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writefasttalkevenfaster · 6 years

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Sherlock Holmes / Stay (Part One)

As requested by Anon:

Request: Staying with Sherlock after asking for help with your stalker

This one took too long, and was too long. I was too excited when I saw a Sherlock request. I was riding an Elementary high, and I still am after the latest episode.

“I suppose you must have a very good reason for showing up on my doorstep, no less in New York,” Sherlock Holmes stepped aside, allowing your figure to pass him. “Though I had heard from my father that you had moved here from London to New York several months ago,” You brushed past him, doing your best to avoid his sharp gaze, just as you did when you walked out of his life exactly four years, seven months, and ten days ago. He attempted not to note each and everything that had changed in the nearly five years that he had gone without seeing you, but that only seemed an impossibility – already his mind was making a list: you had lost some weight, your eyes were gaunt, lips tightened in an artificial smile, and your body language was that of desperation. “And it seems that you do have a very good reason.”

You raised an eyebrow as he gestured for you to sit, and you did, in the large armchair you knew he preferred, “Should I tell you, or should I assume you already deduced it?”

“I think it would be best for you tell me yourself,” His tone softened as he noticed you squirm in your seat, clutching the hem of your skirt so tightly he could see the whites of your knuckles, “Y/N, please, what is it?”

“I have a stalker,” Your words were blurted out, as if you could hold them no longer, and nor could you hold the tears that fell from your cheeks. He rose to fetch you some tissues, funneling into energy into anything besides the urge of wanting nothing more, but to hold you. But he had to restrain himself, even as the old feelings of love and the desire to protect you kicked in, it wasn’t in either of your best interests nor would it help the situation. All the same, you stopped him in his tracks with a wave of your hand, “I’m sorry, it’s just,” your voice steadied and you forced your breathing to be even, “the last few days have been a lot.”

He nodded curtly, trying to ignore your tear stricken face, and focus on this case – your case. He crossed his arms, “When did you first learn about your stalker?”

“About a year ago,” You wrung your hands in your lap, looking up after wiping the evidence of your sobs away, “At first, it was phone calls – nothing on the line except breathing, and then someone would cut the phone. I thought it was just prank calls,” You chuckled at your own naivety, covering your mouth for a moment, “but then, it escalated to letters – sent to me every week about how much he loved me, how much he wanted me, and what he wanted to do to me.”

The words were spat out with disgust, your body practically convulsing at the thought, and his fists became much tighter, “Then he started leaving envelopes filled with my pictures on my doorstep, on my windshield, they had it mailed to me at my work, and I don’t know where they were getting them, or how they were taking them. There were even some,” Your voice wavered, and his shoulders stiffened, as he watched you struggle to even say the words “of me changing, and…of me with other men.” His anger was mounting, but his emotions were beside the point – he couldn’t allow it to cloud his judgement, but it wasn’t becoming increasingly difficult to do so. “I didn’t know how he got it, and when I called the police, they found hidden cameras placed around my apartment, and that means he had…been in there.”

And at that point Sherlock couldn’t take it, he knocked over several things off the table, much to your shock, as you jumped to your feet, and he stood there for a moment, before turning and asking the question he wanted to ask as soon as you started: “Why didn’t you ask me sooner?” You knew he was a world-class detective, you knew that he would have dropped what he was doing to help you, you knew he could catch this disgusting dredge of a human faster than anyone else and never let him see the light of day, but you didn’t know that he still –

“It was hard, Sherlock,” You approached him slowly, small footsteps now echoing through the empty brownstone, “to leave you all those years ago.”

“It didn’t seem that hard for you at the time,” He said, his gaze meeting yours, but you didn’t shy away this time, instead clasping your hands as if to stop yourself from touching him.

“Maybe not to you, but to me, it was one the hardest things I’ve ever done in my life,” You said, your words genuine, as one of your hands broke free, brushing gently against his cheek, “I didn’t want to leave you, Sherlock, but I had to, for you. And now I’m back, only because I have to.”

“For you?” He remarked, only for irony’s sake, but you shook your head, pulling something from your pocket.

“No, for him,” You handed him a picture and a report of a Detective Daniel Alvarez, of Manhattan PD, reported missing 24 hours ago when he did not show up for duty, and his meeting with his superior officer, “He was the detective assigned to my case. He’s gone missing.”

He rose a skeptical brow, as he reread the report, and it seems that his car was still at his house, along with his gun, badge, and other belongings, “Why do you think your stalker was the one who may have taken him?”

You pulled out an envelope, “This is the one he sent me yesterday before I found out Detective Alvarez was missing,” You shuffled through them, many of them were of you, just as you said, but then you stopped at one, handing it to him, but this time, it wasn’t of you – it was Alvarez, tied up and seemingly unconscious. The blood dripping down the side of his forehead was of particular concern. “and he included this,” you gave him a crudely written note, most likely written with the stalker turned kidnapper’s non-dominant hand, which stated, quite poetically – His life for yours – you will become mine, one way or another.

“How romantic.” He placed the note down carefully, before scratching his head, and reaching for his phone.

“Who are you calling?”

“Marcus Bell, a detective that I work with in Major Crimes, to inform him that we’re coming in with important information about a missing police detective,” But you only snatched the phone out of his hand, ending the call with lightning speed. “we can’t do this alone, Y/N,”

“Sherlock, I would have gone to the police, but the person who took him called me, they said not to involve the police. Why else would I come to you?” You groaned, shaking your head, as your shoulders slumped, as you put his phone down, “I would never put us through this if it wasn’t absolutely necessary.”

“Is it really so terrible to be in my presence again?” His words were dripping with sarcasm, but that was only hide the hurt that he felt at your words.

“It isn’t,” You murmured, turning away from him, before taking your seat again, “that’s the problem.” A silence fell over the both of you, before he faced you again, taking the phone from the table you placed it on.

“If we can’t speak to Marcus, then Watson will need to informed post-haste,” he took his phone, typing away and sending a message within a second. “She should be back from her personal appointment soon enough, and we can brief her on the case, but while we wait, we must make arrangements for you to stay here.” He strode off upstairs, leaving you sitting, until he heard you jump to your feet to follow behind him.

“Stay with you?” You repeated.

“Of course,” He opened a closet door, rifling through, looking for sheets and other necessities for guests. Did he have any clothes for you to wear while you were here? “From what I’ve gathered from your account, your stalker is highly meticulous, has been emboldened by your attempts to be rid of him, and grows only more so with every passing minute you aren’t in his grasp,” He turned, armful of sheets and blankets for your room, which would be Watson’s (and Kitty’s for that matter) old quarters, “Here, you are most certainly not within his grasp, as the brownstone is secure, complete with a camera outside the only entrance, and two trained consultants, both of which who will protect you at any means, or at least one.” And he paused for a moment, spotting how you weren’t resistant to the idea – the small smile that was fighting its way onto your lips told him that you were flattered by his insistence. And he reprimanded the part of him that liked that.

There wasn’t time for any of that. Not now.

And perhaps not ever.

