#softdark!bucky

It takes all your effort to turn around, but when you do you find her arm outstretched, offering you the test.

“I’m not sure if it’s the answer you want, but I’m here for whatever you need.”

Hesitantly, you reach out to take the test from her. And, with a big breath, you look down to see the little pink plus sign staring back at you, and tears immediately fill your eyes. You know that James wants kids, he’s very bad at dropping hints when you go to the store and pass by the baby aisle. But, he’s overworked right now, constantly answering calls and responding to emails, and you’re doubting if now is the right time to have a baby.

“Um, th-thank you,” You say weakly, looking up at her with a wavering smile. She nods, and you lead her to the front door and wave her goodbye.

The tears start falling when the door closes behind her, and you quickly rush to your room. You’re staring at the test through your clouded vision, worrying yourself over how to tell him. You know you need to, you want to. So, once you’ve calmed down you pull out your laptop and search for different ideas.

“Bunny, I’m home!” James sounds tired, exhausted really, though you hope the smell of chicken and vegetables will help him wake up a little.

“I’m in the kitchen!” Your hands are shaking so badly when you take the pan out of the oven, and you have to hurry to place it on the counter before you drop it. Suddenly, James’ arms wrap around your waist, pressing his chest to your back and tucking his face into your neck to breathe in your perfume.

“What did I say about overexerting yourself?” His voice is soft, even though he’s clearly tired you know he’s about to march you upstairs and tuck you into bed. “You need your rest.”

“Well, I feel bad for not cleaning as much as I used to, and you’ve been so tired lately.” You pause, taking a large breath and turning in his arms so you can loop your arms around his neck. Your eyes start to water when you see his eyebrows furrow with concern. “Besides, it’s not going to go away any time soon. Google says that morning sickness can last up to 20 weeks and your doctor says I’m only five weeks along.”

James opens his mouth to say something, then promptly closes it when he registers your words. His eyebrows shoot up in surprise, his hold on you slightly loosening as he flounders for a minute. You can see in his eyes that he’s trying to piece together all of your symptoms from the last few weeks, and he’s a smart man, so it’s not a surprise that he figures it out pretty quickly.

“Are… Are you…?”

“I’m pregnant.”

Time seems to stand still, James seems to have frozen in place trying to sink in your words. And the longer the silence goes on the more worried you become, and a few tears slide down your cheeks.

“I-I know this isn’t the ideal time, and you’re extremely busy with work, but it just happened. I’m so sorry, I know this is just going to make you even more stressed, and I-I don’t know what you want to do, but –” You’re cut off by James pressing his lips to yours, his arms tightening around your body and pulling you into his chest.

The kiss is frantic, desperate, excited. And when James pulls back you can’t help but follow his lips with yours, trying to keep the kiss going. But James doesn’t give in, instead, he leans back enough to be able to look into your eyes. And his are glassy, filled with unshed tears as he brings up one hand to brush away yours with his thumb.

“Fuck, bunny. Don’t be sorry, never be sorry for this. Bunny, you’re – you’re giving me everything I’ve wanted since I first saw you.”

Loosening his arms around your waist, he drops to his knees, placing one hand on your hip and covering your stomach with the other. He stares at your belly with amazement, then pushes up your shirt so he can kiss your belly. Your hands immediately find their way into his hair, rubbing his scalp and running your fingers through it. After a couple of minutes, he finally moves back to look up at you.

“You’re really pregnant?” He smiles wide when you nod, more tears involuntarily sliding down your cheeks.

“I’m really pregnant.” Your voice wavers, but you’re finally at ease, no longer worried about how James would react.

“Fuck, bunny,” He whispers, slowly rising to his feet and grabbing your hips. He leans down, brushing his lips over yours and smiling a little when you whine. “You’re going to be such a pretty mama.”

James is unable to stop himself from lifting you up, prompting you to wrap your legs around his waist. You bury your face in his neck, kissing and nibbling on his skin until he gets to your room and lays you gently on the bed.

He doesn’t immediately climb onto the bed, he just stands at the end of the bed and stares at you with a mixture of love and lust. A few moments of silence goes by before you finally whine, wiggling your hips to hopefully entice him.

It works. James shrugs off his jacket and unbuttons his shirt, smirking at you the whole time because your eyes are roaming over his bare chest, and you’re practically drooling when he gets to his pants.

“See something you like?” He chuckles when you glare at him.

“You know I do, so please hurry up. I want you inside me.” While you were teasing, you know you’ve made a mistake when his smile drops and one of his eyebrows raises.

“Where are those manners, bunny? Just because I knocked you up doesn’t mean I’m not still your Sir.”

“I’m sorry, sir! I-I didn’t mean to - I just -“ You stumble over your words, not worried about him punishing you physically, but you know he’s not above edging you for hours on end, and you’re sure you’ll actually cry if that happens.

“I know, bunny,” James coos, finally stepping out of his pants and boxers and kicking them to the side. Before you can say anything he grabs you by your ankles, then tugs you down the bed until your legs are dangling off the edge. “It’s okay, you’re still my good little bunny.”

You moan at his words, a pleasant fuzziness clouding your head. And then James helps you sit up a little so he can unzip your dress — his favorite floral one — and slide the straps down your arms. When he lays you back down he pulls the dress down and off your body, groaning when he sees your bare body, just as he likes it. One of his rules about living with him is that you’re not to wear panties or a bra, you have to always be ready for him.

You and James have never been more grateful for it.

“Fuck, bunny,” James groans and takes hold of his achingly hard cock, squeezing the base. “You’re so fucking beautiful. Going to make such a beautiful mama.”

“Sir, please.” Your eyes water, this time from frustration. You need him inside you immediately.

“Okay, bunny, okay, don’t worry your pretty little head.” James climbs onto the bed and arranges your bodies so he’s sitting against the headboard and you’re sitting on his lap, your back to his chest and your pussy resting over his throbbing dick.

It takes everything in you not to roll your hips against his, the only reason you don’t is because you want to be good for him. He seems to recognize this and lovingly kisses your cheek, humming softly.

“My good girl, my perfect girl,” James mumbles into your ear, placing his hands on the inside of your thighs and spreading them wide open, hooking your ankles around his calves. He drags one hand up to rest lightly on your stomach, his other stroking your thigh, climbing higher and higher until you’re practically vibrating with need.

“Sir.” You’re already sounding pathetic, but, to be fair, James has that effect on you. With only a few touches he can render you dumb, but you love it.

“What do you need, bunny?” James asks as though he doesn’t already know what you need. What you crave.

“You, sir. Always you.” Tears spring to your eyes, damn your hormones.

James sighs behind you, trailing his lips to your cheek, down to your jaw, and then your neck.

“You have me, pretty mama. You always have me. I’m yours as much as you are mine.” His words make you sniffle, a few tears sliding down your cheeks.

You’re so lucky.

“Come here, bunny.” James urges you off his lap, maneuvering your bodies so you’re laying down and he’s hovering over you. He leans on one elbow and reaches up with his other hand to wipe away a few tears, smiling softly when you nuzzle his palm.

“Are you going to let me love on you, pretty mama?”

“Y-Yes, please. Please!” You’re slipping even further into that soft space where nothing else matters except for James, except for Sir.

James leans down, brushing his lips against yours and chuckling when you whine. The moment he finally kisses you, he slides his hand down your neck to your breasts, lightly tugging at one of your nipples before sliding down further until he can spread your legs. He only pulls back when his hand makes it to the inside of one of your thighs, cooing when you whimper.

“It’s okay, bunny. I’m going to give you everything you need.” He’s slow and careful when he inches closer to your soaking pussy, running his thumb along your lips and dipping in to gently rub your clit.

He teases you for a long while, staring into your eyes when he dips two fingers in your hole easily due to how wet you are. He’s slow and methodical as he slips in another finger, kissing your cheeks every so often to catch stray tears. When he finally decides you’ve had enough teasing he starts thrusting his fingers faster, crooking them upwards to hit your special spot.

