*Insert Boring Title Here*

⛰️🧔🏻‍♂️

You had made it to the cabin at dusk so there was just enough light to see it. It was a quaint brown two-storey cabin with a porch on it and a few stairs leading up to the front door. 

"It's not much but it's home." Bucky said from behind you. 

He seemed nervous and shy at showing you, his home. 

"I like it." 

You assured him before he escorted you to the door and opened it. You looked around the inside of the rustic cabin and smiled to yourself. 

A large stone fireplace took up one side of the cabin with two large chairs and another small love seat. The kitchen was in the same room, and it had pine cupboards, a small icebox, sink with what looked to be a water pump, and a worktable. A small table and chairs were off to the side, and the pine floor had a few rugs placed on it. 

"There's more." Bucky walked by, waving you down a small hallway towards a staircase which you climbed.

"Um, these are spare rooms." 

He opened the two wood doors that were empty except for a crate and a few supplies. 

"And here is a guest room. I figured you would want to stay here so I got a bed and some things you may be comfortable with. My sister helped me." 

You smiled at the small wrought iron bed near the window. It had what looked like a red and white handmade quilt on it and a few pillows. It wasn't like your other bed in the city, but it looked comfortable enough. 

"And the other room?" 

"It's mine." 

You walked to it and opened it, peeking in.

 The bed was large; hand carved from wood posts and had a blue and white quilt on it. A large wood dresser was off to the side and there were white curtains hung in the windows. It was basic, but clean and organized. 

You headed back down the stairs and stood in a hallway. 

"The outhouse is through there." Bucky pointed to the end of the hall where a door was. 

You peeked outside and saw a small wood shack a few steps away. 

"Oh?" You had never used one before and were curious. 

"In here is a bathing room. I have a tub and sink, but no indoor plumbing...yet. I hope it's going to be enough for you." 

Bucky was starting to panic you were going to turn around and demand to be taken back to town due to his lack of plumbing. 

"It's fine. I've never used this kind of set up before, but I'm looking forward to it." You patted his arm to reassure him.

He seemed to relax at your touch.

"Come on, let me show you the barn." 

He walked you outside to a large red building and opened the wood sliding door. You carefully stepped in and looked around, noting the distinct smell of the animals, hay, and horses that prickled your nose. 

You spotted the stall where two horses poked their heads out and watched you. You looked beyond the barn and saw a small pen with a few goats standing around. 

Everything was neat and tidy and in its place. Bucky walked you through the building where you tip toed around the debris on the ground. You made a note you would need new shoes the next time you were in town. 

"Come on and have a look at the chickens." 

You followed Bucky into another small enclosure with wire around it. The chickens were walking around and pecking the ground; some were flapping their wings as you got near. 

You had never been near farm animals before, so you were a little hesitant.

Bucky watched you look around the barn area and had to hide a smirk. Your eyes were wide as you took in your surroundings. You seemed to like the horses and were curious about the goats but seemed a little unsure about the chickens. 

"They look scary, but they run from you if you get close. The hens are over there." He pointed to an enclosed shack where you heard clucking. 

"I'll show you how to collect eggs." He said, walking you back to the cabin. 

"And the cows? Where do they sleep?" 

Bucky hid a chuckle and said, "They're out on a pasture." 

"So, they don't come back and sleep here?" You pointed to the barn. 

"Not really. I'll bring them by when I move them, but they stay out." 

"In all weather?" 

"Yes, but when it's cold, they stay in and near the main barn." 

"I see." 

You had no idea they didn't come back to the barn every night.

You walked back to the cabin and entered it. 

"I'll get your trunk." 

Bucky walked out leaving you alone. You inspected a few more things in the main room when you saw Bucky bring the trunk inside. He hefted it over the threshold and carried it up to the guest room. 

You watched him easily maneuver the bulky trunk with ease. 

He was so strong. 

"There." He said, brushing his hands together. 

"I'll let you get settled while I take Thunder back to the barn and rest him." 

"Ok."

⛰️🧔🏻‍♂️

You unpacked a little, placing your things in the small dresser that was in your room. 

You peeked out the window and watched Bucky in the barn, gently brush down Thunder before he handed him an apple, and guided him inside for the night. 

You smiled and closed the curtains, pleased with your decision on coming out west.

⛰️🧔🏻‍♂️

The following morning, you awoke, slightly disoriented, but it all came back to you. You were living with Bucky at his mountain cabin. You stretched and sighed, looking around the darkened room. You hadn't heard any noise from across the hall, which made you blush. 

You were living with a man you wrote letters to! It was only a few months ago and you were in the city, working and now you're here. You decided to attempt to make breakfast for Bucky as a thank you to him and what he has done as well as to familiarize yourself with your new life. 

You had no idea what he liked, what time he rose, and how long it took to make anything, but you were determined to try and figure things out for yourself.

⛰️🧔🏻‍♂️

You wandered into the small kitchen and saw there was butter, flour, salt, and a little sugar. You decided to make some biscuits to go along with the eggs and ham that were in the ice box.

"Why did I do this?" You muttered, not really knowing how to make biscuits. 

You have only ever tried once and it was a disaster in a regular kitchen, let alone a primitive one. You think you figured the recipe out, so you managed to form a dough ball and cut it into circles with using a glass as a cutter, placing them on a tray. 

"So, what if they're lumpy and slightly lopsided." 

You opened the oven and placed them in, closing the heavy door and making a note on the time. You huffed a breath which moved a stray hair off your face while you cleaned the worktable you used.

You had the biscuits baking in the oven which you were almost certain it was heated to the correct temperature when you saw Bucky walk in. 

"Morning." 

"Good morning." 

You blushed seeing him in a shirt and brown pants and socks on his feet. You stood watching him wander the cabin and walk to the table you stood behind. 

"Uh, what's that smell?" 

"Oh! My biscuits!" 

You quickly turned and opened the oven door, smoke wafting from it. 

"Crud." 

You peeked in and saw the tray of biscuits were burned. You were distracted by Bucky.

"It's ok." 

Bucky quickly grabbed the poker and brought the tray out, waving the smoke from his face. 

"I didn't think the oven was set properly..." 

You felt bad you wasted his ingredients and burned the biscuits. 

"It's ok. This is a temperamental thing anyways." 

Bucky discreetly adjusted the oven dial from raging hot furnace to a more manageable temperature. You fidgeted with your hands as he looked over the burned biscuits. 

"I'm impressed actually." 

Bucky poked at the charred remains. 

"Oh? Why's that?"

 "Well, you somehow burned them so badly, they're still raw on the inside..." 

He chuckled, cracking the burned dough from the. He dusted them off, and placed them on a new pan. 

"See?" 

He put them back into the oven to cook again. 

"I'll show you a way to get the stove just so, so everything cooks properly." 

Bucky showed you the right temperature, how to use the large cast iron skillets that weighed a ton, and when to time things out so they are ready at the same time. 

"But I don't expect you to cook for me." 

"Oh?" 

What man did you know where he didn't expect a woman to cook for him. 

"Really, Y/n. I mean it's nice and I appreciate the thought, I really do, but I've been survivin' here all by myself and have come to enjoy making meals. I'll show you some things, and we can make meals together."

 You saw the tips of his ears turn pink which made you smile. 

"I'd like that." 

You were relieved he didn't expect you to cook at all hours of the day. Especially since you weren't good at it but you were determined to learn.

⛰️🧔🏻‍♂️

"I'm heading out to check on the cattle and fence lines. I'll be back in a few hours, so if you wanted to head to the barns to pat the horses, or if you're feeling brave you can collect eggs from the coop, that would be ok." 

"Oh, right, yes." 

"You just reach in and get the eggs. It'll be one of the easiest things you can do here if you want to try it and if not, I'll show you after." Bucky assured you. 

You had no idea how you were going to 'collect eggs', but you were going to figure it out. You didn't want Bucky disappointed with you. You wanted to show him you were cut out for this life, and you could handle it.

You saw Bucky put on his boots, grab his rifle belt, and place his hat on his head while he stood at the door. 

"Now, if you are going to explore, I suggest staying close to the cabin. Please try and not hurt yourself while I'm back and watch out for animals of all kinds." 

Bucky winked at you before he turned and left the house making you chuckle after him. 

"I'll be fine, what kind of trouble can I get into anyways?"

⛰️🧔🏻‍♂️

Turns out, you can get into trouble on a homestead without someone watching you. It's that easy. 

You stood in the corner of the chicken pen, holding a small bucket in front of you that you were going to use to collect the eggs. The chickens had other plans for you as they backed you into the corner, surrounding you. 

"Move, shoo!" You shook your leg at them. 

The chickens, feathery balls of evil that they were, clucked at you and pecked the ground, charging towards you, seeming to mock you. 

"I'm serious, I'll...I'll..." 

You looked around but found nothing to grab or wave at them. You saw a pitchfork leaning against the barn and scowled at it. If only you saw that before you ventured to the chicken coop, you wouldn't be in this mess. 

You managed to wiggle your way from the corner and shift yourself towards the hens, finally getting away from the other chickens. 

You opened the coop and saw the hens were sitting on their nests. 

"Hello." 

You wiped a few stray hairs from your face. 

The hens watched you with their beady eyes while you made your way to them. 

"Please be gentle, please be gentle." You repeated, hovering your hand over a hen but you stopped. 

"So...you need to move." You said to the brown hen. 

She looked at you and clucked, not doing anything. 

"Ok..." 

You peeked around her and saw a few eggs from the nest next to her. 

"Just going to...get...these..." You reached around her and grabbed the eggs, placing them in your small bucket. 

"Ha!" You said, startling the hens. 

They squawked and flapped their wings, which startled you, and caused you to fall over from the flying feathers.

 "Calm down!"

But they didn't, they ran around and fluttered their wings, darting in all directions.

You flailed from the ground of the straw lined coop. 

"I swear to god..." You muttered. 

You weren't one to cuss, but you were close to it.

You looked at your measly three eggs and winced. Two were broken with leaky yolks, and you're certain the other has a crack in the brown shell. 

"Darn it." 

You got up and brushed yourself off, straightening your dress and hair. More strands of it have escaped the pins you put them in, which only added to the wildness of the situation. You snatched the bucket and decided to call it a day with the chickens. 

Bucky did say he was going to show you things, you were just too eager to wait for him. You wandered to the barns and saw the two horses peeking out from their stalls. 

You went over and greeted them, petting their necks which made you smile and calm down from the feather demons. 

They seemed content with your pats, so you left and headed to the porch.

⛰️🧔🏻‍♂️

Bucky could hardly contain his smile as he checked over the cattle, then the fence line. You were here, living with him on his homestead and he couldn't have been happier. He had to fight the urge the night before from getting up and sneaking over to your room to make sure you were real and really sleeping there. 

He chuckled to himself when he saw you in his kitchen in the morning, looking flustered and proud of yourself. He should have told you about the oven, but he didn't expect you to make him breakfast on your first morning with him. 

He didn't get you here to cook and clean for him, although part of the chores, he can help you with those the same as you can help him with the animals. 

He spotted a small purple wildflower near a fence, so he got off Thunder and went to pick it. He's certain it will brighten your day, as he tucked it into his saddlebag.

He rode Thunder around the pasture, making sure the cattle were ok, then he headed back to the barns to see what you were up to.

⛰️🧔🏻‍♂️

The sun had come out and was strong for the early summer day. You sat on the porch and sighed, leaning back in the rocking chair. 

"Did I make the right decision?" You said to yourself. 

You looked out from the porch and watched the land, listening to the birds and critters around you. It was beautiful here, taking in the view. Bucky had positioned his cabin just so, so you had a view of the green fir trees, mountains, and small creek that ran through it. You watched the scenery and the clouds pass by, and at some point, you might have dozed off because you woke to a scratching sound. 

"Oh!" You said, watching the little creature at the other end of the porch. 

"A raccoon!" 

He was climbing the wood pile that was neatly stacked. 

"Hello." 

He made some chortling noises, stopping to look at you. You ran inside and got a small biscuit from the morning, placing it in your pocket. You saw he was still sitting there when you took the biscuit from your pocket and tore a few small pieces from it, tossing it over to the creature. 

He watched you, seeing where the pieces landed, scurrying over to them, and snatching them from the ground. He held them in his little black paws, and it was like he was waiting for more. 

"Here you go." You smiled, pleased he took the last scraps and left. 

You chuckled at his retreating back as he scurried into the woods.

⛰️🧔🏻‍♂️

You heard hooves approach, so you stood on the porch and watched Bucky ride back from the pasture. 

It was hard to contain your wide smile at seeing the handsome man on top of Thunder, racing towards you. 

He was smiling and seemed happy just as you were. 

"Everything ok?" He asked, getting off Thunder and taking a few steps towards you. 

"Yes." 

He reached in his shirt pocket and pulled out a purple flower.

"For you." He handed you the wildflower.

You took it and inspected it, leaning in to smell it.

"Thanks." You blushed hard.

You refrained from telling him about your raccoon friend and the fact that you broke three eggs and got cornered by some angry fowl. 

"Let me get Thunder's saddle off and I'll show you around some more." 

You followed him to the barn and watched as he cooled down the horse. You learned all about the saddle and the name of its parts. You had no idea there were so many bits and pieces that made up a saddle, but it made sense since they needed to fit secure and snug, but comfortable for the horses. 

Bucky showed you how to brush Thunder, and what he preferred for his feed and snacks before he placed him in his stall. 

"Are you hungry?" He asked. 

You nodded and you both went to the cabin to have some lunch.

⛰️🧔🏻‍♂️

"I like to leave a few buckets around just in case you forget them." 

Bucky pointed to a small bucket next to the water pump. 

"If you need any water for the animals, it'll come from here." 

He reached down and showed you how to prime the pump, then use it so the water would come out from the spout. 

"You try." 

He stepped back and gestured to the metal contraption. You eyed it but copied what he did, moving the pump up and down. 

"I'm doing it!" 

You were happy something was going right, until it didn't. 

The water quickly turned brown and squirted all over, sputtering and spraying you in the process. 

You felt a large set of arms come around you and gently ease you back from the wayward spout.

"Huh, didn't see that coming." 

Bucky took out a small handkerchief from his back pocket and handed it to you so you could wipe your face. You were drenched from the water; your hair was ruined as was your dress and you're pretty sure you look like a drowned rat. You handed him back his handkerchief and sighed. 

"I'm ok, really. It's just water so it'll dry." 

You reached down and rang out your skirt, brushing some dirt from it. 

I really need to invest in some pants and boots. 

"I guess this is a good time as any to learn how to do the laundry."

⛰️🧔🏻‍♂️

Bucky felt bad you were drenched from his finnicky water pump and had to avert his eyes from your dress that clung to every inch of your body. He almost swallowed his tongue from seeing your curves on display and was glad there wasn't anyone else around he would need to shield you from. 

"Are you sure you're ok?" He asked. 

"I'm fine really. The sun is warm now, so let's continue the tour." 

You pointed to the barn and another small shed. 

"Ok."

⛰️🧔🏻‍♂️

You walked alongside Bucky and he pointed out all the access points to the property. 

"You should watch the raccoons though. They can be tricky and if you get one, then more will follow and they can be quite destructive. I've been trying to trap them to relocate them, but it's been no use." 

You went still at his words while he described all the ways they have been a nuisance to him. 

"Are you ok?" He asked, looking at you. 

"Uh, yes, I'm fine." You said, fidgeting with your fingers. 

Bucky didn't seem to buy it though and raised his eyebrows up in question. 

"Ok, well...about that...." 

"Oh?" 

"I kind of sort of fed one...this morning..." 

His eyes went big. 

"While you were away earlier. I saw it on the wood pile...I thought of a name for him and everything..." 

You pointed to the porch and Bucky groaned, running a hand over his face. 

"I'm sorry...I just saw it and Rocky looked hungry and..." 

"Rocky?" 

"The raccoon." 

Bucky groaned and said, "Wait, he looked hungry?" 

"Y-yeah...hungry...and he ate the last biscuit I tossed...running over that way..." 

Bucky followed your outstretched arm and narrowed his eyes on the small path. He KNEW those little jerks were coming onto his land and messing with things. 

"I'm sorry..." A quiet voice stopped his scowling and thoughts on destroying them. 

He relaxed his face and chuckled. "It's ok, you didn't know." 

"I'll try to shoo him away next time." You insisted. Bucky smiled at your determination.

⛰️🧔🏻‍♂️

You turned around and headed out behind the barn and before Bucky could say anything, you stumbled, falling into a heap of straw. 

"Oh!" You were on the ground, staring up into the bright blue sky. 

"Y/n!" 

Bucky came up to you and knelt, assessing you. 

"Are you ok?"

 "I think so. What am I lying on? It stinks." 

You squirmed around a little. 

"Um...it's the manure pile from the barn." 

Your eyes widened in shock at learning what you were lying in. 

"Oh my gosh!" 

You scrambled to stand, brushing your dress frantically but it was no use, it was already ruined from your earlier tasks. From the earlier water explosion to this, you were officially covered in dirt from head to toe while Bucky helped you compose yourself. 

"I think I can show you how to draw that bath now..." 

You looked up at him and saw he was fighting a smile which made you smile, then start to laugh, with him finally joining you. 

You had never been this clumsy in your entire life.

"Oh my gosh, you must think I'm a complete ninny." 

Bucky laughed now, holding your arm. 

"Not at all." He wiped his brow and sighed, looking up into the sky. 

"This is all so new...I...I just want to learn..." 

"I know you do, but you don't have to do it all today. Come on now, let's head inside." He walked you to the cabin where you took off your shoes at the door.

⛰️🧔🏻‍♂️

Bucky showed you how to draw your bath and what was needed. He had some fancy soap Sam recommended him just in case you didn't bring yours and left you to relax in the tub. You looked around the small bathing room and sighed. 

The tub was adequate, and the water was steamy, so you climbed in and got yourself settled, leaning back against the back of it. The water didn't come up too far, but it did the trick to get you relaxed enough where you were able to scrub the day away and wash your hair. You brought your own soap but used Bucky's seeing as how he got some for you, and you were pleasantly surprised. It smelled like fresh lavender and oatmeal, and it lathered nicely against your skin. 

When you were finished, you got out and dried yourself off, wrapping a large towel around you. You opened the door, peeking out of it, then scurried up to your room. 

You didn't see Bucky sitting by the fireplace and the smirk he had since he saw you wrapped in a towel. 

You got to your room and froze, seeing two more purple wildflowers placed neatly on your pillow. They were tied together with a small piece of twine. You blushed hard since this was the second time you were given flowers in one day, and you liked it. None of the men in the city had given you flowers.

⛰️🧔🏻‍♂️

"So, what else are you going to show me tomorrow?" You asked, sitting down opposite Bucky. 

He cleared his throat and looked over at you. 

You were wrapped in a white housecoat that seemed to cover your floor length light pink night gown. 

You were a vision, freshly bathed with pink cheeks and hair that was braided into a long braid down your back. If someone told him last year a lady would be living in his cabin, he would have thought they were crazy.

"Well, I'll show you how to ride." 

"Ride?" 

"A horse." 

"Oh, right." 

You fiddled with the end of your braid and looked over at the fire. 

"How has your time here been?" Bucky asked, curious to get your opinion. 

You looked over at him and smiled. 

"It's been good. I mean, I did kind of have an unfortunate day, but that hasn't discouraged me." 

You tucked your feet under you and turned to face him. 

"Are you happy? With me?" You asked. 

His brows shot up at your question, then they furrowed in thought. 

"Of course." 

"Oh good. I was worried you didn't think I was cut out for this life and would want to send me back. I'm liking it, really I am but this is new for me." You insisted, reaching over to put your hand on his. 

Surprisingly, his hand was soft and warm. 

"Thank you for the flowers today, they're lovely."

"You're welcome." His ears were pink.

"But I'm happy I made the right decision of coming here, truly."

Bucky looked at your hand and smiled, taking your hand in his so he could hold it. 

"Good, I'm glad."

Neither of you let go of your hands while you watched the fire.

⛰️🧔🏻‍♂️

Over the next week and a half, Bucky has shown you everything it takes to live on the homestead. You've been exhausted every night, but it's been rewarding and challenging for you with everything you have learned and done. 

You were headed into town the following day and you were excited to see how Nat was fairing in her new apartment and new job. 

You've also been getting closer to Bucky during this time and it's been wonderful. He's kind, funny, caring, and genuine which makes you smile. 

The other day at lunch he brought you a small bouquet of wildflowers he picked for you when he was repairing a fence. You placed them in the kitchen and had even picked some of your own to spread around the cabin. You often share stories together in the evening out on the porch of the cabin if the weather is calm. 

You're certain Bucky knows you still feed Rocky, but he never says anything.

⛰️🧔🏻‍♂️

"Oh my God, how have you been?" Nat asked, hugging you close. 

"Hello to you too." You chuckled. 

You stood apart assessing each other, making sure you were both ok. You looked behind her and saw the sheriff watching you while he chatted with Bucky. 

You had some time with Nat in the morning, where you were going to tour her little apartment then head to the café for lunch before you did some shopping at the store, before heading back to the cabin.

⛰️🧔🏻‍♂️

"This is so cute." You looked over Nat's apartment. 

"Thanks. Steve has helped me furnish it and get it the way I want it." 

"And how is the sheriff doing?" You asked. 

Her face blushed and she looked down at her feet. The Nat you knew didn't blush. 

"He's been great. He checks in on me a lot, comes by the café, and we even had a date the other night." She smiled wide.

 "I wrote to some of the other ladies at the rooming house and a few of them are coming on the next train. I've got a few more rooms ready for them and they're eager to get here." 

"Good." 

"This town needs more women and I'm going to bring them here." 

You chuckled at your friend's determination and new found hobby. 

You filled her in on the homestead and Bucky's cabin. 

"I'm proud of you for living there. Bucky seems nice and the cabin seems like it's comfortable." 

"It is." 

You shuffled your feet.

 "But?" 

You bit your lip and looked around, spying Bucky on the sidewalk of the main street. Him, the Sheriff, and another man were standing around talking with each other. 

"I want to kiss him so bad." You admitted making Nat chuckle. 

"Then go for it." She nudged your arm. 

"Really?" 

"Yup. Trust me, he'll return it and then some..." She assured you. 

Your heart fluttered at the thought. You had never kissed a man before, so this will be another new experience for you to have, one you have wanted for a long time. 

"Ok, let's get something to eat." Nat ushered you out of her apartment and onto the street where you met up with the guys.

⛰️🧔🏻‍♂️

"So, this is Sam's General Store?" You asked, entering the large store. 

"The one and only." 

A man stood behind the counter smiling wide. He was the same man the men were talking with earlier. 

"Y/n, I presume?" 

"Yes." 

You blushed as he hurried around the counter to shake your hand. 

"Sam Wilson." He smiled wide. 

"Bucky's mentioned you a few times. It's nice to meet you." 

"He has? Well, feelin's mutual sweetheart. Have a look around. Here's a basket. You fill it with whatever you want, and I'll make sure it gets on this guy's tab then." Sam pointed over at Bucky who was scowling at him. 

"Ok." You giggled making Bucky look over at you and smile. 

"Y/n?" 

Bucky called you over from looking up and down the aisles. You had a few things in your basket and Nat had told you she ordered you some pants and boots that will come in on the next train. 

"Did you want to write to your parents?" 

"Oh, I should." 

Sam slid a pen and paper across to you which you took. You wrote the brief letter, nervous at your parent's reaction, but you already knew what it was going to be. You're certain they won't like what you have chosen, if they even decide to reply, but you didn't care. You had too many years with living under their rules and their guidance, this was surely going to cause some issues, but it was done.

You had moved to Winter Springs for good and Bucky was yours. You weren't going anywhere and that was something they were either on board with, or not.

⛰️🧔🏻‍♂️

You made it back to the cabin and unpacked some of the things you had bought. You sat on the porch sipping some tea when Bucky walked out and joined you. 

"Did you have a good time in town today?" 

You looked over at him and smiled. 

"I did, thank you." 

"Did you get everything you needed?" 

You shrugged. 

"More or less. Nat ordered me some pants and boots, but yes, I did. I like that soap Sam sells, so I got a few more bars of it. I like his store and am surprised he carries a lot of things." 

"Yeah, he's a good guy and he's always getting in new goods. How's your friend doing?" 

"Nat's good. She's liking her job at the café, and I think her and Steve are getting along well." 

"That's good." 

Bucky knew Steve was head over heels with Nat just as he was with you. 

"Oh, I almost forgot. She wrote to some of the other ladies we were friends with at the rooming house and some of them are making the journey to the town. She has a few apartments ready for their arrival and everything." 

Bucky was shocked but pleased with her friend. He knows quite a few good men who were too shy to write an ad in the paper and he's hoping they get a shot at meeting the new women.

"Do you think your parents will write to you?" Bucky asked. 

He was concerned they would disown you from doing what you did. You shifted slightly on the chair and looked up into the night sky. 

"No? Yes? I'm not sure to be honest." 

Bucky's heart froze. 

If your parents didn't approve, would they show up and demand you leave? Would you leave knowing you don't have their approval? 

He leaned against the railing and crossed his arms over his chest trying to show you he was terrified  at the thought of you leaving him. 

You were nervous at your next move, but you didn't care. 

You got up and stepped towards him. He stood straight and kept his eyes on you. 

You stood in front of him, looking up at his face. 

"But I don't care. I'm here with you because that's what I want. My decision, not theirs." 

You confidently said. He smiled at your opinion on the matter.

You stepped close making Bucky drop his arms at his sides. 

You reached up and put your hands on his chest, feeling the hard muscles under his soft shirt. He inhaled sharply, placing his hands on your hips. You saw the corner of his mouth turn up slightly while his eyes watched you close. 

"I like it here because you're here. I like you so I'm not going anywhere." You assured him, bringing your hands around his neck. 

"I like you too." He whispered into the dark.

Your fingers played with his long hair that was tied back. You saw him smile at the same time you felt his hands squeeze your hips. 

"Besides, you'll protect me at all costs, right?" 

"Right." He nodded making you smile. 

"Can I kiss you Mountain Man?" You asked. 

You saw his eyes widen at your question then he nodded frantically making you giggle. 

"I-I was gonna do that...soon...I mean...kiss you and all but I didn't want to come off as too forward..." He stammered on his words. 

"I'd like to kiss you now, if that's ok with you."

 "Ok." He smiled, leaned down so you were close to his level, and placed his lips on yours. 

A zing shot through you as you kissed him back, wrapping your arms tight around his neck. A small thump startled you apart and when you looked over your shoulder, Rocky sat on the woodpile and chortled at you making you laugh. 

"Hello Rocky." You cringed, then looked over at Bucky who was scowling at you but smiled.

 "I mean raccoon that I have never seen before..." 

Bucky chuckled, turned you to face him, and kissed you again making you giggle.

You made the ultimate decision in taking a chance on a random ad in the paper, but your determination and sacrifice was worth it seeing as how your family never wrote to you again. 

You loved your new life with your mountain man, and you didn't want to change it.

He lived outside of a small western town known as Winter Springs. Bucky's homestead was located about an hour by horseback and that was the way he preferred it. His friend Steve who was the Sheriff of Winter Springs, urged him not to move to such a remote place, but he didn't listen. 

Steve warned him it was too remote and he would essentially cut himself off from people, and it would be too dangerous for one person to live amongst the wilderness, but Bucky didn't care. He wanted solitude after the war, his own piece of land to do what he wanted with, and he found it.

