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Being the maidservant of a princess came with both its advantages and disadvantages.

You were constantly on your feet, up before the sun rose and down long after it set. Your body was in a permanent state of ache and strain from lifting heavy baskets of laundry up and down several flights of stairs, and your fingers were often raw from the needle poking through thick fabrics.

Princess Daphne always barked the wildest commands, keeping you and the other maidservants running around the palace to satisfy her every whim and desire.

It was hard, tedious work, but it gave you a roof over your head and a decent enough pay. And in this day and age, with the war against Sokovia, protection was the most important thing.

You could live in a beautiful home, but none of it mattered if Sokovian soldiers could barge past the kingdom gates at any moment with their weapons and horses at the ready.

With knights posted at every corner, the palace became your sanctuary.

There was one knight in particular who always seemed to linger near the maidservants’ chambers on the highest floor. A window sat right outside your room in the hallway, offering a clear view of the grounds where that same knight always stood on guard.

“James,” you greeted him with a sigh, still catching your breath from the long climb up the stairs.

He turned toward you, his usually tense, focused shoulders easing slightly at the sight of you.

A small, rare, and gentle smile tugged at the corners of his lips.

“You know—when it’s just me and you, you don’t have to call me James.”

A sheepish flush crept over your face as you approached him.

There was a true sense of family among the palace workers; the bond between the maidservants was like a sisterhood, and you were close with many of the chefs. Late at night, when the palace fell asleep, you and the other servants would gather at the kitchen tables to laugh and drink long past midnight.

The knights hardly ever got the time off or the leisure that you and the other maids enjoyed. But for Bucky, just seeing and talking to you was enough.

He stepped toward you, his heavy armor clinking with every movement. “Long day?”

“Mhm,” you mumbled tiredly.

Finally stripped away from the presence of royalty, you were free to speak as sluggishly and as improperly as you liked.

A soft exhale left Bucky’s nose. His right hand—flesh and human—came up to caress your cheek, while the other, metal and forged by the kingdom’s greatest blacksmith, cradled the other side of your face.

The touch was cold and made you shiver, but nonetheless, it was still Bucky.

Your Bucky.

“Sleepy girl,” he muttered, his thumb tracing your cheek as he stared down at you, strands of long, dark hair falling over his face. “You’ve been working so hard, haven’t you?”

A little whine left your mouth as you stepped closer into his space, letting yourself bask in his touch.

He chuckled softly, pulling you against his chest and pressing a gentle kiss to your temple.

“I should let you retreat to your bedchambers,” he spoke quietly. “But I don’t want to let you go. I haven’t seen you all day. Is that selfish of me?”

“Very selfish of you, James.”

“I told you not to call me that.”

You smiled, tilting your head back against his chest to look him in the eye. “Oh—I apologize, Bucky.” You teased.

Bucky grinned, his hand trailing down to your chin and lifting it, presenting your lips to him—the prize he’d been seeking all day.

“That’s my girl,” he mumbled.

Just as he leaned in to find the salvation he’d been starving for, the door to your bedchamber swung open. Your roommate, Yelena, poked her head out and scrunched her nose in disgust.

“Ew,” she dragged out childishly. “Is this what you knights usually do on your time off? Stick your tongue down an unassuming maidservant’s throat?”

Your face burned with embarrassment as Bucky pulled away, glaring daggers in Yelena’s direction.

He clicked his tongue. “Unassuming,” he repeated in a grumble.

He looked back down at you with a soft, disappointed sigh.

“I shall let you rest.” Using his gloved hand, he brought your fingers to his lips, pressing a gentle kiss to the back of your palm. “Goodnight, maiden.”

Bucky stepped aside as you retreated toward your bedchambers. Yelena held the door open with her body, arms folded tightly across her chest as she continued to glare him down.

“Yelena,” you hissed at her quietly as you slipped inside, “stop.”

After throwing one last look over her shoulder at Bucky, Yelena finally pulled the door closed. Inside, your roommates and fellow maidservants were already settled for the night, snug and comfortable on their cots.

Natasha was brushing out her hair, a knowing, teasing glint in her eyes. “Did you have fun with soldier boy out there?”

You gasped softly at her direct question. “N-Nat—!”

“You know, soldier boy didn’t even spare us a glance when we walked up the stairs,” Wanda added, swinging her feet over the edge of her bed as she stood up. “It’s as if the knight recognizes the sound of your footsteps by heart.”

All eyes were on you, and you wished the floor would simply open up and swallow you whole to save you from the relentless teasing.

“You ladies are unbelievable—”

“Am I the only one who doesn’t find this funny in the slightest?” Yelena barked, a disapproving look on her face. She glared harshly at Nat, then Wanda, and finally you. “If word gets out that a maidservant is having an affair with a knight—no, the Sergeant himself—we’re all ruined!”

You frowned, undoing the ties in your hair as you made your way to your side of the room.

“I wouldn’t call it an affair,” you explained. “We haven’t put a title on…” You swallowed hard, twisting the hair tie between your fingers, “…this arrangement.”

Yelena ran a hand down her face. “That’s even worse!”

“Yelena, calm down,” Natasha cut in, glancing at you from her bed. “But as harsh as she's being, she is right.”

You kept your head down, trying to appear fixated on the hair ties and pins scattered across your dresser. You knew they were right—that being in any kind of relationship with one of the kingdom’s knights was nothing but trouble.

Especially when the knight in question was Sergeant Barnes—the very man entrusted to watch over the princess.

“You are in love,” Wanda pointed out gently from across the room. “We can see that. But you have to believe us—we’re only looking out for you.” She approached you, setting a gentle hand on your shoulder. “Falling in love with a knight will bring nothing but heartache.”

Words were just words until they were spoken by the right person. Yelena and Natasha could doubt you and Bucky all they wanted—but it was Wanda’s voice that truly made the realization sting.

Because Wanda was a maidservant who had fallen for a knight, just like you.

His name was Vision, and he had been felled in a battle against Sokovian soldiers. While they were deep in their secret affair, they had been told the same things over and over.

“You could get us all in trouble.”

“You’re only thinking for yourself.”

But before word could ever get out about Wanda and Vis, he passed away, leaving Wanda to grieve in total isolation.

She couldn’t even attend his funeral, and her name couldn’t be left in his will.

It pained you because, despite the sanctuary and comfort of living in the palace, you still wanted more. You wanted to be with the man who stood just outside your bedchambers.

“I know,” you said quietly, looking up at the other girls and forcing a smile to show them you were okay—that this was okay. “And I understand. I won’t let it come between us.”

It was a promise you had made countless times, but you knew you would always run back to him.

You were kneeling on the floor, adjusting the hem of Princess Daphne’s dress as her blue eyes bored into the large window to her right rather than the full body mirror in front of her.

“Is it just me, or are the roses in the garden unkempt?”

There was no one else in the room, so this was her attempt at a conversation. Most of these ended with her complaining about some minor issue, leaving you to simply nod in agreement.

You glanced over your shoulder, taking in the roses. They didn’t look out of place—maybe a few weeds were overgrown nearby, but nothing unruly.

“The roses do look unkempt these days, Your Royal Highness,” you agreed anyway, bringing your attention back to the skirts.

She hummed. “The gardener has been fruitless lately, has he not?”

“I believe Mister Alexei has been feeling unwell, Your Royal Highness,” you explained politely.

Princess Daphne raised a brow, looking down at you as you fluffed her skirt. “Whatever for?”

You pressed your lips together, glancing up to meet the princess’s eyes. “His wife passed away, Your Royal Highness.”

