#LIKE???????? STEVES MOLE HAS ALWAYS BEEN ON HIS BOTTOM LEFT CHEEK. | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

keroujack · 3 years

Note

aside from opening up/sharing his feelings, what do you think billy struggles with the most when he transitions from being an island (always alone, untrusting, etc) to being part of a loving relationship w steve?? I can't imagine it's easy and I am interested in hearing if you have any hcs about little behaviors or things he has to adjust

ooF THIS IS A GOOD ONE, and ig this sort of goes along with what you’re saying but

i think one of the things that billy doesn’t understand, that takes the longest to adjust to, is that he has somewhere to go now. when things go wrong at home

he doesn’t want to bother steve and he doesn’t want to look like a sob story and even though he does go to steve’s more often than not, sometimes he doesn’t. doesn’t want steve to see the bruising on his cheeks, the blood on his mouth, the red rings around his eyes

doesn’t want to be a burden

so nine times out of ten, he’ll go to steve’s, but that rare One (1) Time, he’ll sleep in his car. will sneak into school early to catch a shower in the locker room and walk around all day in the hoodie he keeps in the trunk of his car because it’s clean (he specifically keeps it clean for days like this)

only, one morning, before he can get out of the car and run to the locker room before anyone can see him, he hears the wrap of a fist against the window

wakes with a gasp and opens his eyes, sees steve’s staring back at him, through the glass. brow knitted tight, with concern, confusion

billy runs a hand through his hair, blinks the sleep out of his eyes, gets out of the car and goes for casual even though he knows his lip is split, that there’s gotta be a stain of purple somewhere along his jaw

he stands and shoves his hands into his pockets, leans with his shoulder against the camaro. smiles even though it’s going to reopen the cut and knows he’s right when he runs his tongue over it and tastes copper

steve’s not smiling, though. not like he is. doesn’t look happy to see him. like he normally does

billy tries to play it off, drags his eyes down steve’s body, the sweater he’s got stretched across his shoulders, his chest, the dark jeans that always make his legs look long and the white nikes that are so well-worn, the bottoms are starting to look a little brown

says, “morning, pretty boy,” all lazy. easy. like he does on mornings when they wake up in bed, in steve’s bed. together

but the words don’t make steve smile, don’t make steve’s cheeks go red like billy wants

“were you out here all night?” his voice is pinched, pained, and billy hates it. doesn’t understand why exactly it’s pulled so tight like that

tries, again, to play it off with a half a shrug, brings a shoulder up towards his ear and lets it go. “just a couple hours,” he says, keeps the smile on his lips so that steve’ll know that he’s okay, that he’s fine, it’s fine. “don’t worry about it”

he isn’t expecting the way steve’s face falls.

the way his eyes widen, the way his mouth drops open

the way the words leave his mouth with something like a gasp. “don’t worry about it?” billy’s got another shrug ready, a nope waiting on the tip of his tongue, but steve doesn’t give him the chance to say it. keeps going. “i get a call from max at two o’clock in the morning that you left and never came home and i’m not supposed to worry about it?”

billy hesitates at that. breathes. swallows. understands that steve’s upset, but doesn’t want him to be. doesn’t want to be another thing steve has to worry about all the time

“i didn’t ask her to do that,” he says, and the way steve narrows his eyes tells him it was the wrong thing to say

but it’s the truth, and billy’s not a liar. he could’ve said a million different things, could’ve told a million different lies to play it off, but he doesn’t do that

not with steve. he’s always been a little too honest with steve

steve, who says, “that’s not the point and you know it,” without a shred of doubt and sends billy’s heart to sit heavier in his chest, an anchor that holds him in place, that keeps his eyes locked in steve’s, is looking right at him when he asks, “why didn’t you come over?”

wants to look away, but can’t. blinks, to try and fight it. shakes his head, brings his shoulder back up, less to shrug and more to protect himself. to hide himself away

“didn’t want to bug you,” he says, and only just keeps his breath from catching when steve takes another step closer

closer than he normally does, in public, but it’s still so early that they’re the only ones in the parking lot, will be the only ones there for a while

billy can see the pink, the morning flush hidden high in his cheeks. the dark warmth hidden in his irises. the disbelief hidden in his mouth, his voice, his tone

“why would you be bugging me?”

“i don’t know,” and billy finally does lose steve’s eyes at that. lets them drift low, focuses them, locks them on the three little moles that dot steve’s cheek, that billy likes to trace his thumb over, likes to trace his lips over. “it was kinda late”

“max said you left around ten.”

he did, and he doesn’t try to deny it. tries instead to hide some more

“didn’t know if you were asleep,” he says, which is technically the first lie he’s told all morning

knows he’s caught when all steve says is, “billy,” because billy knows for damn sure that steve doesn’t sleep right, that the earliest he goes to sleep is one or two and that the only time he actually sleeps through the night is when billy is there in the bed next to him

is powerless to the finger steve hooks under his chin, the one steve uses to tilt his head up, to make him look him in the eyes

to send the truth to come spilling out

“you’re gonna get sick of it,” billy says, and maybe it’s not the whole truth, but it’s closer, and if the way steve tilts his head is anything to go by, he knows that, too

even if his voice is pitched up. even if it’s soft. the thumb he runs along billy’s chin, even softer

“gonna get sick of what?”

