Singing the song that's inside us all.

The first few weren’t kind. 

Go to hell. 

You deserve to rot. 

What’s the matter with you? Seriously. You have issues. 

They didn’t know or understand him. He was a good guy. He was trying to help. 

What right did they have to judge him?

And then your letter came. 

Dear Dex,

I hope it’s okay that I’m writing to you. I also hope it’s okay that I’m calling you Dex. I was told you prefer that over Benjamin, and I wanted to be respectful of that. 

But I’m getting ahead of myself. 

I’m part of a volunteer letter writing program. Believe it or not, this is my first letter! I’m sure it’s obvious. I even wrote this introduction three times. I guess I’m a little nervous. 

Not because of you though. 

I just didn’t want this to sound insincere or weird. 

I know we’re strangers, but I imagine some days aren’t very kind to you. Is that presumptuous of me? I’m sorry if it is. Regardless, I hope this letter brings a little brightness to your day. Even if it’s only for a few minutes.

Is it silly to want that for someone I’ve never met?

You don’t have to write back if you don’t want to. There’s no pressure to do so. But if you’d like, I’d love to hear from you.

Until then, I hope you’re doing well. 

He read your name at the bottom of the letter out loud. 

Something settled deep in his chest. 

He traced your signature with his finger. Nobody wanted to hear from him. No one cared about how his days were or showed him kindness. 

But you did. 

He’d write you back. 

And he’d count the days until he got your next letter. 

Eagerly waiting. Love and thanks for reading. ❤️

It hit him as he was walking through the Hallmark store, buying a stupid birthday present for some random person in the office. He was grumbling to himself, and then you were there. Not in person, no. But your scent. Drifting through the air conditioned breeze and stealing all sense from his system. A switch flicked.

His alpha demanded, and he was happy to comply.

Even with the bustling mall, crowds of people darting and perusing, he doesn’t lose your scent. Following past storefronts—even those that waft obnoxious colognes out their doors—and the food court—with the smell of food flooding the air. Your trail leads him to you.

He wonders if you know. If you sense him. The predator on your tail. Stalking after you on the hunt.

He pauses in front of the sporting goods store. Ari and Curtis exiting as he approaches. A wild, feral look in each of his packmate’s eyes. But they find him in the crowd. Without a word, joining him on his search to find you.

Three pairs of eyes scan their surroundings. Their combined instincts goading them on.

They find you in the parking garage. The breeze changing. Your scent still lingering. But they see you. The tension in your shoulders. The shiver of your figure. Your quick steps and swinging gaze. Looking for them as much as they’re looking for you. Distress sours your scent. Your feet scurry. Pace rapid as you try to get to the safety of your car. You know. You can feel them, smell them.

He and his packmates continue their pursuit.

A nod to the side separates them. Their formation fanning out. Corralling you wherever you’re going.

You shove your key into the door of your car, hands shaking, nearly fumbling them. Scratches form on the handle with your missed attempts. But then it notches in the lock and you nearly breathe a sigh of relief.

He’s at your back before you can. You whip around, pathetic growl rolling in your throat. His lips tilt in a smirk.

“No need for that, omega,” he says, holding up a hand to dismiss the sound. Ari and Curtis come into his periphery. Ari’s eyes softening at the growl in your throat, Curtis’ eyes hungry.

You’re too focused on him to notice. And he steps forward, crowding you into the cool metal of your car.

“Easy now,” he coos in a whisper just for you. One hand raises to cup your cheek, your eyes widening at the touch. “It’s nice to meet you.” Your scent fills his nose—even tainted as it is by your fear. “That’s Ari and Curtis,” he introduces with a nod to each at his side, “and I’m Andy. We’re your new alphas.”

The restaurant is quiet enough that you hear the chair scrape against the hardwood before you ever see him. Your date is laughing. He’s halfway through telling you about some hiking trail he wants to take you to next weekend when the color drains from his face.

“Sir…?”

You don’t have to turn around. Every instinct in your body already knows.

Andy.

He stands beside the table in an immaculate charcoal suit, one gloved hand tucked into his pocket, the other lazily adjusting the cuff of his sleeve. To everyone else, he looks like another wealthy businessman.

To you, he’s death wearing a tailored smile.

“I’ve been looking everywhere for you.”

Your stomach knots.

“You shouldn’t be here.”

