#my devotion

You turned again, this time for good.

James didn't follow you. He didn't bark or fight or fall at your knees and grovel. And after everything, you didn't expect him to.

He was a businessman.

And, as he so thoroughly proved, business comes first. So, you left the brownstone office. Sam was there at the front of the building keeping watch, giving you a forlorn expression before watching you leave.

You didn't even bother to make a detour at your own apartment before taking a taxi straight out of Brooklyn.

You knew a storm was brewing long before the fallout.

James thought he was untouchable. He was too hung up on the power and the attention it brought him. At least now, he wouldn't bring you down with him.

“I would never do anything to jeopardize what we have.” Bucky swore, looking down at you with eyes as dark and choppy as the Pacific. “Never.”

His accent was sharp, and you would have thought it more sincere if he weren’t basking in the afterglow of your bed. He had you wrapped around his finger, especially in these moments. But you knew how he operated. If he were going to bring up something heavy, this would be the time.

“But that being said, there’s something I have to do.” He brushed your cheek with the pad of his thumb, speaking slowly. “Doll, I’ve gotta have dinner with Rumlow’s sister.”

There it is.

That’s why he was being so sweet on you. Your stomach rolled; Dana Rumlow was just as nefarious as her brother.

“Buck, I don’t think that’s a good idea-”

“She knows somethin’ about their inside operations,” Bucky interrupted. In the low lighting of the room you could still see his jaw lock. “And I’ve got to be ready if Brock makes a move.”

The certainty in his voice made you realize that he had been thinking about this for a while. What were you supposed to say?

No one messed with Brock Rumlow. He was Bucky’s biggest competition, and if there was a way to take him down? Damn. You’d support him.

“It’s just dinner. It won’t mean anything.” He assured, pulling you into a searing kiss before letting you settle back against the sheets.

But you couldn’t sleep. His words were burning in your ears.

It won’t mean anything.

Famous last words.

You see, Bucky had already had dinner with Dana.

He already knew that Rumlow was going to strike one of his warehouses.

And Bucky knew what it would take to keep his empire from crumbling.

Not that he mentioned any of that to you.

James had been so sincere, so sure of himself that he would find out to take down the other big time families in Brooklyn.

You tried to remain neutral when he set his mind to something, really you did, but it was always at the expense of something else.

In this case it was you.

See, it wasn’t just one dinner with Brock’s sister.

He wasn’t just prying for information about business, no.

It was late night meetings on the far side of town and lunches in the middle of the week at high end restaurants. It was him taking the extra time to pick her up coffee on his way to her office.

You weren’t entirely surprised about his absence. James was always working late and leaving early, so it wasn’t any new behavior. But you couldn’t help but feel a little worse for wear.

He was being so public about his business activities.

In his new pursuit to take down the Rumlows he left you in the dark. It had been weeks. Weeks passed since James last took you out to dinner, hell, since he took you anywhere. You spent your days with Becca and Sarah and Wanda - all of the sisters of the family you found. But one thing was for sure.

Bucky’s detachment was evident.

And then, the icing on the cake. One afternoon an anonymous photographer finally cracked your resolve; they sent you a number of photos of James with Dana in her apartment in different forms of undress.

You let James’ infidelity slip right under your nose, but something snapped inside you.

You trusted him.

You had trusted him entirely and blindly, and that was the real heartache of it all.

James Barnes had broken your heart. You let yourself fall in love with a dangerous man, and now you were living with the landslide that came with it.

But you weren’t one to be made a fool.

Part of you wanted to be long gone by the time he came home. You wanted to leave and only leave behind the pictures, probably with the note written by the anonymous photographer.

How well do you really know him?

But you had been with James for too long. You thought you knew him inside and out. You wanted to confront him head on, to see the look on his face when you call him out. And for what?

“You trailing me?”

“It’s just business, doll.”

“It didn’t mean anything.”

You startled up with a jump. Another nightmare. But it was more than a nightmare - it was a memory.  

Damn him.

You checked your phone to find that it was nearly three in the morning, and as usual, you had one missed call at around midnight. Unknown number. No voicemail.  

But you knew it was him. James might not have been calling from his own phone, but he was trying to  reach you. Another night, another unanswered call.

Your stomach ached.  

Every morning flowers were dropped off at your door. And almost every morning your folks threw them away before you even noticed.

Every evening there were calls. Anonymous and cowardly.

How long did it take him to figure out that you weren't bluffing? When did he finally catch on that you weren't coming back? That you had left Brooklyn in your rearview without packing up your things? Did he have Steve check on the house? Did he check on the house?  

You shook your head. It didn't matter.  

Taking a breath, you got up. There was no point in trying to go back to bed.  

You did go home that first night, back to your childhood home, and you were there ever since.  It had been the better part of a decade since you spent a night there, but your parents kept it ready for you.

You quietly made your way down to the kitchen to avoid waking up your folks.

You brewed a pot of coffee and sat with an old argyle blanket, but you couldn’t focus. Your thoughts kept drifting back to Brooklyn.

"Honey, you up?"

Your dad found you in the same spot an hour later, and your eyes were glazed over and far away. “Honey?” He tried again, breaking you from your train of thought.

If there was something you gained from the severed ties it was a renewed relationship with your father.  Your dad was protective and loyal to a fault.  

He was the one who went back to your apartment in Brooklyn to clean it out. He was the one who gingerly dropped off a trash bag of James' things at the front of his business. And part of you knew that he must have had a few choice words to say.

You two weren't close growing up, but your Dad wasn't going to let some scrub of a man let your world crumble.  

"How you doin', kiddo?" He asked in a whisper, adjusting the glasses over his nose. You offered him a half smile.  

"Another day above ground." You replied from behind your mug.

It was something your dad used when he couldn't find anything good to say. He let out a gruff noise of understanding before stepping  away to the kitchen to pour himself a cup of coffee.

Your Dad didn't know a lot about James. He knew that he worked in the city and had been respectful the times he met your parents. He was the man that wore the nice suits. But more than that, he knew that James had broken his little girl's heart.

