sorry-didnt-mean-to-stab-you

[sorry-didnt-mean-to-stab-you]

Marshmallows and Melodies

Word Count: 1551

Pairing: Steve Rogers x Reader

Warnings: Lil’ bit of angst

Summary: They found each other amidst the silence

A/N: So, this is for @imhereforbvcky‘s Cap2 Challenge based off of the prompt: Silence by Marshmello and Khalid. I honestly loved this song when it first came out and would listen to it on repeat for hours, so hopefully I’ve done it some justice with this fic :)

“Do you even know any of the songs on here?” she teased him, glancing at him through the corner of her eye as she flipped through the songs.

Steve caught a few songs that felt familiar, but he was sure that it was only because they were similar to the songs that played on the radio occasionally back at the camp during the war. The row of songs began to thin out, and he soon grew certain that he wouldn’t be able to find a single song that he knew. That was, until his eye caught a quick glance at the title ‘AC/DC’ scrawled out in shaky letters.

He swiftly plucked it from the pile and presented it to her.

“You know AC/DC?” her voice was playfully skeptical, her eyebrows cocking in disbelief. “I refuse to believe that America’s golden boy listens to rock and roll in his spare time.”

Steve chuckled at her as he flipped the record through his fingers. “Stark plays them all the time when he’s working in the garage, the songs seem to make the entire compound shake.”

“That I believe,” she grinned, but when he held it out for her to place it on the record player, she glanced down at her shuffling feet and gently bit her lip. “Would it,” she began, looking back up at him with guilty eyes. “Would it be mean of me to maybe not play it this time?”

Steve met her eyes, carefully making sure that he looked sympathetic rather than curious. “Is anything wrong?”

“Yeah, yeah, it’s just that my ex was obsessed with them and their songs just kind of remind me of him, so…” She diverted her eyes back to the pile and let out a sigh.

He held himself back from giving her a hug, reminding himself that it would probably be weird considering they’d only known each other for an hour or so. They’d met when Steve asked what song she’d been humming to herself as she was working behind the bar, and soon they were discussing everything music even up until now.

“I'm sorry,” he gave her a gentle smile. “You choose a song, I'm sure I could do with a new taste in style considering I'm slightly out of date.”

Stepping back and moving his arm to present the player to the girl he was becoming more engrossed in, he felt his heart twitch at the small grin she gave him. He studied her practiced movements as she flicked back through the pile, her fingers moving with such ease and fluidity that there was no questioning that she knew every song there. After a few moments, their eyes met each other again, her hands gifting him a bright yellow record with a man flaunting a large, white square head over his own.

“Marshmello?” he quipped, turning the record over to reveal no other songs listed on it. The only word written on it in large capitals was ‘SILENCE’.

“It’s a single,” she spoke up, leaning on her tip toes to look at him from over the record. “I originally bought it for myself to play at home but considering that I spend most of my waking hours here, I eventually brought it in and well, now this is where it stays.”

Steve frowned, wondering for a second if he would actually like it, taking into account that the only songs he’s ever liked were old dancing songs from the 40s. He wasn’t so much into the DJs and upbeat rave songs of the 21st century, save for some of the artists like Adele, Queen, Marvin Gaye and George Ezra, who were all Natasha’s forced ideas.

However, pushing his doubts to the back of his mind, he slapped on a smile and nodded. “Let’s do it.”

As the song began to play, she took his hand and led him over to the pool tables. It was around two in the morning and the bar had closed, allowing them to sit themselves down onto the green velvet, her soft hand still intertwined with his. She closed her eyes and began to sway to the tune, and he gazed absentmindedly at the way her lips mouthed the lyrics, and how her eyes moved from beneath the lids, her eyebrows occasionally quirking. The tune, he immediately realized, was transcendental, a melody only fit for the girl beside him. He noticed how the singer’s voice had weaved its way into his head, the words melting into each other as he sang, the beat lifting his fingers and dropping them with a rush of sadness. The artist wasn’t one that he would typically enjoy listening to, but perhaps it was her influence that made him rethink what he tones he thought were dulcet and sweet.

Before long, the song had come to a close, and Steve was blessed once more with the colors of her eyes as they opened.

“So,” she shrugged with a smile. “Did you like it?”

“It was beautiful,” he answered honestly. She rolled her eyes as she hopped off of the table, leaving his hand horribly cold and empty, and carefully replaced the record back into its cover.

