Starfire's Rules

How could he destroy and rebuild everything so beautifully?

He turned your head back toward him when you glanced over your shoulder. “The partition is up,” he reminded you. “No one is going to see you except for me.”

You were glad for that since you didn’t need Ray or Curtis seeing you in a vulnerable state like this.

“I’m going to trust you again,” you whispered, taking a breath to allow the tension in your body to ease. 

It was all you could do. 

A slow smile spread across Bucky’s face before he leaned in, his lips brushing yours in a gentle kiss. He deepened it quickly, the outside world fading away. It felt like a promise that everything would be alright, even if just for now. 

Your breath hitched as his hand slipped past the waistband of your pants, his fingers tracing your skin with urgency and deliberate care. His tongue exploded your mouth with such hunger that you thought it would swallow you whole. Every kiss threw more fuel on the flames. His craving for you would never stop.

Neither would his love. 

“Thank you,” he whispered against your lips in a low, soothing rumble. The other hand on your hip squeezed gently, willing you to melt into his touch. “It’s just us here. You don’t need to think about anything or anyone else.”

“I’m trying not to think,” you told him, grasping his shoulders. 

You weren’t lying when you told him you were tired, and overthinking would only serve to exhaust you more. You could let yourself feel for a short time. Feel now, think later. 

That was all you were doing though, weren’t you? It was your way of coping with everything that happened. It was a vicious cycle. 

“I know, and I’ll take care of you,” he promised, leaning his head back to watch your face. His stormy eyes drifted over you like a sinner turning to prayer. “Fuck, you’re beautiful.”

His fingers found you slick and warm, your moan escaping and filling the space. His eyes darkened as he explored you like he was trying to memorize the feel of you around him. His thumb brushed your clit in a slow, maddening circle, wetness coating his digits. Each movement was calculated to draw a reaction from you. 

“Love how wet you get for me,” he growled, two fingers breaching you and making you tighten around him. “Love that you’re mine.”

His girl. He made sure you’d be his. And so did you, didn’t you?

Your heart rate skyrocketed. The car felt too hot. The space was too small. You needed to breathe. Just breathe.

Was it right to give yourself over again?

Was it wrong to want to forget everything for a short time? 

“Stop thinking, Kotyonok. Stop carrying everything. Let me help. Let me make you feel good,” he urged, his fingers moving insistently. “Just be here with me.”

Where else would you be? Your mind wouldn’t go anywhere else. Your path was a circle that always led back to him, just like he wanted. Just like he dictated. 

“You take my fingers so well,” he said, leaning up to brush his lips against your ear. “As much as I want you, I won’t fuck you here today. As soon as we get home, I’ll take you to bed and give you my cock. But I need you to come for me right here and now.”

Heat built inside you, your body responding to his touch with an intensity that was almost overwhelming. There was a challenge in his voice, daring you to let go of the very little control you were desperately clinging to. You were going to shatter, and he’d pick up all the pieces. 

His breathing was almost as heavy as yours, your growing ecstasy fueling his need. “Come,” he rasped. 

Your body tensed as you teetered on the edge and one deep thrust of his fingers pushed you over. You surrendered to the sensations coursing through your veins with a cry. Pleasure washed over you and he held you through it, helping you ride out every wave of your orgasm. It felt good. 

It felt like everything was okay.

“That’s my girl,” he whispered in a soothing voice, kissing your forehead. 

You collapsed against him by the end of it, your heart pounding in your ears. The high faded and you trembled from the aftershocks. 

You expected him to remove his fingers, but they stayed buried deep. The wicked grin on his face sent a chill down your spine. “I’m not done with you yet,” he murmured, his thumb finding your sensitive clit again. You gasped, your hips jerking involuntarily. “We’re just getting started.”

He began to pump his fingers again slowly, making you feel every curve. The circles on your clit were almost lazy, building your need back up and drawing out your pleasure. You could feel your body responding again, even though it seemed too soon. 

“Bucky.” Your voice was barely audible, your eyes wide. “I can’t.”

“Shh,” he soothed, his free hand cupping your warm cheek. “You can, and you will. You’re mine, remember? And I want to watch you come apart again.”

He sounded wrecked and you could feel that he was still hard when he shifted you in his lap. You were somewhat shocked he hadn’t grabbed a condom to take you right there. But he was concentrating on your pleasure. 

“And if I say stop?” you asked. 

His movements stopped immediately, making you whimper. “I’d never hurt or force you,” he assured you, like the very idea of it would hurt him.

You pulsed around him. He promised he never would. Trust. You had to trust him. 

“Okay,” you breathed, your back arching when he began to move again. “It just… feels like so much.”

“I know, but I’ve got you.”

Your body betrayed your mind thinking it was too soon for another, your hips moving with his fingers, your breaths coming in short gasps. He captured your mouth in a searing kiss and your hand found its way into his hair. He was determined to keep you teetered to the present. 

He broke the kiss, his teeth nipping at your skin again as they trailed down your neck. “Come for me, Kotyonok,” he growled, his fingers moving faster, his thumb pressing harder on your clit. “I want you to make a mess all over me.”

Your lips parted, your chest rose, and you were close to breaking. The storm raged inside you and ecstasy threatened to consume you. He pulled back, looking at you like you were a siren ready leading him to his impending doom with a smile. But you weren’t the one who would drown him. 

He’d pull you down into the depths with him. 

“Just let go,” he commanded gently.

And you did. Your body convulsed as your second orgasm crashed over you, head spinning and your moans soft. He licked his lips as he watched, his fingers slowing to draw it out as long as he could. You were boneless as you came down, a light sheen covering you. 

Would your heart ever stop pounding?

Bucky withdrew his soaked fingers and brought them to his mouth a groan, licking them and savoring your taste. “Delicious,” he whispered, kissing you so you could taste yourself. His eyes softened when he pulled back. “You’re so beautiful when you come undone. I could watch you like this forever.”

Your body continued to hum as he rubbed your back, a comfortable silence settling between you as he pressed kisses along your face. The world outside the car ceased to exist. It was just the two of you, your breathing steadying and tears threatening to sting your eyes.

“You okay?” he asked, helping you settle back into your seat. 

You hummed a little. “That was intense,” you whispered, your head finding his shoulder.

Back-to-back orgasms would’ve been intense by itself, but past boyfriends weren’t like Bucky. Making you feel good was an afterthought instead of second nature. You weren’t the center of their universe. The very presence of you didn’t make them feel alive.

You went from settling for what you didn’t deserve to somewhat accepting that your love had chains. 

“That’s just the beginning,” he whispered back.

You didn’t know when the car started moving, but Bucky kept his hands on you throughout the entire drive. They brushed over your breasts, your nipples hard against your bra. You whimpered whenever he touched you between your legs, the fabric ruined from your two orgasms. Whenever reality began to seep back in, whether it was thoughts of Natasha or Addison or anything else, he brought you right back to him.

“I need this just as much as you do,” he said, his voice lulling you in. “We need each other.”

Need. Like it was essential for his existence to have you. Resisting him only made him want you more. Giving in did the same. He needed you in every possible way.

Bucky didn’t release you even as the car came to a stop. Your legs felt like rubber as he helped you out, grabbed everything, and guided you to the elevator. You shivered, not quite sure if it was from the cool air or the continuous aftershocks. And his eyes never left you, the burning intensity growing to a fever pitch. 

“Where’s my phone?” you asked when he set the bag down inside.

And where were Ray and Curtis? You barely saw them today. God, was Bucky keeping them away from you and out of sight to give you two some alone time? 

And to think just days ago you couldn’t stand the idea of any of his men being your shadow. 

“You don’t need it right now,” he answered, his fingertips dancing along your side. “Don’t need anyone interrupting us.”

That answered your unspoken question about his men.

Your palm itched to take your phone back, to check who the missed call was from. Maybe Addison had talked to Brady. Bucky smirked like he sensed it. Of course, he did.

“Still trying to take care of everyone else and not putting yourself first,” he said, leading you toward the bedroom. “And as much as I love and admire your giving heart, you’re going to collapse.”

You did keep pushing your limits for that sense of normalcy and control. When were you going to stop? When would you allow yourself to rest? 

“And you’ll what? Catch me when that happens?”

“Of course, I’ll catch you,” he replied. “I’d never let you hit the ground.”

He stepped into the bedroom and looked back, patiently waiting for you to follow. The door clicked shut behind you once you entered, sealing you off from everything else. The air thickened around you when he touched your cheek, the scent of your still arousal on his fingers. He brushed a thumb under your eye like he was wiping away an invisible tear. 

“Don’t think about anything beyond these walls. Nothing else exists,” he said in a gentle command. “It’s just us. That’s the way it should be.”

His hands went to the hem of your shirt and pulled it over your head in one swift motion. Your bra followed, leaving you bare to his hungry gaze. His eyes took in every inch of you, and you made no move to hide yourself. It felt more intimate than before and you couldn’t place why. 

“You’ll always want me?” you asked above a whisper.

He made a wounded sound. “How can you even ask that?” he asked, his hand splaying across your lower back. “Have I not shown you that I’ll always want you?”

He leaned down to capture one of your nipples, his tongue flicking the hardened peak. You gasped, gripping his hair when he switched to the other. He gave it the same amount of attention as his hands roamed along your body possessively, over your back. They traced every curve, and your legs shook before he moved you to the bed.

“We’re going to grow old together. We’re always going to be together,” he said, like speaking the words into existence would make them true. “I’ll always love and want you.”

He laid you down gently and got on his knees, carefully removing each shoe. He pressed a kiss to both ankles before he reached up to pull your pants down with your panties. You were naked and exposed, your body on fire strong enough to burn. The flames licked along your skin and left unseen scars in its path. 

You were a goner. 

You covered your mouth and choked on a sob as he kissed up your legs, your chest barely keeping your heart from bursting through. He stopped before he reached his prize. You lifted your head and gasped when you met his gaze, the desire in his orbs nearly drowning you. The raw need almost made him appear vulnerable. 

Almost.

“Am I scaring you again?” he asked, revealing his chiseled and scarred frame when he took off his own shirt. He was a symphony of power and control that some could only ever dream of. “I really need to stop doing that, don’t I?”

“I’m not scared,” you said as he stood up, his knuckles brushing against the hardness in his pants before he unzipped them. “And maybe not being scared should scare me.”

The thought should’ve devastated you.

He stepped out of his shoes and remaining clothing, unashamed. His body was a testament to his need for you. His cock stood proudly and he fisted it, his eyes never leaving yours as he stroked himself. The sight made you shiver.

“We’ve come a long way in such a short time,” he murmured, going to retrieve a condom as wetness surged between your legs. “Lots of bumps in the road thanks to me.”

“All the bumps thanks to you, Bucky,” you muttered, smiling to yourself when he chuckled. 

“I fucking love you,” he said reverently, rolling the condom on. “And I can’t wait to fuck you bare.”

He climbed over you, his movements predatory. Your heart pounded faster when he pushed your thighs apart and settled between them. You felt the heat of him, the thick head of his cock as he pushed at your entrance. But he didn’t slip inside. Not fully.

He claimed your lips instantly, coaxing your mouth open. He groaned when you arched into him, but he still didn’t thrust. You didn’t know what he was waiting for. 

“Tell me you need me,” he begged, keeping your hips still when you writhed beneath him. “I won’t make you say you love me tonight, even though we both know you do, but just… give me that. Please.”

A shuddering breath escaped. You wondered how much longer he’d wait for you to say you loved him. “Please, Bucky,” you whispered, your cheeks hot from having to beg. “I need you.”

You held your breath when he sighed and slowly entered you. You tensed a little as you adjusted his size. As thick as his fingers were, his cock was still thicker, every inch filling you. He kissed you until your body relaxed, but his body felt tense, too, showing that his control was hanging on by a thread. 

“Breathe, Kotyonok,” he whispered, his hips starting to move in a steady rhythm. “We have all the time in the world.”

Electricity cracked as he spread your legs wider and moved deep. You lost yourself with every thrust and allowed him to smother the doubt. The smell of sex and the sound of your bodies coming together flooded your senses like a drug. 

“Bucky,” you gasped as he kept burying himself to the hilt. 

“Mine,” he growled, rutting into you with almost punishing strokes. Each one pulled a strangled moan from your throat. “Mine, Kotyonok. You’re fucking mine.”

Your body went pliant, your walls clenching around him. You didn’t say with your mouth that you were his, but your body had no issues confirming it. The tight coil in your core snapped without him having to tell you, your pussy spasming and fluttering as your release gushed around him.

Bucky let out an obscene moan at the sight and feel of your orgasm. “Good girl. That’s so fucking beautiful,” he grunted. 

You nearly sobbed when he suddenly pulled out and flipped you onto your stomach, your walls still clenching and unclenching. You fisted the sheets when he put you on your knees and drove into you hard enough to make you cry out, your back bowing. The only thing you could do was take him. 

“Can’t wait until I can really fill you up,” he grunted, settling over your back, his hips snapping as you whimpered. “I’ll spread your legs while I drip out of you, and I’ll fill you up all over again.”

Your cries bounced off the walls, your cheek flat against the mattress as he pounded into you. Your body jerked when he snaked a hand beneath you and strummed your clit with expert precision. Like his thrusts, all you could do was take it. 

“I… I can’t,” you whined as he built you up again, his hand covering yours as he buried his face in your neck. 

“Remember what I said earlier? You’re mine. Made for me,” he reminded you in a growl. “Now come for me.”

The broken moan you let out seemed fitting as you fell apart. Orgasm number four seemed stronger than the previous three somehow. You felt him hum against your skin and a few tears may have fallen from your eyes. And he just kept thrusting.

“Almost there. Fuck, you feel so good. Prettiest, wettest pussy, and it’s all mine,” he promised you, dragging his teeth along your shoulder. “Fuck, I love you. I love you so… fucking… much.”

You barely registered him lifting your head and turning it enough to meet his heated gaze, his hair a mess and his cheeks warm. His mouth fell open before he shuddered, finding his release with a deep moan. You both panted hard, his heart beating frantically against your back. 

“You’ll tell me you love me soon,” he panted, brushing his lips against ours. “I know you will.”

You let his words sink in. His love, his possession. It etched itself in your skin like a tattoo. 

Like a vow. 

He rolled you back over once he pulled out of you, giving you a minute to recover as he threw the condom away. As if a minute would be long enough. As if that would sate his desire.

“Four orgasms,” you mumbled as he traced patterns along your back.

“Oh, you’ll have more than that soon,” he promised, smiling like a cat who got the cream. “Because we aren’t leaving this bed, except for a bath later.”

You were quiet for a moment. “Do you think everything can be solved with sex?” you asked, surprised that you pulled yourself from the haze long enough to formulate a full question.

He looked at you, a smile tugging at hip lips. “No, but I think you’ve done enough thinking for a lifetime, and you deserve to feel good,” he answered, wiping your cheeks. “You deserve to be taken care of.”

You closed your eyes, letting him wrap a leg around you. “Thanks,” you whispered. 

His mouth touched your ear. “Natasha is looking into the fire.”

Your eyes flew open, but you avoided his gaze. He didn’t force you to look at him, but your stomach dropped as he kept rubbing your back, his fingers digging in a little more. He fucked you within an inch of your life, and he decided to bring up something you questioned. Why would he say that? Why now?

Was he testing you?

“I’m glad she’s looking out for you. Really,” he said in an even tone when you stayed silent, reaching for another condom. “But you’re not her responsibility at the end of the day, and you're not Bruce Wayne’s. Curtis and Ray are only responsible to an extent. And you don’t need any of them when you have me.”

He settled between your legs again, and your trembling hands moved to his chest. “It isn’t a competition,” you said softly. 

But maybe it always would be to him. He pushed your parents out. He took Bruce’s card away. Addison and Curtis brought out a jealous side. He had to be number one in your universe. 

“It isn’t. It really isn’t,” he agreed, moving your legs apart again with a tender smile. “But I still feel selfish some days.”

You swallowed hard. You still weren’t sure if he was playing a game with you or not. If he was, you couldn’t lose. Not tonight. 

“Bucky, you’re the one who said nothing existed outside the two of us,” you said, rolling your hips up. “So, let it be us.”

His smile widened. “That’s my girl,” he praised, kissing you like he owned you. You told him exactly what he wanted to hear, and it filled you with relief as you kissed him back. “Gonna fuck you again before we take a bath. And I want to remind you tonight and every night who loves you the most.”

“It’s you, Bucky,” you whispered. 

It would always be him. 

I did promise some heat, lovelies. What's Bucky's angle? And I hope you're ready for some emotions soon. Love and thanks for reading! ❤️

“I don’t know if it’s such a good idea if you join me here. Natasha might have some choice words if she caught us,” you teased, keeping your voice light. 

He scoffed. “She’d probably kick my ass, or at least she’d try.”  Bucky stepped forward and hooked a finger in the strap of your sports bra. “Doesn’t mean I can’t help you finish undressing,” he added in a husky whisper.

“I… I’m really sweaty and…” You trailed off when helped take it off, your nipples hardening thanks to the cool room air. 

You couldn’t lie to yourself. It was also his presence that made your body react the way it did. Your body was becoming more and more his. 

“You think sweat bothers me?” he asked, sinking down and slowly pulling your pants down with him.

Your breathing quickened when he tilted his head back and stared up at you. He didn’t even blink when he peeled your underwear off next, letting it pool at your feet with your pants. His hands slid up your warm legs, the contrast of his cool touch making you shiver.

“I want to make you sweat,” he whispered, pressing a kiss to your mound and making you gasp. You braced a hand on his shoulder when he did it again, the feel of his lips possessive and gentle. “I want it all.”

You blinked in surprise when he stood up and took a deep breath. He ran both hands through his hair like he was trying to keep himself under control. But you could see the bulge in his pants and the lust in his eyes. 

“Go shower,” he urged, raking his eyes along your body even as he stepped back to distance himself.

You glanced down at yourself. Bucky being dressed and you naked was a reminder of the imbalance. But you liked to believe you weren’t fully helpless in this situation. Not anymore.

“I’ll be quick,” you promised, grabbing your towel and feeling his gaze on you as you went to one of the stalls.

You replayed Natasha’s conversation in your head as you showered. She was looking out for you in her own way and you appreciated it. But what would Bucky do if he knew? If you didn’t tell him what you heard, would it be keeping a secret from him or lying by omission? There had to be honesty in relationships, even ones like yours that weren’t at all normal.

You closed your eyes and prayed that he didn’t have anything to do with this. He did more than enough to keep you. That kind of sabotage felt a bit like overkill, especially for someone you considered a sister.

Bucky waited right outside for you when you finished, not allowing you to dry yourself off. “Do you know what I was thinking about while you showered?” he asked, making sure to get every drop of water off your skin. “Well, besides the obvious.”

You tried to smile when he winked. “What were you thinking about?”

“That every day is the best day of my life because I have you.”

“It is?”

He nodded. “I woke up today, thinking last night was a dream, but it wasn’t. I have you. And I’ll have you tomorrow. So, tomorrow will be the best day of my life when I wake up with you in my arms, and every single day after that.” He kissed your lips and sighed. “I get to live my life loving you, and that’s the best thing.”

“You really believe that,” you whispered, brushing a finger along his forehead.

Part of you wanted to understand the way his mind worked and how much it battled his heart, if the manipulations would ever stop. You wished his mom’s influence and loving heart outweighed the moving pieces of his world. But helping others through the foundation you’d set up would be a step in the right direction. 

“Of course, I do,” he said, not stopping you when you pulled away to get dressed. He leaned against the lockers and looked at you with a perceptive gaze, almost like he was looking through glass. “There’s something on your mind.”

You didn’t force a smile while you put your clothes on. “I’m a little tired,” you said, which wasn’t a lie. Natasha didn’t take it easy on you. 

“Tired,” he repeated, his eyes still soft somehow. “I believe you are, but that’s not what’s on your mind. Try again.”

Your throat tightened. He didn’t sound angry or disappointed. If anything there was worry, and that somehow made it worse. 

“If you did order that fire, you’d tell me… right?” you asked, praying you didn’t sound accusatory. 

You worried you’d choke on the sudden tension. Pain flickered in his expression. You wanted to take the question back, but it was out there and you had to ask. Even if the hurt on his face made it difficult. 

“You said this morning that it wasn’t me.” He was repeating your words back to you and the guilt spread like wildfire. “That even if I’m jealous of your bond with her, I wouldn’t do that.”

You hugged yourself and looked away. “I just-”

His thumb brushed along your jaw. “But I understand why you asked since I’d benefit from it, so let’s talk about that.”

He stepped closer and gently took your chin between his fingers, guiding your gaze back to his. “I told you I’d never lie to you, and I haven’t.”

“I know,” you whispered. 

Your stomach dropped when he held up a finger. “What are you-”

“One. That venue? It wasn’t good enough. They deserved better, and I’m giving them something better.”

“Addison was happy with what she chose,” you argued. It was her dream place.

“It was a disaster waiting to happen. I’ll bet they had no idea about the numerous code violations that have been swept under the rug, or the debt that the owner is in. But Sam knew,” he said as your stomach dropped. You had almost forgotten he dealt in commercial real estate. “I’ll admit that I mentioned in passing that your friend deserved a better venue, and you know my men do their homework.”

You inhaled sharply. Why did he do that? “Did Sam-”

“I didn’t tell Sam to start a fire, and he wouldn’t have picked up a match even if I paid him,” he cut in gently. “Fires are loud and sloppy. They attract the wrong kind of attention. It isn’t our style.”

“That makes sense,” you agreed. There had already been enough of a mess with Zemo and Clark. You couldn’t imagine Bucky wanted more bad attention. 

“If I really wanted that venue gone, I would’ve bought it outright, made the owner sell it to someone else, or have Sam negotiate until they begged us to take it,” he explained, shrugging. “Again, the place was a disaster waiting to happen and not worth my time.”

You did believe that. When Bucky admitted his original plan of getting you out of your apartment it was because they would’ve bought the building. Nothing messy or dramatic. 

“Code violations and debt?” you asked quietly. It seemed like a bad coincidence

“People are really good at hiding just how ugly things are.”

You swallowed hard. It wasn’t just the venue. People in his world hid in plain sight and let the world see what they wanted them to. 

“But back to the list. Two.” He held up another finger. “Me stepping in and helping means you don’t have to watch your best friend panic for months or scramble for something unworthy. I get to help be a hero in her story and yours.”

Since Addison knew some of what happened to you and was your closest friend, she’d always be the hardest to fully win over. Bucky swooping in like a knight in shining armor would permanently put him on her good side. And you’d be forever thankful that her wedding could still go off without a hitch. 

“Three,” he continued. “The Red Room fully becomes part of your world, too, and not just mine.”

That was where his obsession continued to run deep. Every part of you had to be entwined with him. The very air you breathed had to be in his atmosphere. 

“Four. I won’t just be a hero to Addison and Brady, but everyone will see that I take care of the people you love.” His breath fanned along your lips. “And they’ll see me by your side and know that I’d never let you face anything alone.”

You swallowed again. Benefits weren’t all about money or influence, but power. Causing the fire would shift the power back in his favor because of all the reasons he listed. He’d be the hero, the puppet master, and he’d walk away unscathed. 

Maybe Bucky didn’t order Sam to cause a fire, but what if someone said something? What if they pressured the owner? There were still so many questions.

“Five. The most important thing. You’re happy and safe.”

Safe.

You’d be safe within the walls his world provided you, but you would be happy if it meant your loved ones were happy. 

“But that list means nothing because hurting them would hurt you, and I’d never hurt you, Kotyonok,” he said, his voice softening. “We’re finally close. You trusted me enough to let me in. Why would I risk breaking that trust by hurting you the very next day?”

You shut your eyes to hide the burn. He made a good point. As much as everything else would swing in his favor, it could do damage between the two of you. 

“I’m selfish, and I do terrible things. I know that,” he said, chuckling humorlessly. “But I wouldn’t sabotage the first real step you took toward me. I’d lose any footing we gained by doing that.”

“I’m sorry,” you said, your voice cracking. “I just-”

“Don’t apologize,” he said, firmness mixed with his gentleness. “You’re allowed to question me and ask for the truth.”

You opened your eyes, still feeling overwhelmed. Was it wrong to feel guilty or suspect? If anyone else had questioned him, would he be this calm?

“I’ll do anything to protect you, and I won’t betray you after what we shared because I love you,” he murmured.

Your knees weakened and he held you closer. 

“So, let me be the man you trusted last night and not the man you’re afraid I might be.”

“You’re capable of many things,” you reminded him, yet you were starting to believe that he didn’t directly cause this. 

If Bucky was telling the truth, and the owner had issues with the venue, maybe it really was a coincidence. You had to believe that for now. It was all you could do. 

“I am,” he agreed unapologetically. 

“And thank you for being so calm during this talk.”

He looked amused. “Did you think I wouldn’t be calm?”

“Well, you did bend a fork when we went to that cafe together.”

“That fork had it coming,” he teased, tickling your side so you’d laugh. “Now let’s go see your friend.”

The air didn’t feel as thick as before as he carried your bag, his other arm slung around your waist. Curtis and Ray followed, and you spotted Natasha speaking with Antonia as you walked out. The redhead gave you a knowing look and a nod.

She knew you heard her phone call.

And you knew you’d hear from her very soon.

It was a quick drive to Addison’s place, and you bounced on the balls of your feet as you waited for her to answer the door. You wondered if you should’ve had Bucky wait in the car. He had no reason to see her home.

“Nervous?” Bucky asked, rubbing your side.

“I just want her to like the Red Room,” you replied, the smell of vanilla hitting you once the door opened. 

“Hey!” Her smile was brighter than you expected when she pulled you in for a hug. “Come in, come in. I made tea.”

Bucky gave her a polite smile, almost like he was trying to make himself appear harmless. “I hope it’s okay that I’m here.”

She waved a hand dismissively. “You’re helping with the venue. Of course, it is.”

Her home was warm and beautifully cluttered, which Brady lovingly supported. But you could see Bucky look around as he slipped his shoes off with an assessing gaze. He was cataloging everything, exits, weak points, and the way the front door stuck slightly on the bottom hinge. 

Addison didn’t notice the mental checklist he was making, but you did.

His eyes stopped on a group photo, similar to the one you had had in your bedroom. You could tell he was looking at you. Everything was about you. 

“Where’s Brady?” you asked. You expected him to be there. 

“Oh, I ran out of ice cream and wine, so he went to get me more,” she said, setting tea on the table. 

“I’d ask how you’re holding up, but I think being out of ice cream and wine answers that,” you said, giving her another hug. “I’m so sorry.”

She sniffled and hugged you tighter. You saw Bucky’s jaw clench when you looked over her shoulder, but he relaxed after a moment. Now wasn’t the time to be jealous. Your best friend was hurting and you were going to comfort her. 

“I’m okay,” she said more to herself than you. “Sit.”

You took a seat in the chair across from Addison, but Bucky didn’t sit down. He stood behind you and rested a hand on the cushion. It looked supportive, but it was also a way to say he was powerful even in a place he didn’t own. 

“We hope you like the options,” he said, leaning over to hand her the folder. 

“I’m sure I will. Well. We. Brady’s opinion matters.” She flipped through the folder, her eyes widening with every turn. “Oh, my god,” she whispered, looking up at you. “This is beautiful.”

“Yeah?” you asked, smiling when she flipped through the folder again. 

You could see the tears forming in her eyes. Happy and relieved tears. That made you breathe easier. 

“Are you kidding? The terrace. The ballroom. Nice rooms for the guests.” She wiped her eyes. “This is even better than the original place, and I never thought I’d say that.”

“I know your heart was set on it, but the Red Room really is something,” you said. 

“I can’t believe they put this together so quickly,” she said, bouncing in her seat. “You really are the bestest best friend ever.”

You giggled. “So are you.”

She snuck a hesitant but thankful look at Bucky. “I know you said you could help with the deposit, but this place looks really pricey.”

Your heart went out to her. She knew Bucky was loaded but she didn’t want to take advantage, even in her vulnerable state. She was a good person. 

“It’s nothing,” Bucky said, bending down to kiss the top of your head. “You’re my girl’s best friend, and you deserve a beautiful wedding.”

“Thank you. Really.” Addison’s gaze flicked between you two as she set the folder aside. “And while I appreciate it, Bucky, I’ve been meaning to talk to you.”

You tensed up, but Bucky rubbed your shoulder. “Go ahead,” he said, his voice deceptively soft. 

She cleared her throat. “I know a customer from the shop tried to… hurt her,” she said, her eyes full of sympathy when she glanced at you. “I know you did something to him in return.”

You opened your mouth and you weren’t sure what you were going to say. She wanted him dead for hurting you. You didn’t blame her. 

“I did. He won’t go near her again,” Bucky said, his voice almost soothing. “I protect what’s mine.”

You shivered. It sounded possessive, but also loving. It was a twisted branch on the ever growing tree. 

“I’m glad you did,” she said, reaching for her tea. “But I need you to promise me something.”

You looked back at him, catching the curious look on his face. “Name it.”

“Promise me that you’ll keep taking care of her, keep her safe, and that you’ll always have her best interests at heart,” she demanded, gaze unwavering. “You may be her boyfriend, but she’s my best friend.”

You smiled, despite the jackhammering of your heart from her fierce protectiveness. 

“I promise.” Bucky’s fingers lightly squeezed your shoulder to ground himself. “And I’m a man of my word,” he stated. 

“He is,” you agreed. 

Addison studied him, like she was trying to understand the gravity of who he really was. He stared back at her, a silent challenge in his eyes.  You didn’t exhale until she nodded. 

“That’s all I ask,” she said, giving you a small smile. “And you know you can still crash here if you need to.”

“Oh, no,” you said quickly, not wanting an argument to break out between them. “I’m doing great at the penthouse.”

“I set up a garden for her on the rooftop,” Bucky said proudly. 

Addison’s eyebrows shot up. “That’s impressive.” She looked through the folder one more time. “And thank you both for this. We owe you.”

You wanted to shake your head. Bucky did a great thing, but she didn’t owe him any favors. You wouldn’t allow that to happen. 

“You don’t owe us anything,” you said softly, reaching over to briefly take her hand. “As long as you and Brady both agree, we’ll get the ball rolling.”

“And speaking of Brady, we’ll get out of your hair so you two can talk,” Bucky said, helping you to your feet. “You’ve had enough stress to deal with and don’t need us hovering.”

Addison stood up, looking a lot lighter than before. “I’ll call you after we chat. Bestest best friend ever, and I love you,” she said, giving you one last hug. “And Bucky? You’re a good one.”

You didn’t know how to respond, but he smoothly slipped an arm around you. “I do my best,” he said, giving her a nod. “Take care.”

The echo of Addison’s gratitude settled in your chest while Bucky led you back to the car. You were relieved that she liked it, but you couldn’t relax. Not completely. 

“She liked it,” he said, running a hand along your thigh. “And she loves you.”

“She’s my best friend,” you said, your brows furrowing when you spotted a small store bag beside you. “What’s that?”

You gasped when Bucky pulled you into his lap and kissed you. He gently bit your bottom lip, taking the opportunity to slip his tongue in when your lips parted. It grew heated with every passing second. 

“Bucky,” you whispered, his hips rolling up.

“I may have sent Ray to get condoms while we were talking. I couldn’t help myself,” he said, his lips trailing down your neck. “You’ve had a long morning. Let me take care of you.”

You whimpered when he sank his teeth in, the sound of your phone ringing suddenly filling the car. “But-”

He blindly reached over to silence it before you could answer. What if it was Natasha? Would she have found something so quickly?

“Later,” he growled, putting his hand between your bodies. “You trusted me last night. Trust me again.”

You closed your eyes. It was a long morning. You did let him in and you could do it again. 

Even as Natasha called your phone, you told yourself you could trust Bucky once more. 

Do we believe Bucky? And are you lovelies ready for things to heat up again? Love and thanks for reading! ❤️

Bucky’s voice rose like the impending drawback before the crash of a devastating tidal wave. His last words ended with the grit of a growl against the phone.

That phone call would end, very few words filtering past the glass as you watched him pace past it.

He'd do his best to reassure you before they arrived, and just as you welcomed his calming touch against your skin, you followed him out past the trees to see for yourself how safe it was supposed to be.

The deer that graced the stream with its little fawn in tow was, in fact, the luckiest doe he had ever seen in his whole life. Possibly a sign that the fates sat in his favor as the thoughtless animal flicked its ear back towards the subtle crunch of leaves underneath your feet.

A Beta staff member would arrive shortly after the two of you returned to the cabin.

Their company shirt was a starch blue, tucked into stiff khaki pants. They bore no identifying smell and no real discernible emotion behind their plastic smile. Betas used to make you feel what you thought was comfort, but standing with one now was looking at an automaton. A ghost in the flesh with no real presence. They almost always smell the same, maybe with some small distinction between each one. But now, the only scent that filled the room was Bucky’s. It was earthy, fine leather, spiced with lingering aggression after his previous call to management and building frustration.

Your skin felt clammy, and you worked to wipe away the beaded sweat at the nape of your neck as it threatened to trail over the small bruises left over your scent glands.

You are all too familiar with what stress can do to an omega body, manipulating hormones and cracking through to a fresh heat. It used to scare the hell out of you, but in this moment as the discomfort began building, you felt each cramp fizzle out as you clung closer to Bucky. Letting his scent surround you made the pain subside even without his physical touch.

He simply apologizes again, his words sounding unchanged from when they rang out of the phone, only this time it was in person.

“I…I was just very scared.”

Your irritation has since subsided, and you dismiss his sincerity, or lack thereof, by oversimplifying what had happened.

“I just didn’t expect to see one of them staring at me like that.”

“Of course.”

“We’ll be doing our best to keep them away from the cabins.”

“If there’s anything else you need, please let us know, and rest assured you will be compensated." Their eyes drift slightly towards Bucky as their sentence ends.

Bucky’s expression doesn’t shift, his eyes stabbing steadily into the beta’s chest. Their face contorted slightly with a tight smile as they withstood his heavy aura before finally being dismissed and quickly leaving the cabin.

The door clatters shut, falling back with a punch of wind.

You take the relief that follows and let it take the weight from your shoulders, letting you slump back against Bucky’s arms.

The rumble of his voice vibrates against your back as he calls to you, asking, “Do’ya feel any better?”

“Kinda” not really.

The beta’s cold and plastic demeanor left you unnerved, and the draining of adrenaline from your veins made you sweat something awful.

“It helped more when you took me outside.”

He breathes a short sigh of relief, yet the tension still persists at the base of his neck. He was still somewhat shaken from all that had happened, although in a far different way than what had terrified you. It was all he’d done, all the steps he’d taken, and to still nearly have you chased away from him.

It had been nerve-wracking to convince you to come here so soon. To beg you to trust him with your heat so he could finally look upon your real face and not that of a grainy image.

All the moments, the small moments that counted the most before finally having you open up to him. It was like coaxing a flower to unfold its petals for the first time in millennia.

But, there was a snake in the garden. Tender hands hiding thorns as Bucky had moments that made him feel at his lowest. Breaking your trust and letting you believe lies just to keep you close to him.

He threw away your protection, pale little pills long since flushed away.

Then there was last night.

In his eyes it was a moment where something unknown threatened to take you from him. A creature cloaked in moonlight is hiding in wait to sink its teeth into his scared omega. In reality it was only a mirrored image of a lost lamb having escaped the wolf in sheep's clothes, looking back at you through a barrier of glass.

The sound of your scream split across his ears that night and lingered like an echo to gnaw into his stomach.

Friend, foe, fallen angel. None mattered.

If any dared to stand in his way now, he was ready to strike them out of his path.

He’d never gone so far, but he can’t fight himself when he thinks he’s losing you.

From lapse of judgment to complete desperation, he could feel more and more of his inner Alpha sneaking closer to the surface. Through a battle against an early rut, some of his base instincts had slipped past to embed against his skin, waiting and ready to strike while he was most vulnerable.

Strike while he is at his calmest within your embrace.

Absent-mindedly, he had reached for you, pulling you against his chest with a wide, warm hand against your back. You held him just as tight, burrowing between his neck and shoulder.

He had seen the way you began to degrade into your heat as the stress settled in your stomach to simmer. It had fallen into a false dormancy, once satiated before the failing flame was fanned against its will.

He reaches up to your chin, his fingers brushing against your cheek as he pushes a stray lock of hair behind your ear.

He smells your sweat; the flood of your soft scent, once stinging the air with fear and unripened citrus, was now warm and slightly spiced like cinnamon and nutmeg on the tongue.

He leans further into you, slowly chasing the soft touch of your skin against his. He brushes his nose along your neck, spreading the dew on your skin along his cheek.

“Can we stay?” he asks, whispering nearly with a growl as he bites back against his own lip to stifle something so predatory in the wake of your delicate state.

“Can I keep you, omega?”

He nearly whimpered, still low in his throat as he cupped your face in his warm hands. His touch caused the heat already seething under your skin to burn against the surface with just the brush of his fingers.

The discomfort, the small amount of pain, was not enough to deter you from his touch, so you let your eyes fall closed instead as you spoke back.

“Yes.”

The word barely brushed your lips, falling like a feather against windless air.

He wants to remind you of another reason you came out here with him. Wants you to know you could seek pleasure for more than self-preservation.

Your heat might have simmered, but something in you felt bolder than before.

You lean into his hands when he cups your cheek and gratefully indulge in his kiss when he leans in to steal it.

You let him relax you; you let him escalate. The kiss is going deep, nearly biting, with his fingers digging into your sides.

Something aggressive was pushing against his psyche harder with the previous rush of endorphins. Like a feral dog guarding the remains of its home, its last safe haven. Growling and baring its sharp and menacing teeth against an unseen adversary just within earshot as the leaves rustled around him.

His last safe place was you.

Instead of shying away like you had before, you let yourself enjoy it.

In the wake of a rising beast you still had yet to see in its truest form, you still felt safe in his arms, and you continued to let yourself sink deeper.

You are the calm sea, water warmed by the afternoon glow of the sun. But, he crashes like dangerous waves, gradually overpowering your languid current with each overlap of power.

Your lips slip along the tender cherried skin that splits to show his pearly teeth. His aggression grows, pathways once blocked slowly opening to him as he nipped at the tender flesh of pinks and raw reds along your little mouth.

A sharp whimper escapes from the tangle between you; a yelp against the growing pressure of his bite forces him to pull back slightly. Still connected and yet detached. He smelled your fear peaking again in response to this small burst of pain and subconsciously relents, leaving only a reddened bruise in his wake.

Your scent is wild, ebbing and crashing through the sting of painful iron and citrus to a sad spiced cinnamon. A beckoning smell calling him to comfort you for his crimes.

Your body fought your mind. You'd never felt so conflicted, and it made your stomach drop so hard it brought you to the floor, hitting the wood with your knees as you doubled over in pain.

He falls with you, bringing your face into his hands. His presence helps; the pain in your stomach is now a dull ache, and you can begin to breathe again.

It’s always the heat, molten magma bubbling in your veins before you begin to hyperventilate. Breathing and yet never getting the right amount of air.

You grip at Bucky’s clothes, nails stretching the flannel fabric of his shirt as you force yourself into a tightly curled back against his chest and stomach.

“I…” you grapple against what little of his skin is exposed as you pull at the collar of his shirt, hot puffs of air whimpering over the length of his neck and below his stubbled chin. ”I can’t take it.”

This was the storm, the angry waves of boiling water drowning you. A battle of wills you never won alone. A heat mixed with fear and pain.

His nails dug into your back, nearly pushing through the fabric of your dress as he balled the faded pastel cloth into a tightened red fist.

Everything hurts this time. Your skin stings as if abused by an unseen sun, your joints ache from miles you hadn’t run, and your core throbs and squeezes in protest of a missing knot meant to stretch the tender muscle.

This feeling was too familiar, too terrible. It was always the beginning of the end.

You didn’t want to wake up in the hospital again.

“Bucky.” You called to him, your voice hoarse as the tears flooded, hot streams gushing across your cheeks and pooling around your chin before seeping into the thin white fabric of the tank top hiding beneath his shirt.

“Help me.”

He held you tighter, face buried against your shoulder, smeared with sweat and a thick feminine scent as he opened his mouth to lavish the salted taste of your skin with his tongue.

Eyes wild like turbulent water thrashing under a navy sky broken with sharp blue cracks of lightning.

Slowly shedding away his humanity, his scent floods the small space between you. He is “Alpha” just as you mumble the denomination against his chest, lips wobbling against thin tufts of body hair that peppered over and between his pecs.

“Help me.” Was the final cry, weak and barely audible.

Then he’s upon you, pinning you to the floor.

He’s nipping, nuzzling, agitating that node at the base of your neck to stir up your pheromones.

His hands claw up your dress, digging into the waist of your panties before sliding them off your legs to be discarded and unseen.

You have to hold onto him; he’s the only rock you have to cling to, and you let him pull you under his heavy tide.

It would be enough to make him the monster he fought not to be, an utter savage trapping you in a cage of immovable limbs.

His eyes clouded over with something dark and feral as you watched as that gentle gleam broke away, a pain, a fight finally lost as it dribbled with the trail of a bitter tear. His brow furrowed, jaw clenched tight to make his cheekbone lock against the side of his face.

Thick and calloused fingers burrow beneath your dress, crawling over the top of your thigh to bury themselves into your panties. He finds your warm blossom among the dampened fabric, pushing your soft lower lips apart between two of his nimble digits to dive into your dewy center.

