Cigarettes, Whiskey, Love
Note: thanks for the request! I hope you enjoy! also, I tried to make it an angst fic at 3:40am, yikes! .c
Request: Hi! I was wondering if you could make a Bucky one-shot where he’s mega stubborn and refuses to quit a bad habit and include something like “I don’t care anymore cause either way I’m gonna lose you” thank you so much I love your work
Smoke filled his lungs, the burning sensation sending a shiver down his spine along with the cold temperatures outside. He blows it out into the night, his eyes searching for someone he was positive he’d never see again. All he could think about was where he went wrong. How could he let this happen? Why couldn’t he just be with you and let himself be happy? That’s all he wanted. So why didn’t he let himself accept love? Your love.
His eyes were lifeless, his lungs full of another large inhale of smoke that clawed at his insides. Every puff he took, the orange butt lit up brightly as he held it between the lips he kissed you with just weeks before tonight. It was a bad habit that he didn’t care to quit. He was stubborn that way. But he’d take up every bad habit to numb the pain.
He didn’t care about anything anymore. Alcohol was his third bad habit, one he could drown himself in-desperately trying to drown out his mistakes and past, and his chance at a future. He wasn’t sure how it happened. Everything was fine and then one day he woke up next to the love of his life and felt like he didn’t deserve someone so beautiful and caring.
Everything about him was destruction, he thought. How could anyone believe otherwise? You tried to make him see that he wasn’t a bad person, no matter what happened in his past. You accepted him for who he is. No more, no less. You didn’t expect him to be completely fine right off the bat, but you thought you’d at least be able to help him through his struggles and walk beside him through the long journey ahead of him. But things don’t work out how you wish them to.
Bucky dropped his nearly finished cigarette on the sidewalk, using the toe of his boot to stomp out the light. He opened the door to the bar he calls a second home as of late, the bell above ringing as he entered. It was mostly empty, given it was 10pm and it closes at midnight. Though most people preferred the club not too far down the block instead of a run-down bar.
The older man behind the counter gave Bucky a warm smile, wiping his hands on the white towel draped over his shoulder. “How ya doin’? The usual?” He asks, pulling out a bottle of whiskey and a glass. Bucky simply nodded and sat on the bar stool at the counter, watching Bernard fill his glass halfway, leaving the bottle beside it.
His eyes remained on the liquid, a deep sigh falling from his nostrils as he let his hand grasp the cup. Taking it to his lips that still had the lingering smell of smoke, he downed it in one gulp. He knew he couldn’t get drunk, but he could still feel the burn as he swallowed. That was enough for him to continue drinking.
Losing track of time, Bucky heard the bell ring on the door, signaling a customer. He didn’t dare look behind him. The gust of wind that followed the person inside let him know who was in here. Your perfume filled his nose and he forgot about everything at once. All except you.
Bucky visibly tensed as he saw you take a seat on the bar stool next to him from the corner of his eye. It was silent for a few moments, your fingers tapping against the wood counter. Bernard walked over with a smile, greeting you. “Hello, Miss. What can I get you?” Bucky prepared himself for this moment. The moment he would hear your voice again.
“I don’t drink.” You spoke softly, offering a small albeit forced smile. Oh how he remembers your voice so well. It jolted his heart in his chest, his blood pumping faster than ever before. Bernard nodded with the same smile and went back to cleaning up the far end of the counter, drying some glasses.
Bucky could hear your intake of breath as you slowly tucked your hair behind your ear, a nervous tick he picked up on a few days after you two met. It feels so ancient now, thinking back to those days. Grabbing the bottle of whiskey, Bucky poured himself some more. “That’s bad for you, you know.” You stated quietly, hoping you wouldn’t disturb the silence too much.
He set the bottle back down and thought of something to say; anything. He grabbed the glass gently, swirling the liquid around inside before taking a sip. He relished the burn in his throat. “I don’t care anymore, ‘cause either way I’m gonna lose you.” His voice was rough and raspy, almost monotone.
Your heart sank in your chest, the pain was still there. Even seeing him made it hurt worse, when you thought it would help at least a little. You felt that in a way it did, but seeing him partake in bad habit making, you felt partially responsible. The evident smell of smoke let you know that alcohol consumption was not the only bad habit Bucky had picked up on.
“Why do you say that?” You asked, turning in the stool to face Bucky. Because I already did, he thought to himself. He gulped down the rest of his drink and poured himself another glass. His eyebrows were furrowed and he looked like he was having an internal battle with himself. Taking a chance and pulling courage out of thin air, you moved your hand towards Bucky and let it rest on his forearm.
Bucky’s arm flexed under your hold, your touch sending electricity through his body. It made him feel again, something he’d lost the ability to do ever since that horrible day. He needed to get out of here, he needed to leave, to run away, flee, leave the country. But your soft whispers held him here.
“Bucky,” His heart jolted again, catching him off guard and he felt his throat burning with emotions, “Can we talk about this?” You asked, feeling your eyes burn with tears. You missed having Bucky around. All the while you were helping him, he was helping you. You fell in love with him and you knew you’d spend the rest of your life with him if you could.
He broke your heart but you’d go through it all again if it meant you’d both share the same love for each other and those happy moments you held onto so dearly. Bucky was silent, opting to take another drink instead of answering your question. He wanted to talk about things; things that hurt him, things that bothered him, things that kept him awake at night, but he couldn’t.
Bucky slid off the bar stool and reached for his lighter in his coat pocket as he made his way to the door. You quickly followed after him, the rush of cool air hitting your face as you got outside, goosebumps biting at your skin. You watched as he pulled out a white box and your lip quivered. “Please, don’t do it.” You pleaded, your hands shook and your heart raced in your chest, the pain increasing by a tenfold.
He pulled out a cigarette and shoved the crinkled, almost empty box back in his pocket. The lighter flicked to life and he raised it to the cigarette held by those lips you loved to kiss so much, the flame lighting the butt. Bucky inhaled immediately and huffed out the smoke. Your eyes watched as a thin cloud disappeared in the wind and you held back a sob.
“Bucky.” You tried to gain his attention, but it was no use. He stood there, taking inhale after inhale as he stared at the concrete. You took a deep breath and let your tears fall down your cheeks. “I just need to know if you love me.” You whispered, your voice sounding desperate and broken.
A few moments passed and you thought you’d never hear his answer. Until he lifted his head and looked at the empty streets that were lit up by numerous lampposts. “I do love you, Y/N.” He breathed out, the smoke dancing around in front of him.
He willed his eyes to look over at you, but he couldn’t. He couldn’t bare to see those eyes of yours that he loved looking into any chance he got. He thought about all the different ways he loved your eyes. The way they wrinkled at the corners when you’d laugh at a stupid joke he told you. The way they held such intense feelings when you two made love. The way they calmed him down during the night, soothing him from those damned nightmares. The way they watered the day he left you.
It was silent-all but the low, soft classical piano music that sounded through the bar speakers outside the door. It reminded him of when you’d play him songs you learned throughout the years. Your small fingers dancing so gracefully across the beautiful instrument; he loved it. He loved everything about you. So why couldn’t he quit you? His number one habit.
Note: I truly hope you enjoyed this. feedback is always, always welcome! .c
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