Winter's Girl

---

“You two are such liars.”

“Why are we liars?”

“You are obviously a couple and you’re just lying to mess with us.”

“What makes you think we’re a couple?”

Natasha gave you two a look, like she was asking whether you two were being serious, while Sam started to gesture widely at you and Bucky. You looked down at the position you two were in and had to admit that you somehow got why your friends would have misunderstood your relationship. You were practically in his lap, your legs swung over his and your shoulder leaning against Bucky’s chest while one of his arms rested behind you on the back of the sofa.

But then you remembered how often you two had fended off your friends’ prying and told them you were just friends, so you just crossed your arms over your chest and shook your head in amusement. Meanwhile, Bucky lifted his arm from behind you to support his head on his hand and rolled his eyes at your friends.

“We are not a couple. We’re just friends.”

“Yes, Bucky’s right.” You nodded wisely but didn’t move away from him and he couldn’t help but cherish the comforting weight of your body against his. “Can’t two friends cuddle with each other from time to time?”

“They can.” Joaquin piped up from next to Sam but then a grin spread across his face and he shook his head. “I mean, sometimes I cuddle my friends, too. But you two are practically attached at the hip.”

You just shook your head at all their speculations. “Bucky and I are not a couple.”

“If you say so.”

“Don’t you all have something else to talk about?” Bucky interjected as he brought his other hand down to rest atop of your leg, fingers absentmindedly running over your shin, making goosebumps rise on your skin and a smile appear on your face. “This can’t possibly be the most interesting thing to talk about.”

Sam narrowed his eyes at the movement of Bucky’s hand before he shrugged. “Fine, have it your way. Anyways, did you guys hear about the new exhibition at the Museum of Natural History? It’s about space travel and all the planets that we’ve made contact with in the last decades. I thought of going there to see how many of those planets I know through fighting with their people against Thanos.”

“You’ve probably heard about it before, Doll. You love space.”

“I did hear about it.” You nodded with a smile, the warmth now spreading up your chest at how well he knew you. As you began to talk about it, you leaned a little more into Bucky. “But you love science and space, too. We should go see it together.”

Bucky smiled at your words and you wondered if he was also happy to be known so well. You knew that he’d loved science ever since he’d been a child and you were getting excited to learn more about it with him. “I’d love nothing more than that.”

“So, you two are basically going on a cute museum date.” Joaquin piped up, grinning widely at the two of you. “And we’re supposed to believe you when you say you’re not dating?”

You couldn’t help but roll your eyes at Joaquin’s words before you gave him an amused look. “Because friends can’t spend time together, I guess.”

“Come on guys, they don’t want us to talk about this.” Natasha piped up and you turned to her in surprise that she was willing to drop the subject. But when a big grin spread on your face you knew you’d rejoiced too soon. “I mean, if they want to keep their obvious relationship a secret, let them.”

“We are not in a relationship.” You groaned out before pushing yourself up off Bucky’s lap, wanting to escape this conversation. As you separated from him you couldn’t help mourning the loss of his body heat but chalked it up to simply enjoying the presence of him as a friend. “That is my cue to get myself something to drink. Does anybody want anything from the kitchen?”

“I’ll come with you. I want to see if you guys have any interesting snacks.”

You nodded at Joaquin’s words and the two of you left for the kitchen, leaving Bucky with Sam and Natasha. While you busied yourself with grabbing something to drink from the fridge, Joaquin started rummaging through the cupboards and once more you dared to hope that this whole discussion was over. But then Joaquin spoke up.

“Are you two really not a couple? I mean, if you’re pretending not to be to mess with Sam Nat and everyone else, then I have to say it’s pretty funny, but at least clue me in here. We’re best friends and I could help you mess with them some more!”

A small chuckle escaped you at his reasoning but you shook your head. “Joaquin, for the last time, Bucky and I are not a couple. We’re just friends – close friends, yes, but friends.”

“I really thought you two were dating.” Joaquin mused as he gathered some snacks into his arms and turned to you. “I mean, you’re basically his girlfriend without the benefits.”

That got your attention and you turned around with a shocked expression. “I’m his what?”

“You know, the opposite of a friend with benefits. You’re like his girlfriend but without the kissing, hugging, going on actual dates, and stuff. So, a girlfriend without the benefits.”

“That’s ridiculous!”

“Are you getting so defensive because I’m right?”

If you were to be honest, you really didn’t know why you were getting so defensive and why his words made a strange emotion grow in your chest. Bucky had been your best friend for years and you two had always been adamant about not being a couple, no matter how close you were, so you were left wondering what that emotion you were feeling was. Nonetheless, you shook your head at Joaquin.

“We are not a couple and I’m not his girlfriend without the benefits.”

“Just think about what I said.”

---

And think about it you did. It really irritated you because now you were second-guessing every interaction you and Bucky had, from cuddling during movies, over cooking for each other, all the way to simply seeking out each other’s presence. For a few days, it was all you could think about and that strange new emotion that you had yet to identify didn’t make things easier for you. But then a mission came along, almost like a welcome distraction from your feelings.

Unfortunately, it ended with injuries. While you had all successfully taken down the criminal organisation after months of surveillance, it wasn’t without consequences. Natasha had been shot twice and had to be taken to the hospital to have the bullets still lodged in her shoulder extracted. You were luckier and after getting your stab wounds stitched up, you got to go home without any surgeries.

It was Bucky that worried you the most because he’d been hit in the head and the doctors had said he had a concussion. While you knew that with the serum, he’d be fine by tomorrow, at the moment he was in pain and lying on his back on the sofa, eyes closed and a cold wet towel on his forehead. The moment you walked into the living room, however, he tried to sit up and check on you, only for Sam to force him to lie down again.

“Take it easy, Bucky. She’s alright.”

“I am.” You quickly reassured Bucky as you hurried over to help Sam ease your friend back into a more comfortable position. “They stitched me up and I’ll be fine. Please, don’t get up, Bucky. How is your head?”

“It fucking hurts.” Bucky grumbled out, eyes still closed and blindly reaching out for your hand. “That damn security personnel hit me hard.”

Sam nodded his head along to Bucky’s words. “The doctors said with the serum he’d be fine by tomorrow and gave him painkillers, but they haven’t kicked in yet. He’s also not allowed to move around too much, read or look at screens.”

“I’ll keep all that in mind. When did you take the painkillers, Bucky?”

“When Sam and I got home.”

“Twenty minutes ago. They’ll take a few more minutes to kick in.” Sam said before he straightened up again. “Listen, Natasha called me just before you came in and asked me to pick her up. I told her I would come as soon as you got here, so you can keep an eye on Bucky.”

Bucky’s hand squeezed around yours. “Keep an eye on me? I’ll be fine.”

“I need her to make sure you don’t do anything stupid, like trying to get up and walking around.” Sam teased back before looking at you. “Can you do that, please?”

“Of course. You go get Nat.”

“Thanks!”

With that, Sam grabbed his things and left, leaving you and Bucky alone in the living room. Bucky turned his head just slightly, eyebrows drawing together in pain, before he cracked one eye open to look at you.

“Be honest with me, Doll, are you alright?”

“It hurts when I move too much but I’ll be fine. I’m more worried about you.”

“I’ll be alright.” He promised, giving you a tight, almost forced smile. “It just sucks that all I can do is lie around and wait. I can’t even read anything because that’s too hard on the brain, so-- so I can’t distract myself from the pain.”

You thought for a second before you had an idea. “I could read to you.”

“You don’t have to. You should-- You should rest.”

“Nonsense. If you let me sit down on the couch, so I won’t have to stand, I can totally read to you. And the book I’ve been reading is right here. It’s really not that strenuous.”

Bucky was quiet for a few seconds before his eyes focused on you. “Can I lay my head into your lap, please?”

“Of course.”

Gingerly, so as not to cause him any pain, you manoeuvred around until you were sitting on the couch, back against the armrest with Bucky’s head in your lap. The smile that spread on his face, all relieved and content, made your insides twist up again and once more you wondered why you felt this way around Bucky. But you couldn’t think about that now because he was injured and you wanted to help. So, you reached for your book and started reading to him.

While you did so, your hands began to gently card through his hair and you felt him relax into your touch. Despite you two being injured, it was strangely peaceful, but then again you always felt at peace around Bucky. Had you two not been injured and had you not been so focused on easing Bucky’s pain you would have given that a second thought. But for now, you were glad to be able to help.

You stayed like that for almost an hour until Sam and Natasha got back, the latter supporting her weight on her friend as he helped her inside. Joaquin was trailing behind them with some bags of take-out balanced in his arms. When they all saw you, Natasha had to cover her mouth with her hand to keep herself from making any loud noises and Sam had to elbow Joaquin in the side to keep him quiet.

“Not a word.” You hissed softly, careful not to disturb Bucky. “Don’t you dare wake him back up. He’s in pain and he needs rest.”

“We’ll be quiet. But we got you some food.” Joaquin whispered back before placing a box of take-out on the coffee table. “What are you reading?”

“Project Hail Mary. Well, I’m re-reading it but that’s actually perfect because both Bucky and I know the book, so he won’t have to concentrate on listening.” It was when you leaned forward to place the book on the coffee table that you noticed that Bucky’s right hand was tightly wrapped around your free wrist. The strange sense of warmth once more began spreading in your chest at him subconsciously holding onto. “I wanted to distract him from the pain. I guess reading to him did the trick.”

“It probably also helped that you were petting his hair.” Sam joked, earning himself a glare from you, to which he simply smiled. “I’m serious right now. I think Bucky really likes it when you play with his hair. He always relaxes when you do.”

Joaquin motioned for your occupied hand. “It’ll probably be a bit hard to eat like that, though. Do you need any help?”

“No thanks, I don’t need you feeding me.” You joked before shaking your head and cosying down on the couch. “It’s fine, I’m not that hungry anyway. I’ll eat something later when Bucky releases his death grip on my arm.”

“We’ll be in the kitchen so we don’t disturb you two love birds.” Natasha said softly, ignoring your glare. “If you need anything, call us.”

---

It really surprised you how much time you spent thinking about Joaquin’s words and how they made you question how you two behaved around each other. His words still had you wondering about why you liked having Bucky close, why you always felt a pleasant warmth when he was around and why your heart skipped a beat any time he touched you. In the back of your mind, you already knew the answer because you weren’t stupid by any means. But despite all your intelligence, you were also very stubborn.

These thoughts kept running through your head at all times, even now as you sat in the kitchen, eating your breakfast. You only stopped thinking about this when Bucky walked in. You gave him a bright smile, as always happy to see him, but when you saw that he was avoiding eye contact and hadn’t yet reattached his arm, which he usually only took off during sleep or when his shoulder hurt, your face fell into a frown. He gave you a nod of acknowledgement before going to the counter to pick up an orange.

“Bucky, are you alright?”

