howdy.

You were the divorced mom down the hall who spent weekends alone. A body that had softened, filled out, grown into itself—and a confidence that came with it.

Tonight, the power had gone out in the middle of a brutal summer storm.

Your place was the only one with a working generator hookup, so you knocked on his door with a flashlight in one hand and a bottle of whiskey in the other.

“Hey,” you said when he opened it, leaning against the frame in a thin tank top and cotton shorts. “You’re welcome to wait it out here. No sense sitting alone in the dark.”

Bucky hesitated, cheeks flushing under the stubble, but he followed you inside like a lost puppy.

Now the storm raged outside while candlelight flickered across your living room.

You sat on the couch, legs tucked beneath you, watching him. He perched on the edge of the armchair like he might bolt any second, metal fingers drumming against his thigh.

“You keep looking at me like I’m gonna bite,” you teased, sipping your drink.

His eyes flicked up, wide and uncertain. “You’re… you’re real pretty, is all. And I haven’t— I mean, it’s been a long time since I…”

Since he’d been with anyone.

You set your glass down and patted the space beside you. “Come here, sweetheart.”

He obeyed immediately.

The couch dipped under his weight, heat radiating off him, rain clinging to his skin. You could smell it—clean, storm-soaked, mixed with something distinctly him.

You reached up slowly, giving him time to pull away, and cupped his jaw.

“Ever been with a woman who knows what she wants, Bucky?” you asked softly.

He shook his head, breath catching. “Not… not like this.”

“Good.”

Your smile was slow. Warm.

“Then let me show you.”

The kiss started soft. Just a press of lips.

He made a quiet, surprised sound, then melted.

His mouth opened under yours like he’d been starving for it, his hand coming to your waist, tentative at first, then firmer as you deepened the kiss. You guided him easily, letting him follow your lead, his shy little responses sending heat pooling low in your belly.

When you pulled back, his lips were swollen, his pupils blown wide.

“Bedroom?” you whispered.

He nodded so fast it almost made you laugh.

You took his hand and led him down the hall.

Your room glowed gold in candlelight.

You turned and pulled your tank top over your head.

His breath hitched.

Your breasts spilled free, heavy and soft, nipples already tightening in the cool air—and under the weight of his stare.

“Fuck,” Bucky breathed, like you were something sacred.

“Touch me,” you said.

His hands shook as they came up to cup you, thumbs brushing over your nipples with reverent care. You arched into him with a soft moan, and that was what broke him.

He dropped his head, mouth finding your neck, then lower—kissing, mouthing, until he wrapped his lips around your nipple and sucked.

You threaded your fingers into his hair, holding him there.

“That’s it, baby… just like that.”

He groaned against your skin, the vibration shooting straight between your legs.

You could feel how hard he was through his sweatpants—thick, insistent against your thigh. Your hand dropped to palm him, and he jolted, hips jerking forward with a broken sound.

“Easy,” you murmured, stroking him slow. “We’ve got all night.”

You undressed him piece by piece, kissing every inch you revealed—scarred shoulder, metal plates, soft skin, the trail of hair leading down.

When his cock sprang free—heavy, flushed, already leaking—you exhaled softly.

“So pretty.”

You dropped to your knees.

“Wait— you don’t have to—”

“I want to,” you said simply, looking up at him. “Let me.”

The first swipe of your tongue had him swearing under his breath—something that sounded like Russian.

You took him deeper, working him slow and steady, hollowing your cheeks, your hand cupping his balls. His thighs trembled, metal hand hovering near your head, not touching—like he didn’t trust himself to.

“Ma’am— fuck— I’m gonna—”

You pulled off with a soft pop.

“Not yet,” you said, standing. “On the bed, soldier.”

He went instantly.

You climbed over him, straddling his hips, your shorts and panties gone in one smooth motion.

You were soaked.

Achy.

And the way he looked at you—spread over him, open, dripping—made your clit throb.

You took his cock in your hand and dragged it through your folds, teasing yourself, teasing him, until you were both breathing hard.

“Ready?” you asked.

“Please,” he said immediately.

You sank down slowly.

Every inch.

The stretch was perfect—full, deep, exactly what you needed. You both moaned when you bottomed out, hips meeting his.

You stayed there a moment, letting him feel it—how warm you were, how tight, how you clenched around him.

Then you started to move.

Slow at first. Rolling your hips, grinding down so your clit dragged against him.

His head fell back, eyes squeezed shut, hands gripping your thighs hard.

“Look at me, baby.”

He did.

Glass-eyed. Wrecked already.

You picked up the pace, riding him harder, the wet sound of skin filling the room, louder than the storm outside.

“You feel so good,” you murmured, leaning down to kiss him. “Filling me up so well.”

His entire body reacted.

Cock twitching hard inside you, a broken sound tearing from his throat.

“I've got you,” you whispered, rolling your hips in tight circles. “You’re doing so good for me. Such a sweet, needy boy.”

That was it.

He came with a shout, hips bucking, warmth flooding you in hot pulses.

You followed right after, clenching around him, riding it out until your body gave out and you collapsed onto his chest.

For a long moment, there was nothing but breathing. And rain.

Then his arms wrapped around you—tight. Careful. Like you might disappear.

“That was…” he exhaled shakily. “I’ve never…”

You kissed his jaw, smiling against his skin.

“We’re just getting started, sweetheart.”

His cheeks flushed.

“Next time,” you added softly, “I’ll teach you how to use that mouth.”

He huffed out a quiet, nervous laugh.

“Yes, ma’am.”

Outside, the storm began to fade.

Inside, candlelight flickered over tangled sheets and soft skin.

And Bucky Barnes—former assassin, war hero, haunted man—curled into you like he’d finally found something safe.

Something warm.

Something his.

And you?

. ܁₊ ⊹ . ܁ ⟡ ܁ . ⊹ ₊ ܁.

Chapter 2:  Gentleman from Another Time

The morning after the debrief dawned crisp and bright over the Avengers Compound. Sunlight slanted through the tall windows of the residential wing, catching on the polished concrete floors and the subtle Stark-tech accents that lined the hallways—soft-glowing panels, biometric locks, and the occasional holographic display flickering with overnight security updates. The Compound itself sprawled across nearly a hundred acres of upstate New York countryside, a careful blend of sleek modern architecture and functional military design. What had once been a massive Stark Industries warehouse had been transformed: training fields with reinforced surfaces that could handle Hulk-level impacts, underground hangars for the Quinjet, state-of-the-art labs where Bruce and Tony still tinkered when the mood struck, and living quarters that felt surprisingly homey despite the reinforced walls.

Your room was on the second floor of the agents’ wing—modest compared to the Avengers’ suites, but comfortable. A queen bed with crisp linens, a small sitting area overlooking the tree line, a desk cluttered with tablets and mission reports, and a closet that held your growing collection of practical field gear mixed with the few “civilian” outfits you rarely got to wear. The air smelled faintly of the lavender diffuser you kept running; it helped after long nights like the one before.

You woke with a flutter in your stomach that had nothing to do with residual mission adrenaline.

He had asked you out. Bucky Barnes—the Bucky Barnes—had stumbled over the word “date” with that cracked voice and then given you the softest smile you’d ever seen. You’d liked him for months. The quiet way he lingered in the kitchen, the careful distance he kept until you closed it, the way his metal fingers would still when he handed you a fixed tablet or a perfectly made coffee. He was dangerous, yes. Everyone knew the file. But around you, he was… gentle. Hesitant. Like he was afraid the wrong move might shatter something fragile.

You weren’t expecting perfection tonight. You just wanted time with him. Real time, outside the Compound’s familiar rhythms. A chance to see if the spark that had been building in those late-night talks could become something more.

Grinning to yourself, you padded to the closet and started rifling through options. Most of your dresses were simple—practical for quick changes or the rare off-site briefing. But tucked in the back was one you’d bought on a whim during a supply run into the city: a soft navy wrap dress with a subtle A-line skirt that fell just above the knee. It hugged in all the right places without being overt, the fabric a smooth jersey that moved easily. You knew Bucky would like it—the color reminded you of his eyes when the light hit them just right, and the modest cut felt like something that wouldn’t make him overthink. You paired it with low heels you could actually walk in and a light cardigan in case the evening cooled.

Your phone buzzed on the nightstand. Natasha. You’d texted her first thing:

You: He finally asked. Dinner tonight. I’m freaking out a little.

Her reply was instant, as always.

Nat: About time. Barnes has been staring at you like a kicked puppy for months. Wear the navy one. He won’t know what hit him. And breathe—you’ve faced worse than a date.

You laughed, the nerves easing into pure excitement. You fired back a quick photo of the dress laid out on the bed, along with:

You: This one? Wish me luck. I just want to spend time with him. No pressure.

Nat: You’ve got this. He’s the one who should be nervous. Text me after if you need extraction.  😉

The rest of your day passed in a pleasant haze of low-stakes tasks. You sat in on a morning logistics bri efing, updated some field protocols, and helped calibrate a new comms array in the tech lab. All the while, your mind drifted to tonight. The way Bucky’s voice had gone rough on that single word. The way his smile had lit up the dim common room. You’d been hoping—quietly, carefully—for weeks that he might take the step. Now that he had, the anticipation felt warm and bright, like sunlight on your skin after a long winter.

Meanwhile, across the Compound in his sparse quarters on the senior team floor, Bucky was deep in 1940s gentleman mode.

His room was minimalist by design: a king bed with military corners, a single bookshelf holding a few dog-eared classics and one framed photo of the Howling Commandos, a small desk, and a wardrobe that held mostly blacks and grays. The metal arm gleamed under the overhead lights as he moved, plates shifting with soft whirs. He’d already spent the first hour after waking researching on his tablet—FRIDAY had helped narrow it down without too many sarcastic comments.

He wanted something classic. Romantic but not overwhelming. After scrolling through reviews and old-style listings, he settled on Convivium Osteria in Park Slope, Brooklyn. It had that rustic-yet-elegant countryside Italian charm: candlelit tables, exposed brick, a cozy atmosphere that felt like stepping back in time without being stuffy. Reviews mentioned the occasional live music—sometimes a violinist on weekend evenings—and the homemade pastas and wine list were supposed to be authentic. Perfect. Not too flashy, but special. The kind of place where a fella could actually talk to his girl without shouting over bass-heavy speakers.

He booked the reservation for 7:30 p.m. under “Barnes,” his voice steady on the phone even as his metal fingers tapped an anxious rhythm on the desk.

Next came the flowers. He took the motorcycle into the flower shop—careful on the back roads, the wind whipping through his hair. At a small florist tucked between a bakery and a bookstore, he studied the buckets. Peonies caught his eye: lush, ruffled blooms in soft pinks and whites, full and romantic. The florist told him they symbolized love, honor, and good fortune—bashful romance in the old language. They felt right. He bought a generous bouquet, the stems wrapped in brown paper. On the ride back, he gripped the handlebars a little too tightly with his left hand; by the time he reached the Compound garage, a few petals were slightly crumpled, the blooms a touch bruised from the vibration and his nervous hold. He winced but hoped you wouldn’t mind.

The car came next. He didn’t ride the bike on dates—not for a first one. Instead, he used one of the Compound’s unmarked SUVs, a sleek black model with tinted windows and more horsepower than any 1940s dream car. He spent nearly an hour in the garage: vacuuming the mats, wiping down the leather seats, checking the tires, even polishing the dash until it shone. Old habits. A gentleman picked up his girl in a clean car. He adjusted the mirrors twice, muttering under his breath about modern gadgets.

Then came the cologne dilemma.

Bucky found Sam in the gym, wiping sweat from a heavy bag session. Sam took one look at Bucky’s unusually neat hair (combed back with a touch of product) and the button-down shirt already pressed and hanging on a nearby hook, and grinned like a shark.

“Big night, Tin Man?”

“Shut up, Wilson.” Bucky crossed his arms, metal plating catching the fluorescent lights. “Just… what cologne do people wear now? For a date. Something that doesn’t smell like a chemical plant.”

Sam’s grin widened. He clapped Bucky on the shoulder. “Oh, this is gold. Alright, here’s the move. Go with ‘Midnight Eclipse.’ It’s what all the kids are wearing. Strong, mysterious, a little dangerous. Chicks dig it.”

Bucky narrowed his eyes. “You’re messing with me.”

“Would I do that?” Sam’s innocent face was terrible. “Trust me. One spritz. You’ll knock her dead.”

Later, alone in his bathroom, Bucky stared at the bottle Sam had “helpfully” left outside his door. The scent was… aggressive. Like pine needles mixed with motor oil and regret. He sprayed once, immediately regretted it, then scrubbed half of it off in the sink. He settled for something subtler from his own limited stash—clean, woody, with a hint of something warm that didn’t scream “trying too hard.”

He dressed carefully: dark blue button-down that pulled across his shoulders just right, the color making his eyes stand out. Black slacks, polished boots. Hair combed neatly, jaw freshly shaved. He looked in the mirror and saw the ghost of the 1940s charmer staring back—nervous, but determined. The metal arm was hidden under the sleeve, but he still rolled it once, testing the fit. You’re not that guy anymore. But maybe… for one night, you can try.

The day dragged for him in a haze of second-guessing. He ran perimeter laps to burn off energy. Helped Steve tune up an old motorcycle in the garage, ignoring the knowing looks. Rehearsed conversation starters in his head: How was your day? The pasta here is supposed to be homemade. You look beautiful—wait, too soon?

By 6:50 p.m., he was ready. Ten minutes early, bouquet in hand (slightly worse for the ride over in the passenger seat), he stood outside your door in the residential hallway. The lights here were softer, warmer tones designed to feel less institutional. His heart—serum-enhanced or not—pounded harder than it had during yesterday’s extraction.

He knocked. Three measured raps.

You opened the door, and the world narrowed to just you.

The navy dress fit like it had been made for the occasion—elegant, soft, moving with you as you stepped back in surprise and delight. Your hair was styled simply but beautifully, a touch of makeup that made your eyes brighter. You looked… stunning. Pretty in a way that hit him like a gut punch from the past, reminding him of dances under string lights and girls who smiled like the future was wide open.

Bucky’s cheeks flushed a deep pink, visible even under the hallway lighting. His mouth opened, closed, then opened again. The bouquet—those lush peonies, a few petals gently crushed from his anxious grip during the drive—felt suddenly inadequate in his metal hand.

“You look… wow,” he mumbled, the words rough and sincere, eyes wide and unable to look away. The blue of his gaze traced your face, your dress, then flicked down to the flowers as if remembering them. “These are for you. Peonies. They, uh… they reminded me of something good.”

You beamed, the smile lighting up your entire expression. The excitement you’d carried all day crested into something warmer, sweeter. He was here. Early. Looking impossibly handsome in that button-down that hugged his frame just right, hair combed like he’d put real effort in. The faint scent of his cologne (not whatever joke Sam had suggested) mixed with the clean smell of soap and something distinctly Bucky. Your nerves from earlier melted away. This was what you’d wanted—him, trying, for you.

“They’re beautiful, Bucky. Thank you.” You took the bouquet carefully, fingers brushing his as you did. The slight crumpling only made them more endearing. “Come in for a second while I put these in water?”

He nodded, stepping inside but staying near the door, ever the gentleman. His eyes followed you as you found a makeshift vase in the small kitchenette area—actually a repurposed tactical water bottle, but it worked. The peonies looked vibrant against the neutral tones of your room.

You turned back to him, still smiling. “I’ve been looking forward to this all day. Honestly… I’ve liked the idea of this for a while now.”

His blush deepened, but that soft smile from last night crept back onto his face—the one that made the hard lines of his jaw soften. “Me too. More than I probably should’ve let on.” He cleared his throat, shifting his weight. The metal arm flexed once at his side before stilling. “I found a place in Brooklyn. Italian. Supposed to have good atmosphere. Candlelight and everything. If… if that sounds alright.”

“It sounds wonderful,” you said, meaning it. No grand expectations. Just him.

Bucky straightened a little, the 1940s manners settling over him like a well-worn jacket. He offered his arm—flesh one, always the flesh one when he could—though you hadn’t even left the room yet.

“Are you ready to go?”

Something about the way that you said it, or the way you looked away from him and couldn't meet his gaze made Bucky tense. He could tell you weren't telling the full truth, but what was he supposed to do, straight up accuse you of lying to his face?

You'd only been dating for about a month now, it didn't feel like you were quite at the stage where he could expect you to lay it all out for him one hundred percent of the time. But still, he'd hoped you would have trusted him enough at this point to feel comfortable telling him when you were struggling.

Then again, he hadn't gotten to the point where he had fully come clean about the ways he struggled either.

He let out a breath. "Do you want me to make you dinner?" he offered, joining you in the kitchen.

You shook your head. "No, that's okay. I'd like to tonight, if that's okay. It'll help me wind down."

He frowned, taken aback but tried to hide it. "Oh, okay. Yeah, no, that's fine."

Bucky waited a moment for you to change your mind, but when you started to pull out the pots and pans, he decided to let you have the space you wanted.

He found himself knocking on Steve's door a few moments later. Steve opened the door to see Bucky's furrowed brows and sighed. "What's the matter, Buck?"

"I don't know what to do. She had a bad day, but doesn't want me to do anything about it," Bucky said, walking past Steve into the room and sitting down on the bed with a huff. "She didn't even want me to make dinner, she wanted to do it. Alone."

Steve whistled. "Well, sometimes you just need space after a rough day."

Bucky nodded. "And I get that. But I feel so useless."

"Well, you could always get her something. If she doesn't want you to do something, a simple gesture would be good to show her you see and understand her."

Steve sat down next to Bucky, who looked over with a sigh. "Like what?"

He thought for a second then smiled at his friend. "I have something in mind."

-----

The next day, when you came home from work and walked into your room, you froze. Your room was never heavily decorated, so the burst of colour from the flowers on your desk stood out immediately. You slowly set your bag down and approached the vase.

The flower arrangement was vibrant and lively, your favourite colour. You reached out and gently stroked one of the soft petals. Sticking out of the vase was a small stick with a note attached. You pulled it out and read it:

To brighten up your day ~ Your Bucky

You giggled and bent down to smell the flowers. They were fragrant and beautiful.

"I, uh, thought it might be nice to spruce up the space," a voice said from behind you.

You turned to see Bucky awkwardly standing in the doorway, eyes locked on the flowers. "Hey," you greeted.

"Hey." He took a few steps over to you. "Do you, uh. You know, like them? If not, I can take them back. Well, maybe not back, but I can take them away. It was Steve's idea, he thought you'd like them. If not, I--"

You stopped him with your hands on his cheeks, pulling his face into yours for a kiss. He quickly melted into the kiss, his hands coming to rest on your waist. When you pulled away, you giggled at the deepening pink of his blush. "I love them," you said, glancing back at the bouquet. "What are they for?"

"You had a rough day yesterday, and I, just... didn't know what to do for you. You didn't need anything from me, but I still wanted to do something. I figured something like this could be a reminder that even if you have a bad day at work, there are beautiful things waiting for you at home." He looked down at you with those gorgeous blue eyes and you felt your cheeks growing warm.

You let out a little laugh. "I mean, yeah, my day wasn't great, but you didn't need to."

He shrugged. "I know. I wanted to."

"Well, they are beautiful. And whenever I see them, I'll think of my Bucky," you said, your lips stretching into a smile as you thought of his note.

A cough escaped Bucky's throat as he looked away. "Was that too much?" he asked, his eyes catching on the note that was now resting on the top of the desk.

You shook your head. "Not at all. I quite like the sound of it."

"Does that mean I get to call you mine too?" he asked. He tested it out a few times, letting your name linger on his tongue like a sweet he didn't want to finish eating.

You laughed, wrapping your arms around his body, tucking your head into his chest. "You are ridiculous."

"Only for you, doll."

***

Peter, being the kind soul he is, paused when her saw her pained expression. "Hey Honey, are you ok?" His hands held tight onto the straps of his backpack, knuckles white. She just gave him a tense smile.

"Pete! I didn't see you there. I'm fine, I just, uh," she sighed softly, dropping her shoulders. "I was just trying to figure out where the computer manuals were. Havin' some trouble in my office." She pushed her gold-framed glasses up the ridge of her nose softly, nails painted delicately with little strawberries.

"Really? You know maybe I could lend you a hand."

Gotcha.

She smiled widely. "Would you? Gosh, I feel so clueless when it comes to anything techy. Not exactly my strong suit." She giggled lightly as she grabbed his hand, leading him back into her office with sparkling eyes and a victorious grin.

"Oh, it looks like you just need a little reroute." Peter went off into a rant of technological terms that her brain couldn't start to decipher when John opened the door. He smiled at her with raised eyebrows and a pink gift bag. She gave him a sweet smile, welcoming his arm around her like a warm embrace.

"Hey, babe." She bit her lip at the nickname. She wasn't too fond of being called babe. She didn't mind baby, but babe feels lazy and abrupt. "I got you something." He held the bag up.

"What for?" She grabbed the bag from his outstretched hand.

"Think of it as an early Valentine's. I was too excited to wait." He whispered. She laughed at him.

"All fixed!" Peter jumped up from under the desk, flinching when he saw John in the room, not hearing him come in. "Oh, hey man! Scared me there." He laughed nervously.

"Peter." He nodded down at him. An awkward silence went through the space.

"Well then, thank you, Pete!" She kissed him on the cheek and patted his shoulders. "Don't know what I'd do without you. I'll catch up with y'all later, alright?"

"Oh, uh, ok." His brain seemed to short circuit, face twitching before settling on a tense smile and waving goodbye without another word.

John chuckled. "Took him long enough."

"Hey, now. He was fixin' my monitor." She scolded him lightly. He rolled his eyes.

"Do you always gotta be so... touchy?" He grumbled. He face was tight. Blank. "I mean, not just with Pete. You're always hugging and touching people, always kissing their cheeks. You're my girl."

"John Walker are you jealous? Of a junior in high school?" She smirked playfully. "Pete is like a brother to me."

"He sure doesn't see you like a sister." He mumbled, rolling his eyes.

"Don't get yourself in a tizzy." She winked. "Now let's see what we got here." She pulled the wrapping away, revealing a small blue box in the bottom of the bag. She smiled giddily, popping open the lid, but her heart stuttered when she saw the silver bracelet looking back at her.

She was never one to wear silver. Gold burned bright and alive, like the sun in the early morning. Silver dulled and tarnished. Nevertheless, how picky can she be when he was trying his best?

She smiled anyway, kissing him promptly before the thought bled too deeply into her mind. The color was jarring against her dainty yellow gold pieces. She felt her eye twitch and a small pool of dread in her stomach build.

It was dreadfully ugly.

"Thank you baby. I love it." She whispered, giving him one last peck on the lips.

"Knew you would. Look, it stands out. A nice change from the rest of your collection. Cheaper too." She winced. He winked.

With a strangled sigh, Honey found herself chasing down Steve to confirm his color swatches for his tie for the upcoming Gala. Something about funding STEM programs for transfer students that Tony felt the need to involve himself in. Attendance was non-negotiable for all the Avengers, and higher-up SHIELD employees were promised Monday off if they attended.

She twirled around in the tower, going through endless halls to find him, and smiling widely when she spotted him through the glass in the gym. Pushing the door open, her ears were assaulted with loud music as they all trained.

"Cap!" She smiled widely, walking up to him with a clipboard and a few books in her arm. He turned to face her, feet bounding heavily on the treadmill at an ungodly speed. His muscles rippled under his skin as he moved, chest rising and falling steadily. Steve looked carved out of bronze as he moved, sure and steady. Looking between her and the machine a few times, he pressed the pause button and hopped off, chugging his water bottle.

"Hey, sweetheart. What you got for me?" He licked his lips, scratching his beard as he looked down at her.

"I need you to approve what color you want for your tie for the STEM students' Gala." There were five different blue fabrics on her board, all just slightly different from each other. To the blind eye, they looked the same. He squinted closely, frowning at the clipboard.

"They look the same." He chuckled. She rolled her eyes playfully.

"Do not! This one is more of a muted gray, this one is a mature navy, here we have-" She was quickly cut off.

"Honey. Which one do you like?" He raised his eyebrows. Her eyes lit up at the question.

"Well, this one would really make your eyes pop with the deep rich blue-"

"Then do that one." He chuckled at her liveliness. She was wordless for a moment before she nodded and saluted him before walking back out, not before greeting her friends though.

"Bye, Cap! Hi Sammy and Nat." She winked at the two sparring before leaving through the same door she came in. Steve looked back, pausing when he saw Bucky in the corner with a scowl on his face, but the thing that confused him was the longing look in his eyes. Fleeting and dark, the moment passed before he returned to racking his weights.

The second the heavy glass door closed, she felt a cold, slender hand grab her shoulder. Whipping her head around, her eyes quickly found Pepper's looking into hers with a wicked grin on her face. Her eyes twinkled hopefully.

"Drinks at Cosmos?" She batted her eyes. Honey frowned.

"Who's going?"

"Well, obviously me, Tony, Natasha, Sam, Steve and Buck, uhh..." She counted on her fingers and looked up at the ceiling. Honey let out a hmph.

"James is going?" She bit her lip nervously, pulling the skin apart between her teeth. She and Bucky had never quite connected over the last six months since he arrived at the Tower. The first month or two, she tried her best to give him the benefit of the doubt, with his being fresh off the ice and struggling to acclimate to the world around him, but his abrasive attitude and rude, clipped answers never satisfied her and only left her frustrated. Bucky was a man of few words, but the ones he let slip were rarely very kind.

"Are you still butthurt? Jesus, Honey, that was three months ago." Pepper giggled and rolled her eyes. "Anyways, meet us at 8. Invite John if you want." She winked before dismissing you for the day.

Rain poured down from the sky, pelting into her umbrella with a harsh slap. She cursed under her breath, racing across the flooding streets and quickly regretting her choice to walk. Cosmos wasn't far from her apartment, and she figured the rain would be light.

Oh, how wrong she'd been.

Her fingers trembled from the cold, droplets racing to soak her skirt through to her bare legs. All she could do was focus on her heels to make sure she didn't trip, and she let out a large sigh when the vintage sign came into view.

Cosmos was known for its cocktail hour and vibrant atmosphere. The walls were a deep, crusted velvet maroon, and smooth jazz played through the speakers on the weekdays. Weekends had live piano. Her hand struggled to yank the heavy door open, but when she did, she was met with the rich, intoxicating smell of bergamot and the sound of glasses clinking. Soft laughter was heard from the different booths, but Tony always reserved the same one, tucked in the corner with deep-seated benches and a large round table.

As she approached the table, she could hear Tony's laughter grow louder. He was talking animatedly, and she could tell he had had a few drinks by his lack of volume control. "Hey, strangers." Honey smiled at her friends. The umbrella hung low in her grasp, and she let out a small sigh as the cold soaked her legs.

"Jesus! What'd you do, walk here?" Tony chuckled. "Get in here." He waved her in, and she nestled into a spot between Pepper and Natasha. On the right was Pepper and Tony, and on her left were Natasha, Sam, Steve, and Bucky. He tapped his fingers on the whiskey glass he nursed. "Is John coming?" He asked, his tone half-genuine, half-poking.

"Should be! Said he won't be here until 8:30, though." She took off her glasses to wipe them clear on her shirt. Quickly, the conversation picked back up, with Tony narrating the majority of the time. Time passed slowly and she checked her phone nervously for any new messages.

8:08. No new notifications.

The bartender rolled around, collecting everyone's order. "What about you, darlin'? Dirty Shirley?" She froze in her spot. A dirty Shirley felt wrong. Wrong in the way silver jewelry clashed against her skin. She opened her mouth but Bucky beat her to it.

"Cherry whiskey sour," Bucky mumbled up at her, giving her a tight-lipped smile. Honey’s heart gave a strange, stuttered skip. She thanked him too brightly, too fast. He just looked down.

8:13. No new notifications.

Honey: Hey! Let me know when you're heading this way. Love you.

8:24. No new notifications.

She tapped her fingers on the table.

"You okay?" Steve looked at her with furrowed eyebrows. "You seem tense."

"Huh? Oh! Yeah, I'm fine," she waved her hand at him with a dismissive sigh. "John's just, he just hasn't answered me." She smiled tightly, sipping her drink. Steve just nodded, looking away after a moment.

8:45. No new notifications. Honey rolled her eyes and tossed her phone into her purse, silencing it for the night. If John wanted her attention, he could fight for it. Tony suggested a game of truth or drink, which everyone reluctantly agreed to.

His first victim was Steve.

"What celebrity do you wish you could date?" Steve chuckled, scratching his head for a moment.

"I don't really know many new ones. Uh, who's the redhead in Titanic? She's pretty." His face got flustered, blood rushing to his cheeks. His eyes glanced over to Natasha, but only for a fleeting moment before looking into his glass.

"Kate Blanchet! You know, I asked her out one time. Turned me down, though." Tony rolled his eyes. "Alright, golden boy, your turn."

Steve was lost in thought before looking at Sam with a sly smirk. "How many times have you googled the Captain America workout, no steroids, no serums?" Sam's face was gravely still, and there was something the rest of the group was not aware of.

"It was one time, Steve! How many times are you gonna bring that up?" He rolled his eyes, chugging the beer in front of him. Honey giggled into her hand. "Is that funny, blondie? How about you then? Is Walker really your type?" The table went quiet, and Honey’s drink caught in her throat, burning on the way down. She sputtered, wide-eyed, words tripping over themselves but never forming.

"That's a no," Bucky mumbled under his breath, voice low but sharp enough to cut. Honey rolled her eyes, focusing them on the thorned brunette across the table sulking into himself.

"Tell me, Barnes," she furrowed her eyebrows angrily, pushing her glasses up the bridge of her nose. "What is my type? Since you seem to know me so well from the sparse conversations we've had." She smiled at him. Soft and sweet, but her voice was sour like the glass clinking in her hand. If she was truly honest with herself, the reason the answer riled her up so much was that she knew deep down he was right, and even deeper down that he knew that as well.

Bucky simply stared at her, sizing her like prey almost. "You want someone to keep you comfortable." His voice was so quiet, falling low yet not quite reaching a whisper. Strong and deep. She watched as he slowly licked his lips, holding eye contact longer than he ever had before.

"I'm sorry?" She asked, half confused, yet half offended. He sighed, leaning his elbows forward against the mahogany wood and challenging her sharp, searing stare.

"You want someone who doesn't ask too many questions. Someone who lets you talk and nods at the right parts. Someone who buys you things that look good from far away and doesn’t notice when they don’t fit.” He pointed at the thick, silver bracelet that seemed to shy away from her other pieces like oil and water. Her eye twitched with frustration.

The table had gone uncomfortably quiet. Tony had stopped smiling. Natasha’s eyes flicked between them like she was watching a tennis match.

"You don't know me." Her tone quiet, yet stern. Her gaze remained unwavering.

"You think you're so mysterious? You don’t want to be challenged. You want to be agreed with. You want someone who likes how you look on their arm, how you make ‘em feel in a room. Someone who calls you ‘babe’ because actually knowing what you like would take real work." He spat his words, but his face remained stoic and dropped downward.

That last one bit. She felt the sting settle into her skin, like a bruise forming under the surface. Her throat felt constricted, and she reached up to grip her little heart necklace tightly between her thumb and pointer finger. His eyes followed every minuscule move she made, observing the way her throat bobbed. He knew he struck a nerve.

"I don't know what's worse, Honey," he spoke, softer now. "The fact that you settle for it or that you pretend it's enough." He sucked in a deep breath, whisking down the rest of his glass without breaking eye contact. She watched as his wide shoulders sank back into the booth with a quiet comfort. Pity hung low in his eyes, but unbeknownst to her, the very core was deep-rooted envy.

Silence stretched. The jazz humming through the bar felt suddenly too loud.

"I think I should go." The words came out softer than she had meant them to. Turning to the rest of the group, who sat with wide eyes and awkward expressions, she gave them all a polite smile. "I'll see everyone Saturday. Steve, don't forget to pick up your suit tomorrow morning." Without another word, they all watched as she walked away, kitten heels clicking with devastating familiarity.

The second her hand wrapped around the heavy metal handle and icy rain pelted her skirt, the tears came—hot and salty, streaking down her cheeks. She didn’t care. The sky was crying with her anyway.

Babe. Baby. Honey.

She placed the names over and over in her head, listening to the way they roll off John's tongue. She imagined his soft smile as he spoke to her. The way his teeth glinted in the sun, the way his lips curved slightly, the way his choppy brown hair-

"Ugh!" She slapped her hand against her head repeatedly, sobbing as she did so. Why did he have to ruin everything? She sucked in a shaky, snotty breath, lips shuddering as she did so. God, she wanted to be alone so bad, yet her heart yearned for comfort. From whom she wasn't quite sure, but her boyfriend seemed to who she should want. She let out a broken sigh, questioning the lest few months with John.

The Uber to his apartment was quiet and stuffy. She watched as rain slowly melted off her heels and into the rubber floor mats. She picked nervously at her manicure, replaying his words over and over. The little strawberries now cracked and pulled apart.

"I don't know what's worse, Honey. The fact that you settle for it or that you pretend it's enough."

They tugged at her heart in ways she had never felt before, and she was so embarrassingly ashamed to admit that his words were nothing but the dark, ugly truth. She didn't love John. Not like that, anyway. She felt sick to her stomach.

The world seemed to move around her in blurs, and she found herself approaching his apartment door faster than she thought. She didn't remember taking the elevator. His building was nice, with a single older doorman and warm sconces lining the hallways. It felt so warm and classy, so inviting.

“Tell me gorgeous, do you always have to be so charming?” John grinned down on Honey, taking a swig of his beer as he did so. She smirked at him, tilting her head flirtatiously and letting her ponytail sway with her body, bangs ruffled from the breeze off the lake. His eyes drank her appearance in, mouth practically salivating as he stared at her little pink boy short bikini with dainty black bows on the strings of the top.

She was petite. God was that attractive to him. Her wedge flip flops did little to match his height. The size of her sunglasses amused him, but what amused him most was her mouth. Such a polite, well mannered doll with such a vulgar tongue. The first time he paid attention was when he heard her bickering with Sam about how he’s a bag of dicks and somehow he still doesn’t have any balls. He let out a snort and turned around to listen, but gave a second look when he realized who was talking.

He decided then and there that he wanted her. Sweet, rotten, sugary, wicked little Honey Breeland.

“Didn’t know you found penises so charming, Walker.” He choked on his beer, her eyes squinting cruelly behind her comedically large sunglasses. “Do you have a little secret to share?”

“Now now, I’m straighter than a stick, baby.” He scrambled, defending himself. “You’re a real tease, aren’t you? So much spunk for such a little lady.”

Honey raised an eyebrow. He had a weird way of flirting. “You say that like it’s a bad thing.” She raised a hand up to block the sun from her face, turning back to the water to watch Natasha and Steve floating on the surface of the lake with a pool noodle holding them together, both holding either side.

He whistled at the sight in front of him. She stood proudly with her hip pushed to the side, gleaming from the beaming sun, making her glow like a star in the sky. Her lips were now drawn into a small pout, cherry red and juicy. He wanted her to be his.

And he made sure she knew.

From then on, each encounter became more flirtatious than the last. Each attempt of hers to push him away failed, and he only pursued her harder. It started small, with little comments here and there about her appearance. Walking her to lunch. Bringing her coffee and memorizing her order. John was a man lost in the dream of taming the wild woman that she was.

"Looking sweeter than Honey today."

"Morning, beautiful. I ever tell you how good you look in blue?"

Honey found the dedication amusing. He wasn't her usual type. John was brash and boyish, with his all-American grin and desire to claim what he felt he deserved. She didn't take the attempts seriously, at least not for the first month or two. He wasn't what she wanted.

What did she want?

She had no answer. More time passed and the question started to weigh on her more and more. Every bridesmaid dress she slipped over her shoulders or congratulation text she had to send to her college friends who were getting married or pregnant or moving in together and so on. She didn't want that, not truly.

But being twenty-six and your only accomplishment is your job seemed to be an embarrassment to brag about.

So after one particularly hard reunion with her past, and eight months of persistence, she finally said yes.

She let him buy her a drink.

Her feet hurt with every step she took on the plush hallway runner carpet. She felt as if she didn't belong, her presence comparable to a stray cat walking into the Plaza hotel, paws dripping with pity. Her tights dug uncomfortably into her abdomen, sticking to her in the worst way possible. She grimaced at the feeling of her bangs sticking to her forehead, letting out a small sigh of relief when his door came into view.

She didn't bother knocking, instead tugging the handle and pushing the door open, watching her feet as she walked in, careful not to ruin his doormat.

"God, I just had the worst night. I was up as Cosmo's with-" She looked up, but her heart sank into the ground. Every half assed comment, every lingering doubt illuminated as she watched John roll off the couch, Sharon Carter gasping and scrambling to pull a blanket over her bare chest.

"Fuck! Babe, I didn't know you were coming over!" He gasped, rebuttoning his jeans and jumping up. "This uh," he winced, "God I didn't want to do this like... this." His voice fell off, unsure and scared as he watched Honey stand with her eyes big and lip sucked between her teeth.

It hurt to see, but she felt guilty for not caring as much as she thought she should. She felt utterly betrayed and lied to, but the fact that it was from him didn't seem to bother her. It didn't feel like heartbreak. It felt like a release. Her blood pumped through her limbs with a warmth she hadn't felt in a long while. She was aware of every breath she took, the way the air felt going through her lungs, the tingles travelling up her arms from her numbing fingers. This is what it felt like to be alive. To be free.

"Honey, hey, babe-" John jumped up, yanking his pants back up his hips and over his boxers, walking closer to her shivering frame. She looked so small. Face lost and arms drooped. But she had never felt lighter. "Look, just- Fuck! Listen, things just got carried away, you know? We got a few drinks in and I missed my girl, I promise I was thinking of you."

"No you weren't." Honey deadpanned.

"You were?" Sharon butted in from the couch, body heaving but face contorted into an incredulous scowl.

"Shut up!" Both Honey and John snipped at her, watching as she sank back into the cushions and pretended to look at the TV that was turned off. Honey reached down and unclasped the goddamned silver bracelet, practically throwing it at him.

"Honestly, this is relieving. I know you can feel it. That this, us, isn't working." She spoke, pursing her lips and looking him in the eye. He knew it too; she could sense it in the way he seemed to just be defeated. His hands searched for hers, the heavy aching familiarity feeling so safe and out of place. His thumb rubbed the inside of her wrist, and when his fingers entangled with hers, it was wrong.

"I need to leave," Honey whispered, and when she looked into John's spacey eyes, they were full of turmoil. She had a strong sort of pity fall into her gut.

"I'm sorry." He whispered. "Maybe, you know, somewhere down the line we could be friends? I love you Honey. We just aren't made to match." She snorted.

"Friends? Fuck you, you couldn't even break up with me before finding a new bitch. Fuck you too Sharon! Eat my dick!" She snipped before rolling her eyes and storming out of the apartment.

The city was cold. Sleet was falling from the sky and if it wasn't so fucking freezing, Honey might've said that it was almost pretty. The lights of the city at night combined with the bustle of everyone trying to enter the Gala. They were in the heart of Manhattan and the venue was beautiful. Chandeliers hun in rows from the enormous vaulted ceiling, and red decorations adorned every blank space. She was glad that she settled on a red dress, the structured fabric suddenly confining her ribcage. She bit at her lip nervously, accidentally ripping a layer of skin and lipstick away. The spot stung and she hissed in pain.

Steve had called her earlier to see how she felt after the emotionally taxing argument with Bucky. She told him about John and Sharon. He was a good friend. He may not always have the right words, but his heart is in the right place, and all she needed was to talk. Steve wasn't entirely surprised. John and Honey were a time bomb ready to blow. He could see the way her lips would drop slightly at every mild off-putting statement he would say, or how she would huff in disappointment when he wouldn't listen to what she said the way she needed.

John was a free-floating spirit with no cares, Steve would say depth, and Honey had a heart so full of consideration that to her, a thought was love's currency. She didn't crave gifts or affirmation, not even a lot of conversation that John had so much of yet always lacked, but the simple idea of being considered. Being cared for. Being known and loved for being known. Honey burned for an all-consuming love. A love for who she is.

He could see Bucky's adoration for Honey early on.

The lingering stares across the room.

The purse of his lips when she would talk about John.

The furrow of his brows when she seemed sad, so far from her normal sugar and spice. It was subtle at first.

He was a man of another time, so when she saw his struggles in the modern world, she decided to lend him a helping hand. Honey took it upon herself to make him a notebook filled with helpful tips for everything. Technology. Pop culture. Changes in social norms. Everything you could possibly think of, she included. It took her forever from when he first arrived to finish, and eventually, after two months, she slid it under his door and bit her lip, running away to avoid any conversation.

The very next day, she was humiliatingly broken to see the very notebook she put every thought into in the garbage can in the hall. She swore then and there to never give Barnes the time of day. To her, he was nothing but an afterthought. Deep down, it was still a sore cut, but she refused to accept that it hurt her, and even worse, that she had an attraction to him simmering below her posh exterior.

Barnes was not worth her affection.

"Honey?" She gasped, turning around when a hand rested on her shoulder. Tony smirked, amused at her startled reaction. "Sorry, Honeybunny." He chuckled lightly, but his face was lined with concern. "Are you alright? Steve told me what happened last night."

She sighed. "I bet he did," Honey paused. "I'm gonna be okay. Can't control what people do." Her voice was weak. No fake certainty, no sugary sweet banter, just plain her. Tony gave her a small smile.

"You're strong, kid. And god knows you can find better. Come join me for a drink, will you?" She glanced around, listening to the buzz of voices and sensible laughter. Champagne glasses glittered in the hands of beautiful women as they were approached by beautiful men. Some danced, some sat silent. She looked down at the tips of her heels, wrapping her arms around her torso.

"I think I'm gonna get some air. I'll find you later though." She gave Tony a small wink before pulling away and walking out of the main ballroom. The voices simmered down and she followed the runner carpet, twisting and turning until she finally pushed open the door to the terrace.

Nose- nipping cold enveloped her body. Her breath puffed into the air, and snow fell lightly, a contrast to the sleet earlier. The sight was truly beautiful. It looked serene. The glow of building lights, the soft honking of the floors down in the road, the buzz of the city that never sleeps.

The door clicked behind her. She didn't have to look up to know who it was. The practiced stealth in his silent steps. The way he inhaled beside her. Slowly, Honey turned around to look at the enigma of a broken man behind her.

Bucky was intense. He always had been. Where everyone else had polished surfaces and smooth edges, he was all grit and jagged lines. His outfits never quite worked, and his haircuts that he only let himself do came out somewhat jagged and outgrown, even if he had just done it. His eyebrows creased severely from years of stress and abuse. Yet, while all of this conbined attributed to his cold, terrifiying demeanor, the only thing Honey could shiver from was his eyes.

