storytime

“Bucky, you look exhausted.” Bucky chuckles softly, raising a brow at his girlfriend, who’s snuggled under a ton of blankets and pillows and is clearly fighting a losing battle to keep her eyes open.

“I think you’re the exhausted one here, sweetheart. Why don’t you go to bed?” he prompts, turning off the movie they were watching and walking over to her. 

Or…the movie that Bucky was barely paying attention to, too consumed by his own thoughts. He’s been like that a lot these past few weeks. Drowning in his guilt and hatred, caused by his time as the Winter Soldier. He kneels down, gently and tenderly cupping Y/N’s face in his hand. Y/N smiles, snuggling into his palm and gazing up at him with so much love and affection that it shatters Bucky’s heart all over again. She loves him so much, and has done so much good for him. He’s lost count of the number of times she’s stayed up all night, holding him as he sobbed, comforting him after yet another nightmare, or just sat with him in the quiet, there if he needed anything. He loves her so much and doesn’t know what he ever did to deserve her. But lately, Bucky has been feeling like he doesn’t deserve her. Or any of it. No kindness, no softness, no love. Perhaps someone as broken as him can never be repaired.

After all, with all the blood on his hands, why does he get to live happily with the love of his life after all the hurt and pain he caused? 

“Promise me,” she pleads, placing her hand over his and giving it a squeeze. “I couldn’t bear it if anything happened to you.” There she goes again, caring more about him than herself. That makes Bucky feel even worse. 

Why didn’t he just die in that damn fall? That would’ve made things so much easier. He wouldn’t have all this trauma, and Y/N wouldn’t have to deal with him and all his issues. But then, he feels even worse. He’s had some wonderful times with her, and for the first time in a long time, Bucky has finally felt at peace. She's undeniably the best person who has ever come into his life. 

But his peace was short-lived, and soon his ugly thoughts reared their heads again. And soon, the whispers of doubt took root in his mind, making him believe their words. Telling him that if she truly knew what he was capable of, and of all the ugly things he’s done, she’d never want to see him again, or think of him so highly.

He’s not a hero. He’s a monster.

And so, he's saying goodbye. Not for too long. He simply needs some quiet time to himself so he can sort through his problems. He’ll text her early in the morning, saying he got called away on an urgent solo mission with little time to prepare. It’s not entirely unbelievable - it’s happened before. And she’ll believe him. She always does. After all, what reason would he have to lie to her? She would never have imagined Bucky was capable of the harm he was about to inflict. But Bucky doesn’t even feel surprised he can inflict that pain. 

Because that’s all he does. Cause pain.

Y/N stands up, her fingers still intertwined with his. “Come on, let’s go to bed.” She moans. “You need to sleep. They're working you too hard.” She shakes her head as they walk up the stairs, his arm holding her close for the last time in god knows how long. Bucky chuckles softly, shaking his head.

“I’ll be sure to tell them that.” 

In their bedroom, she snuggles under the covers, her tired eyes focused on Bucky. He lingers by the door, looking at all the pictures of them both covering the walls. A knot of unease tightens in his stomach.

Does he really want to abandon all this? He’s not so sure anymore. There’s a picture of him and Steve too, with the other Howling Commandos, smiling and laughing. Y/N insisted they put it up, so that Bucky has a connection to his past, to who he really was - a soldier and a hero, rather than just a weapon. However, by the time those pictures were taken, Bucky was already well on his way to becoming the villain, his descent into darkness far deeper than anyone suspected. 

“Aren’t you coming to bed?” she asks, her voice tinged with disappointment.

“In a minute.” He can’t even think straight, his heart pounding against his ribs. Perhaps this was a mistake. Maybe he should stay; just tell her or the others the truth about how he’s feeling, instead of running. Oh god, he can’t do this. His legs feel like lead, his throat tightens, and his lungs burn with each breath. 

“Bucky?” She sits up, concerned now. “Are you okay?”

He swallows hard, nodding. “Y-Yeah.” he stammers. “Of course.” He lays on the bed beside her, kissing her forehead and pouring every ounce of love that he could into it. “Just... thinking.” Luckily, she seems to believe him for now, laying back down with him.

"You know I worry about you," she says, her voice full of concern.

“I do,” he replies, a slight smile gracing his lips. “But you don’t have to do that.” She smiles over at him, squeezing his hand. 

“I do. Because I love you.” She whispers.

“I love you too. So, so much.” Bucky whispers back, pulling her closer and holding her as tightly as he can. His heart aches and he doesn’t want to let her go, but deep down, he knows he has to.

“Goodnight, Bucky.” she says, her lips brushing against his in a soft peck, not knowing that it would be the last kiss she’d ever give him for a while.

“Night, Y/N.”

“You’ll be here when I wake up?” she asks, a hopeful note in her tone.

“…Yeah.” 

“Bucky.” She gives a weary shake of her head, almost asleep by this point. “Promise me. Please.”

I can’t. He thinks. So, he simply nods, and whispers: "Just go to sleep, darlin'." That seems to be enough for Y/N, and Bucky soon feels her go still against him, fast asleep. He kisses the top of her head again, sniffling.

“I’m sorry,” he whispers. “Even if I'm gone for a while, I will always come back to you. I promise.”

~ * ~

“Bucky, you look exhausted.” Bucky chuckles softly, raising a brow at his girlfriend, who’s snuggled under a ton of blankets and pillows and is clearly fighting a losing battle to keep her eyes open.

“I think you’re the exhausted one here, sweetheart. Why don’t you go to bed?” he prompts, turning off the movie they were watching and walking over to her. 

Or…the movie that Bucky was barely paying attention to, too consumed by his own thoughts. He’s been like that a lot these past few weeks. Drowning in his guilt and hatred, caused by his time as the Winter Soldier. He kneels down, gently and tenderly cupping Y/N’s face in his hand. Y/N smiles, snuggling into his palm and gazing up at him with so much love and affection that it shatters Bucky’s heart all over again. She loves him so much, and has done so much good for him. He’s lost count of the number of times she’s stayed up all night, holding him as he sobbed, comforting him after yet another nightmare, or just sat with him in the quiet, there if he needed anything. He loves her so much and doesn’t know what he ever did to deserve her. But lately, Bucky has been feeling like he doesn’t deserve her. Or any of it. No kindness, no softness, no love. Perhaps someone as broken as him can never be repaired.

After all, with all the blood on his hands, why does he get to live happily with the love of his life after all the hurt and pain he caused? 

“Promise me,” she pleads, placing her hand over his and giving it a squeeze. “I couldn’t bear it if anything happened to you.” There she goes again, caring more about him than herself. That makes Bucky feel even worse. 

Why didn’t he just die in that damn fall? That would’ve made things so much easier. He wouldn’t have all this trauma, and Y/N wouldn’t have to deal with him and all his issues. But then, he feels even worse. He’s had some wonderful times with her, and for the first time in a long time, Bucky has finally felt at peace. She's undeniably the best person who has ever come into his life. 

But his peace was short-lived, and soon his ugly thoughts reared their heads again. And soon, the whispers of doubt took root in his mind, making him believe their words. Telling him that if she truly knew what he was capable of, and of all the ugly things he’s done, she’d never want to see him again, or think of him so highly.

He’s not a hero. He’s a monster.

And so, he's saying goodbye. Not for too long. He simply needs some quiet time to himself so he can sort through his problems. He’ll text her early in the morning, saying he got called away on an urgent solo mission with little time to prepare. It’s not entirely unbelievable - it’s happened before. And she’ll believe him. She always does. After all, what reason would he have to lie to her? She would never have imagined Bucky was capable of the harm he was about to inflict. But Bucky doesn’t even feel surprised he can inflict that pain. 

Because that’s all he does. Cause pain.

Y/N stands up, her fingers still intertwined with his. “Come on, let’s go to bed.” She moans. “You need to sleep. They're working you too hard.” She shakes her head as they walk up the stairs, his arm holding her close for the last time in god knows how long. Bucky chuckles softly, shaking his head.

“I’ll be sure to tell them that.” 

In their bedroom, she snuggles under the covers, her tired eyes focused on Bucky. He lingers by the door, looking at all the pictures of them both covering the walls. A knot of unease tightens in his stomach.

Does he really want to abandon all this? He’s not so sure anymore. There’s a picture of him and Steve too, with the other Howling Commandos, smiling and laughing. Y/N insisted they put it up, so that Bucky has a connection to his past, to who he really was - a soldier and a hero, rather than just a weapon. However, by the time those pictures were taken, Bucky was already well on his way to becoming the villain, his descent into darkness far deeper than anyone suspected. 

“Aren’t you coming to bed?” she asks, her voice tinged with disappointment.

“In a minute.” He can’t even think straight, his heart pounding against his ribs. Perhaps this was a mistake. Maybe he should stay; just tell her or the others the truth about how he’s feeling, instead of running. Oh god, he can’t do this. His legs feel like lead, his throat tightens, and his lungs burn with each breath. 

“Bucky?” She sits up, concerned now. “Are you okay?”

He swallows hard, nodding. “Y-Yeah.” he stammers. “Of course.” He lays on the bed beside her, kissing her forehead and pouring every ounce of love that he could into it. “Just... thinking.” Luckily, she seems to believe him for now, laying back down with him.

"You know I worry about you," she says, her voice full of concern.

“I do,” he replies, a slight smile gracing his lips. “But you don’t have to do that.” She smiles over at him, squeezing his hand. 

“I do. Because I love you.” She whispers.

“I love you too. So, so much.” Bucky whispers back, pulling her closer and holding her as tightly as he can. His heart aches and he doesn’t want to let her go, but deep down, he knows he has to.

“Goodnight, Bucky.” she says, her lips brushing against his in a soft peck, not knowing that it would be the last kiss she’d ever give him for a while.

“Night, Y/N.”

“You’ll be here when I wake up?” she asks, a hopeful note in her tone.

“…Yeah.” 

“Bucky.” She gives a weary shake of her head, almost asleep by this point. “Promise me. Please.”

I can’t. He thinks. So, he simply nods, and whispers: "Just go to sleep, darlin'." That seems to be enough for Y/N, and Bucky soon feels her go still against him, fast asleep. He kisses the top of her head again, sniffling.

“I’m sorry,” he whispers. “Even if I'm gone for a while, I will always come back to you. I promise.”

~ * ~

The sea crashes against the building, gulls and other sea birds’ cries filling the air. If Y/N turns her head in just the right way, she can even register the faint scent of salt in the air. Closing her eyes, she sighs softly. She longed to be out there, free and happy. Like the heroes and heroines in her stories, free to do whatever they want and travel wherever they want with no one to hold them back.

Instead, she’s trapped here, about to sign her life and her happiness away with nothing she can do about it.

The door opens, hitting against the wall with a loud bang. Y/N doesn’t even flinch anymore, already accustomed to her father’s intimidating presence and all the ways he makes it known. “Good, you’re ready.” He says, stepping in front of her and looking her up and down, his gaze scrutinising her for any imperfections. Her eyes drift beyond him, gazing at the sea and the horizon. “What are you looking at?” He snaps, turning his head to follow her gaze. “For god’s sake.” He mutters. “The sea again?”

“I was just looking, Father.” she responds, her voice soft.

“You’re always ‘just’ looking.” He lets out a derisive snort. “Just asking, just reading, just dreaming, just hoping for something else. When will you get your head out of the clouds, and stop with the disobedience?” he demands, his voice raising in volume.

“I don’t see the harm,” she retorts. "It's not as if-"

“I doubt Brock will like it either.” He huffs, ignoring her. The mention of her fiancé's name sends a shiver down her spine, and the bitter taste of bile rises in her throat.

Brock Rumlow, the son of her father’s late business partner, and heir to his fortune. It’s all the people in their town can talk about. How much sense it made to arrange a marriage between their offspring and continue the family business for generations to come, the unwillingness of the bride be damned.

Brock is just as cruel and cold-hearted as her father. He dismisses her books and business ideas with a condescending sneer, never supporting her goals or dreams, telling her not to trouble herself or ‘fill her pretty head with such matters’ like education or equality. And she’s lost count of the stories she’s heard about other women he’s been seeing, including whilst being with her. This has made her the subject of ridicule throughout society, mocking whispers of: 

“Surely she must know?"

"I doubt it. Her father always says her head is in the clouds. I don't think she would know it was happening. even if she was looking right at it!"

"How mortifying! Can you even imagine it?" following her everywhere she goes.

Yet every time she brings this up, or tries to make her escape, she’s dragged back here. A dull ache pulses in her arm, prompting her to adjust her sleeve and hide the telltale fingerprint shaped bruises. Honestly, she’s given up hope of trying to flee, and resigned herself to being trapped here forever. Her chest tightens, her head fuzzy. And this time, she knows it’s not because her wedding outfit is far too tight and restrictive. 

“He’s already told me as much, you know, and I agree,” her father continues. "Do you believe he actually enjoys being the subject of ridicule? Or that I do?! That all people say about you is how foolish you are to dream?!”

“You’re hardly a laughing stock, Father.” She says. “If anything, it’s me who is.” she murmurs.

“Do not back talk me.” He snaps. “Once you are married, Brock will ensure you become a true lady of society, one suitable for his position.” The thought makes Y/N shudder, and her eyes drop, her gaze now intently focused on the floor.

She’s always too much or too little of something. 

Never just right. 

Never good enough. 

Tears threaten to spill from her eyes at the thought, and she bites her lip so hard she tastes blood, desperately trying to prevent her sobs from escaping.

“Smile, for god’s sake.” her father mutters, lifting her head to meet his. When she doesn’t respond, he leans closer, breath hot on her cheek. “Do you understand me?!”

"Y-Yes, Father," she stammers, her voice trembling slightly. A small, forced smile graces her lips as she nods.

“Good.” he looks her up and down once more. “After all, it is your wedding day. Looking so unhappy makes me look bad too.” He opens the door to the room, his eyes lingering on her for a moment longer. “I’ll be back in five minutes. Don’t try another of your escape attempts.” he warns.

And with another slam of the door, Y/N is finally alone again.

As she and her father approach the end of the aisle, the pounding of Y/N’s heart is now so loud, she can hear it in her ears, intense enough to drown out the greetings Brock and her father give each other. Brock approaches, leering at her, and her stomach churns, her chest tightening with every breath. The priest moves forward, a warm smile gracing his lips. 

If anybody knew she was doing this under duress (and given the looks she got as she walked down the aisle, she definitely suspected people did), nobody wanted to say a word to stop it. The truth of her reality truly hits her then, and her eyes wells up with tears once more.

But before the priest can even say a word, the doors swing open, and a figure saunters in. Immediately, every head in the room turns towards the door, and shocked, furious whispers fill the air.

“Is that?”

"I don't believe it! How dare he?!"

“It can’t be true! Surely not.”

“How dare he show his face here?” Y/N’s father huffs angrily, stepping closer. The crowd parts, and a hush falls as the figure emerges at the top of the aisle. Y/N gasps, recognising him immediately.

After all, his face appears on most of the town's wanted posters. 

Living so close to the sea, Y/N has become well accustomed to tales of pirates plundering ships for their riches. After all, it’s all her father and Brock can talk about with their friends. ...Although it's more to boast that their ships are still safe, rather than concern for others.

But while many pirates are rumoured to sail in the waters beside her town, Bucky Barnes is the most feared, a legend whispered in hushed tones, full of stories of his brutality. Of treasures plundered ruthlessly, and of rivals, their ships reduced to burnt wrecks or sunk beneath the waves without a moment's hesitation. 

And now, he’s at her wedding. 

She didn’t even think it was possible, but somehow he looks far more intimidating in real life than on his wanted posters. He’s tall, and his metal arm gleams in the beams of sunlight peeking through the clouds and through the window. His brunette hair, slightly messy and tangled from the sea air, is pulled back partway into a bun, framing a stubbled face with patches of grey on his chin. Dressed head to toe in black, coat and all, a faint scent of smoke clings to him. Y/N also notices a thin, pale scar beside his left eye. However, Bucky pays her no mind, his piercing blue eyes focused intently on Brock and her father. 