It doesn’t take long at all for you to cum, both because of James’ expert fingering and because of his husky voice whispering praises in your ear. And it’s an intense orgasm, your body going so far as to squirt liquid all over his hand.

It does take a bit for you to come down from your high, your mind is too clouded and fuzzy from pleasure. But when you do come to your senses you’re in the bathtub, your back to his chest as you soak in the warm water. James’ hands are on your stomach, rubbing over it as though it holds a priceless gem.

And, to be fair, there is. The little baby growing inside you is going to be the most loved child in the world.

“James?” Your voice is soft, not wanting to disturb the peace.

“Yes, bunny?” He kisses your neck, and you lean against him further.

“What, um—“ You wiggle a little, feeling his now only semi-hard cock against your lower back. “What about you?”

“Don’t worry about me,” James hums, suckling at your skin. “Tonight is about you, pretty mama.”

You’ll never understand how it’s possible to love someone as much as you love James, let alone be loved by such a perfect man, but you won’t question it.

You didn’t answer right away. The mirror in front of you reflected both of your faces — yours calm and cold, his restless and raw. You reached into your bag, pulled out a compact, and began dabbing powder over the faint bruise near your mouth. The gesture steadied your shaking hands.

“Pearson was always on top,” you said finally. “That’s what blinded us. We never looked down. Never saw the movements from beneath.” You paused, watching the powder fade into your skin. “Turns out, we underestimated Warren.”

“In a second it turned to ash,” he muttered.

You gave a short, breathless laugh. “Can’t deny that. We lost, but I have to admit—Warren played it subtle.”

He took a step forward. “So that’s it? You just stood by and did nothing?” His voice sharpened, eyes darkening. “Joined their little game? Became one of those political puppets? That’s not the Y/N I knew.”

The words cut deep. For a moment, you couldn’t meet his gaze. The weight of his disappointment pressed down harder than any accusation.

He didn’t stop. “Our world was dark, but at least we understood it. We knew our enemies. We slit their throats, poisoned traitors, and slept fine after.” His tone was cold, rhythmic, like reciting a creed he still believed in. “Now? Everyone smiles to your face, stabs you when you turn around. You call that progress?”

Then he said it. The one thing that made your jaw tighten.

“And worse,” he added, voice dripping with disdain, “you married that weakling, Phil Warren.”

“Careful now, Bucky,” you said quietly, your tone warning enough to freeze the air between you.

He moved closer until the space between you could fit nothing but tension. His eyes flicked down to your lips, then back up, voice dropping into something lower, rougher. “You accepted a man who doesn’t even know you. Doesn’t understand the world you breathe in. You belong to danger, Y/N. To adrenaline. To chaos.”

You raised your chin slightly, refusing to back down. “And who exactly would know me that well?”

He leaned in just enough for his breath to touch your skin. “The man standing in front of you.”

Silence fell — thick, charged, and electric. Your heartbeat kicked hard, and you hated that he could probably hear it. His gaze held yours for a second too long, and in that space, everything unsaid screamed louder than words ever could.

Then the sound of the door broke the moment.

You both turned. A figure stepped into the room — steady, confident. The air shifted instantly.

Your husband had arrived.

Bucky clicked his tongue as soon as he saw the man step through the door. Of all people, it had to be him.

Phil Warren.

You smiled as you crossed the room, your heels clicking lightly against the marble. “Phil.”

The man returned the smile—tall, lean, the kind of handsome that looked like it belonged on magazine covers rather than the underworld’s chessboard. Blonde hair, pale blue eyes, posture straight as a ruler. Even his suit looked expensive in a harmless way. Compared to Bucky’s rough edges, scars, and built frame, Phil looked like someone who would break if the wind hit too hard.

“I’ve been looking everywhere for you,” Phil said, his tone gentle. His gaze caught on your face, the faint mark near your cheek barely hidden under powder. His hand lifted without thinking, brushing a thumb along your jaw as if he could wipe the bruise away.

The gesture was innocent. Intimate. Infuriating.

Bucky’s jaw clenched. The muscle twitched as he watched that touch—too soft, too familiar. Damn it. So this was what closeness looked like between you now.

You cleared your throat, breaking the spell. “I met an old friend. Bucky.”

Phil’s expression brightened. “Oh. That Bucky.” He extended his hand politely, the picture of composure. “Hi. Nice to finally meet you.”

For a heartbeat, Bucky considered crushing that hand until the bones gave way. But Phil’s open smile disarmed the moment, and he forced himself to take it instead. His grip was firm, deliberate. “Likewise.”

Phil didn’t notice the threat behind the word. “I’m sorry to interrupt,” he said, turning back to you. “But I need you. The board’s waiting. You’re still the only one who can make them agree on anything. My genius negotiator.”

You laughed softly, half-embarrassed, half-proud.

Bucky’s chest tightened. He masked it with a small, sharp smile. “He’s right. She’s the best.”

The room fell into silence again—thick, uneasy. Phil looked between you, oblivious to the undercurrent, and straightened his tie.

You were the one to break it. “We can’t be absent for too long,” you said gently. “We should go.”

You reached for Phil’s arm, turning toward the door. But just before leaving, your gaze flicked back to Bucky. For a brief moment, the mask slipped—the warmth, the sadness, the ghost of something you didn’t say.

“I’m glad you’re here,” you murmured.

Bucky didn’t answer. He just watched you leave, her hand resting easily on Phil Warren’s sleeve, the sound of your footsteps fading until only silence filled the room.

His fingers twitched once, then curled into a fist.

The door shut softly behind you, the click echoing louder than any gunshot.

Bucky stood there, staring at the empty space where you’d been a moment ago. The words “I’m glad you’re here” kept looping in his head, over and over, like a whisper he couldn’t silence. Glad he was here. Glad he was alive. You’d said it so sincerely that for one stupid heartbeat, he’d almost believed you meant it the way he wanted.

That small trace of warmth was enough to kill the last of his restraint.

He exhaled sharply, running a hand through his hair, trying to ground himself, but the burn inside him only grew. You were happy he was here—and now he’d make sure you’d stay that way, even if it meant tearing down everything around you.

His boots clicked hard against the marble as he left the room, anger simmering beneath his calm exterior. By the time he reached the parking lot, the night air hit him like ice. The gala lights still flickered in the distance, mocking him with their false elegance.

He slid into his car, slammed the door shut, and sat there for a long moment, the weight of everything pressing down. Then he reached for his phone.

“Hello?”

“Why the fuck didn’t you tell me?”

“Oh, so you’ve seen her.”

Bucky let out a harsh laugh, empty of humor. “What is that supposed to mean? You could’ve at least given me a warning. Something like, ‘Hey Bucky, just so you know—Y/N married Phil Warren.’ That would’ve been nice.”

“You wouldn’t have believed me even if I’d said it.”

The silence that followed was suffocating. Bucky’s jaw tightened. His knuckles turned white around the steering wheel.

He finally exhaled through his teeth, voice low and steady. “Gather everything you’ve got on Warren.”

Steve didn’t answer. The line went dead.

Bucky tossed the phone onto the passenger seat, his reflection staring back at him from the windshield — tired eyes, clenched jaw, the ghost of a man who used to know what peace felt like.

*****

Back inside the ballroom, the music had softened into something classical and polite, but the conversations were sharper than ever. You and Phil moved from circle to circle — senators, ministers, business magnates — each face more forgettable than the last, all of them wearing smiles that meant nothing. The air was thick with perfume, ambition, and the faint scent of money burning.

This was the game Warren built — alliances dressed as friendships, favors traded like currency. You had learned to play it. You had no choice. After losing everything, you adapted. You smiled when you needed to, laughed when you should, and nodded at the right names. That was survival now.

A senator leaned in to ask for “support for an initiative.” A banker followed with “a proposal of mutual interest.” Every handshake came with a price tag.

You could feel the weight of it all — the performance, the pretending — wearing down your spine. But you kept going. You always did.

“You look beautiful today.”

Phil’s voice broke through the noise. He offered you a glass of champagne, his smile soft, the kind that looked rehearsed but not insincere. You took it with a small nod.