They never showed any emotion. The once cerulean blue felt grey and dark at all times, glinting with restrained darkness and a swirl of negative manifestations from his head. As he stood in front of her, brows knit together and hands sitting idly on his side, his eyes were on her. She squirmed under the stare, and he only seemed to stare harder. A wisp of his hair fell into his face but he dared not move.

His adams apple bobbed slightly before he spoke.

"Hey, Honey." He said her name so simple yet firmly that she had to bite her lip. He was gruff, and his words grumbled, but now he spoke like she was a bunny that would pounce at the slightest scare. "I didn't mean to upset you last night. I can be harsh, and I'm not a good person, I know that." He humorlessly huffed. "But I wanted to say that I am sorry, really." He pursed his lips, watching her look down at her swaying skirt.

"What you said really cut me deep. I've spent my whole life being put on a pedestal by everyone, and I'm used to it from most, but not you. I know you hate everything and everyone, god especially me, but that doesn't mean you get to demean my choices and look down on how I live my life." Honey spat, looking into his eyes sharply. His eyes widened, possibly the most emotion she has ever seen on his face.

"I don't hate you! How could I ever hate someone like you?" He countered, voice trembling when he spoke. It left her breathless, hearing him prove he had some type of remorse for a man so cold.

"What do you mean someone like me?" She whispered, staring intensely.

"You are.. you. Soft with a burning passion. You're kind, god, you're so fucking sweet, it makes me sick in the worst way that it invades my dreams." He exclaimed, voice getting higher as his grip on restraint loosened. "Every morning I wake up, I see your face. I hear your laugh, I smell your perfume and cherry-flavored lip gloss. Every time I see you with Walker, I feel sick. I make myself sick, and I don't deserve to feel this way, I know it. I'm just-" he sighed, voice breaking. "I'm sick in the head, and you're, yknow- you. Your drive, your wit, you're so fucking smart. And God, you're beautiful. I am utterly consumed by you, and- and knowing that I will never be yours makes me... sick." He breathed heavily, the confession rolling off against his will.

Honey stood frozen.

He stepped closer, gently grabbing her hands. Her eyes watched as he rubbed her knuckles.

"I could never hate you. And knowing that's the impression I gave you- fuck, I feel.. sick. See, you know all these big perfect words for everything, and I'm just- me." Honey felt her eyes well up, and she bit down on her lip.

"You threw my notebook away." She whispered, and Bucky's face sat gravely still, utter mortification settling deep in the pit of his stomach.

"What notebook?" He whispered, voice flat as he realized the sheer horror of his actions. She bit the side of her cheek, looking away in embarrassment. "Honey, what notebook?" He demanded.

"When you moved in. You seemed so.. stuck. With everything, the world is a different place now. I thought it would be nice to write out things that I felt you would need to know. I thought it would help you adjust more easily. And then I saw it in the garbage, and it broke my heart." She trembled, tears falling down her face. They felt like an intrusion on her frosty cheeks, searing as they cupped her cheeks.

"No. No, no, no, no no- fuck. Honey, I promise from the depths of my soul that I did not mean to do that. When I got here, everything felt so foreign, and I knew that I didn't belong. Everyone pitied me, and I was going insane. And when I saw the notebook that had "modern world tips" written on it, I thought it was some sick joke one of the guys was pulling, and I swear I didn't know it was from you." He moved his hands up, holding her face. His thumbs wiped her teary cheeks.

"I never knew it was from you. I still have it. I pulled it out of the trash." He bit his lip.

"You do?" She looked back up, scanning him for any sign for any type of insincerity, but found nothing except the glaze of tears and his red nose from the cold. He pulled away slightly to stuff his hand in the suit of his suit jacket and pulled out a familiar red notebook, but it was now frayed and ripped, worn from use. He held it out to show her, and she flipped though to see the small notes he made to himself in the margins.

Tap card on the side with the silver thingy.

Don't answer unpaid toll texts.

Scan the barcode and not the name of item.

She giggled at his notes, and Bucky felt his heart soar at the sound. He held his hands over hers, engulfing her small fingers. "Honey, I have been so in love with you for months, and if it's shown me anything it's that I do not deserve you."

"Hey, don't say that. You know how hard it is for me to go months thinking you didn't like me when I saw how good you were to everyone else? All I wanted was for you to let me in."

"I have known you for months. I know everything I possibly could about you. I'm a man possessed."

"How can you love me?"

"What?"

"I'm a mess. I'm impulsive, loud, abrasive, and I can never read a room. I say the wrong thing about everything. All I know how to do is make things worse." Fresh tears welled up in her eyes.

"I think that you are free, open, and personable. You say everything the way it was meant to be said, even if it comes out right or not. I love you because of who you are, not in spite of it. That is how you deserve to be loved." He spoke firmly, grounding her in the moment.

"I- I don't know how to be loved like that." She hesitated, looking up hopefully. His eyes shone a fierce blue, full of adoration and conviction. His lips quirked up slightly. Snow landed on his cheek, face burning hot despite the cold air.

'Just wanna see what the pretentious are up to, have a good laugh at what rich people gimmick they have this week.' He reasons out to them lamely. 'No other reason.'

Definitely not because he wants to catch a glimpse of you once a week, fidgeting outside the old cathedral as your parents parade you around the other rich families that tend to show off their wealth through generosity.

Somehow, singing praise and donating to the offertory has become a symbol of wealth among the rich folk of Oakley- the upper end of town where you're from. Where folk up there look down on the... more indigent people in Rivercreek, where he's from.

When the cathedral doors open, his eyes find you. They always find you.

You're running a delicate hand through your hair, getting reprimanded by your mother because 'how dare you have a strand of hair out of place.'

Families are greeting each other, he hears someone complain about how much of a hassle it is that their chauffeur had no other choice but to park a little further down the street just to avoid other cars from parking too near their new Chevy.

He wants to roll his eyes at that, but that would mean taking them off you for a second. He doesn't want to.

The Oakley folk continue to rush out in their white and pristine clothing after singing praises loudly as a form of performative philanthropy, which makes him and his friends stand out in their all black clothing, leaning against the seat of their rested bikes.

"Here they come- My god, do they look like a herd of sheep" Sam comments which earns a chuckle from Steve.

A few heads turn at them wearing horrified expressions with a mix of disgust for using the Lord's name in vain, but they couldn't care less.

"Buck, you listening? That was a good one!" Sam nudges his shoulder.

He manages to let out a small smile in response, but keeps his eyes trained on you.

"Yeah, knocked the breath out of me" he tells him, but he's not talking about the joke.

· · ─ ·✶· ─ · ·

It's a Tuesday and he works grumpily hunched over a car of some rich Oakley folk who had no choice but to have his car done at the nearest auto shop that happened to be his.

'Not a scratch on it, young man.' The older man tries to intimidate him. 'You know the consequences if it comes back with with even a tiny dent.'

Bucky huffs at the memory of the conversation. Oakley folk can fuck off, they're all prejudiced. stuck-up pigs who only look down on--

Well, maybe not you.

He's seen you at charity events before, the orphanage located between both sides of town.

While all the other Oakley folk show up to flaunt their big donations, you actually take it upon yourself to interact with the kids and get to know them. They all adore you, but definitely not as much as he does.

He decides to indulge himself in the image of you in his head to put him in a better mood, when suddenly he hears gentle footsteps enter his garage.

"Hello?" A timid voice makes him shoot his head up from the hood of the car.

It's you.

You're standing in his garage, wearing a simple, yet expensive looking dress that probably costs more than his rent for the entire month-

You're standing in his garage and you're speaking to him.

He opens his mouth once, before closing it again. He knows he probably looks like an idiot right now, gaping at you with wide eyes and saying absolutely nothing, but he can't help himself.

In all his time he spent watching you from afar, he'd already accepted that you were out of his league. He'd be happy with you just sparing a glance at him, but now you were actually here, speaking to him! In Rivercreek of all places-

Realization dawns on him.

You're in Rivercreek.

The bad side of town where the dingy people over here who hate pretentious Oakley kids wouldn't hesitate to take advantage of innocent looking things like you.

Suddenly, a frown dawns on his face.

"Why are you here?" is the first thing he says to you.

You look taken aback by his sudden question, and he winces at how creepy he must sound

"Excuse me?" despite your startle at his words (and his audacity), your voice still sounds like honey in his ears.

"No- I mean..." Bucky panics before recollecting himself with a deep breath. "You're... Not from this side of town, are you?" Safe. That answer makes him seem like less of a stalker now, doesn't it?

You let out a sigh.

"Is it that obvious?" Your expression is one of disappointment and helplessness, triggering a protective nature from Bucky.

"I needed help and... It's getting dark out and I think I'm lost" he listens to you shyly and frantically explain your situation to him while fiddling with the lace hem of your dress.

"I'm cold, and scared- and your shop was the only one with a light open a-and..."

"Hey, relax. I'll help you." Bucky hopes his words of reassurance will stop your rambling. He can almost see the anxiety bubbling in your chest.

"How'd you end up all the way up here? Oakley is on the other side of town."

At that, he sees your eyes widen at him in disbelief. Surely you would've known if you were in- "Is this Rivercreek?!" Your small voice squeaks in surprise.

Bucky can't help but blink in disbelief.

"This... This isn't exactly the kind of establishment that would be at Oakley." He speaks to her gently, scared that a little volume in his voice would scare her off like a frightened little bunny.

"O-oh god, my parents are going to kill me..." the words are spoken out of you in a breath that sounded more for yourself than him, but he hears you loud and clear.

"Hey, hey, don't worry I'll..." Bucky attempts to cut off your anxiety that has definitely reached the surface by now "I'll bring you back to Oakley. The border isn't too far from here, okay?"

He realizes how he's unconsciously stepped closer to you when he feels your warmth of your presence radiating from your spot in the middle of his garage.

"I'm Bucky."

"Bucky" you repeat his name and its suddenly his favorite sound in the world. You tell him your name, before scrunching your nose at the cold air blows and enters the premises of his garage.

He can't help but let out a soft laugh at that. You're just so fucking cute, like a little

"Bunny."

He says it without thinking, but that seems to happen a lot around you.

"What?" Eyes blink up at him in wonder.

"You. You're like a little bunny. All timid and shy."

"Oh." He sees a smidge of a blush on your cheeks which makes his heart rate pick up. You're killing him without even trying and you don't even know it.

Before another moment can pass, Bucky stands up straighter and grabs his leather jacket from where it was tossed on his work desk.

"Come on, bunny. Lets get you back to where you belong. I'll walk ya back to the Oakley border"

"T-thanks, but I was just hoping to get some directions" You shyly let out. "I really don't want to take up more of your time. You seem... Busy" Your eyes trail towards the expensive Mustang the client from your side of town left in his shop.

You're right about that. He is busy.

"Nah. 'M not that busy, bunny" he shrugs and gives you a reassuring smile.

He laughs internally at your little pout and at how you tell him your name again.

"Will you stop calling me that ridiculous name?"

The tone you give him is one of both annoyance and embarrassment, but the little crinkle in between your brows and the scrunch on your nose is the cherry on top. It makes you truly live up to the nickname he's given you.

Bucky shakes his head, still with that gentle smile he never knew his face could make until his conversation with you, and drapes his leather jacket over your shoulders.

"Come on, it'll only get darker and colder from here. Let's get you home." he completely ignores your request to call you by your name and with motions you to follow him.

The walk to Oakley is a decent few minutes, and you manage to make it to the border just before it went completely dark out. The sky is a perfect shade of dark blue, pink, and yellow, making the atmosphere look much sweeter and whimsical.

The pastel colors washed your frame with a soft golden glow, and at that moment Bucky decides that you are the soft light that starts every morning with a gentle warmth. Its ironic how he can feel both comfort and nervousness in your presence.

To his surprise, you both flow into enjoyable conversation where you learn more about each other. You tell him that you've never really been anywhere else but here, limited to where your family chauffeur is allowed to take you.

You were supposed to meet him right at the border of Oakley after visiting the orphanage you volunteer at, but got lost when you decided to take a detour, a short walk to clear your head.

"Makes sense, the orphanage is right at the border of Oakley and Rivercreek. No wonder you ended up at my shop, bunny." Bucky replies.

He tells you that he's been taking care of the shop ever since his pop died, and that he's been running it with his two best friends Steve and Sam. He tells you that he's passionate about bikes, that he and his friends have always lived for the sense of freedom and the rush it provides.

"You're the guys that are always smoking behind the church, then. Am I right?" You ask him with a knowing smile.

"Y-you noticed?" He wants to kick himself for stammering. It looks so uncool.

"I'm not blind, silly" You giggle and hug the leather jacket closer to yourself just as a cold rush of wind hits you both. He has to resist the urge to pull you close to protect you from it. "My mother thinks you're trouble."

"'M already starting on a bad note with your parents, huh bunny?" That earns him a loud giggle and a playful slap on his shoulder.

Once your chauffeur spots you from the end of the road, he quickly gets back inside the car to start it and make his way to you. Bucky can almost feel his distress at almost losing the daughter of an affluent family.

Bucky hears you let out a sigh once you see the headlights of your car flash. The sound of the engine starting acting like a countdown timer indicating the end of your time together.

But he can't let it end here. He's been pining after you for so long, admiring from afar and tomorrow he's going to have to... go back to doing that? He just got you.

You take off his leather jacket from your shoulders and that sends him into a panic to act fast.

"Thank you again for walking me back--"

"When can I see you again?" are the words that rush out of his mouth with slight panic lacing his tone just as you're thanking him. He wants to slap himself in the face for being so forward with you, but the arrival of the car slowly approaching you makes him panic.

"I- What?" You're blushing now, trying to process his sudden words.

Bucky takes a deep breath before repeating more confidently this time.

"I... I wanna see you again, bunny. Will you let me see you again?"

Suddenly, he feels too aware of himself. Covered in all black clothing from head to toe, his intimidating and sharp features contrasting too loudly with your soft ones. There's no way you see yourself with someone like him, its a mismatch from chaos itself.

He prepares himself for rejection, a gentle letdown because he knows your heart is too kind to give him a straight up no. But when he meets your eyes he sees the cute little crinkle on your nose and a shy smile.

"Okay."

· · ─ ·✶· ─ · ·

That's how Bucky ends up sleepless that night, with your number on his phone and a pattern of typing and deleting his message to you.

God... He thinks. This is pathetic.

He's acting like some lovesick school boy with his first crush, and not a Rivercreek biker with a series of misconducts under his belt. If only his friends could see him now.

If only they knew that all it takes is a cute girl with a smile that reminds him of sunshine, and crinkles her nose when she gets irritated to make him go soft.

When was the right time to send a text, anyway? He never cared this much when he's talk to girls before.

Sam had told him once, to wait it out a bit before texting a girl. Don't look too available. He had told him. Girls like a little mystery. Keeps them on their toes.

But does Bucky want you on your toes with him? Did he want you to wait?

It almost felt rude to not message you right away, because after all, he thought you deserved the best.

And the best meant giving you his full attention, his full interest and effort even if it meant making a fool of himself according to Sam's dating guideline.

Hey bunny, you get home okay? It's Bucky :)

I know its you, Bucky. You're the only one that calls me that ridiculous name. Yes, I'm home. Thank you again for helping me. :)

He reads your messages in your sweet voice, making his heart stutter. He truly is acting like a school boy right now.

Great to hear that, bunny. Get some rest and don't come wandering out this area alone next time, okay?

Why not? I have my own personal chaperone out of Rivercreek now, right? I'm kidding. Goodnight, Bucky :)

He doesn't sleep that night. Instead, he loses himself in the memory of you in sunset.

· ─ ·✶· ─ · ·

For the next week, you and Bucky exchange messages which allow you to get to know him better.

'What on earth has you smiling like that?' Your mother had caught you once, grinning down at your screen.

'Oh, its nothing its just...' One of the biker boys that you absolutely despise, and would kill me for even speaking to. 'Just a funny video my friend sent.' You tell her.

Your mother huffs at your reply, displeased with your answer as she stirs the dark liquid in the regal teacup in front of her. It makes your drink- coffee that is too many shades lighter than hers due to milk and cream, and a mug with little flowers on it, look much too immature.

"I'd rather have you spend your time more productive than looking at... memes" She laces her words with a tone of disapproval that you're too used to by now.

"Be ready tonight. We have that charity gala today and the press will be taking photos."

Obediently, you get up and leave your flowery mug at the breakfast table before she stops you.

"Oh, and do wear something nice. You're not just looking good for press, but suitors as well. Alright?"

Although her tone was much kinder with that sentence, it causes your heart to thump louder in your chest and your face to flush red.

Her obsession with finding you a match has increased tenfold as soon as you came of age, and you find it absolutely ridiculous. This isn't the 1940's anymore! Mothers no longer need to chaperone their daughters when it comes to dating!

But like the obedient daughter you are, you redirect your anger into subtle balled up fists and let your mouth speak the words your heart begs you not to.

"Yes, mother."

She sends you off with a nod and turns her attention back to her too-black coffee.

You arrive at the charity gala and are met with fellow Oakley families, and of course, the press. The event is marketed as an auction for artworks, wherein the money is promised to go out to the needy but you know better.

Its definitely a power grabbing scheme of wealth dynamics. 'Eat the Rich' you think to yourself. These resources can definitely be used more efficiently if they actually wanted to help the needy.

The event is definitely upscale- the grand ballroom is nothing short of extraordinary with high ceilings, dramatic lighting, and big glass doors overlooking a huge garden. It's beautiful, but you feel out of place.

Earlier that morning, you had texted Bucky your obligations for the night and to expect slow replies.

Which is why the latest notification on your phone comes as a surprise to you.

Fancy getting away for a bit, bunny?

What?

I thought bunnies prefer being outdoors

Don't tell me... you reply back to him with shaky hands before looking around nervously. Another ping from your phone snaps you back into focus

Come out to the garden, bun :)

Your eyes quickly shoot up from your phone to the glass doors that are almost as high as the ceiling allows it to be. There's no way he actually... came here? Is there? Another message knocks you out of overthinking and confirms your skepticism.

The chandeliers look a bit much, don't you think?

Sure enough, when you look up you're met with the tackiest chandelier displays that exhibit grandeur over style and charm. Much like the people in this room.

You let out a sigh and try to calm the butterflies in your stomach. They won't notice you step out. It will only be a moment! You can always excuse yourself for needing some air.

Once you step outside, your eyes trail over the garden landscape. There is nothing but greenery and a high wall separating the event from the rest of the world. How on earth did he get in--

"Psst. Bunny." His whisper comes from behind one of the garden statues that shield his presence perfectly from the event happening inside.

Slowly, you tiptoe your way to where he is before a pair of hands grab your waist, spinning you around.

A quiet gasp leaves your lips at the sudden motion, but the rest of your breath quickly gets stuck in your throat once you find yourself caught between the stone and Bucky, who still has one hand on your waist and the other pressing an index finger to his lips, demanding silence.

He's close, so close that you can hear your heartbeat in your ears.

"Sorry," he says quietly "saw one of the guards nearby. But we're in the clear now." He gives you a mischievous smile and steps back to give you more space.

"It's alright." You say shyly.

"But... Bucky, how did you..." You trail off and look over at the walls that stand tall over the both of you. Bucky follows your gaze and smirks knowingly at what you want to know.

"Well, it wasn't an easy climb but-"

"You climbed that!?" You cut him off to whisper yell at him.

"But" A hand comes back to your waist as he repeats himself "I told you I wanted to see you again, remember?"

Heat floods your cheeks at his admission. And despite the dark sky with light only coming from the event behind the glass doors and the moonlight illuminating him in the quiet darkness of the atmosphere, you pick up a dust of blush on his cheeks.

"I... didn't think you'd want to see me now." You tell him honestly. "I thought you'd want to take me to... coffee, or something" the softness in your voice is the most gentle sound to reach his ears.

"I can take you for coffee" He chuckles. "I can definitely take you out for coffee, bunny."

The way he's looking at you feels like a deep, velvet blue with a quiet warmth. His eyes convey a multitude of emotions that you can't quite decipher, but they're there. There's a sparkle in them.

"How do you get them to do that?" You ask.

He can't help but let out another chuckle at your unpredictability.

"Do what, bun?"

"To shine like that."

Bucky is take aback for a moment before smiling.

"Honestly? By looking at you."

· ─ ·✶· ─ · ·

The coffee date happens on the next Sunday. He picks you up after Sunday Mass behind the cathedral and you show up in your usual white, knee-length dress. You know that its a date. He told you it would be.

'When are you free next, bunny?' He had asked you that night at the garden.

'Hmm?' You ask him in a dazed state, too caught up in your feelings at how wanted and seen you feel by him.

'So I can take you out on that coffee date. You're okay with it being a date, right?'

That's how you've found yourself behind the cathedral with the excuse to your mother being tutoring sessions with a friend after Sunday Mass. She had nodded approvingly at you for prioritizing your studies, and you had felt a rush at how you've rebelled against your mothers wishes for the first time in your life.

Bucky pushes himself from against the wall and greets you with an arm over your shoulder "Ready, bunny?"

One coffee date turns into two, and then three. He brings you to places around Rivercreek and the novelty of the area to you makes every date feel like an adventure.

'You can't come here on your own, alright?' He reminds you every time. 'I'm being serious, bunny. The people here aren't always good. I won't always be there to protect ya if you come alone.'

You want to giggle at him for his protectiveness, reassure him that you doubt anything like that will happen because 'you have him anyway.'

He pinches your cheek gently at your stubbornness, but can't deny how your bratty side makes his heart beat a little faster. He enjoys bringing out the bold side in you, aware that its something you push down most of the time due to your strict parents.

Eventually, you end up meeting Steve and Sam in the shop during one of your dates.

"So this is her, Buck? The girl thats been stealing you away lately?" Sam teases him, earning him a playful shove by Bucky while Steve gives you a polite smile.

"We've heard a lot about you..." Steve starts respectfully. "Bunny" the playful glint in his eye is hard to miss, which causes you to blush in embarrassment.

Bucky groans at the teasing from his two best friends, but the rest of the day is spent enjoyably.

You learn more about his childhood, the trouble he got into in his younger years, and feel a sense of fraternity between the three of them that makes you jealous.

You tell them that you wish you had friends as close as he does, but a lot of your childhood was spent in tutoring lessons and more family events to maintain your family's status and appearances at Oakley.

· ─ ·✶· ─ · ·

After Bucky brings you home that day, he's met with Steve and Sam still at the shop. Both of them have knowing grins on their faces which makes Bucky roll his eyes.

"No" he tells them immediately which earns groans from both his friends.

"Come on, don't be like that. Its been ages since you've started dating again." Sam approaches him with a silly grin.

"We're just curious, man." Steve starts. "That, and... Well..." the rest of his sentence trails off awkwardly.

"That, and we want to know got you dating an Oakley girl" Sam finishes bluntly. "You hate those folk."

Bucky pretends not to give them his full attention by fixing his toolbox. "I told you already, she ain't like them." He sighs. "She's different from them. She... she's more than the Oakley stereotypes"

The way he defended you earns him more teasing from his friends, but after meeting you today? They can't help but agree.

"You got a good one, Buck. You're happier and that's all that matters" Steve tells him genuinely.

"But you know how Oakley ad Rivercreek don't mix well. This won't all be smooth waters for the both of you."

The reminder stings, but Bucky knew what he was getting into as soon as it started. He appreciates his friend's words, but he would have liked to live in the illusion of being worry-free and happy with you for a little while longer.

"I know, Stevie." His hands fiddle with one of the loose threads on his jacket nervously as he thinks about all that could go wrong with dating you.

There will be a lot of naysay, people who will shake their head at the sight of you two together, your parents disapproving of him, and the fact that he may not be able to keep up with the lifestyle you're used to.

He wonders, do you think of this too?

"But she's worth it. I know she is."

Steve claps him on the back at that "Good luck, Buck."

· ─ ·✶· ─ · ·

Its a few months into dating when Bucky takes you to one of his favorite spots around town.

'Place is special,' he told you when you asked where you were going. 'No one else knows about it, not even Stevie.'

'I bet you say that to all the girls' you had tease him cutely.

He looks back at you with a playful glint in his eye. 'Just you, bunny.'

The spot he leads you to is a lake covered by the green haze of trees. Sun rays glinting brightly in the clear waters. He lays out a yellow blanket over the dew blades of grass that look to be sparkling in the sunlight.

"It's beautiful, Bucky... I feel like I'm in a fairytale" your fingers brush a dandelion next to you as you lay down, letting the flower heads escape the stem and float around you.

"That's how you make me feel all the time, bun." Bucky lays next to you on the blanket, your shoulders touching as you both watch the drift of clouds overhead.

"Oh stop it, you." You giggle at his words.

Bucky rolls himself up on his stomach so that he's facing you. Your faces inches from each other now.

"I'm serious, bunny... The time I've been spending with you?" He presses a quick kiss on your forehead, "They've been the happiest I've ever been."

Your face is hot, and he's so, so close.

"Bucky..." you say his name shyly. His kiss on your forehead makes you blush, and while he's feathered light kisses there and on your cheek before, he hasn't kissed you properly yet in his promise to take things slow for you.

"I love you, bunny."

Bucky tells you confidently, as if its the most sure thing he's ever had to admit.

"Ever since I first laid eyes on you in that cathedral, I think I've already loved you." He admits further which causes your breath to hitch, and your whole body to freeze as you process his confession.

"I can take care of you just as good as any Oakley boy can. I'll prove it to ya, I'll be the best damn guy for ya." The promises he speaks are spoken in hushed tones, but you hear every word. Bucky keeps his closeness to your body on that blanket. Your shock causes you to unable to form a reply, but Bucky doesn't seem to mind.

Instead, he brings his hand up to brush the stray hairs away from your face before cupping it gently in his palm. "Will you let me, bunny? Will you let me take care of you?"

"I love you." You tell him breathlessly, "I love you too, Bucky Barnes."

His grin is wide and his eyes sparkle brighter than they ever had before. 'Honestly? By looking at you' are the words you recall him telling you when you had asked him how they get them to do that.

Your reciprocation of love is all the answer he needs to bring his face down to yours to capture your lips in a kiss. The movement is slow and gentle. He kisses you as if you're fragile, delicate. As if holding you too tightly or kissing you too hard will break you.

"I'll be so good to ya," He murmurs against your lips "I love you, I love you bunny. You understand that, right? Better than any Oakley boy ever will. I promise"

Bucky continues to tell you because he thinks no amount of words, no matter how many times he says it, will equate to the feelings he's carrying right now.

Your heart aches at his admission, because deep down you both know how your different backgrounds could cause problems down the line.

"Bucky, you know I don't care about the Oakley and Rivercreek stuff." You hope your reassurance reaches his worries.

"I know, bunny." He pulls away to get a good look at you. You can finally name the emotion his eyes have been communicating to you at that moment: love, longing. "Let's just be happy right now, yeah?"

You're brought home that day before the sun goes down.

He drops you off at your porch, kissing you goodbye very quickly just in case your parents are peeking. He waits for the door to close before retreating back to the car he picked you up in.

The door shuts and you lean against it for a moment, allowing your heart to take a break from the love Bucky had showed it all day. You're smiling to yourself when-

"Out late today, aren't we?" Your mother's voice cuts through the warm air you've created for yourself with an icy cold tone. She stands on top of the staircase, looking down at your figure by the door.

"Who is he? The one who brought you home in that... junk" She glares harshly at Bucky's retreating figure heading towards his car.

"Mother, t-that's... That's Bucky. He's, um..." You stammer nervously, frantically trying to flatten your wrinkled dress and unkept hair.

"Are you sleeping with him?" Her voice cuts through once again and her steps down the stairway sound menacing as she makes her way over to you.

"What?! Mother!" The redness from your cheeks comes from both embarrassment and anger.

"Is he from Rivercreek?" She asks you.

You're unable to form a reply. You knew it was just a matter of time before your relationship with Bucky got caught, and you've made sure to rehearse the answer in your head multiple times when the moment presented itself, but right now your voice feels like its stuck in your throat.

Apparently that is all the confirmation your mother needed as she sighs disappointedly.

"I've known you to let this family down numerous times, but to be associated with a Rivercreek boy?" Her voice raises an octave. "This is a new level of low, even for you."

"Mother, please. It's not like that-"

As usual, she refuses to listen.

"Have you no shame for your family name? People from down there are using you for one thing-!"

"No, you're wrong. He's nothing like that..." Your voice is weak at your attempt to fight back against her, but you try anyway. Bucky would have wanted you to try and speak up for yourself.

"He's after you for status! Money!-"

"Mother I love him!"

The space between the both of you turns quiet. Your chest is heaving from anger, and the shock you feel from answering back at your mother for the first time.

"Stupid girl, what do you know about love?" She says coldly before sending you to your room.

"You can't see him again, do you understand? If we find out you've been going behind our backs, he's done."

You lay in bed rethinking the words she spoke. You're aware of how powerful your family is. One wave of a finger can have Bucky in a problematic position, his business gone or even removed from town entirely.

The sentimentality Bucky has for his place in Rivercreek is no stranger to you, either. You hardly think that a relationship with you is worth losing everything he's built.

· ─ ·✶· ─ · ·

The next few days has Bucky spiraling. He asks himself if he's done anything wrong, if he said something to upset you or if his confession at the lake came off too strong.

But the tenderness in his heart? The way his brain replays your voice telling him you love him at every waking hour? It makes him believe that he's done everything right.

He reads through the messages he sent you, all filled with worry yet left unanswered.

Bunny, are you okay?

Please tell me if I did something wrong.

Can I see you tonight? I'm worried, bun.

I love you. Please let me know if you're alright.

He showed up at your house once, in the dead of the night, waiting underneath your window.

The light in your room reassures him that you're alright. You're still there physically, but he's yet to feel an ounce of your attention.

Bunny, I'm outside. Just look out for a bit to let me know you're fine, yeah?

You don't.

Bucky waits for the next Sunday to arrive in hopes of getting hold of you, even just for a few minutes. He hates to corner you like this, but he's desperate. You'd understand him showing up like this, won't you?

The way he leans into his parked bike at the steps of the cathedral you frequent takes him back to the days where he used to pine after you, watching you longingly from afar.

He was nothing to you back then.

He shakes his head at the thought. Bucky refuses to go back to being nothing with you, not after you told each other you loved each other, not after he finally felt what it was like to be yours.

Like clockwork, the huge wooden doors open once Sunday worship ends and the Oakley folk flock out the cathedral like sheep. And again, like clockwork, his eyes immediately find you.

Black leather pushes its way through the flock of white clothing towards you. He ignores the grunts of disapproval as someone from Rivercreek infiltrates their sacred space.

The crowd parts for him like he's plagued with nothing but ill intentions, unbeknownst to them all he carries is a heart yearning for you.

You stand picture perfect right outside the doors, too busy fiddling with the strap of your bag to notice the commotion he's caused at the entrance.

The sight of you in full view takes his breath away and almost makes him forget the reason why he's taken stepped inside a church in the first place.

The way you finally look up at him with wide eyes snaps him back to reality.

"Bucky-" You start but are cut off by his hand pulling you into a closed space. A confession room, he realizes once you've made your way inside.

"Wanna tell me what this is all about, bunny?" He asks, staring at you with a hard, fixed gaze. His voice is harsh and it almost makes him feel guilty for using a tone with you that's anything less than gentle, but the affect of being ignored by you for the last few days has him feeling on edge.

"Bucky... You can't be here. You need to leave-" you whisper, words falling into a murmur.

"You're telling me to leave you alone now?" Bucky is anything but discreet in his response, which makes you flinch and panic at volume of his voice. At this moment, he's too desperate to understand the situation to care about who could hear.

"After what happened at the lake... After telling me that you love me" He breathes in deeply. "You're telling me to just... Leave you alone?"

"Shh!" You shush him quietly. "Please, Bucky. You can't let them catch you with me... They- They found out" You admit to him with a heartbroken expression.

It makes sense to him now, why you've been ignoring him. He knew this was going to happen eventually. Steve had warned him, and he's been aware of the... backlash that was sure to follow as soon as he started taking you out.

"Forget about me, Bucky. It's not worth it. They'll ruin you if we keep this up." Your hushed voice turns into a small sob as you speak the words that break his heart.

"I can't do that." He speaks softly and bring you closer to press a kiss on your tearful cheeks. "I can't do that, baby. You know I can't. I love you."

"You don't understand! The lengths they'll go to keep you away from me... You'll lose everything because of me, Bucky!" Your voice is desperate now.

"Then I'll have you" he says quickly in response. "I'll have you and that's everything I'll ever need."

He doesn't expect you to push him away at those words, angrier and a little more desperate now to get through to him.

From outside the confession room, you hear your mother's voice outside calling for you. The both of you jump at the sound of her voice.

"Bucky, enough!" You whisper yell at him "Don't... Don't try anymore, okay? This isn't worth it."

If he thought his heart was breaking earlier, it's definitely wrecked now.

"What are you saying, bunny?"

"I'm saying... that if you ever did love me you'd stop."

The problem with Bucky Barnes is that he was a devoted lover. If you told him to pick the highest peach from a tree, he'd climb it immediately without question. If you told him you wanted pearls, he'd fish out the whole ocean for the best one.

If you told Bucky Barnes to let you go, he'd do it even if it killed him.

· ─ ·✶· ─ · ·

"Buck, come on. You've been like this for weeks." Steve comments as Bucky mopes in front of his garage stool, a beer in one hand and his bike keys with the charm you gave him on the other.

It's a little bunny keychain, a fluffy white one holding a pink heart. 'It's for good luck when you're out riding' you had told him cutely.

The dainty charm stands out against his intimidating features when he brings them out his pocket. It earns him odd looks from his friends and passers-by but he never paid them any mind.

He imagines the bunny as a piece of you he carries when he rides, which makes him more careful and aware on the road in his determination to keep you safe.

Bucky can't help but let out a sad chuckle at the memory when he fiddles with the bunny that looks too much like you.

"Give me a break, Stevie." he finally answers his friend. "Should've listened to you. You knew this was going to end badly" the defeat in his voice is new to Steve, making him wince at his friend's sadness.

"Hey, don't say that, Buck." Steve attempts to make him feel better. "Oakley and Rivercreek relationships are just... complicated, you know? You guys tried your best."

Although Steve was trying to comfort him, his words did nothing but dig Bucky into a deeper hole of despair.

He hadn't tried hard enough. He thought to himself. But your desperate expression when you told him to leave you alone holds him back from chasing after you.

Its silent for a moment, with only the faint hum of the television that hangs overhead serving as white noise.

Bucky is about to close shop for the day, too tired to have this conversation with his friend who means well, when the next segment of the local news channel starts playing which stops him in his tracks.

Oakley Association's 50th Anniversary Gala: Families within Oakley commemorate their golden year by raising millions of dollars for charity! Led by association head...

The camera cuts to a close up shot of you and your family at the same ballroom with the garden he snuck in to see you all those months ago.

Its the typical event you see Oakley families attend, but he knows that look of yours.

Your eyes are lacking the life they usually have, the sunlight you radiate is dull and bleak. You look as if you haven't had a good sleep in days. you look like you need him.

"Bun..." He mutters to himself when he sees you.

"You're going over there, aren't you Buck?" Steve asks.

Bucky responds by bringing out his keys- the bunny charm smiling up at him cutely, and sending Steve a look from over his shoulder "You'll lock up for me, Stevie?"

· ─ ·✶· ─ · ·

Oakley's charity gala is yet another event that you are too familiar with.

The pastel yellow dress your mother had picked out for you is a disparity to the gloom clouding your chest. The pearls decorating your neck feel like chains grounding you to your role of a show dog for your family name.

"Smile" your mother reprimands you when she sees the sulk on your face. "Many are watching. Your father paid a good amount of money for the headlines to feature us tonight." She reminds you.

"Wasn't it supposed to be for charity?" Your tone carries venom in them as you answer back once again. You've been doing that a lot lately. Bucky would have been proud of you.

Bucky.

Your heart shatters at the thought of him. The pain in your chest is a cruel reminder of how you had ripped his heart out in that confession room when you told him to leave you alone.

He was the only one to actually see you as more than your family name. The way he understands you down to the smallest of details is something that no one else can replicate.

Your mother shoots you one of her cold glares when you answer her back. She is tired of disciplining you with lectures about respect and adherence, and has taken a new method of punishment.

Suitors.

For the entirety of the night, you are being introduced to the most eligible bachelors of Oakley. Without a doubt a way for your mother to remind you of the other fish in the sea, but you only want one.

The smile you wear is polite, and you speak in a courteous manner, not having it in you to act unmannerly to strangers that don't deserve unkindness. Some of the men are very aggressive in their advances, aware that the dating pool in Oakley is very limited.

By the end of the night, you're exhausted. Your feet hurt, the dress is suffocating, and there are way too many people. All these factors pile up to overwhelm you, causing your eyes to embarrassingly water in the middle of the ballroom.

"Pull yourself together, child." Your mother says through clenched teeth. "Do not embarrass us right now."

Eventually, you can't take it. You exit the huge ballroom doors quickly and make it out the garden. Its the same place where Bucky met you in that first time. The memory of seeing him behind one of the garden statues is enough for the dam to break.

You let out a small sob. Your chest tightening at the release of tension following the events of the night.

"Bunny?"

Bucky's voice cuts through the silence of the night air. You can still hear the faint, muffled sounds coming from the ballroom behind you, but Bucky's voice is clear in your ears.

"What... Bucky?"

"Over here, bunny. I was just about to text ya."

He stands next to one of the rosebushes, slightly hidden by the shadows that the moonlight illuminated over the landscape.

His hair is disheveled as if he's been running his hands through it multiple times. The sparkle in his eyes have dulled, but are still there when he looks at you.

Once he gets a proper look at you, his face falls into a frown.

"Who made you cry, bun?" His immediate concern makes your heart ache. Even after telling him away, his first instinct is to check on you.

You can't take it anymore. You cry out before running down the steps of the platform towards him, throwing yourself in his arms.

"I'm here." He says after he catches your fall. Of course he does. "I'm here, bunny. I'll protect you." He whispers into your hair.

"It's too much." You say through tears, muffled because of how you're burying your face in his chest. "I can't take it anymore. All this bullshit they're making me do."

Bucky's arm tightens around your waist, the other hand strokes the back of your head in comfort. You stay in his arms for a moment, remembering how safe you feel when you're with him.

He lets you cry it out while whispering words of comfort 'I've got you, bun. Won't let them hurt you. I'm here.' He repeats just as many times as you need him to.

You calm down eventually, lifting your head to meet his gaze properly.

"How did you know?" is all you ask. He doesn't need any further explanation to answer.

"Saw the press release on the TV. They showed you and I couldn't... I couldn't just leave you there, not when you looked so... unhappy." His hand reaches up to cup your face, thumb lightly tracing your jaw.

"You came for me." You look up at him with so much love in your eyes that you feel his breath hitch.

"You needed me." He replies with a gentle voice, as if its the most obvious explanation.

The look he has reciprocates your own, making you sniffle back tears. That action makes you scrunch up your nose in the way he loves.

A fond smile appears on his face as he watches that little scrunch in between your brows form. "Bunny..." He says softly. "My bunny."

Bucky kisses you. The first kiss since your declaration of love at the lake. It's still just as soft and sweet as you remember, but there is a new push of longing etched onto it.

You kiss him back with the same amount, showing just how much you've missed him.

"Want me to get ya out of here?" He speaks against your lips.

"What? Bucky-"

"I'm not letting you stay in there any longer, bunny."

He's right. You don't think you can physically or emotionally take the misery of being surrounded by pretentious rich folk, much less your preposterous mother and her impossible expectations.

"Just say the word and we're gone, bunny." Bucky's voice snaps you out of your thoughts.

"I... Yes." You breathe in deeply. "Yes, please, I want to get out of here." You repeat more confidently.

Bucky grins, gives you a reassuring squeeze on your waist before taking your hand in his and leading you further into the garden.

You follow him wordlessly before looking up at the high wall that divides the ballroom's garden from the rest of the world.

"Bucky, I don't think I can-"

"I'm not gonna let you scale a wall, bun." Bucky cuts you off with a slightly amused tone. "Wouldn't dream of it. Too dangerous for ya."

Instead, he leads you to the side of the building that passes just outside the event venue.

"We're using the main entrance?" Your steps falter once you realize where he's leading you.

"They won't notice. Everyone is too busy and drunk inside." He tells you. "You trust me, baby?"

"Yes." You say almost immediately. "Of course."

The smile Bucky flashes at your words is enough to make you forget all your worry. "Then let's go."

Just as he says, you make it out of the gala and into the bike he's parked a few paces away.

"I know you don't like the bike, but I didn't think I'd be stealing you away tonight." Bucky says sheepishly. "We can walk-"

"No, let's take the bike tonight."

Reluctantly, you get on the bike with Bucky's assistance while he chuckles at your attempt at putting on a brave face for him. "Relax, bunny. I'll drive slowly." He reassures you. You believe him.

The ride back to his place isn't as bad as you expected. You enter through the garage where he parks his bike and are greeted with the satisfying and familiar smell of earth and wood.

The polaroid that you took together is still pinned on one of his boards, next to the car blueprints and documents that he needs for the job.

"Never took it off. Couldn't bring myself to." He says without looking up at from his bike as he secures the lock on its handlebars. "Always felt like it was never really the end, you know? Of us."

You hum in agreement and continue looking at the polaroid. It was taken a few months back on one of the first dates he took you on.

'Whatcha got there, bun?' He had asked you while you were fishing out something from your bag.

'Brought something for us, took it right out of father's study.' In your hand is a polaroid camera. The expensive kind Bucky has only seen on store shelves.

He lets out a low whistle at the costly item. 'Ya taking things from your parents now, bunny? Am I rubbing off on you the wrong way?' He jokes.

The idea of his sweet innocent bunny doing rebellious things amuses him. To him, she's the type that would frown upon jaywalking.

'Oh, hush you. I'm just borrowing it.' You slap his arm playfully. 'Come on now, say cheese.'

You bring the camera up and snap the photo just as Bucky lands a sweet kiss to your cheek.

The moment lays frozen in time on his pegboard.

As you continue to reminisce, you feel Bucky's warm figure creep up behind you. Strong arms encircle your waist pulling you so close that you feel his breath at the back of your neck. He lands a kiss on your nape, making you shiver.

"Missed ya." He whispers. "Was going crazy without ya."

Instinctively, you lean into his touch, pressing your back closer to his chest as he continues trailing kisses down your neck.

"M-missed you too." Your breathing gets heavier as his lips tickle your skin in all the sensitive spots.

"Bucky..." You warn shyly as he starts getting handsy with you- pulling you closer and kissing down your neck with more vigor than before.

"I can stop," he pauses, lips tickling your skin, "but I can also make you feel good, bunny. Do you want me to make you feel good?"