“No?” His eyes drift to the man sitting across from you. “Seems I arrived right on time.”

Your date clears his throat. “Listen, man, I don’t know who…”

“I wasn’t speaking to you.”

The words aren’t loud. They’re worse because they aren’t. You stand so fast your chair topples over.

“Andy.”

His gaze finally returns to yours, softening in a way that would almost look affectionate to anyone watching.

“There she is.”

“You need to leave.”

“I asked you to come home.”

“I told you I was done.”

His jaw flexes.

“You don’t get to be done.”

Your date rises beside you, trying to position himself between you.

“I think she made herself pretty clear.”

Andy studies him for a long moment. Almost curiously. Then he sighs.

“So…” His head tilts. “This is what you call moving on from me.”

The words are almost amused.

“You don’t understand,” you whisper.

Your date squares his shoulders.

“No. You don’t understand. She doesn’t want—”

The sound that follows is deafening.

A single crack.

The room erupts into screams. Your date crumples before the sentence is ever finished. Time stops.You stare.

No. No no no…

Blood creeps across the polished floor as Andy calmly lowers the suppressed pistol, his expression unreadable. He steps over the body as though it were an inconvenience. When he reaches you, your knees nearly give out.

“You…” Your voice breaks. “You killed him.”

“I know.”

“Why?”

His gloved fingers brush a tear from your cheek with unbearable tenderness.

“Because he touched what belongs to me.”

You slap him. Hard. The dining room falls silent except for distant crying. Andy barely reacts. Instead, he smiles.

“There you are.”

His hand closes gently—but unyieldingly—around your wrist.

“I’ve missed that fire.”

You try to pull away.

He doesn’t even strain to hold you.

“You don’t get to do this!” you scream. “I hate you!”

For the first time all night, Andy looks wounded. But only for a second. Then the coldness returns.

“No.”

His voice is barely above a whisper.

“You hate what I do.”

He steps closer until your forehead nearly brushes his chest.

“But if you truly hated me…”

His fingers tighten just enough to remind you escape isn’t an option.

“…you never would’ve looked over your shoulder every time the restaurant door opened.” His lips ghost your ear.

“You were hoping it would be me.”

Before you can deny it, he’s already leading you toward the waiting black sedan outside. Not because you’ve surrendered.

But Bucky knew better than to argue with you. Especially when you were sprawled under the umbrella in your swimsuit, sunglasses slipping down your nose, one hand thrown over your forehead like a woman in a tragic period drama.

“Buckyyy,” you said weakly.

He looked over from where he was helping Jamie dig a sandcastle with the yellow shovel. “Yeah, sweetheart?”

“I’m dying.”

Jamie gasped. “Mommy?”

“She’s not dying,” Bucky said calmly.

“I am,” you insisted with a sigh, beads of sweat rolling down your skin that Bucky was really trying not to pay attention to, not while he was building sandcastles with your son. “The sun has chosen me as tribute.”

“Mmm,” Bucky’s mouth twitched into a small smile. “Is that so?”

“Yes,” you frowned, “I need your arm.”

He glanced down at the vibranium arm, then back at you.

Jamie looked between the two of you, very interested. “Daddy’s cold arm?” 

“Daddy’s cold arm,” you confirmed. Jamie knew because when he sprained his ankle last month, Bucky used his arm to “ice” the bruise. 

Bucky huffed a laugh.

Then, without making a big deal out of it, he reached up and detached the arm.

Your eyes widened behind your sunglasses. “Wait. I was joking.”

“No, you weren’t.”

You considered you answer for a second. “I was joking a little.”

“No, you weren’t,” he repeated, because apparently being the love of your life meant that he knew you better than you knew yourself.

He walked over and gently set the vibranium arm beside you on the towel, cooling function already humming faintly through the vibranium.

You immediately wrapped your arm around it.

“Oh my God,” you sighed, pressing your cheek against the cool surface. “I love you.”

Bucky arched an eyebrow and chuckled. “Me or the arm?”

“At this exact moment,” You tilted your head, “I need you to be emotionally secure enough not to ask that.”

Jamie toddled over and patted the arm with both little hands. His eyes went huge. “Cold!”

“Very cold,” you said reverently at his adorable little face, blue eyes not unlike Bucky’s own. 

Jamie turned to Bucky, delighted. “Daddy, mommy has your arm.”

“I know, buddy.”

