever gets to experience how bad it can turn out. For her and the loved ones around her.
Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Reader
Word count: 2.8k
Warnings: nightmares
Series Masterlist // Masterlist
“Y/N. Y/N!” I can feel hands tightly gripping my shoulders and shaking them. My eyes fly open, panic flooding my mind and nerves. My eyes sting as I look around frantically, trying to find the black shadow and the silver-red shine that now probably will rain down on me. My eyes are stinging. Immediately I know I’m crying, my sight is blurry, keeping me from seeing anything properly, but that’s not what’s important as of now. Breathing feels very hard like something’s closing up my airways. My eyes continue flying, roaming my surroundings, trying to find the bloody body of my fiancé and our attacker.
It takes me a lot longer than it should to realize what just happened. The pictures are still very vivid and alive in my mind. I can still smell the blood and hear Bucky’s shallow breathing as his lungs fill with blood. My breathing picks up even more as my vision blurs, so much so that I’m not even able to name the shapes of my surroundings. “Y/N! You need to breathe slower!”
“It was just a dream! Just a nightmare. You’re okay; you’re all right.” Another pair of hands reach for my skin, taking my hands in them while the other pair stays on my shoulder. At first, I flinch, trying to get away from the hands with a whimper. The hands stay gentle, grabbing me again, softer this time, the voices reassuring, telling me what happens, but it still takes me embarrassingly long to come back to my senses, getting a sense of what’s going on around me.
A dream. It was just a fucking dream! God, it felt so real.
Frightened, I look around. My car. I am sitting in my car. Two pairs of eyes stare at me in some sort of horror and fear mixed with concern. Tommy is just turned to me, looking concerned, his hands tightly grabbing his seat and my leg to support his twisted body. Billy’s crouching beside me. The door is open, letting fresh air into the car, and he’s just there, kneeling and holding my hands, sporadically squeezing them. “Breath, take a deep inhale. That’s right, good.” He guides me through my breathing until I can physically feel myself calm down.
“Y/N, are you all right? You were screaming. What happened?”
“You scared us to death. It must have been a terrible dream.” Tommy and Billy look at me, concern still evident on their faces, voices as soft as they can manage but still loaded with a mix of shock. Tommy has a phone in his lap, and from his glances, I can see that he really wants to use it to call however he can think of. I won’t put it past him that he already called his mother or Bucky.
As I take in my surroundings, I notice that we’re no longer on the lonely road but somewhere in the city, on the side of a road. A few late-night drivers whizz past us in their cars, not a care of what just happened in my car. A few cars are parked on the sides of the road. There are some people walking past the car as well, probably coming from bar hopping or late shifts at work, but they, too, don’t pay any attention to us, which I’m grateful for. Let’s be real; at three in the morning, you don’t really care for people in their cars on the side of the street. You just want to get home. The cool air hits my sweaty skin and causes shivers to run over my skin. As realization slowly manifests in my mind, I start feeling embarrassed. Did that really just happen? Did I just make these two boys worry about me?
I swallow, then I nod. “A-all good,” I croak breathlessly, and I’m surprised at how raw my voice sounds. Almost as if I was screaming a lot. They don't buy it. I can see It on their face and the way their eyes meet briefly. “R-really, I’m good.”
“Y/N!” Billy sighs, still not believing me for a second. I probably wouldn’t either. My breathing is still pretty fast, my hands balled to fists on my thighs, and my skin is clammy. I don’t even want to think of how I might even look right now. Probably all pale, sweaty, with sunken eyes and freight written on every one of my features.
“Please, tell us what’s going on.” Tommy still has his hands on my shoulders, staring me in the face. “What happened with Bucky?”
“Huh?” I stare at Tommy with wide eyes, surprised that he brought Bucky up. I haven’t talked about him our whole trip, and while it’s not strange that I don’t constantly talk about him, it’s still unlikely that I don’t bring up his name at least once a day. Maybe it was a bit suspicious that I haven’t had one phone call directed at him, but I didn’t think they noticed it. Until now.
“Did you guys have a fight or something?” Tommy leans back, the phone in his hand now, and I’m sure he’s ready to call someone. Suddenly a feeling of sadness hit me, an impulse growing to call Bucky up right now. Pleading him to pick me up or just come so I can see him. To apologize. His voice always is a comfort for me, and no matter the time or place, he always manages to calm me down and talk me out of a panic attack. They don’t happen that often, but often enough that h already knows the best way to calm me down fast. “Uh... Y-yes, before we left, but it’s not like—” I can feel new tears coming, so I take a deep breath again and close my eyes briefly. When I reopen them, the boys look at me curiously. Oh, no. I refuse to discuss my problems with children, and I certainly won’t let them give me any advice. “I-I only had a bad dream. You said it yourself, I’m okay.” I look over at the boys. “I’m all right now.” I get myself to smile and hope it doesn't look too crooked. I don’t even know who I’m trying to convince right now, the boys or me. Either way, I seem not to succeed because I don’t even believe myself, so I doubt the boys believe me either. “Well, you were screaming.” Tommy sounds kinda unsure, but I smile another crooked smile and shrug as if it’s nothing. “Nightmares do that.” The boys seem to be content with that answer for the time being because they just continue looking at me without saying anything.
Billy’s still holding my hands in his warm ones, thumbs rubbing over the clammy skin. I clear my throat and look around once more, now that my brain is somewhat working, shoving the sad feeling aside for later. “Oh, eh. We’re almost home.”
I try to bring the subject back to our actual goal of the day. “Mmm...” Tommy nods, eyes flickering to the road and back to the phone. Billy’s still looking at me critically, but with a last deep sigh, he slowly stands up to return to his original seat behind me. “We’re, like, fifteen minutes out.” Tommy’s voice sounds unsure, and his eyes flicker back and forth between the road and me. “Okay.” I nod, not offering to drive the rest, knowing that he won’t budge. And to be honest, I don’t feel up to driving. It’s probably safer that he’s the one behind the wheel.
He slowly starts driving again, getting on the road and away from the bus stop he had stopped at, but now and then, his eyes would flicker back to me.
I stare tensely out of the side window, looking at the apartment buildings and isolated shop windows, while concentrating on displacing the terrible pictures of my dead boyfriend. A dead boyfriend I know is alive and healthy, hopefully being at home and peacefully sleeping in our bed. Breathing. Living.
The silence is almost suffocating, and no matter that my door was open for almost twenty minutes, I feel like the air is thick and hot in the car.
The quiet stretches into an uncomfortable atmosphere. It’s almost spooky. Usually, the radio is always playing, or there’s a lively conversation about whatever is interesting at the time. But now, Billy stares out of his window; Tommy concentrates on the road, unsure of what to say. I do the same as them and say nothing.