“Hello, gentlemen,” he says. His voice is deep and cold. “Forgive the intrusion. I would’ve waited until the priest asked for any objections…but my patience has run out.” He says, his voice dripping with sarcasm. Y/N’s pulse quickens, and she looks to her father and Brock.

“What in god's name are you doing here? How dare you-“ her father sputters indignantly, but Bucky cuts him off.

“I’m here to collect my payment.” 

“Payment? What in god’s name is he talking about?” she asks, speaking for the first time. Bucky’s eyes flicker to her, and he raises a brow, looking her up and down with a smirk. Y/N hates the feeling that hits her then. Because no matter the amount of blood that undoubtedly stains his hands, or his intimidating nature, Y/N can’t deny how drawn to him she is, or that she finds this blood-soaked, murderous pirate undeniably attractive.

“Oh, you didn’t tell your daughter, our beautiful bride to be, about our arrangement? My, how unfortunate.” Bucky chuckles, only adding to her irritation. 

“Can someone please tell me what is going on here?” she demands angrily.

Even if him calling her beautiful did reignite her feelings towards him. If only slightly. 

“Speaking of,” Bucky muses, ignoring her question. “I’m surprised I didn’t receive an invitation to this spectacle. I’m the one financing it, after all.”

“Excuse me?" Y/N frowns.

“Silence. This doesn’t concern her.” Brock hisses. Bucky scoffs.

“Oh, I think it does.” He responds, another smirk playing on his lips. That only makes Y/N even angrier. Once again, she’s not enough, not smart enough to know about her father and fiancé’s dealings, and it’s treated like a joke. “After all, does she know that you two,” he points to her father and Brock. “Gambled away her inheritance and dowry?”

“You did what?!” she gasps, outraged.

“My darling, why would you ever believe a pirate like him-” Brock says, a condescending sneer on his lips. He steps closer, and she flinches, instinctively moving away from him. Bucky’s eyes narrow, watching Brock’s intense glare, and how Y/N’s body trembles whenever he comes closer. A sense of indignation burns within his blood. He always knew Brock Rumlow and Lord Y/L/N were vile and unscrupulous men, but seeing Y/N, the innocent pawn in their schemes, for the first time ignites a deeper hatred within him.

And for the first time in a long time… Captain Bucky Barnes feels a sharp ache in his chest, and a wave of pity washing over him.

“I hate to be the one to tell you this, my lady, but your father, fiancé and I have a deal.” Bucky explains.

“Don’t you dare,” Brock sputters, his face contorted with anger. "It’s all lies, I have no dealings with-" Bucky cuts him off when he places his sword at his throat.

“Now. As I was saying…” Y/N watches Bucky, trying to gauge his feelings. Oddly enough, he seems… disappointed that he has to be the one to break the news to her, and angry that she had no idea. She can’t help how she feels her heart skip a beat at this revelation, that finally someone cares enough to let her know about something for once. But then, she remembers how complicit Bucky is in everything, and that feeling fades. “They met me in the pub after one of their failed gambling trips, recognised me instantly, of course,” Y/N rolls her eyes. Pompous asshole. “And we came to an agreement. I rob ships and places to keep them on top, and in return, I receive a cut and the freedom to keep doing so once the wedding goes through, thanks to your father’s connections.”

“Lies! It’s all lies!” Her father insists. “How dare you interrupt this day with such baseless accusations?!” 

“Oh, shut up, you pathetic piece of shit.” Bucky snaps. Y/N gasps. No one had ever dared to speak to her father that way before. “I should’ve known trusting you was a terrible idea, but I refuse to let you escape the consequences. I’m here to collect my payment, and what better time to do it?” He steps back, lowering his sword from Brock’s neck. “And isn’t it time Y/N learned the truth about the two of you?”

“Is this true?” Y/N demands. Brock and her father exchange an uneasy glance, neither sure what to say. Y/N’s stomach churns, a mix of confusion, hurt, and anger brewing deep in her gut. And also… vindication. For so long, she knew Brock and her father were horrible people who cared about nothing but money and themselves, and finally she’s been proven right.

She just hates how she’s been an unwilling pawn in it the entire time. “You stole my dowry?! M-My inheritance?!” she spits, her voice trembling. “When were you going to tell me?”

With a dismissive scoff, Brock simply rolls his eyes. “We were hoping you wouldn’t find out like this, or at all.” He lets out a soft, amused chuckle. Like it’s all just a big joke. A surge of anger courses through her, and Y/N clenches her fists. 

“You disgust me. All of you. You have no respect for others, least of all for me-” Brock approaches, his hand raised. Bucky rushes forward, coming to her defence.

But before either of them can react, Y/N is suddenly shoved forward, stumbling towards Bucky. He catches her immediately, pulling her close and holding her tightly against his chest. His body is warm, despite his coming in from the cold, and the cool metal of his arm against her skin. He smells like smoke, as she originally thought, but she can also detect a mixture of other scents. Of whisky, the salty sea air, of musk and sweat. 

He smells…rather intriguing, actually.

But just as quickly as she’s in his arms, burying his nose into his chest, Bucky gently pushes her back again. His eyes narrow once more as they look over her, and for a split second he registers something, his gaze softening. 

But it’s gone before she can dwell on it, so quickly she wonders if she imagined it. If she hoped for a split second that this man had a heart, and that anyone cared about her enough to fight for her.

But of course not.

“Take her.” Brock smirks. “There’s your payment.”

“You repulsive, pathetic man.” Y/N snaps. “How dare you use me like this?!” Bucky lets out a noise, something sounding like a chuckle.‌ 

“Very well.” Bucky nods.

“Excuse me?” Y/N demands, her eyes flashing with anger. “Don’t I get a say in this?” But Bucky is already leading her toward the door. “Father?!” she gasps, horrified and in disbelief.

Her father just stands there, watching the scene unfold without a word.

She struggles in Bucky’s arms, his grasp tightening. Nobody steps forward to help her, terrified to even approach the legendary, ruthless captain. 

“Stop struggling.” Bucky hisses. He kicks open the door, and the pair spill into the chill air.

“No!” she snaps, squirming and kicking. “How dare you?! How dare possessive men like you think you have any claim over me, or t-that my worth is tied to my wealth or my body?! You ruined my life!”

“I can assure you, I’ve done no such thing.” he says, his voice low, his patience clearly waning.

“You’re literally kidnapping me right now, you-”

Bucky doesn’t answer, continuing to pull her through the streets towards the docks, ensuring they’re kept out of sight. His lack of response, and his refusal to admit or acknowledge what he’s doing only makes her angrier, and her escape attempt more determined. But Bucky is strong, his metal arm holding her back.

“Will you stop?!” is all he says once they’re aboard the ship. She’s about to bite back, tell him he has no right to be so angry at her, that she is the one who deserves to be angry. But Bucky’s eyes move away from her face, landing on something else. His jaw clenches, and his eyes narrow, the icy blue sparkle darkening. “Y/N. Who did this to you?” he demands. 

“W-What?” she frowns, blinking in confusion. She follows Bucky’s gaze. When she sees what she’s looking at, her blood runs cold. In the scuffle, her dress sleeve must’ve rolled up, exposing the bruises on her arm. 

“Y/N.” Bucky repeats. “Who did this to you?” She stays silent. Because what is there to say? Tell the pirate Captain who just kidnapped her that yes, her fiancé is violent? That her father knows and turns a blind eye, because he’s just as bad? Bucky steps closer, and she flinches, her heart pounding so hard it could break out of her chest.

The second she flinches, Bucky stops. “Don’t worry. I promise I won’t hurt you.” he says, his voice warmer, softer. She still watches him, terrified, like prey backed into a corner.

Why does this kidnapping feel like the first time someone has ever cared for her before?

He raises his human hand. “May I?” 

He doesn’t move until she nods tentatively, and even then he continues to move slowly, gently dabbing her under eyes with his handkerchief. His skin brushes against her slightly, and it tingles. When Bucky sees what’s there, he tenses. The makeup did a good job of covering it before the ceremony, but the unmistakable remnants of a black eye still linger. “Was it Brock?” he asks, and she nods. “And the bruises?” Another nod. “Sick bastard.” he huffs.

“You worked with him.” She snaps back, her voice sharp.

“I know,” he nods. “But I had no other choice. It was for my crew and I’s survival. It was years ago, we were desperate for money.”

“You still did it.” He sighs, nodding.

“You’re right. If I’d have known he was doing this to you, though….” his metal arm clenches, whirring. “There’s no excuse for people who hurt the innocent.” Y/N scoffs, rolling her eyes.

“Please don’t act like you’re the hero in this story.” Bucky raises a brow. “You don’t get the reputation of being a bloodthirsty, murderous pirate without good reason.”

“I’m a pirate, Y/N. I’m not a monster.” he shakes his head. “That was merely for show back there, and the stories about me are greatly exaggerated.” When she doesn’t respond, he sighs. “I understand your reservations, but you can trust me. I swear I won’t hurt you. I steal, yes. But it’s purely for survival. And my crew and I only hurt people who deserve it.” his voice lowers, and his eyes narrow again. "And your fiancé," he spits. "Definitely deserves it."

Honestly, Y/N doesn’t know what to think. He seems honest, his tone sincere. And judging by the way his facial expression changed when he saw how Brock looked at her and the bruises, he seems to genuinely care about her.

But he still kidnapped her. He still conspired with her father and Brock.

“Why did you take me?” she asks, her voice quiet. “Clearly not for ransom, considering they stole all my-” Her voice breaks, and tears begin to fall. Bucky glances around, checking members of his crew aren't close enough to see her tears, and gently ushers her into his quarters. He offers her a whisky bottle, the scent of the rich liquor making her head spin. She shakes her head, and Bucky takes a swig. “Why are you doing this to me?” she manages to ask through her tears. “Why are you being so nice to me after you just kidnapped me?”

“Have a seat.” He offers, sitting at his desk. Sniffling and too exhausted and frightened to argue back, Y/N sits, sinking into the plush velvet of the chair. “I took you because I saw you.” When she frowns, he continues. “Well, I saw how frightened you were, and how you flinched whenever Brock or your father came near you. And I just knew that leaving you with them wasn't an option.”

“So you…kidnapped me?”

“What else was I supposed to do?” He raises a brow. He’s right, she knows he is. At the very least, she is free from Brock and her father now. She takes a deep breath, feeling as if an immense weight has been lifted from her.

"That's… very kind of you," she murmurs, a soft smile playing on her lips. “Thank you.” At the sight of her smile, Bucky smiles too. 

“No need to thank me.” Immediately, Y/N’s heart rate picks up again, but not with fear this time.

He really is beautiful when he smiles. 

Oh god, why is she thinking this way about her kidnapper?

Her head turns to the window, staring out at the sea as it crashes against the ship. Bucky chuckles softly. “You love the sea?”

“I do. I used to dream of being swept away to uncharted lands by the sea, somewhere far away from Brock and my father. They always told me to stop dreaming, that it was unbecoming of a lady of my stature, but it didn’t stop me.” she explains. Bucky listens intently, completely captivated. “I planned so many escape routes, but they caught me each time.” She sighs. “But I kept dreaming, hoping that one day I’d be free…that one day I’d be sailing on the sea.” And now, here she is, doing just that…albeit not the way she expected.

Seeing the way she looks at the sea, Bucky can’t help but smile. It reminds him of himself as a young kid, just trying to find his place in the world. Still trying to dream. “I love it too.” he chuckles. “Watching the sun rise and set over the horizon, seeing the vast, open sky and all the stars….” He sighs fondly. “There’s nothing like it.”

“Really? I haven’t seen the night sky properly in a long time.”

“I think you’ll love it. Seeing the night sky…it gives me so much peace, and….” he bites his lip slightly, running a hand through his brunette waves. “And I think you could use something like that.” he admits.

“Peace? I haven’t felt that in a very long time.” Bucky’s gaze moves to the floor, his stomach churning as he finds himself unable to meet Y/N’s gaze. Unable to confront what he’s done. He opens his mouth to say something, anything…but then stops, shaking his head. Because what could he possibly say? Apologise for playing a part in destroying her life? For kidnapping her? Sure, it was for her own safety, but he’s not a saint either. She’s right, he’s no hero. 

Before today, he’s never felt like this before, so guilty, so…ashamed. Never had such a desire to be good, to be better.

And he’s definitely never felt so inexplicably drawn to his prisoner before.

But before she can ask what he was going to say, he clears his throat.

“I have a proposition for you.” he offers, and she raises a brow. “You can stay on my ship and have some time to rest and eat, and then you can either stay on board with us with our protection, or we can drop you off on another continent, far away from your father and Brock, with enough funds to get by.”

“Do I have to choose now?”

“Not at all. Take all the time you need.”

“You’d really do that for me?” She asks, still reeling from the fact that a pirate captain is the first and only person in a long time to actually care about her and her safety. Bucky nods. “And how should I know I can trust you?”

“You can’t.” He admits. “But you don't really have any other alternatives, do you? I’m certainly not going to return you to them, or leave you to fend for yourselves with all the other pirates around.” he huffs. Y/N decides not to ask if the other pirates are worse than Bucky and his crew. The look on his face left no doubt that they were.

He’s right, she knows he is. She really doesn’t have a choice here. And besides, soon she can get out of here, and get the freedom she always wanted. She just has to endure some time with this…incredibly intriguing pirate captain. Y/N nods, and Bucky’s grin grows wider. 

“Well, Y/N, welcome aboard.”

The sea crashes against the building, gulls and other sea birds’ cries filling the air. If Y/N turns her head in just the right way, she can even register the faint scent of salt in the air. Closing her eyes, she sighs softly. She longed to be out there, free and happy. Like the heroes and heroines in her stories, free to do whatever they want and travel wherever they want with no one to hold them back.

Instead, she’s trapped here, about to sign her life and her happiness away with nothing she can do about it.

The door opens, hitting against the wall with a loud bang. Y/N doesn’t even flinch anymore, already accustomed to her father’s intimidating presence and all the ways he makes it known. “Good, you’re ready.” He says, stepping in front of her and looking her up and down, his gaze scrutinising her for any imperfections. Her eyes drift beyond him, gazing at the sea and the horizon. “What are you looking at?” He snaps, turning his head to follow her gaze. “For god’s sake.” He mutters. “The sea again?”

“I was just looking, Father.” she responds, her voice soft.

“You’re always ‘just’ looking.” He lets out a derisive snort. “Just asking, just reading, just dreaming, just hoping for something else. When will you get your head out of the clouds, and stop with the disobedience?” he demands, his voice raising in volume.

“I don’t see the harm,” she retorts. "It's not as if-"

“I doubt Brock will like it either.” He huffs, ignoring her. The mention of her fiancé's name sends a shiver down her spine, and the bitter taste of bile rises in her throat.

Brock Rumlow, the son of her father’s late business partner, and heir to his fortune. It’s all the people in their town can talk about. How much sense it made to arrange a marriage between their offspring and continue the family business for generations to come, the unwillingness of the bride be damned.

Brock is just as cruel and cold-hearted as her father. He dismisses her books and business ideas with a condescending sneer, never supporting her goals or dreams, telling her not to trouble herself or ‘fill her pretty head with such matters’ like education or equality. And she’s lost count of the stories she’s heard about other women he’s been seeing, including whilst being with her. This has made her the subject of ridicule throughout society, mocking whispers of: 

“Surely she must know?"

"I doubt it. Her father always says her head is in the clouds. I don't think she would know it was happening. even if she was looking right at it!"

"How mortifying! Can you even imagine it?" following her everywhere she goes.

Yet every time she brings this up, or tries to make her escape, she’s dragged back here. A dull ache pulses in her arm, prompting her to adjust her sleeve and hide the telltale fingerprint shaped bruises. Honestly, she’s given up hope of trying to flee, and resigned herself to being trapped here forever. Her chest tightens, her head fuzzy. And this time, she knows it’s not because her wedding outfit is far too tight and restrictive. 