“Thank you.” The bubbles fizzed against your lips before sliding down your throat, cool and bitter.

Phil followed your gaze across the room, though he already knew where you’d been looking earlier. “Is that the guy?”

You didn’t need to ask who he meant. “He is.”

Phil hesitated, then said quietly, “I’m sorry.”

You turned to him and laid your hand gently on his. “Don’t be.” Your voice was calm, even. “Right now, we’re in this together.”

He gave a small, grateful smile — the kind that said he understood his place. Not as your love, not even as your equal, but as your ally in a war neither of you started.

You slipped your arm through his and returned to the crowd. More smiles, more handshakes, more names to remember and promises to fake. The dance of politics continued — the empire of charm built on lies and exhaustion.

This was your life now. The one you’d chosen. The one you’d earned.

And yet, somewhere beneath the layers of silk and civility, a small part of you — the old you, the reckless one who once ran with the Winter Soldier — was glad. Glad that he was still alive.

******

He pushed open Steve’s apartment door without knocking and the quiet bustle of the place hit him like a second pulse. Papers were spread across the dining table like a ransom note; two laptops glowed, open to spreadsheets and satellite maps. Steve looked up from a wall of pinned photos and dossiers, hair a little rumpled, sleeves rolled. He had already been at this for a while.

On the corkboard above the desk a photograph had been tacked up: you and Phil, laughing on some sunlit terrace, hands close, the kind of picture meant for press releases. Bucky’s jaw went hard. He stooped, palming the heel of his shoe for the small throwing knife he kept for old habits, and sent it spinning straight into the photograph. The blade embedded in the frame with a dull thud.

“Woah.” Steve snapped a file shut and pushed away from the table so fast a stack of printouts slid to the floor.

Bucky didn’t bother answering. He shoved his fingers into his hair, coiling anger into a tight wire. “He doesn’t understand her.” He jabbed a finger at his own chest, voice low and sharp. “I knew her first. I knew her longer than anyone.”

“Hey, hey.” Steve put both hands up, palms open, the calm officer to Bucky’s storm. “All right. All right.” He wiped his hands on his jeans and pushed a chair out for Bucky. “I got everything you asked for.”

Bucky loosened his bow tie with one practiced motion and sat, the fabric falling away like armor. He leaned forward, elbows on his knees, breathing a fraction slower. “What do we got?” he asked.

Steve clicked through tabs, throwing up a map of port routes, a list of shell companies, a cascade of spreadsheets. He spoke like someone reading a city’s pulse. “Warren diversified while Pearson bled predictable wealth into shipping. You know the old model: routes, docks, tariffs. Warren moved sideways.”

He tapped a column. “Investment arms in tech startups that double as money laundries. A private training academy—security firms by day, mercenary recruitment by night. Several shipping lines, yes, but they’re fronted with NGOs and logistics shells so the paperwork looks clean. Real estate holdings in three countries, a transport fleet registered under different names, offshore accounts that feed into political donations. He’s got influencers, senators on retainer, and a private port on the east side that handles goods no one asks questions about.” Steve’s voice grew faster as he rolled through the list.

“Insurance companies. A small airline. A manufacturing plant that supposedly makes agricultural equipment but ships heat-sealed crates across borders. He hedged—moved capital out of the obvious, built influence where people least expected it.”

Bucky listened without interrupting, eyes narrowing as each piece clicked into place inside his head.

“No wonder they couldn’t beat Pearson,” Steve said, tapping the screen where Warren’s investments threaded through municipal contracts. “They weren’t playing the same game. They weren’t facing Pearson head on. They were… elsewhering the fight. They played subtle.”

Bucky’s hand moved before his brain caught up. He snatched a pen from the table and chucked it with a sharp, angry arc. It clattered into the laptop next to Steve, making the cursor jump on the spreadsheet.

“Oi!” Steve barked. “Save the pens, man.”

“Stop saying subtle.” Bucky’s voice was brittle, a wire stretched too tight. “I hate that word.”

Steve rolled his eyes, a familiar, exasperated gesture meant to puncture the tension. “So what do you want to do next?”

Silence fell like a held breath. Bucky’s eyes tracked the routes on the screen, the names that hid other names, the neat rows and columns that had cost people their lives. Calmitude, a cool calculation, settled over him. For a long moment he simply looked. Then something close to a smile curved the side of his mouth—small, hungry, terrifying.

“Burn it all,” he said, soft and absolute.

******

Three days later.

The headlines were chaos.

TRAIN DERAILS IN EASTERN PROVINCE — MASSIVE EXPLOSION AT INDUSTRIAL DEPOT. UNCONFIRMED REPORTS LINK INCIDENTS TO INFRASTRUCTURE FAILURE. AUTHORITIES INVESTIGATE SERIES OF COORDINATED ACCIDENTS.

On paper, they looked like coincidences. A transport malfunction, a fire at a shipping warehouse, a fuel line explosion. But to the few who knew how money moved beneath the surface, it was surgical — every target belonged to Warren Holdings. Each site had been built from laundered cash, layered under shell companies and charity fronts. And now they were burning.

Inside the Warren mansion, the air was thick with shouting. Servants moved like shadows, avoiding the thunder of footsteps and slammed doors.

Marc Warren stood at the head of the conference room, eyes blazing. His silver hair caught the light like steel, and the veins in his neck strained with anger. The patriarch of the Warren family had weathered decades in the underworld, but this—this was an attack he couldn’t trace, couldn’t control.

“I want the man behind this found,” he barked, voice echoing off marble. “I don’t care how many you have to send. I want him alive when you bring him to me.”

His bodyguards nodded and disappeared down the hall like ghosts, already making calls.

Marc’s jaw clenched as he turned toward the windows overlooking the estate. Beyond the manicured gardens lay the city — burning quietly in places the press would never name. His world, once precise and profitable, was cracking.

Phil stood by the table, pale under the chandelier light, still in his campaign suit. His tie sat loose, his posture uncertain — a man built for strategy meetings, not this kind of war.

Marc looked at him, eyes hard but proud. “You continue your campaign,” he said firmly. “We built this new image for a reason. You’ll be the one they see, not me. I spent my years pulling the strings; now it’s your turn to hold them.”

He turned to you next. His gaze softened only slightly — not from kindness, but calculation. “And you,” he said, “play your part more convincingly. Show them you’re a loving wife, devoted and supportive. People believe what they see.”

You stood still, the exhaustion behind your calm smile showing through. “Haven’t I sacrificed enough?”

Marc gave a humorless chuckle. “If the flies are still unconvinced, you need to perform better.”

The words cut. He left without waiting for a reply, his footsteps echoing down the long corridor until the doors shut behind him.

Your hand curled into a fist at your side. The headlines, the timing, the precision — every explosion, every move — it all bore a familiar rhythm. A signature you knew too well.

Bucky.

Your stomach turned. What the fuck are you doing?

Phil sighed beside you. He reached out, fingers brushing your hand. “I’m sorry,” he said softly.

You looked at him — at his well-meaning face, his guilt, his helplessness. He didn’t understand. He couldn’t.

“Man up, Phil.”

You turned and walked out of the room, leaving him standing under the heavy light of his father’s empire — an empire that was starting to crumble.

You moved through the wide, silent corridors of the mansion, the click of your heels swallowed by the thick carpets and the weight of everything this house represented. The chandeliers glowed coldly above, throwing your shadow along the polished walls. For all its size, the place felt small—suffocating, like a gilded cage that pressed closer every day.

You stopped when you heard it: the faint sound of small footsteps behind you. When you paused, they did too. A long sigh slipped from your lips, and you smiled in spite of yourself.

You turned.

A little girl, no more than four, peeked from behind the column, curls bouncing as she ran toward you. “Mama!” she squealed, throwing her arms around your leg.

Your heart softened instantly. You bent down and scooped her into your arms. “Oh, Kate,” you murmured, brushing a strand of hair from her face. “You’re back from the playground already? Did you eat yet?”