“I’ll be fine, Doll. Just had a nightmare.”

“That means you’re not fine now.” You got up from your chair and walked over to place a gentle hand on his back. “Do you want to talk about it?”

“’Can’t.”

“Alright, that’s fine. You don’t have to. Do you need anything?” You leaned forward to get a look at his face, drawn together into a deep frown. “Do you want me to distract you? Or do you want me to hold you? I could also make you something for breakfast like I always do. Maybe you’ll feel better once you’ve eaten.”

Bucky finally looked up at that, eyes locking with yours and you felt some tension leave your shoulders because you knew that if he wasn’t making eye contact, things were bad. “Thanks, but there’s not much you can do about it now. I just want to forget about it for now. Can I join you for breakfast?”

“Of course, James.” You smiled softly and rubbed his back a little before you two made your way back to the table to sit down. “Do you want me to make you something to eat, though? I mean, I’m just having muesli but I can make you a sandwich or some eggs or whatever you want.”

“I’ll stick with my orange for now. I’ll eat something more later.”

You looked at him for a second, taking in his frown and how his right hand shook ever so slightly on the orange as he tried to peel it. Before even thinking about it you reached out to take the orange from him and Bucky gave you a confused look, but when you started peeling it, his frown melted into a smile.

“Thank you so much, Doll.”

Warmth spread through your chest at his words but you ignored it in favour of helping Bucky. After giving him a gentle smile, you hooked the nail of your thumb into the skin of the orange to break it open and you began to slowly peel it. You were interrupted when you heard footsteps approaching and soon after, Yelena walked in, accompanied by Natasha. The two of them were talking amongst themselves, only stopping once to greet you and Bucky. As you continued to peel his orange, Yelena went to the fridge and Natasha looked through the fruit bowl before frowning.

“Damn it, there aren’t any oranges left.” She complained before her eyes locked on you. “Can I have half of yours?”

“You have to ask Bucky. It’s his orange. I’m just peeling it for him.”

Natasha turned to ask Bucky but before she could get a word out, Yelena gave a loud squeal that made all of you flinch. While her sister looked at her in amusement, you threw Yelena a confused look to which she just pointed at the half-peeled orange in your hands. Your gaze flickered down toward it but you really didn’t know what Yelena was talking about, so you looked back up at her in question.

“Come on, have you never heard of the orange peel theory?”

“I don’t think I have.” You mumbled, looking back at the orange in your hands. “Is this like an internet theory or a real one?”

“It’s an internet theory, yes, but I think there’s some truth to it.” Yelena began, raising a wise finger. “It’s a viral social media concept that says a partner’s willingness to perform small, unasked, and seemingly trivial acts of service -- like peeling an orange for you -- is a meaningful indicator of care, attentiveness, and love.”

Natasha snorted a little at her sister’s words. “You recited that so well; you get ten points for that.”

“Come on, Nat, don’t tell me you don’t think there’s some truth to it. She is peeling an orange for him and it seems meaningless but she’s doing it because-- Why are you peeling Bucky’s orange for him again?”

“He had a nightmare and still seemed shaken by it, so since I make breakfast for him all the time anyway, I wanted to peel it for him.” You mumbled, trying to ignore the way your stomach fluttered at Yelena’s words, at how this theory actually made some sense. “It’s an orange; it’s not that special.”

Yelena shook her head at that. “No, you’re doing it because Bucky is feeling down and you want to be there for him. You’re peeling an orange for your boyfriend to make life a little easier for him and that shows care, attentiveness and love, even if it doesn’t seem like a big deal to you.”

“Actually, that does sound about right. I mean, people always say that it’s the little things that show us that someone loves us.” Natasha agreed with Yelena, crossing her eyes and smiling at you and Bucky. “Look at you, acting like a couple again.”

“While denying that you are one.”

While Bucky jokingly rolled his eyes at their antics, you shook your head in amusement and placed a hand on his back almost on instinct. “I was just trying to be nice and help Bucky out.”

“Keep denying it if that’s what floats your boat.” Natasha joked before leaning closer to you and giving you a big grin. “But did you notice that you never called Yelena out on her referring to Bucky as your boyfriend?”

---

Natasha’s question kept running through your head for days afterwards and you couldn’t help but wonder whether or not there was some truth to it. The thought of Bucky being your boyfriend wasn’t bad at all but you two had always been adamant about just being friends, so you were certain his feelings for you were only platonic. You were also sure that your confusing thoughts and feelings would go away on their own in no time.

But even as you were lying on your stomach, reading your book you couldn’t completely shake them off. Not until Bucky entered your room without even knocking, used to letting himself in as you did with his room. You merely peeked up from your book at first but when you saw him, you couldn’t help but frown. His eyebrows were pinched in a pained expression and his right hand was massaging his left shoulder which was missing his Vibranium arm.

“Hey, Buck, are you alright? Why did you take your arm off?”

“My shoulder really hurts today.” Bucky shrugged and let himself flop onto your bed before turning his head to you. “You said you wanted to show me something earlier, right? So, what is it?”

“Nothing that important.” You said off-handedly and got onto your knees on the bed, looking down at him as you placed your hands onto your thighs. “Where does it hurt? The shoulder blade? The neck?”

Bucky pushed himself up a little bit. “It’s more the top of the shoulder and up to the neck.”

“Turn onto your stomach and take off your shirt.”

“Why?”

“I’ll give you a massage.” You shrugged, looking at him expectantly and when he slowly began to shrug off his shirt, you smiled in satisfaction. “I’m no physical therapist but I’m sure I can get some of the tension out of your neck. Turn around now.”

Without a hint of hesitation, Bucky turned onto his stomach. He trusted you completely and you smiled to yourself as you crawled halfway on top of him, sitting down on his butt but keeping most of your weight on your legs. Then you leaned forward and got to work, focusing on his shoulders first and using your thumbs to work out the tight knots there.

Whenever he hissed in pain, you shushed him gently and used the balls of your hand to smooth out his muscles before continuing to ease the tension in his muscles with your thumbs. Slowly but surely, his hisses of pain turned into sighs of relief and pleasure at having your nimble fingers work at his neck.

“I swear your hands are magical, Doll.”

You just chuckled at his words, leaning forward a little to put more weight onto your hands and work out a particularly stubborn knot. All the while, you tried to ignore the way your stomach lurched at the position you two were in. The way he sighed underneath you and the heat of his body made it really hard to ignore these strange feelings. But Bucky was in pain, so you just focused on massaging him and stubbornly shoved your thoughts way.

That worked until the door swung open and none other than Joaquin marched in, talking away about how you’d stood him up for the training session you two had planned with Sam, but he stopped when he saw you and Bucky. His eyes grew wild and he began to point back and forth between the two of you.

“Sam is never going to believe this!”

“Never going to believe what? Did you figure out why she’s late?” Came Sam’s voice from the hallway because you could truly never catch a break and when he came into view, his mouth fell open. “I knew it!”

“This isn’t what it looks like!” You exclaimed as you got off Bucky and he sat up next to you, shaking your head. “I swear!”

Joaquin snorted at that. “I don’t even know what it looks like.”

“Foreplay.” Sam commented and then had to dodge the pillow Bucky threw at his face. “Hey, I’m just kidding! It’s obviously a massage but come on, man, you can’t be in that position with her and then got off at us for thinking you’re more than friends!”

“We are friends, Samuel.” You hissed and he turned to you at the use of his full first name. “Bucky’s shoulder hurt, so I gave him a massage. Don’t be nasty!”

Joaquin snorted from next to Sam. “And you expect us to believe that?”

“Alright, you know what? You wanted a training session? You’re getting one because I’m going to kick your butt.” You threatened jokingly as you got off your bed, your face still hot with embarrassment and questions over questions running through your head. “Meet me down at the gym in ten minutes. I’ll just run a bath for Bucky and then I’ll be there.”

“That is the least threatening thing you could have ended with.” Joaquin grinned and raised his voice to imitate you. “Let me just run a bath for my boyfriend and then I’ll come and kick your butt!”

Your eyes narrowed at Joaquin mocking you but before you could answer, Bucky did, getting up from the bed and raising his hand in an appeasing gesture. “Once again, in case you two douchebags have forgotten it, we’re not a couple. And I bet you two are just jealous you don’t have a wonderful friend who massages your sore shoulders and draws you a bath.”

“Exactly.” You grinned from next to Bucky, heart leaping at him immediately backing you up. “Now get ready for our training sessions. I’ll be with you shortly.”

“I cannot believe I got called a douchebag and Joaquin got threatened to get his butt kicked.” Sam exclaimed in mock betrayal and dramatically threw his hands to his forehead. “You two are so cruel to poor Joaquin and I, you’re perfect for each other!”

Bucky’s laughter rang out from next to you, light and carefree, while you felt anything but. From the way your heart leapt at his laughter to the way your stomach fluttered at Sam’s words, you knew you couldn’t deny it anymore. You were in love with Bucky.

---

For the next few days, all you could think about was how you were in love with your best friend and whenever the two of you interacted, you had to actively reel yourself back in to not act upon your feelings. You were at a loss of what to do and if you should tell him about how you felt, because you were so uncertain of whether or not he saw you as more than a friend. Thankfully, the Halloween party hosted at the Watchtower was a welcome distraction from your pining and thanks to the costume you’d worked so hard on for months and its helmet you could hide from Bucky while you pondered what to do.

You couldn’t hide from your feelings, unfortunately, because you’d spotted Bucky the second he’d walked in and when you’d clocked that he was dressed as Han Solo while you were dressed as Leia pretending to be Boushh in ‘Return of the Jedi’ you felt your heart leap into your throat. It made you think of the words she told him during the scene where she rescues him and how they kiss afterwards. The thought of kissing Bucky made your face heat up and your stomach flutter. Groaning quietly, you resigned yourself to the fate of being helplessly in love with your best friend.

“You look miserable, girl.”

“I’m wearing a helmet, Yelena. How could you possibly tell?”

“Your shoulders are ever so slightly slumped, your listlessly lingering around the edge of the dance floor while fiddling with the straps of your costume and all the while, you keep staring at Bucky.”

“What is that supposed to mea—” You started but then you cut yourself off because there was truly no lying about your feelings anymore and perhaps talking to your friend would make you feel a bit better. “Lena, I don’t know what to do about this!”

“About what?” Yelena narrowed her eyes, making her look straight out of the hallway scene in ‘The Shining’ that her double costume with Natasha was inspired by. But then she seemed to get what you were saying and her whole face lit up. “Are you in love with Bucky?”

“Not so loud.” You hissed at her before shaking your head miserably. “I kept questioning why I didn’t correct you when you said he was my boyfriend during that whole orange thing a week ago. Then I gave him a message and Sam and Joaquin walked in on us. They teased us and when we started joking around with them, Sam said Bucky and I are perfect for each other. And then Bucky was laughing and I got butterflies in my stomach and—”

Yelena raised her hands to calm you down. “Slow down there and take a deep breath. Now I get why you’ve been hiding under that helmet for the whole party. First of all, I’m glad you finally came to terms with your feelings and second of all, what are you going to do about them?”

