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wolvietxt · 2 days ago

Text

𝓬harade.

pairing : bucky barnes x fem!reader warnings : jealousy, friends to lovers, fake dating, fluff, kiss, light angst, mentions of bucky’s past (like once), possessiveness summary : you ask bucky to come with you to a charity gala, just to get tony off of your back. it’s beneficial to him too (he doesn’t have to be alone) but will the lines between fake and real blur? wc : 3.4k

bucky wasn’t sure when it started - this... thing between the two of you. he wasn’t even sure he could call it a thing, but something about you had a way of wrapping around him, unbalancing the careful walls he’d constructed to keep himself steady.

maybe it was the way you’d walked into the avengers tower three years ago, all bright smiles and teasing remarks, treating him like he was more than just a shadow from the past. or maybe it was how you never gave him space to brood for too long, always pulling him into group movie nights or challenging him to spar in the gym when you sensed he needed a distraction. whatever it was, bucky found himself gravitating toward you more than he liked to admit.

and now, sitting on one of the plush couches in the tower’s common area, staring at the team calendar where “charity gala” was written in bold, mocking letters, bucky was painfully aware of you.

“you’re glaring at that thing like it owes you money,” you teased, dropping onto the couch next to him. your knee brushed against his, and he hoped you didn’t notice the way his shoulders tensed at the contact.

he grunted, crossing his arms over his chest. “it’s so stupid.”

“you say that about every event,” you replied, leaning back like you belonged there, like you belonged anywhere. “maybe this one will be fun.”

bucky gave you a look. “fancy clothes, fake smiles, and rich people talking about how generous they are? yeah… sounds like a blast.”

you giggled, and he felt the sound settle somewhere deep in his chest. “maybe you just need the right date,” you said, half-joking. “you know, someone to make it bearable.”

he snorted. “and who’s that supposed to be? steve? sam?”

“i was thinking me, actually,” you said, a glimmer of mischief in your eyes.

bucky’s brain short-circuited for a moment. he stared at you, waiting for the punchline, but it never came.

“hear me out,” you said, panicking a little at the blank expression on his face. leaning forward now, your expression more serious. “i’ve been trying to dodge tony’s matchmaking attempts for weeks, and you hate going to these things alone. right? we can fake it - just for the night. pretend we’re together. that way, we both get through it in one piece.”

his first instinct was to say no. it wasn’t a good idea. it wasn’t smart to pretend, to blur the lines that were already starting to feel too thin. but then he thought about the alternative: going alone, standing on the edges of conversations, enduring pitying glances. and there you were, offering him an easy out. offering to stand beside him, even if it was just pretend.

“fine,” he said finally. “but don’t blame me if this blows up in your face.”

“oh please,” you said, grinning now. “if anything blows up, it’ll be because you can’t act to save your life.”

he rolled his eyes, but a small smile tugged at the corner of his mouth.

by the time the night of the gala rolled around, bucky was questioning every decision that had led him to this moment. he’d been uncomfortable in suits before, but this tux felt particularly suffocating. the mirror in his room didn’t help, either; no matter how many times he adjusted his tie, he still felt like a kid playing dress-up.

“hey,” your voice cut through his spiraling thoughts, and he turned to see you standing in the doorway.

for a moment, he forgot how to breathe. your dress was sleek and elegant, the color complementing your skin in a way that made you look effortlessly radiant. but it wasn’t just the dress - it was the way you carried yourself, the way your eyes lit up when you saw him.

“wow,” you said, stepping closer. “you clean up real nice.”

he scratched the back of his neck, suddenly self-conscious. “you don’t look so bad yourself.”

you smirked. “aww, don’t get too sappy on me now, barnes.”

he huffed a laugh, but the nervous energy in his chest didn’t dissipate. he hoped you couldn’t tell, but out of the corner of his eye he thought he saw your smile falter.

when you arrived at the gala, the room was already bustling with people. chandeliers cast a warm glow over the space, and the soft hum of classical music filled the air.

you slipped your arm through his, leaning in closer than necessary. “smile, bucky. we’re supposed to look like we’re having fun.”

he shot you a look but forced his lips into a semblance of his grin. “if you say so.”

you both made your way through the crowd, greeting familiar faces and dodging small talk whenever possible. bucky was doing fine - or at least pretending he was - until someone approached you.