He built himself a two-storey log cabin, a barn with a few small sheds, got himself a herd of cattle, horses, and some chickens, and settled among the wilderness. 

He just didn't want to admit to his friend he was right in the fact that he was remote and often found himself lonely. 

Now that the cabin is complete and his cattle are settled, he wants to share his land with someone, especially a lady. He blushed a little thinking of what he would want in a future wife.

In Winter Springs, the options he has are few and far between. The men greatly outnumber the women by almost 12-1 so his odds of finding anyone are slim to none. Add in the fact that no lady from a big city would venture out into the remote frontier, his choices are few and far between. 

He sighed and stood from his chair, stretching the aches and pains away. Living a life on a piece of land, working it from sunup to sundown was exhausting but rewarding.

He pulled a small list he made from his pocket and looked over the supplies he needs to stock up on for a few weeks and decided to head to his stable to saddle his horse, Thunder. 

"Better leave now in case the weather turns." He calmly spoke to Thunder who whinnied slightly and shook his head from side to side.

⛰️🧔🏻‍♂️

"James." Steve nodded to Bucky who entered the general store. 

"Sheriff." Bucky nodded to his friend. 

"Everything ok on the homestead?" Steve asked. 

"Going well." Bucky replied, putting a few cans into his basket. 

"Heard it's going to be a rainy spring and summer." Sam Wilson said from behind the counter. 

The general store was also the post office and printer in the town and the owner, Sam Wilson, knew everything and everyone.

"How goes the search for a lady?" Sam leaned his arms on the counter. 

Bucky shot a glare at the sheriff who only shrugged a shoulder. 

Bloody town gossips. 

"Fine." Bucky gritted through his teeth. 

He hated coming into town since everyone knew each other's business. 

"Heard the new thing to do is to write an ad in the paper. Saw a few ladies get off the train last week and head to their new homes." Sam raised one eyebrow at the other men. 

Bucky thought about it. 

"How?" He asked, walking over to the counter. 

"All you do is write what you're looking for, mail it to the paper the town over, they print it in a few newspapers, and women respond to you by letter. If you like one enough, you ask them to join you here and boom, you've got yourself a lady. All you have to do is buy them a train ticket." 

"I heard something about that." Steve said, leaning on the counter. 

"You going to do it?" He asked Bucky. 

Bucky grumbled something but didn't reply. 

"Worked for Stark." Sam added. 

"Tony?" Steve asked. 

"The one and only." 

"He's a fancy banker and could have any lady he wants." 

Sam shrugged at Bucky and said, "none he wanted in this town, so he wrote an ad and poof, Veronica showed up a few weeks ago. She's real pretty too. Heard the wedding is going to be at the end of summer." 

"What if I get no replies?" Bucky wondered out loud. 

"Wait, are you serious?" Steve looked at his friend. 

Bucky thought about it. When would he ever meet someone? No one ventures far to his cabin, especially any ladies and he rarely spends time in town and if he does, the ladies are few and far between. He' s tired of being lonely and if this worked for the fancy banker, it may work for him. 

"Thinking about it. I mean, what do I have to lose?" Bucky gestured around him. 

Sam placed a blank piece of paper and pencil in front of Bucky and nudged it towards him. 

"Still time to send it into the paper today..." 

Bucky looked at the blank piece of paper like it was going to jump off the counter. 

"What if the lady isn't...pleasing?" Steve asked. 

Bucky looked between the two men. 

"What if she is missing a leg, or is brash, or what if a man replies as a joke?" Steve cautioned. 

"Won't know unless I try." 

Bucky snatched the paper and pencil up and shuffled down the counter, so he was out of the way from their prying eyes. 

He began scribbling an ad.

"Wanted: a woman who wants to marry a man."

"Too vague." Steve read over his friend's shoulder. 

Bucky grumbled and wrote another sentence below, crossing off the first.

"Wanted: a woman who wants to marry and live on a mountain with a man."

"That won't get any responses. She needs to know she'll be living with a grumpy mountain man, in the middle of nowhere, toiling away doing daily chores with animals, cleaning, and feeding your ass." Sam scoffed. 

"I'm not looking for a maid, there will be no toiling Sam." Bucky glared at the proprietor.

"Don't forget a single lady who is nice and is pretty." Steve added. 

"Marriage is a must." Sam added with Steve nodding in agreement.

Bucky groaned and ran a hand over his bearded face. He crumpled up the used paper and grabbed another blank one and began to write.

"Wanted: Single man seeks single lady who is pleasing to the eye, kind, friendly, likes the outdoors, and is willing to live on a homestead and eventually marry and start a family."

"Well?" asked Bucky.

Both Steve and Sam looked it over.

"Not bad mountain man." Sam slapped Bucky on the shoulder. 

"Here." Bucky put some coin down to cover the cost of the ad and his supplies. 

"I'll get this printed and sent right away. You'll be getting letters soon enough, I guarantee it." Sam assured him. 

"I better." Bucky quietly grumbled, paying for his supplies.

⛰️🧔🏻‍♂️

You sat in the parlour of your rooming house, tired from the days work and looked over the paper. A steaming cup of tea sat at your side along with your spectacles. 

You had moved away from the city you grew up in despite the protests from your overbearing family since you wanted to do something for yourself. You were tired of being pushed into marrying a banker or lawyer and wanted something more rewarding for your life rather than to look pretty and stand at your husband's side. 

You had enough money saved for a few months rent at a woman's only rooming house, but you quickly found a job at the local hospital where you were in the records department. It wasn't much, but you were skilled with a typewriter and were a good worker. 

Your pay was decent and the rooming house where you lived was plain, but clean and safe.

"How was your day?" Your neighbour Nat asked. 

She lived across the hall from you and worked at the café down the street. 

"It was ok. Still finishing up those records from the war." 

"I could never sit in one place and type all day." 

"It's more than that Nat." 

"Oh?" 

"I also work with the nurses and doctors and process any patient transfers and discharges." 

"I repeat, how can you do that all day?" 

You rolled your eyes at your friend but smiled. She always had stories of the patrons who came in and out of the café she worked at. Most were working in the city like bankers and lawyers, but you always liked listening to her stories when the cowboys and mountain men would come in.

You always found them so wild and rough, a complete opposite of what you were used to all your life. Something about their lifestyle intrigued you with their wildness and roughness of their lives.

"You lookin' at those ads again?" Nat pointed to the paper. 

She was the only one who knew your secret. Every Sunday, you grabbed the paper and sifted through the want ads. Not for jobs, but for the ads those cowboys and mountain men would place looking for women. 

According to gossip at your rooming house, the new frontier towns had men busting at the seams with wanting wives. Some of your friends insisted the men are all ingrates and beasts but some like you and Nat were curious. 

You had only ever heard of one woman, Veronica, leaving the rooming house you were in and headed west to be with a man she men through the paper. You hadn't heard from her since, so you assume it worked out for her. 

You refused to believe anything else.

"You're a hopeless romantic." Nat scoffed, sitting next to you on the couch. 

"Maybe, but I do enjoy looking through them. Sometimes I let my imagination run wild with what it would be like to reply to one and what would happen if I got a response." 

"Why don't you?" Nat asked. 

You froze and turned to face her. 

"Oh, no." You primly unfolded the paper in front of you feeling a little flustered at the thought. 

"Why not?" 

"Well..." 

"You've already snubbed your family. What do you have to lose?" 

You thought about it. Could you leave your life you had created yourself and head out west, placing your hopes and dreams in a few letters with a stranger and live on a homestead? 

"Think about it. Let me know if any of them catch your eye. I'm heading for a bath, but I'll be around." She shrugged, then left the parlour.

You sat blinking at the newspaper, the words seeming to look blurry before you shook your head and placed your spectacles on your nose and read the headlines. Some ads were basic, some had spelling issues, but some interested you.

"Wanted: pretty lady to live with a baker. Must like bread."

You giggled at the ad then read another. 

"Wanted: woman to marry and birth as many kids as possible to help on farm." 

"Least he's honest." You murmured to yourself. 

You scrunched your nose up at that and looked at the ad below. 

"Wanted: Single man seeks single lady who is pleasing to the eye, kind, friendly, likes the outdoors, and is willing to live on a homestead and eventually marry and start a family." 

You were intrigued by this ad compared to the others. Obviously, this man is looking for a female partner but from the ad compared to the others seems somehow respectable. He's also able to spell so he must be smart. 

What kind of homestead does he have? What does he do for work?

You toyed with a lock of your hair that had fallen from one of your pins. You saw the return address printed underneath and noted the location of the frontier town. It was an eight-hour train ride away from your city. 

Most of the other ads you have read were from places that were farther away, which only intrigued you more. 

You looked down at the dress you wore and raised your eyebrows. 

"I'm pretty...right?" You wondered out loud. 

You were happy with the way you looked, and your body was mostly decent, you weren't skinny by any means, but you weren't plump either and you were a decent height. You got up and placed your hands over your hips. 

"Childbearing." You giggled and sat back down again.

 You looked at the writing desk across from you and sighed. Could you reply to this ad? Would you receive a response?

 Your heart raced thinking about it. 

Could I live on a homestead in a remote frontier town? 

You have only ever known city life. You thought about what you've read in the papers, and it was not for the faint of heart. You saw cowboys and knew the dangers of the vast wilderness of the west, but it couldn't be that bad if men were living there and establishing towns and settlements.

"Find anything good?" Nat flopped down next to you, startling you from your thoughts. 

"Well...yes as a matter of fact." 

You showed her the ad that caught your eye. 

"So, are you finally going to reply to one of these?" 

"I think so." 

Nat eyed you. 

"Don't judge me Nat, I'm lonely." 

"You have me." 

You chuckled at her response. 

"I know, but I want to find someone. Someone to love and who loves me. I'm tired of the men here. They just assume we'll fall over their feet because they have a job and money, but I don't want that. I don't want to stay home and be some banker or lawyer's wife. I don't want to host parties, lunch with other wives, and look pretty." 

Nat sighed. "I guess you're right. It is kind of boring here among the other women." 

"Then it's settled. I'll reply to this ad and see where it takes me." You said, heading to the writing desk in the corner. 

You placed the ad in front of you and started your response.

⛰️🧔🏻‍♂️

Bucky made his way into town a few weeks from when he wrote his ad and he's been thinking about it ever since. 

Would he get any responses? Would anyone want to live with him?

 He tied up Thunder on the railing outside of Sam's General Store and entered. 

"Just the man I wanted to see today." Sam smiled wide from the counter. 

"Oh?" Bucky asked. 

Sam slapped some letters down in front of him.

 "Responses. To your ad." 

Bucky's eyes went wide then he snatched the envelopes and immediately opened the first one. It was from the city, and it was from a lady! 

"Well, holy shit." He muttered, reading the reply in the neat and scrolling handwriting.

"What's it say?" Sam asked. 

Steve walked into the store after seeing Thunder tied up. 

"Well? Has he opened it yet?" he asked. 

Sam must have told him he got a response.

"Dear sir, I'm ready to marry. Send me money and I'll meet you at the train station."

Bucky's nose scrunched at that. 

"She just wants money, it's a scam. I've heard sometimes women can take advantage of the men in these towns." Sam cautioned.

Bucky looked at the second letter and opened it.

"Sir, I saw your letter and am interested. I would prefer living in the town though as the wilderness sounds scary. I need at least a three-bedroom house and access to electricity and plumbing...."

Bucky didn't finish reading that letter.

"There's one more." Steve pointed to the letter. 

If this was going to be a bust, he would just forget the whole process. 

He opened it and started reading.

"Dear sir, my name is Y/n, and I saw your ad in the paper. I must say, I am interested. I am (your age) old and am single. I live in (your town) and have a job at the hospital. I am not a nurse, but I am in their records department, so I type charts, reports, and assist with patient records. I have lived on my own for over a year and am enjoying myself, although to be honest, I am finding myself lonely like you must be. I do have friends, but I am looking for more. I am intrigued about your homestead and what that entails. I get along well with dogs and cats, so I think I will be a good match for looking after any animals. I also like going for walks and would like to marry someday. I also think I am pleasing to the eye. If you are interested, I have enclosed my address to reply. Thank you for your time and consideration, Y/n."

"Well, holy shit." Bucky said again. 

His face was red from reading the letter, he skimmed it again to make sure it was real.

 "I think it worked." 

Steve patted his friend on the arm. 

"Think so?" 

"She didn't say how she looks. What if she has a hunchback?" Sam cautioned. 

"I doubt it." Steve leaned on the counter.

 "Don't you have any work to do?" Bucky grumbled making Steve grin. 

He wanted to respond to the letter, but not with these two so close. 

"Here." Sam slid a piece of paper in front of him, and they both stepped away to give him some privacy. 

"Thanks." Bucky began to write a reply.

⛰️🧔🏻‍♂️

"Why are you lurking by the mailbox?" Nat asked startling you. 

"No reason." 

"Waiting for a reply from your mountain man?" 

It had been a week since you replied to the ad in the paper and you had yet to receive a response. 

"Yes." 

"Well, give it time. You know there's mail delays from out west." Nat tried re-assuring you. 

You spotted the mailman walking up the path, so you opened the front door. 

"Here." He rolled his eyes and handed you a bundle of your mail. 

You had been harassing the poor fellow, so he has come to know you well.

 "Thanks." You thumbed through your correspondence and gasped. 

"Oh!" 

It was a reply! 

"Did you get a reply?" 

Nat followed you to the parlour. You read through the letter with a smile on your face.

Dear Y/n. Thank you for your response to my ad. I must say, I am a little embarrassed and shocked I got a reply. Yours was the only real reply I got, but still. My name is James Barnes, but everyone calls me Bucky, so I hope you do in your next letter, should you wish to reply. I live an hour from Winter Springs on a large piece of land I built my cabin on. I have a herd of cattle, horses, and some chickens I tend to which is how I make my money. I am looking to get a few goats and maybe some more horses this summer. It's peaceful at my cabin and it is surrounded by mountains, fir trees, streams, and lakes. I've never done this before, so forgive me if I sound forward, but I am not sure you know what is involved with living on a homestead. It involves chores, lots and lots of chores, from sunup until sundown and it can be quite tiresome but rewarding at the same time. I used to serve in the war and am skilled with being able to protect you from any wild animals such as bears or coyotes or mountain lions since we have them all and I am a good shot. It's remote but I like living here. I guess I am asking if you would be interested in this life with me since you responded to my ad, so I wanted to let you know of the kind of work I do here. You sound kind of fancy from your letter. I admit, it can be quite lonely in the winter with the snow, and the bugs can be bothersome in the late summer, but once you get past all of that, it truly is beautiful. As for liking dogs and cats, that's cute, but the animals here are a lot bigger and can be dangerous. Oh, if you wanted to know what I look like, I am tall, have dark hair and my eyes are blue. I don't shave as often as I should, so I usually have a beard in the colder months. What do you look like? I hope to hear from you soon. Bucky.

You smiled wide at your mountain man, eagerly getting a blank piece of paper out from the desk. You have time to reply before you headed for your supper.

⛰️🧔🏻‍♂️

Another week later and Bucky stood at Sam's counter chuckling at your reply. 

"She's funny then?" Sam asked. 

"Kind of." Bucky said, smiling. 

He handed the letter to Sam who read it.

Dear Bucky, thank you for your reply. I am honoured you responded to my letter out of the replies you have received, so I guess that means you're stuck with me. Yes, I suppose I am a lady. I am well educated because of my family, but don't let that deter you. I can hike my skirts up and get dirty every so often, like the time I fell into some mud when I looked after Mrs. Parker's greyhound. It dragged me almost an entire city block, but I hung onto the leash so it wouldn't run away. I ruined my dress but managed to fix it, but that doesn't matter. The important thing was, I hung onto the leash and managed to corral the very enthusiastic dog when I finally was able to stand upright. Bears, wolves, and mountain lions fascinate me, and I can only assume you will protect me or at the very least show me how to manage them if I would encounter one. You asked about my looks, so I will try to describe them. I have (your hair colour) hair that needs pins to contain it, (your eye colour), (your height), and I am average in size. I wear spectacles for reading. My skin is pale from being inside most days, but I can get freckles on it if I am in the sun for a while. Your life interests me and I want to know more. How often do you go into town? Do others come and visit you? Where is your family? How often do you go to church (if you even do), do you have any siblings? I'm curious about your life, mountain man! Tell me more! Sincerely, your city girl Y/n.

"Mountain man?" Sam wiggled his eyebrows making Bucky blush. 

"Shut up." He snatched a blank piece of paper and started his reply. 

"You know if this turns into something, you're going to have to send her a train ticket." Sam said. 

Steve walked in and leaned on the counter. 

"Another reply?" 

"I was just telling Bucky here; he needs to think about sending her a train ticket." 

Steve's eyebrows rose, then he looked over at Bucky. 

Bucky was starting to freak out a little, but this is what he had wanted. 

"He's right you know." Steve agreed. 

Bucky huffed out a breath and sighed. 

"Fine. I'll ask her. Eventually." He said, writing his reply. 

Sam and Steve shared a look at their friend but didn't say anything further.

⛰️🧔🏻‍♂️

It had been well over a month since you've been corresponding with your mountain man, Bucky, and have kept it hidden from your letters to your family. You write to them once a week and keep them informed of your life, but you left out details on your letter writing to your mountain man. 

You know your mother would faint at the thought of you writing to a random frontier man and are entertaining the idea of leaving your comfortable city life to live with him, but you didn't care one bit. The possibility of that becoming a reality was looking better for you. You found Bucky funny, charming, polite, and fascinating. 

You know he would take care of you, but did you have the courage to up and leave the city for him? You pulled out the newest letter and re-read it for the 100th time, heart racing with every word.

Dear Y/n, I hope you are doing well. I've managed to get a few more cattle to my herd and have even gotten two goats and some more chickens. Life at my cabin has been going well for the early spring but I know how quickly that can change. I've told you about my family, friends, and my everyday life and I've learned much about you, so I hope that you consider this next question I have for you. Do you think you could live here, with me? I know it's forward and I'm not sure it's something you are used to, but when I started this process, my only goal was finding someone and marrying them and well, I think you would fit my life here quite nicely. Please let me know as soon as possible. Yours, Bucky

You held the paper close to your heart, then put it down on your bed. You looked around your room in thought, taking in the dainty bedding your mother had sent to you last Christmas from Chicago, electricity that was newly installed in the rooming house, and your wardrobe that was full of dresses and clothing of all colours and styles.

If you moved to Bucky's cabin, there would be no more fine bedding, or places to dine and walk about with your friends; no more job; you would be among the wilderness with a man whom you've only ever written to by letters. You would also be leaving your friend Nat behind and a stable and safe environment you've secured for yourself. 

Could you live on a homestead among the wilderness and farm animals? You grabbed his letters and started reading them again, and once you finished, you had made up your mind. You would accept his offer and head out to see him. 

You grabbed a blank piece of paper and started writing.

⛰️🧔🏻‍♂️

Bucky paced the pine floorboards of his cabin and then stopped, looking out the window to his land. He held your letter in his hands, looked down at it, and read it again smiling to himself. You were ready to make the journey to him. 

He looked around his cabin and was pleased with it. He spent some time getting it ready, cleaned it as best as he could for your arrival, and was planning a trip into town to pick up some last-minute essentials to make your stay more welcoming. He had purchased a train ticket for you the last time he was in town, and he was going to mail that as well as some extra cash for food or whatever else you needed on your journey. 

He was praying you would go through with your plan and be on the train which was scheduled to arrive at the end of the month. 

He packed up Thunder and headed into town to mail his letter that would contain the ticket to his future.

⛰️🧔🏻‍♂️

You held the train ticket up and smiled, heart hammering with your plan. Bucky had sent the train ticket to you with some extra money to make your journey west to him. You had quit your job, said your goodbyes to your friends, sold most of your things, and packed your train trunk. 

This was it. You were really doing this. 

Was this a completely hair-brained plan? Yes, yes it was. 

The closest thing to compare this with was move out on your own, but moving away for a man you had only ever corresponded with to an unfamiliar place is a completely new experience. 

Were your parents going to completely lose their minds when they found out? Also, yes. 

Did you care? Not one bit. 

You decided it was better to ask for forgiveness rather than permission, so your plan was to write to them once you are settled in with Bucky. 

For the first time ever, you were deciding your life for yourself, and it was exhilarating.

⛰️🧔🏻‍♂️

You stood on the platform of the train station and fidgeted with the ticket, nerves feeling shaky in the early hours of the morning. 

"I can do this. He's going to be everything I want and keep me safe. I'm going to be safe on this journey." You repeated to yourself in your head. 

You saw the large steam train chug its way into the station, billowing large grey clouds into the air and you tensed up. 

This is it.

The train came to a stop with a loud blast of steam and the bustle of people on the platform quickly surrounded you.

⛰️🧔🏻‍♂️

Your ticket was in second class, so you were grateful you weren't in third class on an uncomfortable hard bench for the 8-hour journey. You had a basic meal and tea service included in your ticket, so you were grateful for that. You were looking over the train and watched the people on the platform when you felt someone stand next to you. 

"Should be a clear day for travel." 

"Nat?!" 

You turned and saw your friend standing next to you. 

"What? You think I'd let you take this journey alone?" She winked at you and was holding a small travel bag. 

She pointed to her trunk that was next to yours waiting to be loaded. 

"But...but what about your job? Your life?" 

She shrugged a shoulder and said, "I needed a change. Plus, you can't have ALL the mountain men yourself, right? According to you, I should have my pick when we get there." She winked at you making you blush. 

"Come on, they're boarding." 

Her ticket matched yours while you made your way onto the train to start your journey.

⛰️🧔🏻‍♂️

Bucky paced the inside of Sam's General Store and ran a hand over his stubbled jaw. 

"If you continue to do that, you're going to have to replace my floorboards." Sam pointed to Bucky's feet where he stood. 

"Shut up." Bucky scoffed making Steve snort. 

"The train is supposed to be here within the half hour." Sam announced after he looked at his pocket watch. 

He had been counting down the time since Bucky walked into the store. 

Bucky had hitched a small cart to Thunder and made the trek to Winter Springs to meet you at the train station. He hadn't slept well the night before because he was too nervous for your arrival. He prepped the cabin as best he could, with cleaning, getting in food, and supplies you would need from the help of his sister. 

"Do you think she'll be on it?" Steve asked. 

Bucky's thoughts were racing. What if you chickened out and took his money and never wrote him again? What if you were a bearded man in Chicago putting on a ruse? 

"Damn it, Steve, she'll be on that train, I know it." Bucky snapped. 

People started milling about the town with the impending arrival of the train, so Bucky headed out of the store and walked to the station.

⛰️🧔🏻‍♂️

"Can you see anything yet?" you asked Nat. 

"Just more trees. Lots and lots of trees." Nat said again. 

"Yeah, it's very...green. Nice, but green." 

You were plastered to the window for the entire journey, watching the scenery change from flat to green, to rocky, then finally to mountains as you chugged through the landscape. The journey was pleasant enough; you were glad Nat was with you for someone to talk with. You played guessing games for what the town looked like, how large the cabin would be, and what Bucky looks like which made you both giggle. 

You felt the train slow down, which made your eyes snap to the window. 

"Look." You pointed to what seemed to be the outskirts of Winter Springs. 

It was a bustling little place, a little dusty looking, but organized and neat. New buildings and some homes were being built as you approached. 

"Wow." You said, looking at men riding horses throughout the town. 

You had seen horses a few times, but they were always attached to carriages, or to the constables rode them. 

"Lots of cowboys." Nat observed.

The train slowed and you had to put a hand on your stomach to calm it. You looked on the platform trying to spy Bucky, but there were too many people standing around to pick him out. 

"Well, let's go meet your mountain man." Nat got up from the bench with you following.

⛰️🧔🏻‍♂️

Bucky's heart was in his throat while he watched people disembark the train. He stood off to the side with Steve next to him. 

"Do you see her?" 

"How the hell should I know?" Bucky grumbled back. 

He watched as people got off, greeting their families and friends. He took a few steps to the right, then left as he watched people wander the platform. He was nervous when he saw a few ladies disembark, but they weren't you. He's almost certain he has you pictured, and none of the ladies so far met your description. 

"Where is she?" 

The hustle and bustle of people started dying down and Bucky was starting to panic; thoughts were racing when he stopped and saw two women standing close to each other while looking around with wide eyes. 

"She's here." Bucky whispered. 

Steve perked up and looked at where his friend was and he froze. 

Bucky cleared his throat and wiped his hands on his coat, taking steps towards the two women.

⛰️🧔🏻‍♂️

"Do you see him?" Nat whispered. 

Your heart was racing, seeing everyone hurry by, meeting their friends or families while you stood idly waiting. 

"Not sure..." You squinted your eyes. 

You had packed your spectacles and were about to look for them when you saw a large lumbering man off in the distance stalk towards you. 

When he came into focus, your breath hitched. Bucky. He wore dark pants, brown cowboy boots and was wearing a large brown overcoat over top of his suede coat and red shirt. He had his dark hair loosely tied back and you instantly noticed his bright blue eyes take you in then he smiled wide.

⛰️🧔🏻‍♂️

"Y/n?" The man said. 

"Yes?" 

Before you could say anything further, the large man smiled wide, then took you in his arms and hugged you, lifting you slightly off the ground and twirled you around. 

"Y/n. I knew it was you." 

"Bucky." 

He finally put you down and smiled wide, looking at you closely. You were beaming at him and holding onto each other, your fears from earlier quickly dissolving at seeing him in person. 

He was so handsome and wild, you had to look away a few times to catch yourself from staring too long.

He's real, this is real, and your journey starts now, on this train platform.

You heard a throat clear from behind you which interrupted your gazing. 

"Oh...OH, yes, well." You ran a hand over your hair, smoothing down some of the stray strands that had escaped and you turned to your friend. 

"Bucky, this is my friend Nat. I hope you don't mind, but she joined me on this adventure. Nat, this is Bucky." 

You smiled wide at introducing Bucky to your friend. 

"Ma'am." 

He dipped his head at Nat who nodded at him. 

A throat cleared behind Bucky making him turn. 

"Oh, yes. Ladies, this is Steve Rogers my friend and Winter Springs' very own Sheriff. Steve, this is Y/n and her friend Nat." 

Steve tipped his hat at you, then he reached out his hand at Nat who took it. Nat smiled wide at the Sheriff. 

"Ma'am." He acknowledged you but was fixated on your friend who was just as enamored with him.

You looked around the train platform and saw you were the only ones left from the arrival. 

"I think our trunks are over there." Nat pointed to a luggage cart that had your brown travelling trunks placed on it. 

"Right, Steve?" Bucky walked over and Steve followed. 

"Stay here. We'll put these on the cart." 

You watched the men tend to the trunks while you slipped an arm through Nat's. 

"Can you believe it? These men are unbelievable." You whispered. 

Nat looked around and saw more men standing around talking with each other, each one strong, young, and able. 

"I need to write to the ladies of the rooming house." Nat said making you giggle. 

Bucky looked over at you and blushed, then went back to helping Steve with your trunks.

⛰️🧔🏻‍♂️

"So, this is Thunder?" You asked, eyeing Bucky's large horse. 

"The one and only." 

You took a tentative step towards him, careful not to make any sudden movements. 

Bucky watched you with a smile on his face. He can't even believe you're here, standing in front of him and so far, he likes what he sees. 