Kate shook her head, eyes wide and innocent.

You exhaled quietly, the smallest smile tugging at your lips. “All right then. Come on, let’s get some lunch together.”

She nodded eagerly and clung to your neck. Her small hands gripped tight, and that simple trust—the way she fit against you—sent something warm and painful through your chest.

After losing Pearson, after being dragged into this household, after marrying Phil Warren—the timid man too frightened of his father to say no—you had thought there was nothing left in you that could still feel this kind of tenderness. Phil followed orders, bowed to Marc, smiled when told, and kept quiet when he should’ve fought. You played the part of the dutiful wife beside him because there was no other way to survive.

Then there was Kate.

She wasn’t yours. Not Phil’s either. A convenient addition to make the perfect picture for campaigns and family photographs: a bright, pretty child to sell the image of a happy household. An adopted daughter to fit the story.

But the first time you saw her, alone on the grand staircase clutching a toy, you’d seen yourself—another child left to play a role she didn’t choose. In Pearson, at least you’d had your father. Someone who stood between you and the wolves. Kate had no one.

And that was when you decided: she would never be alone again.

You adjusted her on your hip and started toward the kitchen. Her head rested against your shoulder, small and warm. You felt her heartbeat, steady and trusting, and your own breath slowed to match it.

Outside, the world was unraveling—trains exploding, ships burning, markets collapsing. The empire you married into was cracking at its core.

And in the middle of that chaos, your heart stirred.

It shouldn’t have. But it did.

Because you knew the rhythm of this destruction. You knew whose hands had set it in motion.

And God help you, the thought of him out there again made your blood feel alive.

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He set down his hat and unlocked the front door, and in an instant, a gentleman was storming into the office.

“Mr. Barnes, I need your help.” The man was panicked, pulling a hand anxiously through his hair. “It’s urgent. I have nowhere else to turn to. Please, Mr. Barnes. You got ‘ta help me.”  

With a curious quip of his brow, James led him over to his desk.

“Slow down, pal,” He let his accent drawl out against the quiet of the room. The man took a breath. “What happened?”

“It’s my girl. Well, my fiancé,” he explained. “She’s missing.”

The detective's eyes danced with a dark, wild light. Unfortunately for his little friend here, James already knew that.

James was staking out a home on an odd job when he first spotted you. You were on your way to work. He knew you were a vision even from far away, far from where he was waiting and watching from his car lookout. You were relaxed, never rushed, and your light composure made it hard for him to turn away.

He watched until you drove off down the road, and it was only then that he realized that he missed crucial moments in his investigation. 

But it was worth it.

He continued his investigation, and it went that way for a few days, watching you from the safety of his car until he could no longer justify extending his stake out.

James never expected it to turn into more than innocent curiosity, but he couldn’t help but learn how you maneuvered around your schedule. You worked and visited friends and carried yourself leisurely, making his heart thump in his chest.

He couldn’t stay away for very long.

His hyper fixation had turned into something more as time drew on. James had bumped into you, met you, and passed by you half a dozen times, and you hardly noticed. A soft smile here, a ‘pardon’ me there. But it wasn't enough.

James learned your schedule. He knew how you liked your morning breakfast sandwiches and what you put in your coffee. He knew you had a soft spot for oldies music and caught you more than once dancing around your kitchen to the smooth, sultry tunes of the 1940s. He knew you prefer to sleep with a fan instead of cracking a window.

An ardent, fervent love brewed within him. He just needed for you to see it too.

There was only one looming problem; you were in a relationship.

James could have used a little more time to pick up on your boyfriend’s intentions, but by the time he realized the man had proposed, James needed to jump into action. Worst of all, you had said yes.  

But James was strategic. He would need to use it to his advantage.

He knew when you were going out to celebrate your engagement. He knew which friends you would be with, and he specifically knew they only drank white wine while you sipped on red - a woman after his own heart.

That’s all it would take. James had a friend across town in the medical field who knew the ins and outs of all street drugs and how to get his hands on them. After all their time working around each other, Bruce Banner wasn’t one to question his motives.

Doping up the wine was the easy part. Delivering it would be a little trickier.

You were dining out at a little Italian restaurant and were busing laughing the night away with your friends when the waiter interrupted the table. 

His eyes were wide with a secretive surprise. Whatever he had to say, he carried a certain excitement about it.

“Excuse me, ladies,” He cleared his throat. “One of our other patrons heard you were celebrating tonight. Here is a bottle of the finest Pinot Noir in Brooklyn. On the house.”

The table paused, your friends looking at you with bated breaths.

What a spectacle. You could hardly believe it.

“Oh no, I couldn’t. It's too nice,” You shook your head with a bashful grin. When the waiter insisted, you were stunned. “Are you sure? Who do I need to thank?”

The grin tugging on your lips had had an addictive quality to it, but the waiter shook his head. He wouldn’t break so easily.

“My lips are sealed,” He ensured. “But it’s from a very generous patron.” And then, without waiting, “May I pour you a glass?”

And you didn’t question it for a moment.

That was your first mistake.

The night passed by in a blur, and you were beyond happy. 

You were engaged to be married, were with your closest friends, and you felt as light as a feather. You were on your second glass of wine, effectively drinking a good portion of the bottle before you started to sway on your feet.

Even better – your friends passed up on it. They weren’t too big of a fan of red wine and were happy to sip on their own drinks while you celebrated.

Overall, it was a perfect night.

After waiting for the buzz to pass, you insisted you were good to drive, promising you just needed some air. And that you would be right as rain. 

And your friends didn’t think twice about it.

That was your second mistake.

It wasn’t until you were on the road and driving back home that the full effects of the doped wine kicked in. You could never have known, but you were blacking out at the wheel. It started slowly, then kicked in quickly and all at once. You were losing your grip on staying awake. Out of the corner of your eye, you saw headlights shining into the passenger side of your car. 

Briefly, you realized that they weren’t there a moment before.

And then your world had gone dark.

You didn’t feel the force of the impact, the crunch of metal against metal. The screeching of tires and broken glass were lost on you. Your head bashed against the window.

To get the record straight, James never wanted you to get hurt. 

But some things were necessary, and the accident would make things easier in the long run. He could admit that the impact was rough, but it was not meant to cause you any real damage.

He worked without hesitation, stepping out from behind the wheel of the hotwired car to your own. James was nimble in prying open the driver’s side door, and once he was close enough, his breath hitched in his chest.

This was the closest he had ever been.

You were completely unaware of how you had captivated him. His leather gloves were soft against your skin, and his breath was warm on your cheek. 

He was going to take care of you now.

And as James pulled you into his arms and carried you down the street, he gave you another once over. You were banged up from the wreck and looked so delicate in his arms, but even then, you were just as beautiful as he imagined. 

Except for one tiny detail: 

The ring. You were wearing the engagement ring.

That was your third mistake.

It was like a dance to James. One-two step. One-two step. And you followed his lead perfectly.

He slid the ring off your finger and backtracked toward the battered car, tossing it into the glovebox with an icy stare. It was a simple engagement band, and the diamond was modest. You deserved much better than that. 

For you, James would move mountains and carve the finest gemstones. In fact, he already had a ring of his own picked out.

James was a meticulous planner. He had to be.

He was long gone when the police finally rolled up to your crashed car. There were no fingerprints left behind, no signs of forced entry, and the only thing left in the battered car was the engagement ring.

It was a gift, a way for James to tell everyone that you were gone. It was a way to tell your fiancé that you didn’t want him anymore.

The police had done their investigation and questioned your friends, but nothing seemed to be out of place. That’s how the police operated. They were slow and lazy and looked for an easy answer. It was predictable behavior from the NYPD.

Everyone thought you had run away and didn’t want to get married. The authorities were convinced that you high-tailed it out of town.

James almost gave your fiancé credit. He wasn’t as quick to let you go, and as the man paced around the office, the detective's eyes turned hard.

“You don’t think she ran away,” James started slowly, snapping back into the present. “Do you?” 

James was calm and composed, not giving away his charade.