“I see,” she sighed softly. “That’s a shame.”

You stayed quiet as you continued to fix her dress. You finally rose from the floor, letting out a soft groan as you pulled yourself up. You smiled, admiring your own handiwork on the princess’s back, but her mind seemed preoccupied with something else.

“All finished—”

“I would like for you to tend the gardens today.”

You blinked at the sudden request. “I… the gardens?”

“You fill the vases with the most precious and stunning flowers every morning,” she said with a guileless smile. “So, I am entrusting you to tend the gardens.”

You truly didn’t know what to say.

You had never been ordered to work the grounds before—sure, you might have plucked a stray weed or offered a hand to Alexei when the days in the palace were slow and long, but never like this. That was what a gardener was for.

But knowing Princess Daphne, she couldn’t tell the difference between someone arranging a bouquet and someone maintaining an entire estate.

And you were nothing but a maidservant. How could you refuse, anyway?

“I… yes,” you bowed your head. “It will be done, Your Royal Highness.”

“Wonderful!” Princess Daphne beamed, clasping her gloved hands together as she stepped off the pedestal without your assistance. “I expect the roses to be vibrant and lively once I return from my promenade!”

Once Princess Daphne left her bedroom, you stayed behind to tidy the mess she had left in her wake. When the room was back in order, you made your way down to the gardens.

Outside, the sun was baking the garden soil. Your nostrils were immediately hit with the scent of dirt and blooming jasmines.

You managed to find a pair of old, oversized gardening gloves—likely Alexei’s—in a shed, and after tucking your skirts as best you could, you dropped to your knees before the rosebushes. The work started easy, clearing away small weeds and tossing them into a pile.

But then, a thick rooted weed tucked right at the base of a vibrant red rose was giving you a run for your money.

You gripped it tight, bracing your feet against the stone path, but it wouldn’t budge.

“Come on,” you hissed under your breath, your face heating up from both the sun and the exertion.

With a frustrated huff, you desperately heaved, putting your entire body weight into it. The root finally snapped, but the sudden lack of resistance sent you flying backward. You tumbled through the air like a fool, losing your balance until you landed with a dull thud right in the middle of a freshly turned hydrangea bed.

The Queen’s favorite flower.

You sat there for a moment, stunned, with your legs sprawled out and dirt smeared all over your… toosh.

The heavy clinking of metal hit the stone pavement, stalking closer and closer. Bucky loomed over you, his long hair catching the light from behind as his heavy cape draped over his shoulders. He didn’t offer a hand immediately, wanting to take in the sight of you sprawled out and dirty.

He rested his gloved hand on the hilt of his sword, a slow, devastatingly handsome grin spreading across his smug face.

“Don’t tell me the princess has you working her gardens now.”

You looked around to see if anyone else was near, but it was just him.

“Bucky,” you greeted with a breathless smile. “Don’t tell me the princess has you clearing the garden perimeters.”

Bucky’s grin widened as he extended a hand. When you took it, he lifted you from the dirt with ease.

“If the princess believes there are any threats out here, you can start by eradicating these,” you said, lifting the weed in your hand for emphasis.

He chuckled softly, reaching out to brush away a bit of soil that had caught in your hair.

“No, actually,” he said. “The princess sent for me. She wants me to accompany her on her promenade through town.”

“Oh,” your smile faded slightly. “I see.”

Bucky nodded, standing tall in his armor. All you could think about was how, while the man you loved was out strolling and shopping with the princess, you would be here in the dirt, working far beyond your usual station.

He tilted his head, leaning down slightly to get a better look at your expression. “Is there something troubling you?”

I don’t want you to promenade with the princess, even if it is your job.

I want you to stay here with me instead.

“Nothing,” you lied, forcing a smile as you clutched the weed tighter in your gloved hand. “It’s a lovely day outside for a promenade—I’m sure it’ll be a good change of pace from guarding the palace all day.”

Bucky furrowed his brow, noting the way your shoulders slightly slumped and how your voice had grown quiet. He reached out and caught your hand with his gloved one, running his thumb gently over your knuckles.

“The promenade won’t last forever,” he promised, his eyes searching yours. “And once you’ve finished tucking the Princess into bed, I’ll be posted near the gazebo south of the palace.”

He stepped even closer until his tall frame shadowed yours, the cold metal of his chest piece brushing against your bodice.

“Meet me there,” he whispered, his thumb still tracing slow, gentle circles over your knuckles. “Behind the willow trees. No other knights patrol that far down, and the sound of the water will drown out... everything else.”

Drown out everything else.

You knew exactly what he meant. This wasn’t the first time you two had snuck away past your working hours just to find comfort in each other’s arms.

Bucky’s gaze dropped to your lips for a quick, hungry second before he pulled back just slightly to maintain appearances.

“Tonight, after the moon hits its peak,” he murmured, quiet and low. “Don’t make me wait for you, sweetheart.”

Your heart thumped faster in your chest. Now, the only thing left to do was count the hours until you were in Bucky’s arms again—a thought that made the day drag on far slower, despite the mountains of work piled up before you.

“Tonight,” you repeated with a genuine smile. “I shall be there.”

Bucky smiled softly, satisfied with your answer. “Good—”

“Sergeant Barnes!” the King shouted from across the garden, where he stood by the shade.

Bucky’s body went stiff as a board, his hand instantly dropping from yours as he snapped into a formal salute. You quickly stepped away, desperately brushing the loose soil from your skirts and keeping your head bowed low.

“Your Majesty,” Bucky’s voice lacked the warmth he shared with you just a moment ago.

He moved toward the King, leaving you behind without another glance.

The King didn’t even spare a look at the messy hydrangeas or at you—the dirt smudged maidservant trembling beside them. His eyes were fixed solely on his most trusted knight.

“Sergeant, the Princess is ready for her departure,” the King lectured with authority. “Why are you lingering in the gardens when your charge is waiting at the carriage?”

“My apologies, Sire,” Bucky replied, a mask of stoicism and professionalism taking over him. “I was merely ensuring the perimeter was secure before leaving the grounds. I am headed to the stables now.”

The King gave a curt, stiff nod, though he didn’t look pleased. “See that you are. In these times, the Princess’s safety is paramount. We cannot have our best men distracted by trivialities.”

The King’s gaze flickered momentarily toward you—a cold, passing look that made you feel like nothing more than a piece of garden furniture—before he turned back to Bucky.

“Move along, Sergeant.”

“At once, Your Majesty,” Bucky said.

He turned to leave, but for a split second, while the King’s attention was turned away, Bucky’s gaze broke rank.

Over his shoulder, he stole one last look at you. You were already back on your knees, picking at the weeds, and Bucky’s heart clenched. He wished he could spend his days right next to you.

In his eyes, you shouldn’t be the one picking the flowers, but rather the one receiving them.

But all he could do for now was tear his gaze away and head for the stables.

With the Princess gone and the garden task finally completed, you followed the distant yet familiar sounds of clinking copper and boisterous laughter down into the belly of the palace.

The kitchens were a different world entirely. As soon as you pushed through the heavy doors, the scent of roasting garlic, fresh rosemary, and baking bread enveloped you—a welcome relief, even after being stuck outdoors in the fresh air all morning.

At the center of the room, several maidservants were perched on the edge of the prep tables, their legs swinging as they broke fresh bread and shared it with the kitchen crew.

“Look what the cat dragged in!” Yelena called out, her mouth half full of loaf. She beckoned you over with a sticky hand. “You look like you’ve been rolling in the trenches.”

Natasha looked up from where she was leaning against the counter, a cup of cider in her hand. “And it looks like you didn’t have your knight in shining armor to save you this time.”