You reached out and gently patted the horse's neck which made Thunder lean into you. 

You smiled wide and turned to look at Bucky. 

"He likes me." You were excited. 

This was the first time you had ever gotten close to a horse let alone pet one and Bucky had to hide a smirk. Thunder would follow anyone who offered him scratches or apples, but he wasn't about to tell you that. You looked over at Nat who was talking with the Sheriff. She was smiling wide and laughing at whatever he was saying. 

"I figured, we could get some food before we started the journey home...I mean...to the cabin..." Bucky's face blushed and he ran a hand over his neck. 

"I would like that." You smiled.

⛰️🧔🏻‍♂️

A few groups of men were standing around; some were leaning against the poles while they watched you. Bucky instantly felt protective of you and your friend and word was going to get out that he had placed an ad, but he didn't care once bit what people thought. 

You both walked up to where the Sheriff and Nat stood. 

"Sheriff Rogers offered me the apartment above the jail." Nat smiled. 

"Did he now?" You asked looking over at the sheriff then to the building.

 It was a small brown building with gold lettering on the dusty windows. Above it was two windows that had white curtains blowing in the breeze of the open windows. 

"I figured Nat wouldn't want to live so remotely with Bucky here and well, the apartment is open and it's safe...seeing as how it's above me...uh, on top of me...Uh...I mean...above where I work, so I can keep an eye on her Ma'am." The Sheriff stuttered making you hide your smile behind your hands. 

You looked at Nat and said, "If you feel comfortable there, then that's all that matters." 

"I think I'll like it just fine on top of Steve." Nat looked over at Steve who blushed hard, her bold words making you cough. 

"Well then, that's settled. Would you ladies like to come to the café before we leave?" Bucky asked. 

You both nodded and headed to the small café a few storefronts away. 

"They're hiring!" Nat spied the want sign in the window. 

She marched in and looked around, smiling. There were about twelve tables with a large counter, and the bustling kitchen was in the back.

 "Sit anywhere and I'll be right with you!" Came the voice from behind a counter. 

The four of you found a table with Bucky helping you before he sat himself. 

"Well then." You all sat and looked at each other. 

"I can't believe you're really here." Steve said, looking between you and Nat. 

"Did you think I wouldn't come?" You looked over at Bucky who blushed a little. 

"Maybe." He shrugged a shoulder and fiddled with a fork on the table. 

"The thought never crossed my mind. I was coming here and that was final." 

Bucky smiled wide, unable to hide his joy.

Steve looked over at his friend and watched him looking at Nat. He's never seen his friend so happy and smile this much in his entire life.

"Did you tell your family?" Bucky asked.

You shook your head no. "I will once I'm settled." 

A frazzled looking woman with red hair came to the table. She was about to give birth any moment. 

"Well then, what can I get ya?" 

"Hi Wanda. We'll all have the special." Steve said, looking between you all. It was chili and cornbread. 

"I've never had that." You blurted out. 

"You're going to love it honey." Wanda said, rubbing her belly. 

"You need any help here?" Nat asked while Wanda cleared a small table next to yours. 

"I've been looking and so far, no one has come in. You interested?" 

Nat smiled. 

"I am." 

Wanda looked her up and down and nodded. 

"You can start tomorrow if you want." 

Nat's mouth popped open in shock. 

"You didn't even ask if I had experience." 

"Don't need to. I can tell. Meet me here before we open and I'll show you some things. It's good to see more women here, God knows this town needs us." Wanda smiled and waddled back to the kitchen to place your order.

⛰️🧔🏻‍♂️

"That was delicious." You said, standing on the sidewalk of the main street. 

Bucky held Thunder's reigns and stood near him. 

You looked over at Nat and said, "You sure you're going to be ok here?" 

She smiled and blushed a little while Steve and Bucky talked quietly. 

"I'll be fine. Steve lives there and he'll be working below me, said he'll keep an eye on me while I settle, and I'll be busy with the café and Wanda." 

"Good." 

"You sure you're going to be ok with Bucky?" Nat asked. 

You looked over at Bucky who was watching you. He looked away when he was caught. 

"Yes, I will be." 

"He watches you." 

"I know." 

Your stomach fluttered. 

"He's a good man. Steve too, I can feel it." 

"They are." 

"Ok, well. I don't know when I'll see you next but be careful. Good luck at your job and we'll catch up in a few weeks when we come back for supplies." 

You were shocked that sentence rolled off your tongue like you had been saying it all your life. 

"Ok." 

You both hugged and said your goodbyes when Bucky walked to you. 

"All set then?" 

"Yes." 

He walked you to the side and helped you up into the cart. The cart tipped slightly with his weight when he got himself settled. 

"See you, Steve." 

You both gave them a little wave and you were off on your new adventure. 

Something tells you, you made the right decision while you headed to your new life with Bucky.

Chapter 06

Chapter 07

Chapter 08

Chapter 09

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

In the short months you've known Bucky, he's always been quiet. The first time you met, if you're honest, he scared you a little, he wandered in to your little stand, he looked out of place, on alert almost, disheveled hair covered by a sport cap, he wore a dirty red henley and a brown jacket… you would've found him handsome if he wasn't so intimidating.

His gloved hand passed through books and flowers until he picked up a flower he liked, waving it in your face expecting you to understand he wanted to know how much it cost.

He kept coming back but he didn't say much, or buy anything for that matter, except for the occasional singular flower, he mostly just read the books you offered, and left a tip when he left.

Talking came easy to you, maybe that's why your stand still existed, you talked to people and Bucky wasn't the exception, at first he just listened to you babble about anything and everything, so eventually he started chiming in, small at first, quick fun facts, a dry laugh here and there or a simple yes or no. Eventually he became your close friend, and of course you wouldn't say this to him but you were pretty sure that you were his only friend.

Today he was specially quiet, you assumed it was because he didn't sleep again but he would've told you, you smile when you realize just how much your relationship with him has progressed, he trusted you. You tried to make small talk but he just smiled and nodded, you were beginning to worry maybe he was mad at you.

At the end of the day you couldn't take it anymore, "What is the matter with you?" you ask maybe a little bit too harsh because Bucky looked scared now, clearing your throat you regulate your voice "you haven't talked to me all day, did I do something?" the genuine worry on your face makes Bucky's stiff brows soften.

"Sorry I-"

"You see, I thought we were close enough that we could talk to each other" you interrupt, "maybe I was wrong but-"

"You didn't do anything wrong" he spoke loud enough for you to actually stop talking and listen to him, much closer to you than when the conversation began.

"I'm nervous" he admitted, his eyes not quite meeting yours, by pure instinct your hand reached for his, "why would you be nervous? it's just me" you think out loud. "Because maybe…" he sighs "maybe I've been trying to figure out all day how to ask the girl of my dreams out on a date."

"Oh."

"Yeah," he lets out a nervous laugh, shifting in his spot when for the first time ever you had nothing to say.

"Girl of your dreams you say" grinning so much your cheeks hurt, shifting a little closer to him, hoping he won't spook easy, "buying me a cup of coffee wouldn't be a bad start" you tease, making him blush, but with a newfound confidence he takes your hand, his rough thumb feeling the softness of your skin, a silent promise he'd work on his communication skills.

Three hours ago, you’d left the house to go shopping. As you’d been leaving, Bucky had been convincing Steve to watch The Return of the King and now, as you were setting down your bags, you realised they were still watching it. “Whoa! The movie never ends.”

Steve lifted his head up from Bucky’s shoulder. “You’re telling me. It goes on and on and on and on. Ow!” He pouted as he rubbed at his arm where Bucky had smacked it. And Bucky? Well he was scowling in the most adorable manner.

“Do not malign one of the best films ever made.”

“But do we have to watch the extended edition?” Steve whined.

“What’s the point in not watching it?” 

You leant against the wall watching them and trying not to giggle, which you completely failed at when Bucky turned his gaze to you. “Cali. Come over here. Need you to back me up.” 

You walked forward, allowing yourself to be drawn down into his lap, but you were still giggling and shaking your head.

“No can do, Buckaroo,” you said with a smile as you ran your fingers through his hair. “I’ll sit and watch the rest with you, but I’m not getting involved in the debate.”

His arms tightened around you, drawing you closer as he grumbled into your neck. “Better than nothin’ I suppose.”

You sniggered again then shifted your legs across Steve’s lap. Immediately, without being asked, he picked up one of your feet and started to massage it, making you moan and slump against Bucky. Who shusshed you. “This is the emotional bit,” he stated as he pointed at the screen.

You glanced at Steve, knowing the laughter in his eyes was echoed in your own, before snuggling down.

“Steve picks the next film, though.”

Three hours ago, you’d left the house to go shopping. As you’d been leaving, Bucky had been convincing Steve to watch The Return of the King and now, as you were setting down your bags, you realised they were still watching it. “Whoa! The movie never ends.”

Steve lifted his head up from Bucky’s shoulder. “You’re telling me. It goes on and on and on and on. Ow!” He pouted as he rubbed at his arm where Bucky had smacked it. And Bucky? Well he was scowling in the most adorable manner.

“Do not malign one of the best films ever made.”

“But do we have to watch the extended edition?” Steve whined.

“What’s the point in not watching it?” 

You leant against the wall watching them and trying not to giggle, which you completely failed at when Bucky turned his gaze to you. “Cali. Come over here. Need you to back me up.” 

You walked forward, allowing yourself to be drawn down into his lap, but you were still giggling and shaking your head.

“No can do, Buckaroo,” you said with a smile as you ran your fingers through his hair. “I’ll sit and watch the rest with you, but I’m not getting involved in the debate.”

His arms tightened around you, drawing you closer as he grumbled into your neck. “Better than nothin’ I suppose.”

You sniggered again then shifted your legs across Steve’s lap. Immediately, without being asked, he picked up one of your feet and started to massage it, making you moan and slump against Bucky. Who shusshed you. “This is the emotional bit,” he stated as he pointed at the screen.

You glanced at Steve, knowing the laughter in his eyes was echoed in your own, before snuggling down.

“Steve picks the next film, though.”

Soft-dark!Bucky, who hates the apartment, then hates himself for hating anything that has running water, a bed, and no one waiting to strap him down.

Soft-dark!Bucky, who is coming back from the grocery store one afternoon when the paper bag splits open in front of the hardware store.

Soft-dark!Bucky, whose oranges and plums roll across the sidewalk, whose bread lands in the gutter, whose jaw clenches so hard it aches because he feels exposed.

Soft-dark!Bucky, who hears, "Oh, shit, hold on," before he sees you.

Soft-dark!Bucky, who finds you crouching in front of him with two of his oranges in your hands, wearing the store apron, your hair a little windblown from dragging the discount chalkboard onto the sidewalk.

Soft-dark!Bucky, who sees you clicking your tongue at the ruined bag and saying, "These things are useless. Come in, I'll give you a better one."

Soft-dark!Bucky, who follows because he has nowhere else to put the groceries, and because you have his bread under your arm and the oranges in your apron’s pocket.

Soft-dark!Bucky, who, when you ask if he lives close by, says he just moved into the building down the block.

Soft-dark!Bucky, who adds, after a beat, that the place is falling apart.

Soft-dark!Bucky, who notices the smell of cut wood, dust, metal shelving, floor cleaner, and underneath all of it, something that is only yours.

Soft-dark!Bucky, who notices the little nick on your thumb, the smudge of chalk on your wrist, the way you push a drawer shut with your hip.

Soft-dark!Bucky, who leaves with a reusable canvas bag, his groceries, and the sound of your voice circling in his head.

Soft-dark!Bucky, who lies awake that night replaying it -your hip against the drawer, the small huff of breath when you stood up too fast, the care when sorting his stuff inside the bag-.

Soft-dark!Bucky, who tells himself he needs a screwdriver the next day.

Soft-dark!Bucky, who already has two.

Soft-dark!Bucky, who goes and buys it anyway.

Soft-dark!Bucky, who comes in while you’re restocking lightbulbs and pretends to study wall anchors like he knows a damn thing about wall anchors.

Soft-dark!Bucky, who does not smile often, but does when you say, "Oh, hi again. How’s the disaster apartment?” because you remembered him, because you’ve kept him in your thoughts.

Soft-dark!Bucky, who goes home and sets the screwdriver in an empty laundry basket by the door.

Soft-dark!Bucky, who does not fix the loose cabinet handle.

Soft-dark!Bucky, who goes back two days later for painter’s tape.

Soft-dark!Bucky, who buys sandpaper the day after that.

Soft-dark!Bucky, who buys a level, a box of screws, two cabinet knobs, felt pads, a wrench he does not need, a flashlight, wood glue, replacement washers, a tape measure, and a little packet of brass picture hooks.

Soft-dark!Bucky, whose apartment remains exactly the same.

Soft-dark!Bucky, whose basket fills slowly with small, useless proof that he has reasons to see you.

Soft-dark!Bucky, who starts knowing your shifts without meaning to.

Soft-dark!Bucky, who tells himself it is not stalking if he only notices.

Soft-dark!Bucky, who notices you always work the afternoon shift, notices you drink your coffee too sweet and too cold because you keep forgetting about it behind the counter, and notices your smile changes when you are being polite instead of pleased.

Soft-dark!Bucky, who starts walking past the store even when he has nothing to buy.

Soft-dark!Bucky, who pauses at the window if you are near the front.

Soft-dark!Bucky, who tells himself he is checking whether you got home safe when he sees you leave after closing.

Soft-dark!Bucky, who keeps enough distance that you never turn around.

Soft-dark!Bucky, who hates himself the first time.

Soft-dark!Bucky, who does it again the next night.

Soft-dark!Bucky, who tells himself the city is dangerous, that men are dangerous, that he knows exactly what a dangerous man looks like because he was one - because maybe he still is one- because maybe that's exactly why he's the only one who could keep you safe.

Soft-dark!Bucky, who watches a contractor lean over the counter one Tuesday, with an elbow planted too close to your hand, voice low and easy in a way that has nothing to do with hardware.

Soft-dark!Bucky, who stands by the paint chips with a strip of color samples he doesn't need, watching the back of that man's neck, doing the kind of math he was trained to do in a different context. Distance, angle, how many seconds.

Soft-dark!Bucky, who has never had much.

Soft-dark!Bucky, who has had his body stolen, his mind fried, his name erased.

Soft-dark!Bucky, who has spent decades being emptied out and then handed back to the world, and expected to act grateful there was anything left.

Soft-dark!Bucky, who starts thinking, quietly and then not quietly enough, that maybe he deserves one good thing.

Soft-dark!Bucky, who knows that is a selfish thought.

Soft-dark!Bucky, who lets himself have it anyway.

Soft-dark!Bucky, who hears “Bucky” from your lips and feels something inside him sit up like a starving dog.

Soft-dark!Bucky, whose body remembers want before his mind permits it, a pressure in his loins when you reach for something on a high shelf and the hem of your skirt rides up, gone as fast as it came, leaving him furious at himself for noticing, for wanting, like wanting were still a thing that got him punished.

Soft-dark!Bucky, who starts imagining you saying his name in his apartment, against his throat instead of across a counter.

Soft-dark!Bucky, who starts imagining you barefoot in his kitchen, wearing one of his shirts, complaining about the cabinet handle he still has not fixed.

Soft-dark!Bucky, who starts imagining what your hands would feel like against his chest, his back, then lower.

Soft-dark!Bucky, who has to leave the store early one afternoon because the thought arrives too vivid, too sudden, and his body answers before he can stop it.

Soft-dark!Bucky, who stands in an alley two blocks away, breathing hard like it's a flashback, except this one he doesn't want to end.

Soft-dark!Bucky, who does not think of taking you, but of bringing you home.

Soft-dark!Bucky, who knows exactly how that sounds.

Soft-dark!Bucky, who still comes into the store with his careful voice and his tired eyes and his useless little purchases.

Soft-dark!Bucky, who lets you tease him about becoming the most prepared tenant in Brooklyn.

Soft-dark!Bucky, who says, “Something like that.”

Soft-dark!Bucky, who is gentle with you every time he sees you.

Soft-dark!Bucky, who carries heavy boxes from the delivery truck because the kid scheduled to help called in sick.

Soft-dark!Bucky, who fixes the jammed back door in twelve seconds and pretends not to understand why you look impressed.

Soft-dark!Bucky, who walks you to the corner in the rain to take a cab because he has an umbrella and you do not.

Soft-dark!Bucky, who looks almost boyish when you say, “You’re sweet, you know that?”

Soft-dark!Bucky, who has been called many things.

Soft-dark!Bucky, who has never believed that one.

Soft-dark!Bucky, who goes home shaking because you touched his arm when you said goodbye.

Soft-dark!Bucky, who sits on the edge of his bed for an hour with that touch burning through his sleeve, then gives in -finally, helplessly- to wanting, his metal hand braced on the headboard as the other strokes his aching cock.

Soft-dark!Bucky, who hates how easy it is now. How fast his body answers for you when it answered for no one, nothing, for seventy years.

Soft-dark!Bucky, who thinks about the alley behind the store, the broken security light, and the back entrance you forget to lock until after counting the register.

Soft-dark!Bucky, who thinks about how easy it would be.

Soft-dark!Bucky, who hates that he knows how easy it would be.

Soft-dark!Bucky, who shows up the next day pale and quiet, buys a single pack of picture hooks.

Soft-dark!Bucky, who stares at your lips while you ring him up.

Soft-dark!Bucky, who listens to you talk about a customer, about the weather, about the chalkboard falling over again in the wind.

Soft-dark!Bucky, who has to look away first when your gaze finds his, even if he has never had to look away first from anything in the last few decades.

Soft-dark!Bucky, who thinks you have no idea how close you are to being his.

Soft-dark!Bucky, who smiles when you hand him the receipt.

Soft-dark!Bucky, who says, “See you tomorrow.”

Soft-dark!Bucky, who means it like a promise.

Soft-dark!Bucky, who stands there in the dim apartment, surrounded by all the things he bought from you and never used, and realizes the basket was never full of repairs, but full of steps.

Soft-dark!Bucky, who looks at all that and understands he bought a home in pieces before he knew who he was making it for.

Soft-dark!Bucky, who finally fixes the cabinet handle.

Soft-dark!Bucky, who makes the apartment quieter, softer, less broken.

Soft-dark!Bucky, who hangs the brass hook by the door and imagines your coat there.

Soft-dark!Bucky, who tells himself he can make it all nice for you, that you’ll be scared at first, but only at first.

Soft-dark!Bucky, who has survived too much to keep being empty-handed.

Soft-dark!Bucky, who has decided that the world has taken enough from him, and that this time, when it places something good within reach, he is not giving it back.

One passed close enough that the wind of it tugged at his tunic.

He started walking.

His gaze roamed over everything: the glass fronts of the shops, the painted signs, the wires strung between buildings like black veins against the grey sky. And the people.

Lord, the people.

Men in strange short coats and narrow hats. Women with bare legs, bare arms, painted mouths, walking alone as though the world had not lost its mind.

Another contraption rolled past him.

A man balanced on a device with two impossibly thin wheels, propelling himself forward with his own legs pumping at metal arms near the ground. No horse. No visible engine or magic. Just the man and the skeletal black frame beneath him, moving at a speed no human should manage on foot.

Bucky stopped dead.

The thing came at him with no reins, no visible means of being controlled beyond the rider's boots working those narrow metal arms. Its wheels were impossibly thin, its bell giving a sharp little trill that cut through the street noise like a thrown knife.

The rider leaned around him at the last possible moment, coat flapping, one hand lifted from the handlebar in furious accusation.

"Watch it, pal!"

Bucky turned with him, tracking the motion, the insult, the impossible narrow-wheeled thing as it shot past his shoulder close enough that he felt the brush of air against his sleeve. His boots moved half a step off the curb before his mind had decided anything useful.

A horn blared. A flat, mechanical scream that didn't belong to any animal he'd ever heard.

He turned back just as one of those horseless carriages -wide and green and shining like a beetle's carapace- bore down on him with two round eyes burning pale through the grey morning. For a heartbeat, he stood rooted to the ground, unable to make his legs obey.

Then, a hand closed around his left wrist.

The contact went through him like a struck bell, and his whole body answered before thought could intervene, muscles jerking in the direction of the grip, boots scraping over wet pavement as he stumbled backward.

Pain lit up his ribs, white and vicious. The green beast roared past close enough that its wind slapped cold against his face, horn still bellowing as the driver shouted something filthy through an open window and did not stop.

Bucky hit the edge of the sidewalk hard enough to jar his teeth.

The woman struck him in the arm a second later with her free hand. Not hard, exactly, but sharp enough to snap him back to his senses.

"What is wrong with you?"

He stared at the place where the carriage had been, watching it disappear down the street.

The traffic kept moving as if nothing had happened.

Another one followed behind it. Dark blue this time. Smaller. More of them farther down the road, parked along the curb like sleeping beasts, their windows reflecting pieces of the sky in impossibly clear glass.

His wrist was still held.

He looked down at it.

Her fingers were wrapped tight enough to blanch the skin beneath her own knuckles. She seemed to realize it at the same moment he did and let go at once, as if his skin had burned her.

Her mouth moved. Red. That impossible red, angry now.

"Do you have a special wish to die this morning?"

He heard the words. Understood them individually. Could not make them gather into meaning.

His hands were empty. He had no sword. No shield. No idea what kingdom this was, what laws governed it, what god had built machines to transport people without horses as though it were the most natural thing in the world, people walking past in their strange attire as if nothing remarkable had happened.

His chest worked once.

Then again.

The breath would not settle.

He tried to force it down into the place where his discipline lived. The old place. The trained place. The place that had carried him through broken ribs, frozen marches, cells too dark to measure time in, men asking questions with tools because words had failed to satisfy them.

It was there.

He could feel its shape, familiar as the weight of a sword, but he simply could not reach it.

The street stretched wide before him, slick and grey, full of motion. The wires overhead trembled in the wind. Somewhere nearby, unseen machinery thudded and clanged. A woman laughed. A dog barked. Another horn sounded in the distance, and his shoulders flinched before he could stop them.

----

She saw the flinch.

It was small, almost nothing, just the quick betrayal of his shoulders at the distant horn, but it made whatever else she had been about to say die behind her lips.

Her question was still there between them, and he had not answered it.

Not that he was ignoring her. Not exactly. Men ignored women in a variety of ways, and she had developed, over the course of owning a business and being alive in general, a fairly extensive catalogue.

This wasn't that.

This man was not ignoring her.

He was… not there. Not properly.

He stood six inches from her on the sidewalk outside her own shop, broad and filthy and absurd in those boots, and looked past her with eyes that had gone distant in a way that made the back of her neck prickle.

The color had drained from his face.

The bruise along his cheekbone looked darker for it, purple-black against the sudden pallor. The cut above his brow, which she had almost forgotten in the general catastrophe of him, had opened again somehow; a thin line of red slipped down toward his temple.

His body was trembling.

Not dramatically. Nothing anyone passing by would notice unless they were close enough to see the tiny, involuntary shiver running through his hands. Through his jaw. Through the tendons in his neck, standing out like rope under skin.

She saw it because she was standing too close.

Because she had grabbed his wrist and felt the shock.

Because for one terrible second, when the car had come at him, and he had simply stood there, she had known with absolute certainty that he was about to die in front of The Sweet Briar before the shop had even opened for the day.

Her own heart was still beating in her throat.

"You could have been killed," she said, quieter this time.

He did not answer.

His gaze flicked once to the street, then to the cars, then upward to the wires, then back to the place where the green car had disappeared around the corner. Too much. That was what his face said now, beneath the stubbornness, beneath the absurd severity of all that knight-of-the-realm nonsense.

Her anger lost its footing.

Damn him.

Damn him for being frightening, and rude, and possibly insane, and then standing there looking like a lost thing that had wandered too far from wherever it belonged.

"Mr. Barnes," she said carefully.

His eyes moved to her face. Not focused, at first.

She lifted both hands a little, palms angled toward him in what she hoped was a calming gesture.

"Listen to me," she said. "You need to come back inside."

His jaw shifted.

"No."

Of course.

Of course the man who had nearly been flattened by a sedan five seconds ago still had room in him to be obstinate.

She took a breath and counted to three.

"Fine. Stay out here. Get yourself killed. But do it after lunch hour, so at least my customers don't have to step over you to buy lilies."

Something passed across his face. A flicker. Not amusement, exactly, but something close to it. Then his attention cut past her shoulder.

She followed it automatically.

A patrolman was coming down the opposite side of Camden Street from the corner near Levinson's pharmacy, where the sidewalk opened into a clear view of the street in front of her shop.

He must have seen the bicycle swerve. Must have seen the car skim by close enough to make two women outside the bakery gasp into their gloves.

And now he was looking directly at her companion.

At the strange clothes. The long hair. The bruising on his face. The blood at his brow. The size of him. The way he stood there, pale and shaking and not quite oriented toward the world around him.

The patrolman adjusted his cap and crossed the street at an angle, long strides eating up the wet pavement with purpose.

Oh, wonderful.

Perfect.

Exactly what the morning needed.

She turned back to Mr. Barnes.

Something in him changed. The trembling did not stop, but it went underground, forced beneath a sudden hardening of posture. His shoulders squared. His chin lifted. The lost look vanished so quickly that if she had not been watching, she might have thought she'd imagined it.

A mask, she realized.

No. Not a mask.

An armor.

He didn’t have one, so his face became it.

"Don't," she said under her breath.

His eyes did not leave the approaching patrolman. "Don't what."

"Whatever it is you're about to do."

"I am doing nothing."

"You're standing like you're about to challenge the entire police department to single combat."

His gaze cut briefly to her, offended despite everything. "I don't know what that is."

"That," she said, pointing with one discrete motion of her head toward the uniform, "is a policeman. He keeps order. He asks questions. He carries a gun. And if you call him a knave or try to throw him to the floor, this morning is going to get much worse for both of us."

The word gun did something. His eyes narrowed slightly.

"A guardsman."

"Close enough."

"Yours?"

"What?"

"Is he yours?"

She stared at him. "No, he is not mine. I don't keep policemen."

The patrolman was halfway across the street now. She had perhaps eight seconds before he reached them.

Eight seconds to decide whether to tell the truth -which would sound insane- or lie.

This strange, injured man appeared in my locked stockroom. He says he's a medieval knight and believes I'm a witch. Oh, and he almost died because he doesn't understand automobiles.

Yes, officer, please take him somewhere kind.

But there was nowhere kind, and that was the problem.

She knew enough about the state institutions to know that. A man like him was not gently escorted to a warm bed and a sensible doctor. A man like this would get handcuffed if he startled the wrong person. A cell if he argued. A hospital ward, if someone felt charitable. An institution, if someone with authority decided his mind was more inconvenient than treatable.

The officer stepped up onto the curb.

"Morning, ma'am," he said, though his eyes stayed mostly on Barnes. "Everything all right here?"

She smiled.

It was not a good smile. It arrived quickly and had too many teeth, the kind of smile that fooled absolutely no one but was required by the social contract.

"Good morning, officer."

Barnes looked at her.

She felt it rather than saw it, the sudden sharp turn of his attention. Suspicious. Assessing. Probably wondering if she was about to have him arrested, detained, executed, or whatever else knights expected from guardsmen in impossible cities.

She kept smiling.

"Had a little scare, that's all."

The patrolman's gaze moved over the man beside her again, slow and professional, cataloguing details. "Looked like your friend here nearly stepped in front of a car."

