Summary: AU. Reader left behind a hometown full of misery to make a new home in Brooklyn. A death in the family forces her to briefly return to the place that has haunted her dreams and memories for three years. Will she finally be able to move on, or will a figure from the past change everything?
Pairing: Bucky Barnes x reader
Word Count: 2,837
angst, language, more angst, mention of alcoholism, mention of death, mention of funeral, mentions of neglect, mentions of estranged family members, heartache, sadness, mentions of sad childhood
A/N: This is the first part of my submission for the talented and wonderful @tatortot2701 ‘s AU writing challenge. (Tay, please disregard until it’s completed!) Y'all wanted angst, well…I took a fluffy prompt and darkened it. I tried not to but this story wouldn’t leave me alone. I’m not sure how many parts it will have.
My prompt was 28 .“____ is not a real word.” “Yes it is!”
“Go shoot that fucking film, Darcy and I can survive without you.”
After those words leave your mouth, it’s as if Harry transforms in front of you. Gone is the gentle, kind man you love as his features twist and harden into something cruel and malicious. “Fine.” Is the last word that you expect him to say, but he does anyway. And he continues to do what you least expect, because he’s gathering up his coat and twisting open the front door. He takes one last long look at you, and for a short moment (although it seems to last forever), everything is silent.
A scene plays in your mind–a scene that you can easily recreate. You rush across the room and embrace Harry, begging him not to go, taking back your initial thoughts and words and offering to live in France with him and Darcy. Him smiling down at you and telling you he would love that. You can almost see it….how simple it would be to achieve that.
And you see how easy it would be for another scenario to occur. The one where Harry is the one slamming the door back shut and shrugging off his coat, getting down on his knees in front of you like it’s the very first time and taking all his words back.
But neither of those things happen, because you both are stubborn people. The whole room is still, and when you almost think Harry’s going to leave for certain, a voice cuts through his chest. “Woah, easy there girl. Don’t want your mommy and daddy getting mad at me for destroying their washroom.” It’s Louis, and it’s…Darcy. Laughing. Upstairs. Oblivious to what’s happening down here. Tears start to gather up in your eyes.
Harry’s head drops to the ground, and when you’re just about to open your mouth and tell him to stay, he’s already out the door. Liam looks at you with an apologetic stare, but you can’t move. Not until you hear Harry’s car start, and the gates closing signalling he has already driven away. And when that all happens, you collapse onto the ground, in a sea of tears and hair and bones. Darcy is still laughing.
How much you would give to have Harry upstairs with her…
Three weeks later and no word from Harry. He had one of his friends that you have never met before come over to the house and gather his things. Darcy is confused to why “daddy” isn’t around, but with just a handful of smiles and false promises, happiness surrounds her days once again.
If only you could say the same.
You check your phone every second of every single day, and you are not mistaken. Harry has not called you nor texted you. The only evidence that you have to prove that he has not blocked your number is the occasional status updates he would post…in France.
“So he’s really shooting that movie, then.” Gemma was over for a cup of tea and a couple of biscuits (and to make sure you are alright). She nods, pressing her lips into a thin line before snatching up a wafer cookie on a plate on the coffee table. Darcy was at a playdate, and you had two hours to kill before you had to go pick her up.
“Has he contacted you at all?” Gemma asks politely. You were almost certain Anne, and probably Gemma herself, had already asked Harry about you two. After all, he was spotted everywhere without you, and there is no universe in which Harry would lie to the two people he values the most.
So you don’t know why she was asking you this question, when the answer was obviously known between you both. But still, out of kindness and respect, you confess, “Nope. Not a call or even a text.”
“He’s going to come around,” Gemma reassures you. You smile politely, but doubts are lining every square inch of your mind. He’s going to come around.
That night, long after Gemma had left apologetically, and shortly after you had tucked Darcy in, you couldn’t take it anymore. Throughout the day, little bits of you had broken over small things.
Darcy seeing a random guy on the street and calling him daddy. TMZ blowing up when you weren’t spotted in France with him. The house phone ringing off the hook, and the messages you had to take from his friends: No, Harry isn’t here. He’s off in France, shooting a movie. And worse of all: I don’t know when he’ll be back.
You had thought you were capable of holding it together until you couldn’t anymore. Closing the door to your bedroom shut, tears begin to cascade down your cheeks until your vision is but a pool of water and the blurry whiteness of the bedsheets. Why didn’t he call?
You didn’t understand. And you didn’t know why you were so confused by this. You said some really shitty things to him, even though he had expressed his strong wishes of doing this for his career, and you totally disregarded him! Maybe it wasn’t he who should be the one to call, but you…
Fingers hovering over the CALL button, you hesitate. What if he doesn’t pick up? And then the logical part of your brain (minuscule, at the moment), tells you that of course he wouldn’t. He’s probably sleeping. Then it hits you. He is most likely to be asleep. Quickly, with no time to waste, you google Dunkirk, France time.
And then you see him.
Well, a picture of him.
Your first reaction is one of happiness. You haven’t seen him for weeks, and even though it’s through a screen, you are relived. He’s not dead (why one small part of you thought he was dead, you don’t know. But he has never gone this long without speaking to you.). And then when you get over your initial reaction, your fingers absent-mindedly click on the link displaying the picture of him, and you suck in a gasp.
Because he’s smiling. It’s a picture of him smiling. Out of all the years that you have known him, you have learned to differentiate his smiles: what he gives the paparazzi and what his joy looks like. This smile–this one that the cameras have captured, is the latter. He’s…. “He’s so happy,” you whisper to yourself. “He’s truly happy.”
And with that, you turn off your phone.
“Goddammit, why hasn’t she called yet?”
“Don’t you think you both are behaving quite childishly?”
