I'm just slightly obsessed with fanfics ♡♡♡

Ten minutes.

Ten. Minutes.

Ten goddamn minutes.

You're pacing like a mad woman, chewing your nails and feeling beyond irritated. Ten minutes ago you had sent your situationship a masterpiece. A true work of art. If you had to give it a name (not that you would, of course) you would probably call it something like A Study in Flesh and Lace; a rich title with that high and mighty velour that would be on display at museums for years to come.

You'd already put an oversized shirt on over said lace - too much bending for the best angle after a long shift at the Pitt had taken it out of you. You had just wanted to get home and get off. However, your stress relief had gone on a family vacation and attempting to find a suitable match, as it were, was a daunting task. So now you had to wait - which was so much worse. Instead of taking nudes, you could've gotten off three times and then drank wine and ordered in by now.

A ping has you diving over your bed for your phone, excitement pushing your frustration out of the way like a bat out of hell. You see you have a text when you click the lock button, turning onto your back in preparation, lip bit as you press your thumb onto the finger pad to unlock your phone. Your eyes scan the text quickly as another appears.

You frown at your phone. Off-shift? What could he-?

Your eyes flick up and horror dawns upon your face as you see that you had not clicked out of your last texting thread to send your saucy images.

You hadn't sent your nudes to your fuck buddy - you'd sent them to your fucking night-shift attending.

"AHH!" you scream aloud throwing your phone face down onto your pillow, your hands flying to your cheeks to cool them. "AHHH OMIGOD!"

Your face burns like a thousand suns. This was not happening. Your blood pressure was already high - it seriously did not need to be higher.

Jack Abbot had seen your nudes. You had sent Jack Abbot your nudes. Jack Abbot seemed to have really liked your nudes - that was a thought that cut through the panic and embarrassment.

You weren't just divine. You were fucking divine.

Tentatively you pick up your phone again, staring at the screen. You begin to type out an apology, then delete it. It feels like forbidden fruit. A can of worms you accidentally opened. You try again, hoping you sound more mysterious and sexy rather than painfully embarrassed at your mis-text.

... but you only end up red in the face unable to follow through with sending a response. He was like your second boss. A hot, sexy, and available second boss - but a second boss nonetheless!

How in the hell are you going to look him in the eye at handover tomorrow? What if he tells Robby?

Fuck. You'd never be able to look either of them in the face again. Maybe you should out in a transfer just to be safe.

Or maybe, a small voice in the back of your head beckons, you could text back.

"Nope." You say to yourself, power walking to your bathroom. Cold water. You needed cold water. "Not today, Satan."

You splash your face with icy water - once, then twice - gripping the edge of the sink like a lifeline. You stare back at your reflection in the porcelain, distorted and strange, before your eyes meet yours in the mirror. You look tired. Residency does that to a gal - but you still can't believe that it's you. Nudes made you feel powerful; your only vice being the expensive lingerie that was not only cute and sexy but also soft on your skin. You feel a wonderful shiver tip-toe down your spine as your brain feeds you an image of Abbot, murmuring his compliment to you with that cadence that is so unapologetically Abbot.

You put your head in your hands an groan as another text appears, this time from your actual fuck buddy.

You cringe and put your phone down on the unit with a sigh, hating that you wished it was another text from Abbot. God, you were already well and truly fucked; except in the way you needed to be.

Tomorrow you should explain. Apologise. Apologise again. Then crawl into a hole and die.

And hope and pray Santos, or any of the nurses, catch a whiff of what had happened.

With your mind half-settled, your phone pings again. The notification is from Abbot. You don't hesitate to open the message, sucking in a breath as you read the four words over and over again.

You chew your lip. You shouldn't. You really shouldn't. But you want to. You're back in bed, oversized shirt off, finding new angles before you could even think that this was a terrible idea.

Tits. Ass. Arched back. Mirror. Multiples of everything until you had a small album of photos to send. You edit the cream of the crop and send them before you try and talk yourself out of it. Staring at your phone screen you wait for Abbot's reply - which is a heart reaction fifteen minutes later and then-

Your face explodes into red blotches as you squeeze your thighs together, giggling to yourself. The rush of adrenaline settles as a throb in your clit, and you gently begin rubbing circles over the lace covering it. It's an odd and wonderful sensation, but not one you fixate on. No your attention was elsewhere, your mind filling in for what reality could not at present; Doctor Jack Abbot calling you a good girl.

He'd say it in a hushed whispers as he passes you on your rounds, during a stressful operation that you persevere through, when he pulls you in to a private room for a quick pep-talk. You press down harder, the material slowly dampening with each scenario. He'd say it to you teasingly, tauntingly, mockingly, sweetly - no doubt as he ruins you all the same.

You cum with a short gasp and a pant, your thighs closing around your fingers. Your heart thuds as you gently remove your fingers, a new idea crossing your mind. You find your phone and take one last picture of the night; your legs spread open, your free hand laying across your mound with fingers spreading the lace taught enough so that Abbot could see your cum shining under the light of you room. With a pleased sigh, your eyelids flutter closed and you drift to sleep thinking of more ways for Abbot to call you a good girl.

You wake with a start to the sound of your alarm. Last night seemed a world away and as you sit up in your bed, you could've sworn it was a dream.

Then the embarassment and regret strikes. Hard.

You look at your phone, somewhat hopeful that it was a nightmare but it is in fact worse. Your last photo has been seen but not replied to. Groaning you come out of your text chain and chalk it up to a lesson learned. Don't sext your attending.

You attempt to wash away your embarassment in the shower, conjuring a plan to apologise and maybe clear the air with an honest conversation. However, that was easier said than done, and by the time you had arrived for handover you were intent on avoiding Abbot at all costs.

You made sure you used Mel or Whittaker as unassuming human shields, however, you couldn't shake the feeling that every time you stepped within a 10-foot radius of Abbot, his eyes were on you. Heat crawled along every inch of you skin and worse yet; you got goosebumps. It was nigh unbearable.

It was just as he was leaving, he took a moment to brush past you letting you smell the remnants of his gently spiced aftershave call you like a siren song.

"I was thinking about you last night," Abbot says, signing a chart Robby hands him.

You freeze, stopping your quick scan of your own chart. He was bringing it up in front of Robby?! IN A FULL E.R.?!

"I think you need more experience on night shift and should swap for a while. If," he looks up at Robby, not you. "That's alright with you?"

Robby looks between you and shrugs, mind elsewhere. Thankfully, he doesn't see more than a man trying to be a good mentor. "Sure. Why not. I'll get in touch with Scheduling and see about swapping you for a few weeks."

Abbot nods and then throws you a smile over his shoulder as he adjusts his back pack. You see it for what it is - smug. You suppose, that that's what you get for avoiding him at handover. You should be annoyed but you're more fixated on how warm you are between your thighs. He moved you to night shift just because you sent him dirty pics accidentally? Maybe your attraction wasn't so one-sided after-all.

"You'll learn a lot from Abbot." Robby is talking but you're hardly listening, eyes following Abbot as he disappears to the exit.

"Yeah. I bet." You say, standing in the middle of the E.R with your chart in hand, wondering what the hell you had started.

End

For reblogs of my fics follow @grems-library or join my taglist here

Ten minutes.

Ten. Minutes.

Ten goddamn minutes.

You're pacing like a mad woman, chewing your nails and feeling beyond irritated. Ten minutes ago you had sent your situationship a masterpiece. A true work of art. If you had to give it a name (not that you would, of course) you would probably call it something like A Study in Flesh and Lace; a rich title with that high and mighty velour that would be on display at museums for years to come.

You'd already put an oversized shirt on over said lace - too much bending for the best angle after a long shift at the Pitt had taken it out of you. You had just wanted to get home and get off. However, your stress relief had gone on a family vacation and attempting to find a suitable match, as it were, was a daunting task. So now you had to wait - which was so much worse. Instead of taking nudes, you could've gotten off three times and then drank wine and ordered in by now.

A ping has you diving over your bed for your phone, excitement pushing your frustration out of the way like a bat out of hell. You see you have a text when you click the lock button, turning onto your back in preparation, lip bit as you press your thumb onto the finger pad to unlock your phone. Your eyes scan the text quickly as another appears.

You frown at your phone. Off-shift? What could he-?

Your eyes flick up and horror dawns upon your face as you see that you had not clicked out of your last texting thread to send your saucy images.

You hadn't sent your nudes to your fuck buddy - you'd sent them to your fucking night-shift attending.

"AHH!" you scream aloud throwing your phone face down onto your pillow, your hands flying to your cheeks to cool them. "AHHH OMIGOD!"

Your face burns like a thousand suns. This was not happening. Your blood pressure was already high - it seriously did not need to be higher.

Jack Abbot had seen your nudes. You had sent Jack Abbot your nudes. Jack Abbot seemed to have really liked your nudes - that was a thought that cut through the panic and embarrassment.

You weren't just divine. You were fucking divine.

Tentatively you pick up your phone again, staring at the screen. You begin to type out an apology, then delete it. It feels like forbidden fruit. A can of worms you accidentally opened. You try again, hoping you sound more mysterious and sexy rather than painfully embarrassed at your mis-text.

... but you only end up red in the face unable to follow through with sending a response. He was like your second boss. A hot, sexy, and available second boss - but a second boss nonetheless!

How in the hell are you going to look him in the eye at handover tomorrow? What if he tells Robby?

Fuck. You'd never be able to look either of them in the face again. Maybe you should out in a transfer just to be safe.

Or maybe, a small voice in the back of your head beckons, you could text back.

"Nope." You say to yourself, power walking to your bathroom. Cold water. You needed cold water. "Not today, Satan."

You splash your face with icy water - once, then twice - gripping the edge of the sink like a lifeline. You stare back at your reflection in the porcelain, distorted and strange, before your eyes meet yours in the mirror. You look tired. Residency does that to a gal - but you still can't believe that it's you. Nudes made you feel powerful; your only vice being the expensive lingerie that was not only cute and sexy but also soft on your skin. You feel a wonderful shiver tip-toe down your spine as your brain feeds you an image of Abbot, murmuring his compliment to you with that cadence that is so unapologetically Abbot.

You put your head in your hands an groan as another text appears, this time from your actual fuck buddy.

You cringe and put your phone down on the unit with a sigh, hating that you wished it was another text from Abbot. God, you were already well and truly fucked; except in the way you needed to be.

Tomorrow you should explain. Apologise. Apologise again. Then crawl into a hole and die.

And hope and pray Santos, or any of the nurses, catch a whiff of what had happened.

With your mind half-settled, your phone pings again. The notification is from Abbot. You don't hesitate to open the message, sucking in a breath as you read the four words over and over again.

You chew your lip. You shouldn't. You really shouldn't. But you want to. You're back in bed, oversized shirt off, finding new angles before you could even think that this was a terrible idea.

Tits. Ass. Arched back. Mirror. Multiples of everything until you had a small album of photos to send. You edit the cream of the crop and send them before you try and talk yourself out of it. Staring at your phone screen you wait for Abbot's reply - which is a heart reaction fifteen minutes later and then-

Your face explodes into red blotches as you squeeze your thighs together, giggling to yourself. The rush of adrenaline settles as a throb in your clit, and you gently begin rubbing circles over the lace covering it. It's an odd and wonderful sensation, but not one you fixate on. No your attention was elsewhere, your mind filling in for what reality could not at present; Doctor Jack Abbot calling you a good girl.

He'd say it in a hushed whispers as he passes you on your rounds, during a stressful operation that you persevere through, when he pulls you in to a private room for a quick pep-talk. You press down harder, the material slowly dampening with each scenario. He'd say it to you teasingly, tauntingly, mockingly, sweetly - no doubt as he ruins you all the same.

You cum with a short gasp and a pant, your thighs closing around your fingers. Your heart thuds as you gently remove your fingers, a new idea crossing your mind. You find your phone and take one last picture of the night; your legs spread open, your free hand laying across your mound with fingers spreading the lace taught enough so that Abbot could see your cum shining under the light of you room. With a pleased sigh, your eyelids flutter closed and you drift to sleep thinking of more ways for Abbot to call you a good girl.

You wake with a start to the sound of your alarm. Last night seemed a world away and as you sit up in your bed, you could've sworn it was a dream.

Then the embarassment and regret strikes. Hard.

You look at your phone, somewhat hopeful that it was a nightmare but it is in fact worse. Your last photo has been seen but not replied to. Groaning you come out of your text chain and chalk it up to a lesson learned. Don't sext your attending.

You attempt to wash away your embarassment in the shower, conjuring a plan to apologise and maybe clear the air with an honest conversation. However, that was easier said than done, and by the time you had arrived for handover you were intent on avoiding Abbot at all costs.

You made sure you used Mel or Whittaker as unassuming human shields, however, you couldn't shake the feeling that every time you stepped within a 10-foot radius of Abbot, his eyes were on you. Heat crawled along every inch of you skin and worse yet; you got goosebumps. It was nigh unbearable.

It was just as he was leaving, he took a moment to brush past you letting you smell the remnants of his gently spiced aftershave call you like a siren song.

"I was thinking about you last night," Abbot says, signing a chart Robby hands him.

You freeze, stopping your quick scan of your own chart. He was bringing it up in front of Robby?! IN A FULL E.R.?!

"I think you need more experience on night shift and should swap for a while. If," he looks up at Robby, not you. "That's alright with you?"

Robby looks between you and shrugs, mind elsewhere. Thankfully, he doesn't see more than a man trying to be a good mentor. "Sure. Why not. I'll get in touch with Scheduling and see about swapping you for a few weeks."

Abbot nods and then throws you a smile over his shoulder as he adjusts his back pack. You see it for what it is - smug. You suppose, that that's what you get for avoiding him at handover. You should be annoyed but you're more fixated on how warm you are between your thighs. He moved you to night shift just because you sent him dirty pics accidentally? Maybe your attraction wasn't so one-sided after-all.

"You'll learn a lot from Abbot." Robby is talking but you're hardly listening, eyes following Abbot as he disappears to the exit.

"Yeah. I bet." You say, standing in the middle of the E.R with your chart in hand, wondering what the hell you had started.

End

For reblogs of my fics follow @grems-library or join my taglist here

Your relief dies a sudden, horrific death as you look at the top right corner of the screen.

“No service…” you whisper in disbelief. You hold the phone higher in the air, waving it around like a lunatic trying to catch an invisible butterfly. “Are you shitting me? How is there no service? We’re in the middle of a major city, not the fucking wilderness!”

“It's this building!” Bucky growls, leaning over your shoulder to look at your completely blank signal bars. He is so close you can smell the mint of his toothpaste and the deep, intoxicating musk of his cologne. “The exterior walls are solid, reinforced brick and God knows what else. It creates a total dead zone out here in the alley. I can never get a signal on the fire escape.”

You lower your phone, your hand trembling from the cold. “So we have no phones. And we're locked out. On a Tuesday night.”

“Yeah,” Bucky says, running a hand through his dark, messy hair. “That pretty much sums it up.”

Bucky is already digging into the front pocket of his jeans. He pulls out his sleek, black smartphone, tapping the screen. The harsh white light illuminates his sharp features for exactly two seconds before the low-battery icon flashes on the screen. It blinks once, mocking him, and then the screen goes completely black.

Suddenly, a square of warm, yellow light spills out onto the iron grating a few yards to your left. You both turn your heads sharply. The window belongs to apartment 4A. Richard.

Richard is a miserable, sixty-something retired accountant who serves as the self-appointed tyrant of the co-op board. He has reported you for your television volume on a Saturday afternoon, he once threatened to tow your sister's car when she visited, and he constantly complains about Bucky’s irregular hours and “suspicious” guests.

You see Richard's silhouette through the glass. He is standing in his ridiculously plush, monogrammed bathrobe, peering out into the night to see what the commotion was about.

“Oh my God, Richard!” you scream, practically throwing yourself at the rusted railing that separates your landing from his window. “Richard! It's Y/n and Bucky! We're locked out! Open the hallway door!”

Bucky steps up right behind you, his broad chest almost brushing your back. “Hey! Richard! Open the fucking window!” he bellows, his deep voice easily carrying over the wind.

Through the glass, Richard squints. He clearly sees you. He sees you both shivering in the freezing cold. You watch as his mouth forms a tight, nasty little line of disapproval. He looks at Bucky, looks at you in your oversized sweats and Bucky's leather jacket, and his expression sours even further, as if he thinks you're out here having some kind of illicit, delinquent rendezvous.

Without an ounce of hesitation, Richard reaches up, grabs the drawstrings of his heavy, blackout curtains, and sharply yanks them shut. The light vanishes.

You stand there in stunned, vibrating silence. You blink, waiting for the curtain to twitch, waiting for the window to slide open. It doesn't.

“Did he... did that miserable son of a bitch just ignore us?” you ask, your voice dangerously quiet.

“He just closed the fucking curtains on us.” Bucky confirms, a dark, dangerous edge bleeding into his tone. He grips the iron railing with both hands, the metal groaning under his strength. “I'm going to kill him. I am literally going to end his life!”

“I will help you.” you state, turning to face Bucky, your eyes wide with homicidal outrage. “I will provide your alibi. We’ll say he slipped in the shower. Or better yet, we just push his miserable ass down the central staircase and say he tripped over his own bathrobe.”

Bucky lets out a harsh, bark-like laugh, his eyes flashing in the dim light. “Too fast. He needs to suffer, Doll. I have chemicals in my darkroom. Developing fluids. Silver nitrate. I can dissolve his body in a bathtub like a mob hit. Nobody would ever know.”

“We can forge a suicide note...” you continue, the absolute absurdity of the situation making you slightly hysterical. You’re shivering violently now, your teeth clicking together. “Say the guilt of being a complete and utter prick finally consumed him. We’ll take his apartment and knock down the wall to make a mega-loft.”

Bucky stares down at you, his anger briefly dissolving into a look of genuine, captivated amusement. “I like the way you think, Doll. You're completely ruthless when you're freezing.”

A violent gust of wind rips through the alley, slicing right through the thin cotton of your sweatpants. You let out an involuntary gasp, wrapping your arms tightly around your torso, trying to bury yourself entirely inside Bucky's massive leather jacket.

Bucky’s smile drops instantly. He assesses you, his gaze sweeping over your trembling frame. “You're freezing...” he murmurs, his voice softening entirely. “We can't just stand here in the wind. We need to get low, against the brick. It'll block the worst of the draft.”

He doesn't wait for your permission. He grabs your arm gently and guides you to the corner of the landing, furthest from the heavy metal door and shielded by the thick, jutting brickwork of the building's facade. He sits down first, crossing his long legs clad in dark jeans.

“Come here...” he orders softly, gesturing to the space right beside him.

You sink down onto the unforgiving, icy iron grating. As soon as you sit, Bucky reaches out, grabbing the heavy lapels of his leather jacket that is swallowing you whole, and pulls you firmly against his side. The shock of his solid, radiating heat makes you gasp again, but this time it has nothing to do with the cold.

You are pressed flush against him. His arm wraps securely around your shoulders, pulling you in so tightly that your thigh is resting heavy against his, your hip flush to his hip. He is a furnace in the middle of a tundra.

“Better?” he asks, his voice vibrating deep in his chest, right against your ear.

“Y...yeah,” you stammer, trying to control the uncontrollable shaking of your jaw. “A little.”

“We need to keep our minds occupied...” Bucky says, rubbing his large, warm hand up and down your arm through the thick leather. The friction feels like absolute heaven. “If we just sit here thinking about how cold we are, it's going to feel ten times worse. We need a distraction.”

“Like what?” you ask, leaning your head against his broad shoulder. It feels remarkably natural, as if you’ve spent your entire life fitting into the space beneath Bucky Barnes's chin.

“A game?” he suggests. “Something simple. Let's do the alphabet game. Movie titles. I'll start with A, you take B, we go back and forth. No repeats, no searching the internet, which we can't do anyway. Hesitate for more than ten seconds, you lose.”

You tilt your head up to look at him. His jaw is sharply defined in the shadows, his beautiful, messy hair blown back by the wind. “What does the winner get?” you challenge, a spark of competitive warmth finally thawing the ice in your veins.

Bucky looks down, his gaze dropping to your lips for a heavy, lingering second before snapping back up to your eyes. “Winner gets to decide exactly how we murder Richard tomorrow morning. I’m thinking blunt force trauma with a vintage camera tripod, but I’ll let you make the final call.”

You snort, a genuine smile breaking across your face. “You have yourself a deal, Barnes. Start us off.”

He shifts slightly, pulling you just a fraction closer, if that is even physically possible. “Alright. A. Apocalypse Now.”

“Good one,” you concede. “Okay, B. Basic Instinct.”

Bucky lets out a low, dark chuckle that sends a heavy shiver straight down your spine that has absolutely nothing to do with the wind. “Sharon Stone, huh? I didn't peg you for an erotic thriller kind of girl, Doll.”

“I am a woman of multitudes, Barnes...” you retort, your heart beating a frantic rhythm against your ribs. “Your turn. C.”

“Easy. Casablanca!” he fires back smoothly.

“Classic. So you’re a romantic. Interesting.” You tap your chin in mock thought. “D. Die Hard.”

“That is a Christmas movie, babe, and I will fight anyone who says otherwise.”

“It is a cinematic masterpiece, you heathen,” you correct him. “E. Go.”

He pauses for a moment, his thumb absentmindedly stroking the fabric of his jacket covering your shoulder. “Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind.”

You pause, looking up at him, genuinely surprised. “Wow. That is deeply depressing and beautiful.”

“I have depth,” he smirks. “F. Clock's ticking.”

“Fargo,” you counter instantly.

“Goodfellas,” he replies without missing a beat.

“Oh, pulling out the Scorsese. Okay, H. Heat.”

“Al Pacino screaming for absolutely no reason. A solid choice.” Bucky tilts his head back against the brick wall. “I. Inception.”

“Overrated,” you tease.

“You did not just call Christopher Nolan overrated!” Bucky gasps in mock offense, his arm tightening around you. “I might just throw you off this balcony.”

“I didn't understand the spinning top, okay?” you laugh. “J. Jaws.”

“Kill Bill,” he counters. “Volume one, obviously.”

“Obviously. L. Lethal Weapon.”

Bucky groans playfully. “You really like action movies with high body counts, don't you?”

“I work in fashion media, Bucky,” you say dryly. “I spend ten hours a day dealing with people debating the exact shade of cerulean blue. I need to see shit explode when I get home.”

He laughs, the sound rich and warm in the dark alley. “Fair enough. M. Matrix.”

“N. No Country for Old Men,” you say, shivering slightly as a fresh gust of wind hits you.

Bucky instantly notices. He shifts his weight, maneuvering his body so he is entirely blocking the wind, practically caging you against the brick wall with his large frame. His face is incredibly close to yours now, the banter fading into something much heavier, much more charged. The sharp smell of the cold city air is completely eclipsed by him.

“O,” he says, his voice dropping significantly, losing its playful edge. His eyes trace the line of your cheekbone. “Ocean's Eleven.”