Your fiancé was an angry mess, shaking his head wildly.

“She wouldn’t have just left me high and dry.” Your fiancé begged for understanding. "She's a cute dame, but she's not smart enough to run for it. No girl would leave me."

And suddenly, James wished he had been paying a little more attention to the man in front of him. He didn't deserve you.

Annoyance prickled in his veins. James would never talk about you that way. Didn't this pissant know you were intelligent, gentle, and one of a kind? 

Clearly not.

 “She was taken, Mr. Barnes. She must have been taken.” The man droned on. "No one leaves me. No one. We were happy."

James would have admired his spirit if it were about any other woman. But the man made a mistake. 

Were you happy? 

James knew that he could make you the happiest dame in Brooklyn. He hummed slowly, listening to the man recount his side of what happened. The room felt surprisingly small; if it were a game of cat and mouse, James was the cat. He was always the cat.

“I don’t know how much help I’ll be.” The detective offered with a simple shrug, and he watched as the man’s shoulders slumped. 

Defeat washed over him, making the corner of James’s lip twitch. 

“At least, not tonight.”

Your fiancé looked back to James, his eyes filled with a broken hope. He couldn’t believe what he was hearing.

“Mr. Barnes, I don’t know how to thank you-”

James waved at him to stop. He had heard enough.

“Call the office tomorrow morning, and we can discuss it then.”

The clock was trailing later into the night, and the detective offered the man a professional nod before standing, ushering them towards the front of the office. He put his hat back on and tipped the lid at your fiancé. 

The man was content, stunned into a hopeful silence as he was led to the door.

“Tomorrow, we’ll talk,” James confirmed, locking the door behind them. “I have my own wife to get home to tonight.”

Of course. The man understood. He needed to keep a tighter reign on his woman. The man nodded and thanked James again, shaking his hand before going separate ways.

James watched him walk away before turning back towards his car. A sly smirk spread across his face, and for the first time, his expression was dark. He looked murderous.

Everything was falling into place. 

Your fiancé, the brute of a man looking for you, wouldn’t be causing him trouble for much longer.

It was late when James finally made it home, and he made sure to make auditory cues as domestic and casual as possible.

From taking off his jacket and putting it in the closet to set down his keys in the front bowl, he carefully made his way to the bedroom.

He crossed the room slowly to the bathroom, turning on the bedside light and glancing at the sleeping figure.

You were still fast asleep.

James would take his time and savor the moment a little bit longer. He took his time unbuttoning his day shirt and slipping off his wingtips. He let the water in the sink run for a moment before wetting his face and brushing his teeth.

It was nice, nice in a way James didn’t fully expect. It was domestic, but it was more than that. It felt like he wasn’t just at his brownstone house but like he had found his home.

Backtracking, the soft yellow light of the lamp illuminated the bedroom, catching the curves of your cheeks and the sleepy pout of your lips.

You were practically glowing.

It didn’t matter how late it was; James was buzzing with energy as he settled in, letting his body get comfortable next to yours.

And then the unexpected happened. You subconsciously curled into his side, searching for the warmth of his skin. For a moment, he froze. 

You were seeking him out, and even though you didn’t realize it, it had been everything James had been waiting for. He melted into your touch.

He let his eyes flutter closed.

“Baby, I’m home.” 

His words were whispered against your forehead. A slow hum pushed past your lips at the sound. James was being careful, breaching your subconscious like a dream. When you didn’t pull away, he placed a delicate kiss on the crown of your head.

In your sleepy haze, you pulled him closer, draping your hand across his stomach.

You were affectionate, so affectionate.

“I’m sorry it’s so late,” Bucky whispered again, his fingers cradling your cheek. “I missed you.”

“-missed you.” You repeated blindly, eyes fluttering behind closed eyelids.

Bucky couldn’t help his smile this time. The smell of his cologne from the day was faint, but it drifted past you, settling deep in your dreamy subconscious state.

This time Bucky shifted, pulling you into the crook of his neck and weaving one of his legs between your own. That was enough to stir you out of your sleepy stupor.

Your eyes were heavy, and you needed to blink several times before getting a hold of your surroundings.

Nothing was familiar. The room was large, bigger than what you were used to, and the bed was soft and cozy. It was like a dream. The flutter of your eyelashes against Bucky’s shoulder made him shift again.

“Sorry, honey. I didn’t mean to wake you.”

The soft, velvet voice should have soothed you. You should have felt comforted but immediately had the opposite effect. Confusion was like ice in your veins.

You tensed under his touch. You were afraid to move, afraid to speak.

You were in bed with someone.

“Honey?” The man asked again, confusion lacing his words. He moved his hand back. 

“Where am I?” You interrupted fitfully, but your voice was still thick with sleep. “Who are you?”

Your bones were heavy with fatigue. You felt like you had slept for a week straight.

The man next to you pulled back, looking at you with concern.

The sharp blue of his eyes cut into you, making you look away. Your gaze shifted from his jaw to the curve of his nose to the top of his hair until you couldn’t help but meet his bewildered stare. 

You stared at him, and he stared at you. It was an unspoken dance of wills.

“What do you mean? -” “Are you going to hurt me? -”

You both asked simultaneously, but the words dissolved into a tense silence. 

The man shook his head ardently. 

“No, baby, no.” He reassured gently. “I would never hurt you.”

The man looked scorched from the heat of your words, but it was too late to take them back. His tone turned flat, dejection floating through the open space.

“Maybe I should call the doctor.”

You froze, pulling back to look at him. You watched his jaw clench, finding a secretive look swimming in his eyes.

“The doctor?” You repeated soberly, not fully understanding him. “Why would I need a doctor?”

The man reached up to your temple, and you flinched back, but he wasn’t put off. He doubled down, his fingers dancing along with a uniquely sensitive patch of skin. He rubbed there gently, just past your hairline.

It hurt. It ached. You didn’t notice it before, but it throbbed with burning pain.

A wave of emotion came over you. You felt like crying. The man moved quickly, dropping his hand in a peace offering, but he stayed close by.

“Honey, it’s okay. It’s okay. You were in an accident.” He explained softly, his eyes filled with care. “It was a car accident. You hit your head.”

You hit your head? You didn't remember that and raised your hand, feeling the bump for yourself.

“An accident.” You mimicked in a whisper, concern settling behind your eyes and in the pit of your stomach.

The man nodded gently, his eyes shifting to yours to see your reaction. When you didn’t pull away from him, he spoke up again.

“I don’t want to overwhelm you.” He admitted slowly. “Each day, your memory should get better. But some days, it might get worse.” 

There was a heavy pause, the weight of the room growing until you could only hear your breaths grow heavy.

“What do you remember?” He tried again. He tested your memory patiently, keeping you close.

You didn’t know what to think. You couldn’t remember him. 

You couldn’t remember anything.

“What does that mean?” You broke the silence with a tremble. “Is it like,” You paused again, “It’s amnesia, isn’t it?” You half asked, half-realized. 

Your eyes went wide as soon as the words passed your lips. Your eyes danced over his face quickly, trying to remember. You knew him. You must have known him. Why else would you be there, in his bed, in his home? Your thoughts were spiraling, and it wasn’t helping. 

The man called out your name. 

“Honey, it’s going to be okay,” He reassured, giving your hand a slow squeeze before pulling away to get off the bed. “Let me call the doctor-”

“No.” 

In your urgency, you reached for his arm to pull him back. It must have shocked him because the man’s eyes were wide, flicking down to where you were holding him. 

“No,” You insisted again. “I can do this.”

Even though you couldn’t remember him, you couldn’t deny the affection in his eyes or the sweet way he said your name. This man was a gentleman. He knew you. 

You looked down, and in the lamplight, you saw a diamond twinkling on your left hand. It was a ring. It was a large diamond in a platinum setting, and a small band sat below it. It shocked you. No wonder why he was being so careful with you.

“I’m married?”

Your words were a whisper, floating past you like a daydream. Could it be true? 

You tried not to blush in embarrassment that you could have forgotten something so important.