“I just told you that I don’t know!” You exclaimed in exasperation. “I don’t know if he feels the same and I don’t want to ruin our friendship. Romantic feelings aside, I care so much about him and I don’t want to lose him.”

“That’s rough.” Yelena nodded along while you sighed deeply. “But I have an idea. You two are dressed as Han and Leia, right? And in that movie she tells him she loves him, right? So just do it and see how he reacts. You can play it off as a joke, but if he gets bashful or blushes or acts nervous, then that might mean he feels the same.”

“You’re a genius, Lena!”

“I know, I know.” She joked and reached out to pat herself on the shoulder. “And if I run into you two again, I can definitely drop some hints, make some allusions to you two acting like a couple all the time. You know, like I usually do.”

“Are you sure it will work?”

“No, but it’s worth a shot, right? You are in love with him, so it’s worth it.”

“I sure am in love with him.”

You took a deep breath and turned to look for Bucky, spotting him at the buffet table. It seemed that Sam had spotted him and had stirred Redwing, who he’d dressed as a ghost with a white sheet draped over it, toward Bucky to bother him. Bucky was swatting at the drone while Sam cackled in the background not far away. You quickly took the chance and walked over, getting between Bucky and the drone to shoo it away. Sam eventually steered it into the other direction and you flipped him off, earning yourself more laughter from him.

“Thanks for shooing the ghost of Redwing away.” Bucky chuckled softly, making your heart leap into your throat again before eyeing your costume. “Who are you?”

Taking a deep breath, you took your helmet off and grinned up at Bucky with a proud expression. “Someone who loves you.”

Bucky stilled for a second and you quickly scanned his face for any hint of emotion. His eyes flickered away from you at your words and he licked his lips like he did when he was nervous. Part of your brain was screaming at you about how this meant that he liked you as more than a friend. But the more logical side of it reminded you that he might be nervous because he didn’t have feelings for you and your words had made him uncomfortable. The thought made your heart sink but you had to ask if he was alright.

“You good there, Bucky?”

“Your costume’s amazing, Doll. I get why you wanted it to be a surprise. And before I forget, Joaquin wants to see your costume, so you should show it to him later.” He said and your smile grew at his signature nickname for you. “I bet you’re so happy you got to use that quote.”

“I totally am! I love that we’re both dressed as Star Wars characters.”

“You two are Han and Leia!”

Both of you turned to find Bob approaching, dressed as a vampire and with a giddy smile on his lips. Behind him followed Yelena and Natasha, who were dressed as the other twin from The Shining. As they came over, Yelena gave Bucky a wide grin.

“You two go to a Halloween party dressed in a couple’s costume and then wonder why people think you are a couple.”

“I swear, it wasn’t on purpose. You know I was planning my costume in secret, Yelena.” You said in fake amusement. On the one hand, you were thankful for Yelena’s attempt to get you two together by making comments about you acting like a couple as she’d promised. But on the other hand, the part of your brain that was trying to convince you that Bucky didn’t feel the same way about you was winning and you didn’t want to make him even more uncomfortable, so you tried to play it off. “It was a coincidence.”

“Coincidence or fate?” Came Natasha’s voice as she also decided to join the conversation, standing right next to Yelena which made them look straight out of the movie scene. “I mean, if you two really didn’t plan this, which I am not totally convinced of, then isn’t it a sign from the universe that you two just happened to show up in a couple’s costume?”

Next to you, Bucky shook his head at their words, making your heart sink even further. “How many times do we have to tell you guys that we’re just friends? We are not a couple, no matter what we do or say or dress up as.”

This was it, the last nail in the coffin. His words proved that he had no romantic feelings for you. Now you had the confirmation that he’d just been uncomfortable because of your words, not because he was secretly also in love with you. Tears sprang to your eyes but you blinked rapidly against them. He couldn’t know how you felt because that would definitely ruin your friendship and that was the worst thing that could happen. You had to say something to get out of this situation before you ruined everything even more, so you took a deep breath to gather yourself.

“Exactly.” You tried hard to keep the sadness out of your voice but you knew you sounded dejected, although you were still smiling at your friends. “Now stop harassing us. I got to go find Joaquin and show him my costume now anyway.”

“I just found you.” Bucky protested weakly and when you looked up at him he looked almost sad but you couldn’t understand why. He’d been so adamant about not being your partner, so him looking so upset confused you. “Let’s get something to eat.”

“I see Joaquin just over there. Let me talk to him really quick and then I’ll be right back.” Everything was so confusing and you just had to get out of this situation, if only for a few minutes. You patted Bucky’s chest and promised to be back. “Just give me a few minutes.”

With that, you hurried off, leaving Bucky with Yelena, Natasha and Bob while you made your way toward Joaquin. When he saw your heartbroken expression, he gave you a concerned look.

“You look like you were just told your husband died at sea.” He was trying to make you laugh and you felt terrible for not doing so. “What happened?”

“I’m in love with Bucky.” You confessed. “I started thinking about what you said about me already acting like his girlfriend and then Yelena explained the orange peel theory while I was peeling an orange for him, saying he was my boyfriend and I didn’t correct her. It made me realise that I would really like Bucky to be my boyfriend.”

“I knew it.” Joaquin said under his breath before his face fell into a confused expression. “Wait, why do you look so sad? Have you told him? Has he rejected you?”

“Basically.”

“Basically? So, you haven’t really told him and he hasn’t really rejected you, right?”

“I mean, I told him I’m someone who loves him, like Leia does in the movie—”

“Because you’re a nerd, got it.”

You tried to glare at him but his words got a little chuckle out of you before you shook your head again. “Anyways, I wanted to see if he would act bashful about that or blush or something because Yelena thought it would show me if he feels the same. But he looked nervous, instead. Then Yelena, Natasha and Bob came over, and they talked about us being dressed in a couple’s costume and all that.”

“And he said he doesn’t like you like that?”

“I mean, he didn’t say that exactly.” You explained, trying to make sense of it all despite your confusion. “I said it was a coincidence and that we’re not a couple.”

Joaquin’s mouth fell open. “Why would you say that?”

“Because it’s true and he looked so nervous which means he was uncomfortable with me saying I love him as a joke, so he must not like me like that.”

“Are you a psychic or why do you know why he acted nervous?”

“It was pretty obvious, Joaquin!”

“No, it wasn’t! He could have been nervous for a thousand different reasons. Like, maybe it was too loud for him or maybe he really needed to pee or, I don’t know, maybe he is also in love with you and that’s why he was nervous.”

“He isn’t in love with me. He said we’re not a couple, no matter what we do or what we dress up as, so there.”

“You know you’re one of my best friends and I love you, right?”

“Yes, what does that have to do with anything?”

“Are you stupid?”

“Rude.”

“He said that because you said it was a coincidence and that you weren’t a couple. Bucky probably thinks you don’t like him and that’s why he doubled down on you two not being together, so he won’t make you uncomfortable.”

Your head turned around to where Bucky was still standing and by the looks of it, he was having a heated discussion with his friends, looking absolutely miserable. Maybe Joaquin was right and he was truly in love with you, too. That would also explain his nervousness. And it would explain why he looked so heartbroken right now.

“I just agreed with him and ran off, saying I needed to talk to you.” You whispered, bringing a hand up to cover your mouth. “Bucky tried to get me to stay and I just left. I am such an idiot and I was so afraid of ruining our friendship, that I just ruined any chance we had for ever getting together.”

Joaquin opened his mouth to speak to you but then his eyes drifted from your face to something behind you. “I don’t think you’ve ruined things just yet.”

“What do you mean?”

“Bucky is coming over.”

Your eyes grew wide in panic. “What do I do, Joaquin?”

“Talk to him.” Joaquin said, trying to soothe your fears. You were so scared of ruining everything and he could tell, so he gave you an encouraging smile. “Tell him everything you told me, about how you’re so in love with him, how you want him to be your boyfriend and how you only said those things because you were afraid he didn’t feel the same way.”

Before you could say another word Bucky was right behind you. “Hey, Doll.”

“Hey, Bucky, I’m sorry I kept you waiting for so long. Joaquin wanted to know how I made the chest straps and--” You explained while you turned around but when you saw his expression, your face fell. “What’s wrong, James? Are you alright?”

“Can I talk to you for a second? Just the two of us? We could go onto the balcony. No one’s there.”

“Sure.” You nodded quickly before giving Joaquin a nervous smile. “I’ll talk to you later.”

Joaquin eyed Bucky for a second and then gave you a look that you knew was supposed to be encouraging. “I’m sure this is more important than your costume. I’ll see you later!”

The walk to the balcony was nothing short of nerve-wracking. No matter the outcome of this conversation, you two needed to talk about how you felt and should he not feel the same after all, find a way to navigate your friendship despite your feelings. You could feel your friends all watching you from across the room. When Bucky opened the glass door leading to the balcony, holding it open for you, his hand shook on the glass and you wondered if he was just as terrified as you were. Once outside, you turned to him with a concerned expression before reaching out to take his flesh hand and give it a tight squeeze, trying to ground yourself as well as him.

“You look scared. Do we need to leave?” You asked but Bucky didn’t answer, making you feel even more uneasy. “James, talk to me, please”

“I have something to say.” He blurted out and you blinked in surprise. “You know how everyone always assumes we’re a couple but we tell them we’re not? Well, a few weeks ago Natasha said something about that, telling me I was basically your boyfriend without the benefits and-- and it got me thinking. I’ve been thinking about it for weeks now.”

Your eyes grew wide at his words, at how Natasha had basically told him the same thing Joaquin had said to you, and you could feel your hands shaking as you looked up at him. “My boyfriend without the benefits?”

“It made me realise that we already pretty much act like a couple and I don’t want that to change but I realised that I want the benefits, too.”

You were taken aback by his choice of words. “The benefits? Like getting it on or--”

“No! I mean, if you want to! I mean, I-- Fuck, I used to be so good at this. I’m sorry, let me try again.” Bucky grumbled and squeezed his eyes shut, giving you a second to draw in a steadying breath before he continued to speak. “Natasha’s words and all the teasing from our friends made me think. I want to be with you, hear you say you love me without it being a joke about our costumes and when I didn’t correct that man who called me your boyfriend, I realised I would really like being your boyfriend. And I’m in love with you, Doll.”

You felt like time had stopped. Bucky was in love with you. He felt the same way about you that you felt about him. All this time of fretting over your feelings, of worrying that you’d ruin your friendship, was all swept away in an instant and you felt so relieved that you almost forgot to answer. But then you caught his concerned, almost dejected expression, and despite your heart racing you managed to stammer out and answer.