Sherlock only had known one love, before you. An equal in every sense of the word, and someone who made him, for the first time, feel complete. And of course, this person ended up as the head of the largest criminal syndicate, as well as his mortal enemy. However, that did not stop him from seeking what they had together in another. Watson had said, it was wrong– to compare anyone to Moriarty – as his love for her should not be replicated, as it was built on the basis of a lie, but this did not stop him from longing for the companionship and passion he had for Irene, before she was Moriarty. But Watson was right, Moriarty had made him feel things he had not felt before, but the one thing she failed to make him feel was safe, and the others were falsehoods of feelings that did not compare to the way he felt about you.

You were everything to him in a world where he couldn’t stop seeing everyone else. But you made the world around him fade from existence, and allowed him only to see him and you. A feat he thought was only possible in his most daring of fantasies. And yet, there you were, in his reality. You had met him in London, when he was attending to business with his brother and on a case, and you were merely a coincidence, someone Sherlock had run into when confirming his suspicions on a lead in a case. And by this, he meant physically, as he happened to be running after a suspect at the time. He, although usually gifted in acts of physical prowess, had miscalculated the distance of his step from a most unfortunate, and large, crack in the sidewalk, and he fell, but onto the ground, but into you. He dusted himself off, helping you to your feet, and though you were shocked, it seemed as if you took stock of the situation, glancing back at the retreating man. Sherlock knew there was no way he could catch up to him, too concerned with he had hurt you, and pulling out his cellphone to call Watson, “Miss, are you –”

Instead of speaking to him, you snatched the phone out of his hand, running to the corner, and took a picture of the plate number of the cab that the man he had been chasing had gotten into. He stared at your outstretched hand with his phone, and took it, “Well, what are you waiting for?” Your voice struck him, and he blinked twice, wondering if he was only imagining this, as it didn’t seem real.

“Your name?” It was your turn to blink.

“Y/N,” You held out your hand, and shook it, before checking the time, swearing under your breath, “I’m late. It was nice to meet you officer, I’ll send you the bill for my dry cleaning.”

“I’m actually a consultant,” And you turned to give him a grin, as he squinted at your retreating figure, “But how will I contact you?”

“I already put my number in your phone.” And he stood, watching you run off to your appointment, wondering if anyone else had simply surprised him this much in such a short time.

Although, after, you had brushed off his attempts to pay for your dry cleaning, and he instead then recommended the two of you share dinner that night. He waited for your response, fingers delicately drumming against the table he sat at, and his phone lit up with your response: Yes, that sounds lovely.

The two of your shared a few nights of romance, one that yielded many surprises, including a surprise date in Paris. And as he walked the length of the Seine with you, under the stars, he had realized that he had preoccupied himself with details of you: of how you became much more affectionate when you were excited; the way you strolled easily beside him, showing just how comfortable you were with him; and the way your face lit up when you smiled, one that made his heart practically stop (he would know, he had done it before). Instead of preoccupying himself with the world around him and the various horrors it never seemed to be short of, he found himself completely preoccupied with you. You were a distraction worth having, and one he would hope to keep around.

Alas, his luck had run short.

But you were here now, and that’s what he needed to focus on, not the past. But he glanced to you settling into the room – examining the clumsily painted bookshelf that Kitty had left behind – and wondered if anything of the past even remained still between you two. Or if he was simply a means to an end, as were most of his relationships, primal or not. Although, you were right, it was best to put that behind, and focus on the matter at hand.

You were sent off to bed, and as you sat, you couldn’t seem to get comfortable, nor could you sleep a wink. Although, you weren’t exactly afraid, oddly enough, you felt safe for the first time in a long time. You had moved from place to place for years, even changing cities, states, and countries, but your stalker always found a way to get to you. There was never a week those pictures didn’t show up. Not for a year. And now that you considered it, it was almost the anniversary, of when he first started – the year of when your life slowly disintegrated around you. And yet, at this moment you felt safe. But guilt gnawed at you at the thought of Detective Alvarez, and his family, and the fact that his capture was your fault. You had gotten too close, he had gotten too close to the case, and you put him in danger. And if anything happened to him…You sat up.

You couldn’t lay here any longer.

You wandered out to the kitchen, a familiar sight that you hadn’t seen in a long while, and to your surprise, you found Joan there, not Sherlock for once. “Hi Joan.”

Her eyes flitted up in surprise, and she moved to get up, but you waved her off, “It’s honestly way too late for greetings,” and she seemed to agree as she sat back down, and seemed to pour over some material, and as you stepped closer – it was your material, or rather your case, “Where did you –”

“Detective Bell gave us access to your records, we didn’t tell him that you were here, or anything about the case, but we needed him to give us the files, otherwise, we would have wasted more time,” Joan explained, as you sat down across from her. “I was just looking over the work Detective Alvarez did for your case, it’s exceptional.”

“Yes, he was – is, exceptional,” and Joan looked up at you, as you sighed, holding your head, as if that could keep you from breaking apart. “I just hope his work for me doesn’t get him…” you knew your exclusion of the action didn’t make it any less likely, but it was as if your words held power, and you hoped that by holding back, you could control it, but you knew that was just a false hope.

“Y/N, Alvarez knew what he was getting into, not only for your case, but as a detective, he’s in danger every day, and he willingly takes that risk,” Joan flipped a page, scanning the contents, before forcing you to hold her gaze, “Ask any other officer or detective, and they will tell you the same exact thing.” You fell silent, mulling over words, until you noticed the distinct lack of someone who often worked later than she did.

“Where’s Sherlock?” And she glanced up.

“He’s resting,” Your confusion did not get any better, as your brow furrowed further, and her mouth opened with realization, “Ah, he didn’t tell you,” and now you glimpsed at his bedroom door which was closed shut, and now worry began to set in, “You can ask himself, but it’s probably better not to,” Your eyes fell to the table again, “What is going on between you two anyway?”

Your head snapped up, “Between us? What do you mean?”

Her expression only seemed to grow more curious at your reaction, and you bit your tongue, punishing it for its looseness, “I mean, the fact that the two of you mysteriously broke up four years ago, and now it’s like nothing even happened,” She tilted her head, allowing a sigh to pass, as she leaned in closer, “Just tell me that you won’t hurt him again, because he’s my partner, and my friend. I want this to work, and I want to help you, but I can’t do my best, if I have to constantly worry about the both of you.”

And you knew she was right, as even now you felt the urge to knock on Sherlock’s door, and if she hadn’t been here, you very well may have done so, to both of your own detriments. This was why you had stayed away for so long, his pull was too strong, as Joan once had told you – he was like gravity – and you couldn’t help long for it, especially when you were so close to falling back into orbit. “I promise, I won’t do anything. More than anyone, I don’t want to hurt him, that’s why I stayed away. I thought It was best.”

Another silence, “Just be careful.”

And careful you were, for the next two days, as you made sure to never be alone with him, not a moment, as you knew the two of you shared a weakness, and it would only take a second to fall back on old habits. However, though yours and Sherlock’s relationship was no closer to advancing, the case was far from it. Sherlock and Joan had went over each detail of your case, and questioned you about every detail they had isolated about your stalker, finding one key question:

“Where did he first see you?” Joan repeated, as the three of you stood in front of the collage that Sherlock had constructed, she turned to you, “Did you ever see or do anything unusual in the week or month before the calls started?”