“I think it’s sad and lonely if you ask me. And yet there’s something about it that just… hits you hard with a feeling of finally understanding yourself,” she rambled as she shoved the box of records back to beneath the player.

“How does it help you understand yourself?” Steve asked with curiosity, his eyes remaining on her body as she returned to sit back next to him.

Twisting her body to face his, she crossed her legs and began to roll one of the pool balls between the palms of her hands, a laugh escaping her mouth. “Oh, that’s way too deep for such an early time, buddy. I doubt you wanna talk with a stranger about her woes right now.”

“I’ve found that it’s the times when the world sleeps that you can talk about yourself the best,” he recited, remembering all the deep conversations he’d have with Bucky until four in the morning. “Maybe that’s just me, but it’s easier to talk deeper when there’s not so much background noise.”

She raised her eyebrows and shook her head at him, and for the first time that night, Steve noticed the ghost of an exhaustion hidden in the crevices of her face. “If you say so, Rupi Kaur.”

And even though he had no idea who Rupi Kaur was, he remained silent as she took a deep breath and relaxed her tense shoulders.

“Me and my ex split up about two months ago because he’d been cheating on me with my best friend for the majority of our relationship.”

Steve’s stomach dropped as he heard the words. She looked both tired, angry and desolate all at once, and he couldn’t help but feel guilty for her as well as wanting to punch the guy for hurting such a kind and sweet girl.

“Yeah, it’s sad and all. But I think it hurt more because so far, every one of my boyfriends has split up with me because there was someone else. Because my friend was better, or the barista at the coffee shop was better, or my sister was better,” she then let out a dry laugh, causing Steve to flinch slightly at the pain behind it. “It’s funny, because I’ve shared every one of my relationships with someone who was better than me. And I tried so damn hard to keep it all going, to work better and try harder to get them to stay, but they never did. So, when I found out that he’d gone and had his own private relationship with my childhood best friend for over a year… I don’t know, I guess I got tired of fighting because it’s the only thing I’ve ever done. You know?”

Steve nodded. “To some degree, yeah. All my life I’ve been fighting the bad guy, literally in this case, and I'm still fighting them over seventy years later. I guess I'm tired of all of it, and all I wanna do is go home and hang up the shield, but I don’t think I ever will.”

“That sounds lonely,” she looked at him with knowing eyes, and all Steve could think was that this girl, someone who hadn’t lived the life that the team had lived, and someone that didn’t have to suit up every day because they had nothing and no one else, understood.

“It is,” he agreed. “I go home to an empty apartment, I wake up to an empty apartment, and my day job is one where I have no idea if I’ll return back to that empty apartment.”

Steve’s mind had been wandering off as he stared absently at the carpeted ground of the bar, but he broke out of it when he felt her hand on his shoulder. She looked at him with something other than pity for once, something different than ‘I'm sorry you’re in the wrong time with the wrong people’. It was a mix of understanding and her own isolation. She didn’t try to fathom his experience, but somehow, she connected with his words and for one rare moment, he didn’t feel alone.

#cap2challenge #angst #steve rogers x reader #steve rogers #captain america #marvel #avengers #tony stark #iron man #spiderman #peter parker #steve rogers x you #captain america x reader

[sorry-didnt-mean-to-stab-you]

IM WHEEZING (TURN SOUND ON AND WATCH TILL END)

[sorry-didnt-mean-to-stab-you]

80 Angst-y Dialogue Prompts

Because who doesn’t like getting their heart torn over words, right?