“y/n,” the man said, his smile wide and just a little too polished. “been a while.”

bucky’s eyes narrowed as you returned the greeting, your tone polite but distant. the guy’s attention lingered on you, his gaze sweeping over you in a way that made bucky’s jaw tighten.

“so, who’s your friend?” the man asked, finally acknowledging bucky.

“this is bucky,” you said, squeezing his arm slightly. “he’s my date.”

the man raised an eyebrow, clearly surprised. “didn’t know you were seeing someone.”

“it’s recent,” you said smoothly, glancing at bucky. “but it’s going well.”

bucky didn’t miss the way the guy’s smile faltered, and for the first time that night, he felt a flicker of satisfaction. he slipped an arm around your waist, pulling you a fraction closer.

“yep,” he said, his tone even. “real well.”

after a few more pleasantries, the man finally walked away, leaving the two of you alone again.

“he didn’t seem happy to see me with someone,” bucky muttered.

“jealousy isn't a good look on him,” you said, but there was a hint of something in your voice - something he couldn’t quite place.

you glanced up at him, your expression softening. “thanks for stepping in back there. i know this whole thing isn’t exactly your scene.”

he shrugged, but his grip on your waist didn’t loosen. “it’s not so bad.”

as the night went on, the lines between what was real and what was pretend started to blur. the way you laughed at his dry remarks, the way your hand lingered on his arm - it all felt too natural, too easy.

and maybe that’s what scared him most of all.

bucky wasn’t sure when the room started to feel smaller, the air heavier. maybe it was the way you kept pulling him into conversations with people whose names he’d already forgotten, your laughter bright and unguarded as you charmed the crowd. or maybe it was the lingering gazes from a few too many admirers who clearly didn’t get the memo about you being taken - even if it was fake.

“you okay?” your voice broke through his thoughts, quiet and meant only for him. you’d leaned in close, your hand brushing his arm. the warmth of your touch grounded him, even as the irritation simmering beneath his skin refused to fade.

“fine,” he muttered, forcing a tight smile. “just... crowds.”

you frowned, your brow furrowing in concern. “we can leave anytime, you know. i don’t mind.”

“we’re not leaving just because i’m uncomfortable,” he replied, his tone sharper than he intended.

your eyes softened, the corner of your mouth twitching like you wanted to argue but decided against it. “okay. but let me know if you change your mind.”

he nodded, looking away before the guilt could settle too deeply. you didn’t deserve his moodiness, not when you were trying so damn hard to make this night bearable for him.

the tipping point came about an hour later.

you’d drifted away to grab drinks while bucky stayed near the edge of the room, his hands stuffed in his pockets as he scanned the crowd. he wasn’t keeping tabs on you - at least, that’s what he told himself - but when he spotted you talking to someone near the bar, his chest tightened.

the guy was tall, with an easy smile and a smug air about him that bucky instantly disliked. he leaned a little too close to you, his hand brushing your arm as he said something that made you laugh - a laugh bucky didn’t like hearing from someone else.

bucky’s jaw clenched. he didn’t have a claim to you, not really, but the sight still ignited something possessive and raw. before he realized what he was doing, he was striding across the room.

“everything okay here?” his voice came out rougher than he intended as he positioned himself at your side, his broad frame cutting off the guy’s view of you.

your eyes widened slightly in surprise, but you recovered quickly, flashing him a smile. “bucky. we were just talking about the gala.”

“right,” bucky said flatly, his gaze locked on the guy, who had the audacity to look amused.

“well,” the man said, taking a step back, “i’ll leave you two to it. nice meeting you, y/n.”

bucky didn’t relax until the guy disappeared into the crowd.

“jealous much?” you teased, though your tone was light.

“he was flirting with you,” bucky muttered, his arms crossing over his chest.

“so? it’s not like I’m actually your - ” you stopped yourself, your cheeks flushing slightly as the words hung between you.

“not my what?” he pressed, his voice quieter now, edged with something you couldn’t quite place.

you glanced away, fiddling with the stem of your glass. “nothing. forget it.”

but he couldn’t. the way your voice had faltered, the way your teasing confidence had momentarily slipped - it stuck with him, unsettling in a way he wasn’t ready to unpack.

later, the two of you found a quieter corner of the venue, the noise of the crowd fading into the background. you’d kicked off your heels, perching on the edge of a low bench with your legs tucked beneath you. bucky sat beside you, his tie loosened and his jacket draped over the back of his chair.