You wracked your mind for one instance, one moment, where you had seen or heard or done something, but nothing. The month was hectic. They had you working around the clock as you were pressed right up against a deadline they had moved up, and you barely left your office, only to get a sandwich from the carrier that came around, or to report your progress to your boss. “Nothing out of the ordinary, nothing at all.”

Frustrations were high, especially after Joan went to bed, her own patience running thin as leads led to dead ends, and all three of you were collectively spinning in circles. You rose to do the same, but Sherlock stopped you, “Let’s go over that day one more time,” you opened your mouth to protest, but knew better. It would be better to get this over with than to engage in verbal sparring with him – that was akin to foreplay to him. “What did you do when you first got up?”

“I got dressed,” You recalled the morning, you were late, “I was in a rush, I had stayed up almost the whole night before after finding out the deadline was moved up. You had changed quickly into a maroon and beige dress that you had worn three nights before, “I barely had time to brush my teeth, much less anything else,” you had raced through the offices, bumping into several people on your way to your own, “I almost knocked over a bunch of people on my way there, one almost off his feet,” He snorted, as you looked up, affronted, asking for an explanation.

“Well, you were never exactly the most elegant,” He chuckled, shaking his head, “Remember the time you practically fell into my lap when you tripped over that Baroness’s trail at that wedding we were invited to?”

“That you were invited to,” You corrected, before placing your hands on your hips, “and if I recall, we were only there to scope out the private area since a murder had taken place there a million years ago, and you wanted access, which I had managed to schmooze the security into giving us. And you weren’t exactly complaining when I did fall into your lap, mind you.”

“That’s beside the point,” He rose from his chair, heading toward his stereo.

“And what is your point?”

“That you are a complete and utter klutz,” You gaped at him, as he turned on a violinist solo, a soft melody lingered in the air, as he turned back around, a small smile on his face, as he offered you his hand, “but one that I would like to share a dance with.”

You stared at his outstretched hand, and you felt the fatigue and worry, that was weighing on you moments ago, fade, as you placed your hand in his, which he engulfed in his own – and it was as if you had never left. He twirled you around the living room, stepping in time with the song, and you could feel the closeness of him – the familiarity, the trust, and the love fall into place, and it hadn’t changed. You leaned into his chest, allowing yourself to feel this moment and not remember all the pain, of not only the last year, but of the last four. It had broken your heart to leave him, and he knew, god, you hoped he knew. And as the song swelled to its conclusion, you leaned away, but his hand tilted your face up, to look at him.

“Why did you leave?” And he didn’t allow you to look away, holding your gaze, unyielding until he got his answer, “why, Y/N?”

“You know why,” Your voice was breaking, as the song ended, and the spell seemed to have too, “It was better for both of us.”

“Was it?” he gave a chuckle, drained of all mirth, unlike the one before it, “or was it best for you?” He began to pull away, but this time, your hand clutched his forearm, keeping him in place.

“Sherlock, we wanted different things,” You breathed, allowing your fingers to brush his face, “Whenever we broached the idea of a family, you always brushed it off, what was the point of continuing this if it wasn’t going to go anywhere, Sherlock? And there’s no point in continuing it now, if nothing has changed.”

“I have changed, Y/N,” And his words stopped you in place, as he breathed them against your lips, “More than you know.”

“You sleep now,” You noted, as he hesitated, as his lips fell open to ask, “Joan didn’t tell me anything. Why would she? It’s your secret to tell.”

He seemed to grow uncomfortable, retracting physically, as he was emotionally, “It’s not exactly a secret, I just didn’t want you to think I was incapable of handling your case.”

“Sherlock, I could never think of you as incapable,” You laughed at the thought, taking his hand in your own once again, “Several other adjectives come to mind, but incapable no.”

A single eyebrow rose, “Will you share with me those adjectives sometime?”

“How about after you share with me just how much you have changed?” And the implication was there intentionally. Your curiosity had gotten the better of you, and you longed to know how the illustrious Sherlock Holmes had changed. But you had taken the silence that followed as a rejection, shying away, “I should go to bed-”

“Not tonight,” And he stepped closer, hand against the small of your back, as his lips were only a moment away, not knowing where he ended and you began, and neither of you could seem to bring yourselves to care, “Tell me this isn’t okay, and I will let you go to your own bed.”

And you looked at his expression, up and down, seeing not only desire, but love – the same you felt in his touch now, and in his soft words, as if he was afraid he would break you in two if he pushed too hard. But you had changed too – you weren’t afraid anymore, not of him, “Take me to yours.”

And his lips cut you off, gently, and your hands found their way around his neck as they always did, and his fell in place on your waist. His touch burned, and if the two of you weren’t careful, the entire investigation would go up in flames along with it, but in the moment neither of you seemed to care.

He lifted you easily, allowing your legs to wrap around his waist, pulling him impossibly close to you, torturing him with the delicious friction it allowed, and the two of you didn’t make it to the bedroom in time, as he pushed you against a wall. His lips decided to burn a trail down your neck, and you gasped, to which he chuckled against your skin, “Remember, we must be quiet, otherwise someone might hear just how eager you are,” Emphasizing his point with a nip to your neck, you bit your lip to muffle yourself, as he hummed against your neck, treating the now tender skin with care. Your fingers busied themselves with unbuttoning his shirt, allowing it to hang at his sides. Your fingers laced themselves in his hair, jerking his head back, and pulled him into another bruising kiss that would leave his bitten red. And it did, as he sighed, while your lips trailed downward, your hand went even further, reaching in between where your bodies met, causing him to jerk against you, forcing a growl from his lips.

“Now, who’s eager?” Your words were trailed with a yelp, as he carried you to his bedroom, shutting the door behind him with a thud.

And there, the two of you remained all night, until the streaks of golden daylight shone in the bedroom window, rousing you from your sleep. However, nothing was as golden as waking next to the man you had thought you would never see again. He was still sleeping, you noted with a grin, before checking the time – 5 AM. Plenty of time for you to get dressed, and sneak back to your room, before Joan woke up. You silently pulled on your clothes, pulling your shirt over your head, before turning back around one last time to steal a glance at the infamous Sherlock Holmes fast asleep. And until you stepped into your room, you didn’t realize how lucky he was to be still blissfully dreaming, because you had just walked into a living nightmare.

The words ‘Why him?’ were plastered over every inch of your wall, written over pictures of you and Sherlock kissing last night. Your eyes panned the room in horror, unable to process just how many pictures there were – there must have been hundreds, hundreds of pictures – of every moment you spent with him last night. You could’ve have screamed, but no sound escaped your throat - only visceral fear. As your heart galloped to a start, as you started toward the bed, and found a letter, with your name written out carefully in calligraphy.

I want you, and only you. And if you won’t have me, then I’ll have to take everyone else who is around you. Even him. He can’t escape. He won’t. Come see me where we first crashed into each other’s lives, and soon, you can be my angel that fell from heaven.