“You only have one hand now.”

Bucky looked down at himself, then at Jamie. “Yeah. Looks like I’m gonna need help with the castle.”

Oh. Daddy needs me! He seemed to think. 

Jamie straightened like he had just been promoted to general.

You watched the exact second your six-year-old became the most important construction worker on the beach.

“I can help,” Jamie said, very solemnly.

“I was hoping you would.”

Bucky went back to the sandcastle one-handed. To be fair, he could still do most things better than most people with one hand. 

He packed sand with his right palm, dragged the shovel toward him, smoothed down walls with his fingers. But every time one of Jamie’s little structures needed steadying, every time a bucket had to be tipped or a shell had to be placed or the moat needed “more water but not too much water,” he looked to Jamie.

“Can you hold this side for me?”

Jamie rushed in. “I got it, daddy!”

“Good job,” he smiled, “Don’t let it fall.”

Jamie’s little face went slightly pink with concentration. “I won’t.”

You hugged the cold arm closer, your heart melting for an entirely different reason.

Bucky could have done it faster on his own. You knew that. He knew that. But Jamie absolutely did not know that.

To Jamie, his father needed him.

To Jamie, he was not just watching the castle happen. He was making it happen.

He held the bucket while Bucky packed wet sand inside. He pressed both hands against one crooked wall while Bucky reinforced the other side. He selected shells with the concentration of a professional jeweller. He added one piece of seaweed to the top and declared it a flag.

Bucky squinted at it. “Looks like kelp.”

Jamie gave him a look.

“I mean,” Bucky corrected himself immediately. “Strong flag, buddy.”

Jamie nodded. “It means no bad guys.”

“Good rule.”

“And no stepping on mommy.”

Bucky’s eyes flicked to you, curled shamelessly around his detached arm like a sun-drunk cat. “Definitely no stepping on your mom.”

You lifted one hand lazily. “This kingdom has great laws, baby.”

Jamie beamed.

The castle got bigger. As it got bigger, it got stranger. Then, Jamie insisted it had a garage, because Jamie insisted all castles needed garages, and Bucky, being a better father than anyone had any right to be, didn’t argue with the logic.

“For what kind of car?” Bucky asked.

Jamie frowned like the answer was obvious. “A fast one.”

“Right. Of course.”

“A blue one.”

“Blue fast car. Got it.”

“And it flies.”

Bucky paused. “A flying car?”

Jamie nodded.

So Bucky built the garage one handed. 

The left side collapsed twice, and Jamie gasped both times like there had been casualties.

“I need you,” Bucky said seriously. “This wall’s no good without you.”

Jamie dropped to his knees beside him. “I fix it.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. You hold it, Daddy.”

“Yes, sir.”

Bucky held the wall while Jamie patted wet sand onto the side with tiny, clumsy, determined hands. Half of it stuck, and half of it slid down. But none of it mattered, because Bucky looked at your son like he had just watched him solve cold fusion.

“There,” Jamie said, sitting back on his heels. “I did it!”

Bucky smiled proudly. “You did.”

Jamie looked down at the castle, then back at him. “You needed me.”

Bucky went very still.

It was brief, but you saw that little pause he got sometimes when love hit a wound he forgot he still had.

Then he reached out and brushed sand from Jamie’s cheek with his thumb.

“Yeah,” Bucky said quietly. “I did.”

Jamie accepted that like it was simple. Because to him, it was.

His daddy needed help. He helped. Because of both their efforts, the castle stood.

The world was very easy at six years old.

By the time the tide started creeping closer, the castle had three towers, a moat, one flying-car garage, sixteen shells, a kelp flag, and Jamie’s full emotional investment.

When the first little wave reached the edge of the moat, Jamie gasped. “No!”

Bucky turned immediately. “You want me to move it?”

You lifted your head. “Bucky, you cannot move a sandcastle.”

He looked at you. You looked at him.

He looked back at the castle like he was genuinely considering whether he could get a big enough shovel to move a sandcastle.

“Don’t,” you warned.

Jamie, thankfully, solved the crisis by flinging himself into Bucky’s side.

“It’s okay,” he said, though he sounded heartbroken. “Ocean can have it.”

Bucky wrapped his one arm around him and pulled him close. “That’s generous.”

Jamie sniffed. “But not the garage.”

“No,” Bucky agreed. “That part’s between us and the ocean.”