He lets you swallow him past the bend of his fingers and all the way to his scarred knuckles. He feels you constrict around him, whimpering against his neck as your hips shake with each small movement he makes.

It was so much to experience, yet not nearly enough to satiate your aching body after all it had grown accustomed to while sharing his company these past few days.

Your whimper of frustration breaks through the soft music of mingled breaths, prompting him to abruptly tear his fingers from your lower body. It stings slightly with the rough and hasty drag of his skin back through your tender folds, making you wince slightly.

All sense of gentle James had bled away. The care he would give to caress your tender skin was replaced with hungry hands squeezing your soft flesh with nearly bruising force.

His fingers became ravenous, tearing at the button and zipper of his jeans until a tiny mental snap popped away from the denim and circled the floor beside you. Metal interlocking teeth were bent out of their respective shapes, and the seam sitting below it was torn in his haste to free himself.

Skin can finally be shared. The scattering of coarse hair along his belly drags over your upper thigh as your dress is hiked higher and he pulls himself forward.

His nails dig into the soft cotton and lace that still hides you from him as he drags the offending fabric off around your knees and towards your ankles. The popping of thin stitching can be faintly heard and yet entirely ignored as he sets his sights on tearing down his own boxers next.

The floor bears no comfort, a hard and cold surface to absorb some of the heat from your tempered body as your knees fall further apart, strong hands pushing them further until they too are pressed against the glossy wood below you.

He’s finally uncaged, freed from his tether of an iron leash as his thick, earthy scent bellowed out from a steam of sweat across his chest and neck. The length of him stood thick, hot, and pulsing with anticipation as it pushed and prodded at your lower lips. Like clumsily kissing, trying to find an even rhythm before a hand must come down between you to properly align him towards your entrance.

You were already drowning in feminine slick, easing his rough passage as he buried himself with haste. Straight to the hilt, fighting little friction from your sensitive inner walls, and with no warning.

A sharp moan was pressed from your lungs at the abrupt intrusion and was met with a low growl rumbling from his throat to vibrate over your cheek.

Not a single second was wasted as his hips moved without worry of your adjustment, dragging back and pistoning down so as to chase a once severely denied pleasure.

You squeeze your knees against the sides of his hips, pushing him inward just a little harder with each thrust forward.

His hair fanned along his forehead, dampened by sweat and sticking to his skin.

His hands slid to cup the back of your thighs, somewhat to anchor himself before pulling at your legs to drag them up to frame his upper body.

His back arched, hips falling down to re-envelop his cock in the warmth of your body. Dragging out into the mercy of the cool air of the cabin and plunging back down into the searing magma of your heated cunt.

The cradle of your knees was hooked over his biceps, calves pointed outward, and toes curled in against the forefoot.

The spilling of his name like a river over your wobbly lips. Weak and crackled with the shaking of your voice as you whimpered and whispered “James” again and again as necessary as breathing.

Your body lurched forward, abdominal muscles burning as you tilted up to reach his lips with the desperate swipe of the tip of your reddened tongue.

Your face was pink, a cherried flush crawling over your skin as blood flooded to your head and cheeks.

His hand was fisted against the floor, acting as an anchor to hold himself above you as his knees gave way with each downward thrust of his hips.

The muscles of his arm straining to keep himself aloft before finally giving way to fall into you.

He cradled your shoulders to pillow your own descent, his lips crashing against yours to return that sought-after kiss before your head inevitably fell back with the burst of a breathless moan. Your own arms wrapped around his back, your fingertips digging into his skin to nearly cut it down to its thinnest layer. A small amount of pain bloomed with each line that welted red and raised under the drag of your nails.

His face fell to your throat, dragging his nose across your neck before lavishing over your skin with his tongue.

Your lower body fluttered, the frantic beating of delicate butterfly wings, with each rough movement. Feeling his presence from the sting of an abrupt intrusion at the innermost lips of your entrance, a delicious ache of subtle friction tearing along the inner canal of your tender cunt. It went deeper still with a thrum of immediate pressure each time his velvet head struck against the bottom of your reservoir like a nine-pound hammer against molten steel.

His lips parted further and further apart, and his jaw clicked against his efforts not to bare his teeth. A billowing of hot breath and wet canines spread out over the side of your throat. Only grazing for now, but soon more of his self-control would fall against the last boundary he still maintained.

He bit down slowly, no doubt repainting your skin with a fresh bruise in the shake of his premolars, fighting with all his limited might to keep from tearing into your shoulder. His eyes were pressed closed, a tight pinch that made the muscles in his forehead ache and thin trails of tears taint his stubbled cheeks.

Something was building, a weight stifling his thrusts slightly as your entrance pushed against his growing thickness. His knot had begun to form, and each thrust required more and more strength to push the building bulb past the opening of your entrance.

You stretched further, accommodating his growing size as he swelled more and more with each ragged movement.

You felt the change in pressure, the uneven depths he fell to as he continued to pull and push himself into you. The hard roll of his knot against your inner walls, dragging over the tender flesh like a jade ball rubbing away a stubborn ache in an overworked muscle.

It spurred you further towards the edge, the feeling of completion looming closer and closer as it teasingly tickled the back of your cunt before trailing numbly further towards the surface.

In one moment the knot could barely find purchase to slip past the opening of your bruised flower, and in the next it broke past the barrier to fill you all the way into the bottom of your belly as your stomach was forced to press every so slightly against your diaphragm.

His teeth dug harder and harder, surpassing a bruise and breaking the skin.

Like the skin of an overripe fruit popping under the pressure of his teeth and spilling with sweet juice over his lips to drip across his jaw and neck.

The sound of it echoed in your ears as you fell from earth into a wide and empty cosmos. Every decibel of your scream was eaten by that vast and endless nothingness as your mind folded inward and hot bursts of sun pushed against the back of your eyes.

“Alpha!” came out as a last gasp to erupt from your shivering body as you succumbed to the overwhelming feeling of his mark being burned into your body from the inside and out.

Your knees quaked, nearly vibrating as his jaw clamped down in an unbreakable vice against your neck.

You rode through the pain and turbulent rapid of your climax as it carried you through its violent riptide. A dull thrum of thunder breaking into crashing light as your cunt convulsed around him.

You struggle for air, biting at the open space beside his head as if to push each breath into your lungs by force.

Your lightheaded, warm skin simmered against his, and your vision faded into a blur of dulled color.

You fell limp in his crushing embrace, body still languidly moving with the push and grind of his hips as his cock pulsed and stuttered with the gush of his spendings spurting inside your tight channel.

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Wanda didn't ask any questions about your puffy eyes or damp dress upon your return to the palace. She didn’t pry you for details, only asking if you had a nice time in the kingdom and sending for extra hot water for your bath. 

Sulking in the water, you scrubbed furiously at your skin until it was raw. To your chagrin, you were unable to scrub the ghost of his touch away, resigned to soaking in the water until the clock dictated that you absolutely must get ready or risk being late for dinner.​ The only thing worse than attending and facing Bucky was skipping, leaving him to think you were avoiding him. 

Your muscles ached from the activities on the beach. The memory itself remained tucked safely in your mind, not a shameful secret, but a precious moment you knew you would treasure forever.

He moved like he knew you. He moved like he loved you. 

Tonight’s dress was simpler than the night before, giving you the ability to dress yourself without the help of servants. The fabric was teal blue color, bitterly similar to the color of the ocean with sheer long sleeves that made your arms shimmer. 

No one was here to escort you to the dining room tonight, loneliness settling in on the walk and allowing anxiety to fester in your stomach as you floated through the halls like a ghost, heels clicking on what felt like your death march. Just like the night before, Steve, Sam, and Natasha waited at the dining room entrance for you. Bucky, you noted, to your relief and disappointment, was nowhere to be seen. Steve gave his compliments on your appearance first, offering his arm to escort you to the table. 

“Bucky will be down soon,” Steve explained, voice soft and soothing in a manner you didn’t realize you needed. “He’s answering a letter from his father. He doesn’t like us to wait for him.” 

Nodding, you force a smile, detesting the memories of the afternoon on the beach even more. 

Conversation flowed politely, with the gentlemen asking questions about your adventures in the kingdom and your thoughts on the merchants around town. Natasha asked if you’d danced in the square, and Sam wanted to know if you did ever make it to the gardens. 

But Bucky never did come down. You caught yourself glazing towards the large doors more than once, hoping they might open to reveal a tired but handsome man. Every creek of a floorboard under the servant’s feet made your head snap to the direction of the sound. One of Bucky’s personal valets stopped by halfway through the main course to let you all know that he would take dinner in his room. Ignoring Natasha’s concerned glance at you, Steve and Sam’s pitying stare, you prayed no one could hear the sound of your heart cracking over the soup course.

This was stupid. You were stupid. You left home with only hope that you could stay in Brooklynn, foolishly deciding against telling Bucky the truth for what? To prove that he could love you feeling like he had to? For your own vanity?

It was too late now. Bucky didn’t know it was you who had saved his life, and now he couldn't stand to look at you.

“What did you do to her?” Steve asked, grabbing Bucky’s bicep as he passed by in the hall later that night. He had staked out Bucky’s office after dinner, waiting to confront his friend. “She looked like she was seconds from bursting into tears all throughout dinner.”

Bucky sighed, looking up at the ceiling, then back at his friend. “Not here,” he muttered, shaking the grip on his arm loose in one stern movement, “outside.”

To the empty garden they went, unspeaking as they wanted and eyeing your closed balcony door and dark room before Bucky dared to utter a word. When he finally did, told Steve everything, from the dance in the village, to the plums, to the gardens, to the beach and the way you felt against his lips.

“I know her, Steve. I don’t know how, or from where, but she’s familiar. Like I’ve known her for a lifetime.” 

Steve’s eyes go wide, “you don’t think she could be your girl from the cottage?”

Bucky stares out to the restless sea, unmoving as he considers the possibility. “If she is, why didn’t she just tell me? I wouldn’t hesitate to marry her, if that’s what she’s worried about.” 

“If there’s one thing I know about women,” Steve sighs, “it’s that they don’t want to be an obligation. I haven’t spent half the time with her that you have, but one thing is clear to me, that woman wants you. Have you seen the way she looks at you? If she thinks you’d only choose her because she saved your life, I wouldn’t want to stick around either.” 

“I have to find out,” Bucky resolved, standing up to face your window. The room glows now, soft light coming from behind the curtains. He can picture you moving about in there, blood thrumming under his skin at the thought of you undressing for bed. “I don’t care who she is, but I need to know.”

They stand in silence, the heaviness of the situation sitting like a thick fog. 

Steve claps Bucky on the back comfortingly, “I owe Wilson a round of cards. Join if you want. Or go get your girl.” Steve leaves, steps echoing as he walks back inside. “Oh-” He turns back, pointing a finger at his friend’s chest. “Don’t hurt her. You can be an idiot without trying.”

Bucky closes his eyes, mind desperately sifting through his day with you and his memories of his angel in the cottage. They were already blurry, distorted through his fever and alcohol induced haze, but the more his mind worked, the more the two women were becoming one and the same. Your lips were hers, your eyes were hers. Your voice was hers. His eyes fly open. He couldn’t picture her. It wasn’t an illusion anymore. You were the one occupying his mind. 

As if materializing from his thoughts, you emerge onto the balcony, unnoticing of him and running a brush through your hair while gazing at the stars. 

His heart aches as he notices the puffiness around your eyes. Actually aches. The thought of you being in pain makes him want to gather you into his arms and destroy whatever caused the tears. The thought of you leaving to rejoin your family makes his heart sink. Bucky wants to follow you. To keep you, to know you like no one else ever will. You already have that of him.

Bucky has heard whispers about the loss of one’s innocence. That once a woman loses her virginal purity, they become even more enrapturing in another way. A glow, it has been described as. He didn’t take it very seriously; despite having been with more than one virgin, he had never seen it before. Even after his cold departure, you still maintained the flush that had stained your cheeks and the enchanting glow that emanated from your skin. It was the most beautiful thing he had ever seen. 

Bucky is struck with the firm, unbudging truth: he wants to marry you.

As if sensing his presence, you look down and gaze upon him. Your hairbrush slips from your fingertips, clattering to the marble balcony as a tiny ‘oh’ escapes your parted lips. Raising a hand, you wiggle your fingers in a wave whilst your lips curl into a wobbly smile. The action is shy and oddly endearing, contrasting the thin pink nightgown that flutters around your frame in the night breeze.

Bucky smiles, waving his own hand in response. “Hello, sweetheart.”

Tucking your head into your chin, you maintain your nervous disposition. “Hi,” you call down, rubbing your arms through the thin fabric of the nightgown sleeves. “I-We missed you at dinner.” 

“I didn’t plan to,” Bucky sighs, rubbing the back of his neck. He cranes his head back to look directly at you, “trust me, it was not done easily. I did not expect my correspondence to take so long.”

You lean down, elbows resting on the railing as you shrug slightly. “Perhaps. But you are the heir. It is unreasonable to expect you-” Your voice catches and you force your eyes to the floor, unwilling to look at him anymore. 

You believed he was no different than your family, he realized, especially after your afternoon together. Likely, you probably thought worse of him. 

That would not do, Bucky decided rather quickly. He could not have his future bride thinking she would have to settle for scraps of him. He had claimed you as his, body and soul on that beach, but more so, you had done the same to him. 

With a quick glance around the garden, he grabbed at the stones and vine of the castle wall, hoisting himself up and scaling the small distance up to your balcony. After he cleared the railing, you were on him in an instant, grabbing his arms and scanning his hands for any abrasions. “You- you idiot! That was dangerous! Why would you-”

“I needed to get to you.” He says simply, cradling your face in his hands as though you were a precious artifact. You freeze at his words, lips falling open and raising your hands to cover his. He takes one, pressing it to his chest so that his heart thudded under your fingertips.  “I can’t live another moment with you thinking I won’t be there for you. That I don’t want you. I want you here, in the castle with me. You’ve already taken ownership of my heart. Nothing you can say could possibly make me leave you. You are mine, just as much as I am yours.”

Heart burning, you squeeze his hand, locking your eyes to his icy gaze and searching for any sort of deception. When you don’t find any, you sigh, leaning closer into the warmth of his body.

“Bucky,” you sigh, tilting your head back. “I-”

He doesn’t let you answer, brushing his mouth over yours gently. “I love you.” Bucky murmurs against your lips. You hope his kisses will always have you weak in the knees, relying on him to hold you up. His hands wander, holding you up as he presses into you. He tastes when he kisses, as though trying to map every part of you with his mouth. 

“We shall send for your family tomorrow. We may have done things out of order, but swear to you, I want to do this right. You are the most precious thing to me.” Bucky’s words aren’t just a statement; they’re a promise, thick with the power of unspoken feelings. 

Emboldened by his words, you rise to your tiptoes to press your lips to his. You try to ignore the anxiety that creeps into your core, knowing that you’ll have to come clean to Bucky and your family if you want to stay with him. Moving your lips against his, you try desperately to quash the feeling with the love you have for him. You try to convey to him the years of want you’ve had. The years of love. From the very first dance, to the cottage, to the beach. 

You know me, your mind whispers, please realize it.

When you finally separate, he presses his forehead to yours, still clutching your hand to his chest. “I feel,” he breathed, “like I’ve known you my whole life.”

The words are exactly what you want to hear, but they still feel shallow. The ugly truth rests heavy on your mind. He does know you. You just wish he knew why. 

The next morning, Steve looks as though he’d rather be anywhere else as he stands in front of Bucky’s wooden desk. He can’t stop shifting his weight from foot to foot, thumbing at the broken wax seal of the letter he was holding.

Bucky doesn’t notice his friend’s discomfort. Steve’s best friend looks unabashedly happy, a small smile painting his lips while he looks over the royal decrees that litter the desk. Steve has always been there for Bucky, through childhood and the pains of growing up a prince, but he doesn’t want to be the bringer of bad news about the woman he has fallen for. 

Steve clears his throat nervously, “Buck. You need to read this.”

Bucky looks up, gazing at the man before staring at the letter with a quizzical look on his face. “Is that the response from her family? What did they say?”

“They said- she’s not-” Steve sighs, waving the letter, trying to find the words to explain something he himself doesn’t understand. “She’s not with the traveling group.”

Bucky’s eyebrows narrow in confusion as he snatches the letter from Steve’s grasp. “What?” He skims the words, catching lines of apology, thanks for looking after a stranger, but no information about the girl residing in his guest room. 

“They left Brooklynn two weeks ago. She wasn’t out there that long.” Steve’s voice is light, but hollow, the way one speaks when speaking to a sick child. 

Deceit settles into Bucky’s body like lead, feeling hurt, devastation, but above all, deception at the thought of you. “So, who is she?” The letter is tossed aside, atop a pile that he meant to discard weeks ago. 

Steve shrugs, cataloging the sudden droop in Bucky’s shoulders and tiredness sinking into the creases of his face. “I don’t know. Is she even from Clare-Auberge?” 

Bucky’s mind races, tuning out the continuing rambling of his friend as he struggles to reconcile the woman he thought he knew with the truth in front of him. You couldn’t have lied to him. This isn’t real. He frantically analyzes every conversation you’ve had with him, trying to figure out if you ever really cared for him. 

He keeps returning to the beach. The look in your eyes, the feel of your skin against his. Your kiss. The sound of your voice. Your eyes. The way he cannot stop remembering the night in the cottage without picturing your face. The way you talked about the ocean.

“She’s the girl from the cottage.” Bucky murmurs, eyes going wide. It’s too many coincidences to ignore anymore. He meets Steve’s gaze, voice firm as he declares, “That’s how I know her.”

“Bucky-” Steve protests weakly, feeling as though his friend is searching for logic and excuses where there are none. 

“I know it, Steve.” Bucky stands up, pacing back and forth behind his desk. “It makes sense now.”

“But Buck, if that was her, why would she lie? Why wouldn’t she just come clean and tell you the truth?” Steve wants it to be true, for his friend’s sake, but cannot bear to watch his heart break. 

Hot anger spreads under Bucky’s skin at Steve’s point, a prickly sensation that yearns for him to find you and confront you. Make you tell him the truth. 

“I don’t know.” His boots click against the floor menacingly, opening the door with a deadly calm. “But I know who she is.”

“I know you,” Bucky says, voice calm and calculated as he looks you over. You freeze, the teacup halfway to your lips with your book still open in your lap. 

“Excuse me?” Placing the teacup down, your heart thuds as you shut your book. The butterflies in your stomach turn into a hurricane of worry. He can’t know. How could he know? 

Bucky advances on you like a predator stalking their cornered prey, face unreadable and jaw set. “You heard me. I know you.” 

The panic must be written clearly on your face because he continues rigidly, “We received word this morning that the travel group is not missing anyone. Furthermore, they passed through two weeks ago. You may not be with them, but I’ve met you before. Why did you lie?” 

Your pounding heart must be visible through your skin, “I-”

“Who are you?” He demands, leaning down over you, forcing you to look up at him. “I bore myself to you. Housed you. Has anything you’ve told me been true? Were you using me to get information? Is your name even-”

“Yes!” You yell, rising to your feet and forcing him a few steps back. “I didn’t lie about my feelings for you.” Your eyes flash, “but there are complications.”

“Complications?” He sneers, hurt flashing across his face, “don’t insult my intelligence.”

“I didn’t want you to want me out of obligation.” You drop your hand, palming at the locket that rests between your skirts. The metal is firm to the touch, reassuring you of its existence. 

“Obligation?” Bucky laughs mirthlessly, face still inches from yours as his eyes dart back and forth, luring you to snap at him. “How could I possibly-”

It works as you dig your hand into your pocket, pulling out the locket in a swift movement and letting it dangle between your bodies. Its appearance silences him, eyes following the swing as the puzzle falls together with the confirmation he needed. 

“I was the one who found you at Willowstream during the storm,” you say forcefully, “I helped you, shared my heart with you, and sent for your friends when I could no longer stay with you for your own protection.” Your voice is hard as steel. “I told you I would see you again. Of course I wanted to. But I don’t want you to love me because you feel like it was owed.” You drop the locket on the side table, wrapping your arms around your middle as if holding yourself together. “I lied. Omitted the truth. About many things. But not one thing about my feelings for you are false.”

“It’s you?” He breathes, still fixated on the locket, the words equally question and statement. “You were the one?”

Swallowing, you reach for your voice, thick with emotion. “It is the simple things in life that are the most beautiful-”

“-extraordinary; only wise men are able to understand them.” Bucky finishes your sentence as you did that night, as if it's second nature. The physical, tangible confirmation is one thing, but the intellectual confirmation from you bearing your heart to him thrills him from head to toe.

You are the woman who knows his soul.

And he is the man who knows yours.

Bucky reaches for you, taking your hand in his. “I knew it. It is you.” 

“I wanted to tell you, truly. I just didn’t know how.” The words tumble from your mouth, as though someone has tuned on a faucet. Desperation colors your tone, begging him to believe you. 

“I knew it was you,” Bucky groaned, “I knew it. I remembered your eyes. The way you felt against me. I just couldn’t believe it. I didn’t want to be wrong”

“I’m sorry,” You whisper urgently, “really, I know I deceived you. I don’t have an excuse. I love you.”

Bucky runs his thumbs over your cheeks. “I love you. I don’t care. You’re here. You’re real.”

“There’s something else you need to know-” You murmur urgently, leaning into his touch but stopping his lips from touching yours with a placating hand on his chest. 

“Later.” He hums, licking his lips. His predatory gaze has turned hungry. Hungry for you. His fingers tangle at the laces of your bodice pressing his thigh to your core, suggesting his desire to tear your clothes from your skin and fuck you until you can’t stand. “I have you now. I need you. Please, sweetheart, tell me I can have you.” Bucky husks, leaning in again. 

Your eyes fluttered closed as his lips grazed yours, a barely audible sigh of his name falling from your mouth. “I’m yours.”

A thunderous crash followed by unintelligible yelling sounds down the hallway and into the room, the two of you jumping apart like children caught out after bedtime. 

“What the hell?” Bucky grunts, turning wildly, “are we under attack?”

You can hardly register his words before the yelling grows clearer, approaching just outside the door. “Where is my daughter?!”

Oh Hell.

“That’s not-” The door bursts open, your very enraged father stomping in, followed closely by Sam and Steve while your brother strolling lazily a few steps behind the entourage. Your father’s blazing gaze settles on you, half-shielded by Bucky’s body. Fear should have iced your blood, making you drop to your knees and beg your father to try to understand. It should have paralyzed you.

It didn’t.

“Sorry, sir-” Sam wheezes, bending at the waist and grasping at his side, “-tried to stop him,” he inhales sharply. “Got my ribs.” 

Steve pieces the puzzle together first, his mouth dropping as his gaze snaps between you and your family. His jaw hangs low, saying your name in a gasp of surprise. Bucky must not hear him, but you do, catching his eye and shaking your head wildly. Steve’s mouth snaps shut as you step in front of Bucky, pushing away his placating arm and ignoring the way his grip on your wrist tightens frantically, trying to pull you backwards.

 “King,” Bucky starts, “I don’t-”

“Father,” You say evenly, interrupting Bucky, “I don’t believe you’ve met Prince Barnes.”

Silence. Charged, electric silence. Eyes flitting between you and your father, watching the tense stand-off with barely contained curiosity and confusion. Your father stares you down, willing you to back down. You don’t falter under his gaze, setting your jaw stubbornly and hardening your eyes. 

“Princess?” Bucky mumbles bewilderedly, still maintaining his hold on you. “Of… Clare-Auberge?”

“What did you do to her?!” Is the next thing that tears from your father’s mouth, eyes targeting Bucky again and lunging towards him. You easily sidestep the swing of your father’s arm that tries to push you out of the way, taking Bucky with you and keeping his body protectively behind you. Your father turns, recovering from the sudden movement with a practiced yet tired ease. “Did he marry you? Touch you?”

You roll your eyes despite the truth of the latter suggestion, “He didn’t-”

“I would never-”

“Don’t try to tell me what you ‘wouldn’t’ do! I’m going to tear you apart, war be damned!” Your father bellowed, starting towards the two of you again. Another exasperated breath escapes your lips, resting a hand on your hip. 

Steve and Sam straighten up, hands moving to their weapons to defend Bucky. You tilt your head assertively, wordlessly challenging your father. Bucky could easily beat your father on his own, even in his unbridled rage, but the men still stood ready. He would have to go through you before any of them, knowing that he would never lay a hand on you in anger. Your brother boredly shifts his weight onto one leg, picking up a cookie from one of the plates and examines the treat before popping it into his mouth and crunching loudly. Damn heirs.

The room broke into yelling, threats and defenses overlapping into a mind-piercing cocophany of racket. Your own voice was lost in the din, protests and exasperated pleas to stop going entirely ignored.  

“Enough!” You finally screamed over the din, balling your fists at your side. “Will any of you listen to me?!”

“Listen to you?” Your father snickers incredulously. Hot rage boils in your stomach. “You know nothing of-”

“The complexities of politics? The rules of propriety? I’ve been sitting in on your meetings with the ambassadors since I could walk! I can name more about our policy's history than Will, who you should really ask about his relationship with Belle’s maid!” At the mention of his name, your brother’s head perks up, crumbs dusting his chin and shirt. “I might be a princess, but I had no trouble leaving the palace for Brooklynn and still wouldn’t have if Bucky had not been kind enough to take me in. During the storm, I saved his life at Willowstream. I love him! You know nothing of me!”

Your chest heaved, staring your father down. He did not move, caught between processing your words and watching in abject horror as Bucky wrapped an arm around your waist. 

“Was that what you were going to tell me?” 

You snort, pressing the side of your body to his and softening under his touch. “What, the princess part? Or the love part?” 

He presses his cheek to your temple, speaking his response into your hair. “Yes.” 

Despite it all, you can’t help but smile, happy to have everything in the light and the assurance that his love for you did not waver. Affection swells in your chest, switching your weight to one foot so you can truly rest your body against Bucky’s, his frame supporting you. 

No one seems to know what to say, watching you lean into Bucky. The two of you stand as a unit, unwavering against your father and his anger. It’s clear that the two of you love each other, and would stand against the world together. The realization must come to your father too because his shoulders drop a fraction of an inch and the strain in his face loses. 

“I wish to speak to Prince Barnes.” Your father fixes a cold, unreadable stare on Bucky. “Alone.”

Looks are exchanged between Sam, Steve, and Bucky before Bucky nods. “Of course.”  The room reshuffles as it clears, you grip Bucky a little tighter, refusing to let him go. Bucky presses your knuckles to his lips, voice warm and promising. “I love you.”

“I lo-” It’s Natasha who seemingly materializes out of nowhere, pulling you away from Bucky and into the hallway with Steve and Sam. 

Will follows your group, shutting the door behind him and picking through his handful of cookies. Natasha stares at you with unbridled curiosity, confusion coloring her stare. Steve is unspeaking, eyebrows narrowed in judgement that makes tears prick your eyes. Sam has his arms crossed, face hard. Will is the first to react, picking through a napkin of cookies he somehow managed to knick, and shoving another in his mouth. “So,” he says through a mouthful of cookies, spraying crumbs to the floor. Natasha wrinkles her nose in disgust, glancing at your brother from the corner of her eyes. “Wanna tell us what’s been going on, sister?”

“I know better than to ask you if my daughter’s story is the truth.” Your father begins, uncapping a glass carafe of bourbon on the chess table in the corner. He doesn’t ask if Bucky wants any, pouring a glass for the both of them. “That girl is a force of nature.” Your father downs his glass in one easy go, pouring another as he releases a long–suffering sigh. “How much did you know?”

Bucky swallows, unable to hide the bit of fear that rests in his chest as the realization that the only person who could stop him from being with the woman he loved was sat across from him and held an obvious grudge against his kingdom.  “I know the girl who saved me. I know the girl who appeared in the woods, dressed in rags. They seemed similar. She didn’t tell me that she was one and the same until this morning. But-” Bucky inhales sharply, “I think I always knew, in my heart.” Bucky meets your father’s terse stare. “I love her. Not out of obligation. Not because anyone wants me to. Because I do. She wanted me to love her for her, not out of necessity or guilt.”

Your father’s stony face is unyielding as he leans forward. “My daughter loves you. Truly. Deeply. I can see it in the way she looks at you. I will believe you if you say you love her. If you do not,” He swallows a lump in his throat, “I will take her away and she will never know the truth. My daughter is precious. It is a privilege to be loved by her.”

There are a lot of things Bucky wants to say. Reassurances that he’s honest; a good man. He loves you with his whole soul. “I took her to the ocean.” Bucky says instead, “around my kingdom. The people love her. When she saw the ocean, I finally suddenly understood. She is my reason for being.”

“Why should I trust that you care for her alone? You cared for her and who you thought was an entirely different person that saved your life.” 

“I couldn’t figure out how I could care so deeply for two different women. Then it was her eyes. I was ready to let the woman who saved me go, just for her. I would love her if I met her tomorrow. Princess, savior, stranger, I love her. There is no force in this world that could undo that.”

“It would take a good man to take care of my daughter. To challenge her. Are you that man, Barnes?”

There’s no hesitation. “I am.”

Bucky exits the room with an unreadable expression on his face. When he passes by you, he jerks his head towards the rest of his friends in a silent order to enter another room, and leave the two of you alone for a moment. His hand touches your shoulder, heat sinking into your skin through the fabric of your dress. Bucky doesn’t say anything as he does so, just keeps his demeanor calm, letting the comfort sink into your body as his touch warms you from the outside in. 

The door shuts loudly behind you, leaving you alone with your father as he stands silhouetted by the light streaming in from the window. Timidly, you clasped your hands behind your back. The grandfather clock in the corner ticks ominously. You know you should speak; apologize to your father, assure him that you didn’t mean to worry him, but deep down you wanted him to make the first move. So you wait. 

“He says you’ve made yourself a home here,” Your father begins, unwilling to say Bucky’s name, and doesn't dare to give him the power of presence. You don’t respond, holding eye contact. “That people like you. You got to see the ocean for the first time since your mother-” He swallows, “that boy loves you.”

You nod, unsure of how you should answer, so you keep your mouth shut, lips pressed tightly together. “Do you love him?”

You nod again, bringing yourself to speak no waver in your voice when you respond. “I do. Truly.”

“You’re a princess, but more than that, you’re my daughter.” Your father’s face softens, the years of wear appearing on his aged face as tears well in his eyes. “I failed you as a father. You should never have felt so abandoned that you needed to run away to be understood.”

The dam inside you breaks. Years of feeling ignored, hopeless and useless pushing past the walls you’d built as you realized that you had run away from home, abandoning your family with not so much as a word. 

The epiphany devastated you. You knew that it was the right choice, bringing your family the clarity they needed to realize how small you truly felt around them, but more importantly, Bucky, who would never need that absence to realize what you truly meant to him.  

It only made you love Bucky more. 

“Daddy,” you cry, throwing yourself into your father’s arms. “I’m sorry!”

He holds you tightly, pressing a kiss to the top of your head and stroking your hair. “Don’t apologize, my darling girl. I love you so much.”

“I love you too.” You whisper, pressing yourself into his chest as you wrap your arms around his center. He holds you as you cry, overwhelmed with the attention of your father. “How did you know where I was?” You ask, voice muffled into his clothes.

“Your sisters,” your father sighs, “are as industrious and stubborn as you are. Andromeda and Fawn remembered you dancing with Prince Barnes at that ball, years ago and recognised the glass statues in your collection as from Brooklynn-” He winces at the memory, “Lillian has relations with the merchants who heard of him taking in a lost girl. Belle, Ariadne, and Tatiana were furious when I said that only Will and I would be going to retrieve you.”

You blinked, stunned by the revelation. “I didn’t think they noticed me.” 

“You’re their baby sister. They may not understand your passions, but they love you all the same.”

You pull away from your father, stepping back to pick at your nails and dropping your eyes to the floor. “When will we be heading for home?” Your voice grows hollow, mentally drafting your goodbyes. 

A glint sparkles in your father’s eyes. “Whenever you should like to return to Clare-Auberge, there will always be a home for you.”

“Whenever I should like-” Your eyebrows furrow, “but- Father-?”

“Speak to Prince Barnes first.” Your father says gently but firmly. “I suspect the two of you will have much to say to each other.”

“What are you talking about?’ You press, unused to your father’s cryptic statements. 

“You love him, yes?”

There’s no hesitation as you answer again, “Yes, of course.”

Your father’s voice is firm, but pride leaks through. “You are my daughter. You must make your own choices now. I suspect he will have some things he’d like to propose to you.”

The knock comes in early afternoon, interrupting the writing of letters to your sisters to inform them of your safety. After your meeting with your father, Steve escorted you back to your room, coolly informing you that Bucky would be by later today and leaving you alone. Your heart jumps with excitement as you open the door, preparing itself to be Will or your father. To your delight, it’s Bucky’s handsome face that greets you instead, looking all too proud of himself. 

“I have something to show you.” 

You tilted your head in surprise, eyebrows raising as you rose to your feet. “Now?”

Bucky shrugged like it was simple, “When else?” He holds out his hand, and like always, you take it, letting him lead you silently  through the halls. 

“Wait,” you say, tugging him to a stop by the stairwell’s main landing. “I’m sorry. I didn’t know my father was going to show up, and I really did want to tell you. I was just… scared.”

“You have nothing to be scared of anymore, my love. I’m here now. I won’t ever let you go.” Bucky takes your chin between his thumb and pointer finger, tilting your face up to his. “I love you.”

“Can you forgive me?” You ask nervously, voice unfamiliar to your own ears.

He pretends to think, failing to smother the amused curl of his mouth. “I nearly went half crazy searching for something right in front of me. I’m more thankful that you’re real and here in front of me.” 

“Still,” you assert firmly, “you have every right to be upset with me for deceiving you.”

Bucky shrugs easily, as though he has just lost a meaningless card game. “It doesn’t matter. You were seconds from telling me the truth before being interrupted.” A wicked grin covers his handsome face, “but if you wish to be punished, I can think of a few ways that would please me.” He pulls your body into his, the evidence of his want warm and prominent, even through the layers between you. You gasp in mock outrage, giggling as warm desire settles into your core at his suggestion. 

“Bucky!” 

“What? We’ve got a lifetime for you to make it up to me, if you really want to.” 

Your eyes go starry and insides to mush, the suggestion lost on you at his promise. “a lifetime?”

“I’m going to marry you.” Bucky says obviously, like one would if they were commenting on the weather. “Not because I have to. Because I want to. Because I love you.”

“Some proposal,” you tease, bringing your hands to toy with the soft hair at the nape of his neck. “What if I-”

“That wasn’t my proposal.” Bucky smirks, tilting his head teasingly at you. 

“It wasn’t?” 

“Absolutely not,” he scoffs, offended at your suggestion. “You’re going to be my wife, that much is settled, but the proposal itself?” Hair is brushed from your eyes, as he speaks. “That is going to be far better than this.”

“You mean not in an empty hallway?”

“Definintely not.” 

“I look forward to it.” 

“You’d better.” 

“I think you’re the one who should be getting ready. You’re head over heels in love with me.”

“Obviously,” Bucky hummed, entirely unbothered by your assertion. “But don’t pretend you’re not just as bad.” 

You shrug, unable to restrain the wide grin that threatens to split your face in two. “What a pair we make.” 

He leads you down a corridor you haven’t been to yet, filled with portraits and sculptures and past a series of wooden doors. He stops in front of a set of dark oak double doors, producing a key and unlocking them with a click.

Inside is a room with pale blue walls and painted almond blossoms on the wall nearest the balcony. Sheer curtains do little to block the sunlight from coming in and brightening the dim room. A bed with a sheer canopy is covered in a sheet, but other than that, the room is devoid of furniture. Through the windows, you’re able to glimpse the glittering ocean. 

“Do you like it?” Bucky asks nervously, scratching the back of his neck. 

“Like it? It’s beautiful, but Bucky-” Confusion colors your tone as you take in the slightly dusty room and the large man taking up its space. 

He doesn’t seem to hear you, motioning towards a door on the wall opposite the bed. “My room is just through here. Can’t have the princess too far off.” The tips of his ears go pink while your heart stumbles, wondering if you heard him correctly.

“Bucky, what-”

“It needs furniture of course, which you can choose. Anything to your liking.”

“My liking? Bucky, really, I need you to explain.” Mind racing, you watch the man you love reduced to stumbling words and half-baked explanations. “Are you alright?”

A thin sheen of sweat has formed on his forehead, his bottom lip tucked between his teeth nervously. “This is going to be your room. You don’t have to sleep here, if you’d rather sleep with me. Not that you have to, but you’ll have your own space here. For your collections and anything else you’d like to do.”

“Mine?” The word settles in the air between you, spoken aloud and causing a smile to creep onto your face. “Is this real?”

His eyebrows knit together in confusion, cataloging your reaction. “Yes?”

You giggle, throwing yourself into his arms. He catches you easily, holding your waist as you stand on your tiptoes and stabilize yourself on his shoulders. “We’re getting married?” You all but yell, beaming brightly. 

He laughs, “I mean, yes, that’s what I was saying-”

You pull him in by his collar, pressing your lips to his. The kiss surprises him but he kisses you back with just as much fervor. Teeth click against each other, smiles preventing the picture perfect kiss you’d read about, but it doesn’t matter to you. It’s perfect. 

“I need you to stop smiling so much, sweetheart. ‘M trying to kiss you properly here.” Breathing heavily and laughing as you hold each other. 

As suddenly as a leaf on the breeze, you remember your father, brother, and sisters. Your home in Clare-Auberge.​ The home that hasn’t felt truly like home in years. The feeling you’d been chasing in small villages through your explorations. The way you felt when Bucky looked at you, whenever he kissed you, like the world was rearranging itself around the two of you in a perfect bubble. The way he would sacrifice anything for you. You were going to marry Bucky. He had presented the space to you not as a demand, but an option. In your heart, you knew that if you asked, he would let you go without a question. If you asked, he would follow you to Clare-Auberge and relinquish his throne. It was all up to you. 

“Bucky. My father-”

“Wants you to be happy.” He looks at you earnestly, waiting for you to respond. “As do I.”

Your face must be a sickening mixture of shock and excitement, because he takes your hand, wordlessly leading you down to the beach you had seen from the balcony. He didn’t speak during the walk, allowing you to think and relax in the salty air.

The second your toes touched the soft sand, your shoulders relaxed as you took a deep breath, inhaling the ocean air.

“Better?” Bucky asks gently, rubbing his thumb over the back of your hand. 

You nod, meeting his reassuring gaze with a smile. “You knew.”

“I think I loved you before I really knew you.” Bucky murmurs, pressing his forehead to yours. “Like I know my own soul, I know you. I look at you and know you’re the very reason I was born.” Between the two of you, he digs into his pocket to pull out a shining band topped with a sparkling gem. “I told you I would make this a big thing, but I don’t want to wait a second longer-”

Your face lights up, hands flying to cover your face. “Yes!”

“What do you say-”

“Yes!” You screech, bouncing excitedly on your toes. 

He laughs, “Will you marry me, my love?”

“Yes!” You repeat, voice rising in pitch. The ring fits your finger perfectly as he slips it on, glittering on your finger in the golden light. The light gives him an ethereal glow and casts the moment in the image of a romantic scene in a storybook. In one swift moment, Bucky has lifted you by the waist, spinning you around until you’re nearly doubled over his shoulders in laughter. 

He sets you down, kissing you again in that achingly tender way that makes you weak in the knees. All of the time spent dancing around each other, hiding from feelings out of the fear of getting hurt, culminates in this one, perfect moment. A happily ever after. It’s the kind of moment one dreams about. To be truly known. To love fearlessly.

“When?” You hear yourself ask as you surface for air.

Bucky hums, eyes still closed. “Whenever. Sooner, rather than later if it were up to me. I want to be able to call you my wife.” The words make heat curl in your stomach, imagining him husking them into your ear while you’re underneath him.

“I’d marry you right now,” You sigh as a kiss is pressed to your neck under your ear. “But my family would have things to say.”

“Don’t they always?” Bucky teased, drawing a laugh that fades into a soft moan as his teeth nip your soft skin. He soothes the bite with his tongue. “I’d marry you now. I’ll marry you later. In a storm. On a boat. Name the time and place and I’ll be there.”

Your mind raced with ideas, thoughts of color schemes and flowers, but the one perfect thing that would never change was Bucky, waiting for you at the end of the aisle.

After a small celebratory dinner with your father and brother, you’d finally been released for bed. 

Just like the nights before, Bucky walked you to your door, kissing your hand chastely as your father watched with hawk-like eyes for any inappropriate behavior. 

You thought you’d be able to manage being able to be without Bucky, especially for just a night, but as you laid in bed, a prickly warmth settled under your skin. You tossed and turned, aching for the feel of his skin against yours and the sound of his heartbeat in your ear. 

You’d made enough reckless decisions lately that you figured one more wouldn’t make things worse. That was how you’d found yourself slipping through the dark hallways and passed the odd guard who averted their eyes at your appearance. 

Bucky was sitting up in bed when you creaked his door open. He said your name in surprise, dropping his book to the floor. “Sweetheart, what are you doing here?”

You only smiled in response, quietly pulling the door shut behind you and tiptoeing to his bed.