The offer is tempting, and you want so desperately to just let yourself feel the man that you've missed so dearly.

However, your lack of experience in comparison to Bucky holds you back. Sure, you've kissed boys before, but you've never done... that. Your strict parents have always been a crutch in allowing you to experience anything more intimate than kissing.

"I don't know... I-I've never- I don't know how, Bucky." You stutter shamefully at your cluelessness.

"That's alright, bunny. I know." Bucky presses one last deep kiss on the column of your neck. "You just let me show you, yeah? Are you okay with that?"

You nod your head shyly.

"Words, bun." He pushes

"Yes. I-I'm okay with that." you tell him.

At your confirmation, Bucky spins you around to face him. "If we're going to do this, I'll make sure to do everything right." His words have that seriousness to them as he looks at you with that familiar glint of a sparkle in his eyes. "Come upstairs with me."

· ─ ·✶· ─ · ·

When you get upstairs, Bucky pulls you in almost immediately into a kiss and pushes you against the door to close it. You gasp into his mouth at the sudden movement, making him breathe out a chuckle against your lips.

"Sorry," he says cheekily "Just... missed you so damn much. Got excited."

You giggle at his eagerness and kiss him back just as hard. "Take me then, Bucky. I'm all yours."

He lets out a low growl at that, fingers bringing up the hem of your yellow dress from the gala.

"Yeah? Never stopped being mine, right? Even when we were apart?" His question feels more like a statement, but you love how possessive he is with you.

"Yours" you repeat. His hands slide your dress up to your waist before pulling you closer to him. You can feel how hard he is through his pants when he presses against you.

Before you could let out a moan at the slight friction, Bucky pulls you into a rougher kiss before spinning you around from the door frame to fall on his bed.

You lay there sprawled out- hair a mess, yellow dress wrinkled and bunched up to your thighs, but Bucky thinks its the most ethereal sight he's ever seen.

"Beautiful," he whispers as he pulls away to take in the sight of you "I'll take good care of you bun."

"You already do." You sigh lovingly as his hands find the zipper at the back of your dress.

The fabric covering you is removed so slowly and carefully, as if Bucky is afraid to accidentally break you if you're not handled as anything less than fragile.

You hear his breath hitch in your throat as you lay under him, almost completely bare if it weren't for the white lace panties that you still have on.

"God, bunny. You're gonna kill me." He kisses you again sensually, hands roaming more freely than they've ever gone before- from your waist, up the curve of the sides of your stomach, until they land gently on your breasts.

His hand gropes at the flesh while the other hand pins you in place by the hip. You moan at the feeling of his tender touch which makes him trail his mouth to your ear.

"That feel good?" He whispers.

Shyly, you nod at him.

"I'm gonna touch you more now, alright? You tell me to stop and we stop. Got that?"

"Don't stop." Your words reach him in a breathless whisper, urging him to continue on.

His lips trail downwards, kissing down your collarbone to the curve of your breast. Hand continuing to massage and play with the other. You feel his lips lick up at the bud, the new and wet feeling making you moan.

"F-fuck, Bucky." It's almost embarrassing how you're already a mess under him when he's barely even started.

"That's alright, bunny. Let it out- let me know I'm making you feel good." The words of reassurance are spoken to you as if he can read what you're thinking. He gives one last lick on your nipple before attaching his lips to the other side to give it the same treatment.

The hand that was on your hips travels further down to the hem of your lace panties. You gasp at his touch but don't make an effort to tell him to stop.

"Bet you're wet already," he says smugly. "You're already so responsive to my mouth on your tits."

Bucky chuckles when he sees your eyes widen and face flush at his lewd words. He hates to admit, but your innocence and lack of experience is turning him on.

His hands dip down, still on top of the fabric and not taking it off you just yet. When his fingers meet your center, you both let out a rough exhale at the wetness that has pooled there.

"No ones ever touched you here, right bunny?"

He makes his thumb glide up and down your entrance, covered by the thin lace which creates a delicious friction on your clit. You shake your head unable to form any words except for the soft moans escaping you.

He chuckles again at your desperate state.

"What a pure fucking pussy..." He sighs, obviously turned on. "All for me to ruin." The pressure he puts against your core increases, making you whine for him louder.

"B-Bucky-!" You're so, so wet that you can hear your juices squelching against your panties as he continues thumbing at the entrance of your pussy. Every brush of his thumb drags the lace down on your clit which makes you gasp out.

"That's it, baby... You like that? Haven't even started and you're already this wet... Fuck." His eyes darken as he watches you dampen both his fingers and your panties.

You want to tell him to stop teasing you, to take them off and touch you properly- but its as if he's turned on by the thin barrier blocking him off from your sweetness.

He moves his body down to be in level with your core. Before you can comprehend what's happening, you feel his tongue lap up at your pussy in one long and hard stroke against the fabric.

"A-ah!" The sound that leaves you is in between a cry and a moan. "Bucky, please!"

"Please what, bunny?" He teases by eating you out through the fabric of your underwear. The material is so thin that you can feel his hot tongue moving against you almost completely, but its still not enough.

"T-take them off... Please." You sob from the pleasure.

"Yeah?" He sucks your clit hard, earning a louder cry from you. "You want me to eat your needy cunt, bunny? Want me to taste you proper?" He makes you feel the warmth of his mouth on your clit as he sucks and licks.

"Yes!" You moan loudly. "Yes, oh god, please!" Bucky is enchanted by the sight. His sweet and innocent girl making a mess for him on his bed, on his tongue. He can't deny you any longer.

"There's no god here, bunny." He rips the ruined lace from your legs. "Just me."

Finally, he dives down to lick you from top to bottom. Completely catching the wetness at your entrance and bringing it to your clit before sucking it into his mouth.

"Ohh fuck," you cry out, lost in pleasure that you become unaware of the lewd moans you're making.

A finger joins his mouth in pleasuring you, rockin git back and forth until he hits the spot that makes you see stars. "R-right there! Yes-fuck!"

"Yeah? Right there, bunny? Right fucking there?" He continues his work on your clit with his mouth, while finger-fucking you to the edge.

You can feel yourself about to come. The coil in your stomach tightens and the warmth in your core bracing itself for what's about to happen. He feels you tighten around his fingers, and your hips squirm to get away from the onslaught he has on your pussy.

"Gonna cum, bunny?" He mutters against your pussy, making the vibrations push you closer to the edge.

"T-too much, Bucky-! C-can't...!"

"Just feel, bun." He says against your clit in between lapping up against it. He presses his arm on top of your stomach to keep you from squirming. "Feel it, bunny. Let go for me. Cum on my tongue."

Heat washes over your whole body. You do exactly as you're told and cum on his tongue generously, which he licks at with a moan. For a moment, you lose all sense of presence and can only focus on the pleasure washing over you.

"So fucking good..." He says while drinking you up. "Did so good for me, baby."

Once you've calmed down, Bucky brings himself back up to kiss your forehead. "You okay?"

When you nod your head, Bucky breathes a sigh of relief. "Lost you for a second there, thought you were going to pass out."

You let out a weak giggle. "Still want more of you, though..." You bring your hands up to Bucky's shirt to pull it off his head, and moan at the sight of his chiseled body.

He kisses you as he takes off his pants as well, leaving him in just his boxers.

"We don't have to-" he tries to say.

"I want to, please."

Bucky nods at your reassurance, laying you down and propping a pillow underneath your hips. 'It'll feel better with the pillow there' he had told you.

Once he's set you laid out properly on the bed, he props himself on his elbows hovering above you.

"I'll be gentle." He says genuinely, eyes locked on yours lovingly.

"I know, I trust you." You reply back to his sincerity with your own.

He takes a moment to position himself outside your entrance, rubbing the head of his cock outside to lube himself with your juices. Slowly, you feel him press the tip inside you.

There's a sudden stretch that you feel, making you gasp at the foreign sensation.

"Still okay?" He pauses to ask.

"Keep going, Bucky..."

Encouraged by your words, he continues pushing in slowly, slowly, until he's fully sheathed inside you. It stings and the pressure it places on your lower half is stinging.

But when you look up, Bucky's face is contorted in pleasure. The tightness of your walls, the way you feel so warm, and wet, and soft makes him feel like he's in heaven.

"Fuckkk- bunny," Bucky groans and rests his head on your shoulder as your warmth encompasses him. He struggles not to move and you can see how it pains him to stay still in order for you to adjust.

"J-just, tell me if- if you can't- fuck" his words come out in gasps and heavy breaths. He can barely form a coherent sentence.

"You can move, Buck." you tell him with a shaky breath.

"Sure, bun?"

After giving him a look of certainty, with a nod he thrusts in shallowly. Any big movements can wait till later, his main priority now is to make sure you don't get hurt.

"Shit, bunny. You're so tight." He groans lowly as his thrusts get deeper. "You feel so fucking good, baby."

After a few particular thrusts, you start feeling sparks of pleasure overriding the pain.

"Mmm, Bucky..." You moan softly.

"Yeah? That good, bun? You like how I'm fucking you?" He asks you, panting as he begins to pick up the pace.

His thrusts get more confident now that you're showing signs of pleasure. The length of his cock still stretches you out and stings, but you love how good he's filling you up.

"O-oh!" You arch your back at a certain spot that he finds. Its the same one he was hitting with his fingers earlier, but deeper. The pillow underneath your hips tilts your body at a position that makes him hit you deeper.

Bucky continues to drill that spot, hitting it with every thrust until you find yourself at the edge again. You can feel him twitch inside you, signaling that he's close.

"I'm not gonna last, bunny." He tells you in a low voice. "I need ya to finish again for me."

His thumb finds your clit again. Its a soft touch, but its enough to bring you closer. You can feel how wet you are as it spreads to your thighs, and Bucky can feel it coat all over his dick.

"I-I'm..." you trail off, mind going blank as he continues to chase both your highs.

"That's it, let go. Cum with me, bunny" he urges you.

You cum with a high pitched moan, clutching onto him as you let yourself go for the second time that night.

"Fuckkkk, bun." he groans as he follows after you, filling you up to the hilt and milking himself completely until he's emptied his load into you.

The bed dips as he crashes next to you, completely spent and with a satisfied, tired smile on his face.

"That was..." You trail off.

"Yeah." He agrees. "I love you, you know that?"

"I do, Bucky. I love you, too." turning to face him, you get a good view of of your favorite shade of blue encompassing the sparkle that rests in his pupils.

For a moment you both forget the troubles that wait for you outside the safety of his home.

"Bunny... I'll fight for us, you know that?" He breaks the comfortable silence between the both of you. "I won't let them take you away from me again."

"Bucky..." you trail off.

"I promised you I'd take care of you, didn't I?" The words spoken between are soft and gentle, a tone he only seems to carry with you, yet carry so much weight. "I'll prove it to them, to everyone, that I can be enough for you."

"Bucky, you don't need to prove anything to anyone." You tell him sincerely. "I love you, and maybe that's all that matters."

For now, at least, you both settle into each other's embrace without any worries.

For now, love is all that matters. You'll worry about the hardships that face you in the morning.

“Call me at six on the dot.”

The text from Bucky arrives at 5:17 p.m.

No apology. No acknowledgement of the fight that left both of you bleeding the night before.

You stare at your phone for almost forty minutes. You shouldn’t call. You know you shouldn’t.

Bucky had walked out after saying maybe you were asking for something he couldn’t give.

A future.

A family.

A forever.

The words still feel lodged in your chest, but six o’clock comes.

And despite every ounce of self-respect screaming at you not to—

You call.

The phone rings once.

Twice.

Three times.

Then a woman answers.

You freeze.

“Hello?”

Not Bucky. Definitely not Bucky.

Your stomach drops.

“I—I think I have the wrong number.”

“No,” she says quietly.

The voice sounds surprised, almost guilty.

“This is his phone.”

His phone.

Your heart starts pounding.

You grip the edge of the kitchen counter.

“Who is this?”

The woman exhales a long breath and says your name.

Every nerve in your body goes cold.

“How do you know my name?”

Silence.

Too much silence.

And suddenly you already know. You know before she says it. You know before the knife goes in.

“Because he’s been seeing me.”

“You’re lying.”

“I’m sorry.”

You can’t breathe. You hear her speaking again. Words blurring together.

“I thought you two were broken up.”

“He said… he told me…”

You don’t hear the rest. Your ears are ringing. All you can think about is Bucky standing in your apartment yesterday, looking wounded as he said he couldn’t give you forever.

And all along, there was someone else.

A choked laugh escapes you. The kind that sounds nothing like laughter.

The woman repeats your name.

You swallow hard, “How long?”

“Four months.”

Four months.

Four months of kisses.

Four months of promises.

Four months of sharing a bed with a man who came home smelling like someone else’s future.

Your vision blurs. Another voice suddenly appears in the background. Too familiar.

“Who is that?”

Bucky.

The woman doesn’t answer. You hear movement and then his voice again.

“What—”

Silence.

And then Bucky says your name.

The sound of your name on his lips nearly destroys you. Yesterday you would have crossed oceans for that voice.

Today it makes you sick. Your eyes close, tears slipping free. When you finally speak, your voice is heartbreakingly calm.

“I called at six on the dot.”

The silence on the other end is immediate.

“Doll, wait—”

You hang up.

At 6:01 p.m., the love of your life becomes a stranger.

The same cold silk of it wrapping around you. The same easy release as your legs fuse and your tail unfurls in one long shimmer beneath the dark water. The same pull of depth and current and pressure settling your body back into its truest shape.

But you are not the same creature who left. You know it almost immediately. The swim home is slower this time. Not because you’re tired. Because your thoughts keep drifting to the sea glass at your throat, the ghost of his fingers laced through yours…

Or on the quiet, careful way Bucky had looked at you when you said you loved the gift, like he hadn’t quite known what to do with being allowed to matter. You touch the pendant once as you cut through the dark.

It taps lightly against your skin with each stroke.

A little piece of shore worn smooth enough to belong to you now.

Home comes into view in layers.

First the slope of familiar rock. Then the long curtains of kelp moving slow and stately in the current. Then the blue bioluminescent glow that clings to the caves and coral shelves, turning the reef into a dream of light and shadow. You should feel yourself slot back into place the second you see it.

Instead, what hits first is awareness.

Of your own face.

Of your scent.

Of the fact that Nerina is absolutely going to smell land, tea, Bucky, and trouble on you from three currents away.

And sure enough, you have barely crossed into the outer reef before a shape peels off from behind a column of stone and slams neatly into your path.

Nerina, with her arms folded and expression bright with menace.

“Well?” she asks.

You blink at her, trying for innocence.

It doesn’t work.

Her gaze drops to your throat instantly. The sea glass pendant catches the glow. Nerina goes still.

Then very, very slowly, she looks back up at you.

“Oh, you are doomed.”

You clutch the pendant reflexively. “That is such an unhelpful thing to say.”

She surges forward with a delighted screech, grabbing both your arms. “He gave you a trinket.”

“It’s not a trinket.”

“He gave you shore-worn sea glass on a cord. That is a courtship-level trinket.”

You try to pull away with dignity. “You’re inventing rules.”

“I am not.”

“You absolutely are.”

Nerina drags you bodily through the water toward the main cavern. “Sereia! Talin! She came back wearing his feelings!”

You gasp. “That is not what this is!”

From deeper in the reef, Sereia’s laughter spills out before you even see her.

Talin appears a second later with the expression of a male who has known peace and is watching it leave his body in real time.

Nerina presents you like evidence before a tribunal.

“He put a thing on her.”

You choke. “Why would you phrase it like that?”

Sereia takes one look at the pendant and presses both hands over her mouth. “Oh, no.”

“Oh, yes,” Nerina corrects gleefully.

Talin glances from the pendant to your face. His eyes narrow.

“You stayed longer.”

“Yes. He asked, I said yes. I wanted to. It was just dinner.”

Sereia brightens. “Dinner.”

“With candles,” Nerina guesses immediately.

You freeze.

All three of them stare.

Nerina clutches Talin’s arm so hard he grimaces. “Candles.”

“It was one candle,” you say, which is somehow worse.

Sereia drifts closer, eyes wide and warm. “He planned it.”

You don’t answer, because the second you do your smile is going to happen again and then you’ll never hear the end of it. Unfortunately, your silence is deafening.

Nerina squints at you. “Oh, you liked it liked it.”

Talin rubs a hand over his face. “Can we all calm down.”

“No,” Nerina and Sereia say together.

You try for dignity, but it is hard to maintain while being gently herded into the center cavern by two females vibrating with gossip and one male radiating the weary air of a guardian who knows exactly how this story ends.

Word spreads fast.

By the time you reach the glowing heart of the reef, half your pod is already looking up, pretending not to look up, or very openly looking up with the kind of pointed casualness that means they’ve absolutely heard something.

You are offered food.

A resting ledge.

A blanket of woven kelp fiber you do not need.

Three different older pod-mothers peer at you over their shells and immediately notice the pendant.

One of them clicks her tongue approvingly.

You consider swimming into a trench and staying there forever.

Instead, you sit.

Which is brave.

Or stupid.

Probably both.

Sereia settles on one side of you, Nerina on the other, like guards at the world’s most humiliating hearing. Talin stations himself slightly behind, arms folded.

For a moment, the pod just watches you.

Then Sereia says gently, “How was he tonight?”

And damn it, that question gets past your defenses faster than teasing.

You look down at the pendant in your hand.

“At first?” you say slowly. “He nearly died because I came out of the water without clothes.”

The cavern erupts.

Nerina folds cleanly in half laughing.

Sereia chokes on seawater.

Even Talin’s head drops as though he’s fighting a smile and losing.

“He threw clothes at me,” you continue, because if you’re suffering, everyone else is coming with you. “Then he had to explain why humans are weird about nakedness.”

Nerina wipes at her eyes. “What did he say?”

“That it’s about privacy and modesty.”

Sereia puts a hand to her chest, wheezing softly with laughter. “And what did you say?”

“That it’s just bodies.”

The older pod-mother with the shells actually nods as if this is the most sensible statement uttered all night.

Talin mutters, “For once, I’m with her.”

Nerina points at you. “And what did he do?”

You pause because now it gets interesting.

The truth is he tried so hard to be good that it made something warm and dangerous spread through you all over again.

Your mouth softens before you can stop it.

“He looked like he was fighting a cecaelia.”

That does it.

The entire cavern loses it again..

Laughter rings off the stone. A younger merman actually thumps the ledge in delight. Sereia hides her face in your shoulder. Nerina makes the most obnoxiously triumphant sound you have ever heard.

Talin closes his eyes like he no longer wishes to be corporeal.

When the noise finally dies down a little, Sereia studies you more closely.

“Were you safe?”

The shift in tone gentles everything.

You nod immediately.

“Yes.”

“Wanted?”

A softer question.

One that reaches deeper.

You swallow.

“Yes.”

Nerina’s expression turns unexpectedly tender. “Respected?”

That one you answer without hesitation.

“Yes.”

The mood in the cavern changes after that.

Not lighter, exactly.

Deeper.

There’s still teasing, yes, because your pod would rather implode than pass up good romantic drama. But beneath it runs approval. Relief. The understanding that this isn’t simply infatuation for the sake of novelty. This human doesn’t make you smaller. Doesn’t treat you like a curiosity. Doesn’t demand or grab or cage.

He makes room for you. That matters to merfolk more than almost anything.

Talin kneels beside your ledge then, big and solid and serious as ever.

“And you?” he asks quietly. “How are you when you’re with him?”

The question catches you off guard.

You open your mouth with some quick, easy answer ready.

Nothing comes out.

Because suddenly you know the truth of it, and it is not small.

You are different with Bucky.

You are… softer in places you thought had long ago gone to reef stone. Sharper in others. More curious. More aware. More alive in your own skin, even when he’s the one making you conscious of it. He doesn’t pull you away from yourself.

He seems to hand more of you back.

You look down at your hands, then up.

“I think,” you say slowly, “I feel… seen.”

Silence settles through the cavern.

No one laughs now.

Nerina reaches over and squeezes your shoulder once, hard and affectionate.

Sereia smiles, sad and knowing and warm.

Talin’s face shifts—some hard protective line in him easing, just enough.

“That,” he says, “is not nothing.”

You nod.

No. It isn’t.

Later, after the pod breaks apart into smaller knots of conversation, you drift off toward the outer gardens alone.

The reef here is quieter. The bioluminescence softer. Little darting fish weave through coral branches that glow blue-white at their tips. It’s beautiful in the same way it has always been beautiful.

Tonight you notice change everywhere: how the current moves differently after a storm, how new things settle into old places…

How even home is not static. Not fixed. It shifts. Adapts. Makes room.

You curl up on a smooth shelf of stone with your tail tucked close and your fingers resting over the sea glass at your throat.

A shadow passes overhead.

Sereia.

She lowers herself onto the stone beside you and leans shoulder to shoulder.

For a while, neither of you speaks.

Then she says, “You know you don’t have to choose yet.”

You turn your head. She keeps looking out at the dark water.

“Between them,” she says. “Between worlds. Between the part of you that belongs to the sea and the part reaching toward shore.”

Your throat tightens.

That is the fear beneath the sweetness, isn’t it?

That this pull toward Bucky means giving something up. That love, if that’s what this becomes, might ask for a sacrifice. That every story of land and sea ends with one half of the heart translated into a language the other half cannot survive.

“I know,” you say softly.

Sereia finally looks at you.

“You are allowed to let this be what it is before you decide what it costs.”

You let that settle.

It feels wise.

“Was that your gentle older-sister speech?” you ask.

She smiles. “A little.”

“It was very effective.”

You rest your head on her shoulder for a moment, and she kisses your hair once before rising and leaving you to your thoughts. The reef grows quieter around you as the night deepens.

Far, far off, beyond the dark layers of water and distance and shoreline, you can just make out the faint pulse of the lighthouse.

One turn.

Then dark.

Then another.

You wonder what Bucky is doing.

If he’s pacing.

If he’s touching the spot by his mouth where you kissed him.

If he’s looking at the empty second plate and wondering when you’ll be back.

The thought wraps around your heart with equal parts ache and warmth.

At last you push off the ledge and slip deeper into the reef, toward your sleeping hollow.

This time when your people greet you as you settle in, it feels less like being pulled in two and more like being held from both sides.

By the sea.

By your pod.

By the strange, impossible beginning waiting up on shore.

And when you finally close your eyes, one thing becomes clear in the drifting quiet before sleep takes you:

Coming home does not cure your longing.

The third night, you don’t even pretend.

You don’t linger.

You don’t pace the reef or let Nerina make bets about how long it’ll take you to crack.

You just go.

—

The lighthouse finds you faster this time. Or maybe you find it faster. Either way, when you surface, he’s already there.

Bucky stands on the rocks like he never left, hands braced on the railing, gaze locked on the water with that same too-intense focus that gives him away every single time. He notices the second your head breaks the surface.

There’s that flicker again—relief, sharp and immediate, before he smooths it out into something more controlled.

“You’re early,” he says.

You haul yourself up onto the rocks, water streaming off you, already reaching for the neatly folded clothes waiting where he left them.

“You’re predictable,” you shoot back.

He huffs. “That so?”

“You were out here.”

“I live here.”

“You were waiting out here.”

“I was checking the—”

You look at him, brow arched.

He stops.

“…weather,” he finishes anyway.

You grin, delighted. “Liar.”

He shakes his head, but there’s no bite in it. Not tonight.

You pull on the clothes quickly this time, faster, more practiced, though you still feel his attention hovering carefully at the edges, like he’s trying to be respectful and failing just a little.

“Done,” you announce.

Bucky turns back.

And yeah, there it is again. That look. That moment where he forgets to hide it.

You in his world wearing things he picked and standing like you belong there.

It hits him every time.

You clap your hands once, bright with sudden energy.

“I have a request.”

Bucky’s brows lift immediately. “That sounds dangerous.”

“It’s not dangerous.”

“That’s exactly what dangerous requests say.”

“I want to go to the lights.”

He blinks.

“…the what?”

You point past him, toward the glow of the boardwalk. Neon flickering against the night, music drifting faintly across the wind, distant shouts and laughter carried over the water.

“There,” you say. “The loud place. With the spinning things.”

Bucky turns, following your gesture.

Realization dawns, followed by disbelief.

“You mean the carnival.”

“Yes.”

“You want to go to the carnival.”

“Yes.”

“With me.”

You beam. “Obviously.”

He stares at you for a long moment like he’s recalculating his entire existence.

“…you don’t even know what’s there.”

“I know it looks fun.”

“It’s loud.”

“I’ve noticed.”

“It’s crowded.”

“I’ve noticed.”

“It’s—” He cuts himself off, exhaling. “It’s a lot.”

You step closer, tilting your head up at him.

“I want to see your world,” you say simply.

And there it is.

That quiet, honest thing you keep doing that makes it impossible for him to say no.

Bucky looks at you.

Really looks.

Then drags a hand down his face.

“…you’re gonna be the death of me.”

You grin. “So I’ve been told.”

He mutters something under his breath and jerks his head toward town.

“Stay close.”

—

The carnival is overwhelming in the best possible way. The second you step onto the boardwalk, your senses explode.

Lights everywhere. Bright, flashing, spinning, pulsing in colors that don’t exist underwater. Music blaring from different directions, overlapping in chaotic, exhilarating layers. The smell of sugar and oil and salt and something sharp and fried that you can’t even name.

And people.

So many people.

You stop dead and Bucky immediately notices. His hand finds your wrist without thinking. Grounding.

“You okay?”

Your eyes are wide, tracking everything at once. “There’s so much happening.”

“Yeah,” he says quietly.

You look up at him and smile. “I love it.”

Something in his expression softens instantly.

“Yeah?” he says.

“Absolutely.”

He nods once, like that settles something for him, and keeps his hand loosely around your wrist as he guides you forward through the crowd.

You let him. Not because you need it.

But because you like it.

—

The first ride stops you cold.

It’s massive, looping, with wood mixed with metal. People strapped into seats, shrieking as they’re lifted high into the air and dropped again. You stare at it like it’s a living creature.

“What is that.”

Bucky follows your gaze.

“The Cyclone.”

“…why would anyone do that on purpose?”

He glances down at you, amused. “Adrenaline.”

“That looks like death.”

“Some people like that.”

You consider the screaming humans.

“…land people are deeply strange.”

He snorts. “Not wrong.”

You tug on his sleeve. “Can we try it?”

He freezes. “You want to get on that.”

“Yes.”

“No.”

“Why not?”

“Because you just said it looks like death.”

“I want to experience your death machine.”

Bucky stares at you, then at the ride, and then back at you.

“…absolutely not.”

You gasp. “You deny me culture.”

“I am saving your life.”

You cross your arms. “Coward.”

He leans down slightly, voice low in your ear. “You were overwhelmed by socks two days ago. I am not putting you on a roller coaster.”

The timbre in his voice makes you feel warm. “Fair enough.”

He smirks and the warm feeling deepens.

You narrow your eyes. “I still think you’re scared.”

“I’m not scared.”

“Then prove it.”

“I don’t need to prove anything.”

You grin. “You’re scared.”

“I’m not—I’ve been on it many times.”

“Then prove it.”

He exhales sharply, already losing the argument, and mutters, “We’re not doing that one.”

You accept victory.

—

Bucky leads you to a game booth.

Bright colors. Stuffed animals hanging everywhere. A man barking challenges at passersby.

You stare. “What is this?”

“A scam.”

You perk up. “I love it.”

Bucky huffs a laugh. “Of course you do.”

The booth operator grins at him. “C’mon, man, win your girl a prize.”

Bucky goes still.

Your girl.

The words hang there for half a second.

Then Bucky clears his throat, too quickly. “Yeah. Sure.”

He hands over cash.

You watch, fascinated, as he picks up the small balls and weighs them in his hand.

“What do you do?”

“Knock down the bottles.”

“That’s it?”

“That’s it.”

“That seems easy.”

He gives you a look.

Then throws.

The first ball hits—crack—and two bottles go down.

Second throw—clean.

Third—perfect.

All bottles topple.

You gasp.

“That was impressive.”

Bucky shrugs, but there’s a flicker of pride there. “Used to be good at this.”

The booth operator rolls his eyes but hands over a prize anyway.

Bucky turns to you, holding out a stuffed animal—a small white plush with big eyes and soft fur.

You take it carefully.

“What is this creature?”

“A bunny.”

“It’s adorable.”

“It’s yours.”

You clutch it to your chest immediately. “I love it.”

His gaze softens again, watching you like that reaction alone was worth the whole thing.

“You say that about everything.”

“Everything you give me, yes.”

He looks away for a second, jaw tightening just slightly like he doesn’t quite know what to do with that kind of honesty.

You hug the bunny tighter.

“I will name him.”

“Oh yeah?” He glances at it. “What are you gonna name it?”

You consider deeply. Then, with absolute confidence, you beam.

“Alpine.”

—

Then comes the food.

You stop in front of a stand where something golden and chaotic is being handed to customers.

“What is that.”

Bucky follows your stare. “That is funnel cake.”

“I want it.”

“Of course you do.”

He buys one and hands it to you.

You take a bite and immediately your entire face changes. Eyes wide. Soul leaving your body.

“This is magic.”

He laughs, full and real, watching you like this is the best part of his night.

Sugar dusts your fingers. You don’t care. You take another bite, then another, completely gone.

“This is better than the cake,” you declare.

“That’s a bold statement.”

“I stand by it.”

You hold it out to him.

“Try.”

“I’ve had funnel cake.”

“Try mine.”

He hesitates and then leans in, taking a bite.

The moment is small.

But the way you both pause—too close, sharing the same piece, breath catching just slightly—

It’s not nothing.

You both notice.

You pull back first, smiling like you didn’t just feel that spark. He swallows, clears his throat, and looks anywhere but your mouth.

“Good?” you ask innocently.

“Yeah,” he says, a little rough. “Good.”

—

By the time you leave, you’re carrying your stuffed bunny, sugar on your fingers, and a hundred new impressions you don’t even have words for yet.

The walk back is quieter, slower. You’re closer to him and before you know it, his hand is clasping yours.

When the lighthouse comes back into view, you look at him.

“That was… amazing! Thank you for showing me.”

Bucky’s gaze holds yours. “I’m glad.”

When you reach the rocks, neither of you moves right away.

The ocean waits.

The lighthouse glows.

Something between you has shifted again.

It’s bigger, warmer. And it is a little harder to pretend isn’t heading somewhere very real. By the end of the week, the lighthouse doesn’t feel like a hiding place anymore.

It feels like his. And, dangerously, a little like yours too.

Not all at once. Not in some dramatic rush. It happens the way tides do—inch by inch, quiet until suddenly the whole shoreline has changed.

You fall into a rhythm with Bucky.

A ridiculous, impossible, deeply intimate rhythm.

—

You come back the night after the carnival still carrying Alpine the bunny, and Bucky gives the stuffed animal one long look before muttering, “That thing’s gonna live here now, huh?”

You clutch Alpine to your chest. “He has seniority now.”

Bucky deadpans, “Over me?”

“Yes.”

“That tracks.”

You spend the night on the lighthouse steps because the weather is clear and the wind is warm enough to make staying outside worth it. He tells you what each distant light is—boats, buildings, signs, homes. You tell him which stars you use when the current shifts deep enough to confuse even your best sense of direction.

At one point, a gull lands nearby and stares at you both like it pays rent.

You narrow your eyes at it. “Is that one judging me?”

Bucky glances over. “Probably.”

“Rude.”

“You did tell me not to brood at gulls.”

You look at him. “Are you brooding with gulls now?”

His mouth twitches. That becomes a thing after that.

Every night, you ask if he’s brooding with the gulls.

Every night, Bucky acts deeply inconvenienced by how much he secretly enjoys it.

The following evening Bucky makes the mistake of teaching you how laundry works.

Specifically, he shows you how to use the old washer hookup in the lower utility room because you asked what happened to clothes once they got “too people-smelling and too sea-smelling at the same time.”

You treat this like a sacred rite.

For about six minutes.

Then you start asking questions: why are there different soaps? Why does everything need sorting. Why are towels apparently a separate category. Why do humans have a machine to wash fabrics but still insist on doing so many dishes by hand.

Bucky tries. He really does.

He gives calm, practical answers right up until you hold up one of his shirts, bury your face in it, and say, “This still smells like you. I think the machine failed.”

Bucky blinks.

You lower the shirt just enough to see his eyes.

“…what?” he says.

You blink innocently. “What? The machine failed. It smells like you. I like it.”

He stares for a long second, then mutters, “You can’t just say things like that.”

“Why not? It’s true.”

That night he was quieter than usual.

When you catch him later folding that same shirt with way too much focus, you hide your smile in your tea.

—

On another evening, you find his books.

You’re sprawled across his bed in one of his sweaters, barefoot, dry-haired, flipping through a battered novel while he tries—and fails—not to stare like this image has knocked his soul slightly loose from his body.

“You read these?” you ask.

“Yeah.”

“Humans make up a lot of stories.”

He leans in the doorway with his arms folded. “So do merfolk.”

“Yes, but ours tend to be more educational and less obsessed with emotional repression.”

That gets him.

One sharp laugh.

You grin and pat the bed beside you. “Come explain this one.”

He eyes the invitation like it’s a trap but eventually he sits carefully, leaving space. You immediately close most of it by leaning against his shoulder and holding up the book. He goes still for half a second, then lets out a breath and relaxes into it. You spend an hour like that.

Him reading passages aloud in that low, rough voice of his. You asking constant questions. Sometimes about the plot. Mostly about why human men in fiction are apparently allergic to emotional honesty.

At one point you look up and realize he has stopped reading.

“Why’d you stop?”

His eyes are on you.

Your mouth.

Your face tipped up close to his shoulder.

And his answer comes out low. “Lost my place.”

You absolutely do not recover normally from that.

Later that week, you go into town again, this time during a quieter stretch, and Bucky lets you explore more slowly.

You learn how diners work.

This matters because you discover pancakes.

And pancakes, as it turns out, hit you like a religious conversion.

You sit in a cracked red vinyl booth by the window at some tiny all-night place while Bucky watches you take your first bite and nearly dissolve.

“You all have this and still behave like that?” you ask, scandalized.

“Like what?”

“Like people with stress.”

He snorts into his coffee.

The waitress calls you sweetheart and tops off Bucky’s mug without asking. She looks between the two of you with that same knowing human expression you still don’t totally understand but are beginning to suspect means I see what’s going on here before you idiots do.

You ask Bucky later.

He says, “She thinks we’re together.”

You stop walking. He stops too. The night air goes very still around you.

“And are we?” you ask lightly.

Bucky’s voice is careful.

“I think we’re…” He exhales. “Something.”

You step closer to him.

“Something good?”

His eyes hold yours. “Yeah,” he says quietly. “Something good.”

That’s the first night you kiss him properly. The kiss is soft from the start. No urgency. No desperation.

His lips move against yours slowly, carefully, like he’s savoring something precious. His hand slides to the back of your neck, fingertips disappearing into your hair. You feel him smile when you sigh against his mouth.

The kiss deepens for a heartbeat, then eases again. Neither of you wanting to be the first to pull away. When you finally separate, it’s only by inches.

Bucky keeps his eyes closed for a moment as if he’s collecting himself. The kiss affected him as much as it affected you. Then he opens his eyes— those impossibly blue eyes. His thumb brushes across your cheek.

Afterward he presses his forehead to yours and says, rough and dazed, “You really are gonna ruin me.” You smile against his mouth.

“Probably.”

—

Days pass. The weather turns.

You arrive in rain, laughing because the sea and sky feel wild and electric and alive. Bucky, meanwhile, takes one look at you climbing up the rocks drenched and shining and says, “Nope,” in the tone of a man already losing a battle.

He towels your hair dry upstairs while grumbling the whole time.

You sit between his knees on a chair by the stove, grinning into the warmth, while he rubs your hair with surprising gentleness.

“You fuss,” you say.

“I’m drying your hair.”

“You fuss while doing it.”

“I’m efficient.”

“You’re fussy-efficient.”

He flicks the towel lightly over your head in retaliation.

You laugh, then lean back just enough that your shoulder rests against his leg.

He stills briefly then keeps going.

That night, the storm knocks the power in town weird for a while, and the lighthouse feels even more isolated than usual. You end up wrapped in blankets on the floor with Alpine between you, eating toast with butter and jam and listening to the rain hammer the glass.

You tell him about your pod.

Not everything.

But enough that they stop being abstract.

Nerina and her sharp mouth.

Sereia and her quiet wisdom.

Talin pretending he doesn’t care while caring more than anyone.

Bucky listens with his elbows on his knees, looking into the stove flame.

When you finish, he says, almost to himself, “Sounds nice. Having people like that.”

You look at him and then move closer until your shoulder touches his.

“You could,” you say softly. “Again.”

His jaw tightens. He doesn’t answer.

But later, when you fall half-asleep against him and wake just enough to realize he’s tucked the blanket more securely around you, you think maybe he heard you after all.

Steve froze, his mouth opening and closing like he was trying to find the words to explain the absurdity of the situation. "Pole dancing workout classes? Try it out in your own time, not the mission —"

"— I want to recreate that scene from Sin City," you interrupted, grinning, entirely too pleased with yourself. "Ooh, I hope they give me a prop. I want a whip."

Steve looked like he was contemplating immediate retirement. He pressed two fingers to his temple, closing his eyes tightly and taking a slow, shaky breath to regain his composure. He was the Captain; he was the leader; he was currently losing the battle of wits against his own team. He looked like a man trying to solve a complex equation while someone threw glitter at him.

Bucky sat in the corner of the van, hands resting on his thighs. He didn't speak, but his fingers drummed a steady, rhythmic beat against his pant legs. He watched the bickering with a faint, unreadable expression.

He didn’t know what Sin City was — it sounded like some post-war film he’d missed out on, something loud and sharp — but he noted the title away in his mind. If you were talking about it fondly, it was worth remembering later. He kept his gaze fixed on you, silent and watchful, just waiting for the green light to move.

"Fine," Steve finally bit out, his voice strained. "Keep your earpiece in. And for heaven's sake, keep your eyes on the VIP booth."

The music inside the club had teeth. It was low, heavy, and rhythmic, the bass moving through the floorboards and up into Bucky’s boots. He stood at the edge of the crowd with a drink he wasn't touching, trying his best to look like someone who belonged in a place where people actually enjoyed themselves.

He knew he didn't belong here. The lighting was garish — pulsing reds and deep, synthetic blues — and the noise was chaotic. The crowd moved in a fluid, loose language he’d only half-learned since coming back from the dead — elbows brushing, nobody clocking the exits, bodies swaying in a way that made him itch.

Bucky, however, was still clocking every exit, every shadow, and every shift in the air pressure. He was a creature of habit, and his habit was survival.

But then the stage lights shifted, and the air in the room seemed to pull toward the center.

He hadn’t meant to look. He tried to keep his gaze on the VIP booth where their target was currently sweating through a silk shirt, but his eyes betrayed him.

You didn't just walk onto the stage; you claimed it with each step. You caught the pole with one hand, a seamless transition into a slow, deliberate spin that sent your hair fanning out like a dark halo. You were moving like the music was a language you spoke fluently.

You twisted, climbing the chrome with fluid, disciplined strength, your muscles bunching and releasing beneath your skin. At the peak, you arched your back, hooking a leg around the pole before dropping into a controlled, breath-taking slide that had the entire room holding its breath.

You were twirling, rotating with a centrifugal grace that made the physics of the pole look effortless. You were putting on a show for the room — confident, a little showy, completely in control of what you were offering — and Bucky stood there feeling something loosen in his chest that he hadn't noticed was tight.

He knew this. Not this exactly — not the chrome pole or the particular cut of your outfit — but the shape of the moment.

Before the war, Brooklyn had its dancers.

There had been a girl at the Ritz who could hold a room still just by walking across it, and he and Steve used to sit in the back, nursing watered-down beers, watching the flappers move and feeling like kings just for being allowed in the room. Burlesque theatres downtown, where the performers were deliberate and bright, and the audience understood they were watching a craft.

You were doing exactly that.

It wasn't the way he sometimes felt around people now: that low-level hum of threat assessment that ran underneath every interaction. It wasn't the other thing, either — not the heat or the sudden spike of want that usually came with club settings — but something older and quieter.

It felt less like Bucky Barnes, the asset, the ex-assassin who was still learning how to exist in a room without cataloguing the exits, and more like James. Just James. Twenty-two years old, leaning against a wall with a drink in his hand, watching a girl who knew exactly how powerful she was.

He hadn't felt like James in a long time.

The weight of the mission — the extraction, the intel, the target in the VIP booth — felt miles away. He watched the way the light caught your skin, the way you threw your head back, the way you seemed to thrive in the centre of the chaos. You were magnetic.

Bucky felt a flicker of something almost possessive, a sharp, sudden desire to clear the room, to walk up there and pull you off the stage just so you’d stop looking at everyone else.

He didn't, of course. He just stood there, mesmerised.

You caught his eye while mid-spin, flashing him a grin that was bright and smug. Bucky’s mouth did something involuntary at the corners. He looked away, embarrassed by his own reaction, then immediately looked back. The mission was entirely off his radar and had been for approximately four minutes.

In the corner near the bar, Steve had both hands pressed over his face.

His earpiece was on. He could hear, faintly, the thumping bass of the club. He could not hear any mission-relevant information because neither of his operatives was doing anything mission-relevant.

He’d paired them together because Bucky had made a friend. His first real one since coming back. Steve had been quietly, carefully glad about it — the way you talked to Bucky like he was just a person, the way Bucky had started showing up to things he used to avoid, hovering near doorways less and sitting down more.

He had thought: This is good. They work well together. I'll put them on the next op.

He had not thought: And then she’ll do this, and he’ll make that face.

Steve took his hands off his face and looked at the stage. Then he looked at Bucky, who was standing at the edge of the crowd, stock-still and completely obvious, watching you with the focused, reverent attention of someone trying to memorise a masterpiece.

The contrast between Bucky’s usual guarded stance and his current, unguarded softness was so stark it made Steve’s chest ache.

He put his hands back over his face.

They were not getting any intel tonight. He already knew this. He was going to write a debrief that said 'situation assessed, no actionable intelligence gathered.'

Sam was going to read it and ask questions Steve didn't want to answer. Nat was going to smile at him from across the room in that way she had, and Bucky was going to be fine. Actually, a little more than fine.

Steve exhaled, his shoulders finally dropping an inch. He flagged the bartender down and ordered something that wasn't water.

He could tolerate one night of uselessness. He supposed, watching Bucky finally take a sip of his drink while refusing to take his eyes off you, that the mission had been a success in every way that mattered. The intel could wait for another night.

Right now, seeing the tension drain out of Bucky’s frame, seeing him look less like a weapon and more like a man, was worth the failure of the extraction.

