Stucky/Evanstan oneshots

Fate is cruel Pt.2 (Stucky: Postserum)

TW:
- Depression
- Panic disorder (panic attacks)
- Suicide 

PLEASE DON'T READ IF ANY OF THESE TOPICS ARE TRIGGERING.

☔︎☏︎☹︎

"Steve, darling why are you awake?" He heard Peggy ask from behind him. The blond didn't answer, he only stared down at his hands, back hunched over and it almost felt like his mouth was locked shut. "It's three in the morning, Steve."

"Yeah sorry, just uh- just go back to sleep. I'll be there in a minute." Steve said without looking at the woman, eyes glued down to his hands. There was a moment of silence before he felt her hands on his shoulders, leaving warmth in it's trail, her grip around his body grounding him on earth.

"Is this about Bucky?" She asked softly.

"No Peggy, I'm fine." Steve told her, his voice coming out sharp and rough against his tongue and he almost didn't recognise it as his own. He felt the brunette let go, her touch going cold and her tenderness fading. Great, now he'd upset her too.

"Oh. Ok. I'll be waiting." Was all the brit said before she padded away, her footsteps getting quieter the further she got.

Steve sighed, could feel this heavy feeling in his chest that stifled his body. He could breathe perfectly fine but it felt like there was a boulder on his shoulder, weighing him down as if maybe he shouldn't be breathing completely fine. It was guilt. He could feel it. Seeping through his veins and painting the word idiot all over his insides in bold, black letters. He was worried it'd show through the white of his skin and put who he really was on display for everyone to see.

He dropped his head into his hands. What had he done? What the fuck had he done? He'd just hurt his one and only Bucky, his best friend, his partner in crime, the boy who'd stuck up for him since he was just a little lad, through good and bad, ups and downs. He'd given up irretrievable hours cleaning wounds, making soup, staying by his bedside until he'd fall asleep holding his hand while Steve struggled to breathe. So of course he felt guilty. Bucky did absolutely nothing wrong but here he was, sitting in a nice house with his girlfriend, his ever so gorgeous Peggy, with fresh food in his fridge and nice warm clothes on his body. And where was Bucky? Probably alone. By himself with thoughts that were almost certainly eating him up by now. Such a nice, loyal man didn't deserve to be alone, if anything Steve should be the one being punished for being so damn blind.

The blond could still remember how Bucky's hand felt against his and if he was lying he'd say it didn't send sparks through his extremities but he couldn't lie now. How could he possibly lie when the brunet had literally just told him he loved him? Steve glanced over his shoulder, staring at the door where his and Peggy's room was. What if he's loved Bucky back for all these years but he'd been too naive to understand what was happening? No. That couldn't be right. He loved Peggy with all his heart. There's a lot more space for Bucky. His mind told him but he quickly dismissed it. He wasn't gay. He was straight. Yeah right. You're about as straight as a bendy ruler, Rogers. The voice inside his head said again and he had to shake it out of his mind. He wasn't gay. He'd only ever been with women, and he'd only ever been attracted to women. I thought you wouldn't lie.

"Just fucking shut up!" He exclaimed under his breath, banging the side of his fist against his forehead. Steve took a deep breath, tried to clear his mind and just think everything through properly but those damn words kept echoing through the insides of his head.

I'm fuckin' in love with you, Steve! That's my problem.

He felt his muscles tensing, pushing him off of the couch. Felt his socks against the warm floor as he slowly walked. But even as he was moving, all he could hear was Bucky's voice over and over and over again, the pain in the boy's eyes flashing up in his head and it quickly became apparent that there was no way of stopping the pain he'd provoked. The blond had tried calling countless times, watching with hopeful eyes, yet every single damn time he'd been met with bitter disappointment. What was he to do now?