You laughed into the vibranium arm.

Bucky glanced back at you, sun-flushed, hair messy from the wind, one arm missing and the other full of your son.

He looked perfect.

Eventually Jamie wore himself out completely. He crawled into Bucky’s lap, sandy and buzzing with sleep, mumbling something about blue flying cars against his father’s chest.

Bucky sat under the umbrella with him, broad shoulder curved protectively around Jamie’s small one.

You scooted closer, still holding the detached arm. “Do you want this back?” you asked.

Bucky looked at you, then at Jamie asleep against him, then at the arm tucked against your cheek.

“Keep it,” he said softly. 

You chuckled and kissed his cheek, “It was made for dangerous missions.”

“It’s on one.”

You smiled. “Taking care of me is a dangerous mission?”

“Keeping you comfortable is my life’s work.”

You laughed, and he only smiled wider. Jamie shifted in his sleep, one small hand fisting in Bucky’s sleeveless shirt.

Bucky looked down at him, and there it was again. That disbelief and gratitude all the same.

He had been made into a weapon once.

Now his metal arm was keeping his wife cool, his only hand was holding his sleeping son, and a crooked sandcastle with a flying-car garage was being swallowed by the sea in front of him.

Shuri’s desert-grade cooling system had probably not been built for this.

But it was hard to imagine a better use.

—

You could tell he wanted to lie to you. To tell you everything you wanted to hear.

A week ago, you would’ve wanted to hear the lies. You would’ve wanted to cling to him and believe them. But it wasn’t meant to be. It never was. His heart has and will always belong to Peggy Carter.

Before he could try and regroup, you pressed a hand to his mouth. “Please, I don’t want or need you to lie to me, Steve. This isn’t your fault, and I don’t need you to make this better. You didn’t do anything wrong. I won’t have you thinking you have.”

This time, you paused to swallow the emotion clogging your throat. It took you another minute to collect yourself and give him a genuine smile.

“Go and get your girl, Cap. She’s waiting for you. I just know it.”

You rose on your tiptoes one last time. With a soft kiss to his cheek, you whispered, “Be happy, Steve. You deserve everything this world has ever offered and taken from you. You’ve settled and compromised since you came out of the ice. It’s time for you to be a little bit selfish, even if that means you’re not mine.”

Steve stared at you for several moments, his eyes growing misty at your words.

Before you could step back, he’d set the briefcase down and grabbed you. His arms wrapped tightly around you while his cheek nuzzled against yours.

He didn’t say anything at first, but he finally whispered, “I really hope you find your one, Angel. You are not someone’s compromise or someone who should be settled for. I do love you, and I always will.”

A single tear streaked down your cheek. “I know. Maybe saying goodbye won’t be a bad thing. At least that’s what I’m hoping.”

His arms tightened around you, impossibly tight, then he slowly released you.

When he picked up the briefcase again, he tapped your chin like he was prone to do all the years you’ve known him. In the same soft voice, he said, “Don’t hate me too much, please.”

“I could never hate you, Steve. No matter how hard I might try to.”

With that, he turned toward the platform and suited up to return the stones to their rightful places along the timeline. He had some branches to nip before they took hold and created issues within the universe.

In a blink, he was gone.

Five seconds, Bruce had said.

Those seconds came and went without Steve’s return.

Then again, you knew they would.

He’d gone back to Peggy. Just like you knew he would.

Bruce and Sam argued on how to get him back and what to do with whatever had gone wrong.

Turning to Bucky, you nodded towards your car and asked, “Want a lift? I think there’s a bar in town, and I know I could use a drink.”

Bucky, forever a friend, fell into step beside you. After a moment, he asked, “You okay?”

You spared a glance at the platform, then met his gaze. “I will be.”

"Trick or Treat!" A chorus of voices accompanied a knock on the door.

His shoulders drooped in disappointment. Maybe he could ignore it?

"TRICK OR TREAT!" There was only one voice this time but louder than before.

Bucky was a patient man who knew multitudes of silence and stillness. He would be patient.

"Come on, Mister! I saw you go inside!" The voice of a little boy who was far less patient than he was.

A sigh escaped Bucky's lips. He was exhausted and didn't particularly want to deal with the emotional baggage that came with the way he expected a child would react to his appearance. He knew people still saw him as a monster, despite his pardon. He had no desire to see fear reflected in the eyes of innocence. But the pounding didn't stop.