“You’re in love with me? You want to be my boyfriend?”

“More than anything in the world. Being your boyfriend would be the benefit. I’m so in love with you, Doll.” Bucky confessed before averting his eyes. “I had to be honest with you but if you don’t feel the same, then--”

That wouldn’t do. Bucky thought you didn’t feel the same, already resigning himself to the fate of what he thought was unrequited love for his best friend. But you felt the same for him. You were hopelessly in love with him and because you didn’t trust yourself to speak anymore, you did the only thing you could think of. Before Bucky could get another word out, you placed your hands on his cheeks and pulled him into a fierce kiss.

The feeling of his lips against yours, your bodies pressing close together and his soft cheeks cradled in your hands had your eyes slipping close in almost perfect unison with his own. His arms wrapped around your waist to hold you close, making your stomach flutter. Emboldened by his actions you deepened the kiss, sighing contentedly against his lips as you poured all your yearning for him into this moment. But sadly, you eventually had to separate to catch your breath. Bucky seemingly didn’t want your kiss to end and followed your head to keep his lips against yours for as long as possible. It made a smile spread on your lips.

“I feel the same way, James. I’m so in love with you it’s unbelievable. I’d be so happy if I could be your girlfriend.” You confessed before he could get another word out while keeping yourself close to him and placing your hands on his shoulders as you pursed your lips in amusement. “You know, Joaquin actually called me your girlfriend without the benefits and it got me thinking. I realised I’m in love with you, too. I’m so glad you feel the same.”

“Does that mean we can tell our friends that we really are a couple now?”

“Absolutely.” For a second, your eyes flickered back to the doors to the balcony where you spotted all of your friends watching from inside the Watchtower. Then you let your gaze drop to his lips again. “I really want to kiss you again but all of our friends have gathered behind that glass door to watch us and it’s quite frankly a little uncomfortable.”

It seemed that Bucky hadn’t even realised that you had an audience and a quiet chuckle escaped his lips as he turned to look at the glass door, too. You followed his gaze and it made your heart leap into your throat when he let out a full-on laugh upon seeing most of your friends quickly scatter to pretend that they hadn’t been spying on you two. The exceptions were Natasha who clapped her hands with an excited smile and Sam next to her who gave Bucky a thumbs up.

“Maybe we can continue this later on.”

“I’ll hold you to that.” You sighed softly, leaning your head against his chest and squeezing him tightly. “I’m so happy you’re my boyfriend.”

“Are you fucking kidding me?” you groan aloud, nearly spilling your wine all over your expensive Moroccan rug.

The alarm doesn't stop. It wails with a violent, ear-splitting urgency that vibrates in your teeth. You slam the wine glass down on the counter, your heart kicking into a frantic, panicked rhythm against your ribs. You grab your phone, slide your bare feet into a pair of slip-on Converse sneakers, and bolt for the door. You don't even think to grab a coat, completely forgetting you are only wearing a thin tank top.

Throwing the heavy door open, you're immediately hit by the chaotic din of the hallway. Neighbors are spilling out of their apartments, eyes wide, voices overlapping in confused, sleepy panic. There’s no thick, suffocating smoke rolling down the ceiling, but there is a distinct, pungent odor wafting through the air, burnt plastic and cheap, stale weed.

You push through the milling crowd toward the end of the hallway where the heavy, reinforced fire escape door leads out to the iron stairwell. It’s supposed to be the fastest way out for the fourth floor, bypassing the narrow, claustrophobic central staircase that is already clogged with people from the upper floors.

You reach the heavy metal door, grasping the emergency push-bar. You shove your weight against it, but the mechanism is stubbornly jammed. The ancient hinges groan, resisting your effort. Panic flares hot in your chest as the alarm continues its deafening, relentless assault. You hit the bar again with the heel of your hand, swearing violently under your breath. “Come on, you piece of shit, fucking open!”

“Hey, back up. Let me get it.”

The voice is deep, calm, and immediately recognizable. A large, warm hand clamps down over your bare shoulder, gently but firmly pulling you back. The touch sends a jolt of electricity straight through your system. You stumble slightly, looking up to see Bucky Barnes stepping in front of you.

He looks like he threw his clothes on in a matter of seconds, but somehow he still looks effortlessly magnetic. He’s wearing a battered, heavy leather jacket zipped hastily over a dark grey hoodie, clearly his go-to “emergency” grab, paired with dark jeans. His dark hair is a messy, beautiful tangle falling into his striking, sharp blue eyes. He doesn't look panicked at all; he just looks mildly annoyed at the inconvenience.

Bucky places his hand, his knuckles dusted with faint scars, flat against the door. His other hand grips the heavy iron bar. With a sharp, sudden flex of his broad shoulders beneath the layers of leather and cotton, he shoves. There’s a loud, metallic crack as the rusted latch finally gives way, and the heavy door flies open, letting in a violent rush of crisp, freezing night air.

“Ladies first…” Bucky says, his voice a low, rough rumble over the screeching alarm. He throws you a quick, reassuring smirk that makes your stomach do a completely unhelpful flip.

“Thanks…” you breathe out, stepping past him onto the grated iron platform of the fire escape. The sudden, brutal drop in temperature immediately bites through your thin tank top, raising goosebumps all over your arms. You shiver instantly, crossing your arms over your chest. The city below is alive, a swirling mass of neon lights, honking cabs, and the distant, rapidly approaching wail of fire sirens.

Bucky steps out right behind you, his large frame blocking a bit of the wind. The platform isn't exactly spacious. You’re forced to stand close together, backed against the rough brick wall of the building as a few other neighbors push past, hurrying down the zigzagging iron stairs to the narrow alleyway below.

You stay put on the landing, the cold metal of the railing biting into your lower back. Bucky leans casually against the brickwork beside you, entirely unbothered by the frantic exodus of the rest of the floor. He pulls a pack of cigarettes from the pocket of his leather jacket, snapping a Zippo lighter open with his thumb. The flame illuminates the sharp, strong lines of his jaw and the relaxed, easy set of his mouth.

“You're not going down?” you ask, your teeth beginning to chatter slightly as the autumn wind whips around the building.

He takes a slow drag, blowing the smoke out into the chilled air, the plume mixing with his breath. He shakes his head, his blue eyes dropping to meet yours. “Nah. We’re on the fourth floor, Y/n. If the building was actually going up in flames, you'd feel the structural heat by now. Look down there.” He gestures lazily over the railing with his cigarette.

You uncross your arms for a second to peer over. The flashing red and white lights of a massive fire truck are already bouncing off the damp brick walls of the alley. Firefighters are piling out, moving with practiced efficiency, but there’s no frantic shouting, no rushing of heavy water hoses. They look bored.

“It's that little shit, Tyler, from the third floor…” Bucky says, a lazy, amused grin spreading across his face. “The twenty-something kid with the terrible bleach job?”

You snort, leaning back against the wall next to him. “The one who constantly leaves his empty, greasy pizza boxes in the stairwell?”

“That’s the one!” Bucky laughs, the sound deep and rich, settling warmly in your chest despite the freezing temperature. “Fucker bought some bad shit, got paranoid, and tried to hotbox his walk-in closet to hide the smell from his roommate. Dropped his lit joint into a pile of synthetic nylon gym bags. Smoked up the whole damn floor. Fucking idiot.”

You can't help it, you let out a loud, genuine laugh, the tension bleeding out of your shoulders. “Are you serious? God, I thought my night couldn't get any more ridiculous. I was exactly halfway to the sofa with a very necessary, very expensive glass of wine.”

Bucky’s eyes drag over you, slow and deliberate, taking in your messy bun, your thin white tank top, the faded sweatpants, and your bare ankles above your sneakers. There’s a sudden, heavy shift in the air between you, the kind of charged, undeniable electricity that has always simmered beneath the surface during your brief hallway encounters, but amplified tenfold now that you are isolated above the city streets.

He notices you shivering, your shoulders hitched up to your ears. Without a word, he unzips his leather jacket, shrugs it off his broad shoulders, and drapes it heavily over yours. The jacket is massive on you, smelling incredibly of rich leather, expensive cologne, and a faint hint of darkroom chemicals. It’s wonderfully, instantly warm from his body heat.

“Shame to interrupt a good drink…” he murmurs, leaving him in just his dark grey hoodie. His voice drops an octave, rumbling low. “Especially after the week you've had. I saw the layout for the September issue you pushed through. You completely gutted the initial spread and rebuilt it. It’s sharp as hell, Y/n. Visceral. I liked it.”

You stare at him, genuinely shocked, pulling the lapels of his leather jacket tighter around your chest. “You read my editorials? I didn't think big-shot, high-fashion photographers cared about the text formatting or the written features.”

“I care when the text is actually worth reading.” he replies smoothly, stepping just a fraction of an inch closer, holding your gaze intently. “Most of the shit in that magazine is vapid, corporate garbage aimed at selling insecure women overpriced handbags. But you actually give a fuck. You write about the clothes like they’re armor. Like they matter to a person's identity. It's good. Fucking brilliant, actually.”

A flush that has absolutely nothing to do with the freezing wind creeps up your neck and colors your cheeks. You’ve worked your ass off for years to get to this position, battling rampant sexism and corporate greed, and hearing validation from someone whose artistic eye you deeply respect, someone who usually terrifies the industry’s top editors with his uncompromising, brilliant vision, feels incredibly intoxicating.

“Well…” you manage to say, fighting down a proud smile, “coming from the guy who shot the entire Milan campaign in a literal abandoned slaughterhouse just to prove a point about the brutality of fast fashion, I'll take that as a massive compliment.”

Bucky chuckles, tossing his cigarette over the edge and watching the glowing ember fall into the darkness. “It was a statement. And the creative director almost had a fucking aneurysm on set. It was hilarious. I thought the guy was going to actually weep when I brought the fake blood out.”

You spend the next forty-five minutes just talking. It’s remarkably, dangerously easy. The cold air bites at your exposed face, but wrapped in Bucky's heavy leather jacket, with the heat radiating from his large frame beside you, you feel perfectly anchored. You talk about the industry, tearing down the inflated egos of terrible designers, laughing at the sheer, unadulterated absurdity of the fashion world. He is completely unfiltered, swearing casually, his observations sharp, cynical, and ruthlessly funny. You find yourself matching his energy, completely dropping your polished professional mask. You let out your own frustrations about your boss, the agonizing late nights, the constant, draining pressure to be perfect in an industry that profits off imperfection.

It's liberating. Here on this rusted fire escape, suspended above the noisy, chaotic city, stripped of your titles and your pristine outfits, you are just you and Bucky. Two overworked, exhausted people finding a bizarre, unexpected sanctuary in a false alarm. You realize you haven't talked to anyone this easily in months. Maybe years. Every time he looks at you, his blue eyes are heavy with a quiet, intense interest that makes your pulse hammer in your throat.

