Steve Rogers And Bucky Barnes Images

Stucky - Split

You know it was getting bad. They haven't had a single conversation or even slept in the same bed in over a month. Yet, they are oblivious to how toxi things have gotten. Screams are the only thing you are used to, that not even your headphones can drown it out. They haven't even realized you cry yourself to sleep, or call Peter to distract yourself, him being the only one who knows you were struggling to grasp on the fact that your dad have been in the most toxic relationship in the past year.

As of now, you are walking into another screaming match, chocolate milk spilled all over your sweatshirt and hair tangled with milkshake from Flash. Peter had missed the day due to some family business, and now you were walking into your home after missing your bus, rain had started, and your parents hadn't even noticed you were crying.

"Wow, Steve, that's great!" Bucky shouts as you walk into the living room, having no other option to get to your room. "You act like—" His sentence is cut off when he sees you, pushing past his husband to cup your face. "Doll, what happened?"

You couldn't help the scoff as you shove his hands off, pushing past him and Steve to walk up the stairs, both of them following. You were more pissed at them than anything as you turn the shower on, hearing the door open from you trying to slam it close.

"Y/N, answer us," your blonde father demands softly, turning you around to look at everything spilled over your clothes.

"Stop acting like you care about me," you spit out and shove him. "Stop acting like you only see me now. Just get out."

"Honey—"

"Shut the hell up and get out of my room!" Stopping Bucky's hurt tone, you lead them out with harsh shoves and slam the door, locking it before sliding down on the ground. It was the first time in weeks where neither of were screaming, but now they were standing outside your door, begs coming off their lips as you cry your eyes out on your bedroom floor.

Finally standing, you enter the bathroom to peel your drenched and stained clothes off, careful with the nasty food in your hair. The water was much warmer than what you were, helping the terrible ache in your bones from when you slipped in mud up the driveway.

The day was worse than any other you have had in a few years, and your fathers arguing the second you walked through the foor after being away on a mission didn't help the tears that were already freely flowing, mixing with the rain drops.

You sit on the bed with the towel in your hair while debating if you want to leave the room. You were hungry, but not willing to see your dads without fully laying into them. You were tired. Of everything. The bullying, the loud music, screaming, shouts, crying. You were done.

Your stomach rumbling was enough of a decision to finally slip out of bed and open your door, surprised to see they have both left, leaving the house under a silence that was much needed, but didn't fit the atmosphere you were used to. And now seeing Bucky in the kitchen with two water bottles in his hand in nothing but sweats other than his normal jeans and long sleeved henley was a shock, meeting eyes with him.

"Y/N," he sighs, almost in relief.

"Dad," you greet, nodding once before moving past him to get to the fridge. It was empty, like the past few weeks. "Have neither of you picked up any groceries?" The silence was enough of an answer, and you lean your head on the door with another sigh, feeling the tears prick your eyes once more.

"Y/N, we've been a little busy the past few weeks," Bucky says softly, and it was like it something in you snapped.

"More like few months, Dad." Pushing away from the fridge, you move to the pantry to avoid his gaze, already seeing his head drop to the side. "Or years? I lost count, actually."