“sorry if i made things weird earlier,” he said after a long stretch of silence.

you glanced at him, your expression unreadable. “you didn’t.”

he sighed, running a hand through his hair. “i just... i don’t like seeing people treat you like that.”

“like what?”

“like you’re something they can just... have,” he said, his voice rough. “you deserve better than that.”

your gaze softened, a small smile tugging at your lips. “you’re sweet, you know that?”

“don’t tell anyone,” he muttered, earning a quiet laugh from you.

for a moment, the weight between you seemed to lift, replaced by something lighter. but then your laughter faded, and your smile turned wistful.

“sometimes i wonder if this is all i’m good for,” you admitted, your voice barely above a whisper. “being the girl people want to flirt with at parties. the fun one, the easygoing one. it’s like... no one really takes me seriously,” your voice getting quieter and quieter as you spoke.

bucky’s chest ached at your words, the vulnerability in your tone cutting deeper than he expected. without thinking, he reached for your hand, his calloused fingers brushing against yours.

“you’re more than that,” he said firmly. “you’re smart, and strong, and... you make people feel like they matter. you make me feel like i matter.”

your eyes met his, wide and searching, and for a moment, neither of you spoke.

“bucky...” you started, your voice unsteady.

“look, i know this was supposed to be fake,” he said, his words tumbling out in a rush. “but i don’t think i’m pretending anymore.”

you stared at him, your expression unreadable, and for a terrifying second, he thought he’d ruined everything. but then you leaned closer, your free hand resting lightly on his cheek.

“finally,” you smiled, your voice barely above a whisper.

and then, before he could overthink it, you closed the distance, your lips brushing softly against his. it wasn’t a grand, sweeping kiss - just a gentle meeting of mouths, tentative and full of unspoken promises.

when you pulled back, your cheeks were flushed, but there was a smile in your eyes.

“guess we’re both bad at pretending,” you said softly.

“damn right,” he replied, his lips twitching into a small, lopsided grin.

and for the first time that night, the air between you felt light again, the tension replaced by something warm and new.

the drive back to your place was quieter than usual. not tense, exactly - more like the air was holding its breath, waiting for one of you to shatter the silence. you fiddled with the strap of your clutch, glancing at bucky out of the corner of your eye. his hands were steady on the wheel, his jaw tight, but his gaze flicked toward you every few seconds like he was making sure you were still there.

you finally broke the silence. “you don’t have to walk me up, you know.”

“didn’t ask if i had to,” he replied, his voice low and steady.

you couldn’t fight the small smile tugging at your lips. even now, with your head spinning from the events of the evening, he had a way of grounding you, steady and unshakable.

when he parked outside your building, he killed the engine and rounded the car before you even had a chance to unbuckle. ever the gentleman - or at least, his gruff version of one.

the elevator ride up to your apartment was quiet, the tension from earlier creeping back in. when the doors slid open, you led the way, fumbling with your keys as you tried to ignore the warmth of his presence behind you.

“you sure you’re okay?” he asked as you pushed the door open.

“yeah,” you said quickly, stepping inside. “just... long night.”

he hesitated in the doorway, his broad frame filling the space like he wasn’t quite ready to leave. you turned to face him, your lips parting to say something - what, you weren’t sure - but the words stuck in your throat.

his eyes were darker in the soft light of your apartment, the usual cool blues tinged with something deeper, something unreadable.

“you want me to go?” he asked, his voice quieter now, rougher around the edges.

you shook your head before you could stop yourself. “no. i mean... stay. if you want.”

you weren’t sure when it happened - when the air between you shifted again, from awkward and unspoken to charged with something electric. maybe it was the way he hovered near the kitchen while you made tea, his shoulders tense like he didn’t know where to put himself. or maybe it was the quiet gratitude in his voice when you handed him a cup, your fingers brushing for half a second too long.

“you don’t have to stay,” you said again, softer this time. “i know this whole thing has been... a lot.”

he snorted, taking a sip of his tea. “you think i can’t handle a few idiots and bad wine?”