Down below, the fire truck’s massive diesel engines roar to life, shaking the pavement. The firefighters have cleared the building, evidently dealing with Tyler and his melted nylon bags, and are slowly backing the massive rig out of the narrow street. The flashing red lights click off, plunging the alleyway back into its usual, shadowed dimness.

“Looks like the show's over…” you say, a strange, totally unexpected pang of disappointment tightening your chest. You don't want this bubble to pop. You don't want to go back to being just passing strangers in the hallway.

Bucky looks down at the departing truck, then back at you. His eyes linger on your lips for a fraction of a second longer than is strictly polite before he offers a soft, entirely devastating smile. “Yeah. Suppose we should get back inside before you freeze to death, even with my jacket. I'll let you get back to your wine. Though, honestly, I've got a bottle of rare Kentucky bourbon in my place that easily beats whatever vintage you’re currently drinking.”

You raise an eyebrow, a bold, teasing smirk playing on your mouth. “Is that an invitation, Barnes? Are you trying to get me drunk on a Tuesday?”

“Maybe…” he says softly, turning toward the heavy metal door, his shoulder brushing against yours. “Depends entirely if you can handle your liquor. I don't drink with lightweights.”

He reaches out, his large hand grasping the iron handle of the fire escape door. He pulls.

Nothing happens.

He frowns, his jaw tightening. He grips the handle with both hands, planting his heavy boots firmly on the grated metal floor, and gives it a massive, violent yank. The door rattles loudly in its steel frame, echoing in the quiet night, but it doesn't budge even a fraction of an inch.

The quiet amusement instantly vanishes from Bucky's face. He drops his hands, staring at the thick, unyielding metal.

“What's wrong?” you ask, stepping closer, your heart skipping a nervous beat.

Bucky turns his head, looking over his shoulder at you. The easy, flirtatious energy has completely evaporated, replaced by a grim, deadpan expression that would be terrifying if it wasn't so incredibly hot.

“Some paranoid fucker closed the door behind us.” Bucky says, his voice completely flat.

“Okay, so... just push the bar from this side?” you suggest, your voice pitching up slightly in alarm.

“It's a one-way emergency exit…” Bucky sighs, dragging his hand heavily down his face in deep, profound aggravation. “It only opens from the inside. When the door shuts, the deadbolt drops automatically so people can't use the fire escape to break into the building from the alley.”

You stare at him, the reality of the situation slowly crashing down on you like a bucket of ice water. The freezing air suddenly feels ten times colder. The distant, mocking noise of the city seems to laugh at you.

“Are you... are you fucking kidding me right now?” you ask, your voice trembling between genuine panic and absolute disbelief.

Bucky leans back against the door, crossing his arms over his chest, his grey hoodie pulling tight over his biceps. He lets out a long, heavy breath, a dry, humorless chuckle escaping his lips as he runs a hand through his messy hair.

“Well, shit…” he mutters, looking at you with a mixture of apology and dark, undeniable amusement. “Looks like we’re officially locked out. Good thing you've got my jacket, doll, because it's going to be a long fucking night.”

Taglist- @blackhawkfanatic @ordelixx @sapphirebarnes @ilovetaquitosmmmm

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@pattiemac1 @lovely-geek @hzdhrtss

Whenever you talked with your friends from other kingdoms it was clear your upbringing was far different from theirs. While you'd all been taught proper mannerisms of a Lady of the Court, none of them ever seemed to have also been raised in the ways of espionage. Either they were far better at keeping and discovering secrets than you, or they simply weren't taught. Given what you know of other kingdoms, you're inclined to think the latter.

Priscilla had been your uncle's only daughter and the Princess had been as well loved by the people as she had been by her family. She was your favorite cousin, the only one who could outsmart you. Her death had raised questions about the reliability of the kingdom of Hoviriand. Rumors had spread that her death was purposeful.

The Queen, herself, asked if you'd take this mission. You'd marry a prince of Hoviriand to give you access to their inner workings and get answers about what happened to Priscilla. It was expected to take time, of course. You'd likely be with child already by the time you were able to communicate Hoviriand's secrets. But it was what you were trained for and it would help support your cousin's memory.

And now you're dressed in your finest, getting ready to walk down the altar to meet your husband for the first time.

The wedding goes well, the reception even better. The tone is one of subdued happiness; renewal after sadness. Jefferson and Grace were not present, but that was agreed to be for the best. Prince Bucky attended to them while Prince Nick attended the wedding. On the surface they seemed a very supportive and loving family, but you know to not let that cloud your judgment.

Hal is a complete gentleman through the entire thing, as you'd expected. He wasn't the smartest or cleverest of the brothers, but he certainly seemed the most honest and caring. That was something you would be using to your advantage.

The two of you were placed into a limousine for the trip to his manor, giving you and your husband a bit of time to actually talk and get to know each other.

"I know there are expectations of us, but I want you to know, we don't have to do anything you ain't comfortable with," Hal tells you. "It's a lot of change in very little time and I'm not one for pushing you."

"Thank you for that, Hal," you smile and squeeze his hand. "But, if it's okay with you, I'd like to at least sleep in the same bed as you. Maybe cuddle to get used to each other?"

"I can do that," he smiles. "We'll go at your pace, if that's okay."

"Thank you," you bat your eyelashes. Play at being a little shy, get him close, let him underestimate you. Catch him off guard when the cuddles become more because you want to "fulfill your duties" and properly consummate the marriage. There's no way he will deny you.

Hal is nervous as he gets ready for bed. You asked for cuddles and he's happy to give you that, but he's worried he won't be able to control himself, that he'll wake with a hard-on and scare you. You're so shy and quiet, he doesn't want to push you or make you regret the marriage. He's not sure if you have any experience in bed, but he's also not sure how to ask about that without sounding rude. He doesn't want to offend you or do something worth getting smacked for. If nothing else, his mother raised him better than that.

He was used to walking around the manor shirtless and going to bed wearing nothing but that wasn't an option tonight. Probably not for a few nights at least. He grabs a tank top and a pair of boxers and puts them on before leaving the closet to get to bed. He steps out just as you're leaving the bathroom wearing a silk nightgown that reveals a lot more skin than he was expecting and his breath hitches.

You notice Hal taking a few deep breaths and inwardly smile. The nightgown was specifically chosen for tonight and packed with the "vital" items that were moved to the manor before the wedding. You're grateful that Hal is actually a handsome. For years you'd been scared that you would be married off to a creepy old man. But Hal is easy on the eyes and your thighs clench together as you see how well muscled he is. The heat rushing to your face isn't entirely forced.

"I um..." you bat your eyelashes and look away, pretending to be shy.

"You get yourself comfortable, and I'll join you for cuddles?"

"Sounds good." You nod and move to the bed. It's large enough that, if you want space, you'll get it. But the goal for tonight isn't distancing yourself. It's also comfortable enough that most of your noises of pleasure are legitimate. You hear Hal make a small hissing noise and fight the urge to smirk. When you're settled you pat the space next to you and Hal immediately moves in for cuddles.

It's a little awkward for a few minutes as the two of you work to get comfortable. You've never actually been held before, not so intimately at least. It takes you a minute to let yourself relax, Sure your theoretical knowledge of sex and intimacy is excellent, but the practical is nonexistent. When you do let yourself lean into his touch, it's surprising how warm and comfortable it feels to be wrapped in his arms.

"This feels nice," you confess as you caress his arm.

He squeezes you a little tighter in acknowledgement. "And I promise I'll behave."

"I don't know that I want that," you breathe.

His body tenses as his pulse speeds up. "Then I promise I won't do anything without you telling me you want it."

Your own pulse starts to race as your breathing becomes shallower. "I've never...I mean, I know. I read up on these things, but I've never actually..."

"Then it's all the more important that you get to call the shots," Hal reassures, his voice hoarse with need.

"I can feel your...your, um..."

"And? You call the shots here, not my anatomy. You're my wife, not my...not my sex toy or whatever."

You turn in his arms so you can face him. His bright blue eyes are darker than you've ever seen them and, given how tight his jaw is, he's clearly struggling to keep himself under control.

"You really mean that," you whisper.

"Of course," he answers, confusion written all over his face.

You lean in to give him a deep kiss, making him moan as his hands pull you up against him. When you break for a breath, you rasp, "please take me. I want you."

"You're sure about this?" he groans. "I need you to be sure."

Looking into his eyes you confirm, "I want this. I want you. Please."

Hal throws the covers off of you as he rolls you onto your back, planting his lips onto yours. His kisses become fervent and his knee nudges your legs apart, allowing his pelvis to slowly rut against yours. The friction has you moaning into his mouth.

He pulls away and gently cups your face. "Do not hesitate to tell me to stop. The second you say 'stop' I will. It doesn't matter if we've barely gotten started or I'm about to cum inside you. Please don't be afraid to tell me 'no' or 'stop'."

You nod in understanding. "Thank you, Hal. You're a dream come true." You mean what you say. Hal was kind, patient, and genuine. A much better husband than you could have hoped for, even if you'll never be as honest with him as he is with you.

Hal helps you out of your nightgown and you feel genuinely shy at being seen like this by a stranger. But that shyness dies down after he removes his own clothes and starts kissing along your neck. He works his way down to your breasts and alternates licking, sucking and fondling them. You were practiced in making the noises men want to hear but with Hal they were real. Your hips start rolling underneath his and groans as he gently bites your nipple.

He starts kissing down your front and confusion starts infringing on your lust.

"What...what are you doing?"

He looks up at you, eyes matching your confusion. "I thought you said you'd read up on these things?"

"But...but you're a prince. I...I haven't shaved..."

Hal smiles and winks, "I'm still a man who aims to please."

He uses his fingers to spread your labia before licking a stripe up your pussy. It feels so good you whimper. His tongue starts gently caressing your clit as he watches for your reactions.

"More, please," you whine.

His tongue starts moving faster, more firmly and your back arches as you moan. One of his fingers slides easily into your pussy and you let out a gasp, quickly turning into a moan as your pussy clenches around the digit. He starts slowly moving his finger in and out of your, now drenched, core.

You feel your orgasm building and start playing with your breasts and whimpering. Hal deftly adds a second finger and you roll your head back with a truly lascivious groan. His fingers reach a particularly sensitive spot and you cry out in pleasure. Hal's fingers focus on it and you chant "yes, yes, yes" until the coil snaps and your orgasm washes over you. As you writhe in pleasure he groans at how tightly your clenching around his fingers. The groan adds a new sensation and you're overcome with need.

"More, please, Hal! Please!"

You whine as he removes his fingers and pulls his mouth off of you.

"Don't worry, pretty daisy. We're just getting started."