You swallow hard, your breath catching in your throat. The heat radiating off him is making your skin flush. You can feel the heavy, steady thud of his heart against your arm. “P,” you whisper, struggling to remember the English language, let alone a movie title. “Um... Pulp Fiction.”

“Good,” he murmurs, leaning in just a fraction of an inch closer. You can feel his breath ghosting over your lips. “Q. Your turn to judge. Quantum of Solace.”

“The absolute worst Daniel Craig Bond movie,” you manage to say, though your voice sounds breathless and weak.

“Agreed...” Bucky whispers softly. His hand moves from your shoulder, his rough fingers gently brushing a stray lock of hair away from your freezing cheek. His touch is searingly hot against your cold skin. “R.”

You stare into his eyes, completely lost in the electric blue depths of them. The world around you, the cold, the locked door, the miserable neighbor, the deafening city, completely melts away. There is only this rusted fire escape, the suffocatingly heavy tension, and James Buchanan Barnes staring at you like you are the only thing that matters.

“R,” you breathe out, your eyes dropping to his lips. “I... I can't think of one.”

Bucky’s gaze is heavy, dark, and utterly consuming. A slow, devastating smirk tugs at the corner of his beautiful mouth. “Ten seconds, darling. You lose.”

“I think...” you whisper, closing the agonizing gap between you by a millimeter, “I'm okay with losing.”

Part 1- Part 3

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It wasn't immediate. But it was enough that the ache between your legs late at night soon became unbearable, and the only cure you could find was thinking about him while you bury your own fingers deep inside your cunt.

You whimper, biting your lip in an effort to keep quiet as your hips buck into your own hand, desperate to quell the desire you know is forbidden.

"Fuck, Lee…" you whine softly, imagining it's his fingers inside you, stretching you open and preparing you for more.

Your release comes quickly, pleasure pulsing through you as you choke back the moans threatening to escape.

The next morning, your ma's already left for town on errands, leaving you alone with the one man you're not supposed to want sitting calmly in the recliner on his day off, legs spread wide in a tempting invitation.

"You're not as quiet as you think, y'know," Lee mutters. You glance up at him from the couch, eyes wide and heart fluttering wildly. There's a mischievous twinkle in his eye, a smirk playing on his lips.

He couldn't mean that.

He must mean something else.

But then he shifts in his seat, pulling your gaze down to find the hard line of his own desire already pressing against his zipper.

You tried not to stare. You tried to ignore the heat pooling in your belly.

But when your eyes meet his knowing gaze once more, only one thought came to mind, a dangerous one: Lee is about to ruin you in more ways than one.

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Lee Taglist: @tw1sters

but more than that, he loves what follows. he loves the groveling apologies and the soft makeup kisses. he loves taming that craziness of yours and soothing you back into that sweet little thing you truly are.

he loves it so much, in fact, that he occasionally finds himself pushing your buttons just for fun.

sometimes he turns his location off in the middle of a shift and make bets with shen about how long it'll take for you to show up to ptmc.

jack comes out of a trauma half an hour later to find you talking with lena at the charge desk, and he thinks you look real cute wearing a pair of his boxers, a hoodie, and your house slippers.

he smiles big and says, "hey, baby. what're you doin' here so late?"

lena snorts and mutters under her breath, "give him hell, kid."

you give him that scowl jack knows all too well, saying, "don't hey baby me. why the fuck did you turn your location off, jack?"

he wraps his arms around your waist and sneakily slides his hands just a liiitle lower than what should be acceptable in a place like this. "just wanted to see you, sweetheart. that so bad?"

"me, or your other girlfriend?"

it makes jack laugh. the idea alone is insane—there would never be anyone else for him but you. his pretty little brat. "c'mon. let's go talk about this somewhere quiet, hm?"

you let him lead you to an empty room, and jack locks the door behind him because he knows good and well what comes next.

he admits he'd stopped sharing his location because he knew you'd show up, and he'd just missed you sooo much. jack sets you on the hospital bed and stands between your legs, his hands roaming down your shoulders, over the curves of your hips, thumbs massaging little circles on the inside of your thighs.

"just been such a long day, baby," he tells you, pulling over the stool to sit between your spread legs. jack presses a kiss to the inside of your thigh, mouth moving upwards until he's pressing kisses against your pussy through the cotton fabric of his boxers that you've stolen. "m'sorry i upset you. just missed you so much, you know? can i make it up to you, hm? you gonna let me do that?"

and you do, of course. let him pull your bottoms off so he can lick and suck at your clit until you're writhing, moaning so loud he has to stuff his fingers in your mouth to quiet you.

there's something addicting about it, about having you like this. you're always so strong and sure of yourself, yet you turn to putty in his big hands. so pliant and perfect for him.

jack makes you cum with just the warm slide of his tongue against your clit, circling the pulsing nerves until you're begging him for reprieve, so overstimulated there's not a trace of that attitude left behind.

when he does finally come up for air, his chin is slick with your arousal and he wears a knowing little smirk. "that's better, isn't it? hm?"

you roll your eyes, but the action is full of playfulness instead of irritation and jack knows he'll get through the rest of his shift a whole lot easier now that he's had a little pick me up.

by the time you leave, jack's sharing his location once more and he's twenty dollars richer (much to shen's dismay).

jack's favorite button of yours to push is the jealous one, though. and he knows it might be a little mean, but god. he just can't help it. you get so territorial and it's not like it's his fault that it makes his dick hard.

the two of you will be out shopping one afternoon. jack has the things you've already picked out draped over his arm, and you're carrying a few items you're not sure about when you find a employee to ask for a fitting room.

the woman is nice enough—she wears a tight-lipped smile and leads you to the back of the store and opens one of the rooms for you with the key around her neck.

but then she turns to jack and her smile brightens. "one for you too, sir?" the words are sweet and soft and overly bubbly, and jack fights the grin that starts to form on his face when you turn rigid at his side.

your fingers find his bicep, curling around the thick muscle. "uhm, no. he doesn't. thanks," you answer for him—tone stiff and final. not rude exactly, but something pretty close.

you then pull him into the fitting room and lock the door, already shaking your head as he sits on the little bench across from the mirror. "she was just being nice, baby," he says, but it's a lie, and you both know it.

"yeah, sure. too fucking nice if you ask me." you scoff. "i bet you she was hoping you'd say yes so she could go in with you and suck your dick or something. i mean, seriously. what the fuck is her problem? she didn't see me right next to you? you guys offer eye exams at the ED? i bet she'd love to come see you sometime, jack—"

"okay, hey. come here." you do as he says, coming to stand in front of him with your arms folded tightly over your chest. jack takes your hands in his and untangles them. he's grinning up at you—he can't help it. jack thinks you just look so sexy all riled up. "don't care what she wants, cause i only want you. hm? yeah? you listening?"

you still sport a crease between your brows, but nod in acknowledgment.

jack reaches up with one hand and takes your jaw gently between his fingers. "i only want my dick in this mouth for the rest of my life," he says.

you giggle and try to hide your amusement by shyly turning your head into your shoulder. but there's nothing shy about the way you kneel before him and reach for his belt buckle. there's nothing shy about the way you pull his cock out, already hard watching you indulge those strong feelings of yours.

jack's hands are tender as they stroke your hair away from your face while you swallow him down. your tongue swirls around the tip, your saliva collecting and dripping down to the base of his cock. his muscles go slack at the sensation when you hollow out your cheeks, sucking him hard.

"you look so pretty like this," he murmurs. "taking it so well, baby. feels so fucking good."

he lets you take what you need, lets you prove yourself the way he knows you need to.

"so much better than anyone else could ever be," jack encourages, cock throbbing between your plush lips. "yeah, there you go. that's it—shit—"

he finishes at the back of your throat, groaning as his cum fills your mouth. he slides out slowly, but keeps a firm hand on the back of your neck.

"show me," he instructs, and you obey immediately, sticking out your tongue and looking up at him with wide, glassy eyes. jack feels himself twitch at the sight of what he's made of you. filthy little thing. "mmhm. good. swallow now."

you do, swallowing his release like the perfect girl you are. a small drip spills down the corner of your mouth, and jack swipes it away with his thumb and makes you lick the digit clean.

he tucks himself back in his jeans while you stand. you reach for his hand next, pulling him to his feet to lead him out of the dressing room.

jack tries to grab the clothes you'd picked out earlier, but you tell him to leave them. "over my dead fucking body am i letting her check us out while she checks you out," you grumble. "we're leaving."

he doesn't argue, but he does ask parker to go back a week later with his credit card to pick up the things you liked.

that jealousy appears again a few weeks later when trinity invites a few people out for drinks at a new bar that just opened a short drive from the hospital.

but as it turns out, it's more of a nightclub than a bar—not exactly jack's scene. not for the last twenty years, anyway.

you and trinity have always gotten along so well, and jack thinks the invitation might've only been given to him in hopes that you'd attend, too. robby shows up late, his invitation given from dennis, of course—and the night quickly turns into drinks and a show.

jack and robby sit at the bar, nursing a couple of sweating beer bottles while they watch the group of you dance together animatedly. there's strobe lights and poppy synth music playing. you're wearing a pretty sequined dress, giggling and twirling victoria around in a circle.

and try as he might, jack can't keep his eyes off you—so passionate and full of life, young and carefree in a way he wants to soak up. he could stay here for hours, jack thinks. just watching you have your fun with a smile on his face.

later in the night, you come over to order another one of those garnished pink drinks and a round of green tea shots. you've got your arm around jack's shoulders and his is bracketed tight around your waist, pulling you into him, close enough he can smell your sweet body spray and the faint scent of you underneath.

the bartender is a young guy—far closer to you in age than jack is. he's got a shaggy hair cut and a nose ring and when he sits your drink and the shots on the bar in front of you, he grins and says over the music, "i like your nails."

and jack…well. jack doesn't think it's funny at all, when he's on the other end of this.

you immediately glance at him, at the amusement that falls from his face—and then you turn back to the bartender and say, "thanks! my boyfriend paid for them!"

jack's arm tightens around your waist. he's never considered himself a jealous man, not really. but the way the bartender's looking at you doesn't sit well at all.

you take a drink from your glass and swallow the shimmery pink liquid. "mm, it's so good, jack. here, try some."

at first, he thinks you're going to pass the glass to him to take a small sip. but what you do instead is take his jaw between your manicured fingers and kiss him hard. your tongue slips lewdly into his mouth, sliding against his own. he can taste the alcohol and the sugary sweetness on your lips.

jack doesn't think he'd be able to fight off his big ass grin if he tried.

you pull away, laughing girlishly, and then turn his head to playfully lick the stubble on his cheek. "thanks for the drinks, daddy!"

jack squeezes his jaw and chuckles low as you gather the shots in your hand before returning to the dance floor.

the bartender mixes someone else's drink now, jaw feathering as he pointedly avoids jack's gaze.

beside him,robby shakes his head before taking a slow swig from his beer. "you've got your hands full, brother."

it makes jack laugh.

because yeah, he does. and he fucking loves it.

and later that night, back at your apartment? well, jack's got his hands full of something else.

you're bent over the mattress, dress pushed up around your hips, panties pulled to the side. he palms the pillowy globes of you ass as he fucks his cock into you, pussy slick and dripping for him.

"yeah, there you go. fuckin' take it," he says, hips snapping forward. "my girl. my girl, baby. no one else can fuck you like this, huh?"

"only—hmm—only you," you whimper. you're a trembling mess beneath him, fingers clutched tight in the sheets. your moans echo against the four walls, the obscene, wet slide of his cock making him throb.

"say it," he orders, a low sound rumbling in his chest. "tell me who you belong to."

"m'yours, jack—oh god, oh—yours, yours yours—i'm your girl—fuck—"

"that's right, sweetheart," he says, slipping a hand around your hip and beneath you to find your clit. he circles it gently, applying the perfect amount of pressure. "can feel you squeezing me. you wanna cum, baby? hm? you like the way i fuck you?"

"yes, jack—oh god, so fucking good, please please—"

he drives his cock deeper, spreading you open so he can watch it go in. he can feel his own release threatening, a white hot bliss coiling tight at the base of his spine. "give it to me," jack says. "mmhm. yeah, that's it. this pussy belongs to me. my pussy. my fuckin' girl."

the sticky walls of your cunt tighten around him, pulling him in impossibly deeper, and it sends jack over the edge. he fucks you through it, filling you up with his release, fingers circling your clit until you're shaking beneath him.

when he's spent, jack falls forward, forehead pressed between your shoulder blades as he tries to catch his breath. he presses sweet, soft kisses to your skin, whispering all the while. "did so good for me. my favorite girl. so pretty."

he feels you stiffen beneath him, and jack stands to allow you the space to move. you turn over, tugging your dress up and over your head to discard it on the floor.

you're still panting and your thighs are still trembling, but jack can see the irritation in the way you move.

with his mouth turned up at the corners, jack asks, "what's wrong, baby?"

I just miss your accent and your friends

Did you know I still talk to them?

Cherry || Harry Styles

⋆.˚ ☾⭒.˚

Bucky hates cherries. The sharp, sticky taste and the sickly smell of them turned his stomach, and Yelena seemed to take an unreasonable amount of pleasure in reminding him of it whenever she got the opportunity.

He watched from the kitchen, the coffee machine whirring in the background, Yelena sat by the window, one leg tucked beneath her as she lazily picked cherries from the punnet balanced on her thigh. Every few seconds she would pop another into her mouth, chewing thoughtfully as she stared out at the city beyond the glass.

He tried to walk past her without comment.

The moment he came level with her, she lifted the punnet towards him, holding the plastic tub up near his face, an innocent little smile as she offered him the fruit.

Bucky recoiled immediately. He ducked away from the offer, his shoulders pulling back and his face twisting as the smell reached him.

Yelena stared at him for a moment before breaking into a delighted laugh.

“What are you doing?” she asked, looking at him as though he’d suddenly lost his mind. “It is a cherry, not a bomb.”

“I just don’t like them,” he grunted, already moving away from her.

He dropped into the chair opposite, putting as much distance between himself and the punnet as possible. His coffee was still in his hand, and he lifted it towards his face, taking a long drink as though the bitterness might somehow overpower the lingering memory of sweetness in the air.

Yelena watched him over the edge of the punnet.

Before she could probe further into his fear, the sound of footsteps approached from the hallway. Ava appeared in the doorway with a small collection of letters in her hand. She didn’t announce herself or offer any explanation; she simply crossed the room and held one of the envelopes out towards Bucky.

He frowned slightly as he took it.

Ava was already turning away before he’d even had the chance to thank her, disappearing back into the corridor without another word.

Bucky looked down at the envelope in his hand. The handwriting immediately caught his attention.

It was neat and deliberate, written in elegant cursive across the front in black ink.

James Buchanan Barnes.

His thumb traced absently along the edge of the envelope before he opened it.

Yelena’s attention shifted towards him almost immediately.

Nobody got mail at the Tower. Not personal mail, anyway. There were deliveries, reports, documents and the occasional piece of paperwork Val had decided needed to exist in triplicate, but nobody ever received a handwritten letter addressed to them like that.

She watched Bucky unfold the thick cream card inside.

His eyes moved over the first few lines.

You are cordially invited to celebrate the wedding of Brandi and Carl,

He stopped.

It was subtle enough that somebody who didn’t know him might not have noticed. His expression barely changed, but his fingers tightened slightly around the invitation, and something in his posture seemed to draw inward.

He didn’t finish reading.

Instead, he carefully folded the card back along its original crease and slipped it into the envelope before placing it face down on the coffee table.

Yelena tilted her head.

“Bad news?”

“Wedding invitation.”

“Who for?”

Bucky glanced at her.

“Old friends.”

His answer came quickly, almost too quickly, and Yelena’s eyes narrowed with interest.

She had learned a great deal about Bucky in the time she’d known him. More than he probably realised. He was not somebody who volunteered information about himself, and the more he wanted a subject left alone, the shorter his answers became.

Yelena had also learned that short answers rarely meant there was nothing to say. Usually, they meant there was far too much.

“You gonna go?” she asked casually.

Bucky looked at her again, his brows drawing together. “No.”

Yelena can practically see his defence go up. His walls raising quickly to block her from digging into his feelings.

“Why?”

His jaw tightened. He held her gaze for another moment, clearly deciding whether arguing with her was worth the effort. Apparently it wasn’t, because he simply pushed himself to his feet, picking up his coffee from the arm of the chair.

“Drop it, Yelena.”

He walked towards the hallway, leaving the letter sitting on the coffee table behind him.

Yelena watched him go. She waited until he disappeared around the corner before looking back at the discarded paper.

Her curiosity had been bothering her since the moment she’d seen his expression, and now that he’d specifically told her to leave it alone, she found herself almost incapable of doing anything else.

She placed the punnet of cherries down and leaned across the table, picking up the abandoned envelope.

“Whoops,” she murmured when she noticed the faint red marks her fingers had left across the cream paper.

She wiped her hands against her thigh before carefully pulling the invitation free from the envelope.

Her eyes moved over the names.

Brandi and Carl.

She knew those names.

It took her a moment to place them, but then the memories surfaced.

She remembered seeing them around Bucky months ago, back when things had been different.

She knew there had been double dates with them, nights out, photographs that had occasionally appeared on somebody’s phone, and stories about the ridiculous things Carl had said after too many drinks.

Most importantly, Yelena remembered Bucky during that period.

He had been different.

Not necessarily happier in any obvious, exaggerated way. Bucky had never been particularly good at showing happiness, and even then there had always been something guarded about him. But there had been a softness to him that Yelena rarely saw anywhere else. His shoulders hadn’t always been drawn tight, his expression hadn’t constantly carried the weight of a hundred thoughts, and every now and then she had caught him smiling without seeming to realise he was doing it.

It had always happened around her.

Yelena remembered noticing it whenever, y/n was stood beside him.

Bucky could be difficult with almost everyone. He was stubborn, sarcastic and perpetually irritated by something, whether it was the people around him, the world outside the Tower or simply the fact that someone had decided to speak to him before he’d finished his coffee.

But when y/n was beside him, something changed. He seemed lighter.

There had been a gentleness in the way he looked at her, an ease in the way he stood beside her, as though having her there gave him permission to put down some of the things he carried when nobody else was watching.

Six months ago was the last time she had seen y/n wandering through the halls of the Tower.

And that was how long it had been since they had broken up. In those six months, Bucky had slowly become someone she recognised from before.

The warmth had disappeared.

He had started spending more time alone, returning to old habits with an almost unconscious determination. His shoulders were permanently hunched now, his expression more distant, his patience thinner. He was colder, quieter, harder to reach.

It was as though whatever part of him had been allowed to breathe while she was around had slowly been pulled back behind his walls.

Yelena’s fingers tightened slightly around the invitation.

She looked towards the corridor where Bucky had disappeared, her expression becoming more thoughtful.

Brandi and Carl weren’t just old friends. They belonged to a part of Bucky’s life that had existed when he was with her.

Judging by the way he’d looked at that invitation, Yelena had a feeling the wedding was going to force him to confront considerably more than whether or not he wanted to attend.

Yelena hadn’t mentioned the invitation to Bucky. Not after she had secretly read it, and certainly not after she had watched him tear it in half and throw it into the bin the following morning.

Not due to lack of trying, but since that morning she had barely seen him around. Bucky became almost impossible to find.

He hadn’t officially disappeared from the Tower, but he may as well have. Yelena would occasionally catch sight of him emerging from the gym, usually with sweat darkening the collar of his shirt and a towel thrown over one shoulder, before he disappeared straight back towards his room. He avoided the kitchen whenever everyone else was there, ate at strange hours and stopped joining the others in the living room in the evenings.

The closer the date came, the more he seemed to retreat into himself. This wedding had brought y/n back to the forefront of his mind, she could tell this all just from the thunderous frown on his face.

It had been six months since the breakup. Six months since Bucky had ended things.

Yelena didn’t know why things ended. She had never asked him directly, partly because she knew better than to corner Bucky when he wasn’t ready to talk and partly because she had seen enough of him afterwards to know that whatever his reason had been, it hadn’t been an easy decision.

But she knew one thing. Y/n hadn’t been the one to walk away, Yelena had learnt that she was deeply loyal and even deeper in love. She had never heard them argue, until that night, hearing y/n crying calling Bucky a coward before storming out the tower to never be seen since.

That was what made his behaviour over the last few weeks so difficult to understand. He wasn’t running from somebody who had hurt him. He was running from somebody he had hurt himself.

By the time there was only a week till the wedding, Yelena found him in the gym.

The heavy punching bag swung violently from its chain, the metal creaking and groaning above him as Bucky drove another fist into it. His movements were usually controlled when he trained, each strike deliberate and measured, but there was very little discipline in what he was doing now. He was hitting the bag with the kind of relentless force that suggested he wasn’t really trying to improve anything anymore.

He was trying to exhaust himself.

His breathing had become rougher, his shoulders tense beneath his shirt, and the wraps around his knuckles were already beginning to darken where the skin beneath them had split.

When Yelena stepped into the room, he noticed her almost immediately.

His fist stopped against the bag, and he glanced over his shoulder at her with an expression that told her he already knew exactly why she had come.

He rolled his eyes, released the punching bag and walked towards the bench, reaching for his water bottle and taking a long drink.

“Don’t start.”

Yelena hadn’t even spoken.

She stopped a few feet away, watching the faint irritation settle across his face. There was something almost amusing about how quickly he could read her. He knew that look in her eyes, knew the particular glint that appeared whenever she had decided there was something worth investigating, and he had apparently decided that the safest course of action was to shut her down before she had the opportunity.

Yelena raised both hands beside her head in surrender.

“I said nothing.”

“You’re thinking.”

“I am always thinking.”

“That’s what worries me.”

A smile tugged faintly at the corner of her mouth, but she didn’t answer.

Instead, she sat down on the opposite bench and began wrapping her knuckles, taking her time with each strip of tape. Bucky watched her suspiciously for a moment before turning back towards the punching bag.

He started again.

For several minutes, the only sounds in the gym were the steady thud of Bucky’s fists against the bag, the occasional groan of the chain above him and the quiet rustle of Yelena’s hand wraps.

Eventually, she spoke. Bucky kept punching attempting to block her words out, reducing her voice down to a murmur. His fist connected with the bag again before he finally stopped, catching it with his metal hand as it swung back towards him.

“What?” Bucky grunted, giving up on blocking her out.

“I said you should go.”

He scoffed and released the bag.

Yelena continued wrapping her hand.

“They clearly want you there. Brandi and Carl invited you, and they’re your friends too. Whatever happened between you and y/n obviously hasn’t changed the way they think about you, otherwise you wouldn’t have received an invitation in the first place.”

Bucky looked away.

“So, I think you should go.”

“It’s not that easy.”

The answer was quiet enough that Yelena almost missed it. She looked up.

Bucky was staring at the floor, his hands resting against his hips.