And even worse, he could see the weight you carried. You never took the time to grieve.

You bottled up the sadness, the betrayal, the heartache, and it was going to eat you alive. It was just a matter of time. He knew it, well, because that was how he handled his own emotions.  

You were slowly sinking into the upholstery, falling in step with the background noise. He didn't want that for you.  

"I find that in moments of turbulence, I try to find some kind of closure." He looked over to you once before sipping his coffee. "Helps me sleep at night."  

Through glassy eyes you blinked twice before looking up at him. Your dad shuffled back out the doorway, leaving you in the quiet of the living room.  

Closure. You didn't know what kind of closure you were going to get.  

It had been three months of avoiding any kind of news coming out of Brooklyn. Wanda had tried on more than one occasion to let you know about the craziness of it all, between the Barnes and Rumlow families, but you didn't care anymore. You couldn't afford to care about it anymore. So eventually Wanda gave up. You stayed in touch, but often it was to give you the juicy details of her job or love life. She was your tether to the life you used to live.  

The day passed by in a blur, your head full of what ifs, of unanswered questions, and more than that, of your own heartache burning in your stomach.  

James Barnes had burned a hole deeper than you could have ever imagined.

You were friends with Sam's sister Sarah long before you ever knew of the Barnes family. You practically grew up together.

Once Sam introduced you to his friends you were done for, and after the better part of three years of doting on him, Buck-James showed you his true colors.

At one time he had been so undeniably family oriented. His friends were his second family, helping them without question.

Bucky grew up fast after he came back from service, taking over the family business and watching over his mom and little sister, Becca.

Your heart thrummed wildly against your chest. Becca tried to call you about a week after you left, but you didn't have the energy to talk to her. You never did call her back.

A suffocating thought struck you. You missed them. You missed all of them. You missed stopping for pizza with the group and drinking in Sam's gym. You missed how carefree everyone used to be.  

Everything changed when Rumlow Senior stepped down, letting his son Brock take over the family business. Brock was a spook, not playing by the rules and letting it slide if people got hurt. He hired thugs on the streets, had a nasty reputation with women, and carried himself with the kind of prowess of a narcissistic king.

He was reckless.  

That's when things started changing. That's when Bucky started changing. Oh, Bucky. He had tried to be civil, especially at first, but it was hard when Brock was taking over the suburbs. Bucky didn't want any of his men to get hurt. He didn't want his family to get hurt. So Bucky started playing by Brock's rules.  

And he was terrifying.  

Even then, you knew Bucky's reputation and you loved him anyway.  

You never thought long and hard about it. About your blind trust in Bucky or his men. He had never given you any reason to worry.  

Even when you had your reservations, he urged you to stay.  

That's when - no. You couldn't think about it anymore.  

And then, when you thought the night would swallow you whole you heard the low buzzing of your phone against the hardwood of the nightstand.  

UNKNOWN  

No. No. It was too soon. But the feeling of falling down the rabbit hole was too close.  

You needed something to ground you. You needed something to feel normal. So you reached for the phone and answered it. And for a moment, all was quiet.

Suspended in midair, you felt yourself plummeting as you spoke.  

"Hello?" You answered, barely louder than a whisper.  

A choked noise reverberated through your speaker. It was him. You knew it was him.    

"James?"  

"Bucky," He insisted. "It's Bucky, sweetheart." His words were guarded, wavering on frantic, and you could imagine him pulling a hand through his hair, resting it on the back of his neck. He did it when he was nervous. He wasn’t  expecting you to answer. "Please."  

But he didn't know what he was pleading for. For forgiveness? Understanding? You weren't sure either.  

You answered the phone. You answered, and it was more than he expected. A moment passed, and Bucky was seized by his own tormenting thoughts.  

"Are you okay?" You asked, letting your own swell of emotion fall wayside.

Listening to his shaking breaths, you pulled yourself up from the bed. Something was wrong. James wasn't one to be caught off guard. He was always calm, always composed.

"Bucky?"  

You heard a curse under his breath. The line disconnected.  

Your eyes went wide, and when you redialed the line, it was out of service. He smashed the burner phone.  

Damn it.  

Even when you tried his real number it went straight to voicemail, which was full.

"Come on, Buck." You shook your head, letting the phone fall into your lap. You didn't know what to do.  Anxiety rippled up your skin, leaving uneasy goosebumps in its wake.  

It was just after midnight. Shit. You shouldn't even be thinking of calling anyone else, but this was Bucky. Shit.  

So you dialed again, a different number this time, and were more than surprised when Sam Wilson answered on the second ring. "Hey?" He answered lightly, but a little confused. "Long time no see. Do you know what time it-"  

"Is Bucky with you?" Your words were rushed, toppling over one another before you could stop yourself. "Is he okay?"  

There was a beat, a pause where Sam must have been contemplating reply. It was taking too long.

"Sam," Your urgency must have sliced through his confusion "Is he okay?"  

"Yes, yes." He insisted. "He's been home all night." There was a pause, a faint curse on his breath. "You know what, I'll check on him."  

Thank goodness.  

"Thanks Sam."  

He bid you a goodnight, and it was only then that you let the phone fall from your grip.  

You were falling down a rabbit hole again, faster this time, and this time Bucky wasn't there to pull you out of it.

Your body was tense. You were anxious. It was exhausting. Sleep claimed its next victim swiftly, and if anything you were reprieved of having to think about the man that carved a hole in your heart.

The next time you opened your eyes sunlight was flooding in from the curtains.

You slept through the night. There were no nightmares.  

When you finally gained the courage to check your phone there were no new notifications. You had to double check your recent calls just to be sure it wasn't all a dream.  

But it wasn’t a dream. The call was real.

A knock on your door stole your attention.  

Your dad opened the door a moment later, all dressed and ready for the day, and offered you a jovial smile.  

"We're out of coffee. What do you say we run a couple errands and stop for one of those fancy cups of coffee while your mom makes up some breakfast?"  