“He’s already told me as much, you know, and I agree,” her father continues. "Do you believe he actually enjoys being the subject of ridicule? Or that I do?! That all people say about you is how foolish you are to dream?!”

“You’re hardly a laughing stock, Father.” She says. “If anything, it’s me who is.” she murmurs.

“Do not back talk me.” He snaps. “Once you are married, Brock will ensure you become a true lady of society, one suitable for his position.” The thought makes Y/N shudder, and her eyes drop, her gaze now intently focused on the floor.

She’s always too much or too little of something. 

Never just right. 

Never good enough. 

Tears threaten to spill from her eyes at the thought, and she bites her lip so hard she tastes blood, desperately trying to prevent her sobs from escaping.

“Smile, for god’s sake.” her father mutters, lifting her head to meet his. When she doesn’t respond, he leans closer, breath hot on her cheek. “Do you understand me?!”

"Y-Yes, Father," she stammers, her voice trembling slightly. A small, forced smile graces her lips as she nods.

“Good.” he looks her up and down once more. “After all, it is your wedding day. Looking so unhappy makes me look bad too.” He opens the door to the room, his eyes lingering on her for a moment longer. “I’ll be back in five minutes. Don’t try another of your escape attempts.” he warns.

And with another slam of the door, Y/N is finally alone again.

As she and her father approach the end of the aisle, the pounding of Y/N’s heart is now so loud, she can hear it in her ears, intense enough to drown out the greetings Brock and her father give each other. Brock approaches, leering at her, and her stomach churns, her chest tightening with every breath. The priest moves forward, a warm smile gracing his lips. 

If anybody knew she was doing this under duress (and given the looks she got as she walked down the aisle, she definitely suspected people did), nobody wanted to say a word to stop it. The truth of her reality truly hits her then, and her eyes wells up with tears once more.

But before the priest can even say a word, the doors swing open, and a figure saunters in. Immediately, every head in the room turns towards the door, and shocked, furious whispers fill the air.

“Is that?”

"I don't believe it! How dare he?!"

“It can’t be true! Surely not.”

“How dare he show his face here?” Y/N’s father huffs angrily, stepping closer. The crowd parts, and a hush falls as the figure emerges at the top of the aisle. Y/N gasps, recognising him immediately.

After all, his face appears on most of the town's wanted posters. 

Living so close to the sea, Y/N has become well accustomed to tales of pirates plundering ships for their riches. After all, it’s all her father and Brock can talk about with their friends. ...Although it's more to boast that their ships are still safe, rather than concern for others.

But while many pirates are rumoured to sail in the waters beside her town, Bucky Barnes is the most feared, a legend whispered in hushed tones, full of stories of his brutality. Of treasures plundered ruthlessly, and of rivals, their ships reduced to burnt wrecks or sunk beneath the waves without a moment's hesitation. 

And now, he’s at her wedding. 

She didn’t even think it was possible, but somehow he looks far more intimidating in real life than on his wanted posters. He’s tall, and his metal arm gleams in the beams of sunlight peeking through the clouds and through the window. His brunette hair, slightly messy and tangled from the sea air, is pulled back partway into a bun, framing a stubbled face with patches of grey on his chin. Dressed head to toe in black, coat and all, a faint scent of smoke clings to him. Y/N also notices a thin, pale scar beside his left eye. However, Bucky pays her no mind, his piercing blue eyes focused intently on Brock and her father. 

“Hello, gentlemen,” he says. His voice is deep and cold. “Forgive the intrusion. I would’ve waited until the priest asked for any objections…but my patience has run out.” He says, his voice dripping with sarcasm. Y/N’s pulse quickens, and she looks to her father and Brock.

“What in god's name are you doing here? How dare you-“ her father sputters indignantly, but Bucky cuts him off.

“I’m here to collect my payment.” 

“Payment? What in god’s name is he talking about?” she asks, speaking for the first time. Bucky’s eyes flicker to her, and he raises a brow, looking her up and down with a smirk. Y/N hates the feeling that hits her then. Because no matter the amount of blood that undoubtedly stains his hands, or his intimidating nature, Y/N can’t deny how drawn to him she is, or that she finds this blood-soaked, murderous pirate undeniably attractive.

“Oh, you didn’t tell your daughter, our beautiful bride to be, about our arrangement? My, how unfortunate.” Bucky chuckles, only adding to her irritation. 

“Can someone please tell me what is going on here?” she demands angrily.

Even if him calling her beautiful did reignite her feelings towards him. If only slightly. 

“Speaking of,” Bucky muses, ignoring her question. “I’m surprised I didn’t receive an invitation to this spectacle. I’m the one financing it, after all.”

“Excuse me?" Y/N frowns.

“Silence. This doesn’t concern her.” Brock hisses. Bucky scoffs.

“Oh, I think it does.” He responds, another smirk playing on his lips. That only makes Y/N even angrier. Once again, she’s not enough, not smart enough to know about her father and fiancé’s dealings, and it’s treated like a joke. “After all, does she know that you two,” he points to her father and Brock. “Gambled away her inheritance and dowry?”

“You did what?!” she gasps, outraged.

“My darling, why would you ever believe a pirate like him-” Brock says, a condescending sneer on his lips. He steps closer, and she flinches, instinctively moving away from him. Bucky’s eyes narrow, watching Brock’s intense glare, and how Y/N’s body trembles whenever he comes closer. A sense of indignation burns within his blood. He always knew Brock Rumlow and Lord Y/L/N were vile and unscrupulous men, but seeing Y/N, the innocent pawn in their schemes, for the first time ignites a deeper hatred within him.

And for the first time in a long time… Captain Bucky Barnes feels a sharp ache in his chest, and a wave of pity washing over him.

“I hate to be the one to tell you this, my lady, but your father, fiancé and I have a deal.” Bucky explains.

“Don’t you dare,” Brock sputters, his face contorted with anger. "It’s all lies, I have no dealings with-" Bucky cuts him off when he places his sword at his throat.

“Now. As I was saying…” Y/N watches Bucky, trying to gauge his feelings. Oddly enough, he seems… disappointed that he has to be the one to break the news to her, and angry that she had no idea. She can’t help how she feels her heart skip a beat at this revelation, that finally someone cares enough to let her know about something for once. But then, she remembers how complicit Bucky is in everything, and that feeling fades. “They met me in the pub after one of their failed gambling trips, recognised me instantly, of course,” Y/N rolls her eyes. Pompous asshole. “And we came to an agreement. I rob ships and places to keep them on top, and in return, I receive a cut and the freedom to keep doing so once the wedding goes through, thanks to your father’s connections.”

“Lies! It’s all lies!” Her father insists. “How dare you interrupt this day with such baseless accusations?!” 

“Oh, shut up, you pathetic piece of shit.” Bucky snaps. Y/N gasps. No one had ever dared to speak to her father that way before. “I should’ve known trusting you was a terrible idea, but I refuse to let you escape the consequences. I’m here to collect my payment, and what better time to do it?” He steps back, lowering his sword from Brock’s neck. “And isn’t it time Y/N learned the truth about the two of you?”

“Is this true?” Y/N demands. Brock and her father exchange an uneasy glance, neither sure what to say. Y/N’s stomach churns, a mix of confusion, hurt, and anger brewing deep in her gut. And also… vindication. For so long, she knew Brock and her father were horrible people who cared about nothing but money and themselves, and finally she’s been proven right.

She just hates how she’s been an unwilling pawn in it the entire time. “You stole my dowry?! M-My inheritance?!” she spits, her voice trembling. “When were you going to tell me?”

With a dismissive scoff, Brock simply rolls his eyes. “We were hoping you wouldn’t find out like this, or at all.” He lets out a soft, amused chuckle. Like it’s all just a big joke. A surge of anger courses through her, and Y/N clenches her fists. 

“You disgust me. All of you. You have no respect for others, least of all for me-” Brock approaches, his hand raised. Bucky rushes forward, coming to her defence.

But before either of them can react, Y/N is suddenly shoved forward, stumbling towards Bucky. He catches her immediately, pulling her close and holding her tightly against his chest. His body is warm, despite his coming in from the cold, and the cool metal of his arm against her skin. He smells like smoke, as she originally thought, but she can also detect a mixture of other scents. Of whisky, the salty sea air, of musk and sweat. 

He smells…rather intriguing, actually.

But just as quickly as she’s in his arms, burying his nose into his chest, Bucky gently pushes her back again. His eyes narrow once more as they look over her, and for a split second he registers something, his gaze softening. 

But it’s gone before she can dwell on it, so quickly she wonders if she imagined it. If she hoped for a split second that this man had a heart, and that anyone cared about her enough to fight for her.

But of course not.

“Take her.” Brock smirks. “There’s your payment.”

“You repulsive, pathetic man.” Y/N snaps. “How dare you use me like this?!” Bucky lets out a noise, something sounding like a chuckle.‌ 

“Very well.” Bucky nods.

“Excuse me?” Y/N demands, her eyes flashing with anger. “Don’t I get a say in this?” But Bucky is already leading her toward the door. “Father?!” she gasps, horrified and in disbelief.

Her father just stands there, watching the scene unfold without a word.

She struggles in Bucky’s arms, his grasp tightening. Nobody steps forward to help her, terrified to even approach the legendary, ruthless captain. 

“Stop struggling.” Bucky hisses. He kicks open the door, and the pair spill into the chill air.

“No!” she snaps, squirming and kicking. “How dare you?! How dare possessive men like you think you have any claim over me, or t-that my worth is tied to my wealth or my body?! You ruined my life!”

“I can assure you, I’ve done no such thing.” he says, his voice low, his patience clearly waning.

“You’re literally kidnapping me right now, you-”

Bucky doesn’t answer, continuing to pull her through the streets towards the docks, ensuring they’re kept out of sight. His lack of response, and his refusal to admit or acknowledge what he’s doing only makes her angrier, and her escape attempt more determined. But Bucky is strong, his metal arm holding her back.

“Will you stop?!” is all he says once they’re aboard the ship. She’s about to bite back, tell him he has no right to be so angry at her, that she is the one who deserves to be angry. But Bucky’s eyes move away from her face, landing on something else. His jaw clenches, and his eyes narrow, the icy blue sparkle darkening. “Y/N. Who did this to you?” he demands. 

“W-What?” she frowns, blinking in confusion. She follows Bucky’s gaze. When she sees what she’s looking at, her blood runs cold. In the scuffle, her dress sleeve must’ve rolled up, exposing the bruises on her arm. 

“Y/N.” Bucky repeats. “Who did this to you?” She stays silent. Because what is there to say? Tell the pirate Captain who just kidnapped her that yes, her fiancé is violent? That her father knows and turns a blind eye, because he’s just as bad? Bucky steps closer, and she flinches, her heart pounding so hard it could break out of her chest.

The second she flinches, Bucky stops. “Don’t worry. I promise I won’t hurt you.” he says, his voice warmer, softer. She still watches him, terrified, like prey backed into a corner.

Why does this kidnapping feel like the first time someone has ever cared for her before?

He raises his human hand. “May I?” 

He doesn’t move until she nods tentatively, and even then he continues to move slowly, gently dabbing her under eyes with his handkerchief. His skin brushes against her slightly, and it tingles. When Bucky sees what’s there, he tenses. The makeup did a good job of covering it before the ceremony, but the unmistakable remnants of a black eye still linger. “Was it Brock?” he asks, and she nods. “And the bruises?” Another nod. “Sick bastard.” he huffs.

“You worked with him.” She snaps back, her voice sharp.

“I know,” he nods. “But I had no other choice. It was for my crew and I’s survival. It was years ago, we were desperate for money.”

“You still did it.” He sighs, nodding.

“You’re right. If I’d have known he was doing this to you, though….” his metal arm clenches, whirring. “There’s no excuse for people who hurt the innocent.” Y/N scoffs, rolling her eyes.

“Please don’t act like you’re the hero in this story.” Bucky raises a brow. “You don’t get the reputation of being a bloodthirsty, murderous pirate without good reason.”

“I’m a pirate, Y/N. I’m not a monster.” he shakes his head. “That was merely for show back there, and the stories about me are greatly exaggerated.” When she doesn’t respond, he sighs. “I understand your reservations, but you can trust me. I swear I won’t hurt you. I steal, yes. But it’s purely for survival. And my crew and I only hurt people who deserve it.” his voice lowers, and his eyes narrow again. "And your fiancé," he spits. "Definitely deserves it."

Honestly, Y/N doesn’t know what to think. He seems honest, his tone sincere. And judging by the way his facial expression changed when he saw how Brock looked at her and the bruises, he seems to genuinely care about her.

But he still kidnapped her. He still conspired with her father and Brock.

“Why did you take me?” she asks, her voice quiet. “Clearly not for ransom, considering they stole all my-” Her voice breaks, and tears begin to fall. Bucky glances around, checking members of his crew aren't close enough to see her tears, and gently ushers her into his quarters. He offers her a whisky bottle, the scent of the rich liquor making her head spin. She shakes her head, and Bucky takes a swig. “Why are you doing this to me?” she manages to ask through her tears. “Why are you being so nice to me after you just kidnapped me?”

“Have a seat.” He offers, sitting at his desk. Sniffling and too exhausted and frightened to argue back, Y/N sits, sinking into the plush velvet of the chair. “I took you because I saw you.” When she frowns, he continues. “Well, I saw how frightened you were, and how you flinched whenever Brock or your father came near you. And I just knew that leaving you with them wasn't an option.”

“So you…kidnapped me?”

“What else was I supposed to do?” He raises a brow. He’s right, she knows he is. At the very least, she is free from Brock and her father now. She takes a deep breath, feeling as if an immense weight has been lifted from her.

"That's… very kind of you," she murmurs, a soft smile playing on her lips. “Thank you.” At the sight of her smile, Bucky smiles too. 

“No need to thank me.” Immediately, Y/N’s heart rate picks up again, but not with fear this time.

He really is beautiful when he smiles. 

Oh god, why is she thinking this way about her kidnapper?

Her head turns to the window, staring out at the sea as it crashes against the ship. Bucky chuckles softly. “You love the sea?”

“I do. I used to dream of being swept away to uncharted lands by the sea, somewhere far away from Brock and my father. They always told me to stop dreaming, that it was unbecoming of a lady of my stature, but it didn’t stop me.” she explains. Bucky listens intently, completely captivated. “I planned so many escape routes, but they caught me each time.” She sighs. “But I kept dreaming, hoping that one day I’d be free…that one day I’d be sailing on the sea.” And now, here she is, doing just that…albeit not the way she expected.

Seeing the way she looks at the sea, Bucky can’t help but smile. It reminds him of himself as a young kid, just trying to find his place in the world. Still trying to dream. “I love it too.” he chuckles. “Watching the sun rise and set over the horizon, seeing the vast, open sky and all the stars….” He sighs fondly. “There’s nothing like it.”

“Really? I haven’t seen the night sky properly in a long time.”

“I think you’ll love it. Seeing the night sky…it gives me so much peace, and….” he bites his lip slightly, running a hand through his brunette waves. “And I think you could use something like that.” he admits.

“Peace? I haven’t felt that in a very long time.” Bucky’s gaze moves to the floor, his stomach churning as he finds himself unable to meet Y/N’s gaze. Unable to confront what he’s done. He opens his mouth to say something, anything…but then stops, shaking his head. Because what could he possibly say? Apologise for playing a part in destroying her life? For kidnapping her? Sure, it was for her own safety, but he’s not a saint either. She’s right, he’s no hero. 

Before today, he’s never felt like this before, so guilty, so…ashamed. Never had such a desire to be good, to be better.

And he’s definitely never felt so inexplicably drawn to his prisoner before.

But before she can ask what he was going to say, he clears his throat.

“I have a proposition for you.” he offers, and she raises a brow. “You can stay on my ship and have some time to rest and eat, and then you can either stay on board with us with our protection, or we can drop you off on another continent, far away from your father and Brock, with enough funds to get by.”