My thoughts run back to my dream, making my jaw clench so hard the muscles start to contract, and my teeth crunch against each other. It almost hurts, so I have to force myself to relax back into my seat. I try taking deep, even breaths and close my eyes to concentrate solely on that. But then my thoughts slip back to Bucky. Maybe I should give him a call. Just to make sure.
I start chewing on the inside of my cheek, feeling a kind of nausea in my stomach that I know won’t leave with some Advil and water or rest. It will stay and bug me as long as I’m not certain that Bucky’s okay and that he’s alive and at home.
Before my mind goes back into overdrive and throws me into an actual panic attack, I clear my throat again, shuffling a bit in my seat. I can feel myself getting more nervous and restless. I open my mouth to say something, but Tommy is faster. “We’re here.” Tommy steers the car in front of a large apartment complex. Quickly I close my mouth again. We have actually arrived. Well, at least the twins. Wanda and her boys live in this complex. The apartments are huge and have enough space for four to six people. The view is also incredible. Directly behind the houses is a breathtakingly beautiful big lake. In the afternoon, the light of the sun makes it glitter, and you can look at it for hours. In Summer, we used to take a paddle boat and get in the middle of the lake, just sitting there with a picnic basket. Tommy and Billy always jumped in to cool off, take a swim and goof around. It was always a hassle to coax them back inside the boat.
Wanda herself didn't like doing that very much. She was too afraid that the boat might tip over, which, if you looked at it closely, could happen with the boys. They were rascals back in the day, whirlwinds barely to be controlled. As they got older, they constantly tried to throw each other into the water, which is why in the meantime, I had switched to renting a kayak in which I could sit alone or with Wanda if she agreed to come too. It was just healthier for me and prevented involuntary bathing on our part. Though, we haven’t done that for a long time now.
Behind the lake lies a forest that stretches far into the distance. It is one of the few forests that our city still has to offer, and due to its enormous size, it’s a mystery to me how it has not yet been converted into a nature reserve. There’s seemingly unlimited wildlife in it, and on the occasional walks, you’re able to see deer jumping around, birds performing dances, and smaller animals doing their daily business.
With Wanda, I often sit on her balcony and just enjoy the view and the silence. But today, it’s impossible. It’s too late or early, and I just want to go home already. It's about time Bucky and I talk about what happened. Apologize and make up. I hope he's not mad. Please, please don't let him be mad.
The moment Tommy parks and the car doors open, I can see Wanda step out of the front door and rush to us. I get out and help the boys get their suitcases out of the trunk. No doubt one of them texted her when we were about to arrive, maybe even right after my nightmare. “Y/N! You let Tommy drive? That's a way to-" I look at my friend and try to put a half-happy smile on my lips.“Calm down, Wanda. Tommy's only been driving for an hour. Besides, he did not get his driving license for nothing. And a bit of driving practice should not hurt him. After all, he has to get used to driving at some point."
“That may be true, but it’s still a far distance and too dangerous. And the middle of the night too!" I shake my head and walk to the redhead. “Wanda, it is no more dangerous than any other street and daytime. Besides, I was dead tired. Tommy almost had to force me to let him drive. I think it would have been a lot worse if we hadn't switched." A little bit of lying shouldn't hurt, and that’s just a bit of an overstatement because the sentiment was true. I probably would have fallen asleep while driving and crashed the car somewhere. The possibilities are endless.
Now I find myself under Wanda’s watchful gaze. She looks at me with a mixture of fear and pride but also concern. Her eyes study my face, and I know that every inch of her body is itching to interrogate me and persuade me to come inside to sleep. She opens and closes her mouth several times. Suddenly I feel like a since project as her eyes rake over me, scrutinizing me even more and probably seeing what I try to hide. “But you’re okay, right?” She looks me in the eyes, and I see a bit of worry in hers. It’s funny how she wears the same exact frown her boys did just minutes ago. “After you left, Bucky called me. He sounded pretty worried and upset. He said you had a fight and wouldn’t answer his texts and calls.” I can feel two pairs of eyes staring into my back. “He also called me two days ago, asking if I heard something and if you’re doing okay.” I don’t need to turn around to know that the boys are throwing knowing gazes at me. So, I really wasn’t as good at hiding as I thought I’d be. “Also, you look like you didn't sleep well. Why don’t you come upstairs? Sleep here and go home by midday?" I take a deep breath before sighing, defeated. There’s no point hiding it from Wanda, she figures it out anyway, and then I’ll get lectured. “I’ll be fine. I promise. And I really want to get home to sleep in my own bed. When I get home, I'll lie down instantly and sleep. I won’t probably even change into sleepwear. And when I’m awake, I’ll have a chat with Bucky.” Wanda doesn’t look satisfied, but her yawning boys seem to distract her enough that she just lets out a tired, defeated sigh.“Do that. And then tell him I’m kicking his ass for letting you down again. I’ll already gave him an earful, but it doesn’t hurt to repeat it.”
“Sure, Mom.” I snicker a bit, but Wanda just rolls her eyes affectionately. Her expression turns serious again, though. “Are you sure you’re good enough to drive? You know we have a spare bedroom you can use.”
“Wanda, I appreciate it, but honestly, I really just want to get home already.”
“All right.” She lifts her hands in defeat. “But text me when you’re home so I don’t worry about you crashing the car. And make sure to lock the doors. Also, if you feel too tired, pull to the side and call me or Bucky, okay?”
“Yes, Wanda. Can I leave now?” I smile tiredly at her. She’s still wearing a frown on her face, and I can tell that she doesn’t like seeing me leave when I’m this… This what? Spooked? Tired? Emotionally drained?
Still, she finally nods and gives me a hug, kissing my cheek before letting go; only her hand still remains on my arms as she looks into my face. “I’ll call you tomorrow,” I nod dutifully. She finally lets go of me, turning to Tommy and Billy. “Come on, boys. You must be tired, too. Be safe, Y/N.” I nod again and wave goodbye to the boys before I climb back into my car. For a moment, I watch them enter their home, then I start the engine and make my way back onto the street and home.
a/n: So, this is just a quick one to get back into writing. Hope you like it :)
Masterlist
TK wakes up in the middle of the night. Not due to the raging storm that held Austin captive for a few days now. Not because of the rattling windows, the loud clashes, or the lightning that is as bright as broad daylight. Not even because of the annoyingly dripping faucet in their bathroom that held him awake for days on end.
No, the reason is a whole other one.