“Get in,” Bucky murmured, lifting the blanket for you to climb in next to him. You settle against his chest with a contented sigh, nuzzling into his breast and finding his heartbeat. He can feel the heat of your skin through the thin nightgown you’re wearing. Bucky tries desperately to ignore the way the fabric rides up your thighs, stopping just below the curve of your ass, but he’s only a man. A warm blooded man with a throbbing erection. His hand falls protectively to the small of your back, a safe spot for him to rest. 

“Missed you,” you hummed, pressing a kiss to the skin above his heart. Goosebumps rise on his tanned skin at your action. Pridefully, he can’t help but notice the way the ring on your finger sparkles in the low light. You squirm closer to him, pressing the pulsing heat between your legs to the muscle of his thigh. A small smirk grows on your lips as a groan bubbles in his throat. 

“Angel, if anyone catches you here-”

“We’d have to get married faster.” You sigh mockingly, your voice coated in sweetness as you prop yourself up to meet his gaze. “What a shame.”

Bucky grins despite himself, the hand on your back daring to wander lower, letting his fingers dig into the plush flesh of your backside. His other hand caresses your cheek with a gentleness unlike the one on your ass. “You’re trouble, woman.” He says with no malice in his voice. 

You grin, meeting him halfway for a kiss and dragging your fingers to the bulge in his pants to palm at him. “Maybe. But I'm your trouble now.” Your smile grows wicked, “what are you going to do about it?”

Bucky growls, flipping you onto your back with minimal effort and pushing the nightgown to your waist to find you delightfully bare underneath. His fingers are gentle and anything but sweet as he pulls them through your glistening folds and gently circling your clit. His featherlight touch draws a meek whimper from your lips.  

Bucky brings his fingers to his mouth, sucking your juices from his digits. Humming at the taste, he lowers himself down your body, palming at the skin as he goes before gently pulling your thighs apart and settling between your legs. Swallowing nervously, a hot flush spread across your chest at the sight of Bucky’s broad shoulders holding your thighs apart. He looks at you like you’re a meal and he’s been starving for years. 

You expect him to dive in, licking you thoroughly until you can’t breathe, but he shifts again, bending your leg at the knee to kiss at the skin on your inner leg. Kisses pepper their way up your legs, soft presses of his lips paired with the scratch of his stubble as he moves up, inch by inch. You squeeze your eyes shut, relishing the feeling of his hot breath on your skin. He reaches the threshold of your thigh. His resolve seems to be chipping away with every second that passes, growing more frantic with every pass of his tongue. 

“Bucky,” your voice sounds foreign to your own ears, distant and pleading. “Please.”

His eyes dart up to you, taking in your already fucked out expression wth a smug look on his face. “Please what, my love?”

You squirm under his hold, pinning your hips in place. “Please,” you cry, attempting to shift your tips into his touch, looking for any pressure to ease the throbbing between your legs. “Touch me.”

He doesn’t wait a moment before diving in, tongue dancing over your sensitive core before dipping his middle finger into your dripping pussy. You arch into him as he curls his finger, rewarding the action with a cry of his name. His answer comes in the form of another finger inside you. 

“Taste so perfect, sweetheart,” He growled, a feral rasp in his throat as the last of his restraint fades away. He drags his tongue up and down your clit, applying a pressure that makes your head spin and hips cant up to chase the pressure of his mouth. “So fucking wet. Are you this desperate for me?”

You nod, head shaking wildly as your breaths grew quick and vision blurring as you felt your peak growing close embarrassingly fast. The high pitched sounds coming from your mouths would have been mortifying if you were of sound mind, but the pleasure Bucky was bringing you made you drunk. 

“I’m– oh! I’m going to, Bucky,—don’t… please don’t stop—”

“Come on sweetheart,” Bucky cooed, coaxing your release without moving from against you. “Come for me. Come for your husband.” 

Not a moment later, you shattered underneath him, the word itself seemingly pushing you over the edge. White hot pleasure overtook your body, legs tensing as the orgasm washed over you. Bucky drank everything you gave him, licking and sucking through your orgasm as if you were the sweetest honey, the most fruitful wine, his salvation. 

When you come down, tense and shaking from overstimulation, you knot your hands in his hair to pull him away from you. Bucky’s eyes are dark, the blue of them eclipsed by the black of his pupils, blown wide with desire. 

“So greedy, sweet girl.” Bucky murmurs, blanketing your body with his. You wrap your legs around his waist, pulling his hard length against your wet cunt. The condescending words are contradictory to his actions, desperation lacing his tone as he grinds against you. “I’ve barely gotten you back, and you’re already begging for me.”

His kiss is hot and searing against you, tongue dancing with yours as you grip his hair, holding him in place against you. True to his statement, you are greedy, trailing your hand down his body and wrapping a hand around his hard, aching, cock. It throbs at your touch, leaking precum onto your skin. He gasps into your mouth, trusting into your gentle touch.

“I missed you,” Bucky groans, “I barely had you and I missed you so much. Tell me you missed me too. Missed me inside you.”

“Yes– oh yes, Bucky. I missed you.” Nodding wildly, you drag his length through your folds, mixing your juices together. You moved your hand again, building a rhythm of your own that he chased with subtle thrusts of his hips. The combined slickness of the both of you created an obscene sound. 

When you looked between the two of you, you caught sight of his cock, thick with a vein tracing its way to the tip. His tip was flushed an angry red, almost looking bruised. He pulsed again in your hand, a broken moan shuddering from his lips as you dragged your thumb through the slit. 

Your mouth watered at the sight, the urge to shimmy down his body and lick him until he was just as much of a mess as you were overwhelming you. As if reading your mind, Bucky pressed your hip down, stopping the movement. 

“You want your tongue on my cock?” He taunted, a smirk painting his lips despite his voice sounding like he wanted the same thing.

You nodded once, moving again to try to bring yourself to eye level with his cock, even shifting your body to flip you so you could be atop him. The action was fruitless as his massive hand kept you pressed into my bed. 

“Another time,” Bucky promised, kissing your cheek chastely in an action unlike what was happening below your waist. “I’ll have you on your knees for me at all hours, pleasuring me with that pretty tongue of yours. You’d like that, wouldn’t you?”

You answered by dragging himself through your dripping folds again, feeling another bead of precum gather atop your sensitive clit, relishing the feeling. “Tell me, my love. Did you lay awake at night thinking about me? Remembering my touch? How good I felt in your tight cunt?”

You wiggle, notching him in your entrance. Bucky tilts his hips, putting just the tip inside. Clenching on instinct, you nod, head thrashing side to side against his sheets.

His response is a mocking click of his tongue, hand catching your risk to stop you from pulling him closer. Pride swelled in Bucky’s chest, loving seeing you like this, stripped of your sass and spunk, desperate for him and only him. Love filled your eyes as you gazed up at him. Bucky softened, leaning down to press a light kiss to your lips.

“Words. Say it for me, darling.”

“Yes! Yes, Bucky– I dreamt about you, ever since that night in the cottage, I imagined how you would feel against me. Please, please touch me.” You sob, tears leaking from your eyes out of sheer desperation.

“Good girl.” He kisses each of your cheeks once, before sheathing himself inside your pussy in one smooth motion. 

“Chirst,” he chokes out, pressing his face to your collarbone and squeezing his eyes shut as he focuses on not cumming. “How are you tighter than before?”

A moan is all you can answer with, raking your nails down the skin of his back, sure to leave angry red marks. 

Bucky froze, refusing to start moving. He wanted to relish this moment, to savor it. Your body rippled, struggling to accommodate him. Every loving clench your body offered him made it harder to maintain composure. 

You pulsed around him with every shift of his body, his cock barely pulling out of your cunt before squeezing desperately, as though trying to suck him back in. 

“God… sweetheart, stop,” he choked out, his barely regained composure fracturing again. “If you keep– fuck– clenching like that...”

You couldn’t help yourself, locking your ankles around his waist and pulling him back against you, mewling as he filled you completely again. Bucky set a rhythm, painting against your lips as he thrust in and out, every punch of his cock kissing your cervix and pushing you further up his bed. 

“I can’t!” Your voice was broken, “I’m sorry– oh Bucky– I just missed you so much! I missed this.”

Your voice shattered him, his pace now brutal and desperate, filling you again and again. His fingers gripped your things, tight enough that you were sure he would leave bruises to discover in the morning.

“Fuck– my love, my life, my wife. You’re my everything. So little time feels like years without you. I love you so much.” 

Any gentleness he had once possessed had disappeared into the night. Breathy “ahs!” and cries of his name escaping your lips with every thrust, hips somehow driving deeper and deeper into you.

He barely held out, desperate to make you come before he did. He wanted to feel you shatter around him again. He had a lifetime to make you his, paint with his seed over and over again, but all he cared about in this moment was your pleasure. Bucky was determined to feel you come around him again before his own release. 

The scent of sex and sweat enclosed the two of you, an intoxicating mix that was utterly filthy and sensual at once. “You want to come?” He taunted as you moaned freely, uncaring of anyone overhearing you. Bucky couldn’t bring himself to be bothered either, no longer caring of who overheard you, smug at the thought of the world knowing you were his and his alone. 

Hot lips wrap around your nipple, sucking and biting with renewed fervour. 

“Oh– Bucky, I– mmphh! I can’t!”

“You can,” He huffed against your skin, switching to the other breast to give it the same affection. “And you will.”

Your clit ground against his pubic bone every time he bottomed out. The pressure was enough to overstimulate you, barely giving you any time to recognise what was happening before a second orgasm washed over you.

The world beyond his body no longer existed. The world outside of the four walls of his room could cease to exist, and you wouldn’t care so long as his touch was on your skin. Your soul had always been his, but now he was branded upon it. Your overstimulated senses screamed as his lips pressed to the corner of your mouth, licking up the tears that had fallen from your eyes. 

He fucked you through it, slowing his pace slightly to let you drag him back inside your dripping pussy. “I’m going to have you like this forever,” He promised, picking up his pace again. “Full of my cum. Dripping with me all the time. Wouldn’t you like that, my love? Bred with our children?”

Despite your skin being soaked with sweat and senses overstimulated with ecstasy, you nodded crying out in frantic agreement. You clung to his shoulders as his pace slowed again, hips circling in a desperate attempt to stave off his own orgasm. A fresh jolt of lightning shot through the center of your body and down to your core, renewed vigor pulsing in your lower belly at the promise of carrying his children. Of being Bucky’s forever. 

“Gonna fill you up,” Bucky murmured as the remainders of your orgasm fluttered around him. “Fill your cunt with my love so that I drip out of you. Is that what you want?’

“Yes! Oh, Bucky- my love– yes!” 

His body went rigid, muscles locking up as his orgasm ripped through him, a guttural shout ripping from his throat as he punched into you a few more times, painting your insides with his hot seed.

 “Fuck–! Cumming!” The sound ripped almost painfully from his throat, a desperate groan filled with desire and love. His eyes rolled back in his head before they shut, unable to keep open through his overwhelming orgasm. His heavy chest heaved against yours, arms shaking as he struggled to keep himself steady. You sighed, focusing yourself and tensing your muscles around him to clench around him again. 

Bucky collapsed atop you when you did, whining as his hips weakly thrust into you in an attempt to ride out his orgasm and keep you close to him. His arms bracketed your head, holding himself in a hover above you, careful not to crush you with his weight even in the throws of pleasure. 

Your skin stuck to his, his twitching cock still nestled inside you in a post-orgasmic state, as though you would become one if he just pressed himself harder against you. 

Heavy breathing permeated the silence of the room as he rolled over, taking you with him and careful not to dislodge himself from inside you. Though your bones felt like jelly and your body was thoroughly exhausted, you were warm with love and desire. You found his heartbeat easily, relishing the feeling of knowing you were now his and only his. 

“I finally have you. You’re real.” Bucky whispered, stroking your hair. You snuggled further into him, feeling his seed begin to slip out of you. “I never want to lose you. I felt like I was going crazy without you.”

You propped your chin up, watching him longingly. You cupped his face, stroking the prickly stubble on his cheek. “You never will,” you promised softly. The hand that wasn’t stroking your hair curled around your cheek. 

Turning your head slightly, you press a gentle kiss to the palm of his hand. The action makes goosebumps rise up his arm, bliss encircling you two as reality seems to finally set in.  

“I have you, sweetheart. My savoir. I’ll never let you go again.”

Half-asleep, the question slips from your lips before you can stop it. “But, if I do, will you come find me again?”

The coronation of Prince Peter of Queens might be the most fun you’ve had in your life until this very moment. King Stark had truly spared no expense for his adopted son’s rise to the throne. Wine flowed freely, jovial music sounded through the elaborately decorated ballroom, and everyone seemed to be in a joyous mood.

Well, everyone except for your father and sisters. The former remained alongside the wall, speaking exclusively to Lord Walker of Washington and offering only a few curt words to whomever summoned the courage to approach them. Three of your older sisters had attended alongside you and your brother, but they all sat rigidly at their table conversing lowly among themselves. Lillian, Andromeda, and Fawn had all chosen steel blue dresses, representative of your Kingdom’s color. One the other hand, you stuck out magnificently in a dress of deep cerulean. You felt rather like a butterfly flitting around the ballroom with a new friend, a young woman from Sokovia, Lady Wanda, who was easily able to point out everyone in the room and provide little anecdotes. 

It was when the two of you huddled behind the champagne tower, giggling as you watched Prince Peter fumble over his words with a lady from Midtown that a new man caught your eye.

He was older than you, perhaps around the age of your eldest sister, Lillian, but he wore it well. His face was clean shaven with a sharp jaw and cheekbones, dark brown hair perfectly styled away from his face, but oh, his eyes. 

Blue, bright blue and captivating, inviting you to drown in them even from your distance. They were as close to the ocean as you remembered from your childhood. “Who’s that?” You breathed, grabbing Wanda’s arm with your free hand. Champagne spilled over the edge of your coupe at the jerking movement, but you didn’t notice, utterly enamored by the handsome stranger. She follows your gaze, smiling knowingly when she realizes who you’re referring to. “That is Prince Barnes of Brooklynn. Bucky to his friends. Heir to the throne. The man next to him-” She gestured to the blonde man standing next to Bucky, “is his best friend, Sir Steven Rogers.”

“Brooklynn,” you repeat, heart sinking only slightly, “too bad my father hates them.”

“He’s quite popular,” Wanda comments, “I’m beginning my training as a lady-in-waiting to his mother next month. I hear he’s constantly fending off eligible young women.”

“I can see why,” you observe, stepping back into view of the crowd with Wanda. Two young children have begun to circle his and Sir Rogers’ legs in a game of hide and seek. Laughing, Bucky leans down to catch the girl by her waist and tickle her sides. She screams in laughter, pushing him away to dart back into the crowd. The little boy follows her, but not before Bucky reaches down to ruffle his hair. 

Your heart betrays your mind, putting aside all ideas of the chasm between the two of you created by your father’s pride. Prince Bucky is perfect. 

“And now,” King Stark announces, quieting the ballroom without much effort, “a traditional waltz.” The ballroom erupts with hums of excitement, women and men scrambling for partners, You bounce on your toes. While your sisters had declined to learn the dance, you had begged your governess to teach you privately once lessons were done for the day. After years and years, you would finally be able to show off and prove you didn’t belong in your sister’s shadows. 

All you needed was the perfect someone to ask you. 

As if out of a dream, Prince Bucky and Sir Rogers were approaching you and Wanda, seemingly unnoticing of the many women trying to catch their eyes. 

“Wanda,” a smiling Sir Rogers greeted first. He bowed at the two of you, Bucky dipping his head as the two of you curtsied. “It’s good to see you again.”

“The two of you as well,” Wanda turns, presenting you and saying your name. “Princess of Clare-Auberge.”

Both men bow at you, Steve’s smiling never wavering as he directs the question to you. “Pardon me, Princess, might I request the honor of escorting Lady Wanda to the dance floor?” 

Nodding eagerly at Wanda, you motion for her to take his outstretched hand. Steve leads Wanda away, leaving you and Bucky alone, much to your delight. He clears his throat, smiling kindly at you and offering his own hand. “Since my friend has disposed of your company, I feel if would be rude of me not to ask the beautiful princess to accompany me for the waltz.” 

A pity dance from the man you’d suddenly developed a crush on wasn’t exactly what you had in mind, but since it was Bucky and your window was closing, you nod and accept his hand. There are hundreds of eyes on the two of you as you take your place on the dancefloor. Your gloved hand is held delicately in his, the other settling on your waist. You can feel the heat of his skin through the smooth fabric. When the music begins its bright start, Bucky leads you around the room effortlessly, your skirts swirling and creating an intimate bubble around the two of you. Step for step, you match his movements, eyes locked on his. 

“You dance wonderfully,” Bucky says, voice low enough so that only you can catch it.  

“Thank you,” you sigh, relaxing in his hold and closing your eyes for a moment to let the music wash over you. His eyes roam over your face, catching the glint of the ballroom lights in your hair. “This is perfect.” 

“Perfect?” 

“My sisters don’t dance,” you explain, eyes opening again. “We don’t have many balls at home, especially not like this. Tonight is perfectly wonderful. A fairytale.”

Bucky spins you, surprising you at how much you disliked momentarily having his hand off of your body. When it returns to its spot, his thumb brushes the lowest button of your dress. He doesn’t respond to you, only smiling politely as he begins another sequence of turns. You’re content to revel in the magic of the moment, unaware of the world around you. As the music comes to a slow stop, Bucky’s grip loosens on you, his hands dropping back to his sides as he bows deeply. Your low curtsey is just as formal, blood thrumming against your skin with anticipation that he might ask for another song in your company.

“Thank you for the dance, Princess.” Is all he says before walking away. 

The fantasy ends like a popped bubble, your heart sinking as you’re left standing alone. Resuming your position along the wall, you can’t bring yourself to care too much. You got your dance with a handsome prince. A prince you can only hope to see again.

That’s more than most get. More than you had ever gotten. 

Wanda doesn’t return to join you again, her red hair standing out on the dance floor as she’s claimed for another song. It ends and another begins, still she does not return. An hour passes; the glass of bubbles in your hand grows warm. You’re afforded a few spare glances and polite nods from passing guests, but no more invitations to dance. 

You may as well be invisible.

Fed up and with sore feet, you discard your glass on an empty table and head for the now deserted Grand Hall. The guards pay you no mind as you collapse on the stairs, dress fanning around you like a flower. You draw your knees up to your chest, resting your chin in your hands as you pout. 

“...can’t imagine why they would come.” A chirping voice echoes from a next to the staircase, just out of your sightline. A door closes loudly, a step of footsteps following. “Of course, the King and his heir must come, but his daughters-”

“The eldest is just so plain!” Another voice exclaims, shiny black hair coming slightly into view. Duchess Daphne, you deduce from her accent. “Rather boring dresses too. They all are, really. Seven daughters and not one bit of style.”

The first voice snickers meanly, an ice blonde bun appearing over the railing. Another Duchess, this one being Marina of Coney. “Can you imagine marrying into that family? It’s a shame too, that heir isn’t all terrible looking.”

Hot shame douses your body as you dig your nails into your palm. A rebuttal sits heavy on your tongue, threatening to escape into the open. 

“At least the youngest got to have her fun dancing with Prince Barnes. She’s got some taste, I suppose, and dances quite well. It’s a shame no one else will bother with her.” 

The muffled giggles grow into a raucous fit of laughter as the doors to the ballroom open and close again, entirely unnoticing of your presence. The footman who closes the door behind them offers you a sympathetic look, one you desperately ignore.

Tomorrow you will go back to Clare-Auberge with one golden memory. 

Bucky was kind to you. Bucky danced with you. That was perfect.

And your father’s wrath be damned, you would see him again.  

Your room was quiet: the perfect escape from the Lady’s Room where your sisters would be catching up on their studies, instrumental practice, and whatever else they pleased. 

Grinning to yourself, you flipping through the journal where you had carefully documented pathways to Brooklynn, Queens, and visits to the little villages throughout the kingdoms. Nothing more than a day’s travel, which you had carefully primed your father to allow with permission to stay at Willowstream as needed, the old country estate that was rarely used.

Today would be your furthest and most daring adventure yet, a trip to the Brooklynn village nearest your border and their capital. A book waited for you in the village bookshop, supposedly one of the most well stocked in the world. 

The library in your castle was plenty beautiful, but not as thorough as you would have liked; you had finished every book by your fourteenth birthday, and repeated requests for more books went ignored. Being the youngest of eight with a widower for a father meant that your birthdays didn’t go beyond a few odds and ends. Which, to be entirely honest, you didn’t entirely mind. It afforded you less attention than your sisters and could slip beyond the castle walls without much fanfare. It left you the opportunity to see the world around you, especially Brooklynn, a the neighboring kingdom your father held an irrational hatred for and preferred to ignore the existence of. You, on the other hand, enjoyed your travels to their villages, daydreaming on your walks that Prince Bucky would come along and declare his love for you, sweeping you atop his horse and bringing you to his palace. 

The glint of an old invitation caught your eye, tucked carefully in your wooden box of treasures and trinkets. Prince Peter’s coronation, now two years ago, echoed like it was only yesterday. The waltz. Bucky. The Duchesses laughing at you and your sisters. You couldn’t remember the last serious suitor that had visited for any one of you. You shook your head at the bittersweet memory. Your dance with Bucky would always be a treasured moment. No one could take that away from you. 

Selfishly, you kept your ear out for news about him in the villages. He was still single, that much you knew. Well liked, too, a rarity for entire villages to have positive opinions about a royal family. 

Further into the box was your collection of odds and ends collected from years of exploring. A ribbon from a shop by Willowstream, a small hand-painted vase from the frist time you ventured into Brooklynn, a vibrant red pressed wildflower from a small farm that hosted you for lunch when you found yourself lost. Pebbles smooth as glass that sparkled in the light, painted postcards, a wooden pen carved of walnut. Seashells from your mother, the last remainder of your childhood trips to the ocean.

Your collection wasn’t flashy, but it meant everything to you. It was a reminder of your freedom. The things other princesses weren’t allowed to do. If your father truly knew what you were doing and had a say, you wouldn’t for much longer. 

A call of your name from the hallway sent you shoving the box back into your closet before Ariadne, your sister closest in age, walked in without knocking.

“Are you seriously studying those maps again?” She scoffs, crossing her arms and leaning against your desk. “Father won’t be pleased if he discovers you’ve been out exploring again.”

Mentally noting not to confide in Ariadne about exactly what you were doing when disappearing for hours again, you grab your walking boots to tug them on your feet.

“I’m not exactly exploring,” you countered, “I’m going to Greenwich for a book.”

Ariadne picks up a china statue of a dancing couple, lazily studying it with the air of someone who could not bring herself to care. 

“We have a library here.”

Standing up and brushing invisible dirt from your skirt, you swerve past her. “And I’ve already finished those books.”

Ariadne follows you into the hallway, unwilling to let you go without a fight. “There’s a storm coming tonight!” She calls after you. 

You wave her off dismissively, rounding a corner away from her.

“I’ll be back before it comes.”

Ariadne calls your name one more time, stubborn exasperation leaking into her tone. She knows she can’t stop you. 

But truly, no one could. 

“There’s no chance in hell I make it back home.” You said aloud to nobody, lifting your skirt and picking over an exposed tree root. The sky glowered in response, thunder rumbling ominously from the dark gray clouds just visible through the tree tops. “I suppose I should stop at Willowstream.” You muse, referring to the royal cottage at the edge of the woods. It was a two hour walk from the palace and was typically only used for a few weekends throughout the year, too early at present for the late summer soirees. Though, the caretakers should be there, ready to greet you as they prepared the home. You pick up your pace as the sun fully disappears, a few drops of rain cooling your warm skin. Reaching the beginnings of the proper pathway, a cheerful mew greets you. Carrot trots up cheerfully alongside you, seemingly unbothered by the incoming tempest. Carrot lived in the meadow behind Willowstream, a common fixture in the gardens and around the house. He began to trot slightly ahead of you, leading the way to the magnificent front doors. You knocked on the heavy door, receiving no answer, and dug in the small planter beside the door to retrieve the spare key. 

No sooner had you opened the heavy wooden doors did the heavens open up. Rain battered the roof relentlessly, sheeting so heavily that you couldn’t see more than a few feet outside the window. Carrot seemed to pay no mind to the noise, simply hopping atop the sitting room windowsill (an action that never would have passed if your family had been there) and watched the pathway, tail flicking mindlessly.

Looking around, you found the furniture uncovered and freshly cleaned, wood stacked neatly by the fireplace. At least you had dry wood, you supposed, smugly stacking wood in the hearth and striking a match. This was one of those “useless servant-skills” your father had stuck his nose up at and here you were, fending for yourself. 

The rain kept coming, hours passing with hardly a reprieve from the crashing thunder, lightning flickering through the curtains every few minutes. You had pulled a book from the library, some romance novel, and read by the fire as the sun set. Carrot now laid contentedly on his back in front of the fire, purring away. 

A movement through the window caught your attention.

A shadowy figure was making their way up your pathway.

You gasped, dropping your book and darting behind the curtain. Carrot startled, opening one eye before settling down again. 

“Some guard cat.” You scoffed to yourself, twisting your skirt around your hand and looking back through the rain soaked window. 

Heart racing, you squinted into the darkness, watching the figure stagger two more steps before stumbling and collapsing. Before you could truly grasp what you were doing or the consequences of you actions, you had pulled your cloak back over your shoulders and taken the candle out into the inky night. 

Mud squished under your shoes, barely audible through the rain as you fell to your knees. The candle sputtered in protest, hardly withstanding the raindrops and wind but stubbornly refused to go out. You brought your candle to the face of the figure and nearly dropped it in your surprise.

It was the Prince of Brooklynn. Prince Bucky. The prince you had been hopelessly in love with for two years now, and here he was, collapsed in your front yard.

His breaths came shallowly, cheek pressed to the grass. Reaching down, you touched his shoulder, eliciting a groan from deep in his chest as he strained to lift his head. You jerked your hand back as though burned. He pressed his hand to the ground, trying to push himself up. Carefully, you touched his shoulder again, lowering your lips to his ear. 

“Let me help you.” You murmured, hoping he could hear you. “You have to stand.”

Stumbling under his weight, you heft him up, his arm slung over your shoulders. His head hangs listlessly, eyes heavy lidded as he limps alongside you as you bring him towards the dry cottage. 

When you finally get him inside, you lay him down on the sofa. Collapsing on the floor next to him, you let the crackling fire warm you from the outside in, heaving from the walk. Bucky’s breathing has evened out in the warmth, his chest rising and falling slowly. His eyes are still closed, skin ghastly pale and sickly. 

You look around, taking stock of the situation and realizing three very important things.

You’re alone. 

WIth a man. 

A man who is the Prince of Brooklynn and looks to be knocking on death’s door.

Bucky groans again, writhing against the soaked sleeves of his heavy coat. You carefully stand, reaching for his arms. 

“I’m sorry,” you whisper, peeling the soaked fabric from his skin, “but you need to get warm.”

You hang his coat by the fire, looking back at him. His boots are soaked too, taking much more effort to wrestle off. His socks quickly follow, joining the coat by the fire. You capture your lower lip in between you teeth.

It’s not as though Willowstream is well-equipped at the moment, even for you but especially not for someone this ill. Especially not the Prince of Brooklyn.

At least you’ve got food; some bread, eggs, and berries you picked up in the village, and the wine cellar is sure to be stocked with leftover whiskey from last summer. If you go to the kitchen, you should be able to cook up some food for the two of you, and a little bit of hot whiskey might help Bucky.

You let your gaze fall back to him, passed out on the couch. He’s even more handsome than you remember, even covered in mud and sopping wet. Your heart thuds in your chest, the fluttering sensation in your stomach returning full force as you brushed some of his dripping hair from his face. 

You’re hesitant to leave him in this condition, but it’s  necessary to get water, food, a rag, and dry clothes.

You move as quickly as you can, turning on the stove and heating the food while you run to get some of your brother’s old clothes. Tearing a strip of fabric from one of the shirts, your heart sinks a little before you find your voice again. 

“I’m going to clean you up now.” You tell Bucky, pressing the wet fabric to his dirty forehead, cleaning his skin. His eyelids flutter, revealing his familiar blue eyes, foggy with sickness. You curl a hand around his cheek, thumbing over his cheekbone. “How do you feel?” You ask tentatively. 

Bucky leans into your hand, nuzzling towards you like a kitten. “Like death incarnated,” he rasps. “Where are we? Who are you?”

The urge to tell him everything claws up your spine, bubbling through your throat. It settles on the tip of your tongue, a fantasy settling in your head, the way you’ve always dreamed of. 

Your father would never allow it. You would be ruined from simply being alone with him. 

He probably doesn’t even remember.

So you settle for a simplified answer.

“You’re in Willowstream- a house owned by the Royal Family of of Clare-Auberge.” 

His head is still hazy, but he follows your every word. “And who does that make you?’

You take your hand back, instead offering a plate of eggs and bread. “You need to eat.” You respond, ignoring his question.

Bucky levers himself into a sitting position, the blanket you'd placed on top of him falling from his chest and pooling at his waist. You try to ignore the way the thin white linen of his shirt clings obscenely to his chest, still wet from the rain.

He takes the plate slowly, and you swallow as you avert your eyes from his built figure. “It’s not poisoned,” you supply helpfully, sitting back down on the floor. Bucky lets out a quiet noise sounding something like a laugh before taking a bite.

 The two of you eat in silence, the fire crackling behind you. Once he’s finished, Bucky sags back against the cushions, a new sheen of sweat settling on his forehead. He shudders, tugging the blanket higher on his torso. 

“Are you alright?” You ask, voice rising slightly. You stand, leaning over him and placing a hand on his forehead. “You’re burning up. You must have a fever.” 

“Not that shocking.” Bucky coughs, a sarcastic lilt to his gruff voice. “I did get caught in the storm.”

“Hold on,” you turn abruptly, dashing back to the hallway where you’d stashed the whiskey. When you come back, Bucky’s gone paler, eyes drooping again. You pour some into a glass, holding it out to him. 

“My father always said a bit of whiskey helps his throat.” You offer, holding it out.

“Thank you.”

“What were you doing out here anyways?” You ask him tentatively, sitting back down and wrapping your arms around your knees. 

Bucky sips slowly, throat bobbing with the action. A drop slips from the corner of his lips, your eyes following it as it makes a path down his neck and disappears into the collar of his shirt. 

“Separated from my hunting party.” Bucky says simply. “Was trying to follow the path back to the main road to Brooklynn, but once the storm hit, I was hopelessly lost.” He looks you over, and perhaps its your imagination, but his blue eyes soften. ”And you? Do you live here?”

“Couldn’t make it home before the rain started.” You say simply.

Bucky raises an eyebrow. “This isn’t your house?”

You realize your mistake quickly, heat rising in your chest. “I didn’t break in, if that’s what you’re implying.” You say defensively, “I simply live elsewhere. The owners are kind enough to let me visit when I’d like.”

“The Royal Family of Clare-Auberge, you mean?”

Fuck. Fuck. You did say that, didn’t you? 

It’s dangerous enough that Bucky is here, considering your father’s hatred for the Kingdom of Brooklynn, more so if he were to find him here, alone, with his youngest daughter. 

Bucky wouldn’t make it out alive.

“They’re a very generous family.” You stammer, “I’ve known the princesses since I was young.” Not a lie, technically. 

To your relief, Bucky smiles teasingly, “I won’t tell them even if you’re lying.”

“No?” 

“The King of Clare-Auberge isn’t exactly fond of the people of Brooklynn.” He looks back down at his glass, taking another long sip. “Though I don’t know why.”

You trace your nail along the seam of your skirt. “I don’t either. I’ve always wanted to visit Brooklynn.”

Bucky watches you intently, waiting for you to go on. 

“I once read in a book that Brooklynn’s waters are the clearest blue in the world. That the palace puts most cathedrals and castles to shame. The people are the kindest of all. I’ve only been fortunate enough to visit one of the small villages on the outskirts and oh,” You sigh dreamily, remembering fondly, “I got the most beautiful vase from a potter. I’ve collected so many little things from my explorations.” You pause, looking over at Bucky, expecting him to interrupt you or change the subject, but he looks at you as though you’re the most interesting person in the world. 

Your cheeks warm, hoping if he notices, he blames it on the roaring fire. “I’m sorry, I’m talking too much, aren’t I?” 

He shakes his head, that small smile curling on his lips. “I like listening to you.” 

You laugh, “Then you’d be the first. My sisters say no one wants to hear me ramble and my father-” You stop, heart sinking, “he doesn’t understand my interests.”

“I understand.” Bucky says, to your surprise. “I don’t think I talk very much, but I when I do, no one ever hears me.”

“I hear you.” You murmur, not realizing that you had moved to sit next to him on the sofa, and worse, that he’d moved closer to listen to you. “Is it true?”

“Is what true?”

“Is the water that blue?”

Bucky smiles, leaning closer to you conspiratorily. “More so. I think the townspeople seem to overlook it because they see it everyday. I once read in a book: it’s the simple things in life that are the most-”

“extraordinary; only wise men are able to understand them.” You finish, “I love that book.” 

“Exactly.” Bucky says. His face is separated from yours by mere inches, sharing each other’s breaths. You should pull away. Should let him rest. Pretend like this hasn’t happened because how will you ever be able to forget him now?

Bucky’s hungry gaze rakes over your face, dropping unashamedly to your lips. You hear him set down the cup of liquor and his fingers intertwine with yours. He looks at you like you’re water and he’s been drowning in the desert. “I’ve never met anyone like you before.” He rasps, rasing his other hand to trace down your cheek. Your foreheads press together, now sharing shallow breaths. 

“I-”

You don’t finish before he’s kissing you softly, just a brush of his lips along yours. You don’t hesitate, heart kickstarting as you move your lips against his. It’s simple. It’s heavenly. It’s as though this is what you’ve been meant for your entire life. Kissing Prince Bucky. You let out a soft sound into his mouth, a noise he swallows greedily. It seems to embolden him to tilt your head, gently biting your lower lip. The action goes straight to your core, your dress suddenly feeling far too hot and constricting. 

“Bucky.” You sigh dreamily as you separate for air. Your chests heave. 

He presses a kiss to your cheekbone, then again to your jaw. “What is your name?”

Your blood runs cold, snapping you back to reality reminding you that you really should pull away from him. “It’s best you don’t know.” 

The words don’t stop him from making a trail down your neck and back up to the corner of your mouth. “And if I wanted to see you again? How am I to find you?” 

A lump rises in your throat. “You don’t.” 

Bucky pulls back from you, concern coloring his face. “Of course I do. I want to know everything about you. I want to meet your family, speak to your sisters, pet your damned cat. I want to show you the ocean-”

“Don’t make a promise you can’t keep.” You say weakly, tears welling in your eyes. 

“Why wouldn’t I-” Bucky’s voice rises, dissolving into a fit of coughs before he can finish his sentence. He falls back against the pillow, body shaking with fever. 

You’re leaning over him again in an instant, hair surrounding the two of you like a curtain. Concern creases your forehead, which he must be able to discern considering he doesn’t push the subject again despite looking like he very much wants to.

“You need rest.” You whisper, tears stinging. “Please.”

“But where will you-”

“I’ll be here.” You fake a reassuring smile, hoping he doesn’t see through it. “On the chair.”

“You should take the couch, it’s more comfortable and I-”

“I will do no such thing.” Your voice is firm, willing it not to waver. “You are ill. Rest now, as your body is begging you to do.”

Bucky looks as though he wants to argue more but instead reaches into his pocket. He pulls a gold locket out, the firelight catching the glint of Brooklynn’s coat of arms. “Take this,” he gasps, “as my thanks. You can add it to your collection.”

“Bucky, I can’t-”

“You will,” he insists firmly, taking your wrist and pressing the locket into your palm. “A part of me should stay with you until I can see you again.” His gaze is serious, creases in his forehead indicating he does not want to argue, but will if you press the subject. Your fingers close tentatively around it. “Promise me you’ll see me again.” 

“Okay.” You whisper, watching his eyes close again. “I will.”

It doesn’t take much longer for him to drift off, sinking into a much-needed slumber. The fire is grows quieter but still burns with the intensity needed to heat the room as you curl up on the floor by sofa. The chair was never going to be comfortable. At least here you can stretch out. 

And, you think grimly, it will allow you to leave tomorrow before he wakes. 

At half past four, the rain finally stops. Bucky’s fever looks to be gone, and you’re wide awake, gathering your belongings to return to your palace. 

With one last look around the room, your eyes fall on the locket, still sitting on the side table where you had discarded it, fully intending to leave it with Bucky.

You flip it open, faced with a small portrait of a younger Bucky, likely painted when he came of age. The back is engraved with his initials. J.B.B. 

Traitorous heart thudding, you look back to Bucky, still fast asleep. 

Before you can change your mind, you shove the locket into your pocket and duck out into the morning light. 

Deliver to the Brooklyn Hunting Lodge:

To those concerned:

Prince Bucky is resting at Willowstream in Clare-Auberge. His fever broke at approximately 4:30 this morning. The main doors are unlocked. Please use the utmost discretion in his retrieval, as the Royal Family is unaware of his presence.

Delivered to Sir Steven Rogers at 7:00.

“You’re late.” Andromeda called, catching you sneaking by the open door of the Lady’s Room. She hardly looked up from her star chart, plotting another point on a constellation. 

“You’re annoying.” You shot back, stepping backwards into the doorway and leaning against the frame. “How do you know I didn’t return late and leave early.” 

“Becuase your skirts are six inches deep in mud.” Lillian sighs, setting down her embroidery and fixing you with her best eldest sister stare. “Go change before Father sees.” You grunt in response, resigned to your fate and walking to your room. 

“I told her it would storm.” Ariadne says pointedly to your sisters, loudly enough that she knows you can hear it from down the hallway. “But she just had to have that book.”

Angry tears prick your eyes as they laugh at you; their silly baby sister too lost in her own world to ever pay attention to reality. 

“Good to see you all too,” you mutter petulantly, “what did you bring back? We were all so worried!” 

Kicking the door shut behind you only creates a mud stain on the wood and an unsatisfying slam. You shed your boots first, then the damp dress. Dry clothes, you realized, were a luxury you missed. It was a miracle you hadn’t caught a cold either. 

You didn’t bother to put on an elaborate new dress, moving with haste to put away the few items from your journey before your father or siblings could see. The book went atop your desk, wrapped in a dust jacket from an old book on ancient history, the two small paint pots from town in your box, and a silver fork wrapped in a ribbon into your vanity. Relaxing your shoulders, you surveyed your room, content at the state of things as you prepared your soiled dress for the laundry.

A soft thunk echoed on the hardwood floor as you picked up your skirt, Bucky’s locket thudding to the floor. Scooping it up quickly, you dart your eyes around the room as though someone was hiding and ready to scream at your betrayal. 

Bucky’s smiling face peered up at you as you opened the locket, the very lips you’d kissed not sixteen hours ago calling you back to him like a siren song. You shut the locket with a soft click, heart fluttering at the memory as you tucked it into your pocket.

You lasted a week before your father discovered you had not made it home on the night of the storm. 

Belle had made an off-handed comment about your trip, sending your father into a rage. He screamed, ranting and raving and sending a servant to search your room. You sat, frozen and exposed in the throne room as your treasure box was brought before you in the throne room. His face grew redder as he picked through item after item, shattering your pebbles, ripping the ribbon and snapping the walnut pen in two.

You stood still, tears streaming down your face as you watched him pick apart your prized possessions and destroy them.

“Daughter you have become far too difficult to control!”

“It’s just a few things I’ve collected! Please-”

“You could get killed, wandering about! You can’t keep doing as you please, not returning and acting foolishly!”

“But Daddy, the storm! How could I have-”

“If you hadn’t left the palace walls, you wouldn’t have gotten caught in the storm at all!” 

“I just wanted to visit the library and greet the people! The woods-”

“-are far too close to the barbarian people of Brooklynn!”

You jutted your jaw out, snapping before you could contain yourself. “They aren’t barbarians!” 

It was as though you had threatened his life. The guards shifted uncomfortably by the door and averting their eyes, pretending as through they weren’t listening. The air grew thinner and colder as your father’s disposition hardened into something you had never seen before. His face went red with anger. “And how,” He gritted through clenched teeth, “would you know such a thing, dear daughter?”

Unwilling to back down, you squared your shoulders, tears still hot on your cheeks as your collection laid in tatters around you. “I’ve visited their villages nearest our borders and spoken to others at balls.” 

It seemed wisest to omit your saving of Prince Bucky, you internally decided. Deep down, you wanted to keep that precious memory to yourself; all your own. 

“No more balls!” Your father declared, “no more leaving and this foolish ‘exploring’ nonsense!” 

“You can’t keep me trapped here!” You cried, waving your arms around wildly. 

“The hell I can’t! I am your King!”

The world tilted, your father heaving in the center of the now frozen room surrounded by his youngest daughter’s prized possessions, destroyed at his own hand. Rain pattered quietly against the window. No one breathed. Fresh tears welled in your eyes as you looked at your brother and sisters, who jerked their heads back behind the corner from which they had been eavesdropping. 

You opened your mouth. Then closed it, swallowing your hurt. “My apologies, Your Majesty.” A sob caught in your throat, “I thought you were my father.” You sink into a deep curtsy, keeping your eyes on the floor. “Am I excused?”

You don’t wait for an answer, pressing your hand to your mouth as you exit. Passing your siblings, you refuse to look as any of them, quickening your steps to get back to your room.

Tatiana says your name, Belle tries to apologize, and Lillian tries to catch your arm saying something about it all being for the best. 