And it wasn’t the message, it wasn’t the words, nor was it even the threat that made you realize who had been torturing you this whole time. No, it was the handwriting. Now you knew who he was, but you didn’t know why. You crumpled the paper. But you were going to find out.

#sherlock holmes #sherlock holmes x reader #elementary #elementary imagines #sherlock holmes x you #elementary fanfiction #sherlock holmes imagines #sherlock holmes fanfiction #elementary imagine #jonny lee miller

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astarryon · 6 years

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Hard Feelings Part 8

Pairings: Bucky x reader

Warnings: None

A/N: Okay, so it’s finally done! Bucky’s out here being reclusive and Wanda has suddenly become this relationship’s biggest fan, so needless to say writing this update was definitely interesting, but I’m happy with the result! Next update we’re tackling Valentine’s Day, so make of that what you will. As always, if you enjoy this chapter or have any questions or comments, feel free to send them my way! I seriously appreciate everyone who takes the time to read my work, you’re all amazing!

Part 7

—

Vulnerability was weakness. Bucky knew this, had had the idea drilled into him for decades, over and over and over again. Connections led to vulnerability, as did things like love and compassion. Even the smallest bit of affection could cause a crack in the armor which was so melded over his mind and body. Emotional ties led to vulnerability, and vulnerability got people killed. This was the thought process under which he had operated for years, the one Hydra had assaulted him with until it had become a way of life.

Only, Bucky wasn’t a Hydra asset, not anymore. He was not the Winter Soldier, he was James Buchanan Barnes. He was not a machine, but a man who had had something terrible done to him and his humanity forcibly stripped away. He was not an object, but a good person struggling to find himself once more.

He was not a monster without feeling; he was a man who had begun to feel, for the first time in a very long time... romantic affection.

Or, in this specific instance, the affection was liable to be yours and not his, but for the life of him he couldn’t seem to shake it once it had been introduced into his mind.

You had kissed him, drunkenly and suddenly. Not only had he been totally unprepared for it, but he had also been completely helpless to do anything once you had. It hadn’t been romantic or overly touchy or anything like that; all things considered, it had been little more than a mildly prolonged peck, and had been incredibly chaste in nature. Impressive, really, for how drunk you were. You had gone on to remove yourself and then lay your head down on his chest, giggling like the happiest of children and mumbling something about traditions, and had shortly fallen asleep afterward, leaving Bucky to sit there, cradling you in his arms and feeling like the entire universe had been shifted upside down.

A midnight kiss. Try as he might, he couldn’t remember whether that was something he’d experienced back in the thirties. It wouldn’t have mattered if he had, he supposed; all of that had quite literally been a lifetime ago.

Something had happened, when you’d kissed him in that incredibly drunk, friendly way. You’d mentioned earlier in the night that you were numb to your powers due to your intoxicated state, but that hadn’t negated the fact that others could feel your emotions by way of physical contact; you just weren’t able to feel theirs. So, when you had kissed Bucky, mischief and amusement so clearly evident in your gaze, you had opened the pathway to your emotions to him, allowing him a look inside your head.

He found affection there, and longing. A willingness to bare the soul and offer compassion and care in any way possible. He found lighthearted attraction, and a wholehearted desire to act upon it. A bright, shimmering light which was indicative of fondness and companionship.

Romantic attraction.

The issue was that Bucky wasn’t sure if your powers were showing him your emotions during that innocent kiss, or if they were forcing him to take a look at his own. And on account of the fact that you were now passed out and would be much too drunk to answer any inquiries even if you were awake, it looked like he was on his own in determining which option was the truth.

If they were his emotions, he could deal with it. He’d been wondering when those kinds of feelings would come back to him, if he could even feel things like romantic love and sensuality anymore. Obviously he could identify if he found someone physically attractive, but that was all superficial. Feeling genuine affection for you, though, affection that went beyond just physicality and lust... he could handle that. You were a smart mouth, sure, and way too empathetic for your own good, but Bucky liked those things about you. He might’ve even loved them, as terrifying as the mere thought was.

If the feelings were yours, though, that was a completely different ballgame. That meant Bucky had no control over how the situation played out, and that only served to further terrify him. Would you pursue him? Would you be willing to share your thoughts and feelings, to admit to him the candle you held despite how he’d treated you previously? Would you stand before him, heart racing as his was at the very thought, and show him honest affection? Would you let him kiss you, as had crossed his mind from time to time? Would it be as easy to open up to you as he seemed to so desperately want it to be?

Or would you push him away, unwilling to stick around to see if he could give you what he couldn’t give himself?

—

The headache was present and pounding at the walls of your skull before you had even fully realized you were conscious. Your muscles were stiff and sore, the mattress beneath you harder and stiffer than normal. Pain danced at the edge of your senses, taunting each and every inch of your body at even the slightest movement, and so you did your best to stay very still. God only knew the vertigo which would present itself should you even make an attempt to function normally at this point in time.

For fuck’s sake, what had been in Thor’s cup and why did he drink that shit for fun?

“You seem like you’re regretting some of the choices you made last night.”

One of your first impulses at the sound of a voice which had come out of nowhere had been to scream, and you might have done so if you weren’t convinced that the effort would end you. The words had exploded into your mind, the volume causing color spots to fill your vision as your eyes flew open in fright, the majority of your surroundings tinged pink with the amusement of whoever had spoken.

“Jesus fuck,” you muttered, a hand flying to your forehead. Whatever had been in your cup had done a good job of numbing your power, as it was now coming back to you all at once, manifesting itself visually as opposed to its more typical form. That happened every now and again when you were particularly in tune with and conscious of your senses, as was typical in your current state. You were sensitive to everything when you were hungover. “Lower your fucking voice.”

“Sorry, doll,” the voice breathed, offering a low chuckle. Forcing yourself to just barely squint an eye open, you took in the form of Bucky, his eyes shining in the light of the room and the auras dancing in your field of vision. No wonder the mattress had felt so stiff when you had woken up; you’d been laying on Bucky’s chest. “Didn’t realize.”

Each word he spoke was like a knife digging in to the base of your skull. No amount of Advil in the world was going to be able to help you along with this hangover. You were going to kick Thor’s ass the moment the damn thing passed.

It took you a few moments to process your situation, and you had already closed your eyes and rested your head back down on Bucky’s chest before reality had hit you. It was probably on account of your raging headache that you were currently acting so nonchalant; normally you would have been a nervous wreck, all blushes and stuttered sentences. At the moment, though, you were so fucking beyond over it that it was almost comical. “You slept here with me?”

“I tried to leave,” he whispered. You could feel the fingers of his metal hand tracing your temple, a blessed balm of cold against your warm skin. “But you weren’t having any of it, and I would’ve felt guilty if I left before you woke up. Decent to stick around after a night like that, isn’t it?”

Not for the first time, your eyes flew open in shock, and you were immediately greeted with the pink auras once more, dancing across your vision as your eyes locked on a pile of black fabric on your floor, halfway across the room. Just looking at it made your anxiety kick into overdrive.

Your dress.

What had you done last night?