Harry stands on the set of his new movie, groaning out loud to himself. He looks up suddenly when he hears a voice answer him back. Cillian Murphy stands there, and repeats, “You both are being children.”
Harry furrows his eyebrows, “What are you talking about?”
The other man sighs, “You and Y/N? Just give her a call. This is ridiculous.”
Harry can’t believe the Cillian Murphy is giving him love advice. “How do you know her name?”
“You’ve been muttering it for about an hour, man.” Cillian rolls his eyes. “Just take it from me and call her. Nothing is worse than the silent treatment.”
“Yeah?” Harry’s thumb hovers over your contact. Cillian nods. “Maybe I will.”
“we’ve been engaged to be married since we were three but this is the first time we’ve met and your portraits really don’t do you justice” wintershock please!
of course, anon!! here you go, i hope you like it <3
Prompt: Nobility themed, #2, “we’ve been engaged to be married since we were three but this is the first time we’ve met and your portraits really don’t do you justice”
Pairing: Bucky x Darcy
Notes: Modern Royalty AU
She blamed the Duke.
Specifically, Duke James Buchanan Barnes.
Darcy pulled her scarf tighter around her face and neck, and tried to keep her head down against the swirling wind and snow. She told herself that she would be fine.
Which would be much easier to believe if she hadn’t just recently spun out her car and was now walking alongside the road in a snow storm hoping to find shelter.
If she hadn’t been engaged to some stranger (Barnes), she wouldn’t have felt the need to “accidentally” miss the meeting to cement the engagement.
The meeting was to take place the next day. The official engagement. Darcy, happily reassuring her parents that she would be there, took the next flight out to Switzerland and spent the long weekend skiing and taking advantage of spa treatments and delicious fondue.
Then, of course, after a day on the slopes she’d been driving back when it started to snow.
Again. None of this would have happened were it not for James Barnes and his “decorated military service” and her “duty to two great families.”
She was cursing her luck and quite frankly, freezing her ass off, when a car pulled up beside her. She stiffened, not sure whether to keep walking because serial killers are a thing or to stop in case there was nice Swiss family inside willing to drop her off at the hotel.
“Hey, do you need a ride?” The man in the car was leaning over to call out to her. From the lowered side window Darcy could only see his eyes. He wore a black thick knitted scarf what was pulled up around the lower half of his face as hers was.
On the one hand, he looked like a Forensic Files episode waiting to happen. On the other hand, she could no longer feel her toes nor see more than five feet in front of her due to the howling winds and snow.
(I am sad and write of sad things. Everyone will be all right in the end, I’m sure, but, Harris, you can’t run from your past forever.)
“Let’s eat peanut butter cups for dinner.”
Harris shifted the bag of groceries in his arms. “Was that your plan all along?”
Darcy nodded. “Yes.”
“Then why did we go grocery shopping?”
“I was luring you into a false sense of security, nutritionally speaking.” She did a little spin, enjoying the way her skirt flared around her knees. The bags in her hands bumped against her legs as she stopped, facing him. “It was my devious plan.”
He grinned at her, his cheeks pink from the spring breeze. “With chicken breasts and frozen vegetables?”
“You didn’t suspect a thing,” Darcy pointed out. She threw her hands in the air. Harris ducked under her bags without missing a step. “My plan was a success!”
“We’re not eating peanut butter cups for dinner,” Harris said. But he was smiling when he said it.
“Maybe you’re not, but you’re not the boss of me, soooooooo…” She tipped her head in his direction. “Make me a better offer.”
“I don’t know,” he mused. “I mean, we could try eating real food and not spending the rest of the night curled up in the fetal position, praying for death as the sugar rush wears off.”
He had a pronounced cowlick right now. It was adorable. Darcy shifted both of her bags to one hand and reached out with the other. “You make it sound like a bad plan.”
Heyyyyy. I wish you would write a Wintershock with this: “Dude why did that siren take on my image to try and seduce you, is there something you wanna tell me?”
“Dr. Foster, the Avengers have
returned. Prince Thor requests your presence in the med bay.”
Darcy’s ears pricked up at the
announcement and she glanced at Jane to find her wide-eyed with worry.
“Is he hurt? Is anyone hurt?”
Jane asked, already closing her laptop and swiping her phone off the desk.
“Only Sergeant Barnes and Agent
“Shit,” Darcy whispered in
She watched Jane from the corner
of her eye as the scientist hurried to the door but Darcy, herself, made no
move to leave. She desperately wanted to go, but decided she would simply
clutter up the area. Post-mission reunions were exclusive to the Avengers and
their beloved/close friends only.
“You, too, Ms. Lewis,” JARVIS
Darcy looked up, bewildered.
“Your presence is required in the
med bay as well.”
Jane stopped at the door and
turned to her stumped assistant. “Well, don’t just sit there!”
Darcy jumped up and sped after
Jane, her mind spinning with concern for Clint and Bucky, interspersed with her
bafflement over JARVIS’ message. Sure, she was acquainted with the Avengers,
some more than others, but she wasn’t that close to any of them, at
least not enough to warrant an invitation to post-mission group hugs.
Jane took the private elevator
down to the medical floor, Darcy fidgeting nervously beside her.
“How hurt do you think they are?”
she asked, looking around at the slick metal lining of the elevator. It was
bigger than the employee elevator and housed a freaking couch in case one got tired of standing.
Darcy didn’t have clearance to
use the private elevator.
“I don’t know.” Jane shrugged.
“Hope they’re not too serious. Bucky can heal, but Clint…”
“Yeah.” Darcy coughed guiltily.
She was more worried about Bucky. Clint was a great guy, no doubt, but Bucky?
Bucky was special. He was strong, funny, criminally handsome, and he
appreciated Darcy’s choice in movies.