“you know,” he says, and reaches out, hooks two fingers through one of steve’s belt loops. needs to touch him somehow. to ground himself. steady himself. "dealing with me. with all this shit”

“i’m not dealing with anything,” steve says, serious. even. honest. “whether you like it or not, i actually like. give a fuck about you.”

billy feels his fingers tighten in steve’s belt loop, feels the way the air leaves his lungs, his nose when he sighs. “steve-”

“and what i’m gonna get sick of,” steve starts, and taps on billy’s chin to make sure he’s paying attention, that he’s listening, as if billy’s ever paying attention to anything else, to anyone else, “is you pretending like you gotta go this alone.”

and he pauses there. holds billy’s eyes and lets the air, the silence settle heavy around them. lets it rattle in billy’s skull, fill the empty gaps in his chest.

“i don’t care what time it is or even if you gotta sleep over every night of the week,” he says, and slides his hand over so that he’s holding the side of billy’s neck, palm warm and wide and sure. “you know i got room for you.”

and the way he says it, slow and confident, lets billy know that there’s more hidden in the words than steve wants to give away

that he’s not just offering billy a place to stay, but a place in his life, in his heart

“i know,” billy says, because he does, hopes steve can hear the me too and the i got room for you, too he’s got hiding in them, just below the surface. “i know.”

“okay,” steve says. tilts his head forward and leans his forehead against billy’s for a second, doesn’t kiss him because they’re still too far in the open. they might be alone, but alone doesn’t exactly mean safe in a place like hawkins, but billy knows he wants to, knows he would, if he could, and for right now, for right here, that’s enough. “you’ll come over next time?”

and billy nods, knows it’s enough when he says, “yeah,” but tacks on a, “promise,” anyway, so that steve knows he’s serious

that next time, he’ll be there

next time, he’ll remember he doesn’t have to go it alone

that there’s room for him in steve’s life just like there’s room for steve in his, and can only hope there always will be

#harringrove #harringrove hc #my hc #steve harrington #billy hargrove #hectordelavega #ask

169 notes · View notes

catharrington · 4 years

Text

@harringroveweekoflove day 5: isolated together and first time.

Too Fast For Love

Billy Hargrove is dead. This man is a nameless soldier. A diligent worker bee who gets his job done and doesn’t back talk. This man doesn’t even know today’s a holiday. Billy Hargrove is dead. This man isn’t Billy Hargrove. He can’t be. Could he?

(Brainwashed and memory wipe Billy. Steve makes a really good rescue mission to get him back that doesn’t at all involve him getting captured and tortured. Yeah it does. Happy Valentine’s Day.)

***

Hargrove didn’t know what the date today was. He didn’t know the red and pink cardboard trinkets that was being passed with hurried hands and soft words. He didn’t know the confessions of adoration painting the calm sky a rainbow of love. He didn’t know what the date today was.

Hargrove only knew it was a Friday, and there was a prisoner in cell S8 that needed to be loosened up.

A strong hand landed on his shoulder in a painful way. Looking up he saw his General. The man was a storm just looking to ruin people with his thunder. Hargrove knew the pain of that hand on his skin so well he didn’t even flinch. Not much made Hargrove finch anymore.

His General leaned down to whisper something in the Mother language. Hargrove was slow and didn’t understand fully, but he picked up on the inclusion of what ever means necessary. That made the short hairs on the back of his neck stand up. He kept his eyes trained hard on the cement floor of the hallway, knowing he would get into trouble if he made eye contact without permission. So Hargrove just listened as best he could to the orders given to him.

Without moving his hand from the tight grip on Hargrove’s shoulder, his General all but lead him by his shoulder pads down the hall way and to the locked cell S8. His General’s fingers were thin probes into the heavy fabric. He leaned down again to rush more orders. Sounded vaguely like save some for the rest of us. Then his grip was a short clap and he walked away.

Hargrove stood in front of the door like he had done a hundred times because he didn’t know the date.

The door creaked open slowly, boots echoed as they walked inside, and the fluorescent lighting from one bare strip flashed as if it knew something was coming. Hargrove let the door fall closed behind him so he didn’t have to take his eyes off the prisoner in the middle of the room. The table that was usually reserved for the center was pushed against a wall. Hanging where that table should be was a tall, thin, brown haired boy. A long, long line of chain pooled a little at the floor and then snaked up his lean body to where his arms were locked securely into metal rings drilled into the ceiling. It was all very savage, but that’s how His General liked it.

The boy was knocked out cold. His head fell to one side and he was soft almost in the way his messy long hair fell. Hargrove walked into the room stiffly.

Any means necessary rang in his cold ears. That was usually not reserved for him. Usually he heard that from other guards, the few who would actually speak with him, and he only recently let it click what that meant. Hargrove’s few jobs were spelled out for him. Carved almost into his skin so he made sure to not forget it. Giving him an open invitation like any means necessary was strange. But Hargrove could feel it in his bones how pleasant it would be to get some relief from these concrete confines if just for a few minutes. An escape into warm skin and chocolate hair.

Something kicked inside of Hargrove then, a frame of yellow and the musk of steam flashed behind his eyes only for a moment.

Waking towards the boy in the middle of the room was intoxicating. His boots kept ringing with each step so loudly it’s a shame it didn’t wake him up. But the boy still slept. So Hargrove felt along the table top at the instruments left in the tray. They were cleaned and must have been placed here just for him. Hargrove let his fingers rest on a crooked pair of scissors at the very end of the tray. These would work well.

Stepping back to the boy he let one hand lift into that mess of brown so he could pull his head back. The boys face was just as pretty as his hair. Milk colored pale skin flushed with red marks over his temple and cheek where he’d been struck. His throat was long and just as soft with moles dotting his skin like stars in the night sky leading down into his sweater collar. When the boy swallowed thickly it was remarkable. Hargrove had loosened information out of dozens of people, hundreds maybe, not one was like this.

