#giggling and kicking ny feet around everytime I think about them

[skipblebee]

Been thinking about them a lot lately

[mysterioh]

La Douleur Exquise - Ch. 2

PAIRING: STEVE ROGERS X READER X BUCKY BARNES

SYNOPSIS: Bucky promises to write to you every day after you moved away to sunny California, but it doesn’t take very long for him to forget his promise. Luckily, there’s a certain blonde that keeps it for him. Through an exchange of letters, your childhood affection for Bucky blossoms into something more. If only you knew it was Steve that returned those feelings and not his numskull of a best friend.

MASTERLIST

California Dreamin’

December 12, 2010 

Greetings from Sunny San Diego! 

As the years go by I’m forgetting what winter feels like. The icicles hanging from bare trees, the cold nipping at your cheeks and nose, the howling wind passing by the window when you’re cuddled up in thick blankets on snow days. It’s like my memories are starting to grow numb. Guess I should come over and thaw them out? 

I think it’s kinda funny how you’re probably over there freezing to death while I went to the beach with some friends the other day. I know how much you hate the cold so why don’t you come over and I’ll warm you right up?

It’s been five years, can you believe it? It seems like time just flies by as you get older and you’re only left wishing for the past. I think it’s amazing how committed we are to this and there isn’t a day that goes by when I’m not excited for another letter. How have you been lately? Algebra 2 still kicking your butt? It’s not so hard if you’re organized but considering your habits I can see why you’re struggling. Am I sounding mean? Because I should be…

Anyways, there’s this place on the boardwalk called Richie’s Pizza and they claim to have the best New York Pizza in the world. My friends really like going there and I have to pretend like I actually like the stuff. It tastes like cardboard to me. It may have been years but you can’t fool my taste buds when it comes to NY pizza. God, I’m crying just thinking about that damn pizza. 

Mind if I get a little serious real quick? It’s something that’s been on my mind lately and I don’t really know who to tell. I don’t trust many people, but I trust you. 

Do you ever feel alone even when you’re around others? Cause I do. Yeah, they’re my friends but they’re not my “friends”. Does that even make sense? I can’t really tell them everything and sometimes I feel like they don’t really care much about me. It’s like I’m a third wheel. Sometimes I think it’s my fault. I’m not funny enough or pretty enough. I always feel insecure and pressured. Like I don’t belong. 

At least I have you and these letters. Even if I can’t see you, I can feel you and that’s more than enough for me to feel wanted.

Bucky Barnes you are one heckuva dude and I think of you greater than any other person I know. 

Sending you the warmth of the California sun, 

Y/N

The classroom is warm compared to the wintry chill outside. Steve was one of the lucky ones. Though the classroom walls are bare, the windows were large and everyone wanted to sit in the unsubdued morning light of the winter sun. And Steve just so happened to have the best seat, in the back corner next to the window. The teacher never really remembered the guy in the corner and that made it all the more lovely. 

Forgotten from the rest of the room, he took it as the time to finish homework he was too lazy to do the night before and maybe even write a few letters.

“Hey Steve,” Bucky slid into the desk in front of him. He quickly stashes the letter into a folder. “Whatcha working on?" 

"Just history homework,” Steve smiled. “What’s up?" 

"Nothing much,” he shrugged. “I’m going skating with Cindy after school today you wanna come along?" 

His jaw went slack. "Don’t you think I’ll just be third-wheeling?" 

"Nah,” Bucky replied. “She’s bringing one of her friends. The ginger with the curls. Uh–Edith or something…" 

"Don’t you think you should know your girlfriend’s friends?” Steve sighed. 

“She’s not my girlfriend,” he plucked at the cuff of his sweater. “We’re just friends." 

"Well, the way she clings onto your arm says something else,” Steve said, his tone colored with bitterness. 

“It’s nothing,” Bucky brushes him off. “Seriously." 

"If you say so,” Steve exhales while shaking his head. 

“So is that a no from you?" 

"It’s a no from me.” He nods, beginning to write again. 

“C'mon, man,” Bucky groaned, “this could be your chance. I really think Beth likes you." 

"You said her name was Edith." 

"Right, anyway I saw her making eyes at you in the hallway,” Bucky wiggled his brows. 

Steve snorted. “I think that was you. No girl looks at me like that, it’s only you." 

"That’s because you’re too busy sticking your nose in those books. All you ever do is write. Sometimes I forget what you even look like." 

"Thanks, jerk,” Steve said. 

“C'mon Stevie, whaddya say?” Bucky enticed him with a striking smile. “It’ll be fun." 

"Get out of my desk, Beaverface,” Sam hollered from the door. 

Bucky grunted at him but does so. He turns towards Steve before leaving as the teacher strolled in. 

“We’re not done here, blondie,” he pointed at him, making his way towards his desk. Steve sinks in his chair, wondering how he was going to get out of this one.

The sounds of chalk tapping against the board signals him to sit up and open up his notebook to a fresh page. He writes the date and nothing else. 

Your letter sticks out of the pages and he pulls it out and finds the picture you sent him. He smiled to himself and his neighbors could’ve sworn he was crazy for smiling like a fool. But he didn’t care. 