Ignoring the ache of your body and the disorientation brought on by your rose colored surroundings, you pushed away from Bucky to sit up. Blessedly, miraculously, mercifully, you remained clothed, swaddled in a large tee shirt and cotton shorts. It didn’t necessarily guarantee that what you were thinking hadn’t come to pass, but it did make it a little less likely.

“We... slept together?” you choked out, turning back to look at Bucky. He was still in his clothing from last night, but his tie was missing and his over shirt was gone, probably having found a home on your bedroom floor along with your dress. His hair was unkempt and wildly tousled, but it only served to make him look like he belonged here, with you, in your bed. Admittedly it wasn’t a bad sight, but if he’d... if the two of you had...

Fuck.

“We didn’t have sex, if that’s what you’re asking.” It was exactly what you were asking and the shit eating grin he wore said he knew that good and well. Prick. “Give me a little more credit, Y/n. I would never let you take advantage of me like that, even if you spent the night calling me pretty.”

Relief washed over you like an ocean wave, a balm to your anxiety. “Thank god,” you breathed, shaking your head. On top of everything else you were going to have to deal with during this hangover, a drunken one night stand with Bucky would have pushed you over the cliff that was your composure. “No offense, but that would’ve... I don’t do stuff like that, usually. It just would’ve been... I don’t know.”

Bucky blinked a couple times, seeming to take something in. The light in his eyes appeared to be dying, shifting into something you couldn’t name, and the rosiness of the world was bleeding away, becoming a distinct shade of amber with the shift in his mood. He’d gone from amused and a little uncertain to... disappointment? Was that what amber meant? It had been quite some time since you’d had to deal with physical manifestations of emotions, and you’d never preferred them.

“You don’t remember anything from last night?” Bucky asked you. It was strange; you could so clearly see his emotions shifting and winding down, but his face was painting a picture of humor and happiness. He was schooling his features, trying to fake you out; he had to have been. “Nothing at all?”

Well, that was a little subjective. You remembered certain things clearly, your memories leading up to your encounter with Thor being easiest to grasp onto. Asgardian alcohol, that was what you’d had to drink. You weren’t familiar with the stuff, but after chugging that cup Thor had looked at you like you’d just pounded three Jaeger bombs back to back. That explained why you remembered everything being doused in white light, you guessed; you weren’t drunk often, and when you were the effects on your mind were always so strange.

Steve had been present, that much you knew, and you could remember that he had helped you in some way. You’d been numb to it at the time, but the emotional entry your power had made from Steve while you were busy being wasted told you that he’d been worried, exasperated, and amused while with you, sometimes all three of those concurrently. Snapshots played when you thought about it, showing pictures of you leaning against him and patting his face, spending much of your time drunkenly looking up at him in wonder. How he’d dealt with that, you hadn’t been sure.

Wanda and Thor’s interactions with you had been less frequent, if you remembered correctly. In fact, you were pretty sure you had interacted with the two of them for a fraction of the time you’d spent inconveniencing Steve. Poor guy; you made a mental note to thank him whenever you managed to eventually drag yourself out of bed.

And then there was Bucky, acting so uncharacteristically strange in the little time since you had woken up. Though you could feel that you had been the most emotionally invested in him last night, you couldn’t remember much of your interactions together, which felt strange, considering you’d woken up to him in your bed. What you could place when it came to him were feelings of warmth and serenity, or at least you had been able to before he’d gotten all weird. You wanted to think that meant the two of you had somehow bonded through your intoxication, but you couldn’t just assume that, especially with how he was suddenly behaving.

You shook your head, having to let go of your curiosity at the sudden mood change in an effort to keep control of the nausea that was beginning to come over you. “I just remember a lot of light,” you answered truthfully, using what little left over attention you did have to carefully keep an eye on the colors surrounding you. The amber was becoming more concentrated, tinged with hints of dark orange. Try as Bucky might to conceal the truth, you could easily see that your words were upsetting him. But why was he so sensitive all of the sudden? He had just told you the two of you hadn’t slept together; why should it matter, then, if you couldn’t remember anything? “It’s all really foggy for me. Although... did I compare you to the Sistine Chapel?”

In spite of his intense emotions Bucky laughed, a loud, genuine sort of thing that made his chest shake as a result, a bright smile dominating his features. For fuck’s sake, the guy managed to look perfect no matter what the situation was. “Wasn’t the exact term you used, but yeah. Who knew alcohol turned you into such a flirt?”

“I did,” you sighed, raising your eyes to the ceiling. Getting drunk hadn’t been your goal in the slightest; you’d just been looking for something to take the edge off. “Which is why I was only going to have one drink, but then that one drink turned out to be a whole cup of alien alcohol and I swear, I have never been so far gone in my life.”

“Not hard to believe,” Bucky teased, once again eyeing you in that oddly piercing way of his.

Something strange was happening to the auras as you gazed at him, something which your brain was much too scattered to focus upon at the moment, and which ended up being nothing more than a fleeting though in your hungover brain. It was just... a specific shade of royal blue was dancing along the edges of your own body, lining your fingers as you splayed them apart. This wasn’t your aura, as you had believed after seeing it for the first time. You were getting visuals of Bucky’s emotions, so the deep, vibrant, nearly purple layer of blue clinging to your fingertips was indicative of how he viewed you. That couldn’t have been right, though, because that specific shade of blue... that was romantic, you were pretty sure.

Loving.

You shook your head, writing the whole thing off as a defect in your power on account of your raging hangover.

“You look like you’re in pain,” Bucky stated. Comical, considering the fact that he was pointedly looking anywhere but at you. That same humorous look was still plastered on his face, and you got the sense that he wasn’t aware just how disingenuous it seemed when you had the emotional reading to support that he was feeling the exact opposite of how he was presenting himself. He moved to stand, stretching and popping the joints in his arms as he did so. “I’ll let you get some rest, okay? Don’t worry about training today. We can skip that and therapy until tomorrow.”

“Bucky.” Maybe it was the desperate tone in your voice, but you actually got him to stop in his tracks. He eyed you hesitantly, seeming to check to make sure you were okay, his eyes telling you everything that his face wasn’t, and you silently willed him to answer honestly as you went on to ask, “You’re sure nothing happened last night? I didn’t do anything to upset you?”

His face softened, and you saw the blue hue lining your body grow the tiniest bit brighter. This time the small, fond, unbothered smile Bucky offered you was just as genuine as it could have been, and the amber color cast over the rest of the room was beginning to fade into rosiness once more. “You’ve never done anything to upset me.” Truth; you could feel it clear as you were seeing it. Truth was everything his words encompassed. “Now get some rest. I’ll come back to make sure you aren’t dead later.”

With that, Bucky left you to yourself, and your hangover took the absence of a distraction to worsen your headache, momentarily forcing you to drop the subject and do as Bucky had suggested.

—

Halfway through January and no one was fessing the fuck up, which was majorly beginning to piss you off.

Everything had been normal at first, nothing too much out of the ordinary. Your daily routine remained the same; you woke up, you trained with Bucky, you showered, you went and held your unorthodox therapy sessions, you logged the session and sent the report to Nick Fury’s email, and then the rest of the day was yours to do with as you pleased. Sometimes that meant you sat with Tony up in his lab and watched as he handled technology far beyond your comprehension, other times it meant you volunteered to do some grocery shopping with Clint and Natasha in an effort to get a change of scenery.