He leaned against the bar, nursing his drink, and let himself watch, too. If Bucky was going to be distracted, Steve figured he might as well enjoy the show.

You turn up to pole-dance core workouts, but not his scheduled training schemes?!

$ tag @twentytomidnight @froggibus

It was hunting season, which didn’t mean much to Bucky since he hunts all the time. Specifically, it was deer season, but despite him being quite successful during this season throughout the five years he’s lived out here, this year was really testing him. 

Either the deer were really shy this season, or there simply weren’t many around this year. He’d had very little luck over the last few days, sitting in the treestand he’d made a few miles away from his house and not seeing much movement in the forest at all. 

Usually by day three he’d have lost count of how many deer that were around, but it was pushing day five and he hadn’t seen a single one. 

Bucky lived, for lack of better words, out in the middle of nowhere. It was secluded, a tedious twenty five minute drive from the nearest town, and the majority of that drive was through the wooded and rocky terrain of the forest. As far as he knew, no one else lived close by, and he hadn’t heard any sounds of guns going off in the woods that would suggest someone else was hunting around the area too. 

He had a feeling this was just one of those unlucky years where the deer population decided to skip over the forest he’d lived in for almost six years now. It was smart, because he’d gotten extremely lucky the last few years with deer, and had enough meat frozen to keep him fed for a long time, so for them to not be around this year was a lucky call for them. 

It was unlucky as hell for Bucky, because that meant he’d have to settle for other options for food, which wasn’t the biggest deal, but still. He’d gotten used to the routine that had sort’ve fallen into his lap the year he’d packed up and moved out here. 

He’d been hunched over in the stand for the majority of the afternoon, and the prime time for deer hunting had long since passed, but he didn’t have anything else to do for the remainder of the day, so he stayed a little longer. 

It turned out that his patience had paid off since he saw movement out of the corner of his eye, and when Bucky turned his head, he saw the slow, careful steps of a deer passing through the trees, and he moved just as slowly as he lifted his rifle, being sure to not make a single sound. 

He dipped his head down and peered through the scope, noting the size and weight of the deer, and he knew he’d get a good few weeks of meat off of it to freeze, which was a better score than he thought he’d get at this point. 

The deer hadn’t noticed him, its eyes slowly blinking as it remained blissfully unaware of the rifle pointed at it. It bowed down to nip at the grass scattered all over the forest ground, and Bucky took that as his cue to press down on the trigger, but before he could fire, he heard shuffling to his left, and watched as the deer perked up, clearly having heard the sound as well. 

He tried to ignore it and secure his kill, but then more shuffling was heard, and when the sound of rushed footsteps, followed by the beam of the stand he was currently crouched in shaking with the force of something hitting it, Bucky flinched, his rifle firing off but missing the deer completely. 

He’d been caught off guard, his balance momentarily shifting, and the deer took off running, leaving behind the sound of leaves ruffling and twigs snapping as it disappeared into the distance. 

“Fucking Christ,” Bucky cursed under his breath, then moved over to the side of the stand, peering over the edge and preparing to rip into whoever had interrupted him and scared off his kill. 

What he saw had him freezing in shock, his brows furrowing together as he met your wide, terrified eyes. You looked up at him with nothing but fear on your face, and your chest was heaving with uneven breaths that told him you’d been either running or walking for quite a long time, and by the looks of it, with no water. 

You didn’t say anything as you braced your hand against the support of the stand, your other hand lifted in a way that looked like you were giving up a fight that wasn’t even happening.

There was no denying that you’d been out here for a while, if the dirt staining your clothes and skin was anything to go by. Your hair was messy and he could see dried leaves in it, and your cheeks were stained with sweat streaks, but it wasn’t exactly hot at the moment, so he assumed you had just been running to the point of breaking a sweat, or you had not too long ago. 

Standing up a little straighter, Bucky let his gaze sweep you up and down. There was really nothing to you, your legs all scratched up thanks to your denim shorts, and your shoes were muddy and worn out. Your t-shirt was covered in dirt, and there was a rip in the side of it, a scrape visible along your ribs. But the giant bruise that took up most of your left side was a lot more noticeable than that. 

There were other noticeable bruises on your body, some more faded than others, and he saw a healed scar just under your jaw on the right side of your neck. You looked like you hadn’t slept in days, and your body seemed to be running on the last of its adrenaline as you shook your head. 

You looked scared, like you were horrified of him and what he might do to you. Your lips parted then trembled, like you were struggling to speak as you lifted your hand higher in a pleading gesture, but no words left your mouth as you took a weak, unsteady step forward. 

“Hey,” he called out, concern lacing his tone as he lowered his rifle. Bucky was too high up to do anything about the way your legs buckled, and the way your hand slipped from its place on the beam before you stumbled forward and became completely unbalanced. 

The sound of your head hitting the trunk of the tree had him wincing and instantly putting the rifle down, swinging his legs over the edge of the stand and jumping down. 

His boots hit the ground with a thud, and he immediately crouched down, confusion and concern written all over his face. You were no longer conscious, your body too weak to keep going at this point, and Bucky frowned as he reached forward and brushed your hair out of your face. 

He didn’t recognize you from town, though he supposed he didn’t go there much with the intent to seek out pretty girls. He only went there every once in a while for supplies and to see his family, but he had a feeling he would notice you if he’d seen you before. 

You looked like a mess, your body beaten and bruised and your clothing torn and ruined to the point of almost being unwearable, and Bucky felt his heart clench in his chest. 

What the fuck happened to you?

When Bucky carried you to his house, he discovered that you were extremely light in his arms, and it felt like he was carrying a few bags of groceries rather than a human who appeared to be in her mid twenties. 

He didn’t know what the hell to do with you, but he wasn’t going to just leave you out there. You’d clearly already been through hell, and he refused to turn a blind eye and mind his business when it was so obvious that you needed help. 

It had just started to rain when he began making his way home with you in his arms, and he had a feeling that you would’ve probably died if he’d left you out there, and he wouldn’t be able to live with himself if he let that happen.

You were cold, your skin clammy and splotchy, so the first thing Bucky did when he got home was lay you down on the couch, sacrificing the soft throw blanket that was thrown over the back of it, and draped it over you. 

He lowered the strap of his rifle down his arm before setting it aside on the coffee table, then crouched down in front of the couch. You were out cold, your body limp and unresponsive as he examined you a bit closer now that you were safe inside and away from the harsh elements outside. 

Your lips were dark, and he knew you were probably even colder than you felt, your body fighting to keep itself warm in the minimal clothing you were wearing. You didn’t have a bag with you, nor a phone or wallet, so he had no clue who you are or what your name is, or even where you lived. 

He’d never seen you in the woods before this, and by the small silver hoops you had in your ears, it was clear you were from the nicer part of town, which helped make sense as to why he’s never seen you around before. 

But that didn’t answer any of his questions, one being how the hell you ended up all the way out here.

Bucky reached out and brushed your hair out of your face, and he couldn’t deny that you were very pretty. You had a certain innocent look to you, like someone as sweet and fragile as you had no business being out in the middle of the woods, looking like you’d been to hell and back. 

His eyes focused on the gash on the side of your head, and he knew it was from when your head hit the tree and what had caused you to lose consciousness. He guessed you’d been out in the woods for a while, the exhaustion in your bones obvious since you hadn’t moved at all since you passed out on the forest floor. 

He stood up and made his way to the bathroom, where he grabbed the first aid kit he keeps under the sink. As he walked back into the living room, he shrugged out of his damp jacket, setting it aside on a chair as he passed by it, then he was on his knees in front of the couch once again. 

The first aid kit was open on the coffee table, everything he needed messily stored inside of it. He’d been careless a few times during hunting or fishing or wood cutting, resulting in him needing to patch himself up, and he never bothered to tidy up the kit. 

He huffed as he rummaged through the kit in search of peroxide, and he found it a few moments later, then grabbed a cotton pad, pouring some of the liquid onto it. The gash on your head didn’t look too bad, but he also couldn’t see much since you were bleeding. This was one of many injuries he knew was on your body, but it also appeared to be the worst and the easiest one for him to access, so it was his priority at the moment. 

Bucky pressed the cotton to the wound, and the white fabric turned red quickly, the sound of the peroxide sizzling its way into your flesh barely being heard. He cringed, because he knew that would fucking hurt when you wake up, so he tried his best to limit that pain as best as he could. 

After cleaning up the wound, he taped a clean cotton pad to your head that had some sort of healing gel he’d used countless times before on it, then sat back on his knees. He couldn’t see much of you, your shivering body hidden beneath the blanket and your head turned in a way that only allowed him to see half your face. 

Now that he’d cleaned up your head, he had no fucking clue what to do next. Your head would probably be pounding in a few hours, so he stood up to go grab some aspirin and a glass of water, and he set them down on the coffee table. 

Your blood had dried on your face, and for some reason he felt the need to clean that too, so he grabbed a wet cloth, then cleaned you up as well as he could. And then he just simply looked at you. 

There was concern in his eyes, but mainly he was just confused. How did you end up here? What happened? Why were you wearing bruises and marks that seemed like you’d gotten before you ended up in the woods? 

He felt a surge of protectiveness wash over him, something he had no business feeling for someone he didn’t even know, but he couldn’t help it. You were broken, bruised and in need of help, and you could’ve died had you not stumbled upon him and inadvertently forced yourself into his life. 

Why had you been running? Who were you running from? Were you in danger? Was he in danger now that he’d taken you into his home and rescued you from the woods?

That should’ve had him feeling a little on edge, but as he looked at you and took in the way you already looked a little more relaxed as you slept on his couch at seven in the evening, he didn’t give a shit if he’d just accidentally put himself in danger. 

There was no way, in any life, that he’d just leave you out there.

It’d been almost two hours since Bucky had taken you in when you finally woke up. 

Your body moved before your eyes slowly opened, and he watched as they instantly landed on the rifle that was still on the coffee table, then shifted over to the water and aspirin, before they flickered up to him.

He was sitting on the edge of the coffee table, his arms crossed as he looked down at you, and he could see the flicker of realization in your eyes before they filled with the same fear he’d seen in them out at the hunting post. 

You tried to push yourself upright, your head shaking slightly as you held up your hands in a defensive gesture. “I-”

“It’s okay,” Bucky quickly assured you, his own hands lifting in a similar way as he refrained from touching you, knowing it would just freak you out even more. Of course the first thing you see after waking up in a stranger’s house being a fucking gun would scare you. He should’ve moved it after he’d cleaned your wound. “Shh, it’s okay. You’re okay. You’re safe.”

You squinted at that, your hand moving to your head where the makeshift bandage is, and you winced when you pressed your palm against it. “Ouch. Shit,” you gasped, squeezing your eyes shut. 

Bucky stayed still, lowering his hands and bracing them on his thighs as he watched you take a few shaky breaths. “Are you okay?” he asked after a few seconds. 

You glanced over at him, your expression guarded and on edge. “What happened?” you asked, slowly sitting up, making the blanket fall around your waist. 

“You fell. Hit your head on a tree and passed out. I brought you to my house, cleaned you up a bit and got you warm,” Bucky answered, tilting his head as he looked at you. “That’s all I know. Might need you to fill in the rest for me.”

You pressed your lips together as you kept your hand against your head, most likely trying to will the throbbing to go away. “I fell?” you asked, closing your eyes again as you swayed slightly, even though you were still sitting on the couch. 

Bucky nodded slowly, his brows furrowing together. “What happened to you?” he gently asked, “How did you… end up out here?”

You took a few more seconds to answer, then lowered your hand to your lap. “I ran away from home,” you simply answered, your voice low and your words mumbled. 

Bucky sat up a bit, making you flinch, and he quickly reached out a reassuring hand. “It’s okay,” he said, giving you a small smile as he tried to look as least threatening as possible. “Why did you run away?”

You shrugged, looking so small and miserable on his couch. “I couldn’t take it anymore,” you said, and those five words somehow managed to answer a handful of his questions. 

He softened his gaze, his lips turning downwards in a frown. “You have bruises on you,” he stated, watching the way you fidgeted with your hands in your lap. “They’re not all from running away, are they? You didn’t get some of them from just being out in the woods?”

You slowly shook your head, and you ending up out here was starting to make a little sense. 

You’d run away from an abusive home, got lost in the woods, and had probably been out here for days before you found him, but how exactly you ended up here was still one question that hadn’t been answered. 

But Bucky didn’t pry. This was a delicate situation, and even though he hadn’t been in one quite like this before, he understood that he had to be the level headed one out of the two of you, and not push you into a mental breakdown. 

He cleared his throat, taking a deep breath in as he braced his elbows on his knees, moving to be at your eye level. “What’s your name?” he asked, watching the way you seemed to instantly be thrown into an inner debate with yourself. He had no idea what was going through your head, and he knew you had no reason to trust him at the moment, but he wanted you to know that he wasn’t going to hurt you. “It’s okay. I’m not gonna do anything, okay? I’m not gonna hurt you or force you to answer me. You don’t need to be scared of me.”

You swallowed harshly, blinking away tears as you lowered your gaze to the floor. “Isn’t that what every serial killer says to their victims?”

Even though you were still so on edge and uncertain, your voice still held a hint of humor, and Bucky felt a genuine smile tugging at his lips. “I wouldn’t know,”

That had your own mouth curling upwards, and even beaten and bruised and bandaged, you were still quite pretty. You looked down at the floor for a few more seconds before you gave him your name, then looked up at him again when he repeated it. 

“I’m Bucky. Well, James, actually, but I’ve always gone by Bucky. Did you take anything with you? A phone or ID or… anything?” he asked, wondering how you’d managed to stay alive for as long as you did with just the clothes on your back. 

You shook your head. “No. No phone or ID. I had a bag with me, my old school backpack, and I had some food in there, but I had to leave it when it started attracting… unwanted visitors,”

Bucky lifted his brows. “You mean, like… bears? Or wolves?”

“Both?” you answered, then shrugged. “I don’t know. It was dark when I had to leave it behind. I heard footsteps and growling, but I couldn’t see anything, so I got up and ran. That was… I don’t know, a day ago?”

Bucky tried to mask his surprise as best as he could, but it was extremely hard to believe that you’d gotten that close to being mauled or eaten alive just a day ago, and had somehow ended up in his part of the woods afterwards. “When did you run away?” he asked.

“Um… I don’t know. I don’t really know what day it is or how many have passed,” you said, glancing at the glass of water next to him with interest, and Bucky reached over to pick it up and hand it to you. “Four or five days ago? I think…”

“Jesus,” he muttered as you sipped on the water, and you almost finished it in one go, revealing just how dehydrated you must be. “You’ve been out there for five days? Have you slept at all? When was the last time you ate?” he fired off questions, still in shock that you were even alive right now after what he just heard. 

“I slept here and there. I was too scared to sleep for long, and it was really cold at night,” you mumbled, setting the now empty glass on your lap. “The last thing I ate was a granola bar, and that was before I had to ditch the rest of the food in my bag.”

Bucky shook his head, sitting up straight as he ran his hand over his mouth. “You must be starving,” he said, and you shrugged, shyly meeting his eyes. He gestured to the glass, and you let him take it from you as he stood up and walked over to the kitchen, filling it once more. 

When he came back, you took the fresh water from him with a grateful smile, sipping on it this time instead of gulping it down. “Thank you for helping me,” you murmured, looking over your shoulder at the window. It was dark out, and the temperature had dropped even more, the cool breeze coming in from the screen door. “I won’t stay long or… intrude anymore than I already have.”

Bucky furrowed his brows. “You can’t go back out there. Your head is injured, and I know other parts of you are too. It’s late and dark, and I… I can’t let you go back out there,” he said, propping one hand on his hip as he gestured at you with his other. “Not like this.”

You gave him a look that had his knees buckling, and one that made him want to do everything in his power to help you, because who the fuck would ever drive you to the point of running away and putting your life at risk?

“You don’t need to help me anymore,” you whispered, tearing up again as you gave him a tight lipped smile. “You’ve already done enough.”

Bucky took a step towards you, then crouched down in front of you so he wasn’t towering over you. “You’re not intruding. You need help. I can help you,” he said, using his softest tone of voice. “If you’ll let me.”

You were a bit more timid now as you held his gaze, then you slowly started to nod, holding onto the glass with both of your hands. “Okay,” you whispered, and Bucky gave you a small smile as he nodded towards the hallway. 

“Why don’t you go clean up? You can use the shower and anything else you need in there,” he offered, taking the glass from you and setting it aside on the coffee table. “I’ll make some dinner.”

You quickly waved him off, “Oh, you don’t have to-”

“Please. Let me help you,” he cut you off, watching the way you deflated a bit, as if being offered help was something completely new to you. You nodded again, and Bucky offered you his hand. “I’ll set aside some clothes for you and get started on some food.”

You looked at his outstretched hand for a few seconds, and before he could let it fall back down to his side, you reached up and took it. “Okay,” you said again, letting him assist you to your feet. You were still a little unsteady, your body still weak from what he now knows is a lack of food and rest. He helped keep you steady for a few moments, his hands gently holding onto your arms, and when you were stable, you looked up at him. “Thank you.”

Bucky felt his heart clench again at how broken you sounded, and he had to hold off on locking his jaw as he felt a surge of anger build up inside him at the fact that someone had obviously mistreated you so horribly for you to end up here. 

“C’mon,” he said, guiding you towards the bathroom. “I’ll show you where everything is.”

You’d been in the bathroom for quite a while, and dinner had been ready for some time now, but Bucky refused to rush you. 

It was obvious that you didn’t trust him, at least not fully, but he could tell you were already warming up to him, and he didn’t want to backtrack in any way and risk you leaving before your body could actually rest and heal. 

Bucky had set out a pair of his sweats and a t-shirt for you, but also told you where everything is in his dresser in case you needed anything else, then he let you take a shower and no doubt take in all your body had been through over the last week in the mirror.

He’d been sitting at the kitchen table for the last ten minutes, having heard the shower turn off five minutes before that, but again, the last thing he wanted to do was rush you. 

While he waited, he went over his options for this unusual situation he’d found himself in. 

You’d run away from home, and there was no way you’d willingly go back, and Bucky didn’t want you to go back, because he was sure the abuse would only intensify since you’d taken off. But how realistic was it for you to start over somewhere with little to nothing to your name? Bucky would drive you into town, pay for a bus ticket for you, and he’d even give you some cash so you could get by, but where would you go from there? Why was he wondering that if you weren’t really his concern?

And why did the thought of you being out there on your own with only a handful of cash and no stable home make that protective feeling from before come back in full swing? 

You’re a stranger to him. Simply someone who needed help, and he’d given that to you and more. Where do you and he go from here? After he’s fed you and given you a place to rest your head for a while, what the hell happens after that?

His thoughts were interrupted by the sound of the bathroom door opening, and he quickly sat up straight, his head instantly turning in the direction of the hallway. 

You slowly walked into the kitchen, clad in his sweats and shirt that looked huge on you, and now that you were clean, he was able to get a better look at you. 

Your arms were littered in bruises and your face was blotchy in certain spots, and even though you were a lot cleaner, your body was still, for lack of better words, a mess. 

The fabric of his shirt was damp from your hair that now had no leaves in it, and you’d somehow managed to keep your bandage mostly dry, but he would still offer to change it later anyway.

Bucky gave you a warm smile as he stood up and gestured to the chair across from his. “I’ll make you a plate,” he offered, and you returned the smile as you moved to sit down. “You scared off what was planned to be on the menu tonight,” he said as he began putting grilled peppers, chicken and scrambled eggs on a plate. It was the best he could do for now, and he’d used up the last of his eggs he was saving for breakfast tomorrow, but he honestly didn’t give a shit that he’d have to go pick up some more sooner than planned. As long as you had options. “I hope this suffices.”

You perked up in the chair as he turned and set the plate down in front of you, and you fidgeted a bit as you looked down at it. “Wow,” you said quietly, and Bucky fought off a grin as he made another plate for himself. 

“What, never had eggs for dinner before?” he teased as he moved back to the table and took his seat across from you. He’d never actually cooked for a girl before, or for anyone other than himself, really, so he was kind of nervous to have his culinary skills on full display right now, but he hid it as best as he could. He was pretty decent in the kitchen, as far as he could tell, but he’d also never gotten someone else’s opinion, so really, what did he know?

“No,” you answered, curling your fingers into your hands where they rested on your lap. “Well, no, and… no one’s ever cooked for me before.”

That had Bucky pausing, his hand halfway to grabbing his fork as he looked over at you. Not only had you come from a place that physically abused you, but also potentially kept food from you, or at least let you fend for yourself food-wise. 

He swallowed harshly, finally picking up his fork as he looked away from you, not wanting you to see the sudden anger he felt taking over his expression. “Well… I’ve never cooked for someone before,” he said back instead of pushing for answers to the questions that had begun forming in his head. “You get to be my first customer.”

Your lips curved at that, and you looked back down at the plate. “I have to pay for this?” you asked, and there was a playful edge to your voice he was surprised to be hearing from someone in your state. It calmed the anger down inside of him. 

“You get to be my first critic,” he corrected himself, then nodded down to your fork. “If you actually eat, that is.” 

Your face flushed at that, and you picked up the fork quickly, a small smile on your lips. You started with the eggs first, and he tried not to watch you the whole time, but this was feeling strangely domestic, and he tried not to think about how good you looked in his house and in his shirt. 

“It’s good,” you said as you chewed, your eyes flickering to meet his, and when you caught him staring, your smile only grew. “But then again, I have nothing to compare it to,” you trailed off as you swallowed, reaching for the glass of water in front of you. You brought it up to your mouth as you added, “Still, it’s very tasty.” 

Bucky hummed, finally tearing his eyes away from you as he began eating as well. “I was kind of rushing,” he said, “You should see how good it is when I’m taking my time.”

You laughed quietly at that as you bit down onto a pepper and chewed slowly. “I’ll take your word for it,”

Fuck, this was really starting to feel domestic. Why was this so… comfortable? Why are you and he already talking as if you’d known each other for more than a few hours?

Bucky cleared his throat as he chewed, his brows furrowing as he nodded at the bandage taped to your temple. “How’s your head?” 

You lifted your free hand and ran your fingers along the cotton, wincing slightly. “Hurts,” you answered, “I tried to not mess with it in the shower, but… yeah, it’s really sore. I have a raging headache too.”

“You might have a concussion,” he said, then nodded behind you at the coffee table in the living room. “There’s some aspirin over there you can take after dinner to help with the pain.”

You nodded at that, giving him a grateful smile. “Thank you,”

A few moments of silence passed after that, and Bucky spent most of it trying to find the right way to offer you a place to stay for the night without it sounding too forward or creepy. 

He braced his elbows on the table as he leaned forward, his dinner momentarily forgotten. “I don’t… feel comfortable sending you on your way tonight. You need rest and an actual place to sleep. And your head isn’t in the best shape,” he said, watching as you stopped eating as well and looked up at him. “You can stay here tonight. Take the bed and get a decent night’s sleep. Tomorrow or… whenever you’re feeling better, I can drive you into town, get you a bus ticket or something.”

You gave him a look of surprise that you tried to suppress, but he caught it anyway. “You don’t have to do all that, really,” you said quietly, “I can just… maybe sleep here tonight, and I’ll see myself out tomorrow morning.”

Bucky let out a sigh as he shook his head. “I want to. I want to help you,” he said, “I have to go into town anyway to get some stuff. I’ll give you a drive anywhere you want to go, alright? You don’t need to be stumbling around the woods again on your own.”

Your shoulders dropped at that, like you were relieved to hear that you wouldn’t be forced to travel on foot again in an unfamiliar place. “Okay,” you agreed, poking at the eggs on your plate with your fork. “But I don’t need to sleep in your bed. I can sleep on the couch.”

Bucky felt one side of his mouth curve upwards at that, and he looked down at his own plate. “We’ll see about that,” was all he said, then the two of you went back to eating.

After dinner, you offered to clean up, but Bucky just shook his head, saying he’d do it later, then he led you to his room. 

“I’ll put fresh sheets on the bed,” he offered, already starting to pull off the current ones as you quickly shook your head. 

“Really, you don’t have to. It’s fine,” you insisted, but when he turned his head and gave you a look, you deflated a bit and pursed your lips. “Thank you.”

Bucky huffed out a laugh as he shook his head as well, gathering up the sheets, pillow cases and blankets into his arms. “You don’t gotta keep thanking me. I’m just doing what anyone else would,”

You gave a small, defeated laugh as he walked past you. “No, you’re not,” you said, and he realized that you must’ve been wronged countless times in the past by countless people to truly believe that what he was doing was him going above and beyond for you. He really didn’t think he was doing that much, he actually thought he wasn’t doing enough, and he wanted to do more for you, he just didn’t know how. 

Bucky didn’t say anything at that, and headed down the hall to the laundry room, where he grabbed some fresh sheets. 

Once he’d returned to his room, he made the bed and tidied up the clothes scattered around on the floor as you stood glued to the spot beside the closet. You were looking at his bed as you chewed on your fingernail, wincing slightly as you turned to face him. “Are you sure it’s okay for me to sleep in here? I mean, it’s your bed and you’re a tall guy. That couch out there isn’t small, but it probably won’t be very comfortable for you. I don’t mind sleeping on it,”

Bucky huffed out a laugh of disbelief. Here you are, a broken human being who’d suffered unimaginable things over the last few days, and probably the last few years, and yet you were still putting his comfort over your own. A stranger’s over your own. “I’ll be fine,” he assured you, stuffing his clothes into the laundry bin inside his closet. “I’ve slept on that couch many times now. It hasn’t done me wrong yet. Besides, after all you’ve been through, I think you could use a night on an actual bed.”

You nodded at that, scratching at your arm. “Thank y-” you cut yourself off when he lifted his brows at you, and your face flushed once again as you looked away. 

Bucky felt a smile form on his face as he gestured to your head. “Let me look at that one more time before bed,” 

You nodded, then moved to sit down on the edge of the bed as he walked past you to go retrieve the first aid kit from off the coffee table. He sat down in front of you on the bed, setting the kit between you and him, then got to work on slowly peeling the cotton away from your wound. It didn’t look much different from before, which was expected, but it looked cleaner, probably because you’d gotten water on it from your shower. 

He replaced the bandage, neither of you speaking the whole time as you let him patch you up once again, this time with you being fully conscious. You winced when he pressed the new one against your head, but you didn’t move, fully trusting him to be as careful and as gentle as he could, and he was sure he’d never been this careful in his entire life. 

“What’s the verdict, doc?” you asked a little awkwardly, like this was your way of distracting yourself from the pain. “Am I gonna live?”

He fought off a growing grin, smoothing down the cotton before pulling back. “You’ll live,” he answered, “Ninety eight percent certain of that.”

That had you fighting off a smile of your own, and you quickly looked away.

Bucky had refilled your water glass and grabbed the aspirin from off the coffee table when he’d gone to get the first aid kit, and after he was done replacing the bandage, he handed you both the water and aspirin. 

He waited until you’d taken them before he stood up from the bed, putting the kit on the dresser, as well as the bottle of aspirin in case you needed more later. After that he turned to face you, and he propped his hands on his hips, pressing his lips together. 

What does he say to the girl who’s about to spend the night in his bed? This wasn’t the first time a pretty girl has spent the night in his bed, though he’s usually in bed too, but he’d be spending his night on the couch instead. What was an appropriate way to end the interactions with you for the night?

“I’ll leave you alone now,” he said, holding back a cringe at his words. He wasn’t usually this way around girls. He’d been with his fair share of women, and even though he hadn’t been super close to any since moving out here, he liked to think he still knew how to talk to one. You made it hard to think though, let alone speak. “I’ll just be on the couch. If you need anything.” he added for good measure. 

You nodded at that, your lips pursing to the side as you didn’t say anything. 

Fuck, was this as awkward for you as it was for him?

“Goodnight,” Bucky said, giving you one last look before starting to turn around, but then you quickly stood up and reached for his arm. 

He turned back to you instantly, and you didn’t say a single thing as you moved towards him and wrapped your arms around his middle. You pressed your head against his chest, and he felt the way you trembled with nerves. “Thank you,” you whispered, and he knew he’d let that one slide, because he could only imagine how much it took out of you to hug him after everything you’d been through. 

Bucky slowly wrapped his arms around your much smaller body, his big hands splaying along your back. “Of course,” he said back, pressing his chin against the top of your head. 

The moment ended not too long after that, with you pulling away first, and Bucky noticed the tears in your eyes but he didn’t comment on them. Instead, he gave you a tight lipped smile. “Get some rest,” he said, and you nodded again as you backed away and got into his bed, and he quickly turned and left the room, closing the door almost all the way behind him. 

He lingered in the hallway for a few moments, not wanting to leave you alone just yet for some reason, before he forced himself to walk into the living room, choosing to leave the hall light on for you in case you needed to go to the bathroom, or wake him up for any reason.

Bucky naturally wakes up super early, despite him sometimes really needing a few extra hours of sleep. 

Like today. He’d ended up staying up for a few hours after he’d left you in his room and got comfortable on the couch, but no matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t fall asleep. 

He’d been on edge, constantly keeping one eye open and listening out for any noise coming from the bedroom. He was worried about you, not wanting you to need something but be too shy to come out and ask him for it. He’d tossed and turned all night, and even though he’d been telling the truth when he told you that he’d comfortably slept on the couch countless times before, he just couldn’t bring himself to fall asleep. 

If he had to guess, he assumed he’d gotten about four hours of sleep in total before he was fully awake at six in the morning. 

Bucky stayed up after that, not bothering to try and get a couple more hours of sleep and instead deciding to turn the TV on as a distraction. 

He kept looking down the hall, wanting to go in and check on you, but that would probably freak you out if you were to wake up just as he was peeking in, or worse, you already being awake and seeing him poke his head in. 

His eyes were a little sore from lack of sleep as he crossed his arms, his mouth opening in an unflattering yawn as he looked at the TV mounted on the wall. His head tipped back as his throat made a sound he had no control over, and just as the yawn began to fade, he heard the sound of a soft laugh to his left. 

Bucky looked over immediately, seeing you standing at the entrance of the hallway, and you already looked so much better than you did yesterday. 

You looked more rested, more light and happier, and the sight brought a smile to his face as he sat up, pulling the blanket off his lap and setting it aside. “Hey,” he greeted, the TV now completely forgotten about. 

“Morning,” you said back, shifting on your feet. 

“Morning,” Bucky repeated, then nodded towards the loveseat a few feet away. “You wanna sit?” he offered, and you nodded before making your way towards the seat and sitting down on it. You brought your knees up to your chest as Bucky ran a hand through his hair, trying to tame the messy strands he knew were sticking up from when he was asleep. “Did you, uh… sleep okay?”

You nodded again, wrapping your hands around your shins. “Yeah. I slept good,” 

Bucky nodded, huffing out a breath of air. “That’s… that’s good,” he said, and he was growing more and more convinced that his natural, charming way of talking to a woman was fading by the day. “How are you feeling? How’s your head?”

You shrugged a bit, his shirt slipping down your shoulder just an inch or two. “I’m feeling… better. I’m still a little tired and sore, and my head still hurts. But I feel better,” 

He smiled at that, leaning over and bracing his elbows on his knees. “That’s good,” he repeated, much softer this time. He watched as you gave him a small smile before turning your attention to the TV, and he let his eyes linger on your side profile for a little longer before he looked away. “I, uh… I can give you a ride into town if you feel up to it. I have some cash I can give you to, you know, help you get started somewhere else.”

You looked back over at him, and your expression faltered a bit as you pressed your lips together. You shifted, reaching up to tuck some of your hair behind your ear as your lips parted, but Bucky quickly spoke up before you had a chance to. 

“If you’re not feeling well enough, that’s okay too,” he said, watching the way your shoulders fell a bit, and he hadn’t realized how tense you’d gotten at the thought of being alone again. “If you still need some rest and time to heal, you… can stay here. For as long as you need.”

He wasn’t sure if he was being too forward or offering too much, or simply not offering enough, but the smile was back on your face now, and that made one form on his own as well. “I don’t want to intrude. I know this,” you waved a hand around the living room, “is what you’re used to. Your normal way of living doesn’t involve looking after a girl you found in the woods,” you trailed off, hesitating briefly before you let out a shaky breath, “I’d like to stay… for a few days, maybe? If that’s okay. I won’t bother you or get in the way, and I can help out around the house if you need it. I don’t want to freeload. But… I’d like to stay. Just for a bit.”

You were rambling, as if he didn’t offer you the choice to stay in the first place. And now you were offering to do chores around his house? While sporting a nasty gash on your head? Where the hell had you come from?

“It’s okay,” he said, putting your rambling to a stop as you met his eyes. “You can stay. I don’t mind,” he leaned back on the couch, draping his arm on the back of it. “But that means we’re gonna probably be scavenging for food since I won’t be going into town today after all. And maybe we’ll see if you’re any good with a fishing rod, if you’re up for it.”

You let out a soft laugh as you nodded, “I think I can handle that,”

Bucky was standing on the dock at the lake that was a short walk from his house. It was later in the day and much warmer than it had been yesterday, but the air still had a chill to it, so he’d given you one of his jackets to wear while by the lake. 

He was standing close to the edge of the dock, putting bait on the hook of his fishing rod while keeping a careful eye on you. You were standing off to the side by a tree, your arms tense at your sides as you watched him with interest he found oddly adorable. 

You still looked a little tired, even though Bucky had put this off for most of the day, letting you rest some more on the couch while he did some chores around the house. 

When he mentioned heading down to the lake to try his luck at fishing, you perked up at that and asked if you could tag along, and then you slid on your muddy shoes and accepted his jacket when he agreed. 

Bucky wasn’t sure what he was doing. He’d lived a pretty normal life prior to taking you into his home and patching you up. He’d wake up early every day, make himself a hearty breakfast, do some house work or some yard work, then either go hunting or fishing, eat dinner, call his sister and chat with her for a while before going to bed. 

He’d served in the military for a while before moving out here, and he’d received quite a large amount of money during his time he served, and he’d been getting cheques every few months that allowed him to live comfortably. He’d go into town maybe once or twice a week, stock up on things he needed, maybe stop at a bar and let loose for a bit, then go home. 

His priorities had shifted drastically over the last few years. When he was still living in the city, he’d have no problem spending his evening at a bar, chatting up a pretty girl, then spending the rest of the night with her, and that was something he’d done many many times. 

But as he got older and reached his early thirties, he realized random hook ups and money wasted on bars wasn’t what he wanted in life, and he wanted a change. 

So he’d moved out of his apartment and relocated to where he is now, and he’d been living a much healthier and efficient lifestyle, and he hadn’t looked back since. 

With that being said, it’d been a while since he’d had a woman around for as long as you’ve been, with the exception of his sister. He didn’t quite know what to do or how he could go back to normal now that he’s taken it upon himself to try and heal you and help you in any way he could. 

Bucky didn’t know how long you’d be here, in his home and in his life, before you decided you needed to get a move on and try your luck on your own, but the thought of you heading back out into the world with essentially no one at your side didn’t sit well with him. 

He doesn’t know you very well, but there was an obvious trust between you and him that was growing more and more. It’d been over twenty four hours since he met you, and already he’d found that, despite him being on his own for quite some time now, you kind of fit in just right here. 

But that seemed crazy to think about, and way too fucking soon. Realistically, how long would it be appropriate for you to stay with him without it becoming weird? He’d found you in the woods and taken you in, which was already weird enough. 

But Bucky had always wanted to help people. He was good at it, and he didn’t like the thought of someone struggling when he could so easily help out. 

The whole situation was weird and unexpected and kind of overwhelming, and yet he didn’t mind the odd addition to his life - that being in the form of another person he had to look after rather than just himself. 

Once the bait was securely attached to the hook, he cast it out into the water, then turned his head to look over at you as he waited for a bite. “How are you doing?” he asked, and you crossed your arms over your chest. 

“I’m fine,” you answered, gesturing to the lake. “I don’t want to be in your way.”

Bucky let out a laugh, “Well, that’s really nice, but it wasn’t what I meant,” he said, watching the way you became flustered at the teasing tone in his voice. “I mean, how are you feeling? You don’t have to stay out here if you don’t want to. You can head back and rest some more if you need to.”

You shook your head slowly, giving him a grateful smile. “No, I’m alright,” you said, then gave him a small smirk, “I need to learn how to do this if I’m gonna pull my weight around here.”

He poked his inner cheek with his tongue, then nodded, “Yeah, I guess that’s true,” he agreed, though he didn’t expect you to do really anything since you’d already been through enough lately. You deserved to have someone do things for you for a while, and that person was obviously Bucky. 

A few minutes pass with not much else being said, and as Bucky looked out at the setting sun that was making the water look orange and pink instead of blue, you moved a little closer to the dock. “How long does this usually take?”

Bucky shrugged, keeping his eyes on the sun as it slowly moved towards the water. “Depends. Could be a few minutes, could be a few hours,” he answered. You walked a little closer until you were standing next to him, and he instinctively looked over at you. 

Despite the bruises marring your skin, it still looked almost flawless in the orange glow of the sun. You looked soft, if that made any sense at all, and innocent in a way that had him questioning how anyone had ever treated you so badly in the past. 

He almost commented on how beautiful you look, but quickly caught the words before they could leave his mouth, and he cleared his throat. “You wanna give it a try?” 

You quickly met his gaze as your lips parted, your eyes widening a bit. “I’ll probably be terrible at it,”

Bucky shrugged as he started to reel in the line, “Well, I guess I’ll just have to teach you,”

He moved to stand behind you, then offered you the rod, which you hesitantly took. “I don’t know what I’m doing,” you said as you held it awkwardly, only further proving that you’d never gone fishing a day in your life. 

Bucky laughed as he lifted his hand. “It’s okay. I can show you,” he said, then paused once he’d moved a little closer to you. “Can I… is this okay?” he asked before he pushed you too far. 

He didn’t know your limits, didn’t know how you’d react if he just suddenly touched you. This was a lot different than him cleaning your wound and changing the bandage for you, and he didn’t want to make you uncomfortable in any way. 

You looked over your shoulder, saw how close he was, then hesitated a bit before you started to slowly nod. “Yeah. It’s fine,” you said quietly, “Gotta show me somehow, right?”

He nodded in agreement as he moved closer to you, then wrapped his arms around your frame and guided your hands into the proper position on the rod. “Just tell me if it’s too much, yeah?”

You gave a slight nod and allowed him to position your hands, then he guided your arms back a bit, the line coming with it. 

“Let go of the line as soon as it passes the edge down here,” he said, knocking the edge of the dock with his boot, and he waited until you looked down and nodded before he guided your arms into a swinging motion. 

You’d caught on fast, your finger releasing the line as soon as it crossed the water line, and then it was cast into the lake, reaching almost as far as his had before. “Did I… do it right?” you asked, and Bucky felt his lips curl up as he took a step away from you.

“Yeah, that was good,” he said, letting his arms drop back to his sides, and when you turned your head to look over at him, he could’ve sworn he’d seen a flicker of disappointment on your face as you glanced down at his hands, but it was gone before he could question it too much. 

“How will I know if I caught anything?”

“You’ll feel something start to tug, then you’ll have to reel it in,” he said, and as if you’d predicted that very thing happening, there was a tug on the line, and you let out a gasp. 

“Oh, fuck,”

Bucky couldn’t even take a second to reflect on how funny that word sounded coming from someone as seemingly innocent as you since you’d reached for his arm and tugged him to you as you pulled on the fishing rod. 

He helped you reel the line in, then got to see how excited you became when he pulled on the hook and lifted it out of the water, a decent sized trout stuck to the end of it. 

Your mouth opened in surprise as you held onto the end of the rod, and you looked so happy, it was hard to believe that you’d been so close to death just yesterday. “I caught a fish?” you asked, as if he wasn’t currently unhooking the proof right now. 

Bucky stood up straight, holding the fish in one hand as he looked at you. “You caught a fish,” he confirmed, and couldn’t stop the grin that took over his face at the squeal you let out.

It had still been pretty early in the evening when you’d caught your first ever fish, but you and Bucky still returned to his house soon after. 

You were giddy as you stood next to him in his kitchen, still wearing his oversized jacket and sweats as you watched him clean the trout, because of course you and he were having it for dinner. You were so excited that you’d managed to catch a fish on your first try, and he wanted you to be able to reap the benefits and see for yourself how good it feels to prepare and eat something you’d caught all on your own.

He’d found out himself the very first year he lived here how much better something tasted when he actually worked for it, and he wanted you to experience that as well. 

You ended up getting in his way quite a bit the entire time he was making dinner, pairing the trout with fresh vegetables and rice, but he didn’t mind. Of course he was used to being alone and having no distractions as he made dinner, but you were a welcoming one. 

You’d finally calmed down a bit as he began plating the food, and you took it upon yourself to set the table, with him needing to tell you where everything was in the drawers and cupboards. 

“Thank you,” you said when he set a plate down in front of you, and Bucky laughed as he sat down in his seat across from you. 

“For what? You’re the one who provided dinner tonight,” he pointed out, and a warm feeling filled him at the fact that this was the second dinner you and he are having together, and you were evidently a lot happier during this one. 

“I just caught it,” you said, as if that was easy for someone to do on their first try. “You’re the one who cooked it.”

Bucky hummed, picking up his fork. “It was a team effort,” he decided, and you nodded in agreement. 

After dinner, neither of you made any move to quickly get up from the table. You’d been in the middle of explaining how you’d almost failed Math in grade nine since you had massive crush on the teacher and couldn’t focus every time he taught something, and Bucky just let you talk, because the version of you in front of him right now was so different from the version he met and saw last night. 

You seemed brighter, like the darkness he’d seen in your eyes and face yesterday had faded throughout the day, leaving behind someone who seemed far too sweet to have ever gone through any form of abuse at all. 

There was a certain light in your eyes, a happiness in your voice that had him leaning closer and letting you say anything that came to mind, because your voice was soothing to him. It was beautiful, and it seemed out of place in his home that had been quiet and void of anything but his own presence for so long. 

That domestic feeling he’d noticed before was coming back, and it didn’t help that you propped your elbow up on the table, and his shirt had slipped off your shoulder once again, revealing a glimpse of your skin under it. 

Bucky had to tear his eyes away from you as he stood up, beginning to gather the plates and utensils as he fought off the growing heat he felt building up inside of him. You weren’t here to stay. You were merely a guest he was helping out. He had no business feeling the way he currently is. 

“I can help,” you offered, beginning to stand up, and when Bucky tried to protest, you’d taken the dishes out of his hands and gave him a small grin before you moved past him and began washing them, and he had to lean back against the table for a sense of stability. 

Those feelings didn’t go away. They only grew tenfold.

“It’s not about how fast you hit it. It’s about how you swing and how much force you put into it,” Bucky said as he demonstrated what he’d just finished explaining to you. 