He looked around wildly for something to give the expectant youth. His eyes finally landed on a bowl beside the door. There was one candy bar left inside.

Well, it was better than nothing. Bucky grabbed the bowl and wrenched open the door. An audible gasp stopped him in his tracks. He looked down to see an eight year old boy dressed as Captain America standing before him, mouth agape.

"Here kid, this is all I've got," he held out the candy bar to the frozen child.

Both Bucky and the boy stood facing each other for what felt like an eternity to Bucky. Neither of them moved and Bucky wondered if the boy's jaw could drop any further. His silence was making Bucky very uncomfortable.

"Look kid, just take this and go," he dropped the bar into the kid's pumpkin basket. As an afterthought he added, "you don't have to be scared."

"Are you an Avenger?" The boy whispered.

"Not exactly, kid."

"But you're friends with Captain America?"

Bucky was loath to answer this question, but he couldn't exactly deny that he and Sam were friends.

"I guess you can call us friends."

"Do you have superpowers?"

Bucky shrugged. He thought of superpowers belonging to heroes. He would never describe himself as one.

The kid smiled and continued talking despite Bucky’s nonverbal state. “My dad lives in Washington DC now.” 

“That’s nice?” Bucky felt the need to respond to the wide eyes which hadn’t left his face since he opened the door.

“I went to visit him over the summer. He doesn’t live with me and my mom anymore.”

Bucky didn’t miss the glaze of sadness which washed over his face, and he didn’t like how it made him feel.

“Did you like it there?” he asked the boy.

“Yeah! He took me to the Smithsonian.”

Bucky finally understood what the boy was telling him.

“I read about you.”

“Oh.” Bucky’s face fell. The kid had read about the Winter Soldier and his past. “Look, I’m not-”

“You’re my favorite!” The kid was positively beaming up at him.

“F-favorite?” Bucky stuttered, utterly baffled by the response he was receiving. “Favorite what?”

“Howling Commando!” He bobbed up and down with excitement. “You’re Steve Roger’s best friend!”

“Yeah,” Bucky’s face softened and he replied softly, saddened by the thought of his oldest friend. He missed Steve. He looked down at the child before him, his bright eyes and blonde hair. “What’s your name, kid?”

"Steve," he smiled. "My mom named me after Captain America because he saved her life when she was pregnant with me. Dad tells me what happened as a bedtime story on my birthday." The light behind his eyes dimmed with his last words. "He missed it this year."

"I'm sorry, pal."

"Next time I see him, I'm going to tell him I met an Avenger!"

"I bet he will be real impressed!" Bucky smiled, choosing not to correct little Steve.

"When I grow up, I wanna be just like you!"

"I don't think you want that," Bucky answered wistfully.

"You don't think I can be a hero?" Little Steve's face fell.

"Of course you can!" Bucky inwardly cursed his use of language. He knelt down in front of the boy and laid a hand on his shoulder. "But you know my friend, Sam Wilson? Captain America?"

Little Steve nodded solemnly.

"He's the guy you want to grow up to be. Got that?"

"Yes sir, Mr Bucky."

"But if you ever tell him I said that, you'll never get candy here again. Understood?" Bucky said sternly, dropping his last candy bar into the kid's pumpkin basket.

"I'd better get going or I'll miss out on the good candy. No offense, but you gotta get something better than this."

"Working on it, pal," Bucky smiled as you turned the corner, arms laden with several bags. He unburdened you and emptied the contents of one bag into Little Steve's small hands.

He delighted in the sight of the boy's bright eyes and toothy grin. "Thanks!" he cried, backing away with his sugary horde.

"Don't eat it all at once!" Bucky called after him. 

You stood to the side watching the way Bucky had spoken to the little boy, giving him a smug smile.

"What?" Bucky frowned.

"What was that about?" You pointed between Bucky and the spot where Little Steve had stood.

"Kids these days, no respect. We didn't have the luxury of being given this much sugar when I was a kid."

"Is that why you gave him half of what I just brought back?"

Bucky shrugged.

"Come on, let's go inside. The kids may think that blood is fake, but I know better!" You steered Bucky into the apartment. "And if you're good, you'll get a treat too!"