The man didn’t say anything, but he let his left hand cover your own with a reassuring squeeze, and you saw a wedding band resting on his finger.

Your eyes shoot up to his own.

“We’re married.”

Your correction died on your tongue, looking up at him to see if it was true. The man let out a bated breath, a careful smile tugging at his lips.

He was so beautiful. He was moving slowly like you were a wounded animal, trying to get away. A part of you felt guilty.

“What else do you remember?” He coaxed, not trying to scare you away.

His eyes shimmered with hope, with a longing that was foreign to you. But the longer you looked at him, the less it made sense. You couldn’t focus. Something didn’t feel right.

If you were married, you tried to remember it, a ceremony or him whisking you away or him proposing. You hesitated. Maybe he did propose? The thought had slipped away from you the longer you thought about it, and you were getting frustrated.

“I don’t know.” You replied with a frown, shaking your head. You were getting frustrated.

“Hey, it’s okay.”

It was like he could read your mind.

This man, your husband, didn’t try to crowd into your space. He was patient, but you just wanted to be reassured. You wanted to be comforted, but you just couldn’t remember. You couldn’t remember anything.

Anguish crept into your veins. 

“I am so sorry.” You whispered, fighting back frustrated tears. You were trying to be reasonable. It wasn’t fair. It wasn’t fair to you or to him. “I want to remember.”

A momentary smile danced on his lips before he nodded, slow and understanding. He must have been trying his best too.

Your heart broke.

“It’s okay, baby. Just give it time,” he paused, offering a moment of peace. "C'mere," He ushered you in, and you gave in, letting him pull yourself into his lap. Your legs were straddling his torso, and he sat up, settling his back against the headboard.

He began to rub a hypnotic pattern into your back with his free hand.

His whispers of sweet nothings and honeyed promises stole you away from the harsh reality of what was happening.

You were hurt, and he was taking care of you. It was hard not to fall against him, your head resting along his shoulder.

“It’s okay, baby. It’s okay.” “I’ve got you.” “I won’t let anyone hurt you.”

He didn’t stop until his ministrations were engraved in the dark crevices of your mind. He wasn’t going to let you go until you believed him.

You wanted to believe him.

He was lulling you back to him, never faltering. This stranger, this man, your husband, was ever diligent. But there was one question jumping to the forefront of your mind.

“What’s your name?” 

The man paused drawing patterns along your back.

He took a deep breath, pressing a kiss to the crown of your head. You couldn’t see his face but could hear the steady breaths above you.

“I’m Bucky,” He answered softly, tightening his arms around you with a gentle squeeze. Your mind was racing. You couldn’t remember a Bucky. “Well, James,” he corrected, “but only if you’re mad at me.”

You couldn’t help the broken laugh pulled from your chest. Bucky was trying to help, trying to calm you down.

And it was working. The sound of your laugh made him pull back in wonder. 

He would do anything to hear it again.

“Bucky,”

You tested the sound on your lips and tried it again when he hummed in response.

Another moment passed, a heaviness settled over the room, and you sank into his embrace.

“I’m scared.” You admitted, but you weren’t completely afraid. 

You were scared of the unknown, of not being able to remember. But you weren’t afraid of the man in front of you. 

“Is this real? Was there really an accident?”

He didn’t let you go but urged you to look up until your foreheads could touch. This time you didn’t pull away.

His cerulean stare was grounding in a way. It was a tether to reality.

“I’m afraid so, doll.”

His admission made your heart sink for a moment, but the care in his eyes made you glad you made it home.

That’s what this was, right? You were home. You were safe.

“I’m scared too,” He admitted, his eyes flickering from your own down to your lips. A flash of heat spread through your cheeks. “I don’t know what I’d do without you. For a moment there, I thought I lost you.”

Where you thought you would find anguish and pain, you were met with a different expression from Bucky. An unspoken desire had seized him. You were home, and you were safe. You were safe in his arms.

Even though you were unsure of what to do, you liked how important you felt. How needed you were. 

If Bucky was being brave, you could be brave too.

“Then help me,” You asked suddenly, your voice a gentle plea. “Help me remember.”

There was a moment where you both hung in suspense, the weight of your words sinking in.

This man was yours. And you were his. 

And then he was on you, crushing you in his hold. Bucky kissed you, his lips sweet and sanguine against your own, and you could have sworn that he was kissing you like a starved man. 

It felt like your first kiss.

To you, it felt brand new. You couldn’t remember its intensity, the scorching heat of his mouth, and you needed to pull back after a moment. 

It was needy; it was tender. His touches were searing hot, and you were burning up.

Bucky’s hand was on the back of your neck, pulling you close. His nose danced along your jaw, peppering deft kisses against your skin.

He was in control, and you didn’t question it for a moment.

You were unraveling in front of him, a choked sound coming from you as he nipped the soft skin of your neck and let his hands wander higher. They danced against your skin under the hem of your shirt, and you groaned at his grip.

His touch was addictive. You urged yourself closer, sinking you both down onto the mattress.

He shifted, rolling you onto your back without breaking contact. He was so intense and involved that you couldn’t help your light chuckle.

It only spurred him on. Bucky was there, holding you with newfound vigor. And now that he had you, he would never let go.

You couldn’t have planned for the ferocity of his movements or how Bucky looked down at you like you were keeping him tethered to the Earth. His careful smile soothed the burn of his stubble against your skin. With your legs entangled and chests pressed together, you felt needed. Bucky made you feel protected.

He was kissing your jaw and shoulders and the curve of your neck, and you couldn’t stop the way you keened towards him. You were reacting beautifully between deep breaths and lofty sounds of pleasure. 

Bucky was playing you like you were made of strings.

And then he rocked, letting his hips snap forward once. His tented arousal brushed up the curve of your thigh, and you shuddered at the contact. 

A low grumble reverberated from his chest. He had been patient, so painfully patient.

“I couldn’t tell you how long I’ve waited for you.” The rasp in his voice was your undoing. He was sincere and vulnerable. Your heart ached. "To be here, to be home." He continued.

How long had you tortured him?

How long did he need you, but you weren’t there? How much time did the accident take away from you two? Slowly, confidence was building in the crevices in your heart. 

“Bucky, come here.” You gently exhaled, tugging him back up to you. 

One slow, firm stare secured the way you felt. The fear dissipated. You were his wife, and he was your anchor in the storm. You took the lead, kissing him with a reverence you’d never experienced. He followed your lead blindly, his expression in awe at every voluntary move you made toward him.

“Honey, I’m sorry I can’t remember,” You pleaded, but your whisper was lost as he ground his body into your own. He wanted to be close, as close as he had ever been.

“Oh baby, it’s okay," Bucky assured quickly, pulling you in for another sweeping kiss. "It’s not your fault.” 

You closed your eyes for the briefest of moments. He was doting on you. The least you could do was return the favor. With that spark of confidence, you smiled against his lips and snaked your hand down between you two. His hand slowly descended from his shoulder, down his chest, and at last, around the curve of his hip. 

His skin was hot and smooth and harrowing. How did you get so lucky?

You dared to explore further, cupping the crook of his body. It was lofty, over the fabric of his boxers, and the friction urged a breathless groan from Bucky. You teased him with a curiosity that excited you, tugging and groping him through the fabric until he was dizzy.

And then you finally pulled him free of his confines through the slit in the front of the boxers. You didn’t even bother to pull them down. With long, intentional strokes of your hand, you let him pull you into another hungry kiss.

Your hand was gentle but firm, and a smooth gleam of excitement slicked his slit. It was sensitive, and you slowly stoked there, only there, making him push you further into the mattress. He moaned into the pillow at the crook of your neck.

With a renewed vigor, you pulled your other hand down, pumping at his shaft and caressing him with care. Bucky was actually shaking, and before too long, he was thrusting up into your hands.

He was putty.

He couldn’t wait to have you. Bucky pulled up to his elbows, hovering over you with a heated gaze. His eyes were dark, and his skin was flushed, and he took one of his hands over yours, stopping your ministrations.