Daisy? is as far as your brain gets before Hal starts eating you out and all you can think to do is wrap your legs around his head, crying out in pleasure. He lifts your hips enough to give his tongue better access and your next orgasm hits you like a tsunami. All you know right now is pleasure and you never want it to stop.

Hal is careful about working you through your orgasm. He wants to make sure the pleasure lasts but doesn't become too much too soon. His own lust is making it hard to keep control but he needs this to be good for you. Your legs start trembling and he gently pushes them away, slowly separating himself from you so that he can position himself on top of you.

"How are you holding up, sweet daisy?" he coaxes, gently wiping the tears from your face.

"I think...I think I need more," you stutter. Another statement you'd never thought you'd honestly say. You know it's what he wants to hear, that he needs to be sated as well. But your pussy is aching in a way you've never experienced before and you're certain you want him.

He gently kisses you before lining himself up with your entrance. "Remember, you always have the power to tell me to stop," he reiterates with a kiss before slowly pushing into you.

The stretch feels incredible. There is some pain, yes, but not much. You kiss Hal's neck and shoulder in encouragement as he tells you how amazing you feel, how well you're taking him, how beautiful you are. By the time he's fully sheathed you feel blissfully full.

His rolls his hips you moan into his shoulder, telling him to do that again. He eagerly does so, quickly picking up speed. Part of you expects it to all start hurting but Hal is still paying attention to signals you don't even know you're giving. He finds a good pace for both of you and moves his hand between your bodies to play with your pearl. It catches you off guard that he's still thinking about your pleasure and you're quick cum again, clenching tightly around him. His hips start to stutter and he groans as his seed spills inside of you.

It takes a minute for you to catch your breath. You run your fingers through Hal's hair to help ground yourself as you blink the tears from your eyes.

Hal comes to his senses and starts to pull away from you, giving you gentle kisses and caresses, praising you. You hiss when he pulls out and he's quick to check that you're okay. He tries to get out of bed but you hold him tight.

"Where are you going?" you rasp.

He gives you a small kiss and a smile. "I'm gonna run you a bath. Made sure to get the bathroom stocked up with things that should help you relax and recover."

"What about you?"

"Taking care of you is the priority right now. If you'll let me, that is." You give him a small smile and nod.

As he goes to draw you a bath you're finally able to think. You think about Priscilla and wonder if Hal's brother was as kind as he is. Did he treat her so well or is it just Hal that takes care of his partners? As determined as you are to get answers about what happened to Priscilla, a small part of you starts hoping the rumors are just that: rumors. That you can find the proof to put them to rest and not have to risk hurting Hal.

No, you think. Don't let your feelings bias you. You've got a mission. That's that priority. It's just the hormones talking.

That's all it is. All it will be.

A few gasps and murmurs sounded from the audience at his answer.

Tony Stark awkwardly chuckled, and said, "How so?" Placing his hand under his chin like he was listening to the latest tea. 

James folded his hands in his lap and looked around the studio before looking at Tony. 

"Doing this movie cost me my future. It was the worst decision of my life." 

He felt his co-star tense next to him on this god forsaken tiny sofa. God, he just wanted to leave so he could get to you and apologize for the 1000th time and make things right. 

Out of the corner of his eye, James could see his agent Alexander Pierce glare at him, then face palm. His co-star Natasha laughed and said, "Now James, you knew what you were getting into when you signed on..." Making a few members of the audience chuckle. 

Fuck, he was an idiot for taking this role. 

"You got to work with Natasha here in some pretty compromising positions, am I right?" Tony pointed to his co-star and wiggled his eyebrows making the audience laugh. 

"That seems like it's nothing to complain about and a regular day at the office." The audience hooped and hollered at the host. 

James looked over at the woman sitting next to him. Natasha had moved close to his side and draped herself on his arm. 

"We had an AMAZING time filming this movie together, right babe?" She ran a finger up his arm making James cringe and turn away, shaking her off. 

He looked down at his lap and frowned. 

"The box office numbers are killing it." Tony exclaimed while the audience clapped at the numbers that were flashed on the screen. 

James scowled, then scoffed and said, "Whatever."

Natasha quickly started talking about the filming process and the locations they filmed at while James zoned out. All he could think about was you. What were you up to? Were you still in the city, or did you go back home? His mind was completely occupied when he felt everyone's eyes on him. 

Oh shit, was I asked a question? 

"What was that?" 

Tony awkwardly chuckled and repeated, "I heard there's plans for a sequel. Would you entertain the idea?" 

"God no." James immediately said, shuddering to himself. 

Tony's eyebrows shot up at his guest's quick response. 

"We can look at that later." Natasha purred next to him. 

James shook his head no. 

"No. I'm not doing a sequel. Not with you, or anyone for that matter." 

Natasha's eyes widened in shock. The studio got quiet and Tony was left speechless, a rare instance for the popular and outspoken late-night host. 

"In fact, I'm going to be taking a break. From acting. From LA."

 Tony looked around the stage, almost like he was pleading at someone, anyone for that matter, to right the sinking ship that was this interview. 

"Well, you've earned it and with that, we'll be right back folks." Tony said as the audience clapped and the band started playing the talk show theme song. 

James looked around and chuckled to himself, looking over at his agent. 

"We're done here." James stood, pulling the microphone clip from his suit jacket lapel and tossed it to the small sofa. 

Natasha stood and tried to get him to sit but he averted her grasp. 

"I'm leaving. Please don't ever contact me again. We're completely done; you've ruined my life." James calmly yet firmly said to Natasha, then stepped off the stage as his agent trailed after him.

"James!" Alexander Pierce called but James kept walking. 

"James!" his agent yelled again while fighting his way through the cluttered backstage area as James headed out mid-interview. 

Sam, James' assistant trailed behind, trying to keep up with what just happened. 

"Where do you think you're going?" 

James stood by a waiting sedan, turned, and rolled his eyes. Sam caught up and stood on the other side of the vehicle, ready to jump in. 

"To get my fiancé back. You're fired." He said before he got in and sat down, leaving the interview and his agent behind. 

Sam climbed in and sat next to his boss. James' PR team will have a nightmare to deal with and he's sure there are a bunch of texts, calls, and emails Sam will have to field, but all he could think of, was to get to you. 

He's just hoping he didn't completely screw things up beyond repair.

------

"That'll be all, thanks guys." You said, giving the movers a generous tip. 

You locked the door and sighed, looking around your small lake house rental. You had broken things off with your fiancé and moved out of Bucky's penthouse in LA and moved back to your small town. 

You are Canadian and grew up in a small lakeside community surrounded by lakes, cottages, and the wilderness. After living in LA for a few years and dating an actor, you desperately need to reset and recharge. 

You are lucky you can work from almost anywhere since you're a photographer, and you're excited at the possibility of setting up your own studio in your small town.

You always knew you would return home. The plan you had with Bucky was, you were going to get a second home in your small town and live and work there whenever Bucky was in-between jobs. 

The penthouse in LA was fine, but you preferred a quieter and more natural place to live, as did your fiancé, or you think he wanted something quieter seeing as how he is a complete and utter gas-lighting piece of garbage liar. You scowled to yourself as you grumpily unpacked your boxes. 

What else did he lie to me about? 

Thoughts ran through your mind while you set up your kitchen, thinking back to the night of the premiere and what has transpired since.

...Flashback...

"You look gorgeous." Bucky said as you met him in the foyer of the penthouse. 

"You think?" Your black gown hugged your curves well. 

"I do." He kissed your cheek, then he moved his lips to your neck, slightly nipping you making you giggle since you're ticklish. You had your hair and makeup done for his newest movie premiere you were attending with him.

Bucky was a well-known actor. You met him when you were doing a photo shoot for a watch brand and he was your model. You hit it off and he asked you out when you were done, but you were nervous. 

Him being famous and recognized everywhere he went, you felt a little unsure since you don't love being in the spotlight, but he was charming and protective of your privacy, so you agreed and the rest was history. Bucky arranged quiet intimate dates away from the public eye and you got to know him outside of his Hollywood leading man persona. 

To you, he was just Bucky and to the world, he was James Barnes leading Hollywood actor and handsome heartthrob.

You started dating and a few of the tabloids picked it up, but his PR team and assistant Sam were excellent, handling any issues and concerns that came up. When things got serious, that's when your life started to spiral. 

His agent, Alexander Pierce pushed him to take on more roles, which he did. According to his agent, Bucky being in a relationship hurts his potential of landing more roles as a leading man, but Bucky never suffered because of this. Bucky picked up lots of roles he was on locations for a few months at a time with little to no contact with you.

At first, it was hard to adjust to his busy schedule, but you knew this was part of his job, so you got through it. Bucky always managed to make time for you as best he could, but it was still hard being away from him for long periods of time. You would visit him here and there, but only for a day or two at the most. Add in the fact that his agent was a complete dickface to you, your relationship was sometimes stressed.

Alexander Pierce ignored you and slighted you every chance he got, but Bucky stuck by him because he was getting all the major scripts sent his way along with endorsements, partnerships, exposure, and fashion sponsorships. You brought it up with Bucky a few times with the way Alexander Pierce talks to you when Bucky leaves the room, but he always assured you his agent was the best in the business and works hard on his behalf. He always said he would have a conversation with him, but you're certain Pierce never listened or gave two shits about you, even after Bucky 'supposedly' talked to him.

Whenever Bucky was contemplating taking on a role, he would tell you about it and want your opinion. You always listened to his concerns and offered him advise but always told him his roles were his choice to make and not yours. 

When things got more serious with him and you moved in together, you had a conversation with him about the roles he was being offered. You asked he not do any intimate scenes with anyone. Kissing/hand holding, and implied intimate scenes were ok, but you told him you were uncomfortable with anything else. 

That was your only request and he agreed. You gave up your personal freedom to be with him and date him, and all you wanted in return was for him to not take those roles, or if they were offered, for him to not participate. Body doubles were an option he always proposed back to his agent, and you could tell Alexander Pierce was annoyed, but you didn't care. You don't feel comfortable watching your boyfriend on screen be that way with another. 

Is it selfish to ask him of it? Perhaps, but this was something you had discussed when you first started dating him. He completely understood and had taken a few roles where intimacy wasn't a factor or he could have a body double for "those scenes" and it worked, up until it didn't.

This new role in the movie you were going to the premiere of, was going to be a romantic comedy Bucky was excited for, but you weren't. Not the fact that it was a romantic comedy, in fact, those were some of your favourite movies, but this one involved his ex, well known actor Natasha Romanoff. 

This one was also the most he's ever been paid for a romantic comedy which would bump up his net worth considerably and solidify him as being a top a-list actor in Hollywood striking while the fire was hot. James and Natasha had been linked as a couple years prior, but Bucky had assured you he had zero contact with her when they broke things off up until this point, and this was strictly professional.