“Did I mention that dress looks incredible on you?" Bucky smirked, eyeing your rockabilly cap sleeve dress with its sweetheart neck and flared skirt. True to the Halloween spirit, it was covered in a pumpkin and ghost design.

The thing is you didn’t meet Jake the same way you met your other partners. You tried to discern how Jake might feel about things that didn’t quite fall into the conventional which turned out to be frustratingly difficult. He straddled that line of making himself appear vanilla but there were a few comments that made you think he might be open to more than he let on. 

Well, there’s nothing for it. You have to tell him at some point and the earlier the better. Time to rip the band-aid off. 

“He’s my play partner,” you say, as causally as you can mange. 

“Oh you game?” Jake’s face lights up. 

“Uh… no, not in the sense you’re thinking,” you reach for you drink and fiddle with the glass. “We share a hobby… umm… kinks to be exact.” 

“Oh and are you….” Jake trails. 

“No! We’re friends and we …do them together,” you cringe.

That was the most ineloquent and unhelpful way to put it. Before you can correct yourself, Jake has moved on to his next question. 

“Like spankings and threesomes?” he blurts out, cringing as soon as the words leave his mouth. “Sorry, no I… I meant… uh...what kind?” he finishes lamely.

The odds of this dreaded conversation succeeding are quickly plummeting. Jake is looking like every word of that verbal vomit was a blade dragged along his tongue. Well it’s too late to mince words now.

You tell him. The full extent of your arrangement with your play partner and that you do want to continue seeing him even if you are in a romantic relationship. You didn’t expect Jake to participate and your relationship with him could grow separately. Love and relationships come in all flavors and you weren’t going to cut yourself up to fit into a box determined by someone else. 

“Is this going to be a problem?” you ask him. 

This was it. This was the moment that you dreaded, back when you used swim in the vanilla dating pool. The inexplicable moment that stepping outside of the norm was too scary. Jake studies your, blue eyes roving over your features. The silence is difficult but it is also perhaps a good sign that he’s making considerations.

“I need some time to think about it,” Jake says, at last. 

“Of course. You can text me if you have any more questions.” You say, standing up. 

“Wait, where are you going?” Jake catches your wrist. 

“I thought you needed…” you’re confused. 

“Stay, I still want to have a nice evening with you,” Jake says.

“Jake, it might be better for us to spend time after you’ve had some time to consider,” you say. 

He lets you go, doing his best not to look like a kicked puppy. It has been several years since you dipped your toe into the vanilla dating pool and you can’t recall the last time a conversation like this went this well. The bar was truly in the gutter.

To your surprise, Jake texts you with questions. Quite insightful and reflective ones like he’d done his research. He agrees to try at the end the conversation and you are hopeful, if he is just as attentive as the relationship grows. 

When things take a serious turn, Jake makes a request. After your private session or a party, that you let him hold you— no matter how late. At every turn, Jake has managed to surprise you, uprooting every rotten thing you’d come to expect. You happily oblige.

It is late when you make your way to Jake’s apartment after the party. But Jake greets you at door, ready with a fresh towel and a soft t-shirt so worn by wash that most of the print had peeled off. 

“You have fun?” Jake asks as you enter the bedroom, showered and ready for slumber.

“Yeah, it was a good party, but exhausting too,” you say, slipping into bed. “Sorry that it ran later than I thought, but snuggling with you is infinitely better than my cold bed” 

Jake hums in response, pulling you closer. You sink into the comfort of his arms, heavy across your middle. You nuzzle into his neck before leaning up to catch his lips in a kiss. When you part, you give him a small smile before settling against his chest.  

“When’s the next nibble?” Jake asks, after a beat.

“What?” You’re confused. 

“Uh…Graze?” 

“Oh! A munch!” 

“Yeah a munch. When is the next one?” 

“There’s at least three each week,” you say, pulling back. “Why?” 

“I thought maybe I could tag along for the next one,” Jake says. “This is part of your world and I want to know what it’s like. Maybe also meet who is important to you.” 

“Jake, you don’t have to come to a munch for that,” you say. “You can meet them over dinner or drinks. What’s all this about?”

His fingers toy with the hem of your shirt as he sighs. Your hands are running in soothing strokes down his arms. Some resolve settles into his frame when he finally meets your eyes.

“I’ve been thinking about some of the things you say and maybe there’s something I want to explore. But I have some questions, and I didn’t want to get your hopes up if they were nothing.” 