“Do I have to choose now?”

“Not at all. Take all the time you need.”

“You’d really do that for me?” She asks, still reeling from the fact that a pirate captain is the first and only person in a long time to actually care about her and her safety. Bucky nods. “And how should I know I can trust you?”

“You can’t.” He admits. “But you don't really have any other alternatives, do you? I’m certainly not going to return you to them, or leave you to fend for yourselves with all the other pirates around.” he huffs. Y/N decides not to ask if the other pirates are worse than Bucky and his crew. The look on his face left no doubt that they were.

He’s right, she knows he is. She really doesn’t have a choice here. And besides, soon she can get out of here, and get the freedom she always wanted. She just has to endure some time with this…incredibly intriguing pirate captain. Y/N nods, and Bucky’s grin grows wider. 

“Well, Y/N, welcome aboard.”

The sea crashes against the building, gulls and other sea birds’ cries filling the air. If Y/N turns her head in just the right way, she can even register the faint scent of salt in the air. Closing her eyes, she sighs softly. She longed to be out there, free and happy. Like the heroes and heroines in her stories, free to do whatever they want and travel wherever they want with no one to hold them back.

Instead, she’s trapped here, about to sign her life and her happiness away with nothing she can do about it.

The door opens, hitting against the wall with a loud bang. Y/N doesn’t even flinch anymore, already accustomed to her father’s intimidating presence and all the ways he makes it known. “Good, you’re ready.” He says, stepping in front of her and looking her up and down, his gaze scrutinising her for any imperfections. Her eyes drift beyond him, gazing at the sea and the horizon. “What are you looking at?” He snaps, turning his head to follow her gaze. “For god’s sake.” He mutters. “The sea again?”

“I was just looking, Father.” she responds, her voice soft.

“You’re always ‘just’ looking.” He lets out a derisive snort. “Just asking, just reading, just dreaming, just hoping for something else. When will you get your head out of the clouds, and stop with the disobedience?” he demands, his voice raising in volume.

“I don’t see the harm,” she retorts. "It's not as if-"

“I doubt Brock will like it either.” He huffs, ignoring her. The mention of her fiancé's name sends a shiver down her spine, and the bitter taste of bile rises in her throat.

Brock Rumlow, the son of her father’s late business partner, and heir to his fortune. It’s all the people in their town can talk about. How much sense it made to arrange a marriage between their offspring and continue the family business for generations to come, the unwillingness of the bride be damned.

Brock is just as cruel and cold-hearted as her father. He dismisses her books and business ideas with a condescending sneer, never supporting her goals or dreams, telling her not to trouble herself or ‘fill her pretty head with such matters’ like education or equality. And she’s lost count of the stories she’s heard about other women he’s been seeing, including whilst being with her. This has made her the subject of ridicule throughout society, mocking whispers of: 

“Surely she must know?"

"I doubt it. Her father always says her head is in the clouds. I don't think she would know it was happening. even if she was looking right at it!"

"How mortifying! Can you even imagine it?" following her everywhere she goes.

Yet every time she brings this up, or tries to make her escape, she’s dragged back here. A dull ache pulses in her arm, prompting her to adjust her sleeve and hide the telltale fingerprint shaped bruises. Honestly, she’s given up hope of trying to flee, and resigned herself to being trapped here forever. Her chest tightens, her head fuzzy. And this time, she knows it’s not because her wedding outfit is far too tight and restrictive. 

“He’s already told me as much, you know, and I agree,” her father continues. "Do you believe he actually enjoys being the subject of ridicule? Or that I do?! That all people say about you is how foolish you are to dream?!”

“You’re hardly a laughing stock, Father.” She says. “If anything, it’s me who is.” she murmurs.

“Do not back talk me.” He snaps. “Once you are married, Brock will ensure you become a true lady of society, one suitable for his position.” The thought makes Y/N shudder, and her eyes drop, her gaze now intently focused on the floor.

She’s always too much or too little of something. 

Never just right. 

Never good enough. 

Tears threaten to spill from her eyes at the thought, and she bites her lip so hard she tastes blood, desperately trying to prevent her sobs from escaping.

“Smile, for god’s sake.” her father mutters, lifting her head to meet his. When she doesn’t respond, he leans closer, breath hot on her cheek. “Do you understand me?!”

"Y-Yes, Father," she stammers, her voice trembling slightly. A small, forced smile graces her lips as she nods.

“Good.” he looks her up and down once more. “After all, it is your wedding day. Looking so unhappy makes me look bad too.” He opens the door to the room, his eyes lingering on her for a moment longer. “I’ll be back in five minutes. Don’t try another of your escape attempts.” he warns.

And with another slam of the door, Y/N is finally alone again.

As she and her father approach the end of the aisle, the pounding of Y/N’s heart is now so loud, she can hear it in her ears, intense enough to drown out the greetings Brock and her father give each other. Brock approaches, leering at her, and her stomach churns, her chest tightening with every breath. The priest moves forward, a warm smile gracing his lips. 

If anybody knew she was doing this under duress (and given the looks she got as she walked down the aisle, she definitely suspected people did), nobody wanted to say a word to stop it. The truth of her reality truly hits her then, and her eyes wells up with tears once more.

But before the priest can even say a word, the doors swing open, and a figure saunters in. Immediately, every head in the room turns towards the door, and shocked, furious whispers fill the air.

“Is that?”

"I don't believe it! How dare he?!"

“It can’t be true! Surely not.”

“How dare he show his face here?” Y/N’s father huffs angrily, stepping closer. The crowd parts, and a hush falls as the figure emerges at the top of the aisle. Y/N gasps, recognising him immediately.

After all, his face appears on most of the town's wanted posters. 

Living so close to the sea, Y/N has become well accustomed to tales of pirates plundering ships for their riches. After all, it’s all her father and Brock can talk about with their friends. ...Although it's more to boast that their ships are still safe, rather than concern for others.

But while many pirates are rumoured to sail in the waters beside her town, Bucky Barnes is the most feared, a legend whispered in hushed tones, full of stories of his brutality. Of treasures plundered ruthlessly, and of rivals, their ships reduced to burnt wrecks or sunk beneath the waves without a moment's hesitation. 

And now, he’s at her wedding. 

She didn’t even think it was possible, but somehow he looks far more intimidating in real life than on his wanted posters. He’s tall, and his metal arm gleams in the beams of sunlight peeking through the clouds and through the window. His brunette hair, slightly messy and tangled from the sea air, is pulled back partway into a bun, framing a stubbled face with patches of grey on his chin. Dressed head to toe in black, coat and all, a faint scent of smoke clings to him. Y/N also notices a thin, pale scar beside his left eye. However, Bucky pays her no mind, his piercing blue eyes focused intently on Brock and her father. 

“Hello, gentlemen,” he says. His voice is deep and cold. “Forgive the intrusion. I would’ve waited until the priest asked for any objections…but my patience has run out.” He says, his voice dripping with sarcasm. Y/N’s pulse quickens, and she looks to her father and Brock.

“What in god's name are you doing here? How dare you-“ her father sputters indignantly, but Bucky cuts him off.

“I’m here to collect my payment.” 

“Payment? What in god’s name is he talking about?” she asks, speaking for the first time. Bucky’s eyes flicker to her, and he raises a brow, looking her up and down with a smirk. Y/N hates the feeling that hits her then. Because no matter the amount of blood that undoubtedly stains his hands, or his intimidating nature, Y/N can’t deny how drawn to him she is, or that she finds this blood-soaked, murderous pirate undeniably attractive.

“Oh, you didn’t tell your daughter, our beautiful bride to be, about our arrangement? My, how unfortunate.” Bucky chuckles, only adding to her irritation. 

“Can someone please tell me what is going on here?” she demands angrily.

Even if him calling her beautiful did reignite her feelings towards him. If only slightly. 

“Speaking of,” Bucky muses, ignoring her question. “I’m surprised I didn’t receive an invitation to this spectacle. I’m the one financing it, after all.”

“Excuse me?" Y/N frowns.

“Silence. This doesn’t concern her.” Brock hisses. Bucky scoffs.

“Oh, I think it does.” He responds, another smirk playing on his lips. That only makes Y/N even angrier. Once again, she’s not enough, not smart enough to know about her father and fiancé’s dealings, and it’s treated like a joke. “After all, does she know that you two,” he points to her father and Brock. “Gambled away her inheritance and dowry?”

“You did what?!” she gasps, outraged.

“My darling, why would you ever believe a pirate like him-” Brock says, a condescending sneer on his lips. He steps closer, and she flinches, instinctively moving away from him. Bucky’s eyes narrow, watching Brock’s intense glare, and how Y/N’s body trembles whenever he comes closer. A sense of indignation burns within his blood. He always knew Brock Rumlow and Lord Y/L/N were vile and unscrupulous men, but seeing Y/N, the innocent pawn in their schemes, for the first time ignites a deeper hatred within him.

And for the first time in a long time… Captain Bucky Barnes feels a sharp ache in his chest, and a wave of pity washing over him.

“I hate to be the one to tell you this, my lady, but your father, fiancé and I have a deal.” Bucky explains.

“Don’t you dare,” Brock sputters, his face contorted with anger. "It’s all lies, I have no dealings with-" Bucky cuts him off when he places his sword at his throat.

“Now. As I was saying…” Y/N watches Bucky, trying to gauge his feelings. Oddly enough, he seems… disappointed that he has to be the one to break the news to her, and angry that she had no idea. She can’t help how she feels her heart skip a beat at this revelation, that finally someone cares enough to let her know about something for once. But then, she remembers how complicit Bucky is in everything, and that feeling fades. “They met me in the pub after one of their failed gambling trips, recognised me instantly, of course,” Y/N rolls her eyes. Pompous asshole. “And we came to an agreement. I rob ships and places to keep them on top, and in return, I receive a cut and the freedom to keep doing so once the wedding goes through, thanks to your father’s connections.”

“Lies! It’s all lies!” Her father insists. “How dare you interrupt this day with such baseless accusations?!” 

“Oh, shut up, you pathetic piece of shit.” Bucky snaps. Y/N gasps. No one had ever dared to speak to her father that way before. “I should’ve known trusting you was a terrible idea, but I refuse to let you escape the consequences. I’m here to collect my payment, and what better time to do it?” He steps back, lowering his sword from Brock’s neck. “And isn’t it time Y/N learned the truth about the two of you?”

“Is this true?” Y/N demands. Brock and her father exchange an uneasy glance, neither sure what to say. Y/N’s stomach churns, a mix of confusion, hurt, and anger brewing deep in her gut. And also… vindication. For so long, she knew Brock and her father were horrible people who cared about nothing but money and themselves, and finally she’s been proven right.

She just hates how she’s been an unwilling pawn in it the entire time. “You stole my dowry?! M-My inheritance?!” she spits, her voice trembling. “When were you going to tell me?”

With a dismissive scoff, Brock simply rolls his eyes. “We were hoping you wouldn’t find out like this, or at all.” He lets out a soft, amused chuckle. Like it’s all just a big joke. A surge of anger courses through her, and Y/N clenches her fists. 

“You disgust me. All of you. You have no respect for others, least of all for me-” Brock approaches, his hand raised. Bucky rushes forward, coming to her defence.

But before either of them can react, Y/N is suddenly shoved forward, stumbling towards Bucky. He catches her immediately, pulling her close and holding her tightly against his chest. His body is warm, despite his coming in from the cold, and the cool metal of his arm against her skin. He smells like smoke, as she originally thought, but she can also detect a mixture of other scents. Of whisky, the salty sea air, of musk and sweat. 

He smells…rather intriguing, actually.

But just as quickly as she’s in his arms, burying his nose into his chest, Bucky gently pushes her back again. His eyes narrow once more as they look over her, and for a split second he registers something, his gaze softening. 

But it’s gone before she can dwell on it, so quickly she wonders if she imagined it. If she hoped for a split second that this man had a heart, and that anyone cared about her enough to fight for her.

But of course not.

“Take her.” Brock smirks. “There’s your payment.”

“You repulsive, pathetic man.” Y/N snaps. “How dare you use me like this?!” Bucky lets out a noise, something sounding like a chuckle.‌ 

“Very well.” Bucky nods.

“Excuse me?” Y/N demands, her eyes flashing with anger. “Don’t I get a say in this?” But Bucky is already leading her toward the door. “Father?!” she gasps, horrified and in disbelief.

Her father just stands there, watching the scene unfold without a word.

She struggles in Bucky’s arms, his grasp tightening. Nobody steps forward to help her, terrified to even approach the legendary, ruthless captain. 

“Stop struggling.” Bucky hisses. He kicks open the door, and the pair spill into the chill air.

“No!” she snaps, squirming and kicking. “How dare you?! How dare possessive men like you think you have any claim over me, or t-that my worth is tied to my wealth or my body?! You ruined my life!”

“I can assure you, I’ve done no such thing.” he says, his voice low, his patience clearly waning.

“You’re literally kidnapping me right now, you-”

Bucky doesn’t answer, continuing to pull her through the streets towards the docks, ensuring they’re kept out of sight. His lack of response, and his refusal to admit or acknowledge what he’s doing only makes her angrier, and her escape attempt more determined. But Bucky is strong, his metal arm holding her back.

“Will you stop?!” is all he says once they’re aboard the ship. She’s about to bite back, tell him he has no right to be so angry at her, that she is the one who deserves to be angry. But Bucky’s eyes move away from her face, landing on something else. His jaw clenches, and his eyes narrow, the icy blue sparkle darkening. “Y/N. Who did this to you?” he demands. 

“W-What?” she frowns, blinking in confusion. She follows Bucky’s gaze. When she sees what she’s looking at, her blood runs cold. In the scuffle, her dress sleeve must’ve rolled up, exposing the bruises on her arm. 

“Y/N.” Bucky repeats. “Who did this to you?” She stays silent. Because what is there to say? Tell the pirate Captain who just kidnapped her that yes, her fiancé is violent? That her father knows and turns a blind eye, because he’s just as bad? Bucky steps closer, and she flinches, her heart pounding so hard it could break out of her chest.

The second she flinches, Bucky stops. “Don’t worry. I promise I won’t hurt you.” he says, his voice warmer, softer. She still watches him, terrified, like prey backed into a corner.

Why does this kidnapping feel like the first time someone has ever cared for her before?

He raises his human hand. “May I?” 

He doesn’t move until she nods tentatively, and even then he continues to move slowly, gently dabbing her under eyes with his handkerchief. His skin brushes against her slightly, and it tingles. When Bucky sees what’s there, he tenses. The makeup did a good job of covering it before the ceremony, but the unmistakable remnants of a black eye still linger. “Was it Brock?” he asks, and she nods. “And the bruises?” Another nod. “Sick bastard.” he huffs.

“You worked with him.” She snaps back, her voice sharp.

“I know,” he nods. “But I had no other choice. It was for my crew and I’s survival. It was years ago, we were desperate for money.”

“You still did it.” He sighs, nodding.

“You’re right. If I’d have known he was doing this to you, though….” his metal arm clenches, whirring. “There’s no excuse for people who hurt the innocent.” Y/N scoffs, rolling her eyes.

“Please don’t act like you’re the hero in this story.” Bucky raises a brow. “You don’t get the reputation of being a bloodthirsty, murderous pirate without good reason.”

“I’m a pirate, Y/N. I’m not a monster.” he shakes his head. “That was merely for show back there, and the stories about me are greatly exaggerated.” When she doesn’t respond, he sighs. “I understand your reservations, but you can trust me. I swear I won’t hurt you. I steal, yes. But it’s purely for survival. And my crew and I only hurt people who deserve it.” his voice lowers, and his eyes narrow again. "And your fiancé," he spits. "Definitely deserves it."

Honestly, Y/N doesn’t know what to think. He seems honest, his tone sincere. And judging by the way his facial expression changed when he saw how Brock looked at her and the bruises, he seems to genuinely care about her.