He lifted the axe above his head, keeping his eyes firmly on the log in front of him that was placed on the trunk of a tree that had fallen over way before he’d even moved here. He swung the axe down in one smooth, quick motion that had the blade hitting it dead-on, the wood easily splitting into three pieces. 

You watched from your place a few feet away, his shirt rolled up with one side tied in a knot at your hip to keep it from reaching your knees. His sweats were rolled up as well, reaching just below your knees as you observed him, your head tilted curiously. “That looks really hard,” you said, and Bucky huffed out a laugh as he reached down and put the newly split wood into a pile next to the trunk. 

“It’s not super easy,” he said, placing another one in its place. “But it’s not super hard either.”

You’d been here for a few days now, and your head had healed up quite nicely to the point where you could ditch the unflattering white bandage for a smaller, less obvious one. Though you still somehow managed to make the bandage look good, he didn’t tell you that. 

Most of the bruises on your body had faded, leaving behind faint purple spots that would also be gone soon enough, and you’d gotten more rest in the last couple days than you had in the last couple years, or so you’ve told him. 

The heat was quite noticeable today and the sleeves of his Henley were rolled up to his elbows, and he took note of the way your eyes kept lingering on his forearms every so often, but he didn’t comment on it. 

He’d be a liar if he were to say he hadn’t been looking at you in the way you’d been looking at him more than a few times now. 

Just as Bucky began lining up the axe again, you took a step towards him. “Can I try?” 

He paused, the axe lifted above his head, and without thinking much about it, he lowered it and nodded. “Sure,” he said, gesturing for you to come stand where he is. 

You and he had grown rather close in the short time you’ve been here, so he didn’t feel like he was going too far when he wrapped his arms around you after handing you the axe.  

He helped guide you into a few practice swings, his front pressed quite close to your back, but you weren’t tense like you had been the first night you were here. You almost welcomed it now, and you didn’t shy away from him. That was progress, and he was really fucking proud of you. 

Once he thought you’d had a good handle on it, he stepped back to give you some room. “Just stay still and put some force into the swing,” he instructed, and you nodded, squinting at the log for a moment before swinging the axe down. It didn’t break the log, but got stuck in it, and you looked over at Bucky for help. He laughed under his breath and reached over, pulling the blade out of the log before stepping back again, propping his hands on his hips. “It’s okay. Try again. Aim for that same spot.”

You let out a deep breath and nodded, then swung again. The axe got stuck in the log once more, and you huffed. “I’m terrible at this,” you said, letting go of the axe, leaving it stuck in the log. 

Bucky laughed again, moving past you to retrieve it as you stood off to the side. “It’s alright. It’s not easy for someone just trying it out for the first time,”

“Yeah, but I caught a fish the first time I went fishing,” you said, and he scoffed. 

“Oh, so that made you think you’d be good at every new thing you try for the first time?”

“I was hopeful,” you said back, and he shook his head. But he could feel you looking at him as he positioned his hands on the handle of the axe, and before he swung, he looked over at you, noticing the frown on your face. “What? What’s wrong?”

You shrugged, looking down at your shoes that weren’t as muddy as they were before since he’d taken it upon himself to clean them for you. “I feel useless just standing here,” you confessed. “You’ve done so much for me. I want to help as much as I can.”

Bucky lowered the axe, then looked around as he tried to think of something you could do that didn’t take a whole lot of effort since your body was still healing. “Why don’t you stack what I split?” he suggested, nodding towards the already stacked wood pile against the side of his house a few feet away. “That way I don’t have to do it after.”

You smiled at that and nodded, “Okay,” you said, then bent down to retrieve a couple pieces of wood he’d just split before heading towards the pile, and Bucky let his eyes linger on your backside before he lifted the axe again and swung, splitting the log you’d failed twice at with ease.

Later that night, it’d cooled down and since he’d had the windows open all day, it was kind of cold in his house. 

Bucky had lit a fire in the living room, the fireplace lighting up the room and making shadows flicker all over the walls. You were sitting on a blanket on the floor, your back pressed against the side of the couch as you watched him, a small smile seeming to have a permanent place on your face. 

You were wearing one of his hoodies, his wardrobe having become yours as well since there was no saving your old clothes. He’d tried to get the mud stains out of your shorts and debated on whether or not it was worth trying to sew your shirt, but it was a hopeless cause. And Bucky rather liked the way you looked in his clothes, almost as much as you seemed to like wearing them.

The orange glow from the fire made you look like something that’d fallen straight out of heaven and landed directly in his path, inserting yourself into his life without a second thought about it. And yet you fit right in. 

You’d only been here for almost a week, and yet Bucky had already become used to having you around. Every time he cooked, you cleaned up, and every time he busied himself with work around the house, you were right there, offering your assistance and taking it upon yourself to help in any way you could. 

You and he sit together for every meal, and you end up staying at the table well after you’ve finished eating and talking for hours, and he’s made you laugh so many times now, he’d gotten used to how it sounded in his usually quiet house. 

It felt like you’d known each other for a lot longer than you had. You’d fallen asleep on the couch yesterday while you and he watched TV, your head falling to his shoulder as your soft breaths fanned across his cheek. 

And, obviously, Bucky didn’t move a single muscle the entire time you slept, earning him a sore arm that was well worth it. 

You and he ended up messing around by the lake yesterday, splashing at each other, which resulted in both of you becoming completely soaked but also not giving a fuck about the uncomfortable walk back home in wet clothes. The smiles on both your faces never faded once.

He rather liked the little bubble you and he had been living in for the past week, and he didn’t want to think about what it would be like when you inevitably had to go. His life would return to normal, but what would that feel like when he’d already gotten so used to having you in his space and in his life?

You and he had pretty much gone through all the food he had in his cupboards, and while he had a pretty nicely stocked garden around the back of his house, eating just peppers and tomatoes and onions wasn’t sufficient. 

That meant he would have to drive out into town tomorrow to get some groceries and other things he needed, and that meant you’d probably be taking him up on that offer to drive to the bus stop. 

Bucky sat next to you on the blanket, lifting one leg and planting his foot firmly on the ground as he forced himself to not look at you. The hue from the fire made you look achingly pretty, but that wasn’t saying much since he’d found you pretty in every type of lighting. 

A comfortable silence settled over the two of you, with both you and Bucky watching the fire flicker and create harsh shadows all around his dark living room. 

He knew he was a little tense, because he had to bring up the trip to town he was planning, and that would bring up the topic of you tagging along and getting a bus ticket. 

You shifted next to him, and he had a feeling you could tell something was on his mind, but you didn’t push him to tell you. You’d been as patient with him as he’d been with you, and Bucky was growing more and more aware of the fact that if you were to leave town tomorrow, he’d really fucking miss you. 

Even though it would mean you’re starting a new chapter in your life somewhere nicer than where you had been before, and you’d be happier, he couldn’t stop himself from wanting to be in that chapter with you. 

Maybe you and he would be able to stay in touch, though it wasn’t likely. 

Bucky swallowed harshly, looking down at the small space between your thigh and his. “I’m, uh… heading into town tomorrow. You’ve managed to empty out everything I had in my kitchen,” he started, trying to keep the mood light, and it worked as you let out a soft laugh. He lifted his gaze to you, and he found you already looking at him. “Have you thought more about maybe getting a bus ticket? Just… getting away from everything that happened?” 

He held back a wince when he asked that, because the thought of you being all alone again after this made his heart clench in his chest. The thought of him being alone again was even worse.

You pressed your lips together and looked away, bringing your knees up to your chest. “Yeah, I’ve… thought about it,” you confessed quietly, and Bucky’s heart clenched again. 

Because as much as he liked having you here, you’d been thinking about leaving him behind and disappearing. And you weren’t selfish to think that or want it, but he sure was for wanting you to stay. 

Fuck. He wants you to stay. 

He cleared his throat harshly, tearing his eyes away from you. “So you, uh… accepting that drive to the bus stop?”

You looked over at him at that, but he didn’t look at you in return. He could see the way you deflated a bit out of the corner of his eye. “If you’re still offering it,” you answered softly, and Bucky wanted to take that offer back so badly. 

“I am,” he said instead, shifting a bit on the blanket. “We can leave tomorrow morning after breakfast. If I can find any food to make for breakfast, that is.”

That had you huffing out a breathy laugh, and he couldn’t stop the way his head turned to look at you. He couldn’t help it. He liked the way you looked when you laughed. 

You turned your head and met his eyes, and your expression softened. “Thank you, Bucky,” you whispered, then slowly, hesitantly, you reached down and placed your hand over his where it was on the ground between you. “For… for everything. You… saved me. Took me in and you made me feel like I’m not just… a punching bag. So thank you. I wouldn’t be here if it weren’t for you. I don’t know how I can ever repay you for that.”

Bucky clenched his jaw, because he felt it starting to tremble a bit, and you’d trusted him to be the strong one up until this point. He didn’t want to let you down. “I already told you,” he said just as quietly. He turned his hand over and laced his fingers with yours, giving them a soft squeeze as his eyes held your gaze. “You don’t have to thank me. I couldn’t just… leave you out there. I couldn’t. I knew you’d been through hell and I couldn’t add to it. I couldn’t hurt you. I’d never hurt you.”

You smiled at that, but your eyes started to water, and you started to turn your head when his other hand instantly lifted up. His fingers cradled your jaw, halting your movement and making your breath get caught in your throat. 

“Is that… is this okay?” he trailed off, guiding your gaze back to his, and he watched the way your eyes darted down to his mouth as you nodded slowly. “Words, sweetheart.”

You inhaled at the name he hadn’t used until right now, and then you leaned a little closer. “Yes. It’s okay,” 

Bucky grinned softly at that, his thumb stroking along your bottom lip as he leaned in as well. “I can stop,” he said, meaning it with everything in him. 

But you shook your head, and before he could remind you to use your words again, you spoke up, “I don’t want you to stop,”

And that had him leaning all the way in until his lips brushed along yours in the softest, most gentle kiss he’s ever had. You kissed him back, smiling against his lips and making him smile right back, his hand moving to cradle your jaw. 

It ended all too soon, but it was still already high on the list of the most intimate moments Bucky has ever experienced in his life, and that was bad. 

Because you were leaving tomorrow, and he wouldn’t get to experience that again.

There was a heavy feeling weighing down Bucky’s chest as he sat with you in his truck that was parked on the side of the street. 

A few feet behind the truck was one of the bus stops around town, and in approximately four minutes, a bus would come and take you out of his life just as quickly as you fell into it. Literally. 

His elbow was propped up on the window frame, his fingers covering his mouth as he looked at the street with a bitterness he couldn’t remember feeling for quite some time now. 

You were sitting in the passenger seat, wearing an old pair of jeans that didn’t fit him anymore since he’d gained quite a bit of muscle since he started living on the outskirts of town, and one of his flannels. At your feet was one of the many bags he had lying around his house, and in it were a couple of his shirts and sweats and jeans, as well as a couple snacks and water and the extra toothbrush you’d been using at his house. There was also a stack of cash he’d slipped in without you noticing, because you refused to take his money when he offered it to you back at the house. 

You felt guilty for taking his clothes, but Bucky honestly didn’t care about that at all. As long as you had something to get started with, he didn’t care how many shirts he’d need to replace in the future. 

The truck was off, not even the sound of the radio able to fill the silence that filled the cab. There was tension in the air, but it wasn’t angry or uncomfortable or heated. It was more sad than anything else, because even though you hadn’t been in his life for long, this was still a hard goodbye. 

Bucky had grown attached to you. He’d taken on the role as your protector, and he wanted to keep that role for much longer. He had, like you told him last night, saved your life, so he was feeling protective over you, and the thought of wishing you well then sending you on your way made him feel like he was throwing you out to the wolves.

He shifted in his seat, glancing over at you. You were sitting comically still, the bus ticket he’d bought you sitting on your lap, ignored as if you didn’t want to hold it in your hands or even look at it. “You sure you’re… well enough to go off on your own?” he asked, more than ready to take you right back to his place. “It’s okay if you’re not. You won’t be intruding or anything like that. You don’t even have to stay with me if you don’t want to. I can give you some money and you can stay at a hotel for a bit. I just… don’t want you pushing yourself into something if you’re not ready for it.”

You looked over at him, forcing yourself to smile. “I’m ready,” you said, and you sounded truthful, and yet that didn’t help soothe the ache he felt in his chest. “I don’t want to take up anymore of your time. You’ve been amazing, Bucky, and I truly meant it when I said you saved me. I’d be dead if it weren’t for you. I’ll spend the rest of my life trying to pay you back.”

Bucky frowned and shook his head, “Sweetheart-” he started, but the bus rounded the corner and began slowing down, and his time with you was up. 

You gave him a small smile as you grabbed the bag and opened the door, hopping out of his truck with a lot more grace than you’d moved with before. He’d healed you. And you healed him too, in a way. 

He’d been content by himself before, willing to spend the rest of his life alone in the woods and preparing meals for one and sleeping by himself in the big bed in his room. 

But you’d opened a part of him up, and he no longer saw himself being alone forever. He saw himself settling down, living his life with someone by his side. And he wanted that someone to be you so fucking badly. 

His heart physically ached as he watched you stand on the side walk and close the passenger side door. “Bye, Bucky,” you said quietly, and there were tears in your eyes that matched the ones he felt forming in his. 

You turned and started walking towards the bus stop, your grip so tight on the straps of the bag he could see your hands starting to shake. 

Bucky stayed in the truck, not trusting himself to step out and walk with you to the bus stop. He was afraid you’d turn to hug him like you had done the first night you spent at his house, and he wouldn’t be able to let go of you. 

So he just watched as you walked towards the bus shelter, then stopped just as the bus pulled up to the stop. He watched with a heavy heart, his knuckles pressed to his mouth as he suppressed the tremble he felt in his lips. 

But when the doors of the bus opened, you didn’t get on. Your back was turned to him, so he couldn’t see your face, but he could see how tense you were as you stayed completely still on the sidewalk. 

Before he could realize what he was doing, Bucky tore off his seatbelt and opened the door, stepping out onto the street without even checking to see if any cars were coming. He rounded the truck and got onto the sidewalk, moving towards you and stopping just a few feet away. 

You hadn’t turned around to face him yet, but you did turn your head when the bus driver let out a huff. “Are you on or off, Miss?” he asked impatiently. You didn’t answer him, and the man let out another annoyed sound. “Ma’am, are you staying or getting on?” 

That hit Bucky hard, because he wanted you to stay. Maybe it wasn’t realistic, and maybe it was way too soon, but he didn’t fucking care. He didn’t want you to go. 

You turned your head even more until you were looking at him, and when your eyes met his, your shoulders dropped, the tension leaving your body instantly. You turned to face him fully, your grip on the bag loosening, “Stay,” you said quietly, “I want to stay.”

That had Bucky closing the remaining distance between you and him, and you met him halfway, dropping the bag in your hurry to get to him. Your body collided with his just as the bus pulled away from the curb, and Bucky cradled the back of your head with one hand, his other arm wrapping tightly around your middle. 

He pulled your body flush against his, and your arms banded around his shoulders as you leaned up and connected your mouth to his. He lifted you up just slightly so you could kiss him a little better, and he deepened it instantly. This was even better than the one you and he shared on his living room floor last night, and he had no doubt that he’d just become obsessed with you. 

Bucky couldn’t stop the words that tumbled out of his lips when he pulled away for air, “You want to stay?” he breathed, his hands cupping either side of your face as he pressed his forehead to yours. “With me?”

You nodded slowly, keeping your arms locked around his shoulders. “Yes, I do. Can I?”

Bucky let out a soft groan, his lips covering yours once again. “Yeah. Fuck yeah, you can stay,” he muttered against your mouth, and you broke the kiss as you laughed. You laughed even more when he pressed a series of fast kisses to your cheek before he wrapped his arm around your shoulders, taking you with him as he walked the few steps to retrieve your discarded bag, then he guided you back to his truck. 

He opened the passenger door for you, helped you inside, leaned in and pressed one last kiss to your lips before pulling back and shutting the door, tossing the bag into the backseat as he did so. 

“First stop, the store so we can stock up on food,” he said when he got back into the driver’s seat. “Then I’ll take you back to my place.”

“Then I’ll help you put all the groceries away,” you added, and Bucky couldn’t wipe the smile off his face if he tried.  

This was fucking crazy, but as he looked over at you, sitting in his passenger seat and looking so much happier now than you did before now that you’re staying, he didn’t give a single fuck about how crazy this was.

Bucky stocked up on things even more than he normally does, his counters littered with grocery bags that were filled with food and other things he was running low on. 

He didn’t want to go back to town for a while now, though he would have to sooner rather than later because he planned on buying you some better clothing options - ones that actually fit you, but this was just fine for now. 

Bucky had just finished bringing in the last three bags, and he set them down onto the table as he looked over at you. His flannel was tied around your waist now, his white shirt hanging loosely off your body as you placed the eggs and milk into the fridge. 

You must’ve felt him staring, because you leaned against the counter beside the fridge after you closed it, a teasing smile on your lips. “You should think about investing in livestock,” you suggest, crossing your arms. “It would save you a fortune on eggs if you were to have your own chickens in the backyard.”

Bucky laughed, slowly starting to close the distance between you and him. “I live in the middle of nowhere, sweetheart,” he said, “I don’t have a backyard.”

You pursed your lips, suddenly becoming a little fidgety as he stopped right in front of you and lifted his hand. But instead of touching you like he knew you were expecting, he reached into the bag behind you on the counter, pulling out the bread. “That might be true,” you said, a lot less confidently than before, and Bucky smirked a bit. “But my point still stands.”

He hummed, “Which was?”

“That you’d save a fortune on… on eggs,” you said, your eyes flickering down to his mouth for a few seconds. 

Bucky had a lazy smile on his lips as he turned a bit and opened the breadbox that was next to the sink, putting the two loaves he’d bought inside before closing it again. “I appreciate your concern. It’s quite sweet you’re worried I’ll break the bank on eggs each month,” he said, and you flushed, leaning further back against the counter. “But it’s not needed, sweetheart. I think I made sure I wouldn’t be stressed over whether or not I could afford eggs every month before I moved all the way out here.”

You pressed your lips together, reaching behind you to hold onto the edge of the counter, as if him towering over you like this was making you unsteady, but you didn’t look uncomfortable in the slightest, so he didn’t move away. “Yeah, I guess that sounds pretty logical,” you mumbled, and Bucky’s smirk softened, his hand lifting up again, but this time to cradle your jaw. 

The way you leaned into his touch immediately, like you trusted him so much to never hurt you, like you’d grown accustomed to it, made Bucky feel a little feral, and he closed the gap between yours and his mouth before he could voice that to you. 

You kissed him back quickly, your fingers tightening on the counter for a brief moment before you reached up and curled your fingers into his jacket, pulling him closer. 

Despite you and he only doing this twice before, the first time being only last night, you and he had already found an easy rhythm. He was slowly memorizing the way your lips feel against his, and as he deepened the kiss, he was starting to memorize your taste as well. 

The way you were kissing him told him that you were trying to memorize his taste and the feel of his lips too. You’d been so shy, so timid and closed off for days, but you were letting him in now. You trusted him, and somehow that made him feel better than anything else ever had. 

Bucky’s hands were on your waist, gripping you still so gently as he pulled away from your lips, his breathing having already picked up drastically. “Is this okay?” he asked, his lips brushing along yours with each word. 

As much as you seemed to be completely comfortable and relaxed with him now, he didn’t want to accidentally get caught up and touch you in a way that brings you right back to the very thing you’d run away from. He knew any touch could take you back there, reset your progress, and drive you away from him since he’d reminded you of that dark place. 

But then you nodded your head, the tip of your nose gently bumping against his each time it passed by. “Yes,” you breathed, and then you were reaching down and grabbing onto his wrists, slowly pushing his hands further down. 

His palms smoothed over your ass, then slid lower and grabbed onto the backs of your thighs, and he lifted you up, setting you down on the counter. Your breath hitched as he did so, your hands coming up to grab onto his shoulders while his grabbed onto your waist.

He kissed you again, this time a little deeper than before as he ran his tongue along the seam of your lips, and you all too eagerly parted them. He stepped between your thighs, his hips pushing them apart as he pressed closer to you, one hand sliding up into your hair. 

Bucky had, without a doubt, become addicted to kissing you. Even just this felt so much better than anything else he’d done with a woman before you. There was something about you being so shy on the outside, nervous and fidgety when simply talking to him, but so eager and needy when it came to him kissing and touching you that turned him all the way on.

You had a dirty side to you despite your innocent persona, and he wanted to discover every single other side you might have. 

But he could feel himself starting to throb, his jeans growing just a bit tighter, and he broke the kiss with a sigh. He pressed his lips to the band aid on your temple, his eyes closing briefly as he tried to get ahold of himself. “You don’t know what you do to me,” he muttered against your skin, and you let out a soft laugh at that. 

You didn’t initiate another kiss after that, thankfully, because Bucky wasn’t sure if he’d be able to will his dick to not get hard, or harder. It’d been some time since he’d been with a woman, and even then he knew you were definitely the sexiest one he’s seen. 

And while you and he were no longer kissing, you still wanted to be close as you wrapped your arms around his middle, pressing your face against his chest. Bucky wrapped his own arms around you, pulling you against him and burying his face in your hair. 

As much as you are sexy, you are also so fucking sweet.

It’d been a few days since you decided you wanted to stay, and while you and Bucky probably should’ve had a talk about where to go from that, you simply hadn’t. 

Because even though you were new to each other’s lives, you fit right in, and you’d become each other’s new normals. 

It was hot today, and instead of sweating all day doing things around the house, Bucky had pushed aside the house and yard chores, opting to spend the afternoon by the lake instead. 

He’d given you a pair of boxers and a shirt to wear, the two acting as a makeshift swimming set since he still hadn’t taken you out to town to get you some clothes of your own. 

Tomorrow, he’d do that. 

Right now, he liked seeing the damp fabric of his shirt stick to your body.

You were standing in the lake with him, the water up to the middle of your thighs while it was only up to his knees. He didn’t know how long you and he had been out here, but the sun was just starting to set, the heat not nearly as bad as it had been before. 

The water felt nice, and it cooled you both down tremendously. You and Bucky were both soaked, your clothes sticking to your bodies as you simply let the world pass by. 

You’d begun collecting a bunch of rocks that were at the bottom of the lake. You’d set them aside on the dock, and there was a growing pile of… pretty normal looking rocks starting to form. But you found them pretty, so Bucky didn’t judge you for it. 

Bucky left you to do that, bending down and grabbing at rocks you’d felt along the sand with your feet, and turned around to watch the sun as it began slowly lowering down towards the waterline. 

As he took a step forward, he felt his foot brush against something sharp, and he winced, pulling back before he fully stepped on whatever it was. He looked down and through the ripples of the water, he saw part of what looked like a beer bottle sticking out of the sand. 

He grunted and reached into the water to carefully grab it, then looked around the area for a few moments in case there were other pieces nearby. When he couldn’t find any, he moved back towards the dock, shaking his head, “Be careful, sweetheart. There might be glass around where you are. I almost cut my-” but the words died on his tongue when he looked over at you after setting the piece of glass on the dock. 

Bucky shouldn’t be looking. His eyes shouldn’t be lingering where they currently are, but they’d dropped down there without his permission, and he was having a hard time looking away. 

His throat went dry and he stuttered a bit as he tried to finish what he’d been saying, but it was no use. 

It was bad enough that you looked unbelievably hot in his clothes, but the air had gotten cooler, and the water was naturally cold. He knew you couldn’t help the way your body reacts to the cold, more specifically, the way a certain part of your body reacts to it. 

His shirt clung to you, wet and heavy, and he could see the peaks of your breasts pressing against the fabric, and the sight was really doing something to him. 

You furrowed your brows, giving him a look of confusion as you stayed still, and you either didn’t know about the way your nipples were straining against his shirt, or you didn’t think it was a big deal. And it wasn’t, really. That was a natural and normal thing and yet… it had Bucky swallowing harshly as he started to move a little closer to you. 

“You almost what?” you asked, your arms hanging loosely by your sides. When he didn’t answer, you shifted a bit, letting out a soft laugh. “What?” you asked again, then followed his gaze to your chest, and you pressed your lips together tightly. “Oh. Shit. Sorry, I didn’t realize I- the water’s cold and I’m wearing wet clothes and the air is kinda chilly.”

You were rambling now as Bucky stopped right in front of you, and the fact that you thought you needed to give excuses for your own body and its reactions had that protective feeling taking over him. 

When you went to cross your arms, he reached out and wrapped his hand around your wrist, stopping you. “Don’t,” he said, his voice rough from the growing arousal he felt building up inside of him. “Don’t be sorry. And don’t be embarrassed. You don’t have to be either of those things. Not with me.”

You looked up at him and swallowed quickly, and he could feel the goosebumps that had formed on your skin - ones he wasn’t sure were just from the cold water and air. “Bucky,” you said, and he dipped his head down and kissed you before you could get another word out. 

His hand released your wrist as he wrapped his arms around you, his fingers tangling in your wet hair as he deepened the kiss right from the start, and you moaned into his mouth as you melted against him. Your arms wound around his shoulders, and you leaned up on the tips of your toes, trying to get as close to him as possible. 

Bucky’s hands slid down and grabbed your ass, lifting you slightly so you weren’t straining yourself as much, and you moaned against his mouth again, making his cock twitch in his shorts. “Fuck. Let me take you home,” he grunted against your mouth, his hands greedily bunching up the fabric of his shirt that hung off your body. “Please. Can I?”

You let out a needy sound, your fingers tangling in his damp hair as you nodded, whispering a soft, “Please,” against his lips. 

And that was all Bucky needed to hear before started to walk you backwards towards the shore, and he was so caught up in the moment, he forgot to keep an eye out for any other pieces of that bottle. Thankfully, you and he made it out of the water with no incidents or injuries, and he kept one arm around your waist, keeping your body against his as you walked the short distance back to his house. 

The front door swung open, the force of it hitting the wall making a few pictures rattle before he shut it loudly behind him. His hands were on your hips, gripping tightly as he pulled you against his body, his lips finding yours once again in a deep kiss. 

Your hands slid up his arms, your nails skimming along his skin and making him feel feral. He licked into your mouth as he guided you backwards towards the hall, and you clung onto him a little tighter, fully trusting him to get you to his room without letting you back into anything. 

When you and he entered his room, Bucky’s hands slid down the backs of your thighs, and he lifted you up, your legs instantly wrapping around his waist. He didn’t care that both you and he were still wet and your clothes were soaked as he walked you over to the bed and laid you down on it, his hips settling between your thighs. 

You leaned back on the pillows as he pulled away from your mouth, his hands reaching down to pull off his shirt, and he dropped the wet fabric to the floor before leaning down towards you. 

One of your hands wrapped around the back of his neck, pulling his lips to yours as your other hand splayed along his abs, and he felt you grin against his mouth. “You’re so big,” you mumbled against his mouth. 

Bucky smirked against your lips, his biceps instinctively flexing at that as he pressed his hips to yours. “Am I?” he questioned, unable to keep the smugness out of his voice as he ran his nose along the curve of your jaw. “Maybe you’re just really small.”

You shook your head at that, your hands wrapping around his biceps, but they couldn’t wrap all the way around them. “No,” you murmured, wrapping your legs around his waist and pulling him closer. “The guys I’ve been with before, they weren’t nearly as big as you. You’re so much broader and wider and… bigger.”

Bucky’s smirk grew at that, and he was surprised he didn’t feel that jealous at you mentioning you being with other guys, because you just told him that he’s bigger than all of them. That made him feel superior, and he wanted to erase those guys from your memory and replace them with just him. 

“Yeah?” he hummed, giving a slow, experimental roll of his hips against yours. When you let out a soft moan, he did it again, pressing his growing hard-on against you. “Seems like you’ve been with some scrawny dudes then, huh?”

You blushed at that, your teeth digging into your lip as you shook your head. “Maybe,” you whispered, “Or maybe you’re just fucking huge, Bucky.”

He felt his cock twitch at that, and he groaned as he buried his face in your neck. “You have no right to make swearing sound that fucking hot,” he muttered against your skin, and you let out a laugh as you tipped your head back on the pillow. “You just look so sweet and innocent. Doesn’t seem like this sweet mouth is capable of saying things like that.” he murmured, his hand coming up to cradle your jaw, and his thumb brushed along your lower lip. 

You hummed, turning your head and nipping softly at the shell of his ear. “I think you’d be surprised at some of the things that come out of my mouth,”

Bucky perked up at your words and he lifted his head, meeting your eyes with a smug grin on his face. “Oh yeah?” he rasped, leaning in and pressing kisses along your cheek. “My sweet girl’s got a dirty side to her?”

You shrugged, reaching down to guide his hands to the hem of the shirt you’re wearing. “Guess you’ll just have to find out,”

Bucky groaned, and he kissed you harshly as he bunched up the fabric of his shirt and lifted it up your body, breaking the kiss to rid you of it entirely. He pulled back and looked down at you, feeling his desire spike at the sight of your bare breasts and the full view of your nipples. “Fuck,” he grunted, shaking his head as he moved down a bit. He kissed along the tops of your breasts, gently sucking at your skin as he grabbed onto your hips. “I don’t believe you. You’re far too fucking sweet.”

You bit down on your lip, your eyes locked onto his every move as you shifted under him, your hands sliding up his shoulders and into his hair. “Bucky,” you whimpered, and the sound of you saying his name like that had him bucking his hips against yours. 

He dipped his head down even lower. “You look sweet. You sound sweet,” he mumbled against your skin as his lips brushed along your nipple. “You taste sweet,” You let out a weak moan at that, and he smirked against your skin once more. “Think my sweet girl is incapable of being dirty. But I’ll get you there. I’ll make you mine in every way.”

You moaned louder, your back arching a bit as you tried to push your chest closer to his face, just as greedy for him as he is for you. 

“You want that?” he asked, his voice deeper than before as his big hands came up to cup your breasts, his thumbs brushing along your nipples. 

“Yes,” you gasped, writhing under him. “Please, Bucky. Please.”

As pretty as you sounded when you begged, Bucky didn’t want to make you wait any longer. He wrapped his mouth around your nipple, gently sucking it into his mouth. He grunted, his eyes closing as he sucked on the peak, his tongue running along the bud as you let out a moan. 

His other hand continued to roll your other one, tugging gently as your head fell back on the pillow, your own eyes fluttering shut. When he switched to your other nipple, you whimpered, pushing your chest up against him more firmly. “You’re so responsive,” he murmured, pressing soft kisses all over your breasts as his hands slid down your body. “You gonna let me touch you down here?” he asked, running his finger along the waistline of his boxers. 

You pressed your lips together as you opened your eyes, your gaze instantly meeting his. “Yes,” you answered softly, “Please.”

Bucky grunted, kissing his way down your body. “Listen to you. You’re so fucking sweet,” he muttered, his fingers hooking into the damp fabric. He slowly pulled it down your thighs, then your legs, then let it fall to the floor to join the other shedded clothing. He leaned in close, his hands spreading your thighs apart as he settled in between them. Before he did anything else, he looked up at you, his eyes focused while his mouth watered with need to taste you. “You let me know if I need to stop, okay? If I’m doing anything that makes you uncomfortable or if you don’t feel good, you stop me, yeah?”

Your eyes widened at that, as if you’d never had someone say anything of the sort to you before, and you nodded slowly. “Yeah. I will. Promise,”

Bucky smiled, small and genuine, before he let himself look at the most private, and in his eyes, one of the most beautiful parts of you. He leaned in close, his lips dragging along your inner thigh before the tip of his nose brushed against your clit, and you jolted at just that. “Sensitive, hm?” he teased softly. 

“Been awhile,” you breathed, lifting your hips as you looked down at him with a pleading expression on your face. 

Bucky smiled up at you, pressing a soft kiss to your clit. “Don’t worry,” he murmured, “I’ll make you so spoiled, baby.”

Your breath hitched at that, and he finally allowed himself to taste the part of you he’d been dying to taste for a shamefully long time. He ran his tongue along your folds, collecting the wetness that had gathered there on the muscle while also leaving behind some of his own. 

A deep, pleased grunt came from the back of his throat, and just from that first taste alone, he was hooked. 

Bucky grabbed onto your thighs with gentle hands and guided your legs over his shoulders, then buried his face in your pussy. He basked in the string of moans you let out, your body shifting while you tried to push yourself closer to him. 

He pinned your hips down, his thumbs running along the bones as he slid his tongue along your seam yet again, then dipped it inside. “Goddamn, sweetheart,” he grunted, breathing you in as his fingers curled around your waist. “Taste so fucking good, baby. Could stay down here for the rest of the night.”

You whimpered, already greedy for him as you shook your head. “No,” you moaned, “Want you to fuck me, Bucky.”

He let out a pleased hum, purposely bumping his nose against your clit. “And I will, baby,” he promised, “But I need my fill of you first. I want to make you feel so good, sweetheart. Make you feel things you’ve never felt before.”

You squirmed at that, your body heating up as your hands fisted the sheets at either side of your hips. “You already do that. You’ve been doing that since the night I met you,”

Bucky felt his heart clench, and he gave your hips a gentle squeeze. “I want to keep doing it,” he said, sliding his hands up your body until they were covering your breasts. “If you’ll let me.”

“Yes,” you moaned, nodding quickly afterwards. “I will. I want you, Bucky. I only want you.”

He grinned, turning his head and giving your inner thigh a chaste kiss before he slid his tongue between your folds again then wrapped his lips around your clit. He gently sucked it into his mouth and he could practically feel the way your nerves throbbed against his tongue. “That feel good, baby?” he asked when he briefly pulled away and watched as you nodded again, just as fast as before. 

“So good,” you moaned, “Keep going. Please.”

Bucky had a feeling he’d never deny you of anything, especially when you begged him like that. He was already so down bad for you, he was certain he’d do anything you wanted, and right now you wanted his mouth back on your pussy. 

His fingers dug into your hips, pinning you down to the bed as he buried his face in you, his eyes shutting as he drank you in. Your taste, your scent, the way you sounded when he slipped his tongue inside of you. 

Your hips tried to lift off the bed, but he held them down, easily overpowering you in a way he knew you enjoyed rather than felt threatened by. You only shared a little bit of your past with him, short stories here and there that gave him a glimpse into the way you were forced to live before. You didn’t have a choice, but now you do, and he wants you to always know that. 

A soft, needy sound left your lips, and it went straight to his cock. Bucky refrained from thrusting into his bed, opting to hope that he’d get his relief later after he’s made you cum on his tongue. 

Your hands slid down into his hair, and your fingers tangled in the strands as you moaned for him. The feeling of your nails gently scratching along his scalp felt unbelievably good after not feeling it for so long. You mentioned it being a while for you since you’d last done this, and it had been quite a while for him too. 

When he returned his mouth to your clit and sucked on it, you jolted in his hold, your fingers pulling on his hair. “Fuck,” you moaned, looking down at him with worried eyes. “Is that okay? Did I hurt you?”

You’d suffered unimaginable pain, so it made sense that you were cautious when potentially inflicting pain onto someone else, but in all honesty, Bucky didn’t think you’d ever be able to hurt him. At least not like that. Your hands felt like heaven, and he was greedy to feel them all the time. 

“It’s okay, sweetheart. More than okay,” he promised, removing one hand from your hip and sliding his fingers along your folds, collecting your wetness. “You didn’t hurt me. You can do whatever you want to me, okay?”

You pressed your lips tightly together at that, looking down at him at the same time he lifted his gaze to you, and your fingers ran along the length of his cheek as you gave him a look that told him everything you didn’t say. “Okay,” you whispered, your brows furrowing when he slowly pushed two fingers into you. 

The tight, wet walls of your cunt stretched around his fingers, only further proving that it had definitely been a while since someone touched you. That or you were just tighter than normal. Either way, Bucky was more than willing to get you prepared and to make sure he didn’t hurt you in any way.

You gasped when he pushed his fingers in all the way, your tight walls clinging to him as you let your eyes flutter shut. 

Bucky kept his eyes on you as he slowly worked his fingers in and out of you, trying to read your every expression. “You like that?” he asked, his voice a lot deeper than before as his own desire built more and more. He was unbelievably turned on, and the sounds you were making for him weren’t helping his case at all, and yet it would be even worse if you were to stop making them. 

You nodded slowly, going silent with your words as you gently scraped your nails along his scalp. And while he liked to hear you confirm how you’re feeling with words, you’d been incredibly vocal about it since the very beginning, so he didn’t feel like he was overstepping this time. 

His mouth returned to your clit, his tongue gently flicking over the bud a few times before he wrapped his lips around it once again. Your body jolted, your fingers tightening in his hair as you let out soft sounds and whimpers that only fueled his desire for you. 

When his teeth grazed your clit, you gasped, your hands tugging at his hair seemingly out of instinct. He could feel how you were tightening even more around his fingers, your moans becoming louder and more consistent. “You’re close,” he murmured, not a question but simply an observation as he thrust his fingers into you a little faster than before. 

“Mhmm,” you hummed, nodding quickly as you arched your back and bucked your hips, trying to get impossibly closer to him. “Please… please.”

Fuck, you sounded so pretty. 

Bucky worked his fingers in and out of you, his tongue running over the pulsing, sensitive bud above where his fingers are. “Want to feel you cum for me,” he rasped, his other hand sliding up your body until it reached your breast, and he covered the soft mound with his palm. “Want to make you feel so good, sweetheart.”

A sharper, more desperate sound tumbled out of your mouth at that, and you were starting to shake, your legs beginning to tremble at either side of his head. Your back arched even more as your cunt clenched around his fingers, sucking them in deeper as he felt you grow warmer and wetter. “Fuck,”

“That’s it, baby,” Bucky praised, keeping the pace of his fingers for a few more moments before he pulled them out, only to replace them with his tongue. He licked you all over, cleaning up your mess while leaving behind one of his own, and he only relented when you cried out and jerked away from his mouth, your fingers scratching at his head as he worked you to near over stimulation. 

He pulled back, sitting up on his knees and bringing his hand up to his lips. He sucked his wet fingers into his mouth, cleaning them of your wetness with a deep, satisfied and shameless groan, all while looking at you like you were the single most hottest thing he’d ever seen. You definitely were. 

You writhed on the bed, and he wanted to burn the image of you like this into his head, because you looked undeniably sexy and sated but also needy and desperate. 

When his hands moved to your thighs, your own came to cover them as your chest rose and fell unevenly, your eyes hooded and your bottom lip puffy from how hard you’d bitten on it. 

Bucky smiled down at you, his hands running up and down your smooth skin that was now void of bruises, and only had faint scratches that were almost fully healed. “Anyone ever tell you how fucking beautiful you are?”

You blushed at that, writhing more as you wrapped your hands around his wrists and tried to bring him closer. “Not very often,” you mumbled, and Bucky shook his head. 

“Too bad for them,” he muttered, spreading your thighs once more and guiding your legs to wrap around his waist as he settled his hips between them once again. “‘Cause you’re fucking gorgeous, sweetheart. Every single fucking part of you.”

He leaned in and kissed you after that, not letting you say anything in return as he shared your taste with you. His hips rolled forward, the rough material of his shorts rubbing against your bare, sensitive core and making you whine into his mouth. “Bucky. I need you,” you breathed, wrapping your hand around the back of his neck. “I want to feel you. Want to make you feel good now.”

Bucky hummed against your mouth, kissing you deeply again. “Sweet girl,” he mumbled in between kisses. He placed a few more before pulling back. “Trust me when I say that what I just did to you made me feel good too. Never wanted to see someone cum so badly before in my life.”

You huffed out a gasp at that, your legs locking tighter around his waist as you pulled him closer. “Bucky,”

He smirked softly, pulling back just enough to be able to reach in between yours and his body. “Alright, baby,” he murmured, unzipping and pushing down his shorts and boxers. His cock sprang free, hard and thick and long, already slick at the tip with pre-cum. 

Bucky hadn’t been this painfully hard in a long time, to the point where even the pressure of his own hand stung a bit before it faded to relief. He saw the way your head lifted to look down at him, and his smirk grew when he saw the way your stomach muscles fluttered a bit. “Oh… shit,” you breathed, your hands coming up to wrap around his biceps. 

He kept one hand around his cock, giving himself a slow, almost teasing stroke as his other hand grabbed your hip, his thumb rubbing gentle circles onto your skin. “What’s the matter?” he murmured, having a feeling he already knew exactly what you were thinking. 

You confirmed it when you whispered, “You’re… really big,” in a voice that held both need and obvious shock. 

“Yeah?” Bucky cooed softly, his hand raising to your face, and he tucked some of your messy hair behind your ear. “You don’t think it’ll fit?”

You shook your head, your grip on his arms tightening. “No, I really don’t,” 

Bucky guided his cock to your pussy, rubbing its length along your folds. “But you’re so wet for me, baby,” he said, his voice holding a hint of teasing as he watched himself become coated in your slick. “Bet I could just slide right in and you’d just take me.”

Your body shuddered at either his words or his actions, or possibly both, before you looked up at his face. “Okay. Just be slow, please?” you asked, as if he’d rush you into anything after you’ve already told him it’d been a while since the last time you had sex. 

“Of course,” he murmured, leaning in and pressing a soft kiss to your forehead. 

“Do you… have a condom?” you asked, making him wince, his lips turning into a frown against your skin. 

He pulled back and groaned, shutting his eyes tightly, “No. Fuck,” he grunted, pulling back even more. “I haven’t really been with a lot of women while living here, so I never bothered to have those around. Really wish I did now though.”

You gave him a small smile as you cradled his face in your hands, your thumbs rubbing along his stubbled cheeks. “It’s okay,”

Bucky sighed, shaking his head. “I’m sorry. We kinda rushed into this without thinking of that, huh?” he muttered, “I can get you off with my mouth and fingers again, and then I can… jerk off or something. I didn’t think I’d be having sex anytime soon, sweetheart. I’m sorry I wasn’t prepared for this.”

You let out a quiet laugh as you shook your head in return, guiding his lips to yours in a gentle kiss. “Bucky, it’s okay,” you said again, pulling him back to you so he was flush against your body once again. “I don’t… I’m okay with not using a condom tonight, if you are. You said you wanted to take me into town to get some stuff at some point, maybe we can go tomorrow and get, like, Plan B or something? And condoms.”

Bucky felt his shoulders drop at that, shamelessly feeling relieved that, despite the absolute lack of protection between you and him, he was still allowed to fuck you. He braced himself on one hand beside your head, his other one trailing down your body. “You got it all figured out, huh?” he teased, watching the way you squirmed a bit under him. 

“I want to feel you,” you said simply, shrugging after, “I want you to fuck me.”

And fuck did he want that too. It sounded so good coming from your mouth, and he had a feeling you wanted it nearly as much as he did, which was an ungodly amount. 

“Yeah?” he said lowly, reaching down to grasp his cock again, and he guided himself to your entrance but didn’t push in yet. “Good. ‘Cause I want to fuck you too.”