Hargrove let his fingers remain in that soft, warm hair, while his other hand dragged the scissors down the boys sweater. Now from that motion he did begin to wake up, letting out a soft groan of discomfort and stirring in his chains. They jingled loudly as the boy snapped awake.

“Wha- what?” He gasped, darting his eyes around the room, “stop it! Stop it!” He started to say but his words stopped in his throat as quickly as they came when his eyes finally met Hargrove’s own.

“Billy?” The name came from his lips and across Hargrove’s face like a comet streaking the sky brilliant and on fire.

Hargrove had to steady himself, remind himself of the whip with his name on it if he didn’t do his job.

He asked the boy for his name in the Mother language and then again in crystal clear English. “Tell me your name.” The boy could only look on with his mouth hanging open slightly. “Is your name Billy?”

The boy laughed at that. Actually laughed. “My name? My name... my name is not Billy,” he sputtered about with his words. “Your name is Billy.”

Hargrove shoved the top of his scissors into soft belly not just to shut the boy up but to distract his thoughts from another flash of yellow lights in a yellow room. His name was not Billy. He didn’t have a first name. He was simply Hargrove and did exactly what His General ordered him to.

Pulling the hair slightly before letting go, Hargrove grabbed the bottom hem of the boys sweater. He pulled it taught to ready the scissors to cut. “I ask questions and you answer. No answers and there is consequences.” He spoke harshly. The line was black and white memorized right off a paper. He opened the thick metal handle and let the scissors start cutting into the fabric of the sweater.

The boy groaned again as he pulled in his chains. They rang out in a pretty way as they held against his thrashing. “Stop it, Billy!” He repeated again like an idiot.

Hargrove simply repeated asking him for his name and felt satisfaction as the sweater gave way more and more under him. He turned his scissors path up one arm, going all the way to the wrist, before he grabbed the boy’s other wrist and went down to the cut. The heavy sweater fell away limply to the ground.

Brown hair had become more messy and some even fell over his luminous brown eyes. His arms bent and twisted in the wrappings of the chain but one hand was still held roughly in place. The boy looked down at himself and back up in an almost pleading way.

Pleading. Hargrove has seen it but never like this.

Moving his hands down slowly, expertly, meaningfully, Hargrove dragged his big hands down the now exposed pale arms. He wanted to stop at every mark and every mole and memorize that skin but he couldn’t. Every minuscule ounce of fight was being used to power back another flash of that damned yellow room, covered in steam, and smelling so sweetly of a shampoo he couldn’t place the name of. But he could smell that shampoo now, clinging to his fingers that were in the chocolate mess of hair, and it was poison.

“Billy...,” the boy was breathing heavy. “Billy- William Hargrove!” He spoke the name like it was important. “That is your name! I came here to get you back, Billy!” His chest was rising and falling so hard. Hargrove let his fingers continue their exploration down those naked arms to a cotton t-shirt he wore under the sweater. It was black and thinned from being older, but the colors on it were still vibrant red. ‘Motley Crue’ spelt out in curved block lettering above a black and white line up of familiar faces. Faces just as familiar as the boy who was watching him almost expectantly.

Hargrove let his mind crack a little under that yellow light, “who,” he started to ask as he read the shirt over and over again. ‘Too Fast For Love’ printed in red text.

But he couldn’t defect from his orders. The whip would rip his skin. “What is your name!” He demanded again. He reverted back to the Mother language.

The boy whimpered this time, tears swelling up in is eyes. Maybe from the pain of his shirt being angrily crumpled in Hargrove’s hands, but more so from the pain of longing. “You know my name!” He pushed back, the chains noisy from the force. “Billy Hargrove, piece of shit just moved down to Hell, Indiana from Sunshine, California. You drive a blue Chevy Camaro that I always thought was so damn cool. You have a little sister that you say you hate but I know- I know! You don’t hate her even a little bit! You wear dirty band t-shirts, and big shitty boots, and have huge shitty curly hair... and you looked at me all the way... not just through me but really at me...” The boy’s words trailed off as his whimpers sprung from his eyes in tears. “You gave me a red and pink card this day last year with some dumb song lyrics on it that I still keep under my pillow when I sleep.”

Hargrove’s hand let go of his iron grip on the boy’s t-shirt as his mind flashed with that card. He knew it was cut in the shape of a heart and remembered exactly what song he wrote down to try and impress his crush. Like a wave crushing into him he could see the card completely. And his mind kept beating down the door to his conscious with more flashes of that yellow room.

“You know my name, Billy.” The boy was pleading again. His voice trembling but still somehow so strong it was making Hargrove furious. “Please, please, tell me you know my name?”

Hargrove opened his mouth and a small sound clawed at the back of his throat. The yellow was forming into a memory of this boy: shampoo on his hair and skin flushed hot in a shower, angry as he glared at him but with that anger something else. Something more wistful. Hargrove felt weak in a way that was so unlike the soldier he had spent eons training to become as he let the noise come out his throat.

“Steve,” he whispered, “Steve Harrington.”

The boy, Steve, rewarded him with an angelic melody of laughter. Laughter in a place like this.

“Billy!,” he sang through the tears.

Hargrove, no, Billy had to brace himself on something as his mind churned in pain. He reached out his hands and held onto Steve’s waist like a buoy in the ocean.

Steve was a mess of pleased noises as he leaned into his captor. Their foreheads pressed against each other, sweat thick from the small space, and it didn’t mater that it hurt. “Billy, Billy,” Steve kept repeating between joyful tears.