In the picture, you were sitting on the trunk of a car, (probably a friend’s dad’s convertible), with a letterman jacket placed over your shoulders to keep you warm from the cool briny breeze sweeping by a sunset on the beach and flowing through your hair. It’s definitely too big to be yours and he hopes it’s just a friend’s and nothing more. 

All he could think about was being there with you. 

Under the California sun. By the waves of the Pacific. The musty air coming from the ocean flowing through his hair. The sand sticking to his legs and feet. The sound of your giggles echoing along the shoreline as he chases you into the water. And maybe as the sun sets, he’d get to hold your hand and share the view with you. Then when the sun lays to sleep he’ll look into your eyes and you’ll look into his. He’d dip his head, lower his lips, and close the gap between until he finds yours in a—. 

“Mr. Rogers,” Steve bolts up at the sound of his name. His classmates giggle but Mrs. Lewinsky was not amused. His cheeks burn a bright red out of embarrassment. “Nice to know you’ve decided to come back to the real world. Now get your book open to page forty-seven and read the first paragraph." 

"Y-yes,” he said, fumbling with the pages of his copy of The Catcher in the Rye. 

“That’s the thing about girls. Every time they do something pretty. Even if they’re not much to look at, or even if they’re sort of stupid, you fall in love with them, and then you never know where the hell you are. Girls. They can drive you crazy. They really can." 

"Bills, bills, bills,” your dad drones as flips through the day’s mail in his hand. “Junk, ooh coupons." 

"You don’t have to narrate it,” you deadpanned, walking over to the kitchen sink to drop in some dishes. 

“Well, then I guess you wouldn’t care about this letter from Bucky Barnes. 1463 Mulligan Drive." 

Your ears perk at the sound of Bucky’s name and you dash over to him to take it. 

"Uh-uh,” he shook his head, swiping the letter away from within hand’s reach, “I wanna know who this Bucky Barnes even is." 

"It’s a friend!” You exclaimed. “From New York!" 

"Wait,” he furrows his brow. “You’re still friends with those kids?" 

You groaned, taking the letter from him. "Yes, I am,” you replied, walking away. 

“In the day and age of social media, you’re writing letters,” he stated amused. “You kids know how to write a letter? Are you even sending it to the right person?" 

"His name is on the envelope, dad,” you sighed, walking towards the staircase. “Besides there’s something more heartfelt about writing letters. It’s more romantic so to speak." 

"Romantic?” He questioned with a raised brow. “What’s this kid writing to you about?”

You climbed the stairs towards your room. “Nothing you need to worry about,” you teased, running up and into your room. 

You lock the door to limit any nosy dads. Plopping onto your bed, you stare at the letter with a wide grin. You brush your fingers across his name on the front. It was all capitals and leaning towards the right. You rip open the envelope carefully and pull out a paper. 

Your heart beats wildly and your cheeks burn. It gets like this everytime and as the days go by it feels like it’s getting worse. Who would’ve thought one letter would do so much to a person? 

December 17, 2010

Greetings from the saddest place on earth! 

It’s supposed to be the most wonderful time of the year and yet it feels like the worst. 

It’s gray and boring. There’s dirty snow stuck to the curbs. And everyone gets an extra dose of cranky in their bones. Trust me when I say, forgetting the winter cold isn’t necessarily a bad thing. I slipped on ice and almost died this morning on the way to school. So that was pretty fun. I also almost got detention today because Sam decided he wanted to play football in the hallway. 

I sound like the grinch or something. I promise you I’m not anything like him. Just down on my luck I suppose. The winter doldrums, I guess? You make me jealous with all your talking about warm, sunny days by the beach. It’s not fair. How about you bring some of that California sun over here? Cause I’m too cold to come over there. 

Best New York pizza huh? I have to laugh! It’s probably so hot over there that it burned their taste buds off. I feel bad for you, but not that bad. It’s what you get for dragging my Algebra skills. 

By the way, I’m doing a lot better. I got a B+ now instead of a C. Maybe I just didn’t understand imaginary numbers. Like aren’t they all imaginary??? Math is stupid and I’d rather stick to something more practical like English or History. 

I know exactly how you feel and just know if you can’t tell anyone anything, you can always tell me. I’ll always listen (or read haha) what you have to say. It’s the best part of my day. 

I don’t know why but I always end up distancing myself from others. My friends haven’t changed. It’s still the same old gang, but it feels different ever since you left. I feel like I’m not a good friend for distancing myself from them. They like me and I like them but there’s just something missing. A sense of understanding? A sense of belonging? I can’t really pick it out. There’s a plethora of reasons. 

(Plethora means a large amount of something. Start reading books you ignoramus.) 

I feel alone. I feel lost. Like there’s nothing left to look forward to. At least I have your letters and waiting for the next one only makes me look forward to another day where I can read about your day. Wishing I could be a part of it. Maybe someday in the future. Hopefully someday soon. 

I remember something my Grandma once told me. Life may not be the party we hoped for, but while we’re here we might as well dance. 

If we ever got the chance would you dance with me? 

Best wishes from the Atlantic to the Pacific, 

Bucky

p.s. Not pretty enough? Liar. I saw your picture. They gotta put your face on a Cover Girl Magazine. Anyone who says otherwise is gonna catch these hands. 

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