1. “I can’t afford to love you.” 2. “Maybe we should have never happened.” 3. “There was a time when you answered my calls.” 4. “I'm not coming home anymore.” 5. “I’ll fucking kill you.” 6. “I stopped believing in promises a while ago.” 7. “You stole everything that I loved – and now I'm taking them back.” 8. “You never fought for me!” 9. “We can’t keep doing this.” 10. “That fucking hurt, asshole.” 11. “I wish I’d never even met you.” 12. “You weren’t supposed to be here.” 13. “Could you just leave already?” 14. “Someday, when you’re gone, I’ll be the happiest I’ve ever been.” 15. “What is wrong with you?” 16. “The last time I gave a damn about what you have to say was the first time I met you.” 17. “You’re an asshole!” 18. “I can’t believe you just said that.” 19. “You ruined me.” 20. “You have no right to say that –” 21. “Don’t tell me not to cry.” 22. “You’re not welcome here.” 23. “I don’t want you to hate me – please don’t hate me.” 24. “Don’t leave me.” 25. “You’re drunk, as usual.” 26. “I can’t give you what you deserve.” 27. “I thought we were at least friends!” 28. “Please don’t touch me.” 29. “I didn’t wanna hurt you!” 30. “You’ve never listened to what I have to say.” 31. “I'm the one who gets hurt; every damn time.” 32. “This stays between us… no one can know.” 33. “I'm used to not being heard by now.” 34. “You shouldn’t have feelings for me!” 35. “I should’ve stayed at home.” 36. “Can we not do this here? Please?” 37. “Walk out of that door and never come back.” 38. “I'm ruining you; everyone can see it.” 39. “We never work out so maybe we should just… end it.” 40. “I am not my father/mother!” 41. “You were the last person I expected to talk about me behind my back.” 42. “I can be better – let me me better.” 43. “Stay away from me!” 44. “No one will ever want you after this.” 45. “You’re not sorry and you know it.” 46. “I can’t take another lie.” 47. “Please don’t shut me out again.” 48. “Don’t do this to yourself.” 49. “You weren’t there when I needed you.” 50. “Why can’t I see anything? What’s happened to my eyes why can’t I see anything?!” 51. “You need to let me go.” 52. “It’s for the best that we never see each other again.” 53. “I'm not good for you.” 54. “I loved you first.” 55. “I can’t breathe –” 56. “We can’t fix something beyond repair.” 57. “Why didn’t you trust me then?” 58. “Sometimes, I think if it would be better for me to just take off running and never look back.” 59. “I lost you.” 60. “You should have told me.” 61. “I'm so disgusted with myself I can’t even look in the mirror.” 62. “Was I even your friend?” 63. “I was too late.” 64. “I'm trying to be better.” 65. “Say that one more time and I swear on my mother’s grave that I’ll stab you in the neck.” 66. “I can’t believe you trust them over me.” 67. “I thought we were okay?” 68. “You can’t be around me anymore – I’m not safe.” 69. “You never said anything, so I just thought –” 70. “I don’t care that you don’t miss me, because I miss you and that hurts enough already.” 71. “I don’t wanna die…” 72. “How could you even think that of me?” 73. “I don’t trust anyone anymore.” 74. “Leave me alone.” 75. “I don’t ever wanna see your face again.” 76. “So… it was all a lie?” 77. “I think about leaving, and then I realise I can’t let go even if s/he has.” 78. “I need you to get out of my house.” 79. “People don’t like me. You shouldn’t either.” 80. “I’ll hurt you and walk away without hesitating.”

#angst #prompts #writing prompts #dialogue prompt #fanfic #fanfiction #marvel #mcu

[sorry-didnt-mean-to-stab-you]

I didn’t even cry in Endgame and yet I’m physically and mentally leaking tears at this

In the wake of Iron Man’s death, New York’s grief is expressed in the form of statues.

No one knows whose idea it was originally, and it was built somewhere else and planted in the middle of the night, right where the Tower used to be. New York City woke up and crowded around it, a fresh wave of sadness overwhelming them as people lay flowers and tokens of remembrance at the statue’s feet.

Over the next week, even more statues are planted - in Queens and Brooklyn, making its way through the state of New York. Even other states start catching on, and suddenly there are stone Iron Man’s all over the U.S., from Atlanta to San Francisco. News reports show similar statues being built in China and Europe, and nowhere in the world is free from grief.

The first time Peter patrols in Queens after the statue is built, he tries to ignore it. He swings low through the buildings, because if he goes too high, he’ll find the stony eyes of Tony watching him, and he can’t take that. He can’t.

But the statue, it seems, has its own gravity, just like the living Tony Stark did, and Peter is inevitably drawn to it. His patrol starts with a wide berth around the statue and he subconsciously spirals inward until he’s at the foot of it.

There’s a crowd around the statue - there always is - and they all look up when Peter swings in, touching down to the ground. His vision tunnels to the statue’s face, only dimly aware that the crowd has parted respectfully for him.

Everyone knows that Spider-Man was close to Tony.