But he still kidnapped her. He still conspired with her father and Brock.

“Why did you take me?” she asks, her voice quiet. “Clearly not for ransom, considering they stole all my-” Her voice breaks, and tears begin to fall. Bucky glances around, checking members of his crew aren't close enough to see her tears, and gently ushers her into his quarters. He offers her a whisky bottle, the scent of the rich liquor making her head spin. She shakes her head, and Bucky takes a swig. “Why are you doing this to me?” she manages to ask through her tears. “Why are you being so nice to me after you just kidnapped me?”

“Have a seat.” He offers, sitting at his desk. Sniffling and too exhausted and frightened to argue back, Y/N sits, sinking into the plush velvet of the chair. “I took you because I saw you.” When she frowns, he continues. “Well, I saw how frightened you were, and how you flinched whenever Brock or your father came near you. And I just knew that leaving you with them wasn't an option.”

“So you…kidnapped me?”

“What else was I supposed to do?” He raises a brow. He’s right, she knows he is. At the very least, she is free from Brock and her father now. She takes a deep breath, feeling as if an immense weight has been lifted from her.

"That's… very kind of you," she murmurs, a soft smile playing on her lips. “Thank you.” At the sight of her smile, Bucky smiles too. 

“No need to thank me.” Immediately, Y/N’s heart rate picks up again, but not with fear this time.

He really is beautiful when he smiles. 

Oh god, why is she thinking this way about her kidnapper?

Her head turns to the window, staring out at the sea as it crashes against the ship. Bucky chuckles softly. “You love the sea?”

“I do. I used to dream of being swept away to uncharted lands by the sea, somewhere far away from Brock and my father. They always told me to stop dreaming, that it was unbecoming of a lady of my stature, but it didn’t stop me.” she explains. Bucky listens intently, completely captivated. “I planned so many escape routes, but they caught me each time.” She sighs. “But I kept dreaming, hoping that one day I’d be free…that one day I’d be sailing on the sea.” And now, here she is, doing just that…albeit not the way she expected.

Seeing the way she looks at the sea, Bucky can’t help but smile. It reminds him of himself as a young kid, just trying to find his place in the world. Still trying to dream. “I love it too.” he chuckles. “Watching the sun rise and set over the horizon, seeing the vast, open sky and all the stars….” He sighs fondly. “There’s nothing like it.”

“Really? I haven’t seen the night sky properly in a long time.”

“I think you’ll love it. Seeing the night sky…it gives me so much peace, and….” he bites his lip slightly, running a hand through his brunette waves. “And I think you could use something like that.” he admits.

“Peace? I haven’t felt that in a very long time.” Bucky’s gaze moves to the floor, his stomach churning as he finds himself unable to meet Y/N’s gaze. Unable to confront what he’s done. He opens his mouth to say something, anything…but then stops, shaking his head. Because what could he possibly say? Apologise for playing a part in destroying her life? For kidnapping her? Sure, it was for her own safety, but he’s not a saint either. She’s right, he’s no hero. 

Before today, he’s never felt like this before, so guilty, so…ashamed. Never had such a desire to be good, to be better.

And he’s definitely never felt so inexplicably drawn to his prisoner before.

But before she can ask what he was going to say, he clears his throat.

“I have a proposition for you.” he offers, and she raises a brow. “You can stay on my ship and have some time to rest and eat, and then you can either stay on board with us with our protection, or we can drop you off on another continent, far away from your father and Brock, with enough funds to get by.”

“Do I have to choose now?”

“Not at all. Take all the time you need.”

“You’d really do that for me?” She asks, still reeling from the fact that a pirate captain is the first and only person in a long time to actually care about her and her safety. Bucky nods. “And how should I know I can trust you?”

“You can’t.” He admits. “But you don't really have any other alternatives, do you? I’m certainly not going to return you to them, or leave you to fend for yourselves with all the other pirates around.” he huffs. Y/N decides not to ask if the other pirates are worse than Bucky and his crew. The look on his face left no doubt that they were.

He’s right, she knows he is. She really doesn’t have a choice here. And besides, soon she can get out of here, and get the freedom she always wanted. She just has to endure some time with this…incredibly intriguing pirate captain. Y/N nods, and Bucky’s grin grows wider. 

“Well, Y/N, welcome aboard.”

The sea crashes against the building, gulls and other sea birds’ cries filling the air. If Y/N turns her head in just the right way, she can even register the faint scent of salt in the air. Closing her eyes, she sighs softly. She longed to be out there, free and happy. Like the heroes and heroines in her stories, free to do whatever they want and travel wherever they want with no one to hold them back.

Instead, she’s trapped here, about to sign her life and her happiness away with nothing she can do about it.

The door opens, hitting against the wall with a loud bang. Y/N doesn’t even flinch anymore, already accustomed to her father’s intimidating presence and all the ways he makes it known. “Good, you’re ready.” He says, stepping in front of her and looking her up and down, his gaze scrutinising her for any imperfections. Her eyes drift beyond him, gazing at the sea and the horizon. “What are you looking at?” He snaps, turning his head to follow her gaze. “For god’s sake.” He mutters. “The sea again?”

“I was just looking, Father.” she responds, her voice soft.

“You’re always ‘just’ looking.” He lets out a derisive snort. “Just asking, just reading, just dreaming, just hoping for something else. When will you get your head out of the clouds, and stop with the disobedience?” he demands, his voice raising in volume.

“I don’t see the harm,” she retorts. "It's not as if-"

“I doubt Brock will like it either.” He huffs, ignoring her. The mention of her fiancé's name sends a shiver down her spine, and the bitter taste of bile rises in her throat.

Brock Rumlow, the son of her father’s late business partner, and heir to his fortune. It’s all the people in their town can talk about. How much sense it made to arrange a marriage between their offspring and continue the family business for generations to come, the unwillingness of the bride be damned.

Brock is just as cruel and cold-hearted as her father. He dismisses her books and business ideas with a condescending sneer, never supporting her goals or dreams, telling her not to trouble herself or ‘fill her pretty head with such matters’ like education or equality. And she’s lost count of the stories she’s heard about other women he’s been seeing, including whilst being with her. This has made her the subject of ridicule throughout society, mocking whispers of: 

“Surely she must know?"

"I doubt it. Her father always says her head is in the clouds. I don't think she would know it was happening. even if she was looking right at it!"

"How mortifying! Can you even imagine it?" following her everywhere she goes.

Yet every time she brings this up, or tries to make her escape, she’s dragged back here. A dull ache pulses in her arm, prompting her to adjust her sleeve and hide the telltale fingerprint shaped bruises. Honestly, she’s given up hope of trying to flee, and resigned herself to being trapped here forever. Her chest tightens, her head fuzzy. And this time, she knows it’s not because her wedding outfit is far too tight and restrictive. 

“He’s already told me as much, you know, and I agree,” her father continues. "Do you believe he actually enjoys being the subject of ridicule? Or that I do?! That all people say about you is how foolish you are to dream?!”

“You’re hardly a laughing stock, Father.” She says. “If anything, it’s me who is.” she murmurs.

“Do not back talk me.” He snaps. “Once you are married, Brock will ensure you become a true lady of society, one suitable for his position.” The thought makes Y/N shudder, and her eyes drop, her gaze now intently focused on the floor.

She’s always too much or too little of something. 

Never just right. 

Never good enough. 

Tears threaten to spill from her eyes at the thought, and she bites her lip so hard she tastes blood, desperately trying to prevent her sobs from escaping.

“Smile, for god’s sake.” her father mutters, lifting her head to meet his. When she doesn’t respond, he leans closer, breath hot on her cheek. “Do you understand me?!”

"Y-Yes, Father," she stammers, her voice trembling slightly. A small, forced smile graces her lips as she nods.

“Good.” he looks her up and down once more. “After all, it is your wedding day. Looking so unhappy makes me look bad too.” He opens the door to the room, his eyes lingering on her for a moment longer. “I’ll be back in five minutes. Don’t try another of your escape attempts.” he warns.

And with another slam of the door, Y/N is finally alone again.

As she and her father approach the end of the aisle, the pounding of Y/N’s heart is now so loud, she can hear it in her ears, intense enough to drown out the greetings Brock and her father give each other. Brock approaches, leering at her, and her stomach churns, her chest tightening with every breath. The priest moves forward, a warm smile gracing his lips. 

If anybody knew she was doing this under duress (and given the looks she got as she walked down the aisle, she definitely suspected people did), nobody wanted to say a word to stop it. The truth of her reality truly hits her then, and her eyes wells up with tears once more.

But before the priest can even say a word, the doors swing open, and a figure saunters in. Immediately, every head in the room turns towards the door, and shocked, furious whispers fill the air.

“Is that?”

"I don't believe it! How dare he?!"

“It can’t be true! Surely not.”

“How dare he show his face here?” Y/N’s father huffs angrily, stepping closer. The crowd parts, and a hush falls as the figure emerges at the top of the aisle. Y/N gasps, recognising him immediately.

After all, his face appears on most of the town's wanted posters. 

Living so close to the sea, Y/N has become well accustomed to tales of pirates plundering ships for their riches. After all, it’s all her father and Brock can talk about with their friends. ...Although it's more to boast that their ships are still safe, rather than concern for others.

But while many pirates are rumoured to sail in the waters beside her town, Bucky Barnes is the most feared, a legend whispered in hushed tones, full of stories of his brutality. Of treasures plundered ruthlessly, and of rivals, their ships reduced to burnt wrecks or sunk beneath the waves without a moment's hesitation. 

And now, he’s at her wedding. 

She didn’t even think it was possible, but somehow he looks far more intimidating in real life than on his wanted posters. He’s tall, and his metal arm gleams in the beams of sunlight peeking through the clouds and through the window. His brunette hair, slightly messy and tangled from the sea air, is pulled back partway into a bun, framing a stubbled face with patches of grey on his chin. Dressed head to toe in black, coat and all, a faint scent of smoke clings to him. Y/N also notices a thin, pale scar beside his left eye. However, Bucky pays her no mind, his piercing blue eyes focused intently on Brock and her father. 

“Hello, gentlemen,” he says. His voice is deep and cold. “Forgive the intrusion. I would’ve waited until the priest asked for any objections…but my patience has run out.” He says, his voice dripping with sarcasm. Y/N’s pulse quickens, and she looks to her father and Brock.

“What in god's name are you doing here? How dare you-“ her father sputters indignantly, but Bucky cuts him off.

“I’m here to collect my payment.” 

“Payment? What in god’s name is he talking about?” she asks, speaking for the first time. Bucky’s eyes flicker to her, and he raises a brow, looking her up and down with a smirk. Y/N hates the feeling that hits her then. Because no matter the amount of blood that undoubtedly stains his hands, or his intimidating nature, Y/N can’t deny how drawn to him she is, or that she finds this blood-soaked, murderous pirate undeniably attractive.

“Oh, you didn’t tell your daughter, our beautiful bride to be, about our arrangement? My, how unfortunate.” Bucky chuckles, only adding to her irritation. 

“Can someone please tell me what is going on here?” she demands angrily.

Even if him calling her beautiful did reignite her feelings towards him. If only slightly. 

“Speaking of,” Bucky muses, ignoring her question. “I’m surprised I didn’t receive an invitation to this spectacle. I’m the one financing it, after all.”

“Excuse me?" Y/N frowns.

“Silence. This doesn’t concern her.” Brock hisses. Bucky scoffs.

“Oh, I think it does.” He responds, another smirk playing on his lips. That only makes Y/N even angrier. Once again, she’s not enough, not smart enough to know about her father and fiancé’s dealings, and it’s treated like a joke. “After all, does she know that you two,” he points to her father and Brock. “Gambled away her inheritance and dowry?”

“You did what?!” she gasps, outraged.

“My darling, why would you ever believe a pirate like him-” Brock says, a condescending sneer on his lips. He steps closer, and she flinches, instinctively moving away from him. Bucky’s eyes narrow, watching Brock’s intense glare, and how Y/N’s body trembles whenever he comes closer. A sense of indignation burns within his blood. He always knew Brock Rumlow and Lord Y/L/N were vile and unscrupulous men, but seeing Y/N, the innocent pawn in their schemes, for the first time ignites a deeper hatred within him.

And for the first time in a long time… Captain Bucky Barnes feels a sharp ache in his chest, and a wave of pity washing over him.

“I hate to be the one to tell you this, my lady, but your father, fiancé and I have a deal.” Bucky explains.

“Don’t you dare,” Brock sputters, his face contorted with anger. "It’s all lies, I have no dealings with-" Bucky cuts him off when he places his sword at his throat.

“Now. As I was saying…” Y/N watches Bucky, trying to gauge his feelings. Oddly enough, he seems… disappointed that he has to be the one to break the news to her, and angry that she had no idea. She can’t help how she feels her heart skip a beat at this revelation, that finally someone cares enough to let her know about something for once. But then, she remembers how complicit Bucky is in everything, and that feeling fades. “They met me in the pub after one of their failed gambling trips, recognised me instantly, of course,” Y/N rolls her eyes. Pompous asshole. “And we came to an agreement. I rob ships and places to keep them on top, and in return, I receive a cut and the freedom to keep doing so once the wedding goes through, thanks to your father’s connections.”

“Lies! It’s all lies!” Her father insists. “How dare you interrupt this day with such baseless accusations?!” 

“Oh, shut up, you pathetic piece of shit.” Bucky snaps. Y/N gasps. No one had ever dared to speak to her father that way before. “I should’ve known trusting you was a terrible idea, but I refuse to let you escape the consequences. I’m here to collect my payment, and what better time to do it?” He steps back, lowering his sword from Brock’s neck. “And isn’t it time Y/N learned the truth about the two of you?”

“Is this true?” Y/N demands. Brock and her father exchange an uneasy glance, neither sure what to say. Y/N’s stomach churns, a mix of confusion, hurt, and anger brewing deep in her gut. And also… vindication. For so long, she knew Brock and her father were horrible people who cared about nothing but money and themselves, and finally she’s been proven right.

She just hates how she’s been an unwilling pawn in it the entire time. “You stole my dowry?! M-My inheritance?!” she spits, her voice trembling. “When were you going to tell me?”

With a dismissive scoff, Brock simply rolls his eyes. “We were hoping you wouldn’t find out like this, or at all.” He lets out a soft, amused chuckle. Like it’s all just a big joke. A surge of anger courses through her, and Y/N clenches her fists. 

“You disgust me. All of you. You have no respect for others, least of all for me-” Brock approaches, his hand raised. Bucky rushes forward, coming to her defence.

But before either of them can react, Y/N is suddenly shoved forward, stumbling towards Bucky. He catches her immediately, pulling her close and holding her tightly against his chest. His body is warm, despite his coming in from the cold, and the cool metal of his arm against her skin. He smells like smoke, as she originally thought, but she can also detect a mixture of other scents. Of whisky, the salty sea air, of musk and sweat. 

He smells…rather intriguing, actually.

But just as quickly as she’s in his arms, burying his nose into his chest, Bucky gently pushes her back again. His eyes narrow once more as they look over her, and for a split second he registers something, his gaze softening. 

But it’s gone before she can dwell on it, so quickly she wonders if she imagined it. If she hoped for a split second that this man had a heart, and that anyone cared about her enough to fight for her.

But of course not.

“Take her.” Brock smirks. “There’s your payment.”

“You repulsive, pathetic man.” Y/N snaps. “How dare you use me like this?!” Bucky lets out a noise, something sounding like a chuckle.‌ 

“Very well.” Bucky nods.

“Excuse me?” Y/N demands, her eyes flashing with anger. “Don’t I get a say in this?” But Bucky is already leading her toward the door. “Father?!” she gasps, horrified and in disbelief.

Her father just stands there, watching the scene unfold without a word.

She struggles in Bucky’s arms, his grasp tightening. Nobody steps forward to help her, terrified to even approach the legendary, ruthless captain. 

“Stop struggling.” Bucky hisses. He kicks open the door, and the pair spill into the chill air.