“I haven’t seen them,” he said. “I haven’t seen her since we broke up.” His jaw tightened. “She told me she never wants to see me again.”

He let the sentence disappear. Yelena studied him. There was no bitterness in his voice when he spoke about y/n . No resentment, no attempt to justify himself. Just guilt.

“You broke up with her,” Yelena said quietly.

Bucky’s eyes flicked towards her. It wasn’t a question. He gave a small nod. “I did.”

Yelena leaned back against the bench, thinking, you could practically hear her mind turning.

“Okay,” she said eventually. “So avoid her.”

Bucky looked at her.

“From what I remember, Brandi and Carl were very popular. There will be a lot of people there. It will be a big wedding. You can stand on the other side of the room and avoid her.”

Bucky shook his head.

“You don’t understand.”

Yelena was about to argue, but the words stopped before they reached her.

Because suddenly she did understand. Not the reason he’d ended things. That was still a mystery, and judging by the way Bucky shut down whenever the subject came close, Yelena suspected it was one he wasn’t ready to share.

But she understood why he was afraid of seeing y/n.

She had watched him around her. She had seen the way his entire demeanour changed whenever y/n entered a room. Bucky could have spent hours convincing himself that he had made the right decision, could have walked away from their relationship because he believed it was something he had to do, could even force himself to believe that six months was long enough to move on.

But none of that would matter when she was standing in front of him.

His attention would always find her. He didn’t even seem to realise he was doing it.

Yelena had watched his shoulders relax whenever y/n touched him, had seen his voice soften whenever he spoke to her, had watched the hard lines of his face disappear whenever she smiled.

There had been a gentleness in Bucky around y/n that Yelena never saw anywhere else.

It hadn’t mattered who was right or who had ended things. It hadn’t mattered that Bucky had been the one to make the decision. Whatever reason had forced him to walk away from her, it hadn’t erased what he felt. If anything, judging by the state he’d been in for the last six months, it had made it worse.

Y/n didn’t need to demand his attention.

She would always have it.

“Oh.” Yelena realised something that made the whole situation almost painfully obvious “You can’t avoid her.”

Bucky’s expression hardened. “I can.”

“No.”

“I can.”

“Bucky, if she is standing in the same room as you, you are going to look at her.” Yelena shook her head.

He didn’t answer.

“And if she talks to you, you’re going to talk back.”

His jaw tightened.

“If she asks you how you are, you will forget every reason you had for leaving.”

“Yelena.”

“And if she touches you,”

“Enough.” His voice was sharper now, but there was no real anger behind it.

“You know I’m right.” Yelena leaned forward slightly.

Bucky looked away.

She had seen the way one look from her could quiet him, the way her voice could pull him out of whatever dark place he’d disappeared into, the way he seemed almost instinctively drawn towards her whenever they were together.

She simply had him. And Bucky knew it.

That was why the idea of seeing her again frightened him more than he would ever admit.

He was scared that she would look at him the same way she used to, and every reason he had spent six months building around himself would suddenly feel paper-thin.

“You will look at her even if you don’t want to, you know you will always find her.”

“Stop.”

The word came quietly this time. There was no anger behind it. Only exhaustion.

Yelena’s expression softened.

She hadn’t intended to hurt him. She only wanted him to understand that pretending he could simply avoid y/n was pointless.

They both knew better.

Yelena sat back against the bench.

“You still love her.”

Bucky didn’t answer.

He turned back towards the punching bag and grabbed it with both hands, pulling it towards him until the swinging finally stopped.

“I came in here to work out.”

“I know.”

“So let me.”

Yelena nodded.

“Fine.” She didn’t push him any further.

There was no point. He hadn’t denied it. They both knew she was right.

Bucky had lost count of how many outfits he’d tried on.

At some point, he had stopped bothering to remember what he’d already worn and what he’d rejected. Shirts had been thrown across the back of the chair, trousers had been abandoned on the floor beside his bed, and at least three jackets had made it as far as his shoulders before he’d looked at himself in the mirror, decided he hated whatever he was wearing, and pulled the whole thing off again.

Every time, he had told himself the same thing.

He wasn’t going. There was no reason for him to go.

Brandi and Carl would understand. They had plenty of other people there, and he had already missed the ceremony anyway due to his outfit breakdown. There was no point turning up halfway through the evening, especially when he hadn’t spoken to either of them in months.

It would be easier to stay here.

That was what he told himself as he sat on the edge of his bed, elbows resting against his knees, staring at another shirt he’d just discarded.

Then he’d stand up and try something else.

Eventually, after another long look at his reflection, Bucky settled on an entirely black outfit.

Black trousers. Black shirt. Black jacket.

Nothing distinctive. Nothing that would draw attention. It was deliberate.

If he was going to do this, he wanted to be able to disappear into the crowd as quickly as possible. He had no intention of making himself noticeable, no intention of walking into the reception and becoming part of anyone’s evening.

He could arrive late, congratulate Brandi and Carl, stay long enough to make it look like he had made the effort and leave before anybody had the chance to ask too many questions.

He had spent six months avoiding the people he had once considered friends because seeing them meant getting too close to the life he’d left behind.

But Brandi and Carl hadn’t stopped being his friends just because he had broken up with y/n.

They had invited him. He couldn’t bring himself to ignore that. Bucky stood in front of the mirror one last time, adjusting the cuff of his sleeve.

He looked like he was going to a funeral. He almost laughed at the thought. Maybe that was appropriate.

He grabbed his keys from the dresser, slipped his phone into his pocket and opened his bedroom door.

He had barely taken two steps into the hallway before he nearly walked straight into Yelena.

She stopped.

Her eyes travelled slowly from his shoes to his jacket, taking in the fact that he was actually dressed for an evening out.

Then her face lit up.

“You’re going!?”

Bucky’s expression immediately hardened.

“If you say another word, then I’m not.”

Yelena’s smile only grew.

She mimed pulling an invisible zip across her lips, then threw away an imaginary key over her shoulder.

Bucky didn’t look back as he made his way through the Tower, down towards the entrance and out into the evening air, the cool breeze catching against his face as he stepped outside.

For a moment, he stood beside the car with his hand resting against the door.

He could still turn around.

He could go back upstairs, change into something comfortable and pretend he’d never considered leaving in the first place.

Nobody would blame him. But before he could give himself another reason to change his mind, he pulled away from the Tower and drove towards the wedding.

The venue was huge.

That was the first thing Bucky thought as he stepped through the entrance, his eyes moving slowly over the sprawling grounds beyond the old estate. He had expected a large wedding, but nothing had quite prepared him for the number of people spilling out across the gardens. There were faces everywhere, most of them completely unfamiliar, people moving between tables and clusters of conversation with glasses in their hands while servers drifted through the crowd carrying trays of champagne.

The ceremony had clearly been finished for some time. The evening reception was in full swing, taking place almost entirely outside beneath the darkening sky. Warm strands of lights had been suspended high above the garden, crisscrossing over the dance floor and stretching between the trees and the old stone building, casting everything below in a soft golden glow. Round tables had been arranged around the edges of the dance floor, their white linens scattered with half empty glasses, candles and elaborate floral arrangements, while music played somewhere near the far end of the garden.

Bucky stopped just inside the entrance.

For a second, he considered turning around.

This was exactly what he’d been afraid of.

There were too many people, too much noise, too many reminders of a life he had deliberately removed himself from. He could already feel the familiar instinct to find somewhere quiet beginning to settle over him, the urge to disappear before anybody noticed he had arrived.

Then a familiar voice cut through the crowd.

“Bucky?”

He looked up. Brandi was already making her way towards him.

Her face had completely changed the moment she’d seen him, the surprise quickly giving way to a genuine, almost disbelieving smile. She looked beautiful, still dressed in her wedding dress, the fabric catching the warm light as she hurried towards him.

“You came!”

There was so much genuine happiness in her voice that Bucky felt something twist uncomfortably in his chest.

She hadn’t expected him. Of course she hadn’t.

For six months, he had disappeared from their lives almost as completely as he had disappeared from y/n’s.

Brandi had been one of the people he’d spent countless evenings with during those two years. She had been y/n’s best friend long before Bucky had ever met her, and somewhere along the way, without him really noticing it happen, she’d become his friend too. And Carl even more so. They had folded him into their lives without hesitation, invited him to dinners and birthdays and holidays, made space for him at their table until being around them had felt almost as natural as being around y/n herself.

And then he’d walked away. From all of it.

“Hi.” Bucky gave her a small smile.

Brandi barely gave him time to say it before throwing her arms around him.

He hugged her back, one arm settling around her shoulders as he leaned down and quietly whispered his congratulations against her ear. She squeezed him tightly before finally pulling away, looking at him with the same delighted disbelief still written across her face.

“I honestly didn’t think you’d come.”

“I almost didn’t.”

She studied him for a second, as though she could tell there was considerably more behind those words than he was willing to explain.

Before she could ask, another familiar face appeared beside her.

Carl grinned as he reached out his hand.

“Jesus, Barnes. It’s good to see you.”

Bucky shook his hand firmly, returning the smile.

“Good to see you too.”

Carl gave him a small squeeze on the shoulder before glancing back towards the party.

“You’ve missed half the night already, so you better make up for it.”

Bucky huffed a quiet laugh.

Carl pointed towards the far side of the garden, where a fully stocked bar sat beneath another canopy of lights.

“Bar’s free. Go get yourself a drink. We’ll catch up properly later, yeah?”

“Yeah.”

“Don’t disappear again.”

The words were delivered lightly, accompanied by a grin, but Bucky felt the weight behind them anyway.

He nodded.

“I won’t.”

Brandi gave his arm one final squeeze before Carl gently pulled her back towards the guests waiting to congratulate them.

Bucky watched them go for a moment, surrounded by people who clearly adored them, before turning towards the bar.

He had made it this far.

He had walked through the entrance.

He had seen Brandi and Carl.

Neither of them had looked at him with anger or resentment. They had looked at him exactly as they used to, as though six months of silence hadn’t been enough to erase the place he’d once held in their lives.

His eyes moved across the garden. That fragile sense of relief disappeared almost instantly.

He knew somewhere among the hundreds of unfamiliar faces, there would be one face he knew better than any other. He had no idea how long it would take before he found her.

He ordered a whiskey and stood leaning against the bar, hoping the burn of it would settle the restless feeling sitting beneath his ribs. It didn’t.

He finished one and ordered another. Then another.

None of them did much to ease the nerves twisting tighter inside him, but at this point Bucky was willing to try anything. It wouldn’t kill him to spend one evening letting himself forget exactly why he’d come here in the first place.

He was staring down into his glass when a man appeared beside him at the bar, ordering himself a beer and a cherry whiskey sour.

Bucky’s face immediately tightened at the mention of that deeply sweet drink.

The man caught the reaction, his eyes flicking towards him with mild curiosity before he gave Bucky a curt, polite smile. A second later, however, recognition seemed to settle over his features. His entire body turned towards Bucky.

“Holy shit.”

Bucky slowly raised his eyebrows. The stranger stared at him for another second.

“You’re the Winter Soldier.”

The name made Bucky grimace.

“I’m not the Winter Soldier anymore,” he corrected, his voice carrying the familiar irritation that always accompanied the name.

“Big fan.”

The man immediately stuck out his hand.

Bucky hesitated before taking it, but the man’s attention wasn’t even on his face anymore. His eyes had dropped towards Bucky’s metal arm, the polished metal just visible where his sleeve pulled away from the edge of his trouser pocket where his hand was tucked.

“Baby,” the man called, turning towards whoever was standing behind him. “It’s the Winter Soldier.”

Bucky’s attention shifted automatically.

And then the woman stepped out from behind him.

The breath left Bucky’s lungs so abruptly it almost hurt. For a second, he genuinely forgot how to breathe.

Y/n stood beside the man, one hand loosely wrapped around her glass filled with cherry whiskey sour. The warm lights strung above the garden caught against the silk of her dress, the blue fabric falling effortlessly over her figure as she stood beneath them.

Bucky stared. There was no disguising it.

His eyes moved over her before he could stop himself, taking in the familiar shape of her face, the way her loose curls framed it, the dress he had no business noticing as closely as he did, the way it fell over your figure. Six months of distance had done absolutely nothing to dull the effect she had on him.

He had spent months trying to remember why he’d walked away. Trying to convince himself that he had made the right decision.

Trying to accept that she hated him now, that she had every reason to, and that staying away from her had been the only thing he could do.

None of those thoughts survived the moment she looked at him.

Y/n’s eyes met his over the rim of her glass. She took a slow sip of her drink, never breaking eye contact. Her stare bitter and burning.

Bucky felt like he was choking.

The stranger beside him glanced between them, apparently noticing the way Bucky had completely stopped listening to anything else around him.

“I would say stop checking out my date,” he said with a half laugh, “but you would probably choke me with that metal arm.”

Bucky barely heard him. He couldn’t look away.

Y/n lowered her glass.

Her expression hadn’t changed much, but there was something in her eyes that told him she knew exactly what he was doing.

“Stop looking at me like that, Bucky.”

Her voice hit him harder than the whiskey ever could. There was a warning threaded through it, enough to tell him she meant every word.

But the way she said his name, it slipped so effortlessly from her lips, Bucky felt something inside his chest give way.

The stranger’s eyes moved between them, his expression shifting as he finally seemed to realise that whatever was happening between Bucky and the woman beside him was considerably more complicated than two people who happened to know each other.

“You know him?”

Y/n didn’t hesitate.

“No.”

There wasn’t even the smallest crack in her voice. She kept her eyes fixed on her ex boyfriend, her expression composed as she took another slow sip from her glass.

“Not anymore.”

Bucky’s fingers tightened around his whiskey glass, his eyes remaining fixed on her as though staring long enough might somehow undo what she’d just said.

“Y/n.”

Her gaze finally shifted across his face.

For one brief second, Bucky saw something underneath the coolness. Something that made his chest ache with the memory of a woman who used to look at him as though he were the only person in the room.

Then it disappeared.

Bucky felt sick as he watched the man’s arm wrap around y/n’s waist.

The jealousy was immediate and ugly, something he had no right to feel when he was the one who had ended things. He had been the one to make the decision. He had been the one who had walked away and left her devastated enough to tell him she never wanted to see him again.

So what right did he have to feel anything when another man stood beside her?

None. Absolutely none. Yet his hand on gripped the glass tighter, the tips of his fingers going white as the man fingers begin to trace over the dip in her waist. Bucky could’ve sworn he saw a grimace briefly move over your face.

Bucky couldn’t stop wondering who he was, how long he’d known her, whether he knew the way she took her coffee or the songs she listened to when she was sad. Whether he knew the little expressions she made when she was trying not to laugh, or the way she would always need a hand on Bucky when she needed to calm herself down.

Whether he knew her the way Bucky had. The thought made his stomach twist.

“Y/n,” he tried again, quieter this time.

She held his gaze for another moment. There was no anger in her expression anymore. That made it worse.

“Have a good night, Bucky.”

She slipped back into the crowd before he could find another word, disappearing between unfamiliar faces and bodies moving beneath the warm strings of lights.

Bucky watched her go.

His eyes followed her instinctively, helplessly, tracking the familiar sway of her hips as she walked away from him.

He caught himself.

His jaw clenched, and he forced his gaze elsewhere, disgusted with himself for staring when she had made it painfully clear she didn’t want him looking at her.

But it was too late.

He had seen her.

He had spoken to her.

And in the space of barely five minutes, every carefully constructed defence he’d spent building had come crashing down around him.

He had walked into the wedding telling himself he could survive seeing her.

He’d lasted five minutes.

Bucky took another drink of his whiskey, staring down into the amber liquid as though it might offer him some kind of answer.

It didn’t.

He was screwed.

Y/n had successfully avoided Bucky for the rest of the night.

Or, at least, she had tried.

Every now and then, across the crowded garden, she would feel his eyes on her before she even looked up. Their gazes would meet for a second, sometimes two, and every single time she would immediately turn away and make a beeline for the bar, ordering another cherry whiskey sour as though the drink might somehow dull the awareness of him sitting somewhere behind her.

It hadn’t worked.

Now, several drinks down, she had settled herself at one of the tables surrounding the makeshift dance floor, the warmth of the alcohol making the edges of everything around her slightly softer. The music carried across the garden, people laughing and dancing beneath the strings of lights, their shadows moving over the tiled floor.

Her attention eventually settled on Brandi and Carl.

They stood together across the room, seemingly oblivious to everyone around them as Carl leaned down to kiss his new wife softly. When they pulled apart, Brandi laughed, her hands coming up to his face as he grinned at her.

Y/n smiled.

She was genuinely happy for them.

They deserved this. They deserved the laughter and the dancing and the ridiculous amount of champagne being poured into glasses around them. After everything they’d been through, watching two people she loved so deeply find their way to each other should have been nothing but beautiful.

And it was.

But there was still a quiet ache beneath her happiness.

A tug somewhere deep in her chest as she watched them build the kind of life she had once imagined for herself.

A life that had been there.

A life she’d been so certain was hers.

And then, somehow, it had been pulled completely out of her reach.

Y/n swallowed, looking down at the drink in her hands.

She hadn’t realised how little she’d moved on.

She had convinced herself that six months had to mean something. That eventually the memories would become less vivid, that waking up wouldn’t immediately remind her of him, that she would stop instinctively searching for his face around her apartment.

She had thought she was doing better.

Sitting here now, watching Brandi and Carl kiss beneath the warm lights, she realised she hadn’t moved forward at all.

She had simply become better at pretending she had.

A shadow fell across the table.

Y/n didn’t turn around.

She already knew.

There was only one person she knew who could approach her so quietly that she could feel his presence before hearing him.

The chair beside her scraped softly against the floor as Bucky pulled it out.

Y/n kept her eyes fixed on the dance floor, her fingers slowly turning the glass between them.

“What do you want, Bucky?”

She didn’t look at him. It was easier that way. If she looked at him for too long, she wasn’t sure how long she could maintain the coldness she’d been carefully constructing all evening.

Bucky shifted in the chair.

“Where’s your boyfriend?”

He had tried to make the question sound casual, as though he were asking simply because he’d noticed she was alone.

He failed miserably.

Y/n let out a quiet scoff.

The nerve of him.

He had wanted out of her life so badly. He had been the one who had walked away and left her to pick up whatever pieces he hadn’t taken with him.

And now he wanted to know who she was seeing?

“I don’t know.”

Bucky’s eyebrows pulled together.

“You don’t know?”

“No.”

“Do you want to know?” Bucky asked, curious to how unbothered she was about her date.

That made her turn slightly.

Bucky had leaned forward, his forearms resting against his thighs as he watched her. His expression was carefully neutral, but y/n knew him well enough to see the tension beneath it.

She dragged her fingertips slowly across the tabletop, her nails making a faint scratching sound against the wood.

“No.”

Her answer was simple, but there was no hesitation behind it.

Bucky’s eyes moved over her face.

He noticed the slight glossiness in her eyes, the telltale softness around them that hadn’t been there when he’d first seen her. The alcohol had begun to settle into her system, loosening the edges she was normally so careful to keep sharp.

A gentle breeze moved through the open windows behind them, catching her hair and lifting it across her shoulders.

And then Bucky caught her scent.

Cherries. Whiskey. Vanilla.

It hit him with such familiarity that his chest tightened.

She had always smelled like that.

Vanilla musk and something sweet underneath it, usually cherries. He remembered it from nights spent tangled together on the sofa, from the mornings when she’d climb into bed beside him, from the quiet moments when he’d bury his face against her neck simply because he could.

Tonight, the scent was stronger, infused with the whiskey she’d been drinking. The drink she always chose.

Every one of his senses seemed to sharpen at once.

His eyes stayed fixed on hers.

His ears strained to hear her speak again, desperate for that familiar voice, desperate to hear his name in the same tone she used to say it when they were alone.

His fingers twitched against his thigh. He wanted to reach across the small distance between them, wanted to rest his hand on her knee the way he had done a thousand times before without thinking about it.

Instead, he curled his fingers into his palm.

Because she wasn’t his to touch anymore.

Y/n turned her body towards him.

Her back was now to the party, leaving the two of them tucked away from the crowd. For a moment, it felt strangely private despite the hundreds of people only a few feet away.

“He isn’t my boyfriend.”

Bucky blinked.

“What?”

“He’s not my boyfriend.”

Something inside Bucky loosened before he could stop it. He hated himself for the relief.

“Good,” he said, perhaps a little too quickly. Then, remembering himself, he added, “Because I’m pretty sure he was just giving his phone number to one of the bartenders.”

“Good for him.” Y/n shrugged.

Bucky stared at her.

“If you don’t like him, why did you bring him?”

“We’ve been on a couple of dates.”

A couple of dates.

He knew he had no right to care, but the thought of her sitting across from another man, letting him get close enough to one day call her his girlfriend, made something bitter twist inside his stomach.

Y/n watched the reaction cross his face.

“I was worried you’d bring someone,” she admitted.

Bucky’s eyes snapped back to hers.

“So I was covering all areas.”

There was something almost defensive in the way she said it, as though she had spent the entire evening preparing herself for the possibility of seeing him with somebody else.

Bucky stared at her.

“You thought I’d bring someone?”

“I didn’t know what to expect.”

“You thought I’d bring a date.”

Y/n’s fingers continued tracing absent minded patterns against the table, her eyes dropping to the amber liquid in her glass.

“Well, you made the decision to leave me so quickly,” she said, her voice deceptively light. “You might’ve already had someone new lined up.”

Bucky’s expression shifted immediately, he hated the undertone of self doubt in her voice, he’d never heard her sound like that before.

“I didn’t.”

“I wouldn’t have known if you did.”

“Y/n.”

“What?” she asked. “You left. You made it very clear that whatever we had wasn’t something you wanted anymore. I didn’t exactly have much say in it.”

“That isn’t what happened.” Bucky swallowed, his gaze dropping briefly to the table between them.

“Isn’t it?”

There was no bitterness in the question, which somehow made it worse. She wasn’t trying to pick a fight with him. She was simply telling him how it had felt from where she had been standing.

“Because from my side, Bucky, you made a decision one day and then my entire life changed.”

He looked back at her.

She gave a small, humourless smile, turning her glass slowly between her fingers.

“So forgive me for thinking you might’ve had somewhere else to go.”

“There was never anyone else.” Bucky’s jaw tightened.

The answer came so quickly that y/n’s fingers stopped moving.

Bucky held her gaze.

“There was never anyone else,” he repeated, quieter this time. “I did it for you.”

Bucky’s voice was quiet, almost lost beneath the music and conversation continuing around them.

“To keep you safe.”

A scoff escaped her, but there was nothing genuinely amused about it. She lifted her glass towards her lips, though she didn’t drink, using the motion to hide the way her expression had faltered.

“From what?”, a small laugh leaving her as though the idea was ridiculous.

Her eyes met his. “From you?”

“Yes.”

There was no hesitation in his answer.

