A Series of Vignettes- Need You
Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Reader
A Series of Vignettes Summary: It’s not easy, yours and Bucky’s relationship, but no one ever said it would be. These vignettes follow the big and small moments in Bucky and the reader’s relationship, focusing on the events that shape it. Big and small, sweet or angsty (mostly angsty), these stories lay out the moments in time they carved out for themselves in the crazy world they live in. They all take place in the same universe, but do not need to be read in any particular order.
A Night in Brooklyn | Beautiful World | Johannesburg | Dogs |  Late Night | Dark Winter  Dark Winter II  Dark Winter III | Close | Home |
Chapter Summary: Bucky’s been gone and you’re having a hard time.
Warnings: Mentions of death and addiction.
Okay, so this was pretty hard to write and harder to edit. It’s really personal so I’m not sure how big of a hit it will be, but I wrote it for myself so does it really matter? Lol w/e, if you liked it let me know what you think, and if you didn’t you can let me know too I guess but don’t be mean.
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You got the call on a normal Wednesday. You were busy at work- with Stark Impact’s fiscal year coming to an end, you barely had time to think, let alone screen your calls.
When your office phone lit up with an unfamiliar number, you didn’t think twice before you answered it.
“This is Y/n Y/l/n,” You said, all business.
“Hi, baby.” A voice slurred into the line, “Long time no talk.”
Your stomach dropped, “Mom? How’d you get this number?” You demanded.
“Right on the internet. All I had to do was google you. I’m proud of your new job, sweetheart. I bet it pays well.” You hadn’t heard from her in years, since right after you moved to New York.
You wanted to hang up, but you couldn’t. You felt paralyzed.
“Aren’t you happy to be hearing from your momma, girl? After all this time?” She’s drunk, you can tell. You would have been more surprised if she was sober.
“What do you want?” You whisper, clenching your hands into fists to keep them from shaking.
“Come on, baby.” She pleads.
You squeeze your eyes shut, “Don’t call me that. What do you want?” You try to make your voice sound strong, authoritative.
“Your father overdosed. Thought I’d give you the common courtesy of letting you know.” She sounds exasperated, like the conversation was exhausting her. Like it was such a trouble to call.
The world stops spinning for a few seconds.
“Is that all?” Your voice is flat. Your eyes stare blankly ahead.
She sighs, cracks her gum, “Listen, honey, things have been so hard. My boyfriend left, you never met this one, but he was nice, I swear. I had stopped drinking and everything, but he took everything. I just need a little bit of help, y/n. I swear this time I’ll pay you back.”
“Don’t call this number again.” You snap before hanging up.
You numbly close the door to your office and lock it, shutting off the lights. Anyone who might need you would think you were on your lunch break.
You lean against the wall, sliding down until you were sitting on your butt, knees pressed to your chest. Your dad was dead and your mom asked you for money in the same breath she used to tell you he was gone.
You let yourself cry. Not for the man he was, no. You cry because any hope you had that he might become the father you deserved was gone. You loved him desperately, until he left, deciding the drugs were more important than you. Spend the first 11 years of your life trying to make him love you more than he loved heroin.
After that, you had secretly hoped and prayed that one day he would sober up. Come find you and tell you he was sorry and he loved you all this time and leaving you was the hardest thing he ever did. Now he never would.
You were mourning the loss of the idea of a real father just as much as you were mourning the flesh-and-bone man.
Was it wrong? You didn’t know if you cared.
You allow yourself fifteen minutes. Fifteen minutes to fall apart before it’s time to get back to work.