“No!” she snaps, squirming and kicking. “How dare you?! How dare possessive men like you think you have any claim over me, or t-that my worth is tied to my wealth or my body?! You ruined my life!”

“I can assure you, I’ve done no such thing.” he says, his voice low, his patience clearly waning.

“You’re literally kidnapping me right now, you-”

Bucky doesn’t answer, continuing to pull her through the streets towards the docks, ensuring they’re kept out of sight. His lack of response, and his refusal to admit or acknowledge what he’s doing only makes her angrier, and her escape attempt more determined. But Bucky is strong, his metal arm holding her back.

“Will you stop?!” is all he says once they’re aboard the ship. She’s about to bite back, tell him he has no right to be so angry at her, that she is the one who deserves to be angry. But Bucky’s eyes move away from her face, landing on something else. His jaw clenches, and his eyes narrow, the icy blue sparkle darkening. “Y/N. Who did this to you?” he demands. 

“W-What?” she frowns, blinking in confusion. She follows Bucky’s gaze. When she sees what she’s looking at, her blood runs cold. In the scuffle, her dress sleeve must’ve rolled up, exposing the bruises on her arm. 

“Y/N.” Bucky repeats. “Who did this to you?” She stays silent. Because what is there to say? Tell the pirate Captain who just kidnapped her that yes, her fiancé is violent? That her father knows and turns a blind eye, because he’s just as bad? Bucky steps closer, and she flinches, her heart pounding so hard it could break out of her chest.

The second she flinches, Bucky stops. “Don’t worry. I promise I won’t hurt you.” he says, his voice warmer, softer. She still watches him, terrified, like prey backed into a corner.

Why does this kidnapping feel like the first time someone has ever cared for her before?

He raises his human hand. “May I?” 

He doesn’t move until she nods tentatively, and even then he continues to move slowly, gently dabbing her under eyes with his handkerchief. His skin brushes against her slightly, and it tingles. When Bucky sees what’s there, he tenses. The makeup did a good job of covering it before the ceremony, but the unmistakable remnants of a black eye still linger. “Was it Brock?” he asks, and she nods. “And the bruises?” Another nod. “Sick bastard.” he huffs.

“You worked with him.” She snaps back, her voice sharp.

“I know,” he nods. “But I had no other choice. It was for my crew and I’s survival. It was years ago, we were desperate for money.”

“You still did it.” He sighs, nodding.

“You’re right. If I’d have known he was doing this to you, though….” his metal arm clenches, whirring. “There’s no excuse for people who hurt the innocent.” Y/N scoffs, rolling her eyes.

“Please don’t act like you’re the hero in this story.” Bucky raises a brow. “You don’t get the reputation of being a bloodthirsty, murderous pirate without good reason.”

“I’m a pirate, Y/N. I’m not a monster.” he shakes his head. “That was merely for show back there, and the stories about me are greatly exaggerated.” When she doesn’t respond, he sighs. “I understand your reservations, but you can trust me. I swear I won’t hurt you. I steal, yes. But it’s purely for survival. And my crew and I only hurt people who deserve it.” his voice lowers, and his eyes narrow again. "And your fiancé," he spits. "Definitely deserves it."

Honestly, Y/N doesn’t know what to think. He seems honest, his tone sincere. And judging by the way his facial expression changed when he saw how Brock looked at her and the bruises, he seems to genuinely care about her.

But he still kidnapped her. He still conspired with her father and Brock.

“Why did you take me?” she asks, her voice quiet. “Clearly not for ransom, considering they stole all my-” Her voice breaks, and tears begin to fall. Bucky glances around, checking members of his crew aren't close enough to see her tears, and gently ushers her into his quarters. He offers her a whisky bottle, the scent of the rich liquor making her head spin. She shakes her head, and Bucky takes a swig. “Why are you doing this to me?” she manages to ask through her tears. “Why are you being so nice to me after you just kidnapped me?”

“Have a seat.” He offers, sitting at his desk. Sniffling and too exhausted and frightened to argue back, Y/N sits, sinking into the plush velvet of the chair. “I took you because I saw you.” When she frowns, he continues. “Well, I saw how frightened you were, and how you flinched whenever Brock or your father came near you. And I just knew that leaving you with them wasn't an option.”

“So you…kidnapped me?”

“What else was I supposed to do?” He raises a brow. He’s right, she knows he is. At the very least, she is free from Brock and her father now. She takes a deep breath, feeling as if an immense weight has been lifted from her.

"That's… very kind of you," she murmurs, a soft smile playing on her lips. “Thank you.” At the sight of her smile, Bucky smiles too. 

“No need to thank me.” Immediately, Y/N’s heart rate picks up again, but not with fear this time.

He really is beautiful when he smiles. 

Oh god, why is she thinking this way about her kidnapper?

Her head turns to the window, staring out at the sea as it crashes against the ship. Bucky chuckles softly. “You love the sea?”

“I do. I used to dream of being swept away to uncharted lands by the sea, somewhere far away from Brock and my father. They always told me to stop dreaming, that it was unbecoming of a lady of my stature, but it didn’t stop me.” she explains. Bucky listens intently, completely captivated. “I planned so many escape routes, but they caught me each time.” She sighs. “But I kept dreaming, hoping that one day I’d be free…that one day I’d be sailing on the sea.” And now, here she is, doing just that…albeit not the way she expected.

Seeing the way she looks at the sea, Bucky can’t help but smile. It reminds him of himself as a young kid, just trying to find his place in the world. Still trying to dream. “I love it too.” he chuckles. “Watching the sun rise and set over the horizon, seeing the vast, open sky and all the stars….” He sighs fondly. “There’s nothing like it.”

“Really? I haven’t seen the night sky properly in a long time.”

“I think you’ll love it. Seeing the night sky…it gives me so much peace, and….” he bites his lip slightly, running a hand through his brunette waves. “And I think you could use something like that.” he admits.

“Peace? I haven’t felt that in a very long time.” Bucky’s gaze moves to the floor, his stomach churning as he finds himself unable to meet Y/N’s gaze. Unable to confront what he’s done. He opens his mouth to say something, anything…but then stops, shaking his head. Because what could he possibly say? Apologise for playing a part in destroying her life? For kidnapping her? Sure, it was for her own safety, but he’s not a saint either. She’s right, he’s no hero. 

Before today, he’s never felt like this before, so guilty, so…ashamed. Never had such a desire to be good, to be better.

And he’s definitely never felt so inexplicably drawn to his prisoner before.

But before she can ask what he was going to say, he clears his throat.

“I have a proposition for you.” he offers, and she raises a brow. “You can stay on my ship and have some time to rest and eat, and then you can either stay on board with us with our protection, or we can drop you off on another continent, far away from your father and Brock, with enough funds to get by.”

“Do I have to choose now?”

“Not at all. Take all the time you need.”

“You’d really do that for me?” She asks, still reeling from the fact that a pirate captain is the first and only person in a long time to actually care about her and her safety. Bucky nods. “And how should I know I can trust you?”

“You can’t.” He admits. “But you don't really have any other alternatives, do you? I’m certainly not going to return you to them, or leave you to fend for yourselves with all the other pirates around.” he huffs. Y/N decides not to ask if the other pirates are worse than Bucky and his crew. The look on his face left no doubt that they were.

He’s right, she knows he is. She really doesn’t have a choice here. And besides, soon she can get out of here, and get the freedom she always wanted. She just has to endure some time with this…incredibly intriguing pirate captain. Y/N nods, and Bucky’s grin grows wider. 

“Well, Y/N, welcome aboard.”

Sunlight streams through the window, illuminating the room in a soft, golden glow. Birds chirp outside, creating a peaceful melody, and a chill breeze blows through the leaves. It’s quiet, peaceful. Inside, Charlie sits on a chair, fast asleep. Rope binds her to the chair, and her head lolls forward. Sleep and Charlie Cale have… a tumultuous relationship, to say the least. She slept well as a child, but as she grew up, her long shifts at the casino took a toll on her mentally, physically...and especially her sleep. While on the run, sleep was a luxury she couldn’t afford, her senses always on high alert, preparing for danger. 

But in the days she spent with Luca, those short, yet happy days… she was okay.

She was incredible, actually. She was safe. She felt loved. Luca protected her.

And now, it’s all over.

“Morning, sleepyhead.” Charlie bolts awake at the voice, her eyes snapping open. “Wondered how long it’d take you to wake up. I’ve just been sitting here watching you drool all over yourself.” Alex chuckles, twirling a knife between her fingers, the blade glinting in the light.

Charlie groans, her body throbbing with a dull ache as she slowly wakes up. A wave of nausea and dizziness washes over her, the world still spinning despite her attempts to blink it away.

“Hey. Look at me when I’m talking to you.” Alex snaps, clicking her fingers in front of Charlie’s face. Memories come back then, albeit hazy. A bag over her head, a sharp sting at her neck. Then nothing.

“Luca.” Charlie murmurs, her voice panicked. “W-Where’s Luca…?” Her heart pounds against her ribs, and she writhes in the chair, grunting as she strains against her bindings, desperately trying to free herself. But it makes no difference. Charlie slumps against the back of the chair, tears welling in her eyes as the aching sense of hopelessness floods throughout her blood. She fights the urge to cry, determined not to let Alex witness her pain. 

But it’s too late.

“Aw.” Alex pouts mockingly, her expression soon growing into a smirk. “You don’t remember, do you? I must’ve drugged you pretty strongly. But you have been out for a couple of days.” she laughs proudly, grinning triumphantly. “You broke his heart, remember? So…he’s probably not coming for you.”

“But I don’t love you.” All at once, everything comes rushing back, completely overwhelming her. The pain, the lies… and the heartbreak, the anguish, on Luca’s face. Poor, lovesick Luca’s face. Charlie’s gut twists. She was doing this to save him, and to keep him safe. That’s what matters.

But she still feels like the worst person in the entire world.

“That’s not what I’m interested in right now, though. I went through your pockets when you were asleep, and just look what I found.” Alex chuckles, plunging her knife into the armrest of the chair between Charlie’s fingers, making Charlie jump and ‌cry out:

“Jesus-” Charlie looks up, seeing an all too familiar device dangling from Alex’s grip.

Her panic alarm. Charlie’s chest tightens, sucking all the air out of her lungs. "No. No, no, no."

“How sweet.” Alex chuckles. “Your boyfriend really thought he could save you, huh?”

“You said I broke his heart. And he’s not my-”

“Bullshit.” She scoffs. “I saw the way he looks at you, Charlie. That man is whipped for you. So romantic, isn’t it? Just like a fairytale, with you as the damsel in distress.” Alex pauses, chuckling. “Or would you prefer I call you Lady Galahad?” Alex smirks. Charlie’s blood runs cold, hardening to ice in her veins.

More memories hit her then, sudden and intense, persisting despite her attempts to stop them.

Natalie. The face she sees every time she wakes up, and every time she goes to sleep. The first person she couldn’t save, but the one she wanted to, so, so badly. The failure that’s haunted her ever since. An all too familiar hollow ache, the stinging feeling of failure, drops into her gut. 

“Don’t you ever call me that name again.” she spits, leaning forward despite the pain of the rope digging into her skin. Alex simply laughs. 

“Galahad. The most gallant and perfect of the knights.” She continues, grabbing Charlie's shoulder and yanking her back into the chair. “Doesn’t really fit you though, does it, Charlie?" she chuckles, digging her fingers deeper into Charlie’s shoulder. “I mean, you’re a fucking mess.”

“Yeah, well, being hunted by a serial killer will do that to you.” Charlie snaps. Alex continues, ignoring her.

“That's what this has all been for, right? Trying to help people, save them. To bring justice against people like me. All because you couldn’t keep your best friend alive. Because you failed.” 

That fills Charlie with even more rage. Not because she doesn’t think she’s a failure, no, Charlie knows she is. 

It’s because only Charlie Cale gets to call herself a fucking failure.

“Keep her name out of your fucking mouth-“ Charlie orders, her voice breaking. She thrashes against her restraints, her breath coming in ragged gasps as she strains to free herself and reach Alex.

“And then you failed at protecting Beatrix.”

“That was your fault, actually.” Alex shrugs, grinning. Charlie’s urge to wipe that grin off ‌her face intensifies.

“They say bad things come in threes, don’t they? So, let’s see if you're unlucky this time too, and invite Luca to join us.” Alex chuckles, holding the panic alarm aloft, out of Charlie’s reach.

“Y-You really think that’s a good idea?” Charlie stammers, trying to hide her fear. “He’ll bring all his agent friends down here to stop you too. He’s smart, he’ll know this is a trap.”

Alex laughs, rolling her eyes. “Oh, please. He’s not that smart. He couldn’t even figure out who I was. And I’ve seen how that man looks at you. He would do absolutely anything to find you, Charlie. And he’s so stupidly lovesick, and so determined, he’d do it all by himself, which is exactly what I need.”

She’s right. Charlie knows she is. Luca has always wanted to be the hero, even when it could put him at risk. He would absolutely come for her alone. And that’s because he’s such a good person, far better than Charlie could ever be. That doesn’t make him stupid. It makes him brave. 

Luca told her once that the only reason‌ he got his promotion was because of her, and that she’s the smartest one out of them both. Charlie laughed it off, even though she knew it was wrong. Luca Clark is an incredible agent, much better than he ever gives himself credit for. And god, Charlie wishes Luca could see himself the way she sees him, and realise just how smart, compassionate and committed he is. 

He’s already saved her ass before. 

Now, it's up to Charlie to save his.

Alex’s finger hovers over the button, and Charlie’s eyes widen.

“No. No.” Charlie gasps, her stomach lurching. Instantly, her anger disappears, replaced by pure, primal fear. “He has nothing to do with this, Alex, please!”

“Bullshit. He has everything to do with this.” Alex tilts her head, watching Charlie struggle and panic. “It’s hilarious seeing you panic like this, you know? I thought Charlie Cale only ever wanted to be alone, and only cared about herself.” Charlie grunts and swears, straining and trying with all her might to lean forward and snatch the alarm right out of Alex’s hand. The rope strains against her, burning as it digs into her skin and causing her to swear, but Charlie pushes through it.

“Alex, please.” Charlie begs, tears streaming down her face. “Why don’t you just kill me instead, get it over with. I’m the one you want, it’s always been me! Just-“

“Oh, I am going to kill you.” She chuckles. “But I’m going to kill him first, and make you watch.” 

And with that, she presses the button on the panic alarm.

Meanwhile, Luca is sitting in his car by the side of the road. His head is in his hands, and he groans as he runs his fingers through his hair. His half-finished coffee and fast-food breakfast sit beside him, and he tiredly rubs his eyes. He’s been desperately searching for Charlie ever since she left, with little success… or sleep. Clearly, she wants to be hidden, and considering everything that’s been going on, that’s understandable.

Yet… Luca can’t forget the look on her face when she told him she never wanted to see him again. He’s replayed the scene at least a thousand times since then, trying to decipher every word she said, every shift in her expression, and try as he might, he can’t stop thinking about what that could mean. Or can't stop thinking about the one possibility he doesn't want to confront.

That maybe she wasn’t in danger, and that he was just seeing what he wanted to see. Maybe whatever they had is gone, or it wasn’t even there at all.

Maybe Charlie truly doesn’t want to be found.

Or at least… not by Luca.

But just as he’s about to consider calling it quits, his phone beeps loudly. Immediately, he’s wide awake, grabbing his phone and checking the alert. Charlie’s panic alarm has been activated. His heart pounds against his ribs, his hands shaking uncontrollably. He was right, Charlie is in danger. She’s close by, an hour max. But Luca could make it even quicker than that. 

The thought that this is a little too convenient - that Charlie’s panic button would suddenly activate just as he’s thinking about her, and this could be a trap - crosses his mind, but his determination to find Charlie and keep her safe is so strong that it overpowers everything else. Luca types the address into his GPS, and quickly heads back onto the road.