“From me. From the hell that comes with everything I touch.”

He looked down at his hands, the words becoming increasingly difficult to force from himself now that they were finally being spoken aloud.

“I like being a soldier. I like trying to do some good, trying to make up for,” He stopped. The rest caught somewhere in his throat.

The anger in her face softened for just a moment as she watched him struggle with whatever he had almost admitted. She already knew what he was trying to say.

He shook his head and continued.

“And you hated seeing me get hurt.”

“That isn’t,”

“You did.”

“I hated seeing you get hurt because I loved you.”

His eyes lifted to hers.

“You wanted something that doesn’t come naturally to be,” he continued. “You wanted a normal life. Domestic bliss. Something safe. Something I can’t give you.”

Y/n stared at him as though she couldn’t quite believe what she was hearing.

“That isn’t fair.” Her voice had become quieter “That isn’t true.”

Bucky opened his mouth, but she didn’t let him interrupt.

“Actually, Bucky it’s a bullshit excuse to make you feel better for running away. Convincing yourself that it was right, blaming it on me, when it’s all in your head. It’s your fears that did this.”

Her eyes were beginning to glisten now, tears gathering along her lower lashes, but she refused to let them fall.

“I would never have stood in the way of you doing what you wanted. I never asked you to stop being a soldier. I never asked you to become somebody else.” Her voice trembled.

“You didn’t even ask me what I wanted. All I wanted was us. That was it. I wanted you. I wanted us. And you let that go so easily.”

“It wasn’t easy.”

“You make it look easy.”

He had no answer.

Y/n shook her head, blinking rapidly as she tried to keep the tears from escaping.

“You’ll fight for everything else, Bucky, but you wouldn’t fight for us.”

His hand moved across the table almost instinctively, reaching for hers where it rested beside her glass. His fingers were only inches away when she pulled her hand back.

“No.”

Bucky stopped.

“Y/n.”

“No, Bucky.”

She shook her head, her voice barely above a whisper now.

“You don’t get to do that.”

He stared at her.

“You show up here and look at me like that, like you love me.”

Bucky’s breathing caught.

“I do. I never stopped.”

“But you did this.”

She pressed a trembling hand against her chest.

“You did this to us.”

She pushed her chair back.

The legs scraped against the floor, drawing the attention of a few people nearby, but she didn’t seem to notice.

She stood, wiping quickly beneath one eye before the tear could fall.

“I wish you didn’t come here.”

Bucky stood too.

“I wish I didn’t have to see your face.”

The words were quiet, but they landed harder than anything she’d said before.

She turned away from him.

Bucky watched helplessly as she walked into the crowd, her pace quickening the further she got from him until the people between them swallowed her completely.

He had told himself leaving her was an act of love. He had convinced himself that hurting her once was better than allowing his life to eventually hurt her more.

But standing there now, watching the person he loved walk away from him in tears, he couldn’t help wondering whether he’d simply found a way to disguise his own fear as sacrifice.

He knew he shouldn’t follow her.

Every sensible part of him was telling him to stay where he was, to let her walk away because she had made herself perfectly clear. She didn’t want to see him. She didn’t want him following her. She had spent six months without him, and tonight he had only managed to reopen something she had clearly been trying to heal.

But his body moved before his mind could catch up.

Bucky followed her through the crowd, his eyes fixed on the glimpse of her disappearing between shoulders and unfamiliar faces. He caught sight of her again as she reached the entrance to the manor, the warm light from the foyer spilling across the stone floor as she hurried inside.

“Y/n!”

She didn’t stop.

Bucky quickened his pace.

He caught her just as she reached the far side of the foyer, his hand closing gently around her arm.

“Wait.”

He pulled her back, careful not to hurt her, but enough to stop her momentum.

Her body turned with the gentle force, and she nearly collided with his chest.

She immediately looked up at him.

For a moment neither of them spoke.

Bucky could feel her breathing, could see the remnants of tears still caught in her lashes, and the sight made his chest ache.

“Don’t run,” he pleaded. “Please. Just let me try to explain.”

“Do you not understand the irony of you asking me not to run?”

Bucky’s expression faltered.

Her eyes travelled up to his, and she hated how small she felt standing this close to him. He was so much bigger than her, still so physically imposing, but that wasn’t what made her feel small.

It was his eyes.

It was the way one look from him could still make her forget what she had been about to say.

It was the fact that, despite everything, some part of her still wanted to step closer.

She hated that he still had that kind of power over her.

“I know,” Bucky said quickly. “I know.”

His hand loosened around her arm, but he didn’t let go completely.

“Just listen to me.”

“No.”

“Listen to me.”

She pulled her arm from his grasp.

“You ended it.” She snapped, anger taking over from the hurt as her finger jabbed in to his chest.

Bucky went still.

“You wanted this.”

“I know.”

“So I’m not going to let you do this. I’m not going to let you play this push and pull game with me because you suddenly decided you don’t like the consequences of your own decision.”

“That’s not what I’m doing.”

“Then what are you doing? What happens next time?”

Bucky frowned.

“When it gets too hard again. When you decide you know what’s best for me. When you decide you’ve got all the answers without even asking me what I want.” Her head tilted sideways, anger radiating off her now. “Are you just going to leave again?”

“No.”

“You don’t know that.”

“I do.”

“I can’t believe you,” she breathed. Her voice was a jagged mix of hurt and frustration, her chest heaving as she fought the pull of him. She was annoyed that he still had this effect on her, that her body was betraying her resolve even as she tried to push him away.

“I can’t believe,”

Bucky didn't let her finish. He couldn't. His hands shot up to frame her face, his head dipping down as his lips captured hers in a desperate, demanding kiss. Anything to stop her rambling, anything to prove her wrong and silence the arguments with the raw heat of his mouth.

She was caught off guard, a small gasp escaping her, but the shock didn't last long. Within seconds, she was kissing him back with a hunger that mirrored his own. One of his hands reached up, his fingers grazing her skin as he tucked a fallen lock of hair behind her ear. The softness of the touch hit her like a ton of bricks, a sudden reminder of the intimacy they once shared. It ripped her out of the kiss, and she pushed against his chest, pulling away.

“What are you doing?” Her voice was stern, shocked, and laced with a visible crack of emotion.

“I’m sorry,” was all he could manage to say, his voice sounding wrecked.

She looked at him, her chest rising and falling in heavy, uneven rhythms. She had no words, no way to express the storm inside her as she stared at the guilty man before her. Her eyes were conflicted, searching his. Maybe it was the deep, aching emotion, or maybe it was the whisky blurring her judgment, but she couldn't stay away.

Driven by a need she couldn't name, a weakness that took over when she looked into his eyes, she reached out and grabbed the lapels of his blazer, hauling him down to kiss her again.

Bucky groaned deep in his throat. His hands snaked around her waist, sliding down the small of her back before resting firmly just above the curve of her ass. He tasted the sharp burn of whisky on her tongue and caught the intoxicating scent of cherry vanilla perfume whisking into his nose. It was the scent he had craved for so long, the one he had tried so hard to teach himself to hate, only to find it was the only thing that could ground him.

Her hands slung around the back of his neck, pulling him closer, trying to merge their bodies. His hands drifted further down, squeezing a handful of her ass with a possessive grip that earned a loud, needy moan that skipped past her lips.

Hearing that sweet sound snapped him out of the intoxication of the kiss. He suddenly became aware of their surroundings, the foyer, the people passing by, the risk of being seen.

He pulled away just an inch, his hands still gripping her, their chests pressed tightly together. Her eyes looked up at him, flicking between his own, wondering if he regretted it, wondering why he had stopped.

“I can’t have anyone hearing you like that,” he whispered. His protectiveness flared, the thought of anyone else hearing those sweet, broken sounds she made for him made him feel sick with jealousy.

She pulled out of his grip, and for a second, Bucky’s heart dropped, fearing she was leaving again. But instead, she grabbed a hold of his hand and pulled him toward the stairs. Her heels clicked rhythmically along the floor as she led him upward.

As they crossed the landing, Bucky asked, his voice low and curious, “Where are we going?”

She turned back and gave him a knowing smile. “Maid of honor perks,” she whispered.

She opened the door to one of the most beautiful bedrooms in the building and pulled him inside by the collar. Bucky pulled himself together in an instant, spinning her around and pushing her firmly against the closed door.

Her body was trapped between the heavy wood and his massive frame. He leaned down, kissing her again with a renewed intensity. Her hands flew to his hair, pulling at the roots and earning a guttural grunt from him. His hands found the bottom of her thighs, hoisting her up until she wrapped her legs around his waist, clinging to him.

“Bucky,” she moaned into his mouth, feeling more intoxicated by him than any drink she’d had all night.

“Y/n?”

Both their eyes shot open, their heads whipping around to see her date sitting up on the bed, having just woken up from being passed out.

She slid slowly down Bucky’s body as his grip loosened on her thighs, her hands resting on his chest as she tried to catch her breath.

“What are you,” the date began, his voice slurring and confused.

“Out,” Bucky snapped. His voice was irritated, dark, and laced with a lethal edge.

“What? She’s my date, man.” the man said, stumbling to his feet.

Bucky stepped away from y/n, closing the distance between himself and the man in two predatory strides. He loomed over him, his presence suffocating.

“Okay! Okay, I’ll go!” the man stammered. He grabbed his jacket from the chair and scurried out of the room, shifting past y/n without a single word.

Bucky’s eyes remained dark, glinting with a mixture of raw desire and territorial possessiveness. He walked back over to her.

“You were going to share a room with him?”

“Bucky.”

“Does he fuck you like I do?“ he asked, his finger hooking under her chin, lifting her eyes so she had no choice but to look at him.

She didn’t answer, swallowing deeply as she trembled under his gaze.

He leaned down and kissed her, this time, it was less romantic and more driven by a desperate, starving want. He picked her up again, moving her over to the bed and laying her back.

Her stomach swirled with desperation as she leaned back on her forearms, watching him.

Bucky stood at the foot of the bed, removing his jacket and unbuttoning his shirt slowly, his eyes calculating exactly what he wanted to do to her.

He leaned down, holding himself up over her body, and kissed the sweet spot just under her ear. His kisses trailed down her neck and across her chest while his fingers worked to scrunch her dress up, pushing the fabric up until it rested under her hips.

He lifted his head and moved his body down to kiss his way up her thighs. His fingers moved her underwear to the side, sliding up into her slit to collect the moisture. He tasted her on his fingers, she moaned loudly at the contact.

Bucky’s tongue dragged slow and deliberate through her folds, the flat of it pressing hard against her clit before he sucked the swollen bud between his lips. Two thick fingers worked inside her, curling with every thrust so the pads stroked that spot that made her thighs shake. Her hips bucked up, chasing the pressure, but the second her breathing hitched and her walls started to flutter he pulled his mouth away and stilled his fingers deep inside her.

She let out a broken whine, the sound raw in the quiet hallway. Bucky kissed the inside of her thigh, lips wet, and spoke against her skin. “You’re doing so good, baby.“ His voice vibrated straight through her, making her clench around his unmoving fingers.

He waited until the pulsing inside her eased, then lowered his head again. This time he licked broad stripes up her slit, collecting every drop of slick before he sealed his mouth over her clit and sucked in a steady rhythm while his fingers started pumping again. She moaned louder, fingers twisting in his hair, thighs trying to close around his head. The tension built fast, her stomach tightening, toes curling, until he felt the first hard squeeze around his fingers. He stopped cold. Pulled his mouth off, eased his fingers out until only the tips remained inside her.

“Bucky, fuck, please,” she gasped, voice cracking. Her hips rolled, trying to force his fingers deeper, but he held them just inside her entrance, denying her the stretch she needed.

“You taste so good,” he murmured, kissing just above her clit, anywhere except where she was throbbing hardest. “Still so sweet.”

He waited, breathing hot against her, until her desperate movements slowed and the edge backed off again.

The third time he gave her more. Three fingers this time, sliding in with a wet sound, scissoring gently before he curled them hard against her front wall. His tongue flicked quick and light over her clit, never letting up, never giving her a second to breathe. She was panting, cursing, hips snapping up to meet every thrust of his hand. “I love hearing you.” He mumbled against her.

The orgasm crashed toward her so fast her vision blurred.

Right as her walls started to clamp down he pulled his fingers free completely and lifted his mouth, leaving her empty and clenching around nothing.

She slammed her palm against the mattress, frustration boiling over. “Bucky, please, I need to cum!” Her voice was ragged, half sob, half snarl. Her thighs trembled, pussy visibly pulsing, slick dripping down the curve of her ass.

He looked up at her from between her spread legs, lips shiny, eyes dark.

He moved back up to her face, kissing the corner of her mouth. “You want to cum? Baby, you should’ve just said.”

Bucky shoved his trousers down his thighs and kicked them off, the heavy fabric hitting the floor with a dull thud. He wrapped his fist around his cock and dragged the thick head through her soaked folds, coating himself in her slick. Every slow pass over her clit made her hips jerk, but he never gave her the pressure she craved. He lined himself up and pushed in one smooth, relentless thrust, burying himself to the hilt.

She cried out his name, loud and broken, the stretch forcing the air from her lungs. He felt perfect inside her, thick, hot, filling every inch like he’d been carved to fit her exactly. Her walls fluttered around him, trying to pull him deeper.

“Fuck,” he groaned his head falling against her shoulder, voice rough. He stayed buried for a moment, savoring the tight, wet heat gripping him.

Then he started moving. Slow, deep rolls of his hips that dragged every inch of his cock along her inner walls. Each thrust felt like a promise, like he was trying to remind her body who it belonged to. Her hands slid up his back, fingers digging into muscle, pulling him closer.

The rhythm changed without warning. His pace turned sharp and punishing, hips snapping forward hard enough to jolt her up the bed. The headboard thudded against the wall in time with his thrusts. He watched her face the whole time, eyes locked on every gasp, every flutter of her lashes, every time her mouth fell open on a moan.

“You’re doing so good,” he growled, voice low and filthy. “Taking every inch like you were made for it.”

Her orgasm built fast, the earlier denial making her hypersensitive. Her thighs started to shake. Just as she tipped over the edge he leaned down, lips brushing her ear.

“Cum for me.”

She shattered. The scream that tore out of her was raw, his name ripped from her throat again and again while her pussy clamped down hard around him. He fucked her straight through it, never slowing, riding every pulse and flutter until she was trembling and gasping beneath him.

His metal hand slid up from her hip and wrapped around her throat, not squeezing, just holding her there, forcing her to meet his eyes.

“Look at me,” he ordered, voice dark. “Did he ever make you feel like this? Did he ever make you scream like that?”

She tried to answer but the words dissolved into another moan. He kissed her hard, swallowing the sound, tongue sliding against hers until she was dizzy.

When he pulled back she managed, “No. Only you, Bucky. No one else since you.”

He brushed the hair from her face with surprising tenderness even as he kept pounding into her. The brutal rhythm never eased, but something in his eyes softened.

“You waited for me,” he murmured. “Good girl.”

“I’m yours,” she breathed, voice steady even as another orgasm coiled tight inside her. “No one else could ever touch me the way you do.”

He hooked one of her legs over his shoulder and drove in deeper, the new angle punching the air from her lungs with every thrust. She could feel him swelling inside her, getting close.

“I, I’m,” she stammered, nails biting into his shoulders.

“Wait for me, baby,” he rasped. “Just a little longer.”

He chased his own release with short, brutal strokes until his rhythm faltered. He came with a low groan, pulsing deep inside her, filling her with hot, thick spurts. He didn’t stop moving. He kept thrusting through his own orgasm, pushing his cum deeper, refusing to let up until her second climax crashed over her.

Her back arched hard off the bed. Her nails raked down his back, leaving red lines as she moaned his name over and over, voice hoarse. Her walls milked him through every aftershock until she finally went limp beneath him.

Bucky’s arm shook as he held himself above her. He let her leg slide down from his shoulder and lowered himself slowly, pressing soft, lingering kisses to her lips, her jaw, the corner of her mouth. She felt small and spent under him, and he kissed her like he was trying to put her back together.

When he finally pulled out, a mix of their cum leaked from her, but he didn’t move away. He stayed close, forehead resting against hers, breathing the same air while their hearts hammered against each other’s chests.

He moved his body off her and lifted her up, carrying her into the shower. “Let’s get you cleaned up,” he whispered.

The hot steam filled the bathroom, her body leaned into him, her legs weak and shaking, his arm gripping her waist for support.

He used her cherry body wash, lathering her skin until she was soapy and warm. He kissed her neck one more time once the soap suds had been washed away.

He helped her out of the shower slowly, keeping one hand steady at her waist as she stepped onto the cool floor. The warmth of the water still clung to her skin, leaving her cheeks flushed and her hair damp against her shoulders. He reached for a towel and wrapped it carefully around her, taking his time as he dried her arms and shoulders before gently running it through the ends of her hair.

There was something almost painfully tender about the quietness between them now.

After everything they had said, everything that had been dragged back to the surface between them, neither of them seemed to know what to do with the softness that had somehow followed.

Bucky helped her back towards the bed, watching as she sat down on the edge. He grabbed his discarded shirt from the floor, holding it out to her.

She slipped her arms into it, and Bucky crouched in front of her, carefully fastening the buttons one by one. His fingers moved slowly, almost deliberately, as though he was giving himself an excuse to stay close to her for just a little longer.

When he reached the final button, his hands rested briefly against her waist.

Their eyes met.

There was so much neither of them had said that the silence almost felt heavier than the words had been.

“Do you want to talk?” he asked softly.

“No.”

The answer came almost immediately.

She looked exhausted, but there was a lazy contentment in her expression now, the tension that had been wound so tightly through her finally beginning to loosen.

“I just want to sleep,” she added, her voice softer.

“Okay.”

He didn’t push.

Bucky climbed into bed beside her and settled onto his back, leaving a small space between them. He was careful not to assume anything, careful not to reach for her when he wasn’t sure she wanted him to.

Y/n turned onto her side, facing away from him.

Neither of them moved.

The room was quiet except for the faint sounds of the wedding still carrying through the distant walls, the music muffled now by the manor around them. Bucky stared into the darkness, his mind still moving through everything that had happened that night, unable to decide whether he was awake because he was afraid to sleep or because he was afraid that when he woke up, she might be gone again.

He thought she had fallen asleep.

Then he felt movement beside him.

Her hand reached backwards across the mattress, searching blindly until her fingers found his.

Bucky looked down.

He simply curled his fingers around hers as she pulled his arm to wrap around her. He shifted closer, closing the distance he’d deliberately left between them.

She relaxed almost immediately.

His face settling into the curve of her neck. The familiar scent of cherries, vanilla and warm skin surrounded him. It was almost enough to quiet every thought in his head.

He breathed her in slowly, his eyes closing as the warmth of her body settled against his. She fit against him with a familiarity that made his chest ache, as though the space she’d occupied beside him had never truly disappeared.

His breathing gradually slowed. The tension left his shoulders.

Just as sleep finally began to pull him under, he heard her voice, soft and barely conscious against the darkness.

“I love you, Buck.”

Bucky woke slowly, his mind still heavy with sleep, the warmth of the night lingering over him.

For a few seconds, everything felt strangely peaceful.

Without opening his eyes, his hand moved across the mattress. He expected to find her. His fingers searched through the sheets, brushing against the cold space where her body should have been.

His brow furrowed. He reached further.

Nothing.

His eyes opened. The other side of the bed was empty.

Bucky sat up immediately, his heart dropping as his eyes swept across the room.

“Y/n?”

Nothing.

He threw the covers back and stood, looking towards the bathroom as though she might somehow silently be there.

The room was empty.

She was gone.

Bucky stood completely still, his chest tightening as the reality settled over him. He looked back towards the bed, almost expecting her to appear again, to tell him she’d only gone downstairs or that she was getting coffee.

His shirt, the one she slept in last night, folded neatly over the chair.

She had taken the clothes she’d arrived in, but his shirt was sitting exactly where she had left it, carefully folded rather than abandoned.

He crossed the room slowly.

Beside the glass of water on the bedside table was a small folded piece of paper.

Bucky picked it up.

I meant it when I said I love you.

But I don’t know if I trust you.

Give me time.

His fingers tightened slightly around the paper before he carefully flattened it against his palm.

Bucky folded the note carefully and placed it in the pocket of his trousers.

He wasn’t going to chase her.

For once, he understood that loving her meant letting her make this decision for herself.

So he picked up the glass of water she’d left for him and stared at it for a moment, his throat tightening at the quiet thoughtfulness of it.

Even after everything, she’d still thought to leave him water before she left.

He drank it slowly.

She had given him a boundary.

He would respect it.

But as Bucky stood alone in the quiet room, the smallest, most fragile part of him held onto the only thing she had given him permission to keep.

Whining like a child, you needed to come up for air, realizing the shared space did not leave much oxygen. You pulled away again, straightening your back as you settled back into your position of straddling his lap, with him laid back against his bedframe.

"What's that pout for? Why're you lookin' at me like that?" Andrew's voice sounded, again in that flat tone, blank stare, but with a higher pitch now, and you could see the hint of a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. "'Cause its never enough. 'M never get close enough." Lips in a pout, you settled for fidgeting with the strings of his dark brown hoodie.

"You know, you're so pretty, Andy. 'S unfair." Andrew doesn't even try to fight the shy smile slowly gracing his features. A rosy pink flush creeping up the freckled skin of his neck and ears.

"Why unfair?"

"'Cause I don't wanna look away. Your face's so pretty. 'Love the way your bones 're aligned." You gently trace one of your index fingers from his forehead, over his nose, down to his chin as a sound best described as a snort leaves pope, genuine smile now on his face.

"My bone structure...?"

"Mhm. Your nose. Your Jaw. The way your upper lip's slightly more forward than your chin. Those pretty puppy eyes. Your teeth...'m love it sou much."

"O-okay" Andrew's grin softens, the shy, boyish charm leaking through again as he shifts his gaze to your hands that are back to mindlessly playing with the strings of his hoodie.

"You're pretty too. Prettiest. And sweet..." his voice suddenly speaks up, making your lips twitch into a shy, slightly teasing smile. "Yeah?"

"Yeah."

"Thank you, Andy." You say as you lean forward to press a kiss to the tip of his nose, as his hands massage the plush of where your hips meet your thighs.

"So beautiful." Andrew's now looking right at you as he whispers those two small words, more to himself than anyone else really. The look your boyfriend has while his gaze drifts over your features makes it hard to breathe for a second.

Adoration. Like you're the light in his otherwise rather dark world. Like you're something etheral he's scared to touch with his bloodied hands but too selfish not to.

Smile widening, you lean in again, this time to pepper kisses all over his features, his nose, cheeks, forehead and eyelids, all the way down to his chin and jawline. Each press of lips accompanied by an overexaggerated 'mwah' sound.

The obnoxious display has the flush spread to his cheeks, a genuine, wide smile spreading over his face.