Friend.

The word hung there, wrong and convenient.

Barnes's expression did not change, but she could feel his objection forming between his brows like a gathering storm.

She stepped on it before it could speak.

"My cousin," she said.

The patrolman blinked. So did the man beside her.

She did not look at him.

"My cousin," she repeated, silently kicking herself for the flimsy excuse even as she committed to it. "From up north."

The patrolman's brows lifted slightly.

"Up north."

"A little town near Mount Katahdin. Very remote, really. Hardly any roads to speak of."

Behind her, he drew a slow breath through his nose. She could feel judgment radiating from him like heat from a stove. She ignored it.

"He came in early this morning, he’s looking for a job, you see," she continued with a bright tone. "He's had a long trip and hardly slept. He’s a stubborn backwoodsman with no sense around traffic. He was bewildered by the view, and then that bicycle startled him, and- well. You saw what happened.”

"I saw him walk into traffic."

"Yes. He does that."

The patrolman squinted at her, and she immediately regretted having a mouth.

"I mean," she amended quickly, "he doesn't usually do that. Obviously. That would be very troubling as a habit. He's just tired. Disoriented. And he took a fall yesterday, so he's not entirely himself."

The officer's gaze went to the bruise on Barnes's cheek, then the cut above his brow, lingering there with professional interest.

"A fall."

"From a horse," she said.

That, at least, felt thematically appropriate.

Barnes's head turned very, very slowly toward her.

She gave him a look that she hoped communicated several things at once, including but not limited to: be quiet, I am saving you, and if you ruin this, I will personally murder you with a pair of pruning shears.

Miraculously, he said nothing.

The patrolman studied him for a long moment.

"That true, sir?"

His eyes moved from her to the officer.

A pause. Too long. Much too long.

Then, with grave reluctance, "I was unseated."

Her eyes nearly closed with relief.

The patrolman seemed to accept this, or at least failed to find the obvious hole in it quickly enough to press. Maybe it was too early in the morning for him, too.

"Looks like you ought to have a doctor look at that."

"He will," she said firmly.

"I do not require-"

"He will," she repeated, louder, and smiled harder at the patrolman. "As soon as I get him inside and settled. He also needs a change of clothing, as you can see. Can't have him walking around looking like he lost a fight with a hay wagon."

The officer looked between them, considering.

The moment stretched.

Someone across the street had stopped pretending not to watch. Mrs. Kaplan from the bakery stood with one hand on her door, eyes bright with the terrible appetite of neighborhood gossip that would fuel conversations for a week.

No.

Absolutely not.

She could not have this become a story before mid-morning.

The patrolman finally nodded once, seeming to decide the situation was odd but not dangerous.

"Best keep him out of the road, then."

"That is very much my plan."

The man's gaze flicked to Barnes one more time. "You take care, sir. City streets aren't forgiving."

He looked at the road, then back at the officer, and when he spoke, his voice was quiet and oddly sincere.

"No," he said. "They are not."

Something in his tone made the patrolman pause, a flicker of concern crossing his features. But then he simply tipped his cap to her.

"Ma'am."

"Officer."

He moved on, though not quickly. She watched him walk back down the block toward the pharmacy, glancing back once before he reached the corner.

Only when he had turned out of sight did she let the smile fall off her face like an abandoned coat.

He was staring at her.

"What," she said flatly.

His expression was unreadable again, which she was beginning to suspect meant he was feeling several things at once and had decided none of them were fit for public display.

"Your cousin," he said.

"It was the first thing that came to mind."

"From up north."

"It seemed plausible."

"It did not."

"Well, he bought it, didn't he?"

"Did he?"

She looked toward the corner where the patrolman had disappeared. Then at Mrs. Kaplan, who was still watching from the bakery window like a hawk spotting a rabbit. Then at the two women whispering near the bus stop. Then at him, standing there like a brawl in human form, bleeding gently onto the collar of his impossible shirt.

"Maybe," she admitted.

A horn blared somewhere down the street, and he flinched.

Small, contained and brutally fast.

But she saw it.

His jaw clenched afterward, as if he could trap the reaction between his teeth and kill it there.

She sighed, feeling what was left of her anger drain away and leave behind something uncomfortably close to pity. And the very reasonable desire to shove him back into the street herself and let nature finish what the sedan had started.

But beneath all of it was the fact of him: pale, shaking, hurt, completely unmoored, and looking at Camden Street as if it were a battlefield he'd stumbled onto without armor or weapons or any idea which side he was meant to be fighting for.

"Inside," she said.

His eyes narrowed.

She pointed at the shop door behind them.

"Now."

"I told you-"

"I lied to a policeman for you, Mr. Barnes, so unless you'd like me to call him back and explain that you are not, in fact, my cousin from up north, you are going to walk through that door, sit down somewhere that is not my begonias, and let me clean the blood off your face before Mrs. Kaplan decides to come over here and ask questions I cannot answer."

He stared at her.

For one second, she could almost see the refusal rise in him, proud and immediate and utterly stupid.

Then another car passed, and he did not look at it; that was how she knew it had frightened him. Then, he turned toward the flower shop without another word.

The bell above the door gave its bright chime as he stepped back inside.

She followed, locked the door behind them, and flipped the sign to CLOSED with more force than strictly necessary.

----

Bucky heard the bolt slide into place with a soft, final click.

A small sound. Ordinary, probably, to her. To him, it landed with considerably more weight. The sound of a cell door, a gate closing, an exit sealed.

He turned his head to her.

She reached up and drew down a strange fabric stretched between narrow wooden slats that clattered softly as it descended, stopping halfway down the window. Not a curtain, exactly. Something that rolled and caught on a mechanism he couldn't see.

He noticed everything, apparently, except the things that might keep him from nearly being killed by horseless carriages.

"Come on," she said and walked past him toward the rear of the shop.

There were, at present, too many questions in his head. They had gathered in his head like crows on a battlefield fence, black and loud and waiting for something to die.

So he followed.

The shop looked different from behind her.

That was not a thought he should have had.

It arrived anyway, unbidden and unhelpful.

Her skirt moved when she walked, a soft, hypnotic sway that drew the eye and then punished the man attached to it for having one. The fabric brushed the backs of her knees with each step, and below that -God help him- her calves were bare, the skin catching the morning light filtering through the half-drawn shade.

The sight shouldn't have affected him the way it did.

He'd seen far worse immodesty in camp followers, tavern girls who unlaced their bodices for coin, even a countess once who'd been shameless enough to receive him in his own chambers in nothing but a loose shift that left very little to imagination.

But this felt different somehow.

Deliberate in its casualness. Ordinary in its brazenness.

As if every woman in this godforsaken century simply walked around like this, and he was the fool for noticing.

He wrenched his gaze toward the nearest bucket of flowers with such determination that he might as well have been preparing to duel it.

Roses.

White ones, their petals just beginning to unfurl, with the faintest blush of pink at the heart of each bloom. Innocent. Chaste. Entirely safe to look at.

Unlike certain other things in this room.

She reached the back room and stepped aside, pointing toward a chair beside the worktable.

"Sit."

He looked at it with immediate suspicion.

The chair was made of metal. Thin silver legs bent in a precise curve, holding up a seat covered in some smooth green material that was neither leather nor cloth. It shone faintly under the light overhead, reflecting the ceiling in a way that seemed unnatural.

Bucky stared at it for a second too long.

"It's a chair," she seemed fit to clarify.

"I can see that."

"Wonderful. Then use it."

He should not have.

There were several reasons he should not have.

For one, it was unwise to place himself at a disadvantage in a room he did not understand, with a woman he did not know, in a century that seemed very committed to making a fool of him at every opportunity.

For another, it was utterly inappropriate.

There was no servant. No matron tucked into the corner with her embroidery and her sharp little coughs to remind them of propriety. No chaperone at all to lend respectability to the fact that this woman was about to put her hands near his face, possibly his body, while the two of them were alone behind a locked door.

A decent man would object.

A prudent man would leave.

He sat.

The metal chair gave a faint protesting creak beneath his weight but did not collapse, which was more than he had expected from something built with legs that narrow. The act of lowering himself was unpleasant. His ribs had apparently chosen this moment to remind him -in exhaustive detail- that they had been cracked before the universe had lost its mind and had not improved during the intervening catastrophe.

His breath caught despite his best efforts.

She noticed. Her gaze flicked down to his side, then back up, too quick to be called staring and too sharp to be accidental.

"You hurt your ribs?"

"No."

She gave him a look that suggested she had heard better lies from children.

He met it stubbornly.

A pause.

"Yes," he admitted.

"Thought so."

She turned toward a small wooden cabinet mounted low on the wall and crouched down. From inside, she pulled out a metal case. Small, rectangular, with a hinged lid and a painted red cross on the top.

A coffer, his mind supplied automatically, though it was made of metal rather than wood, and far too uniform in its construction to have been hammered by any smith he knew.

She set it on the worktable and flipped the latch.

The cross should have been reassuring.

It was not.

Inside were bottles, tins, folded cloths, strange implements he had no names for. She began sorting through them, and he watched her hands move.

Competent hands. Not delicate, though they looked as if they could be when they wanted to. She knew where things were, even in the disorder. She found a clean cloth, a small brown bottle, and a roll of white bandaging and set them on the table.

He cleared his throat and she glanced over her shoulder.

The words should have come easily. Courtesy did, when one was raised with enough of it beaten in by tutors and lords and the general expectation of civilized behavior.

He had thanked lords he despised, maesters who'd prodded at wounds, servants who'd brought water, boys who'd held horses, women who had done far less for him than lie to an armed city guardsman.

Still, it took him a moment.

"For what you said to the guardsman," he began carefully. "Outside."

Her hands stilled completely. She turned to face him, the cloth still held loosely in her fingers.

"The policeman," she corrected gently.

"The policeman," he repeated, the word still feeling foreign on his tongue. He met her eyes. "For that. You have my thanks."

Something in her expression softened. The wariness didn't disappear entirely, but it eased.

"You're welcome," she said simply.

She set the cloth down on the worktable and leaned back against it, her hands bracing on the edge behind her. The posture was less guarded than before.

"Though for the record," she added, and there was the faintest hint of amusement in her voice now, "you made that more difficult than it needed to be."

He shifted in the metal chair, wincing slightly as his ribs protested. "I said very little."

"You said it with the face of a man about to fight." She tilted her head, studying him.

“I was inquired by a law enforcement."

"You were asked whether you fell off a horse." She crossed her ankles, settling more comfortably against the table. The motion drew his eye briefly to those impossible shoes before he forced his gaze back to her face.

"I was unseated," he corrected with careful dignity.

She blinked at him for a moment.

Then her lips curved into something that was almost a smile, warm in a way that made something in his chest tug unexpectedly.

"Fallen, unseated…" she said softly, waving her hand.

The strange thing was, he almost wanted to explain. Wanted to tell her that it was not the same thing at all.

That falling could be clumsy, careless, the result of poor seat or a man who didn't know his business. Being unseated meant impact, skill, another man's force meeting yours at the exact angle required to take you from the saddle despite everything you did to prevent it.

There was dignity in the distinction.

But she was looking at him with something gentler than he'd seen from her yet. So he did not explain. He was, as she had said, trying not to make things more difficult than they needed to be.

Also, and more pressing, he was hungry.

The realization came with embarrassing force now that he was seated and no longer fighting for his life against bicycles and automobiles. He had not eaten since before the tournament.

Had meant to, after. Had meant to remove his armor, find bread and stew at the tavern down the street, and perhaps sleep for half a day if his luck could be persuaded toward mercy for once.

Instead, he had put on a cursed ring and been thrown into a florist's back room nearly six centuries from where he belonged.

His stomach gave a low, traitorous growl that echoed in the stockroom with all the subtlety of a church bell at matins.

The woman paused mid-motion.

He closed his eyes briefly.

Lord.

When he opened them, she was looking at him with something that might have been concern or exasperation or both.

"When did you last eat?"

He considered lying.

His stomach, apparently tired of his pride, made the answer unnecessary by growling again, louder this time.

She set the cloth down with a soft sigh.

"Right," she said. "Blood first. Food after."

"That’s not-"

"Mr. Barnes."

He stopped.

Her tone had changed. It was the voice of a woman who had discovered the exact amount of patience she possessed and found him standing at the far edge of it with his boots on.

"You are bleeding, you nearly got killed by a car, and I have already lied to a policeman before midday.” She gestured at the chair, less sharp than simply direct. "Sit still and let me clean that before you pass out and make this morning worse than it already is. Then, we'll figure out food."

He was opening his mouth to object-

"Please," she added, and something about her tone reached him. So he leaned back in the metal chair and said nothing.

She seemed to take that as victory.

Perhaps it was.

She stepped closer, and the air between them shifted. He caught her scent more clearly now: flowers, yes, but also something faintly powdery and sweet that he couldn't name. Soap, perhaps. Or some cosmetic concoction women of this time favored.

The cloth in her hand was damp; he could see the darkness of moisture against the white fabric.

He kept perfectly still.

She bent toward him, close enough that her breath would have touched his face if she'd spoken, and then her fingers touched his jaw.

The contact was brief, impersonal, the gesture of someone accustomed to arranging things precisely.

It went through him like a strike of flint.

His breath caught with the sudden, with the unwelcome awareness of how close she was. How warm. How the neckline of her dress sat just low enough that if he dropped his gaze even slightly-

He locked his eyes on the ceiling and kept them there.

"Hold still," she said quietly.

He was already still. Rigid as a man in armor, every muscle tense by the maddening fact that her thumb was resting just below his jaw, her fingertips cool against the edge of his beard.

The damp cloth touched his brow.

Cool. Clean. It stung where the cut was, a sharp little bite that he barely felt through everything else.

What he felt was her.

The bend of her body as she leaned in. The brush of her skirt against his knee. Brief, accidental, gone before he could react. The small crease of concentration between her brows as she worked, utterly focused, utterly unaware of what the simple act of touching him was doing.

She tilted his face slightly toward the light.

His jaw shifted under her hand, and the movement made her fingers slide -just barely- along the line of bone and muscle beneath his ear.

Heat crawled up the back of his neck.

This was absurd.

She was cleaning a wound. Nothing more. She had shown him no interest beyond the bare minimum of human decency, and even that had been grudging. She thought him mad, or damaged, or some combination of both. She had called him cousin to a lawman to avoid further inconvenience.

And here he sat, breathing too carefully, thinking about what it would feel like if those hands moved with intent instead of practicality. If they slid into his hair. If her thumb pressed just a little harder against his throat. If she leaned closer and-

Fuck.

He was acting like some green boy again.

Worse. He was acting like a man who hadn't been touched by anyone in far too long, and whose body had decided now -of all the godsforsaken moments- was the time to remind him of it.

The cloth moved to his cheekbone, gentler now, following the edge of the bruise.

"It's not deep," she said after a moment. "Won't need stitches. Just needs to be clean."

"I've had worse." He managed.

"I don't doubt it."

She stepped back, and the absence of her touch was immediate and disorienting. She studied her work, then reached for the brown bottle, uncorking it with a soft pop.

The smell hit him immediately. Sharp. Medicinal. Something that burned the inside of his nose and made his eyes water.

"This is going to sting," she warned.

"I can-"

She dabbed it on before he could finish.

It did not sting.

It burned like the fires of hell had been distilled into liquid form and applied directly to his face.

He did not move. Did not make a sound.

His hand, however, gripped the edge of the metal chair hard enough that he heard the frame creak.

"Sorry," she said, and she actually sounded it. "It's awful, but it'll keep it from getting infected."

He managed a nod, not trusting his voice.

She corked the bottle and set it aside, examining the cut again, and then stepped back fully, putting a respectable distance between them, and he could breathe again.

Then his stomach growled. Again. Loud and shameless.

She paused.

He watched something shift in her expression, watched her think. Her gaze went to the little corner table where the tin of those dried herbs sat, and her mouth pressed into a thoughtful line.

"I don't have much here," she said slowly. "It's a stockroom, not a kitchen. Tea and stale biscuits in some corner, mostly."

He opened his mouth to tell her it didn't matter, that he required nothing-

"Wait here," she said abruptly.

Before he could object, she was already moving toward the front of the shop, pulling a key from somewhere in her skirt and unlocking the door.

"Don't touch anything," she added over her shoulder. "And for God's sake, don't go outside again."

The bell chimed.

The door closed.

He sat alone in the stockroom, surrounded by buckets of flowers and incomprehensible objects, with no earthly idea where she had gone or whether she would return.

For a brief, ungenerous moment, he considered the possibility that she had simply gone to fetch the authorities after all. Left him here to be collected like a stray dog.

He could not have blamed her if she had.

But he stayed.

Partly because his ribs ached and his legs felt unsteady, and the metal chair, absurd as it was, held his weight. Partly because the door to the street terrified him in a way he was not prepared to examine.

And partly -mostly- because some quiet, exhausted part of him had decided to trust her, and he was too tired to argue with it.

Time passed. He did not know how much. Somewhere beyond the walls, the muffled sounds of the impossible city continued: horns, voices, the rumble of those horseless carriages.

Then the bell chimed again, and he heard the click of her heels through the shop. She reappeared through the storage door with a brown paper sack clutched in one hand.

"Here," she said, crossing to him and holding it out. "Eat this before you fall over."

He took it cautiously.

The sack was warm. And the smell…

God, the smell.

Something rich and savory drifted up from inside, meat and bread and something he couldn't identify, and his mouth flooded with saliva before he'd even looked inside.

He opened it.

Within was a strange construction: two thick slices of bread pressed together, and between them, slices of roasted meat layered with melted cheese, what appeared to be a cooked egg, and some green leaves he didn't recognize.

He turned it over, examining the oddity from several angles.

"It's a sandwich," she said, watching his confusion with poorly concealed amusement. "Roast beef. From the diner on the corner. You eat it. With your hands."

A sandwich.

He had never heard the term. Never seen meat and bread arranged in such a deliberate, portable fashion. In his world, meat was served on a trencher, or in a pie, or skewered over a fire. Not... stacked.

The smell did not care about his confusion, and his stomach growled a third time, traitorous and insistent, and he abandoned his examination in favor of simply eating.

The first bite was a revelation.

Warm bread. Tender meat, properly seasoned. The richness of the cheese, the unexpected softness of the egg, the crunch of whatever green leaves she'd called them.

It was, without exaggeration, one of the finest things he had ever tasted.

He ate with more control than he felt, forcing himself to chew, to pace himself, to not devour the entire thing in three bites like a starving animal.

She watched him for a moment, then turned away to give him privacy.

He was grateful for it.

When he'd finished -every crumb, every scrap, the paper sack reduced to a crumpled ball in his fist- he set it down carefully and cleared his throat.

She turned.

"Better?"

"Yes." His voice came out rough. "Thank you. That was..."

He didn't have words for what it was.

A sandwich, apparently.

"...generous of you," he finished.

She nodded, accepting it, and for a moment neither of them said anything.

The silence stretched, not quite comfortable but not hostile either. Finally, she crossed her arms over her chest in a way that was becoming familiar.

"So," she said. "What are we going to do with you, Mr. Barnes?"

He looked at her standing there in her scandalously short skirt and her impossible shoes.

"I don't know," he said honestly.

Next Chapter

Ten months.

It had been ten long, grueling months since Bucky last got a taste of you.

After taking your virginity, he paid for your groceries—as promised, because he believed himself to be a gentleman—and messaged you a few days later, inviting you to film another video with him.

You were his loyal fan.

You were there for every single one of his videos.

Hell, your own username was dedicated to him.

So when you left him on read for ten months without leaving a single trace behind, he grew furious. He tried making excuses for you—perhaps you were too busy? Or maybe you went on vacation? He tried circling back to your social media, which was how he had first found you, but you had privated all your accounts and deactivated your TikTok.

Naturally, pessimistic thoughts began to fill his mind.

Was he too rough when he took you? Did he freak you out by finding you at the grocery store? Worse, had he scared you away for good?

Bucky knew where you lived. It would’ve been easy to just show up at your front door and demand answers—but he couldn’t do that. Not with the threat of a restraining order looming in the back of his mind.

Ten months. He couldn’t believe he had let you stray away from him for that long.

There was so much you could’ve done during that time. You could’ve moved, had sex with other men, or even found a relationship.

You went from being his loyal fan to a ghost.

Bucky knelt on his mattress, holding up a clear silicone toy that looked tiny compared to his hands. He squeezed a generous amount of lube into his palm and spread it carefully along his half-hard cock, making sure none of it dripped onto the sheets.

His camcorder was propped against a pillow, angled perfectly to capture him from the waist down. With his bare abs and thighs fully in frame, he settled back on his heels, gripped the toy firmly, and guided it toward his cock.

A rough groan escaped him as he teased the sensitive tip against the entrance. The lubricant made every movement slick and audible, the wet sounds filling the otherwise quiet room.

“Fuck. Been waiting for this all day.”

His eyes fluttered shut as he slowly worked the toy against his shaft. He continued at an unhurried pace, his grip tightening as he lost himself in the sensation.

“Good girl,” he muttered without thinking.

The words slipped out on instinct, a praise that always led back to you. As the room filled with the sounds of his grunts and movements, his thoughts drifted to the memory of you. They always did. He pictured your soft lips wrapped around his dick, the way he had your face pressed into the pillow as he took you from behind—the moments that had replayed endlessly in his mind over the past months.

At some point, imagination alone had stopped being enough.

Whenever he wanted to relive it, he would pull up the private video he recorded of the two of you, letting it play in the background while he lost himself in the pleasure of his toy.

“God,” he groaned, your name slipping from his lips in a breathless rasp.

He made a mental note to cut the part where he whispered your name like a prayer before uploading the video to the site.

“Shit—fuck. I miss that tight little pussy.”

With a loud groan and both hands holding the toy tight, he drove his hips deep into the toy until it made an unmistakable tearing sound. Too lost in the haze of his own desire, he didn’t even realize he tore through yet another toy to the memory of you.

Seed filled the silicone, marking every cloudy surface with his thick cum.

Once he caught his breath, he let the toy fall from his grip and pushed it aside.

From there, the rest of the evening followed the same familiar routine.

He would take a shower, get dressed, make himself something for dinner, then spend the rest of the evening at his computer. He would spend his time editing the footage, preparing it for upload to the same porn site he had been posting on for years.

Except this time, there was no excitement after hitting the ‘post’ button, because you wouldn’t even be there to watch them.

After the video went live, he waited for the likes and comments to start pouring in, holding onto the faint hope that your username might appear among them.

As usual, it never did.

Surprisingly, though, that wasn’t what disappointed him this time.

Every time he jerked off with the intention to post a new video—your video was always in the background. It got to the point where people started to leave comments asking who the mysterious girl was. Who those sultry, seductive moans belonged to.

He would even get comments asking if he’d be willing to record another video of the two of you together and post it online.

Every time he read those comments, he would scoff, laughing to himself.

I would like to know the same thing.

After posting his latest video, his comment section had been flooding with the same demands for weeks.

wankingandspanking: hell yeah man! love the new video. but who’s the babe in the video you’re watching??

StraightJorkinIt: U breaking ur toy was so hot, but what’s even hotter is the girl moaning in the back. xx

Bwasexual: The toys are getting a little old, don’t you think?? Bring a real woman in. especially the one in the vid you’re jerking to ;)

Each comment was a direct insult to Bucky’s pride.

He was one of the platform’s top creators—yet now, his community was entirely consumed by you.

He had spent the last ten months trying to get you out of his head, trying to just use your video as a quick jerk off aid and move on. But how could he when his own fans wouldn’t let him forget?

How could he, when he couldn’t even cum to anything else anymore? His memory was flooded of the way his cock had disappeared in and out of your tight pussy while he had you bent over from behind. By the recollection of your cute, virgin mouth stuffed full of cock—his cock—for the first time ever.

How could he possibly forget how sweet your tight little body was, like it was made for him?

Bucky’s frustration was peaking. At the very least, he was making money off of this.

Just as he was about to shut down his computer and call it a night, a new notification popped up.

He clicked it, and what he saw made the air in his lungs vanish completely.

Pleasure_Ring: Love the video!

Bucky blinked.

Was he seeing this right?

He rubbed his eyes, but lo and behold, your comment was still there. He double—and triple—checked the username, ensuring every single letter matched and that it wasn’t some random copycat trying to impersonate you.

But no, it was you.

When he clicked your profile, the interface loaded your old message thread. He saw the green indicator showing you were currently online, sitting right above his last unanswered message asking you to film with him again.

He couldn’t believe it.

You were real. You were still here, ten months later, watching him.

Bucky didn’t realize he was holding his breath as his fingers hovered over the keyboard. He wanted to spam you with messages—to demand where the hell you’ve been, to beg for your phone number so he would never lose track of you again.

No, he couldn’t risk ruining this moment. He had to stay rational and seize this chance before you slipped through his fingers again.

Lord_Of_The_Rings_1917: I saw the comment you left.

Lord_Of_The_Rings_1917: Where have you been?

A minute passed. Then another. He propped both elbows on the desk, resting his chin on his hands, his foot tapping impatiently as he waited.

Three minutes went by. Your little icon was still green—you were still online.

Then, his heart leaped.

Pleasure_Ring is typing…

Pleasure_Ring: Why? Did you miss me?

Bucky’s brow twitched. Your messages from ten months ago had been sweet, alluring, and almost innocent. If you had been texting him consistently, he might’ve read this as a flirtatious little comment to make his dick hard.

But right now, he just felt pissed off.

Lord_Of_The_Rings_1917: Quit playing around. Of course I missed you. Where did you go?

There were so many things he wanted to ask, but he couldn’t risk scaring you away just yet. His heart raced as he watched the screen.

Pleasure_Ring is typing…

Your bubble kept appearing and disappearing. You would type, then silence. You would type again, then nothing.

Bucky felt like he was going insane. He was just about ready to send another message himself, until one finally popped up under your name.

Pleasure_Ring: I think it’s best that we talk in person.

Pleasure_Ring: Can we exchange numbers?

And of course, Bucky gave you his number without a second thought.

You sat alone at the coffee shop Bucky had agreed to meet you at, fiddling with your mug and glancing anxiously out the window.

The meetup was set for noon, and the closer the clock ticked to the hour, the more your mind began to spiral.

It had been ten months since he last saw you. Ten months since he had you bent over your own bed, your face pressed into the pillows, ravaging you like an animal.

You were growing anxious. What if he had lost interest? What if he took one good look at you and realized you were nothing like the woman he had been infatuated with all this time?

The bell above the door chimed. You glanced up, and your breath caught in your throat.

Bucky was right there. He looked just as handsome as the day you met him. His presence seemed to take up the entire space of the coffee shop, just as it had when he first approached you at the grocery store.

His eyes swept across the room. The moment they landed on yours, your thighs instinctively clenched together. He was wearing that same cold, stern expression he had when he first told you to strip for him.

Naturally, it did things to you.

He marched over to your table, dragged the chair back, and dropped into the seat directly across from you. He didn’t bother with a polite smile, and his gaze didn’t warm up at all.

Was he angry? Was this a nuisance to him—taking time out of his busy day just to see a girl he slept with ten months ago?

“Bucky,” you breathed, forcing a polite smile. “How are you—”

“Where have you been?”

You blinked. You were about to stammer out a quick excuse, but he breezed on past.

“Ten months without a single word from you.” He leaned closer across the table. “Where have you been?”