Peter pays them no mind, though, and the gravity of the statue reels him in and takes his breath away. He reaches the foot of the statue and falls to his knees.

There’s a feeling beyond grief that’s wrapped around him now, a vice that won’t even let him cry. Everything is internal, a cocktail of sadness and anger and pain that makes him shake apart.

In front of him, there’s a gold plank carved with words, and it takes a second for the numbness in Peter’s brain to process them. He reaches out with one hand and runs a trembling finger over the words. The message is simple.

In remembrance of Tony Stark, the Man of Iron.

Peter swallows thickly, eyes filling rapidly with tears before he pushes to his feet and forces himself to break free of Tony’s gravity. As he swings away, Thanos’ words to Tony echo in his head.

“I hope they remember you.”

It’s all they can do.

-

The next time Peter goes back is a few days later. Tony’s force is elastic - no matter how far away Peter pulls, he always gets pulled back. He never even makes the conscious decision to.

It’s three o’clock at night, and this time, Peter is alone in his mourning. He sits on the cold pavement and studies the statue in depth this time. It’s ridiculously tall, clad in stone armor but unmasked. Tony’s face is expressive, a mixture of tired and fiercely protective, a perfect picture of the hero. His mask rests in his hand, hung low at his side.

Peter doesn’t remember deciding to talk, but when he does, it feels natural, a little like Tony is still here.

“So I guess you’re not getting my voicemails anymore,” Peter jokes, and it comes out flat and cracks as it falls from his lips, but he imagines Tony would appreciate the attempt anyway.

“Today was good, though. For awhile there, everything froze. You know how when bad things happen or when people die, your world freezes but everyone else’s keeps going and you just feel lost in the dust? That didn’t happen this time. Because this time, everyone’s world froze, even if it was just a little bit.”

Peter swallows, voice thick with emotion as he stares up at Tony’s face.

“The thing is, I can’t help but still feel alone,” Peter confesses. His gaze shifts to the mask in Tony’s hand.

“You see, they’re all mourning over the loss of Iron Man. But me? I just miss Mr. Stark.”

-

It becomes a regular thing, but never at regular times.

Some days, Spider-Man can be seen standing before the statue at 2PM, and other times, here’s there at 2AM. He doesn’t try to fight against the gravity anymore - in fact, he welcomes it, starting patrol from his apartment and inevitably ending at the statue to debrief.

It’s not the same as a voicemail, but it’s close enough. Sometimes, he even shares his churro with Tony, leaving it at the foot of the statue. And Peter’s not stupid - he knows it’ll probably get thrown in the trash or scavenged by an animal, but it’s the only way he knows how to give back in all the ways Tony gave to him.

“Mr. Stark, you’re not going to believe this!” Peter tells him one night. “Some kid almost fell out of the ferris wheel at Coney Island. I thought that was only a thing that happens in movies!”

He takes a bite of his own churro, chewing thoughtfully. “I mean, to be fair, I guess most things that happen in my life seem to be taken straight from a movie.”

The statue never talks back, of course, but sometimes Peter could swear Tony is listening from somewhere. He hopes he is.

As the days go on, the gravity loses its pull as grief loosens its hold on him. It doesn’t go away, but then again, grief never really does. But it’s enough that Peter no longer spends hours at a time at the statue’s feet.

Sometimes, Peter starts patrol at the statue, doing nothing more than saluting it enthusiastically.

“I’m about to go kick some ass, Mr. Stark! You’d better be proud of me. Too bad I’m stealing all your glory,” Peter snarks, and he thinks that wherever Tony is, he’s laughing at him.

It’s not perfect or even okay, not yet. But it’s healing, and that’s something.

-

FRIDAY has been helping Pepper clear out Tony’s massive list of files. Most of them are being archived or sent around the world to contribute to research, especially in Wakanda. A few of them get deleted, and others, Pepper simply can’t let go of.

She’s a strong woman, but when she listens to Tony’s logs, she breaks a little.

One day, they come across Tony’s files for the Spider-Man suits. She finds page after page of schematics, and eventually, she ends up at the Baby Monitor file. Most of the logs are from before Tony’s death. However, she notes with curiosity, automatic feed has been submitted multiple times since then.

Logically, it makes sense. Pepper knows that Peter’s slowly gotten back to patrolling, and she’s even had lunch with him a couple of times to see how he’s holding up. She’s just had very little time to track his movements. That was always Tony’s job.