“Just leave me alone!” You cried, snatching your arm away and dashing down the long hallway, skirt swishing angrily at your ankles. When you finally make it inside the privacy of your own room, the dam breaks, sobs wracking your body as you collapse atop your bed. 

It just wasn’t fair. Whatever ridiculous grudge your father held, it could no longer be valid. You couldn’t be a nun, living in Clare-Auberge forever. Raising your head from your crossed arms, you dig the small locket from your pocket and gaze at the Brooklynn coat of arms. You run your finger over the small initials, thinking of your promise to Bucky. You clench your fist around it, knuckles turning white.

A knock sounds at your door, startling you. You shove the locket under your pillow, willing the door not to open.

Fawn, your middle sister, said your name. “I know you’re hurt.” She says, voice soothing in that annoying older sister way that implies you’re being dramatic, “but… this will pass. It’s for the best.” You don’t respond, staring at the doorknob and silently willing it to burst into flames. She inhales shakily. “We convinced father to let you skip dinner tonight. One of your lady’s maids will bring you a plate.” Fawn tries your doorknob, sighing when she realized it was locked. “Just… send for me if you need anything. I won’t judge you.” 

You scoff under your breath as her footsteps retreat down the hallway.

She didn’t understand you.

None of them did.

Except Bucky.

The way he looked at you, spoke to you, even in his fever addled brain. 

It was all you had ever wanted. 

If only you could…

Maybe he would.

How would you know if you didn’t try?

You looked around your lonely, empty room, suddenly faced with the bitter reality that your father truly wanted to keep you here until he found someone to marry you off to. 

Someone to quiet his tempest of a daughter. 

What was here for you anymore?

Nothing. Your family, but what did they know about you?

You watched the candle on your nightstand flicker as the room grew darker and the wax ran down. It sputtered helplessly, reaching the end of its life as dinner was brought to you. The candle was promptly replaced as your maid as if you wanted assistance for bed. 

You shook your head as you bit into a roll, the bread tasting like ash in your mouth, sending her home early. 

It was midnight when you began to move, knowing most servants would be gone and the night guards would be in the middle of a rotation. 

No one used the servants corridors this late at night. It was even easier to blend in with your hair in a tight, simple bun, wrapped in a simple, inside-out cloak you had been given from your aunt. 

No one would look at you and think “princess.” Not with the ripped bag and simple stained dress you wore when gardening. 

Luckily, you didn’t pass anyone as you snuck to the basement, heart pounding at every scuff of your shoes or drop of a rock. You crept out the door of the laundry room into the inky night, knowing not a single soul would be watching the back gate for a woman leaving the palace, least of all one of the princesses. 

When you finally got to the worn wooden trail you knew best, you lit your lantern, confident that no one would see the light. With every step towards Brooklyn, you felt lighter. Freeer. By the time the sun rose and your departure had been discovered, you would be long gone.

Dawn was starting to rise when you crossed the river into Brooklynn, walking for another hour before the sun began to creep over the horizon. Coming across a clearing, you allowed yourself to collapse on the mossy ground. Exhaustion permeated your bones. By your own estimate, you were only a few hours walk from Brooklynn’s capital, where the palace was. You felt perfectly safe - and hidden - from the main trail to sleep. 

Using your cloak as a blanket and resting your arms under your head, you let your eyes close and sleep overtake you. 

“It’s a girl.” 

“A girl? Don’t be ridiculous, Buck, why would a- Oh.”

Your eyes fluttered open to the sound of voices, jerking up into a sitting position as the memory of the day before flooded your mind. You met the wide eyes of two men, feeling your heart drop through your stomach. 

The sky blue eyes of Prince Bucky stared right back at you. 

Bucky, who was looking at you, awestruck. You waited for him to fall to his knees, declare that he knew you, remembered you, and thank you for saving his life.

He did not. 

“Are you alright, miss-?” The blonde one asks. Steve, you recall, the one who danced with Wanda at the coronation ball. His brows are knit together in concern as he studies you. 

“Yes!” You blurt, adjusting your dress and looking around for your small bag. You hoped you didn’t have a crease on your face from the sleeve of your dress and that your hair didn’t look exactly like you’d slept on the forest floor. 

Bucky held out his hand, which you gladly took, stumbling to your feet.

“What’s your name?”

No sense in lying, you supposed. Especially since you had seemingly tripped right where you wanted to be. So you told them, carefully meeting Bucky’s eyes as if he would declare that you were a princess of Clare-Auberge and march you right back into your father’s arms. He didn’t say anything, eyes narrowed quizzically as though you were a rather difficult puzzle.

“Pleased to meet you.” Steve nods, bowing. You curtsy lightly in response. “Steve Rogers. This is Prince James-”

“Bucky.” Bucky interrupted, “have we met before?”

Half-heartedly, you raise one shoulder in a shrug. “I’m sure you meet lots of young maidens.” You counter. Bucky looks unconvinced, but doesn’t challenge you on the subject. 

“What are you doing, sleeping in the woods?” Steve asks, leaning against his rifle. His eyes scutanize you. You’re clearly not a commoner, based on your dress, but a member of the nobility would never find themselves in such a situation. 

“I… I was travelling. To Brooklynn. I’ve gotten lost, I suppose.” It’s not technically a lie, but it isn’t the truth either. 

“She must be part of the group that returns north each May.” Steve muses. 

“We can’t leave her here.” Bucky responds, speaking to Steve, rather than you. “She’ll have nowhere to go.” 

Steve nods, “We can send word that we’ve found one of their own. And until arrangements can be made for her to return home-”

“She can stay at the palace.” Bucky decides firmly, taking Steve by surprise. 

Part of you wants to protest; to declare that you couldn’t possibly impose on their hospitality. On the other hand, you don’t have anywhere to go. You’d left without a plan, all hope that you’d even be able to see Bucky again. Here he is, presenting his company to you on a silver platter. 

You’d be a fool not to accept it. 

“I-”

“We assure you, nothing improper will occur.” Steve promises, “Our Lady Justice, Natasha, is most protective.”

“Thank you.” Is all you can manage, “really, I did not expect this sort of kindless towards a traveler.” 

Bucky's eyes remain fixed on you. "It is an honor to serve my people." Still, the words sound rehearsed, as if he is in a trance. His gaze remains on you as you're lead towards the road, two horses waiting patiently for their riders. 

"Are you alright on horseback?" Steve asks, "we did not expect a passenger or we'd have used a different mode transportation." He sounds sheepish, as though one could have predicted a damsel in distress. 

You nod, looking over the two horses. One, a small palomino and the other, a sturdy black mare. 

"You'll have to ride with me. Steve's is much smaller.”A flush rises up his neck. "Steve's horse." Bucky emphasizes.

You hide your smile behind your hand, following Bucky to the black horse. He helps you atop the animal, then follows. He sits behind you, chest pressed to your back as he grabs the reins. Bucky's beefy arms encircle you, ensuring you couldn’t fall, even if you tried. You’re very aware of your skirts riding above your shin, suddenly very glad you chose your taller boots, lest you expose yourself to all of Boooklynn.

"Alright?" Bucky husks into your ear, his breath sending shivers down your spine.

"Fine," you manage, trying to hold yourself away from the addicting warmth of his body. He smells like he did at Willowstream- pine and sandalwood. "Thank you.” 

The ride is silent until you approach the more populated parts of town. It’s not freezing by any means, but between the wind and cloudy skies, you begin to shiver. Bucky remains solid and warm at your back, but your cheeks are wind bitten and sting.

“Are you cold?” Bucky murmurs, sending another non-cold related shiver through your body.

“A bit,” you manage, tucking your chin into your chest. “But I’ll be alright.”

Bucky doesn’t answer, tightening his grip on the reins, an action that brings his thick arms tighter around you and urges his horse faster.

The village outside of the palace is beautiful, passing comforting homes lining the street and a market with brightly colored flowers and fruit for sale. People wave and bow as Bucky and Steve ride through, as though the sight is as comforting as it is normal.

“Beautiful.” You murmur, awed. “They love you.”

His gruff response is oddly bashful. “I do my best.” The pathway goes by a large garden, filled with an amalgamation of flowers of nearly every color you could imagine.

“The Centennial Garden.” Bucky supplies. “A gift from my parents when Brooklyn had its hundredth anniversary.”

“It’s wonderful. I heard it overlooks the ocean with cliffs lined in roses. I’ve always wanted to see—”

Bucky’s laugh is warm against your back. A glimmer of hope lights in your heart. “You can see it.”

You feel yourself perk up at the promise of exploration. “Really? Oh, that would be so lovely.”

“Of course,” Bucky says, smile evident in his voice as he slows his horse to a walk, approaching the palace gates.

Brooklynn’s palace is as imposing as the kingdom, with tall white marble walls and a dark terracotta roof. It glimmers in the noon sun, allowing you to imagine the gold glow it must be cast in at sunset.

Bucky dismounts his horse first, helping you down with one hand on your waist and another enclosing your own. Once on steady ground again, he studies your face, his gaze boring into you.

“Are you sure we haven’t met before?”

Heavy boots come down the courtyard stairs, a sharp feminine voice saving you from answering. 

“Barnes! Rogers! You’re late. What did I tell you about—” A woman with short red hair stops in front of you, arms crossed over her chest. “Who is this?”

You swallow, clasping your hands behind your back and averting your eyes.

“Don’t tell me you-” 

“No.” Bucky says firmly, defensively. “She’s from the group heading north. They must have gotten separated. She’s going to stay here until we can reunite them.” He introduces you, “This is Natasha.” 

Natasha scrutinizes you. “Clearly, she needs a bath.” You flush at her loud proclamation of your hygiene, despite knowing it is likely more than true. “And a change of clothes. I’ll have Wanda look after her.” She takes your arm, leading you inside. Both of you look back at Bucky and Steve as Natasha gets in one more scold for them. “And you two need to actually look over those proposals! I’m not fending Stark off again for you.”

Wanda sent everyone out of the room for your bath, helping you undress and get into the hot water before pointing an accusatory finger at you.

“Explain.”

“Please don’t tell anyone.” You beg after recounting your story, and omitting your saving of him at Willowstream. “I want to tell him, I do. I wish I could.” You sigh, leaning backwards into the tub. Soapy warm water splashed carelessly, waving over the sides and wetting the floor. 

“Tell me why you can’t again?” Wanda asked, sitting by the edge and pouring a tad more soap into the water. 

“If my father finds out I’m here, he’ll kill me. Then Bucky. Then declare war.” You shudder, “No, it’s much safer for me to pretend like we’ve never met. If he likes me, then maybe with time my father won’t-”

“Perhaps he won’t take exhaustive revenge measures?” 

You nod, exhaling so aggressively it sends a waft of bubbles flying from its mountainous pile. 

“Well, you’ll have to move quickly.”  Wanda stands to exit, calling over her shoulder from the doorframe, “he’s been pining after a girl who saved him. One with an “angelic look” in her eyes.”

The door closes loudly behind her, another sigh escaping your lips. Quite a hole, you’d dug yourself, by not telling anyone about your saving of Bucky. You couldn’t tell anyone, you decided. He could know when the time was right. When he truly wanted you, not the vision who had saved his life. You didn’t want to be his obligation; you wanted to be his desire. 

However long it would take.

Stepping into their dining room, you feel incredibly out of place. Brooklyn’s dining room was far brighter than yours at home, full of light, color, and laughter. A place where people are actually meant to be with each other and know each other. “Go on, dear.” An older maid encourages as she walks by, “you look lovely.”

At once, four pairs of eyes snap to you. A flush settles across your chest as the men are seemingly dumbstruck by your appearance. You manage a smile, eyes falling to Bucky as he looks awestruck simply from your entrance. 

“Wow.” He gapes. “You look… you are beautiful.”

You duck your head in an effort to hide your blush, taking miserably, hair falling over your cheeks. Wanda had picked you a pink gown, one with an off-the-shoulder neckline, long sleeves, and a voluminous skirt you’d normally declare too fancy for dinner. Natasha’s lips tug into a smug smile, giving an approving nod. Sam and Steve exchange a knowing look before turning back to Bucky, who has still not moved. Steve snorts, “Y’wanna get her chair, Buck?”

It’s as though someone kicked behind his knees, the speed with which he steps towards you, motioning towards what is presumably your seat. It’s an oddly informal act, for a crown prince to pull out your chair, but based on the reaction of his friends, such an action is not only normal, but expected.

Dinner is served with little aplomb, conversation lively and flowing, much more different than your own home. The boys bicker, Natasha cuts in drily, and you watch in awe. 

“Where are you from?” Steve asks, turning the conversation to you. “You only said you were with the northbound group.”

You swallow, silently thankful you spent your time preparing a story.

“Clare-Auberge.” There’s no point in lying, “In the capital, not far from the castle.”

“Your kingdom is rather elusive.” Sam comments, “I’m not sure we’ve ever hosted the king. He has many daughters, if I recall.”

“Seven.” You nod, “and a single son.”

Steve turns to Bucky. “They were at Peter’s coronation, in Queens. King John stood sullenly, only speaking to Lord Walker.”

You shift uncomfortably. You have fond memories from that night, if only from your single dance with Bucky. He clearly doesn’t even remember that dance. You would never forget Duchess Marina and Delphine whispering about how plain and boring your sisters were.

“And your father? What does he do for work?”

Your soup is rapidly going cold from how long you’ve been ignoring it. “Good God, Wilson, will you let the girl eat? And stop quizzing her about her family and kingdom.” You duck your head, silently making a note to thank Natasha later.

Bucky clears his throat after a moment. “And have you been to Brooklynn before?”

You shake your head. “Only to the villages along the border, when we pass through. But I’ve heard wonderful things… about the garden and the glass blowers in town.”

“And the ocean? Our artists are simply unable to do it justice. I’ve been told that it is impossible to accurately depict it; only those who recognise the beauty in the simplicity of life are able to truly appreciate it.”

Silence falls over the table, Sam suddenly looking very interested in his dinner and Steve exhaling sharply through his nose at his friend. A soft thud echoes under the table, Natasha kicking his shin as she hisses “Bucky.” 

A shiver runs down your spine. He’s quoting you. Dejection settles in your stomach as you resist the urge to burst into tears. Bucky holds your gaze, unspeaking and unaffected by his friends clear disdain for his behavior. 

“I am quite fond of the ocean,” you admit, “I have wanted to see Brooklynn’s waters for some time. I did not think anyone else much shared the same desire.”

That was the largest truth you had dared to share with the group. Bucky still held your gaze as his eyes softened ever so slightly. 

“Sounds like you should give her a tour of the kingdom tomorrow.” Steve proposed, mischief glinting in his eyes. 

Bucky shrugged, still not looking away from you, studying you as though seeing you in a new light. “If she would like to-”

You resisted the urge to squirm or flush under his stare. “I don’t wish to impose any more than-”

“Please.” Bucky interrupts, a hint of a plead entering his tone. His cheeks tinge pink at his outburst, evening out his tone. “It would be my pleasure.”

A glimmer of hope flickers in your chest, holding his gaze as a tiny smile graces your lips. “Then yes. I would like that very much.”

It was much too dark to see the waves from your balcony, to your utter disappointment. There was a new moon, meaning the only light came from what spilled from the castle and the gas lamps in the garden. Your balcony overlooked a small courtyard in the garden, likely where parties would be held. It was all so lovely and full of life. So different than your home in a wonderful inexplicable way. 

“-just don’t understand it, Steve.” Bucky’s voice drifted through the balcony’s open french doors. “How could a woman have access to a home like that and disappear before sunrise?”

“I’m not entirely sure you weren’t hallucinating your ‘angel.’” Steve voice counters, the two men coming into your view. Heart pounding, you turned to press your back to the door and duck down like a child despite the fact that neither had seen you. 

Bucky’s laugh came clear and good natured. “Trust me, Steve. She’s real. And I’m going to find her.” 

The two are quiet for a moment before Bucky speaks again. “But that girl…” 

Steve says your name, clarifying exactly who Bucky is referring to. 

“Yeah,” Bucky hums, sitting down on a stone bench and gazing up at the sky. The gas lamps from the garden cast shadows onto his face eerily similar to that of the fire at Willowstream. “She’s beautiful. Educated. She seems familiar, somehow. Like I’ve met her before.” 

“You don’t meet many girls from Clare-Auberge. Minus the angel.” Steve laughs, “Still, I don’t think she’s her.”

“It feels like…” Bucky sighs, dropping his head down, a stand of his hair falling out of the neat hairstyle and onto his forehead. “It feels like I’m betraying her, by trying with someone else. God forbid, what if I do fall in love with someone else, marry them, and she shows up the very next day?” 

Steve sits next to his friend, clapping him on the back. “You deal with that if it happens. Because, Buck, much better than any dream girl, is one of flesh and blood. Warm, bright, and real.” Steve gestures up towards your room. Bucky follows his hand, watching your silhouette move about behind the sheer curtains, a feeling of hope warming his heart. 

The Kingdom of Brooklyn is a kaleidoscope of color, even more so than you saw yesterday now that the sun has come out. Bucky follows you as you delightedly dart from stall to stall, pointing out statues and buildings on the street. His subjects greet him with a bow or curtsey, making polite conversation until you look like you want to say something, at which point he turns his focus to you. 

“What is this?!” You exclaim, holding up a dark purple fruit, “it’s so pretty!” 

Bucky’s eyebrows furrow, picking one up himself. “You’ve never had a plum before?” You shake your head, mumbling the word under your breath in awe, turning the fruit in your hand to examine the violet color. “They’re good. Really good. Sweet.” 

You grin, looking up at him to find him already watching you in wonder. The icy blue of his eyes has melted into something warmer, like the color of the sky after a storm. Bucky looks to the merchant who has been watching the two of you amusedly the entire time and holds out a couple of silver coins. “Four plums, please. For the lady.”

You grin, grabbing another fruit and placing it into a basket. 

“Not that one,” Bucky interjects, “it’s not ripe yet. Here-” He picks up another one, slightly darker in color. “You want it to be a little soft when you press on it.” Bucky takes your hands, placing them over the plum underneath his. His palms are calloused as he squeezes the fruit, the slightest bit of give under the fruit’s skin. Your eyes meet his, caught in the moment as the world fades around you. “And,” He continues, voice low, “it should smell sweet.” He raises the fruit to your nose, allowing you to inhale the sweet scent without looking away. “So when you bite it,” He lets go of the fruit, motioning for you to taste it, “it will be sweet. Juicy.” 

Teeth breaking the plum’s skin, you let out a soft moan as the sweet juice flows over your tongue. “My God,” you hum, taking another bite. “this is heavenly.”

Bucky doesn’t respond, transfixed by your reaction. He swallows, adam’s apple bobbing as he stares at your lips, transfixed by the shiny juice coating them. Knees weak, you exhale shakily, fruit suddenly hanging forgotten by your side. Carefully, like you’re made of glass, he raises his hand, carefully wiping the juice away from your chin. His touch is sure, eyebrows knit together in concentration. You don’t move away from him, breaths coming in shallow puffs as your eyelashes flutter. For one microscopic second, his gaze drops to your lips. 

A loud clatter from the street has the two of you startling apart like children. Bucky scratches the back of his neck as you raise the fruit to your lips to try to hide the flush spreading across your skin. “I’m glad you like it.”

Dancing, you would quickly learn, was very popular in Brooklynn. What was reserved exclusively for balls in Clare-Auberge was commonplace here. A band played in the square, upbeat music that beckoned people of all ages and from all walks of life to gather in the street and move to the music. Hands clasped at your waist, you watched in awe of the couples whirling by you. Men were eyeing you, silently working up the courage to ask you to dance. You remained blissfully unaware as a burning feeling of jealousy came over Bucky, who found himself sending sharp glares to anyone who started towards you. They all averted their eyes, slinking away from the future monarch. 

“Would you-” Bucky clears his throat, figuring he couldn’t scare off everyone who wanted to dance with you if he didn’t have the courage to do something about it. You turn to him, hope crossing your face. “Will you dance with me?”

The beam that settles on your face could power Brooklyn for a year, Bucky thinks. The entirety of his world seems brighter, as though he’s been living in the shade for years. When he takes your hand in his, encasing yours in his much larger one, it feels natural, like you were made to fit against him. Bucky leads you through mid-tempo dance, whirling you around the square in time with the tune. You stumble once, subtly enough that only he notices you watching your feet warily before he murmurs “eyes on me,” and holds your waist tighter. 

“The people in Clare-Auberge don’t dance like this,” You sigh happily, shoulders relaxing, “everyone is so happy here!”

Bucky hums in agreement, but truthfully, he hadn’t noticed his people at all today. He was entirely focused on you and your disposition. The kingdom was happy, that he knew, but he only cared for yours in that moment. He spun you again, reveling in the way the sun caught the strands of your hair. Pulling you back towards him, he was perhaps too distracted, because your heel caught the toe of his boot. You would have fallen on your rear if not for his quick reflexes, wrapping his arm back around your waist and pulling you up into his broad chest. His reassuring smile made your breath catch, clutching the fabric of his shirt as your faces paused mere inches from each other. A devilish look overtook his face, bringing both hands to your hips and lifting you off the ground. Your own hands dropped to his shoulders as he whirled you in a circle, laughing as he spun you. When your feet hit the ground again, he didn’t change your position, admiring your breathless giggles. Bucky relishes the feeling of your fingers grasping the back of his neck in a way that was far too intimate for two people of your rank. But to either of you, the eyes of anyone watching didn’t matter; encased in your own bubble, the world couldn’t touch you. 

Bucky decided to take the long way to the gardens. If anyone asked, he would claim that it was because he remembered you saying you wanted to see the cliffs and show you the wildflowers. In truth, it was because he wanted to savor every possible second with you. Angel be damned, this was a warm-blooded real woman who seemed to want him as much as he wanted her. A beautiful woman, at that. How could that possibly compare to a fever addled memory?

He wasn’t sure what came over him when he caught you watching him drive the team with burning curiosity, but if there was one thing his mother had always called him, it was impulsive. 

So he did what any young man would do in the presence of a woman he liked; he offered you the reins. Bucky barely had time to react before you shoved your armful of purchases into his as you grabbed the reins and flicked them.

The horses took off into a brisk run, carriage bouncing along the road. 

“Whoa!” Bucky yelled, nearly falling forward into the footwell. You only laughed, the sound music to his ears as you remained steady in your seat. “You tryin’ to get us killed, doll?”

“Of course not!” You call back, voice carrying jovially over the rush of the wind. Your face goes slightly warm, registering his term of endearment. “I just like to go fast.” A gentle tug of the reins has the horses slowing to their trot. Bucky’s laugh is warm and clear, tucking his hands behind his head. 

“I do too.”

He finds himself watching you drive the rest of the way, enjoying the way you focus on the task. You seem delighted to do it, as though it isn’t a chore most dread. There’s a tiny crease between your eyebrows. He longs to press his thumb there, just to see it even out. He would top it with a kiss too, tasting your skin. Your lower lip is caught between your teeth, unconsciously his tongue darts to wet his lips. Your action sends nearly all of his blood south to his groin, refusing to let himself linger on your chest. Subtly, he shifts in his seat, adjusting the now pulsing erection. 

The gates to the gardens are closed when you approach, but open after one look front he guard there, who offers the two of you a smile and a wave as you pass.

“The gardens close to the public at four everyday,” Bucky explains, guiding the carriage to a stop in front of a small pond. Colorful blooms surround you, lining the pathway and small gazebo. “But I get 24-hour access.”

You nod knowingly as he steps down, offering his hand to you. “Royalty privileges.”

The dirt crunches under your feet as you step down, letting go of his hand to shield your eyes and look up at him. 

“A rough deal,” Bucky hums faceiously, “a hard life I lead, between the large castle and extravagant dinners.”

“However do you manage?” You smile teasingly, hand brushing his as you look around. “The entire kingdom must hang onto your every word.”

Heart pounding, Bucky takes your hand in his, lacing your fingers together as though its normal. “Who knows? I do what I must.” 

He leads you towards a weeping willow tree, its leaving swaying gently in the soft breeze. You sit down rather unceremoniously, leaning against the trunk and inhaling the scent of greenery and fresh air. Bucky stays standing, watching you relax. 

“You would have to tear me from here,” You hum with your eyes closed, “none of my family likes to be outside like I do. If only I had a book, this would be perfect.” You open your eyes, looking up at Bucky. “You’re so lucky to have Steve and Sam. Natasha too. It’s so evident they care about you.”

Bucky frowns, sinking down next to you, shoulder brushing yours. “What about your sisters? Surely they care for you.”

You pick a pale blue wildflower by your knee, tracing your finger over the delicate petals. “I’m sure they do. Somehow.” You bring the bloom to your nose, drinking in its sweet scent. “My eldest sister’s favorite thing to do is embroider. Inside. Another studies arithmetic as though it’s going to disappear from the world tomorrow. The middle sister plays the flute- well, we all play instruments, but she excessively plays the flute. Truthfully,” you look at Bucky, “I don’t think any of my sisters know what I like, and if they do, they don’t understand. They don’t understand me.” 

Bucky plucks the flower from your lap, twirling it between his fingers. “What do you like?” He asks, not out of a necessity, but from a genuine interest in knowing. He quite likes it when you talk, he’s discovered, content to listen and absorb your voice like the sun.

“Reading,” You say definitively, “Exploring. People. Being outdoors. I love the ocean; when I was a child-” You shift, turning to face Bucky, finding him watching you intently. “When I was a child, we would come to Brooklynn every summer for two weeks. I looked forward to it all year. My mother loved the ocean too. We would hunt for seashells for hours and hours, until our skin was burned and my father begged us to come inside. When I was four-” You trail, exhaling sharply as a shadow crosses your face. “My mother fell ill on our travels. The doctors couldn’t make it in time; I think there was a storm. She died three days later.” 

The memory sits in your chest, clear as day. Tatiana singing softly in your ear as you cried, rocking you in time to Fawn playing the flute comfortingly outside the door to your mother’s sick room. Ariadne standing over you and your sisters, whispering with Belle about how unfair it was that you all weren’t allowed to see your mother, reduced to waiting outside her room. Will, sitting on the opposite side of the hallway, stacking wooden blocks as tall as he could before they toppled over, eyes glazed over. Lillian came out of the room, silently saying something to Andromeda and shaking her head, joining the seven of you on the floor. “I haven’t been to Brooklynn since. Haven’t seen the ocean. But I know in my soul, it will be as though I never left.” You look back down. “I don’t know how much I remember anymore.”

Bucky takes your hand and squeezes, “then let’s go.” 

You furrow your eyebrows, “Go?”

“To the ocean.” 

Bucky thinks he’d trade his entire kingdom away just to see your face light up like this once more. 

“Really? You mean it?” Your voice is daring, hopeful, as though he would take it away at any moment and announce he was playing a cruel joke on you. 

Bucky helps you to your feet, brushing some hair from your face and and brushing his thumb over your cheekbone. “Entirely.” 

Bucky picks one of his private beaches that’s only a few minutes drive from the gardens. It has soft waves and a rocky cove that shields it from view of the public. Dolphins can be seen around sunset and colorful fish circle jovially in some tide pools. 

Your eyes are wide with excitement from the second he stops the carriage, scrambling down and grabbing his wrist as you run to the water. Stumbling over the sand, the last of your hair falls down from the half-up hairstyle Wanda had done this morning before you left. Hair flies freely in the wind, tangling hopelessly. Laughter tears from your chest as you run, looking back at Bucky who can’t contain his smile either. Suddenly, you stop only feet from the water, stumbling as your face drops. 

“What’s wrong?”

Releasing his wrist, you wring your hands nervously, “what if it’s not what I want it to be?”

“It will be.”

“How are you so sure?”

Bucky studies you, searching your face as though he’s found something. He’s sure because he can’t remember the last time he was this excited to spend time with someone. The last time he got to see joy and hope on someone’s face because he was doing something they wanted to do, not the other way around. Because he’s watched you talk about the ocean, seen the way your eyes linger on the paintings in the castle and the coast as you drove by. He feels the tugging in his heart, felt the longing of closer.

“Only someone worried that they would love something so much would be afraid to do it.” He offers instead. 

This, you realize, is love. You love him. Deep true love, not the kind you thought you knew. Love is to be truly seen. He sees you. To be afraid and jump anyways. 

It’s too soon, you think. Far too soon to say it out loud, much less consciously think it, but you know it, mind racing all the same. Your eyes beg him, asking for a quiet recognition of ‘you know me.’

“So,” Bucky prompts, motioning to the water, “are we going in?”

Pressing your lips together, you suppress a smile as you nod, kicking away your impractical. His boots follow your shoes, waiting neatly next to yours and you step into the water.

Oh. Oh.

You hike your skirt to your knees, wading deeper and laughing in disbelief. Fuck propriety and fuck rules and fuck whatever made you wait this long to feel this. Bucky comes to stand next to you, his own pants rolled up as he catalogs your reaction. “Well?”

You laugh like you can’t believe it, wiggling your toes in the sand beneath your feet. “You were right,” you exclaim, “I do love it.” 

Bucky can’t resist smirking, a smug pride settling in his chest with the knowledge that he made you this happy. Still, he is overcome with something boyishly mischievous and sticky. If you ever asked, he would say that’s why he leaned down to scoop up a handful of water and flick it at your arm. 

Most women he’s met would gasp in disbelief and storm away, forcing him to grovel for forgiveness, but your response is far more daring and something no one would ever dare to consider doing to a crown prince. 

Clenching your skirts tighter in your fist, you kick a wave of water at him, sending enough at him to soak his lower front in cool ocean water. You pause for a second, a mischievous glint in your eyes before you turn and take off. Water splashes wildly around you, shrieked laughter echoing down the beach. “Hey!” Bucky shouts, giving chase, “get back here!”

With your skirts soaked from the waist down and the water slowing you down, Bucky’s long legs catch you easily, reaching down to splash at your back again before wrapping his arms around your waist. Your back is pulled into his chest, laughter fading as you turn into him, steading yourself with a hand on his chest, above his pounding heart.

“Got you,” he husks. He leans closer, your breath catching as his nose brushes yours.

The moment is interrupted by the crashing of an errant wave against you, knocking you to your ass, water soaking the rest of your dress. Bucky fared better than you, boulder that he is, looking down at you in horror.

“Shit,” he curses, holding out a hand. “Are you alright-”

Wrapping your hand around his, you dig your feet into the sand and give a sharp tug, pulling his unsuspecting form down, arms caging around your head to catch himself. 

This is far more charged than your former position. His body is warm despite being soaking wet, his lower half pressed to yours with no urgency to move away as he leans down. Or you lean up. There’s no clear answer and you’re not inclined to find one as your lips meet. 

The kiss is more charged than it was at Willowstream. More desperate than that one, lips moving with urgency to say what words can’t. All pressure and no gentleness. You move with him, pressing deeper and gasping when Bucky’s tongue prods your lower lip, slipping into your mouth greedily. His hand traces down your body, digging his fingers into your thigh and hitching it over his hip. Canting your hips up, you can feel his length pressing against you through his pants. Your hand grasps his neck, whimpering his name as he moves to your neck, pressing one, two, three wet kisses to the sick of your neck. He groans low and guttural as you grind yourself up into him. 

Your hair is now soaked with salty seawater, the waves crashing around your body as Bucky grabs at your dress, fumbling for whatever ties and buttons he can reach. The fabric is heavy, clinging to your body like a second skin. You don’t bother trying to pull your arms from the sleeves, letting it hang open. His own shirt is easily pulled away from him and tossed further up the beach, your skirt following carelessly. Hot skin presses to your chemise as he tugs at your slip. The outline of your body is clear through the fabric, now sheer from the water. Tugging easily at the fabric, it rips, reduced to nothing but a pile of rags. A groan tears from his throat as his hands roam your soft flesh, searching for the best places to hold onto but never stopping in one place for long, greedy to discover more. 

Bucky groans into your mouth as your fingers trace the ridges of his abs, physically shuddering when you run them along his waistband. Your own wandering hands embolden his tongue to slide fervently against yours as he palms at your breast. If your nipples weren’t hard before, they could cut glass now, stiff peaks poking against his warm palm. You arch into his touch, silently asking for more pressure, more him. Bucky’s fingers wrap around your right nipple, pinching and rolling the bud to pull soft moans of his name from your mouth.

“You feel so good.” He murmurs, voice muffled against your collarbone. You can only gasp in response, digging your nails into his bicep.  

His hand traces down your stomach, hovering right above your slit. His middle finger drags through your slick, gathering it at your clit and circling. “Can I-” He whispered, raising his head slightly, as though he couldn’t possibly bear to be further than a few inches from you. 

You nod, reaching down to his length. You palm him as he strokes you, eliciting quiet moans from each other.

Looking up at him, your eyes meet his hooded blue ones, suddenly shy despite the fact that his throbbing erection was in your hand, no one could possibly see you, and his want seemed to outweigh your own. “I’ve never done this before. I-I don’t know how.”

Bucky’s eyes stayed on you as he pulled his hand from between your legs, running along your thigh to hold your hip in place. He settles back on his knees, acting as a breaker for the waves and leaving you utterly exposed to his gaze. You shudder as his fingers return to graze your clit, a high pitched gasp tearing from your lips. “Shh,” he murmurs, unable to tear his eyes from your face, cataloging every twitch and reaction of your body. “Just relax. I’ll take care of you.”

He inserts a single finger, curling it against your walls. The movement causes your back to arch into him, eliciting a cry of his name from your lips. “Buck-y oh-!” His thumb targets your clit, circling and stimulating the little bud with the experienced precision of someone who derives their pleasure from their partner. The action sends tingling waves of pleasure through your body, unconsciously arching into his touch. He plays your body like an instrument, pulling pleasure from you like he would drown without it. Bucky catalogues your reactions, pushing another finger in and grunting at the way you tighten around him again, clenching and canting your hips to meet his movements. 

“You’re doing so good, doll. So perfect, just for me.” 

“J-Just for ah- you!” You echo, eyes bleary as you try to lift your head to see him. The sight before you is magnificent; Bucky buried knuckle deep in your cunt, meaty thighs holding your legs apart to allow him to work. An arrogant smirk plays on his shiny, swollen lips, so incredibly pleased with his abilities. 

A knot in your lower belly forms with every twitch of his fingers, but as soon as it arrives, Bucky pulls his hand away, quickly undoing his pants. 

“Why- why did you stop?” You cry, propping yourself onto your elbows. Tears of frustration well in your eyes as your pussy flutters around nothing, begging for more.

Bucky leans back over you, coaxing you down onto your back and draping himself over you like a blanket. His sweet kiss is nothing like the obscenity between your legs as his hard cock presses against your weeping folds. 

“I’m sorry, darling, but I’m selfish. I want to feel you around me when I make you come for the first time.” 

Eyes wide and mouth slack, you watch as with one swift movement, he pulls himself out, fisting himself and fully running the tip through your folds. Any frustration you could have had in the prior moment about the retraction of his touch is resolved, a hot pressure pushing at your weeping hole.

“It’s- it’s big.” You gasp as the tip breaches you, looking down to be met with the obscene sight of where your bodies meet. Bucky leans down to press a featherlight kiss to your lips. “Bucky, please!”

“We’ll make it fit,” he whispers against your lips, pushing further in. “Just let me in, sweetheart.”

You throw your head back, the sand from the beach scratching abrasively against your scalp, but you don’t care. Bucky is all-consuming, slowly claiming your body as his own with every inch of himself he pushes into you. The feeling was so strange, your body unaccustomed to the feeling, but you couldn’t help but want more. The sensation overwhelmed Bucky, resisting the urge to push inside you in one fell swoop with every mewl and clench of your body around him. 

“Bucky, please!” You cry, unsure what exactly you’re asking for but begging all the same. A hand tangles itself into his damp hair again, tugging at the locks and eliciting a groan from him. He rocks his hips again, pressing deeper until your hips are flush to his. You freeze against him, his chest heaving against yours with barely contained restraint. The tip of his cock pressing against your womb, your pussy stuffed full with him. The gentlest shift of his hips recast the intrusion entirely in pleasure. The consuming stretch of your body singing Bucky’s name as though it could not fathom ever existing without it. A loud moan tore from your lips, echoing around the deserted beach. 

Bucky didn’t move, savoring the feeling of you wrapped around him. He brought his hand to your face, tugging your lip down with his thumb. “You’re so perfect,” He gritted, “like you were made for me- fuck. So tight.”

You let out an airy sigh, closing your lips around his thumb and sucking the tip into his mouth. With your eyes maintaining eye contact with him, Bucky felt the last of his restraint disappear, pulling his length from your cunt and slamming back in one smooth thrust. He built his rhythm easily, each press of his cock into your warm heat sent a shock of pleasure through your body, the coil in your stomach growing again. 

“You’re doing so perfect for me.” Bucky moaned, waves crashing around the two of you. You felt yourself struggling for control as your peak grew. Your eyes struggled to stay open, vision blurring as Bucky moved above you. “Fucking Chirst, you’re so wet.”

Bucky kept his rhythm, hips bucking against you with clinical precision. You try desperately to maintain a shred of dignity as your clit throbs in time with his movements. Sensing your need, he slides his fingers between the two of you to carefully rub patterns on your swollen clit. Dignity fully gone, you cry out his name, thanking him in high pitched gasps. 

“That’s right,” he coos, pecking your lips sweetly in an action entirely in opposition what is happening below your waist, “let me hear it. Let me know how much you like me filling you like this.”

“You- I- ah! I’m going to- mphh!” Another moan is muffled against his lips with a hot kiss, tongues tangling with each other’s. Even the waves cannot cover the sound of his skin slapping against yours, wet plaps that should make you blush, but don’t. 

What does make your blood run hot is the squelch of your wetness with every push inside you. 

“I- Bucky- I can’t oh!” Your release crashes over you like the waves of the ocean, unrelenting and consuming. The fluttering of your walls around him shatters the remainders of Bucky’s restraint, chasing his own pleasure with sloppy thrusts. 

“Sweetheart, I’m close. You’re going to take it, okay? You can- ah- I know you can.” You nodded hurriedly, wrapping your leg around his waist to keep him close to you and encouraging him to fill you. His hand palms aggressively at one breast, nipping and biting at the other while he pushes into you with a fervor unlike before.

His own release came with a grunt of your name and a roar of ecstasy ripping from his throat as though it could not be contained. You felt his release fill you, marking you as his like never before. He owned you, from the inside out. He throbbed within you, kissing languidly at your neck as though he never wanted to let you go. 

“I know you,” he whispers, so quietly you can barely hear him, “I don’t know how, but I know you.”

You don’t respond, unable to summon a response through your gooey, pleasure drunk brain. You aren’t even sure if you heard him right, but he knows.

Inside you, his tip kept spurting warmth against your cervix, pumping you so full that you felt the excess of his seed overflowing out of your tired cunt.

Neither of you move or say anything for a long moment, sharing breaths. Bucky softens inside you, slowly pulling himself out with a ‘pop!’ and a whimper from your lips at the sudden ache of emptiness. He sits up and freezes, looking over you with something akin to horror. 

There is something about you so familiar, so comforting, the back of his mind whispers. The eyes of his angel peirce his brain, blood running cold. 

“I-” You begin, still starry-eyed in your post-orgasmic haze, but Bucky stops you.

“We should get back.” 

He helps you to your feet, tucking himself away with precision and avoiding eye contact. Bucky refastens the buttons of your dress and replaces your skirt with tactical precision, as though you’re an essay that needs editing. His touches are fleeting, all warmth and tenderness gone. Silently, he leads you back up the beach and picks up your shoes, carrying them to the carriage. Something cold and rotten settles in your stomach, feeling as though ice has begun to run through your veins. 

When he begins to guide the horses back towards the main road to the palace, you feel tears prick your eyes. 

“Did I-”

Bucky doesn’t let you finish, but doesn’t look over at you either. “No. It’s my fault. Don’t worry about it.”

You want to scream, for the first time feeling like leaving Clare-Auberge was a mistake, that the man you’d dreamed of for years wasn’t what you had imagined. 

“Okay,” you say thickly, barely a whisper. Turning to look at the cliffs, a cloudy sunset over them, Bucky doesn’t notice you swiping furiously at the one tear you’ve allowed to fall. 

You paced, small feet wrapped in cotton socks hitting the glossy wood floor with the rhythmic thump of your heavy heel as you stalked back and forth along the bottom of the bed.

“Did you find the right number?”

You ceased your nervous footwork, turning towards his hunched figure.

Bent over the counter, flip phone pressed against his ear, Bucky waited with bated breath for someone to pick up the phone.

He twisted his body slightly to look back at you, pointing at the phone calmly, hoping you could just barely hear the ringing tone of the call going through.

The soft gleam of sunlight had risen gradually across the morning sky. Frantic fingers digging through discarded papers before finally finding the right scrap that reached past this small cabin to the main offices of the vacation company.

The moment you had asked him, Bucky searched for and found the phone numbers for customer service and dialed them in with haste.

You hear a soft click muffled by the phone being pressed against his cheek. Your ears strain to listen more intently before he pushes a few buttons and switches the call to speakerphone.

“Hey, this is Jenna from Recreational Retreat Services. How can I help you?” Her voice was cheerful and yet stale, nearly as lifeless as a prerecorded message.

“Hey, this is James Barnes from cabin 25.” Bucky quickly answered back.

“Hello, Mr. Barnes, what can we do for you today?”