Despite his harsh tone, he was anxiously bracing himself for your answer. He expected you to say you had lost interest, or that you found a boyfriend to practice your new... sexual experiences on. You hadn’t even given an explanation yet, and he was already fuming with jealousy.

You looked down at your coffee mug, avoiding his gaze. Looking him directly in the eye right now was simply too much to handle.

“I’m sorry I haven’t kept in touch,” you mumbled. “Ever since… that night, I’ve been… uh—how do I even say this?” You chuckled awkwardly, scratching lightly at your cheek. “I guess I’ve been feeling a little ashamed of myself.”

Bucky watched your shoulders slump as your hands fidgeted nervously in your lap.

“Ashamed?”

“Ever since we slept together, I’ve felt insecure about not being able to... keep up with you.” You winced. “I mean, you’re obviously experienced—I had a great time, and everything—but it made me realize that, at my age, when everyone else seems to be out there having fun and figuring things out, I’m nowhere near as experienced as they are.”

Your voice dropped lower as you glanced around the room.

It wasn’t exactly the kind of conversation suited for a small, intimate coffee shop.

Bucky frowned, crossing his arms. Your explanation wasn’t giving him the reassurance he had hoped for.

“So you were embarrassed about sleeping with me?”

Your eyes widened.

“No! It’s not like that.” You shook your head. “I had an incredible time with you. You gave me an experience I’ll never forget. I mean...” You leaned forward, lowering your voice to a conspicuous whisper. “You were the one who took my virginity, after all.”

That, at least, managed to draw the hint of a smile from him.

“It’s just...” you hesitated. “I’m ready to start dating, and in the current dating scene, sex matters, you know?”

There it was.

The sentence Bucky had been dreading.

While he had spent the last ten months thinking about you—worrying about you, searching for some way to reconnect, replaying the video you’d filmed together and jerking off to it, moaning your name—you had spent those same months looking forward to a future with someone else.

“So...” You hesitated. “After reading all those comments on your videos, the ones talking about how good I sound, and remembering the offer you made ten months ago to film another one...” Your gaze dropped briefly. “If that offer still stands, maybe you could teach me?”

“Teach you?” Bucky repeated, the words leaving him almost like a scoff.

Just as innocent as the day he first met you, you nodded shyly.

“Teach me how to be better at sex.”

An awkward silence took the space between the two of you.

You were preparing yourself for rejection. For Bucky to push back his chair, walk away, and decide this conversation had been a mistake. After this, you wouldn’t be surprised if he even blocked your number and your profile, cutting off the last connection between you.

Instead, he studied you for a very long moment.

“You know,” he said slowly, his gaze finding yours, “the comments have been asking us to film a video together, right?”

The look he gave you was difficult to read—careful, calculating, and almost suspicious.

“I know,” you said bashfully.

“If you want me to teach you,” he said, leaning forward as his voice dropped soft and intimate, “then we’re going to do the same thing we did before, but I want this done at my house instead. I’ll record.”

He paused, studying your reaction.

“And this time, I’m posting it online.”

You sat there frozen.

It wasn’t exactly the compromise you expected, but you couldn’t say you were entirely surprised. After disappearing from his life for months, after leaving things unresolved between you, part of you knew he would want something in return.

Bucky leaned in closer, his hand finding yours on the table. His fingers curled around yours, giving them a reassuring squeeze.

“You’ve read the comments,” he said. “You might be insecure about your experience, but my viewers love you. They’re curious. They want to know who the woman behind that voice is.”

Heat rushed to your face. The confidence in his words only made your pulse quicken, and the slow sweep of his thumb across your knuckles wasn’t helping at all.

“I’ll teach you everything you want to know,” he continued. “I’ll take care of you. You know I will.”

For a moment, his confidence faltered and his eyes looked pleading, revealing something almost hopeful beneath it.

“What do you say, doll?”

Your heart had been pounding ever since Bucky sat down across from you at the coffee shop. It hadn’t slowed once—not during the conversation, not during the drive over, and certainly not now as you stood behind him while he unlocked his apartment door.

Bucky stepped aside, holding the door open for you. After a moment's hesitation, you stepped inside.

The studio apartment was dimly lit. The blinds were drawn, leaving only the warm glow of a lamp to light the room. In one corner sat a computer setup—his workstation where he recorded and edited his videos.

Your breath caught at what was displaying on the monitor.

Your chat history.

His studio was the definition of a man cave. What caught your attention, however, were the sex toys scattered throughout the apartment without a hint of shame.

Some of the toys were immediately recognizable from his videos. Having been a longtime viewer, you had seen them often enough to identify them at a glance.

Bucky tossed his keys onto a nearby surface and motioned for you to follow him toward the bed. As you approached, your gaze landed on something unfamiliar at his bedside table.

“What’s this?” You pointed to a toy shaped like the lower half of a woman’s body. Unlike the others, you didn’t remember ever seeing this one in any of his videos.

Bucky glanced at it. “Oh, that?” He came to stand beside you. “Custom made. I use it off-camera.” His tone was casual, almost dismissive. “Had it modeled after you.”

You were suddenly grateful for the low lighting, because that meant he couldn’t see the stunned expression that immediately crossed your face.

Modeled after you?

Your eyes drifted back to the toy, taking in the details—the shape of the hips, the skin tone, it was an unmistakable similarity. What shook you up, though, was the tear in the toy around her upper abdomen, a sign that Bucky’s cock tore right through the silicone.

The sounds of his belt buckle being undone drew your attention back to him.

“Had it set to the maximum tightness,” he explained gruffly, setting the belt down on his chair and reaching for the familiar camcorder he used before. “Still not nearly as tight as you felt—but it made do during those ten months you were gone.”

A moment later, he lifted the camera and pointed it in your direction, the red light flickering to let you know it was on.

“Go ahead,” he prompted, watching you. “Undress.”

You bit your lip as you stood in front of him, feeling far more self-conscious than you expected.

For some reason, the atmosphere felt infinitely more tense than it had the first time you undressed for him.

Bucky seemed to notice your hesitation immediately. He lowered the camera slightly.

“What’s wrong?”

“I don't know about this, Bucky.” You fiddled with your fingers, unable to meet his gaze. Instead, you focused on your bare feet against the floor. “What if I'm not good at this?”

A slow, patient sigh escaped him.

Without a word, he set the camera on the bedside table. It remained angled in a way that still captured your body, but his attention had shifted entirely to you. His hands found the hem of your shirt and lifted it up, letting his fingers tickle your lower belly.

“Are you feeling shy, doll?” he murmured softly.

The question was quiet enough so that the camera wouldn’t pick it up. It wasn’t meant for an audience. It was just for you.

“Look at me,” he commanded gently. “You’ve got a perfect, tight body. There are a lot of people that would kill to be in my position, and you’re scared to show it off?”

He lifted your shirt up until it exposed the lace of your bra. His large hand cupped over your breast, giving it a squeeze that made you gasp softly.

Bucky grinned. “Ah, there she is.”

While his left hand fondled your tits, his other hand crept up to your chin, tilting your head so you were forced to look at him. His eyes wandered down to your lips—exposed, plump, and vulnerable.

“When you get a boyfriend—you’ll have to learn how to kiss,” Bucky murmured. “Do you know how?”

The question felt almost condescending. He should already know the answer. You were still inexperienced, still clueless, but despite it all, you couldn’t help the ache that began to form between your legs from the way he talked to you.

Your voice came out soft and trembling, but to Bucky, it sounded like music to his ears.

“… Teach me?”

A low growl vibrated from his lips as he closed the distance in one, smooth motion. His lips collided with yours—hungry and consuming—letting his tongue delve past your lips and into the wet warmth of your mouth.

He held your face tight, forcing you to take every inch of his tongue and every surface of his lips. It was hot, messy, and wet. During every second of his ravishing, his hands continued to explore your body, groping you through your bottoms. He held you so close, you could already feel him throbbing against your leg.

“Fuck,” he groaned against your lips, pulling away slightly to catch his breath. “Still taste so good. So sweet, just for me.”

He stepped away, breathing just as hard as his dick felt.

With the warm lamp glowing next to him, it outlined the sheer size of his dick throbbing in his pants. You watched it pulse, a little wet spot forming near the tip, before his large hand came down with deep, circular rubs to soothe the ache.

“Bucky…” You gasped softly.

His other hand snatched the camera off the bedside table, nearly knocking down the picture frames. With a shaky hand, he lifted the camera up to you again.

“Strip.” He commanded, rougher this time. “Strip. Now.”

Your heart raced. His patience was fraying, and without upsetting him further, you began to undress. You abandoned your top, your pants, all until you were left standing in nothing but your panties and bra.

Bucky groaned at the sight, his palm working faster over his clothed erection.

“God, look at that,” he zoomed in on the wet spot collecting at the front of your panties. “You’re fucking soaking for me, doll. And all I did was kiss you.”

Shame flooded your face. As you unhooked your bra and worked for your panties next, Bucky’s voice pulled you to a stop.

“No,” his hand shot out, catching your wrist. “Keep those on. I want to see the mess you’ll make after having my dick in your mouth.”

With his grip tightening around your wrist, he ushered you to the ground until your knees made contact with the floor. He tugged his pants down with force, and his cock sprang out heavy—slapping you in the cheek and making you wince.

He was big and hard. Seeing him up close like this, with his hand around his shaft and his tip rubbing against your cheek, you weren’t sure how you took him the first time.

“Do you remember the first time you sucked my cock? When you tried fitting it all in on your first try?” he rasped a chuckle, slapping his cock against your face and smearing his pre-cum over your wet lips. “Your mouth was so small—you could hardly fit anything past the tip.”

You flicked your tongue out, giving his cock a shy kitten lick just to tease him.

“Oh, fuck,” he shuddered. “You slut. You want it in your mouth again? Wanna try again for me?”

He pointed the camera closer to your face, his other hand tangling in the back of your hair, nodding you closer to his shaft.

“Come on. Open up. Show me what you remember.”

You licked the pre-cum that was beading at the tip. It tasted just like it did the first time—salty and thick. Bucky groaned, his hand tightening in your hair, pushing you forward for more.

You opened your mouth, letting your lips wrap around the swollen head. His cock was warm and hot, already twitching in your mouth and he wasn’t even halfway. Encouraged by the camera and his breathy grunts, you sunk your head deeper.

Bucky felt like he could cum right there. Your mouth was still so tight and inexperienced. He was half tempted to pin you against the side of the bed and face fuck you until his balls were dry—but he forced himself to hold back.

“God. Is this—fuck—the best you can do, really?”

He brought his camera down, the lens pointing right where his tip disappeared in and out of your plump lips, making sure to pick up every wet squelch that left your mouth.

“You can do better than that,” he hissed, pushing his cock deeper into your throat. “I know it hurts, baby. Just remember what I said the first time. Stretch those lips, relax your jaw, breathe in and out of your nose.”

You fluttered your lashes as you looked up at him. Your eyes were sheen with tears that threatened to spill out from the ache of your mouth being stretched open. He rocked his hips forward, making you gag and choke.

“Oh, christ,” he grunted, his cock twitching as your throat tightened around him. “You guys listening to that? She’s gagging for me.”

He was talking to his potential viewers. Your eyes widened with embarrassment as an instinctive moan left your lips and vibrated around his cock.

“Mph!”

“Fuck, she’s sloppy—drooling all over my floor, but her mouth is so tight. Could cum just from this,” he started drawing his hips back and forth, forcing himself deeper.

He angled the camera closer to your face, capturing your pleading eyes and stretched mouth.

“Does it taste good, sweetheart?” he asked, despite knowing your inability to answer. “Come on, show that pretty face off for the camera.”

With your mouth stuffed full of his cock, all you could do was nod in desperation.

“Damn, what a good girl. The fans are going to love this,” he let out a shaky laugh.

His hand kept your head still, and without warning, he pushed his hips even deeper into your mouth. He pushed until your jaw ached from the stretch and your nose made contact with the dark, musky curls sitting on his pelvis.

Bucky tossed his head back, letting out a deep, pleasurable moan.

“Ohh, shit.”

You gagged and choked, your hands finding his bare thighs as you attempted to push your head away for a quick breath. His cock was sitting heavy on your tongue, and drool began to shamelessly drip down your chin and onto your thighs.

Despite your mouth being overworked, you were getting wetter by the second.

“Shh… shh. I know, baby. Just stay right there.” Bucky cooed, his blue eyes hazy with lust. “Just let it sit in your mouth. Breathe in and out through your nose. That’s it.”

You did as instructed, keeping your mouth stuffed full of cock like a good girl. But every time you breathed in, all you could smell was him. His musky, masculine scent only made your head spin with desire even more.

Another deep groan tore from his chest before he gripped your hair tight, pulling you away from his cock with a wet pop. Saliva mixed with his pre-cum drew from your lips like a silver string as you coughed for air.

“Fuuck,” he groaned, fucking his hand for a few pumps as he watched you struggle.

Bucky’s cock was angry, pulsing and throbbing with a mind of its own. His cock was sheen with your saliva, and he was dripping out so much pre-cum, he looked just about ready to cum right then and there.

“Goddamnit. Ten months later, and your mouth is still good enough to make me almost fucking cum,” he hissed angrily. He bent down, catching your stray tear with his thumb. “Don’t cry, pretty girl. You wanted me to teach you, didn’t you?”

He spoke so gently in a way that might’ve fooled his viewers, but every word that left his lips felt hauntingly patronizing.

You nodded with a sniffle. “Y—yes…”

Bucky smiled, his eyes softening as he took in your utterly debauched state.

He knew he was being a little mean, but he couldn’t help it. It’s what you deserved after ghosting him for ten months.

“That’s a good girl. My girl.” He nodded to his bed, standing up. “Go.”

Swallowing hard, you pushed yourself up—your mind dizzying and your legs feeling like jello from standing up too fast. You crossed over his crisp, white sheets—the mattress dipping under each crawl.

You didn’t know what position he wanted you in, so you played it safe and laid flat on your back.

Bucky’s expression was completely unreadable. His eyes were dark, his breathing labored, but his cock was still stiff, angry, and unsatisfied.

He adjusted the camera, zooming in on the cute bow on your panties.

“Spread your legs. Show everyone how wet you are after getting a taste of my cock.”

Biting your lip and turning your head from shame, you slowly spread your legs. With your thighs wide and your damp panties on full display, Bucky’s gaze somehow felt even heavier and more tense.

He growled, a deep rumbling sound of satisfaction. He stepped closer, meeting you at the bed. Every dip and creak from his moving weight made your heart race. His camera lens was focused solely on your panties, highlighting the growing wet patch on your crotch.

“Mm,” he hummed, his fingers dragging up and down your underwear, letting the fabric cling against your slick folds just underneath. “So wet. Could smell you from here, baby.”

You felt your body growing weaker by the second.

You wanted to beg him to fuck you—to take you just as he had the first time. But with the camera pointed steady in his hands, you knew he was trying to drag this out for as long as possible.

“Bucky,” you panted, eyes pleading. “I can’t take it anymore. I need your cock—”

“Aw, you’re begging?” Bucky huffed a laugh. “Ten months without a single word, and now you’re in my bed, demanding for my cock. That’s real cute, doll.”

Bucky brought the camera up to your face, and instinctively, you shied away from it. Despite your agreement to film, the lens pointing directly at you made you burn with an embarrassment you didn’t feel the first time.

Maybe because, in the back of your mind, you knew he’d be posting this one online—meaning you’ll be watched by thousands of people.

Sensing your hesitation, he lowered the camera with a slight frown, brows furrowing.

“Do you want to stop, doll?”

Stop?

Your heart clenched, eyes widening as you faced him.

“Stop?” you repeated softly, making sure you heard him right.

The softness in his eyes made your body feel warm. Bucky lowered his camera completely and angled it in a way that wouldn’t capture you in this vulnerable state. He was serious. He would stop for you if you changed your mind, despite your initial agreement to this as the compromise.

“If you don’t want me to upload this, I won’t.” He reassured. “I’ll keep this video for myself—just like the first one.”

His hand found your hip, his thumb tracing soft and gentle circles with a tenderness that only encouraged you to give yourself to him completely.

“I promise,” he added.

“No. I… I want to do this,” you searched his eyes, trying to soothe your nerves. “I can do it, Bucky. Please teach me.”

It was hard to ignore the way his cock hung heavy between his legs—twitching at your admission. The corners of his lips tugged up in a satisfied, smug smile.

“That’s my good girl.”

While one hand repositioned the camera back to you again, the other found the waistband of your panties, giving it a gentle tug downwards. With the fabric slipping slipping down your thighs and past your ankles, you hissed at the cool air greeting your wet cunt.

“Christ. You soaked the fabric right through, doll.” He held the garment up, the lamp highlighting every glistening wet spot as he made sure to capture your essence on camera.

He leaned over you with a grunt, setting your panties down on the side table. Your eyes followed his movement, and you sucked in a breath at seeing the toy he modeled right after you—resting there with a loose hole and an obvious tear in the abdomen.

It was haunting, almost like a warning for what you’re about to take.

Bucky nestled himself in the space between your legs, letting his length rest heavy on your stomach. His tip tickled your belly button, grinning proudly at the size comparison of his cock to your body.

“Did you fuck anyone else after me?” he rasped as he rocked his hips back and forth, grounding his cock against your belly.

You shook your head, face blistering from the sensation.

“No, Bucky. There was no one else…”

A satisfied groan tore from his lips. He grabbed himself at the base, guiding the tip toward your entrance.

“Is that so?” he mumbled. “Let’s see if you’re telling the truth.”

With a slow forward push of his hips, his tip fought against the tightness of your entrance. He sucked in a breath as he slipped in deeper, and your walls immediately clenched around the intrusion. You were so tight—Bucky had to grit his teeth to keep his composure.

Whimpering, you held onto his shoulders for support as he stretched you from just the tip. “Fu—fuck..”

“Fuck, baby. Still so goddamn tight. Just breathe in and out,” he gasped, his voice thickening in a way that made it sound like he was trying to calm himself down. “In and out while I sink into you deeper. That’s it. Good girl…”

Your back arched off the bed as he filled you. Your legs were stiff around him, your lips whimpering and mewling with every inch he was forcing your tight body to take. He leaned in, pressing a kiss to your temple as he stretched your pussy out with just half his cock.

“Have you been keeping up with my videos?” He asked.

You couldn’t bring yourself to answer. You were too stuffed—too concentrated on trying to get your body to accommodate the sheer size of him.

“I—I haven’t—” you answered truthfully.

He clicked his tongue in disapproval, pointing the camcorder to where the top half of his cock disappeared in and out of your tight cunt.

“The videos would’ve scared you,” he pushed his cock a little deeper, making you cry out. “Kept breaking my toys. All my damn fleshlights are torn right through. Had to keep ordering new ones, but fuck, they didn’t feel nearly as good as your tight, virgin pussy did.”

The broken sex doll that laid on his bedside table was certainly a testament to that.

Bucky’s hand found balance near the side of your head, his muscles and veins popping from holding his weight while the other hand was too occupied filming every inch of his cock delving deeper in your pussy.

“How does it feel, baby? Still as big as you remembered?”

“Still big, Bucky,” you winced when he angled his pelvis, his cock twitching in time with every clench your pussy gave him. “I’m trying to take it all—to big the good girl that you remembered—”

He tossed his head back with a groan. He tried his best to control himself—he really did. But the longer he stayed inside your warmth, the more his mind started to fray.

“Fuck—so cute. Such a good girl,” he groaned, sheathing himself completely inside until his dark curls were greeted with your wet folds. “Oh my god.”

Bucky stilled inside you, basking in your warmth. Your body felt like a wet, tight hug wrapping around his cock. This was the sensation he sought after the day you left. The very feeling he’d been looking for in the useless sex toys he was constantly ordering.

Now that you were finally here—pinned beneath him and his camera—he was afraid that if he moved, he would cum right there on the spot.

“Bucky?” your voice was soft, breaking into a gentle moan. “Are you okay?”

His eyes fluttered down to look at you, and his breath caught.

Your hair was fanned out so beautifully against his white sheets. Your body was laid bare and perfect for him. You asked the question in such a soft and innocent tone—it did nothing to dull the ache in his balls and did everything to make his heart heavier.

He should be asking you the question, with you lying there stretched out with more than you can take, but alas.

“You’re asking if I’m okay?” he huffed a raspy laugh, shifting his hips to deliver a deep and hard thrust inside you. “No, I’m not okay. I want to fuck you right through the mattress. Want to split you open and make you cry on my cock. But I can’t—I have to control myself and teach you how to take me again.”

The red light of the camcorder flickered in the dark room as he began rocking his hips, his cock sliding in and out of you—capturing every moment of him claiming you a second time.

The bed started to creak, accompanied with his grunts and your soft moans of pleasure.

Bucky’s breathing was heavy, every deep, punishing roll of his hips making your eyes roll back.

The tip of his cock was kissing your cervix so sweetly, you felt your body giving out. He was right—your pussy was acting like a vice, wrapping impossibly tight around his thick shaft, refusing to let him go.

The camera shook in his hand as he aimed it directly at your hips. He had failed to capture the moment he pumped you full of his cum last time, and he was going to make damn sure he got it right tonight.

“Not a single drop going to waste,” he panted, his hips rutting uncontrollably against yours. “Gonna pump you full—God. Should fill up your womb so you’ll never leave me again.”

Your heart started to race as his words danced in your mind. Surely, this was just make-believe dirty talk. A performance he put on for the camera to secure a good payout from his loyal subscribers, right?

But as his body moved even more erratically, the bed groaning under every hard, bruising thrust, you began to fear otherwise.

“Fuck—this little slut thought she could use my cock to practice for other men,” he laughed, the sound deep and condescending. “Said she wanted to learn how to take dick for her future boyfriend. What a fucking joke.”

Your face burned with humiliation. You couldn’t believe Bucky was airing out your private confessions to his viewers like this.

“Oh my god! Bucky, please don’t say that—”

But your protests were useless. Your pussy was already spasming, clenching around him in a tight, weeping mess at every degrading taunt that left his lips.

“Ah, fuck. My sweet girl is milking me so hard—she doesn’t want to let go.” He chuckled, watching the wet friction of your hips through the camera screen. “You want to cum for me?”

You nodded, letting out a pathetic whimper.

Bucky leaned over you, shoving the camera close to your face. “Come on, baby. You’re on camera. I need you to speak up so everyone else can hear you.”

Pleasure was coursing through your body in ways that a simple vibrator could never match. Ten months without Bucky—and without touching anyone else—had left you chasing a high you couldn’t replicate. It was never like this.

You nodded frantically, losing all control over your own autonomy as tears of pleasure blurred your vision.

“Yes, Bucky! Please—please, please, I want to cum!”

Your cries were loud enough to peak the camera’s built-in microphone. Your walls clamped down around his cock, pulsing and fluttering as your back arched off the mattress with a loud moan, letting the climax rip straight through your core and down to very tip of your toes.

Bucky groaned, his entire body going stiff as your pussy milked him ruthlessly. Fuck. He missed this. He missed the tightness of your cunt. He couldn’t find this sensation anywhere else.

“Christ. Look at that,” he growled into the camera, his hand shaking as he kept the lens focused on where you squeezed around him. “She’s squeezing me so tight—it nearly hurts. Fuck, I’m gonna cum too.”

His balls slapped against your pussy with every hard thrust. He was chasing his release—his face twisted into a mask of pleasure as he felt his balls tighten and his cock twitch. You were already past your high, but Bucky forced you to ride it out for him.

“Shit, the idea of her having sex with someone else...” he snarled to the camera, his voice breaking as he slammed deep into your pulsing heat. “...of someone else’s cock buried deep in what’s supposed to be mine. I’m gonna fucking lose it.”

You cried out his name, your nails digging into his back as he used your body ruthlessly, just like one of his sex toys.

“Fuck, fuck—shit—fuck!”

A litany of curses spilled from his lips as his cock buried all the way to the hilt.

He shuddered violently, pinning your hips flat against the mattress as his orgasm tore through him, flooding every surface of your womb with thick, warm seed. He held himself deep, marking you from the inside out, leaving his cum to fill you completely until it was dripping onto the sheets.

Bucky brought the camera down with a shaky hand, capturing the way your puffy slit was pulsing around his cock, and the way his cum trickled out of you.

“There we go,” he breathed, satisfied. “Captured every second of it, baby.”

Ensuring that you kept your end of the bargain, Bucky uploaded the video to his profile.

Before hitting post, he texted you multiple times to make absolutely sure you were comfortable with your face and username being shown.

When you finally agreed, you never expected the video to blow up overnight. You knew Bucky was a popular content creator, but perhaps the sight of a woman’s body—your body—in the thumbnail stood out against his usual solo content.

Today, you sat at your desk, pulling up his profile out of habit, just like the ritual you used to have ten months ago. Your mouse hovered over the video, and you hesitated before clicking.

Two million views.

A wave of nerves hit you—the thought of being perceived by two million strangers while completely bare and vulnerable was overwhelming. Yet, for some reason, the idea of it excited you more than a girl like you should admit.

You finally clicked the link. The video started with you stripping for him, then dropping to your knees, and just minutes later, you were sprawled out bare on the mattress while he pumped you full of his cum.

You were already soaking through your underwear just watching it, your thighs rubbing together shamelessly from the memory of being filled by Bucky. The way his breathy moans sounded so much more enthusiastic than they ever did in his solo videos filled you with absolute pride.

You made him feel that good.

And apparently, you made his entire comment section feel good, too.

Daddywants2play: hooooooooolyy fuck. she’s so hot. my balls are so heavy just from watching her tits bounce. u lucky dog

Bwasexual: Omg!!! Do you guys need a third?

pegm3please: God so fucking hot. Is she going to upload anytime soon?? Just gave her a follow.

Your brow rose at the last comment.

Gave her a follow?

Instinctively, your mouse hovered to the top right of the screen where the notification bell was displayed.

It showed over 99+ alerts. You were used to seeing two at the absolute maximum—a like from Bucky on one of your comments, and his reply.

Bracing yourself, you clicked it, and a wall of notifications flooded the screen with dozens of different usernames following you. Your follower count had gone from exactly one—Bucky’s account—to well over a thousand in just a single night.

You couldn’t believe it.

People loved watching you.

They loved you enough that, despite you having zero videos posted, no profile picture, and an entirely blank description, they were hitting follow anyway—eagerly expecting to see more. You mentally patted yourself on the back for having the foresight to remove the links to your personal social media accounts beforehand.

A warm flush traced your face. The crazy part was, it wasn’t from embarrassment at all.

It was pure excitement.

Without thinking, you snatched your phone off the desk and dialed a familiar number. It only rang twice before a deep, sleepy voice answered on the other end.

“Hey, doll,” Bucky rasped. “Everything okay?”

“I just saw the video,” you said, the words tumbling out fast. You couldn’t contain your excitement. “I woke up to a little over a thousand followers—and there are so many comments!”

He paused on the line. You could hear the rustle of sheets as he sat up.

“… And are you okay with that? Do you want me to take it down?”

You bit your lip. You couldn’t believe what you were going to say next. “I’m more than okay with it. But… um…”

Bucky’s brow furrowed. He pulled the phone away from his face for a split second to make sure you were still on the line.

“Sweetheart, what is it?”

A breathy sigh left your lips. “I… I want to become a content creator, too. Will you teach me?”

And just like that, the air left Bucky’s lungs completely.

Everything he could possibly want—and more—was finally being served to him on a silver platter.