You knew what he was trying to do. He was trying to get you out of the house. And it was working.  

With a lazy smile you agreed, shooing him out the door as you clambered out of bed.

An hour later you were parked in the middle of town helping your dad talk down the prices of fresh caught fish with one of the market vendors. Your dad, after years of practice, was able to haggle down the  scallops he was eyeing.

But you were distracted by the sweet smells from the bakery at the end of the corner. Four muffins later you were walking back to your pops when your phone started to ring.  

SAM WILSON  

With a sharp inhale you froze. What does he want? Do you answer it?

Of course you answer it. It’s just Sam. On an exhale you pulled your phone up to your ear.

"Hey Sammy-"  

"You need to come back to Brooklyn." He forced the words out, and it made you stand up straight. Sam never used that voice with you before. It was his no-nonsense voice.

"I -” You froze up. “I can't do that. You know I can't, Sam." You stopped entirely, watching your dad from a distance.  

You heard Sam shuffle in the background.

"Look, he fucked up. He's a fuck up. But Buck’s in a bad way. He needs you here. He's not talking to anyone."  

"Then he should've thought about that before deciding on a public affair." You winced hearing your own tone. It was harsh. But it was true. "Sorry, Sam."  

Your apology was for your tone, not for your words.

"I've got to go." You put the mask back up, securing the walls around you.

“Rumlow made his move.” Sam urged, piquing your interest just slightly. No, no.

This wasn’t your fight. Not anymore.

“I can’t Sam. I’m sorry.” You hung up without a goodbye and put your phone away, forcing a smile in your dad's direction.  

“Everything okay?” He asked as you approached, but when he spotted the muffins his attention flew out the door. “Blueberry?”

“Blueberry.” You confirmed with a tight smile, falling in step with him away from the market.

The last stop you made was to the bank, letting your dad out at the front so that he could deposit a couple of checks. You sipped your coffee, noticing his wallet must have fallen out of his pocket and was left in the seat, and rushed inside to catch up with him.

But something was wrong. You hurried your pace, and you needed to get to your father.

Dark SUVs swarmed the parking lot, and it was only once you were inside the bank that you noticed the robbery taking place.

You were pulled to the side by the hair, yelping in pain as one of the street rats pushed you to the side. The emblem on his jacket made your eyes go wide. You knew that symbol anywhere.

Hydra.

All of the civilians were cowered to one corner of the bank, your father included. You needed to keep their attention away from him.

“Isn’t this part of town out of your jurisdiction?” You sneered at the goon, looking up at him with fiery eyes as you soothed the pain in your skull.

“This town is our jurisdiction.” The man spat, getting in your face. “You better get on the fucking ground.”

But some part of your brain told you not to listen to him. Bucky taught you that. He taught his guys that. Because Bucky knew that civilians were off limits.

The syndicates that ran along the east coast never hurt civilians, otherwise there would be hell to pay with the DA. ‘Crime among criminals,’ that’s what he used to say.

“Come on you guys, it’s early.” You bargained, looking away from your Dad back to the goon. “Doesn’t your boss keep you on a leash until nightfall?”

The moment you watched the butt of the man’s glock hit against your sternum you knew these guys weren’t going to play by the rules.

Oh fuck. Shit.

“That’s enough noise outta you.”

You clutched your chest, slumping to the floor. The hit knocked the wind from your sails.

“Hey!” One of the other men called out. “Leave her alone. She’s just a lady.”

The other goon looked at the man in front of you, eyes widening in realization.

“Come on buddy, why’d you have to go and do that?” He floundered. “Boss ain’t gonna like this.”

“Why the fuck should we care?” The man next to you griped back, turning the gun around with a wink.

The safety was still on. You could tell by the way he was carrying it. No one would have been so reckless if it was a live weapon. Rumlow’s goon was a coward. He was a big bully.

“She’s cute, but no dame should have this fat of a lip on her.”

The other man cursed, throwing his head down in exasperation.

“But she just ain’t any dame, asshole. That’s Barnes’s girl.” The rational one explained, and you watched the eyes of the guy in front of you go wide.

He realized he made one big fuckin’ mistake.

“Well shit, we can’t put it back in the box now.” His apprehension was understandable.

“If she leaves, she’ll squawk. You here alone?” The goon threatened, and while gasping for air you nodded your head. There was no way you were dragging anyone else into this. You didn’t even dare to look in the direction of your Dad. “Then you’re coming with us Princess.”

“This ain’t part of the plan!” The other man fought. “We gotta get out of here.”

“Plans change.” The bully barked, and the next moment you were rendered unconscious with a knock to the back of your head. Today was not your day.

Hydra scrammed with the money and with you in tow, leaving the civilians locked in the back room until the authorities could arrive, or until the next shift change at the bank. Hydra would have been long gone by then.

When you woke up it wasn’t in some abandoned warehouse by the docks or in a shitty back alley. It wasn’t like the stories Sam or Steve used to spook you with, no.  

You woke up on a couch, a rather nice couch in an office. Your hands and feet were bound to each other, but your mouth was uncovered.

This wasn’t meant for torture. It was meant for you to stay put.

As you looked around the office you spotted pictures along the walls, some of young kids, some of family pictures, until clarity came back to you.

You were in the Rumlow family office. It was different than you thought. It wasn’t as dark or deceptive as Brock was. It wasn’t as uppity and modern as Dana was. It felt, well, it felt like home.

You tried to keep it together, but it was unnervingly uncomfortable.

“I’m sorry about this, kiddo.” You jumped at the sound of the voice, cocking your head to see none other than Rumlow Senior standing in the doorway.

He was tall and broad, just like Brock, but in his older years grey hair replaced the black combover you had seen in pictures. He wasn’t scary, no. He looked like any other man, wise with the years he lived. You sensed his power though, a frightening, lingering power.

“Wrong place, wrong time. You know how it is.” He groveled, taking a seat behind the desk. Instead of arguing with the former mob boss you nodded your head.

For a lot of people they were in the wrong place, wrong time. It was a way of saying things went south.