The address belongs to a house in the middle of nowhere. The paint is peeling off the walls, and a few of the windows are broken too. An eerie quiet hangs in the air, and everything is still. Immediately, Luca’s breath hitches, the hair on the back of his neck standing up. He steps up towards the door, pushing it open. The door creaks, the sound echoing through the house. Stepping inside, Luca’s hands instinctively go to his gun as he looks around for any sign of Charlie.

Footsteps approach, and he lets out a sigh. “Jesus, don’t scare me like that-”

But then, hard and cold metal presses against the back of his neck. “Hello again, Luca.” Alex chuckles. “Wasn’t too smart of you to come to an abandoned house all alone, was it?”

“Pointing a gun at an armed FBI agent isn't exactly a smart move either.” Luca retorts, and she scoffs dismissively.

“Pull that on me, and I’ll make Charlie pay whilst you watch.” Luca immediately freezes, his body tense as his breath catches in his throat. He knew it. This was a trap.

“Where is she, Alex?”

“Upstairs. She’s waiting for you.” Alex teases, pressing the gun harder into the back of Luca’s neck. “So let’s walk.”

Sure enough, upstairs Charlie remains tied to her chair, with tape covering her mouth. Luca’s heart stops. He breaks away from Alex, dropping to his knees before Charlie. “Oh my god. Charlie, shit-” he fumbles, his hands still shaking as he tries to remove the rope from her wrists and ankles.

“Uh uh.” Alex tuts, pointing her gun at him. “Sit, Luca.” Luca ignores her, completely focused on helping Charlie. “Hey, didn’t you hear me? I said SIT-”

Luca turns, striking Alex hard across her face. She hisses, stumbling backwards, momentarily disoriented. Charlie blinks at Luca in confusion as he takes the tape off her mouth. That was fucking awesome, but completely unexpected. “Why the hell did you do that?! That’s just gonna piss her off-” 

But as Alex goes to grab Charlie this time, Luca fends her off once more. Charlie watches the pair fighting, wanting to help but not sure how, other than throwing out encouraging words to Luca. The pair fight well, but after a while, Luca fails to dodge one of Alex’s hits, leading to her momentarily gaining the upper hand. Pulling out her gun, she aims it right at Charlie’s temple. “Sit….” she repeats, panting. “Or I’ll shoot her.” Panicked, Luca’s eyes dart between her and Charlie, weighing up what he could do. When he locks eyes with Charlie, she frantically shakes her head, urging him to drop it and do what Alex says. 

And Luca does as he’s told.

“Good.” Alex looks between them both, still keeping the gun pointed at Charlie, a silent warning in case Luca tries anything.

“Alex, let him go, I told you-” 

“Shut up!” She hisses. “Now…I’m going to make you regret ever crossing me.” She pants, her eyes wild with rage and adrenaline. “And we’re going to start with-”

But then, someone violently kicks open the door downstairs, and other voices fill the air.

“FBI! Hands in the air!” 

“What the hell did you do?!” Alex demands.

And everything descends into chaos. Glass breaks, doors are kicked open… and through it all, Luca and Charlie keep their gazes locked on each other. Panicking, Alex tries to make a break for the door, but it’s too late, and she’s easily overpowered by the approaching agents, who subdue her and drag her outside. Charlie pants, trying to make sense of everything. Her heart rate is still going a million miles an hour, pounding in her ears like a drum, and she’s still shaking.

“Guys, can we give her a minute?” Luca asks. Suddenly, he’s in front of her again, gently taking her hands. His touch is warm and gentle, and he runs his hands along her knuckles. “It’s okay. Shh, shh….” he soothes, holding her as she calms down.

“W-What the hell happened?” Charlie gasps, making him chuckle.

“I knew something was suspicious when I saw the house. I called for backup just in case.” He removes the rope that binds her wrists and ankles with a smile. “There you go. You're safe now.”

As soon as she hears those words, Charlie starts sobbing.

“See? I told you it was a good idea to have a panic alarm, didn’t I?” Luca grins, his grin immediately faltering as he realises that wasn't the best thing to say, or the best time to say it.

But Charlie’s too grateful to care. She lunges forward, almost sending Luca to the floor with the speed she tackles him into a hug. “Whoa, hey, it’s okay-“ Charlie sobs into his shirt, and he wraps his arms around her, holding her up as her body shakes. “It’s alright, it’s okay. It’s over now.”

“I didn’t mean what I said, I-she made me do it. She threatened you, and-” Charlie mumbles.

 “I know. I know. It’s okay.” Luca holds her until she calms down. He doesn’t loosen his grip, even when he’s sure she’ll be okay. Because for once, everything in their life is going well for them, and he’s terrified that this is still a dream, that if he lets her go, he’ll lose her forever. He buries his face in her hair, inhaling her scent. She smells like home, like new beginnings.

“What’s going to happen to us?” Charlie murmurs. “Are you going to arrest me?”

He has to. They both know it. There’s no way they make it out of this, in any universe. But god, Luca will do everything in his power to make sure they do, even if it's til his last breath.

“No.” Luca insists. “I won’t let anything happen to you ever again, Charlie. I promise.”

Sunlight streams through the window, illuminating the room in a soft, golden glow. Birds chirp outside, creating a peaceful melody, and a chill breeze blows through the leaves. It’s quiet, peaceful. Inside, Charlie sits on a chair, fast asleep. Rope binds her to the chair, and her head lolls forward. Sleep and Charlie Cale have… a tumultuous relationship, to say the least. She slept well as a child, but as she grew up, her long shifts at the casino took a toll on her mentally, physically...and especially her sleep. While on the run, sleep was a luxury she couldn’t afford, her senses always on high alert, preparing for danger. 

But in the days she spent with Luca, those short, yet happy days… she was okay.

She was incredible, actually. She was safe. She felt loved. Luca protected her.

And now, it’s all over.

“Morning, sleepyhead.” Charlie bolts awake at the voice, her eyes snapping open. “Wondered how long it’d take you to wake up. I’ve just been sitting here watching you drool all over yourself.” Alex chuckles, twirling a knife between her fingers, the blade glinting in the light.

Charlie groans, her body throbbing with a dull ache as she slowly wakes up. A wave of nausea and dizziness washes over her, the world still spinning despite her attempts to blink it away.

“Hey. Look at me when I’m talking to you.” Alex snaps, clicking her fingers in front of Charlie’s face. Memories come back then, albeit hazy. A bag over her head, a sharp sting at her neck. Then nothing.

“Luca.” Charlie murmurs, her voice panicked. “W-Where’s Luca…?” Her heart pounds against her ribs, and she writhes in the chair, grunting as she strains against her bindings, desperately trying to free herself. But it makes no difference. Charlie slumps against the back of the chair, tears welling in her eyes as the aching sense of hopelessness floods throughout her blood. She fights the urge to cry, determined not to let Alex witness her pain. 

But it’s too late.

“Aw.” Alex pouts mockingly, her expression soon growing into a smirk. “You don’t remember, do you? I must’ve drugged you pretty strongly. But you have been out for a couple of days.” she laughs proudly, grinning triumphantly. “You broke his heart, remember? So…he’s probably not coming for you.”

“But I don’t love you.” All at once, everything comes rushing back, completely overwhelming her. The pain, the lies… and the heartbreak, the anguish, on Luca’s face. Poor, lovesick Luca’s face. Charlie’s gut twists. She was doing this to save him, and to keep him safe. That’s what matters.

But she still feels like the worst person in the entire world.

“That’s not what I’m interested in right now, though. I went through your pockets when you were asleep, and just look what I found.” Alex chuckles, plunging her knife into the armrest of the chair between Charlie’s fingers, making Charlie jump and ‌cry out:

“Jesus-” Charlie looks up, seeing an all too familiar device dangling from Alex’s grip.

Her panic alarm. Charlie’s chest tightens, sucking all the air out of her lungs. "No. No, no, no."

“How sweet.” Alex chuckles. “Your boyfriend really thought he could save you, huh?”

“You said I broke his heart. And he’s not my-”

“Bullshit.” She scoffs. “I saw the way he looks at you, Charlie. That man is whipped for you. So romantic, isn’t it? Just like a fairytale, with you as the damsel in distress.” Alex pauses, chuckling. “Or would you prefer I call you Lady Galahad?” Alex smirks. Charlie’s blood runs cold, hardening to ice in her veins.

More memories hit her then, sudden and intense, persisting despite her attempts to stop them.

Natalie. The face she sees every time she wakes up, and every time she goes to sleep. The first person she couldn’t save, but the one she wanted to, so, so badly. The failure that’s haunted her ever since. An all too familiar hollow ache, the stinging feeling of failure, drops into her gut. 

“Don’t you ever call me that name again.” she spits, leaning forward despite the pain of the rope digging into her skin. Alex simply laughs. 

“Galahad. The most gallant and perfect of the knights.” She continues, grabbing Charlie's shoulder and yanking her back into the chair. “Doesn’t really fit you though, does it, Charlie?" she chuckles, digging her fingers deeper into Charlie’s shoulder. “I mean, you’re a fucking mess.”

“Yeah, well, being hunted by a serial killer will do that to you.” Charlie snaps. Alex continues, ignoring her.

“That's what this has all been for, right? Trying to help people, save them. To bring justice against people like me. All because you couldn’t keep your best friend alive. Because you failed.” 

That fills Charlie with even more rage. Not because she doesn’t think she’s a failure, no, Charlie knows she is. 

It’s because only Charlie Cale gets to call herself a fucking failure.

“Keep her name out of your fucking mouth-“ Charlie orders, her voice breaking. She thrashes against her restraints, her breath coming in ragged gasps as she strains to free herself and reach Alex.

“And then you failed at protecting Beatrix.”

“That was your fault, actually.” Alex shrugs, grinning. Charlie’s urge to wipe that grin off ‌her face intensifies.

“They say bad things come in threes, don’t they? So, let’s see if you're unlucky this time too, and invite Luca to join us.” Alex chuckles, holding the panic alarm aloft, out of Charlie’s reach.

“Y-You really think that’s a good idea?” Charlie stammers, trying to hide her fear. “He’ll bring all his agent friends down here to stop you too. He’s smart, he’ll know this is a trap.”

Alex laughs, rolling her eyes. “Oh, please. He’s not that smart. He couldn’t even figure out who I was. And I’ve seen how that man looks at you. He would do absolutely anything to find you, Charlie. And he’s so stupidly lovesick, and so determined, he’d do it all by himself, which is exactly what I need.”

She’s right. Charlie knows she is. Luca has always wanted to be the hero, even when it could put him at risk. He would absolutely come for her alone. And that’s because he’s such a good person, far better than Charlie could ever be. That doesn’t make him stupid. It makes him brave. 

Luca told her once that the only reason‌ he got his promotion was because of her, and that she’s the smartest one out of them both. Charlie laughed it off, even though she knew it was wrong. Luca Clark is an incredible agent, much better than he ever gives himself credit for. And god, Charlie wishes Luca could see himself the way she sees him, and realise just how smart, compassionate and committed he is. 

He’s already saved her ass before. 

Now, it's up to Charlie to save his.

Alex’s finger hovers over the button, and Charlie’s eyes widen.

“No. No.” Charlie gasps, her stomach lurching. Instantly, her anger disappears, replaced by pure, primal fear. “He has nothing to do with this, Alex, please!”

“Bullshit. He has everything to do with this.” Alex tilts her head, watching Charlie struggle and panic. “It’s hilarious seeing you panic like this, you know? I thought Charlie Cale only ever wanted to be alone, and only cared about herself.” Charlie grunts and swears, straining and trying with all her might to lean forward and snatch the alarm right out of Alex’s hand. The rope strains against her, burning as it digs into her skin and causing her to swear, but Charlie pushes through it.

“Alex, please.” Charlie begs, tears streaming down her face. “Why don’t you just kill me instead, get it over with. I’m the one you want, it’s always been me! Just-“

“Oh, I am going to kill you.” She chuckles. “But I’m going to kill him first, and make you watch.” 

And with that, she presses the button on the panic alarm.

Meanwhile, Luca is sitting in his car by the side of the road. His head is in his hands, and he groans as he runs his fingers through his hair. His half-finished coffee and fast-food breakfast sit beside him, and he tiredly rubs his eyes. He’s been desperately searching for Charlie ever since she left, with little success… or sleep. Clearly, she wants to be hidden, and considering everything that’s been going on, that’s understandable.

Yet… Luca can’t forget the look on her face when she told him she never wanted to see him again. He’s replayed the scene at least a thousand times since then, trying to decipher every word she said, every shift in her expression, and try as he might, he can’t stop thinking about what that could mean. Or can't stop thinking about the one possibility he doesn't want to confront.

That maybe she wasn’t in danger, and that he was just seeing what he wanted to see. Maybe whatever they had is gone, or it wasn’t even there at all.

Maybe Charlie truly doesn’t want to be found.

Or at least… not by Luca.

But just as he’s about to consider calling it quits, his phone beeps loudly. Immediately, he’s wide awake, grabbing his phone and checking the alert. Charlie’s panic alarm has been activated. His heart pounds against his ribs, his hands shaking uncontrollably. He was right, Charlie is in danger. She’s close by, an hour max. But Luca could make it even quicker than that. 

The thought that this is a little too convenient - that Charlie’s panic button would suddenly activate just as he’s thinking about her, and this could be a trap - crosses his mind, but his determination to find Charlie and keep her safe is so strong that it overpowers everything else. Luca types the address into his GPS, and quickly heads back onto the road.

The address belongs to a house in the middle of nowhere. The paint is peeling off the walls, and a few of the windows are broken too. An eerie quiet hangs in the air, and everything is still. Immediately, Luca’s breath hitches, the hair on the back of his neck standing up. He steps up towards the door, pushing it open. The door creaks, the sound echoing through the house. Stepping inside, Luca’s hands instinctively go to his gun as he looks around for any sign of Charlie.

Footsteps approach, and he lets out a sigh. “Jesus, don’t scare me like that-”

But then, hard and cold metal presses against the back of his neck. “Hello again, Luca.” Alex chuckles. “Wasn’t too smart of you to come to an abandoned house all alone, was it?”

“Pointing a gun at an armed FBI agent isn't exactly a smart move either.” Luca retorts, and she scoffs dismissively.

“Pull that on me, and I’ll make Charlie pay whilst you watch.” Luca immediately freezes, his body tense as his breath catches in his throat. He knew it. This was a trap.

“Where is she, Alex?”

“Upstairs. She’s waiting for you.” Alex teases, pressing the gun harder into the back of Luca’s neck. “So let’s walk.”

Sure enough, upstairs Charlie remains tied to her chair, with tape covering her mouth. Luca’s heart stops. He breaks away from Alex, dropping to his knees before Charlie. “Oh my god. Charlie, shit-” he fumbles, his hands still shaking as he tries to remove the rope from her wrists and ankles.

“Uh uh.” Alex tuts, pointing her gun at him. “Sit, Luca.” Luca ignores her, completely focused on helping Charlie. “Hey, didn’t you hear me? I said SIT-”

Luca turns, striking Alex hard across her face. She hisses, stumbling backwards, momentarily disoriented. Charlie blinks at Luca in confusion as he takes the tape off her mouth. That was fucking awesome, but completely unexpected. “Why the hell did you do that?! That’s just gonna piss her off-” 

But as Alex goes to grab Charlie this time, Luca fends her off once more. Charlie watches the pair fighting, wanting to help but not sure how, other than throwing out encouraging words to Luca. The pair fight well, but after a while, Luca fails to dodge one of Alex’s hits, leading to her momentarily gaining the upper hand. Pulling out her gun, she aims it right at Charlie’s temple. “Sit….” she repeats, panting. “Or I’ll shoot her.” Panicked, Luca’s eyes dart between her and Charlie, weighing up what he could do. When he locks eyes with Charlie, she frantically shakes her head, urging him to drop it and do what Alex says. 

And Luca does as he’s told.

“Good.” Alex looks between them both, still keeping the gun pointed at Charlie, a silent warning in case Luca tries anything.