With a wordless command, you listened, letting your hands fall aside to his thighs. His hand danced along your skin, along the outline of your sleep shorts, before adventuring forward. Deft fingers moved on their own accord up and past the barrier of your panties. You were sticking to the cotton. You were more than ready for him.

The shorts were loose, and just as you had done, he teased your skin, his fingers grazing your weeping cunt and up to your sensitive clit. You didn’t know how long you had been holding your breath, but a sharp exhale was pulled from you when he slipped a finger, no, two, inside.

You were so tight and full of need, clenching down on him. Bucky’s stomach burned with desire. You did not doubt that he would break and put you back together again.

You rolled your hips this time, earning warm praise from Buck. His fingers persisted, his thumb drawing hasty circles around your clit.

“That’s it, baby.”

His eyes were locked on you. Your own eyes were dark and hooded, and your lips were bruised in the best way. You were all his.

The teasing didn’t last for very long.

Using his knee, he parted your legs further apart. Bucky made space to stay nested there, between your legs. And he only broke eye contact once, to take a moment to pull your shorts and panties down in a smooth movement.

He wanted to see you wet and glistening. It was all for him, and he drank it in.

He didn’t even bother to take off his boxers when he finally replaced his fingers with the tip of his cock. He needed you so badly.

And then, finally, with a slow drag, you watched each other with new eyes.

It was as if it were for the first time. You appreciated him. 

You needed him.

Bucky was treasuring you like he was meant to be there, and he didn’t stop. You were stretched around him, holding your breath at the burning stretch, taking every part of him an inch at a time. And when he finally bottomed out, you both let out a ferocious moan.

But the desire was a cruel beast. She needed more.

With slow, short thrusts, Bucky made his way back into you, and you had never felt so needy. Your hands pulled around his back, digging into the skin. You needed him close.

Bucky needed you close too. He needed to be careful. Otherwise, he would fall apart faster than he wanted to.

He tried to focus on your hot breaths against his own and the sweet noises you made, but the feeling of you was overwhelming. He had waited so long for this.

You hardly noticed the slow burning in your belly until his thrusts were longer, more drawn out. You were sopping; the lewd noises of skin slapping against the skin were almost too much. He gave you every inch, and you took him in so graciously. You wanted to cry. It felt so good.

Minutes melted together.

It was slow and lazy, and the heat in your stomach reached a peak when he lifted your legs, the angle making you succumb to your dark desires. You flushed a sharp moan into his shoulder before looking up at him. Bucky was a man bewitched.

“Oh baby, was that all for me?” He praised. “You’re so good to me.”

Bucky couldn’t take it, and his low and steady thrusts turned fast and needy. The chase was on.

He hooked your leg around him and kept you buried into the mattress until his release hit his peak, and at the last moment, he pulled out, letting him spill along your thighs up to your navel.

He had time. There would be time to fill you up another night. But for tonight, this was enough.

You cleaned up quickly with your discarded shorts before pulling him back down to you. You were content. Tomorrow was a new day; even if you couldn’t remember, you were home. You must have been home. You were exactly where you wanted to be.

But after a moment of admiration, a curious idea came to mind.

“Bucky?” 

You turned with a whisper, eyes sweeping against his blue ones. His small hmm made you grin. 

“What if,” Your confidence was waning. “Oh, never mind. It’s not important.”

But he wasn’t going to be deterred so easily.

“What is it, doll?”

Embarrassment crawled up your skin. “What if we renewed our vows?” He sat up, looking down at you through heavy, darkened eyelashes.

“I mean,” you quickly continued. “I mean if I can’t remember it. If it doesn’t come back to me.”

You swore you had never seen such fervent love in all your life. He blossomed before you, his eyes shining with a fire you’d never seen. Because for Bucky, that would make it real. It would mean you were his. He didn’t deserve you.

“Of course, honey.” His words were firm, resolute. “We could go as soon as tomorrow.”

A light chuckle overtook you. You couldn’t have known you were mistaking Bucky's urgency for excitement. 

But for Bucky, he wouldn't let you slip through his fingers again.

"I'll cancel my plans," He grinned. "We'll go down to the courthouse. I'll buy you a bouquet. We can stay in bed all afternoon."

The affection in his gaze was alarming, and you sat up with a gentle expression. His eyes were dark, filled with longing and lust, and you bit your lip. His hand was trailing along your thigh with unspoken promises.

"Tomorrow, then." You agreed at last. “It’s a date.” 

When Bucky pulled you into a corrupting kiss, you knew you were too far gone to say no. He was going to help you remember. 

“Sorry Mr. Barnes, I'll have your training schedule ready for tomorrow morning”

Mr Barnes?

Mr fucking Barnes?

You didn't call him like that when he had you pinned against his bed, ramming into you from behind like a madman, while he spoke things so filthy into your ears that made your head spin and your pussy cum for him strangling like a vice

You certainly didn't call him Mr Barnes then

You called him baby

How you seemed to forget everytime he fucked you senseless made his blood boil inside his weins like lava, it physically pained him. His chest tightened, threatening to crush his lungs and heart, when now you couldn't look at him for more than two seconds, and was even worse what he saw in your eyes, something in the lines of disgust and sadness

How dare you?

After all the times he wrapped your legs around his waist and made you touch the heavens with the graze of his cock in that special spot inside of you only he could reach

You were an ungrateful little brat

that's all you were

Maybe it's up to him to set you straight, teach you not to ignore him after everything he gave you

Every time you saw him was like a punch in the gut, deep, deep in your gut

It burned

It makes your nose tickly, a clear sign that you were about to cry, but you pulled through, because you loved your job and you were not going to quit only because of that asshole.

He lingers in front of you, his eyes looking in you any sign of that love and admiration that was there before, but he didn't find any, and you felt proud because of it. If he was going to treat you like shit, like you were worthless, you were going to treat him just the same, no, better yet, you were going to treat him like he was a stranger, like you didn't care about him, until it became a reality

Because the opposite of love isn't hate, the opposite of love is indifference

A goosebump traveled your spine like lightning, when you remembered muttering those words to him

“I love you” you said softly, as you kept gasping for air, trying to recuperate from your recent orgasm. You looked into his eyes, hoping yours could manifest the adoration you felt for him, and they did, shining bright in the morning light.

But what you got in return, was not what you expected

His steel blue eyes turned cold, and his features represented a perfect disappointment. He sighed, like he was tired, and he got off of you. You suddenly felt cold, and ashamed, as your worst nightmare was turning to reality

“I told you (Y/N)” he said, his voice thick with disappointment, giving you his back as he seated on the edge of the bed, “We are just friends,” he got off the bed, looking for his underwear

“Baby?” you called him, but he didn't even turn around as he put his head over his head

“I told you…” but he interrupted himself, taking a long tired breath, “I got to go,” the door slammed close just as your shame pounded inside your heart

He did warn you, you were just friends, the first time you hooked up drunk 6 months ago after a famous Stark party. But you really thought your relationship had evolved into something more, something more intimate, something more romantic, you certainly cared for him, you loved him. You thought he loved you too.

I mean, he never took you on a date, you understood that, I mean, he is an Avenger, he is occupied in dangerous missions, and the days he had free in the compound he needed them, to rest. Yeah he did not acknowledge you in front of the other avengers or agents, but you thought it was because he didn't want to jeopardize your job, or his, to keep things separated, and professional

You were such an idiot

You hated yourself when it sank into you…

You were just his booty call, his relief, a tight pussy to fuck when he was horny and needed to blow up some steam, you were nothing more than that, you weren´t even friends.