“That’s because the Princess is strolling through town today, which means Sergeant Barnes is busy looking after her,” John, one of the cooks, mentioned from across the kitchen, not looking up from his work.

Wanda motioned for you to take the empty seat next to her. “Hours have passed, and the Princess should be returning soon. Eat now, unless you want to wait until midnight.”

Your stomach grumbled as you stepped deeper into the kitchen to claim your spot.

“I’m starving,” you groaned tiredly, sinking into the seat. “What are you all feasting on?” You smiled, taking in the mountain of bread crumbs and various loaves scattered across the table.

Yelena nodded toward the back of the kitchen. “Bob has been locked away by the ovens all morning. He calls it focaccia—” she lifted a piece of the bread, “apparently, it’s all the rage in the southern kingdoms.”

You glanced over to see Bob carefully dimpling the surface of a fresh loaf with his fingers, drizzling it with a generous amount of olive oil and pressing sprigs of rosemary into the dough.

“He’s even made a special companion for it,” John called over his shoulder, “a savory onion and fig jam.”

Wanda slid a small wooden bowl and a thick, airy slice of the bread toward you. The loaf was golden brown and glistening, pockmarked with herbs that smelled divine. The jam was a deep, thick purple that smelled of caramelized sugar.

“Try it,” Wanda encouraged. “It’s much better than the dry biscuits we usually get. He even added a bit of honey to the jam to cut the salt.”

You tore off a piece, dipped it into the jam, and took a bite. It had a satisfying, golden crunch on the outside but remained soft and pillowy on the inside.

“Mmm!” You beamed, eyes widening as you reached for another piece. “Bob—this is delicious! If you’ve been cooking like this all this time, how haven’t I had a taste until now?”

“It’s because you spend most of your free time with Sergeant Barnes rather than us,” Yelena teased, rolling her eyes, which earned her a sharp nudge in the shoulder from Wanda.

Across the kitchen, Bob’s ears turned a shade of pink that you noticed even from your seat.

“Thank you,” he mumbled, keeping his focus fixed on the dough in front of him. “I’ve been trying something new… so I’m glad you like it.”

“Aw, look at that,” Yelena teased, turning her entire body to stare at the baker. “You’ve got Bob all flustered now.”

John snickered, glancing at Bob, whose face only burned a deeper shade of red.

“Careful with that one, Bob,” he warned, pointing his whisk at you. “Getting too close to her will only get the kingdom’s mightiest soldier’s blade pressed against your throat.”

The entire kitchen barked in laughter at John’s comment. You should have been embarrassed by their relentless teasing, but instead, you just felt bad for Bob. The poor man was stammering in the corner, desperately trying to dismiss the attention.

“Hey now,” you called out, focaccia crumbs still clinging to your lips. “Don’t tease the guy. He’s the only one keeping you all fed.”

Laughter still hung in the air, and for a few minutes—away from the pressure of your chores—you were all just a group of friends rather than a squadron of dirty servants.

The enjoyment continued until the melodic tolling of the courtyard bells rang out. In an instant, as if a switch had flipped inside everyone’s head, the boisterous noise died. Everyone scrambled to their feet to collect themselves.

“The promenade is over,” Natasha said, setting her cider down and wiping her hands on her apron. “Back upstairs, girls. Princess Daphne will be expecting us.”

“I didn’t even finish my loaf!” Yelena’s complaints were ignored by everyone else as they hurried toward the doors.

Wanda stood up, giving your arm a gentle squeeze. “The Princess will likely want a bath and a change of clothes immediately. Go on—I’ll change her sheets so they’re ready for her to lie down.”

You swallowed your barely chewed bite in one hard gulp. “Right. I’m going.”

On your way to greet the Princess, you collected a set of freshly pressed towels along with various soaps and aromatic oils for her bath.

You scrambled up several flights of stairs, lungs burning, hoping to reach her chambers before she did.

With your heart beating wildly in your eardrums, you rounded the corner and stopped short.

Princess Daphne was already lingering at the entrance of her bedroom, but she wasn’t alone.

Bucky was standing right beside her.

And against your better judgment, you pressed yourself into the shadows of the wall, gripping the wicker basket tight as you listened in.

“My knightly duties do not require me to escort you all the way to your chambers, Your Royal Highness,” Bucky said, his tone formal and polite.

Princess Daphne giggled, pressing a gloved hand to her mouth as she flushed beneath the knight’s gaze.

“Please, when it is just us, you must call me Daphne,” she sighed, her voice drifting into something dreamlike. “Just as I shall call you Bucky.”

You felt your heart drop.

As far as you knew, you were the only one who called him Bucky. It was a name he had reserved for the people closest to him. You knew he had served the palace long before you arrived, but the reminder of the closeness he shared with her was a sting that never failed to make your heart ache.

“Thank you for accompanying me on my stroll through town, Bucky,” Princess Daphne continued, as you winced from behind the corner.

“Of course,” Bucky nodded politely. “With the rising tensions against the Sokovians, it is my duty to put your safety above all else.”

“You always make the gloomy days brighter and the dangers feel so much smaller,” she smiled.

“I am glad to hear that, Your Royal Highness,” Bucky hummed, his gaze flickering to the door of her bedchambers. “Shall I take my leave, then?”

The Princess frowned, her expression turning pouty. “I told you to call me Daphne.” She looked around with a sigh. “And no need—it seems my maidservant has yet to arrive—”

Your feet moved before you could think, and you rounded the corner, acting as if you had just arrived and hadn’t been eavesdropping the entire time.

“I apologize for the wait, Your Royal Highness,” you said, bowing politely with the basket still in your hands. “I made sure the towels were freshly warmed for your arrival. I can prepare your bath right away, if you’re ready.”

Bucky turned toward you, his eyes widening slightly in surprise.

“Oh,” Princess Daphne was surprised, her hands folding primly at the front of her dress. “I would like that very much.”

You stood there for a moment with a polite, awkward smile, waiting for the Princess to grant you permission to enter, but she didn’t.

So instead, the three of you remained in a tense, silent standoff.

Bucky’s eyes were fixed on you. His posture was stiff, his gloved hands tightening at his sides as if he were fighting the urge to reach out.

Princess Daphne cleared her throat, glancing at Bucky. “You are dismissed, Sergeant Barnes.”

He didn’t reply immediately—not until the Princess called for him once more, her voice sharper this time. “Sergeant?”

“I… my apologies,” Bucky said, finally turning to face her. He bowed low. “Your Royal Highness.”

He glanced at you, offering nothing more than a short, professional nod. For someone of his rank, it wasn’t customary to acknowledge a maidservant, but as he walked past you, you felt the subtle, intentional graze of his glove against your skirt.

The ghost of his touch made the hair on your arms stand up.

“The bath, then?” Princess Daphne spoke up, snapping you back to attention.

“Yes—of course, Your Royal Highness,” you stammered, scrambling to recover your composure.

You pushed into her bedchambers and moved toward the bathing area, immediately drawing the steaming water.

The Princess followed close behind, peeling off her silk gloves. She didn’t wait for you to ask about her day, as she was already glowing with excitement to recount her afternoon.

“He truly is a marvel, isn’t he?” she sighed, watching the water swirl into the marble basin. “The way the villagers part for him—he has such a presence. Or perhaps it was simply because he was standing beside me. And yet, he was so attentive today. He held my parasol the entire time we crossed the market square without me even having to ask.”

You kept your back to her, focusing on the steam radiating off the tub as your jaw clenched at the image.