Tk feels hot. Not the kind of hot that you get right after waking up when your body slowly comes to terms with functioning at its fullest. And not the kind of hotness you feel on hot summer nights when the blanket feels suffocating but sleeping without one is awkward.
No, TK feels hot, but solely on his back. He’s lying on his side, facing away from his fiancé. But Carlos is not that far away, merely a few inches at most. Tiredly TK rubs his eyes, blinking sluggishly and tired until he feels like his eyes can keep open for more than a second. His eyes first travel to his phone. He taps it, noticing that the time’s something past two in the morning. Then he let out a sigh. He just finished a twenty-four-hour shift with back-to-back calls and little to no sleep. Carlos had the day off, and TK is not saying that the man did nothing all day; he knows Carlos did. It’s not his nature to just sit around and wait for him to come back. Carlos is a person that gets restless if he’s taskless for too long. TK knows he worked out because he saw the dirty clothes in the hamper. Carlos also did the dishes, cooked a few meals for the coming shifts for them both, and probably cleaned the loft.But now TK is a little annoyed because Carlos dares to wake him up like this, unconsciously, of course. It’s not like he means to, and TK knows it.
TK turns a little and nudges Carlos carefully before he speaks. “Carlos, babe, scoot away. You’re too hot to cuddle.” All Carlos does is mumble; otherwise, he’s lying still on the spot, his arms still somewhat slung around TK’s hips.“Babe, come on,” Tk whines tiredly, grabbing Carlos’s arm to push it away, but he halts for a second. Even his arm feels pretty warm. Tk furrows his brows, sits up, and lets Carlos’s arm slip into his lap. Then he turns to switch on the bedside lamp just to have a closer look at Carlos.
The man does look kind of pale. His usually brown skin is ashen, a sheen of sweat covering his forehead. Even his bed hair, which TK usually adores, looks pretty sad. “Babe?” Carefully, he lets his fingers glide over the hot skin of Carlos’s forehead and cheek, trying to rouse his man. But it’s no use; Carlos doesn’t make a sound and doesn’t move. He just keeps lying flat on his stomach.TKs hand wanders from his face to his neck, finding it equally hot. Then it wanders further over his back. The white tank top is clammy to the touch, soaked with sweat. “Babe, wake up. Carlos! Come on; you have a fever. You’re burning up.”
“Mhh…” Carlos moans in his sleep, his arm instinctively tightening around TK’s thighs.“Baby, come on.” He shakes Carlos’s arm, strokes his cheek and hair until Carlos’s brown eyes slowly make an appearance. He blinks a few times, sluggishly and tired. TK can see the fight in him, the way his eyelids are so heavy they slip shut every few seconds. “Wha-?” His voice is silent, wrecked, really. He sounds hoarse, and the tiredness in his voice almost makes it sound like he hasn’t been sleeping for a very long time. “Hey, babe. How are you feeling?”
“Tired… What’s up?”
“You have a fever.”
“Huh?” Carlos blinks a few more times as if he can’t really comprehend what TK just told him. “Yeah. So, anything else despite being tired?” TK studies his lover’s face. Carlos’s brows are furrowed, face a mask of concentration, of thinking. “Body hurts.” Carlos rolls on his back with a groan. “Okay. Give me a second.” TK is out of bed and at the dresser in seconds. He grabs a pair of boxers and a new shirt. He looks at the material and then changes his mind, throwing it back where he got it from. He quickly slips into the bathroom, searching for something to help with the fever, and wets the washcloth that lies on the rim of their bathtub. Then he’s back by Carlos’s side. “Sit up, yeah? I’ll help you.” It’s a bit of trouble. Carlos is sluggish and slow, lacking the strength he usually sports in the morning. Even on the night of TK’s proposal, he had more energy. But lastly, they manage, and TK can even coax Carlos out of his damp clothes and into the new Boxer shorts. Then he somehow manages to sit Carlos on the ground and quickly strips the bed of the sheets. His lover’s side is drenched, and TK feels he might feel better in clean and dry sheets. “Hey, babe. How about some medicine? And a quick bath?”
“NO bath. Tired.” Carlos whines, his eyes slightly open, cow eyes appearing with a cute pout. TK has to smile a bit and strokes his lover’s cheek. “I know. I brought a washcloth.” He gives Carlos the medicine and tries to wash the hot skin as fast as possible, which Carlos doesn’t make easy for him. He squirms and moans the whole time, claiming to be cold, which the shorter man promptly ignores and softly shushes Carlos. “Tk… Bed? ‘M tired.”
“Yeah. Yeah, ok.” TK smiles again and helps Carlos up. The man stumbles a bit, and TK is sure that he would have fallen on his face if not for his reflexes to grab him around the waist and his arm. He guides him the few feet back to bed, helps him to lie down, and pulls the fresh blanket up to his hips. “All right. Feel better a bit?”
“Hmm…” Tk watches as Carlos closes his eyes and quickly slips back into a deep sleep. He’s slow and rounds the bed to slip back into it. This time when Carlos gravitates to him to snuggle, TK opts for throwing his own shirt on the ground and letting his sick boyfriend cuddle him. Maybe it will help him feel better in the morning.
Summary: Y/N lives the life she always dreamed about. a job she loves, a fiancé that does everything for her, and a house she dreamed of. There are hiccups on the way, but Y/N's still pretty satisfied with where she stands in life. Though a word can be powerful, especially if it's said to the wrong person. Y/N would never have thought that she ever gets to experience how bad it can turn out. For her and the loved ones around her.
Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Reader
Word count: 2.5k
Warnings: sexual content, descriptions of violence :)
Series Masterlist // Masterlist
As I open the door, I’m startled to find Bucky right in front of me. He looks exhausted, hair disheveled as if his hand had been running through it for a while. He’s not looking at me at first, but the second he notices me, his head shoots up, and a bright smile lights up his face. “Doll…” It’s breathless, silent, with some kind of awe. It almost makes me wonder if he thought I wouldn’t come home after our disastrous departure. “Hey.” I smile at him, a bit nervous, not really knowing how to start after we left off with such a fight. Though, Bucky doesn’t seem to have the same issue. With a few quick steps, he’s directly in front of me. His strong arms cone up and around me, enveloping me in a hug that feels warm, secure, and loved. Maybe even a bit desperate. It’s everything I knew I needed the whole week and more. His smell fills my nostrils, and my body relaxes from a weeklong tension. “I missed you.” I breathe it into Buck’s shoulder, letting go of my suitcase to wrap my own arms tightly around him, my nose buried into the crook of his neck. “I missed you, too. And I’m sorry, sweetheart. I’ll do better next time. I swear.” I don’t answer; instead, I hold him a bit tighter. We stay like that for a few moments longer, tightly intervened until Bucky presses a kiss to my temple. “Come on, doll. Let’s get you unpacked.”