“Yeah, I just wanted to voice a concern regarding something that was seen by our cabin last night.” Bucky looked towards you, eyebrows raised in slight concern at your still-nervous state. He watched as you crossed your arms over your chest in a tight embrace and shifted back and forth on your toes and heels.

“My Omega said she saw someone by our window.” He continued.

Your ears twitch as you tune in on ‘my Omega’ for the single second he said it. Your body reacting more so than your brain.

“What kind of things did she see?” Her voice was professional, unweighted by emotion in an almost sterile manner.

He carefully holds the phone closer to your mouth, giving you this moment to use your own voice to explain what you had seen.

You pursed your lips before breaking them apart and finally speaking.

“It was this person, and they were just standing by our window staring at me, and all of a sudden it just jerked back into the trees, and...and...” you stop, taking a shaky breath as your hackles seem to rise and your fingers shake across your own lips as your unconscious reaches for your mouth to nibble at your nails nervously.

You stop yourself short, letting your digits tremble against your skin in an uneven dance of nervous energy.

“So, we’d like an explanation or at least someone to come out and investigate.” His voice rises, not yelling but proving his frustration with his tone.

“I’m sorry that something like this has happened. I’ll need to speak to my manager real quick, so I’m going to put you both on a brief hold.”

Finally, your voice rises, nerves spiking to allow you to lean into the phone to grab it. You shouted, “No…” but the line had already switched to the dull hum of faded guitar thrumming along as cheap hold-music.

The irritation is visible across your face, cracking through the thick gloss of fear and sweat. The audacity of this beta to brush you off, running with her tail between her legs. After what you’ve seen, the terror still burns low in your belly, like poison bubbling bitter against your stomach acid.

You feel his arm before you see him move, his warm palm cupping your shoulder as his bicep braces against your back.

Bucky pulls you to his side, letting you hold some of your weight against his chest. The comfort he provided had been becoming addictive, like an extra dose of oxygen after years of breathing stagnant air. In his arms you felt weightless, and yet, as much as a foot apart from him, you were slowly overburdened by gravity.

“It’ll be ok, omega… I’ve got you.” You spoke lowly, a slow rumble from his chest as the words left his lips only to be buried into the side of your hair.

“I-I’m…” Your small burst of fortitude crumbled pathetically as you struggled to speak again. “I’m sorry.”

You heard him exhale with a scoff, pulling you from his chest with a strange mix of careful abruptness. “What are you talking about?”

“I—I basically ruined our vacation…”

“Oh…” he cuts through your rambles of undeserved guilt, not entertaining the idea of you taking any blame for what happened. “No.”

“Why the hell would you think this is your fault?”

“I don’t know…” Your lack of confidence was showing its pale, ugly face over your shoulder, stealing your nerve and guiding your words just as it always had.

“I was the one who made a fuss…”

He didn’t hesitate to cut you off again, knocking your worries down a peg. “For a very damn good reason.”

“You were scared; if I had seen it, I would have been scared too.”

You scoff out a small laugh in amused disbelief. “You of all people, scared?”

“I was scared for you.”

His voice dropped, his tone losing some of its warmth as it nicks you like the edge of a cold stone. “I didn’t go out there for nothing; I wanted you to be safe.”

You barely nod in understanding, but another question is blurted out without a single thought to stop it.

“Why did you bring a gun?”

He was taken aback immediately, and in turn, he pulled away slightly and gave you just a little bit of space to breathe more easily. “I always take it with me.”

“I’m sorry I had to hide it, but it can make people uncomfortable.”

“That is an understatement…” you cough back with a shudder.

He sighs again, tilting his head up to briefly look towards the ceiling before steadying his gaze back on you. “It’s the only way I feel safe.”

“I’ve been in a lot of situations where I’ve had to sleep beside a loaded gun, and that kind of thing can’t just be turned off.”

You nod again but toss out yet another question. "B-but why here? Why with me?”

“You never know what’s going to happen.” He reiterates, his tone serious again.

“Even last night you thought something was prowling around outside while we slept.”

That was true, and you feel the familiar drop in your stomach as when you first saw the possible prowler, only with less severity.

“But how did they let you bring it?”

He pursed his lips in a small frown before stepping back away from you.

“Because I’ve worked with these people before.”

You were immediately puzzled, stepping back slightly. “What is that supposed to mean?”

A slip of the tongue, a taste of the truth.

The burst of something bitter, like blood from a busted lip washing back into his mouth.

“I’ve been on a few of these retreats, yes. But, it never lasted more than a day or two.”

Your happy little fantasy started to collapse as your heart sank.

He gives a heavy sigh before speaking again. “Let’s just say, I’ve been ‘catfished’ before, and although it never ended in a gunfight, there is always a chance something worse can happen.”

“Maybe I was afraid you’d be too good to be true.”

You cough out a little laugh, his sweet lines getting to you once again, and when he holds out his arms for another embrace, you’re slow to let him pull you back in.

“Even big scary alphas feel afraid.” He chuckles back softly, leaning into your shifting thoughts as they steer away from the matter at hand. Red warning lights in the back of your brain are being ignored once again.

“Y-you are not scary.” You smile back bashfully, easily swayed by his attempts to lighten your mood with small jest.

Any further questioning is saved by the subtle click of the hold music turning off and the dull drone of the beta on the phone returning.

“Ma’am?”

“Y-yes! We’re still here.” You called back out nervously.

“Hello again, ma’am.”

“So, I spoke with my manager, and he informed me that there have been sightings of deer in the area…”

“There is no way it was an animal!” You couldn’t contain yourself, shouting towards the phone.

The sting of a man’s voice replaces the weak beta woman. A monotone beta male growing tired of your antics. “Ma’am, we will send someone out to check the area, and we’ll reach out to other cabins to see if any wildlife has been seen…”

It’s the only answer they were going to give you, and your frustration was mounting. Your breathing becomes ragged again, leaving a small, subtle sting at the bottom of your lungs.

It’s as if they weren’t even listening to you.

Bucky squeezed your shoulder before whispering to give him “one minute.”

In the next second Bucky took the phone off of speaker and walked right out that front door, leaving you standing in the cabin and shaking slightly with fear and frustration.

You watch through the window as Bucky argues with the man on the other line. You're left completely deaf to the actual words exchanged, but the distortion of anger on Bucky’s face was very visible.

You wondered why he’d leave you behind until you heard one shouted explicative.

‘Get the fuck down here!’ In a distinct alpha tone, most likely crushing the beta down on the other line. You felt it, the alpha he’d hidden from you, and it nearly makes your heart stutter with an uneven beat.

He didn’t want you to see him this angry. He didn’t want you to see the full alpha.

You understood slightly upon finally feeling this small intensity. Yet, when it ended, you felt a strange sense of longing.

He shut his phone, shifting on his feet to alleviate some aggression before letting himself back in the house.

His scent had shifted slightly, wafting in as he opened the door. You felt a now familiar sense of warmth twist in your belly, burning with a small intensity into your lower body as you watched him rake his fingers through his hair before balling a small amount in his hand. A small sign of stress, a subtle tug at his scalp to ground him.

“W-what did they say?”

“They’ll be down in 30 minutes.”

He watches your body language shifting as well, your arms crossing to hug your shoulders as if to curl in on yourself. He adjusts his stance, trying to shake away the tension in his back as he takes a steadying breath to speak more calmly.

“Hey, this trip isn’t over, not yet.”

Your sheepishness only grows, and you tighten your grip on your arms to embrace yourself as you try to put words to your true feelings.

“…what if it should be?”

You breathe the words out quickly, hopping from each daunting second that hangs in the air between you and him.

Bucky exhaled slightly longer, watching you as your gaze shifted from his to bounce around the room nervously.

“My heat has to be over by now…” you mumbled out with uncertainty.

“Stop. You know that’s not true.” He spoke more softly, his voice a low purr as he reached for you again. “After all you’ve told me, you’ve come too far.”

His face draws closer until he can carefully rest his brow against yours. “We both have.”

You’ve never seen the other side of a heat without waking up in a hospital, and each day that lingers has left you with a small amount of anxiety that was only heightened by these small absurdities that began cropping up.

This week should have felt like a triumph just from how far you made it through, yet something felt so off. A misplaced grain of salt to taint the sweet taste of romance Bucky has left on your tongue.

He was fighting that offset in flavor, fighting it away very well with the brush of his palm along your shoulder and arms.

“This was never just about your heat.”

Your tightly crossed arms slowly fall apart, opening to welcome his awaiting embrace.

“I’ve already grown so close to you after finally getting to see you and touch you.”

“I don’t know what I’d do if all of the work we put in so far was wasted.”

It was a small sentiment of something deeper. A truth to the small cracks you still didn’t see in the foundation that held him up. These few words ghost right over your head as it rests against his chest. His voice lulls you into a familiar sense of security, bringing you back to contentment. The blue hue in your distorted vision glows with a rosy blush once again like tinted glass over this perfect picture.

“Give me a chance to convince you; if not, we will pack and call them back to ask to go home. Ok?”

You nod slowly, letting me pull you towards the front door.

“Let’s go outside together this time. We won’t find anything that they couldn’t have found first.”

“Can you put the gun away?” You ask softly against his chest, slowly opening your eyes to look towards the side at the gun still sitting out beside his bag.

He looks down at you before reaching for your cheek to tilt up your chin, and he agrees to put it away.

“Yes, Doll.”

Reluctantly, he breaks the embrace with a gradual pull, holding you gently by your shoulders before stepping away towards his bags.

“Take the bullets out?” You add, hoping he’d go just a little further for your comfort.

He licks his lips in thought before finally nodding. He pulls away again, reaching into his bag and pulling his weapon out again. With a quick click the magazine falls out the bottom, and he tosses it back into the back. He pulls the slide back, popping the last bullet out of the chamber and letting it fall back into the bag with its friends. He sets the gun back inside the bag and looks up at you for approval.

“Better?”

“Yes.” You breathe out the word with relief that melts into the muscles of your back and neck.

When he sees your soft smile, he returns it before standing back up and pulling you back against him.

“Here.” He gets at your arm, guiding your shifting feet to follow him. “Take a walk with me, doll.”

You hesitate slightly when you see the front door drawing closer with each step, but ultimately you follow his voice; you follow his touch. Like a moth to the warmth of a burning candle.

You both step out into the warm sunny afternoon, and he carefully pulls you towards the treeline while holding your hand.

He takes you back past that same patch of branches you saw that figure hiding behind, and of course now there is nothing there. Nothing but thrashed and indiscernible tracks in the drying mud.

Your skin felt clammy, but looking out towards the tranquil woods, your convictions melted.

Still holding your hand, he pulls you just a little further until you can hear the distant babbling of a nearby stream far out of view. It was the peaceful picture that the website had originally painted, and with this Alpha by your side, you felt so much more reassured.

A small section of the branches shakes, rustling against unseen figures in thin, stick-like legs moving with instinctual caution towards the small stream of water.

For a split second you nearly jump back at the sound, quickly adjusting your feet when the source of the noise comes further into your view.

Soft brown and white ears flicking behind her head, wide brown eyes surveying the scene around her as she and her small child ventured closer to their source of water.

A doe and her fawn, a serene scene befitting this location.

The doe had looked up, thinking the noise you’d made was a predator in the distance.

You watch her eyes, trying to match them in your mind to the scared expression you saw that night. You remembered them being wide, horrified, and staring directly into you. They weren’t begging for your aid, not a single plea for help. They looked to you as if to gauge your next move, waiting as if caught in the act of watching you.

This little doe didn’t carry that same weight in her seemingly empty gaze.

But, it was dark.

One’s mind can manipulate their vision while caught out in the dark.

For now, their theory of wildlife causing a simple disturbance carried more weight than your own explanation of events.

The memory of last night was still so vivid each time you tried to shut your eyes and think. You truly believed that what you saw was a woman’s face hidden in the leaves.

Maybe you were mistaken, vision still heavy with sleep, fighting against the dark and small patches of moonlight.

You watch as this harmless deer turns her head. Her eyes were wide and dark, devoid of any cognitive thought past basic instincts. She turns away, walking carefully with her fawn fumbling beside her as they cross the thin stream and disappear behind the trees again.

You barely feel the brush of Bucky’s hand as he reaches for your shoulder to softly embrace you to his side. All as the both of you watch the pair trotting away.

Maybe it had been a deer after all.

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And the Red Room was where he revealed the truth about you and his mother.

You closed your eyes. It seemed like a lifetime ago when in reality it was days. Everything moved fast in his world. You were barely keeping up.

“Hey.” Bucky squeezed your hand. He held it the entire drive over and, shockingly, behaved himself. Maybe he was being considerate since you felt bad for Addison. “You ready to go in?”

“Yeah.” You managed a smile when he helped you out of the car and grabbed your workout bag. Were you ever going to get used to having such nice things? “You really won’t let me carry that?”

He paused with an offended stare. “What kind of future husband would I be if I made you carry this?” he asked, shooting Ray and Curtis a look that told them not to offer.

You shook your head. “I guess I should consider myself lucky that I can still carry my purse.”

Bucky chuckled and slid an arm around your waist, guiding you inside. Having Ray and Curtis flank you reminded you of the danger that surrounded this new life of yours and just how important you were. You had to take it one day at a time, and it was okay to mourn the loss of the normal life you had before all of this. It was only fair.

You were surprised to see Natasha waiting in the lobby in a full black bodysuit, her arms crossed and an aura that said she wasn’t to be messed with. She was truly an intimidating person without trying. She was also kind enough to squeeze in a self-defense lesson since Bucky demanded time to discuss Addison’s wedding.

“Thanks for-”

The redhead held up a hand, effectively cutting Bucky off. “You want to thank someone? Thank Antonia. She’s the one who’s going to make this wedding and reception happen since you decided your time is more important than anyone else’s. I wish I could say I’m surprised, but here we are,” she said, giving you a ghost of a smile. “Antonia will show you the space and provide details if you want to send that to Addison so she can decide the direction she wants to go. After that, she’ll bring you to the private gym.” 

“I really appreciate it, Natasha. You and Antonia,” you said. You couldn’t imagine how much time and money it would take to get everything set with such a short timeframe. 

“I think it goes without saying that you are the only reason I’m doing this,” she said, giving Bucky a pointed look. “An electrical fire. Tragic. Strange timing.”

“Very strange and tragic,” he agreed, smirking just a little. “But I’m glad you’re willing to help my girl.”

Natasha’s eyes narrowed, not dramatic but lethal. “Wipe that look off your face,” she ordered without raising her voice. “A woman’s wedding venue burning down isn’t an excuse for you to preen.”

Bucky’s smirk faded, but you sensed that it wasn’t out of shame. “I’m not preening. Like you, I’m trying to help.”

“I’m sure you are,” she muttered, her gaze softening a fraction when she looked at you again. 

Your stomach twisted. You wanted to believe so badly that Bucky didn’t have a hand in what happened. Was it burying your head in the sand to think he was innocent? 

A pair of sharp heels clacked quietly along the floor, a woman in a sleek black dress walking toward you with a tablet and folder in hand. She moved with confidence and grace, almost appearing like she ran the place. You wondered what her story was.

“This is Antonia,” Natasha introduced, and you instantly sensed that she fully trusted and respected her. 

“I’ll be showing you the event spaces and answer any questions you have.” She shook your hand, firm but not overpowering. She hardly glanced at the men, not deferring to them or seeking approval. “I understand we’re working with a short timeframe, and I’m sorry about your friend’s original venue, but she is lucky to have a friend who cares so much,” she added.

Your throat tightened. She was just doing her job, but you believed her words. It felt nice to meet someone who didn’t have a hidden agenda or power play in mind. 

“You’re in good hands,” Natasha promised, giving Antonia a nod. “See you when you’re done.”

Antonia gestured for you to follow her, and Bucky pulled you closer. Ray and Curtis wordlessly followed. You wished Addison was there with you, if only to make sure she was okay.

You stopped at a pair of double doors. “Here we are.”

The shift in the atmosphere was immediate. The terrace before you was like a secret garden suspended above the city. The view made the skyline look gentle and hopeful.

“This is where the ceremony would be,” Antonia explained, stepping aside so you could take it in. “Sunset hits right along that line.” She pointed toward the far edge. “Perfect for photos. Perfect for vows.”

You teared up picturing Addison walking toward Brady, her dress catching in the light, both of their faces soft and full of love.

“The photos Mr. Barnes sent over. Those were what Addison had in mind for her ceremony, correct?”

You nodded. You had forwarded Bucky images from the group chat. There were soft blush florals, warm gold accents, and long tables with candles that looked like starlight. Addison’s dream was romantic, airy, and elegant in your opinion.

She pulled up a tablet and showed you some mock-ups. “These are similar to what she wanted. We can recreate the arch exactly, or adjust it to fit the terrace’s shape.”

The images were stunning, like Addison’s vision only elevated. “She’d love that.”

“I hope so. And if she wants changes, we’ll make them,” she promised, directing you to another set of double doors. “The ballroom is through here.”

The space was also breathtaking. High ceilings with soft and warm lighting, velvet drapes in deep jewel tones. It felt elegant and luxurious, a dream reception space for Addison and Brady.

“There is, of course, a private area for the bridal party, and we’ll swap out the colors to match the theme,” she said, showing you a few more mock-ups. “We’ll make a canopy of lights on the ceiling so it looks like you’re all dancing under the stars.”

The pictures blurred together. There were so many things they could do with the space. It just wasn’t completely neutral territory, as much as you wished it was. It was Natasha’s, yet it was still part of Bucky’s world. Could you let Addison’s wedding happen in a place that shaped a portion of your unraveling? 

Antonia paused, seeming to sense your hesitation. “We can explore whatever options they wish if you don’t think they’d like this.”

Bucky searched your face, not pushing. He watched. He waited. 

You swallowed hard. Addison deserved a venue that felt like her and not a shadow of your own story. But the space was stunning. It was available and safe. Bucky was offering it with no strings, or at least claimed not to. 

Bucky cleared his throat and addressed Antonia. “Give us a minute.” He turned back to you once she stepped away, his hand rubbing your waist. “If this feels wrong for Addison, or you, we’ll walk away. I don’t care how perfect it looks.”

You blinked. He didn’t look upset or offended at your hesitation. He wasn’t pressuring you. The choice was yours.

You were thankful for the generosity yet fearful of what it symbolized. Accepting this was tightening Bucky’s hold on you. Guilt settled in next for even hesitating because this was about your best friend and her day, not you.

“She deserves a beautiful and magical day,” you said, letting him rest his forehead against yours. “And if they can make her dream come true here and it’s what she wants, then we should go for it.”

Bucky’s lips brushed yours. “Then it’s settled until she makes that call.”

You inhaled once Antonia came back over, the knot loosening in your chest. “I appreciate you putting the mock-ups together and showing us the space.”

“It’s my pleasure,” she said, giving what you imagined was a rare smile. “We’ll give her the perfect wedding.”

That mattered more than you could say.

Bucky stepped closer, watching you instead of the space. “And the rooms? I said so earlier on the phone, but some guests probably need a new place to stay.”

Antonia raised an eyebrow. “Yes, I’m aware that they’ll need space, which is why we’ve moved things around to reserve the entire guest wing. Private suites for the bridal party, standard rooms for guests, and a dedicated floor for family. Security included.”

You exhaled slowly. You were sure Addison and Brady were worried about arrangements for everyone. “I hope that it wasn't too much trouble to move things.”

“Of course not.” She turned an eye back to Bucky. “Payment will be due even if all rooms aren’t used or they choose to have their wedding elsewhere. We need some compensation for the changes.”

“Of course,” Bucky agreed, his usual confidence shining through his smile since money was no object.

Antonia handed you the folder and her card. “I took the liberty of putting the photos and layout options in here for review, as well as the accommodations. She can decide without stepping foot in the building yet. And she can reach out with any questions or concerns.”

“Thank you so much,” you said. This could work.

Bucky’s hand tightened more on you, proud and possessive, when Antonia led you down a hall. “She’s going to love it,” he assured you, already certain she’d agreed to the place. You had a feeling she’d agree, too.

Natasha stood at the end of the hall, waiting. She smirked when Antonia shook your hand again and pointedly ignored the men. “She’s good, isn’t she?”

“She is,” you agreed. Having the mock-ups done that quickly was impressive. 

“Give her the bag, Barnes, and stay out here. I don’t need you trying to distract her.”

Bucky made a face that had you giggling when he handed you the bag. “Don’t break my girl.”

Natasha didn’t blink. “If she breaks, that’s on you.”

You snorted, and Bucky pressed a kiss to your temple before stepping back. “I’ll be right here when you’re done, Kotyonok.”

Natasha jerked her head toward the door. “Come on. Time to change. First lesson starts now.”

“Kick some ass,” Curtis encouraged, which was the only thing he said since you walked in.

You kissed Bucky’s lips to prevent him from saying something scathing to your bodyguard and followed Natasha. You expected to feel dread when you walked through the door, but you felt empowered. You were stepping into a version of yourself that wasn’t just surviving Bucky’s world, but learning to stand in it. 

The gym felt colder than the rest of the hotel. Polished floors and mirrors that wouldn’t allow you to hide. They would reflect every hesitation you made.

“Go change.”

You did so quickly, not wanting to keep her waiting. She didn’t waste time, tossing you a pair of gloves and nodding toward the nearby mat. Her demeanor had changed slightly. Not harsh, but uncompromising. 

“Are you sure you’re up for this today?”

You exhaled, doubt creeping in anyway. “I’m sure.”

She nodded after a moment. “Let’s warm up then.”

She led you through stretches before ordering you to stand. “We’re going to start simple. Blocking. Small things.”

“I don’t know how,” you admitted. 

“I know. That’s why I’m going to show you.”

She guided your arm through a block, slow and controlled. You were fine for a minute. But the moment she stepped behind you to correct your stance, fear slammed into your chest. It wasn’t because of her. You knew she wasn’t a threat, but your body tensed anyway. 

Clark’s hands on you. The way you panicked. The helplessness that took over your senses. How the very air was stolen from your lungs when he knocked you on your back. 

You blinked hard, grounding yourself in the present. Natasha wasn’t Clark, and this wasn’t that night. You weren’t powerless. Not anymore.

But your muscles didn’t quite know the difference yet.

“You’re holding your breath. Don’t,” Natasha said quietly. “That’s how you freeze.”

You exhaled shakily.

“Good.” She carefully moved in front of you. “Again.”

You concentrated, your arm coming up almost instinctively. But you flinched when her hand went too close to your neck. She paused. You expected annoyance or pity, but she merely assessed you. 

“You’re remembering,” she guessed, her voice low. 

“Yeah.” Your throat felt dry. “I’m sorry.”

She shook her head. “Never apologize for surviving.”

The memory of Bucky coming home with blood on his hands surfaced as she took you through the next drill, and it made your stomach twist for a different reason. How he beat up John with his friends. How he punched Zemo after his confession. The man who handed you his heart was prone to violence, but never against you. 

He spent so much time terrifying you, cornering you until he had you in his clutches. But he wasn’t trying to scare you anymore. He was attempting to loosen his grip, he really was. He still wanted you with a kind of intensity that felt like standing too close to a fire. 

And now he was waiting for you outside of the gym instead of demanding your full attention. 

The contrast between who he was when you met him and who he was now made your head spin and chest ache. 

“Don’t think about who you were,” Natasha urged, demonstrating a wrist break. “Think about who you’re becoming.”

You really did try, but when she grabbed your wrist, your breath stuttered. The room tilted. Clark’s shadow flickered at the edges of your vision.

She released you instantly. “Hey,” she said, stepping back, palms open. “Look at me.”

Your eyes burned as you did. 

“You’re safe,” she promised, her voice gentle. “You’re not that woman anymore.”

“Then why do I still feel like I am?” you whispered. 

Why were you waiting for the other shoe to drop again?

“Because everything is still fresh. It happened not too long ago, and you’re trying so hard to feel normal,” she pointed out. You couldn’t deny that. “You’re not weak for feeling what you feel. And you’re not alone.”

You sniffled and nodded. You were trying so hard. It was okay if you faltered. 

“You good?” she asked, waiting until you nodded again. “Okay. Again. Slower.”

You didn’t flinch when she took your wrist. At least, not much. That was progress. 

Clark would never touch you again. Bucky wouldn’t hurt you. Whatever happened, you would come out stronger. 

Your arms ached by the end of the session. Your legs trembled, too, and sweat clung to your skin. You weren’t fearless, but you weren’t frozen either. 

“You did better than you think.” Natasha almost smiled when she handed you the water bottle. “It’ll be easier next time.”

You huffed a laugh. You weren’t so sure about that. But you didn’t fall on your ass. 

She watched you sip the water, your heart starting to go back to normal. “There’s something on your mind.”

Your fingers tightened around the bottle. “I’m fine.”

Natasha raised an eyebrow, too perceptive. “You’re many things, but fine isn’t one of them right now.”

You exhaled, the truth pressing against your ribs. She wasn’t judging you or prying. She was giving you a door to walk through if you wanted.

So, you did. 

“I slept with him,” you said quietly.

Natasha hardly reacted. Not a flinch, a gasp, nothing. “And?” she asked, her voice even. 

“I made the choice,” you said, lifting your chin. She looked at you like she already knew that. “It wasn’t an accident, and he didn’t pressure me. I chose him. And now I’m living with it.”

She studied you for a long moment and you wondered what she saw. Was it the fear you used to carry? The woman who trembled at the idea of Bucky’s attention? Or the woman sitting here now, tired from training but not broken?

“You don’t owe me an explanation,” she said, sipping her own water. “But you do owe yourself honesty.”

“I am being honest,” you whispered. Lying to yourself wouldn’t help. “I’m not pretending it didn’t happen or everything is magically okay. I’m just…” You tried to find the right words. “I’m trying to figure out what it means going forward.” 

You thought of how normal the morning felt, a small smile touching your lips. The sweet moment in the shower, cooking breakfast together. Even the day before with the garden, giving you another sanctuary. He wasn’t erasing the path of how he got you, but he was at least trying to make sure the path wasn’t as bumpy. 

Natasha nodded slowly. “Good. Because pretending is how people can get hurt. And you may not have all the answers today.”

You looked down at your hands still shaking slightly from the drills, but more steady now. “I’m not completely afraid of him anymore.”

“That’s not the same as feeling safe with him,” she said quietly.

“I know. I’m not naive, but my body knows he won’t do to me what Clark tried to do,” you said, wiping your forehead. “I know who he is and what he’s capable of. And I still chose him.”

You chose him entirely and you couldn’t take that back. 

Natasha’s expression shifted between respect, concern, and acceptance. “Then live with it. Not as some sort of punishment to yourself but as your choice,” she said, holding out a hand to help you up. “He may have pulled you into his world, but you’re the one who gets to tilt the axis.”

The weight of her words settled on your shoulders but they didn’t weigh you down. “So, you don’t think I messed up?” you asked in a small voice. 

“I think Barnes messed up by how he pursued you and so many other things, but you didn’t. You’re surviving, and I would never judge the choices you make. You have my word,” she answered.

“Thanks,” you whispered. It made you feel better. “For listening, the lessons, the wedding.”

She didn’t have to do any of that. 

“You may not be so thankful when our lessons continue,” she smirked, nudging you. “Now get changed before he barges in here.”

“Better not keep him waiting,” you teased.

The locker room was quiet except for the soft hum of the ventilation system. You peeled off your gloves and set your bag on the bench, your muscles trembling from the lesson. The adrenaline was fading, leaving behind a strange mix of exhaustion and clarity. God, you thought you were in better shape. 

You were halfway through pulling off your shirt when you heard Natasha’s voice coming from just around the corner. You didn’t even hear the door open. You really needed to be more aware of your surroundings. 

“I need eyes on that venue fire,” she said, low and sharp. “Not his people. Mine.”

Your pulse jumped and you tried not to listen, but you leaned in. Who was she talking to? And why discuss this so close to you?

“Electrical fires don’t usually take out an entire building that fast. And the timing is… convenient,” she continued, your fingers tightening on your shirt. “If it was an accident, fine. If not, I want to know who benefits.”

She didn’t outright accuse Bucky. She didn’t say he would benefit. But who else would?

“I’m not undermining him. I’m helping her,” she argued, not sounding the slightest bit guilty. “This is about her and her friend, and she deserves to know if her world is shifting under her feet again.”

You held your breath when things went quiet. She must’ve ended the call and walked out. You didn’t move for a minute. You couldn’t. 

No. You didn’t want to be suspicious. Not after everything. 

“Kotyonok?”

Your heart jumped to your throat when you turned and saw Bucky standing there, a tender smile on his handsome face as he looked you over. How did he get past Natasha? Did he hear the call, too?

“Can I join you?” he asked, tilting his head. “Or would you prefer that we shower together again at home before we pay Addison a visit?”

Hmm. Is Bucky innocent or did he have a hand in what happened? And what will Addison think of the venue? Love and thanks for reading! ❤️

"So, you're earning that exorbitant salary I am paying you then?" James teased his VP who flipped him the bird. 

"Meeting went late, and as a result, I lost out on the night I had planned with Carli and Candi." 

James snickered over his glass of whiskey and placed the empty glass down. 

"Did you manage to get the deal done?" 

"Done and we came out better than we had thought." 

"Good." 

They both sat in silence, relaxing in the quiet office.

Steve looked at his friend and noted the dark circles under his eyes. 

"Sleeping well?" 

"Well enough." 

"Need a night with Nat to tire you out." Steve winked at his friend who only half smiled. 

James had an on again and off again relationship with Natasha Romanoff, adopted daughter to one of his associates. They had been dating on and off for a while, but James was getting tired of it. 

Sure, she was a good time when he needed a release, but lately, she had gotten a little too comfortable in his life. She'd stay a few nights at his penthouse, request expensive dinners, and demand he pay for her wardrobe if she was required to be on his arm at any public event he had to attend. Her ridiculous spending and overall attitude are exhausting, and he is contemplating whether to continue their arrangement. 

"No, I think I'm good." 

"You have that charity gala coming up she was looking forward to attending with you." Steve reminded him of. 

"Fuck." 

James ran a hand through his trimmed hair making Steve snicker. 

"I'll figure something out."

<knock knock>

"Everything in order Mr. Barnes?" You asked your workaholic boss. 

James' head snapped to the doorway and his eyes quickly raked you over before settling on yours. He must have forgotten you were still working. 

"Yes, you can go home now. Thank you for your time today." James flashed you a smile before you left his office. 

You had been there since six am and were exhausted, but the life of an executive assistant to the CEO of a global media company was tiring but rewarding. James paid you well enough, you had great benefits, treated you with respect, and provided you with a driver on call whenever you needed it, so it wasn't too terrible. Although you never used the driver service since you preferred to walk or bus it to work. 

"Goodnight then." You nodded at both men and closed the door.

Steve eyed you through the small glass window next to the door and James cleared his throat at his friend to get his attention. 

"What? She's hot." Steve shrugged, got up from the couch and poured himself a glass of whiskey. 

"She's off limits." James glared at Steve who held up his hands in surrender. 

"Oh, I know." He chuckled and sat down opposite his friend. 

"Why haven't you ever gone after her?" Steve asked, sipping his whiskey. 

"Because it's highly inappropriate." James deadpanned. 

While true, James always thought there was something about you. Something genuine and honest, but when he hired you, he wasn't in the right headspace to do anything about it. He was having fun and working to get his company to where it is today which meant deals, parties, and doing whatever it took to grow his empire. 

He values your hard work and if he's being honest with himself, he didn't want to see you as a potential partner for him even though a part of him thinks you would be most ideal for him. 

"Didn't stop me with mine." Steve shrugged. 

"You've gone through seven EA's in nine months." James deadpanned. 

"None have been good enough." Steve pouted making James snort. 

"You mean, you slept with them then got bored and fired them?" 

"I did no such thing. They did that willingly, but most couldn't figure out our 'apparently complicated' phone system." Steve shrugged and placed his glass down.

James sighed and leaned back, closing his eyes. 

"Seriously, are you ok?" 

Steve leaned forward, resting his arms on his knees. James kept his eyes closed and gave a half shrug. 

"Just bored. Restless. You know...the other night at the shareholder dinner...Everyone there were all couples." 

"So?" 

"So...it got me thinking..." 

"Here we go..." Steve sighed and sat back on the couch. 

James opened his eyes and scowled at him. "I'm being serious here..." He grumbled. 

Steve urged him to continue. 

"Anyways...It got me thinking." 

"Didn't you go to that with Aria?" 

James nodded. "Yeah, and that turned into a disaster. She primped her hair and makeup throughout dinner and whined when the conversation was 'too boring'. It was like I was dining with an immature child." 

"Well, she is younger than you by about 10 years. So, what's your point?" 

James glared at Steve. 

"My point is...It was embarrassing and when I looked at the other ladies around the table, they were polite and classy. They respected their partners enough to listen to the conversations, but their opinions and thoughts were taken into consideration and were respected when they added to the discussion. No way would my date ever know what was going on. After I dropped her off, I got to thinking that I'm alone. Like utterly alone. I don't have anyone to come home to." 

Steve ran a hand over his chin and scratched at the stubble. 

"And? You could have taken her home and had some fun." 

James glared at his VP. 

"That's not what I want anymore, I only have myself." 

"You have me. Sam who's the best financier and wingman out there. The company. Billions of dollars. Planes, properties, chefs at your disposal, and celebrities in your contacts. Beautiful women throw themselves at you whenever you look at them and you can get a hot date with the snap of your fingers. What's more to want?" 

"You don't get it." James snorted. 

Steve was looking at him like he grew another eyeball. 

"I want that stability of those couples. Someone only for me. Someone real, classy, and smart. Someone who isn't into my money or connections. It's been hard trying to date lately so I've avoided it. I only asked her because I was desperate. All my past dates saw has been dollar signs, or what I could do for them in the industry like getting them modelling contracts or influencer status with free products and food. Shit like that." 

"What about Nat?" 

James shuddered at the suggestion. "No. She's just an arrangement." 

"You're taking her to the gala?" 

James shrugged. "I haven't decided." 

"You went with her last year." 

"Maybe not this year."

"So, what are you going to do about it?" 

James sighed and looked around his office. 

"Nat is fine and all. She's certainly beautiful..." 

"But?" 

"Is it ok if I say she's shallow?" 

Steve snorted and finished his drink. 

"Then find someone who isn't." Steve replied like it was the most obvious thing in the world. 

"I'm trying." James deadpanned. 

Steve plunked his feet on the coffee table and stretched back. 

"Like you have to have a competition or make them go through an obstacle course to be with you." He muttered. 

James' ears perked up. 

"What was that?" 

Steve sighed. 

"I said, it's like you want them to compete for you or some shit."

James thought about what Steve said and looked over out onto the city. The lights sparked and shimmered from the vehicles on the roads, distant honking from traffic was heard as an idea popped into James' head. 

"What?" Steve eyed him from the couch. He knows that look. 

"I'm thinking..." 

James tilted the empty glass back and forth in his hand. Steve sat up and watched his friend. 

"About..." 

"Well...the women lately have been a challenge to deal with. They're just after my money and connections. I want to see if any of them can be genuine. Real." 

"And?" 

"And...I don't know. Maybe see what they would do if I gave them something." 

Steve waggled his eyebrows and said, "Like sleep with them and decide who's the best at it?" 

"Fuck no. Jesus Steve." James scowled. "I mean..." 

James' mind was racing at the possibilities then one popped into his head making him smirk. 

"Like I could give them a credit card. Unlimited use for a week. See what they do with it." 

Steve's mouth popped open. 

"You're a billionaire. Are you sure you want to unleash that to a bunch of Nat's into the world?" Steve shuddered making James chuckle. 

"Maybe." 

He plunked his glass down once more. 

"Let me think on it overnight and I'll let you know. Now, get the fuck out of my office and go home or to some club or some shit." James waved his friend out so he could think about things. 

"Fine, I'm goin'" 

Steve got himself up from the couch and saluted his friend before leaving. 

"See you tomorrow." 

"See you." 

James got up and poured himself another glass. He smiled thinking about what Nat would do with unlimited funds. Well, he KNEW what she was going to do. Spend his money like a drunken sailor, that's what. He just needed to find someone else, to compare with. Someone sensible, someone he wouldn't normally be with, someone regular, plain with no interest in his connections. 

He looked around the office and smirked to himself. 

He knew just the person to compare Nat with. His mind was racing with this new challenge he was going to plan.

🐶💰

"Fuck it." You kicked the door to the shed, but it didn't budge. 

"Are you ok over there?" Wanda asked from the other enclosure. 

"This damn shed. Its door is stuck again." You glared at the offending door and sighed. 

"We don't have money for a new shed." Wanda reminded you, then leashed a small dog to take it out of the enclosure. 

"I know. Maybe I can fix it." 

You jimmied the door so it would properly line up when you locked it but no such luck since it fell off its hinges. 

"Oops." You just made it worse. 

"I can see if Pietro is available after work. He has some tools." 

"Thanks Wanda." 

"Maybe that rich billionaire boss will open his wallet for this place." She muttered while walking into the shelter.

"Nice try. He's only concerned with media related charities and his semi-regular fuck buddy." You called over your shoulder, chuckling at the spunky shelter manager.

 "He still seeing her?" Wanda asked. 

"I guess. Haven't had to set up dinners or drivers for them in a while and she hasn't shown up to the office in well over a month." 

Come to think of it, James hadn't been out with someone in a while. Odd. 

"Maybe he's realizing what a douchebag he is." Wanda sing-songed over to you making you snort. 

"He's a good man Wanda." 

Your boss may be a douchebag bro at times, but he's always been respectful to you and has never made a move on you, unlike Steve who's been through the rolodex of EA's. 

"Sure, he is." You chuckled at her. 

"I'm serious. He isn't that bad when you get to know him." 

"He could stand to donate a few million to us. That's pocket change to him." She sighed and looked around the outdoor enclosures. 

You had helped her re-do them for the last few months and the shelter was looking better each day, but it was still a struggle.

You had been volunteering your time at the Wags and Tails animal shelter located in your neighbourhood. It wasn't a large place, but Wanda ran it well with a good number of volunteers, foster families, and hard work. 

You were over there often both to relax from you're your stress filled days and because your apartment didn't allow for any pets, so you had to get your furry snuggles in somehow. Lord knows you're single as hell and have no proper social life outside of work, so you visit the furry four-legged beasties to keep you grounded and give them much needed attention and hope.

"He's hot as hell though." You blurted out making Wanda snort.

 "What? It's true. His expensive suits are well tailored to his incredible body. Many times, I've caught myself staring but I have to remember to be professional. Plus, he would never look at me over the models, celebrities, and influencers he's usually seen with, especially Nat because she's gorgeous. I mean, I have a decent job, sure I work stupid hours, put up with snobby executives and CEO's, but I've gotten to travel lots and..." 

"You have no life and pining for your hot rich boss isn't a way to live." Wanda interrupted you. 

You slumped a little and sighed. 

"You're getting older. Don't you want to leave and come home at decent hours? Have someone to come home to and share your life with? Aren't you getting sick of making someone else's arrangements, picking up dry cleaning, and booking dinner reservations that aren't for you? I'd love to have you work full-time here you know." 

You thought about it and shrugged a shoulder. 

"I know Wanda, but my job is a lot more than that and I really don't mind. I knew what I was signing up for when I applied. I have lots of experience and am organized, and we work well together." 

"You mean, he tolerates you, demands things from you at all hours of the day and night, then shrugs you off like it was no big deal when you've practically bent over backwards for him to get the job done." 

"Maybe?" 

Your job sounded worse when she said it like that. 

"I'm not trying to job shame you." 

"I know and I appreciate your concern. I'm just glad you're here so I can get in my walks and playtime with the pups." 

You smiled as another volunteer walked Tiny out to you. Tiny was a two-year-old Saint Bernard who was recently surrendered seeing as how his owners didn't appreciate the drool and dog hair in their brownstone. Sometimes, you wanted to slap people for having a dog they couldn't bother learning about before they bought it. 

"Hey Tiny." You scratched behind his large soft ears. 

He flopped down at your side and leaned into you, tongue lolling out of his drooly mouth. 

"We'll be back Wanda. Come on Tiny." You left the shelter and headed out on the street for a walk.

When you got back, Tiny was well exhausted from the walk, and your day was coming to an end. 

"How did Tiny do?" Wanda asked. 

"Doing well. Walking better on the leash and isn't as reactive to other dogs." 

"Good to hear." 

Your phone dinged in your pocket, making you look at it. 

"Let me guess, important bossman?" Wanda teased. 

"Yeah." 

You read his message telling you to pick up his dry cleaning and to make sure the boardroom has the catered meal delivered at 12pm sharp. 

"Just work stuff for tomorrow." 

"Uh huh..." 

You wanted to slink away under Wanda's gaze, but you didn't. 

"Later Wanda. See you in a few days." 

"Have a good night." Wanda waved as you left.

🐶💰

You arrived at the dry cleaners and stood in a lineup to get your boss' suits and shirts. While waiting, you managed to confirm the food delivery for noon and sent a bunch of emails sorting through meetings to be scheduled and dinners to book, sighing when you put your phone away and grabbed the hangars of shirts and suits that were handed to you. 

You walked to the office with Wanda's words hanging over you. It would be nice to work normal hours and not have to schedule someone's life but your own. 

You made it to the building and headed up in the elevator, greeting people as they got on and off their respective floors.

You worked for several hours, getting your inbox down to a more manageable level when you saw Mr. Rogers saunter in from his side of the executive floor. 