This meant more videos, more collaborations, and endless opportunities to have you completely to himself.

“Yes,” he swiped at his camcorder and car keys. “I’m coming over. Be ready for me.”

hopping off the bed turn my swag on. happy almost one year anniversary to pornstar bucky and the first bwa collab. once again, thank you to my dear friend @unificsation for the premise. thank you to @barnesonly for the cyber sex bucky edit she made inspired by this fic that i goon to nightly. thank you to @blowingbarnes and @buckybunni for being pornstar bucky's number one fan (i never forgot) thank you to @houseofhyde for giving me the inspiration to write this after sum silly joke. and thank you for all the love and support for part one. i would like to dedicate this oscar to you guys /j

I do not have a tag list. to get notified for fic updates, please follow @notify-superbassbuck and turn on notifications.

Ten months.

It had been ten long, grueling months since Bucky last got a taste of you.

After taking your virginity, he paid for your groceries—as promised, because he believed himself to be a gentleman—and messaged you a few days later, inviting you to film another video with him.

You were his loyal fan.

You were there for every single one of his videos.

Hell, your own username was dedicated to him.

So when you left him on read for ten months without leaving a single trace behind, he grew furious. He tried making excuses for you—perhaps you were too busy? Or maybe you went on vacation? He tried circling back to your social media, which was how he had first found you, but you had privated all your accounts and deactivated your TikTok.

Naturally, pessimistic thoughts began to fill his mind.

Was he too rough when he took you? Did he freak you out by finding you at the grocery store? Worse, had he scared you away for good?

Bucky knew where you lived. It would’ve been easy to just show up at your front door and demand answers—but he couldn’t do that. Not with the threat of a restraining order looming in the back of his mind.

Ten months. He couldn’t believe he had let you stray away from him for that long.

There was so much you could’ve done during that time. You could’ve moved, had sex with other men, or even found a relationship.

You went from being his loyal fan to a ghost.

Bucky knelt on his mattress, holding up a clear silicone toy that looked tiny compared to his hands. He squeezed a generous amount of lube into his palm and spread it carefully along his half-hard cock, making sure none of it dripped onto the sheets.

His camcorder was propped against a pillow, angled perfectly to capture him from the waist down. With his bare abs and thighs fully in frame, he settled back on his heels, gripped the toy firmly, and guided it toward his cock.

A rough groan escaped him as he teased the sensitive tip against the entrance. The lubricant made every movement slick and audible, the wet sounds filling the otherwise quiet room.

“Fuck. Been waiting for this all day.”

His eyes fluttered shut as he slowly worked the toy against his shaft. He continued at an unhurried pace, his grip tightening as he lost himself in the sensation.

“Good girl,” he muttered without thinking.

The words slipped out on instinct, a praise that always led back to you. As the room filled with the sounds of his grunts and movements, his thoughts drifted to the memory of you. They always did. He pictured your soft lips wrapped around his dick, the way he had your face pressed into the pillow as he took you from behind—the moments that had replayed endlessly in his mind over the past months.

At some point, imagination alone had stopped being enough.

Whenever he wanted to relive it, he would pull up the private video he recorded of the two of you, letting it play in the background while he lost himself in the pleasure of his toy.

“God,” he groaned, your name slipping from his lips in a breathless rasp.

He made a mental note to cut the part where he whispered your name like a prayer before uploading the video to the site.

“Shit—fuck. I miss that tight little pussy.”

With a loud groan and both hands holding the toy tight, he drove his hips deep into the toy until it made an unmistakable tearing sound. Too lost in the haze of his own desire, he didn’t even realize he tore through yet another toy to the memory of you.

Seed filled the silicone, marking every cloudy surface with his thick cum.

Once he caught his breath, he let the toy fall from his grip and pushed it aside.

From there, the rest of the evening followed the same familiar routine.

He would take a shower, get dressed, make himself something for dinner, then spend the rest of the evening at his computer. He would spend his time editing the footage, preparing it for upload to the same porn site he had been posting on for years.

Except this time, there was no excitement after hitting the ‘post’ button, because you wouldn’t even be there to watch them.

After the video went live, he waited for the likes and comments to start pouring in, holding onto the faint hope that your username might appear among them.

As usual, it never did.

Surprisingly, though, that wasn’t what disappointed him this time.

Every time he jerked off with the intention to post a new video—your video was always in the background. It got to the point where people started to leave comments asking who the mysterious girl was. Who those sultry, seductive moans belonged to.

He would even get comments asking if he’d be willing to record another video of the two of you together and post it online.

Every time he read those comments, he would scoff, laughing to himself.

I would like to know the same thing.

After posting his latest video, his comment section had been flooding with the same demands for weeks.

wankingandspanking: hell yeah man! love the new video. but who’s the babe in the video you’re watching??

StraightJorkinIt: U breaking ur toy was so hot, but what’s even hotter is the girl moaning in the back. xx

Bwasexual: The toys are getting a little old, don’t you think?? Bring a real woman in. especially the one in the vid you’re jerking to ;)

Each comment was a direct insult to Bucky’s pride.

He was one of the platform’s top creators—yet now, his community was entirely consumed by you.

He had spent the last ten months trying to get you out of his head, trying to just use your video as a quick jerk off aid and move on. But how could he when his own fans wouldn’t let him forget?

How could he, when he couldn’t even cum to anything else anymore? His memory was flooded of the way his cock had disappeared in and out of your tight pussy while he had you bent over from behind. By the recollection of your cute, virgin mouth stuffed full of cock—his cock—for the first time ever.

How could he possibly forget how sweet your tight little body was, like it was made for him?

Bucky’s frustration was peaking. At the very least, he was making money off of this.

Just as he was about to shut down his computer and call it a night, a new notification popped up.

He clicked it, and what he saw made the air in his lungs vanish completely.

Pleasure_Ring: Love the video!

Bucky blinked.

Was he seeing this right?

He rubbed his eyes, but lo and behold, your comment was still there. He double—and triple—checked the username, ensuring every single letter matched and that it wasn’t some random copycat trying to impersonate you.

But no, it was you.

When he clicked your profile, the interface loaded your old message thread. He saw the green indicator showing you were currently online, sitting right above his last unanswered message asking you to film with him again.

He couldn’t believe it.

You were real. You were still here, ten months later, watching him.

Bucky didn’t realize he was holding his breath as his fingers hovered over the keyboard. He wanted to spam you with messages—to demand where the hell you’ve been, to beg for your phone number so he would never lose track of you again.

No, he couldn’t risk ruining this moment. He had to stay rational and seize this chance before you slipped through his fingers again.

Lord_Of_The_Rings_1917: I saw the comment you left.

Lord_Of_The_Rings_1917: Where have you been?

A minute passed. Then another. He propped both elbows on the desk, resting his chin on his hands, his foot tapping impatiently as he waited.

Three minutes went by. Your little icon was still green—you were still online.

Then, his heart leaped.

Pleasure_Ring is typing…

Pleasure_Ring: Why? Did you miss me?

Bucky’s brow twitched. Your messages from ten months ago had been sweet, alluring, and almost innocent. If you had been texting him consistently, he might’ve read this as a flirtatious little comment to make his dick hard.

But right now, he just felt pissed off.

Lord_Of_The_Rings_1917: Quit playing around. Of course I missed you. Where did you go?

There were so many things he wanted to ask, but he couldn’t risk scaring you away just yet. His heart raced as he watched the screen.

Pleasure_Ring is typing…

Your bubble kept appearing and disappearing. You would type, then silence. You would type again, then nothing.

Bucky felt like he was going insane. He was just about ready to send another message himself, until one finally popped up under your name.

Pleasure_Ring: I think it’s best that we talk in person.

Pleasure_Ring: Can we exchange numbers?

And of course, Bucky gave you his number without a second thought.

You sat alone at the coffee shop Bucky had agreed to meet you at, fiddling with your mug and glancing anxiously out the window.

The meetup was set for noon, and the closer the clock ticked to the hour, the more your mind began to spiral.

It had been ten months since he last saw you. Ten months since he had you bent over your own bed, your face pressed into the pillows, ravaging you like an animal.

You were growing anxious. What if he had lost interest? What if he took one good look at you and realized you were nothing like the woman he had been infatuated with all this time?

The bell above the door chimed. You glanced up, and your breath caught in your throat.

Bucky was right there. He looked just as handsome as the day you met him. His presence seemed to take up the entire space of the coffee shop, just as it had when he first approached you at the grocery store.

His eyes swept across the room. The moment they landed on yours, your thighs instinctively clenched together. He was wearing that same cold, stern expression he had when he first told you to strip for him.

Naturally, it did things to you.

He marched over to your table, dragged the chair back, and dropped into the seat directly across from you. He didn’t bother with a polite smile, and his gaze didn’t warm up at all.

Was he angry? Was this a nuisance to him—taking time out of his busy day just to see a girl he slept with ten months ago?

“Bucky,” you breathed, forcing a polite smile. “How are you—”

“Where have you been?”

You blinked. You were about to stammer out a quick excuse, but he breezed on past.

“Ten months without a single word from you.” He leaned closer across the table. “Where have you been?”

Despite his harsh tone, he was anxiously bracing himself for your answer. He expected you to say you had lost interest, or that you found a boyfriend to practice your new... sexual experiences on. You hadn’t even given an explanation yet, and he was already fuming with jealousy.

You looked down at your coffee mug, avoiding his gaze. Looking him directly in the eye right now was simply too much to handle.

“I’m sorry I haven’t kept in touch,” you mumbled. “Ever since… that night, I’ve been… uh—how do I even say this?” You chuckled awkwardly, scratching lightly at your cheek. “I guess I’ve been feeling a little ashamed of myself.”

Bucky watched your shoulders slump as your hands fidgeted nervously in your lap.

“Ashamed?”

“Ever since we slept together, I’ve felt insecure about not being able to... keep up with you.” You winced. “I mean, you’re obviously experienced—I had a great time, and everything—but it made me realize that, at my age, when everyone else seems to be out there having fun and figuring things out, I’m nowhere near as experienced as they are.”

Your voice dropped lower as you glanced around the room.

It wasn’t exactly the kind of conversation suited for a small, intimate coffee shop.

Bucky frowned, crossing his arms. Your explanation wasn’t giving him the reassurance he had hoped for.

“So you were embarrassed about sleeping with me?”

Your eyes widened.

“No! It’s not like that.” You shook your head. “I had an incredible time with you. You gave me an experience I’ll never forget. I mean...” You leaned forward, lowering your voice to a conspicuous whisper. “You were the one who took my virginity, after all.”

That, at least, managed to draw the hint of a smile from him.

“It’s just...” you hesitated. “I’m ready to start dating, and in the current dating scene, sex matters, you know?”

There it was.

The sentence Bucky had been dreading.

While he had spent the last ten months thinking about you—worrying about you, searching for some way to reconnect, replaying the video you’d filmed together and jerking off to it, moaning your name—you had spent those same months looking forward to a future with someone else.

“So...” You hesitated. “After reading all those comments on your videos, the ones talking about how good I sound, and remembering the offer you made ten months ago to film another one...” Your gaze dropped briefly. “If that offer still stands, maybe you could teach me?”

“Teach you?” Bucky repeated, the words leaving him almost like a scoff.

Just as innocent as the day he first met you, you nodded shyly.

“Teach me how to be better at sex.”

An awkward silence took the space between the two of you.

You were preparing yourself for rejection. For Bucky to push back his chair, walk away, and decide this conversation had been a mistake. After this, you wouldn’t be surprised if he even blocked your number and your profile, cutting off the last connection between you.

Instead, he studied you for a very long moment.

“You know,” he said slowly, his gaze finding yours, “the comments have been asking us to film a video together, right?”

The look he gave you was difficult to read—careful, calculating, and almost suspicious.

“I know,” you said bashfully.

“If you want me to teach you,” he said, leaning forward as his voice dropped soft and intimate, “then we’re going to do the same thing we did before, but I want this done at my house instead. I’ll record.”

He paused, studying your reaction.

“And this time, I’m posting it online.”

You sat there frozen.

It wasn’t exactly the compromise you expected, but you couldn’t say you were entirely surprised. After disappearing from his life for months, after leaving things unresolved between you, part of you knew he would want something in return.

Bucky leaned in closer, his hand finding yours on the table. His fingers curled around yours, giving them a reassuring squeeze.

“You’ve read the comments,” he said. “You might be insecure about your experience, but my viewers love you. They’re curious. They want to know who the woman behind that voice is.”

Heat rushed to your face. The confidence in his words only made your pulse quicken, and the slow sweep of his thumb across your knuckles wasn’t helping at all.

“I’ll teach you everything you want to know,” he continued. “I’ll take care of you. You know I will.”

For a moment, his confidence faltered and his eyes looked pleading, revealing something almost hopeful beneath it.

“What do you say, doll?”

Your heart had been pounding ever since Bucky sat down across from you at the coffee shop. It hadn’t slowed once—not during the conversation, not during the drive over, and certainly not now as you stood behind him while he unlocked his apartment door.

Bucky stepped aside, holding the door open for you. After a moment's hesitation, you stepped inside.

The studio apartment was dimly lit. The blinds were drawn, leaving only the warm glow of a lamp to light the room. In one corner sat a computer setup—his workstation where he recorded and edited his videos.

Your breath caught at what was displaying on the monitor.

Your chat history.

His studio was the definition of a man cave. What caught your attention, however, were the sex toys scattered throughout the apartment without a hint of shame.

Some of the toys were immediately recognizable from his videos. Having been a longtime viewer, you had seen them often enough to identify them at a glance.

Bucky tossed his keys onto a nearby surface and motioned for you to follow him toward the bed. As you approached, your gaze landed on something unfamiliar at his bedside table.

“What’s this?” You pointed to a toy shaped like the lower half of a woman’s body. Unlike the others, you didn’t remember ever seeing this one in any of his videos.

Bucky glanced at it. “Oh, that?” He came to stand beside you. “Custom made. I use it off-camera.” His tone was casual, almost dismissive. “Had it modeled after you.”

You were suddenly grateful for the low lighting, because that meant he couldn’t see the stunned expression that immediately crossed your face.

Modeled after you?

Your eyes drifted back to the toy, taking in the details—the shape of the hips, the skin tone, it was an unmistakable similarity. What shook you up, though, was the tear in the toy around her upper abdomen, a sign that Bucky’s cock tore right through the silicone.

The sounds of his belt buckle being undone drew your attention back to him.

“Had it set to the maximum tightness,” he explained gruffly, setting the belt down on his chair and reaching for the familiar camcorder he used before. “Still not nearly as tight as you felt—but it made do during those ten months you were gone.”

A moment later, he lifted the camera and pointed it in your direction, the red light flickering to let you know it was on.

“Go ahead,” he prompted, watching you. “Undress.”

You bit your lip as you stood in front of him, feeling far more self-conscious than you expected.

For some reason, the atmosphere felt infinitely more tense than it had the first time you undressed for him.

Bucky seemed to notice your hesitation immediately. He lowered the camera slightly.

“What’s wrong?”

“I don't know about this, Bucky.” You fiddled with your fingers, unable to meet his gaze. Instead, you focused on your bare feet against the floor. “What if I'm not good at this?”

A slow, patient sigh escaped him.

Without a word, he set the camera on the bedside table. It remained angled in a way that still captured your body, but his attention had shifted entirely to you. His hands found the hem of your shirt and lifted it up, letting his fingers tickle your lower belly.

“Are you feeling shy, doll?” he murmured softly.

The question was quiet enough so that the camera wouldn’t pick it up. It wasn’t meant for an audience. It was just for you.

“Look at me,” he commanded gently. “You’ve got a perfect, tight body. There are a lot of people that would kill to be in my position, and you’re scared to show it off?”

He lifted your shirt up until it exposed the lace of your bra. His large hand cupped over your breast, giving it a squeeze that made you gasp softly.

Bucky grinned. “Ah, there she is.”

While his left hand fondled your tits, his other hand crept up to your chin, tilting your head so you were forced to look at him. His eyes wandered down to your lips—exposed, plump, and vulnerable.

“When you get a boyfriend—you’ll have to learn how to kiss,” Bucky murmured. “Do you know how?”

The question felt almost condescending. He should already know the answer. You were still inexperienced, still clueless, but despite it all, you couldn’t help the ache that began to form between your legs from the way he talked to you.

Your voice came out soft and trembling, but to Bucky, it sounded like music to his ears.

“… Teach me?”

A low growl vibrated from his lips as he closed the distance in one, smooth motion. His lips collided with yours—hungry and consuming—letting his tongue delve past your lips and into the wet warmth of your mouth.

He held your face tight, forcing you to take every inch of his tongue and every surface of his lips. It was hot, messy, and wet. During every second of his ravishing, his hands continued to explore your body, groping you through your bottoms. He held you so close, you could already feel him throbbing against your leg.

“Fuck,” he groaned against your lips, pulling away slightly to catch his breath. “Still taste so good. So sweet, just for me.”

He stepped away, breathing just as hard as his dick felt.

With the warm lamp glowing next to him, it outlined the sheer size of his dick throbbing in his pants. You watched it pulse, a little wet spot forming near the tip, before his large hand came down with deep, circular rubs to soothe the ache.

“Bucky…” You gasped softly.

His other hand snatched the camera off the bedside table, nearly knocking down the picture frames. With a shaky hand, he lifted the camera up to you again.

“Strip.” He commanded, rougher this time. “Strip. Now.”

Your heart raced. His patience was fraying, and without upsetting him further, you began to undress. You abandoned your top, your pants, all until you were left standing in nothing but your panties and bra.

Bucky groaned at the sight, his palm working faster over his clothed erection.

“God, look at that,” he zoomed in on the wet spot collecting at the front of your panties. “You’re fucking soaking for me, doll. And all I did was kiss you.”

Shame flooded your face. As you unhooked your bra and worked for your panties next, Bucky’s voice pulled you to a stop.

“No,” his hand shot out, catching your wrist. “Keep those on. I want to see the mess you’ll make after having my dick in your mouth.”

With his grip tightening around your wrist, he ushered you to the ground until your knees made contact with the floor. He tugged his pants down with force, and his cock sprang out heavy—slapping you in the cheek and making you wince.

He was big and hard. Seeing him up close like this, with his hand around his shaft and his tip rubbing against your cheek, you weren’t sure how you took him the first time.

“Do you remember the first time you sucked my cock? When you tried fitting it all in on your first try?” he rasped a chuckle, slapping his cock against your face and smearing his pre-cum over your wet lips. “Your mouth was so small—you could hardly fit anything past the tip.”

You flicked your tongue out, giving his cock a shy kitten lick just to tease him.

“Oh, fuck,” he shuddered. “You slut. You want it in your mouth again? Wanna try again for me?”

He pointed the camera closer to your face, his other hand tangling in the back of your hair, nodding you closer to his shaft.

“Come on. Open up. Show me what you remember.”

You licked the pre-cum that was beading at the tip. It tasted just like it did the first time—salty and thick. Bucky groaned, his hand tightening in your hair, pushing you forward for more.

You opened your mouth, letting your lips wrap around the swollen head. His cock was warm and hot, already twitching in your mouth and he wasn’t even halfway. Encouraged by the camera and his breathy grunts, you sunk your head deeper.

Bucky felt like he could cum right there. Your mouth was still so tight and inexperienced. He was half tempted to pin you against the side of the bed and face fuck you until his balls were dry—but he forced himself to hold back.

“God. Is this—fuck—the best you can do, really?”

He brought his camera down, the lens pointing right where his tip disappeared in and out of your plump lips, making sure to pick up every wet squelch that left your mouth.

“You can do better than that,” he hissed, pushing his cock deeper into your throat. “I know it hurts, baby. Just remember what I said the first time. Stretch those lips, relax your jaw, breathe in and out of your nose.”

You fluttered your lashes as you looked up at him. Your eyes were sheen with tears that threatened to spill out from the ache of your mouth being stretched open. He rocked his hips forward, making you gag and choke.

“Oh, christ,” he grunted, his cock twitching as your throat tightened around him. “You guys listening to that? She’s gagging for me.”

He was talking to his potential viewers. Your eyes widened with embarrassment as an instinctive moan left your lips and vibrated around his cock.

“Mph!”

“Fuck, she’s sloppy—drooling all over my floor, but her mouth is so tight. Could cum just from this,” he started drawing his hips back and forth, forcing himself deeper.

He angled the camera closer to your face, capturing your pleading eyes and stretched mouth.

“Does it taste good, sweetheart?” he asked, despite knowing your inability to answer. “Come on, show that pretty face off for the camera.”

With your mouth stuffed full of his cock, all you could do was nod in desperation.

“Damn, what a good girl. The fans are going to love this,” he let out a shaky laugh.

His hand kept your head still, and without warning, he pushed his hips even deeper into your mouth. He pushed until your jaw ached from the stretch and your nose made contact with the dark, musky curls sitting on his pelvis.

Bucky tossed his head back, letting out a deep, pleasurable moan.

“Ohh, shit.”

You gagged and choked, your hands finding his bare thighs as you attempted to push your head away for a quick breath. His cock was sitting heavy on your tongue, and drool began to shamelessly drip down your chin and onto your thighs.

Despite your mouth being overworked, you were getting wetter by the second.

“Shh… shh. I know, baby. Just stay right there.” Bucky cooed, his blue eyes hazy with lust. “Just let it sit in your mouth. Breathe in and out through your nose. That’s it.”

You did as instructed, keeping your mouth stuffed full of cock like a good girl. But every time you breathed in, all you could smell was him. His musky, masculine scent only made your head spin with desire even more.

Another deep groan tore from his chest before he gripped your hair tight, pulling you away from his cock with a wet pop. Saliva mixed with his pre-cum drew from your lips like a silver string as you coughed for air.

“Fuuck,” he groaned, fucking his hand for a few pumps as he watched you struggle.

Bucky’s cock was angry, pulsing and throbbing with a mind of its own. His cock was sheen with your saliva, and he was dripping out so much pre-cum, he looked just about ready to cum right then and there.

“Goddamnit. Ten months later, and your mouth is still good enough to make me almost fucking cum,” he hissed angrily. He bent down, catching your stray tear with his thumb. “Don’t cry, pretty girl. You wanted me to teach you, didn’t you?”

He spoke so gently in a way that might’ve fooled his viewers, but every word that left his lips felt hauntingly patronizing.

You nodded with a sniffle. “Y—yes…”

Bucky smiled, his eyes softening as he took in your utterly debauched state.

He knew he was being a little mean, but he couldn’t help it. It’s what you deserved after ghosting him for ten months.

“That’s a good girl. My girl.” He nodded to his bed, standing up. “Go.”

Swallowing hard, you pushed yourself up—your mind dizzying and your legs feeling like jello from standing up too fast. You crossed over his crisp, white sheets—the mattress dipping under each crawl.

You didn’t know what position he wanted you in, so you played it safe and laid flat on your back.

Bucky’s expression was completely unreadable. His eyes were dark, his breathing labored, but his cock was still stiff, angry, and unsatisfied.

He adjusted the camera, zooming in on the cute bow on your panties.

“Spread your legs. Show everyone how wet you are after getting a taste of my cock.”

Biting your lip and turning your head from shame, you slowly spread your legs. With your thighs wide and your damp panties on full display, Bucky’s gaze somehow felt even heavier and more tense.

He growled, a deep rumbling sound of satisfaction. He stepped closer, meeting you at the bed. Every dip and creak from his moving weight made your heart race. His camera lens was focused solely on your panties, highlighting the growing wet patch on your crotch.

“Mm,” he hummed, his fingers dragging up and down your underwear, letting the fabric cling against your slick folds just underneath. “So wet. Could smell you from here, baby.”

You felt your body growing weaker by the second.

You wanted to beg him to fuck you—to take you just as he had the first time. But with the camera pointed steady in his hands, you knew he was trying to drag this out for as long as possible.

“Bucky,” you panted, eyes pleading. “I can’t take it anymore. I need your cock—”

“Aw, you’re begging?” Bucky huffed a laugh. “Ten months without a single word, and now you’re in my bed, demanding for my cock. That’s real cute, doll.”

Bucky brought the camera up to your face, and instinctively, you shied away from it. Despite your agreement to film, the lens pointing directly at you made you burn with an embarrassment you didn’t feel the first time.

Maybe because, in the back of your mind, you knew he’d be posting this one online—meaning you’ll be watched by thousands of people.

Sensing your hesitation, he lowered the camera with a slight frown, brows furrowing.

“Do you want to stop, doll?”

Stop?

Your heart clenched, eyes widening as you faced him.

“Stop?” you repeated softly, making sure you heard him right.

The softness in his eyes made your body feel warm. Bucky lowered his camera completely and angled it in a way that wouldn’t capture you in this vulnerable state. He was serious. He would stop for you if you changed your mind, despite your initial agreement to this as the compromise.

“If you don’t want me to upload this, I won’t.” He reassured. “I’ll keep this video for myself—just like the first one.”

His hand found your hip, his thumb tracing soft and gentle circles with a tenderness that only encouraged you to give yourself to him completely.

“I promise,” he added.

“No. I… I want to do this,” you searched his eyes, trying to soothe your nerves. “I can do it, Bucky. Please teach me.”

It was hard to ignore the way his cock hung heavy between his legs—twitching at your admission. The corners of his lips tugged up in a satisfied, smug smile.

“That’s my good girl.”

While one hand repositioned the camera back to you again, the other found the waistband of your panties, giving it a gentle tug downwards. With the fabric slipping slipping down your thighs and past your ankles, you hissed at the cool air greeting your wet cunt.

“Christ. You soaked the fabric right through, doll.” He held the garment up, the lamp highlighting every glistening wet spot as he made sure to capture your essence on camera.

He leaned over you with a grunt, setting your panties down on the side table. Your eyes followed his movement, and you sucked in a breath at seeing the toy he modeled right after you—resting there with a loose hole and an obvious tear in the abdomen.

It was haunting, almost like a warning for what you’re about to take.

Bucky nestled himself in the space between your legs, letting his length rest heavy on your stomach. His tip tickled your belly button, grinning proudly at the size comparison of his cock to your body.

“Did you fuck anyone else after me?” he rasped as he rocked his hips back and forth, grounding his cock against your belly.

You shook your head, face blistering from the sensation.

“No, Bucky. There was no one else…”

A satisfied groan tore from his lips. He grabbed himself at the base, guiding the tip toward your entrance.

“Is that so?” he mumbled. “Let’s see if you’re telling the truth.”

With a slow forward push of his hips, his tip fought against the tightness of your entrance. He sucked in a breath as he slipped in deeper, and your walls immediately clenched around the intrusion. You were so tight—Bucky had to grit his teeth to keep his composure.

Whimpering, you held onto his shoulders for support as he stretched you from just the tip. “Fu—fuck..”

“Fuck, baby. Still so goddamn tight. Just breathe in and out,” he gasped, his voice thickening in a way that made it sound like he was trying to calm himself down. “In and out while I sink into you deeper. That’s it. Good girl…”

Your back arched off the bed as he filled you. Your legs were stiff around him, your lips whimpering and mewling with every inch he was forcing your tight body to take. He leaned in, pressing a kiss to your temple as he stretched your pussy out with just half his cock.

“Have you been keeping up with my videos?” He asked.

You couldn’t bring yourself to answer. You were too stuffed—too concentrated on trying to get your body to accommodate the sheer size of him.

“I—I haven’t—” you answered truthfully.