He steps back and grabs past me to take the handle of the suitcase. He takes a few steps to the stairs but stops as he notices that I’m not following. He raises an eyebrow in question, silently asking me what’s wrong. I only smile at him, slowly rocking on the heels of my feet. I have other things in mind than washing up and getting into bed, and Bucky quickly seems to pick up on it as I continue smiling at him. So, he turns back to me, leaving my suitcase as it is, and steps back up to me. His arms softly come around me again, pulling me into an embrace that leaves me breathless. His blue eyes look right into mine, color intensifying. It’s my favorite shade of blue, slightly darkened with desire and shining with an amount of love and adoration I can’t even form words for. I can't move, and I don't want to. I’m right where I want - need – to be. Gently he presses his lips against mine, in a soft kiss. One hand holds me to him as it presses into my lower back while the other softly comes up to land on my neck, holding me in place; his thumb softly strokes what he can reach of my cheek. I return the kiss though I slightly giggle into it. My own hair tickles me as his thumb works. I can feel his own lips curve up into a smile. “That what you had in mind?” He whispers his words against my lips, and all I can do is nod as he starts kissing me again. I lift my own arms to throw them around his neck, pulling him even closer, our chests now pressed together.
The kiss turns a bit more intense, my brain slightly fogging up as I get lost in his warmth and his lips against mine. They’re soft and warm, incredibly skillful, and for a moment, I’m just content in staying here, in the middle of the entrance, kissing. However, it does feel more like making out like teenagers as his hand slowly wanders down. Though, just before he reaches the curve of my butt, it stops. The disappointment that starts flooding my senses quickly vanishes as his warm hand glides back up, under my shirt to softly caress the naked skin of my back. I hum at his touch, urging him to press even further into me, the kiss intensifying yet again as his tongue begs for entrance that I happily grant him. For a few more minutes, we stay right there until his lips slowly detach from mine, giving us the chance to catch our breaths.
He looks me in the eyes again, his smile wide and gentle on his lips. My hands loosen around his neck, only to frame his face in them. My thumbs softly stroke over days-old stubble, showing that he didn’t take as much care of himself as he usually does. A small bit of guilt floods me, knowing that I’m the cause of this, but Bucky gently takes one of my wrists in his hand and presses a kiss to my palm. Then he lets go again so I can run my fingers through his silky brunette hair.
“God, I love you. And I’m sorry, too.” His grin widens, and he leans forward to press another, chaste kiss against my cheek. I don't want him to stop, though. I want more. So, I raise my chin, offering my neck to him. All he has to do now is lower his head. And that's exactly what he does. We don’t need words, always knowing what the other wants and needs, sometimes even when the other one doesn’t know it themselves.
His lips connect with the soft skin under my ear, gently caressing and sucking. His hand, which had just moved tenderly along my spine, now finds its way forward, slipping around my side until his finger catches the underside of my breast and bra. He lets his fingers roam there for a second, stroking softly along the sensitive skin, letting shivers run down my body with anticipation. Then his hand lips under the fabric, cupping my breast gently. His lips continue their journey down my neck, sucking hickeys into the skin of my throat. As he gently continues sucking, I groan slightly. It feels so good. Time seems to stand still as we continue. I feel warm, every stroke of his hand, every kiss igniting a firework in my belly and on my skin, dousing my senses in a fog of pleasure. I take my hands off his face and let them wander over his own body, slowly and teasingly gliding along the spots I know he’s ticklish at. It makes him squirm a bit, snorting into my skin while kissing. “Mean.”
“Says you.” My hands continue downwards until they reach his waistband. I let them linger there, softly gliding along the rough fabric of his jeans before I slowly work on pulling his shirt from them. I allow myself to glide my finger over the soft skin of his stomach and hips, again humming in contend pleasure. I feel his abs twitch under my touch, his hips involuntarily bucking forward so I can feel that he’s already half-hard. His lips start reclaiming my skin, continuing their way down to my shoulder. The hand that second before rested on my neck now joins the other one under my shirt, caressing my skin just above the clasp of my bra. I shiver as the cool air of the room hits my heated skin. As if they have a mind on their own, my hands continue further down until they almost slip under his waistband, though they stop there, fingers starting to work on opening the button almost automatically. My fingers accidentally brush along his boxer shorts, emitting a low groan from him. With a teasing grin, I do it again and again until his hips buck up again and a growl leaves his lips, teeth warningly grazing my skin before he soothingly licks over the almost bite. I take the warning and stop my teasing, instead letting my hand finally slip into his pants. For a second, I just stroke the soft skin on his pelvis, loving the shudder that it sends through Bucky. Then I continue, embracing his shaft in a loose grip for now. A moan slips past my lips as I feel the weight of him in my hand. He, too, moans, hand instantly tightening around my breast, sending a blissful sensation of pain and pleasure through my nerves. His hands loosen from my chest and glide ticklishly down my body to a halt on my butt. They fit there nicely as if they were made to hold me. He squeezes once, twice, coaxing a moan from me. “Come one, pretty girl.” With a last squeeze, he urges me on and lifts me up, legs instantly wrapping around his hip, hands loosening their grip on his girth in favor of slinging them back around his neck to hold myself in his grip.
My lips find their way to his left ear, panting slightly into it before pressing a few little kisses right behind it. For a few more minutes, our lips find each other again. I can feel him moving, his bulge pushing right against my core, giving the both of us a teaser of the delicious friction we both crave.
He suddenly stops, detaching his lips from mine once again, and lets me lightly glide over the back of our sofa until I lay with my back on the seats. He jumps after me, shaking me in my lying position and startling a laugh from me. “Dork.”
“But you love it.” He grins crookedly, knowing exactly how much I love his dorkiness. Then he leans over me and begins to open my pants with wickedly skilled hands as his lips again attack my throat, this time paying special attention to the other side. His kisses slowly walk down my skin to my collarbone, where he sucks briefly and leaves a small red stain. His hands are nimble as one glides into my pants, finding its way along my hip to where I want him most, yet not fully reaching it. His other hand pulls my shirt up. Higher and higher until his other hand leaves my pants to join his left so I can lose the first piece of fabric. From my periphery, I see my shirt land somewhere by the rocking chair that’s facing the sofa, though I don’t pay it much attention as Bucky groans, admiring the skin he just revealed. “You’re so beautiful.” I grin up at the bright blue eyes, leaning up as best as I can, fingers intervening behind his neck to pull him down until our lips meet again in a heated fight for dominance. I can feel my body heating up, blood rushing through my veins, and the arousal deepening and intensifying. And then Bucky stops his motions in favor of being completely still and tense on top of me. At first, I don’t really register what happens, but the longer he stays like that, the more confused I get, so I open my eyes. Bucky’s face is one of concentration. Eyebrows are drawn together, eyes forming slits, and lips tightly pressed on one another. A confused sound escapes me as I stare at him. “Bucky, what is it?”