And that was clear to you when you saw him the next day, coming out of the Quinjet, his arm around Nat´s shoulders

“She finally agreed to a date with me!” He celebrated with Steve. He realised you were there too late, his arm still around the black widow when he saw your eyes wet with thick tears, not only 24 hours ago you were deep inside my pussy you piece of shit

That's what you should have told him. But instead you ran like the coward and idiot you were

You call in sick the rest of the week

You couldn't face him, you couldn't see him, your heart hurt too much

You loved him

And he was only using you

And now here you were, you could feel his raising body temperature, his indignation, when you called him Mr Barnes

But he said that you were only friends with benefits, well, you didn't want to give him “benefits” anymore, and what was left, well, you realised you weren't even friends to begin with. He was the handsome guy that made you nervous with that wicked smile of his, dating Natasha Romanoff, and you were only Fury´s and Tony´s assistant, in charge of his and the avenger´s mission itinerary

You felt so empowered by your rejection towards him, you relished in the face he put up,oh you had made him mad, good, so he can feel a bit of what you felt.

You went out that night with your friends, it was karaoke night

He saw you singing your heart out in the karaoke, clearly tipsy

You thought you could push him away?

That you could pull away?

That you could suddenly take away everything you already gave him?

You were so young, so naive

So he wanted to date Romanoff, have you seen her? He found it funny how your eyes watered when you saw them together. You thought you were so brave, so dignified by rejecting him? pretending you didn't love him like you told him?

He had your dignity, and your love

You gave it all to him when you let him do whatever he wanted to your needy body and tight pussy, when you looked at him with those doe eyes

Now you wanted him out of your life? You could try and push him away all you wanted, but it wasn't up to you

So what if he fucked Nat? and a couple other women? He finally realised it's you he wanted, no other girl could look at him like you could, with that adoration, and that love, and no other pussy could fit him like yours could, and no other was as young and naive as you.

You needed him

You could tell yourself you didn't all you wanted, but he owned you

You thought you could call him by his last name instead of that cute nickname you gave him?

Fuck no

You got off the stage stumbling on your own feet, as you walked towards the bathroom.

This was his chance. He looked at Steve and he nodded, so he stood up from the table, fixing his jacket and he followed you towards the back part of the club, where the toilets were.

He heard you giggling and talking to your phone

“Yes, I’m fine!” you giggled, ”I promise, after?... well yeah I guess I could go” you were using the same voice you used with him when you were planning your little rendezvous

His rage took over him when he imagined you meeting and fucking someone else, before he even know what he was doing, he grabbed your phone right from your hands and crashed it in his hands

“Barnes what the actual fuck!” you yelled

“Barnes?” he asked, dropping the irreparable pieces to the floor, “I’ve had it!” he yelled, and grabbed you and he softly trapped you against the wall. He saw your scared face and he only smiled, clearly aroused, he stuck his body to yours and you whimpered when you felt his thick cock against your belly, “Feel how you got me baby” he purred in your ear, “I'm just a dead man walking without you”

“Bucky leave me alone” you cried, “I don't want you”

“Like hell you don´t, I bet if I stuff my fingers up that greedy pussy I´ll find it weeping fo me”

“Why don´t you go to Nat, or to other women?” you asked with disdain. He only laughed at your face, cruelly, mean, those eyes you liked so much now they were only mocking you, “You don't want me” you accused, “Leave me alone”

“Don't tell me what I want,” he cursed. You primarily thought he was drunk, but remembered quickly he couldn't get drunk, so that scared you the most that this was his sober self

“Well I don't want you!” you contradicted, “You only use me, and I want more than that, now leave alone”

“C’mon sweetheart” he said, “You want me as much as I want you”

“I want more” you said strongly, “I want love, I deserve that!”

“You deserve what I want to give you” he said, his smile never wavering

“Why would you even want to be with me again?”you were quavering, “You are dating Nat”

“No I’m not” he said, “I got bored and left her” you whimpered at how easily and dismissively talked about women. He rubbed himself harder into you and you couldn't hide a little moan that escaped your lips

He might be as toxic as a radioactive wasteland, but you had to admit that he fucked like a god. No one was able to make you feel like he could with his thick long cock, his savage mouth and his greedy rough hands.

His hand travelled from your hips down your thighs, searching for the hem of your skirt, and he found it quite alright, and his fingers snaked up quite easily, finding your underwear in no time

“I fucking knew it” he said victorious, when his fingers trailed your clothed pussy, and found the fabric of your panties soaking.

“Bucky anyone can come in here” you said, embarrassed, but incredibly aroused

“So we better make it quick” he laughed, as he helped you out of your panties, saving them in his back pocket, god he had so many used pantied of yours. His fingers came again to rub your entrance, and you let him, opening up for him, his greedy flesh fingers traveled up and down your folds, gathering your arousal and rubbing it also over your clit, driving you mad

“Bucky I need you” you cried, he grab your thighs and made you surround his hips with your legs

“I know baby” he whispered against your lips, he quickly went around you and took himself out of his jeans, just enough so he could drop you into his hard length. You opened your mouth but nothing came out as you felt yourself getting stuffed with his thickness. He split you open and you received him gladly in your tight heat

“oh fuck that’s it” he growled, his forehead pressing aainst yours, and his lust blown up eyes anchored in your own, “Fuck I’m sorry baby, I’m never leaving you again”

“Don’t say it” you growled, even if he had barely moved you felt like you could cum only by feeling him filling you up. “You don’t mean it”

“But I do” he dragged his dick off of you until just the tip was inside you, and then in seconds that seemed like hours, he pushed himself again inside you until he was buried to the hilt. He dragged that spongy spot inside you that turned your sight blank for a second.

“Shit” you cursed, and it took a couple of more slow thrust for you to cum around him, strangling him like your life depended on it

“You greedy little baby” he mocked, smiling until his white teeth flickered in the dim light

“Bucky” you growled, “More”

“I'll give you anything you want” he responded, as he started speeding up his thrusts. He had to kiss you so he could quiet your loud moans. Everything you were feeling was hyped by the fact anyone could see you at any given time

“Call me like you used to” he demanded, pounding into your at the same rhythm as his words

“Baby” you cried, lost in your daze, he only smiled as his thrusts didn´t relent

“That's my girl” he praised, “Mine, only mine”

“Only yours” you conceded, you´d do or say whatever just to keep being pounded over the wall

He saw you fucked up face wanting more of him and he couldn’t help but smiled widely, no matter who he’d fuck, the only face he saw was your own.

“Baby” she called sweetly and he devoured your mouth with his as he kept pounding into you roughly. He felt you tightening around him for your second orgasm, and he knew as soon as you did, he was going to cum as well

“You are tightening so good you are going to make me cum” he grunted

“Bucky you are not wearing anything” you whined against his lips

“I need to fill you up baby” he begged, “I need to cum inside that warm little cunt”

“Bucky please…” You gasped and whined over him when you felt his cold metal finger pressing on your clit, driving you insane, it only took him rubbing you a couple of seconds for you to have the hardest orgasm you’d ever felt. The adrenaline mixed with your emotions, as soon as you clamped down on him, he grunted and stilled inside you, and you could only moan when you felt his thick warm cum painting your walls. He always wore a condom, but now you could feel him raw it was fucking magnificent

“There it is baby” he whined, “I’m all yours” he promised, “I’m all yours” he repeated

He came off of you softly, and you accept when you felt his spend running down your thighs, your tried to fix your clothes as he fixed himself back into his pants

“You should go first,” you said bitterly, fixing your skirt. The aftermath of what just happened hit you like a train when your orgasm daze had passed. You let him fuck you again, and he was probably going to leave you without even giving you a second look.

He looked at you and smiled softly

“Like hell I’ll leave you” he said, grabbing your hand and pulling you with him. You walked out of that dark hallway and back into the bar holding hands. Soon Steve and Sam who had come here with him saw you both and just smiled knowingly.

“You are mine now doll, my sweet Avenger young blood”

You only know that meant trouble.

“Where are we going?”

“We have two long weeks of fucking to make up for” he said smiling wickedly. But you stopped walking, and he turned around surprised when you pulled his hand. You got rid of his hold

“No” you answered simply

“Doll…” he called

“It was fun Bucky” you said smiling wickedly, “But like we said, we are only friends with benefits” you said firmly, and walked out the door by passing right beside him, and you got to hear Steve and Sam’s mockery on him.

Like hell you were going to let him use you again.