You were apprehensive but you encouraged him to take the roll and that turned out to be a huge mistake. Late night calls with her in private, early morning shooting schedules, pre shoot meetings that went well into the night, trailers that were practically right next to each other, caused some issues when you visited the set. 

You trusted Bucky, but something about this movie shoot was different and felt wrong to you. It felt like when you last visited the set, the crew and director weren't telling you things, like they knew something was up, and you weren't in on the secret but everyone else was. Bucky assured you multiple times everything was fine. 

He called you as often as he could, sent flowers and small gifts while he was away saying he was thinking about you, so you just dealt with it and told yourself you were just being paranoid because it was with his ex.

When the shoot was done, Bucky had taken you on a small vacation. You talked for hours and reconnected when you walked along the shoreline of the beach you were staying on. Bucky proposed to you a few days later, before the start of the press tour for this latest movie, and you were thrilled, eagerly saying yes. 

He promised you wedding planning would start soon but would have to be put on hold while he was out on his press tour and the movie was released in theatres, and you agreed to wait. Looking back now, you were glad you hadn't thought of planning a wedding since that all blew up in your face spectacularly.

"Are you nervous?" You asked from inside the limo. 

Bucky seemed distant to you, but you assumed he was anxious for his movie to do well. 

"A little." Was his lame reply. 

This movie was going to skyrocket his career. He had two other movies coming out within a few months of each other he was also starring in, but this movie was all he could talk about, so you wanted to be supportive.

When the limo pulled up outside the theatre, the usual press was there along with the red carpet and photographers clamouring for their shots. You walked alongside Bucky as he posed for pictures, chatted with reporters, news outlets, and took some shots for social media for his team. You stepped aside and watched him in an interview when you saw Natasha come up to him and greet him. 

Your stomach clenched on itself and was in knots watching her. She was beautiful and was dressed in an amazing maroon gown. Camera flashes went off as the two embraced, Bucky smiled wide at her, and she looked up at him with heart eyes. 

You felt dismissed and ignored as they laughed and chatted with each other while like they were long lost best friends. Her arm was wrapped tight around his waist, and he was smiling wide as the photographers yelled out their demands for their shots.

"Hi Y/n." You were interrupted by Sam, Bucky's assistant. 

"Hi Sam." You gave him a quick hug. 

"You look lovely. Are you ready for the movie?" 

"I guess." 

"I hear it's a good one. One of his best." Sam seemed proud of Bucky and stood by with a few other people from the PR team. 

You gave them small waves and greetings as you heard the chaos from the photographer's end. 

"Looks like Pierce is talking with James." 

"Oh?"

 You saw Bucky's agent talking to him, watching you the whole time. 

"When are the wedding plans starting?" Sam waggled his eyebrows at you making you chuckle. 

"I guess soon Sam." 

You felt an arm circle your waist and Bucky bent down to your ear. "Hi." You turned slightly and gave him a soft smile. 

"Let's head in." Sam ushered you down the red carpet and inside the theatre.

You got your seats, noticing Natasha and her team were in the row in front of you. She gave you a glare when Bucky helped you sit. He then sat next to you, and you could tell something was off. 

"Are you ok?" You quietly asked.

 "Fine." He cleared his throat and looked around. 

"Just nervous, you know?" 

You patted his arm reassuringly and the movie started.

Bucky nervously bounced his leg up and down as the movie played on the screen. There were some cute and funny parts to it as people laughed along with the characters. You chuckled at a few scenes, but Bucky wasn't laughing. 

"Do you need some air?" 

"No." He quickly said. 

He was checking his watch and was looking up and down the row. Something was off, but you continued watching the movie. Halfway through, things started making sense for you on why he was so nervous. You noticed the chemistry Natasha and Bucky had on screen, and that's when you froze and your heart plummeted in your chest. 

Up on the big screen right in front of your eyes, the scene played out with Natasha undressing your fiancé who eagerly returned the favour. 

"What the fuck?" You whispered. 

You felt Bucky's leg stop bouncing and felt him tense next to you. You couldn't look away from the screen. 

Clothes were coming off as he wrapped her in his arms and tossed her on the bed, performing all kinds of things to each other, making you feel sick to your stomach. 

It's just a movie, it's not real, it's just a movie...You told yourself in your head.

At one point you saw Natasha turn around and smirk at you, but you didn't respond; your eyes were glued to what you were seeing. Bucky lied to you. He lied about this movie, about doing intimate scenes, you wanted to get up and run out of the theatre, but you didn't. You felt his hand slide into yours, but you quickly snatched it back from him and placed your hand under your arm, so he couldn't get to it. 

"Sweetheart..." 

"Not. A. Word." 

"I can explain..." 

"I said zip it, James..." You whisper spat at him. 

You saw him wince at the use of his real name. He insisted you call him Bucky, his childhood nickname since only a select few people do. He's known by everyone as James but wanted you to call him Bucky. 

"I'm sorry." He whispered making you tense up. 

"Unbelievable." Was all you said.

The rest of the movie played on while your mind reeled with what you witnessed. Not only was there a steamy scene you wanted to bleach your eyes out from watching, but there were two more later in the movie, both just as explicit and the kicker was, the intimate scenes didn't really fit with the movie. Sure, it was a romantic comedy, but the heavily detailed intimate scenes felt forced and inappropriate to the lighthearted script.

Did she insist on them? Why did Bucky agree to this? Why did he lie to me? 

Your head was a mess and when the movie ended and the lights came on, your face was red, but you forced a pleasant smile on your face, feeling numb to your surroundings. There were too many cameras around to cause a scene. You stood still as a statue, feeling embarrassed and awkward as people came up and congratulated Bucky and Natasha on a great movie, unaware of your inner turmoil.

You stood off to the side as you saw Natasha and Bucky talking with a reporter, his arm around her as she smiled at him adoringly making your stomach lurch. 

It's for the promotion, nothing more you kept telling yourself. 

When the reporter was done, they thanked them leaving when you saw Bucky lean down and kiss Natasha as they hugged before he came over to you. 

The fuck? 

You saw her saunter off with her team but look back at you and wink before she left the theatre. You didn't say anything to Bucky, turning and leaving to catch your ride back.

"I can explain..." Bucky said as you made your way inside the apartment. 

You didn't talk on the ride back, preferring to sit as far away from him as humanly possible. 

"Sweetheart...let me explain..." 

"Shut up Bucky, just shut up." You snapped, flinging off your shoes as you made your way to the bedroom. 

He quickly followed you, undoing his tie and dress shirt. 

"I didn't know there was going to be those scenes when I signed on to do the movie...the initial script I read and approved of didn't have any scenes in it...I took the role because..." 

"Money? You have gobs of money and roles being shoved down your throat...what more do you need? Natasha? Was it to star alongside your ex?" You bitterly snapped at him, angry with yourself for letting your insecurities get the better of you. 

"It's not like that and you know it." 

"Do I? You're quite good at lying to me because of your acting capabilities, so how should I know?" 

"The movie...It paid me a lot." 

"So, you sold yourself out for the money? Went behind my back for the money? Lied to me for the money? Fucked her on screen for the money?" 

"It's not like that...Pierce said there could be sequels for the movie, and I want to be tied to the franchise..." 

"Fuck Pierce, that slimeball." 

"He's my agent Y/n..." 

"Save it Bucky. Your decision to go along with your ex and the fact that you told me you won't do those scenes, even though you did them anyways, makes me sick. Do I not mean anything to you?" 

He just stood and stared, like he was listening to you for the first time. You headed into the ensuite and slammed the door. You quickly undressed, leaving your dress on the floor when you walked into the closet, picking a simple pair of pajamas to change into, heading back into the bedroom.

"When I took the role, there were none of those scenes in it...I swear..." 

"And you just what, rolled over to her demands? The studios? Bucky, the movie DIDN'T FUCKING REQUIRE ANY OF THOSE SCENES!" 

He flinched seeing as how you rarely raise your voice. He looked down and fiddled with his hands. 

"You disrespected me by agreeing to do those scenes and not telling me about them. I'll bet Natasha demanded to include those scenes because it's YOU." 

Bucky scowled and shook his head no. 

You stood and crossed your arms. 

"Did she? Was she the one who insisted on doing those scenes with you?" 

"Maybe..." He whispered back. 

"Unbelievable." You threw your hands up in the air. 

"It didn't mean anything, it's acting..." Bucky stood up and faced you. 

"Oh really? Taking her clothes off, having your lips ALL over her body, tell me James...you didn't feel ANYTHING for her when you were doing those scenes? On the CLOSED set? With your intimacy co-ordinator? Those positions were awfully close..." 

"It's not like that and you know it. It's professional..." 

"Save it James, I don't want to hear it." You growled back. 

"The fact that you were on set with her doing those things with her...then when I visited, you went from her to me. I feel gross knowing where you were, then with me..." You shuddered to yourself. 

You got to your side of the bed and threw the pillows off, pulling back the covers. 

"I guess in your mind, it's easier to ask for forgiveness rather than permission then?" 

"It's not like that." He stepped towards you but stopped. 

"Get out." You pointed to the door. 

Bucky was about to reply, but you could see him close his mouth and shuffle out of the bedroom with his head hung low. You walked over and closed the door, locking it. 

"I have that meeting tomorrow...with my team...then I have to go to the airport and head to New York for more promotion..."

 "Have fun." You called through the door.

You heard him make his way down the hall as you walked over to the bed, grateful you had your phone with you for something to distract you. You got in and sighed, pulling the covers over you. Your head was a mess. You started thinking perhaps you overreacted, but the anger and hurt you felt was still coursing through you. 

You felt betrayed and blindsided and foolish, thinking THAT was the feeling you felt when you last visited the set. Everyone knew there were intimate scenes and the director knew of your request with Bucky, but no one told you, not even your own fiancé who promised he'd never do those scenes with anyone. He must have told everyone on set not to say anything, which makes it somehow worse.

You opened social media, seeing the posts and talk online about the premiere and one post made you almost puke. Natasha posted on her account a behind the scenes photo of Bucky, shirtless lying in a bed with a sheet draped over his waist while he was listening to the director. The image was somewhat blurry, but his body was the focus and the caption read, "I get to have this all to myself...again..." Making you gag. 

You scrolled down, and your heart sank at what you saw through your blurry eyes. Bucky had 'liked' the photo making your heart stop. 

"What the fuck?" you blurted out. He LIKED that post? Fucking unbelievable. 

You scowled and tossed your phone to the side. You fiddled with your engagement ring, twirling it on your finger and looked around the large bedroom you were in. 

"This isn't me." You whispered to the darkened room. You let your tears flow as you turned over, burying your face in the pillow.

The following morning, you woke feeling groggy and sore from tossing and turning all night. You listened to see if you could hear Bucky, but there was no noise coming from the rest of the penthouse. You grabbed your phone and found a bunch of unread messages from Bucky, mainly apologising and saying how sorry he was, but you ignored them. You found a message from your friend, who still lived in your hometown. 