“I think I heard something.” His eyes lock on the closed sliding door to the kitchen. I follow his gaze, sitting up a bit to be able to look over the backrest and listen intently. I can see or hear nothing suspicious. I raise a questioning eyebrow, guessing Bucky’s messing with me. It’s not the first time he did something like that. “Weirdo,” I laugh, putting my hands on his cheeks and turning his head back in my direction. “That’s just your imagination. You want to keep me waiting, tease me?” Now he smiles again. A smile full of mischievous thoughts. “Certainly not. How could I?” His eyes speak otherwise, and I’m sure he’s planning something for next time. He picks up where he left off. One of his hands pushes my bra up, and his lips wrap around one of my nipples instantly while his other hand starts messaging the other breast. My head gets thrown into my neck, a loud ricocheting through the room, inciting Bucky to work even harder. My left hand flies up to bury into his long her, gripping and pulling hard, encoring him even more. “God.” I moan, almost feeling the satisfied grin against my skin. My right hand slips back into his pants to continue gripping him and stroking him to his full length as best as I can at that weird angle, but I don’t care. But then, I hear it too. We stop once again, immediately frozen in our positions. I can feel myself holding my breath as I listen intently.
Clinking. Then there’s something breaking, sounding like glass is falling onto the floor. Our eyes meet as Bucky pushes himself up a bit, hands leaving my body. My own hand slips from him, but otherwise, I’m still frozen on the spot I’m lying.
Something’s scratching. Breaking. It sounds like someone was walking over glass. My fingernails dig into Bucky’s arms as I try to steady myself in some way to stare at the kitchen door. “What was that?”
“I don’t know,” Bucky whispers, putting a finger on his lips to silence me as he slowly gets off of my legs and the couch. He slowly walks to our sideboard two meters away, mindful not to make a noise. He pulls out one of the drawers and takes out his weapon, which he always stores there. I jump up, pick up my T-shirt, and pull it back on after straightening my bra. Then I step up behind Bucky, tightly clutching his upper arm, as he lifts his weapon to be ready to defend us.
He rakes his neck, trying to see anything that’s going on in the kitchen through the tiny slit that the door creates. “Can you see anything?” I whisper lowly, hearing my own voice tremble in tandem with my body. Bucky steps forward, peering through the crack in the sliding door, then shakes his head. “Doll, stand over there by the sofa. And duck behind it, don’t come out.”
“What?! No! I’ll stay with you.” I argue, fingers holding even tighter onto him. “No, you don’t! Please, it’s dangerous.” He turns to me, expression serious and scared. Not scared for his own life but for mine. I know that instantly. But I can only stare at him in disbelief.
At that moment, the sliding door opens. Before we even can do anything, I see a flash of lightning, and a sound fills my ears that I can’t place. It sounds like something wet, paired with a gurgle. My eyes widen in shock as I see a black shadow behind Bucky. And Bucky just stares at me with wide eyes. My eyes direct back to him in fear, not really registering what just happened. My hands tighten on his arm as he moans loudly. It doesn’t sound as pleasant as before. No, it’s no moan of pleasure and arousal but of pain. “B-Bucky?” He sinks to the ground, left hand still holding mine, weapon still tightly clutched in one hand. Blood splashed on me as the knife raises and rushes back down. Mercilessly repeating its action. Bucky lets out sound after sound, eyes silently pleading me to leave, to run, but all I can do is stand there, frozen and shocked, not processing what just happens in front of me. All that while I’m forced to watch the black figure stab again and again into my fiancé’s weakening body.
Summary: Y/N lives the life she always dreamed about. a job she loves, a fiancé that does everything for her, and a house she dreamed of. There are hiccups on the way, but Y/N's still pretty satisfied with where she stands in life. Though a word can be powerful, especially if it's said to the wrong person. Y/N would never have thought that she ever gets to experience how bad it can turn out. For her and the loved ones around her.
Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Reader
Word count: 2.8k
Warnings: none, maybe some sexy time :)
Series Masterlist // Masterlist
The night is clear, no fog is hanging on the ground, and no clouds can be seen in the starry night sky. The headlights illuminate the trees and the street, creating shadows and figures that would scare you if you could look at them for a longer period. The window is rolled down slightly, letting the cool air whizz past and into the cabin of the car. It’s pleasantly cooling down the interior. The heat of the day slowly vanishes from the inside, the thickness of hot air slowly thinning with the fresh smell of dew. Though the fresh air tries to lighten up the inside, it still feels like there has never been any breathable air inside. Breathing feels still difficult as if trying to inhale while wearing a mask or being all snotty from a cold. The air smells like a strange mix of fresh dew in the forest around and dust from the dryness of the passing day. The sun had been its hottest in days, drying out fields and forests, increasing the unfortunate chance of fires. Rain hasn’t been around for a week now.
The still-warm temperature in the car is perfect to make someone a little tired and drowsy, the steady rumbling of the engine and soothing vibrations of the car rolling down the asphalted street just adding to it. The wind tousles my hair, ruining what’s left of my ponytail, but the suffocating feeling doesn’t vanish, nor does the tiredness that’s starting to get more and more pronounced. My eyes feel heavy, and even blinking doesn’t do any good anymore. Sighing deeply, my eyes catch the fuel gauge. Still half-filled, so a stop anytime soon isn’t necessary; never mind that the next gas station doesn’t come for miles anyway. But it would have given me the perfect opportunity to rest for a little while, maybe stretch my limbs and go for a short walk around the parking lot. If there even is one.
My eyes switch back to the dark road. Somewhere far in front of me, I can see two deer crossing the street, though they’re long gone when I pass the spot. Other than the two animals, there’s nothing to be seen except the stars. I have to admit that I have never been able to see them as clearly as here, somewhere in nowhere and far away from the light of the cities. They are the prettiest sight in a while. My fingers and toes itch to pull the car aside to a stop and just stare up at them for a while. Instantly my mind comes up with a picture of a smiling Bucky.No doubt he would point out any constellation he knew, telling me their stories and tales, so mesmerized by the stars that he wouldn’t notice me staring at him instead. He would have this glint in his eyes, this excitement that makes it difficult to look away. And even though I only understand half of what he talks about, I would be glued to his lips as they form the words, intrigued by him and his knowledge. I don’t know how it happened, but Bucky always manages to draw me in and make his interests interesting for me, too.