Those puppy dog eyes fixed on you like you're all he sees, his whole world, basking in the affection you're willing to give to him and thanking whatever deity out there for letting him have this.

Swearing on everything he has, he'll do whatever it takes to protect it.

“This isn’t like some cruel stupid bet between brothers, is it Andrew?” you asked all soft, your voice low and embarrassed as you fidgeted with the strings to your bikini. Deran had invented you over for a chill pool day which you happily agreed too. You had gone inside after sun bathing for a few hours to grab water, Pope used that moment to corner you in the kitchen and ask you out on a date. “What…? You actually think I'd do somethin’ like that?” He questioned, more than a bit taken back, that you think he’d do something so mean to sweet ole’ you.

“Well you know it’s not really a big secret that i’ve had a crush on you forever, i thought- i thought you just didn’t like me back and were sparing my feelings because I’m Deran’s friend or whatever” “So i’m a little confused ‘s all why you’re suddenly now asking me out-” You had begun anxiously rambling, letting apparent years of emotions out in one long sentence, only being stopped when Andrew grabbed ahold of your slightly shaky hands. “You like me?” He questions in the most genuine and sweet tone that you have to pause, looking up at him, a small pout on his lips, a pink tint to his cheeks, and a hopeful look in his eyes. Apparently everyone besides the man himself was well aware of your blatant crush on the eldest Cody brother.

You obviously proceeded to say yes to the date and the rest was history. Well the rest only being a few more dates, him officially asking you to be his girlfriend and a few months of being together. You had never been in a relationship before Andrew so you wanted to take things slower, he was just happy you were his so he had no complaints at going your pace.

But now, as you sat on the cold kitchen floor with your knees to your chest, burnt pasta stuck to the bottom of one of your nice pots from your boyfriend. Your sad attempt at making sauce from scratch sitting half burnt in the other, the bed half made and laundry running in the washer, you realize you took on a little too much at once, all because of stupid, stupid Criag.

When you were about only a week and a half into dating Pope, you had overheard a conversation between the brothers.

Criag had asked his older brother how it was going between the two of you. “S’ pretty good” was Pope's short but sweet answer that made a small smile grow on your face. You knew he was a very private person and was glad to learn that extended towards your guys relationship as well. “That’s good, at least she’s not one of those whiny needy girls you know? Who start asking you for every little thing, making you do everything for them” Criag chuckled and lightly hit his brother on the shoulder. Now Andrew was facing away from you so you miss the small scowl that he reacts with, but it doesn't matter because from then on Craig's words stick in your head.

Don’t be needy. Don’t ask too much.

As the weeks pass you do your absolute hardest to never ask anything much from Pope. You don’t ask for a kiss goodbye before he leaves even when you desperately want one, you don’t ask for him to fix your shower curtain when it falls down - you ask Deran. You don’t ask him to take you to the mall, you don’t ask for reassurance when you walk in on him and Cath talking in secret, you don’t ask him for so much as a bottle of water some days. You do your best to be the perfect, non nagging, domestic girlfriend you can be, even if you think it’s slowly killing you.

So now with a ruined dinner because you got too ahead of yourself and a dirty kitchen, you finally break. Soft tears stream down your face as you stare at the floor, head spiraling with thoughts of how Andrew's gonna come home and break up with you over burnt spaghetti.

You’re so lost in your bad thoughts you miss the apartment door opening and your boyfriend calling out your name. His breath hitches as he rounds the corner and finds you on the floor, the sound finally makes you look up, widened concerned eyes meet your red puffy ones. “Baby, what the hell happened?” he glances around the apartment quickly before looking over your body as if he’s looking for an injury. The second he’s crouched down in front of you and in range you throw your arms around his neck and throw yourself at him, the suddenness of it almost tips him over but he is quick to regain balance. You attempt to start explaining but between your cries and your face buried in his chest he can’t understand a word.

Grabbing a hold of your waist he easily maneuvers your bodies, sitting himself down on the floor and pulling you into his lap he moves your face away from his body to hold it and wipe away the fresh tears streaming down your hot cheeks.

“Sweet girl, I can't understand ya’ when you're hysterical. Take a deep breath f’ me okay?” He begins to breathe in slowly and deeply as if to help demonstrate for you, with a small whiny sigh you follow suit and copy him, breathing in deep. “And out f’ me” Andrew's voice coupled with the oxygen flooding your body begins to calm your nervous system as you breathe out in time with him. “Now, what’s got my baby so worked up huh?” he questioned while brushing stray hairs away from your face, his thumb absentmindedly stroking your cheek after.

“I really wanted the apartment to be all nice and clean the way i know you like, tidy, laundry done, the bed made for us, and a nice dinner made when you got home” you begin explaining while playing with the buttons on Pope’s open flannel. “So I started cleaning, prepped everything for dinner and threw the laundry in…it was all going so well Andy i swear it was but then while i was trying to finish up making the bed, the pasta was burning, my sauce was burning and i didn’t know what to do” you cry out, tears pricking up in your eyes as your spiraling thoughts come back. “I swear I could've done it Andy, I wanted it done before you got home so I didn't have to ask you to do it, and instead I ruined everything” shakes run through your body as you cling onto him. “Please don’t leave, please i promise i can do it, i can be independent and not needy” you cry out, “Baby-” Andrew tries to cut in but you keep going “I know Cath could probably make dinner and clean and do everything flawlessly herself but please don’t leave” you mumble out against his shoulder, and he swears he has to hear you wrong. Why on earth are you bringing up Cath?

Andrews frozen still, which really isn't helping your thoughts but he’s beyond confused. “Sweet girl, I’m just- I’m confused, So you burned dinner? What the fuck does Cath being able to make dinner matter? I don’t care about that” he states rather bluntly, shocking you slightly as he pulls you off him once again only so he can look you in the eye.

“But if I- If I can’t do things on my own and I'm whiny and needy always asking you for things, aren’t you gonna leave me?” you wipe at your own tears with the backs of your hands, letting them fall to your sides as you look deep into Pope’s beautiful eyes. “Where did you get such a-” his younger brother's stupid observation replays in his head, and suddenly he wishes he smacked him upside the head like he wanted to in the moment. “Oh my sweet, sweet girl” he coos and pulls you into a loving but short kiss. “I want you to ask me for me things, In fact i love it when you ask me for things baby, I like feeling needed by you, fuck what craig said” he explains as his hands run down your spine and rub at your lower back. “Is that why you’ve been so unlike yourself since we started dating?” he asked a tad hesitantly. All you can manage is a small embarrassed nod before hiding your face in his neck.

He chuckled softly as he left kisses along your bare shoulder as the oversized shirt of Pope’s you had on slipped down. His hands continued rubbing at your body and soothing you. “But I'm still confused baby, why’d you bring up Cath?” as he asked the question he can feel your body tense up against him.

“Do you remember the day you asked me out?” you murmured out, doubtful for some reason that he would. “Yeah, course’ i do, I was a nervous wreck” you can feel him smile against your skin. “Didn’t know that” you mumble softly more to yourself than him — “Well remember the part where I said I didn't think you liked me back?” “Yeah? What about it baby?” he coaxes you to continue on. “That’s because ever since you had come home from folsom…even before then i had always seen you staring at Cath, either when she was with Baz or even just on her own” you pull away to gauge his reactions as you continue, “Andy, I know about how you felt bout’ her when you guys were kids…I just figured you didn’t like me cause you had feelings for her, and when you guys would have private conversations even after we got together I thought- maybe you settled for me or something” your words trail off into a small nervous cracking near the end as you turn away. Still scared your worst fears will be proven true and Andrew will tell you you’re right.

“Baby look at me”

When you don't turn your face to him he grabs your face by lightly squeezing your cheeks and turning your head himself. “Look at me” “I only kept staring her because I didn’t understand why I had felt anything towards her to begin with, those feelings disappeared the second i met you, all i wanted was you from that moment on” Tears brim in your eyes for about the 3rd time today but for a completely different reason. “As for the ‘private’ conversations? Those were only ever about Lena i swear, that's it my sweet girl, you understand?” he nods his own head hoping, praying even that you copy him like before with the breathing. The second you start to nod in response back he pulls your face to his to crash his lips against yours. Your squeak of surprise morphs into a content hum as your eyes flutter shut as you kiss back, pressing your chest to his when you wrap your arms tight around his neck.

“Now, does my girl need help with dinner?” he questions in a sweet tone against your lips, almost testing if you were actually listening to everything he’s said. Almost frantically and enthusiastically you nod your head, “Please Andy, All this cryins’ made me starving” you whine, the real you shining brightly through in a way that makes Andrew’s heart thump in his chest. He chuckled deeply, pulling away to tug the both of you off the dirty floor, god he really needs to clean it after dinner.

“Well then let's make dinner together, how’s that sound?” “Sounds prefect”

When you met Deran Cody back in high school, you never thought you would end up married to one of his brothers, especially Andrew Cody. You remember those days when you and Deran would spend time after class at his house, by the pool, or surfing at the beach. God, you loved surfing. It was mainly how you and Deran started talking and then became friends. You were the only one he had the courage to tell that he was into men, and when you didn't run away or say something mean to him, just, "Cool, me too," with the biggest grin he had ever seen on your face, he knew you both would be inseparable.

You actually liked being part of the family throughout your teenage years until you turned nineteen and your crush on Andrew started to become something more, and you decided to act on it. In your naive mind, you liked Smurf, so you thought that she would actually like you for one of her boys.

How dumb of you.

When you and Andrew made it official, she hated you from that exact moment without any other reason than the fact that you were with him. And you just had to choose the one brother that she would never, ever want to let go, because who would do the dirty work without a complaint?

You remember her words. She tried to tell you that you were young and that you could have a good life, that Andrew was... broken and that you deserved more. But you didn't let her get into your head, and that's when she started with the mean words and sharp comments along with the hateful stares.

And everything got even worse when you and Andrew got married. Oh, she was furious. You really thought that she hated you more than Cath, and that was saying something. And you knew that if she found out what you were about to do, and if it actually turned out the way you thought, she would start considering killing you. There was not going to be any peace for you if the pregnancy test in your pocket came out positive.

You walked into Deran's bar. It was early, so you knew it wasn't open and no workers would come in for a long time. You just hoped you wouldn't be walking in on your best friend and someone else because then it wouldn't be the first time that you had walked in on Deran and Adrien or someone else.

You sighed in relief when you saw Deran cleaning the bar counter alone.

"Hey, long time no see," he said when he finally saw you.

"Yeah, it's been a complicated week," you answered with your hand in your pocket, hiding the lump made by the pregnancy test.

"Want a beer?" he offered, leaning against the counter.

Oh, you wanted a beer so bad. No, you needed one, but it would just be reckless of you to accept one before taking the test.

"Nah, can I borrow your bathroom?" you asked, pointing toward the door with your head.

Deran frowned a little. He knew you well enough to know that you were up to something, but he also knew that you'd tell him in time.

"Yeah."

With that, you walked to the door and closed it behind you, locking it. You pulled out the test, your hand shaking, and for some reason you felt that you were betraying Andrew by doing this without him by your side. But it had been such a terrible week. Smurf was out of jail, and social services had taken Lena from your care. It had been so much, not just for you but for Andrew too, and you were scared that if it wasn't a positive test, it would just make things worse for him.

You took it and waited.

And... fuck.

Two bright lines.

They were practically so red that there was no doubt. You stared at the little stick, no expression on your face, but inside you were dying. Too many emotions. You were more than excited because, after all, this was what you and Andrew had been wanting even before he went to prison. Then the anguish hit you, the possibilities and problems that announcing a baby under these circumstances would bring. Inevitably, you thought about Smurf and how disastrous she would become.

You took the stick and walked out of the bathroom, your eyes stuck on the pregnancy test, eyes widened, and a fight inside you deciding how to feel, what a proper response to the news should be.

"Holy shit." Deran could feel his jaw drop at what he was seeing.

He crossed the place in two strides, stood by your side, and saw the test you were still looking at and holding like it had hurt you in some way.

"Crap," he muttered, looking at you and the test. "What does it mean? The two lines. Are you..."

You didn't say anything, which was the answer to his question.

"Fuck, you're... dammit, it's like..." He looked at the test again, and you both stood there looking at the pregnancy test. "Is it one hundred percent accurate?"

You nodded, because it had to be. The lines were so intense that it couldn't be an error or a mistake. It was crystal clear. You were pregnant.

"You're fucked."

Besides that, no more words were said, and definitely no certain reaction could be found on either you or Deran. You both stood there, just one beside the other, trying to figure it out.

"You want... water?" he asked, unsure of what to say. He was probably going to offer you a beer.

Still looking at the pregnancy test, reality hit you, and you finally looked at him, panic written all over your face.

"Don't tell your mom," were the first words you said, and you hated that it was your first thought.

Don't tell Smurf.

He looked at you, and you couldn't figure out his expression. There was a time when you could just look into his eyes and tell all his thoughts, but it had been a while since you two had been those friends. Your friendship never died, but it did start to blur. You put distance between yourself and the rest of the Codys because of Smurf. She didn't consider you part of the family, so she pushed you away, and you hated to admit that you let her do it.

And that cracked your relationship with Deran.

"I would never tell her." He leaned against the bar counter. "I know how she treats you."

You both fell into silence, your mind running through the worst and the good things that a baby would bring into your life and Andrew's. Your husband would be over the moon with the news. You had no doubt about him being an incredible father. You just had to remember him around Lena, how hard he tried, how he understood her even more than you could.

It was not him who bothered you. It was a specific person, and you hated that she was occupying your mind, making you unable to celebrate properly.

"I don't know how to tell Andrew," you decided to say after a while, not wanting to talk about Smurf again or even think about her. "It's been a rough week since social services took Lena from us."

You dragged your feet toward him, sitting down on one of the bar stools. Deran didn't say anything. He just walked around the bar, opened a beer, and took a sip.

"It's Pope, he... likes kids," he mumbled, unsure of what to say.

You wrinkled your nose at your husband's nickname. You had never really liked it, and you never used it. But on the other hand, you wanted to laugh. You didn't really remember how bad Deran was at comforting people or giving advice.

"Your mom is gonna hate me," you declared, with no doubt.

"Yeah." Deran took another sip of his beer and reached for a glass.

"I mean, she already hates me. Can't wait for the passive-aggressive comments and the poisonous words about how fat I'll be," you said sarcastically, rolling your eyes.

"Well, I don't think Pope would let her," he tried to comfort you, giving your shoulder a few pats before handing you a glass of water.

He was right. You knew Andrew had been defending you against his mother. He didn't force you to go to the Codys' house or to the parties. He accepted your limits and never stood by listening to something cruel from his mom about you. He always stood by your side. That made you love him even more, and of course, that made Smurf hate you even more.

"Did you know that your mom told Andrew not to marry me?" you said in disbelief, taking a sip of your water. "It was why he postponed the proposal... It was why we got married as soon as we could without telling anybody. I was scared that she'd convince him to cancel or something, and I also didn't need the problems she would bring." Since then, you expected anything from the woman.

"Yeah, that sounds like her," Deran mumbled, cleaning more glasses.

The silence fell between you two again, this time heavier than before. It was awkward. You both wanted to say something, but neither could find the words.

“You don't deserve it,” Deran said after a while.

You looked at him, confused.

“What Smurf has done to you,” he clarified, unable to look at you.

You nodded, not knowing what to answer to that. Nobody really deserved the way Smurf had treated them, especially her sons.

“I did what I could for you when Pope... when he was in prison,” he let out a deep breath. “She wanted to cut you out, the part that was for you from the jobs.”

“How did you convince her to give me the money?” you asked, your brows furrowed.

He went quiet and very still for a moment.

“I gave you my cut.”

His words hung heavy in the air.

That was the reason why it was always him who left the money at your door during all that time. Deran was the only one in that fucked-up family who cared about you enough to take care of you when your husband wasn't around.

God, you felt so guilty for letting Smurf put distance between you two.

Smurf... your blood was boiling, and there wasn't a single good thought in your mind directed at that woman.

“She wasn't gonna leave me without money, and one day she just gave me my cut and yours.” Deran stopped what he was doing, looking at you and seeing the way your mind was racing.

“Thanks,” you whispered, looking back at him, tears already in your eyes.

“Yeah, well, what are best friends for?” he mumbled sarcastically.

You were going to answer that until the sound of the door opening and a pair of footsteps making their way toward you two distracted you.

“Andrew,” you said. The surprise was written all over your face, and you could feel your heart stopping.

You quickly grabbed the pregnancy test and put it in your pocket, hoping he didn't see it.

He mumbled your name, a little surprised to find you there. “What are you doing here?” he asked, staring only at you, completely ignoring the presence of his younger brother.

You couldn't say something, anything. You tried, but the words wouldn't leave your mouth, and the tears were starting to build in your eyes, your hands clinging to the pregnancy test hidden in the pocket of your sweater, technically his sweater.

You couldn't lie to him.

“Andrew,” you said, trying to hold back your tears.

That, his full name instead of Andy coming from you, was what made him worried. He crossed the place in two strides just to embrace you, trying to protect you from whatever had upset you. You hid your face in his broad chest and let some of the pressure that had been building in your shoulders melt away with the feeling of being safe in his arms. Some tears started to fall, and you couldn't stop the sob that came with them.

Andrew looked at Deran, who was pretending to clean more glasses, trying to ignore what was happening while feeling a little bit out of place.

At the killer gaze that Andrew gave him, Deran immediately raised his hands in a sign of innocence and mumbled, “I didn't do anythin',” before walking to the kitchen, giving the couple some space and running from Andrew and whatever shit he was gonna give him, thinking that the situation was his fault.

If he just knew, Deran thought to himself.

Andrew called you by the nickname he had for you. It was just the short version of your name, just as you called him Andy all the time. No pet name really fit after Smurf ruined the word baby for Andrew, and you realized that she would use any pet name against her sons, especially Andrew, to manipulate them. So you two just stuck with the shortened versions of your names, and it wasn't really a problem because you loved calling him Andy, and he loved just as much hearing that nickname coming from your mouth and being the only one you used it with.

You also loved hearing your name coming from him and his deep, raspy voice. It just did things to you.

“What happened?” he asked, worried, but you could see a little bit of anger in his eyes. “Has someone done something to you?” he insisted, cupping your face with his big hands. “Are you hurt?” He scanned your whole body, looking for possible injuries, but when he didn't find anything, you could see all the possible scenarios playing through his mind.

You just shook your head in response. That calmed him a little, but the way he was standing, it was like he was ready to fight anyone who could have possibly been around and had hurt you.

He was alert and worried, and you knew that.

So you tried to calm down so he could do the same. You stopped your tears and left a kiss on his cheek and lips, trying to assure him you were fine.

He didn't quite believe it.

“What happened?” he insisted, looking around, no expression on his face as always, but you could see through that mask of fearlessness, and he was terrified that something had happened to you and that he wasn't there to protect you.

You tried to figure it out. How could you break the news? But nothing else came to your mind, and you just acted on instinct.

“I’m fine, I swear,” you whispered while gently cupping his cheek with your hand and making him look at you. “I'm happy. They're happy tears,” you assured him.

Andrew stared at you, not understanding what you meant. You were crying. If you cried, it was because something bad had happened to you, right?

His eyes didn't leave yours until he felt you take one of his hands and place something in it. He hesitated, but he looked down, finding a white stick with two bright red lines in the center.

He didn't understand. He looked at you, then at the stick, and then back at you. His brain was working hard until it remembered when he had seen that stick before. Julia had shown him when she was pregnant with J. The same stick, the same two bright lines.

He felt his heart stop and looked at you for a verbal answer. He didn't trust his mind, his memory. He couldn't believe it.

“I’m pregnant,” you confirmed with a wide smile.

He looked at the stick.

You're pregnant.

A baby.

Your baby.

You were going to be a mom... he was going to be a dad.

A baby.

His baby.

He stood rigid, unable to believe it, but a part of him did want to believe it. He looked at the pregnancy test one more time and then at you. His eyes were wide open, with hope shining in them along with some tears.

“Say it again,” he almost begged in a whisper.

You smiled.

“I’m pregnant. You're going to be a dad, Andrew,” you repeated calmly.

Baz's words repeated in his head, “Nobody would ever have a kid with you.”

They weren't true. They weren't real.

Andrew broke in that same moment. He wanted to hold you, but unconsciously he stopped himself, his hands hovering over your arms and face like he was scared to hurt you, his eyes fixed on your lower belly.

You decided to show him that he was the last person who would ever hurt you or your future kid.

You hugged him so tightly like you never had before. Andrew closed his eyes, scared that if he opened them, he'd just be dreaming and would wake up not finding you. He hid his face in the crook of your neck and... to your surprise, he tried to hide a sob against your skin.

“You're going to be the best dad ever, Andy,” you assured him, because you knew it was true. You just needed to see how he was with Lena to know that he would be the best parent ever.

He went down to his knees, his hands on your hips and his face against your stomach.

“I would protect you both, I swear nothing would ever happen to either of you,” he promised, looking up at you with tears running down his cheeks.

You felt like your heart was going to explode with love.

And there, in the middle of Deran's bar, you realized you had something that Smurf would never be able to take from you.

Your own little family.

I had this in my drafts for a loooong time and I thought I wasn't going to finish it 😩

You stopped in front of the doorway to your sister’s bedroom, seeing your dad reading your two younger sisters a bedtime story. You saw how he was cuddling them at the same time he was reading to them. You leaned against the doorway and crossed your arms, wondering when the last your dad cuddled you like that. It’s been a long time since your dad held you like that. You were standing in the doorway a moment before your dad noticed that you were there. He softly smiles at you.

“Hey, kid.” Bucky greets you.

“Hey, dad.” You greeted him.

“Are you alright?” He asks softly.

“Yes.” You answered.

You gave him a soft smile before going back to your bedroom to study. Bucky could sense that something was off with you by the way you said yes. If you’re being honest, you’re exhausted and on top of that, two girls at school are being rude to you, but you didn’t tell him that. You just don’t want to worry him and your mom is all. You sat back down at your desk, sighing before going back to study. After putting your sisters to bed, your dad went down the hall to your bedroom. He saw you at your desk studying with your head propped against your free hand. He could tell how tired you are just by looking at you. He knocked on the door a couple times to get your attention. You turned around to see him standing in the doorway.

“Oh, hey, dad.” You say.

“Hey, kiddo. I just put your sisters to bed and I wanted to see what you’re up to.” Bucky says.

“Studying like usual.” You say.

Bucky nods and walks further into your bedroom. He looks down at your desk to see what you’re studying. He picks up the textbook to get a good look at it.

“I’m assuming this is the test you’re studying for.” He says.

“It is.” You confirmed.

“Well, don’t let me get in your way. Let me know if you need anything.” He says.

“Ok.” You say.

You went back to studying as your dad left your bedroom. He stood in the doorway for a moment, watching you to make sure you’re ok. Then he left your room.

A few days later, the day of the test you were studying for, your dad was dropping you and your sisters off at school when he noticed how quiet you are. You’re never quiet in the car. That worried him.