“i think you can handle anything,” you replied, the words slipping out before you could overthink them.

he looked at you then, really looked at you, and the weight of his gaze sent a shiver down your spine.

“you shouldn’t say stuff like that,” he said quietly, his tone unreadable.

“why not?”

“because,” he said, setting his cup down on the counter, “i’m trying real hard not to cross a line here.”

your heart skipped a beat. “what line?”

he let out a sharp exhale, running a hand through his hair. “the one where i stop pretending this is fake and start wanting things i’m not supposed to want.”

“bucky...” his name came out softer than you intended, barely more than a whisper.

he took a step closer, his boots heavy against the hardwood floor. “tell me to go,” he said, his voice low and rough. “because if you don’t, i’m not sure i can keep pretending.”

but you didn’t tell him to go. instead, you closed the space between you, your hand finding his like it was the easiest thing in the world.

“i don’t want to pretend either,” you admitted, your voice shaking with the weight of the words.

he stared at you for a long moment, like he was searching for something in your expression. then, without another word, he cupped your face in his hands and kissed you again.

the kiss was nothing like the one at the gala - nothing tentative or unsure about it. this was heat and certainty, his lips moving against yours like he’d been holding back for far too long. his hands framed your face, his thumbs brushing against your cheekbones as he tilted his head to deepen the kiss.

you clung to him like he was the only thing keeping you grounded, your fingers curling into the fabric of his shirt. the world narrowed to just the two of you, the quiet hum of the city outside your window fading into nothingness.

when he finally pulled back, you were both breathless, your foreheads resting against each other.

“you sure about this?” he asked, his voice barely more than a whisper.

you nodded, your hands sliding up to rest on his chest. “are you?”

he let out a quiet laugh, the sound vibrating beneath your palms. “fuck yeah.”

you giggled, leaning up to press another kiss to his lips, softer this time, like you had all the time in the world. and for once, it felt like maybe you did.

later, you found yourselves tangled on the couch, your legs draped across his lap as his arm rested along the back of the cushions. the tea you’d made had gone cold on the coffee table, forgotten in the haze of everything that had happened.

“so,” you said, breaking the comfortable silence. “what happens now?”

he glanced at you, one brow quirking in that way that always made your heart do stupid little flips. “what do you mean?”

“i mean... this,” you said, gesturing vaguely between the two of you. “us.”

he shrugged, the corner of his mouth twitching into a small smile. “guess we figure it out.”

“that’s it? no grand plan?”

“plans don’t usually work out for me,” he said simply, his tone light but laced with something heavier.

you reached for his hand, lacing your fingers through his. “then we’ll take it one step at a time.”

he squeezed your hand, his thumb brushing over your knuckles. “sounds good to me.”

the night stretched on, the city quieting outside as the minutes slipped by. you weren’t sure when you drifted off, your head resting against his shoulder, his arm wrapped around you like he was afraid you’d disappear. but when you woke up to the first rays of morning light filtering through the window, he was still there, his breathing slow and steady beneath you.

for the first time in a long time, everything felt exactly as it should.

ᰔ bucky barnes : @v3lv3tf0x, @dugiioh, @whxtewolf, @lemoanaid

@yvespecially, @hhiggs, @darlingsoulbeautifulthoughts, @seasonofthenerd, @superlegend216

@withasideofmeg, @pvndomi, @flamin-hot-cheetos, @hazydespair

@aoi_targaryen, @person-005, @corvuscattus, @uncertified-doc

taglist form linked in pinned post :3

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yanderejustforyou · 2 days ago

Text

The Beginning of the End

Bucky x Reader

The frigid metal of the handcuffs bit into your wrists, each serrated edge a cruel reminder of your confinement. The chill seeped into your skin, mirroring the icy dread that coiled in your stomach. Before you, under the harsh, flickering fluorescent lights of what could have been an interrogation room, stood Bucky Barnes. Or what was left of him. Your eyes, wide and searching, desperately locked with his. The man before you was a phantom, a hollow echo of the Bucky you knew. The Winter Soldier, they called him. The monster, others whispered. But not you. Not ever. He had been your safety, a beacon of strength in a world gone mad. He had been your protector – your friend, and maybe… maybe much more. Now, the very man you had entrusted with your heart stood across the room, distant and unrecognizable as a stranger, as if a ghost, risen from the depths of your shared past, had taken his place.