“You aren’t ready to talk about it with me yet,” you state. 

It’s not an accusation, neither are you offended. You are curious though, about what has caught the attention of your sweet boyfriend.

“Yeah, I’m sorry. I’ll come to you eventually but —” 

“It’s okay. Jake, you won’t disappoint me, if this is nothing.” You cup his cheek. ”I’m already yours, because of who you are right now.

“But you’re right. You shouldn’t need to rely only on me for all the answers. Let’s go to a munch, then.” You say. “Or maybe you want to go alone?” 

“No! I want you with me,” Jake says. “Always.” 

The word rises in your chest — a bubble of warmth. But you aren’t ready to contemplate the implications of that word right now, so you shelf it for later. 

“Okay,” you reach for his hand and tangle your fingers together. “Let’s get some sleep. We can figure out the details tomorrow.” You snuggle back into his chest. 

For once, introducing someone to a munch felt like the exciting new venture it should be.

Drabble #1 - A Cultural Treasure Rating: General Audiences

Sam grabbed the remote. “Buck, tonight, you experience a masterpiece.”

Bucky arched his brow. “A masterpiece?”

“A cinematic event,” you replied.

“For once we are going to watch one of the big three instead of fighting them.”

Your brow furrowed, “Big three? Oh, aliens, androids or wizards!”

Sam gave Bucky a look that said, see she gets it.

Bucky stared at the screen, unimpressed. 

You and Sam simultaneously burst, “We will not vanish without a fight… Today we celebrate our Independence Day!”

The credits rolled.

“Aliens invade Earth…the solution is… a computer virus?” Bucky deadpanned.

Sam gasped. “Respectfully, shut up.”

Drabble #2 - Land of the Free Rating: Teen

The Winter Soldier waited until the first explosion of colour filled the sky, then he moved. White flashed bright across the floor.. Blue caught on the barrel of the gun. Red lit the metal of his arm as he raised it.

Silent, steady.

He pulled the trigger just as the sky opened again.

BANG

The shot vanished beneath the fireworks.

The body in front of him crumpled onto the carpet. For a moment he stood there, outlined in borrowed light, watching the colors burst in the dark puddle spilling out across the floor before stepping back.

“Extraction request, target eliminated.”

Drabble #3 – Overrated Rating: General Audiences

Bucky didn’t like fireworks. 

They were too loud. Too bright. They reminded him of bombs during the war. They filled his head with too many bad memories. 

He hated how he tensed up over something meant to be beautiful and celebratory. 

He hated that he couldn’t watch them with you and be normal. 

But you didn’t mind. Not one bit. You just shut the curtains and handed him a pair of noise cancelling headphones when you sat down. 

“I’m sorry,” he whispered, reaching for your hand. 

“I’m not. I promise,” you whispered back. “Because fireworks are overrated.”

Bucky finally smiled.

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Of course, your father sent his best enforcers to track you down. He probably thought it would soften the blow since it was Bucky. You trusted him most of all out of his men. 

Bucky looked almost bored leaning against his car, his hair blowing in the light breeze. You liked the leather jacket on him. You half expected him to show up on his bike, but that wouldn’t be practical if you tried to fight. 

He’d win anyway. 

“I’m not going back,” you told him, your eyes as defiant as your tone.  

He sighed, but he made no move to grab you yet. “You shouldn’t have run.”

“And my dad shouldn’t try to force a marriage on me, but here we are,” you snapped.

You stupidly thought Bucky would speak up for you when your dad said the alliance with a total stranger would strengthen the families. It was a foolish thought. You weren’t together. 

But you hoped…

And I am feeling so small

It was over my head

I know nothing at all

You backed up when Bucky suddenly moved toward you in purposeful strides. There was violence in his eyes. But he would never hurt you. 

“And you should’ve trusted me to handle it,” he said through his teeth. 

Your heart pounded. Bucky hardly ever let his emotions show. That was a reason why your dad liked him. He was lethal. Efficient. 

Cold.

Not like this. 

“I-”

He gripped your chin tenderly. “Do you really think I’ll sit back while you marry someone else?”

Your eyes widened. 

Did… Bucky want you?

“Get in the car,” he ordered gently. “And trust me.”

You didn’t want to go back. 

But you had to trust that Bucky had a plan. 

He has to have a plan, right? Love and thanks for reading. ❤️