He clicked his tongue in disapproval, pointing the camcorder to where the top half of his cock disappeared in and out of your tight cunt.

“The videos would’ve scared you,” he pushed his cock a little deeper, making you cry out. “Kept breaking my toys. All my damn fleshlights are torn right through. Had to keep ordering new ones, but fuck, they didn’t feel nearly as good as your tight, virgin pussy did.”

The broken sex doll that laid on his bedside table was certainly a testament to that.

Bucky’s hand found balance near the side of your head, his muscles and veins popping from holding his weight while the other hand was too occupied filming every inch of his cock delving deeper in your pussy.

“How does it feel, baby? Still as big as you remembered?”

“Still big, Bucky,” you winced when he angled his pelvis, his cock twitching in time with every clench your pussy gave him. “I’m trying to take it all—to big the good girl that you remembered—”

He tossed his head back with a groan. He tried his best to control himself—he really did. But the longer he stayed inside your warmth, the more his mind started to fray.

“Fuck—so cute. Such a good girl,” he groaned, sheathing himself completely inside until his dark curls were greeted with your wet folds. “Oh my god.”

Bucky stilled inside you, basking in your warmth. Your body felt like a wet, tight hug wrapping around his cock. This was the sensation he sought after the day you left. The very feeling he’d been looking for in the useless sex toys he was constantly ordering.

Now that you were finally here—pinned beneath him and his camera—he was afraid that if he moved, he would cum right there on the spot.

“Bucky?” your voice was soft, breaking into a gentle moan. “Are you okay?”

His eyes fluttered down to look at you, and his breath caught.

Your hair was fanned out so beautifully against his white sheets. Your body was laid bare and perfect for him. You asked the question in such a soft and innocent tone—it did nothing to dull the ache in his balls and did everything to make his heart heavier.

He should be asking you the question, with you lying there stretched out with more than you can take, but alas.

“You’re asking if I’m okay?” he huffed a raspy laugh, shifting his hips to deliver a deep and hard thrust inside you. “No, I’m not okay. I want to fuck you right through the mattress. Want to split you open and make you cry on my cock. But I can’t—I have to control myself and teach you how to take me again.”

The red light of the camcorder flickered in the dark room as he began rocking his hips, his cock sliding in and out of you—capturing every moment of him claiming you a second time.

The bed started to creak, accompanied with his grunts and your soft moans of pleasure.

Bucky’s breathing was heavy, every deep, punishing roll of his hips making your eyes roll back.

The tip of his cock was kissing your cervix so sweetly, you felt your body giving out. He was right—your pussy was acting like a vice, wrapping impossibly tight around his thick shaft, refusing to let him go.

The camera shook in his hand as he aimed it directly at your hips. He had failed to capture the moment he pumped you full of his cum last time, and he was going to make damn sure he got it right tonight.

“Not a single drop going to waste,” he panted, his hips rutting uncontrollably against yours. “Gonna pump you full—God. Should fill up your womb so you’ll never leave me again.”

Your heart started to race as his words danced in your mind. Surely, this was just make-believe dirty talk. A performance he put on for the camera to secure a good payout from his loyal subscribers, right?

But as his body moved even more erratically, the bed groaning under every hard, bruising thrust, you began to fear otherwise.

“Fuck—this little slut thought she could use my cock to practice for other men,” he laughed, the sound deep and condescending. “Said she wanted to learn how to take dick for her future boyfriend. What a fucking joke.”

Your face burned with humiliation. You couldn’t believe Bucky was airing out your private confessions to his viewers like this.

“Oh my god! Bucky, please don’t say that—”

But your protests were useless. Your pussy was already spasming, clenching around him in a tight, weeping mess at every degrading taunt that left his lips.

“Ah, fuck. My sweet girl is milking me so hard—she doesn’t want to let go.” He chuckled, watching the wet friction of your hips through the camera screen. “You want to cum for me?”

You nodded, letting out a pathetic whimper.

Bucky leaned over you, shoving the camera close to your face. “Come on, baby. You’re on camera. I need you to speak up so everyone else can hear you.”

Pleasure was coursing through your body in ways that a simple vibrator could never match. Ten months without Bucky—and without touching anyone else—had left you chasing a high you couldn’t replicate. It was never like this.

You nodded frantically, losing all control over your own autonomy as tears of pleasure blurred your vision.

“Yes, Bucky! Please—please, please, I want to cum!”

Your cries were loud enough to peak the camera’s built-in microphone. Your walls clamped down around his cock, pulsing and fluttering as your back arched off the mattress with a loud moan, letting the climax rip straight through your core and down to very tip of your toes.

Bucky groaned, his entire body going stiff as your pussy milked him ruthlessly. Fuck. He missed this. He missed the tightness of your cunt. He couldn’t find this sensation anywhere else.

“Christ. Look at that,” he growled into the camera, his hand shaking as he kept the lens focused on where you squeezed around him. “She’s squeezing me so tight—it nearly hurts. Fuck, I’m gonna cum too.”

His balls slapped against your pussy with every hard thrust. He was chasing his release—his face twisted into a mask of pleasure as he felt his balls tighten and his cock twitch. You were already past your high, but Bucky forced you to ride it out for him.

“Shit, the idea of her having sex with someone else...” he snarled to the camera, his voice breaking as he slammed deep into your pulsing heat. “...of someone else’s cock buried deep in what’s supposed to be mine. I’m gonna fucking lose it.”

You cried out his name, your nails digging into his back as he used your body ruthlessly, just like one of his sex toys.

“Fuck, fuck—shit—fuck!”

A litany of curses spilled from his lips as his cock buried all the way to the hilt.

He shuddered violently, pinning your hips flat against the mattress as his orgasm tore through him, flooding every surface of your womb with thick, warm seed. He held himself deep, marking you from the inside out, leaving his cum to fill you completely until it was dripping onto the sheets.

Bucky brought the camera down with a shaky hand, capturing the way your puffy slit was pulsing around his cock, and the way his cum trickled out of you.

“There we go,” he breathed, satisfied. “Captured every second of it, baby.”

Ensuring that you kept your end of the bargain, Bucky uploaded the video to his profile.

Before hitting post, he texted you multiple times to make absolutely sure you were comfortable with your face and username being shown.

When you finally agreed, you never expected the video to blow up overnight. You knew Bucky was a popular content creator, but perhaps the sight of a woman’s body—your body—in the thumbnail stood out against his usual solo content.

Today, you sat at your desk, pulling up his profile out of habit, just like the ritual you used to have ten months ago. Your mouse hovered over the video, and you hesitated before clicking.

Two million views.

A wave of nerves hit you—the thought of being perceived by two million strangers while completely bare and vulnerable was overwhelming. Yet, for some reason, the idea of it excited you more than a girl like you should admit.

You finally clicked the link. The video started with you stripping for him, then dropping to your knees, and just minutes later, you were sprawled out bare on the mattress while he pumped you full of his cum.

You were already soaking through your underwear just watching it, your thighs rubbing together shamelessly from the memory of being filled by Bucky. The way his breathy moans sounded so much more enthusiastic than they ever did in his solo videos filled you with absolute pride.

You made him feel that good.

And apparently, you made his entire comment section feel good, too.

Daddywants2play: hooooooooolyy fuck. she’s so hot. my balls are so heavy just from watching her tits bounce. u lucky dog

Bwasexual: Omg!!! Do you guys need a third?

pegm3please: God so fucking hot. Is she going to upload anytime soon?? Just gave her a follow.

Your brow rose at the last comment.

Gave her a follow?

Instinctively, your mouse hovered to the top right of the screen where the notification bell was displayed.

It showed over 99+ alerts. You were used to seeing two at the absolute maximum—a like from Bucky on one of your comments, and his reply.

Bracing yourself, you clicked it, and a wall of notifications flooded the screen with dozens of different usernames following you. Your follower count had gone from exactly one—Bucky’s account—to well over a thousand in just a single night.

You couldn’t believe it.

People loved watching you.

They loved you enough that, despite you having zero videos posted, no profile picture, and an entirely blank description, they were hitting follow anyway—eagerly expecting to see more. You mentally patted yourself on the back for having the foresight to remove the links to your personal social media accounts beforehand.

A warm flush traced your face. The crazy part was, it wasn’t from embarrassment at all.

It was pure excitement.

Without thinking, you snatched your phone off the desk and dialed a familiar number. It only rang twice before a deep, sleepy voice answered on the other end.

“Hey, doll,” Bucky rasped. “Everything okay?”

“I just saw the video,” you said, the words tumbling out fast. You couldn’t contain your excitement. “I woke up to a little over a thousand followers—and there are so many comments!”

He paused on the line. You could hear the rustle of sheets as he sat up.

“… And are you okay with that? Do you want me to take it down?”

You bit your lip. You couldn’t believe what you were going to say next. “I’m more than okay with it. But… um…”

Bucky’s brow furrowed. He pulled the phone away from his face for a split second to make sure you were still on the line.

“Sweetheart, what is it?”

A breathy sigh left your lips. “I… I want to become a content creator, too. Will you teach me?”

And just like that, the air left Bucky’s lungs completely.

Everything he could possibly want—and more—was finally being served to him on a silver platter.

This meant more videos, more collaborations, and endless opportunities to have you completely to himself.

“Yes,” he swiped at his camcorder and car keys. “I’m coming over. Be ready for me.”

hopping off the bed turn my swag on. happy almost one year anniversary to pornstar bucky and the first bwa collab. once again, thank you to my dear friend @unificsation for the premise. thank you to @barnesonly for the cyber sex bucky edit she made inspired by this fic that i goon to nightly. thank you to @blowingbarnes and @buckybunni for being pornstar bucky's number one fan (i never forgot) thank you to @houseofhyde for giving me the inspiration to write this after sum silly joke. and thank you for all the love and support for part one. i would like to dedicate this oscar to you guys /j

I do not have a tag list. to get notified for fic updates, please follow @notify-superbassbuck and turn on notifications.

“Hi Bucky,” she greeted him, stepping back to give him space.  “Come in.”  He took a deep breath and nodded before stepping inside.  She had him take his shoes and coat off before leading him to the dining room.  “I hope you like Chinese,” she said, pulling out his chair for him and gesturing for him to sit.  “I’m not much of a cook, unfortunately.  This is from that little place on the corner of Chinatown, Jim Foo’s?  Have you ever been there?”

Bucky seemed surprised at her holding the chair out for him, and slowly sat down and looked at the food spread.  “Um, no, I’ve never been,” he said quietly.

“Oh, then you have to try the potstickers,” Y/N continued, reaching out and squeezing his shoulders for a split second before rounding the table to her chair and sitting down.  She plated a little bit of everything for him and handed it to him with a fork and some chopsticks, then did the same for herself before standing up.  “Oh, I’m sorry, I completely forgot.  What would you like to drink?  I’ve got water, soda, juice, alcohol?”

“I might need some liquid courage for this conversation,” Bucky said, his voice barely above a whisper.

Y/N giggled and nodded.  “How about some water and sangria?”

“Sounds perfect,” he said, his voice a little more cheerful.

They ate and drank slowly, Y/N having to steer the conversation more often than not.  He was obviously struggling, unsure of himself and unconfident, a stark contrast to the man she had met a year before.  This is gonna take a while, she thought as he helped her clean up dinner when they finished.

She led him to the oversized couch in her front room and had him sit, then sat next to him, still a good foot away but turned toward him to give him her full attention.  “Alright, should we get into the awkward part?” she asked with a smirk.

Bucky huffed a laugh and turned his body to face her.  “Yeah, I guess so.”

Y/N smiled kindly at him.  “Okay.  So tell me what exactly you’re looking for from me,” she said.

He sighed heavily and looked down at his hands, his metal one whirring slightly as he made fists with them both.  “I…I got divorced recently,” he said.  “Which was a good thing.  She was abusive toward me.  I just didn’t realize that it was abuse until later, and I was wanting to end it.  But then she…”  He paused, swallowing harshly and frowning.  “She cheated on me.  Blatantly.  Didn’t even try to hide it.  Made fun of me and told me it was with this guy I worked with that I’d always complained to her about.  She said he was better than me in, um, sexual ways,” he squirmed.  “And then she called me a cripple and a robot because of this,” he slightly held out his metal hand.  “Attacked my insecurities, loudly and publicly, then left.”  Y/N frowned.  Sharon really was a piece of work.  “So I guess I’m looking for…honestly I don’t know,” he sighed again, barely able to look at her as he spoke.  

She slowly reached out and held his metal hand, making his head snap up to look at her, his eyes wide and sad.  “I’m so sorry, Bucky,” she said quietly, her other hand coming up to hold his metal hand as well, her thumb sweeping across the plates of his knuckles.  “That was wrong, and she shouldn’t have done that.  I know I don’t know you well, but no one deserves that kind of treatment.”  His face crumpled, and he fought back the tears welling in his eyes.  “It’s okay to cry,” she said, her hand releasing his and reaching up to cup the side of his face.  “You’ve gone through a lot of shit with someone who promised to love and cherish you, and that isn’t fair or right.”  His tears slipped down his face, and he bit his lip as he gave her a pleading look.  “Would you like to start with some cuddling?” she asked quietly.

Bucky nodded, releasing his bottom lip and sputtering out a shaky breath.  “Please,” he begged.

“Okay honey,” Y/N said, sitting back against the corner of the couch.  “Come here,” she said, her arms open wide.  Bucky looked at her for another moment before he hiccuped and choked on a sob, then leaned forward and hugged her.  Y/N maneuvered them so her back was against the couch cushions and they were laying next to each other, her right arm under his neck and her left arm cradling his upper back, keeping his head against her chest.  Bucky cried hard, his tears soaking her dress as his metal arm under her held her by her mid back firmly against him, his right hand on her upper back gripping her dress in his fingers.  She entangled her legs with his and let him cry, running her fingers through his hair and whispering encouraging words and praises in his ear and his hair, every once in a while nuzzling her cheek and lips against his forehead, not quite kissing him but just letting him know the option was available.  

She wasn’t sure how long they lay there, but eventually his cries died down and his grip on her dress weakened.  Y/N continued to whisper praises to him, her fingers scratching at his scalp and her other hand rubbing his upper back.  As fun as her sexual encounters were with clients, she always secretly loved this, the slow, intimate, quiet cuddles where they could just let it all out and be comforted by her.  He breathed deeply, sighing against her sternum before slightly pulling away to look up at her.  “Thank you, Y/N,” he said quietly.  “I didn’t realize how much I needed a good hug.”

Y/N giggled and wiped away his tears.  “No problem, honey,” she said quietly.  “That’s what I’m here for.”

***

For a long time all Bucky wanted was cuddles and praise.  He’d come to her apartment once a week for dinner and a cuddle session.  Sometimes he would cry, but as time went on he started to just talk to her quietly about his day, how life was going or word-vomit the trauma from his divorce and the accident that took his arm.  It wasn’t until about six months into their meetings that during a cuddle session he complimented and flirted with her for the first time.

He squeezed her tight, sighing into her chest as he nuzzled her sternum.  “You’re just so soft,” he said quietly.  

Y/N huffed a laugh.  “Yeah?” she asked, running her fingers through his hair slowly.  It seemed to be what calmed him the most.

“Yeah,” he said, the scruff of his beard slightly burning against her skin.  “Just wanna keep squeezing you.”

She hummed happily.  “I’m here for whatever you need, honey,” she said, giving him a small squeeze back.

Bucky hummed then looked up at her.  She met his gaze, surprised when he looked nervous.  “You’re…um…I thought you were really pretty when I first met you,” he said.

“Just when we first met?” Y/N asked teasingly.  “Not now?”

He looked horrified but relaxed when she laughed.  “Rude,” he grumbled.  “No, I mean you’re very pretty, then and now.”

“Thanks,” she giggled.  “I think you’re really pretty.”

His eyes widened, then he blushed as he bit back a wide smile.  “I’m pretty?” he asked.

“Yes!” Y/N nodded, giving him an incredulous look.  “Have you seen yourself?  Good god, Buck.  I’d like to meet your parents and shake their hands to congratulate them on a job well done!”  He laughed, his eyes and nose scrunching cutely.  “Your existence is unfair to other men.  I meant what I said at that party when we first met, that she was lucky to bag you.  It’s her loss, honestly.  Anyone would be lucky to have you, pretty boy.”

Bucky stared at her, a small smile on his face at her praise.  He needed the praise, with how much he’d gone through because of the evil ex-wife.  He shimmied himself up just a little more to be at eye level with her.  Y/N watched him silently, waiting to see what it was he wanted next.  He pressed his forehead against hers, his nose nuzzling her nose gently as his eyes stayed focused on her eyes.  Her heart rate jumped, and she kept her breathing steady as she smiled softly at him.  “Anyone?” he asked.

“Anyone,” she nodded, nuzzling his nose back.

His eyes flickered over her face, his gaze settling on her lips before blinking rapidly back up to her eyes.  “Could I…could we…”  She waited for him to figure out what he wanted.  He took a deep breath.  “I think I’m ready for the next step,” he said.

“And what’s that?” Y/N asked.

“I think I’m ready for…more,” he said, looking more nervous by the second.

“Sounds like we need another consultation,” Y/N said.

He was about to speak when her phone went off, signaling the end of their appointment time.  Bucky sighed and started to pull away, both of them sitting back up on the couch.  He reached for her hand and gave it a squeeze.  “Next week we can talk about it?” he asked hopefully.

After his parents passed, the deed to the home passed on to him. If he were to decide between a shoebox in the big city or a not-so-little house on the prairie, it’s a no-brainer. After years of war, or at least that’s all he remembers, it’s nice to be somewhere quiet where he starts his morning with birdsongs and the sounds of life. 

There’s also you. You’re the cherry on top of his much-needed sundae. You — his neighbor who spends your days toiling away at your farm, helping out with markets in town, running community fairs. An all-around girl-next-door. 

He had been worried about what people might think about him moving in here. After all, his case had been highly publicized. But this little town had welcomed him with open arms. They remembered his parents and made space for Bucky to slip right back in. 

You had been a big help in his transition into the town. Showing him around town, inviting him to dinners with your friends, and even doing weekly movie nights with him. With you, Bucky finds parts of himself that he may have lost. You look at him with faith. You don’t see what he sees when he looks in the mirror.

Not an ex-assassin. Not some hundred-year-old grump. Just Bucky.

Now, life should be all fine and dandy, right? Right. Except, Bucky has been thrown another curveball that he isn’t quite sure how to manage. 

When he pledged to use his powers for the greater good, he knew he wanted to focus his efforts on giving people a second chance. These are powers that he never asked for, but are ones he still has all the same. As they say, with great power comes great responsibility. 

Trading one massive organization for another, Bucky decided to join SHIELD — or at least do some contract work for them. He only takes on jobs that give people an opportunity to make amends. To make right all the wrongs as best they can. Think of it as a product of his guilty conscience. 

In this line of work, he never expected to stumble into the path of RJ Boyle. 

Well, stumble is an understatement. RJ had been sent to commit cold-blooded murder against him, vibranium sword in hand to take out Bucky’s own arm. The kid was lethal, trained to be the near-perfect child soldier. He was arrogant and mouthy — and a little bit broken. 

This kid is just that. A kid. A kid born into unfortunate circumstances. A kid whose weaknesses, whose vulnerability, had been used against him. Bucky knows more than anyone how HYDRA works; they break you down to build you back up, mold you into whoever they want you to be. 

It’s like looking at a reflection of himself. Younger. Angrier. 

It’s why Bucky decided to take him home — to his home. Show him a slice of the peace that he has managed to create since he left. Show him what his life could be outside of HYDRA. No longer does he need to follow orders to survive. He could just live.

But it’s hard to teach someone how to live when he himself is not yet familiar with the concept. He still has one foot in the real world and the other in the past. Shelbyville has become his safe haven, but parts of it still feel foreign to him. It’s like he’s playing house in a place that is not his. A story that doesn’t belong him, that is being narrated by someone else. A puppeteer from high above. 

RJ probably feels the same way, especially since Bucky uprooted him from the only thing he knows. Every time he thinks about this, that vein in his head pulses for attention. 

“You need to cut yourself some slack,” you smile at him, setting the coffee cup on the table. 

Bucky presses his fingers against his forehead, hoping that some of the pressure would ease his throbbing mind. He offers a grateful smile in return as he tips the cup back to his lips. “Thank you, needed this,” he murmurs. 

“Well, you do only come to me when you need coffee and eggs,” you say with a smirk, leaning back against your kitchen counter as your eyes sparkle at Bucky at your dining table. 

His heart slams against his ribcage, a common response to the way you curl your lips so easily at him. Part of him deep inside screams that he wants more than coffee and eggs, an internal voice begging to be declared out loud. He wants mornings and evenings with you. He wants to wake up with your face nuzzled up against his chest or the whiff of your lavender shampoo lulling him to sleep. But he doesn’t know how to ask for what he wants just yet. Not when it’s something that’s for him and only for him. 

Oblivious to his mental turmoil, you continue, “How’s the kid doing?”

When he took him in, he thought RJ would be thankful, that he would want this as much as Bucky had. But he knows better than anyone that you can’t just transition someone from a life built on pure survival and instinct and battle scars into a suburban, fictitious fairytale without consequences. 

For the first time in a while, Bucky has to admit that he is at a loss. He is dealing with a trained child assassin who is clearly traumatized from decades of having his brain torn apart, washed, rinsed, and repeated. Trained to do what he was told to do to stay alive. 

It also doesn’t help that the kid is a teenager, which means he is dealing with a severe case of age-appropriate rebellion. 

Doc Sampson, Bucky’s godsend of a therapist, is still working with him but obviously doctor-patient confidentiality prevents him from actually sharing anything meaningful. Bucky is constantly tempted to break into the office and steal the files, but he thinks that may be crossing some ethical and personal lines. 

“I…” he pauses, “I don’t know.” His answer is honest, desperate even. “Never raised a kid before. He’s not my biggest fan, which isn’t surprising since he did try to kill me. Failed, but tried nonetheless.”

“You’re a first-time parent. He’s a kid with a temper. Give yourself some grace. It’ll take him a bit to warm up. Going from back-to-back wars and missions to a quiet farmhouse with sheep bleating in your backyard is a big change.” 

Bucky understands that. The lack of stimulation and noise out here is something he had to get used to. His fingers are always itching to do something — anything. He wants to throw the white noise machine that Sharon had gifted him as a joke out the window. 

“Raising goats is easier than this.”

You laugh and the sound is sugar in his veins. He’s an addict and he’s not even sure he wants to quit. “Not as expensive too, but also presumably less rewarding. RJ seems like a good kid, I wouldn’t stress too much. He’ll come around.”

He wonders how you could say that so easily. Confidence laced into your syllables when you’ve barely met the kid. The only time RJ said more than a word to you was the first time you came over, saw him on the couch, looked at Bucky, and said, “I didn’t know you had a brother.”

RJ was quick to point out, “He’s not my brother!”

Ouch. 

“You’ve got a lot of faith in people,” Bucky mutters under his breath.

“Never had a reason not to,” you shrug. “Life gave me good people. It brought me you, didn’t it?”

A blush is quick to furiously sprawl across his face, burning the skin with the heat of a thousand blazing suns. His lips unconsciously stretch into a ridiculously wide grin and he has to hide his childish delight behind the mask of his mug. Part of him knows that you like to tease him, say sweet nothings to see him squirm. Even now, he can see that devious little twinkle in his eye. Still, he can’t help but drink your compliments in like a man starved for affection — which he is. 

“Don’t get shy on me, soldier,” you grin at him again, eyes cataloging his face to identify what shade of scarlet he has turned into this time. 

It’s almost shameful how obvious he is with his crush. He might as well be writing your name on the margins and praying that you would say yes to sitting with him at lunchtime. Before he got turned into the Winter Soldier, before he replaced an arm with a hunk of metal, Bucky liked to think he was better with women. He was suave. He was charming. He always knew the right things to say. 

With you, he is in a perpetual state of being tongue-tied and carrying the perfect color of sunburnt. He is the epitome of constant embarrassment. 

He didn’t think it could get worse — he’s heard enough of Sharon’s not yet, Barnes? and Tony’s wow, you’re embarrassingly slow for a super soldier — but even RJ, who has been here all of five minutes, has caught on. 

The two of them are on a quick rendezvous to extract a former HYDRA scientist and relocate him into Sharon’s very safe hands. Right before they left, you had leaned against his doorframe, having visited to drop off some eggs.

“Dinner tonight?” You ask. “I can whip up some food for you and RJ if you aren’t back too late.”

Bucky should be focused on preparing for his mission. He’s mentally calculating the travel time while also counting the number of lashes in your eyes. You’re an incredibly delicious distraction in your dirt-covered overalls. 

He can only dumbly respond with, “Hm?”

“I said I’ll get kidnapped by aliens before you come back.”

Jerking up from looking at his gear, he cocks a brow at you. “Uh, dinner, right? You said dinner.”

“Yes, soldier.”

Bucky clears his throat, feeling that familiar weight of gratitude sit on his chest. “Dinner sounds good. You don’t have to, though. We’ll probably be back late.” 

“I can put something in your fridge.”

“You really don’t have to do that. We’ll raincheck it.”

“Always too busy for me, sarge.”

Bucky freezes, eyes darting up to meet yours. Are you saying— no, it can’t be right? You have so many friends. You probably have suitors lined up at your door, he should know this since he’s always checking on your front porch. 

But there’s no way that you would be flirting with him. Not seriously at least. “I’m not… too busy.”

You only hum, arms crossed over your chest. “Good luck. Be safe.”

He hates these moments the most. Leaving you behind. You’re not even his and he dreads the idea of saying goodbye to you before he jets off to his next mission. He never knows if this will be the last time he’ll see you, if he’ll get picked off without ever telling you how he feels about you. 

But then there is that niggling reminder that nudges the back of his brain, the one that drops a heaviness on his chest that makes the words on his tongue taste like lead. So he doesn’t say it. 

So he does what he always does. He murmurs his thanks before he slips onto his bike with RJ on his back. As he drives away, he watches your shrinking silhouette from his rearview mirror until you’re a speck in the distance. 

Now, he and RJ are both on the lookout in this cabin. 

“Dude, you’re so lame.”

“What?” Bucky frowns, still frowning out into the woods as his most recent target packs up his bag. When RJ doesn’t respond, Bucky reluctantly drags his eyes away to focus on the kid next to him. “What are you talking about? Also, did you really just call me dude?”

“You’re sitting here mooning over a woman who lives right down the street from you. You spend every second of free time you have with her and you still can’t ask her out?”

The kid may as well have struck him with a bullet, a clean shot straight through his chest. Bucky knows he isn’t exactly subtle about his affections, but he didn’t think he was that obvious either. At least, not to a point where even a moody, indifferent teenager would realize that he’s been secretly pining over his neighbor for the better part of his time here. 

“It’s not that simple, alright. Focus on the mission,” he grumbles, redirecting his gaze back into the quiet woods. He should concentrate on keeping the man safe, keeping RJ safe.  

Except, now he’s thinking about you and what you’re doing, so he isn’t exactly functioning at a hundred percent.

“I’m just saying, it’s kind of pathetic to see you like this. I thought the Winter Soldier was supposed to be formidable.”

Bucky releases another grunt as he waves the kid away. “I don’t go by that moniker anymore.”

“Can’t erase your past, dude. So what’s the hold up?”