“He is a man very dedicated to his duties, My Lady,” you managed to say.

“It’s more than duty,” she countered, her voice drifting into a dreamy haze. “When we stopped by the fountain, he told me that my safety was the only thing on his mind.”

Steam continued to fill the room as the tub rose with nearly scorching water.

You knew, deep down, that Bucky only said those things because it was his job—just as your job was to nod and smile at every word the Princess spoke. But a selfish part of you was seething with jealousy at the thought of anyone else walking by his side.

“Do you think he finds me charming?”

Your eyes widened and the vial of bath oil slipped from your hand, splashing more of the aroma into the water than intended. You turned to look at her, the word “I—” dying on your lips.

“It’s so hard to tell with men like him,” she continued, unlacing her bodice with a sigh. “So stoic. So guarded. But I saw the way he looked at me today!”

There was so much you wanted to say, but the words withered at the sight of her.

Having served her for so long, she had grown comfortable being nearly bare in your presence. As she let her hair fall—the silky blonde locks you had pinned so carefully earlier—her slender, graceful frame made your heart ache.

She was so beautiful, and standing in the same room as someone as beautiful as Princess Daphne felt like a cruel insult to your own heart.

But that was okay, because you would see him tonight. Unlike Princess Daphne, you would see the real version of him—the version of Bucky who gave you nothing but his warmth and his heart.

So, until then, you simply bit your tongue and nodded with a hollow smile.

“It is impossible not to find you charming, Your Royal Highness.”

The night crept on, and while the other maidservants were long asleep, you slipped out of the bedchambers. With quiet, tiptoeing steps, you made your way down the stairs and snuck out the back of the palace toward the gazebo where you and Bucky had agreed to meet.

The night air was cold and breezy, the shawl around your shoulders fluttering in the wind as you treaded through the grass.

Bucky was right—no guards were posted on this side of the palace.

As you sat down, your eyes drifted to the left. Tucked away behind the trees and bushes stood the small cabin where the kitchen crew rested. The lights were out, meaning the cooks were likely all in bed.

While you waited, the only things keeping you company were the hooting of owls and the gentle chirping of crickets.

By now, it was well past midnight, and your earlier excitement was slowly fading into exhaustion.

You found yourself yawning every few seconds, your eyelids growing heavier with each passing minute.

Had Bucky been caught up in other duties?

Had he forgotten?

Or worse—was everything Princess Daphne said true?

Had he realized his heart belonged elsewhere?

An hour had passed, and your heart began to ache the longer you sat alone without a trace of him.

You knew you had to be up early for your morning duties, so with a tired sigh, you pushed yourself off the bench and pulled your shawl tight.

As you stepped down from the gazebo, the sound of crunching grass echoed in the distance. Your eyes snapped open, your heart leaping at the possibility of him finally appearing.

But as the figure stepped into the faint, warm light of the gazebo, your shoulders deflated.

“Bob?” you asked, your voice sounding more disappointed than you intended. “What are you doing out here?”

Bob blinked, looking just as confused as you were. “I stayed behind in the kitchen,” he said, hitching a thumb over his shoulder. “I wanted to perfect the focaccia.” He lifted the loaf, which was carefully wrapped in a white cloth.

He stepped closer into the light, his eyes trailing you up and down. He took note of your thin sleeping gown with nothing but a flimsy shawl to cover the rest of you. Your face warmed in embarrassment as you wrapped the shawl tighter around you, though it salvaged nothing.

“What are you doing out here?” Bob returned the question.

“I’m… um—waiting for someone,” you replied meekly.

Bob glanced around, the crickets filling in the already awkward and suffocating silence when he found no one else near.

“… For how long?”

“I haven’t been out here long,” you lied, only finding yourself more embarrassed being caught in this predicament. “I was just starting to head back, actually.”

Bob pressed his lips together as if he wanted to say something. He knew you weren’t telling the truth, and any worker within the palace could piece two and two together.

Instead of leaving you be, he stepped up into the gazebo to meet you and lifted the loaf in his hands, changing the subject for your comfort.

“I think this is the best loaf I’ve made,” he said, unwrapping the cloth and revealing the gold-crusted focaccia with herbs laced at the top. “Want to share it with me?”

You looked back toward the palace. You really should have gone back inside, knowing just how early you’d have to rise in a few hours to tend to the Princess.

But at the thought of returning to your cold, lonely cot with nothing but the empty promise Bucky left behind, the warmth of a friend didn’t sound bad at all.

“Just for a moment,” you whispered, and Bob smiled gently.

You sat back down on the wooden bench, and Bob settled beside you, careful to maintain a respectful distance. He carefully tore the focaccia in half, the crust crackling over the chirping of the crickets.

“Here,” he said softly, handing you the larger piece. “It’s still warm.”

You took the piece in your hands and bit into it—no jam this time, but the taste was even better than the one you had earlier that day in the kitchen.

It was delicious, and you didn’t even need to shower him with compliments. The satisfied look on your face told Bob everything he needed to know. He smiled, his expression warming as he bit into his own piece.

For a moment, you two just sat there in silence. The only sounds were the crunching of bread and the wind rustling the leaves in the trees. Bob didn’t push for answers or smother you with questions like the girls usually did back in your chambers.

You two just sat there, enjoying each other’s company under the stars.

“You’re an incredible cook, Bob,” you said, gazing up at the dark sky. “I wish people outside of the palace could taste this—it’s exquisite.”

Bob wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, his shoulders hunched modestly.

“I told myself that when the war is over, I want to open my own bakery one day.” He looked up at the sky with you. “It’s always been my dream.”

You glanced at Bob. He had such a faraway look in his eyes that your heart could only ache for him.

Sokovian soldiers had been sweeping through the streets, stripping people from their families and tearing down local businesses—wreaking havoc everywhere they went. For the lucky few handselected to work in the comfort of the palace, it was like a dream compared to the world outside.

But even though many workers had aspirations beyond these stone walls, they knew deep down that safety came before all else.

“Well, when you do open up your shop,” you said, nudging him in the shoulder with a reassuring smile, “I’ll be the first one in line.”

Bob smiled at you. “What about you? What do you want to do when the war is over? Will you stay here at the palace?”

“Does anyone actually want to stay at the palace?” you joked, and he chuckled softly.

“No. I want what any other woman would want. I want to get married, have my own family—” Your smile faded slightly at the thought. “Maybe a cottage somewhere deep in the forest, by a river. A place where my husband can go hunting while I stay home with the baby.”

But even if the war ended tomorrow, you knew that future was a ghost.

Even if everything went exactly as planned, the only person you could imagine sharing that life with was Bucky—and he was the Sergeant of the Howling Commandos. They were the elite, the knights specifically curated to guard and protect the royal family at all costs.

He could never leave his post, even if he wanted to.

Bob knew it, too. It was why he didn’t press you with more questions. He simply rested a hand on your shoulder, offering a silent sympathy.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered.

You forced a smile. “It’s okay.”

Another silence settled between you, the crickets filling the space before Bob sucked in a breath to continue.

“I know you hear this plenty of times,” he started gently, “but you deserve so much better than—”

“Hey!”

A rough voice shouted from across the yard, followed by the sound of heavy boots thumping frantically against the grass. Both of you snapped your heads up, and your breath hitched at the sight of Bucky.

He looked as though he hadn’t slept in days.

He looked angry, his entire body tense, and his left hand—the cold metal of his prosthetic—rested firmly over the hilt of his sword.

Bob scrambled to his feet, hands raised in surrender to show he meant no harm. You quickly stood up beside him.