“Did anyone else get hurt?”

Your question surprised him, and as he gave you a look over from the cut on your head to bruise forming on your sternum he shook his head.

“No, no.” He assured, shaking his head. “Thankfully no one else got hurt.” A moment of silence passed between the two of you, and he eyed you with a critical stare. “This has never happened before.”

He knew your next question before you had the chance to voice it.

“Wives and daughters are off limits, you see.” He answered thoughtfully. “And these boys,” he all but spat out, “they don’t know how to control their tempers. So, until we figure out what to do wit’ you, you’ll be here with us.”

If it was meant to sound welcoming it did not hit its mark.

“But I’m not with James,” You answered painfully honestly, and you were sure he heard the disdain in your voice. “He made sure of that.”

“Oh, I don’t know about that.” He leaned forward in his chair, looking at you with dark, secretive eyes. The sincerity in his tone had you concerned. “Men are like pigs. Sometimes they have to dig in the trash to find what they’re lookin’ for, but they don’t stay there for long.”

He pulled out a bottle from the cabinet, an old bottle of red wine, before standing up.

“James hurt you real bad. That’s on him.” Rumlow acknowledged, stepping around the table and stopping in front of you. “But if we hurt you? That’s on us. Blood for blood. We don’t fuck around with that.”

In one quick moment Rumlow procured a switchblade from his pocket and offered to slice your binds.

“The Missus is making spaghetti. You hungry?”

You were blindsided, and Rumlow offered you a slow smirk as he cut the bindings.

“What?” He joked with a crooked grin. “Not all of us are spooks.”

Old, traditional values lingered in their home. Family values. It reminded you so much of your early days with Bucky and his family.

This was no office at all. You found yourself a guest in the mobster’s personal residence. You thought about it long and hard, and the only thing you could think of was that Bucky wouldn’t be able to get to you so far behind enemy lines.

This was a smart, tactical move on Hydra’s part.

Sure as rain, Rumlow led you down to a dining room set for three. The room didn’t scream 1960’s mafia, but was a quaint, lovely little dining table meant for a family. You had pictured them all wrong.

“It gets so quiet around here.” He hummed, looking out over the spread. And then the lady of the house appeared from what you assumed was the kitchen, dressed in a simple, but fashionable dress. “It’s a nice change, wouldn’t you say honey?”

She let out a clipped noise, glancing over with heavy, doe-like eyes.

“I hate to say it, but you’re right. I just wish it were under better circumstances.” She added.

You didn’t hide your bitter smile.

Everything about it was domestic, far too domestic, but you were in no place to refuse their hospitality.

And then there was dinner. The older couple spoke very little, but you appreciated their efforts. It could have been a world of difference if you were in the company of the new leader of Hydra.

You must have been knocked out for the better part of your day and thought of your Dad. You hoped he was okay. You couldn’t have even imagined what he must have been thinking.

And then, while Rumlow was pouring himself another glass of wine when you heard the telephone ring in the other room. He excused himself promptly, sharing a reassuring look with his wife before stepping away.

You sat and waited, waiting for the final curtain, but instead you were met with the slow, gentle voice from his wife.

“It’s not always like this.” She blinked away, looking at the empty chairs at the table. “Are you alright?” She wondered, looking across the table.

You looked worse for wear, but it was more than skin deep pain. The gash on your head had stopped bleeding, but you wore your heart on your sleeve. You were worn out. You were so close to your breaking point.

“I hope so.” You replied solemnly, blinking back tears for the first time in months.

But before anything else could be said about the subject Rumlow walked back into the room, eyes looking as worn out as you felt.

“Barnes knows about the bank.” Your heart fell into your stomach. “He wants to meet.”

There were no details, no frills. And for the first time you had seen Rumlow Senior look the part of the tenacious mobster.

He finished his drink, ushered you out of the room, and before leaving the house asked for your hands.

“Just a formality.” He assured, binding your hands again. And then the finishing touch - a black bag that was placed over your head.

You were led silently to what you assumed was another black SUV. Rumlow was there, you were sure of it. But after what felt like them leading you in circles for far too long, you were starting to feel sick. You couldn’t think straight.

“Breathe.” Rumlow Senior spoke quietly. “We’re here.” And almost on cue the car came to a halt.

End of the line.

Again you were ushered out of the car, led through the cold into another, more expansive building. Here was your warehouse. The only thing you could hear was the quiet scuff of your shoes against the floor and your shallow breathing.

And then, at last, you were stopped by a tug on the shoulder. Flanked on either side, you could feel the men lingering behind you. This was bigger than just a family quarrel. Hydra was on the line.

The bag was pulled off your head, and the lighting in the room made you wince. But you didn’t avert your gaze. There were probably a dozen men in the room, but you only noticed one.

There, not even twenty feet away from you James Barnes was standing still, like a cat about to pounce. His eyes were hard, his jaw locked, his expression a mask.

He was frightening.

He was decked out in a black suit. Black suit, black shirt, black shoes. His body language screamed danger. A gold watch was the only thing that stood out against the background.

James had cut his hair. Gone were the long locks and beard and they were replaced with a short fade and a five o’clock shadow. He looked every bit as dangerous as his title.

And when his eyes found yours you couldn’t fight the choked up noise in the back of your throat.

He was going to rip them apart.

Right behind James you saw Sam and Steve flanking their leader. They were equally as intimidated.

“James,” Rulmow Senior nodded in welcome, his voice firm. The rest of the room was quiet. “Please forgive this inconvenient misunderstanding.”

There was a pause, the room waiting for James to take his turn. He took a step forward.

“I’d like to see her.”

It was as delicate as a game of chess. Each piece had their role, took their turn, made their move across the board. It was diplomatic. Rumlow Senior nodded, holding his hand up for his men to step back, and with purposeful strides James stepped forward.

He moved like a cat, quick and nimble and powerful, until at last he was in front of you. You held your breath, braving to look up at him square on. It was too much all at once. It wasn’t fair. James scanned for injury, stopping when he saw the gash. Those crystalline eyes pounced back to your own.