A tremor ran through you, though whether from cold, fear or heartache, you couldn’t distinguish. "Please," you whispered, voice cracking with a desperate plea barely audible above the monotonous hum of the lights. "I... I need you to fight for me, Bucky. Fight for us." The words, carefully chosen and painstakingly delivered, hung in the air, fragile as spun glass, hoping to pierce the thick armor he wore.

He remained still, a statue hewn not from stone, but from hardened pain. No flicker of recognition, no ripple of emotion crossed his face. He didn't speak, didn't flinch, didn't even seem to breathe. His gaze was like glass, reflecting nothing but the dim light and the cold reality of the moment. The weight of his experiences, his forced actions, all the horrors he'd been through pressed down on him with an unbearable, crushing force, as if he was drowning in the darkness of his past.

His eyes. Once pools of warmth, full of mischievous laughter and unwavering devotion, they were now vacant, empty chasms. The light had long since faded, leaving behind only the shadows of the violence he had been forced to witness, the blood he had been made to spill. The joy and life that had once danced in his gaze were replaced by echoes – whispers of terror and anguish that clung to him like a shroud.

"I can't," he finally said, the words a ragged, broken lament drawn from the depths of despair. His voice was rough, like sandpaper, each syllable scraping against the silence of the room. "I can't fight for you. Not anymore. Not after everything I’ve done." His confession was devoid of inflection, and yet saturated with the weight of his self-imposed condemnation.

His words slammed into you like a physical blow, a vicious slap across the face. You didn't recoil, you didn't flinch. You couldn’t afford to. To show any sign of weakness would be to allow yourself to crumble along with your hopes. “You haven’t done anything," you insisted, taking a hesitant step forward into the space that separated you, your heart pounding a chaotic rhythm against your ribs. "Not since you came back. Not since you remembered who you were." Your voice was stronger now, fuelled by the last vestiges of your hope.

But even as the words left your lips, denial battling with your internal truth, you felt it. The chasm between you widening, expanding into a gulf both vast and unbridgeable. His pain was too profound, his guilt too suffocating. There was simply no space left in his tormented world for you, not in the way you needed, not in the way you had believed.

He met your gaze again, those haunted, hollow orbs searching your face, and for a fleeting, agonizing moment, a flicker of something sparked in their depths – a whisper of regret, a faint shadow of the man you knew still buried beneath layers of torment.

But it vanished as quickly as it appeared, snuffed out by the darkness that had claimed him.

"I... I was never yours to begin with," Bucky said, his tone now laced with a cold, cutting detachment that pierced through your heart and soul. "You need to stop pretending. Stop hoping for a happy ending that doesn't exist.” Each word was like a shard of ice, lodging itself deep within your chest, freezing over the remains of your hope.

The truth, hard and unforgiving, hit you with the force of a wrecking ball. Your hands trembled uncontrollably, your breath caught in your throat, snagged on the sharp edges of his devastating pronouncement. Tears threatened to spill, to flood the room with your pain, but you refused, clenched your jaw tight, refusing to give into the anguish that threatened to consume you. Not here, not now.

"I don't care what you think," you declared, your voice trembling, but edged with a defiant strength that surprised even you. "I love you, Bucky. And I will never give up on you." Your words were a desperate attempt to throw a lifeline across the growing abyss.

He remained unmoved, unyielding, impervious to your declaration. Instead, he turned away from you, the back of his head now the only image you could see, as if you had simply ceased to exist. You became invisible, erased from his world.

And in that moment, a profound, soul-crushing realization washed over you. Deep within, you knew, with an unwavering certainty, that you were standing on the precipice of an irreversible change, an unyielding descent into the abyss. There was no turning back. No way to save him. No way to stop the freefall that threatened to drag you both into oblivion.

And as the heavy metal door clanged shut behind him, the sound echoing into the silence and the cold, leaving you alone in the dimly lit, suffocating room, a piece of you shattered into a million fragments. Your heart, once whole and full of unwavering hope, now lay scattered at your feet, tiny, broken bits of what once was. You knew then, with a bone-deep certainty, that this was the beginning of the end. And there was nothing you could do to stop it.