Lately, though, your free time was entirely taken up by your mind obsessing over what had come to pass between you and Bucky in your bedroom the night of New Year’s Eve. Maybe you would’ve been able to drop it if he hadn’t been acting so god damn weird around you, but the anxiety which had resulted in the last few weeks due to Bucky’s treatment was far too great to ignore.

In the weeks since the party, Bucky had grown distant. Which was understandable, you supposed. He was obviously working through something and the fact that you could bump him at any moment and accidentally feel the source of why he’d been so withdrawn was more than likely motivation for him to stay away from you; hell, you weren’t even allowed to hold his hand during therapy anymore, and that sort of killed you on the inside, sort of felt like the trust he’d placed in you had been rescinded, but you understood. You were adamant about not pushing him for anything that would make him uncomfortable, knew good and well that he would come to you and express himself if he wanted to.

It just seemed like lately, the only thing which made Bucky uncomfortable at all was you.

That was why you were heading to where you were now, looking over your shoulder constantly and feeling ridiculous each time you did so. There was nothing inherently suspicious about what you were doing, aside from the fact that you were making your actions suspicious. It was just beyond lucky that you were doing this while Bucky was preoccupied by a personal training session. Anyone else you could sweet talk into ignoring your strange, erratic behavior; Bucky would see right through it in a heartbeat.

“Wanda,” you called, throwing her bedroom door open and not even waiting for her scream of fright to die down before trudging over and plopping directly down onto her bed. She appeared to have been in the middle of tidying her things, and had been startled into knocking over a couple of the picture frames on her dresser. “Calm down, it’s just me.”

“What, you don’t know how to knock?” she demanded, throwing her arms into the air. Distantly you had the sense to feel bad, but you were beyond that at the moment. “I get that you’ve been mopey for the past few weeks, but like, common courtesy is still a thing, you know.”

“Mope— mopey?” you gasped, pressing a hand to your chest to show affront. “I’m not the one who’s been mopey.”

Wanda rolled her eyes, abandoning her task and wandering over to perch across from you on the edge of her bed. “Oh, please. You’ve been mopey and Bucky’s been skittish. Believe me when I say everyone is over it.”

Everyone? Had the awkwardness in yours and Bucky’s interactions really been that transparent?

Whatever. At least that confirmed that it wasn’t all in your head.

“Wanda,” you began again, resting your chin in your hands and sending Wanda a look which begged for sympathy. The great thing about being an empath? You knew how best to appeal to others. “Remember when you said that I was your best friend and that if I ever needed anything from you I should just ask and you wouldn’t hesitate to help, no questions asked?”

The dark haired girl blinked a couple times, processing. “Pretty sure I didn’t word it like that, but I’m willing to humor you. Does this have anything to do with a certain someone?”

She knew damn well who this had to do with, and you weren’t naive to that fact.

“Well, he’s...” How did you explain what you were about to ask Wanda to do without sounding vain and obsessive? “He’s being fucking ridiculous, okay? Way more so than usual. It’s like, he won’t even get within three feet of me because he’s afraid I’ll touch him and figure out what his deal is, and that’s getting in the way of our therapy progress, which is getting me bad feedback scores from Fury, and it’s fucking tanking my agent proficiency grade, okay? Bucky can be mad or cagey or whatever he wants to be, but when it starts getting in the way of my job, I’m not okay with it. And it wouldn’t even be that big of a deal if he wasn’t swearing up and down that nothing happened the night of the party, but he wouldn’t be acting like this if that were the case, right? Something’s got to be wrong. I know his normal feelings, and what he’s giving me aren’t those.” You exhaled a breath, not sure how long you’d been holding all of that in for. It felt good to get it all off your chest, in any case.

Wanda only stared at you, seeming unsure of how to proceed. Sympathy contrasting with humor rolled from her mind in waves, leaving a sweet taste on the tip of your tongue. Her emotions always tasted of honey, no matter how upset she was. “And... what exactly does all of this have to do with me?”

Oh, right. Your master plan.

“Well... assuming you’re willing to help me...” Wanda wouldn’t judge you, right? And even if she did, best friends were all but obligated to roll with it anyway. Right? “I need you to take me inside my memories so that I can see what all happened that night. I can’t remember what went down and Bucky says nothing really did, but he wouldn’t be acting this way if that were the truth. And I mean, I don’t wanna force him to tell me because he’s obviously uncomfortable with it, but I figure the memory is mine, so it wouldn’t be prying, would it? I have just as much a right to it as he does.”

Wanda shrugged a shoulder and gave a single nod of her head. “Okay. Sure.”

You arched an eyebrow, blinking in surprise. “Wait, really?” That had been way easier than you were expecting.

“Yeah,” Wanda answered simply. “I have nothing to do for the rest of the day and I’m nosy by nature. Pretty sure I’m just as curious as you are.”

Wanda Maximoff was a fucking saint.

She offered you a smile, and took your hand in hers, giving you access to her emotions and letting you know she found this all painfully amusing, though in good fun. “Close your eyes, and concentrate. I’ll try and get us as close to where you want to be, but let me know if I overshoot. I’m still not the best at pulling up specific memories.” And suddenly, the world around you faded away into nothingness, leaving you and Wanda sitting in a dark void, her eyes glowing a brilliant shade of crimson.

The darkness faded away almost immediately as it came, swirling and opening up, transporting you and Wanda onto a chilly rooftop, hundreds of elegantly dressed people bustling around the two of you. All of their faces were bright, almost as though a spotlight was being shined on each individual, and the decorations and view of the city skyline beyond it all were distorted, warped at the edges.

Beside you, Wanda let out a low whistle, blinking a few times as her eyes adjusted to the brightness. “You really were drunk, weren’t you?”

“Beyond,” you muttered, shaking your head. Just looking at the memory made you feel nauseous, and not just because of the disorientation that came with viewing it. It was entirely too east to recall how the alcohol you’d consumed had so totally effected you. “I think I’m—“

“I love Bucky! He’s like a marshmallow, right? He’s soft and sweet, but he has the potential to be even softer and sweeter. When’s he getting here?”

Your heart dropped in your chest out of embarrassment at the sound of your own voice, your eyes flying to the source of it. There, at a table placed in the outskirts of the seating area, were you and Steve, your head right in front of his as you cupped both his cheeks and stared him right in the eyes. For a moment you were caught off guard at how surreal it felt to see yourself as someone else, but the effect was lost on you as you observed. Jesus, you were right up in Steve’s business, weren’t you?

“We went too far back,” Wanda told you, chuckling under her breath as she watched the sight. “You and Bucky weren’t alone until after we all found each other.”

You nodded, cringing internally as you watched yourself continue to express to Steve just how soft his friend was. “Can you take us further in? Please?” God, you owed Steve the biggest apology.