“James—”

“What the hell are you doing past your post at this hour?” Bucky seethed. He didn’t even look at you—his icy glare was focused entirely on Bob and Bob only.

“I—I was just about to head to bed, sir,” Bob stammered, his hands still raised. “I was just finishing up some work in the kitchen and—”

“Bullshit,” Bucky spat, stepping into the faint light of the gazebo. “All I see is a mere cook who has forgotten his place—a foolish boy who thinks he’s entitled to roam the grounds after dark. You’re a cook, Reynolds. Your duty begins and ends at the stove.”

You winced at his cruelty. You knew Bucky could be rough—it was how he had earned his rank, but Bob didn’t deserve this.

“James, calm down—”

“You will not tell me to calm down, for you are interloping on palace grounds as well,” Bucky snapped, cutting you off so harshly that you flinched.

“I meant no disrespect, sir,” Bob whispered, his voice trembling.

“Then get out of my sight before I decide your presence here is a threat,” Bucky threatened, his hand tightening on the hilt of his sword. “Back to your hole, baker. Now.”

“Y-yes, sir!”

Bob scrambled down the steps of the gazebo, sparing one last, sympathetic glance over his shoulder before retreating toward the dark cabins. Bucky watched him with a tense jaw, his face twisted in disdain until Bob reached the door and shut it behind him.

The silence that followed was suffocating.

Bucky had never spoken to you like that.

Usually, your meetings were filled with the hushed, gentle tones he shared with no one else. But tonight, he spoke to you as if you were just another servant—and that hurt more than his shouting. Instead of running to him for a hug as you usually did, you stayed rooted to the floor of the gazebo, your body tense, unsure of what he would do next.

Bucky slowly turned back to you, his eyes piercing, cold, and completely unwelcoming.

He stepped fully into the gazebo, his gaze trailing down your thin nightgown before landing on the white cloth Bob had left behind on the bench. He picked it up slowly, examining it as if it were evidence of a crime.

“You broke bread with the boy?”

You didn’t dare to speak.

“Answer me,” Bucky commanded.

“I waited for you,” you said instead, your voice trembling.

Bucky fell silent, the cloth in his hands lowering at your quiet admission. For a moment, it seemed as though he had been snapped out of his defensive daze, and you took the opportunity to continue.

“I waited for over an hour,” you said, wrapping the shawl tighter around your body defensively. “I have to rise in merely four hours—you know that. And yet...” Your voice started to shake, your face scrunching as you tried to will away tears. “You stood me up.”

Bucky parted his lips to speak, but you breezed right through him.

“Not only that—but you treated Bob with such blatant disrespect! He’s my friend, and he did nothing but keep me company and feed me!”

Bucky’s eyebrow twitched at that, his voice coming out pettier than he intended. “I didn’t realize that kid was of such importance to you.”

You blinked, your face scrunching at his words. “Don’t tell me,” you scoffed lightly in disbelief. “Are you jealous?”

He made a face. He could deny it all he wanted, but the way his jaw set told you the truth.

“I am many things,” he said stiffly. “But jealous? I am not.”

You crossed your arms over your chest, shaking your head. “Oh, I’m sure.”

“And even if I was,” Bucky stepped closer, invading your space until he was looking down at you. You made no effort to move, standing your ground despite the height difference. “Is that so wrong?”

Your brows furrowed. “Funny for you to say. I heard you had an excellent time being out with the Princess today.”

Bucky’s face became a mask of confusion. “What?”

“About how charming you were,” you said with bitterness. “She said you held her parasol and that you looked at her… differently.”

Bucky let out a dry, humorless rasp of a laugh, running his gloved right hand through his hair.

“Looking at her differently? That’s unbelievable,” he scoffed. “And you know it is my job to do as I am told.” He took another step, his shadow completely looming over you. “And charming, is it? What do you think? Am I charming?”

He was taunting you now, but you refused to let him distract you from the fact that he had stood you up.

“You’re ridiculous, James,” you spat. Your hands tightened on your shawl as you tried to push past him, but he grabbed your arm firmly enough to hold you in place.

“Wait—” he sighed, his shoulders finally easing as the defensive walls came down. “I’m sorry. It was never my intention to stand you up—I swear it.”

He squeezed your arm gently—a silent plea for you to hear him out.

“I was with the General,” he spoke, his voice getting quieter. “The meeting… it went on for hours. There were maps, ledgers, reports from the front. It’s Sokovia. The news is bad, and the King is panicked.”

He met your eyes, and you could finally see the raw regret and exhaustion behind them. “The Sokovian line is breaking through the southern pass. It’s getting worse, and the General is scrambled. He spent three hours arguing over troop placements and supply routes—I… I couldn’t just walk out.”

Bucky tugged on your arm gently, guiding you to face him. His left hand moved to your chin, his thumb stroking your cheek to keep your focus on him as he explained.

“I was supposed to leave tonight. Right after the meeting adjourned, I was ordered on a scouting mission to the front lines. I wouldn’t have even had time to find you to say goodbye.”

Bucky was leaving?

You sucked in a sharp breath, a wave of regret washing over you for being so quick with your accusations.

“But… you’re still here,” you whispered, your eyes searching his.

“I am,” he nodded, tilting his head down to stay in your line of sight. “Rogers and Wilson… they volunteered to take the mission in my stead. They’re out there right now, just so I could be here—with you.”

Bucky’s hands trailed from your face down to your arms, eventually finding your hands and cradling them in his larger palms. He brought your hands up to his face and leaned down, pressing soft, gentle kisses to your knuckles.

“There is never a moment where I’m not thinking of you, and God—the thought of you waiting for me this entire time… I can’t even fathom it,” his voice broke as he pressed another kiss to your skin, looking up at you through his lashes. “I swear to you—I would never leave you alone.”

He stood tall again, releasing one of your hands while his other crept up to tangle in the hair at the nape of your neck. He tilted your head back slightly, holding your gaze under the dim gazebo light.

“And as for that outburst earlier…” He exhaled, the sharp edges of his pride finally softening into embarrassment. “I’m sorry. I’ve been on edge, is all. I never meant to take it out on you, my dear.”

Bucky didn’t wait for verbal forgiveness—he took it from the silence and the way you gazed up at him, your eyes softening in the moonlight.

He leaned in, his breath warm against your chilled skin before his lips finally met yours. It was a soft, yet desperate press, a low groan escaping him at the feeling of your warmth against his own.

When he pulled back, it was only to pepper kisses across your forehead, his eyes closed tight as if he were memorizing every inch of you.

“You are a sight for sore eyes,” he murmured against your skin, his voice a gravelly, broken thing.

He kissed your temple, then the tip of your nose, his hands sliding from your hair down to the small of your back to pull you flush against his chest, you shivered from the cold armor. “A beautiful, beautiful sight.”

You sighed softly, your body unable to help but crave his touch—to crave him.

And all Bucky wanted to do was make love to you.

He stepped back, his eyes never leaving yours as he began to remove his armor pieces one by one. You moved to take your shawl off, setting it on the bench behind you as you reached for the straps of your dress.

“No,” Bucky cut you off coldly. “Keep it on. I want to tear through it myself.”

You swallowed hard, your face warming as you obeyed. You stood there, watching him as he watched you with hungry eyes. As he stripped away the layers of leather and steel, his breathing grew heavier. When he reached his belt, his fingers fumbled clumsily for a moment before he stepped back into your space.

He closed the distance again, his lips trailing down the line of your jaw to the sensitive skin of your neck. You let out a shaky breath, your head tilting back to give him better access as his mouth explored you.