Pepper curiously opens the more recent logs, and the sight nearly brings her to her knees.

“So I guess you’re not getting my voicemails anymore,” she hears Peter say to the statue in front of him.

And yeah, Pepper’s a strong woman, but sometimes, she breaks a little.

As she listens to the audio play, she curls up on the ground and cries.

-

Creds to the anon who sent me the idea. I hope I did it justice. <3

#dont read if you havent seen endgame #dont read if you want your heart to bREAK

[sorry-didnt-mean-to-stab-you]

Of Irony and Men

Word Count: 2567

Pairing: Bucky x Reader

Warnings: Cheating, angst

Summary: You’ve had your suspicions, and for nine months, you just wanted Bucky to tell you the truth before you found it. Until enough is enough, and you finally break.

A/N: Wow, I really went in for the angst on my first fic on here. Bucky isn’t the nicest in this one, and I know some people have a sort of dependency on how their character is, e.g a sweet and nice Bucky, so if you don’t like an asshole!Bucky then I would probably skip this one :)

It was… ironic. The way he would lie, smile, draw my attention somewhere else so that I wouldn’t remember what I’d accused him of. And of course, being the amazing renowned spy I was, I believed him. Because why, oh why, would Bucky Barnes ever play me like a toy? As if the whole thing was a simple game of cat and mouse – although, when I thought about it, I wasn’t actually sure who the mouse or the cat was. At first, I thought I was chasing him into folding, so that I wouldn’t have to truly catch him and see it for myself. But then, after nine whole fucking months of playing, I realised he was the cat; holding the looming threat of infidelity over my head whilst I ran around blindly.

Thus, ironic.

As expected, my suspicions didn’t appear out of the blue. I wish they had; I wish that I was just paranoid and desperate, that he would never, never do anything to hurt me, let alone ruin me. But no. All it took was one fucking text to break the walls that held up our relationship.

You didn’t visit last night. Did she wake up again?

I couldn’t bring myself to admit to him that I’d looked at his phone – or maybe I could’ve, but I just didn’t want him to tell me the truth. That he was sneaking around when I’d fallen asleep. That, when he finally caught the rhythm of my laboured breathing, he slipped out from my arms and went to someone else until dawn.

Ah, ignorance is fucking bliss.

But I didn’t say anything, and it remained that way for a solid three months. Some nights he would stay with Steve and Clint, some nights I’d feel him gently lift my arm from his chest as the weight lifted from his side of the bed. Careful, precise. As if he truly cared if I found him sneaking out. Sometimes he wouldn’t come home at all, and as the weeks wore on, he’d make more and more excuses as to why he couldn’t come up to our room.

I grew used to the silence of 3 am. I grew used to the silence of 7 am, then 6 pm, and then… all the a.m.’s and p.m.’s 24 hours could offer. And of course, one text blew up my ignorant bubble of denial. He was actually with me that night, and I’d treated myself in cosying up in his arms and attempting to believe that he was changed. And then his screen lit up – he was asleep, I was awake, it was 3 am.

I don’t understand, Buck. You told me you were going to leave her. What’s the point in us having to hide if we basically live together?

Buck. He once told me that only Steve and I could call him that (“Special members only, doll,” he cooed).

After a long, long battle with myself, I finally got up and ready to fix whatever was happening. To fix us, him… me? I’m sure it was that night that I’d begun to think that I was the problem, not him. Of course, I had glazed the toxicity of the thought over the past few months, but I never believed it. If Natasha had come to me saying that Clint was sleeping around and that she thought it was her fault, I would’ve immediately told her that it was him, that he was the one that should be held to blame. So why could I never tell that to myself?

Anyway, I waited until the morning, when he’d had breakfast and we were both awake. He sipped at his coffee, quietly reading the paper, whilst I stared at the floor, unsure what to do or how to approach the situation without making myself feel like a bitch. We stayed like that for a few more minutes, but then just as I’d opened my mouth, in came the fleet; Steve, rubbing his eyes and yawning, Tony, still barely awake and Natasha who looked alert and, probably, hungry. I slammed my mouth shut and resumed to stare at the marble floor.

“Geez, what’d that tiling do to you, Y/N?” Natasha teased as she flipped an orange slice into her mouth. I was still unfocused, worried about what to say to Buck, so all I’d replied with was a ‘huh?’ and gave her a confused face.