Billy looked up into those brown eyes, one red from a punch, and he wasn’t scared anymore about a whip some low life general thinks would hurt him. Nothing can hurt Billy as long as he has the blessing of these eyes on him.

“Steve Harrington,” he whispered in awe.

Then with a smile on his pretty face Steve leaned in the inch between their lips and kissed him. His lips were soft, and wet, and so warm to the touch Billy felt his own burning. His hands on Steve’s hips gripped tightly saying he never wanted to let go. The chains above their heads and down Steve’s body rattled a reminder of their situation. They both leaned away from the kiss as slow as they could, wishing to have more time.

“That’s our first kiss,” Billy let himself whisper softly into swollen red lips.

Steve chuckled low. His hands worked again in the chains and they both looked up. “I mean it’s kinda kinky. I think I like it, haven’t decided.” And even with tears in his eyes Steve was still so beautiful when he smiled.

Billy leaned in again and took another kiss, moving his lips with a hunger, wanting nothing more than to spend life just kissing into the taste of Steve Harrington.

But Steve pulled away with a rushed whisper. “Billy, I know, me too,” he groaned, “but we really need to get out of here.”

That was a tough decision, to continue kissing while Steve could do nothing about It sounded so very nice. But he was right as he mostly is and the need to escape from this prison was number one on the list.

Maybe Billy will save this idea until next Valentine’s Day. Now that he could finally remember the date.

#harringrove #harringrove fic #harringroveweekoflove #steve/billy #my fic #tw torture

65 notes · View notes

a-splash-of-stucky · 6 years

Text

I Know This Game | Nine

Pairings: Bucky x Foster!Reader

Summary: In which ALL is revealed, and you make a difficult decision.

Warnings: SAD!Bucky (like, really sad), mentions of sex

Notes: You’re gonna need some tissues.

IKTG Masterlist

“It was—,”, Bucky sighs and shakes his head ruefully, “I don’t have the same way with words as you doll, but I guess it was kinda slow, pretty gradual. I realised it was happening pretty late in the game, but I think I was in love with you for a long time,”.

Bucky slowly reaches across the table and cautiously rests his flesh hand on top of yours; you don’t pull away. “You were so patient, so understanding, so kind to me,” he says softly, “You had this…this intuition about me. When to let me make my own choices, but not to make me choose when I was overwhelmed, or make me choose between too many things. It was always this or that. And slowly, we worked it up to this or that or that. And—you can’t believe how much of a help that’s been,”.

There are tears gathering in his eyes, so you twist your hand around so that your palm is facing upwards and use your thumb to soothe small circles on the back of his hand. Bucky smiles wistfully at the gesture.

“That’s not the only thing you’ve done for me, sweetheart. You’ve done so many things, things you’re probably not even aware you were doing but—,” he cuts himself off as a tear rolls down his cheek, shaking his head dolefully. When Bucky looks into your eyes, even the dumbest of fools could not mistake the sincerity in his gaze, “I always appreciated what you did for me, doll. Don’t you ever think otherwise,”.

The shattered remains of your heart flare with joy at that.

“I knew I loved you,” Bucky says, eyes focused on where your hands are clasped together, “I’d forgotten what it was to love. The only people I’ve really ever loved where my parents and my sisters, and Steve, I guess—but that’s not the kind of love it was like with you,”. Bucky’s gaze shifts to your face and he cocks his head to the left, deep in thought. “It was like…I was sinking, but I didn’t want to swim my way to the top. At first I was scared, ‘cause I didn’t wanna hurt you, but—I just let myself sink,”. He lets out a watery chuckle, “And when I got to the bottom, I let it embrace me. And with you—it’s like I realised I could breathe underwater,”. Bucky looks so unsure of himself that you can’t help but give his hand a little squeeze. The corner of his lips twitch in response.

“You know the first time I realised?” Bucky asks. When you shake your head mutely, he continues, “It was when you and I had our first picnic in the garden, do you remember?”

“Yeah,” you laugh breathlessly, “Yeah, I remember,”.

It had been a wonderfully crisp spring day, some six months after you moved into the compound. You’d decided to take your session with Bucky outside, spreading out a proper picnic blanket — courtesy of Pepper — with plenty of food. Bucky had looked so content, sitting with his palms behind him, face turned towards the sun, a tiny smile playing on his lips. The two of you had talked, but it wasn’t a very rigid or particularly structured session; things felt more organic, the conversation flowing freely. It was one of the first times where your interactions crossed the line from strictly professional, to something more intimate.

“It was one of the best days I’d had in a long time,” Bucky admits, “I said something — can’t remember what it was, now — and you laughed. Honest-to-god laughed, a proper big one,”. He’s grinning now, lost in the memory, and you can’t help but smile along with him. “Your entire face lit up brighter than the sun, and your eyes shone like two gigantic stars. And you looked so goddamn gorgeous, and the sound was so pretty, I—that laugh made me feel happier than anything else in this world. Made my heart skip a beat and helped fuse together the random pieces of my mind floating around inside here,” he says, knocking his temple with his free hand. “And I just knew that I wanted to make you laugh like that again,”.

“And you did,” you murmur comfortingly, not missing the way his face falls after saying that.

Bucky gives you a self-depreciating chuckle. “Yeah, guess I did. You know what else made me sure? That I loved you?”

You’re not sure if he actually wants an answer or not, but you say “What?” nonetheless.

“Babydoll, you were the person to show me that I could use this,” Bucky waves his metal hand around, “For something other than destruction. For pleasure, specifically,”.

“It was very pleasurable,” you confess, winking at him playfully to lighten the mood. The lopsided smirk you get in return makes your heart tighten with longing.