“I’ve missed you,” he mumbled, the words muffled against your throat. He began to suckle gently, marking you between words. “God, I’ve missed you so much it hurts.”

“I’ve missed you so much too, Bucky,” you moaned softly. “So much.”

Bucky groaned against your skin, satisfied by your confession as his touches grew needier. His metal hand trembled slightly as it gripped your waist, pulling you so close there wasn’t any space left between you.

He whispered sweet nothings into the crook of your neck, each sentence making you writhe beneath him. “You smell so good.” “You’re so soft.” “So pretty.”

Bucky’s hands were everywhere all at once, a contrast of heat and cold as he explored the curves he had spent all day dreaming about. His flesh hand groped at your hip while his metal fingers seared through the thin fabric of your nightgown, mapping out the expanse of your lower back.

“I’m sorry,” he rasped against your ear. “I’m so sorry for keeping you waiting, my dear. I’m going to make it up to you. I promise.”

Your heart raced as his lips found yours again. His tongue pushed past, sweeping against yours as he kissed you hungrily.

Now stripped of his armor, Bucky pressed his hips forward, and you gasped softly at the feel of him—his cock, thick and hard, straining against his pants as it poked against your lower belly.

Your body already felt so empty without him. There was a building ache between your legs that only he could remedy.

“Bucky,” you sighed softly against his mouth. “I need you.”

“I know, my dear,” Bucky groaned, rolling his hips against your stomach once more, letting you feel just how hard he was for you. “You don’t know how badly I needed you today.”

His hands wandered down to grope your bottom through your dress, bunching the fabric in his fists as he lifted it up past the curve of your ass to squeeze you more.

“Missed your legs wrapped tight around me,” he breathed. “Missed you moaning my name.”

Bucky couldn’t wait any longer.

His strong arms wrapped tight around your body, picking you up and laying you gently on the floor of the gazebo. He spread your legs, nestling himself between them. With a rough hand, he found the hem of your skirt and lifted it past your thighs, exposing your undergarments. He impatiently found the waistband, tugging them down roughly past your legs to expose you to the cool night air and his hungry gaze.

“Fuck,” he muttered, his tongue darting out to wet his lips at the sight of your glistening cunt—already puffy and begging for him, and he hadn’t even put it in yet.

“She missed me, hasn’t she?” he hummed, staring at your pussy as he began palming himself over his pants. He felt pre-cum trickle at the tip, staining the front of his trousers. “Bet I can just slide in so easily. She wouldn’t even put up a fight.”

You watched, breathless, as Bucky pulled himself out of his pants. His cock sprang forth, so thick and so heavy, as pre-cum dripped from the tip and onto the floor.

“Christ,” you said, voicing your thoughts out loud.

Bucky grinned, his flesh hand gripping the shaft as he pumped himself slow and steady. “When was the last time we fucked, sweetheart?”

You swallowed hard, trying to mask your embarrassment at his vulgar words. “I… I don’t know. Nine… ten days ago?”

Bucky hummed. “Haven’t fucked you for a little over a week and you’re already seeking attention from other men, aren’t you?”

Your eyes widened at his words, and you couldn’t help a small, huffing laugh. He really was jealous—and that jealousy only seemed to spur him on, because his cock twitched in his hand as he stroked himself.

“Gotta claim you again,” he mumbled so quietly, it was like he was speaking to himself. “Gotta remind you who you belong to.”

With his metal hand bracing his weight over you, he rubbed his cock up and down your cunt, soaking himself in your juices. Your back arched off the floor, your hips wiggling for more of him, but Bucky only clicked his tongue.

“What an eager little thing,” he taunted.

“Bucky,” you whined, wiggling your hips until your entrance caught his tip. “Pl-please...”

Bucky groaned, squeezing his eyes shut as he felt your warm, wet opening catch around his sensitive tip.

He was so hard it was nearly painful. He had planned to take his time and savor this moment—but with the war in the back of his mind, he felt a desperate, driving need to fuck you as hard and as much as he could while he was still alive.

With a low growl, his hand found the back of your thigh, hiking it up and spreading you wide. With half of his tip already inside, he adjusted himself so he could sink even deeper.

“Goddamn,” he breathed, his muscles straining with the effort it took not to fuck you into the floor right then and there. “Just as I thought—so fucking wet… can just… slide right in.”

You hissed, your hands finding Bucky’s broad, bare back and clawing at the muscle as his thick cock stretched you out with each passing thrust. You could feel him throbbing deep inside you—searingly hot as your cunt welcomed him.

“Mine,” Bucky gritted through clenched teeth as you bottomed out against his pelvis, sheathing him completely.

To him, the feeling of your pussy was like a much needed, warm, tight hug after a long, stressful day.

“Ten days,” he breathed against your ear. “Ten fucking days—don’t think I’m gonna last long inside you, baby.”

“Don’t care,” you mumbled, wrapping your legs tight around his waist. “I just want to feel you, Bucky. Every inch of you.”

Bucky groaned, his flesh hand sliding up to your neck and applying pressure. He held your gaze, his eyes dark and blown out with lust, as he began rocking his hips back and forth. He moved slowly and sensually, forcing you to feel every swollen pulsing ridge and vein.

The sound of your pussy squelching around him filled the quiet gazebo. The mating press position made you feel utterly helpless—completely and devastingly stuffed.

“Oh my—Buck, too… too much.”

“Too much?” he repeated raspily, staring deep into your eyes as he continued to fuck you slow. “But sweetheart, this is me taking my time with you. You’ve taken harder.”

“I know,” you winced, your legs squeezing him tighter. “It’s just been… ten days—”

“Ten days and you’ve already gotten so tight for me again,” he murmured, his pace increasing. “Means you haven't been fucking anyone else.”

Your face burned as you stammered, “Of course not—”

The words that left your lips made Bucky’s heart soar and his cock pulse.

With a sharp exhale, he increased the pace. His thrusts slapped harder and deeper, making you bounce against the floor as you clung to him. The wet, vulgar sound of his skin hitting yours echoed under the gazebo roof, a testament to his hunger for you.

Bucky looked down at you, taking in the sight of your dress hiked up and ruined, your hair fanned out across the floor. You looked so beautifully destroyed, and something in him only wanted to ruin you more.

“Jesus,” he muttered, his blue eyes trailing down to where your bare hips tilted to meet him. He watched in awe as his cock disappeared in and out of you, his shaft slick.

“You look so good like this,” he rasped, his metal hand digging into your thigh to spread you even wider. “Sprawled out for me. Mine. Just mine.”

Bucky leaned in, his teeth grazing your exposed shoulder as his movements became sloppier and uneven.

“Seeing you like this always makes it so damn hard to leave,” he rasped against you, his balls growing heavier with each thrust. “Makes me want to do things to make sure you stay.”

You were a babbling mess beneath him, your voice reduced to broken sobs and incoherent pleas. You couldn’t even form words anymore, just soft, high pitched whimpers that only made Bucky’s grip on you tighten.

“I want to breed you,” Bucky confessed shamelessly. “Wanna give you a piece of me—so when I’m out there fighting, or when you’re away from me, you’ll still have me. I want to pump you so full that you’ll always be carrying a part of me.”

You body clenched at the implication of his words. He groaned at your tightness, gritting his teeth as he continued.

“Need to…” Bucky thrust deep, “pump you full…” He felt his balls growing tighter, felt himself getting closer. “Going to have to make you my girl for good.”

Your eyes rolled back as Bucky used your body for his pleasure. He was so much bigger than you, so much stronger, and all you could do was be the woman he needed as he fucked himself into you. You moaned, your body getting wetter and tighter as you felt yourself getting close.