You whined at that, bucking your hips against his as you wrapped your legs around his waist, as if you were trying to push him in yourself. “Please, Bucky,” you begged, tugging him into a kiss, and he was done for. 

He slowly pushed the tip of his cock past your folds, sinking the first few inches inside you and feeling the way your walls already fluttered around him. “Fuck,” he grunted into your mouth, sliding his hand up to your hip and holding onto you tightly. His other hand fisted the pillow beside your head, his jaw clenching as he held back from thrusting all the way inside you. 

You were tight. Really fucking tight, and it felt impossible to push any further without hurting you. Your cunt was gripping him like a second skin, clinging onto him as tightly as he was clinging onto you, and he broke the kiss to bump his forehead against yours. 

“You… you gotta tell me if I hurt you, okay?” he said, sounding a little desperate as he twisted the pillow between his fingers. “You’re so fucking tight, baby. I don’t wanna… fuck, I don’t want to hurt you, sweetheart.”

Your hands were gripping his shoulders tightly, your body tense under his as you squeezed your eyes shut. “You’re not hurting me, Bucky,” you breathed, knees digging into his hips as he stayed still. “You’re just… big. Really big.” 

Bucky smirked softly, turning his head and pressing a kiss to your temple. “You need a minute?” 

Shaking your head, you slid one hand around to his back, pressing on it gently. “No. You can keep going,”

He nodded, burying his face in your neck as he pushed in deeper, going all the way until his hips were against yours, and his cock was buried all the way inside of you. He stilled once again, letting out a deep, strangled groan against your skin as he felt you tighten around him, your hand sliding up his back and into his hair. 

“Fuck,” he muttered, slowly pulling his hips back just a bit before pushing forward again, his eyes closing at the feeling. “God, you feel so fucking good.”

You moaned at his words, then again when pulled his hips back and repeated the motion, your head falling back on the pillow. “So do you,” came your quiet reply, your fingers tangling in his hair. 

After a few moments, he found a deep, steady rhythm, one that had him pulling nearly all the way out before sliding back in again to the hilt. Each thrust allowed him to see how tight you were, your walls stretching around him every time he pulled back. His cock was covered in your slick, making every slide back in easier than the last. 

Bucky’s fingers dug into the soft skin of your hip, his deep groans lost to your neck as he kept his face buried there. He wasn’t sure he’d be able to physically stop himself from coming way too soon if he were to pull back and watch you - the sounds you were making already being too much to begin with. 

He kept his pace slower than he’s used to. Usually he has no problem with a quick fuck with a girl that left him and her satisfied and straining himself just enough to fall asleep afterwards. 

But he wanted to savor this with you, even though you’d made it clear that you wanted to do this many more times in the future, as did he. 

His hips rolled against yours, knocking gently against your own with every thrust. Your moans were going directly into his ear, each one making him push a little harder every time he pulled back. 

Your hands grasped at his face, pulling his head away from your shoulder. “Bucky,” you moaned, and he grunted instantly in response. “Look at me.”

He shook his head, his cheek pressing against yours as his hand finally released the pillow and grabbed onto your other hip. “I can’t,” he rasped, his eyes falling shut as he fucked into you a little faster. “You feel too fucking good, sweetheart. Too perfect. I can’t-”

“Please,” you begged, your heels digging into his lower back and trying to pull him impossibly closer despite him being as close as he could physically be. “Please, Bucky, look at me.”

And he couldn’t deny you. 

He pulled back, his eyes opening and meeting yours. The way you were looking at him was the exact reason he refused to look at you before. You were looking at him like you trusted him more than anyone else in the whole world, like you were willingly giving him your heart and letting him do whatever he wanted with it. 

Your brows were pushed nearly all the way together, your eyes were hooded and glazed over, and your lips were curved upwards in a soft, lazy smile. 

The way you were looking at him made him feel unlike anything he’d ever felt in his entire life, and he knew right then and there that he had fallen in love with you. He didn’t care that it was fast, and he had no idea when he’d fallen in love with you, but somewhere along taking you in, healing your wounds, and becoming your safe place, he’d fallen in love with you. 

Bucky dropped his forehead to yours, his breath gently fanning along your lips as he rocked into you quicker, his hand sliding around you to your backside. “I need you to cum for me, baby,” he breathed, his hand covering one side of your ass as he pulled you against him with every thrust. “Need to feel you cum for me, sweetheart. Want to make you fall apart again.”

You moaned at that, pulling his chest down against yours so he could feel the way your breasts bounced softly every time he bottomed out inside of you. “Don’t stop, Bucky,” you murmured, keeping one hand tangled tightly in his hair while your other one raked down his back, your nails barely dragging along his skin. 

He leaned in and kissed you deeply, swallowing each and every moan you let out for him like the greedy man he’d become for you. His teeth bumped against yours as he started to fuck you a little faster and a little harder, his hand squeezing your ass while the other one slid up your back and tangled in your hair. “Cum for me,” he grunted against your mouth, the sound of the bed beginning to creak alongside yours and his moans. “C’mon, sweetheart, let go for me. I want to feel you cum all over my cock.”

You gasped into his mouth, your nails digging into his skin as he felt your cunt clench tightly around him. “Fuck,” you moaned against his mouth before detaching your own from it. Your eyes squeezed shut, your body tensing up in the way it did before when you came on his mouth and fingers, and only a few seconds later he felt the way your walls became slicker, warmer and tighter, squeezing and sucking him in deeper. 

Bucky grunted, keeping the same pace as he watched your every move and reaction, wanting to memorize the way you look right now and keep the sight locked away for the rest of his life. He held off as long as he could until you were whining and writhing, then he was there too. 

You insinuated before that you were okay with him coming inside you, and he’d planned on asking you again before he did it, but the only thought on his mind was how perfect and wet and tight you are, and any rational thought left his mind as he buried himself inside you one last time before he came. 

He filled you up, his hips jerking a little out of his control as he dropped his forehead back to yours, deep, tired groans leaving his mouth. His chest heaved unevenly against yours as he stilled, feeling the excess beads of cum leak from the tip of his cock as your walls fluttered around him. 

You looked like you were in a daze under him, your lips kiss swollen, your cheeks flushed, and your body covered in a light layer of sweat. He could only assume he looked similar to the way you do right now. 

Your arms locked around his shoulders, your legs staying around his waist as you pulled him down onto you, his body completely covering yours as you kissed him again, a lot less deeper than before but just as needy.

Neither of you said a word for a long time after that. You stayed cuddled in each other’s arms, kissing each other’s mouths and bodies as you both came down. 

It wasn’t until what felt like an hour later when he finally pulled back and almost fully detached himself from you when he asked if you were okay, and if he had hurt you at all while being caught up in the moment. 

But you’d simply shook your head, pulled him close again, and then fell asleep with your head on his chest. 

And after that, his bed became his bed again, and it also became yours.

It was late in the morning since you and Bucky had both become quite worn out after the intense night you’d both had, you ended up sleeping in longer than either of you thought you would. 

He had no idea what time it was. All he could think about was you, more specifically, the way you felt around him. 

After last night, he’d become addicted to you like he knew he would. You’d completely fucking ruined him, and now he was sure he’d never be able to get into this very bed without thinking of the first time he fucked you on it. 

You were on your side, your fingers laced loosely with his as he filled you with his cock over and over again from behind. You told him you were a bit sore, so he was being as gentle as he could right now, his hips rolling slowly against your ass. 

His arm was wrapped around your middle, holding your body flush against his. He buried his face in your hair, breathing you in as your cunt swallowed him over and over again. 

While the sex had been quite passionate last night and nothing short of amazing, this time it was much slower, much lazier and less desperate. He was still just as fucked up on you now as he’d been last night, but he felt more assured that this was it for him, that he’d get to do this with you for a long time. Last night gave him all the reassurance he needed. 

He squeezed your fingers between his, turning his head and pressing kisses all along your bare shoulder, trailing them up to the scar just under your jaw. It’d been a long time since he’d woken up with a woman in his arms and an ache on his chest from where your head had been resting all night, and he hadn’t realized just how much he’d wanted to wake up just like that for so long now. 

Bucky had been by himself for so long, purposely distancing himself from too much interaction with people he wasn’t close to, he’d denied himself the privilege of allowing someone into his life to change it for the better. He’d never allowed himself to find his person, never gave anyone a chance.

Until you fell over your own two feet and stumbled head first into his life, and it didn’t get any more literal than that. 

But he has you now. He wants you, and he wants to wake up with you like this every day now. 

He wanted to watch as you slowly woke up, see first hand how beautiful you look first thing in the morning after fully relaxing all night. He wanted to share his bed with you every night, share his house with you every day, and become as important to you in your life as you’d become to his. 

He wanted to start and end each day with you, feel the way you squeezed him so tight whenever he’s buried inside of you, watch how you become even prettier each time you fall apart for him, and he wanted to watch you blossom into a happier, confident and more carefree version of yourself that was so unlike the one he’d met what felt like months ago. 

Because even though he’d fallen in love with that version of you too, he was head over heels for the one currently shaking in his arms and coming on his cock. 

You buried your face in his arm as your body trembled against his, and Bucky wasn’t far behind you as he filled you up just like how he did last night. 

He huffed out a laugh when you turned in his arms and cuddled up against his warm chest, and he pulled you close as he caught his breath. “I think we need a shower first,” he said, propping his chin on the top of your head. “Then I’ll take you to town and we’ll get you some new clothes and whatever else you need.”

You hummed, placing your hands flat against his chest. “And condoms?” you teased, making him laugh again. 

“Yes, and condoms,”

It took you and Bucky another two hours to pull yourselves together, detach yourselves from one another, get ready and go into town. 

He didn’t really know where to take you since he’d never gone out shopping with a woman solely in mind, but he did know that the part of town with all the shops attached together along the street was a good place to start. 

A pharmacy was across the street from where he parked his truck, and the first store he saw on the right side of the street was a clothing store, so he guided you into that one. 

“I don’t need much,” you quickly said as you and he walked through the doors, one of his arms wrapped around your waist as he let you lead. “Just, like… maybe a new bra? The one I’m wearing might rip before we even make it home. And maybe a couple pairs of underwear? And a couple shirts, and a pair of jeans.”

Bucky held back his laugh as he looked down at you with a lifted brow. You were wearing his jeans that were held up by a belt he had to poke a new hole into since the tightest one still didn’t keep the jeans up on your hips, and they were baggy at the bottom. You were also wearing one of his shirts and a jacket, both of which looked huge on you since none of his clothing would ever fit you, and yet you thought you just needed a single pair of jeans and some shirts?

“I think you need a bit more than that, sweetheart,” Bucky said, giving your hip a gentle squeeze. “You can pick out some outfits you like and some jackets too, so you can have options.”

You winced, shaking your head as you stopped just in front of a table stacked with different sized jeans. “I don’t want to spend all your money,”

Bucky actually did laugh at that, and he leaned down to press a kiss to your temple, right on your healing wound that no longer needed a band aid on it. “We’ve been over this. I won’t be breaking the bank from buying eggs every month, and I won’t break it by buying you more than one pair of jeans either,”

“That’s different. Eggs are food and you need food-”

“And you need clothes to wear that don’t make you trip every time you walk. Though I do find you very hot in my clothes,” he said, smirking when he saw you shrink a bit at his words. “I can afford to buy you things you need too, like clothes and hair products that don’t smell like pine and whiskey and… whatever else you might need.”

You bit down on your lip, looking down at the various different shades of blue jeans in front of you. Your hand reached out and ran along ones that were close to the same shade you were wearing right now, but in your actual size, then you looked up at him. “Okay,” you relented, giving him a sheepish smile. “Thank you.”

Bucky smiled back, leaning down to press a quick kiss to your lips before pulling back and nodding towards the back of the store where the shoes were. “Pick out some new sneakers and boots too,”

After that, you became less shy and appeared to be feeling less guilty about having him spend money on you, even though he assured you that he had more than enough to cover anything you might need. 

You’d picked out three pairs of jeans, a couple shorts, eight shirts, five sets of pyjamas, a new jacket, sneakers and boots, and you had to look away when the total came up on the register, but Bucky simply swiped his card before taking your hand and the two bags and pulling you along. 

You looked at the various choices of underwear, but you felt a little self conscious for some reason, and he offered letting you go into the store just up the street that was full of just bras and underwear by yourself with his card so you could get an update on your size and pick out some stuff without him hovering, and you agreed. 

Just before you left the store, you stopped when you saw the display for the jewellery. There were rings varying from engagement rings to ones you’d wear around the house, some bracelets and some necklaces, and you paused when you caught sight of a silver necklace with a charm of a tree on it. 

Before you could look at it for too long, you tried to pull away and tug him with you towards the exit, but Bucky stayed still, tugging you back to him. “You can look at these, sweetheart, it’s fine,” he said gently, guiding you back over to the display case. 

You gave him a grateful smile as you stepped towards it again, standing just in front of it. “Just a look,” you agreed, your eyes going back to that same necklace with the tree charm. You smiled a bit bigger as he came up to stand behind you, wrapping one arm around your middle as he leaned down and rested his chin on your shoulder. “This is pretty. Reminds me of your place since it’s surrounded by trees.”

Bucky hummed in agreement, his hand splaying along your lower stomach. “That’s true. It is pretty too,” he said, “Maybe you should add some accessories to all these new outfits you got-”

But before he could finish his offer, you turned your head and tensed up in his hold, your body going rigid against his. He turned his head instantly, looking in the direction you were before you pulled away and grabbed his hand. “We should go get that Plan B,” you said, surprising him with the sudden change of subject, but he didn’t resist as you pulled him with you towards the exit. “The sooner you use it, the more effective it is, right?”

“Yeah, I think so,” Bucky said back, looking over his shoulder in another attempt to see what had set you off like that, but he only saw the backside of an older woman further in the store, then he couldn’t see anything as the door closed behind him. He turned to you, noticing the way you didn’t meet his eyes as you looked across the street at the pharmacy. He frowned as he hesitantly took your hand in his, and you thankfully didn’t pull away, instead lacing your fingers with his. “Everything okay?”

That made you look over at him, and your worried expression softened just a bit as you nodded, squeezing his hand. “Yes,” you answered, “Just realized we had sex twice in the last twelve hours, and I don’t know if that will impact the pill at all. And as much as I strongly believe you’d make some really cute kids, being a mother right now is not high on my list of priorities.”

Bucky laughed at that and nodded in agreement, guiding you with him as he walked across the street once it was safe to do so. “Yeah, as much as I want to be a dad someday, I’m also not in a rush,” he said, pulling open the door to the pharmacy and holding it open for you. 

After buying both a Plan B pill and a twenty four pack box of condoms, Bucky took the pharmacy bag from you and led you back across the street where his truck is. “You can head to that store down there and pick out some stuff,” he said, opening the backseat door and putting the bags inside. He turned to you and handed you his card, giving you a smug smile. “Get whatever you need. Maybe something pretty for me too,” he added, loving the way you got all flustered whenever he said things like that to you despite him finding out for himself that you have a dirty side to you as well. “You can just tap it, but if it doesn’t work, the code is 1977.”

You pressed your lips together at that, taking the card from him, “I can’t believe you trust me with that. What if I were to run off with your card and steal all your money?”

Bucky shrugged, shutting the truck door and locking it afterwards. “Guess I’ll just have to give all the stuff in my backseat to the next girl who gets lost in the woods and scares away my dinner,” he said back, and you glared up at him before grabbing his shirt and pulling him down into a firm kiss. 

“I’ll be back soon,” you said against his mouth, and he grinned, kissing you again. 

“Take your time,” he said back, “I’m in no rush.” 

He watched as you turned and made your way down the street, and he waited until you entered the store before pushing himself away from where he was leaning against his truck, and he walked back into the store you and he were in only ten minutes ago. 

He forgot about the woman or whatever you’d seen that made you leave the store so quickly before, his eyes locked onto the display case with the necklace you were eyeing inside it. 

Bucky stopped an employee as she was walking by and asked if he could see the necklace, and she all too happily unlocked the side of it and pulled it out for him. “It’s been a while since I’ve seen you around town, James,” the woman said, and he looked up at her when she placed the necklace on top of the case. 

He kind of recognized her from when he lived closer to town, and he was sure he’d talked to her a couple times at one point if she knew his name. “Oh, yeah,” he said, reaching for the dainty silver chain and picking it up. “I don’t go shopping very often, especially not around here, no offense,” he added, but she just waved him off. “Just needed to grab some stuff for my… girlfriend.” he finished, unsure if he should be calling you that since you and he hadn’t actually talked about what you are yet.

“Yeah, I saw you with her when you first came in. She’s really pretty, seems sweet too,” she smiled, looking down at the necklace in his palm. 

“She’s so fucking sweet,” Bucky agreed, forgetting to use his manners for a second as he gave her an embarrassed laugh. “Sorry, I meant… she’s way too sweet for me. But I think I’ll keep her around anyway.”

The woman laughed and waved him off again, then nodded at the necklace. “Well this is a great way to ensure she’ll stick around,” she teased, “It’s a beautiful necklace.”

Bucky nodded in agreement, dangling the chain from his fingers as he looked at it for a few more seconds. “I’m gonna surprise her with it,” he said, setting it down as he reached into the back pocket of his jeans and pulled out his wallet. 

“Perfect,” the woman said, reaching back into the case and pulling out the box the necklace had been placed in before. Once it was secured in the box, she nodded for him to follow her to the register. “She’s one lucky girl you got there, James.” she added as she took the cash he’d handed to her. 

Bucky smiled at that, sliding the box into his jacket pocket. “Pretty sure I’m the lucky one,” he said back, giving her a kind nod before telling her to keep the change as he left the store to go back to his truck and wait for you.

You were in the bedroom, changing into one of the new outfits you’d got today while Bucky was in the kitchen, sipping on the coffee he’d picked up on the way home. 

He stripped himself of his jacket, draping it over the back of one of the chairs as he opened the fridge and looked inside to see what he felt like making for dinner. The windows were open, letting the chilled evening air fill the space of the living room and kitchen and create a comfortable temperature throughout the house. 

Just as Bucky took a step towards the open fridge to pull out the chicken he decided he wanted to cook, the sound of the bedroom door opening made him pause, and he looked over at the hallway just as you stepped out. 

You were wearing a pair of your new jeans that were a baby blue shade and fit you perfectly, and a white fitted top, and on your feet were the new pair of sneakers you’d picked out that were pristine and clean compared to your old, dirty ones. 

The outfit was simple, and yet to Bucky you looked hot, especially when he let himself think about what was hiding under those clothes. He let the fridge door close as he stepped away from it, letting out a low whistle as he moved towards you. “Damn,” he said, making you laugh as you met him halfway. “You look good, sweetheart. Real fucking good.”

You smiled up at him, draping your arms around his shoulders at the same time his own wrapped around your waist, and he pulled your body against his. Before you could say anything, he leaned down and kissed you, making you sigh against his lips as you kissed him back. 

Your fingers tangled in his hair as you pulled back just a bit, smiling against his mouth, “Just wait until you see what I picked out when you weren’t with me,” you said against his lips. 

Bucky groaned, already prepared to forget all about dinner and just take you to bed now, but just as he grabbed your hips and turned you so he could walk you right back down that hallway and into the bedroom, the sound of the front door opening made him stop. 

“Oh,” he heard the sound of his sister’s voice, and he groaned against your mouth again, pulling away from you. He looked over and watched as she shut the door behind her, crossing her arms over her chest. “Well. This is a surprise. Hello.”

You pulled back even more, looking over at her with wide eyes. “Hi,” you said, giving her a kind but confused smile before looking up at Bucky. 

He gave you a tight smile, dropping his arms to his sides. “That’s Becca, my sister,” he told you, and you looked over at her again with a bigger smile. 

“Oh,” you breathed, “I didn’t know Bucky had a sister. Hi.”

Becca laughed, looking between you and Bucky with equally confused eyes. “Hi,” she said back, “That’s okay. I didn’t know he had a girlfriend either.”

Bucky winced, closing his eyes as you let out a sound of shock. “No, we’re… well, I guess we kind of are? Maybe? Probably?” you said, looking over at him again for help, and Bucky just propped his hands on his hips. 

“You staying for dinner, Becs?” he asked, “I’m making chicken parm.”

Becca lit up at that, and she shrugged out of her jacket, tossing it aside onto the couch. “Oh, well, I couldn’t say no to that,” she said, striding over to you. “It gives me time to get to know your kind of, maybe girlfriend.”

She wrapped her hand around your wrist, and Bucky instantly noticed the way you jumped a bit at the contact. He’d been the only person to touch you since you ran away from home, so to have someone you didn’t know grab you like that was probably very alarming for you, even if Becca’s intentions were nothing but good. 

Bucky stepped forward, gently pulling your arm free and guiding you over to the couch. “Here, sweetheart, why don’t you sit with Becca and talk while I get started on dinner?” he said quickly, looking over his shoulder and noticing that the confused expression was once again on his sister’s face. 

“Okay,” you agreed slowly, sitting down on the couch he’d put you on that very first night. You looked up at him, and you must’ve been able to see the concern in his eyes, because you gave his hand a soft squeeze. “You’ll let me know if I can help?” you asked, and Bucky smiled and nodded. 

“Of course,” he said, leaning down and kissing the side of your head. He turned back to Becca, then wrapped his arms around her in a hug, finally properly greeting her as he muttered, “She’s been through a lot. I’ll tell you later, okay?”

Becca nodded, not understanding fully but agreeing anyway as she returned the hug before pulling away and walking over to you. He watched her sit down next to you, and he smiled at the way you already seemed to have calmed back down and were smiling at his sister again. 

He let himself watch for a few more seconds before he walked back over to the fridge to get started on dinner, the sound of you laughing at something Becca said filling the space that had been quiet for far too long.

“Sorry for interrupting earlier,” Becca said as she leaned back in the chair, her plate empty like yours and Bucky’s were. “If I had known my brother finally landed himself a girl, I would’ve knocked or something. I usually come by twice a month since Bucky grows the best tasting tomatoes ever, and I steal them from him.”

You smiled at her as Bucky scratched the back of his head, but the smug grin on his face told you both that he wasn’t embarrassed at the interruption at all. “It’s okay,” you said, wiping your hands on a piece of paper towel. “I’m really happy you came over. I was curious when I’d get to meet Bucky’s family.”

Becca perked up at that, looking over at him. “Is that so? Well, Buck, you need to bring her over to mom’s place and let her experience how good her cooking is,” she said, her gaze returning to you. “Our mother is a natural cook, and she’s probably one of the best cooks in the world, if I do say so myself.”

You smiled at that, nodding, “I’d love to meet her one day,” you said, and Bucky felt his heart clench in his chest. He wanted to take you to meet his mother, too, which is something he never thought he’d do with anyone any time soon. 

He began gathering the dishes, but you quickly stood up and waved him off. “Bucky, leave it. I’ll clean up,” you said, but he shook his head. 

“It’s alright, baby, I-”

“Bucky, you cooked, let me clean, okay?” you cut him off, making him pause, and he heard the snort from Becca at the interaction before he set his plate back down. 

“Alright. Fine,” he said, stepping away from the table. 

“Thank you,” you said, already beginning to gather the plates and utensils. “Go give your sister your tomatoes and talk for a bit. I’ll clean up the kitchen.”

Bucky smiled at that, trying to not show his sister how gone he already was for you as he gestured for her to get up. “Yes, ma’am,” he said, reaching for his jacket and pulling it over his shoulders. Becca gave him a teasing look, then cackled as he gently shoved her towards the door, but he stopped when he was close to you. He leaned in and kissed your cheek, watching how you instantly smiled. “Thanks, sweetheart.”

You smiled bigger, then shooed him away. 

Outside, Bucky caught up with Becca, who was already rounding the house to his garden. He wasn’t sure how to start the conversation he knew he was about to have with her, so he just said the first thing that was on his mind, “Thank you for being so nice to her,” 

Becca shrugged, bending down in front of the tomato plants. “She’s a nice girl herself,” she said, beginning to pick at the ripe ones. 

“Yeah, she is,” Bucky agreed, moving to kneel down next to her. 

“She must be special if you’re giving her things like that necklace you have in that jacket pocket,” she said casually, and Bucky paused. 

He looked down at his jacket, then back at her with narrowed eyes. “How did you-” but the look she gave him had him shutting up, because of course she somehow managed to snoop around in his things. She had been sitting on the chair he’d draped this jacket over, and he had no doubt she’d managed a peak at it while he’d been distracted by you. “Yeah. She is special,” he said, and she nodded, “How much did she tell you? About what happened?”

Becca shrugged, handing him the tomatoes before she started picking at the other plant. “Not too much. She just said that my brother helped her out of a really dark place and saved her, and how she wants to be able to spend the rest of her life making up for it,”

Bucky’s heart skipped at that, and he suddenly felt the urge to turn around, go back inside and take you into his arms. He blew out a soft breath, nodding, “Yeah, that’s part of it. She ran away from home, an abusive home, and she would’ve died if she didn’t find me that day. I took her home and let her stay until she felt like she was ready to be on her own again, but…”

Becca paused and looked up at him, “But you fell in love with her already, didn’t you?” she said, not a single trace of judgement or pity in her tone. Bucky nodded slowly, and she tilted her head. “And you didn’t want her to go, because you didn’t want to be alone again.”

Bucky sighed, rubbing at his face. “Is that selfish?”

“She stayed, didn’t she?” Becca shrugged, “You didn’t force her to stay here, did you?”

“No,” he quickly answered, “Of course not. I was prepared to watch her walk right back out of my life if that was what she wanted to do, but… she wanted to stay.”

Becca stood up, making Bucky look up at her from his knelt position. “Then I see nothing selfish about that,” she said, and somehow those words made him feel ten times better about everything, because he had been worried he’d been keeping you from living your life, giving you a place to live in the middle of nowhere when you could be somewhere more lively. 

But you wanted to be here. With him. 

Bucky stood up too, giving her a small smile. “Thanks, Becs,”

She smiled back, beginning to walk back to her car so she could put the tomatoes in the basket she has in her backseat. As they passed by the kitchen window, Bucky looked over and watched you as you washed the dishes, looking relaxed and comfortable and safe inside his home. 

Becca nudged his arm with her elbow, making him tear his eyes off you. “I know she said you saved her, and quite literally at that,” she started, a genuine smile taking over her face. “But I’m pretty sure she saved you too. From a lonely life here all by yourself, with only your hand to keep you company.”

Bucky scoffed out a laugh at that, nudging her right back. “You’re the worst,” he said, but he knew the first part of her statement was true. He believes you saved him just as much as he saved you. 

“You love me,” she said, opening her car door and grabbing the basket. “I’ll get outta your hair soon so you two can get back to mauling each other.”

The sound of loud knocking at twelve in the morning woke both you and Bucky up, your body jumping against his under the sheets. 

It had been just over two weeks since that trip into town, and you and Bucky had been living in pure bliss. He’d ordered you a phone he planned to pick up in town soon, and you’d started to look for jobs on his laptop he rarely used, and you both discussed getting new forms of ID for you since you’d left all of your previous when you ran away. 

On your nightstand was the necklace with the tree charm he’d bought you two weeks ago, and had given you a week ago, and you only take it off when you go to sleep. The reaction he’d gotten when he gave it to you was priceless, and you started crying right then and there, and when you told him that no one had ever gotten you anything before, he almost started crying too. 

You and he had only gone to bed an hour ago before the knocking had woken you up, and Bucky let out a groan as he kept one arm around your waist and rolled onto his side a bit, reaching for his phone. “Who the hell knocks on someone’s door at…” he squinted at the harsh brightness from his phone screen. “Twelve eighteen in the morning?” he grunted, setting his phone aside again. 

But you were already half asleep again, cuddling up against his side. You were wearing one of his shirts and a pair of panties to bed, the new sets of pyjamas in the dresser drawer being used as lounge wear instead of your sleep attire - something he secretly loved since he’d been very vocal about how good you look in his clothes right from the very start. 

“Ignore it,” you muttered, nuzzling your face against his chest. “They’ll probably go away soon.”

Bucky grunted, too tired to care at that point as well as he leaned back on the pillow. He was almost back to sleep when the sound of knocking jolted you both awake once again, and he cursed under his breath. “Stay here, sweetheart,” he muttered, sitting up in the bed and pushing the sheets off his body. 

You hummed, propping your head on your palm as you looked up at him with tired eyes, and Bucky wanted to quickly find out what the person at his door wanted so you and he could go back to sleep. 

He pulled on a pair of sweats, deciding that answering the door in just his boxers was probably not the best idea, before pulling open the bedroom door and making his way through the house. 

Whoever is at his door started knocking more consistently, and rather obnoxiously, and Bucky gritted his teeth. He forced himself to calm down as he peered through the window next to the door, pulling the curtain back to see who it was. 

It was a man he’d never seen before, and a woman who looked kind of familiar, but Bucky couldn’t place her anywhere specific. He wasn’t even sure if he’s ever seen her, but something about her was familiar, he just didn’t know what it was. 

He let go of the curtain and stepped back, unlocking the door and pulling it open with a neutral expression on his face. “Yeah?” he asked, bracing one hand on the door frame while keeping his other one on the door knob in case he needed to slam it in their faces really quickly. “Can I help you?”

The man lowered his hand, his eyes widening a bit in surprise as if he was expecting a much warmer greeting from someone who’d just been woken up at midnight. “Uh, yeah. I hope you can,” he said, moving to stand back beside the woman. “We’re looking for our daughter. She ran away from home a few weeks ago, and we can’t find her anywhere.”

The woman piped up with a fake sadness in her voice that was almost comical if Bucky hadn’t instantly picked up on what the man just said. “We’ve looked everywhere, and she still hasn’t turned up. We’re just worried sick about her,”

Bucky straightened up at that, his eyes flickering between the two before he shrugged causally and shook his head. “No, I haven’t seen her,” he said, and the man narrowed his eyes. 

“You don’t even know what she looks like,” he pointed out, and Bucky narrowed his eyes right back, then realized that if these were in fact your parents, he might be coming off a little too protective and guarded for them to believe him when he says he hasn’t seen you. 

“That’s true,” Bucky said, softening his gaze as he lowered his shoulders he didn’t realize had raised almost to his ears. “But I haven’t had anyone come by in months. Just my sister, so again, I don’t think I’ve seen her.”

The woman lifted a photo up and all but shoved it in his face, making Bucky reel back a bit. “This is her. It’s a little old, maybe two or three years ago, but it’s the best one we have of her,” she said, and Bucky held back a grunt as he took his hand off the door frame and plucked the photo from her. 

This was the best photo they have of you? Just one glance at the picture, Bucky could tell it definitely is you, but definitely isn’t from two or three years ago. You looked like a teenager in this photo, not twenty three or twenty four like you’d be if it were from two or three years ago. 

It looked like an old yearbook photo, maybe from your second year of high school. What pissed him off even more though, was the obvious black eye you had in the photo. It was faded a bit, like maybe you’d gotten it just a few days before the picture was taken, but still. The proof that you’d been putting up with this for years was staring right back at him with younger features, and even more innocent eyes. 

The photo was old, not only in regards to your age, but also physically. The edges were worn and the picture itself was dirty, like it had been sitting in an untouched drawer for years before someone picked it up again. It was given the same treatment you’d been given. 

Bucky pursed his lips instead of locking his jaw, and he handed the photo back to the woman. “Yeah, no, sorry. I haven’t seen her,” he said, beginning to close the door when the sound of the floorboard in his hallway creaked, and Bucky stepped in the line of sight of the hall just as your dad tried to peer over his shoulder at the sound. 

He flared his nose, his shoulders lifting slightly. “Does someone else live with you?” he asked, “Maybe they’ve seen her-”

“No,” Bucky said, standing firm when your dad tried to take a step into his house, and he found it very easy to lie to these people, especially after everything he knew they did to you. “No one else is here. That was just my cat, who will try to escape the longer I keep this door open. So, if you’ll excuse me.”

Your dad tensed up even more, visibly growing angrier by the minute, but so was Bucky. Before either of them could say anything else, your mom stepped in. “Of course,” she said, pulling on your dad’s arm to tug him away. “Thank you for your time. We’re sorry for coming by so late. Have a good night.” 

Bucky didn’t say anything. He simply stayed where he was and watched them get into their car, and he waited until the tail lights had disappeared beyond the trees before he shut and locked the door. 

When he turned, he saw you peeking your head out of the doorway of the bedroom, and you looked just as terrified as you did the day he met you. Bucky quickly walked over to you and tried to pull you into his arms, but you placed your hands on his chest, keeping a sliver of distance between you and him. 

“That was- they were- my… my-” you stuttered, clearly having heard that whole interaction. 

“Shh, hey. I know. I know, sweetheart,” he said, his hands gently grasping your upper arms. “It’s okay. They’re gone, okay? They don’t know that you’re here, I promise. They’re gone.”

You were shaking as you nodded your head, and you finally let him pull you into his arms, your face pressing up against his chest. You melted against him, and he felt the warm wetness of your tears against his skin, making him hold you a bit tighter. “I saw her,” you whispered, clinging onto him. “My mom. At the store a couple weeks ago when we went into town to get some clothes and the-the Plan B. I saw her, right before we left.”

Bucky tensed up at that, because that was where he knew your mom from. He’d only been able to catch a glimpse of her while you tugged him out of the store, but it was enough for him to remember what she looked like, and how scared you’d suddenly become that day. “Jesus, baby,” he muttered, cradling the back of your head with one hand as his other ran up and down your back. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

You cried quietly, shrugging. “I didn’t want it to be true. I didn’t want to bring attention to myself or risk her seeing me and taking me back there and-”

“Okay, it’s okay,” Bucky cut you off gently, turning his head and kissing your temple. He could feel the way you were starting to get worked up, and that was the last thing he wanted right now, for you to be back in that place mentally. “It’s okay. You’re okay, sweetheart. You’re not gonna go back there, okay? You’re home, baby. Here with me. You’re safe.”

You looked up at him with wet eyes, and he had to hold himself back from going after your parents and giving them both the same treatment they’d given you. “Okay,” you whispered, then wrapped your arms around his shoulders, holding onto him tightly. 

Bucky picked you up and carried you back to bed, and he cuddled under the covers with you once more, letting you lay half of your body on top of his. He hoped you could feel the protective way he held you, and hoped you knew it was his way of telling you that he meant every word he said. 

You are home now, here with him. He’d never let anyone hurt you or take you back to that horrible place you’d come from. He’d never let you go through that kind of pain ever again, and he’d never let your parents near you ever again.

A week had passed since that night your parents came by, and it was still unsettling how they managed to stumble upon the very house you were now living in, even though Bucky had told them he’d never seen you. 

You’d come very close to being found by them that night, and you’d been a little on edge ever since, so Bucky suggested postponing the trip to town to get you a new phone and to get new copies of your ID, because it was obvious your parents had been snooping around the area in search of you. 

It was nice out, the last few weeks with good weather dwindling down before the fall chill took over and it became Winter. 

You were sitting under the canopy attached to the front of his house, your legs pulled up as you sat on the swinging seat he’d built with his best friend the second year he was up here after realizing he needed more places to sit on outside in case he had company. 

Open on your lap was a book, one of the many ones he had tucked away on the shelf in his living room he shamefully hadn’t touched in a very long time. It was okay though, because you’d become quite fond of the collection, and you were putting it to way better use than he ever had. 

He was cleaning up the area around the front of his house, putting things away to prepare for the harsher weather that would be coming his way in the following weeks. He was currently making sure he was stocked up on firewood so he’d be able to keep the house warm, and he was in the middle of chopping up what remained of a tree that had fallen over during the last bad storm when he heard the sound of tires on the dirt path that led to his house. 

Bucky paused, briefly wondering if he forgot that his sister was coming by again, but then he saw the same car your parents were in that night a week ago, and he stood up straight. “Sweetheart,” he called out to you, keeping his eyes on the car as it came closer to the house, still partially hidden by the trees. “Go inside for a minute, okay?”

He heard the way you put your foot down to stop the chair from swinging. “What? Why?” you asked, but then he heard your sharp intake of breath, and you quickly got up and headed inside, closing the heavy door behind you. 

Bucky rolled his shoulders just as the car drove up and stopped beside his truck, and this time he didn’t even try to be nice. “I told you, I haven’t seen your daughter,” he said to your dad when he got out of the car, your mother following his lead afterwards. 

Your dad flashed him a so obviously fake smile as he strode over to him, but paused abruptly when he saw the axe Bucky was still holding in his hand. It didn’t scare him away fully though as he nodded towards the house. “I thought you said no one else lived with you?” he asked, and Bucky froze for a second, worried that they’d actually been able to see you before he quickly told you to go inside. 

But then he saw how your dad nodded towards the swinging chair that was still swaying as if someone had just been sitting on it and had gotten up in a hurry. Bucky sighed deeply, before shrugging, “Must be the wind,” he said, “It’s pretty strong out here.”

Your dad’s smile faltered, and he took another small step forward. “And that book?” he asked, nodding towards the copy of Wuthering Heights you’d been reading before abandoning your spot on the swing to retreat inside. “I’m sorry, but you don’t seem like the type to read that kind of book.”

He was trying to get him to admit to having seen you, and possibly to hiding you inside, but Bucky was done at this point. Your parents had a lot of nerve to, not only treat you like shit, but to come onto his property twice and try to snoop around as if they had any right at all to do so. 

“I’m sorry too,” Bucky said, keeping his grip loose on the handle of the axe as he took a few steps of his own. “That you think you have any business coming onto another man’s property and sticking your noses into other people’s shit. You must think you’re royalty or something if you think you can do whatever the fuck you want, say whatever you want, when you’re on my land.”

Your mom visibly shrunk at that, and she stepped away instantly as your dad swallowed nervously. “Well-well, I didn’t mean anything by it, I swear. I was just-”

“Accusing me of something? Trying to stick your nose in my business?” Bucky cut him off, coming to stand only a few feet away from your dad. “You’ve got a lot of fucking nerve, man. Clearly no one has ever taught your old ass a lesson, huh? That you can’t just walk up to people and talk out of your ass and not expect to have it handed to you in return.”

Your dad took a staggering step back, his eyes wide as he pushed your mother around the front of the car towards the passenger side door. “You’re crazy. All I did was come by to ask-”

“You know exactly what you came by to do,” Bucky said, getting right up in your dad’s face. “It won’t work here. Now get the fuck off my property before I make you regret ever coming here in the first place.”

Your dad looked terrified, and Bucky held back a laugh at the sight as he watched him quickly turn around and pull open the door. “You’re fucking insane,” he spat, getting into the car. “I know my daughter is in there. I know it. But you can have that little brat. You hear me?” he yelled, looking towards the house again. “He can have you! Because we don’t want your spoiled ass anymore! You’re gonna wish you never left, because no one else will ever want to put up with you or want you! Good luck with that little-”

The sound of the blade of the axe hitting the left headlight of the car shut him up, and your dad scrambled to start the car just as Bucky swung the axe back and took out the other headlight. 

“You’re insane!” your dad scoffed, backing the car up rather carelessly and nearly hitting a tree. 

“I’m glad you figured that out,” Bucky called back, watching the way the car sped down the dirt path and disappeared beyond the trees again. 

He turned, planning to go find you in the house and promise you that they were gone for good, but then he saw you standing next to the swing, a small smile on your relieved face. 

Bucky dropped the axe instantly, meeting you halfway when you started to walk quickly towards him. He picked you up and held you against his body as your legs wrapped around his waist, and he kissed you back as soon as your lips touched his. “I can’t believe you did that to my dad’s car,” you said against his mouth, your fingers threading through his hair. “He’s spent more money on that thing than on anything else.”

He grunted against your lips as he held you tight, his forehead pressing against yours. “I was gonna do a lot worse,” he said, walking over to the swing and sitting down on it, making you sit on his lap. “They’re not gonna hurt you anymore. I promise you that. I have you now. I’m not gonna let anything happen to you ever again.”

You were in a much better mood this time than you were the night your parents swung by at midnight, and he was so happy you hadn’t slipped back into that mindset they’d put you in before. You didn’t look scared or worried or anxious, but happy. Genuinely happy and relieved. “I know,” you whispered, cupping his face in your soft hands. “I love you, Bucky.” you said, and he felt his heart spike at that, and the biggest smile formed on his face. 

“I love you,” he said back instantly, watching as an equally big smile formed on your face. “Damn it, I wanted to say it first.”

You laughed, pulling him into another kiss. “You did everything for me, and you saved my life,” you said against his mouth, “It’s only fair that I got to say it first.” 

Bucky scoffed, shaking his head, “There’s nothing fair about that, but I’ll let you have it anyway,” he said, and you smiled even bigger before pulling him closer and kissing him once again.

He loved you when it was easy, when you fit neatly around whatever version of him he wanted to be that month. He loved you most when he thought you might finally leave for good.

This time had ended outside your apartment building in the cold, with his hands shoved in his pockets and his mouth set in that familiar wounded line.

“You’re overreacting.”

You had laughed then, short and ugly, because what else was there to do? He had said that after the girl at the tailgate, after the texts you were never meant to see, after the weekend he disappeared and came back with a hickey low on his neck like you were stupid enough to miss it. Overreacting. As if heartbreak could be dramatic if it happened often enough.

You had told him it was over. He had said, “You always say that.”

And maybe he’d had reason to believe you didn’t mean it.

But for once, you had.

Now it was Thursday, classes were dragging, your chest still felt hollow in a way that made you angry at yourself, and Wanda was done entertaining your grief like it was some kind of sacred ritual.

“Move on,” she said bluntly. “Please. For the love of God. Hook up with somebody hot and emotionally unavailable. Cleanse the palate.”

Across from her, Natasha snorted into her drink. “That is terrible advice.”

“It is excellent advice,” Wanda shot back. “She doesn’t need another relationship. She needs a distraction. Preferably one with shoulders.”

You rolled your eyes, but the corner of your mouth twitched despite yourself. “A distraction.”

“Yes,” Wanda said, leaning in like she was about to share state secrets. “A campus-approved, low-commitment, high-orgasm distraction.”

Natasha grinned. “I can think of one.”

The three of you went quiet in unison.

Because, of course, you all thought of the same person.

James Buchanan Barnes.

Bucky to everyone on campus, because nobody who looked like that should be allowed to have a name that sharp and old-fashioned without softening it somehow.

Star forward. Campus legend. Hockey team golden boy with a mouth made for smirking and a reputation so thoroughly established it barely needed repeating. He was good for a good time, not a long time. Everybody knew it. Girls came and went from his apartment above the pizza place off campus. He flirted shamelessly, skated like violence could be beautiful, and had the kind of face that made poor decisions feel reasonable.

In other words, exactly the kind of man you should avoid.

Which was probably why you heard yourself ask, “You think he’d go for it?”