She repeated herself; I said I was tired, blah blah blah. The trio then went over to the sofas, occasionally attempting with small talk. No one was ever really awake in the mornings, let alone Sundays, which just made it all even more difficult for me to say something. It was eating and clawing at me from the inside out – I had to speak to him, I had to hear him tell me something that wasn’t “I’m sorry but I don’t love you anymore, and I’ve been cheating on you with this better girl from across the street for the past three months”. Yes, they were obviously not going to be his exact words, but I’d had lots of time to imagine him saying them and they were the ones I was most scared of. But I couldn’t; not here, not now.

He still hadn’t looked up from his paper. Or, perhaps he had, but the tiling on the floor was my only distraction at the moment – if I looked at him, I’d probably break down sobbing. So, I stood up and attempted to avoid looking at anything that was to do with the man I called my love. Well… I tried to, until he looked up at me with the words ‘where are you going’ dancing behind his eyes.

I blinked to keep the tears at bay. “I’m going back to bed. I’m not feeling well.”

It was barely a whisper, but of course, his superhuman hearing picked it up. His eyebrows furrowed. “Doll –”

“Are you seeing someone else?” Fuck, it slipped out, it slipped out, it slipped out. My eyes were wide, and my heart was beating so fucking fast, I felt my fingernails drawing blood from my palms as I waited for him to answer.

Bucky glanced behind him, but no one had heard me. Lucky for him. He took a deep breath, stood up, and walked around the table before he gently grabbed my shoulders.

“Doll, let’s go back to the bedroom. I don’t want to have this discussion here.” He was quiet as he tried to steer me back, but I wriggled out of his grip.

“No,” I felt the tears begin to drop and my vision began to blur. “You have to tell me now, you - you have to tell me now if you’re cheating on me. Please, Buck.”

Something flashed behind his eyes, but I didn’t care, I needed the reassurance or at least a lie. It’s funny how in the beginning, I was so desperate for his lies. Like they were a drug that he was more than happy to supply me with, as long as he didn’t have to tell me the truth.

Buck frowned. “Christ, Y/N, do we have to do this here? In front of everyone?”

No one was looking, no one knew. It was between us. “Yes, we do. Just tell me those texts were about something else, just tell me that even if you are cheating on me, that you’ll stop. I need you. I need you, Buck.”

And just like that, he hugged me, and I let myself go. I sobbed into his shirt as his arms were wrapped around me, protecting me from what he was actually doing. “I’ll stop,” I heard him repeat, over and over again.

He stopped. We were happy – he came home every night, we spoke in the mornings where we’d usually sit in silence, and he never once slipped out again.

We were happy.

No.

I was happy.

Six months later and I found out he’d been skipping training and missions and whatnot so that he could see some girl called Abigail. And those texts I thought I’d never see again? Well, after some searching around the room, I found his burner phone. With the same texts. And pictures. And promises of the same life he lived with me but with a different girl, and you know what really puts the cherry on top? I understood. She was prettier than me, fuck, she was gorgeous, and from the texts, she seemed intelligent and funny and witty. Me – I was the same to him. I was the exact same fucking girl he met from the same fucking café I was still working in, and I was still the same fucking girl with the same look, the same shitty humour and the same routine.

But now I was pissed. Livid, angry, bitter, indignant, and every other fucking synonym for pissed in the thesaurus. I packed up everything that he owned and everything he’d ever given to me. I stuffed it all – carelessly, mind you – in two duffel bags and I threw them outside my door before storming down to the training room with the burner phone in hand, where I knew he’d be with Steve, Sam and Natasha.

Opening the door quietly, I glanced around the room until my eyes landed on Bucky. He was sparring with Nat, clearly working extremely hard, you know, pulling his punches and dodging blows too slowly and such. Skipping class seemed to be having an effect on him.

I waited patiently for around five minutes, mouthing to Steve that you wanted to talk privately with Bucky but that I’d wait until he was finished. I plastered on a fake smile, attempted to relax my body, but I could tell that my try to seem… indifferent was failing. And when Bucky stopped and turned to see me leaning against the doorframe, I could tell he knew I was failing too.

“You good, doll face? Is anything wrong?” he spoke with such care in his voice that I literally felt my heart tug, but it was then clouded by the rage that was storming around inside of me.