“There are other things,” Bucky continues, “Millions of things, so many that I could fill whole books, doll. Or, well, I would, if I could actually write. But we’ll digress from the story if I go into them now,”.

“Back to you and Nat?” you murmur.

He nods in agreement, “Back to Nat and I. Right. So, once I realised that I had feelings for you, like proper, feelings for you, I told her and we cut things off. This was before we ever did anything even vaguely romantic together,”.

Your brows furrow, because things just…don’t add up.

“Right, well, now we’re getting into the good stuff,” Bucky sighs, leaning back into his chair. “We — that is, the Avengers and I — figured that there had to be a spy in the compound,”.

“A spy?” you echo, “What—how?”

“A couple of months after we started dating, the team had a number of bust missions,”, Bucky says slowly, clasping his hands together and resting them on the edge of the table. “Budapest, Vienna, Jakarta, a few more. Everything from being ambushed, to lousy intel, to hostages, to the bad guys getting there before we could, you name it. And it was all…too perfect, too in the nick of time, so we figured there had to be someone leaking out sensitive info,”.

“At first, we couldn’t see a pattern; they all seemed unrelated. And worse still, not all the missions we went on, went south. It was kind of luck of the draw, until Steve and that big brain of his realised that all the missions that were going bust were HYDRA-related in some way,”.

Your eyebrow quirks up in interest.

Bucky’s getting into it now, hands moving animatedly as he recounts his tale. “Not HYDRA, per se — there’s hardly anything left of them — but a lot of the facades they’d set up over the years were still in place and starting to act up. So this raised the question: alright, so who’s the HYDRA rat? The only people that have access to this info besides us are the STRIKE team, so we figured it had to be one of them,”.

You scrunch your nose in disapproval. The STRIKE team provided extra support for the Avengers in whatever form they might require, usually in the form of extra man power. You’d had a few brushes with the team members over your couple of years in the compound and you didn’t like any of them one bit. Big ugly brutes; way too macho and aggressive for your taste.

“We didn’t want to call their bluff too early, ‘cause we wanted to see how deeply HYDRA had breached our security,”, Bucky explains.

You’re getting more and more confused. “I don’t see how this relates to you and Nat,”.

Bucky nods sympathetically. “I know, doll, we’re getting to that part, I just got a few more pieces of the puzzle to show you,”. He clears his throat, “So, it was no secret to any of us that HYDRA wanted me back,”.

You grimace because you hate thinking about the atrocities that Bucky had had to go through in those years. Alone, no less. You weren’t a violent person by nature, but you had a strong urge to rip the people who’d hurt him apart, limb from limb. Bucky, sensing your distress, gives you a placating smile. “Don’t worry, sweetheart, no one in the team was gonna let that happen, especially not with Steve around,”. The two of you chuckle fondly; the Cap was known for being a little paranoid over matters concerning his childhood best friend.

“But the point is, they wanted me back. Makes sense, right? They invested a whole lot of time and effort and money into me, the Fist of HYDRA, their greatest asset, so they’re not gonna let me just walk away. Either they have me, or no one has me. And we figured that if there was a mole in the compound, ultimately, they would attempt to get me back. Because with the Soldier under their control, HYDRA would be able to rebuild much faster,”.

Bucky takes both your hands in his, as if he needs to take some strength from you. When he gazes into your eyes, you see the vulnerability in his stare. “And…if they knew what you meant to me, sweetheart, they wouldn’t hesitate to use you against me. They’d take you and manipulate you, just so they could get me back,”.

You suck in a surprised breath at his statement. It’s not too far-fetched to believe; after what those monsters did to him, you’re certain that nothing is beneath them.

“And I’d go after you, sweetheart,” Bucky says, his voice wavering, but sincere. “Don’t you for a second think that I wouldn’t. I would tear this world apart, bring down heaven and raise the Devil from hell itself if that’s what I had to do to get you back. You’re my everything, sweetheart, my everything,”. Buck turns away and chokes back a wretched sob. You don’t have it in you to doubt him, so you squeeze his hands reassuringly, a silent show of your faith in him.

“I know, Buck,” you whisper, “My love, I know you would,”.

He smiles wetly. “A part of me lives inside you. I’m not whole without you,” he murmurs, paraphrasing some of the words you’d said to him in your letter. Bucky pulls his human hand out of yours and wipes away his tears with an exhausted sigh, “So that’s why we had to keep our relationships under wraps,”, he tells you.

You hum in understanding, pieces of the puzzle starting to fall into place. Bucky had been very insistent that as few people as possible knew about your relationship. You’d assumed — and he hadn’t said anything to lead you to think otherwise — that it was because he just wanted to keep you to himself for a while. Being in a group as high-profile as the Avengers meant that many aspects of Bucky’s life were under scrutiny by the general public, so he treasured any scrap of privacy he could have. The only people in the compound who were in on your little secret was the rest of the team; Sam, Steve, Tony and Nat. Now, his behaviour and requests make a lot more sense.

“Yeah,” he says, smiling when he sees the understanding flicker across your face, “Think about it, who knew about us — just the team right? To everyone else, you were just my therapist. Even allowing you to be seen as a close friend was risky,”.

Bucky’s fingers twitch as he pauses. His eyes are dark, but have a far-off look in them, as if whatever he has to say next really hurts. “We had to throw their scent off further,” he says quietly, “I couldn’t risk them knowing about us. We tossed a few ideas around, but agreed that the ultimate way was to pretend that I had a private, yet illustrious affair with Natasha herself. It would make sense to them. I already had history with her, so they’d think I was just acting on old urges,”.