"Afternoon, Y/n." He sent you a flirty wink before opening James' office doors and closing them. 

His new EA was trailing behind with a notepad and pen, looking haggard for her first week on the job. 

"Hey Peggy." You handed her a bottle of water. 

"Hey." 

She took the water and opened the cap, taking a long sip. 

"Doing, ok?" You asked. 

"I-I don't know..."

She was almost on the verge of tears, so you got up and offered her a tissue. This was Mr. Rogers' eighth assistant, and you were hoping she would stay. Peggy was new in the city, and you had sent her some suggestions on where to go for things when you met her a few days ago. You thought she was a good worker, but who knows with the VP and his revolving door reputation. She gave you a soft smile and composed herself, clasping her notebook tight.

"Do you know what's going on?" She whispered. 

James' door was closed, and you could hear them talking but their voices were hushed. 

"No idea." 

 When you arrived in the morning, James had blocked some time in the calendar. He hadn't done that himself in a long time, so you had to ask if it was a mistake. It wasn't. He said he had an important meeting with Steve and wanted you to attend. 

"I'll send you that cheat sheet document I made for the phone system." You clicked away on your computer. 

"Thanks." Peggy practically fell down with relief.

Once you emailed her the document, you looked through laptop to check the schedule again. 

"Ladies." Steve opened the door and smirked at both of you. 

"Mr. Rogers." You nodded at him. 

"You can come in, Peggy, you can wait for me at my office." He said, sending her away while you headed in the office.

You saw James sitting at his desk, leaning back in his chair and was watching you enter. 

"Sir." You stood in your usual spot where he liked to bark orders to you. 

"Please, sit." He motioned to the chair in front of his desk.

Steve stood to the side holding a mug of coffee. 

"Am I getting fired?" You blurted out. 

James raised an eyebrow at you, and you heard Steve choke on the sip of coffee he took. 

"No, absolutely not. You're way to valuable to me." Something in James' eyes seemed to sparkle but he quickly cleared his throat. 

"Ok." You exhaled from the sudden rush of weird energy you had surge through you. 

"I have you here as a...proposition...of sorts..." 

You were confused. 

"A what?" 

"Proposition." Steve blurted out. 

You saw James give him a scowl then look back to you. Just as he was about to continue, the doors to the office burst open. 

"Isn't there supposed to be a doorman or something?" A woman's voice sounded. 

You turned to look and saw Nat standing in James' office. 

"James." She smiled wide and walked over to him. She wore a black cocktail dress, sky high heels, and her hair and makeup looked flawless as usual. 

"Darling, we have to try that new sushi restaurant..." She stopped when she saw you. 

"Oh, YOU'RE here." She looked you up and down and snorted. 

"Hi Nat." Steve said from his spot on the couch. 

"You too? James, what is this?" 

Nat came around his desk to give him a kiss on his cheek, but he quickly stood to block her and ushered her to the chair, next to you. 

Interesting. 

She pouted, but sat, sighing as she took out a compact and fluffed her hair.

"Ladies. I have you both here for a reason." 

"Pfft, she works here and has to be here, so why am I here?" Nat waved to you. 

James perched himself on the edge of his desk right in front of you. 

"Yes. Anyways, I have a proposition for the both of you." 

Nat perked up and eyed James carefully. You started getting your notebook out, but James waved you off. 

He took out two black envelopes from his jacket pocket and handed one to you then Nat. Nat snatched it and immediately opened it, her eyes widening in surprise at what was inside. 

"What is this all about?" She waved the black card in James' face. He gestured for you to open your envelope, so you did. It was the same thing as Nat's. 

You must have looked confused, so James continued. 

"You get this for one week. Unlimited personal spending. Do what you want with it." 

James shrugged. Your mouth popped open. 

"Wh-what?" You looked over at Nat, and you saw her eyes widen, and an almost feline smile took over her face. 

"You're finally coming around to us being together." She leaned over and patted his knee. 

James inched away from her hand and leaned back on his desk. 

"Anything? Sir, I'm confused. Do you need me to get you something with the company card?" 

James chuckled and shook his head. 

"No. These are yours to do whatever you want. Buy whatever with, for yourself." 

You were so confused. 

"Is that all?" Nat looked between James and Steve. 

"Uh, yes?" 

"Great, I'll text you later babe." Then she took off, already making plans for her driver to take her shopping. 

The doors closed, leaving you in James' office with Steve. 

James peeked over at Steve who sat and watched in amusement, but also with keen eyes. Your reaction intrigued him.

"So, let me get this straight. I have access to the company card, I don't understand why I have this too." 

"This is for personal reasons." 

James sat back down in his chair and brought his hands together. 

"Personal?" 

"Buy whatever you want." Steve piped up from his spot. 

"Whatever I want?" 

Your mind was racing. 

You really didn't need anything. 

Your salary was generous for the work you were paid for since James was always insistent for paying you properly, compensating for weekends, evening work, and early mornings. 

You had no idea where this was coming from. 

"Enjoy it." James shrugged, a smile appearing on his face. Your heart skipped a beat seeing it. He hasn't honestly smiled like this in a while. 

"Well...ok." 

You put the card back into the envelope and placed it on your notebook. 

"Is that all?" You looked at James, then Steve. 

"Yes." 

James stood while you got up and left the office, closing the door behind you.

"That went..." Steve inhaled deeply and chuckled. "...Exactly how I thought it would." 

James typed a few things on his laptop and rolled his eyes. 

"Already spent $6,000." He pointed at Nat's account. 

"On what?" Steve narrowed his eyes at the screen. 

"Some shop down the street." James rolled his eyes and closed the lid.

 "I hope you know what you're doing." Steve shook his head in disbelief, then left the office. 

James eyed you working diligently from the window by his door and noted the envelope was sitting on your desk. He already made up his mind about his next steps and hopefully, you would be a part of them.

🐶💰

"It's been a few days. How's the spending going?" Steve asked James. 

James sighed and logged into the accounts and showed Steve. 

"Holy shit." 

"Yup." 

"Does that say $250,000?" 

"Yup." 

"A helicopter company? In Greece? Did one of the cards get hacked?" 

"Nope. Nat booked herself two weeks in Greece at some resort. Guess she's doing some sightseeing."

"She wasted no time." 

Steve wasn't surprised at what she was buying, just that she did it without thought. 

"And the other?" 

"$980...for dog food." 

"Dog food?" 

Steve was confused. 

"Not sure, but it's dog food and another $4,200 at some vet." 

"Does your EA have a dog or ten?" 

James thought about it and froze. 

"I...I don't know?" His brows furrowed in thought. 

Did you? He really didn't know too much about you to be honest. 

"You don't know?" Steve teased. 

"No, I don't."

 "Bet you feel like a jackass." Steve teased making James give him the finger. 

"Wonder why she spent this." 

"Just ask her." 

"I can't." 

"Why not?" 

James thought about it. 

"You can follow her." Making James snort. 

"You mean stalk? Yeah, no." 

"Not stalk per-sey...but you can find out where the charges went. From the bank. They should be able to tell you."

🐶💰

The following day, you were off and decided to spend it at the shelter. 

"Morning Wanda." 

You hung your jacket in the closet and looked around. 

"Wanda?" You called. 

Her office door was closed, but quickly opened revealing... "James?" You blurted out. 

"I-I mean...Mr. Barnes." 

James stood in the doorway and leaned against it. He was wearing jeans and a white t-shirt, something you hadn't realized he owned since you had only ever seen him in suits. 

"James, please." He insisted. 

Wanda stood behind him with a slightly confused look on her face but was smiling. 

"Mr. Barnes here has decided to become a volunteer." 

"What?" You blurted out. 

"Volunteer here. He's going to volunteer here." Wanda said louder and slower like you were hard of hearing. 

"Figured I would check out the place."

 You were utterly confused. 

"Where are the dogs?" James asked. 

"Right this way." She gestured for him to follow her. 

You stood frozen in place. 

"Do you want to come and show James around the place or stand there like a statue?" Wanda asked. 

"Uh...sure." 

There was no way your boss would be caught dead volunteering, let alone at an animal shelter. You're pretty sure you walked into another dimension.

You showed James around the shelter, pointing out the animals, where supplies were, and Wanda stressed the things that were broken and needed fixing knowing he's a potential donor with deep pockets. 

You chuckled when she went on and on about the dogs and how they have to make tough decisions because of space. The shelter was no-kill but you're pretty sure your boss doesn't know that with his widened eyes that seemed somewhat panicked. 

"We managed to get some updated shots and medical care for our residents thanks to Y/n and a few months of food stocked, so we're happy about that." 

Wanda praised you and your new unlimited black card. She wanted to ask you for a few more things, but you felt weird you weren't spending it on yourself like James had insisted. You knew there were a few more procedures some of the dogs and cats needed and was going to set that up with the veterinarian in another day or so.

"Here." Wanda handed James a shovel and garbage can then walked away. 

"Um..." He looked at the shovel like it was a poisonous snake. 

"For the outdoor kennels. They need to be cleaned, and Tiny was just taken out of an enclosure." 

You snickered at Wanda and showed James the enclosure. 

"Judging by Tiny's...deposits...He's...not tiny, is he?" James scrunched his nose up at the ground making you snort. 

"Come on, I'll help you."

🐶💰

"There, all done." You wiped your hands on your thighs and sighed, looking over at James. 

He usually looks so polished and put together in his perfectly tailored designer suits. Seeing his hair ruffled and his jeans and shirt stained with whatever was in the kennels, made you hide a giggle before composing yourself. 

"So, you volunteer here?" James asked. 

"As often as I can."

"I see." 

He looked around and blurted out, "why?" before he cleared his throat and apologized. "Sorry, that's not what I meant...I meant..." 

"I know what you meant." You shrugged. 

"I've always adored dogs and cats. I can't have them where I live, so I found this place. I get to walk them, take care of them, and give them love. They also help with any stress and make me feel better." 

You said that last part quiet. You didn't want to tell him you can get stressed every so often, but it happens with working long hours, tending to his every whim. 

"I see." James cleared his throat.

You heard the commotion of a bark and thundering paws on the ground. 

"Tiny!" You turned and were almost ran over by the charging beast. 

"THAT'S Tiny?" James sputtered at the dog's size. 

He knew Tiny was big, but not horse-like.

"Yup." You smiled proudly at the dog and scratched his large head. 

Tiny spied James and bounded over and before you could warn him, he jumped up on James' chest and licked his face clean. 

"Tiny, down. Mind your manners." You scolded. 

Tiny obliged and flopped in front of James, leaning against his legs. James wiped his face and coughed a little but bent down and petted the giant beast. 

"Hello." He patted his head. 

Tiny adored the attention while you watched them interact. You hadn't seen James smile like that in a while, it was nice to see. 

"What's his story?" 

"Owner surrender. Didn't realise it's a lot of work looking after a dog this size." 

James nodded and scratched the dog's thick neck.

 "Are you back next weekend?" Wanda asked. 

You looked at James and shook your head no.

 "We're on a business trip. But I should be in sometime during the week." You assured Wanda. 

"Oh, I think that trip is cancelled." James looked at you. 

"Really? I didn't get the notification." You frowned and looked at your phone. Another volunteer came and took Tiny inside. 

"It just happened today. I'll email you tomorrow." 

"Oh, ok." You shrugged. "Well, in that case, I'll be here then." You smiled at Wanda. 

She looked over at James as if to say, 'and you?'. 

"I'll have to check my schedule." 

Wanda eyed him up but nodded. 

"Goodnight, Wanda." You waved to her and went inside to get your jacket. 

"Can I drive you back?" James' voice sounded behind you. 

"Oh, that's ok, I can walk, thank you." You assured your boss. 

You were a little uneasy he was at the shelter you volunteered at in your downtime since you see him everyday at work. 

"How far is it? My driver is here." James pointed over his shoulder. 

"Umm...well...a few blocks." 

You didn't want your billionaire boss seeing where you lived. You lived in a relatively decent place, but you felt awkward since it was in an older building that needed painting and was nothing like his penthouse or mansions. 

"Ok." 

You walked with James to the car, and his driver opened the door for you. 

"Thank you." You politely smiled and sat in the soft leather seat with James following. 

You gave the driver the address and you were off. James' entire left side was pushed up against you, making you feel his warmth through your clothes. You had to stop the urge to rub yourself all over him and snuggle into him seeing as how it was cooler out. That, and he was you boss, so that would be highly inappropriate.

James watched out the windows as he took in your neighbourhood. 

"Do you like living here?" James asked. 

"Yes." You really did like living where you did. The building was older, but it only had a few units that were somewhat newly remodeled, and the resident managers were a nice older couple. 

"Hmm." 

The corner of James' mouth was turned down in thought. The car pulled up to your building, and you thanked the driver before thanking James. He too got out of the vehicle as the driver helped you out. 

"Is everything ok?" You asked. 

"Yes." 

"Then why are you following me?" 

"I..." James was at a loss and didn't know what to say. He'd never gotten out of a vehicle and walked a lady to their door since his driver would do that, but he had the urge to do so with you, and he wasn't sure why. 

"I just want to make sure you get home safe, that's all." 

"Oh, ok." 

You walked to your apartment entryway and opened the main door with your key. 

"Safe and sound." You assured him. 

"Ok. See you." James took a few steps back before he turned and headed back to his car. 

"So weird." You muttered and went up to your apartment.

🐶💰

"So, what's the spend count at?" Steve bent down and looked at the laptop screen that was open on James' desk. 

"Nat is at $900,000." 

"Yikes." Steve whistled and shook his head. 

"On what?" 

"Vacations, few cars, clothes, jewellery, shoes, spa treatments, and a private chef." 

"And Y/?" James smirked and pointed to your charges. 

"$9,000" 

Steve looked at James for more of an explanation. 

"Dog shelter. Spent a bit of money at a vet, then went to a few stores and got new supplies, paid for a few advertising campaigns, new website, and a pair of new shoes." 

"Just one pair?"

 "Rubber boots or something..." 

Steve chuckled and was amazed at the two differences in what each woman spent. Well, he wasn't surprised, just amazed at your controlled and level-headed spending, or lack of it. 

"What has she bought for herself besides the boots?" 

"Nothing." 

"Huh." 

"It's weird." 

"Why?" 

"I keep expecting to see more, but no. I mean, she's here today with a bagged lunch for herself. Not ordering in or going out to a restaurant."

"She usually goes out?" 

James thought about it and said, "I don't know." 

Steve scoffed at his reply. 

"Well...I'm usually busy and don't notice those types of things." 

"Right. Well, you should start. Looks like you need to take Y/n shopping yourself then. For the gala." 

James forgot about the gala, but he had to tell Nat he wasn't taking her like she had implied. She has been texting him her dress options and he hasn't replied to a single one. He grabbed his phone and replied to the latest text she sent from LA and told her she wasn't going as his date. 

"There." 

James placed his phone on the desk and ran a hand over his face. 

"Now, all I have to do is get Y/n to accompany me." 

"Good luck with that pal." Steve slapped him on the back. 

"Yeah, yeah..." James muttered and looked over at you through his side window. 

You were typing and answering calls. Steve left the office and James scowled at his little wink he sent you but chuckled when you nodded at him then rolled your eyes at his back when he turned to leave down the hall.

"Had another enquiry about Tiny, but they decided not to follow through with him." Wanda sighed while you brushed his fur. 

"Really? That's like the fourth one in a week." 

"I know." Wanda gently scratched his ears. 

"Well, there's someone out there for him, I know it." 

You were hopeful his person would be by soon with the new website you had gotten made. Because of it, more foot traffic, donations, and foster families have signed up so Wanda was grateful for the boost of visitors, even though they were passing on taking him. 

"There, so handsome." You smiled and patted his head when a strong arm reached over and took the furry brush from you. 

"I can clean that." 

"James?" 

"Hi." 

He emptied the fur from the brush and handed it back to you, then he reached over and petted Tiny who enjoyed all the attention. 

"What are you doing here?" 

"Volunteering." He shrugged, then grabbed a broom and started sweeping the outdoor cages. 

"Looks good here." He noted the new fencing and door you had fixed. 

"Thanks." 

You were still getting used to seeing James at the shelter, especially in jeans and a plain t-shirt. 

"Here's his leash." Wanda handed you Tiny's leash which you clipped onto his collar. 

"Thanks Wands. We'll be back soon." 

"Where are you going?" 

"Just for a little walk." 

"I'm coming. You shouldn't be alone." James seemed concerned you were going to walk Tiny alone. 

In the years you have worked with him, he has never really shown you any sort of concern. 

Does he not know I take the bus or subway to work everyday? 

"I think we'll be fine; besides, I have this beast to protect me." 

You both looked down and saw Tiny lying on his side, tongue out, tail thumping at your attention. 

"Yeah, such a scary guard dog." James deadpanned. 

"Whatever." 

"James, go with Y/n and she can show you where she usually walks the dogs." Wanda called over her shoulder. 

"Ok."

You headed out on the route with James at your side while Tiny led the way. 

"How long do your walks usually take?" James asked while you passed people on the busy sidewalk. 

"It depends on the dog. The little ones we have don't need as much exercise, but some of the larger ones, I like to take on longer routes. Tiny here, well, don't tell anyone else, but he's kind of my favourite, so I tend to spoil him on a longer route. I also stop and give him a small t-r-e-a-t when we're out like a piece of chicken, or bite of doughnut, something like that." 

"T-r-e-a-t?" 

"Have to spell that out or he'll lose his mind." 

"Got it." 

You wandered the streets, heading to a small park full of trees and squirrels. 

"Huh." James looked around and noted the other families taking advantage of the nice weather who were hanging out in the park as well. 

Whenever you walked Tiny, you got a lot of stares and whispers while you passed due to his overall size. Many people stopped and asked if they could pet him, and you always obliged since Tiny adored attention, and it was good for his socialization. You also made sure to tell them about the shelter in case they were looking for a furry companion too. 

"You do a lot of work there." James observed. 

"I guess." You thought about it.

"Want to take his leash for a bit? My arm needs a break." 

Tiny walked good, but he sometimes would pull if he saw something he wanted to sniff or investigate further. James took the leash and was instantly jerked when Tiny spotted a squirrel scampering up a tree. 

"Hang on!" You advised while James and Tiny hurried along. Seeing your fancy billionaire boss being jerked around by a massive dog made you giggle while you watched them maneuver through the park. 

You came to your favourite food stand and got Tiny to sit while you paid for a few small treats you could give him. James immediately took out his wallet and paid for the order, much to your surprise, but you accepted it. If he wants to spend money on a few small treats for a shelter dog, then you wouldn't stop him.

"How's your arm?" You asked while you placed Tiny back in his kennel. 

"It's fine." James winced when he lifted it and stretched it. 

He had never had his arm yanked on by a horse-like dog in his life. In fact, he has never owned any sort of pet since he was never allowed one growing up. He was thinking his building didn't accept pets, but that wasn't the case when he remembered one of the other tenants walking a large poodle through the lobby. 

"Anyways, I should go." 

You grabbed your bag and put your jacket on. 

"Right, well, I can drive you like before..." 

"Ok." 

You didn't want to argue with him and besides, the weather was starting to turn a little suspect. 

"See you Friday." You called out to Wanda who waved over her shoulder at you. You headed down the steps and to James' waiting car, thanking the driver for opening your door. 

"Wait, this Friday?" James got in after you. 

"Yeah...I thought I would come by that night?" You were confused at his tone. 

"It's the gala." 

"Ok. And I'm not going?" 

"But you are." 

"What?" You looked over at him in confusion. 

"I have a ticket for you." Your eyes bugged out of your head seeing as they cost $10,000 each. 

You have never been to the gala in your life, what would possess him to think this year would be any different. 

"I-I..." You didn't know what to say. 

"I want you to use that card I gave you and buy a gown for it. Shoes too and whatever else you need. Your invitation will be delivered to you tomorrow." He insisted. 

Where was this coming from? Last year, Nat accompanied him and the years before that, he's had models and other dates on his arm. 

"I guess I could meet you there?" 

"I'll pick you up. We'll go together." 

Your eyes snapped over to his. 

"Together?" You saw the corner of his mouth twitch. 

"Together." He confirmed while the driver stopped outside your building. Your throat went dry as James looked you over.

 "I-I..." You were at a loss for words while your door was opened. 

James got out and accompanied you to the main entrance. You stopped and opened the door, turning to face him. 

He leaned in close and said, "You have my card, I want you to use it. No excuses. Gown, shoes, whatever else you need, you understand? As far as I'm concerned, you should use it for more." His breath warmed your face while you nodded. 

"O-ok..." You nodded and went inside the lobby of your building. Your heart was racing while you watched him walk back to his car, get in, and drive away. 

"What the hell was that?" You walked to your elevators and headed to your apartment, apparently in search of finding a gown for the gala.

🐶💰

You sat in front of your computer and scrolled the endless abyss of gown and dress options, unsure of what to get, what colour, or where to go. Since it was short notice, you had no idea what you were going to do. For the gala, there was no way you could walk into a regular store and buy a dress. It had to be something fancy, a designer of some kind, but what and from where? 

You tried going into a store after work the night before, but you felt weird and awkward seeing as how you got some looks sent your way. Looks that made you feel like you didn't belong, like you were living your own Pretty Woman shopping incident. You left that store and went to another, where you were helped, but nothing fit, then you went into another and the same thing, there were people there to help you, but you felt self-conscious on what to choose, so you gave up and went home. 

You scowled at your screen when you were called in to James' office, no doubt to go over the latest contract you had just sent him.

"So, if you can resend Stark the newest offer by the end of the day, that would be great." James said back from his desk. 

You wrote his requests down and looked up at him. He was watching you close and said, "Did you find a gown yet?"

"Uhh, well..." 

"The gala is in two days." He lifted one of his eyebrows up at you making you squirm a little. 

"I went shopping a last night..." You mumbled. 

"And?" 

James hadn't seen any charges on your card since the weekend, so he knows you didn't buy anything. 

"I didn't find anything. I'll go tonight." You assured him before you stepped back to leave. 

"I'm going with you." 

You stood rigid and turned slowly back to face him.

"What?" 

"Have the driver waiting at 3. We'll call it an early day." 

"O-ok..." 

You turned and left his office, sitting back at your desk. He's never once sent you home early let alone send you home after using company time to go shopping. 

You made arrangements with his driver for you to shop for a gown. 

With your boss.

🐶💰

You pulled up in front of a designer store and your mouth popped open in shock. 

"Um...I wasn't expecting to shop here." 

You took in the bright shop lights and perfect window display of the newest exclusive fashions. When you went earlier, you thought you were at stores that would be ok to shop at, but James had brought you to the more exclusive part of the city. You got out of the vehicle and James came to stand next to you when the doors to the store opened and you were greeted by the staff. 

"Mr. Barnes, welcome." An older woman smiled kindly at the two of you. 

You walked towards her and felt James' large warm hand on your lower back, guiding you inside the brightly lit store. 

"You can lock up now." The woman called over her shoulder. 

You must have looked confused when James bent down and whispered, "Booked the whole store for us." 

Then he left your side to look over the racks of gown options. 

He booked the whole store, for you. To shop. 

What the heck? 

You were ushered to a cozy fitting room where you were handed a silky purple robe to change into. 

"We'll bring you options to try on." Then you were left alone to stare at yourself in the floor length mirror. 

"Ok." You whispered to yourself, changing out of your office clothes and into the robe.

"Something like this, and perhaps that one over there." James pointed to a gown on another rack. 

He had a rack full of options while directing the staff every which way. You peeked out from the fitting room and saw him looking over the gowns with intense scrutiny. You looked over the rack and had to swallow hard. There were gowns on there that you would never have chosen for yourself, but somehow, he thinks you can pull off.

A few moments later, the rack was wheeled to you where your options awaited. 

"So, which one should we try first?" You pointed to a simple black one that stood out to you. 

"Excellent." The saleswoman smiled and helped you.

"Wow." 

You looked over the gown which fit you like a glove. You ran your hands over the fabric and looked at yourself in the mirror. 

"I like this one." 

"Good, but there are more to try." 

"Ok." 

You went to pull the zipper down when a deep voice sounded outside the curtain of the fitting room you were in. 

"Aren't you going to show me?" 

You bit your bottom lip and looked at the saleswoman who gave you a tight smile and shrug before she stepped aside. 

"Um, ok." 

You turned and pulled the curtain back revealing James sitting on a chair right in front of you. When you stepped out, you saw his eyes widen before he straightened, looking you over. 

"I like this one." 

"You do?" 

He stood and stepped towards you, scanning you from head to toe. 

"Hmm, it's an option but there are others." 

He turned and sat down, crossing his leg over the other. 

"Ok." You turned and headed back to try on more.

James had to fight the urge to run his fingers over your bare skin and up to your neck when he stepped close to inspect the gown. He had never seen your full body before since you usually wore sweaters and more conservative clothing while at work. He liked what he saw and wanted to see more of your skin on display. 

If you were going to be on his arm for the gala, he wanted you to look your best, and this first dress was a good option, but he thinks there could be another that could work.

"Woah." 

You looked down at the deep cranberry coloured dress. You felt amazing in it while you looked it over in the mirror. 

"I think this is the one." 

You noted the higher slit, lower back, and details it had that were better than the others you had tried. Plus, the dress had pockets, and the fabric was buttery soft on your skin, something that was important to you. You turned and headed out of the room to face James. When you walked out, he was scrolling on his phone but stopped and you saw him fumble with it before he placed it in his suit pocket. His eyes raked over you, lingering on the slit showing a little leg before he brought them higher to your eyes. 

"I think this is it." James stood and motioned with his fingers for you to turn around so he could see the whole thing. 

You did and heard him step closer. You peeked over your shoulder and saw his eyes move up and down your back while you turned, facing him once again. 

"I think you're right." 

His voice sounded slightly deeper than before, which he cleared and straightened himself. He looked over at the saleswoman and nodded his head indicating it was the one. You had no idea how much this dress was since there were no tags on anything in the store. 

He turned and left you standing in front of the mirror without saying anything. You were just about to head back into the room to change when he brought you a pair of black high heels. 

"These." He said, handing the shoes to you. 

"Umm, they're like super high?" was your lame response. 

There was no way you were wearing these stilts. Your toes and feet were going to hate you for a long time if you did. 

"Not up for discussion. These. Put them on, you'll see." 

You looked them over and noted the bright red bottoms of them. He must have gotten impatient when he huffed out a breath and knelt before you, shifting you slightly so you were closer to him. 

"Oh, James..." 

He looked up and smirked at you before he gently tugged the fabric of the dress aside. He reached over and gently took your foot, placing it into the shoe, then the other. His hands were warm and strong on your feet, sending shivers up your legs, then all over while he helped you in. You reached over and held his shoulders while he got your other foot into the shoe, doing up the straps. His shoulders were broad and sturdy making you swallow before he stopped and looked up at you. Your boss was kneeling before you and it did some things to your mind.

 "There, see?" 

He turned you to face the mirror while he stood behind you and watched you check out the shoes. 

"I guess you're right." 

They fit you perfectly and were surprisingly comfortable, for high heels. You weren't the greatest in them, but you weren't an awkward goat either. 

"Ok, well then, this will do." You said then headed into the fitting room to change back into your work clothes.

When you were done, you headed to the front of the store where James was waiting and met him. 

"I took care of it." Were his words before he turned and faced an associate who opened the door for you. 

The car was waiting out front for you. 

"I-I could have, with the card you gave me..." You said while getting into the car." 

"I know, but I wanted to." He said, then grabbed his phone and started replying to messages. 

You rode back to your apartment in silence, wondering why he insisted on paying for it when he told you to charge it to the card he gave you. Oh well, more available space for you to make a few more purchases for the shelter. 

There were a few things you were going to order for yourself like a new laptop, some clothes, and some basic everyday things, but you wanted to give him his card back as soon as possible. You didn't want it anymore and were wondering why he even gave you it to begin with so perhaps he will tell you after the gala. 

"Are you hungry? We can stop at The Raft, or maybe Lux?" 

Those were the fanciest places in the city. 

"Umm...I...Those places are..." 

"What?" 

"Too much, I'm not dressed for them." 

You looked down at your black skirt and adjusted the hem of your beige blouse. 

"I can get a table anywhere in the city Y/n. Where do you want to eat?" 

You were almost at home when you blurted out, "Tito's." 

James' face scrunched up in thought. He went to his phone and scowled at it. 

"Where? I'm having trouble finding it..." He was scrolling and typing on his phone. 

"It's a taco truck a block from my building. He usually parks there until 9." 

"Oh." 

You directed the driver to where Tito's would be and sure enough, the old beat-up taco truck was sitting in front of a park. You smiled at the truck and looked over at James. He was scowling at it, but his face softened once he looked at you. 

"His tacos are amazing. Trust me." 

You were helped from the car by the driver and James walked by your side to the food truck. There were a few people in line ahead of you and when it was your turn, you ordered a bunch of options you could share and paid for them using the black card from James. 

"There we are."

 You brought the containers to a small table. James looked at the containers like they were going to jump off the table but sat when you handed him a fork. 

"They have all my favourite ones. I usually grab a few tacos every other week or so." 

You pointed to the tacos in the tray. 

James had never eaten street tacos in his life. Even when he is in Mexico at one of his villas, he always has a private chef who cooks for him in his kitchen. 

"It won't kill you." You teased noticing the stink-eye look he was giving the containers. 

He cleared his throat and said, "I know..." 

You snorted, then dug into the food. 

"It's so good." You praised the little hand-held tacos of delight. 

James picked up one and took a bite, eyes widening in shock. 

"Told you." You rolled your eyes at your rigid boss but smiled when he agreed. 

"Holy shit." He wiped his mouth with a napkin and dug into the next one. 

He wanted to text Steve and tell him where he was but decided he didn't need the teasing. You both finished and put your empty containers in the trash can, then he walked you the block to your apartment, his driver was going to meet you there. 

"Thanks for supper. I would never have known about that truck if it not for you." 

"Would you eat there again?" 

James thought about it and smiled. 

"Yeah, I think so." He smiled and watched you open the door. 

"Goodnight James." You smiled, then headed up to your apartment.

🐶💰

The following day, you were sitting at your desk when you heard some commotion coming from the elevators. 

"I need to see him, it's important." Nat's voice echoed down the hallway. 

You looked into James' office and saw he was on a conference call. You waved at him to get his attention, but he wasn't looking when you heard high heels clicking on the floor. 

"He better be in." Nat demanded. 

"He is but he's on a call. He should be finished shortly if you wanted to have a seat. I can get you some tea or coffee while you wait?" 

She glared at you and snorted and said, "Does it look like I want tea or coffee? Besides, I don't wait." 

Then, she barged into his office, leaving the door open so you could hear what was going on. You watched from your desk and saw James' death stare at her before he quickly ended the call. You saw him look over at you and you wanted to hide under your desk for not being able to stop her or at least warn him she was coming.

"I can't believe you." 

"I texted you a few days ago, it's not my fault you were too busy to respond." 

"But we always go." She whined. 

"We went once together last year, that's it." 

"But I picked out a dress and everything." 

"Which you can still wear, but not with me. Find someone else to go." 

You watched James sit at his desk while she pouted and stomped her feet like a spoiled child, which she kind of is anyways. 

"Who are you going with? Is it Kelsey? Mariana? I'll bet it's Isabella." Nat spat those names out. 

You felt bad you were listening, but you couldn't help it. The door was left wide open so if you got up now, they would know you are listening, so it was awkward. 

"It's nothing to concern yourself with. I'm going with someone else, our arrangement is over like I told you so, please leave." James said with zero emotion. 

You saw Nat spat and sputter at his final words. 

"And you are no longer welcome here. I'm telling security they have the power to remove you if they see your face here again." 

"You can't do that!" Nat protested. 

"I can and I just did. My building, my rules. Now, get out." James pointed to the door which Nat turned to watch.

Her eyes narrowed on you when she saw you were watching. You heard footsteps from security since James had already called them to remove Nat. 

"Whatever." She turned around to face him once more. 

"Oh, and I'll take my card back." 

James stood and held his hand out. You could see Nat's gaze turn to ice as she rifled through her purse, pulling the card out and tossing it on his desk. 

"Whatever, you'll be back, you always come crawling back to me." Nat rolled her eyes and turned to leave on her own before security could escort her. 

You watched the commotion from your desk with interest. In the time you have worked for James, he has not once removed anyone from his office, let alone from his entire building, banning them. 

This was new, and you didn't know how to react as she made her way down the hall, flanked by the security team. 

"You'll hear from my father about this!" She yelled over her shoulder to which James replied, "I look forward to it" before she turned the corner and left. 

You slowly turned and faced James who was watching you close. 

"Umm, here." You held out James' black card he had given you. 

He looked down at it, then turned to head back into his office. 

"Can you reschedule the meeting with Lang and Associates from Monday to Wednesday?" 

"Ok..." 

"And can you confirm the timing of the car for the gala tomorrow? I think you should add extra time because of rush hour," then he closed his office door with you still holding onto his card. 

"Ok." You said to the door before you turned to sit at your desk, opening the calendar. 

You had no idea what you just witnessed, but you did as you were told, wondering what the hell you had gotten yourself into. 

The gala was going to be interesting you thought to yourself.

A single cold gaze locked with your own. Like the thrumming of a rabbit’s manic heartbeat, your own felt like it could beat and beat until finally stopping in your chest as small pale toes poke out through the bottom of the brushy forest border. Finally, it did stop.

Total arrest.

Your last breath choked back as the figure’s entire silhouette was yanked back with a sudden movement of branches and leaves being kicked up with the struggle of what was hidden behind it.

There would be no scream calling out for help to penetrate the glass, none to match your own as it erupted from your body.

Vision blurred, but no tears.

Ears ringing, with no sound besides your thumping heart.

Head dizzy, struggling to breathe after your voice finally cracks with a sharp, shrill cry.

Another body is startled awake by the sound of you screaming over him, his own eyes having to adjust to the image of you staring out at the window before toppling over into the tangle of pillows and blankets as you grapple for him, seeking refuge with the basest of instincts becoming second nature in the wake of danger.

Bucky is on his feet, holding you up with one arm around your shoulder, and shouting back in the wake of your weakened cries.

“What?! What’s wrong?!”

You can’t seem to speak, no words finding a path through the cacophony of ragged breathing.

You barely get a single syllable out, each one tumbling off your shaking lips.

“There’s something out there.”

It came out as a near whisper, a plea in bated breath as you struggled to break through your horror. But finally, you find your voice, letting it rise back up as you shout through a wave of tears as they flood out over your cheeks.

“There’s something outside.” You finally screamed. “It was looking at us through the window!”

He forced himself up and sadly out of your arms as he stood to face the window that you continued to stare through.

The image of those dark and wide eyes, nearly as if they had burned their mark into the very glass that stood between you and that once present figure.

Bucky made quick work tearing through the room, throwing up a few blankets before finally digging up his bag. He tore the zipper down and began tossing a few of his clothes over the floor in a mess of flannel and denim before he found what he’d been searching for.

The glint of his pistol was almost as jarring as the previous scene, and you watched, terrified, as he ran out of the cabin in just a pair of sweatpants and that gun in his hand.

He sweeps the area professionally, and you even see him duck into that same thatch of trees that figure had fallen into.

You tried to breathe as evenly as possible, but the tears kept flowing, and you fought each gasp of air. You never take your eyes off the window, waiting for him to reappear.

It’s just your breathing and the rapid beating of your heart as you waited for him to return.

You gasp in relief to see him reappear, walking back to the front door before coming back inside.

He shut the door behind him, clicking the safety back on the gun and keeping it pointed to the ground with his finger straight and off the trigger. “There’s nothing out there.”

He moves carefully, setting the gun down on a side table with the barrel pointed out towards the window, and you couldn’t help stiffening at the sound of the metal meeting the wood of the tabletop.

“No...I-I...”

You can’t breathe all over again.

“Omega, listen to me. Are you sure it wasn’t a nightmare?” He says in a serious tone, drawing just a little closer as he tries to get a better idea of what this situation is.

You brushed your fingers along the side of each arm, hugging yourself to fight a hard shiver as you spoke back. “I saw something staring at us through that window.”

He nodded back in understanding, eyebrows settling, but his shoulders remained stiff.

He takes you for your word, and he remains on his guard.

There was more you wanted to say. Surely, there had to be more words ready to burst out at the single sight of that gun leaving his bag. That same bag having sat mere feet from the both of you while you slept.

You tried to think, tried to speak, but as you opened your mouth, all that came out was a pathetic squeak of a noise.

This had to be the worst possible time to ask any of those questions, but it was a slash at your already newly built trust. A war of dissonance battling through your already rapidly beating heart and buzzing mind.

You supposed that an ex-soldier with a concealed weapon wasn't out of the ordinary, but this was in no way something you had expected. In any normal circumstance you would have been hysterical at the sight of it. But, the image of a faceless set of wide wet eyes and a thrashing body just outside a wall would resurface. Whatever it was, it couldn’t have gone willingly, and thus it wasn’t alone.

You didn’t want to feel alone either. Not here. Not with him.

He went out there on your word alone and into possible danger. Not a single question asked, willing to kill if necessary. Armament well in hand.

So, when he approached, your fingers reached for him, digging into his buttoned shirt. You pull him back to crash against you in a warm and needful embrace.

For a moment you allow him to comfort you. No, in that moment you needed him to comfort you.

Any second he dared to shift under the right lock of your knuckles, you whimpered at the thought of losing his presence.

You don’t sleep for the rest of the night; neither of you could. You cry off and on, and of course Bucky is there for you at every second. A pillar at your altar standing solid and strong to keep you from spiraling further into panic.

By now your heat was retreating with the presence of danger, replaced with a heavy sense of grief. You would miss the clenching of Bucky’s jaw as he took in your tainted scent; your once warm aroma of baked cinnamon was twisted into something bitter like unripened citrus.

His voice was low as he rumbled against the side of your head.

“You smell so afraid.”

Chapter 17

Tags : @meowmeowyoongles @black-cat-2 @cjand10 @bethyruth @barnessssss1 @wintrsoldrluvr @buckysdoll85 @lendeluxe @magnoliamermaid @heletsmelovehim @mcira @buckysbaby-doll @serendipitouslife90 @unicornicopia1 @animegirlgeeky @matchat3a @darkdemetyr @iwudbutnah @winterslove1917 @daddytonysbaby @jvanilly @kandis-mom @onyxwolf @thebuckybarnesvault @nicestgirlonline @jbuckybarnesfan @val-writesstuff @ozwriterchick @bumblee-beezzz @cringeycookies @bohemianrhapsody86 @lillianacristina @cadencejames87 @teambarnes72 @ashychangeling @samuelkwinchester @nightofthesea @blackbirdwitch22 @mizunogamii @snapcapquartet @openup-yourmind @ashychangeling @kristiandclayton93 @rivernell @futuristiczipperpeachcash @littlesuniee @staley83 @daddysbitchybaby @nojudgmentjustsupport @addie81readss

@littlesuniee

@liser240

@staley83

@trojanaurora

Notes : It’s been a long time since I posted…anything. Let alone on this fic. I would just like to say that I love writing but I don’t get a lot of time to do so as my job is very physically demanding and emotionally draining. I get at best bits and pieces every other day but sadly it doesn’t always amount to a finished product.

But he still wanted your heart and soul.

You shifted, which made his hold tighten more. His touch was always enough to brand you in some form and keep you close, but not enough to physically harm you. That instinct was there even while he slept. 

His eyes didn’t open until you shifted again, heavy with sleep but soft with something that made your chest ache. “I thought for a second that last night was just a dream,” he said, his voice rough.

“It wasn’t,” you whispered. The ache between your thighs reminded you that it was very real. It was the choice you made. 

Looking around the room, you realized it didn’t look any brighter or duller than it had the day before, but it also didn’t look the same.  You were seeing things differently. Maybe the rose-tinted glasses finally came off, the ones you stubbornly refused to remove. Bucky could’ve snatched them off, but why do that when you had to see it for yourself?

He tilted your chin, bringing your gaze back to him. “It was everything and more,” he whispered, pressing a kiss to your forehead. There was no rush or urgency. Only the quiet intimacy of waking up beside you the way he always wanted.

He eventually moved to his back and stretched, his limbs and scars shifting with the movement. While you moved to cover your chest with the blanket, he made no move to shield himself. He had nothing to hide. It wasn’t fair that he looked that good in the morning. You could look like death warmed over, and he would still call you beautiful.

“Breakfast? I can make us an omelette,” he said, glancing at you with a dreamy smile. “After we have a shower.”

You swallowed slightly. “We?”

“It’ll help save on the water bill,” he replied, running a hand through his hair.

“Yeah, because you can’t afford it,” you teased.

He laughed and rolled on top of you, making you gasp. How was he hard already? “I’ll start the water.” His knuckles grazed your cheek. “We can get your birth control figured out today, too.”

Of course, he wanted that sorted out. He respected your wishes to use protection the night before, but he wouldn’t want that all the time. Why would he when he made it clear that some of his fantasies involved filling you up?

“Okay,” you whispered, surprised when he rolled off you and got to his feet. Like the king he was, he moved toward the bathroom tall and proud. He came back seconds later with your robe. “Thanks.”

“As much as I don’t want you covering yourself up, I have a feeling you aren’t quite ready to walk around naked yet.” He winked before leaving you alone once again.