I smiled even wider. “Of course, Buck. Everything’s fine. I just have to speak to you, privately, if you don’t mind.”

I watched as I saw panic flitter across his face. Of course, it was quickly masked by his classic blank expression, but I caught it and I fucking savoured it. He nodded before grabbing his bag and heading down the hall with me.

Neither of us spoke or uttered a word until we reached the door to our room. And when we did, I stopped right beside his duffels, my arms crossed against my chest, as I took in the confusion that broke his blank expression.

“Those are my bags,” he stated, his eyes flickering between me and his possessions.

“Mm. They are.”

Bucky stared at me, and then, oh then, he finally saw the phone that I’d pulled out of my pocket. “That – that’s my phone.”

“It is?” I feigned shock, my eyebrows pulling together as I, too, looked at the phone that was proudly displayed in my hand. “But Buck – this phone has pictures of a naked girl on it. And some really, really intimate texts. This can’t be your phone, no.”

Bucky’s face changed quickly from confusion to anger, and he took a step towards me, towards his lies. “Stop fucking with me, Y/N –”

And shit, did I see red the second those words left his mouth.

“You’re the one that’s been fucking with me, you hypocritical, deceitful asshole!” I screamed at him, launching the phone at his chest. He caught it, but it would’ve been so much better if he didn’t.

“I know you’re angry –”

“You don’t know the half of how angry I am, James,” I hissed, relishing his wince at the name he heard so little of. At least, from me. “I hate you. I hate that you made me think you were a good guy, or that for once I had found a good guy. I hate everything to do with you apart from my friends and I hate that you made me think you loved me.”

He started for me, but I stepped back, unfortunately tripping over his bags as I did so. He reached to help me up, but I just shuffled even further back, staying on the floor before I just… curled up and cried. God, I hate that I cried. I promised myself I’d be strong, that I’d get through it this time without being a fucking mess and I failed. Just like how I failed at yet another relationship.

“Y/N, doll, I love you, I promise I do. I didn’t want you to find out like this,” his words were sweet, like a child reciting lines from a play.

“Stop fucking doing that!” I screeched, pulling at my hair. My mascara was probably running down my cheeks along with my tears now, so not only was I looking like a crazy, enraged bitch, but I felt like one too. “Stop telling me you love me, stop calling me doll, stop telling me all these shitty promises you know you don’t mean! You knew the fucking consequences, James, you’re not an idiot!”

“I…” he looked lost and torn, just staring at me like he didn’t know what to do with me. “I didn’t…”

I scoffed. “Let me guess, you didn’t want me to find out like this? Or, let’s see, at all? How long was this supposed to happen until you told me? Were you ever going to tell me?”

“It wasn’t supposed to happen at all, I prom – I mean it,” he stopped himself, carefully walking towards me before sitting down. “It was never, never supposed to happen. Not – not this time.”

I just looked at him, my walls broken and my heart tugging and pulling in every direction but his. I guess he took that as a means to carry on.

“At first, I got drunk. That’s a shitty excuse… no, I just had a drink and I saw her. Abigail. At a bar downtown. And I swear, that night nothing but a kiss happened between us.”

“Well,” I rolled my eyes. “Ain’t I a lucky girl. I mean, all you guys did was kiss. Harmless,” I added bitterly.

“Jesus, Y/N, could you let me finish without the snarky commentary?” Bucky snapped, running a hand through his hair.

I laughed through my tears and stood up; enough was fucking enough. “No, you can’t, James. I don’t wanna hear how it happened, I don’t wanna hear how you love her now instead of me, and I don’t wanna hear your fucking voice again. Take your bags and piss off, go live with Abigail, I don’t care. I’m sure you’ll be much happier with her.”

“Y/N –”

I didn’t know what he was going to say. I never gave him a chance to. I simply shut the door in his face, locked the hatch. Avoided him and gave myself some time to heal. I still saw him in the compound, in the training room, at breakfast. Some months down the road and we were beginning to be civil again, but I didn’t think we’d ever truly be friends again.

Irony’s a bitch.

#bucky barnes #bucky x reader #bucky angst #angst #cheating #tony stark #marvel #avengers #oneshot #steve rogers #clint barton #sam wilson #natasha romanoff #wanda maximoff #pietro maximoff