A yawn slips past my smiling lips, and I quickly cover it with a hand, making sure to rub the tears that formed from my eyes too. “I have to take a break before I crash.”
Quickly assessing the empty road, I pull away and to the side, stopping on the dirt next to the road. For a second, I close my eyes, engine still running, hands still on the steering wheel as if I was driving. I take a deep breath, feel the air fill my lungs, and leave it while exhaling. After opening my eyes again, I cast a quick look into the review mirror to throw a glance at the backseat. Billy is still asleep, and a glance to my right confirms that Tommy is asleep, too. Typical for them.
A smile slowly forms on my lips again. They had fallen asleep before we hardly even left the hotel parking lot.
A frown slips back on my face as I study Tommy’s sleeping face. They’re just here because I invited them because a certain someone couldn’t join. Or wouldn’t.
I asked them if they wanted to accompany me. Originally, I had to travel because of a client, so it was more of a work trip for me, but I wanted to hang a few days of vacation to it. Also, the hotel room was a four-person room. Somehow, my secretary had made a mistake in the booking.My guess is she either didn’t really look into it or took the first room that was offered on whatever website she booked my trip. Texting her boyfriend was probably more important around that time.
Well, the twins were hyped anyway, immediately all in, as the hotel was located by a nearby beach. It helped that the two had just graduated and wanted to take a trip to celebrate anyway. So, the trip was more like a present to them now, since they didn’t have to pay for anything. Also, someone had an eye on them and make sure they don’t get in trouble. It probably was the only reason why my best friend even allowed it in the first place.
Sadly, the days had gone by way too fast, and all fun had to end. Between my appointments and exhaustion, the boys managed to get me out of my room to actually have some sort of sightseeing and vacation. If not for them, I probably wouldn’t have seen anything despite the hotel room and my patient’s hospital room. So, maybe it wasn’t only me that had an eye on them.
With another tired sigh, I cut the engine, and I take my seat belt off to get out of the car. I wince as the light flickers on the moment I open the door. The damn beeping indicates that it’s open, so as fast as I can, I get out and close the door, still careful to be as silent as possible.God knows the boys need their sleep. With another glance at the two, I sigh, relieved to find them still fast asleep. Leaning against the driver’s side, I close my eyes and take a deep breath, feeling the stiffness of my limbs after sitting in one position for far too long.
The air really feels incredibly good outside of the car. The coolness hits my warm skin, making me shiver slightly. Another deep breath fills my nostrils with the fresh smell of dew in the morning, after a brief spring rain.
For a moment, I stay as I am, take deep breaths, and stare at the stars above. I recognize one or two constellations Bucky taught me about before, though their tales won’t come to my mind. The longer I stare into the abyss of darkness and the universe, I feel my body slowly sagging, my eyes growing heavy with tiredness that settles somewhere deep in my bones and mind.
How long have I been on my feet? Thirteen, maybe fourteen hours?
Briefly rubbing my left eye with my hand, I cast a look down at my watch. Half past twelve. It’s exactly fifteen hours. “Huh.” A small breathless laugh leaves my lips. Of course, I had just driven for 9 hours straight. Bucky would scold me if he knew. Safety was always important to him, mine even more so than his.
I sigh loudly, looking back up at the stars as my thoughts wander. Senses as sharp as ever. There’s the sound of a soft breeze rustling bushes a few feet away, some birds still chirp in the distance, and crickets perform their nightly songs to lure each other in. The smell intensifies. Dew and earth fill every pore of my being, giving me the comfort, I didn’t know I needed. A comfort I craved from someone else. Again, my thoughts stop at my fiancé. How nice it will be to finally see him again. I didn't know a week could be so beautiful, yet make you miss someone so badly. Even with the boys around, I felt a strange sense of loneliness.
Bucky was supposed to come with me. We had a long discussion before I asked the boys. At first, he agreed and was really looking forward to it. A week away from home, work, and responsibilities, but then... Then his stupid work got in the way. Again. An occurrence that happens more and more often now. But this time, I had enough.
"Doll, I'm sorry. I really wish I could go with you, but this is important. I have to do this! Can you understand that?" He looks at me, apologizing. His blue eyes swim with guilt and regret, pleading for me to understand and forgive. But I’m just stunned.
“So, your fucking job is more important to you? You were supposed to be on vacation, James. A vacation, you postpone three fucking times already! Thank you very much. I didn't know that I was just a millstone around your neck," I seethe at him, giving him a furious look. The best I could give him. In reality, I’m not even that angry. I’m disappointed, which feels way worse. Bucky flinches slightly. He’s not used to me shouting. Usually, I’m a calm presence in every fight, barely raising my voice, but today is different. Weeks of frustration break out of me, and I’m not really feeling up to holding back now. Not today. He raises his hands in surrender as I throw another article of clothing into my suitcase, not bothering to fold it nicely. "Y/N, I didn't-"
“What?” I turn around, head hot with anger and hurt. “You didn’t say that?! Yeah, well, congratulations, because you don’t have to say anything! You show it in plenty of other ways. Do you even know how many times this has happened now? And I don’t only mean postponing vacations but doing stuff together in general?” I stare at him as he furrows his brows, no doubt raking his brain for possible dates. “It sucks! I was really looking forward to it this time. I really believed you. Again! But you seem just not to care!"
"Sweetheart, I-" I don’t let him finish again. Angry, frustrated, and disappointed, I waved my hands back and forth.
“Don’t ‘sweetheart’ me! Don't even try to talk yourself out of it with one of your stupid excuses. If you don’t care, you could have at least tried to say no. But did you?"
Bucky sighs. "No, I didn't." He dropped his shoulders in defeat. Somehow, it hurts even more. I feel a pain in my chest that feels like someone’s stabbing me. Tears start to blur my sight, and I quickly blink them away. "Then that's settled." Annoyed, I close my suitcase and drag it out of our bedroom to the stairs and down to the living room. I leave it standing by the door and turn around again, heading back upstairs. Bucky’s still standing in our bedroom, brows furrowed with a sad look in his eyes. I’m almost tempted to comfort him, but this time, I won’t.