It took you a bit to get to your feet and slip the robe on. While you didn’t move with the same composure he did, you no longer walked through the room like a visitor. You were now a permanent resident, and you felt the weight of your choices with every step.

Bucky smiled at you as he brushed his teeth and you smiled back softly, the water from the shower providing background noise. You stopped when you saw your reflection. Your eyes opened wider, seeing the cracks in who you used to be filled in with Bucky and what led you to this point. You wouldn’t call yourself phoenix reborn since you still carried the ashes. 

“You’re so beautiful,” he commented while you brushed your teeth, which almost made you laugh. 

“You said that last night,” you reminded him once you rinsed out your mouth. There was nothing beautiful about cleaning your teeth, but leave it to him to make it seem like an ethereal task. 

He grinned and shrugged. “I’m saying it again because it’s true.” He turned and leaned a hip against the counter. “One day, you’re going to look in the mirror and realize you aren’t just beautiful. You’re so much more.”

Your chest tightened and you didn’t have a response. You did, however, reach over and touch his hand. It wasn’t just his opinion that you were beautiful and more than enough, but his truth. He would preach it until you believed it.

You moved toward the shower, steam curling around you. He was by your side in an instant, helping you remove your robe and testing the water in case it was too hot. He stepped in before you and held out a hand to help you, your heart pounding against your ribs. Your eyes closed as he guided you under the spray, the heat cascading over your skin.

“See? Saving on the water bill,” he teased, his voice light and happy.

You kept your eyes closed. You half expected the world to end by sleeping with Bucky, but you didn’t have to look outside to know it still continued like normal. Your friends were going about their days. The sun would rise and set like always. Tonight you’d fall asleep in the bed you two made together. 

Moisture built in the corners of your eyes. Something lingered within you since it was hard to forget how you arrived there. You believed you reclaimed something last night and you wouldn’t diminish the choices you made. Doing so would set you back. 

But the embers of your fire drifted until they faded into the air and you had to wonder if you didn’t fight hard enough for yourself. Did you give in quickly out of fear for those closest to you, or did you hold out as long as you could? The inescapable truth was that it would always end this way, no matter how long it took. And you had to keep your head up because this journey was far from over.

“You’re in your head,” he whispered, your eyes opening in time to see him grab the body wash beside him. You refused to look lower and didn’t watch the water drip down his abs to the large cock that still had you aching. 

“I keep retreating there,” you whispered back. Kind of like how you had retreated to your library. It was a way for you to keep processing everything. 

He poured the extravagant liquid onto his palm and rubbed his hands together, not pushing you to share more and you appreciated that. It surprised you that he was able to shower with the prosthetic and the hand on your shoulder was gentler than you expected. He rubbed the soap down your arms with care, light but no less intense.

“You’re letting me take care of you,” he murmured, his hands moving to your chest. His touch lingered and made your knees weak, but it didn’t seem like he was trying to seduce you. Not let, at least. “Even in your uncertainty, you’re letting me.”

“Who said I’m uncertain?” 

“I can read you like a book.” His hands dipped lower, your skin growing warmer. “And you wouldn’t retreat into that beautiful head of yours if you were certain, Kotyonok.”

In a world where it was easy for you to hide from so many, he found and saw you every time. “I was certain last night,” you assured both him and yourself. 

He smirked, but there was nothing smug about it. “You were, but you’ve been through a version of hell and the aftermath of that doesn’t just vanish.” His hands roamed your hips as if to ground himself. “Not to mention, I helped create that hell. I didn’t make this easy for you because all I wanted was you and I did whatever I could to have you.”

Your hands rested against his chest as you took your next breath. He was so unapologetic in his admission, but it was nice that he at least acknowledged his role as the puppet master in this. “Was last night really better than you imagined? Because I know you have a vivid imagination.”

The fantasies he shared with you so far were proof of that.

He kissed your lips, sighing at the feel. “It was everything,” he breathed, backing you against the tiles and bringing his mouth back to yours. He kissed you until your lungs almost gave out. “We didn’t just make love. It was like our souls were one.”

You didn’t tremble, but you braced yourself since this was part of the fallout of your decision. Giving him your body fueled his love and obsession. You just didn’t know if it would help things grow or if he’d tighten the bolts on your cage without realizing.

His lips brushed some of the droplets from your neck and you felt his hardness press against you, yet you weren’t afraid. He’d eventually fuck you in the shower, but you knew it wouldn’t be today. “You want more nights like that,” you mused.

Having you would only hold him for so long.

“Not just nights.” He kissed back to your lips and he groaned when you moved a hand to his wet hair. “Mornings and afternoons, too.”

That was a dream. Mornings, afternoons, and nights between the sheets. Not just making love, but making each other laugh and sharing secrets. Reading books together, talking about nothing and everything. An ease of being together with no fear, holding each other like nothing else mattered. 

“You love me so fiercely,” you whispered, tracing a finger along his jaw. “And you taught me a lesson that I wasn’t aware I needed to learn.”

“I do love you.” He tilted his head curiously while leaning into your touch. “What lesson is that?”

“That love given in its entirety can leave behind scars. And…” You brushed your finger against his lips, his focus solely on you and the truth that you weren’t afraid to speak. “We’re not meant to hold onto love, but we’re meant to let it move through us.”

Holding onto love was like trying to hold your breath. You had to exhale eventually. Putting chains on the person you claimed to love also constricted breathing. It would suffocate them if they weren’t careful. You wanted the kind of love that felt as natural as breathing. 

“Scars don’t scare me, Kotyonok,” he murmured, kissing your fingers. “They’re proof that love lived here, that it survived, and that it mattered.”

You had to smile at the man who wouldn’t sway when it came to how he felt for you. “Then let it move through us,” you urged. You weren’t sure if you could ever dial down the strength of his love for you, but you could help him learn where to direct it. “Don’t lock it in a cage. Let it thrive.”

Bucky had to let you thrive.

His eyes softened, like your words resonated with him. “That’s what I want,” he promised, sliding a hand to your waist. “I want our love to thrive.”

His kiss wasn’t desperate or consuming, but it was threaded with something deeper. Love didn’t have to trap. The invisible scars might leave you changed, love could flow and heal.

“Good. Because I don’t feel like staying in my head,” you said, gathering a handful of water and lightly splashing him.

He took a step back, his eyes wide. His expression had a laugh bubbling up in your throat. “Did you just splash me?”

You shrugged innocently. “Bet that got rid of your hard-on real quick, didn’t it?” 

“Oh, I’m practically a walking hard-on around you, and that isn’t going away,” he growled playfully, grabbing your wrist and tugging you back against him.

“Hey! I’ll fall!” You shrieked when he tickled your side and you thought you’d slip, but he chuckled and kept you upright.

“I’ve got you,” he promised in your ear, and you knew he didn’t just mean his current hold.

The combined laughter echoed off the tiles as he kept tickling you and you both eventually ended up on the shower floor. His eyes and nose crinkled as you shrieked again and kicked your feet. It should’ve been ridiculous, both of you wet, naked, and laughing in the shower. But it got you out of your head and that was a great feeling.

You were both breathless when the water began to cool and you didn’t protest when he helped you to your feet to lead you out. Your sides ached in the best way as he dried you off with a towel, and he looked lighter than before. Was this really the same man who came home with blood on his hands? 

“When I said I want mornings, afternoons, and nights like last night, I meant this, too,” he whispered. 

You looked at him and saw the contrast that unsettled you. A man who could commit heinous crimes and a man who cradled you like you were the only thing that kept him human. A king who ruled his kingdom who wanted ordinary gestures that couldn’t be bought with money or power. 

“That’s what I want, too,” you whispered. Not that you needed to tell him that. He knew. 

“Good.” He smiled and reached behind you to pat your ass. “Now get dressed so I can make you breakfast.”

You rolled your eyes but smiled, knowing the only reason he wanted you dressed was so Ray and Curtis didn’t see you in your robe. If this was your home like he said, he’d have to get used to it eventually. “You get dressed, too.”

Your eyes flickered to your phone once you picked your clothes out. You’d have to tell Addison about last night. She’d ask questions, maybe raise concerns, and be happy if you were happy. The way any best friend would.

Bucky had a bounce in his step as he dressed, even more prominent than the one he had after you blew him. He practically had “I got laid” written all over his face. You wondered how he’d act when he didn’t have to wear a condom. Would he throw a party?

He tugged your hand toward the kitchen after you grabbed your phone. Ray and Curtis weren’t in there like you expected. “So, you’re going to make us omelettes?” you asked, perching yourself on a stool.

Bucky rummaged through the fridge, his expression serious when he took out the eggs and cheese. “You’re going to witness art in the form of breakfast.”

You put your chin in your hand. “You meant the art of burning breakfast?”

He put a hand to his chest. “I’m a man of many talents, and that includes feeding my girl.”

You smothered a laugh when he cracked an egg with too much force, half of it splattering on the counter. “You sure about that, Bucky?” 

He groaned and ran a hand through his hair. “I’m still a man of many talents,” he muttered. 

“Okay. I’m not an expert with making omelettes like I am with baking brownies, but I do know how to crack an egg,” you teased, sliding off the stool and going around to help him. “So, please, let me help.”

Bucky didn’t protest, letting you crack the eggs. His hand covered yours when you held the bowl and he helped you whisk, guiding without controlling. There was intimacy in the task, his lips brushing your temple and his sigh happy when you leaned into him. It was simple, ordinary, and what love should feel like.

By the time you transferred everything to the pan, he wrapped his arms around your waist and rested his chin on your shoulder. “Perfect. Just like you.”

“You’re ridiculous,” you said, but you were smiling.

“Ridiculously in love,” he countered, sneaking a kiss in when you turned his head. “I’ll start the coffee.”

“That should’ve been task number one,” you teased. 

It didn’t take long for the aromas of the coffee and cheese from the pan to fill the space, wrapping you both in morning warmth. You noticed he only took out one plate, intending for you both to share the meal. Another form of intimacy that thrived in the daylight.

“We have a lot around the corner,” he told you, helping you plate the omelette once it was ready. “Thor’s party, seeing Steve and his girl and…” He stared off for a moment. “Visiting my mom’s grave.”

You put a hand on his arm, feeling the tension slowly leave his body. “I need to make the arrangement for that,” you reminded him. “And I’ll be there with you.” He didn’t have to go through that alone. 

The clouded look faded from his eyes. “Thank you,” he whispered, helping you take a seat. 

He fed you the first bite and you fed him a bite in return. You wondered how overwhelming Thor’s party would be. Hanging out with Steve was going to be something, too. The silver lining was that you still had time off from work to rest if things were too much.

“And I still need to meet with Natasha,” you said, feeding him another bite. You weren’t going to push off something that would help you mentally and physically. 

“And I need to have the team start working on the fundraiser.”

You almost forgot he had promised that. “How are you not exhausted all the time?” you asked. His schedule had to be crazy before he came into your life. He ran his club, and he had his hands in other businesses. How did he do it? 

“I told you I was asleep until you came along,” he pointed out, gripping your wrist and kissing it. He had to feel your heart racing. “But that’s also why I have people to help.” His loyal crew, of course. “And I promise you’ll always come first.”

You smiled softly. “I know.”

He turned your body in the stool toward him, his hands moving up your thighs. “I’d love to make you come again,” he said, his voice husky. “Put you right on this island and eat your sweet pussy as an early dessert.”

You didn’t mean to whimper. “What if your men walk in?”

“They won’t,” he said, opening your legs more. “Took everything in me not to wake you up with my tongue buried in you. Should’ve dropped to my knees in the shower. I really need a taste. Don’t deprive me.”

The visual made you tremble. “Now that I have clothes on, you want to eat me out?” you asked, your cheeks hot.

A hand slid higher. “Tell me you don’t want it,” he dared you, your panties dampening. “Tell me you don’t want me to fuck you.”

“You’re insatiable," you whispered. The man was addicted to you. He’d been hard practically all morning and that had to hurt. 

He opened his mouth to say something else when your phone rang, annoyance filling his eyes. He didn’t reach for it, but he did crane his neck to see the name on the screen. “I didn’t think Addison usually called this early.”

You frowned, a weird feeling swirling in your gut and quickly erasing your arousal. “She doesn’t.” She usually texted. You knew she wanted to talk to Bucky, but something in you said that wasn’t the reason for her call. “Hello?”

You didn’t hear anything on the other end and you wondered if the call disconnected. “D-Do you have a second to talk?” Addison finally asked, her voice small. 

Your heart stopped. You could already tell she’d been crying. “What’s wrong? Are you okay?”

Bucky sat up straight up at your tone, the sob from your best friend loud enough for both of you to hear. “Our wedding venue…” She sniffled a few times. “There was a fire.”

“A fire?” you repeated. Did you hear her correctly? “Wait, there was a fire at the venue?”

“An electrical issue. The whole building burned down.” She hiccuped and you could hear Brady in the background trying to calm her down. “W-We can’t have our wedding there.”

“Oh, Addison. I’m so sorry,” you whispered, your heart breaking for her. 

You were thankful something hadn’t happened to her, Brady, or another loved one, but you were still upset for her. Her heart was set on that venue. Every detail had been planned. They had to book it far in advance. 

“No one was hurt, thankfully, but I don’t know what to do.”

You stared at the man sitting beside you. You didn’t want to suspect him, not after he promised he wouldn’t hurt your loved ones. And he stared back at you with nothing but concern and not a single trace of guilt or victory. 

“Can you put her on speaker, please?” he asked. 

You hesitated for a moment, your thumb hovering over the screen. But the way Bucky’s voice carried calmly instead of demanding made you nod and press the button. Addison’s shaky breaths filled the kitchen within seconds, her grief spilling into the space you and Bucky had just filled with warmth and laughter.

“Addison? This is Bucky.” His voice wasn’t as gentle as how he spoke with you, but it was softer than how he spoke with most and vastly different from how he spoke to your parents. “We’re both so sorry that you’re going through this.”

There was a pause and a muffled sob, Brady’s voice once again trying to soothe his fiancé. 

“We’ll help you figure this out.” Bucky covered your hand with his, your eyes wide. “There are other venues, and if you want, I’ll make sure you get something even better than what you lost.”

Addison sniffled and you wished you were there to hug her. “But it won’t be the same.” She sounded so fragile. “We planned everything around that place.”

You turned your hand and squeezed his, a silent warning to tread carefully. This was your best friend. “I understand that, and I’m not saying it’ll be easy, but what matters is you and Brady. The venue won’t be the thing that makes the marriage. It’ll be you two,” he said, his eyes tender as he gazed at you. “And I’ll do whatever I can to help. I can even put down the deposit at another venue or help negotiate things so you won’t have to move the date.”

Addison’s sobs quieted, replaced by shaky breaths. “You’d… You’d do that?”

Your mouth opened, his thumb brushing over your wrist to ground you. That was a huge thing to promise, but he had connections all over the city and could make it happen. Would he do this with no strings attached? Would he expect something in return?

You observed him carefully, trying to find the answer. There was still no trace of manipulation in his gaze or tone. His power seemed to be about offering support instead of control because Addison was important to you. 

“You’re my girl’s best friend. Of course, I want to help,” he said, your heart stopping. This wasn’t jealous Bucky who couldn’t stand your attention being on someone else. This was growth.

“And we will help you,” you promised, your voice tender. “We’ll help you find something together.”

You heard a couple of deep breaths. “Thank you. I’ll call you later when my head’s a bit more clear, okay?”

“Do you need me to come over?” She had Brady there, but you’d go over immediately if she needed you.

“No, I’m good, but I love you.”

“I love you, too.”

Bucky’s jaw clenched and he looked away, but he didn’t let go of your hand. You knew it was hard since that was the very thing he wanted to hear from you. It was different though. He had to realize that.

You stared at the device once Addison ended the call. “An electrical fire.”

“You haven’t asked if it’s me,” he said, turning back toward you. 

“Because it wasn’t you.” He let out a breath at your words. “Even if you’re jealous of my bond with her, you wouldn’t do that.”

He closed the distance, kissing you deeply, a wordless thank you for not blaming him. “Yeah, I’m jealous because I want to hear you say you love me. And I know you don’t love her or anyone else romantically. I’m just… still feeling a little selfish.”

“Love is meant to thrive and go through us, remember? And I haven’t said the words yet, but these little moments and interactions…” You trailed off, letting him fill in the blanks.

“They’re a form of love,” he whispered. “I’m still going to have the fire looked into.”

“I hope it was just a terrible accident,” you said, but you knew he didn’t believe in coincidences in his world.

His eyes lit up unexpectedly. “You said you wanted to pay Natasha a visit, didn’t you?”

“Yeah, why?”

He fed you the last bite of the omelette with a smile, not letting it go to waste. “Because the Red Room might be the perfect venue for the wedding and reception.”

You sat back in shock while he made a call, his tone shifting to that commanding cadence reserved for business. Addison’s wedding at the Red Room? A place still connected to Bucky in some form? It would be beautiful, and everyone would be thankful. Everyone would believe more and more that Bucky was the perfect man for you.

And maybe he was.

Poor Addison. Coincidence or something more? How will Natasha react to the suggestion? And how do we feel about the morning after? Love and thanks for reading! ❤️

“I hope you two enjoy,” you said, nodding to their plates. “But I understand if you aren’t hungry.”

“Thank you. You didn’t have to go through the trouble,” Ray said, his eyes softening. So did Curtis’s. 

Bucky had a wide smile on his face as he grabbed your plate and his. “She really is something, isn’t she?” he asked, winking at you. “Great with her hands and her mouth.”

You gasped at the implication and elbowed his side. “Go to the table,” you ordered in a whisper. The other men, to their credit, didn’t react and you were thankful for that. 

Your dangerous boyfriend didn’t look at all ashamed. If anything, he looked like he was floating on air as you went to the table, his eyes sparkling. There wasn’t triumph. Just joy, and maybe a hint of pride. 

“Let’s have some wine,” he suggested, pulling out your chair for you and resting his hands on your shoulders once you sat down. “Red or white?”

“Red, please,” you replied, staring at your plate while he fetched a bottle and glasses. He poured for you first, his hand steady and sure, and then his own. Settling in his seat with a content sigh, you found yourself smiling. 

“What’s that look for?” he asked, digging in with a moan.

“I’m just… surprised,” you replied. The air was lighter than before. The tension was different, no awkwardness or lingering fear. It should have frightened you that this was close to normalcy. 

His fork moved slowly, like he was savoring the moment just as much as the food. “A good kind of surprise. I can see it on your face,” he said, reaching across the table to grasp your hand. “This is exactly what I’ve dreamed of. A nice meal with the love of my life in our home.”

You looked at your joined hands, the warmth of his skin seeping into yours as he rubbed hypnotic circles with his thumb. “Dreams are different for everyone.”

“But we do share a lot of the same dreams,” he reminded you, which you couldn’t deny. “Love. Companionship. Someone to ease the lonely days.”

Loneliness ate away at the soul. It didn’t do it all at once. It did so in small pieces, so miniscule that one wouldn’t notice at first. Until one day enough was chipped away that the colors and sounds around you dulled. It dragged you down since there wasn’t enough to lift you up.

You weren’t the kind of person who stayed down. The ground beneath you demanded that you walk tall, not collapse. So you tried by offering kindness and brightness in small doses, hoping they might fill the void in others. And you quietly held onto the belief that someday it would be your turn. That someone would see you, share a life with you, and ease the heartache.

“You changed my entire world to bring me into yours,” you retorted, but there was no anger. “Calm and chaos, a perfect storm.”

He nodded, not disagreeing with you. “Sometimes we need chaos to appreciate the calm that comes after.”

You looked toward the balcony, remembering how you snapped at him for forcing his way into  your life and his calm response in doing so. Maybe you were the chaos in some way, too, by rewriting his life. You were his storm presented in a package of care and hope. Instead of running, he ran into the eye of it and shifted everything to make sure you wouldn’t fade under his watch.

He followed your gaze, a gentle smile on his face. “When we sat out there, you told me you were just a florist. Nothing special. Someone who wanted to live a simple little life.”

You remembered it like it was yesterday. Your life was far from simple now, and it never would be again. “You said one of the things that makes me special is that I do things without expecting anything in return,” you said, looking back at him. He believed in his heart that you were special. That wasn’t a lie. “You also said traditional dating never worked for you because people always wanted something.”

“I stand by that,” he said, squeezing your hand, his eyes on you. “And I stand by what I said that we’re right for each other, even if I’m not the man you expected to have.”

You sipped the wine and let it settle. You still wished things could’ve been a little bit more traditional between you two. It was a thought you needed to let go of because it wouldn’t change anything. He would’ve found a way to have you by his side.

“This feels like the beginning of a new chapter,” he continued, managing to eat with one hand so he didn’t have to let you go. “And I’m going to protect and cherish it.”

“Even if you have to set the world on fire to do it?” you asked, not flinching when he paused. 

He smiled, still looking as happy as he did when you were on your knees. “I’ll make sure the flames never burn you,” he promised. 

Bucky would protect you from the flame, even if he was the one who lit the match. He wasn’t walking through life like he was asleep any longer because you made him feel. He went too long without you in his life to ever let you go.

“Thank you for making dinner,” he said, his voice softer. “I can’t remember if I thanked you.”

You smiled softly. To you, it was a simple gesture, but you knew it was so much more to him. “You’re welcome,” you said, genuinely glad that he enjoyed it. 

“I really could get used to this,” he murmured, his posture relaxed and your throat dry. He didn’t look like a man living in the shadows of violence and obsession. He looked like someone basking in the glow of sharing a moment with the person who mattered to him the most.

“Do you have to go to the club tonight?” you asked, finishing your glass. 

“No, which I’m glad I don’t,” he replied, surprising you. “It’s chaos and control and it’s mine, but it isn’t peaceful to me,” he continued, a slow smile spreading on his face. “Except when you’re there.”

“I’ve only been to your club four times,” you pointed out. You didn’t know him the first time you were there, the second visit was overwhelming and forced, the third was only because of Clark, and you spent most of the recent visit with your friends. Until you went to his office, let him spread you out on his desk and eat you like a starved man.

The thought made your cheeks burn. He tasted you like you were a forbidden fruit he’d give up paradise for. And he praised you with love and devotion when you had him in your mouth. You could do no wrong in his eyes, could you?

He smirked like he knew what was on your mind. “Next time we go, you can stay with me in my office if you don’t want to be out on the floor.”

You sighed inwardly. You weren’t a party girl, but you couldn’t exactly avoid the club. It did help that Bucky didn’t care what you wore or how long you’d stay. He at least respected that.

“Only if Hal can make my drinks,” you teased. You couldn’t help it. Hal was a likeable guy, and he was good at his job.

Bucky’s eyes flashed, but the jealousy faded quickly. “He’s keeping his shirt on,” he half growled. 

You laughed softly and he followed a heartbeat after, the mixed sound echoing off the walls. The first time you sat at that table, you couldn’t imagine ever relaxing. Tonight was real laughter, free of the burden of everything that came before it. 

When the sound faded, he stared at you like he was seeing you again for the first time. You were the center of his universe. Everything began and ended with you. Instead of hiding from his gaze, you let out a breath and stared back at him. Your universe didn’t begin and end with him in the same sense, but you were entwined. A part of each other. Like venom in the veins, you couldn’t stop it from spreading. There was no cure. No remedy.

He made sure of that every step of the way.

“I have an idea,” he said, leaning across the table like he had a secret to share. “You mentioned wanting to help women who have been hurt in some capacity, right? And I said funds wouldn’t be an issue?”

You nodded slowly. “Yeah,” you said, wondering where he was going with that.

“Why don’t we have a fundraiser of sorts at the club?” he suggested, finishing his glass of wine, too. “All profits will go to the charity or foundation you set up. I’ll make sure our biggest VIP clients are there, and our friends. It’ll be a night to celebrate you and your giving heart.”

Your breath stuttered. He could’ve funded the whole thing with the kind of money he had, and likely would if you asked, but he wanted others to donate to the cause. He wanted the people of his kingdom to support the dreams of his queen.

“That’s… very thoughtful of you, Bucky,” you said, feeling more emotional than you expected. He continued to surprise you, even when everything confused you. “Thank you.”

“I told you I want to give you the world, and I don’t want your light to dim. If this is what you want, I’m going to do everything in my power to make it happen.”

Your throat went tight. He was offering his name, his space, and his influence. He framed it not as a transaction, but as support and devotion. It was all in the name of your light.

“You’ve given me so much,” he whispered, bringing your hand to his lips and kissing it. “Let me help you give something back.” 

You blinked, trying to keep yourself steady. “This is going to sound silly, but do you think some of those people will care?”

He leaned in closer. “They’ll care because I’ll make them care,” he said with enough determination to make you shiver. “But they’ll keep caring because you’ll remind them what it means to feel… and what it means to give.”

You shook your head. “But it isn’t about me,” you whispered. It was about others who needed help and people to fight for them.

“It’ll be about what you stand for, and what you’re fighting for,” he promised, looking down only for a moment. “And they’ll see that I finally have someone worth fighting for. Someone I’d kill and die for.”

His devotion was the kind that poets wrote about, and many fantasized about. In many stories, he would be a hero forged in darkness instead of calling himself a villain. One that some wouldn’t understand but would want to have a happy ending for. Some would even ask why the heroine fought so much. 

Why fight someone who rewrote the stars to align?

“Then let’s do it,” you said after a moment. If you were going to be a queen in his twisted kingdom, at least you could do something good with it. 

His face lit up, and he kissed your hand again. “I can have a team start planning tomorrow, and you’ll be involved every step of the way.”

“And what I say goes?” 

“You’re in charge, Kotyonok. I’ll make sure everyone knows that,” he swore. 

The fist around your heart loosened. He wasn’t just trying to build a life with you. He was doing everything in his power to help you build a legacy. 

He helped you up from your seat once you finished your meal, pulling you close. There was no music, but he swayed with you. You rested your head against him, his hands caressing you like he was trying to remind himself that you were real. 

“It’s a nice night,” he whispered in your ear. “Why don’t we sit out on the balcony and read?”

“You don’t want to drag me to bed?” you asked, just a little suspicious. 

He chuckled and lifted your head so you’d look at him. “I just want us to have a nice evening together. First of many going forward.”

You let him guide you to the balcony, the air cool on your skin. The city thrived below, but it was almost quiet up there. He helped you sit and quickly sat beside you to wrap a blanket around your shoulders. A book was already waiting, too. Did he plan this? 

“Why don’t you read, and I’ll listen?” he offered, placing the book in your hands. 

You titled your head. “You don’t want to read it yourself?”

“I want to hear your voice. It soothes me,” he admitted, almost sheepishly. “Makes me forget about the blood you helped wash off my hands.”

All you could manage in response was a quiet nod and a faint smile. You slowly opened the book and let the words drift into the night. He put an arm around you and you felt his eyes on your face, but it didn’t feel like he was trying to consume you. Not this time. He was trying to create and share a tender moment. 

Intimacy didn’t always mean fire and frenzy. 

“This is perfect,” he whispered when you turned the page, his lips brushing a spot just beneath your ear. When you paused to look at him, he stared back like you were the only thing worth seeing. “You’re perfect.”

You sighed. “Bucky, I’m not-”

His mouth found yours, swallowing the rest of your words down. It wasn’t urgent. It was like he needed to taste the bit of peace he claimed you gave him, his hand cradling your cheek and breath hitching when you didn’t pull away.

You kissed him back, slowly and softly. The warmth of the blanket and his arm wrapped around you pulled you deeper into the moment. The book rested in your lap, forgotten as the pages moved in the breeze. It seemed to serve its purpose by bringing you two together in a way you didn’t anticipate.

He exhaled like he finally let go of something heavy when he pulled away, his forehead resting against yours. “You’re perfect because you’re you, and that’s more than enough. You know that, right?”

You smiled tiredly, a smile that hid more than it showed. It wasn’t enough for your parents, and it never would be. It wasn’t enough to attract a normal type of love or attention. But you were lucky in many ways. You would continue to remind yourself of that during the rough days. The moments when you’d think of how afraid you were or when Clark hurt you.

Bucky didn’t demand a response nor did he try to unravel the layers behind your smile. There was a good chance he knew what you were thinking. “You’re special, Kotyonok. Extraordinary,” he whispered, his nose nudging yours. The slow aching bloom of being seen and chosen spread inside, the praise cutting you open and healing you all at once. “And I’m the luckiest man alive to have you.”

“You are lucky,” you said, half teasing and half truth. 

“I know. I just said that,” he teased, urging you to rest against him. 

The night seemed to settle around the two of you. You sat together and watched the city lights flicker like brightly colored stars. You didn’t start reading again, and he made no move to grab the book either. There was no need to fill the silence.

You closed your eyes after a few minutes. He certainly held you like a man in love instead of obsession. Feelings didn’t always make sense. They didn’t follow logic or time. They were raw, confusing, and either tore people apart or kept them together. 

You weren’t sure much time passed when he sat you up. “We should go inside before we fall asleep.”

With a hand on your back, he led you back inside. The air crackled as you moved toward the master bedroom, your heart pounding. Bucky must’ve sensed it since his hand pressed against you a fraction more. Ray and Curtis were nowhere to be seen, almost like they knew they weren’t needed.

Was this it? 

You held your breath when you entered the room, staring at the bed like it was a ticking time bomb. Instead of guiding you toward it or kissing you, Bucky stunned you by going straight to the bathroom. You followed him on shaky legs and realized he was about to go through his nightly routine. He wasn’t rushing or pressuring you, continuing to keep his word on that matter.

You stole a glance at him as you both brushed your teeth, and it struck you how normal he looked. He wasn’t playing a role or on guard. Were you the only one who ever got to see him like this? “What?” you asked when you caught him looking back at you.

“Nothing,” he said, rinsing his mouth out. “You’re just beautiful. Even like this.”

“I’m not,” you said, rinsing your mouth out, too, and doing your best to ignore the butterflies in your stomach.

“You are,” he said, kissing your temple with a smile. 

You turned away from the mirror and stared at the space on the floor where you were not too long ago. He had been so deep in your throat, and you let that happen. No, letting it happen would imply that you didn’t have a choice when you were the very person who chose it. You chose him.

“I’ll never forget how beautiful you looked on your knees,” he whispered, touching your warm cheek. “It was the best gift you could’ve given me.”

“Why is that?”

“Because you chose me, even when I didn’t deserve your grace.”

The bathroom light cast shadows across his face as you tried not to let his honesty disarm you. He offered the truth to you easily, freely, like he no longer had anything to hide from you. He wasn’t trying to win or wear you down tonight. At least, it didn’t feel like he was.

Because he said earlier he was going to love you better, the way you needed, and you believed it.

He offered you an oversized shirt to wear, one that seemed to smell suspiciously like his cologne, and didn’t look while you changed. He used the time to pick out his own pajamas, a soft black t-shirt and sweats. At night in the comfort of his own was the only time you ever saw him dress down. Once again, he gave you glimpses of himself that he didn’t let others see.

You steeled yourself when you looked at the bed again and willed yourself to step forward. Each step seemed to echo in your mind, telling you that it wasn’t too late to go to the guest room. You owed it to yourself to be comfortable and safe. You owed it to yourself to keep choosing. 

With a shaky hand, you pulled the blanket back and slid in. It was, without a doubt, the best mattress you had ever felt in your life. It smelled like him. Between the bed and the shirt, he almost surrounded you completely. Almost.

“Fuck,” you heard from across the room when you fluffed your pillow.

You sucked in a breath when you looked at Bucky, your eyes wide when his fists curled and he audibly exhaled. He looked like he was a heartbeat away from snapping. Then he smiled. 

“You’re really in our bed,” he said so softly that you nearly missed it. Or maybe it was because your heart was beating so loudly that it nearly drowned out the rest of the noise around you. “You’re really home.”

Home. 

The way he said it made your chest ache. It wasn’t a fortress or a cage to keep you locked in or safe from the outside world. It wasn’t a temporary living space. It was…

He crossed the room in a few determined strides like he had been waiting for this because he had been, and you lost your breath all over again. You didn’t shrink back. You didn’t blink. And he didn’t reach for you immediately, stopping just beside the bed and staring down at you like you were made of glass, like you’d break if he touched you. 

No matter what happened, you weren’t going to shatter. 

“I’ve wanted this for so long,” he whispered, grasping the blanket and pulling it back to reveal your body, still in the shirt he gave you to sleep in. You didn’t realize you were gripping the sheets until you loosened your hold. “Not just sex. Just… you here with me.”

You studied him in the dim light. He looked gentler, younger, stripped of his darkness and armor. He was nothing like the man who stalked and terrified you. This was a man who wanted to believe in something soft. Something real. 

An unexpected tear escaped your eye, which he wiped away. “Are you scared?” he whispered, his jaw clenching. “I don’t want to scare you. Not anymore.”

It was a far cry from the club owner who used fear to get what he wanted. “I’m scared of what happens tomorrow,” you whispered back. 

Because sleeping with him was the real point of no return. It was crossing the divide and going to his side for good. It was surrender. A choice, but still surrender. 

His hand lingered on your cheek. “Tomorrow will come, and we’ll face that together,” he said, steady and tender. “We can just let tonight be ours.”

“Ours,” you repeated, laying back when he moved on top of you slowly, his weight settling over you. 

Your mind drifted back to earlier on the rooftop. You were positioned just like this, your body under his. A familiar shiver rolled down your spine at the look in his eyes, but there was something else. He was waiting for permission. 

“It’s your choice,” he reminded you, his lips brushing yours so gently. “And if you chose me again, I’ll prove every day that you made the right choice.”

You felt the weight of his words just as much as the weight of his body. His kisses weren’t coaxing, his voice not demanding. You felt the pull all the same. The inevitable. 

“Am I losing my fire if I say yes?” you asked. Were you losing your fight by accepting?

The storm of want in his eyes softened, his breath mingling with yours. “You’ll never lose your fire,” he promised, his thumb moving along your jaw. “You’re just choosing where you want it to burn.”

His answer was heavy and liberating. He wasn’t asking you to give up your fight. Not really. Maybe he was suggesting to let it live within you and shift into something that didn’t have to hurt. 

“You fought me because you felt like you had no other choice,” he said, low and certain. “Now you can fight with me. Always.”

The ache of resistance clashed with the ache of longing, your hand shaking when you brought it to his chest. Choosing wouldn’t extinguish your flame. Like life, it would adapt because it had to. 

His heart beat faster under your hand when you whispered, “I’ll choose you again tonight,” you whispered. 

You’d live with that choice tomorrow. 

His lips curled into a slow smile and you heard his sigh of relief before he kissed you. He sealed your choice with reverence instead of conquest. Then it deepened until you were breathless. It was visceral and desperate, like he had something to prove. 

He was trying to breathe into your lungs how much he loved you. 

He pulled back to remove his shirt, his eyes dark. He was objectively handsome and you knew he had a great body, but it was something else up close. You traced a scar by his left shoulder and you wondered if this was how he saw himself inside, both strong and carrying reminders of pain. 

“I’m sorry,” you whispered, pulling your hand back, your gaze as apologetic as your voice. You didn’t ask to touch his scar. Disrespecting boundaries wasn’t something you ever wanted to do. 

“Never apologize for touching me,” he said, his voice raw. He cupped your hand and guided it back to his shoulder as though he wanted you to feel it. “Every mark on me tells a story. And if you touch them, it means I don’t have to carry them alone.”

You let your fingers linger as they traced the uneven line. He closed his eyes and exhaled. He wasn’t just giving you permission to touch him. It was a glimpse into his past, a part of what made him who he was. 

His eyes opened when you leaned up and replaced your fingers with your lips. For a moment, he looked undone. “You see me, Kotyonok. Even when I scared you and you wanted to run, you saw me. I know you did.”

You saw many sides of him. The man who ruled the city, the boy who loved his mom and hated his dad, and the person who desperately wanted love. You saw those layers because he showed them to you. 

His hand slid to the back of your neck, pulling you in for another kiss. It wasn’t any less desperate, but this felt more certain. “Are you wet for me?”

You didn’t have to answer since his hand slid between your legs, making you gasp. Your words were stuck in your throat. He fantasized about you so many times, and you had to wonder if the real thing would measure up to any of it. 

“Fuck, Kotyonok. You’re soaked,” he rasped, his palm brushing over the damp fabric. The desire in his eyes was nothing short of intoxicating. “That’s my girl. My girl.”

You turned your head, unsure if it was because of the intensity of his gaze or if you were embarrassed since he was right. “Bucky, what if I’m not enough?” you blurted out. 

He shifted the universe around to keep you and you knew he wouldn’t sway, but that insecure voice in your head had to ask. Because if he put you through all of this and let you go, you’d crack. You didn’t want to admit that, but it was true. 

The other hand pushing your shirt up stilled. It was as if all the air left the room. It felt cold. Concern took over his face. Disbelief. Even anger for a second. 

“Not enough?” he asked, almost broken. His hand seemed to move again on its own accord, carefully removing your shirt. You didn’t cover yourself up, wanting him to see for himself that you were just you. “Kotyonok, you’re the only thing that has ever been enough.”

You eyed him almost shyly, your chest rising and falling. You didn’t cover yourself up, wanting him to see for himself that you were just you. The raw, unguarded passion in his eyes could’ve cut you like a blade. 

His hands slid up your body, your back aching as he took your breasts in his hands. “I meant it when I said you’re perfect. I rule this city and it doesn’t matter. None of it mattered until you,” he said, his breathing uneven, his thumbs brushing your nipples with care. “You’re not just enough. You’re everything.”

You whimpered, on the verge of tears when he leaned down and took a nipple into his mouth. You cradled his head, your heart nearly beating out of your chest. The sensation of his hands and mouth flooded you with a sense of belonging, a connection you never asked him for but he offered you anyway. 

“I’ll stop if that’s what you want,” he murmured, moving to your other breast. “But don’t ever say or think that you aren’t enough for me. I love you too much to let you believe that.”

“Don’t stop,” you whispered, swallowing hard. “Just… please, don’t wrap your hand around my throat.”

It seemed almost silly to ask, but you just knew your mind would go to Clark if Bucky did that. At least, for now, it would. You refused to let the memory of him into this space. You would maintain control of your body and what happened with it. 

He lifted his head and an unspoken promise passed between you. “Whatever you want. I won’t hurt you,” he whispered, leaning up to press a tender kiss on your neck. “I’ll be so good to you.”

Your legs trembled when he pulled your underwear down, leaving you completely bare. His pants and underwear followed, and you tried not to stare at his hard cock as he took it in his hand and stroked it. You had seen it, touched it, but this was different. 

“This is all for you. Only you,” he groaned, releasing himself to put his hand back between your legs. Did he feel you shaking? “You’re fucking exquisite, do you know that? Made just for me to worship,” he praised, slipping a finger into you and making you gasp. “For me to love.”

His touch was deep, but careful. His lips found your forehead, your cheek, brushing over your skin so that it warmed. Your mouth quivered by the time he kissed it. You surrendered to the gentleness you didn’t know he was fully capable of. 

You half expected your first time together to be frenzied, or even a full-blown romantic setting with candles and flowers. This felt more rooted in realism for you, and it was what you needed. You wondered if he realized that. 

“I’ll give you what you need. I’ll take care of you,” he whispered, another finger sliding in and your hands finding his shoulders to hold on. “I’ve got you.”

Bucky could’ve easily dominated you, but he was showing restraint and tenderness. He was attentive and honored the boundary you set. He wanted you to trust him, to put your heart and body in his care. 

“You’re doing so well taking my fingers. You’ll take my cock even better. I know you will,” he said, your walls clenching around him. He promised you once that you’d beg for more when he took you to bed, that he’d ruin you. At the time, you never expected you’d willingly go to bed with him. 

Tomorrow. You’d reflect and handle your thoughts and emotions tomorrow. Not tonight. Not now. 

“Wait,” you gasped, your eyes wide. He took his fingers out immediately. “Do you… have protection?”

“Protection?” he echoed, his brows furrowing. “I do, but… do we really need anything between us? I’m clean and I know you are.”

“That’s… not what I’m worried about,” you said, knowing he wouldn’t lie to you about whether he was clean or not. “Birth control…”

With the stress of everything, you admittedly hadn’t taken complete care of yourself in that regard. 

His gaze went to your stomach in realization. “The morning after pill is an option,” he mused. 

You heard the shift in his tone, calculation over desire. “I don’t want to wake up tomorrow and have to erase what happened between us,” you said, framing his face with your hands. “We can figure it out going forward later, but for tonight, please?”

You didn’t want to upset him or push him beyond his control, but this was your body and your choice. 

His eyes went back to your stomach. You knew he was conflicted. The possessive part of him wanted to be inside you in every way. But he finally nodded. “I’ll use protection tonight if that’s really what you want.”

Your heart still raced, but the tension in your chest eased as he leaned over to open the nightstand drawer. Maybe he knew deep down you’d want protection and made sure he was prepared. At least he didn’t dismiss it outright. He let you make the call, even with the hunger that burned all over his face. 

Your fingers brushed his hand when he tore the wrapper open. “Thank you,” you whispered as he rolled the condom on. He honored your decision. 

There was a hint of a smile on his face. “Told you I’d take care of you. That means all of you,” he said, settling between your legs. “And right now, I need to be inside you. Please.”

Warmth spread low as you nodded, giving him an invitation instead of slamming a door. 

His eyes locked with yours and you felt the head of his cock nudge your entrance, your heart almost stopping. But you didn’t stop him. “I love you,” he breathed, slowly pushing into you as his lips devoured yours. 