“You ok?” Bucky asks again.

“I’m fine.” You say.

“Nervous for the test?” You asked.

“Yea.” You say.

Your sisters got dropped off at school first and then you did.

“Have a good day at school. Good luck on your test.” He says.

You gave him a soft smile before getting out of the car. Bucky watches you walk up to the school. He knows something is going on with you. He just wants to know what it is so he can help you. He sighs to himself before driving out of the school’s drop off line and going home. As you were walking to your first class of the day, the two girls who are always rude to you saw you and walked over to you. You just sighed and kept walking.

“Good morning.” They say, pretending to be cheerful.

You didn’t say it back. You just kept walking and tried to ignore them.

“It’s rude to not respond to someone when they’re talking to you.” One of the girls say.

You still ignoring them. That earned you a smack on the back of your head. You rubbed the back of your head as you looked at them.

“Are you gonna say it back or what?” One of the girls asks.

“Morning.” You say.

“That wasn’t so bad, was it?” The second girl says in a mocking tone.

One of the girls put her hand on your shoulder like she was going to give you a friendly pat on your shoulder, but she didn’t. She just shoves you into the wall before walking away with the other girl, giggling as they walked away. You just stood there for a second. You inhaled deeply and sighed before going to class. Those two girls didn’t stop there. They continued to pick on you throughout the school day. They got ruder and ruder if it’s even possible. It took everything to ignore them. You still didn’t tell your parents about it. You just shoved it deep down.

One day, your day was drive by your school to pick you up. He saw those two girls messing with you. Specifically, pushing you around and laughing as they did so. Then they shoved you hard, which made you fall to the ground. Bucky’s jaw clenches at what he just saw them do to you. He quickly parked his car and rushed over to you. A teacher was talking to the two girls. He crouches down to check on you and help you.

“Are you ok, doll?” Bucky asks softly.

You looked at him with teary eyes. He saw a cut on your lip and you holding your left arm. That told him that you’re not ok.

“You’re going to be ok.” He says softly as he helped you up.

Before leaving, he walked over to the teacher to talk to her.

“I really hope that you’re going to punish those girls for what they did to my daughter.” Bucky says.

“I am, Mr. Barnes. I’m going to call their parents and suspend them.” The teacher says.

“Good.” He says, narrowing his eyes at the two girls.

Bucky wraps his arms around you and lead you to the car. He turns to you after you two got in the car and takes another look at your injuries. You hissed when he touched your left arm.

“I’m taking you to the ER.” Bucky says.

“No! I want to go home!” You say.

“I know you do, but we have to make sure that your arm isn’t broken first.” He says.

You whined. Bucky took you straight to the emergency room. He stayed with you the whole time.

“I want to go home.” You say for like the tenth time.

“I know you do, doll. Let’s see what the doctor says about your arm and then we can go home.” He says.

You sighed and leaned back against the emergency room bed, still holding your left arm. The doctor came into the room a moment later.

“Good news is your arm isn’t broken or fractured. The bad news is your arm is sprained and you need to wear a sling for a while.” The doctor says.

The doctor put the sling on you and adjusts it.

“Aspirin and icing it will help with the pain.” The doctor says.

“Thank you.” Bucky says.

“You’re welcome.” She says.

Bucky wraps his arms around you again as he led you to the car. You were quiet on the car ride home. He looks at you at every red light with a sad look on his face. He wants to know what’s going on with you. Not only that, he wants to know why you didn’t try to tell the two girls to stop bullying you. He knows you’re not a violent person. He wants to know why you didn’t try to solve it out.

When you guys got home, he helped you get settled in. Then he got the first aid kit from the bathroom and patched up the cut on your lip. Bucky was gentle as he cleaned and patched up your lip. You hissed and flinched away when the alcohol got in the cut.

“Why didn’t you tell those girls to stop bullying you?” Bucky asks.

“I didn’t want it to escalate to violence.” You say.

“I know you’re not a violent person and I taught you self defense, which you could’ve used in that situation.” He says.

“I know.” You mumbled.

“Then why didn’t you?” He asks.

You just shrugged your shoulders.

“I need a better answer than that, kiddo.” He says.

Bucky saw your eyes tear up and your bottom lip quiver. He immediately wrapped his arms around you when you started crying.

“I wanted to stop them, but I was just too exhausted to do anything!” You cried.

“Why didn’t you tell me and your mom?” He asks.

“You guys are always busy taking care of Izzy and Daisy. I didn’t want to worry you guys and become a burden to you guys.” You say.

“Never say that about yourself again. You are anything but a burden, doll. You’re my baby girl and you always will be.” He says softly.

You cried and cried more. Bucky’s heart broke for you. He hates seeing you like this. He kept telling you that it’s going to be ok as he tried to get you to stop crying. His hand rubbed your back, which is something he does to help you and your sisters calm down when you guys are upset and it still works. You stopped crying after a few minutes. Bucky didn’t stop holding you. He was holding you like he was holding your sisters the other night.

“You don’t know how much I missed this, dad.” You say after a few more minutes.

“Yea, me too.” Bucky almost whispers. “That’s why you stood at the doorframe watching us a few days ago. I thought you didn’t want this anymore. Well, I was wrong. I’m so sorry.” He says softly.

“It’s ok. You didn’t know. Besides, I always thought that I was too old to be cuddled by my parents when I turned 18.” You say.

“You’re never too old for anything, kiddo. If you want cuddles from your parents, we’ll be more than happy to cuddle you. Like I said, you’ll always be our baby girl.” He says softly and kisses the top of your head.

You feel asleep on the couch after a little bit. You’re still in your dad’s arms, which is where you exactly want to be. Bucky looks down at you with a smile on his face and kisses the top of your head. Your sisters came into the living room after they got ready for bed to say goodnight to you and Bucky.

“We know Y/N is sleeping, but we want to say night and hug her.” Izzy says.

“Just be careful. She got hurt this afternoon.” Bucky says.

“We will.” Daisy says.

You woke up when you felt two small pairs of arms around you. You opened your eyes and saw your sisters hugging you.

“Night.” Both of them say at the same time.

“Night.” You say.

You went back to sleep and your sisters went to their bedrooms. Your dad went to go read them a bedtime story. Your mom came home a little bit later. Your dad greets her at the door and gives her a hug and a kiss.

“We missed you while you were gone.” Bucky says.

“I missed you guys too. How was everything while I was gone?” Your mom asks.

Bucky sighs before saying anything. That’s when your mom got worried.

“What happened? Did something happen with the kids?” She asks with concern in her voice.

“Izzy and Daisy are fine. Something has been going on with Y/N lately.” He says.

“What is it?” She asks.

“She was getting bullied by two girls at school and when I picked her up from school today, they were pushing her around, which made her fall down and sprain her left arm and cut her lip. She’s also really exhausted. She didn’t want to tell us, because she didn’t want to worry us and be a burden.” He tells her.

“Our poor baby.” She says, her eyes tearing up.

“She’s sleeping on the couch right now.” He says.

Your mom went to the living room to see you sound asleep on the couch. She still had a worried look on her face as she looked at you.

“Y/N will be alright. She just needs to sleep right now.” Bucky says softly.

“You’re right. Our daughters are strong.” Your mom says.

“They get it from you.” He says softly.

“That’s all you, honey.” She says.

“Agree to disagree?” He asks.

“Sounds good to me.” She says.

Your mom gives your dad a kiss before helping him get you settled in bed. They gave you a kiss on your forehead before going to bed. The next morning, you woke up and went to the kitchen to see that your mom is home. You smiled when you saw her.

“You’re home.” You smiled.

“I am.” Your mom smiles.

Your mom walked over to you and gave you a hug. She was careful to not accidentally bump your sprained arm. Then she looked at you with a softened expression on her face.

“Dad told me what happened yesterday.” She says.

“He did?” You asked.

“Yes and I’m sorry you went through all of that. I’m also sorry that I wasn’t here to help you.” She says softly.

“It’s ok. Dad, helped me get through it.” You say.

“I’m glad he did.” She says.

“Like we said last night, our daughters are strong.” Bucky chimes in as he walks into the kitchen.

You and your mom smiled at your dad as he walked over to you guys and hugged both of you.

“We want you to know that you’ll never be a burden to us. We love you more than anything in this world, sweetie. No matter how old you are, you’ll always be our baby girl.” Your mom says.

“I love you guys too.” You smiled.

You stopped in front of the doorway to your sister’s bedroom, seeing your dad reading your two younger sisters a bedtime story. You saw how he was cuddling them at the same time he was reading to them. You leaned against the doorway and crossed your arms, wondering when the last your dad cuddled you like that. It’s been a long time since your dad held you like that. You were standing in the doorway a moment before your dad noticed that you were there. He softly smiles at you.

“Hey, kid.” Bucky greets you.

“Hey, dad.” You greeted him.

“Are you alright?” He asks softly.

“Yes.” You answered.

You gave him a soft smile before going back to your bedroom to study. Bucky could sense that something was off with you by the way you said yes. If you’re being honest, you’re exhausted and on top of that, two girls at school are being rude to you, but you didn’t tell him that. You just don’t want to worry him and your mom is all. You sat back down at your desk, sighing before going back to study. After putting your sisters to bed, your dad went down the hall to your bedroom. He saw you at your desk studying with your head propped against your free hand. He could tell how tired you are just by looking at you. He knocked on the door a couple times to get your attention. You turned around to see him standing in the doorway.

“Oh, hey, dad.” You say.

“Hey, kiddo. I just put your sisters to bed and I wanted to see what you’re up to.” Bucky says.

“Studying like usual.” You say.

Bucky nods and walks further into your bedroom. He looks down at your desk to see what you’re studying. He picks up the textbook to get a good look at it.

“I’m assuming this is the test you’re studying for.” He says.

“It is.” You confirmed.

“Well, don’t let me get in your way. Let me know if you need anything.” He says.

“Ok.” You say.

You went back to studying as your dad left your bedroom. He stood in the doorway for a moment, watching you to make sure you’re ok. Then he left your room.

A few days later, the day of the test you were studying for, your dad was dropping you and your sisters off at school when he noticed how quiet you are. You’re never quiet in the car. That worried him.

“You ok?” Bucky asks again.

“I’m fine.” You say.

“Nervous for the test?” You asked.

“Yea.” You say.

Your sisters got dropped off at school first and then you did.

“Have a good day at school. Good luck on your test.” He says.

You gave him a soft smile before getting out of the car. Bucky watches you walk up to the school. He knows something is going on with you. He just wants to know what it is so he can help you. He sighs to himself before driving out of the school’s drop off line and going home. As you were walking to your first class of the day, the two girls who are always rude to you saw you and walked over to you. You just sighed and kept walking.

“Good morning.” They say, pretending to be cheerful.

You didn’t say it back. You just kept walking and tried to ignore them.

“It’s rude to not respond to someone when they’re talking to you.” One of the girls say.

You still ignoring them. That earned you a smack on the back of your head. You rubbed the back of your head as you looked at them.

“Are you gonna say it back or what?” One of the girls asks.

“Morning.” You say.

“That wasn’t so bad, was it?” The second girl says in a mocking tone.

One of the girls put her hand on your shoulder like she was going to give you a friendly pat on your shoulder, but she didn’t. She just shoves you into the wall before walking away with the other girl, giggling as they walked away. You just stood there for a second. You inhaled deeply and sighed before going to class. Those two girls didn’t stop there. They continued to pick on you throughout the school day. They got ruder and ruder if it’s even possible. It took everything to ignore them. You still didn’t tell your parents about it. You just shoved it deep down.

One day, your day was drive by your school to pick you up. He saw those two girls messing with you. Specifically, pushing you around and laughing as they did so. Then they shoved you hard, which made you fall to the ground. Bucky’s jaw clenches at what he just saw them do to you. He quickly parked his car and rushed over to you. A teacher was talking to the two girls. He crouches down to check on you and help you.

“Are you ok, doll?” Bucky asks softly.

You looked at him with teary eyes. He saw a cut on your lip and you holding your left arm. That told him that you’re not ok.

“You’re going to be ok.” He says softly as he helped you up.

Before leaving, he walked over to the teacher to talk to her.

“I really hope that you’re going to punish those girls for what they did to my daughter.” Bucky says.

“I am, Mr. Barnes. I’m going to call their parents and suspend them.” The teacher says.

“Good.” He says, narrowing his eyes at the two girls.

Bucky wraps his arms around you and lead you to the car. He turns to you after you two got in the car and takes another look at your injuries. You hissed when he touched your left arm.

“I’m taking you to the ER.” Bucky says.

“No! I want to go home!” You say.

“I know you do, but we have to make sure that your arm isn’t broken first.” He says.

You whined. Bucky took you straight to the emergency room. He stayed with you the whole time.

“I want to go home.” You say for like the tenth time.

“I know you do, doll. Let’s see what the doctor says about your arm and then we can go home.” He says.

You sighed and leaned back against the emergency room bed, still holding your left arm. The doctor came into the room a moment later.

“Good news is your arm isn’t broken or fractured. The bad news is your arm is sprained and you need to wear a sling for a while.” The doctor says.

The doctor put the sling on you and adjusts it.

“Aspirin and icing it will help with the pain.” The doctor says.

“Thank you.” Bucky says.

“You’re welcome.” She says.

Bucky wraps his arms around you again as he led you to the car. You were quiet on the car ride home. He looks at you at every red light with a sad look on his face. He wants to know what’s going on with you. Not only that, he wants to know why you didn’t try to tell the two girls to stop bullying you. He knows you’re not a violent person. He wants to know why you didn’t try to solve it out.

When you guys got home, he helped you get settled in. Then he got the first aid kit from the bathroom and patched up the cut on your lip. Bucky was gentle as he cleaned and patched up your lip. You hissed and flinched away when the alcohol got in the cut.

“Why didn’t you tell those girls to stop bullying you?” Bucky asks.

“I didn’t want it to escalate to violence.” You say.

“I know you’re not a violent person and I taught you self defense, which you could’ve used in that situation.” He says.

“I know.” You mumbled.

“Then why didn’t you?” He asks.

You just shrugged your shoulders.

“I need a better answer than that, kiddo.” He says.

Bucky saw your eyes tear up and your bottom lip quiver. He immediately wrapped his arms around you when you started crying.

“I wanted to stop them, but I was just too exhausted to do anything!” You cried.

“Why didn’t you tell me and your mom?” He asks.

“You guys are always busy taking care of Izzy and Daisy. I didn’t want to worry you guys and become a burden to you guys.” You say.

“Never say that about yourself again. You are anything but a burden, doll. You’re my baby girl and you always will be.” He says softly.

You cried and cried more. Bucky’s heart broke for you. He hates seeing you like this. He kept telling you that it’s going to be ok as he tried to get you to stop crying. His hand rubbed your back, which is something he does to help you and your sisters calm down when you guys are upset and it still works. You stopped crying after a few minutes. Bucky didn’t stop holding you. He was holding you like he was holding your sisters the other night.

“You don’t know how much I missed this, dad.” You say after a few more minutes.

“Yea, me too.” Bucky almost whispers. “That’s why you stood at the doorframe watching us a few days ago. I thought you didn’t want this anymore. Well, I was wrong. I’m so sorry.” He says softly.

“It’s ok. You didn’t know. Besides, I always thought that I was too old to be cuddled by my parents when I turned 18.” You say.

“You’re never too old for anything, kiddo. If you want cuddles from your parents, we’ll be more than happy to cuddle you. Like I said, you’ll always be our baby girl.” He says softly and kisses the top of your head.

You feel asleep on the couch after a little bit. You’re still in your dad’s arms, which is where you exactly want to be. Bucky looks down at you with a smile on his face and kisses the top of your head. Your sisters came into the living room after they got ready for bed to say goodnight to you and Bucky.

“We know Y/N is sleeping, but we want to say night and hug her.” Izzy says.

“Just be careful. She got hurt this afternoon.” Bucky says.

“We will.” Daisy says.

You woke up when you felt two small pairs of arms around you. You opened your eyes and saw your sisters hugging you.

“Night.” Both of them say at the same time.

“Night.” You say.

You went back to sleep and your sisters went to their bedrooms. Your dad went to go read them a bedtime story. Your mom came home a little bit later. Your dad greets her at the door and gives her a hug and a kiss.

“We missed you while you were gone.” Bucky says.

“I missed you guys too. How was everything while I was gone?” Your mom asks.

Bucky sighs before saying anything. That’s when your mom got worried.

“What happened? Did something happen with the kids?” She asks with concern in her voice.

“Izzy and Daisy are fine. Something has been going on with Y/N lately.” He says.

“What is it?” She asks.

“She was getting bullied by two girls at school and when I picked her up from school today, they were pushing her around, which made her fall down and sprain her left arm and cut her lip. She’s also really exhausted. She didn’t want to tell us, because she didn’t want to worry us and be a burden.” He tells her.

“Our poor baby.” She says, her eyes tearing up.

“She’s sleeping on the couch right now.” He says.

Your mom went to the living room to see you sound asleep on the couch. She still had a worried look on her face as she looked at you.

“Y/N will be alright. She just needs to sleep right now.” Bucky says softly.

“You’re right. Our daughters are strong.” Your mom says.

“They get it from you.” He says softly.

“That’s all you, honey.” She says.

“Agree to disagree?” He asks.

“Sounds good to me.” She says.

Your mom gives your dad a kiss before helping him get you settled in bed. They gave you a kiss on your forehead before going to bed. The next morning, you woke up and went to the kitchen to see that your mom is home. You smiled when you saw her.

“You’re home.” You smiled.

“I am.” Your mom smiles.

Your mom walked over to you and gave you a hug. She was careful to not accidentally bump your sprained arm. Then she looked at you with a softened expression on her face.

“Dad told me what happened yesterday.” She says.

“He did?” You asked.

“Yes and I’m sorry you went through all of that. I’m also sorry that I wasn’t here to help you.” She says softly.

“It’s ok. Dad, helped me get through it.” You say.

“I’m glad he did.” She says.

“Like we said last night, our daughters are strong.” Bucky chimes in as he walks into the kitchen.

You and your mom smiled at your dad as he walked over to you guys and hugged both of you.

“We want you to know that you’ll never be a burden to us. We love you more than anything in this world, sweetie. No matter how old you are, you’ll always be our baby girl.” Your mom says.

“I love you guys too.” You smiled.

Oceanside California felt foreign to Pope Cody when he stepped out from behind the gated prison walls of Folsom. He hadn’t told anyone he was getting out; there was no one waiting for him as the gate doors closed behind him. No open arms for him to run into or noisy brothers clapping him on the back.

As much as a part of him missed the familiarity of his old room, he didn’t return home right away. He wanted some free time to himself before Smurf got her filthy hands on him again—before she tainted what little chance of starting over Pope clung on to. Before she made him into the dangerous guard dog she so carefully convinced him he was.

He found himself wandering the streets alone instead, shoulders and jaw stiff and tense; like any moment he’d wake up or a guard would appear and drag him back into the grey walls that haunted his nightmares when he was actually able to sleep.

Pope’s memory spun as he took in familiar buildings—places that had been there practically his entire life. The beach air still wafted through the breeze, still smelled the same. Still dusted his skin with the pricklings of ocean salt. If his hair hadn’t been shaved down in a shitty prison cut; his curls would’ve picked it up too. He longed to feel the salty breeze float through his hair again; lull him into a calmness.

His brow furrowed a little at all the new shops and businesses that had popped up since he’d been gone, ones that definitely weren’t there before he went in. Random places like mini grocery stores and self-employed insurance companies. A new book store that he pushed to the back of his mind to visit later.

That’s how he found you; at the new little diner on the corner with bright red letters on the sign. At first glance it looked like a cozy surfer hut or beach shop. Blue and white striped canopy over the door, stickers on the windows. A few tables outside with blue chairs on either side. A couple plants that caught the sun. He stood outside it longer than he probably should’ve, feet weighed down like cement. His fists opened and closed at his sides before he finally forced himself to go inside. The bell on the door rung above him, the smell of fried food wafted around him with the air conditioning. He welcomed the coolness with an exhale from his nose; much more comfortable than the scorching heat outside.

He didn’t realize that you had noticed him as soon as he walked in from your spot near the order window—passing a paper order back to one of the cooks. He was someone new that you hadn’t seen before. Handsome with his dark brown eyes and sharp features. His short buzzed hair making his ears stick out all cute. He looked a little awkward, scanning the entirety of the inside; from corner to corner in front of him. Immediately—you already wanted to know more about him; heartbeat picking up as you watched him take in his surroundings.

Pope’s eyes drifted around, clocking all the exits and the people around him. A few of the booths and tables were occupied—along with a couple of the stools at the counter. The inside wasn’t decorated in a decade specific theme like he expected it to be; like most of the diners he’d been to in his life. Rather it was more…homey. More bright and airy inside; pale yellow walls that looked almost white and light blue leather seats. A few framed music posters hanging from the walls, a surfboard or two on the other. Two big monstera plants on either side of the front door. It felt like walking into someone’s home with a mother cooking in the kitchen.

There were pies on plates under glass displays on the counter, a large white board with specials and prices on it. The floor was clean, making Pope’s shoulders relax a little. The patterned tile almost matched the leather seats. He wiped his feet on the mat by the door—jaw ticking as his mind reeled and took everything in. His hands clenched and unclenched again at his sides.

Finally, he chose the booth in the furthest corner; tucked away from the center of the room and all the buzzing of conversation. He clung to the quiet he’d almost definitely lose once he returned to Smurf’s.

The leather made a soft noise under him when he sat down, a menu was already lying on the table in front of him. Shakers filled with sugar, salt and pepper sat up against the window—ketchup and packets of coffee creamer tucked up next to them. Utensils sat neatly against the white table; wrapped up in napkins.

Pope found himself drumming his fingers lightly on the table before reaching carefully for the menu. It wasn’t sticky like some diners he’d been too; much more clean and carefully typed out and laminated to be easily read. Decorated with blue designs in the corners.

He scanned the menu, not really reading it or taking in anything it said; just breathing in the air around him and letting himself exist in a place that wasn’t controlled by guards or a boring grey. Someplace he didn’t have to worry about being tortured or made a spectacle at the entertainment of guards. Somewhere he could just sit and enjoy the quiet; where he could just for the first time in three years—be Andrew.

He didn’t notice you approach him at first, too caught up in his thoughts and pretending to read the menu to realize you were now standing next to his table. He hadn’t seen you when he walked in—just the older lady working behind the counter and a few bus boys cleaning tables.

He only looked up when you finally spoke.

“Hi!”, You said cheerfully, bright smile on your face.

Pope froze. Eyes drifting up to your face, shoulders a little guarded at being spoken to.

His demeanor softened when his eyes landed on you.