Instead, I walk back to our walk-in closet and pull out two outfits that I will need for my appointments, and put them in bags. Then I throw my jacket on and walk back down. I hear him follow me, and by the time I grab the handle of my suitcase, he’s standing behind me. I’ll turn around to say goodbye, but instead, I find myself startled. I don't recognize him at all. His hair is disheveled, probably from running his hand a thousand times through it, his eyes seem dull, and his complexion is haunted by something I can’t name. Instead of showing my surprise, I swallow past the lump in my throat and reach for my house and car keys. "Y/N, please, let's just...” I stop for a second, a great wave of sadness overwhelming me, so the next words that slip past my lips are silent. “You know, maybe getting married and all is a mistake.” I don’t look back at him. Instead, I open the front door and step out of the house and letting the door slam behind me. The second I sit in my car, pulling out of our driveway, I grab my phone and dial my best friend's number, Not even looking into the mirror to see if Bucky followed me as tears blur my vision.
I didn't give him a chance to explain, apologize or do anything else. I can remember the look on his face when I left the house without really looking at him. The pain was written in it, the fear. I hurt him very badly, and I feel guilty that I didn’t care at that moment. He’s the man I love, the one I want to marry. I should have cared, should have tried harder to understand him. I know his job is everything to him, though not more important to him than I am. Never. Even accusing him of that feels like betrayal now. “I should have said that. I wonder if he's pissed off,” I mutter silently into the night sky. My body feels tired with yet another sort of sadness. “Y/N? Are you alright?" A small, high-pitched scream leaves my lips, my hand shooting up to cover my beating heart. Unbeknownst to me, Tommy got out of the car and now looks at me. I haven't noticed the interior light of the car flickering on, nor the door open. How far away have I been?
“Yes, everything is fine. I just needed some fresh air," I say, wiping a few hairs from my face, which the shallow wind pulled there. “But we can continue now." I made efforts to open the driver's side door, trying to convince him with a smile. But Thomas isn’t stupid. Like a bolt of lightning, he flashes around the hood and places his hand on the door handle. Confused, I stare at him. "What are you doing?"
“You are tired… and sad." He adds the last part after a small pause, mustering me intensely. “I am not."
“Yes, you are. You're yawning for the second time. And that just after I got out of the car." And really, I catch myself yawning. Another thing I haven’t noticed. I raise my hand to cover my mouth as best as I can. Suddenly I feel something cold, and damp sliding down my cheeks. When did I start to cry?
“Will you tell me what’s going on? Why are you crying?" These boys really quickly recognize how you are doing. A trait that they definitely have inherited from both their parents. Though, I’m not going to drop my problems on their shoulders.
“No. I-I don't know why I'm crying. Probably the wind." I manage a small laugh, embarrassment flooding my mind.
“Okay.” He stretches the word, and I know he doesn’t believe me. Thankfully he’s smart enough to drop the topic. “Well... Anyway, please sit in the passenger seat. I'm driving."
"Hell, no! That’s out of the question!" I look at him in horror. “Your Mom is strangling me if she finds out."
“No, she doesn’t. Mom's just too careful. I'm already eighteen, and I've had my license for a year. It's going to be okay. It's only an hour or so left, right?" I had to agree with him. Wanda is a very caring person. She had had her sons at the age of nineteen and was then tragically separated from her boyfriend when the children were born. Accidents happen at all times, but him dying at the same time his children were born was just cruel. Of course, from then on, she was always cautious. Sometimes it feels like I’m a child of hers, too, even though I’m only three years younger than her.
I let out a defeated sigh, my chin sinks to my chest, and my eyes close. “Fine.” I relent, too tired to argue with his logic. I know he’s right, and if I continue driving, I’m probably crashing not even a hundred feet ahead of us. Yawning yet again, I round the hood to the passenger seat, sit down, and buckle up, before silently closing the door. The sound still ricochets through the car, startling me more than I like to admit. Meanwhile, Tommy gets into the driver's seat, starts the car, and pulls over onto the road. It probably doesn't take more than five minutes for me to fall asleep.
Summary: Y/N lives the life she always dreamed about. a job she loves, a fiancé that does everything for her, and a house she dreamed of. There are hiccups on the way, but Y/N's still pretty satisfied with where she stands in life.
Though a word can be powerful, especially if it's said to the wrong person. Y/N would never have thought that she ever gets to experience how bad it can turn out. For her and the loved ones around her.
Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Reader
Word count: 2.1k
Warnings: mentions of violence
Series Masterlist // Masterlist
I am excited. Very excited. And I’m afraid. How should I react? What should I do if they asked questions I was not prepared for? I had no answers for? But mainly, how should I stand it without him?
A feeling of nausea rises in my stomach, and a lump forms in my throat. I feel like throwing up at any given moment. Swallowing feels difficult as the lump slowly grows, making me wish for a glass of cool water to appear to help. I can feel myself fidgeting nervously, my hand wringing on themselves, pulling on loose threads of my shirt, or running restlessly through my hair, messing it up even more.
The seat suddenly feels way too hard when it felt soft and comfy moments before. I shuffle back and forth, trying to find a position that’s comfortable again and doesn’t put pressure on my stitches. It’s funny how things change with some time sitting and growing nervousness. It feels like we’ve been sitting here for hours now, but with a look at the clock at the end of the hall, it’s confirmed that it’s merely about fifteen minutes now. A nervous sigh leaves my lips as I start shuffling once again.
A warm hand covers mine and tears me from my running thoughts. I look to my right and instantly am graced with Bucky’s ocean-blue eyes. They’re gazing deeply into mine, gentle like a soft breeze over Caribbean water. His eyes always hold a warmth that manages to calm me down without him doing anything. They also seem to have developed the ability to see when I’m getting too much into my head. However, that could easily be a trait Bucky always had. And that not just applies to his eyes. A small smile shows up on his lips. He doesn’t say a word, but somehow, I feel like he’s calming me down. Sometimes just looking at him has that effect on me. I always wonder how he does it. I can feel my body slowly calming, going from its straight and rigid position to a more slouched and relaxed one. I haven’t noticed how stiff I’ve been until now. Relaxing my muscles takes away the slight pain I have felt in my stomach for minutes now.
Bucky starts to rub his thumb comfortingly over the skin of the back of my hand, drawing an invisible pattern that sends shocks of calm and love through my nerves.
Deep relief floods me, spreading into every small nook my body has to offer, fighting the nervousness and nausea. Now I need it more than ever, and I’m relieved that Buck does that without being asked. He’s observant that way, though I feel he might be just as nervous as I am. Since what happened happened, we’ve been no more than ten minutes apart from each other. He can’t go back to work with his injuries, and I… I can’t leave the house alone anymore. At this moment, I promise never to take Bucky for granted.