You felt every inch of him and you forgot how to breathe, the stretch and the burn make you seize up. His hands cradled your face this time when he ended the kiss, his thumbs stroking your cheekbones, looking at you like he was memorizing every detail. You were the sole focus of his world. You always would be. 

“Fuck. You feel better than I imagined. So much better,” he whispered, looking seconds away from coming undone. You still didn’t take a breath. “Are you okay? Breathe. I need you to breathe for me.”

It took a second for you to inhale and exhale. Bucky followed your pattern, breathing deeply and slowly. “So much,” you gasped. 

His cock buried inside you. Your mind and heart racing. It was so much, almost too much. Yet his tender kisses and rough hands quieted the noise. 

“I know, but I’ve got you,” he breathed, trailing kisses along your jaw up to your ear. “I won’t let you go.”

You inhaled and exhaled. 

And then he began to move. 

Your body trembled as he thrust, or maybe it was your very soul since he wanted a place in every part of you. His gaze didn’t waver as he drove deep and you couldn’t look away, his fingers lacing with yours as he pinned a hand above your head. He let your other hand remain free to touch him, hold on, whatever you wanted. 

“You’re fucking gorgeous like this. Taking my cock like you were made for it.” Each roll of his hips was deliberate, every kiss and touch a brand on your skin. “Mine. You’re mine.”

You moaned, not needing to agree with words. “Bucky,” you whimpered when he lifted your hips. 

“That’s it. Say it my name, doll,” he said, the pet name he hadn’t used in a while coming out in a growl, his hands caressing anywhere he could reach. “Feel how much I love you.”

His arms wrapped around you, wordlessly demanding that you cling to him. He surrounded and consumed you while he worshipped at your altar. He swore forever and beyond when he saw you and he was reminding you of that promise with his body. His very being. 

“Fuck, yes,” he moaned, his eyes nearly rolling back. “Just like that, Kotyonok. So perfect.”

You realized then that your body was moving with his, speaking in a language he was fluent in. He was teaching you, guiding you. He was binding you closer to him. And you were letting him. 

“So beautiful. So fucking beautiful,” he praised, licking his thumb and bringing it between your bodies. “I want to stay in this moment forever… stay deep inside you.”

You bucked beneath him, his thumb expertly circling your clit. Your world narrowed to him, and you felt like you’d shatter into a million pieces. It was okay to break tonight if you did. You’d put yourself back together. If you didn’t, he’d somehow find the glue and piece you back together himself. 

“Need you to come for me,” he demanded, his voice rough, his hips rocking faster. The movements stole your breath and your toes began to curl. “I love you… and you love me, too.”

Your orgasm crashed over you with little warning, your cry a mixture of surprise and ecstasy. Your body arched and trembled under him, and he kept thrusting. His declaration echoed in the fog of pleasure, wrapping around you through the bliss until his hips faltered. He moaned your name like you were his angel, his savior. 

He collapsed over you once he stilled, both of you panting. There are no words you could say. The aftermath was thick. His weight pressed you into the mattress, the rhythm of his breath syncing with yours. 

He didn’t move right away, choosing to bury his face in your neck and brush his lips against your skin with gratitude. “That was perfect,” he said, his voice like gravel. “And you don’t have to say it back yet, but thank you for letting me love you.”

Did he really believe you loved him?

You gasped when he rolled to his side and moved you with him, his cock still inside you. He only took himself out when he had to throw the condom away. You shivered when he pulled the covers around you both, and he sighed happily when he kissed your lips. His fingers moved along your back, keeping you in the moment and not letting you drift away. 

Sleeping with him didn’t make the world implode. It continued to move around you like nothing changed, but everything looked different. And you felt different. You were still you, and Bucky was still Bucky, but it seemed like something shifted. 

You couldn’t slow your racing heart. It wasn’t a dream. You willingly slept with the man who systematically rearranged your life. The person who would love you until his last breath and whatever came after. Who looked at you like he won and like you created the skies above. 

“Sleep, Kotyonok,” he whispered, his breath gentle against your forehead and looking happier than ever before. “I’ve got you.”

The softness of the bed, his tight hold, and the utter exhaustion made you close your eyes. You were sure that he would want to talk more about everything tomorrow. But tonight you were in his arms and in his bed. 

Tonight, you were completely his. 

OKAY. Let's take a breath. Full disclosure, my original draft locked up, and I had to write over 2/3 from memory, which is why this is posted late. I also cried a bit writing this because, yes, I'm emotionally invested in my own story. I know some of you may be happy for the sex, and some of you may not be happy. Our dear Kotyonok is still fighting herself and her agency. Bucky doesn't make it easy. But I'm curious what you think will happen next. Love and thanks for reading! ❤️

It wasn’t long before you got a text from Bucky. “Thinking of you. Are you thinking of me?”

You wondered if he was sending this in the middle of whatever it was he had going on with Steve. “If I say yes, will you let me go back to reading?”

The response was almost immediate. “You’re thinking of me, Kotyonok. I know it.”

Of course, you were. It wasn't an obsession, not like what he felt for you. But like a ghost in the penthouse, he lingered in your mind. He had been on your mind from the beginning, serving as a reminder that he’d always be there. 

“I’m thinking of you.” You could already picture his smug expression. Or maybe he wouldn’t be smug at all. Maybe his eyes and heart would go soft. Before you could stop yourself, you sent one more message. “Whatever it is that you’re doing, please, be careful.”

The reply wasn’t instantaneous this time. 

You stared at the screen and wondered if you said too much. Did anyone ever tell him to watch out for himself? Did anyone truly care enough about his well being and not what they could offer him?

“For you? Always.”

Three simple words that sounded like a promise.

You set your phone down, your heart thudding faster. It wasn’t from fear or longing. It was racing because it felt like he heard you. That somewhere in the middle of the violence and control and strategy, he made space for your voice. God, how many times had you snapped at him, begged him to listen to you? Was he finally learning, or were you fooling yourself?

You tried to go back to your book, but the words blurred a little. Bucky didn’t feel like a ghost. He was a tether. What did the pull mean after everything?

“My head is messed up,” you muttered when Curtis checked on you.

“I think we’re all a little messed up,” he tried to tease. 

You giggled, but it fell flat. “I’m just… constantly at odds. My mind, my heart.”

“Your head isn’t messed up, and neither are you.” He leaned against the wall. “You’re just trying to remain human in a place like this.”

You looked down at the book in your lap. “I just feel like I’m being split in two. I keep battling myself. One part is still urging me to try to run, even though it’s futile, but the other is firm in staying.” You rubbed your temples with a sigh. “It doesn’t make sense.”

“It does make sense because both of those trains of thought are valid,” he said, crossing his arms. “You don’t owe anyone a perfect answer to what you want.”

“Don’t I owe myself one?” you asked. Didn’t you owe it to yourself to not have one foot in the door while the other stayed out?

A pang of guilt hit you when he looked away. The poor man wasn’t a therapist. It wasn’t fair to keep dumping on him. If only you could be completely honest with Addison and the girls. God knew your parents would never know the full story.

“I think you need to give yourself grace. You’re navigating a world that doesn’t leave a lot of room for softness, but you’re still doing it as best as you can. That’s a strength, you know.”

“Bucky said I should give myself grace,” you whispered. For wanting to bounce back to normal quickly after everything. 

He smiled a little. “We’re very much aligned on that.” 

You smiled, too. “I want peace,” you said, laughing softly. “And Bucky is chaos.”

“He is,” he agreed, which didn’t surprise you. “But he’s trying.”

Curtis didn't elaborate and you didn’t press. He was trying in some ways. And maybe you were meant to be the peace in his destruction. You just didn’t ask for that role.

Your phone pinged, but it was a message from Addison instead of Bucky. “Feeling okay today? I still need to have that talk with your boyfriend.”

Boyfriend.

The thing you wanted for so long. The thing your friends all wanted for you. Love, a partner, a future. He wasn’t just a boyfriend. It was deeper than that. He was a man who whispered your name like a prayer and possession, your pull of gravity when you began to float away.

You slowly typed a response back. “I’m okay. Just tired. You? Wedding will be here before you know it! And Bucky knows you want to chat with him, but he’s busy today.”

You wondered just how that talk would go. Bucky seemed a bit jealous of Addison, kind of like how he was with Curtis. Maybe it was because she knew you first. The man had to learn that others would have pieces of you. If he could run off and help Steve with whatever he needed, surely you were allowed to have your best friend around. 

“I’m ready to be a wife!” she sent back and you smiled from ear to ear. Brady was so lucky. “You sure you’re okay? You’re safe?”

You glanced at Curtis, who kindly didn’t ask who you were talking to. The question hung in the air. Were you safe? You thought about the way Bucky touched you, watched you. He planned to finish what he started, whether that was tonight or sometime later. 

You thought of how he defended you against Clark. The calculating look in his eyes when he saw Bruce’s card. The way he gifted you with that garden and his mother’s bracelet. The way he crouched beside you with aspirin and water, kissing your forehead like you were something sacred. You weren’t in immediate danger, but your heart was in danger of falling or being held hostage. 

“I’m safe. We’re figuring things out.”

That was all you could do for now.

You set your phone down and looked at Curtis again. “Be honest, am I in over my head?”

“You’re in deep,” he answered, his voice quiet. “But you’re not drowning.”

“So, I’m treading water.”

“You’re a strong swimmer. You're surviving.”

Surviving the storm was half the battle. 

Bucky still wasn’t home when you cooked dinner. Curtis offered to make it so you could rest some more, which you refused. You made enough for yourself, Bucky, Curtis, and Ray, carefully setting the food on each plate. It was nice to keep yourself busy. It felt almost normal.

You didn’t hear Bucky’s footsteps until he stepped into the kitchen, his movements slow and careful. You both froze, staring at each other. He had his jacket slung over one shoulder, his shirt rumpled, some of his hair falling in his eyes. “Hi,” he whispered, warmth in his eyes at the sight of you. But your gaze fell to his hand, your heart stopping.

Blood. 

It wasn’t fresh. It wasn’t dripping. It was dry in the crease of his knuckles, smeared across his skin like a stain. Like a bad memory that wouldn’t go away no matter how hard he tried. 

“You made dinner,” he said in awe before you could speak, crossing the distance to where the plates were. Something in his expression made your chest ache when he took a bite, moaning as he savored it. “Fuck, that’s delicious.”

“There’s blood on you,” you whispered. You spotted it on the glove of his left hand, too. Jesus, what did he do?

“Shit,” he whispered, inspecting his hands like he had no idea. “I should’ve washed up before I came in here.”

You knew why he didn’t. He wanted you to see. He didn’t want to hide who he was, even if it frightened you. 

“Come on,” you said softly, motioning for him to follow. 

He obeyed without a fight.

You took him to the master bathroom, grabbing a couple of small towels. He stood still while you guided his right hand under some warm water, helping him wash the blood away. You gently moved the towel along his skin, your eyes on the red in the sink while his eyes stayed on you.

“I was careful, just like you said.”

“I'm glad you listened,” you said, wondering if there would be a day he'd come home with injuries. 

“I missed you while I was gone,” he said, kissing your temple. “Coming home to you is like a dream come true.”

You didn’t picture in your wildest dreams that you’d be washing blood away from your partner’s hands. “What did you do?” you asked.

“I didn’t kill anyone, if that’s what you’re asking,” he said, a humorless laugh coming out. “Though he’ll wish he were dead when he wakes up.”

You swallowed hard. “You hurt someone.”

“He was a problem, and I helped take care of it,” he stated.

Your throat felt tight. A problem. Someone in his way. “And Steve?”

Bucky didn’t argue when you removed his glove, the metal gleaming in the bathroom light. “He’s perfectly fine. Going to get his girl.”

Your eyes slipped shut. “You guys are two peas in a pod.”

“Different methods. Same results,” he whispered, confirming once again what you already knew. Steve would do whatever he could to get his girl. “So, yeah, two peads in a pod.”

You nodded, cleaning the last of the blood away. You focused on the way the water went from red to pink until it eventually cleared. The towel in your hand felt heavy, the weight of what it carried lingering between you.

“You know, I wasn’t really sure if you should see me like this, but I didn’t want to hide,” he whispered. 

“I’ve already seen you like this,” you reminded him, setting the damp cloth aside. “When you beat up John in front of me.”

He shook his head. “No. Not really. You saw me hit him once,” he said, taking the other towel to dry his hand. “You haven’t seen me leave and come back with blood on my hands. Not even when I took care of the piece of shit that put his hands on you.”

That was true. When he took care of Clark, he came back with a clean shirt and not a spot of anything on his hands. “So, why now? Why show me tonight?”

“Because you told me then not to lose myself,” he whispered, touching your hips. His fingers didn’t dig in. He seemed to be holding himself back when his forehead touched yours. “Because you need to see me as I am before we take any next step.”

Next step. Taking you to bed. Fucking you. Making love to you.

“You want me to see you are you are,” you whispered. Was he really lowering the mask?

“This is me. All of me,” he said, putting his arms out in a grand gesture. “I wish I was gentle and kind like my mom. I hate that I’m anything like my dad,” he said like the words hurt to speak. 

“You have moments of kindness,” you said. You saw it through the bad times. 

He didn't smile, but there was happiness in his eyes. It faded in a heartbeat. “I’m tired.”

You sensed that. You saw it in the way his shoulders dropped just a little. In his eyes that carried weight that his body couldn’t. But what exactly was he tired of? 

“You’re the only thing that gives me peace,” he breathed. 

“What about walking away from it all?” you asked. Would leaving this behind give him peace?

“I don’t know if I can,” he answered, a sad smile on his face. “But you make every second worth it. All the lies, the darkness, the bullshit. You’re the light. My light.”

The silence that stretched felt fragile and you were almost afraid to speak. “You keep putting me on that pedestal.”

“I’d say you belong there, but you belong beside me,” he said, a tired smile crossing his face. “Should we go back to dinner?”

“I thought you wanted to finish what we started.”

His lips brushed yours, but it wasn’t frenzied or deep. “When you were trembling underneath me? Afraid of me?” he asked. He didn’t sound sad or angry. Just… tired.

“You think I was afraid of you?” you asked, your back pressed against the sink. 

“Were you?” he challenged, pulling back to look at you. In that position, you couldn’t dodge his gaze.

“Do you remember the first time Ray 'interrupted’ us?” you asked. It was almost laughable that it happened twice. “You were on the phone jerking off to the sound of my voice.”

He groaned, nodding in remembrance. “I don’t think you realize how sexy your voice is,” he said, scoffing a little. “Bastard really has interrupted us twice.”

Your cheeks went hot, and you fought the urge to say your voice was far from sexy. “My anxiety or whatever you want to call it was so bad that I got sick after I hung up. And I sat in the shower and just stared off into nothingness.”

You genuinely couldn’t remember if you told him that or if he knew since he had the bugs in your place. It seemed like ancient history, like you weren’t the same person anymore. Still you at your core, but different, like looking at a painting in a new light. 

Guilt flashed across his face, but he masked it quickly. “I smothered you. I keep smothering you.”

You didn’t deny it. You didn’t rush to soothe or coddle him. He smothered you with the kind of love and obsession that didn’t ask for permission. But he held you when you fell apart. He remembered when others would’ve forgotten. 

“You did smother me And I unravelled a bit,” you said, putting a hand on his chest. “But look where we are now.”

You didn’t get sick at the thought of him putting his hands on you. The fear wasn’t constant. Things were unsteady, but not hopeless. 

“You’re home,” he said, the corner of his lip tugging. 

“Just like you wanted.”

His jaw clenched before he exhaled. “I may want to consume you with my love, but believe me when I say I don’t want you to lose yourself. I want to love you in a way that burns without leaving a scar.”

“I think you’re learning, or trying to learn,” you offered, brushing his hair back.

He leaned into your touch like it was the only thing anchoring him. “I want you to choose me. Love me,” he pleaded, on the edge of desperation. “I want to be a reason you have peace.”

What did peace look like in his world? Was it the calm after the wars? Offering him a kind gaze and gentle hands to wash away the blood? 

You kissed him softly, not asking for more when you pulled back. He didn’t ask either, closing the gap to kiss you again. He held your jaw, coaxing your mouth open. His tongue moved with yours like he was trying to still erase the blood from his hands. 

You let him kiss you like a man starved. Not because you were surrendering, but because you were choosing. And he needed to feel chosen in a world where most only followed because of his power. He didn’t just need to love you. He needed you to love him in return.

“I love you,” he exhaled, kissing you deeper until you felt like you couldn’t breathe. “I don’t know how not to love you.”

Tears stung your eyes. He believed that wholeheartedly. “Your love isn’t gentle,” you whispered. Maybe it never would be, but love wasn’t the same for everyone.

“It isn’t, but it’s real,” he promised, resting a hand over your heart. “It’ll always be real.”

“Your love and your lust?” you asked curiously. The man held a lot of lust for you.

“I can’t help myself,” he said unashamed. “I want to love you with my heart and body.”

Something took root as your heart raced, your eyes searching his. He spoke the truth, but he wasn’t dragging you to bed or trying to get you there. He wasn’t taking control. 

So you did by gently pushing him back and sinking to your knees. 

His eyes widened a fraction, but he didn’t move. Didn’t speak. His breath hitched when your steady hands moved up his thighs, feeling his muscles flex before he trembled. He looked like he was going to fall apart. 

His fingers brushed your cheek when you reached for his belt. “You don’t have to do that,” he said, his voice wrecked. He didn't stop you. “As much as I want that, you don’t have to. This isn’t about me.”

“I know I don’t have to,” you whispered, your gaze not leaving his as you ran a hand over his clothed cock. He didn’t look away either, his next breath ragged. “And I don’t know if we’ll finish what we started tonight, but I’ll give you something.”

“Why?” he asked, groaning as he got harder. “Why are you being so good to me?”

You paused, considering just how you wanted to answer. “While you were gone earlier, I said I felt like I was torn in two. At odds with myself because of everything,” you told him, hoping he’d understand where you were coming from. “So, tonight, I’m making a choice.

His fingers moved to your chin. “And what choice is that?”

“I’m choosing you.”

Being on your knees wasn’t about taking back power or a form of seduction. You were giving him something in a world that loved to take. It was a sign of grace. It was a choice. Your choice. And you wanted him to remember that. 

He looked at you like you cracked something open inside him, his chest rising and falling as his breaths came in shallow waves. “You’re choosing me,” he barely whispered. “Even after everything.”

The sound of his zipper echoed in the room. “Even after everything,” you said. Even when a very small voice in the back of your head said to bite him and run. To not look back. 

You ignored that voice.

He barely suppressed his moan when you freed him, the tip of his cock weeping. It looked like it was aching for your touch, for any hole of yours you were willing to offer. Your heart pounded as you wrapped your hand around him, locking eyes with his  as you leaned forward to taste him. The bittersweet flavor hit your tongue, and the obscene moan he let out made you shiver. You were really doing it.

You were sucking Bucky’s cock.

“Fuck me,” he breathed, moving his hand to the back of your head as you tried to take more of him into your mouth. He was big, and you couldn’t remember the last time you sucked anyone off. Now certainly wasn’t the time to say anything. You didn’t need his jealousy coming out to play. “That’s it. Fuck, just like that.”

Your lips stretched around him, and you wondered just how many times he pictured you like this. He said he wanted you under his desk, letting him fuck your throat. But he didn’t force your head down, didn’t set the pace. He let you have that. 

Your tongue lavished him and your hand gripped the base a little tighter. You paid attention to the sounds he made, what made him inhale a little sharper, drinking in every second of it. He held your head like you anchored him to the present, looked at you like something holy. 

“You’re a fucking vision, Kotyonok. Look so good taking my cock,” he rambled when you bobbed your head. His praise gave you confidence that you didn’t fully feel. Even if it was the worst blowjob ever, he’d probably have nothing but good things to say. “Feels so fucking good. Better than I dreamed of.”

You gagged a little when he hit the back of your throat and tears filled your eyes, but you relaxed. You were a determined woman, your knees on the floor, his cock in your throat. A choice to please the man who tormented you, who saved you.

Your choice.

“Such a good girl for me. I’ll make you feel good later. Tongue, fingers, cock, whatever you want,” he growled, his head tipping back. You moaned, too, trying not to think of how wet you were getting. You were safe. He wasn’t hurting you. You were in deep, but not drowning.

His love wasn’t gentle, but he wasn’t being rough and that was something. 

“I’m gonna come,” he warned when your hand cradled his balls, wondering if he liked that. He seemed to. “You can take it, can't you? Every drop.”

You’d try. 

He twitched on your tongue, but you didn't stop. Not when his head tipped back and his breath fractured. Not when he groaned your name like an oath and spilled down your throat. 

“Fuck, I love you, Kotyonok. I fucking love you,” he moaned, shuddering when you pulled off, a string of saliva connecting your mouth to the tip as you coughed a little. It was a lot to take. But you did. You did it.  

You licked your lips when he tucked himself away, not saying anything as he helped you to your feet. He kissed you deeply, uncaring of the taste of himself in your mouth. His eyes glistened with that familiar love and lust when he pulled away, but he didn't look tired anymore. If anything, he looked alive. 

“Are you okay?” he asked, looking around before he looked back at you, cradling your cheek. “Fuck, I should've grabbed a pillow for your knees.”

“It’s okay,” you whispered. It wasn't like you planned this. And your knees didn't feel too bad. 

Your mind didn't scream as loud as you expected it to. You weren't sure what that said about you. But like Curtis said, you didn't owe anyone a perfect answer to what you wanted. 

Bucky suddenly crushed you in his embrace, and you felt his heart pound against your chest. “Saying thank you isn't enough,” he said, holding you like he was afraid you'd slip through his fingers. 

“You don't have to thank me,” you murmured. 

“I do. I have money, power, people at my disposal   but I've never had you. You chose me tonight,” he said, giving you a warm smile. “So, thank you.”

Your heart raced again, your throat dry. You had a feeling that being on your knees for him deepened his love for you more. It would only grow and grow. 

“I love you,” he whispered like he read your mind. “And I'm going to learn how to keep loving you better… the way you need.”

You smiled softly. “I appreciate that,” you said. You had to learn how to love him, too. 

He guided you to the sink so you could rinse your mouth out. “As much as I want to take you to bed, I want us to eat,” he said, smirking at you in the mirror. “And I noticed you made four plates, but they are not eating at the table with us.”

“That’s rude,” you teased a little. 

He chuckled. “They know better,” he said, running his fingers along your spine. It wasn't as possessive as normal, but his gaze was still hungry. “I don't know what I did to deserve you.”

You met his gaze. “You rewrote fate.”

“I guess I did,” he said, taking your hand and kissing it. “Let’s go eat. We can talk some more.” 

“Addison still wants to talk to you.”

“Looking forward to it,” he said without a hint of sarcasm. 

“You're agreeable after you have an orgasm,” you teased. 

He laughed, twirling you around. “And I'll be more agreeable after we eat.”

“I’ll keep that in mind.”

He smiled and spun you around again, pulling you back into his arms. You smiled, too. You didn't think about Clark or Bruce or anyone else. Tonight, you chose to let him lead you back to the dining area to eat. You let him hold your hand across the table. 

And you'd decide if he took you to bed or not. 

I know, I know. I'm still evil! But there's a very delicate balance to the inner turmoil and giving yourself over thanks to everything you've been through. Do we really think Bucky is trying to listen and love the way we need him to? Love and thanks for reading! ❤️

Because where else would you go?

His mouth traced a path down your neck once his hand touched your breast. It was gentle, worshipful, his thumb bringing your nipple to a peak as he swallowed down your gasp. He wasn’t jumping into the pool headfirst, but was instead dipping his toes  and inviting you to go along with him. Seduction wrapped in a sharp suit and hands and lips that touched you like this was always your choice. Like you chose him and not the other way around.

“You’re shaking,” he murmured, his lips grazing your pulse. Were you shaking? You didn’t realize it. “It’s okay. Let me take care of you.”

Your fingers curled more into his shirt as your eyes opened, his weight above you somehow both smothering and grounding. His scent wrapped around you like a spell, bringing you closer to him through the fog of sorrow and fear. He’d always be there, always ready to catch you when you fell, even if his foot was the one to trip you. 

His fingers skimmed your ribs and moved lower. Your breath hitched when they dipped below the fabric covering what he wanted most. No, that wasn’t right. Your heart was what he wanted most. It didn’t mean he didn’t want your pussy. He was clear that he wanted to own every part of you.

“You’re so warm, Kotyonok” he said, his voice rough. “So soft.”

You didn’t stiffen when he touched you through your underwear. Didn’t flinch. You ran a hand through his hair, tugging him up so you could look into his eyes. He lifted his head easily, a half-smile on his lips and his eyes filled with emotions deep enough to drown you both. 

“And so wet,” he whispered.

You swallowed, not arguing. Yes, you were wet and aching. You were human, complex and still trying to figure things out. 

“I thought our first time was going to be in our bed,” you told him, your voice steadier than you expected. “Your words were, ‘When I take you to bed, I’m going to ruin you. That's a promise.’”

He told you that when he first brought you to the penthouse, the same night you snapped at him on his balcony for all the boundaries he crossed. He wasn’t upset about your anger because you directed it at him and he wanted all of you. Anger, like love, showed fire and passion. 

It felt like so long ago.

A shadow crossed his face, but it wasn’t one of anger or frustration. It was an ache that almost mirrored yours. “You remembered,” he whispered, his hand cupping your mound but no longer moving. And you were still trembling.

“Your voice is in my head more than I want to admit,” you whispered. And you just admitted it to him. 

He exhaled, looking relieved instead of triumphant for a reason you couldn’t decipher. “Right before that you said I’d better be prepared for you to hog the blankets,” he said, a flicker of affection in his eyes. Of course, he knew what you said. He probably played everything you said on a loop in his mind. “And I said-”

“That I could have all the blankets I want,” you finished for him.

“You really did remember.” His other hand traced your jaw. “You’re soaked. I’ll bet you’re aching for me to take you apart,” he said confidently, your heart pounding fast. He was bringing you back to the present. He always flipped to script and twisted things to his favor. “And I do plan to fuck and make love to you out here.”

He sat back just enough to bring your hand to his front. “Bucky-”

“This is yours. All fucking yours,” he said, helping you rub him as he began to rub you again. “Fuck, do you feel what you do to me?”

You didn’t answer. You didn’t have to. He was hard under your touch, thick and big and intimidating. But he promised he wouldn’t force you. 

“I think of you on your knees at my desk, your mouth wrapped around my cock,” he said, the words making heat roll up your neck. “You looking up at me with those pretty eyes while I fuck your throat.”

You could picture it perfectly. His hand on the back of your head, making you take every inch. A queen bowing down to a king and worshiping him at his throne. 

“I’d spread you out on my desk and eat you out again, make you come on my fingers and tongue,” he continued. He already did once. “Fuck you so good that all you’ll know is me. Only me.”

There it was. A subtle reminder that your path was the one where Bucky scorched everything else around you to keep you with him. Your time, your thoughts, all of it. All consuming. He was willing and ready to step on the ashes of his destruction and take your hand as if he wasn't the one to burn it all to the ground. 

His breath was ragged, yours coming in small gasps. His eyes were on yours, dark and hungry but soft. Both demanding and begging you to stay there with him, refusing to let you get lost in your head. 

“You’re mine,” he whispered, his hand moving the wet fabric aside to properly touch you. Teasing but not penetrating you just yet. “And I’m yours.”

You weren’t sure if he unzipped his pants or if you did, but you do know it was him that guided your hand to your mouth to lick your palm before the sound broke through the heavy breathing. He sighed when your fingers wrapped around him once he freed himself, his hand covering yours again. His cock felt bigger under your touch. More… real.

“I love you. And I’m going to say the same thing when I’m inside you,” he groaned, closing his eyes as if to savor the moment. He leaned down, pressing his forehead to yours so you could share one breath. “Every single time so you never forget it.”

You matched his pace, like you were really in sync. As if you could forget. As if he'd ever let you forget. “And if I say no? If I say our first time will be in our bed and not right this second?” you asked, gripping him a bit harder. Not enough to scare him, but enough that he opened his eyes to pay more attention. “If I asked you to stop, would you?”

Bucky’s breath caught, his gaze sharp and searching as both of your hands froze. The air wasn’t thick and heavy, but still as it seemed to wait for his answer. It was a crucial moment and he didn’t push forward. He didn’t pull away either. He stayed exactly where you held him with a steady hand and firm gaze. 

You had to hear him say that he’d stop if you asked him to because your thoughts were suddenly becoming too loud again. 

“I want you to want it, not just need it,” he breathed, his heart pounding under your hand when you brought it to his chest. “And I want you to want and need me, but I don’t want you to resent me.”

“Resent you?” Your voice felt like a whisper against his roar of desire, but it was still there.

“For thinking I’m taking advantage of you after pouring your emotions out. For everything else I've done,” he answered, his hips barely pushing forward. Your grip didn’t loosen. “I want you to remember our first time as a beautiful thing. I don’t want you to just survive it and go through the motions because you think that’s what you have to do.”

“That’s…” You weren’t sure what to say.

Survival was what you had been trying to do from the start. You were trying to survive Bucky’s world, your new life, and his version of love. The map was still being drawn. There were lines in the sand that disappeared when the tide rolled in, washing away the crack until they filled again. 

“So, if you want our first time in our bed, with all the blankets and all the time in the world, that’s what it’ll be. But if you want it right here, right now, it’ll be just as perfect, just as special,” he promised, kissing your forehead with a kind of softness that almost made you cry again. “Is that what you want? For me to have you right now?”

Your mouth opened and no words came out. He was still hard. You were still wet. You didn’t tell him to stop, and you weren’t saying no, but you thought he’d find a way to push and fight it. To tell you again how much he loved you and wanted to show you that. But he was giving you a choice. Giving you control.

Power.

“Bucky,” you whispered, his lips touching your nose, your next breath shallow. “I…”

A knock on the rooftop door was the thing to make your voice die in your throat, your eyes wide and narrow. Was it divine intervention, or bad timing? Was it a bit of both?

“Sorry to intrude, boss,” Ray’s voice rang out in the air. If you had to guess, he wasn’t looking at all in your direction.

Bucky exhaled slowly, his body taut. “What?” he growled, a deep and frustrated sound that seemed to vibrate through his entire body. 

You shrank back out of instinct, but he followed and kissed your lips, silently reminding you that whatever anger he felt wasn’t directed at you.

“Steve’s here. Said it’s urgent.”

You watched the frustration shift to curiosity and concern. It was his best friend, after all. Showing up unannounced had to be for a good reason. 

“Give me a minute,” he snapped, grudgingly removing his hand and letting you release him. You watched him lick your wetness from his fingers, humming with longing. “Fuck…”

“Sorry,” you whispered as he attempted to tuck himself back into his pants. The blue balls couldn't be fun. 

“Not your fault,” he assured you, taking another breath and helping you straighten out your clothes and sit up. “I’m just sorry I can't get you off right this second.” 

“I should go rest anyway. My head hurts a bit from crying,” you said. 

“I just wanted this to be special,” he said, gesturing around him. His jaw was tight. The world, for now, refused to let him have you the way he wanted to. The moment had been stolen from him. “You deserved it.”

You gave him a small smile. “It was,” you said. The surprise with the garden did touch you. His mother's bracelet, too, even if the implications of everything else lingered. “And you comforted me. That was something. So, thank you.”

Maybe his intention wasn't to seduce you but to give you something meaningful in his own way.

He kissed you, a deep and lingering kiss that seemed to temporarily chase the shadows away. The past hurt. The future worries. You kissed him back, offering him a bit of sanctuary before he had to face whatever was waiting for him downstairs. 

“Thank you for letting me comfort you,” he said, helping you to your feet. “I'll take you to the library if you want. Or the guest room.”

“I’ll just go to the living room for now,” you said. There was no reason to hide in the library. 

“Okay,” he said.

Bucky’s hand lingering at your waist, his thumb brushing the edge of your shirt as he guided you toward the rooftop door. You were still hot, trembling a little again, but you walked beside him with quiet grace. And the door opened before you reached it.

You expected to see Ray, but Steve stood there, his body tense, his eyes flickering between you and Bucky. He no doubt saw his friend’s tousled hair, the swollen lips, the way his hand never left your body. “Sorry to interrupt,” he said, voice low. “Didn’t know you were… busy.”

There was a ghost of a smile there, one that made you shift your feet. “Told you I had a surprise planned for today,” Bucky reminded him. 

“Still didn't mean to interrupt.” Steve’s gaze lingered on you only for a moment. “I haven't forgotten about the pictures you asked for.”

“It’s okay. Whenever you can,” you said when Bucky tilted his head. “I asked for old photos of you.”

He smiled, something pure and heartfelt. “I have old photos I can show you, too.” 

You suddenly thought of your parents and the old photo albums they hardly filled with pictures of you. It was an odd time to think about it, but it hurt. You wondered if Bucky would want albums of you two. If he wanted photos of you along the walls of the penthouse. 

Photos of the wedding day he couldn't wait for. 

“You're somewhere else again,” he whispered. Steve looked concerned, too. 

“I’m fine,” you whispered back. You had to be. “You two talk,” you added, wondering what the discussion would be. 

He kissed your temple and gestured for his friend to move so you could walk down the steps. “Go rest.”

You looked behind you briefly before they both followed. Ray waited at the bottom, giving you space so you wouldn't have to brush against him. Curtis leaned against the wall with his arms crossed, glaring a bit at Steve when he emerged with Bucky. 

“You okay?” your bodyguard asked, his eyes immediately dropping to your wrist after you nodded. “That’s new.”

All eyes were on you when you ran your finger along the bracelet with care. The men all seemed to recognize it, to know what it meant. 

“Bucky gave it to me just a bit ago,” you said, making him smile proudly. 

“That was…” Steve trailed off, but he was smiling, too. “She’s really your soulmate.”

You weren't sure why hearing that made you want to hide. “She sure is,” Bucky agreed, looking at you like you had given him your heart on a silver platter. “Of course, you noticed right away that she was wearing it,” he said to Curtis, his voice deceptively calm. 

“Well, she wasn't wearing it earlier. It’s my job to notice,” he said unapologetically. 

You squeezed Bucky's arm, a subtle warning not to scold or do something worse, especially after the conversation you had. “I’m glad you noticed,” he said, making the space go quiet. Even Ray’s stoic expression had turned to surprise. 

“Thank you, Bucky,” you whispered, breathing easier. It was a small victory that he didn't make a snide remark. 

“Curtis, stay with her while I have a chat with my friend,” he said, clapping Steve on the shoulder. “Who better have a damned good reason for showing up.”

“You know I wouldn't unless it was serious,” the blonde whispered. 

“I know,” he whispered back, giving you one more kiss on the temple. “I won't be long,” he said before adding in your ear, “Maybe we can finish what we started.”

You noticed out of the corner of your eye that Ray looked at his feet and Curtis’ arms crossed tighter. Did they know what happened on the rooftop, or at least suspect something? “Maybe.”

He smiled and led Steve and Ray to his office, but you didn't go to the living room. You stared down the hall with interest. The urge to eavesdrop dared you to take a step forward. But a gentle hand on your arm stopped you from going further.

“I don't think that's a cage you want to rattle,” Curtis warned.

You looked back at him when he didn't let go. “I just want to know what they’re talking about,” you whispered. 

He nodded. “I know,” he whispered back, slowly pulling his hand away. “But if you hear something you can't unhear…”

“I think I've heard and seen enough to last a lifetime,” you said, feeling bad for arguing with him when he was clearly trying to protect you. But what could you possibly hear that would be worse?

He studied you for a moment before he sighed. “I don't think this conversation is about you, if that's what you're worried about.”

You weren't sure if that made you feel better or worse. “What’s it about then?”

“If it’s not about club business, then it’s about Steve's girl or something involving her,” he answered easily, like he didn't want to keep secrets from you. “Those are the only two reasons he’d be here if it didn't directly involve you.”

You glanced toward the office door, your heart heavy. The girl who Steve watched, maybe the way Bucky watched you. “Do you think he’s asking Bucky to do something?” you asked, your stomach turning. 

Curtis didn't blink. “I think he’s asking for a favor, and I don't think Bucky will say no to him.”

You nodded slowly. Another woman caught in a storm of obsession. Someone else chosen like a prize. 

“You okay?” he asked, his voice softer. 

It took a moment to answer, your head turning back toward the door. “I just wish I knew what was going on.”

He nodded. “Then ask him,” he said, chuckling a little. “I know you eavesdropped when we discussed me being your bodyguard, but don't do it this time. Please.”

You sighed. “Only because you said ‘please’,” you teased, walking toward the living room. “Speaking of asking questions…” You took a seat on the sofa. “I want to ask him if he’ll let you go.”

The words settled between you, but it wasn't light or happy. You certainly didn't expect his eyes to fill with dread. “That's another cage you don't want to rattle,” he warned, his voice quiet. 

You frowned, not understanding. “Why not? You don't deserve to be stuck here.”

His fists clenched, but he didn't move otherwise. “Look, I know you're trying to help. I know you're thinking with your heart. But don't ask him to set me free,” he said as if it pained him to say it.

You stared at him, your chest tight. “Curtis…”

He took a seat across from you and leaned forward. “If you ask him to let me go, he’ll question why. He may think you care too much, even though we both know that isn't the reason,” he said. Is that how it would look? “And I know too much about the skeletons in his closets to just walk away.”

You swallowed. “You said if I tried to break or rewrite the rules that you'd have my back.”

“But that’s not what you're doing,” he said sadly. 

You blinked, confused. “I don't understand.”

Curtis leaned back in his seat. “You’re not rewriting the rules for yourself. You’re trying to rewrite them for me. And that’s different.”

You frowned. “Why does that matter?” you questioned. Wasn't it within your power to try?

“Because at the end of the day Bucky doesn’t exactly see me as a person. He sees me as a function, what I can do for him and you. I’m a pawn, and you're his queen,” he explained quietly. He placed you above everyone else. “I keep you safe, and that keeps him sane in some way. Letting me go doesn't just threaten what I know about his world, but it could leave you open and vulnerable. He won't allow that.”

Your breath caught. You thought you were offering him kindness. But would Bucky see it as losing control or you losing protection? Someone who understood?

“But Zemo owes me a favor,” you pressed. 

He shook his head, his eyes darkened with something heavy. “Zemo’s favor wouldn't buy my freedom. It would buy leverage. And Bucky doesn't respond well to leverage unless he’s the one who has it.”

The weight of that truth settled over you. Bucky still needed the deck stacked in his favor. “I just wanted to help. I wanted you to… have a choice,” you whispered. You just wanted to try to do something good, to look out for him in some way. 

“You're the only person in this circle who has ever thought about what I want. That means something. More than you know,” he said fondly, but his smile didn't reach his eyes. “And it’s a reason I’ll always have your back.”

You looked at the bracelet, wishing it held some sort of answer on how to navigate this. You wanted Curtis to have a choice, but maybe the real choice was meant to be yours. You were still learning the rules, and how to bend them. So, why did it feel like you were letting him down?

A blanket suddenly covered your shoulders, making you look up when Curtis was right in front of you. “Relax. You've had enough noise for today, and you don't need another burden to carry.”

You wrapped the blanket tighter around you. “He gave me a garden,” you told him. 

The tension in his shoulders eased just a fraction. “Of course, he did,” he said, taking a seat again. “He’s good at gestures, especially the kind that look like freedom.”

The edge in his tone wasn't cruel, but honest. “It’s beautiful. He planted everything I love,” you said quietly. It was a sanctuary that could be viewed as a perimeter. “It means something, doesn't it?”

“It does,” he said, gentler. “He’s trying in his own way.”

Bucky was trying. 

You rested back, thinking of his hands and lips on you. How you had your hand wrapped around him. How he would've taken you then and there if you gave him the green light. Would you have let him?

Bucky entered the living room so quietly that you wondered if he had been eavesdropping, a glass of water and pills in hand. His eyes found you immediately, his gaze soft. Whatever he talked to Steve about, he wasn't letting it show on his face or in his posture. “You said your head hurt a bit,” he said, going to crouch beside you. “I didn't forget.”

“Thanks,” you whispered, taking them. He watched you like you were something fragile and fierce all at once. 

“I have to leave for a bit to help Steve with something, but I won't be gone long,” he told you, putting the blanket back around you when it fell from your shoulders. “Go right to the panic room if anything seems off. You remember the combination, right?” he said loud enough for Curtis to catch. 

“My birthday,” you replied, trying not to imagine any scenarios where you’d have to go to the panic room. “Where exactly are you going?”

“I’ll tell you later, but you have nothing to worry about,” he said, touching your cheek and leaning in. A kiss to your forehead and one to your lips, slow and deep. “We're going to bed when I get back, Kotyonok… Finish what we started.”

You shivered. He gave you a garden. A bracelet. A promise. But this wasn't the promise of a conversation. It was the promise of something much more. 

Because it wouldn't just be sex. It would be a complete surrender. Choosing him, and letting him choose you again and again until you forgot what it felt like to choose yourself.

And that was the danger, wasn’t it?

Not his seduction, but the way he wrapped devotion in dominance. The way he tried made surrender feel like safety after all the danger. The way he made it feel like love. His version of love. 

And when he returned later with a bit of blood on his hands, you'd have to choose whether or not to surrender. 

I know, I know. I'm evil! Where is Bucky going? Will he really get you into bed when he gets home? And what do we think of Curtis pushing back on your request? Love and thanks for reading! ❤️