The answer sits on the tip of his tongue. The words, the truth, are there. But it’s not one he is fully ready to reckon with yet. It’s not a problem with a solution, not an easy one at least. Not one that may even come in his lifetime. 

Saying it out loud would be admitting defeat. It’s a confession that he would never even say to a priest, let alone the kid next to him. It is a surrender he isn’t ready to commit to, especially when it means giving you up. It means being selfless one more time. 

When the two of them return home, exhaustion sitting heavy on his shoulders, Bucky instinctively goes to the fridge first. He already knows what he’s going to see there, but the anticipation still has his blood thrumming in his veins. The cool air greets him before he is met with the sight of tupperwares stacked on the glass shelves. Inside, he spots his favorite dishes in a true farm-to-table experience. 

It’s a sight he welcomes and appreciates whenever he goes on these late-night extractions. It only took one comment from him about how he’s terrible with maintaining his schedule for you to step up and take the mantle. 

It is in this moment of weakness, when his heart feels more tender in his chest, that he lets the admission slip. 

At first, it is only to the silence of his home. But Bucky’s no longer alone. 

His words are barely above a whisper, as if he is praying that the chilly night air would swallow them up and whisk them away. “I’ve done a lot of things. Things I’m not proud of. Things that I probably can never forgive myself for. While I’ve been working on atoning for my sins, it’s my burden to bear. I don’t want her to shoulder that with me.”

The fridge closes with a quiet thump as desolation swiftly sinks into his bones, like the swipe of a blade across his artery. The good doctor has always told him that it’s normal to carry the guilt, but that he shouldn’t let it linger. However, when his entire life has been riddled with a darkness that breeds that conscience unconsciously, Bucky has never learned any different. 

What he doesn’t expect is for RJ to say, “You’re a fucking hypocrite.”

His brows instantly furrow as he turns to look at the kid. 

RJ rolls his eyes, crossing his arms over his body as he glares at Bucky. His gaze is a mix of irritation and fury, tinged with a disappointment that hits harder than anything else. “You’re the one who told me that you knew what it’s like to have your life stolen from you, that you knew what it’s like to take it back. You told me that I wasn’t alone, that I didn’t have to be. But you can’t even practice what you preach, so how am I supposed to trust you?”

It’s ice cold in his veins. Like he’s been struck by lightning. Bucky knows he’s right, he’s always known it deep down. The demons that live in his mind will persist, but they shouldn’t stop him from trying to get some semblance of normalcy in his life. To find love and happiness again. It had been a dream once upon a time — the house with the white picket fence and children running across the lawn — but that dream has changed. 

The vision has morphed into a life that combines his past, present, and future. A life of protecting those who need it most, a life of living in the peace of his current existence, and a life of pursuing this lifelong fantasy to turn it into a reality. 

And all he has to do is take the first step forward. He has to gather the courage and stuff down pieces of his bitter guilt one at a time until he can live with himself again. Until he can forgive himself and realize that he deserves it. 

Deserves better things. Deserves you. 

RJ won’t believe that redemption is possible unless Bucky believes in it himself. So he swallows thickly, resolve hardening in his veins. “Alright then, watch me.”

The kid gives him a questioning look, following hot on his trail as Bucky marches out the door into the midnight that blankets his lawn. Your place is right next door, visible enough from his porch where RJ stands with a flickering light. Alpine curls around the kid’s legs curiously. 

His fist lifts and he moves on habit alone. He knocks on your door three times as he always does. 

When you open the door, clearly half awake and rubbing the sleep from your eyes, he stills. “Buck?” Your voice is a little raspy, the way it is in the morning when Bucky comes a few minutes too early. “What’s going on?”

“Shit, sorry, did I wake you up?”

Maybe he should’ve thought this through. He doesn’t even know what time it is. He probably looks like an asshole banging on your door at this forsaken hour. He’s also a mess. He smells like sweat, dirt, and gasoline. Adrenaline pumps through him faster than those hours earlier under the threat of enemy fire. 

What he should’ve done was shower, sleep, buy some fresh flowers from the farmer’s market, then ask you out at a normal hour. Like a normal person.

But when he glances at his house again, RJ waiting expectantly with that damned cocky eyebrow raised, he knows he can’t back down now. 

You yawn and stretch, a sliver of skin exposing as your shirt lifts. Bucky swallows. He needs to keep it together. “I fell asleep on the couch so I needed to get up to move to my bed anyway. What’s up?”

Don’t think about you in bed. Do not. He is not a child, he has self-control. Or so he likes to think. But then he sees the poutiness of your lips and Bucky has to subtly pinch himself to stop himself from kissing you. 

Because that would be crazy.

Right?

Once again, the words fall off somewhere in their journey from his heart to his mouth. His heart stutters against his ribs, flesh pulsing against his bones. His eyes dart around in search of comfort. 

And they land on you with your kind eyes and your bare feet. They land on RJ who stands there slightly doubtful, slightly hopeful. They land on Alpine who still regards him with cool affection, but a year of trust. They land on his home, this land, and the stretch of space between all of the things that formulate his life today. The redemption he is working towards. The peace etched onto every surface. The work in progress that persists. 

And he braves himself.

With a deep breath, he smiles gently at you. “I was wondering if you wanted to go out with me.”

Your lips quirk up as you slump against the doorway, tilting your head in that way that makes him want to kiss you senseless. “Came over at midnight to get a booty call? Bold even for you, Barnes.”

Bucky chokes on nothing. Absolutely nothing. Panic flares at his chest over how his actions look. Of course, you’d think he’s being a complete and utter fool. A dog that his parents would be ashamed of. “No, not a— definitely not. Not that I wouldn’t appreciate that, but I figured I should take you out to dinner first. I want to take you out to dinner first. That Italian place down Second Street, the one with the green logo with the ravio that you like. I thought—”

A warm hand settles on his arm. “I’d love to,” you interrupt softly, “tonight at seven?”

He clears his throat, nodding his head a little too eagerly. “Yes, I can pick you up.” Which sounds dumb in hindsight because he lives right down the street. 

“On that death trap?” You eye his bike warily. “Absolutely not. I’ll meet you there.”

“No, I’ll get a car. I’ll borrow someone’s.”

You snort softly, lips twitching with a smile. “How about I pick you up in my car? Don’t need a knight picking me up on his white steed.”

Bucky tinges pink again. Good thing it’s dark out. “Sounds good.”

“See you tomorrow night, sarge.” Your voice is still gentle, kind. Then you look over his shoulder and wave at the sight behind him. “Night, RJ! Alpine!” 

He watches from his periphery as RJ gives a small wave back. For the first time in a very long time, his chest feels lighter — not in a way that it is empty, but that it is alive with hope. When he catches the shit-eating grin on RJ’s face and Alpine’s look of I-told-you-so, that voice inside his head quiets. 

Perhaps redemption is not his acts of heroism to compensate for the guilt that plagues his every slumber. Perhaps redemption comes in the unsaid forgiveness, the acts of kindness, and the optimism for something more. It starts with coffee and eggs and a promise of dinner at seven.  

As he stands on that porch, Bucky finally lets himself believe it, even a little — that he’s home, that he’s healing, and that this time, he might just deserve it.

+ sam: thank you for reading if you've made it this far!! see below for one of the scenes that inspired this fic! obviously not fully canon compliant but yknow it's the vibes

bucky is kissing (taglist): @superbassbuck @earthsmightiestbenders @houseofhyde @its-in-the-woods @flockoff-featherface @winterdecember18 @chateaubarnes @54nboo @phoenix-in-writing @tofuonfaiya @avengersfan25 @miraclediviner @averyhotchner @hailmary-yramliah @catclaw1 @heldbybarnes @blowingbarnes @stanmarvelous @pinksplace @lunexiax @54nboo @it-is-rebel-owl-ma-dudes @esunarint @captain-shannon-becker @lunaryoongie @sergeantsebastian @alli0-0 @amoremarveloustime @avgdestitute @natskisses @sarah1barnes @parker-barnes-af @sarah1barnes @onecojg @iamthatonefangirl @stegosaurussims @angelryex @evelynstanmarvel @lokisgirlie @mathcat345 @flippedccc @lynnidc @winnichu173 @singulartoast @zhaixiaowen @c3liaaaaa @buckysdecaflove @epiphanyrogers @itsmadamehydra @cutttteeee

The field itself was a ruin of churned mud and discarded favor ribbons, the occasional lost boot. Someone's gauntlet, bended and forgotten near a fence post. The detritus of spectacle.

Sir James Buchanan Barnes walked through it like a man who wanted very much to be somewhere else.

He was limping. A gift from the third bout, when Sir Aldric Thornwall had gotten a lucky angle with his shield and introduced it firmly to Bucky's ribs.

The impact had knocked the air from his lungs with an audible crack that he'd felt more than heard. He'd finished the match anyway. He'd finished all of them. He'd placed second, which in any reasonable accounting of the day should have felt like something.

It didn't feel like much of anything.

Just the persistent throb beneath his ribs with every breath. Just the weight of mail he hadn't bothered to shed yet, still bearing the afternoon's sweat and dust.

The banquet, he thought, scowling.

Lord Castellan Morrow had made it clear, through three separate messengers, that his presence was expected at the celebration feast. That the competitors were guests of honor. That it would reflect poorly on a man of his standing to absent himself.

Bucky's standing, such as it was, had survived worse reflections.

So he just kept walking.

The city proper closed around him as he left the tournament grounds. Cobblestones replacing mud, the noise changing from open-air echo to the compressed warmth of torchlit streets.

Wintermouth at night had a specific smell: woodsmoke and river damp. He knew these streets well enough to navigate them half-asleep, which was approximately his current condition.

A pair of knights from the eastern circuit fell into step beside him for a while, their breath wine-sweet and celebratory, clapping him on the shoulder with the camaraderie of men who hadn't taken a shield to the ribs. He felt the impact reverberate down through the bruise, sharp enough that his vision whited at the edges.

"Hell of a final bout, Barnes."

"Could've taken him," the other offered generously. "Aldric fights dirty."

"Aldric fights to win," he said, which was the only response that was both true and didn't require him to have feelings about it. His voice came out rough, abraded by thirst and the dust he'd swallowed every time he'd hit the ground.

They took the hint, or something close enough to it, and peeled off toward the sound of music spilling from an open tavern door, lute strings and off-key singing and the particular roar of men determined to enjoy themselves.

The next interruption came two streets later, in the form of two scarcely clothed women leaning against the warm stone of a bakehouse wall, still radiating the day's stored heat.

Their exposed skin gleamed amber in the torchlight, deliberate and inviting. They tracked him with the experience of people who had learned to read a man's evening prospects at a glance.

"Sir Knight," one called, with a smile that had worked on better men than him. Her voice was honey-slow, practiced. "Shame to spend a victory night alone."

"First runner-up," he said, without stopping. The mail clinked with each step, a sound he'd long stopped hearing.

"Close enough."

It wasn't, but he didn't have the energy to explain the difference. He kept walking.

The maester caught him at the corner of Chandler's Row. Plump, earnest, clutching a satchel of medicines with both hands as it might escape. His robes were too clean, his face unlined. Fresh from the Citadel, probably. Still believed healing mattered more than politics.

"Sir Barnes." He was slightly out of breath, which suggested he'd been following for a while, trying to work up the nerve to address him. "Lord Castellan Morrow sends his regards and requests that you allow me to examine your injuries before the feast-"

"I'm not going to the feast."

A pause. The maester's throat worked. "He anticipated you might say that. He asked me to convey that your attendance is-"

"How's your handwriting?" Bucky interrupted.

The man blinked. "My- adequate, ser. Why?"

"Good." Bucky stopped walking, turned just enough to face him properly. Watched the maester straighten reflexively under the attention. "Here's what happened: you found me three streets back, examined me thoroughly despite my objections, and determined I've got at least two cracked ribs and a possible concussion. You ordered me to bed with strict instructions not to drink, feast, or make any sudden movements for the next three days."

He held the maester's wide-eyed stare. "Your professional opinion is that my attendance at tonight's festivities would be, and I'm quoting you here, 'medically inadvisable and potentially dangerous to Sir Barnes's recovery.'"

The maester's mouth opened. Closed. His gaze flickered down to Bucky's left side, where he'd been favoring it, where the mail sat wrong.

"You..." The man's voice was uncertain. "You do likely have cracked ribs, ser."

"There you go. Not even a lie." Bucky's smile was brief and sharp. "You write that up for your Lord, attach your seal to it, and you've done your duty. He gets his excuse in writing, you get to have actually helped someone today, and I get to go home. Everyone wins."

He could see the man working through it, the truth of the injury versus the falseness of the examination, the political cover versus the medical accuracy.

"I... suppose that would be acceptable," the maester said slowly. Then, with a hint of spine Bucky hadn't expected: "But you should let me examine you properly. Cracked ribs can shift, puncture-"

"I've had worse."

"That's not the reassurance you think it is, ser."

Despite everything -the ache and the exhaustion- Bucky felt something in his chest. Not quite a laugh, but close enough.

"Tomorrow," he offered, and meant it more than he'd meant most things today. "You can poke at me all you want tomorrow."

The maester nodded, satisfied or at least willing to accept the compromise. "I'll have the letter sent within the hour."

"Appreciated."

----

His lodgings were modest by deliberate choice. A single room above a cooper's workshop on the quieter end of the merchant quarter, rented by the week during tournament season. No servants' quarters. No one to report his comings and goings to anyone who might have opinions about them.

This had its advantages.

He catalogued the disadvantages the moment he stepped inside and faced the cold hearth, his breath still misting in the chill air.

Right.

He set the heavy tournament satchel down with a dull thump, rolled his left shoulder experimentally -the socket grinding in a way that spoke of old breaks poorly healed- and decided that feeling was overrated.

The fire wasn't going to light itself. The armor wasn't going to unlace itself. The evening was shaping up to be a prolonged exercise in doing everything the hard way, which was, at this point, so consistent as to be almost comforting.

Almost.

He got the fire started on the third attempt. The tinder was damp, -because of course it was- and then stood in its growing warmth and began the specific misery of removing plate armor without assistance.

The tabard first, then the gorget, useful as it was, he hated the damn thing; removing it felt like relief. Then the pauldrons, working the straps with fingers that were more cooperative on the right side than the left.

The scarring along his left forearm pulled when he reached a certain angle, the old tissue going taut. It always did. He'd stopped noticing it the way you stopped noticing a crack in a familiar wall; it was simply part of the room now.

The breastplate hit the floor with a sound like an argument ending, the impact reverberating through the floorboards.

There.

What remained was a man in a sweat-dampened gambeson with a bruised ribcage, a mild headache, and absolutely no interest in examining either. The padded underarmor clung to him, cold now that the mail was gone, the fabric stiff with salt and exertion.

He took off the gambeson and dragged the wooden chest from his satchel, the one the tournament steward had pressed into his hands with excessive ceremony, and set it beside the fire. The brass fittings caught the light, over-polished. Performative.

The lock was simple. Inside: coin, as expected. A satisfying weight of silver stacked in neat columns, some gold beneath. He'd need it. The estate his father had left him was four walls and a burned-out shell, courtesy of the same people who took him hostage and left their mark on his arm.

Rebuilding wasn't cheap. Timber, thatch, labor, it all required the kind of funds you didn't earn through valor or skill, just the slow accumulation of tournament prizes and some service contracts.

Glory didn't buy roofing.

He picked up a brooch set with garnets -gaudy, impractical, the kind of thing you pinned to a cloak if you wanted to be robbed- and looked at it for a moment. The stones were decent quality, at least. It would fetch a reasonable price from the right jeweler.

He set it aside with the others. A necklace of amber. A pair of silver clasps. All destined for the same fate: the jeweler's scale, melted down or pried out and reset for someone who actually wanted them.

He had no use for adornments. He wasn’t fond of them, as most of the nobility, and also, he had no one to give them to.

The war had seen to that.

He reached back into the chest, fingers brushing past velvet pouches, and found something else.

A ring. Silver, heavier than it looked. He drew it out into the firelight and turned it between his fingers. The stone was a ruby, deep red, cut into the shape of a star.

He stared at it.

Red stars on grey and black.

His colors.

He turned it slowly, watching firelight slide across the facets. The star was crude, the points uneven, the kind of work you got from a jeweler with more ambition than skill. It was, objectively, the ugliest ring he had ever seen. Garish. The sort of thing a merchant's son wore to his first banquet, desperate to prove he belonged.

Bucky, who wore his father's signet ring only on scarce occasions because selling it felt wrong, even if the man was never a paragon of paternal love, felt the particular pull of a terrible idea.

Just to see if it fits.

It was small for his right hand, so he tried the left, mostly out of stubbornness… and it slid on. The fit was perfect. Uncannily so, as though it had been sized for exactly this finger, accounting for the slight deviation where the bone had set wrong.

The ruby flared.

Not like firelight reflecting, but light from within, red and sharp and pointed, like something had woken up inside the stone and found him looking.

The ring burned. Seared against his skin, hot enough that he felt it in his teeth, a bright line of pain circling his finger.

What-

He grabbed for it with his right hand, trying to twist it off, but his fingers passed through something that wasn't air and wasn't quite resistance.

The room tilted.

No. The room disappeared.

The fire went first, snuffed like a candle, leaving no smoke, no ember-glow. Then the chest, the coins. The ceiling with its water-stained beams. The floor beneath his feet.

All of it went, between one breath and the next, and what replaced it was falling.

His stomach lurched, and the burning in his finger became the only solid thing in a world that had stopped being solid.

He tried to breathe and couldn't find air.

The darkness swallowed him whole and the last thing he registered, distant, wrong, was the smell of plants and humidity.

Then nothing.

----

She stood on the sidewalk in front of The Sweet Briar with her hand buried to the wrist in her purse, fingers closing around lipstick, a crumpled handkerchief, what felt like a receipt that she really ought to throw away, and absolutely nothing key-shaped.

The morning was grey and cool for early spring, the kind of damp that sank into your coat and stayed there. The street was quiet, too early yet for the lunch crowd, the shops on either side still dark. A truck rumbled past, leaving the smell of diesel and wet pavement in its wake.

Just when she thought she might have actually forgotten the keys -left them on the kitchen counter next to the bread box, maybe, or in yesterday's coat pocket- her fingers finally closed around the key ring at the very bottom of the purse, underneath everything else, because of course they were.

The lock stuck.

She jiggled it once, patiently, the same way she had jiggled this exact lock approximately four hundred times and had not yet called the locksmith, because she only ever remembered the lock was broken when she was standing directly in front of it, key in hand, and by the time she got inside she'd forgotten again.

The metal resisted, then gave with a sound like a small complaint. She pushed inside.

The front of the shop was an obstacle course.

Mr. Thomson from the supply house had delivered very late yesterday afternoon, because apparently a union picket line two blocks east had backed up half the city's delivery routes. By closing time, she didn’t have the energy to do anything about the results: buckets of early flowers stacked three deep against the counter, their blooms still tight-furled and smelling faintly of earth.

Two flats of fern she hadn't priced yet, the fronds already drooping from a day out of soil. A box of wire and ribbon spools that had no business being in the middle of the floor but was there anyway, and somewhere underneath all of it, allegedly, the new ceramic pots she'd ordered in February and assumed were lost.

She picked her way through it with careful steps, her heels clicking against the wood floor, and made it to the back without incident.

The stockroom was small and currently in a state that she chose to call organized chaos and not a problem she had to solve today.

More deliveries back here too: boxes stacked along the left wall, the worktable barely visible under brown paper wrapping and tissue. The air smelled like potting soil and the green, living scent of the spider plants hanging near the window, their runners brushing the top of a stack of terra cotta. She reached up and pulled the cord on the single overhead bulb.

The light swung once, twice, and settled.

She saw the legs first.

Long legs, stretched across the floor between a toppled flat of begonias and the base of the shelving unit, attached to a man who was very much present and very much not conscious, sprawled at an angle that suggested he had not chosen to be on the floor so much as arrived there.

Her breath stopped.

For one crystalline second, her brain refused to process what she was seeing -legs, boots, a body where no body should be- and then her heart kicked hard against her chest.

There was a man. In her stockroom. On the floor.

He'd taken out a good portion of the new stock on his way down. The begonias were scattered, soil spilled across the floorboards in dark trails. A ceramic pot in sage green -the one she'd specifically ordered and waited two months for- was in three neat pieces beside his left arm. The pothos she'd been propagating had been knocked from its perch; the vines lay crushed beneath his shoulder.

She stood very still for a moment, one hand still on the light cord, the other pressed flat against her chest where her heart was trying to break through.

He wasn't moving.

His chest was -she watched for a second, barely breathing herself- yes, his chest was moving. Shallow, but steady.

So. Not dead.

She still hadn't decided if that was good or bad.

Her gaze darted to the back door: still closed, the bolt still thrown from the inside. The window was latched. No broken glass. No signs of forced entry.

So how-?

Her hand moved without conscious thought, reaching back toward the worktable, fingers closing around the wooden handle of a trowel. Not much of a weapon, but the edge was solid steel, the point designed for breaking hard soil. It would do.

She took a step closer, the trowel held low at her side, ready to strike.

His clothing was strange. The shirt was wrong, off-white and loose, the kind of fabric that looked hand-woven, rough in a way she couldn’t describe. The collar was laced instead of buttoned, the ties loose and askew.

The trousers were the same, tucked into boots that had absolutely no business existing in 1955: tall, dark leather, worn in the way that took years and hard use, not a factory.

Over all of it, a belt of heavy leather, studded and wide. And attached to it, running down each thigh -she tilted her head slightly- what appeared to be straps, buckled and reinforced, holding padded cushioned sheaths flat against his legs.

Like something out of a medieval fair, except those fairs didn't come through this city, and even if they did, the participants didn't break into a flower shop in full costume and collapse on the begonias.

She took another step closer, careful to avoid the broken ceramic.

His face was-

Well.

A face that had seen better days was her first thought, and her second was that even roughed up as he was, it was a remarkable face to have stumbled into her stockroom.

Strong jaw, straight nose, the kind of bone structure you saw in magazine advertisements for razors or cologne, the ones that made you look twice even when you weren't in the market.

A bruise was already darkening along his left cheekbone, deep purple spreading toward his temple. There was a cut above his brow that had bled and dried, the blood a rust-brown line trailing toward his hairline.

The beard was a few days past deliberate.

And the hair -she paused on that- dark brown, long enough to brush his shoulders, pushed back from his face and thoroughly disordered, tangled with mud and sweat.

It was long for a man. Longer than any man she'd seen outside of a history book or painting.

She straightened up slowly, the trowel still in her hand.

Alright, she thought, forcing her breathing to steady. Think.

Option one: he was a vagrant who'd somehow gotten through a locked door -the damn lock, God help her- and passed out on her stock.

Possible. Unlikely, given the boots alone probably cost more than her monthly rent, but possible.

Option two: he was a veteran. There were men, she knew -the whole city knew, even if nobody said it plainly- who hadn't come back from the war quite right in the head.

Shell-shock, they'd called it in the first war. Combat fatigue now, as if giving it a softer name made it easier to carry.

Except that didn't explain the kind of clothes.

Option three: he'd gotten blind drunk somewhere in the vicinity, wandered in through a door she knew she'd locked, and the outfit was theatrical. A costume. There was a theatre district six blocks south. Strange things happened near the theatre districts. Actors were weird.

Except that the door had been locked. And bolted.

She looked down at him again.

At the slow rise and fall of his chest. At the ring on his left hand, silver with a red stone that caught the light strangely, still faintly warm-looking even in the dim stockroom.

At the begonias, crushed beyond saving.

The telephone was on the opposite wall. She edged past him, keeping the trowel between them out of some vague instinct that felt less vague with every step. Her heel caught on a scatter of soil, and she steadied herself against the doorframe, not taking her eyes off him.

He still wasn't moving.

She picked up the receiver with her free hand, the trowel still raised in the other, and dialed zero, the rotary clicking back into place.

The line hummed and returned a busy signal.

Dammit.

She clicked the hook and tried again, her gaze locked on the sprawled figure.

Busy. Again. It was a challenge to get to an operator these last few weeks. It was the third time this month she needed to make a call, and the lines were occupied.

She leaned her hip against the wall and tried a fourth time, watching him over her shoulder out of an abundance of caution that was starting to feel less abundant and more barely sufficient.

Okay. If she could just get through to the operator, get a squad car over here -or an ambulance, depending on what exactly was wrong with him- she could have this sorted before her first customer arrived at nine. It was a reasonable plan. It was perfectly reasonable-

The fifth attempt produced a busy signal and also, from somewhere behind her, a sound. The distinct scrape of ceramic against concrete, and then a longer drag, like weight shifting.

Her breath caught.

She turned around slowly, the receiver still pressed to her ear, the busy signal droning against her brain.

He was sitting up, propped on one hand with the other braced against the shelving unit, head bowed forward like it weighed too much to lift. The dark hair fell across his face in tangled strands. His shoulders rose and fell with breaths that looked like they hurt.

She didn't move. Her fingers tightened around the trowel handle until the wood bit into her palm.

For a moment he just sat there, motionless except for the breathing. Then his head lifted slowly, and he blinked at the stockroom with the heavy, confused expression of a man whose surroundings were not what he'd been expecting.

His gaze tracked left: shelves, boxes, the window with its spider plants. Right: more shelves, the worktable, the spilled soil.

Then his eyes found her.

A nice pair of steel blue eyes.

That was the completely irrelevant thing her brain produced, and she hated that it did, because those steel blue eyes were currently fixed on her with a frown that was more baffled than threatening, but he was large.

She could see that now, even sitting down he had the kind of shoulders that spoke of labor or violence or both- and he was between her and the back door, and she did not know him, and she was alone, and-

Her mind didn't finish the thought. She crossed the distance between them in three steps, raised the spade, and swung.

She didn't account for his reflexes.

One moment she was bringing the flat of the blade down toward his head, and the next, her wrist was caught mid-arc in a grip like iron, the world tilted sideways, and she was on her back on the stockroom floor with approximately two hundred twenty pounds of confused stranger pinning her there.

The impact knocked the air from her lungs. Her shoulders hit concrete, her head just barely missing the leg of the worktable. The trowel clattered away, skittering across the floor into the scattered soil.

He'd moved fast. Too fast for someone who'd been unconscious thirty seconds ago. Too fast for someone who'd struggled to sit up.

His hand was still locked around her wrist, holding it flat against the floor above her head. His other forearm was braced beside her shoulder. His knee was between hers, his weight distributed in a way that kept her pinned without crushing her, like this was something he'd done before. Many times before, in fact.

When she pulled at her wrist -once, testing, her breath coming in sharp gasps- he simply held it, not tightening, not letting go, like the question of her leaving hadn't seriously occurred to him as a variable.

Her heart was hammering so hard she could feel it in her throat, behind her eyes. She could smell him: leather and sweat and something else, something like smoke and metal and old wool.

She could count his eyelashes.

The blue eyes she'd noticed before were a lot more striking at this distance, and a lot less groggy. Whatever fog had been in them when he'd first sat up had burned off fast into something sharp and assessing.

He was looking at her the way she imagined soldiers looked at enemies in the dark. His chest rose and fell against hers with each breath. She could feel the heat of him through her blouse, through his strange linen shirt.

Get off get off get off-

She opened her mouth to scream, to say something, to demand he let her go-

And then he lowered his face toward hers by one deliberate inch, eyes narrowing and demanded, low and very even:

"State your intentions, witch."     

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