“And if they ever got Natasha,” Bucky adds, with a little shrug, “She’s been held captive before, potentially by worse people. I’m sure she could take it. She rather it were her, than you,”

“She’d do that for me?” you breathe, voice quietly incredulous, “She would…I guess, sacrifice herself for me?”

Bucky nods, a tiny smile on his lips, “Yeah doll. She saw what you and I were. She’d do that for us,”.

Suddenly, you feel extremely guilty for ever questioning the strength of the friendship between you and Nat. You should’ve know that although she may have had a dark past, her fierceness of character and sense of loyalty to the people she cared for would never waver.

“So, we had to keep it private,” Bucky continues, “Yet make sure that the people who we thought might be rats — the STRIKE team — were in the know. That’s why Nat and I started going on a lot of missions with them, and being…well, touchy, around them, I guess,”.

Your face twists into a grimace at the thought of them together, your mind conjuring up images of when they had been incredibly touchy with one another. Bucky seems to notice this, as he is quick to add, “She treated it like an extended mission, love, and so did I. I was never in love with her. I—I just took it as a job, right? It was always just part of my job, keeping you safe,”.

“You know how hard it was to lie to you?” he says urgently, hands clutching yours a little tighter. Bucky’s eyes burn with intense desperation, he wants you to believe him so badly. “It broke my heart every time I had to lie to you, every time I had to touch her. I wish I didn’t have to, doll. I really did. We had to—there was so much we had to do to make sure you didn’t find out. God, I never wanted to hurt you, love, but I didn’t know what else I had to do to keep you safe,”.

“How long did it go on for?” you ask quietly.

Bucky hesitates and your heart is filled with a sinking feeling. You’re not going to like his answer.

“About nine months,”, he says, at last.

Your eyes widen, because that is…practically all the time that the two of you were dating.

“That doesn’t mean I didn’t mean what I said to you!” Bucky insists, squeezing your hands harder when he feels you starting to withdraw. “Please, doll, you gotta believe me, I never, ever, loved her, it was only ever you in my heart of hearts,”, he says, conviction lacing his tone. You search his face for any sign that he is lying, but then again, how would you know? Apparently, he’s been lying to you for almost your entire relationship, and you didn’t notice then, why would you notice now? Your confusion is only heightened.

“Please, doll,” Bucky whispers brokenly, eyes bright with unshed tears.

“So what about…the whole…incident?” you ask, fighting to keep your expression as cool and neutral as possible. You pray the you won’t have to specify which ‘incident’ you’re referring to.

Bucky flinches, not wanting to say the next bit. “It was set up,”.

“What?!” you exclaim, perhaps a little too loud. From behind the counter, Scott shoots you a curious look. You wince and say it again, quieter this time.

“Hear me out, okay?” Bucky pleads, “I had to push you away, love. Things were…getting too close, too heated. Nat and I—our cover was under question, some of the STRIKE team weren’t buying it so much, and the only thing any of us could do to keep you safe was to make you leave,”.

You are genuinely stunned. You’d thought that your friends had betrayed you, but really…they were trying to keep you safe? The knowledge doesn’t lessen the pain in the slightest. It had felt so real.

“How—how did it—you gotta tell me more, Bucky,” you say, voice trembling a little.

Bucky nods. “So I told JARVIS to send you down to the hangar. Nat and I got set up in the janitor’s closet — we purposefully left the door unlocked, d’you know that?”

You had found that detail particularly strange. Forgetting to lock the door didn’t seem like something that either of them would do, even in the heat of the moment. “So—you didn’t have sex with her?”

Bucky blushed profusely. “No, not sex. But, we had to make things look as convincing as possible, so she got naked and I had to—make it hard, which was a, uhh,” he trails off and laughs abashedly. “Um, embarrassing, I guess. I had to, y’know,” he makes a rude gesture with his hand and you roll your eyes, biting back a smirk. “But god bless her,” Bucky murmurs, “Took it all in stride. Very little fazes her,”.

His expression sobers and he looks at you intently. “With her, it was only ever that one time when she was drunk. You have to believe me doll, I would never ever cheat on you, you deserve so much better than that. I only ever wanted to keep you safe and make you happy, and I guess I did one but not the other,”, Bucky sighs.

“You did make me happy, Buck,” you whisper softly.

Bucky shrugs. “You shoulda seen Steve, after,” he says softly, “Wanted to come running after you. Steve doesn’t have it in him to be cruel. Even Tony and Sam were pretty shook up. Are still pretty shook up. Just because they weren’t in love with you doesn’t mean they didn’t care for you, doll,”.

“So all of them really were in the know?” you ask.

“Yeah. We spent a long time planning it, trying to make it as realistic as possible, trying to make it so you left the compound and severed all contact with us,” says Bucky. “And we figure that the only way it was going to happen for certain, was if you just felt…well, betrayed,”. He cracks, then, a harsh, wounded noise ripping free from his throat. A fat tear rolls down his cheek and you just manage to stop yourself from reaching across the table to swipe it away.

“I never wanted to hurt you,” Bucky sobs, “Honest, I never. None of us wanted to. None of us wanted to see you go. We were all hurt, love, I—even Natasha, you know? Felt so guilty. All of us felt so guilty,”.

You can’t bear to look at him anymore, fearing that your last reserves of control would be used up. You avert your gaze to stare at your lap, “Did you catch your rat?”

“Well, we figured out who he was,” Bucky replies, “Rumlow, the bastard. He got away before we could catch him. We’re trying to track him down, but the son of a bitch is pretty damn smart,”.