“Did they hurt you badly?”

The softness of his tone almost brought you to your knees.

At that moment he wasn’t just the mobster James Barnes. He was Bucky, your Bucky. He was the man that didn’t break your heart; your best friend.

After all the heartache he caused, all you wanted was to collapse in his arms and let him swoop you away. You were tired. You were so so tired of being angry and hurt.

“No.” You whispered, breaking from your revelry. “No, I’m okay.”

Physically, maybe. But emotionally? You were beyond fucked.

James gave you another once over, took a step back, and looked at Rumlow Senior. With a nod in the older man’s direction, James looked down at his watch.

“It’s late. I’m taking her home. And I want the men responsible.” James wasn’t in the mood for bargaining.

“I’m afraid that they are currently indisposed.” The older man replied curtly, watching James’s reaction. But there was none. James nodded his head, understanding Rumlow’s meaning. “You may go. Leave in peace.”

And that was it. You were free to go. But you were still riddled with anxiety.

James tilted his head in the direction of the former man,  and with a hand at the small of your back James led you to the other side of the warehouse. Both Steve and Sam caught your eye before focusing back on the opposing family.

You were so close, but you weren’t free yet.

“No fucking way.” A new voice bellowed, and from the other end of the room you saw Brock Rumlow slink out from the shadows. “You’re just gonna let them go?” The younger man looked feral, waving his gun around as he drew attention to himself.

“Yes, we’re just going to let them go. This was our fault, Brock.” His father firmly stated. “This is the way.”

But Brock didn’t like that.

“This ain’t a tea party.” The younger man bristled, taking a step closer to James. “Besides, I don’t see the big fuckin’ deal. It’s not like she’s the one keeping his dick wet.”

The atmosphere changed.

His words were a sucker punch straight through the walls you built up, and you stopped. You didn’t see the wicked snarl on his lips.

“Oh come on. Did I hurt someone’s feelings? Toughen up, princess.”

The air was electric and you turned to face Brock but James was in your way, looking down at you with an indistinguishable stare. His jaw was locked up tight.

“Don’t listen to him.” James warned you against it. Brock was goading you, and you knew it.

“But please, take him back.” Brock ebbed on. “I’m sick of hearing the whore mouth of my sister all night long. If I have to listen to her choke on his dick one more time I’m gonna blow my own fuckin’ brains out.”

You held your breath, but something snapped. All of the emotional turmoil bubbled up into something mean. Your face felt hot, your limbs shaky, and you shifted your gaze.

You couldn’t look James in the eye.

“Untie my hands.” You quietly demanded, keeping your gaze down but lifting your hands up to him.

“No.” James deadpanned. “No. It’s what he wants.”

“I know it’s what he wants.” You argued, your hands shaking. You were so angry. And all you wanted to do was take it out on someone. James must have seen the feral look in your eye. “Move.”

“No.” James gripped your chin, making you look up at him. He was trying to hold his composure, but his eyes were deadly. “He’s a lying sack of shit. He’s not worth it.”

Couldn’t he see it was eating you up inside?

“Oh, princess?” Brock taunted again, and you tried to break James’s hold, but he shook his head, making you keep your eyes on him.

Your cheeks hurt. You were grinding your teeth together.

“Princess, you know what a little birdy told me?” Brock continued. “It told me that you were a one trick pony. A fucking bore. It’s no wonder why Bucky here didn’t try to stop you from leaving in the first place. You ever think about that?”

You couldn't breathe. You couldn’t think. You couldn’t see.

Your eyes were welling with unshed tears. You were livid, full of anger and sorrow and grief.

“I’m going to kill him.” You whispered. An angry tear slipped down your cheek.

James’s hold on you faltered, his expression flashing like a fire was set under him. What did Brock unleash?

Two things happened at once.

First, you pulled back and out of James’s grip, but in the process reached for the short switchblade he kept in his front pocket, slicing the zip ties that bound your hands together. He taught you that trick.

And two, you didn’t drop the blade but spun on your heel to the outside of James’s reach finally coming face to face with the man that had been instigating you.

Brock Rumlow was the biggest bully of them all, but just as you were out of James’s reach you figured out why he was caging you in. Brock was waiting for his shot.

“It’s time we made some new rules, Barnes. I’ll show you how real men conduct business.”

You heard the gunshot. Everyone heard it.

One, lonesome shot from the other side of the warehouse. But while you were spinning out of James’s reach you stumbled, and Brock’s shot did not hit its mark.

It whizzed in the air past your cheek, forced past you entirely, and hit an unopened Hydra shipment.

Everyone drew their weapons on Brock, but no one made a move. This wasn’t a normal gunfight.

James’s eyes were filled with fury, and as soon as he saw you weren’t hit he spun around to the oldest man in the room, Rumlow Senior.

The old man raised his hand to command the attention of the room.

“The intention to kill is enough.” The older man announced, looking down at his son. “Your insolence,” he sighed slowly, “is no longer my concern.”

There was a heaviness in the room no one could shake.

“Blood for blood.” The older man spoke, his words resigned but final, and he turned away from the mess. The message was clear.

James was quick on the draw and emptied all six of his shots into Brock before you could look away, and the towering man fell. Six shots to the chest. Six shots to kill.

Their aim was true, his blood spilling across Hydra floors. You watched as Brock met your gaze for the last time, glossing over before he hit the ground.

And then, before your legs could give out beneath you James was there, easing you down to the ground and turning you away from the carnage.

“Hey hey,” He shushed, caging you in with strong arms. “I’m here. I’m here.”

His words were your undoing. It was like a match was struck in a powder barrel.

Bucky was there. He was there for you.

A cacophony of anguish rattled your bones, and you were suddenly kicking and pushing and crying, pounding on his chest and kicking up dust.  

“I hate you.” You wept, pushing him away. “Let go of me Bucky, I mean it. I hate you!”

James took every ounce of it, every hard hit. He didn’t even try to defend himself, but he didn’t let you go either. With a broken wail you wiped the tears from your eyes before continuing your rampage.