It had been days. Weeks, maybe. Time had lost all meaning. All you knew was the ache—the hollow, empty ache that had settled deep inside of you since Bucky walked away. Since you had realized the truth, whether you wanted to or not: he would never be yours. Not in the way you needed him to be. Not in the way you loved him.

And it hurt more than you could ever express.

But you refused to give up. No matter how deep the wound, you couldn’t walk away. You couldn’t just leave him like that—lost, alone, consumed by the darkness that he couldn't escape.

So, you found yourself at his doorstep again, your heart pounding in your chest, your hands shaking from the nerves, from the fear that maybe, just maybe, this time would be different. Maybe this time, you’d find a way to reach him.

The door opened before you could even knock, revealing him—Bucky Barnes, the man who had been your world, standing there in front of you, the same distant, haunted look in his eyes.

“What are you doing here?” he asked, his voice a low growl that sent a shiver down your spine.

You took a step forward, feeling the weight of the decision, the finality of everything crashing down on you. "I’m here because I love you," you said, the words trembling on your lips but clear and true. "And I will never stop."

He let out a bitter laugh, but it didn’t reach his eyes. "You’re wasting your time," Bucky said, his voice colder than ice. "I’m broken. I don’t get to be loved."

"Don’t you dare say that," you snapped, your voice rising with desperation. "You are not broken. You're healing. You’re just—" You stopped, swallowing the lump in your throat. "You’re just lost. But I’m here. I’m right here."

The silence that stretched between you felt suffocating. His gaze never left the floor, and his jaw clenched as though he was trying to fight off the surge of emotion that he couldn’t suppress.

"You think I don’t know what I’ve done?" Bucky’s voice cracked, his hands shaking at his sides. "You think I don’t feel it every second? The blood, the people I’ve hurt... killed... It’s a part of me now. And I don’t get to just forget that. I don’t get to wake up and act like everything’s okay."

Tears welled up in your eyes as you reached out, your hands trembling as you touched his arm. He didn’t flinch. He didn’t pull away. But he didn’t reach for you, either.

"Bucky..." you whispered, your voice breaking. "You’re not what they made you. You’re not a monster. You’re still you."

He closed his eyes, a deep breath escaping his lungs like a man drowning. "I don’t know if I am anymore," he confessed, his voice barely above a whisper. "I don’t know who I am. But I know one thing... I can’t be what you need me to be."

The pain in his words, in the finality that laced them, crushed you. And you realized, with a sickening certainty, that no matter how hard you fought—no matter how much you loved him—he couldn’t be saved. Not by you. Not by anyone.

"Please, don’t say that," you whispered, tears streaming down your face now. "Don’t leave me, Bucky. Not like this. We can fix it... together."

But there was no fixing it. There was no coming back from the place he had fallen into. You knew it. He knew it.

And in the silence that followed, you realized that you were both doomed.

He turned away from you, walking toward the door, and you couldn’t bring yourself to follow him. You couldn’t chase after him anymore.

"Goodbye, (Y/N)," Bucky said, his voice thick with pain, his footsteps heavy as he disappeared from your life once more.

The door closed with a soft click, but the sound rang in your ears like the final nail in the coffin.

And just like that, everything was over.

You stood in the middle of the empty room, your heart shattered, your soul laid bare. You had given everything, fought for him until there was nothing left. But in the end, you had failed.

And he was lost. Forever.

The months that followed were a blur, a watercolor painting left out in the rain. Time warped and stretched, a distorted landscape of empty days and sleepless nights. You tried to move on, actively picking up the jagged, glass-like shards of your heart, attempting to piece them back together with trembling fingers. You tried to build something, anything, from the wreckage, to create a semblance of normalcy. But the foundation was unstable, forever shifted. The world had lost its vibrant hues, muted into shades of gray. The laughter of others sounded tinny, their joy almost mocking. Not without him. The scent of his cologne lingered on your clothes, in your memories, a ghost of a touch that sent shivers down your spine, both a comfort and a fresh wound. You'd catch yourself reaching for your phone just to look at old texts, his name a bittersweet torture on your lips whenever you whisper it.

And you knew, with a bone-deep certainty, that you would never forget him. The echo of his voice, the crinkle at the corner of his eyes when he almost smiled, the way his calloused hand felt in yours - these were etched into your soul. You would never stop loving him, even if it consumed you from the inside out, corroding your very being. Because, in the end, that was the curse, the cruel irony of loving someone like Bucky Barnes. It was a love that felt both celestial and impossible, a star you were forever reaching for, knowing you could never truly grasp it.