The gazebo and the starlit sky above started to blur as tears prickled your eyes from the overwhelming sensation of being fucked.

“You like that?” Bucky breathed warmly against your skin. “You like the idea of being full of me? Of my own seed... dripping down your pretty legs?”

Your head was spinning as you nodded frantically.

“Yes!” you cried out. “Yes, Bucky—please! I’m yours… all yours—I want to be full of you!”

“Fuck,” Bucky moaned. With your hands still tight around his shoulders, he circled both his arms around your waist, lifting you from the ground and pulling you flush against his chest.

He repositioned you until you were straddling his lap, held aloft by his strength alone. Bucky’s arms wrapped tight around your body—the scent of sweat and sex mingling as he buried his face in the crook of your neck.

“Bounce on it, baby,” he muttered roughly. “Fuck—bounce on me ‘til I cum.”

Your fingers laced through his long, dark hair, giving it a tug as you fucked yourself down onto his cock.

Bucky groaned, his head pressing into your shoulder as his hands moved from your waist to your hips, his thumbs digging into your skin to help guide your rhythm. Every time you moved down, he met you with a hard thrust upward that sent sparks through your body.

“That’s it, sweetheart,” he rasped, his eyes fluttering shut as you began to quiver and squeeze around him. “Just like that.”

“Bucky… I’m—I’m going to—”

“I know, baby,” he rasped, holding you tighter against his chest. “I’ve got you. I’m not going anywhere.”

I’m not going anywhere.

“D-don’t go,” you whimpered against him, your body tightening as you clenched around his cock, letting yourself unravel all over him.

Bucky growled, low and deep in his throat, as his arms pinned you tight against his chest. With one last rough thrust deep into your cunt, he finally broke.

Thick spurts of cum surged from him as he began pumping you full. He slowly rocked his hips in gentle motions, letting his seed settle and mix inside the heat of your body.

“Good girl,” he praised with a gravelly rasp. “My sweet, precious girl.”

You let yourself melt into his touch as you two fought to catch your breaths.

Still perched on his lap, you felt him nuzzle his face into your chest, his hands roaming your back gently, mapping every inch of you as he came down from his high.

“So perfect,” he mumbled.

You looked down at him through your lashes, and the sight of him made your heart ache. You wanted to stay like this forever—with Bucky always by your side, holding you and making sweet love to you while he praised you with gentle words you wouldn’t want to hear from anyone else.

He told you he wasn’t going anywhere in the heat of the moment, but even you knew he could only mean so much.

“I don’t want you to go,” you said, your voice broken as you were reminded of his duties after tonight. “Please, just stay with me.”

Bucky let out a long, heavy sigh, his grip on you softening tenderly. He pulled back slightly to look at you, his thumb gently brushing away the sweaty strands of hair that clung to your face.

He didn’t pull out, he stayed joined to you, his cock still half hard and soft inside, wanting to keep that connection for as long as the world would allow.

“I know, sweetheart,” he whispered. “I know.”

He began to press soft kisses all over your face— your damp forehead, your cheeks, and your lips.

The reality was that after tonight, Bucky would have to be posted at the front lines along with his comrades, Steve and Sam. He would have to ready his blade, preparing for war at any given moment to lay his life down for a royal family instead of living on for the woman he loves.

But instead of letting that feeling take over, he gently pushed your hair back, looking deep into your eyes.

“Right now, let’s just enjoy the moment,” Bucky murmured gently, caressing your cheeks. “Me and you—we’re together now, and that’s all we can ask for, right?”

He spoke so soft, but you knew deep down he was feeling that hurt just as much as you were. You nodded, forcing a shaky smile despite the tears that threatened to escape.

“Right,” you whimpered.

“Don’t cry,” Bucky sighed softly, his thumb coming up to wipe the tear that spilled anyway, before leaning in to press another kiss to your lips. “I’m right here, baby. Right here.”

The sounds of crickets, soft breathing, and the gentle rustle of leaves filled the gazebo as you two held each other. His hands trailed down to your waist, his thumb rubbing gentle circles over the fabric of your crinkled nightgown.

“When the war is over,” you brought up carefully and quietly. “Do you think we’ll have a chance to be together?”

Bucky went still for a moment before a small, hopeful smile tugged at his lips—he didn’t have high hopes at all, but the smile you returned meant it was enough to reassure you.

“In a perfect world, where there is no war and no duties to bind us separately, I’ll always choose you.”

The sun that rose the next morning was the brightest it had ever been that month.

You found yourself in a happier mood, and everyone around you could tell.

“What’s she smiling about over there?” Wanda asked as she folded freshly washed white cloth.

“What do you think?” Natasha grinned, watching out of the corner of her eye as you hummed to yourself, handwashing towels.

“She’d usually be complaining about her back by now,” Yelena chimed in. “But she’s just singing to herself like some mentally deranged—”

“I can hear you all, you know,” you said over your shoulder without looking back. You pushed off your seat with a groan, stretching before you lifted the bucket of dirty water in your hands.

“I’m going to dump this outside,” you announced to the rest of the group. “Maybe bask in the sun for a bit—who knows. It’s a pretty day.”

“Okay, but don’t be long,” Natasha called out as she pushed the tower of folded clothes to the side to work on the next batch. “We have a lot to do today.”

“I won’t,” you reassured as you pushed the door open with your back, heading out of the cleaning chambers and into the warm sunlight.

As you dumped the water out onto the grass, birds chirped and the trees rustled gently in the spring breeze. Bucky was out there, somewhere, huddled in formation with the other knights as they scouted south of the kingdom.

After last night, Bucky had told you how he and the others had a mission that required them to be on their horses before sunrise. But later that night, he would meet you at the gazebo again.

He was the kingdom’s strongest soldier, and you knew he was more than capable of taking care of himself. But every time Bucky was out on a mission, you couldn’t help but pray for his safety.

You always hoped that he would return home without a scratch, falling back into your arms once again.

You gathered the empty, damp bucket and reached for the door, but you stopped short at the sound of horns blaring from the top of the guard posts.

Your head snapped up immediately at the unexpected sound.

Was this a drill?

The kingdom hadn’t made any announcements for a drill today—unless you had missed it?

As you raised your hand to shield your eyes, squinting past the sun, you saw the frantic movement of the soldiers at the top of the towers. The distant shouting was getting louder, and you watched in confusion as they began to ready their crossbows.

“Sokovian flags on the horizon!”

“Soldiers are pushing back from the southern bridge!”

“Alert the town! Citizens to the shelters! Get down!”

Your ears rang as everyone around you scattered in a frantic, panicked hurry. The horns continued to blare, crying out a symphony of war and ruin. Palace workers ran around, bumping into you as they retreated toward the safety of the cleaning rooms you had just stepped out of.

You knew you should run. You should follow them into the dark, stone safety of the cellars.

But the only thing you can think of was the southern bridge.

That was exactly where Bucky was stationed.

A hand clamped onto your arm, making you wince and snapping you out of your haze.

“Are you trying to get killed?” she hissed over the bustle of the crowd. Natasha yanked you backward, dragging you into the sanctuary of the cleaning chambers.

Inside, the room was unrecognizable. The neat stacks of folded white linens had been toppled and trampled underfoot. Buckets were overturned, soapy water slicking the floor as servants and workers scrambled toward the trapdoor leading to the deep cellars.

“Oh my god,” you breathed. “How—”

“They’re saying they’ve already made it inside,” Natasha yelled over the noise. “Sokovian spies were already within the kingdom just yesterday—soldiers are barging right into the palace as we speak.”