I take a deep stuttering breath, schooling my features into something less worried, and look at my hands. Bucky’s left one surrounds them, holding them in his as if they’re meant to be there. I notice how small mine are compared to his. He can almost wholly envelop both of mine with just one hand. They’re warm and calloused, showing that he was a hardworking back before he worked with the police. Work at the docks has left its traces. A warm feeling spreads through me just thinking about these hands that hold me so softly like I’m made out of glass, while they used to grab things firmly and roughly. But he holds me like he could shatter me with just a bit too much pressure. He probably could, but I know Bucky never would. He once broke down because he left a bruise on my arm after pulling me away from the street. I would have been run over by a car that hadn’t bothered stopping at its red light. It took me hours to get Bucky to accept that it was okay and that I didn’t hold a grudge. He saved my life. I still suspect him to feel guilty about it, even after the two years it has been.
He leans over, crowding into my space and spreading his scent. Something woodsy and entirely Bucky fills my nostrils. My heart rate spikes up, this time for a whole other reason. He softly whispers in my ear. “Don’t worry, sweetheart. Don’t cry.” His hand loosens around mine for just a second to come up and wipe a tear away. When did I start crying?
“Everything will be fine. I’ll wait here for you, and if you feel uncomfortable or it is too much to bear, you can call after me. We can take a break then, okay?” I nod, but somehow, I feel like we both know I won’t call for him. Because I already decided I won’t.
This, I’ll manage. I can’t call after him for everything that’s uncomfortable for me. I have to work and stand on my own again. I can’t run anymore. I have to prove myself now. I have to prove that I can be independent, to me and him.
I love Bucky. I love him like I never thought I could love someone. And I trust him with my whole heart. Many nights we laid in our bed, shaken with nightmares and guilt, and all that held us together was our love and trust for each other. But guilt buries deep in someone’s mind. No matter how much he reassures me, here I am, at fault for all of this. This feeling won’t let go of me. Bucky can say all the reassurance and sweet nothings he can come up with, can hold me as tight and stroke my hair as gently as he likes until we both burst with love and affection, can tell me I’m not at fault as many times until his voice is raw. It won’t leave me. No. It is my fault. It’s my fault that he was in hospital for weeks. That his arm is shattered and probably will hold a lot of scars.
That he was tortured.
But mostly, I would never be able to give him what he desires most. To fulfill this one wish. It was taken from me. And he doesn’t know. I lacked the courage to tell him back then, and with each passing day, my guilt rises, and the courage to tell him swindles into thin air. It’s getting harder and harder to keep this secret, but telling him feels like betraying him. Betray the trust he puts in me. No one except the doctors and me knows. And it’s unfair. Unfair to me to have and keep it a secret. Unfair to him that he’ll probably never know. Unfair to us that we don’t even have a chance at the miracle other couples have.
While still staring at my hands, my thoughts ran wild. I could tell him now, get it over with and flee to the interview I’m about to get into. And if it shatters him, I don’t have to see him crumble, don’t have to see him walk out of my life forever. I could sit there blissfully unaware of how he feels and copes because I’m faced with past traumas that will keep me occupied for the following hours if not days. It feels like I’m a coward, but I don’t see another chance to tell him. I can’t bear the sadness in his eyes. the betrayed look. Maybe even the disgust? Well, no. That’s unfair. I know Bucky would never be disgusted by that, but the fear that he could be when it’s about me spirals in my mind. Maybe now’s for the best.
I take another deep breath. Then I look into his eyes. “Buck?”
“Yes, doll?” He smiles softly at me, his eyes raking over my face. The adoration in his eyes lets me swallow past that lump in my throat again. Nausea returns stronger than before. If he didn’t hold my hands again, I probably would be running to the nearest bathroom right now.
“T-There’s something I need to tell you. It... it’s not easy for me. I have carried it around for a while now. I-I know it’s not the best time now and especially not here, but I think if I don’t do it now, I… M-maybe I never will.” He looks curiously and confused at me. His eyes give me some hope. They radiated something calming and warm. At the same time, I’m terrified of his reaction.
“What is it, doll?” He asks as I stop talking. The breath is stuck in my throat; airways closed up with a feeling of nausea that has me almost toppling over in my seat. My head starts pounding with another sort of blinding fear. Different from the one I felt for months prior. This one roots much deeper. “You need to breathe, Y/N.” Bucky shuffles on his seat so he sits completely facing me, never taking his hand off mine. I nod, managing a stuttering breath as fresh tears cloud my vision again. “As... W-when that happened,” I gesture at his arm that’s in a sling, cast a stark contrast to his warm skin. My eyes wander from our hands to his dress shirt. They stop at the spot I know the bandages are. The ones that cover his burns and stab wound. Then I continue looking up just to meet his eyes for a fraction of a second before averting my gaze again. I free one of my hands from his grip and placed it onto my stomach, right over my stitches. “W-well, h-he had me already, you know. I was able to hear you, but… H-he gave me something, and I couldn’t call for you or move!” My voice rises in a desperate attempt to make him understand what I couldn’t exactly tell him. His eyes widen in shock. His face paling and staring at me as if he had lost me a second-time ins just a few months. A shocked gasp leaves my lips as I stare at his forming a silent ‘o’.
Oh, God! Hadn’t he known? Wasn’t it explained to him?
“Y-you didn’t know.” It’s not a question, but Bucky still shakes his head. “Sweetheart.” It’s a breathless sound, almost silent against the clock’s loud ticking. I try to avoid his searching eyes again as I continue, knowing that I never would tell him if I don’t get it over now. “Eh… B-before he-”
“Miss Y/L/N. It’s time.” A man comes out of the door next to our bench. I look at him for a second before his words reach my brain. Panicking, my eyes fly to Bucky, head whipping so fast I feel my neck heating up with its strain. “It’s okay, sweetheart.” Bucky attempts a smile that I can tell doesn’t reach his eyes. His mind is probably running a mile a minute while he comprehends what I just told him or what I didn’t. It isn’t even what I really am trying to say to him! “Tell me later, okay? Concentrate on this first. It’s more important. Everything will be all right.”
But what I want to say is just as important, damn it! Worried, I bite my lower lip, eyes switching between the man who called me and Bucky, unsure what to do. Can I ask for five more minutes? Should I?
“It’s okay. I’ll be here.” Bucky squeezes my hand, smiling at me like he has no other business than to be here for my sake and safety. The realization hits me as his lips softly press to my forehead. My moment has passed.
So, I say nothing. Just look at him. Then I nod, slowly coming to a stand, and follow the man in a suit. The door closes behind me with a soft click, the hallway’s light vanishing together with the calmness that Bucky had provided to my already frayed nerves. Now I was alone. Alone with three men, I don’t know. Two agents that I had never seen before and my boyfriend’s boss.
Now it’s time. Now it is on me. Please let them believe me. I’m not at fault. Tell me that all of it is not my fault and make me believe it!
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