The two of you are silent for a long time. Bucky is anxiously waiting for your response, watching you through his lashes as you try to process the onslaught of information you’ve just received.

You’re utterly shocked. A whole slew of emotions are raging through your system — you don’t know whether you feel more angry, or upset, or grateful. It’s a real mixed bag, and your overtaxed mind is struggling to cope. You feel a lot better now that you know the truth, but the knowledge does hardly anything to dull the pain.

“You know how you don’t realise how much you need something until it’s gone?” Bucky asks timidly. His eyes flicker to yours to make sure that you’re listening. “That’s what it was like, losing you. I didn’t know that I was taking you for granted until I ripped us apart. I didn’t realise just how much I loved you until you were gone,”.

Bucky sits forward in his chair, brings both your hands up to his mouth and grazes his lips over your knuckles. “I love you, Y/N,” he whispers urgently, eyes glimmering with held-back tears, “I’ve never stopped loving you, sweetheart. And it’s okay if you don’t feel quite the same, I hurt you, I understand that, but—I never wanted to. I love you, sweetheart, you’re my everything,”.

If I keep my eyes closed, he looks just like you

The expression you wear betrays none of the turmoil raging inside you. You’re silent as you appraise the situation. This man sitting in front you is not who you thought he was, but at the same time, is. Ultimately, Bucky did what he thought he had to do to keep you safe, but can the end justify the means? You recognise that he had good intentions, but nevertheless, that doesn’t change the fact that he literally tore your heart out of your chest and stomped all over it. Was there really no other way to save you?

Your exhausted brain doesn’t know what to make of all this. The Bucky sitting in front of you looks like the Bucky you fell in love with — if a little rough and scruffy around the edges and gaunt from lack of sleep. But sometimes, when your mind plays tricks on you, you can’t help but see him in a different light. You see his lies for what they are — as well-intended as they may be — and you see the way he looked with Natasha tangled around him. You love him, but it’s not the same, and you don’t know if you can ever go back to loving him like that, not when you know too much. You want things to go back to the way they used to be, but know that that is not a possibility.

In a split-second, you know exactly what to do with yourself.

“Bucky, I love you too,” you say slowly. His face immediately brightens, his smile tugging at your heartstrings and making the hole in your chest ache with longing. “But I don’t know if it’s the same way I used to,”.

Bucky nods, and is about to open his mouth, but you stare him down, stopping his thought in its tracks. “You remember what I said in my letter? How all my relationships are the same? They end the same way—,”

“Yes, but doll—,”

“Let me finish,” you growl quietly, “Please,”.

Bucky bites his bottom lip and nods reluctantly.

“Before I can love anyone else, I need to learn to love myself,” you say, “I need to learn how to be whole on my own, without someone filling this—this chasm in my heart,”.

His brow furrows as he turns this piece of information over and over in his head. You forge on, “My heart—all it’s ever been is broken, or barely held together. I’ve—I’ve never given it time to heal, y’know? And maybe, once I’ve discovered what it means to be myself, without having to depend on other people, I’ll realise what I want. Maybe that’ll be you. That’d be nice. Or maybe, it won’t,”.

“So what’re you gonna do?” Bucky asks, not meeting your gaze.

“I’m gonna take a year for myself. Doing my work, travelling the world. No dating, no romances, just taking time for myself,” you say decisively, “And in a year, I’ll come back and reassess what I want,”.

“I’ll be waiting for you,” Bucky murmurs, lifting his head so you can see the glimmer of hope in his eyes.

You shake your head, “I don’t want you to do that,”.

He opens his mouth to protest, but you put a hand up to stop him.

“I might not come back to you,” you say. Your heart twinges with pain as you force your mouth to say those words. “I don’t know if I can come back to this,” you say, gesturing with your hands in expressive circles, “Not just because I feel betrayed, but because…I don’t know if I can handle the stress of you going out on missions and not knowing if you’ll come back. All these secrets. The—I believe in second chances, Bucky, but I don’t know if I have anymore to give,”.

Bucky’s eyes are brimming with tears and his bottom lip is wobbling and it is taking every ounce of self-restraint inside you to stay strong. “I’m not saying never,” you whisper, taking his metal hand in both of yours, “I’m just saying…that I need time to heal, and I don’t want to leave you with the false hope that I’m coming back. Maybe I will, maybe I’ll just be your friend, or maybe…not,”, you finish.

“Please don’t go,” Bucky pleads, tears leaving streaks of wetness down his cheeks, “Sweetheart, I—I need you,”. The anguished look on his face is steadily breaking down your walls.

Your own eyes are watering now, because goddammit, how is anyone supposed to hold it together when James Buchanan Barnes pulls his sad-puppy face on you? It’s always been your weakness, and now is no exception.

“Love—,” you have to cut yourself off to wrench back a sob, “Bucky, I still love you. That’ll never change, but--Buck, you gotta remember that I literally just broke up with Loki less than 12 hours ago. Don’t expect me to be jumping into anything anytime soon. In fact…I don’t know if I’ll ever be ready to jump back in at all, my love,”.

Bucky is absolutely shattered by this revelation, you can see this so clearly. “Babydoll, please,” he begs, “I—I’ll never find someone to replace you. No one can ever take your place in my heart, sweetheart—,”

“Bucky,” you say forcefully, perhaps a little more sharply than you intended, “You, of all people, know the value of being able to make your own choices. I ask you to respect mine. Let me make this decision for myself,”.

You can see that your words have hit him like a slap. Bucky jerks away looking absolutely crestfallen; you immediately want to take back what you’ve said, but know that your words have achieved their intended goal. “I’m sorry,” you whisper, stroking your thumb over the back of his hand, “I love you. Don’t doubt that. I just need to love myself, before I can…move on to the next chapter of my life,”.