“You humiliated me!” You kicked blindly, your breath hitching in the back of your throat. “I-I trusted you. I trusted you.”

You were ruining his suit, crinkling and tearing at the cloth. You were hitting and scratching, getting every ounce of pain he caused you. You don’t even remember him picking you up and carrying you out of the warehouse.

“I can’t. I-I can’t do this.” You sobbed bitterly. “I can’t. B-Buck, leave me alone. You don't get to be the hero.”

You were unraveling in all directions, and Bucky Barnes was taking the brunt of it.

He managed to get you to his car, albeit with a frigid expression, and with Sam behind the wheel you were off. It wasn’t long before the adrenaline slowed down. Your punches turned sluggish and your wails stifled off into hiccupping sobs. He held you close, even then, so that when your grip on his jacket finally lessened and exhaustion caught up with you he’d be there.

James fucked up once in the pursuit of making a name from himself.

He wasn’t about to lose you. Not again.

By the time he made it back home Bucky had already called your folks to let them know you were okay.

He had to thank the stars for your father.

If it weren’t for your dad calling him in the first place Bucky wouldn’t have known you were taken. They were going to come to Brooklyn first thing in the morning, but he needed time. Bucky needed time with you.

He took you back to his home, careful to tend to the slice on your head before getting you settled in bed. Buck decided his room would be best. If you needed anything he would be close by, and that way he could keep an eye on you. He could protect you.

He would do anything to protect you, and he almost lost you.

Bucky had a hard time owning up to his mistakes. He was the boss, and thought he didn’t make mistakes.

But he fucked up big time. He was walking away from the bed when he heard you shift against the covers.

“Are you leaving?” He eyed you for a moment.

Bucky thought you were asleep, your bloodshot eyes told him differently. In the shadows your frame made you look vulnerable. You were vulnerable. Buck was shaking his head as quickly as he registered the words.

“No way, doll. I’m not going anywhere.”

He couldn’t tell if you were annoyed or were relieved. Instead of leaving the room he walked back over to the bed, sitting on the corner of the covers. Your eyes were sluggish, but your grip on the sheets was like an iron vice.

You were nervous.

“Get some rest, sweetheart.” He insisted, reassuring you with a tight smile. “I’ll be here when you wake up.”

But sleep was hard to come by. Every time you closed your eyes you remembered just how badly the night went. You remembered the hard words, the blood, the carnage. You remembered every sour word, remembered all of the scandalous pictures from before. You were in a constant state of suspension, somewhere between asleep and awake.

Bucky wasn’t much better. He planned on keeping watch all night to make sure a concussion didn’t pull you under.

He could feel the restlessness in the air. Barely an hour had passed.

“Are you awake?” He called out, and you turned to look at where he had situated himself on the couch.

You grimaced, reaching for the bandage that ached on the back of your head. It was the least of your concerns.

“I haven’t been sleeping well.”

You could see his silhouette from across the room. He hummed real low.

“Me neither.”

A moment passed, a moment of silence, and Bucky let his hands brush over his face. And then the silence closed in, leaving you with the one question that danced in your subconscious. It was the one question you couldn’t answer.

“Why’d you do it?”

You turned, looking up at the ceiling instead of James out of the corner of your eye. You didn’t think you had the guts to ask if you were looking at him.

“My dad,” You paused, trying to keep your voice steady. “My dad said it might help to get some closure, that maybe I’ll sleep a little easier.” Your words broke off into a bitter frown. “So why did you do it?”

You could see when he pinched the bridge of his nose out of the corner of your eye. He knew this was coming. Instead of staying in his place on the couch Bucky stood, bravely making his way to you.

"I don't know what I was thinking. I was scared.” He admitted sourly. “I tried to be like my own father, make the best decisions for this company. I thought I’d have to pull some strings like he did, like his father did. So I entertained the enemy.”

It sounded rehearsed. It sounded like an excuse. 

“Did you care about her?” You interrupted, turning your head to watch his expression.

“Not for a moment.” His disgust was evident, and you hated the satisfaction it brought you. “I wasn’t thinking about anything but the job. I got so messed up I wasn’t even thinking ‘bout me. And even worse, I wasn’t thinking’ bout you.”

“Thanks Buck,” You chided. “I feel a whole lot better now.”

Resentment bubbled low in your stomach.

“Hey, wait a minute,” He interrupted this time, his accent coming through stronger than before. “I didn’t think of the consequences. I thought we were taking down Brock Rumlow, and Dana was too goddamned sneaky for even me to see it. She had her own agenda. Dana wanted to take down her brother, but she was also the one who planted the photographer. She was tryin’ to take both sides off the board.”

She was trying to bet Brock and Bucky out of the way? You couldn’t believe it.

“You’re lying.” You countered, shaking your head in denial.

James started pacing - it was a nervous tick of his when he was trying not to break anything.

“See, that’s the kicker of it.” He clicked his tongue against the roof of his mouth before pacing back towards you. “After you left town she released those pictures to the public. It didn’t matter whether or not I fucked her, just as long as everyone thought I had.”

He stopped in front of you, placing his hands on the bed.

“It forced Brock into a dangerous position. He started making bad judgment calls. You see, he was trying to keep a step ahead of me because he thought I was fraternizing with his family. But instead I shut down every major warehouse because I couldn’t fucking handle it. She got me real good. Dana got what she wanted and high-tailed it to the next sorry sucker.”

He paused, clearing his throat. “I almost ruined fifty years of hard work because I couldn’t keep my shit together. I hurt the people closest to me trying to get more than I could chew.  A friend doesn't do that. A leader doesn't do that.”

Your stomach was in knots. You weren’t sure what to believe.

“You didn’t sleep with her?”

James turned his head again, looking at you hard and long. “Does it even matter? She won.”

“Of course it matters.” You instigated, pulling yourself up from the covers. You needed to hear it for yourself. “Did you fuck her?”

James watched you with cautious, cold eyes.

“James.”