“Alex, let him go, I told you-” 

“Shut up!” She hisses. “Now…I’m going to make you regret ever crossing me.” She pants, her eyes wild with rage and adrenaline. “And we’re going to start with-”

But then, someone violently kicks open the door downstairs, and other voices fill the air.

“FBI! Hands in the air!” 

“What the hell did you do?!” Alex demands.

And everything descends into chaos. Glass breaks, doors are kicked open… and through it all, Luca and Charlie keep their gazes locked on each other. Panicking, Alex tries to make a break for the door, but it’s too late, and she’s easily overpowered by the approaching agents, who subdue her and drag her outside. Charlie pants, trying to make sense of everything. Her heart rate is still going a million miles an hour, pounding in her ears like a drum, and she’s still shaking.

“Guys, can we give her a minute?” Luca asks. Suddenly, he’s in front of her again, gently taking her hands. His touch is warm and gentle, and he runs his hands along her knuckles. “It’s okay. Shh, shh….” he soothes, holding her as she calms down.

“W-What the hell happened?” Charlie gasps, making him chuckle.

“I knew something was suspicious when I saw the house. I called for backup just in case.” He removes the rope that binds her wrists and ankles with a smile. “There you go. You're safe now.”

As soon as she hears those words, Charlie starts sobbing.

“See? I told you it was a good idea to have a panic alarm, didn’t I?” Luca grins, his grin immediately faltering as he realises that wasn't the best thing to say, or the best time to say it.

But Charlie’s too grateful to care. She lunges forward, almost sending Luca to the floor with the speed she tackles him into a hug. “Whoa, hey, it’s okay-“ Charlie sobs into his shirt, and he wraps his arms around her, holding her up as her body shakes. “It’s alright, it’s okay. It’s over now.”

“I didn’t mean what I said, I-she made me do it. She threatened you, and-” Charlie mumbles.

 “I know. I know. It’s okay.” Luca holds her until she calms down. He doesn’t loosen his grip, even when he’s sure she’ll be okay. Because for once, everything in their life is going well for them, and he’s terrified that this is still a dream, that if he lets her go, he’ll lose her forever. He buries his face in her hair, inhaling her scent. She smells like home, like new beginnings.

“What’s going to happen to us?” Charlie murmurs. “Are you going to arrest me?”

He has to. They both know it. There’s no way they make it out of this, in any universe. But god, Luca will do everything in his power to make sure they do, even if it's til his last breath.

“No.” Luca insists. “I won’t let anything happen to you ever again, Charlie. I promise.”

Sunlight streams through the window, illuminating the room in a soft, golden glow. Birds chirp outside, creating a peaceful melody, and a chill breeze blows through the leaves. It’s quiet, peaceful. Inside, Charlie sits on a chair, fast asleep. Rope binds her to the chair, and her head lolls forward. Sleep and Charlie Cale have… a tumultuous relationship, to say the least. She slept well as a child, but as she grew up, her long shifts at the casino took a toll on her mentally, physically...and especially her sleep. While on the run, sleep was a luxury she couldn’t afford, her senses always on high alert, preparing for danger. 

But in the days she spent with Luca, those short, yet happy days… she was okay.

She was incredible, actually. She was safe. She felt loved. Luca protected her.

And now, it’s all over.

“Morning, sleepyhead.” Charlie bolts awake at the voice, her eyes snapping open. “Wondered how long it’d take you to wake up. I’ve just been sitting here watching you drool all over yourself.” Alex chuckles, twirling a knife between her fingers, the blade glinting in the light.

Charlie groans, her body throbbing with a dull ache as she slowly wakes up. A wave of nausea and dizziness washes over her, the world still spinning despite her attempts to blink it away.

“Hey. Look at me when I’m talking to you.” Alex snaps, clicking her fingers in front of Charlie’s face. Memories come back then, albeit hazy. A bag over her head, a sharp sting at her neck. Then nothing.

“Luca.” Charlie murmurs, her voice panicked. “W-Where’s Luca…?” Her heart pounds against her ribs, and she writhes in the chair, grunting as she strains against her bindings, desperately trying to free herself. But it makes no difference. Charlie slumps against the back of the chair, tears welling in her eyes as the aching sense of hopelessness floods throughout her blood. She fights the urge to cry, determined not to let Alex witness her pain. 

But it’s too late.

“Aw.” Alex pouts mockingly, her expression soon growing into a smirk. “You don’t remember, do you? I must’ve drugged you pretty strongly. But you have been out for a couple of days.” she laughs proudly, grinning triumphantly. “You broke his heart, remember? So…he’s probably not coming for you.”

“But I don’t love you.” All at once, everything comes rushing back, completely overwhelming her. The pain, the lies… and the heartbreak, the anguish, on Luca’s face. Poor, lovesick Luca’s face. Charlie’s gut twists. She was doing this to save him, and to keep him safe. That’s what matters.

But she still feels like the worst person in the entire world.

“That’s not what I’m interested in right now, though. I went through your pockets when you were asleep, and just look what I found.” Alex chuckles, plunging her knife into the armrest of the chair between Charlie’s fingers, making Charlie jump and ‌cry out:

“Jesus-” Charlie looks up, seeing an all too familiar device dangling from Alex’s grip.

Her panic alarm. Charlie’s chest tightens, sucking all the air out of her lungs. "No. No, no, no."

“How sweet.” Alex chuckles. “Your boyfriend really thought he could save you, huh?”

“You said I broke his heart. And he’s not my-”

“Bullshit.” She scoffs. “I saw the way he looks at you, Charlie. That man is whipped for you. So romantic, isn’t it? Just like a fairytale, with you as the damsel in distress.” Alex pauses, chuckling. “Or would you prefer I call you Lady Galahad?” Alex smirks. Charlie’s blood runs cold, hardening to ice in her veins.

More memories hit her then, sudden and intense, persisting despite her attempts to stop them.

Natalie. The face she sees every time she wakes up, and every time she goes to sleep. The first person she couldn’t save, but the one she wanted to, so, so badly. The failure that’s haunted her ever since. An all too familiar hollow ache, the stinging feeling of failure, drops into her gut. 

“Don’t you ever call me that name again.” she spits, leaning forward despite the pain of the rope digging into her skin. Alex simply laughs. 

“Galahad. The most gallant and perfect of the knights.” She continues, grabbing Charlie's shoulder and yanking her back into the chair. “Doesn’t really fit you though, does it, Charlie?" she chuckles, digging her fingers deeper into Charlie’s shoulder. “I mean, you’re a fucking mess.”

“Yeah, well, being hunted by a serial killer will do that to you.” Charlie snaps. Alex continues, ignoring her.

“That's what this has all been for, right? Trying to help people, save them. To bring justice against people like me. All because you couldn’t keep your best friend alive. Because you failed.” 

That fills Charlie with even more rage. Not because she doesn’t think she’s a failure, no, Charlie knows she is. 

It’s because only Charlie Cale gets to call herself a fucking failure.

“Keep her name out of your fucking mouth-“ Charlie orders, her voice breaking. She thrashes against her restraints, her breath coming in ragged gasps as she strains to free herself and reach Alex.

“And then you failed at protecting Beatrix.”

“That was your fault, actually.” Alex shrugs, grinning. Charlie’s urge to wipe that grin off ‌her face intensifies.

“They say bad things come in threes, don’t they? So, let’s see if you're unlucky this time too, and invite Luca to join us.” Alex chuckles, holding the panic alarm aloft, out of Charlie’s reach.

“Y-You really think that’s a good idea?” Charlie stammers, trying to hide her fear. “He’ll bring all his agent friends down here to stop you too. He’s smart, he’ll know this is a trap.”

Alex laughs, rolling her eyes. “Oh, please. He’s not that smart. He couldn’t even figure out who I was. And I’ve seen how that man looks at you. He would do absolutely anything to find you, Charlie. And he’s so stupidly lovesick, and so determined, he’d do it all by himself, which is exactly what I need.”

She’s right. Charlie knows she is. Luca has always wanted to be the hero, even when it could put him at risk. He would absolutely come for her alone. And that’s because he’s such a good person, far better than Charlie could ever be. That doesn’t make him stupid. It makes him brave. 

Luca told her once that the only reason‌ he got his promotion was because of her, and that she’s the smartest one out of them both. Charlie laughed it off, even though she knew it was wrong. Luca Clark is an incredible agent, much better than he ever gives himself credit for. And god, Charlie wishes Luca could see himself the way she sees him, and realise just how smart, compassionate and committed he is. 

He’s already saved her ass before. 

Now, it's up to Charlie to save his.

Alex’s finger hovers over the button, and Charlie’s eyes widen.

“No. No.” Charlie gasps, her stomach lurching. Instantly, her anger disappears, replaced by pure, primal fear. “He has nothing to do with this, Alex, please!”

“Bullshit. He has everything to do with this.” Alex tilts her head, watching Charlie struggle and panic. “It’s hilarious seeing you panic like this, you know? I thought Charlie Cale only ever wanted to be alone, and only cared about herself.” Charlie grunts and swears, straining and trying with all her might to lean forward and snatch the alarm right out of Alex’s hand. The rope strains against her, burning as it digs into her skin and causing her to swear, but Charlie pushes through it.

“Alex, please.” Charlie begs, tears streaming down her face. “Why don’t you just kill me instead, get it over with. I’m the one you want, it’s always been me! Just-“

“Oh, I am going to kill you.” She chuckles. “But I’m going to kill him first, and make you watch.” 

And with that, she presses the button on the panic alarm.

Meanwhile, Luca is sitting in his car by the side of the road. His head is in his hands, and he groans as he runs his fingers through his hair. His half-finished coffee and fast-food breakfast sit beside him, and he tiredly rubs his eyes. He’s been desperately searching for Charlie ever since she left, with little success… or sleep. Clearly, she wants to be hidden, and considering everything that’s been going on, that’s understandable.

Yet… Luca can’t forget the look on her face when she told him she never wanted to see him again. He’s replayed the scene at least a thousand times since then, trying to decipher every word she said, every shift in her expression, and try as he might, he can’t stop thinking about what that could mean. Or can't stop thinking about the one possibility he doesn't want to confront.

That maybe she wasn’t in danger, and that he was just seeing what he wanted to see. Maybe whatever they had is gone, or it wasn’t even there at all.

Maybe Charlie truly doesn’t want to be found.

Or at least… not by Luca.

But just as he’s about to consider calling it quits, his phone beeps loudly. Immediately, he’s wide awake, grabbing his phone and checking the alert. Charlie’s panic alarm has been activated. His heart pounds against his ribs, his hands shaking uncontrollably. He was right, Charlie is in danger. She’s close by, an hour max. But Luca could make it even quicker than that. 

The thought that this is a little too convenient - that Charlie’s panic button would suddenly activate just as he’s thinking about her, and this could be a trap - crosses his mind, but his determination to find Charlie and keep her safe is so strong that it overpowers everything else. Luca types the address into his GPS, and quickly heads back onto the road.

The address belongs to a house in the middle of nowhere. The paint is peeling off the walls, and a few of the windows are broken too. An eerie quiet hangs in the air, and everything is still. Immediately, Luca’s breath hitches, the hair on the back of his neck standing up. He steps up towards the door, pushing it open. The door creaks, the sound echoing through the house. Stepping inside, Luca’s hands instinctively go to his gun as he looks around for any sign of Charlie.

Footsteps approach, and he lets out a sigh. “Jesus, don’t scare me like that-”

But then, hard and cold metal presses against the back of his neck. “Hello again, Luca.” Alex chuckles. “Wasn’t too smart of you to come to an abandoned house all alone, was it?”

“Pointing a gun at an armed FBI agent isn't exactly a smart move either.” Luca retorts, and she scoffs dismissively.

“Pull that on me, and I’ll make Charlie pay whilst you watch.” Luca immediately freezes, his body tense as his breath catches in his throat. He knew it. This was a trap.

“Where is she, Alex?”

“Upstairs. She’s waiting for you.” Alex teases, pressing the gun harder into the back of Luca’s neck. “So let’s walk.”

Sure enough, upstairs Charlie remains tied to her chair, with tape covering her mouth. Luca’s heart stops. He breaks away from Alex, dropping to his knees before Charlie. “Oh my god. Charlie, shit-” he fumbles, his hands still shaking as he tries to remove the rope from her wrists and ankles.

“Uh uh.” Alex tuts, pointing her gun at him. “Sit, Luca.” Luca ignores her, completely focused on helping Charlie. “Hey, didn’t you hear me? I said SIT-”

Luca turns, striking Alex hard across her face. She hisses, stumbling backwards, momentarily disoriented. Charlie blinks at Luca in confusion as he takes the tape off her mouth. That was fucking awesome, but completely unexpected. “Why the hell did you do that?! That’s just gonna piss her off-” 

But as Alex goes to grab Charlie this time, Luca fends her off once more. Charlie watches the pair fighting, wanting to help but not sure how, other than throwing out encouraging words to Luca. The pair fight well, but after a while, Luca fails to dodge one of Alex’s hits, leading to her momentarily gaining the upper hand. Pulling out her gun, she aims it right at Charlie’s temple. “Sit….” she repeats, panting. “Or I’ll shoot her.” Panicked, Luca’s eyes dart between her and Charlie, weighing up what he could do. When he locks eyes with Charlie, she frantically shakes her head, urging him to drop it and do what Alex says. 

And Luca does as he’s told.

“Good.” Alex looks between them both, still keeping the gun pointed at Charlie, a silent warning in case Luca tries anything.

“Alex, let him go, I told you-” 

“Shut up!” She hisses. “Now…I’m going to make you regret ever crossing me.” She pants, her eyes wild with rage and adrenaline. “And we’re going to start with-”

But then, someone violently kicks open the door downstairs, and other voices fill the air.

“FBI! Hands in the air!” 

“What the hell did you do?!” Alex demands.

And everything descends into chaos. Glass breaks, doors are kicked open… and through it all, Luca and Charlie keep their gazes locked on each other. Panicking, Alex tries to make a break for the door, but it’s too late, and she’s easily overpowered by the approaching agents, who subdue her and drag her outside. Charlie pants, trying to make sense of everything. Her heart rate is still going a million miles an hour, pounding in her ears like a drum, and she’s still shaking.

“Guys, can we give her a minute?” Luca asks. Suddenly, he’s in front of her again, gently taking her hands. His touch is warm and gentle, and he runs his hands along her knuckles. “It’s okay. Shh, shh….” he soothes, holding her as she calms down.

“W-What the hell happened?” Charlie gasps, making him chuckle.

“I knew something was suspicious when I saw the house. I called for backup just in case.” He removes the rope that binds her wrists and ankles with a smile. “There you go. You're safe now.”

As soon as she hears those words, Charlie starts sobbing.

“See? I told you it was a good idea to have a panic alarm, didn’t I?” Luca grins, his grin immediately faltering as he realises that wasn't the best thing to say, or the best time to say it.

But Charlie’s too grateful to care. She lunges forward, almost sending Luca to the floor with the speed she tackles him into a hug. “Whoa, hey, it’s okay-“ Charlie sobs into his shirt, and he wraps his arms around her, holding her up as her body shakes. “It’s alright, it’s okay. It’s over now.”

“I didn’t mean what I said, I-she made me do it. She threatened you, and-” Charlie mumbles.

 “I know. I know. It’s okay.” Luca holds her until she calms down. He doesn’t loosen his grip, even when he’s sure she’ll be okay. Because for once, everything in their life is going well for them, and he’s terrified that this is still a dream, that if he lets her go, he’ll lose her forever. He buries his face in her hair, inhaling her scent. She smells like home, like new beginnings.

“What’s going to happen to us?” Charlie murmurs. “Are you going to arrest me?”

He has to. They both know it. There’s no way they make it out of this, in any universe. But god, Luca will do everything in his power to make sure they do, even if it's til his last breath.

“No.” Luca insists. “I won’t let anything happen to you ever again, Charlie. I promise.”