Bucky smiles, but it’s only a shadow of what his real one looks like. “I love you too, doll. Always. Take as much time as you need sweetheart,” he says. His voice sounds exhausted.

“Can I—can I hug you? Before I go?” you ask timidly.

He grins as if you’ve just told him that you’re about to hand him the sun, or something. “Of course, doll,” he murmurs, stretching his arms out to the side.

You saunter over to the other side of the table, and arrange yourself across his lap as he wraps his muscular arms around you. You close your eyes and tuck your face into the side of his neck, inhaling his unique scent that reminds you of cuddles in a too-big bed and warm summer days spent in the compound gardens. You rake your fingers through the hairs at the nape of his neck, silky soft like they used to be.

If you keep your eyes closed, you can imagine that the two of you are back in your room in the compound. You can pretend that none of these things ever happened, that the universe did not try to drive the two of you apart. Bucky feels like he always has; large and strong and powerful, and you take comfort and security in his embrace. You don’t know if you’ll ever be able to have this again, so you cherish this moment, trying to memorise the curve of his body, the planes of his torso, the smell of his skin, the weight of his arms around your waist.

You don’t realise that you’re weeping quietly against his neck until he shushes you, hand stroking tenderly over your hair. “Shh, doll, it’s okay,” Bucky coos, but his voice sounds fragile, like he’s seconds from losing it himself, “It’ll all be okay,”. Bucky hooks his index finger under your chin and tips your head back, so you can look into each other’s eyes. A sad smile graces his plump lips as he uses his thumb to wipe away your tears. You note how his eyes linger on your lips for a heartbeat too long.

“Can I kiss you?” he breathes, all the hope in the world held in his tone.

“Y-yeah,” you reply, voice equally as quiet.

Your heart sings with joy when Bucky presses his lips to yours. You feel complete. This is what you want, what your body was made for, what your soul desires.

He keeps it completely chaste, content to just savour the pillowy softness of your lips against his. It’s tender, and gentle, and caring — everything that you’ve missed about him. You run your fingers over his face, trying to memorise the shape of his nose, the feel of his stubble against your fingertips, committing it all to memory. Before things can get too far, you both pull away, with no small amount of reluctance from either of you.

Bucky’s openly crying now, and you cup his jaw in both your hands, press a butterfly kiss to each cheek. “Take care of yourself for me, okay?” you whisper, trying to inject some humour in your voice.

He laughs mirthlessly. “Only if you promise to call, every now and then. If you ever wanna come to the compound, to see the rest of the gang, all you gotta do is ask,”.

“Deal,” you say softly.

A glance at the clock on the wall tells you it’s almost 8AM. The two of you have been sat here for almost three hours. Alarm bells in your brain remind you that you have to be at your office soon. “I—I gotta go, Bucky,” you say, with a wry smile, “I gotta go to my clinic to see a patient,”.

Bucky nods morosely, “Okay, doll,”.

“I’ll miss you,” you mumble, poking him in the sternum. Bucky catches your hand and presses a kiss to each of your knuckles, a gesture so tender, so filled with reverence, that it’s a wonder you have any self-restraint left at all.

“Not as much as I’ll miss you,” he quips, trying to muster up the cockiest smirk he can. There’s a little bit of sadness behind it, though. Bucky can’t hide the sorrow in his eyes.

You have nothing to say in response. Everything has been said.

With great difficulty, you force your muscles to let go of Bucky and get up. He waves off your offer of paying for the food, claiming that it’s the least he can do for you. Bucky watches in silence as you stuff your phone back into your pocket and slip on your jacket. You move as slowly as you can, half-hoping that he’ll say something to make you change your mind, whilst at the same time knowing that he won’t. He promised to respect your wishes, and that is exactly what he’ll do.

“Bye, Bucky,” you murmur, giving him some weak version of a wave.

The corner of his lips twitches into a little smile. “Bye, Y/N,”.

When you get to the door, you turn around to get one last look at Bucky, your lover, your best friend, your…soulmate. It takes all your effort to ignore the fact that every single fibre of your being is shrieking at you, telling you to follow him back to the compound, take your place in this universe beside him. The rational side of you knows that you need time to find yourself and discover who you really are, but the part of your soul tied to Bucky’s is saying that you have found yourself, that the missing pieces are with him.

Perhaps sensing your internal dilemma, Bucky calls, “Hey, Y/N?”

“Yeah?”

“Break your trend, okay? For once in your life, I wanna see you winning at your game,” he tells you.

You smile, because you know that this is Bucky’s way of telling you that he trusts you to make the right decision for yourself. If you love someone, you do what’s best for them. If that means letting them go so they can do what it takes to win the game, then that’s what you do.

That’s what Bucky’s doing.

“I will, my love,” you promise.

--------------------------------- Condensed tags: @feelmyroarrrr @valkyeries @hollycornish @buckingoffthebed @moonbeambucky @sanjariti @in-winchester-we-trust @badassbaker @retroasgardian @lostinspace33 @waywardpumpkin @jurassicbarnes @buchonians @katielu-blog @alohabucky @sarahmatthews7 @i-should-probably-be-asleep-rn @toongtii @barnesdeservestheworld @amrita31199 @amour-quinn @ugh-supersoldiers

#bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes angst #bucky x reader #bucky barnes fanfiction #bucky barnes imagines #bucky imagines #bucky barnes fanfic #i know this game #my writing #bucky barnes fluff

193 notes · View notes