Soft lashes and cheeks, soft hair that was pulled back with a few strands framing your face. Bright eyes that pulled him in. He glances at your name-tag, eyes flicking back to your face and deciding that it suits you. He found himself appreciative that you had a real uniform; shorts and a tee shirt with the diner’s name on it rather than some skimpy skirt and hat the themed diners always made the waitresses wear. He found that in poor taste; companies forcing women to show off their bodies in hopes to make a bigger income.

Pope didn’t say anything at first, just watched you look down at him. Your smile didn’t waver as you shifted on your feet, pulling your notepad and pen up closer to your chest.

“Can I get you started with something?”, You asked.

Pope found himself at a loss for words, he hadn’t expected someone so…beautiful and lively to be standing next to him now. He still hadn’t read the menu, wasn’t that hungry. He shifted a little again on the seat, leather crinkling under him.

“What do you recommend?”, He finally asked.

Your eyes lit up at the question, making Pope’s heart hammer harder in his chest.

“Oh! Goodness…well it depends how hungry you are”, You start, a small laugh escaping your lips; “The breakfast platter is really good if you want breakfast! Club sandwiches if you’re in more of a lunch type of mood. The coffee here is really good! I always make it with cinnamon, makes it taste better.”

Pope finds himself scanning your face as you ramble—blood rushing through his veins in a way that makes his cheeks hot. He notices the way your nose scrunches when you smile, how expressive your face is. He wonders if you do that for everyone or just certain people.

He sets his menu down, fingers drumming again.

“Uh, the coffee”, He says; “Just the coffee…black.”

He watches you scribble it down on your little pad before pocketing it and offering him another bright smile.

“Great! I’ll have that right out for you.”

Your ponytail sways behind you as you walk away, sneakers squeaking lightly on the floor. Pope commits it all to memory, much like he does with most people he meets. But this felt different—you were being nice to him.

Pope finds himself gazing out the window next to him while he waits. A few people walk by walking their dogs, a few families. There’s a business owner across the street taking trash out to the dumpster. The parking lot across the street is mostly empty except for a few cars—people opting to walk or bike in the nice weather. His fingers twitch once in anticipation, a longing to get back to the beach tugging at him; back to the private spot he found years ago—away from tourists and practically empty of people.

He’s pulled out of his daydream by a mug sliding softly across the table in front of him. He looks up, finding you smiling down at him again.

“Here you go, one coffee”, You say.

Pope nods once in acknowledgment, wrapping his hands around the warm ceramic. The heat seeps into his hands immediately—just hot enough that it’s not quite burning. He expects you to leave, to walk away again and leave silence behind. But he soon realizes; you’re still looking at him.

He shifts a little in his seat, eyes flicking awkwardly around the room before they find your face again.

“Sorry”, You say with a breath; “I just…I’ve never seen you in here before. Are you new in town?”

Pope blinks; “Lived here my whole life. Just uh…been away for a while.”

You nod; “Just missed home enough to come back, huh?”

“Something like that”, Pope says, fingers flexing against warm ceramic.

If he’s being truly honest; he’s not really sure what really being home feels like.

Silence falls between you for a moment before you speak again; “I like it here too.”

Pope almost lets himself smile at that; lips twitching at the corner. But he holds himself back—still staying quiet.

You brush a stray hair out of your face, shifting on your feet as you pull out your notepad—another customer waving you down.

“Well, enjoy your coffee”, You say with another smile; “Let me know if you need anything!”

You turn on your heels at that, making your way to the customer in a booth towards the front of the diner. Pope watches you go, eyes flicking carefully over your frame.

With a sigh, he finally brings the mug to his lips and takes a sip.

The flavor washes over him immediately—still black coffee, but something warmer rests beneath it. Almost what he thinks Christmas smells like; all spice and comfort. A vision of his first few memories of the holiday washing over him—before things were complicated. He feels again like he’s sitting in a house with someone’s mother or grandmother in the kitchen. He decides right then and there; that he’ll never take his coffee any other way again.

Pope stays for a while, longer than he initially intended to. But something about you and the atmosphere around him pulls him in deep. Keeps him tethered to his spot in the booth. He drinks his coffee slowly, savoring the flavor. Each sip ignites something in his chest. He can see the horizon starting to turn pink outside, fewer people roaming the streets.

He doesn’t know what time it is, really he could look at the clock on the wall if it mattered that much; but for once he doesn’t seem to care. The diner around him lulls before it starts filling up with the dinner crowd. But Pope stays in his spot in the booth in the furthest corner. Orders another coffee when he finishes the first one.

He’s been there almost two hours when he finally decides to leave, placing a few more bills than necessary down on the table.

You’re rushing around in front of him, talking to a few customers as you move; not completely looking where you’re going. It doesn’t take long for you to come in contact with a chair that hadn’t been fully pushed in, a small sound leaving your lips as you stumble over the legs. The menus in your hands go flying; scattering across the floor with a small smack sound.

Pope’s feet move before he realizes they are, kneeling down next to you as he starts collecting the fallen menus. You’re quick to kneel down with him, but he beats you to most of them—leaving you with only two in your hands.

He hands them back to you softly without a word once he’s stood fully again, silently checking you over for any injuries; which he thankfully finds none.

“Oh my goodness, I’m so sorry!”, You rush out; “God, I’m so clumsy.”

Pope doesn’t say anything, instead bending down to pick up your notepad that you’d somehow dropped in the process; holding it back out to you.

“Oh!”, You say; “Thank you…”

You trail off, only then realizing that you still don’t know his name.

“Andrew”, Pope says, hands clasped at his sides.

You offer another smile to him again; this one somehow warmer than all the others.

“See you around, Andrew”, You say.

Pope’s heart flutters at the sound of his name leaving your lips. He tries to push the heat taking over his face back down; but he knows he’s failing miserably. His breath quick and eyes a little wider than usual.

He watches you walk away, going to head to the front door himself when you pause and look back at him.

“Don’t be a stranger”, You say, face heating to match his own before you turn away again.

Pope freezes by the door—bell chiming above him again—finally letting a small smile take over his lips; you want him to come back.

─ ─── ─── ─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─── ─── ─── ─

It didn’t take long after Pope’s first visit for you to figure out who he was. People talk, the cook and other coworkers had told you that night during closing. About all the stories and rumors surrounding the Cody family. But you didn’t care, you liked Andrew. Were intrigued by him—you could make your own decisions about things; and he was one of them.

As the next few weeks went by, Pope found himself frequenting the diner more and more. Every other week, he’d step through the front door with the sound of the bell chiming above him. Wiping his feet on the mat below him, the same way he had the first time he walked in.

You greeted him with a smile every time.

Every other week became every week, then slowly turned into a few days a week—until he was sitting in his corner booth almost every day.

Sometimes he wouldn’t even come inside, he’d find himself sitting in his truck in the parking lot across the street; keeping an eye on things. He’d pretty much learned your schedule, which car was yours—always parked in the same spot unless you’d walked to work.

Pope didn’t like when you did that. He knew how people could be, had dealt with enough bad people in his life to know what could happen. But he didn’t go as far to do anything about it. He didn’t want to scare you away—even if he had become good at watching and following people discreetly over time.

He found himself automatically driving to the parking lot if he’d had a stressful day. If Smurf had been on him, or a rough job. Just to get a glimpse at you. He’d sit there, tucked away under the tree in the corner—shaded and out of view. He could see perfectly through the big windows of the diner, where you often stood behind the counter.

He’d watch you work, the smile on your face as you talked to customers sitting at the counter. The way you laughed. It settled something inside him. Something he didn’t know was still there.

You knew when it was him coming through the front door after only a few weeks; you no longer had to look up. His heavy footsteps and pause in the doorway gave him away. No matter how many times he’d been inside; he still scanned the place and checked all the exits.

No matter what you were doing, you’d stop and offer him a big soft smile and greet him; “Hey, Andrew.”

Pope loved the way his name sounded coming from you. Nobody ever called him Andrew unless he was in trouble or he was being threatened by his mother. But with you? He didn’t mind it.

A few months in, you’d find yourself standing next to him again as he sat in his booth—just like the first time he’d come in. Your break had started a few minutes before and something in you told you to go for it.

So you stood next to him, your own coffee in your hand and a plate of fries.

“Mind if I join you?”, You’d asked, catching Pope’s attention and pointing to the empty spot across from him.

Pope looked up at you, cheeks flushed red until the rosy hue reached his ears; “No. Go ahead.”

You slid in across from him, smile never wavering as you started in on your fries. Reaching for the ketchup as you looked him up and down; half-drank coffee sitting on the table in front of him.

“So Andrew”, You start, popping a fry into your mouth; “What do you like to do for fun?”

Pope froze, taken aback by your question. Nobody had ever cared enough about him to ask. He couldn’t really remember the last time he had real fun—if he wanted to do that he’d have to sneak away from his family to do it.

He liked to sneak away to small beaches only a few people knew about, where the waves were mostly non-existent and the water was always warm. To the small skate park that was largely unoccupied; especially in the middle of the night when he tended to frequent it. On the nights he couldn’t sleep no matter how hard he tried. When he couldn’t stand to sit in his new empty apartment a second longer.

Smurf had sold his place while he was locked up. Took it away from him like it wasn’t one of the places he was most comfortable. He was still trying to get used to where he was at now. Barely decorated with only a bed and a folding chair by the window.

“Skate”, Pope says, voice a little quiet; “Surf, too.”

Your eyes light up; “Surfing is cool! I’ve always wanted to try but…well as you’ve seen i’m a bit clumsy. I’d probably fall off the board and drown.”

Pope’s lips quirk at the corners.

“Bet you know some pretty good beach spots then, huh?”, You ask.

Pope shifts in his seat; “A few.”

“Maybe you could show me one sometime.”

The twitch of Pope’s lips turn into a real, small smile.

“I could do that, yeah”, He says.

As you start talking about something else, rambling on as you eat your fries—hands waving in the air—Pope barely hears a word you’re saying. His heart’s beating too fast in his ears. The idea of seeing you outside of the diner thrumming under his ribs.

It becomes almost normal after that. Pope coming in and sitting in his usual spot. You sliding in across from him on your breaks, rambling about something new each time. Your hands never stop waving in the air, you always bring food with you—offer him a bite. Sometimes you sneak a dessert or two. You learn he likes the cinnamon rolls and apple pie the best. Pope suddenly finds solace there; sitting across from you with warmth in his chest. He likes listening to you talk—commits things you tell him to memory.

Your favorite song and color, where you lived before moving to Oceanside. How you drench your fries in vinegar and ketchup. The way your nose scrunches when you get excited; the sparkle in your eyes when you talk about something you’re passionate about. He files everything he learns away safely.

Soon enough, going to the diner is the first thing on Pope’s mind every morning. He blows off going to Smurf’s house or a meeting about a job. He just nestles into his booth, a cup of coffee already on its way over the second you saw him walk in. He starts to feel like you know him, and that he knows you. Even if you really don’t.

Pope’s answers are always short, only a word or two or a grunt in response. He still doesn’t talk much. But you like that about him. How shy he is. His hair’s grown out over time; soft auburn curls swirling around his ears. You like him like this even more—he looks a little softer. Still stiff and awkward; still holding himself with tight shoulders and impossibly straight posture. But the sun hits him perfectly in his booth, turning the side of his face golden; bringing out every shade of red in his curls.

Still, you did learn a few things from what little bit you got out of him. He had two brothers, a niece who he often took care of. He’s the oldest, and likes to work on fixing things or build them. But for the most part—he was quiet.

He’d sit in the golden light and listen, hands grasped around the ceramic mug in front of him. Sometimes lying curled into loose fists on the table top. Twitching to reach out for you. To know how soft your hair is, feel your smaller hand in his. Would his heart beat faster? Would yours? Would you let him hold your hand?

Your laugh breaks him from his thoughts, eyes crinkled in a smile from whatever story you were telling him. His jaw ticks a little, not angry—just controlled. Forcing himself not to scare you away like he thinks he would. But you’d never be scared away, not by him.

He listens as you tell him about a few new menu items.

“Oh! We also have chocolate chip pancakes now, I finally got it on the menu”, You tell him.

“My niece likes them like that”, He says, tracing the outside of his coffee mug.

“What? You don’t like chocolate chips?”, You ask, brow quirked.

A soft sound that almost sounds like a laugh leaves his mouth. Eyes unblinking, lips twitching at the corners; “No I do.”

You laugh across from him, soft and filled with enjoyment at getting him to smile again.

“I’m just messing with you”, You say.

Pope’s small smile doesn’t waver across from you, fingers tapping against the table as you start listing other items that are new. He settles into himself again, too caught up in you to really hear what you’re saying.

Overtime, as Pope continued to frequent the diner—something shifted between you.

Andrew slowly became Andy.

The sound of the bell chiming above the door hits your ears the same time the sound of his heavy boots do. You smile to yourself before looking up. Your breath catches in your throat when you see him.

His hair is damp from a fresh shower, black jeans still tight over his thighs. A dark grey t-shirt clings to his wide frame in place of his usual button ups. He’s bigger than you thought. Sure, you always knew he was strong under those neat shirts—but seeing him in a t-shirt brings it out in a whole new way.

Your face softens at the sight of him, watching his eyes search the exits before they land on you. He walks up to the counter this time, hands hesitantly resting against the top of it—the metal edge cool against his skin.

“Hey, Andy”, You breathe.

He looks you up and down, fingers twitching the same time his lips do. Drawing towards one side of his face in the way that you love so much. His version of a small smile, you’ve learned.

“Want your usual?”, You ask him.

Underneath the small quirk of his lips; his eyes look a little nervous—hesitant maybe.

Still he nods slowly.

“Yeah”, He says softly, and then; “Can I get it to go today?”

You furrow your brow as you pivot from his usual ceramic mug to the paper to go cups. The idea of him not staying sitting heavy on your chest.

“‘Course”, You say, turning towards the coffee machine.

You watch him as he waits; eyes flicking around more than usual. Checking his watch and phone a few times. His fingers drumming quicker against the counter top. He’s anxious, you think—obviously in a hurry.

You pop the lid on top of his to-go cup, sliding it across the counter towards him.

“One coffee to go”, You smile.

He offers the same sideways quirk back, digging into his back pocket for his wallet.

“That’s ok”, You tell him; “It’s on me today.”

Pope freezes, eyes flicking over your face to check if you’re sure—like he’s waiting for you to change your mind.

“You sure?”, He asks.

“Yeah”, your bottom lip slides between your teeth; “All good.”

His shoulders relax a fraction as he reaches for the cup in front of him, his lips parting to say something—but the sound of his phone buzzing cuts him off.

You don’t miss the way his brow furrows as he checks the caller ID, tension setting heavy between them. He looks back up at you, phone still in hand as he turns to leave.

“Thanks”, He says, voice still soft; “For the coffee.”

You nod in acknowledgment, lip still between your teeth as you watch him head towards the door, hand already grasping around the metal bar to push it open.

“See you soon, Andy”, You say.

His lips quirk again, a soft nod coming in return as he pushes the door open fully. A bit of hesitance in his movements; like he doesn’t want to leave but knows he has to. Then he’s gone, stepping all the way out of the diner and onto the sidewalk in front of it. The Oceanside heat engulfing him, salty wind messing his curls around.

─ ─── ─── ─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─── ─── ─── ─

A week had gone by after that with no sign of him. No heavy boots against the welcome mat. No rustle of the leather seat in his corner booth. No sideways quirk of his lips. No sight of his auburn curls or warm cologne. No Andrew.

You didn’t realize how much you had looked forward to seeing him every day until he stopped coming. A hole had developed in your chest, aching to be filled by his presence. Your shifts seemed to drag on longer without him, you weren’t as cheerful—and others noticed.

A few of your regulars asked if you were ok, your boss pulled you aside to check in on you. Your coworkers asked about him. You reassured them you were fine, but inside you realized you weren’t being completely honest with yourself; you missed Andrew.

You didn’t know why this person who randomly showed up in your place of work one day meant so much to you. He was nice to you, kind with his soft hazel eyes that stared into your soul. The red curls on his head made your heart flutter—and when he smiled at you? It had you weak in the knees.

This soft spoken, shy and slightly awkward man had found himself a place in your heart in only a few months. Nestled somewhere close under your ribs. You wanted to take away whatever pain was hiding behind those tense shoulders—you wanted to be someone that would never hurt him; someone he could count on.

It hit you all at once. Never in a million years did you think you’d feel this way when you watched him walk through the front door all those months ago. You cared about Andrew, you wanted him around, felt lost when he wasn’t. The realization washed over you without warning—you had feelings for Andrew.

The sound of the bell above the door chiming pulled you out of your thoughts. The familiar sound of heavy steps filled your ears—but something about them was off. There were two other mismatched sets of heavy steps along with them. Two louder voices filled the room, both deep as they stepped further inside the door.

A man with short blonde hair caught your eye first; short beard and slightly furrowed brows as he gestured with his hands in his jacket pockets. The other man next to him had dark long hair pulled back into a bun, slightly longer facial hair that matched. They were both tall, definitely strong; but in a more lean way.

“Craig, it’s never gonna happen man. She wasn’t even looking at you”, The blonde man says.

“You don’t know that! I got Nicky—“, The other man—Craig—starts.

“You got lucky, man. She still left you for J.”

Craig rolls his eyes; “Shut up, Deran.”

Beside them, the heavy footsteps you knew all too well stepped fully inside. Your eyes flicked away from the other two men, heart hammering against your ribs as they finally landed on the one person you’d been looking for all week—Andrew.

There he was, shoulders a little tense as he stepped under the diner lighting. A new bronze tint to his skin—maybe he’d been able to frequent the beach more often lately—you hoped he had. A pair of dark wash jeans sat snug on his hips, his signature button up was back; nestled under a jacket similar to the blonde man—Deran’s. Andrew’s hair was somehow a little longer than the last time you’d seen him, tousled from the salty breeze with a few curls sticking out at his nape and around his ears.

You’d grabbed your notepad and pen before they fully even sat down. Andrew’s eyes landing on you as he did his routine of scanning all the exits; the serious look on his face softening when you lock eyes. The furrowed crease between his brows easing along with it.

He slid into the booth next to Craig; Deran sitting across from them. Not his usual booth in the corner, something tells you he wouldn’t share that with just anyone. He still sat impossibly straight, completely tuning out whatever the other two men were talking about; his eyes staying on you as you approached the table.

Relief washed over you the second you stood in front of him, a wide smile etching across your face that you wouldn’t care to try and suppress even if you could.

“Andy, hey”, You breathed, like you’d been holding your breath since the last time you’d said it.

Both men furrowed their brows.

“‘Andy?—‘”, Craig teased, tilting his head to look at Pope with a smirk on his lips.

He was cut off by Pope’s foot hitting his shin under the table; hard.

“OW!—“, He shot Pope a glare; “What the fuck man?”

“Craig”, Deran said; “Shut up.”

But you didn’t even register the interaction, you were completely entranced in Andrew.

“Hi”, Pope says, voice soft.

You swear he sounds just as relieved as you do.

Silence settles at the table, Pope’s eyes raking over you before settling on your face—you doing the same to him. The time he’d been away had settled heavy in his shoulders, dragging along with him as he worked through multiple jobs that he would’ve rather skipped out on. Being pulled back in by Smurf and the evil grip she grabbed at him with; using him for her dirty work.

But seeing you now, the weight on Pope’s shoulders released a bit. His back grew less tense, posture a little more natural than being rigidly and painfully straight. Still impossibly straight the way he always was—but not as forced.

Deran cleared his throat beside you.

“Uh…can we get some coffee?”, He asked.

You blinked a few times, realization washing over you as you jumped a little on your feet; turning more towards the blonde man.

“Oh! Yes of course! Sorry!”, You rushed out, holding your pad and pencil up in front of you; “What can I get you?”

As you scribbled down orders, you could feel Pope’s eyes still on you. Boring into the side of your head in a way that most people would find uncomfortable. But you weren’t most people to him. It made a heat climb up your neck, shifting on your feet to try and pay as much attention as you can to the orders being spoken to you. But all you can focus on is Andrew.

Andrew who hasn’t moved his eyes from you since the moment he walked through that door a few minutes ago. Andrew who hadn’t realized how important you were to him until he was forced to be away from you. Andrew who found himself entirely lovesick without truly knowing that’s what he was feeling deep in his chest—fluttering behind his ribcage. Andrew who’s cheeks were dusted with a heat similar to yours, the tips of his ears burning pink as he fought back a twitch of his lips.

“Alright! I’ll have that right out for you”, You chirp, turning towards Pope; “Andy, your usual?”

Pope froze. Stilled by your sudden direction at him, like he’d been caught staring. But truthfully—he didn’t really care.

He nodded back, a soft look on his face as you smiled at him—turning on your feet and walking back behind the front counter to put their order’s in. He ignored his brother’s gazes and the looks they were sending his way. The exchange of their eyes, the way their brows quirked with every mention of his name from your lips. All he could focus on was you.

Behind the counter, you passed back their order slip; finding your coworkers’ eyes on you.

“What?”, You asked, hands on your hips.

The older woman next to you shook her head knowingly; “You know what.”

You felt the heat on your face; “He’s just a friend.”

The woman gave you a look; “Could’ve fooled me.”

You bit your bottom lip, eyes flicking towards the table you’d just come from. Finding Pope’s eyes already on you.

Beside him, Craig pushed at his shoulder.

“Earth to Pope??”, Craig smirked, rather enjoying the glare he earned from his brother.

Pope grunted in annoyance, forcing himself to look away from you.

“Seriously Pope”, Deran tried, a little nicer than his brother’s approach; “What’s gotten into you, man?”

Pope’s jaw ticked, chin jutting out a little bit. Maybe he’d actually answer Deran truthfully—if they were alone. But not with Craig sitting next to him with the attitude of a teenage girl listening in for the good gossip.

“Nothin’”, Pope mutters, hoping it’ll get them to drop the topic.

Craig opens his mouth to say something, cut off by you approaching the table. You set the drinks down with ease, passing a few extra creamers out across the table before standing up straight again—notepad out in front of you.

“Can I get you guys something to eat?”, You ask, feeling Pope’s eyes on you.

“Yeah, can I get a cheeseburger with fries?”, Craig says, passing the menu back towards the end of the table.

You nod, writing down his order and turning towards Deran.

“Anything for you?”

Deran ponders for a moment, before passing his menu back as well; “I’ll have the same.”

He offers you a small smile as you put his menu under your arm—only turning back to Pope after a second.

“Anything for you, Andy?”, You ask, voice softer.

You watch him think it over, brows scrunched and lips slightly pursed before he finally speaks.

“Apple pie?”, He says softly, almost as if he’s asking if you still have it.

You nod, writing his order down; “‘Course, saved you the last slice.”

Taking Pope’s menu, you turn on your heels to put the orders back to the kitchen; before being called over by another customer.

Pope watches you talk to them, laughing and smiling like you’ve known them forever. A confident pep of excitement in your step. You were like that with all customers, always friendly, always talkative. But you never sat down with them—not like you did with him.