It was a love that would never be returned. Not in the way your heart yearned for, the way your soul craved. Not in the way you dreamed, those fantastical scenarios playing on repeat in the theater of your mind - gentle smiles exchanged in the quiet of the evening, shared meals, whispered secrets. Not in the way you needed, with the desperate, aching hollowness that had taken up residence in your chest. The need to be seen, cherished, to have him see the whole of you, not just the flawed, broken parts.

Months passed, each day a slow, excruciating climb, and then, you saw him again. In the chaotic symphony of New York streets, amidst the cacophony of honking taxis and hurried footsteps, he appeared, a phantom returned to haunt your waking hours. He didn’t see you at first, his gaze focused, intense, scanning the surroundings. His expression was detached, cold as the winter winds, his familiar face a mask of controlled indifference. He moved with a purpose that hadn’t been there before, a hard edge that hadn't been there before. And for a brief, agonizing moment, you considered walking away, letting this fleeting apparition fade back into the crowd, setting him free and, in turn, freeing yourself – or so you hoped. A sigh bubbled in your throat, a melancholic whisper, but your feet were rooted, tethered to him by an invisible thread.

But you couldn’t. Your heart hammered against your ribs, a frantic drumbeat against the silence of your resolve. You couldn’t bear the thought of letting him go, even if it meant enduring more pain.

Bucky turned then, his eyes locking with yours, the collision like an electric shock. For a split second, a flicker of recognition, a spark of the man you once knew, a glimmer of warmth. But then, the walls shot up, the mask slammed back into place, his face becoming unreadable, a fortress of stoicism. He studied you, his gaze dark and assessing, like he couldn't quite believe you were real.

"Why are you still here?" he asked, the words sharp, almost accusatory, yet his eyes betrayed the hardness, mirroring the torment that lived within you. There was a deep sorrow lurking behind the ice, an echo of the pain you both carried. There was always pain. It was a constant companion to a man like Bucky.

"I..." you choked, swallowing the lump in your throat, the words catching like thorns. The familiar ache of longing tightened your chest, making it difficult to breathe. "I can’t stop loving you, Bucky. And I don’t know how to live without you." You practically whispered the confession, the truth pouring out of you like a broken dam.

His expression hardened further, becoming a mask of pure steel. His hands clenched into fists, his jaw tightening like the pressure of an iron vice. "You should’ve let me go. You should’ve walked away the first time. It was never meant to be, (Y/N). I’m not the man you think I am. I’m broken. I'm dangerous." His voice was a low growl, filled with a self-loathing that sent a shiver of dread down your spine. He was pushing you away, protecting you from the ugliness he saw within himself.

"I don’t care," you said, your voice barely a whisper, the desperation weighing down every syllable. "I don’t care if it’s not perfect. I don’t care if it’s impossible. I will love you until the end, Bucky. Even if it kills me." You met his gaze, pleading for him to see the sincerity behind your words, the unwavering devotion you felt for him.

He turned away then, and you saw the way his shoulders tensed, the way his muscles rippled under his jacket, as if he was bracing himself for the weight of your words, the crushing burden of your love. He didn’t speak again, didn't even glance back, his figure quickly swallowed by the sea of bodies. He was gone, leaving you standing there, alone in the cold, harsh reality of your broken heart. The noise of the city seemed to fade into a dull drone, mirroring the numbness that crept over you.

You knew, with a gut-wrenching certainty, that you were doomed to carry this love with you forever, an anchor that would both keep you grounded and drag you under. That you would never find peace, not with him, not without him. The prospect of a future without him was barren, colorless, a wasteland of unfulfilled hopes and shattered dreams.

And yet… despite the bleakness of it all, you would never stop trying, clinging to the faint hope that maybe, just maybe, one day things might change. It was a foolish, stubborn, and utterly human thing to do.

But deep down, a cold voice whispered a truth you couldn't ignore. A truth that settled like a heavy weight upon your soul.

There was no happy ending waiting for you and Bucky, no fairytale closure or blissful reconciliation.

There was only pain. And the unending, agonizing acceptance of it.