Wanda simply nodded, squeezing your hand where she still held it and her eyes glowing crimson once more. The sight was mildly unsettling, but equally cool to look at. Your surroundings blurred, morphing into darkness once more before solidifying into the dim, lamp lit setting of your bedroom. The television set into the wall was on, showing images of the ball drop in Times Square with a countdown running in the bottom corner. Two forms were present on your bed, and it took you a few moments to process that one was Bucky, and one was yourself. You were curled into his side, your head tucked beneath his chin and your arm draped over his waste, your legs tangled together and Bucky’s fingers absently threading through your hair.

You gasped, taken aback at the purity of the affection bleeding into you from both parties you were observing. From your former self, you were picking up wholehearted content and bliss, and the smile present on your face as Bucky’s fingers whispered across your scalp spoke only of honest happiness. That was fair; you were definitely fond of Bucky, that was certain, and you had never been able to stop yourself from entertaining certain thoughts about him, even back when he’d been acting awful and calling you names. In fact, Bucky himself wasn’t naive to your attraction to him; he teased you about it constantly. Even if he wasn’t aware of the full extent of your feelings, he had to have suspected.

Your feelings, of course, you had been privy to; yours weren’t what were sending a thrill of shock and grudging hope through your chest.

Bucky’s aura was glowing. That was... that was the only way to describe the sight before you. At first you had assumed it had been part of the drunken air distorting your memories, but this scene was particularly sobering, and you knew very suddenly that your state of intoxication wasn’t the reason for what you saw. The ease with which his mouth tipped into a smile, the gentle caress of his fingers through your hair, the way his chin was so carefully perched atop the crown of your head — the way his eyes were shining, it was all so indescribably iridescent.

“You don’t hate me, do you?” your voice, quiet and timid, rang through the otherwise silent room.

Bucky’s brows furrowed in concern, and he brushed your chin with his thumb once before returning his metal fingers to your hair. “What kind of question is that?”

“... A good one?”

At that, he scoffed, and the tilt to the corners of his mouth was so wonderfully gentle that you almost couldn’t believe your eyes. Bucky had never been so openly and casually affectionate with anyone since you’d met him, least of all you. You considered him a friend, sure, but what he was doing with your former self went beyond that. “You’re drunk, Y/n. Just try and rest a little bit.”

Beside you, Wanda inclined her head, eyes flitting between you and the scene you both observed. “Was this it, do you think? Seems silly for him to get all worked up over some PG cuddling.”

“I’m not sure,” you answered, still not looking away from what you were witnessing. A certain lightness was settling over you, one which told a tale of uncertain longing. Was this yours, currently? Or was this what you could now remember picking up from Bucky? Why was it so difficult for you to tell? “I guess we better stick around a little longer. Just to make sure.”

But that wasn’t the only reason you wanted to stay. No, if you were being honest... you just weren’t ready to let go of the serenity quite yet.

Wanda and you watched, waiting to see if any major changes were to come, and listened as Bucky entertained your former self and her drunken musings. Huh; so the man did have a sense of patience and tolerance. Where did that go when he was teaching you combat?

The minutes ticked down, one by one, and you were beginning to think that perhaps you had overreacted. Maybe Bucky had been telling the truth, after all; maybe the excessive amounts of cuddling you two had partaken in had just unsettled him somewhat, and he hadn’t wanted to embarrass you over something you couldn’t even remember happening.

His aura in your memory, though, wasn’t showing you any discomfort in the slightest. His emotions were light, airy, content. Nothing was wrong here.

“It is now one minute to midnight,” Jarvis announced, voice bouncing off the walls of your room.

“Bucky!” you had exclaimed, readjusting yourself to look him in the eyes. The smile you saw yourself with was much more telling than you’d have liked to admit. “It’s about to be 2018! You have to make a wish!”

“I don’t think that’s how it works,” he told you, but you had already closed your eyes. A moment later and Bucky closed his as well, following your lead with a fine shake of his head.

“Oh my god, he made a wish anyway,” Wanda whispered beside you, looking for all the world like she was witnessing a real life soap opera take place. “That’s so fucking cute.”

You declined to respond, focusing intently on Bucky’s face. He looked peaceful, with his eyes shut tight and his arms wrapped around you. For a moment you wondered if this was what he had been like before, back in the thirties and with no knowledge of the traumas of war. It was easy to imagine the stars in his eyes which must have been present, the innocent wonder he would have expressed when talking of dreams and the future. In this moment, witnessing how serene he looked, you would have died in order to make this his norm.

You kissed him, suddenly. Or, not you, but your former self did, leaning up to press your mouth against his just as the last second to midnight ticked away. It was nothing passionate, nothing over the top or awfully romantic or sensual. The whole thing was over in maybe three seconds, but you could feel the surprise which had overcome him at your actions.

“Y/n?” he had whispered, glancing down at the top of your head as you settled it back down to rest on his chest. “What was that for?”

“Just figured it had been a while since you had one of those,” you had slurred, patting his shoulder. “And I thought if anyone deserves a midnight kiss it’s you, since you’re missing the party to take care of me when you could be kissing a pretty girl upstairs or something.”

A pause, and then he replied softly, “Well I just kissed you, didn’t I? And you’re plenty pretty.”

Wanda appeared to be having an issue containing her reaction to this, muscles tensing and her emotions telling you that her heart was melting for you.

“Pretty words from a pretty man,” your former self had mumbled, words muffled by Bucky’s shirt. “How do I know you’re telling the truth?”

“Well, do you trust me?”

“About as far as you can throw me. So, like, a lot.”

Bucky shook his head, gently leaning down to press his nose to the top of your head. “Just get some rest, okay? You seem like you could use it.”

“‘Kay,” you had conceded, eyes falling shut. After a few more moments of silence, you went on to say, “In case no one’s told you lately, you’re a good person. I hope you know that.”

Bucky shook his head, eyes wandering up to the ceiling. “Pretty words from a pretty girl, Y/n.”

But you had already fallen asleep.

The world around you and Wanda faded away as the memory ended, returning you to her room where you were both perched on her bed. It took your eyes a few moments to adjust to the brightness of everything, the light of the afternoon streaming in through Wanda’s windows and painting stripes of sunshine across your skin. Normally you’d have welcomed the warmth of it, but at the moment you would have given anything to get back to that memory, just to see the sight of yourself being lovingly cradled in Bucky’s arms, to see a softness to him which you hadn’t even known he’d possessed.

“I don’t get it,” Wanda told you, her eyes having returned to their normal shade of green. “He seemed like he was happy with you. If that was all that happened and if he liked it, why would he be acting so weird around you?”

Coincidentally, you were wondering the same thing. Nothing had been wrong just then, in your memory. You had been happy. Bucky had been happy, and more expressive than you could have ever wished for. Why would he have kept you at arm’s length? Why would he have gone out of his way to distance himself from you? Between falling asleep with one another and waking up the next morning to his teasing laughter all those weeks ago, what had changed?

You don’t remember anything from last night? Nothing at all?

“I have a feeling,” you sighed, rolling your eyes at yourself and trying to take a deep breath in an effort to calm your nerves. “Look, I’m gonna... I’m gonna fix this.”