Wanda barked out a laugh. “Honey. Bucky Barnes would go for a girl in a potato sack if she looked at him the right way.”

Natasha pointed at you. “That’s not the point. The point is, would you go for it?”

You thought of Ryan’s smug certainty. You thought of the ache in your chest every time you caught yourself reaching for your phone. You thought of how badly you wanted to stop feeling chosen only in parts.

And then you thought of Bucky’s hands.

You'd never touched them before, but you'd seen them often enough. Wrapped around a hockey stick. Curled around a beer bottle at parties. Tugging the collar of his shirt after games, skin flushed, hair damp at the nape of his neck, looking like sin in broad fluorescent light.

You took a sip of your coffee and said, with all the false casualness you could muster, “Maybe I’m due for a bad decision.”

Wanda raised her plastic cup. “That’s my girl.”

It turned out you didn’t even have to go looking for him.

Friday night, the campus bar was packed shoulder to shoulder after the home game, half the crowd still in school colors and buzzing from the win. Somebody had dragged a table close to the jukebox and was trying to lead a chant that kept dissolving into drunken laughter. The whole place smelled like beer, fried food, and melted snow from the boots piled by the door.

You were there because Wanda refused to let you rot in your apartment and because there was something deeply satisfying about putting on a tiny black top and jeans that made your ex regret ever making you feel ordinary.

You were three drinks in, warm and pleasantly untethered, when the hockey team came in.

The room shifted when they did. Not dramatically. Just enough for you to feel it.

Loud voices, easy confidence, the kind of collective attention only comes from being young and adored in a college town. You saw Sam Wilson first, laughing at something Steve Rogers said. Then Steve himself, all broad shoulders and impossible earnestness. And then Bucky, a step behind them, black henley stretched over his chest, hair pushed back from his forehead, mouth already tipped in a half-smile like the whole world had been built mostly for his amusement.

He saw you before you could look away.

You knew it because that smile changed.

Not bigger. Not brighter. Just different. Sharper. Interested.

“Uh-oh,” Wanda murmured into your ear.

You kept your gaze on your drink. “What?”

“Don’t what me. Barnes just clocked you from across the room.”

You made yourself glance up again, because pretending you hadn’t noticed would’ve been ridiculous. Bucky was still looking at you. He lifted his chin in greeting, casual and self-assured.

Your pulse jumped.

“Maybe he’s looking at you,” you said weakly.

Wanda laughed in your face.

Three minutes later, he was in front of you.

“Hey,” he said, like the two of you had been halfway through a conversation already.

Up close, he was worse. Better. Bigger than he looked on the ice somehow, shoulders filling the narrow space between tables, jaw shadowed with the start of a beard. He smelled like cold air and clean soap and whatever cologne made your brain go embarrassingly blank for a second.

“Hey,” you managed.

His eyes flicked over you once, not leering, just appreciative enough to make heat rise under your skin. “Did you come to celebrate me?”

You let out a laugh before you could stop yourself. “I don’t know. Did you do anything worth celebrating?”

He pressed a hand to his chest in mock offense. “Scored the game-winner.”

“Mm. Seems pretty self-serving to throw yourself a party.”

“Who said it was for me?” His mouth tilted. “Could be for the people who like watching.”

That should have been corny. On anyone else, it might have been. On him, it landed low in your stomach and settled there, warm and dangerous.

You could feel Wanda watching you with barely concealed delight.

Bucky leaned an elbow against the high-top. “You want another drink?”

You should have said no. You knew you should have said no if only to preserve some illusion of self-control.

Instead you said, “Depends.”

“On?”

“What you think this is.”

His brows lifted slightly, and for the first time since he walked over, the air between you changed. Less playful. More direct.

He looked at you for a beat too long, like he was recalculating.

Then he smiled again, slower this time. “That depends on what you want it to be.”

You appreciated that. More than you expected to.

No pretense. No fake gentleness. No lying about intentions because he thought it was what you wanted to hear. Everybody knew what Bucky Barnes was. You had practically come here counting on it.

You set your empty glass on the table. “I’m not looking for anything serious.”

The smile didn’t leave his face, but something in his eyes sharpened with interest. “Good.”

“I mean it.”

“So do I.”

You folded your arms, trying not to look too affected by how easy this was. “I just got out of something messy.”

“Then messy’s the last thing I’m offering.”

That surprised you enough to make you laugh softly. “That your line?”

“No.” He tipped his head. “My line would be something a lot smoother than that.”

It was ridiculous how much you liked him right then.

Maybe because he was exactly what everyone said he was, and exactly not. Cocky, yes. Beautiful, undeniably. But he wasn’t slimy or pushy like you would assume. He seemed to understand that there was a difference between wanting and taking. A difference you had become intimately aware of over the last two years.

“So what are you offering?” you asked.

His gaze dropped to your mouth, then lifted again. “One night,” he said. “No pressure. No promises. You wake up tomorrow and decide it was a bad idea, I’ll survive.”

Your heart kicked once against your ribs.

Maybe it was reckless. Maybe it was textbook rebound behavior. Maybe Wanda would never let you hear the end of it.

But maybe, for once, you wanted something simple. Something honest. Something that began and ended exactly where both people agreed it would.

You held his gaze. “One night.”

Bucky smiled like he knew exactly how temporary promises like that could be.

“Come on, then,” he said.

His apartment was warmer than you expected.

Not physically, though that too. The heat clicked in old pipes and the whole place smelled faintly like cedar and laundry detergent and whatever takeout he’d eaten before the game. But also in the way it looked lived in. There was a hockey bag by the door, textbooks stacked on the kitchen table, a coffee mug in the sink, a framed photo of him with the team on a shelf near the couch. You had expected something more anonymous, more designed for quick exits and easy forgetting. Instead it felt distinctly his.

Which was unfortunate, because humanizing him made this harder.

You dropped your coat over the back of a chair while he locked the door behind you. Suddenly the silence felt loud after the bar.

“You want water?” he asked.

The question was so normal it almost undid you. “Sure.”

He handed you a glass from the kitchen, then leaned against the counter while you drank, studying you with a patience that felt at odds with every rumor you’d heard about him.

“What?” you asked.

“Nothing.” His gaze moved slowly over your face. “Just making sure you’re here because you want to be.”

The warmth that spread through you had nothing to do with vodka.

“I’m here because I want to be.”

He nodded once, like that mattered. Like he wasn’t going to touch you until he was certain.

Then he set his own glass down and crossed the room.

His hand came up slowly, giving you every chance to step back, and settled warm against the side of your neck. He kissed you like he’d been thinking about it longer than the last forty-five minutes. Not rushed. Not greedy. Just deep and deliberate, his mouth parting over yours until your fingers tightened around the edge of the counter and every good intention you’d brought with you dissolved.

You kissed him back harder, because if this was going to happen, you wanted it to happen all the way.

He made a soft sound in the back of his throat when you opened for him, one hand sliding to your waist, the other bracing on the counter beside you. His body was all heat and weight, big enough to make you feel crowded in a way that thrilled instead of trapped. When his tongue brushed yours, you made a helpless little noise and he smiled against your mouth like he’d won something.

“Oh, you like that,” he murmured.

You dragged him back in by the front of his shirt instead of answering.

That got a real laugh out of him, low and delighted, and then the kiss turned rougher. Hungrier. He backed you along the counter until your hip knocked the corner and you hissed, but he only used it to lift you onto it, stepping between your knees like it was the most natural thing in the world.

“Tell me if you want me to stop,” he said against your mouth.

“I won’t.”

His eyes flicked up to yours. “Tell me anyway.”

You swallowed. “I’ll tell you.”

“Good girl.”

The words hit you low and immediate.

He must have seen it happen, because his smile turned devastating. Then he kissed down your neck, open-mouthed and unhurried, and you forgot every defensive speech you’d rehearsed on the walk over.

He took his time with you. That was the thing you hadn’t expected. A man with Bucky’s reputation should have been selfish. Efficient. Skilled, maybe, but with the clear sense that he was working toward his own satisfaction.

Instead he kissed you until you were breathless and touched you like he had nowhere else to be. He slipped your top up with a pause for permission that made your chest ache for reasons you didn’t want to examine. He looked at your body like he liked what he saw, no hesitation, no false flattery. When he got you out of your bra, his hands were reverent enough to be dangerous.

“Jesus,” he said softly, like he hadn’t meant to say it out loud.

You laughed, shy despite yourself. “What?”

“Nothing.” He kissed the top of one breast, then the other, eyes half-lidded as he looked up at you. “Just think maybe I’m the luckiest guy on campus.”

“That definitely is a line.”

“Maybe,” he said, mouth at your skin, “but it’s also true.”

By the time he dropped to his knees in front of you, your head was spinning.

“Bucky—”

“Let me.”

It wasn’t really a request. More like a promise. His hands slid up your thighs, easing them wider, and when he pressed a kiss to the inside of one knee you nearly came off the counter from that alone.

He looked up at you before he pushed your jeans down, giving you one more chance. You nodded, breathless, and he smiled into your skin.

Then he put his mouth on you, and any remaining thought left your body.

He was obscenely good at it. He paid attention. He learned you almost immediately, like your reactions were clues he intended to solve with his whole body. His tongue moved with slow, merciless precision, and every time your hands tightened in his hair he groaned like this was for him too.

It became impossible to stay quiet.

Your head knocked lightly against the cabinet when you tipped back, one hand over your mouth because the sounds coming out of you felt mortifyingly loud in his kitchen. Bucky only took your wrist and pulled it away.

“No,” he murmured, not stopping. “Let me hear you.”

When you came, it hit you so fast you barely had time to realize you were falling. His hands held you steady through it, his mouth never letting up until your thighs shook around his shoulders and you were gasping his name like a prayer.

He stood only long enough to kiss you with the taste of yourself still on his mouth, which should not have been as hot as it was. You made a desperate sound and reached for his belt.

His laugh was rougher now. “Yeah?”

“Shut up.”

“Not even a little embarrassed.” He helped you with his zipper. “I like that.”

You liked that he was already hard. You liked the sharp inhale he took when you got your hand around him. You liked the way his forehead dropped briefly to yours, composure slipping for the first time that night.

“Bedroom,” he muttered.

You hooked your legs around his waist. “Efficient.”

He grinned, wide and boyish and filthy all at once. “You’re gonna kill me.”

“Get used to it.”

He did, over the next several weeks, in every possible sense.

The first time really was only one night. You left in the morning wearing yesterday’s clothes and his mouth on yours in the doorway, and it should have ended there.

Instead he texted you that night.

Had fun. Hope you’re hydrating.

You stared at the message for a full minute before replying.

Is this your aftercare routine with all your hookups?

His answer came almost immediately.

Only the ones I’m worried might have died in my bed.

You snorted, then typed back before you could overthink it.

Still alive. Barely.

Good, he sent. Would’ve hated the paperwork.

You told yourself it was harmless.

Then you saw him a week later at a party thrown by one of the baseball guys, and he kissed you in a dark hallway with one hand under your skirt and the other braced above your head while music pounded through the walls. You told yourself that was harmless too, right up until he dragged his mouth down your throat and said, “Come home with me.”

You did.

After that, it became a pattern.

Sometimes one of you texted first. Sometimes neither of you had to.

You’d see him across campus outside the athletic center, hair damp from practice, duffel slung over one shoulder, and he’d look at you in that way of his that made your stomach flip over. You’d run into him at the library and end up making out with him in the stairwell between floors, your textbooks forgotten on the landing while his hand slid up under your sweater. He’d show up at a party and somehow always end up with you pinned to a bathroom door, your fingers in his hair, his mouth moving over yours like he knew exactly how much pressure it took to make you dizzy.

Every time, afterward, you would gather whatever shreds of your self-control remained and say, “This is the last time.”

And every time, Bucky would look at you with a laugh hovering at the corner of his mouth.

“The last time, huh?”

“I mean it.”

“Sure you do.”

The third time, he said it while lying shirtless beside you, one hand spread warm over your stomach like he belonged there. Your body was still humming from the way he’d made you come on his tongue first and then again with his fingers buried in you while he kissed you deep enough to swallow every sound.

You turned to glare at him, though it was hard to maintain any righteous indignation while completely naked in his bed.

“Why do you look so smug?”

“Because you say it every time.” He brushed his thumb over your skin absently. “And then you come back.”

“You come back too.”

“Yeah,” he said easily. “I never said I was leaving.”

That lodged somewhere under your ribs and stayed there.

Because that was the dangerous part. It wasn’t the sex, even though that was increasingly difficult to think about without losing your train of thought in public. It was everything around it. The way Bucky started feeling less like a mistake and more like a habit. The way you learned his class schedule without meaning to. The way he’d tug you between his knees in his kitchen while waiting for the microwave to finish and kiss you until your lips tingled. The way he’d murmur, “Stay,” after sex in a voice too sleepy to be performative, and sometimes you actually would.

He wasn’t supposed to be considerate.

He definitely wasn’t supposed to be funny.

And he absolutely was not supposed to listen.

But he did.

He remembered you hated mushrooms and picked them off the pizza before handing you a slice. He noticed when you were quiet and didn’t pry, just pulled you against his chest and let you breathe until the tension eased from your shoulders. He asked how your exam went and actually waited for the answer. Once, when you mentioned in passing that your apartment radiator never worked right, he showed up two days later with a space heater balanced on one hip and said, “Don’t make a thing out of it. I got it from Steve’s mom.”

You had looked at him like he’d started speaking another language.

“What?”

“This isn’t very down for a good time, not a long time of you.”

Bucky had shrugged, but his ears went a little pink. “Maybe I contain multitudes.”

He kissed you until you forgot how to make sense of him.

The hookups got better, which honestly felt unfair.

They should have plateaued. Should have become routine. Instead every time with him felt like he’d found some new way to undo you.

There was the night he came over after an away game, still riding the high of a win, and fucked you against your apartment door so slowly you could barely stand it, one arm wrapped around your waist to keep you upright while he told you exactly how pretty you looked taking him. There was the Sunday afternoon at his place when you ended up on your knees between his spread thighs, your cheek brushing the worn denim of his jeans as you took his cock into your mouth inch by inch. He had gone so still, fingers tight in your hair, like he was one wrong movement away from losing it. When you looked up at him, he made a wrecked sound and said your name like it had surprised him.

You liked making him come apart.

Maybe too much.

After that, he had pulled you into his lap in the shower, water steaming around both of you while he kissed you with lazy, reverent hunger. By the time he slid a hand between your legs, you were already shaking.

“There she is,” he murmured when your forehead fell to his shoulder. “Been waiting for that.”

You should not have liked hearing him sound proud of you. But you did. God, you did.

Afterward, with your legs tangled and his damp hair curling at the ends, you had said your line again because you didn’t know what else to do with the softness of that moment.

“This has to be the last time.”

Bucky propped himself up on one elbow. “You gotta stop saying that when I’m inside you five minutes earlier.”

You shoved at his chest, laughing despite the sting in your own voice. “Shut up.”

He caught your wrist and kissed your palm. “You’re the one who keeps lying.”

“I’m not lying.”

His expression changed then, something quieter moving under the teasing. “Maybe not on purpose.”

You went still.

That was the first time you saw it clearly, the thing you’d been avoiding by pretending this was all body and no consequence. It was there in the way he was looking at you. Not just wanting. Not just amused. Something heavier. Something that made your pulse turn strange.

So you did what you had become very good at doing.

You pulled away first.

“You’re reading too much into it,” you said lightly, climbing out of bed to gather your clothes.

Bucky didn’t argue. Which somehow made it worse.

By March, your friends had stopped pretending this was a rebound.

“You’re basically dating,” Wanda informed you one afternoon as you sat cross-legged on her bed avoiding your reading assignment.

“We are absolutely not.”

“You spend four nights a week at his apartment.”

“That is not a relationship. That is convenience.”

Natasha looked up from her laptop with the exhausted patience of someone dealing with a child who refused to identify basic shapes. “He walked you to class in the rain yesterday.”

“Because he was already going that way.”

“He does not have class in the humanities building.”

You opened your mouth, then shut it again.

Wanda pointed dramatically. “Exactly.”

You flopped back against her pillows. “I just got out of something awful. I cannot do another relationship right now. I can barely think about next semester, let alone commitment.”

Natasha’s voice softened. “Nobody’s saying you have to.”

“He’s not either,” Wanda added. “At least, not that I’ve seen. But you can’t keep acting like this means nothing.”

You stared at the ceiling.

The truth was, you didn’t know what it meant. You only knew that when Bucky texted, your day changed shape around it. That you had started watching his games because you liked seeing him lit up by something he loved. That sometimes, in the half-second before you remembered to protect yourself, you caught yourself imagining what it would be like if this were allowed to become something real.

And that terrified you.

Because real things could hurt you.

Casual things were supposed to end clean. That had been the whole point.

Then came the fundraiser.

The hockey team and a bunch of other campus organizations had teamed up to raise money for a local youth center, and the bar just off campus—The Lantern, with its warped stage and sticky floors and surprisingly decent fries—was hosting the whole thing. There were raffle baskets and signed jerseys and a local band playing covers in the corner while students crammed too close to the tables and shouted over each other.

You went because Wanda had helped organize half of it and because staying home would have felt suspiciously like avoidance.

Bucky was there because where else would he be? The star athlete in a henley that hugged his chest like a prayer answered by someone with questionable morals. He was working the room with the rest of the team, taking pictures, charming donors, signing a little girl’s hockey stick with solemn concentration while her mother beamed.

It should not have done things to you, watching him kneel to the kid’s level and ask what position she played.

“This is sick,” Wanda muttered beside you. “He’s hot and good with children? Honestly offensive.”

“Please stop talking.”

“Can’t. I’m a truth teller.”

Bucky looked up from across the room and saw you.

His whole face changed.

There it was again, that awful, lovely thing where the crowd seemed to blur at the edges. He handed the hockey stick back, said something to the girl that made her grin, and then he was moving toward you with that easy confidence that made everybody part for him without realizing they were doing it.

“You came,” he said.

“You invited half the campus.”

“Still.” He smiled. “You came.”

You hated how much warmth those two words carried.

“You clean up nice, Barnes.”

He leaned down just enough for only you to hear. “You trying to flirt with me in public?”

Your stomach dipped. “Wouldn’t dream of it.”

“Liar.”

Wanda made a very pointed noise. “I’m going to go do literally anything else.”

She disappeared before you could glare at her.

Bucky took your drink from your hand, had a sip like it belonged to him, then offered it back. “Come upstairs with me for a second.”

“The Lantern has upstairs?”

“Office. Quiet hallway. Couple of storage rooms. Endless possibilities.”

You should have said no.

Instead, because apparently you had no survival instinct where he was concerned, you followed him through the back corridor past the restrooms and stacked kegs to a narrow stairwell. He only got as far as the landing before turning and pulling you into him.

You hit his chest with a breathless laugh. “Subtle.”

“You came in wearing that skirt. You don’t get to talk to me about subtle.”

“I’ve worn this skirt before.”

“Yeah,” he said, mouth brushing yours, “and I thought about it for three days.”

The kiss stole the rest of your reply.

He backed you gently against the wall, hands finding your waist with the ease of someone who had done this often enough to know exactly how your body fit against his. Below you, the bar pulsed with music and voices muffled by floorboards. Up here it was dim and private, the kind of hidden space college towns are built on.

He kissed like he meant it and that was the problem. He kissed like he’d spent weeks learning the shape of your mouth and still hadn’t gotten over it.

When he pulled back, you were breathing hard.

“Come home with me tonight,” he said.

You blinked. “I probably was.”

He smiled a little, but it didn’t quite reach his eyes. “No. I mean come home with me. Stay. Stop pretending this is casual when it isn’t.”

Everything in you went still.

The music downstairs shifted to another song. Someone laughed too loudly. Somewhere nearby, a door banged shut.

You stared at him. “Bucky.”

He rubbed his thumb along your hip. “You don’t have to freak out.”

“I’m not freaking out.”

“You are a little.”

“Because you’re doing exactly what we said we wouldn’t do.”

His jaw flexed. “Did we? Or did you?”

You opened your mouth, then closed it again.

His voice stayed gentle, which almost made it worse. “I liked this being easy. I did. But it stopped being just sex for me a while ago, and I think you know that.”

Your pulse thudded in your throat.

“Don’t do that,” you said quietly.

“Do what?”

“Make me answer something I’m not ready to answer.”

He looked at you for a long moment. “I’m not asking you for forever.”

“That’s how it starts.”

The words came out sharper than you meant them to. You saw him feel the edge of them and hated yourself immediately.

You dragged in a breath. “I just got out of something awful. I am not doing this again. I’m not throwing myself into another thing because it feels good right now.”

His hands loosened at your waist but didn’t leave. “You think that’s all this is to me?”

“No,” you said, because lying would’ve been insulting. “That’s what scares me.”

He was quiet.

Then, very softly, “You think I’d hurt you like that?”

The answer should have been no. It was no. You knew it.

But fear doesn’t care what you know. Fear only cares that once, you were stupid enough to trust somebody who treated your heart like a revolving door, and now even kindness felt like a setup.

“It doesn’t matter,” you said. “I can’t do this.”

His face closed off in small, careful increments. Not anger. That would have been easier. Just hurt, managed so tightly it made your chest ache.

“Can’t,” he repeated. “Or won’t?”

You stepped out of his hold.

“Please don’t make this ugly.”

He laughed once without humor. “I’m not the one making it ugly.”

That stung because it was true.

You folded your arms, protecting yourself from the look on his face. “We had an agreement.”

“Yeah,” he said. “And then we kept breaking it.”

“Because of sex, Bucky.”

“That is not why you know my coffee order.”

You went silent.

His eyes searched your face like maybe, even now, he could find something to hold onto. “Tell me I’m wrong.”

You couldn’t.

And because you couldn’t, because the truth sat living and dangerous between you, you did the only thing you knew how to do.

You fled.

Not literally at first. You walked downstairs with as much dignity as you could gather, heart beating too hard, skin still warm from his hands. The noise of the bar hit you all at once. Wanda saw your face and stood immediately.

“What happened?”

You picked up your drink from the table with fingers you hoped didn’t shake. “Nothing. I’m done here.”

Her eyes narrowed. “Done as in leaving or done as in arson?”

Before you could answer, the band onstage wrapped up their song and the lead singer leaned into the mic. “Anybody got requests?”

You looked up.

Bucky had followed you down. He was standing near the back hallway entrance now, one hand braced on the edge of a chair, watching you with a stunned, wounded kind of focus that made it hard to breathe.

He was gorgeous even when miserable. Which felt deeply inconvenient.

Maybe it was petty. Maybe it was defensive. Maybe it was the only way you knew to grab control of a moment that had started slipping out of your hands the second he asked you for something real.

You crossed to the stage before you could think better of it.

The singer bent down to hear you over the crowd. You leaned up, said the title into his ear, and his eyebrows shot up in delighted recognition.

“Oh, that’s evil,” he said, grinning.

“Can you play it?”

“For you?” He glanced toward the band. “Absolutely.”

The opening chords rang out less than thirty seconds later.

Wanda made a strangled noise of disbelief as the first unmistakable bars of “U + Ur Hand” cut through the room.

You turned.

Bucky was still by the hallway, one hand over his mouth now, eyes wide with something that looked dangerously close to laughter despite everything. Around him, Sam doubled over against Steve’s shoulder. Steve himself looked like he was trying very hard not to smile. Half the team had clocked what was happening and were reacting with open, delighted horror.

You should have felt guilty.

Instead, to your own surprise, you felt a slow curl of satisfaction.

Because if he was going to push, if he was going to try to crack open the part of you that still felt raw and healing and unready, then he was going to have to accept that you had claws.

You lifted your glass to him in a tiny salute.

His eyes met yours across the crowd.

Then, finally, his mouth curved. The worst part was he didn't look smug or mocking. He looked impressed, like he couldn’t quite believe you had the nerve, and liked you more for it.

That, more than anything, nearly made you falter.

Wanda grabbed your arm. “You insane, beautiful menace. We are leaving before this becomes a public incident.”

You let her pull you toward the door, Natasha right behind you already laughing. The cold hit your cheeks the second you stepped outside, music still thumping through the walls behind you.

“Holy shit,” Natasha said. “You requested that song?”

“I had to make sure he knew what he was going home with.”

Wanda stopped under the awning and looked at you with wild admiration. “I have never been prouder of anyone in my life.”

You laughed, breath fogging in the air, though there was a crack running straight through the center of the sound.

Because underneath the adrenaline and the petty thrill and the relief of escape, you could still feel the shape of him on that stairwell. The way he’d asked not for forever, but for honesty. The way you had refused him because honesty might have undone you.

“You okay?” Natasha asked more quietly.

You shoved your hands into your coat pockets. “Ask me tomorrow.”

Wanda linked arms with you and started tugging you down the sidewalk. “Fine. Tonight we’re getting fries and overanalyzing every detail.”

Behind you, the song swelled louder as someone opened the bar door, a burst of laughter spilling out into the night. You didn’t turn around.

Keep your drink, just give me the money It's just you and your hand tonight

Inside The Lantern, Bucky Barnes stayed exactly where you left him for a few seconds longer, staring at the door like it might open again.

Sam clapped him hard on the shoulder. “Man.”

Steve, traitor that he was, looked openly entertained. “You gotta admit, that was pretty good.”

Bucky let out a breath through his nose, eyes still on the door, and finally laughed.

Not because it didn’t sting. It did. He could still feel the ghost of her stepping out of his hands upstairs, all fear and stubborn pride and defenses stacked so high he hadn’t known how to climb them without making everything worse.

But Jesus.

Requesting that song before walking out on him in front of half the athletic department?

That was brutal.

That was funny.

That was so completely, infuriatingly her.

He tipped his head back, scrubbing a hand over his jaw. “I’m gonna get that girl.”

Sam barked a laugh. “After that? You still think you got a shot?”

Bucky looked back toward the door, toward the empty space where she had been, and smiled slowly.

“Oh, yeah,” he said. “Now I know I want one.”

And if getting her meant patience, then he’d be patient. If it meant proving he could be more than a rebound, more than a warm body and a safe kind of almost, then he’d do that too. If it meant standing outside every barricade she put up until she was ready to let him in, he could do that. He’d spent months learning the difference between the lines she said and the things she meant. He could wait a little longer.

Because she had walked out tonight with her friends and her chin up and that wicked, bright spark in her eyes, and instead of making him give up, it had only made him admire her more.

The band played on. His teammates kept laughing. Somewhere out in the cold, the girl who had sworn over and over that each time was the last time was pretending she hadn’t just blown apart whatever was left of casual between them.

Bucky took a pull from the beer somebody handed him and grinned into the bottle.

He was in trouble.

The best kind.

And for the first time in his life, James Buchanan Barnes was more than willing to do whatever it took for the long game.

Bucky walked to the far end of the courtyard, where a thin strip of grass struggled to grow against the base of the wall. He leaned against the cold concrete, tipping his head back to catch the weak autumn sun. He closed his eyes, trying to block out the sight of the barbed wire, the sound of the guards' boots on the pavement, the low murmur of the other prisoners.

"The fresh air is not the same as it once was, is it, my friend?"

Bucky didn't open his eyes, just let out a low, humourless chuckle. The gravelly texture of Pavel's voice was a constant in the disorienting quiet; he was beginning to understand why Charlie leaned on him so much. "Doesn't taste like Brooklyn, that's for damn sure." He finally cracked an eye open, taking in Pavel's battered form leaning against the wall beside him. The fresh scabs on his knuckles were a dark, violent red against his pale skin. "Still giving 'em hell in the pits?"

Pavel gave a slight, weary shrug, the gesture speaking volumes about the kind of hell it was. "It passes the time. Better than the alternative." His gaze, sharp and assessing even in his exhaustion, scanned Bucky from head to toe. "They worked you over good."

"You could say that." Bucky pushed off the wall, rolling his shoulders in a futile attempt to loosen the tight, coiled feeling that the injections had left behind. It felt like every muscle was wound too tight, ready to snap. "Feels like I got run over by a tank, then they backed it up and did it again for good measure. What about the others? Ray? Sammy?" He'd started to learn the names and faces of the others, slowly. It was a scrap of humanity to cling to, in this rotten place.

A shadow crossed Pavel's face at the mention of them, though. "Kline is holding. Barely. They took Ray back down this morning. He was... not good." He didn't elaborate. He didn't need to. The image of Ray's vacant eyes and trembling hands was seared into Bucky's memory.

Bucky grimaced as he scanned the handful of other prisoners shuffling in the yard. He checked the corners. The shadows. He looked for the smaller frame, the messy chestnut hair that always caught the light. He looked until he ran out of places to look.

But she wasn't there.

A cold knot, different from the ache in his muscles, formed in his gut. He turned back to Pavel, keeping his voice low. "Where's Charlie?"

Pavel's expression didn't change, but something in his posture shifted—subtle, guarded. He glanced toward the nearest guard, standing stiff-backed near the gate, then back to Bucky. His voice dropped lower, barely more than a breath beneath the brittle air.

"Brandt took her yesterday," he said. "Right after you left."

Bucky went very still. "And?"

"And, nothing." Pavel rubbed a thumb over his scuffed knuckles, his gaze fixed on the dirt. "She did not return to the ward, last night. I asked. But, no one says anything."

Bucky's fingers curled into his palms, the tension in his body ratcheting tighter. He didn't like that. Didn't like it at all. He'd barely begun to understand the rhythm of this place, but he knew one thing for certain—when someone disappeared, they didn't always come back. And if they did, they definitely weren't the same.

He turned his face back to the sun, but the warmth no longer reached him. His mind replayed the moment from the night before—Charlie's trembling breath, the way she'd flinched from his touch, the fear in her eyes when she whispered her brother's name. He hadn't pushed her. He'd stayed. He'd given her space. And now, she was gone.

He forced his voice to remain even. "Where would they take her?"

Pavel didn't answer right away. He studied Bucky for a long moment, then gave a slow, reluctant shake of his head. "Not where we go," he said, finally. "I—"

"—Ruhig!"

The guard's sharp command cut through the cold air, like a whip crack. Bucky didn't need a translation; based on the tone, it probably meant something along the lines of 'shut the hell up'. He fell silent immediately, his jaw snapping shut with an audible click. He kept his gaze fixed on the distant wall, on the jagged line of the pine trees beyond the wire, forcing his expression into a mask of weary indifference.

Pavel did the same, his face becoming a blank slate, all trace of their conspiratorial exchange wiped clean. The guard watched them for another long moment, his hand resting on the butt of the energy weapon holstered at his hip, before turning his attention back to the other shuffling prisoners.

But Bucky's mind raced. Where the hell had they taken her? And why?

He glanced at Pavel out of the corner of his eye. The Czech's face was a study in grim resignation. He'd seen this before. He knew the patterns of this place, the unspoken rules of its particular brand of hell. And whatever he knew about Charlie's disappearance, it wasn't good.

The remaining minutes of their yard time dragged. The weak sun did nothing to warm the chill that had settled deep in Bucky's bones. Every shuffle of a foot, every distant clang of a metal door, made his heart jump. He kept expecting to see her, to see that flash of chestnut hair, to see her small, determined frame walking back into the ward.

But she never appeared.

Finally, a whistle blew, sharp and shrill. Yard time was over. The guards began herding the prisoners back toward the heavy doors that led into the bowels of the base.

The march back to the ward was a grim, silent procession. The brief taste of fresh air and weak sunlight had only made the return to the sterile, humming confines of Block C feel more suffocating. The heavy door clanged shut behind them, the bolt sliding home with a sound of finality that echoed in the tense quiet.

Bucky's eyes immediately went to the cot beside his. It was still empty. The chain lay on the floor, untouched.

His own cot felt more like a cage than ever. He sat on the edge of it, the worn springs groaning under his weight. The electric hum of the facility seemed to amplify in the silence, vibrating through the concrete floor and into his bones. He could still feel the ghost of the injections, a strange, lingering buzz beneath his skin. But that physical discomfort was nothing compared to the dread sitting heavy in his stomach, and the bite of the manacle refastened around his wrist.

He looked over at Pavel, who had settled onto his own cot with a weary sigh. The Czech met his gaze for a brief moment, his expression unreadable, before he lay back and closed his eyes, effectively shutting down any further conversation.

Bucky was left alone with his thoughts, which circled relentlessly around one thing: Charlie's empty cot. Not where we go. Not the labs. Not the pits. Somewhere else.

The hours crawled by. The ward was quieter than usual, the absence of her quiet presence a palpable void. The other prisoners kept to themselves, lost in their own private miseries. The only sounds were the low murmur of the guards outside the door, the occasional cough from one of the men, and the relentless, oppressive hum of the machinery.

Bucky lay on his back, staring up at the cracked, stained ceiling. He tried to sleep, to escape into unconsciousness, but it was useless. His mind wouldn't quiet.

The clatter of the door bolt sliding back was unusually loud in the hushed ward. Bucky's eyes snapped open, his body tensing automatically. It wasn't time for the evening meal. This was something else.

Dr. Brandt stood in the doorway, her auburn hair a severe slash of color against the drab grey walls. She held her clipboard like a shield, her gaze scanning the room before landing on him. Her face was professional, blank, but he thought he saw a flicker of something else in her eyes—nervous energy, perhaps, or the strain of long hours.

"Subject 24-BBJ," she said, her voice crisp. "With me."

The guard assigned to him moved forward, key in hand, to unfasten the manacle from his wrist. The cold metal fell away, leaving a raw, red band of skin. Bucky sat up slowly, his muscles protesting, every movement a reminder of the last twenty-four hours. He kept his face neutral, a blank slate, but his mind was racing. Was this about Charlie? Had something happened?

He followed Brandt out of the ward, the door closing behind them with its familiar, heavy finality. The corridor was empty, lit by the same unforgiving fluorescent lights.

Brandt didn't speak as she led him through the labyrinthine passages. The route was different this time, taking them deeper into the complex, away from the familiar examination rooms. The air grew colder, the hum of machinery louder, more intense. It was a sound that vibrated in his teeth.

Their footsteps echoed on the concrete floor, the only sound in the empty corridor. Bucky's unease grew with every step. He had to know. The not knowing was worse than whatever answer she could give him.

"Where is she?" he asked, his voice low, careful to keep any hint of accusation from his tone. He didn't look at Brandt directly, keeping his gaze straight ahead. "The girl. Charlotte. Where did they take her?"

Brandt didn't break stride, didn't even turn her head. For a long moment, he thought she wouldn't answer at all. Then, without looking at him, she spoke.

"Subject 17-CHL is in solitary confinement."

The words stopped him cold. Solitary confinement. Bucky's stride hitched for half a second before he forced himself to match her pace again. He knew what that meant. He'd heard stories, back in basic training, about what prolonged isolation could do to a man. To put a woman, already fragile from whatever Zola had been doing to her, in a hole by herself... His hands clenched into fists at his sides, the raw skin of his wrist stretching taut.

"For how long?" he asked, the question coming out rougher than he intended.

Brandt's pace slowed almost imperceptibly. She adjusted her grip on the clipboard, her knuckles white. "Forty-eight hours. It is a disciplinary measure." Her voice was clipped, professional, but there was a faint tremor beneath the clinical tone. She finally glanced at him, her gaze skittering away almost immediately. "Dr. Zola's orders. She was..." Brandt hesitated. "Uncooperative."

The corridor seemed to tilt around him. Uncooperative. It conjured images of Charlie's stubborn chin, the defiant set of her shoulders, even when she was trembling with fear. He could picture it too easily—her refusing to give Zola whatever he wanted, standing her ground in that quiet, furious way she had. Anger flared in his chest, so intense it stole his breath.

"She's just a girl," he growled. He couldn't help it. The image of her, small and alone in some dark, cold room, was unbearable.

This time, Brandt did stop. She turned to face him fully, her expression sharpening. The nervous energy he'd sensed earlier was gone, replaced by a brittle, defensive anger.

"You think I do not know that?" she hissed, her accent thickening, her fingers tightening around the clipboard until the knuckles turned white. "You think I enjoy this? That I choose this?"

Bucky didn't flinch. He held her gaze, his own steady, unreadable. He didn't trust her—how could he? She was one of them, after all. But there was something in her voice, in the way her eyes darted around as if afraid of being overheard, that told him she wasn't as indifferent as she pretended to be.

She exhaled sharply through her nose, shaking her head. "She is not just a girl," she muttered, almost to herself. "She is... complicated. Dangerous, in her own way. Zola does not tolerate resistance. Not from anyone. Not even her."

Bucky's jaw tightened. "She's not dangerous. She's trying to survive."

Brandt let out a short, bitter laugh. "So are we all, Sergeant Barnes." She turned abruptly, resuming her brisk pace down the corridor. "Come. You will not see her again tonight. Not until the sentence is served."

Bucky followed, his mind churning. Forty-eight hours.

That was a long time to spend in the dark, with nothing but your own ghosts.

He kept his hands loose at his sides, his expression carefully neutral. But inside, something shifted. It wasn't just anger at what they were doing to a girl. It was recognition. She was fighting back. In a place designed to strip you of everything, she had found a way to say no.

He didn't know what Zola had planned for him next. Didn't know what was waiting at the end of this corridor. But he knew one thing.

He needed her to hold the line.

Finally, Dr. Brandt stopped before a heavy, reinforced door marked with a series of complex symbols. She produced a keycard from her lab coat and swiped it through a reader. A light on the panel turned from red to green, and the door unlocked with a heavy thunk of withdrawing bolts.

She pushed it open, revealing a room that was unlike any he'd seen so far.

It was dominated by a vertical cylinder of thick, leaded glass, reinforced with bands of iron. It didn't look futuristic; it looked industrial. Brutal. A bank of fat ceramic insulators crowned the top, connected to heavy cables that ran across the floor like black veins. Inside the glass, coils of copper wire sat waiting.

Inside the chamber, Dr. Zola and Dr. Reinhardt were waiting. Zola stood before a complicated control console, his small form dwarfed by the machinery, his spectacles reflecting the flickering lights. Reinhardt was nearer the apparatus itself, adjusting a series of dials with his unnervingly precise hands. He was humming that same, tuneless melody.

Zola turned as they entered, a thin smile stretching his lips. "Ah. Sergeant Barnes. Right on time. Dr. Brandt, your assistance is no longer required. You may return to your duties."

Brandt gave a tight, jerky nod. She didn't look at Bucky again. She simply turned and left, the heavy vault door sealing shut behind her with a sound of terrible finality, leaving him alone with the two doctors and the humming machine.

"Please," Zola said, gesturing to the center of the chamber, where a metal chair, studded with electrodes and restraint clamps, sat bathed in the machine's eerie glow. "Take your seat. We are ready to begin the next phase."

The Girl From Graz

Time had become a formless, viscous thing. Without light, without sound, without the rhythm of meals or the distant murmur of other prisoners, it stretched and warped around her.

Was it night? Was it day?

Charlie had no way of knowing. The only certainty was the slow, measured sound of her own breathing and the occasional, terrifying skitter of something small and unseen in the far corner.

Her stomach was a hollow, aching pit. The single canteen of water was nearly empty, and she rationed it in tiny, careful sips, letting each drop sit on her parched tongue before swallowing. The cold from the concrete floor had seeped into her joints, a permanent ache that made movement agony. She had long ago given up on the metal chair, preferring the hard floor, curled into a tight ball in the corner farthest from the door.

She dozed in fitful, nightmare-riddled bursts. Visions flickered behind her closed eyelids, disjointed and chaotic. The falling man, screaming into the void. The star-spangled man on the stage, his smile a mask of pain. Bucky's face, pale and strained in the dim light of the ward. Her brother Leo, calling her name from a great distance.

She jolted awake, heart hammering. The darkness was absolute. A suffocating blanket that pressed against her eyes, her nose, her mouth.

She needed an anchor. Something to hold onto before the silence dissolved her completely.

Mama.

She squeezed her eyes shut, trying to summon the kitchen in Graz. The smell of yeast. The warmth of the oven. The way her mother hummed when she kneaded dough. It was a safety raft she had clung to a thousand times before.

But she was too weak. Her mental walls, usually so carefully maintained, were paper-thin from hunger and fear. As she reached for the memory, she slipped. The image of the warm kitchen wavered, distorted—and then vanished entirely.

She didn't mean to look. She didn't want to look. But the current caught her, dragging her down into the dark.

The darkness behind her eyelids swirled, coalescing not into a kitchen, but into a vast, muddy field under a leaden sky. Barbed wire. Endless rows of ragged, emaciated figures moving like ghosts. The stench hit her first—a putrid miasma of human waste, decay, and woodsmoke that was so sharp she gagged, her empty stomach convulsing.

And then she saw him.

Papa.

He was at the quarry at Mauthausen. She knew the place instantly by the granite—the terrible, unforgiving stone that had built half of Vienna. He was hauling a massive block up the Stairs of Death, his back bent at an impossible angle. His clothes weren't clothes anymore; they were filthy rags that clung to a skeletal frame. His face, once round and cheerful, was a death mask. Hollow eyes. sunken cheeks.

He stumbled. The stone wavered. A guard's baton came down on his shoulder with a crack she felt in her own bones.

He didn't cry out. He didn't have the breath for it. He absorbed the blow, his body shuddering, and heaved the stone forward another inch. The sheer, soul-crushing weight wasn't just physical. It was the weight of a nation that had turned on its own.

She tried to push further. Mama? Leo?

The vision fractured. A barracks, overcrowded, reeking of typhus and unwashed bodies. A pile of gold teeth on a table. A mountain of shoes—small shoes, children's shoes, women's heels—all of them grey with dust.

The stranger's eyes held her, trapping Charlie in that silent scream.

Then the ground shook.

The muddy field, the faces, the sky—they shattered as the floor beneath her bucked, a physical force that hit her knees and teeth and skull all at once.

Charlie gasped, snapping back to the cold concrete of her cell. It wasn't a memory; it was happening now. A low, resonant hum drilled up through the floor, a frequency so deep it made her teeth ache. The air in the cell grew heavy, charged with static.

It built slowly, a rising crescendo of power that made the darkness around her feel charged, electric. She could almost see it, a blue-white light blooming in her mind's eye, though the cell remained pitch black. It was coming from below. Deep below. From the heart of this terrible place.

Nausea buckled her knees, sudden and violent, nearly as strong as what her vision had brought on. Her head swam, the world tilting on its axis. And then, a flash—not a vision of the past, but a jolt of pure sensation from the present.

Pain. A scream, choked off before it could begin. A body arched against restraints, every muscle locked in agony. The taste of copper flooded her mouth. The scent of ozone and scorched flesh.

Bucky.