“Jesus Pope, you’re gonna burn a hole through her”, Craig scoffs, following his gaze.

Pope grunts something in response, not turning back to look at his brother; jaw ticking once.

“She seems nice”, Deran says, trying to ease the tension.

Pope’s eyes flick towards him, jaw relaxing just a bit; “She is.”

Deran drops the topic after that, sending a warning glare Craig’s way and discreetly filling them in about a possible job. Pope forces himself to listen, letting his eyes wander around the diner every so often. They always somehow end up landing back on you.

The older lady behind the counter brings their food out while you’re still bustling around to your other tables. Pope finds himself a little disappointed. The customers smiles around you never waver. Your laughter drifts to his ears every few minutes. He likes seeing you like that. Likes hearing it. Happy, content.

Deran and Craig talk next to him between bites of hamburger and mouthfuls of fries. Craig downs half his diet coke in one sip, a low rumbling burp leaving him that has Deran rolling his eyes.

Pope ignores it all, quietly eating his apple pie and pretending like he’s listening. The warm cinnamon of his coffee settling into his bones. His body sinks a little further into the cushions, and he finds himself thinking if he closes his eyes; maybe he could picture himself just sitting here with you. No noisy brothers, no other customers calling your name. Just the two of you.

Eventually you return with the bill, placing it gently on the end of the table.

Pope’s digging in his pocket before either of his brothers can move. Even if Deran really would be the only other one to offer to pay. Craig shifts beside him, sitting up straighter.

“So how do you know Pope?”, He asks.

Blunt. Straight to the point. Pope clenches his jaw next to him, freezing over his wallet as he looks up at you.

But you just smile, ignoring the nickname; eyes sparkling a little.

“Oh! He comes in a lot. Probably my best customer”, You chirp.

“Best customer, huh Popey?”, Craig rumbles, nudging his brother’s shoulder; “He didn’t tell us that.”

Pope stays quiet as he sets a fifty down on the table before shoving his wallet back into his pocket—taking the last swig of his coffee.

He blinks at Deran once—who seems to understand what he means without saying it—rising to his feet along with him.

“Keep the change…and thank you for the pie”, Pope says, gentle with a little bit of urgency in it.

You don’t falter as the two men follow behind him towards the door, expression the same as Pope pauses to look back at you.

He offers you that same crooked smile, weakening your knees as you wave at him; “See you soon, Andy.”

You watch as the door swings shut behind them, Craig smacking a large hand across Pope’s shoulders and shaking him a little. Deran standing as far away as he can without stepping off the sidewalk in case one of them decides to swing. Pope doesn’t look at either of them, watching his feet as he digs for his keys.

The excitement of seeing him doesn’t waver. You just hope this time soon means sooner than last time.

─ ─── ─── ─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─── ─── ─── ─

Later that night you find yourself standing alone in the empty diner, scrubbing at the counter. The last customers had long gone home, the cook and other waitresses had cleared out. All you had to do was finish cleaning and lock up.

The sound of the front door bell ringing echoes through the quiet space. Even though you swore you locked it.

“We’re closed”, You call, not looking over your shoulder.

“I know”, A familiar voice says back.

His footsteps hit you right after his words, making you turn abruptly on your feet. You freeze when you see him standing there, just inside the front door. Fists opening and closing at his sides, eyes still scanning all the exits.

“Andy”, You breathe; “W-What’re you doing here?”

“Needed to see you”, He says, voice low.

He takes a few steps forward; “I can go if you want me to—“

“No!”, You blurt; “It’s-it’s ok.”

The streetlight from outside casts through the windows, panning over his face. Only then do you realize he’s hurt.

A nasty gash along his cheekbone, bruising under his eye and along the opposite side of his jaw. He looks tired; exhausted. Barely standing on his feet.

“Andrew”, You breathe, breaths ragged as you step up in front of him.

Your hands hover over his arms, then his face, not wanting to hurt him further but afraid he’ll slip away; “You’re hurt.”

Pope adjusts his weight, feet shifting below him before he’s reaching out for a chair next to him to steady himself. Your hands jut out quickly, bracing on either side of him to keep himself steady. He grunts once, gripping at his side—but he doesn’t push you away.

“Oh my god, Andy!”, The words leave your lips quickly; “Come on, let me help you.”

You guide him to the counter, forcing him to sit down on one of the stools before hurrying towards the back. He looks around the empty diner, peaceful and quiet. The smell of your perfume lingering around him. If he wasn’t hurt it would be exactly like the way he imagined it earlier.

You return a few moments later, opening a first-aid kit on the counter. Something sterile in your hands as they hover over the cut on his cheek.

“This might sting a bit”, You warn him.

He hisses a little when the cold alcohol touches him, eyes pinching shut for a moment.

“Hey, keep looking at me”, You tell him, trying to get him to focus on something else.

Pope doesn’t hesitate, hazel eyes opening and wandering over your face. Wide and slightly blown with adrenaline and something else you couldn’t quite place.

“There you go”, You say softly, dabbing the alcohol gently against his cheek.

You pull back, searching for a bandage in the kit.

“What happened?” You ask, rummaging around a little quicker than you’d like.

“Just work”, He mumbles, eyes not leaving you.

You don’t have to ask to know what that means. You just keep searching until you find a butterfly bandage, peeling it open and gently placing it over the wound; touch gentle against his skin.

“Your friends seem nice”, You offer, trying to start up a conversation to keep him distracted.

“My brothers”, Pope says; “They’re ok.”

You chuckle softly, eyes flicking over his face; “Ah, makes more sense…They seem to care about you.”

Pope doesn’t answer, shifting a little in his seat.

Grabbing a new cloth, you move to dabbing gently underneath his nose; cleaning the dried blood there. Pope doesn’t wince this time, just watches you.

“I don’t think it’s broken”, You say, putting the cloth down; “Probably gonna be sore for a while.”

“S’okay”, Pope mumbles.

You furrow your eyebrows, hand coming up to rest against his jaw, thumb hovering over the dark purple bruise forming there.

“Does it hurt?”, You ask softly.

Pope leans into your touch, eyes flicking over your face before they flutter shut. Lashes brushing gently against the top of his cheeks.

“…A little”, Pope breathes, eyes slowly opening again.

You frown, moving closer until your face is close to his.

“Can I?”, You whisper.

Pope’s breath catches in his throat, but still; he nods softly.

So you press a soft kiss to his jaw, careful not to put too much pressure on the bruise. When he doesn’t back away, you move to his cheek; pressing a soft kiss just below the bandage. You can hear him breathing now, watching intently as you move again; pressing another soft kiss to the bridge of his nose.

Pope sits straight, impossibly rigid with restraint. Forcing his hands to stay at his sides, to not reach out for your waist and pull you closer.

When you pull back, it’s only a few inches. Enough to look in his eyes. The sound of his rapid heartbeat fills your ears. Consistent and thrumming. Matching the way his chest rises and falls. Your breath fans across his face, intermingling with his own.

His eyes are fully blown now; almost no glimpse of the whiskey hue left. Clearly wanting the same thing you do. But he holds himself back. His lips part a little, a soft breath escaping him.

“Y-You don’t want this”, He says softly; “I’m not good for you…my family—me, I’ve done bad things.”

You cup both sides of his face, thumbs smoothing across the smile lines by his eyes. You don’t move away.

“You think I don’t know who you are?”, You ask, making him furrow his brows; “People talk in Oceanside. I was told about the Cody’s a long time ago.”

He frowns a little, trying to wrap his mind around it; “So this whole time you’ve?—“

“Been getting to know you?”, You stop him before he can spiral, stepping a fraction closer; “It doesn’t scare me. I care about you, Andy. Not your last name.”

Something flashes behind his eyes, making them go soft. Still dark and full of want, but something else lingers there with it.

He finally lets go of his restraint, reaching out to settle his hands on your hips; pulling you closer. His nose bumps yours, breath hot on your skin as he desperately searches your face for any sign he should stop. But all he finds is you mirroring him.

He leans in with an intense ferocity, encapsulating your lips with his; pressing every feeling that had been growing in his chest the past few months into it. You startle for a moment, letting your brain catch up before kissing back with the same intensity. Pushing yourself closer and closer to him like nothing would ever be enough.

He opens his knees, letting you slot in between them; caging you in with his thighs—hands traveling up towards your ribs. Your hands find home in his curls; finally feeling the softness of them under your touch. You tug gently on the curls at his nape; a soft sound leaving his throat. You open your lips, breathing it in and letting his tongue in to dance with yours.

It’s breathless, your lungs burn. But all you can feel are his hands and lips against your skin. Burning from anticipation in finally breaking through whatever invisible walls had been set between you. Never to be seen again.

When you finally pull back to catch your breath, you find him staring back at you. Eyelashes fluttering open; lips pink and swollen and kiss-bitten.

He looks beautiful. Perfect. Like Andrew.

Freckles illuminated by the remaining diner lights, shadow sculpting his features. He brushes his nose against yours again, resting your foreheads together as he catches his breath.

“Been wanting to do that”, He breathes; “For so long.”

You smile; “Yeah?”

He nods in return, letting a crooked upturn take over his lips.

“I’m glad you finally did”, You say, fingers flexing in the curls on the back of his head.

You bite your bottom lip, looking up at him with wide eyes matching his own—blown out and wandering.

“So how about you show me that beach spot now?”, You say, nuzzling against him.

Pope laughs softly, hands settling around your waist and against your back.

“I can do that”, He says quietly, tongue poking out to lick his lips once.

Then they’re on yours again soft and heated, something so uniquely him underneath it all. Tongue swiping against yours, pulling you into his lap; your hands careful of his side.

You’re not sure how much time passes, how long you stay there in Pope’s embrace. Lips against each other’s like you’ve done it forever.

Pope leans into it, finally relaxing completely and letting himself be completely free. Completely himself with you. In the low light of the empty diner, he finds himself content where he’s at. Feeling like home. No jobs, no Smurf, no noisy brothers. Just you and him, like he’d been longing for since day one.

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“Alright!” Jack claps his hands once, getting up from the bed to put the lotion away. “Feet are rubbed, favorite show is on,” He says slowly, going through the checklist in his head as Y/N rubs her stomach lazily, eyeing her dork of a husband.

“Night is approaching…” Jack continues, voice going softer as he walks back over to the bed.

“Mm.. The peanuts want something sweet.” Y/N announces as her husband effortlessly moves the bedsheets on her to tuck her in. It was rapidly approaching 9pm, and Jack had a deal going with Robby. He’d be able to come in at 9:30pm instead of 7pm every night, as long as he wasn’t a minute late.

“Oh yeah?” He smirks a bit. “Let me ask them what they want..” He says and playfully leans over to her stomach, placing his ear against her six month belly.

“Yeah? Huh..” He says quietly as if his kids are talking to him. Y/N stiffens a giggle. “Okay, I’ll tell her.” He whispers to her stomach before looking up at her. “They say they’re okay with ice cream.” He bargains. She snorts.

“That’s not what they’re telling me..” She jokes back. “They’re saying they really want those.. Chocolate chip cookies? From the hospital cafeteria..” She says hopefully. Jack groans at that jokingly.

“I will… Snag a couple while I’m on shift.” He assures as he climbs into bed to hold her. He wanted to come in later because he always wanted to be around to hold Y/N till she fell asleep.

“Promise?” Y/N whispers as she snuggles into his toned chest. He chuckles quietly.

“You will wake up to those cookies, Darlin. Swear on a stack of bibles…” He states gently before kissing her temple.

*

*

*

“Alright, night crawlers!” Jack begins as he steps out of a trauma room. “Give me some..” He proudly celebrates at the most recent save. Shen and Mateo are fast to high five him, riding the high as well.

“Tonight’s moving smooth.” Mateo sighs as if relieved.

“Like butter, my main man.” Shen brags playfully. “Real quiet-“ Jack is quick to slingshot a glove at Shen, hitting him on the shoulder.

“We’re not jinxing this. I’d like to be home on time to wake my wife up..” Jack says firmly as Shen stiffens a laugh, throwing his hands up in surrender.

“Got it, got it. No one mention anything.” Shen teases as he walks off to check on other patients with Mateo following in tow.

Jack sighs heavily, moving to lean against the nurses station. “Still standing, solider?” Lena Handzo teases as she looks him up and down from over her reading glasses. Wordlessly, Jack puts up a thumb. Lena chuckles at that.

Jack looks up and eyes the clock on the wall. 1:15am. “This is great practice for when the twins show up.” Jack notes playfully after a moment, and Lena shakes her head in playful disbelief.

“I still can’t believe that happened. What are the chances?!” She laughs.

“I’m just that good..” Jack smirks proudly, making Lena swat at him lightly with her clipboard. Jack laughs before he spots the new fourth-year emergency medicine resident from the corner of his eye.

“Dr. Henderson. Going on break?” He calls to the calm, cool, and collected young man.

“That’s the plan. 15.” Crus assures with a short nod, making Jack give him a halfhearted salut back as a goodbye.

As Crus walks out of the ED, he spots a woman waddling down the long hallway, one hand on her stomach while the other is firmly against the wall. She stops moving after a few more steps, breathing deeply through her nose before moving some more. “Shoot.” He says to himself before he rushes over.

“Ma’am! Hold on now!” He calls, making the woman stop. She turns to face him, leaning her back against the hallway wall, both hands now going under her stomach that looks about eight months along. She’s panting softly, looking exhausted.

“I’ve got you, ma’am.” He assures fast and she looks up at him in confusion.

“Wha..?” She asks, completely lost as she still tries to get her second wind. He moves to grab a wheelchair that was left astray beside a couple of vending machines.

“Let’s get you to a room.” He says already motioning for her to sit down.

“I.. No, I… Cafe.” The woman tries as Crus quickly ushers her into the seat anyways. She can’t move away from him because honestly the wheelchair looks inviting after all the walking she’s done.

“Let’s get you checked.” He says, thinking this is the night he delivers his first ‘ER Baby’.

“Hey! Wait!” The woman finally manages to let out between more even breaths as he pushes her forward and into the ER, away from the cafeteria doors that were so close…

“Got a could be Active Labor..” He calls out, making the woman’s eyes widen.

“What?!” She says as she holds on to her stomach now. Lena looks over along with Dr. Parker Ellis, both women paling at the sight of the woman in the chair.

“Oh… Uh…” Lena pauses slightly, thinking tonight’s the night. “Y/N, honey, you okay? Room 3.” She orders as she rushes over to help.

“Oh shit.” Ellis mutters quietly, running to find Abbot.

“Hey! Wait! I’m okay!” Y/N rushes out as they get her into the room.

Jack stands in the break room, somewhat overhearing the commotion, but shrugging it off because his coffee was almost fully brewed anyways. Shen is walking past, and curiosity gets the better of him.

“Shen!” He calls out. The other man stops his movements, nodding for Jack to continue as he steps into the break room doorway.

“What’s going on down the hall?” Jack asks.

“Uh.. I think Crus found some lady in active labor in the hallway?” Shen says. “She walked herself all the way here, is what I’m hearing.” He continues, giving a look to show that’s the most badass thing he’s ever heard. Jack pauses in surprise, a bit impressed too.

“Now who the hell lets a pregnant woman travel Pittsburgh all alone at night?” Jack shakes his head in judgment. Shen shrugs, stepping out of the room just as Ellis runs in.

“Abbot.” She says, eyes showing panic. Jack straightens up at that.

Without another word shared, Jack follows Ellis towards room 3. He’s quick to put on gloves, preparing his mental for whatever awaited him beyond that threshold. Walking into the room though, his shoulders slump at what’s in front of him.

Y/N.

“Huh. Apparently I let a pregnant woman travel Pittsburgh all alone at night…” He mutters to himself, walking in fully as Lena and Crus stand aside now, having been assured by Y/N that she was not about to pop any time soon.

“Hi, honey…” Y/N sighs.

“Honey?” Crus asks as he looks between Y/N and Jack.

“Dr. Henderson, meet.. My beautiful wife.” Jack says gently as he smiles at a bashful Y/N.

“Oh. Congratulations, Dr. Abbot.” Crus chuckles a bit as Lena crosses her arms while giving Y/N a playful glare over the scare she’d caused.

“I didn’t know you were in labor..” Jack continues softly as Y/N smiles sheepishly.

“Neither did I..” She jokes quietly.

“I may have been… A bit overzealous in my actions.” Crus admits softly. “I am so sorry, Mrs. Abbot.” He adds politely. Y/N smiles warmly at the resident.

“Don’t be. At least now I know the response time is good here.” She teases a bit as she rubs her stomach.

“Very assuring.” Jack nods before crossing his arms at his wife. “What are you doing here?” He asks as if that’s the golden question. Y/N smiles innocently.

“The cookies.” She says and Jack shuts his eyes to keep from laughing at the situation.

“Did.. Did she just say cookies?” Ellis asks slowly, eyeing the room to see if everyone heard the same thing. Jack pinches the bridge of his nose, shaking his head as Lena smiles while watching the couple.

“Let’s give them some space…” Lena whispers to Crus and Ellis. They all step out and only then does Jack shut the hospital room door to give them some much needed quiet and privacy.

“You showed up here at one in the morning for cookies!?” He asks finally.

“Hey! I tried just sleeping and waiting till the morning, but the peanuts! They wouldn’t let me get comfy!” She says back in a tone that resinates a ‘I’m just as mad as you are!’ vibe.

“You walked all the way here?” Jack asks, tone quiet, but Y/N knows that’s a falsehood. He’s getting mad.

Y/N knew her husband. That man took nothing, but her safety and health, seriously. He got shot at? It happens. Didn’t eat all day long because he was too busy? Oh well. But have Y/N stub a toe or, god forbid, accidentally get a cut? Oh, it was the end of his world.

“It’s a nice night. Plus we live close.” She defends quietly, knowing she’s messed up.

“Y/N!” Jack begins.

“Hey!” She quickly states. “Okay, I didn’t really think it through. I… Thought the walking and the fresh air would do me some good. But…” She sighs.

Might as well admit to everything..

“I forgot my maternity support belt..” She mutters. No wonder Crus thought she was in labor, Y/N had walked four blocks with no support for her stomach. She’d been out of breath and exhausted by the time she got here..

“Oh, I’m gonna have you locked to our damn bed…” Jack says quietly mostly to himself as he rubs his face yet again, pacing a bit.

“Okay, okay. It was stupid. But I just.. I really couldn’t sleep…” Y/N pouts up at her husband, giving her best puppy dog look. Jack slows his pacing, sighing deeply as he slowly moves closer to her bed side. “I’m okay now…” She points out softly as she grabs his hand with both of hers, slightly twirling his gold band like she always does.

Jack curses quietly. When she pulled out that pout, he couldn’t be mad for long.

“You know you nearly gave everybody on this floor a heart attack?” Jack mutters after a moment of just watching her hands on his. Y/N smiles at the calmness before she shrugs sheepishly.

“Hey. If anything else, I’m the victim in all this..” She points out softly.

“You?!” Jack laughs in disbelief.

“I was promised something..” She defends innocently as Jack raises an eyebrow at his wife’s logic.

“Oh?” He asks in humor. Y/N nods, standing by her statement.

“I wasn’t even gonna come in here! I was gonna…” She pauses, shifting a bit in the hospital bed. “Bribe the cafeteria staff myself.” She admits finally.

Jack lets out a deep breath. This night just keeps getting better for him. “You would’ve never known..” she shrugs, sticking to the notion that she had a great plan.

“Y/N…” Jack sighs as he shakes his head. “What am I gonna do with you, hm?” He asks quietly after a moment of looking at her softly. She blushes at the tone of his warm voice.

“Take responsibility?” She offers gently.

“Responsibility?!” Jack scoffs playfully. “Of what?” He challenges as she sits up more, wordlessly motioning towards her stomach.

“You’re kidding. Me?!” Jack jokingly bickers.

“Yes, you! You with all your little sweet talk.” Y/N fusses playfully.

“‘Oh, Y/N let’s just see what happens, let’s just go with the flow. We’re on our anniversary vacation’…” She mocks his ‘bedroom voice’, making Jack smirk at the memories.

“Okay…” He mutters playfully as if not buying it. His arms cross over his chest as he watches his wife with humor in his adoring eyes.

“I was an innocent passenger in your evil plan…” She states bluntly. Jack laughs at the accusation, grabbing at the edge of her bed to lean over more.

“Oh, baby, you were a willing participant in it..” He corrects quietly, close to her ear. It makes her shiver slightly. His usual sandalwood scent from his aftershave invades her nostrils as she eyes the way his arms flex.

“Same thing…” She mumbles shyly now as he pulls back to eye her, their faces inches apart. She sighs softly as she really looks at him.

“I’m sorry.” She finally says, letting the jokes and taunts fall to the wayside. She had a moment of pregnancy brain, really. Thinking she could walk about without a care.

“I’m sorry. I should’ve made sure those damn cookies were in your hands the second you asked for them.” He says gently, making Y/N smile. She grabs his face in both hands, kissing him sweetly. He melts into the affection almost instantly.

They’re pulled apart by a knock on the hospital door. Turning their attention towards it, Lena walks in with a little hospital tray. “Somebody ordered a snack?” She asks softly and Y/N gasps happily, quickly sitting up more and lightly pushing Jack out of the way. He takes no offense to it, chuckling as he sees how excited his wife gets.

“You’re lucky I know people.” Lena jokes as she hands over the tray.

“Ugh! Thank you, Lena!” Y/N groans happily as she digs in without hesitation.

“Whatever Momma Abbot wants..” Lena declares lightheartedly with a simple shrug before leaving the room again so they can be alone.

“Mm… So warm…” Y/N mumbles as she takes a bigger bite of the cookie. She breaks off a piece to feed to Jack who gratefully opens his mouth for the small chunk. He kisses her thumb as she pulls her hand away, making her smile.

“Good?” Y/N asks as Jack nods in agreement. “I told you! Best cookies in Pittsburgh..” She says as Jack chuckles while shaking his head in amusement.

“I’m glad you’re having fun..” Jack begins as Y/N does a happy little dance in the hospital bed at the great cookies in front of her. “Because you’re staying here till I’m done with my shift.” He continues, making Y/N pause her movements.

“What?!” She complains.

“Yup. Then I’m getting your butt back in bed when we get home..” Jack says simply. Y/N pouts a bit, opening her mouth to debate him on that only to have him place another cookie in her mouth. She gives him a dirty look, but begrudgingly enjoys the cookie.

“Fine..” She mumbles between chewing before eyeing the cookie in her hand. “Mm.. Baby?” She asks innocently. Jack hums. “You know what would go great with these cookies?” She asks hopefully. Jack smirks knowingly.

“Peanut butter?” He guesses tenderly and she giggles giddily, nodding fast. “On it.” He assures.

“Mm… You’re so good to me…” Y/N states in mock awe, sighing dreamily with a hand on her chest as Jack chuckles.

“Yeah, well..” He smiles warmly at her.

“Whatever Momma Abbot wants…” He states simply.