Wanda scoffed. “Uh, yeah, I sure hope you are. If you don’t, I certainly will.” Enter Wanda Maximoff, your and Bucky’s apparent number one fan. “What are you gonna do?”

“I’m not sure yet,” you admitted, shaking your head. The situation was suddenly so much more complicated than it had been before you’d entered Wanda’s room. Half an hour ago you’d been under the impression that you had just done something to embarrass your friend. Now you were conscious of the fact that feelings, both his and yours, were at play. “But I’ll figure it out. But, just... could you maybe not tell him about this? Technically we were rooting around in my head and not his, but I know he’ll flip.”

Wanda grasped your hand in hers, giving it a light squeeze as she offered you a kind, understanding smile. Arguably your closest friend in this tower, Wanda was. You were so thankful for everything that she had done for you. “Obviously I’m not gonna say anything, dork.”

You laughed, shaking your head. “Thanks, Wanda. And thank you... thank you for helping me get the memory back. It really means a lot to me.”

She only smiled and squeezed your hand tighter as she responded with, “What else are best friends for?”

—

Part 9

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septicraptor · 7 years

Text

Bucky Barnes and Reader

- This has a death warning, the death doesn’t occur in the writing but it does become a big part and I just wanted to make sure it’s known.

- It might of been cliche to think but you were the best thing that ever happened to him -

Bucky Barnes had been up a little later than usual this morning, something unusual but he had managed to get some proper sleep for a change as he reached for his shoes from under the bed he ended up reaching for a rather reasonable sized box instead. The former soldier knew this box it had been the same box he had kept mementos from you for the longest part of your relationship with him but he had stopped doing that after he misplaced the box strangely enough and as he opened it he was filled with some sense of nostalgia and he remembered by each of these items were placed in here by him as he takes out one of the chopsticks he has used when he had treated you to ramen after training when you were both really only starting to get to know each other without anyone else being there.

Bucky forgot what silence was when he was with you. It was strange after getting to know you how much you had really changed him without him noticing - it was for the better all of it was - and maybe he thought with a sudden rush of amusement that he ended up changing you as well and hopefully just as good as his change. Steve had taken you for a while and that was fine because there was no one he trusted more to keep you safe until you got back home than his childhood friend. Than again you never really needed much help to being with and while you didn’t exactly need it, he had trained you reluctantly. Bucky remembers the uncertainty that came with you asking him to help you get stronger for the first time physically. Honestly he had said no, he hadn’t wished to pass along the skills he had managed to have now. There was certainly a long and regretful path on how he got his strength but in the end he ended up assisting you before than he could honestly admit to not being as close as the bond you two possessed in the present but the longer you spent together the more he desired your companionship.

“you’ve gotten better.” He tells you as he tosses the water bottle he got from the mini fridge your way. He was honestly impressed by your progress but it seemed by the frustrated expression you were wearing the feeling was only one-sided. His left eyebrow raises when he gives his pupil a questionable expression, “I thought you’d be more pleased?” It ends up sounding like more of a question than a statement and maybe it was his confusion was genuine. “I was hoping to get much better by now.” He could tell by your voice that this was you being honest asides from the fact that he was able to read your face with ease and pick up the slightest emotion. You were similar to a certain friend of his that you never really tried to hide anything you were feeling as he laughs amused. “I see. I hate to be that person but strength comes over time.” Bucky tells you before giving you a smile, “but you have improved so how about after today’s training I buy you some ramen.” He wasn’t quite sure why you insisted on ramen as a reward meal but after trying it Barnes found that it had tasted pretty good.

- There was no question about it you were one of the strongest that he knew - … He gently puts the chopsticks back in the box like they had been a treasure had could not be replaced and it a way to him this was worth more than a lot of other things worth more money would ever be. He noticed that a lot of food that he had tried in the modern age had been because of you and your urging and the fact that he had beat you in contest of spicy food was still one of his favourite memories of you involving food that is, there was more that he could think of from the beach to walking your dog as he very careful takes out your dogs old collar that had been broken now that was one hell of an ‘officially dating’ story.

You had a rather cute dog that he ended up adoring from the second he saw it and the dog he would once again see today as he shifts his weight from one foot to the other. He had been planning to ask something he had been meaning to ask for months it never seemed to be the right time to ever ask. Bucky had been a little rusty when it came to asking someone out, most of his time when he was brainwashed he never had much of the chance to date anyone. Unless you counted assassinations and he did not. But what got him out of his trace was not your voice but the yapping of your dog as they ran past, “catch them!” That was you he didn’t really need to ask any questions as he took off full sprint after your canine who might as well thought that you two were playing. He did end up stopping as he carried your beloved pet back to you, “my knight in shining armour.” You had said a little on the sarcastic side as he came back with your dog, “thanks the collar broke when we were coming here, I guess he got excited because it’s a park.” “I guess so.” Better late than never he said mentally as he gave himself a talk of confidence in his head as he gives you a smile, “would you like to go out on Friday for dinner?” “I would love too.”

- There was no way else to describe his feelings for you in full but I love you would do for now - … The tie he wore when he proposed was what he saw next along with the last item. Oh boy he remembered this one and how nervous he was as he looks down at the wedding ring on his finger it had thankful gone according to plan well actually it didn’t but he was still one of the luckiest men on the Earth. Steve, Wanda and Sam had helped him plan what could be the most romantic dinners imaginable but when he had walked outside to great you. The front door had shut behind him as it started to rain rather cliche when he realises it was locked.

“I’m sorry.” Bucky apologied for the third time he had felt at thought for the fact that you were now standing in the rain with him even though you said said twice. Three times now that it was fine, “it’s a little frustrating, I had something planned for you.” “I did too.” You admit after a short silence, “want to say what it was at the same time?” “Sounds like a good plan.”

- If he was asked who the best part of him was, he would reply that it was always and will always be you - … At the bottom of the box had been the necklace you had been given by your mother that you had given him when you left for that mission as it was called simply with Steve as he puts the tie and the broken dog collar back and picks it up. This was what he had been looking for all weekend as he puts the box carefully under the box. It was time that he returned it to you, as he walks out the door. You probably missed this as he missed you. He had noticed that it started raining the second he left his house as he held out his palm and smiled. It was ironic it would rain today after one of the significant events had happened in the rain. He would walk miles, cross any distance for you but luckily for him that you were much closer to him than that as he keeps walk.

Bucky stops at a standstill as he takes a moment to compose himself, taking in a deep breath as he makes the first step to meeting you. It really has been a while, “I thought you’d never return or maybe that was me at thought since Steve and you can’t exactly be the most moveable. I’m sorry it took so long to come, to return to you but you never left my thoughts once. I have to admit that I got revenge on those guys that killed you - both of you. I know you wouldn’t like me to dwell like this but I couldn’t let it go, I … had to do this for you … I couldn’t sleep knowing they were out there still” He became Captain America for it, “I brought you this and no I’m not keeping it, it looks much better on you anyway.” Bucky gently lies the necklace on top of the tombstone.

“I’ll visit you more I promise.”

#bucky barnes #reader insert #/death warning #/angst #marvel #mod arin

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