You felt your blood run cold.

Sokovian soldiers were already threatening to tear down the palace, and the kingdom’s strongest soldier wasn’t there to protect it.

“Where are the others? Yelena? Wanda? Bob—”

Natasha led you toward the trap door, cutting you off. “They’re already inside—”

The doors of the cleaning chamber shattered inward before she could even finish.

Sokovian soldiers stomped through, their armor dark and their weapons already leveled. “Clear the room!” one of them shouted, and before you knew it, the sharp crack of muskets and the whistle of crossbow bolts filled the air, splintering the wooden tables around you as the others screamed.

“Down!” Natasha screamed, shoving you to the floor as a projectile embedded itself in the wall where your head had been seconds before.

“To the back doors,” you hissed at her, pointing behind her. “Quick!”

She nodded, ducking behind you as you both scrambled for the exit. You burst out into the rear garden, the air already suffocating with smoke from gunshots and the sounds of people shouting over one another.

“The grapevines,” you shouted, pointing to the heavy wooden trellis that led to the outer wall. “We can climb over and reach the forest. The trees are thick enough to give us cover—”

Natasha didn’t let you finish before she grabbed your arm, already running in the direction you had pointed. “Let’s go, then!”

As you ran, a sharp crack sounded from your right. Natasha let out a choked gasp, her body crumpling as her leg buckled and blood blossomed through her skirt.

“Nat!”

You turned back, reaching out to grab her arm, but the world suddenly turned into a blinding flash of white.

A cannonball screamed through the air, striking the stone archway just above you. The impact was nearly enough to deafen you—a force strong enough to throw you backward.

You hit the ground hard, the air driven from your lungs.

Everything went silent, replaced by a high pitched ringing in your ears that drowned out the war. Dust and debris rained down, coating your tongue in grit and stinging your eyes. Through the haze of gray smoke and broken stone, you tried to move, but your limbs felt heavy.

You felt yourself deteriorating, the sounds fading in and out as your vision began to blur.

A concussion set in, your head aching and your body going numb while the world around you began to crumple and fall apart.

“Get the Princess to safety!” the kingdom’s soldiers shouted over the noise. “Go, Sergeant!”

Your head throbbed with an ache as you craned your neck, struggling to see the what was unraveling in front of you.

Through the thick dust, a familiar silhouette broke through the haze.

It was Bucky—his armor and silver blade flashing through the smoke. Following close behind him, a figure huddled low — the Princess, disguised under a dirty, oversized cowl to conceal her identity.

Ah, there he was.

Your heart thumped weakly in your chest as a strange, hollow peace settled over you.

Bucky was alive. Your Bucky.

He was alive, and he was protecting the princess.

You smiled faintly, and though your heart ached to reach for him, you knew it was futile. You couldn’t even feel your legs anymore, pinned beneath the heavy stone debris. The blood pooling around you was enough to tell you that the end was near.

But at the very least, in this moment as the war claimed you, you knew the person you loved was still standing.

And that was all that mattered.

In the chaos, amidst the smoke and the screaming, Bucky caught sight of you out of the corner of his eye.

His entire body froze. The soldier who never hesitated, the very man who served as the kingdom’s ultimate sword and shield, went completely still.

His blue eyes widened, locking onto your broken form, taking in the blood, the dust, and the way you struggled to even lift your head.

Any other soldier would have seen your body and deemed it a lost cause, a life not worth the delay. But for Bucky, every duty was forgotten as his feet began to move—away from the Princess, and toward you.

“Sergeant Barnes! What the hell are you doing? Get back in formation!”

“Barnes! Get over here! Protect the Princess!”

“The Princess is exposed! Cover!”

“Barnes!”

Several commanding voices roared after him, but Bucky didn’t look back. He didn’t care about the crown or the certain court martial that awaited him, or even the noose.

All he cared about was you.

Heavy footsteps thundered near your head, and for a moment, you feared it was a Sokovian guard coming to finish the job. They dropped to their knees beside you, and trembling hands cradled your neck to lift you up.

“No, no, no,” it was Bucky who rasped, his voice frantic as he wiped the dirt from your face. “Hey… hey, look at me. Open your eyes, sweetheart. It’s me—stay with me. Come on, stay with me.”

You tried to speak, but all that emerged was a soft, wet cough.

His thumb brushed the dust from your cheek, leaving streaks in its wake, while his blue eyes searched yours for any sign that you were still there.

“Bucky…” you whispered, the sound barely audible over the roar of the nearby fire.

“I’ve got you,” he choked out, leaning his forehead against yours. He ignored the shouting soldiers and the Sokovian arrows whistling overhead. “I’m right here. I’m not going anywhere—you have to stay. You have to stay awake for me.”

He began to pull at the debris with a desperate strength, refusing to let the world take the only thing he cared about.

“I can’t—I can’t move my legs,” you choked out, your body feeling useless as he tried to lift you.

“It’s okay,” Bucky cooed, his voice breaking. “I’ve got you. I’ve got you.”

He was finally able to pull you free and cradle you in his arms, lifting you bridal style as he ran. You didn’t know where he was going, nor did you care. All that mattered was being here, held by the person you loved most.

“Just stay awake, okay? Promise me you’ll stay awake.”

“Bucky—”

“We’ll get you somewhere safe—I swear it—”

“Bucky,” you tried again, your voice a soft, fragile thread.

As he ran, Bucky tilted his head down to glance at you, his eyes searching yours to make sure you were still there.

“I love you,” you whispered suddenly.

Bucky’s stride faltered for just a moment as a choked, broken sound escaped his throat.

For a second, the face of the stoic soldier crumbled, and his eyes grew glossy with tears that threatened to spill over. But he forced his jaw to tighten—forced himself to get back into that same resolve that kept him alive til now.

“No,” he rasped, his voice hardening from vulnerability to a command. “Don’t say that. Not yet. You don’t get to say goodbye.”

He pushed himself faster, his boots skidding over the blood slicked stone of the courtyard as he dodged the falling debris of the palace.

“You save that,” he muttered, his breath hitching as he ducked behind a crumbling stone pillar to avoid a spray of Sokovian arrows. “You save those words for when we’re back at the gazebo—you save them for when the sun is up and there isn’t a drop of blood on this grass. Do you hear me?”

He looked down at you again, anticipating a response—anything to show that you were still alive—but your breathing was growing labored in his grip.

“I’m not letting you go,” he promised. “You hold on to me, and don’t you dare close those eyes.”

Bucky continued to run, and the world around you was nothing but a darkened blur.

The sounds started to grow distant, and in this moment, even on the verge of death, at least you were held by Bucky once more.

Bucky kept his promise—and more.

Even in a world that wasn’t perfect, bound by duties that often kept you both far apart, in the end, he would always choose you.

thank you to the anon for that lovely request and for entrusting me to write it. if you've made it this far, as always thank you so much for taking the time to read my work. interactions are always appreciated, I love reading every bit of them!

You cry taking his cock the first time, not in pain, but sheer sensory overwhelm, your body humming as his hands stroke over your skin, sinking into you. He licks the tears from your cheeks, grinds in deep and slow so you feel every inch.

When you sob in pleasure, fresh drops soaking into your hair, he groans and fucks into you harder, tucking his face down against your cheek so he can feel it, the way you slick up his cock, his skin, sweat and tears salty in his nose.

"Simon, so good, you're so big," you pant, "I can't- it's too much-!"

He crowds you down further, crushes you into the mattress, licking every gasp off your lips. Your panting little breaths, shaped around your sobs, are delicious on his tongue.

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