“No, I didn’t.” He admitted with a huff, keeping his gaze on you. He hated when you called him that. “But I got damn near close, and that’s bad enough. It was the lowest moment of my fucking life.”

You contemplated his words with a frown. That wasn’t quite what you were expecting.

“And I’ve got to live with that.” He acknowledged, his voice breaking, but he didn’t look away. “I made my bed, doll. Now I’ve got to lie in it.”

You were too stunned to speak. What were you supposed to say?

“You just let me leave.” You were baffled by your own realization. “You just let me go, knowing you could have stopped it. You’re an asshole.”

“I panicked.” He admitted, the gruffness in his voice falling away. “I didn’t know about the pictures. I didn’t know what to tell you, so I put up a wall. I gave you a way out.”

He didn’t give you a way out. He was a coward.

You groaned in frustration, holding your face in your hands.

“But why didn’t you tell me?” You were exasperated, trying hard to understand. “You could have just said you tried to have it all, and it didn’t work out. That doesn’t make you a bad man.”

"Oh, but it does.” He explained. “If I woulda kept you around Dana would have only caused more trouble. So I let you slip through my fingers. I ran away like a little boy.” Bucky shook his head, bloodshot eyes finding your own after a moment of hesitance.

He was choking up. “I didn’t just lose my best girl, I lost my best friend. I lost everything. I didn’t deserve to win you back.”

It was your turn to choke up, and with your free hand you wiped a traitorous tear from your cheek. Damn him.

“Ask anybody. The best parts of me went with you.” Bucky’s voice was so broken you thought he would collapse. “I’ve missed you so goddamn much.”

Your ears were ringing. You sniffled, covering your mouth with your hand at the intensity of his voice. You had only known Bucky as strong and unwavering, but he was weak. His words were small.

He was unsure of himself.

“I’m so sorry, baby. I didn’t mean for you to get wrapped up in this.”  His tone was slow but tender. He was remorseful. He was being honest.

Bucky was giving you room to make up your mind. Would you meet him where he was at? Now? In his lowest moments?

Or would you tell him he didn’t make it on time?

Your breath hitched in the back of your throat, and you thought of the pain and the torment and all the unanswered questions that followed you for months. But you got your closure.

Bucky didn’t think he deserved you. He didn’t deserve you.

But you couldn’t spend another moment fighting. 

He was going to have a lot of making up to do. You reached for Bucky, pulling him by his shoulder onto the bed.

“I’m so sorry. Please forgive me.” He repeated, careful to wrap his arm around you like you would push him off at any moment. But you didn’t. Bucky was chanting his apology, his head in the crook of your neck, holding you tight.

Bucky was scared, so scared that he wouldn’t get this chance. He was worried about you thrashing and fighting and leaving him in the rearview. He wouldn’t have blamed you if he did.

If he were a stronger man he would have left you be. No. If he were a stronger man he would have never lost you in the first place.

Time bled on, until his words dried up all together. Bucky could hear the little hiccups in the back of your throat even though you were trying to put on a brave face. God, he missed you.

“I don’t deserve it,” Bucky whispered, “But if I gave you my devotion like I should have when you were mine, would you take it?” He asked honestly, filling the silence and tilting his head up so that it was level with yours. “Would you hold it tight?”

You whispered his name, your heart heavy, but Bucky wasn’t done.

“I'll be patient. I can give you your space." He promised as an atonement, pushing the hair out of your face. "You can hate me. You can yell and hit and hurt me. But I can't keep going on without you.” He admitted, striking a chord deep within you.

You reached up for his own face, brushing his bristled cheek with your thumb. It was wet, and it was only then that you realized he had been crying. You sucked in a heavy breath. James Barnes never shed a tear, not in all the time you knew him.

“When you're ready, I'll be waiting,” He continued. “I’ll wait till you're calling my name. And then I'll spend every goddamned day trying to make it up to you."  

You couldn’t take it anymore.

You gave Bucky a heavy stare, full of all the love and emotion reserved for him and pulled him in by the back of the neck into a kiss.

You needed it. He needed it.

Bucky was going to give you every ounce of his repentance.

It was burned into your lips, into your cheeks, into your jaw. He kissed away your tears and soothed the sides of your face with his fingers. He was unequivocally devoted. And when he finally pulled back, out of breath, you stared up at an oasis of blue.

You couldn’t live without him.

And he was waiting. Just like his promise, you knew what he was waiting for.

“I need you, Buck.” You pulled yourself up on your elbows. “Even if you’re an asshole. I’ll always need you.”

You reached out for this shirt, undoing his buttons one by one as he looked at you with that heated stare. He was holding back.

Once the shirt was undone you rolled it over his shoulders one by one, letting your fingers trail across his collarbone, across his abdomen, down to his side. And when he still didn’t move, you reached again, this time for the belt buckle. He moved into your touch, just slightly, trying to keep himself steady.

But you watched the way his eyes fluttered as your fingers danced along the seam of his slacks. The belt was gone, the button unclasped, the zipper down. It was only then, when your fingers reached out to cup the cut of him that he moved.

“I’ll always need you.” He repeated the words back to you. “Always.”

“Then prove it.”

Your whisper brought him to a full stop.

His nostrils flared and Bucky pounced. He pulled you into a sweltering kiss, this time all teeth and tongue.

His pants were kicked off the side of the bed and crawled over you, hooking your leg over his hip before flipping you over. It stole your breath away.

Your exhaustion was long forgotten as he gripped your hips under the hem of your shirt, grinding up into you with a groan. You let your head fall back, tugging your shirt up and over your head.

Bucky came to a full stop, his face guarded, his hand crawling up to the bruise blooming across your sternum.

“They hurt you.”

His eyes were dark, pupils dilated, and you put your hand over his.

“Honey, look at me.” You urged, rubbing your thumb along the back of his hand.

When Bucky’s gaze finally moved it was to find you looking down at him like he hung the stars in the sky. He could hardly breathe.

“It's done. They’re gone.” You reached behind with your other hand, unclasping your bra before shrugging it down your shoulders.  “I don’t want to talk about them anymore.”