The connection was instantaneous and brutal. She felt the energy coursing through him, a foreign, violent power that was tearing him apart and remaking him cell by cell. It was a burning voltage in his veins, a pressure behind his eyes that threatened to shatter his skull. His thoughts were a frantic, animal scramble of survival, a single, repeating litany: breathe, hold on, don't scream, breathe—

—Charlie gasped, her forehead pressed against the cold concrete floor. The residual echo of his agony throbbed through her, a phantom pain in her own nerves, her own bones. Her heart hammered against her ribs, a frantic, trapped bird. She could still taste the ozone, the burnt flesh at the back of her throat.

The deep, resonant hum from below had faded, leaving behind a ringing silence that was worse than the noise. She knew that sound now. It was the same frequency that vibrated through the walls during Zola's more invasive procedures. It was the sound of the machine. The sound of the thing that was changing Bucky.

She had felt his defiance, the fierce, stubborn core of him that refused to break even as the energy tore through him. It was a raw, terrifying strength. And beneath it, a flicker of something else. A desperate, wordless call. Not for help. For recognition. For someone to know what was happening to him. For someone to witness it.

He knows I'm here. The realization was a cold knife in her gut. He might not understand how, he might not even believe it was real, but on some primal level, he had felt her presence in that moment of shared agony.

She pushed herself up, her body trembling with exhaustion and the lingering aftershocks of the shared pain. She leaned her back against the cold wall, drawing her knees up to her chest. She wrapped her arms around them, resting her forehead on her knees. The darkness was absolute, but she closed her eyes anyway.

She focused on that flicker of awareness, that fragile thread of connection. She couldn't reach him, not physically. She couldn't stop what they were doing to him. But she could be there, in the only way she knew how. She could bear witness.

Her breathing slowed, matching the faint, shallow rhythm she had felt from him in that single, excruciating moment. In. Out. Steady. She poured every ounce of her will into the thought, a silent message sent along that impossible, electric thread. You are not alone. It was a frail defense against the machinery and the men who wielded it, a whisper against a storm. But it was all she had to give.

The phantom pain in her own body began to recede, replaced by a deep, aching cold that had nothing to do with the temperature of the cell. It was the cold of dread, of helplessness. But beneath it, a new resolve hardened, fragile as ice. They were connected now, bound by something Zola could not measure or control.

She stayed like that for a long time, a silent witness in the dark, her consciousness holding the thread of his suffering, alone in the roaring, electric void.

DECEMBER 27, 2019 — WAKANDA — RÉA

I wake up feeling like I have lava coursing through my veins. I rolled over at some point during the night, and my back is against Bucky’s chest and his already-hard length is pressed against me.

“Mornin’,” he murmurs before he bends his head to the crook of my neck, pressing kisses into my skin.

“Good morning,” I reply, my voice breathy as the heat inside me grows.

He lightly scrapes his teeth over that spot, and a moan escapes me as my hips undulate against him. Suddenly, I still, realising that there’s no way I was quiet last night…and that we’re guests in the Wakandan palace.

“Are you alright?” Bucky asks, turning me to face him.

“I…yeah…I just…I didn’t think about it until just now but…we…and we’re here, and I…I know I wasn’t quiet,” I stammer, blushing.

He nods in understanding before he speaks again.

“T’Challa made some upgrades after Tony pretty much bragged about all the stuff F.R.I.D.A.Y. can do in the compound. Soundproofing was one of those things.”

He pauses, and when he continues, his tone is sensual, reigniting the fire inside me.

“Do you really think I’d ever let anyone hear you? I told you our first time together…I want the sounds you make to be just for me. That hasn’t changed…that isn’t going to change.”

I nod. “O-okay.”

His right hand cups my cheek, and his gaze searches mine before he kisses me. I respond immediately, my arms twining around his neck as I kiss him back. I nip his bottom lip then glide my tongue over the spot before I trail kisses over his chin and down his neck to his chest. I place a kiss over his heart, then move so that I’m on my knees with my forearms resting on the bed.

“Like this?” I ask.

In a flash, he sits up and moves so that he’s behind me. He leans over me, his vibranium hand on the bed beside my left one and his hips pressing against me.

“Are you already wet for me, doll?” he asks as he slowly trails his right hand up the inside of my thigh.

“Mmhmm. Yes.”

The ‘yes’ comes out as a moan as his hand settles between my legs.

“No, baby, you’re not wet…you’re soaked,” he groans right before he plunges two fingers into me. “God, you feel so good.”

I can’t stop the whimper that escapes me at his words.

“I-inside me. Please. I want you inside me.”

“Patience, d—”

“Don’t make me wait,” I desperately mewl. “Please, Bucky. Take me…I’m yours.”

He pulls his fingers from me then slams all the way into me, and I can’t stop the words that tumble from me as pleasure courses through me.

“Fuck, yes!”

I hear him growl in response, the sound wild and feral and so incredibly hot.

His hands grip my hips, and he starts to move. I push back against him with every thrust, eager for him to go deeper, harder, faster.

“M-more,” I gasp.

His right hand releases my hip, skimming up my spine before tangling in my hair. He pulls me up so that my back is pressed against his chest, then his hand glides back down my body, returning to my hip.

“Christ, you’re always so fucking responsive, always so eager for me,” he rasps, his lips against my ear. “I love knowing all I have to do is look at you a certain way and you’ll be wet and ready for my cock.”

More liquid heat floods my centre, and another whimper slips from me as I nod vigorously, wanting him to know I agree with him; wanting him to know he’s right.

“Fuck, doll, you just got even wetter…I’m not surprised, I know you love it when I talk to you like this.” He pauses, gently nipping my earlobe as he gives a particularly deep thrust. “I’m going to fuck you like this until your legs give out…then I’ll hold you up and keep fucking you until I’m finished, until I fill you up.”

“P-please,” I mewl.

“Oh, you want that? Hmm?”

I once again nod vigorously. “Yes. Sir.”

“No, Réa…just Bucky.”

He sucks on the sensitive spot behind my ear, and another whimper escapes me as my channel clenches around him. His words and his touch drive me wild. He’s unlocked something within me: some primeval desire to be claimed by him; to be marked as his…only his.

Giving into that feeling, I slide my left hand down my body to his, placing it palm-down on the back of the metal and lacing our fingers. Using our joined grasps, I glide his hand up my body—over the curve of my hip, up my abdomen, between my breasts—settling it so that his thumb and first two fingers curve around the base of my throat while his ring and pinky fingers rest on the right side of my collarbone.

‘Oh, gods,’ I think, my head falling back against his shoulder and a moan slipping from me at the feeling of his hand on my throat, the metal somehow still cool despite the heat of our bodies.

I run my fingertips over his hand and arm, feeling the ridges and seams of the plates, then rest my hand on his forearm, lightly holding on. I turn my head, silently asking for a kiss.

Bucky presses his lips to mine, his tongue sweeping into my mouth, his hand tightening ever-so-slightly on my throat. Another moan slips from me, the sound quiet yet needy as my core again clenches around him.

“That’s it, baby,” he whispers, his lips brushing mine. “You’re so close, I can feel it.” His right hand moves from my hip to between my thighs, one of his fingers circling my clit. “Give in to it…let go.”

I do, moaning his name as I let him push me over the edge, as I fall apart around him. He gentles his touch and slows his thrusts slightly, working me through my climax; once the aftershocks have faded, he returns to the hard and fast pace as his finger strums my clit at an almost impossible speed.

“G-gods, you f-feel…feel so g-g-good,” I pant. “Feel s-so good in-inside m-me…feel so g-good t-to-touching me.”

He lets out a carnal groan, crushing his lips back to mine, kissing me like he’s drowning and I’m oxygen. I glide my hand from his forearm to the back of his hand, pressing his fingers tighter around my throat. I moan into the kiss, and he again pulls back; I open my eyes and meet his.

“Are yo—”

“Yes, I am. Please,” I pant as I nod. “I w-want…I want you to. I…I want you t-to f-fuck me like y-you said…I want h-hard and fast…I j-just…I just want you…all of you. D-don’t hold back…show me that I’m yours. Please, Bucky…make me yours.”

At my words, he goes feral, moving harder and faster inside me. His finger still works my clit, his hand and arm holding me still as he circles the sensitive bud.

“Isihogo esingcwele, sana…Kristu, awazi ukuba ugqibelele kangakanani.”     (Holy hell, baby…Christ, you have no idea how perfect you are.)

“Bucky,” I mewl.

“Indlela ondithatha ngayo; indlela oncwina ngayo ngenxa yam; indlela oziva ngayo ngeenxa zonke kum; indlela olibiza ngayo igama lam….” He pauses. “Kodwa ingaphezulu koko…ngaphezu koku…. Yindlela ondithemba ngayo, nendlela ondithanda ngayo, kunye nendlela osoloko undifuna ngayo…ndisonke. Undibona ukuba ndingubani kwaye ndiyintoni, kwaye awubaleki…wena hlala nam; ngaphandle koloyiko—ngaphandle kokugweba—wena uhlale nam.”     (The way you take me; the way you moan for me; the way you feel around me; the way you say my name….   …   But it’s more than that…more than this…. It’s the way you trust me, and the way you love me, and the way you always want me…all of me. You see who and what I am, and you don’t run away…you stay with me; without fear—without judgment—you stay with me.)

The heady combination of his almost-brutal rhythm and the tender sweetness of his words sends me careening over the edge, throwing me into an astonishingly powerful release. I cry out his name as I peak, my channel contracting around him. This time, he doesn’t let up, pushing me through this orgasm and into another one.

True to his earlier words, he takes me like this until my legs give out, then—using the hands at my throat and between my legs—he holds me up as he chases his own release. Though I’m exhausted, my body still responds to him, my walls fluttering around him, grasping at his length.

“Nanko ke, doli; yiyo leyo. Ndinike enye ngaphezulu; yiza, ndiyazi ukuba usondele. Ndifuna ukuziva wena…. Ndiyayidinga, sana. Cum ngenxa yam.”     (There you go, doll; that’s it. Give me one more; come on, I know you’re close. I want to feel you…. I need it, baby. Cum for me.)

Several more thrusts is all it takes for me to hurtle over the precipice, and I feel him follow me into bliss, his hard, thick length pulsing inside me.

He releases his hold on my throat, skimming his vibranium hand over my body as his right arm bands around my waist. He moves so that we’re both lying on our left sides; after several moments, he helps me roll onto my back. He gives me a gentle kiss and once it ends, he touches his nose to mine and smiles before looking into my eyes.

“Awuyazi into ondenza yona,” he says. “Makhe ndikuxelele,” he adds after a quiet moment.     (You don’t know what you do to me.  …  Let me tell you.)

“Alright,” I sleepily reply.

“Undinika isibindi. Uyandipha amandla. Undiziseli uxolo, nokhuseleko, nokuzimela eziqhwitheleni ezingaphakathi kwam. Undinika uthando olungenamiqathango, olungagungqiyo. Undenza ndikholelwe ukuba ndifanele zonke ezo zinto…ukuba ndifanelwe ulonwabo.”     (You give me courage. You give me strength. You bring me peace, security, and refuge from the storms within me. You give me unconditional, unwavering love. You make me believe I deserve all those things…that I deserve happiness.)

He pauses, brushing my hair back from my forehead and gently cupping my face with his right hand.

“Undinceda ukuba ndibe ngoyena guqulelo lungcono kum, Réa.”     (You help me be the best version of myself, Réa.)

My eyes mist and before I can stop them, a few tears escape, trailing down my cheeks; Bucky brushes them away.

“You do the same for me,” I reply, knowing my love, gratitude, and appreciation are apparent in my tone.

“Ndiyakuthandana. Je t’aime. Я тебя люблю. Is grá liom tú. Te iubesc,” he replies. “Nope…still not enough.”     (I love you. I love you. I love you. I love you. I love you.)

I give a small, sleepy, joyful giggle.

“I gcónaí agus go deo,” I reply, right before I let out a yawn.     (Always and forever.)

“Go to sleep, sweetheart,” he says as he pulls me closer.

I close my eyes and, with a smile on my face, I do exactly that.

It was to be a small affair, but it did naught to stop the unsettled feeling in your stomach.

You gaze into the mirror, the shoulder-less black velvet hanging from your body, the bodice covered in little white pearls. There were no gloves, no veil. Just a dress, some jewellery and an up do so tight you suspected you’d regret it later

It is what you’d agreed to. No church, no large event and no white dress.

That is what came with marrying a mob boss.

You had been hinting that you wanted to be tied to him for months, he’d done nothing, he was content with how things were.

Until he wasn’t.

It started when a barista gave you a warm smile. His jaw had clenched, and remained that way until you were back in his penthouse.

He left hickeys on your neck that night, an attempt to mark you as only his.

Then it happened again, this time at a gala. A businessman had been talking to you as you’d sat alone at the bar.

He noticed. He always noticed. He ended up stalking over, strong, silent footsteps, and putting his arm possessively around your shoulders in a clear display.

You were his.

He didn’t blame you. He confessed that he was no different, after all he’d desired your attention from the moment he’d met you also.

The next day had been when you’d found the little velvet box on the bed, where he had been, with a note.

Wear this.

Inside had been the engagement ring. A gold band embedded with diamonds, with a larger diamond in the centre. A blatant display that you were someone’s.

There has been no proposal, no sweeping romantic gesture. Just a box and a ring in his place.

It had taken three months for him to quietly admit that there was going to be a wedding.

He’d apologised then. Telling you he couldn’t give you a big wedding with lots of family and friends, not someone in his position.

It had to be quiet, discreet. In the back of a church rather than at the altar.

The person presiding was a mobster, his former mentor - the closest he’d now had to a father. There was to only be the two of you, Sam and Steve.

You hear a tap on the door.

“Come in,” your voice is quiet, thick with nerves.

“Hey, we’ll be heading down in a few,” Sam entered, already tailored in his dark suit. His reflection in the mirror smiled. “Aren’t you a pretty picture?”

You scoff, and turn away from the mirror to face him.

“Thanks,” you brush down the skirt, lips twitching.

“Hey, hey,” he reached over, placing a hand on your arm. “It’s just a short ceremony, fifteen minutes tops. Then you and Bucky can make your escape to whatever exotic honeymoon resort he has planned.”

Sam chuckles as you roll your eyes at him.

“It’s not a resort, it’s a villa,” you say. “You really think he’d allow us to have our honeymoon in the public eye?”

“Good point,” he nods sagely. “I’m sure you both want this over with. You finally get some time alone without interruption.”

“It’s not about that,” you murmur. “He’s doing this so no one else can have me.”

“He loves you,” Sam supplied, tucking his hands into his pockets. “I know it seems like he's doing this just to keep other men away, but you know how he feels. He wouldn’t be doing this if he didn’t, he certainly never did with any other girl he’s been with.”

You sigh, acrylic nails tapping against each other.

“Let’s get this over with,” you step forward.

“Alright,” Sam offers his arm. “Sure you’re ready for this?”

“To marry a mob boss? No,” you shake your head. “But, I want to marry Bucky. I love him, Sam.”

Sam’s lips twitch. “You really have come into your own. You don’t roll over for him any more.”

“Sometimes he needs taming,” you shrug.

He laughs, throwing head back. “Yes, yes he does. I am glad he found you.”

“Even though you killed my ex?” You raise an eyebrow, amused.

“I did us all a favour with that,” his tone was dismissive. “No one misses that motherfucker.”

“Mm, true,” you smile then. “Thanks,” you nudge him with your shoulder. “I always give Bucky the credit, but you pulled the trigger that freed me. So, thanks.”

“Anytime, girl,” he pats the hand on his arm. “You know we’d all kill to keep you safe, and not just because you are the boss’s girl. The boys all like you, you've earned their respect and admiration. Hell, if Buck ever hurt you they’d probably mutiny.”

“That’s an exaggeration,” you smirk.

“Maybe, but worth it to see you smile,” he grins. “Come on, girl. Let’s get you hitched before your man comes looking.”

The backroom isn’t what you expected. It was small, stone floors and walls with light flooding through a large strained glass window.

You freeze for a moment, taking in the sight before you.

Steve stood to the right, at the back was the man presiding over the whole thing, and near the front was a Bucky himself.

His arms were behind his back. You could see his attire was nearly all black, blazer, waist jacket, trousers, socks and shoes. His shirt was a dark blue and tie shades of grey with silver. The only colour was the gold of his tie clip and cuff links, cuff links that were studded with diamonds - matching your own engagement ring.

The light through the window directly behind him, making him appear as if he was glowing.

Sam guided you forward gently, and Bucky’s eyes met yours. You catch a glimpse of his lips twitching up, close to a smile.

Once you were close enough, you let go of Sam’s arm, allowing him to drift to the left.

You reach out, taking Bucky’s hands into yours.

“What do you think?” He asks.

“It’s pretty,” you breathe.

“I can’t give you a big fancy wedding, but I want it to be memorable,” he squeezes your hands. “I want this to mean something.”

You don’t speak, lost for words - you’d assumed all these plans were to keep you at his side.

“Shall we proceed?” The man presiding.

Bucky nods. “This is William Fairbairn. My old mentor.”

Mr Fairbairn nods, expression serious whilst his eyes appear curious.

“I will begin,” he starts, all business. “Rogers, Wilson, you have the rings?”

“I have them,” Steve responds, reaching into his jacket, and keeps his fist clenched as if fearing of losing what was in his palm.

“Good,” he nods. “Let’s begin.”

Mr Fairbairn’s announcement to kiss almost fell upon deaf ears. You’d kept your eyes on Bucky the whole time, fingers interlocked with his holding you secure. There was something about Mr Fairbairn that put you on edge, and you could not fathom the reason for it.

Bucky let go of your hand, reaching to cup your cheek and gently pull you forward to press his mouth to yours.

The kiss was gentle, soft and not at all like usual. You hear Sam and Steve cheering as he moves his lips against yours for a moment longer before parting.

His hand glides down to hold your waist. The blue of his eyes are sharp, eyes unblinking as they remain on your face. He wordlessly begins to guide you out of the room, his face expressionless as you walk down the corridor onto the side street behind the church.

“Bucky?” You whisper.

“Yeah, baby?”

“You okay?” You chew your cheek in worry.

“Yeah,” his lips twitch into a half smile. “I wanted out of there.”

“Was it that bad?” You whisper.

He pauses in front of a dark car, one your recognise as being from one from his own personal collection. Eyes flicker across your face, and the back of his hand runs along your cheek before opening the passenger door.

“Get in,” his voice is quiet. “We can talk inside.”

You obey him, buckling your seatbelt as he shuts the door, walks around and enters.

He is quick to fasten himself in and get the car moving, his breath is heavy in the silence for several minutes until you are miles away from the church.

“I wanted this,” his voice is quiet, as if in confession. “I wanted to marry you, to tie you to me in every way I could. But, you deserve better.”

You twitch, realising Bucky had been feeling as you had — he’d wanted more from the wedding too.

“It wasn’t safe, I know,” you say softly.

“Mm,” his tongue clicks. “You were uncomfortable, I could sense it.”

Your eyes flicker out of the side window.

“Hey,” a hand reaches over to tilt your chin to look at him. “Talk to me, baby? Did I do something wrong?”

You shake your head.

“Then what? Your hands were shaking the entire ceremony,” he presses.

“I don’t want to upset you,”

“There is nothing you can do to upset me, baby,” he promises. “Nothing.”

You take in his face, his eyes, the softness of his lips.

“Mr Fairbairn was… terrifying. He looked at me like—” you frown. “Like I don’t deserve you.”

“Ah,” he sighs, and face twitches. “It’s nothing like that, sweetheart.”

“Then why..?”

“You remember when you had a mark on you when we met?” Bucky interrupts.

You nod. “How could I forget?”

He licks his bottom lip, for the first time he seemed anxious. “Fairbairn was one of the Mob Bosses looking for you.”

You make a noise that sounded like choking.

“As I told you then, Thomas owed a lot of people,” his eyes stayed on the road. “Fairbairn was one of them. He was more than willing to take you as payment.”

“And you were okay with that?” Surprise coloured your tone.

“Fuck no,” his jaw tightened. “We got into a fight over it. He wasn’t willing to wait to legally acquire Thomas’s possessions. He took a broken jaw and several cracked ribs when he threatened you.”

You suppress a smile, and the unease began to fade.

Bucky chuckles when he notices your expression.

“We made up after he got his share,” he admits, his voice thick with bitterness. “I gave up my share in exchange for him leaving you alone.”

“You did that for me?”

“I’d fucking burn down half of New York for you, baby,” his hands tightened on the wheel. “Fairbairn wasn’t the only one who threatened you, and he won’t be the last.”

“Yet you treat him as a friend?”

“I have no friends,” his voice is cold. “Not amongst the other bosses. We are all selfish arseholes who double cross one another for cash. None of them can be trusted.”

“I only allowed Fairbairn to preside over the wedding out of respect for his friendship with my father,” he continues. “I should have bribed a priest instead.”

“It’s over,” you murmur. “You have me now.”

“Yes I do,” he agrees with a smile. “Though I always did.”

His fingers brush your jaw, drawing a soft blush to your cheeks.

“My girl,” he pauses. “My wife.”

“My Bucky,” you take his lingering hand and press a kiss to it.

You awoke to the feel of cotton pressing against your cheek, the thrum of engines in the background.

Bucky was leaning back in the seat with you half perched on him, his right arm casually slung around you to hold you in place and left metal hand holding a book to allow himself to read in comfort.

“Hmm,” his head turns down and you shift slightly. “Sweetheart?”

You grumble slightly against his chest, pressing your face where the buttons had been undone and inhaling the smell of his cologne.

He chuckles, a quiet sound that rumbles from his chest and places his book aside, near the round window.

Metal fingers press brush through your hair, holding you in place.

“Could get used to this,” he murmurs, pressing a kiss to the crown of your head.

You tilt your head up slightly to glance at him. “Cuddling?”

“No, the quiet,” he squeezes your waist. “It’s just the two of us, like our movie nights, but there are no phone calls or last minute meetings. Just us.”

You smile lazily, still hazy with sleep as you kiss his jaw.

Moments like this were the Mob Boss’s weakness. Not the sex, or the fancy dinners. This. Simple domestic moments that he would never have had without you.

It was what had turned his simple lust to love. Watching you in his penthouse, making dinner, cleaning, doing regular household jobs as though he didn’t have people to do it for him.

Over time it bloomed. He caught you standing on chairs wrapping lights around the bannister of the spiral staircase at Christmas. You’d been putting plants in corners, and flowers in vases on tables.

On his birthday you’d practically covered the floor in balloons, he’d had to hide his frustration at first, until he’d used his switch knife to pop one - you’d giggled in pure joy. It had melted his heart, just enough, he’d forgiven you and spent two hours competing with you to see who could pop the most.

“We will be landing in less than an hour,” he broke the silence.

“And from there?”

“A short drive up the mountainside,” the cool metal of his thumb brushes your chin.

“Mountainside?” You repeat. “I thought we were going to a villa?”

He smirks. “You thought we were going somewhere hot?”

You shrug. “Traditionally, it’s what people do.”

“I don’t do tradition, you know that,” his lips brush your forehead. “We’re going to a place I own in the Alps, it’s quiet, secluded. The locals don’t know me as a mob boss. We can walk down to the village, ski, and visit the hot springs.”

“That sounds really nice,” you admit. “But there’s a problem.”

His eyes widen. “Oh?”

“I can’t ski, James,” you say nonchalantly.

Bucky laughs, his head falling back against the headrest. “I can teach you.”

You snort. “I didn’t expect we’d leave the house much, in truth.”

His lips twitch, still amused.

“For the first day or so,” he agreed. “But, you might need a break from it.”

“Mm,” you make a soft contented noise, fingers reach to twist into the dark hair at his neck. “I’m surprised you've held out this long.”

“I don’t always want that,” he shrugs loosely. “It’ll be more fun this way. I’m sure you can feel it, the tension, the desire,” his eyes drooped slightly. “It means you’ll be desperate for me by the time we reach the bedroom.”

You shiver slightly, eyes falling away from his face as you buried your face into his shoulder.

He presses a kiss to the top of your head.

“Won’t that make things worse?” You mutter. “In the past, it has meant that we both finish far too early.”

“You’re assuming I’m aiming for one round,” his fingers brush through your hair, and your eyes flicker to meet his. “I don’t plan on letting you out of bed until we have thoroughly consummated our marriage.”

You bite your lip. You’d heard that tone before, the dark firm one that was thick with desire. Usually it was kept only for when you were in the bedroom, where he had absolute control — even when you were on top.

“There’s plenty we haven’t tried yet,” he continues. “We can go slow if you’d like, take rests between each round. You can sit on my face whilst you fill your mouth with my cock. I can finally get you over my knee for every time you've been a brat.”

Your lips part, face going red.

“There’ll be plenty of toys to use. I’ll make sure all your holes are filled. Hell, I might even let you put a strap on and fuck me for once,” he gives you a tight grin.

“Bucky,” your face is crimson. You’d done some dirty things with him in the past, a lot of it involved cum play — his favourite, or being performative — him watching you pleasure yourself over and over before filling you, leaving you sobbing from the intensity of multiple orgasms. But, the idea of letting you wear a strap, and fill him. You never thought you’d see the day.

He laughs. “Did you forget who I am?” He raises an eyebrow. “I own multiple brothels, baby. I’ve done things that you’ll have never imagined.”

“I know,” you murmur. “But,” you struggle to say the words. “A strap?”

He smirks, knowingly. “Don’t you like the idea?”

“I didn’t expect it from you,” you admit.

“That’s because I’ve kept our sexual encounters fairly vanilla,” he shrugs. “I’ve kept my hands on the reins.”

“Then why let go now?” You wonder, allowing yourself to lean back enough to look at him. “This,” you hold up your hand to show your wedding band. “Doesn’t change anything.”

“No it doesn’t,” he agrees. “But, last night was the first night I didn’t sleep beside you in months. It’s been over a year since we met, and in that time I have continued to fear your departure.”

Bucky sighs.

“When I laid there, alone, I didn’t find myself consumed with thoughts that you’d never lay next to me again, but rather of when I’d see you again,” his eyes drifted away from you. “As you know I don’t trust people. Yet in that moment the trust had replaced the fear.”

His eyes return to you. “I love you. I trust you. I believe you’re the only one I can loosen my grasp with.”

You blink, suppressing tears. He shakes his head.

“I’m making you cry, already?” He teases.

“I’ll pay you back for it,” you joke weakly.

“Oh, please do,” his lips brush yours again. “I’ve been enjoying seeing you, finally, take some control for yourself.”

“Gotten tired of the effort you put in?” Your voice was taunting, and you knew you might pay for it later.

“No,” he voice went low. “I just enjoy seeing my girl come into her own. You don’t hide in the Penthouse any more, you’ve accepted that you are mine and owned it. You made yourself into the wife of a Mob Boss before I even give you a ring.”

“I wasn’t really trying,” you admit.

“It’s your natural charm,” he smirks. “You’re honest and genuine. Everything we aren’t. Yet, you make those around you feel valued. They are incentivised through respect not fear.”

He is quiet for a moment.

“Buck?” You whisper, and he blinks for a moment.

“It can scare me,” his voice is quiet. “How you are the opposite of what I am. Some days I return home and expect you to be gone.”

His face smoothed. “That’s why I left you the ring. I was not afraid of someone taking you from me. I was afraid of you choosing to leave.”

The plane hummed, a sign of its descent.

“You could have just told me,” you brush tuck his hair behind his ear.

“I’m not good at talking about emotions, doll,” his voice was soft. “It’s not something I permit myself to do.”

“Mob boss,” you sigh.

“Yeah,” he agrees.

“Well,” you shift slightly. “This honeymoon is the perfect opportunity for you to let go, be honest with yourself.”

His eyebrows come together as he considers this.

“As for whether I leave,” you softly press a kiss to his cheek. “Do you remember what I said about how you made me feel when we first met?”

His eyes go distant for a moment. “You said I made you feel warm and safe.”

“That hasn’t changed,” you promise. “I’m not afraid of a mobster grabbing me any more, but right now—”

You nudge him playfully, and his eyebrows raise amused.

“I feel safe, even when I know you have a 9mm holstered under your jacket,” you smirk and he chuckles. “When you're with me, I know I don’t have to be afraid. Not when you introduced me to your men, or when you showed me around your favourite club. I should have been afraid, but I wasn’t.”

“Crazy woman,” he murmurs fondly, kissing your forehead.

The car moved uncharacteristically slow, Bucky kept the speed slow whilst making the steep climb, taking care for black ice.

You kick your feet, looking out of the window to the stunning view of the mountains.

“Like it?” He asks.

“It’s beautiful,” you admit. “Better than a tropical beach.”

Your mind is filled with ideas. Bucky had spoken of hot springs and skiing, but you thought of long walks and picnics with a view.

“I’m glad,” his eyes return to the road. “I didn’t wish to disappoint you.”

“You could never disappoint me,” your head turned to look at him.

“Mm,” he murmurs.

You watch him for the next few minutes, feeling the tension of the moment. Crawling ever closer to the house.

“Here we are,” he announces, the car turns up a small side road to a white building set against the mountainside.

You blink, then squint to take in its size. “It’s huge.”

He laughs. “Not all my houses are little apartments.”

“The Penthouse is not little,” you defend.

Bucky grins. “You adore the Penthouse more than you should.”

You shrug.

“You’re going to have to let it go, baby,” his voice was soft yet had an undercurrent of warning.

He opens the his door.

“What does that mean?” You ask, the only response being the quiet slam of his door.

He walks around, opening your door for you.

Your eyes widen, but you exit the car, pulling your coat around you to defend against the cold.

“I’ve made arrangements for us to move,” he admits, closing your door. “I have a Mansion on the Gold Coast of Long Island.”

You reach to take his arm, letting him guide you inside.

“If you have a Mansion then why did you live in the Penthouse?” You ask.

“It was more convenient. I was always in Brooklyn, and a stone’s throw from Manhattan,” he shrugs and opens the door softly into the living room.

It was open plan, yet warm. A log fire burned in one corner. The entry led to the living area, to a dining area to a kitchen at the back.

“Why move now?” You ask. “I’m happy in the penthouse, we don’t have to move if it makes it hard for you to work.”

He chuckles, taking your face in his hands.

“It’s a rather large building,” he steps close. “Lots of room to fill.”

Your lips part, heat rising in your cheeks.

“You—” you stammer. “You never mentioned you wanted that.”

“I’d never considered such things,” he pauses, inhaling softly. “But this—” he gestures between the two of you. “Us. I want it to be permanent. I want to be able to sit in the garden with you thirty years from now with our grandchildren playing.”

“I’d like a son to wrestle with me, and a daughter to spoil like a princess,” his thumbs brushed over your cheekbones. “And when they are old enough, I can retire and spend the rest of my days showering you with everything you deserve.”

“Bucky,” your voice is quiet.

“But for now,” his mouth is practically on top of yours. “I want you. I’ll take you slowly, delicately…”

His mouth brushed yours, tempting you. Without even thinking you push forward against his lips.

He chuckles, using his grasp on you to tilt your face to kiss you softly, his lips moving across your own before pulling your bottom lip between his teeth.

“Think we can make it to the bedroom?” He murmurs.

“Shouldn’t we unpack?”

He shakes his head. “It can wait.”

Bucky bends over picking you up with a quiet grunt that makes you giggle, and takes large strides to the stairs.

“The coats were a mistake,” he mutters, hands tightening against the padding you were wearing.

It only takes a few more strides before you are in the bedroom, and he lowers you to your feet. He flicks his fingers as he speaks.

“Clothes off,” his voice is low, already ripping his own coat from his body.

You start to remove your clothes, stealing quick glances at him as he did the same. You stop, taking a moment to glance at the cream lace of the bodysuit you’d chosen. It was transparent, allowing a view of your skin.

You allow yourself a glance up, to see him bare, irises wide but head slightly tilted.

“Your clothes aren’t off,” he stalks toward you, hands landing on your waist, rubbing against the material.

“I wanted you to see this,” you tilt your head up, allowing him to see the pleading in your eyes.

“I like it,” his voice is gruff. “But, I can’t appreciate it properly. Get it off, before I tear it off.”

You knew from his tone that it wasn’t a threat, just a warning. He was telling you to try again another time.

“Here,” you guide his hands to the zip on the back. “You try.”

He makes a noise akin to a growl at your teasing, metal fingers tugging the zip down urgently. His hands move to your shoulders, hooking under the straps and pulling the lace down until it landed on the floor.

“Better?” You ask.

“Starting to,” he steps forward, you automatically step back. He continues to pursue you until the backs of your knees knock against the bed.

You sit on the back and slide yourself backward across the sheets until you are perched against the headboard let’s spread slightly

Bucky chuckles slightly, enjoying the momentary chase, to crawl up to join you.

His lips met yours, his hands holding onto your hips, thumbs brushing softly against your skin — just as he said.

“My wife,” he murmurs. “My beautiful girl.”

You wrap your arms around his neck, keeping him close.

“My mob boss,” your lips twitch teasingly.

Bucky grins, his metal fingers roaming forward between your thighs, gently brushing against your folds.

“All yours, baby,” he promises, the right hand that bore his ring reaching and entangling with your left.

His lips are gentle, brushing yours over and over, taunting you whilst his metal fingers continue to gently brush against you, never quite touching where you needed them.

You squirm. “Stop teasing.”

He chuckles. “I told you, I’m going slow tonight.”

Something tugs in you, incessant, urgent. You reach up taking his face in your hands, pulling him down against you, kissing him with force.

The chuckle deepens into a moan.

“Fuck,” his mouth moves over your cheek to your neck, leaving a trail of saliva in his wake. His fingers curl now teasing your entrance with their cold before pushing two fingers in.

Your body arches off the bed, body tingling at finally achieving some relief. His fingers begin to move, pushing in and out, dragging slowly against your walls

A groan tumbles from your lips. “Bucky, please.”

“No, baby,” he whispers by your ear. “We’re going slow.”

You whine, feeling him withdraw his fingers before easing them back in.

If you didn’t know better, you’d believe that he was torturing you. Giving you enough pleasure to crave more, but not enough to reach the peak. Time seemed to become endless, each moment dragging into the next and never quite being enough.

It was only when you let out a choked sob as he moved, one hand next to your head, watching as the tears fell sideways down your cheeks.

“Beautiful,” he presses a peck to your mouth.

A cold thumb then ran itself over your clit, eliciting a cry from you.

“There,” he whispers. “It’s so much isn’t it?”

“Please,” you begged. “Please.”

He grins. “You’ve been a good girl. You’ve earned this.”

His fingers began to move faster, tilting their angle to reach that spot that made your eyes roll. Soft moans were replaced with shouts, cries for more.

A soft slap filled the air, the ball of his hand landing on your clit, your body trembling in response.

“Come on, doll,” he encouraged. “Lemme hear it.”

His hand came down again, harder this time. You let out a noise that is something between a moan and a scream.

“I’m close,” you choke when his hand lands a third time.

“Let it out,” he says, eyes fixed on your face. “Cum for me.”

His hand lands again, the fingers of his metal hand pushing insistently inside and you fall. Your eyes roll, legs shake and you allow yourself a loud moan as you hit your high.

A minute passes before you feel coherent enough to notice Bucky still hovering over you, his hard length now pressing against you.

“Shush,” his palms run over your cheeks, gently moving down to hold your legs open, fingers pressing softly against your skin.

“I love you,” his nose brushes yours. “Don’t ever doubt that.”

He pushes forward, moving steadily until he is fully seated. He lets out a relieved groan as you sigh.

“I love you too,” you whisper back. “So much it hurts sometimes.”

He starts to move, hips moving back and forth almost casually as you continue to talk.

“I get scared sometimes, that one day Steve will come in and tell me you’re not coming back,” you were babbling now. “That’ll wake up to find you stabbed or shot or…”

Tears begin to fall again. He is quiet, focused on adjusting your thighs further up his body, allowing him to hit deeper.

You cry out.

“There,” his voice is low. “You think I’d ever want out of this?”

His hips snap faster, forcing cries from you with each thrust.

“You think I’d ever allow myself to die knowing I have this?” He grits his teeth in concentration, grinding himself deeper. “Knowing you wait for me every night?”

“Nothing can pull me away from this,” he thrusts again, so hard the bed smacks against the wall. “From you. So don’t ever believe you will lose me, because I simply won’t allow it.”

His face lowers, and pressing his mouth to yours to suppress your scream when the wave of pleasure hits. The bed thuds against the wall one more time before you feel warm liquid deep into you, and exhale softly through your nose melting into another kiss.

The air is still, filled only with both of your heavy breathing. He remains inside you, even as your aching legs slide down onto the sheets.

“No towels?” You tease quietly.

“I’m not finished yet,” he rumbles. “I told you I plan to thoroughly consummate our marriage.”

Your cheeks begin to burn.

“Going shy on me?” He smirks. “You weren’t so quiet a minute ago..”

“Only because you love edging me,” you respond.

“I do,” he agrees, now pressing soft kisses to your cheeks. “It’s more enjoyable when you fall apart when you’ve been stuck at the precipice. For both of us.”

“Mm,” you agree, eyes closing gently.

“Don’t you dare fall asleep on me now,” he taps your cheek.

“I wasn’t,” you respond weakly. “Just wanted to feel you.”

“You can feel me on your hands and knees,” his voice was taunting, and he leaned down to press hot wet kisses over your chest.

“Already?” You ask.

“Yes,” his voice was firm. “Roll over, baby.”

You willed your tired muscles to shift you onto your front, and lift your legs to hold yourself up for him.

“Relax,” he murmurs.

You feel him press up behind you, hands move to your shoulders, kneading them gently, then moving down your back.

“Bucky,” you sigh softly.

“Good?”

You close your eyes. “Yeah.”

You hear him chuckle quietly. “I expect the same in return.”

“A massage?” You murmur.

“Yes,” his thumbs press into your spine and you gasp slightly — feeling tingles run along your neck.

“Tomorrow,” you promise.

“I’ll hold you to that,” he allows his fingers to slide down to your backside.

His fingers trace your hips, holding you in place as you feel his hardening length pressing against you.

“I’ll go slow,” he promises. “You’ll feel every inch.”

The head of him pushes against you, sinking in at an agonisingly slow pace.

You hear him groan, pushing forward further until he is fully seated.

“Still tight,” he grits his teeth for a moment.

“Bucky,” you pant against the pillow.

“I’ve got you, baby,” his voice is soothing.

His thrusts were slow, gentle. Both of you still overstimulated from the previous round.

“Going to go all night,” his voice was low. “Keep going until it takes.”

He thrusts harder, hitting deep. You let out a choked noise as he grabs your hair, twisting it in his fingers and pulling your head back.

“Shit,” you gasp, your eyes begin to sting.

“I can’t—” he pants. “Gonna—”

He begins to move faster, hitting just where you need it. Your hand grasps the bed frame, which now rocked in time to your bodies.

His free hand reaches around to rub against your clit.

“Let me feel it,” he growls.

Your eyes roll, sensation narrowing to his hand in your hair, fingers on your clit and the friction against your walls.

You wail as your legs begin to shake, fresh tears falling down your cheeks.

The bed rocks once, twice then he allows himself a moan as you feel warm liquid seep into you again.

Your body slumps onto the mattress, his own following suit to lay on top of you for a moment.

His arms wrap around your waist pulling you onto your side, keeping him buried in your warmth.

“Going to keep me warm all night?” He whispers into your ear. You allow a soft moan in response.

“Going to need it in this cold, baby,” he continues before grinding into you, desperate for more.

The sun seemed brighter here than in Brooklyn, or perhaps it was the lack of buildings. Regardless it shone unabated through the mountains into the room.

Your squint slightly at the sun, aware that Bucky is pressed against your back, metal arm around your waist and flesh one thrown casually over side.

A tiny shift in your body is enough to stir him. His arm tightens around you to keep you pressed against him.

You hear him breathe slowly before you feel his lips in your hair.

“Morning,” he murmurs.

“Hi,” you whisper, turning your head to try and see him better. His right hand moves to your hips, thumb brushing soothing half circles into your skin.

“You okay? Not too sore?” His eyes flicker over you in concern.

You nod. “A little. Taking a break for a bath was a smart idea.”

He chuckles. “The hot tub is open anytime for you, baby, if it’s what you need.”

You roll, shifting to face him.

“Are you okay?” You wonder, your fingers reaching to brush along his jaw.

“Yeah?” His eyebrows come together. “Why’d you ask?”

“We did go—” you pause, unable to recall how many times you’d consummated the marriage. “It was a lot. You always check on me, but I never do the same for you.”

He silently chuckles, his frame shaking slightly.

“I can feel it a bit,” he admits. “And I’ll be sensitive for a while.”

You press your lips together in concern.

“There’s nothing to worry your pretty head over,” he brushes hair from your face. “We’ve done this many times before.”

“Yeah but not—” your face scrunches together as you recall.

“Six times?” He finishes. “I did warn you I’d be thorough.”

“You did,” you admit. “I didn’t expect it though. We usually stop after three or four.”

“That’s why we took a break for a bath,” he shrugged.

“You really thought it through,” you shake your head in disbelief.

“Mob boss,” he emphasised. “I think through everything.”

“Even our wedding night,” you tease.

“I did plan to have our belongings inside first,” he admits.

You giggle for a moment then remember. “Our stuff is still in the car!”

“No, they are not,” he rubs your back. “I got the housekeeper to come and do it whilst we were sleeping. Our clothes have been placed in the next room.”

“Oh,” you relax. “We don’t have to trudge in the snow then?”

“We don’t have to leave this building if you don’t want to,” he promises. “Whatever you want, baby. You can have it.”

You give him a wicked grin. “You’d buy me a new car then?”

“Take your pick,” he baits back. “I know you’d never use it. You enjoy being driven around too much.”

You playfully pout at him. “It is one of the positives of being with you.”

“Just one?” He pulls you close, pressed against him.

“Mhm,” you murmur. “Shall we get up?”

Bucky nuzzled into your neck. “I’d like a moment longer.”

You wrap your arms around him tightly, a leg lifting to lay next to his.

“Let’s stay here forever,” he murmurs. “I’ll run my mob remotely.”

You giggle. “It’s only been one night.”

“And it’s not enough,” he leans back, taking your face in his hands. “It’ll never be enough.”

“James,” you use his first name carefully.

“Yeah, baby?”

“You told me you want children,” you remind him. “This isn’t ideal for them.”

He blinks a moment. “I suppose not. It’s perfect for us, though.”

His eyes go distant for a moment.

“We could… make it a regular occurrence,” his tone was thoughtful. “If you like it here. We could visit every anniversary, just have a week of just us.”

“Just us?” You repeat.

“Yeah, just us,” he promises.

“That’s all I’ve wanted,” you admit. “To have you to myself, even for a day.”

“You can have more than that,” his thumbs brush your cheeks. “I’d keep you in this bed for the rest of our lives if I could.”

You shake your head in disbelief, and cannot contain the smile on your face.

“Stay,” he whispers.

“Breakfast,” you whisper back.