Your admission stoked a kind of fire within Bucky.

You were so much stronger than him. You were brave. You were lovely. He groaned again, cupping you in his hands. From his vantage point he basked in the sight of you arching into him, dragging your arms along his.

You were an absolute vision.

He hardly noticed when you leaned up on your knees, dragging your pants down your thighs. It wasn’t until you were reaching for the elastic of his boxers that he jumped out of his enraptured thoughts.

Oh, and the way you touched him. It was divine. Bucky followed your lead, helping him get rid of the last barrier before crushing your weight down into him. Skin against skin. So close, but not close enough.

It was then, when you reached between your bodies with a delicate touch at his heavy need that an animalistic fervor fueled Bucky.

You were his. You were always going to be his, and he was going to make sure of it.

In one swift motion he raised his hips and drew yours down into him, watching as your eyes went wide in surprise.

But it was more than a surprise; you cried out as he speared into you, more pleasure than pain, but you weren’t ready for it. It had been so long. He was going to tear you apart.

“Bucky,” You gasped out, grabbing onto his shoulders as his hips rutted forward again. “Bucky, slow down.”

When you looked down to him Bucky was unhinged. He was fixated on the smooth bridge between your bodies, watching you try to catch your breath.

But he didn’t stop. Bucky looked up at you, blinded by lust and took refuge in your body.

He poured every ounce of himself into his thrusts, making up for every single missed moment. He was rutting hard, so that even in the farthest corners of your body he could find his respite.

He was met with the most breathtaking sounds, a chorus of breathy whines and moans from your lips.

It was like honey.

Bucky slowed, grinding into you, taunting and sickly sweet, and it felt so good that you let out a shaky moan.

Yes, just like honey.

What was he doing to you?

As he ground his hips down into you he could feel just how wound up you had been. Your legs were quivering, walls clenching to him tight. This was where he was supposed to be.

You could feel the pleasure rippling in as Bucky slowed his tempo altogether, and he pulled his arms around your back, pulling your weight down on top of him.

“You’re not leaving me, sweetheart.” He whispered against your skin. ”You can’t leave me.”

You didn’t even know what to say; you didn’t know what you could say. You wrapped an arm around the back of his shoulders, grinding back down onto his hips with the leverage.

His groan was swallowed by a kiss, and it was your turn to show your affection. Bucky’s eyes rolled back and he let you grind down into him. You were going to show him you had no intention of leaving.

“You’re so beautiful. So fucking beautiful. I’m a giver,” He groaned, jerking again. “But I’m going to take everything I need from this pussy. You’re mine, baby.”

You rolled your hips again, faster this time, before pressing your knees into the bed on either side of him. You needed the leverage. You needed something to ground you, otherwise you would have fallen apart right then.

Bucky might have been holding you there, trapping you to him, but you were the one showing your power. The friction of your body rolling into his burned deliciously. It started slowly at first, but was growing to a bubbling boil.

But you hardly noticed. You were so distracted by the way Bucky’s dark eyes caught yours, how blissed out he looked, how he kept you close the whole time.

He wasn’t giving you any room to move away. He was stealing wet, smoldering kisses when you leaned into him.

It was only when his hips jerked, and you wept out his name that you realized you were past the point of no return.

“You better slow down,” He gasped, pupils black as night, “or I won’t be able to give you what you need. I won’t be able to hold out.”

Good. You didn’t stop, not even when he growled out your name.

Bucky sounded far away, and you watched his glazed expression, like he was admiring Venus herself. You were melting into his grip.

It was euphoric.

And then in a flash he changed, his hips pistoning up and his arms pinning you down. You couldn’t move.

All you could do was take it, your own expression mirroring his own. He was so lost in it, so suffocated in the way you were squeezing him.

His thrusts knocked the air from your lungs and your legs were shaking. You were combusting from the inside out. Gods, you didn’t even realize the noises you were making.

What once was a cacophony of Bucky’s name dissolved into indistinguishable moans and cries.

You were absolutely wrecked.

“Does that feel good? Do you feel full?” He was tormenting you, and you let your eyes roll back as he nipped the skin on your ear. “You better get used to it, sweetheart. I’m going to show you all the reasons why you should be waking up by my side.”

Your nails dug into his skin and he hissed, listening to the way his skin slapped against your own. It was absolutely obscene.

“Come on,” He ebbed. “Show everyone whose dick this is. Make a fucking mess of me.” Bucky groaned into your shoulder, suckling a nasty purple mark there. “Fucking show them.”

You couldn’t stop yourself, letting your high finally crest. You had been fighting it, fighting him, part of you thinking he was going to let you fall. But Bucky Barnes was right there to catch you.  

Even as he succumbed to his own blinding pleasure he had you, safe and sound in his arms. And he held you there, suspended in his hold as gripped your chin, making you watch him lose himself.

He was breathtaking.

For a moment the room was quiet, where you could only focus on the way you were both catching your breath. For the first time in a long time you didn’t feel like the floor was going to collapse under you.

Bucky let go of your chin, his eyes softening as he pulled his lip between his teeth. You swore he looked ten years younger. All the tension and heartache dissolved.

After a moment he turned, pulling you down with him against the sheets. You were completely and utterly exhausted. Your body was worn out.

All you could do was look at him with new eyes. You supposed he was doing the same.

Bucky wasn’t the man you left in his office all those nights ago, but someone else entirely. The night passed you by, and you didn’t even realize your eyes were getting heavy until you felt Bucky move, brushing his thumb across the swell of your bottom lip.  

“All my life and all my love,” Bucky vowed quietly. “I devote it to you.”

A/N: This was loosely inspired by the song Devotion by Coleman Hell (which I would definitely recommend giving a listen!) and this is the longest oneshot I’ve ever written.

If you’ve made it this far, you’ve trekked through 10.4k words to get here. You’ve made it with me past an incredibly disheartening shadow ban. You made it, and I couldn’t be happier.

I love you. Thank you.