Wanda had texted you asking if you were ok. She had seen the images from the premiere and what Nat had posted knowing you were engaged to one of Hollywood's leading men. 

She was the one who encouraged you to go on a date with him and when you opened the message, you snorted to yourself. 

Wanda: Hey, you looked amazing at the premiere last night, your dress was unbelievable. Too bad that skank ruined it for you with that post. Can you believe it? Well, I can, but still...call me/text me so I know you're ok. Oh, and the studio space is going to be available next to my shop next month...there aren't any offers on it...just sayin' and I have a rental house you could use...it's conveniently empty btw...call me!!

You sighed, looking around the room. "I need to get out of here." You muttered, pulling yourself out of bed.

You cleaned up and opened the door to head to the kitchen when you almost tripped over a large bouquet of your favourite flowers sitting in the hallway. 

"Fucking asshat." You muttered, stepping over and ignoring them. 

You saw an unmade 'bed' on the couch and rolled your eyes, getting to the fridge to make something when your phone rang. 

"Hello?"

"Flights are a decent price and available..." Came Wanda's voice on the other end. 

You chuckled and said, "I know. I looked earlier when I was changing." 

"So, come home for a bit. I'd like to see you and the kids miss their 'aunt'." 

You smiled to yourself and shoved a piece of dry toast in your mouth. 

"I can't believe he liked that photo. There are others I saw...but he didn't like those, I checked." 

"Wanda..." You sighed. 

"What? I'm just sayin'. Take some time and come home, we miss you."

 You smiled to yourself and ran a hand over your face. 

"I'll see what I can do."

 "Yes!" She cheered making you laugh.

...End of flashback

You stood on the deck of your rental house, overlooking the lake. You saw the interview Bucky had done with Tony Stark, but that didn't make you change your mind about things A small part of the fortress around your heart cracked, but it was going to take a lot more than that to convince you he was a changed man. 

You breathed in the fresh lake air and relaxed, looking over the glistening lake and the sounds of the water lapping against the shore, revelling in the calmness of it all.

You didn't take Wanda up on her offer and stay at her place since you wanted a quiet place to yourself. 

"Hey!" Wanda peered around the corner and came up on the deck. She helped you arrange the temporary rental house you were in. 

"I can't believe you didn't take me up on my offer and rent my house." 

You chuckled and said, "I love you Wands, but not enough to live with you. Your house is chaotic at the best of times and right now, I need quiet. I'm just glad this was available." 

 "So, you've officially broken things off with him?" Wanda leaned on the railing. 

"Yup. Left the ring on the bedside table, gave back my security ID at the building, sent an email to Sam, packed my shit, and left him a note. He can now take whatever roles come his way and have as many intimate scenes as he wants."

"He didn't deserve a note, but I'm happy you're here." 

"I know and thank you." 

"I can set you up with touring the studio space if you want..." 

"I know and appreciate it. For now, though, I'm just going to do my own thing. I've got a shoot in Miami next month, so I'll see what I want to do in the meantime. Maybe start a website and do some word-of-mouth local shoots. I've got some editing to do from my last two jobs so that'll keep me busy for now but if you want, you can spread the word I'm back and available if someone needs some photographs done." 

"Ok. So, you'd be down for doing weddings? Landscapes? Corporate head shots?" 

Your stomach flopped at the possibility of you going back to do weddings, but you're damn good at it and you will need more money coming in since you're renting a place. 

"Yeah, I'm open to whatever. I just need a little time to think things through." 

"Sounds good." 

"Oh, I've got some landscape and wildlife cards I can make. Would you be willing to sell them in your store for me?" Wanda owned a small tourist shop in town that featured souvenirs, art, jewellery, candles and more made by the locals. 

"Absolutely. Let me know the price points and I can get them into my inventory." 

"Thanks Wanda." 

"So, let me know when you're settled and we can go for supper or a drink, or coffee, whatever. I'm just glad you're back." She gave you a big hug before she left.

 "See you, Wanda." You waved at her as she left.

🎭🎬

"I'll be away indefinitely Sam." 

"I know." Sam held his phone in one hand and balanced a laptop on his lap. 

"So, what, I'll keep things going here? Media wants an update on your relationship status with Y/n...what do I tell them, especially after the interview with Stark..." 

Bucky sighed. He didn't want to cause any more work for Sam, but it was inevitable from what happened on the show. 

"Tell them I'm taking a personal break, nothing more." 

"Ok, but be prepared for the speculation..." 

"What speculation Sam?" 

"With Natasha and the movie. Those scenes were something else and that liked post..." 

"I didn't like that post, I swear to god..." 

"Hey, I'm just the messenger..." Sam raised his hands up at his boss. 

"Someone from Pierce's team liked the post..." 

"I know..." Sam shrugged. 

"This is such a mess..." Bucky sighed.

He glanced over at where your ring sat and he cleared his throat at the sudden emotion that bubbled up inside him. When he came back from his mini press tour on the east coast and discovered you had left, calling off the engagement, leaving your ring behind, he lost it and cried for the entire evening. 

He'd never cried that much, not even when his own father had passed away. He royally screwed things up, but he was determined to fix this, make it right, and get you back, whatever it took. You were the best thing that ever happened to him, and he was a complete and utter moron for what he did to you. 

"Go and catch your flight. If I need you, I know how to find you." Sam said as Bucky walked over to the bedside table and snatched the ring up, throwing it in his bag, then zipped it up and saluted Sam before he left.

🎭🎬

You had just done the last edits on one of the shoots you did when you decided you were going to go and sit on your deck with a glass of wine, but you froze when you got outside. 

"James?" 

"Hi Y/n." 

James Barnes stood in your yard, wearing a pair of blue jeans and a white t-shirt with a black baseball hat pulled low over his eyes. 

"What the hell are you doing here?" 

"I..." He looked confused, looking down, then back up at you, running a hand over his neck.

 "I don't know honestly...I just know I need to be close to you. I'm sorry and I love you Y/n." Y

ou didn't move or offer him to sit in one of the outdoor chairs. 

"Well, you can leave anytime." You pointed to the way he came. 

"Uh, right. I-I just wanted to..." 

"What?" You were getting impatient.

 "Y/n, I miss you. I-I needed to see you..."

 You glared at him, not saying anything. 

"I'll be on my way..." James turned and scurried away, heading back to the main road. 

"What the hell?" You said, shaking your head.

Your phone dinged with a new message. 

Wanda: I think I screwed up.

You looked at the message funny but then an incoming Facetime call came in from her, so you answered it. She was still at her shop. 

"I rented my place to James..." she blurted out. 

Your eyebrows shot up. 

"In my defense, I didn't know. The booking came from a Sam Wilson..." 

"James' assistant..." 

"Fuck, I'm sorry..."

 "No, no it's fine...He was just here actually..." 

"Really? What did you do? Throw a paddle at him? Drown him in the lake? Toss a feral raccoon his way?" 

You snorted wishing you had. 

"I told him to leave." 

"I'm sorry I didn't tell you sooner it's been busy at the shop today. I saw him earlier when he checked in to get the key with me, but I lost track of time. I almost didn't give it to him, but I could use the money..." 

"Wanda, it's fine really, you didn't know and I expect you to rent your little house to whomever, honestly, it's ok." 

She sighed with relief. 

"Ok. I just wanted to tell you. I feel better after stressing about it all day." 

You chuckled at her. 

"Are you sure you're ok? I can have Thor come and check on you. He's the sheriff on nights this week." 

"I'm fine Wanda, honestly." 

"Ok, well, I'm heading home to cook dinner for those monsters of mine. I'll talk to you later." 

"Later Wanda" then the call ended.

🎭🎬

Word on the street from the locals was, big fancy Hollywood actor James Barnes was taking refuge in your sleepy little cottage town. Most locals know you and know you were with the actor, but surprisingly, very few people asked about it and left you alone if you went into town to get groceries or to visit Wanda. 

You got a few stares and whispers here and there, but no one said anything and that's what you liked about your small town. If only you could prevent the man from randomly sending you flowers, gifts, and notes every day of the week, then you'd be perfect.

🎭🎬

"Is that another one?" 

You brought Wanda a vase of flowers to her shop and placed them at her front counter. 

"He keeps sending me these..." You huffed, brushing your hands on your thighs. 

"Well, I'm not complaining, they are beautiful even though they're from an asshole." 

 "Anyways, if I get any more, I'll let you know." 

"I hate to say it, but you're going to have to talk to him at some point." Wanda made a gagging sound making you snort. 

"I know. I'm just not ready yet." 

You know she's right, but you weren't ready to face that head on. 

"Ooh, I hope the next flowers are red roses..." Wanda tapped her chin in thought as you playfully rolled your eyes, then headed out of her shop so you could go back to work.

🎭🎬

"So, that was what I was thinking...for the website." You said, going over your notes. Steve Rogers, graphic artist and web designer sat across from you at the café while he made his notes. 

"I can do some mock ups for you and have them ready to approve in a few weeks. Send me the file and I can get my team working on them." 

"That works for me, thanks Steve." 

You went to school with Steve and he stayed in town after graduation. He had a successful design business that included graphic design, websites, and promotional materials. You placed your file in your tote bag and sipped your cooling coffee. 

"So, you're back for good?"

"Yup." 

He finished his latte and sat back in his seat. You had a sneaking suspicion Steve was into you in school and by the way he was looking at you, he was still interested. 

You had messaged him a few days ago and decided to meet at the café to go over your website. 

"And you're renting the lake house?" 

"Yeah. I really like it. It needs a bit of updating, but for now, it suits me. I was going to contact the renter to see if I can make some changes, maybe even offer to buy it..."

 "I know him. I'll send him a quick email to let him know you're going to be reaching out." 

"Thanks Steve." He smiled and typed away on his phone.

The café wasn't busy, but you noticed the door open and a dark figure walked in. It was James. You tensed up at seeing him again. You watched him order a black coffee and head to a table in the back corner, sitting down to face you. 

Was he just going to creep about the town? 

Steve noticed where you were looking and then he cleared his throat. 

"Want me to shoo him away?" 

He knows about your history with the actor as you're certain most of the town does. 

"No, it's ok. I'm leaving soon anyways." 

"Ok. So, I was thinking..." 

"Steve..." 

"Would you maybe want to grab a cup of coffee with me sometime?"

 You flashed him a warm smile. If this were literally any other timeline you would take him up on his offer. 

"Steve...I just broke things off with my fiancé so I'm not in a place at the moment..." 

"Oh...right...I forgot..." 

"But if I ever get there, then I'll let you know." 

"Ok." 

Steve fidgeted with his empty cup before he sighed, getting up from the table. You joined him and reached over and gave him a hug. 

"Thanks again Steve, it was nice seeing you again."

 "You're welcome. I'll be in touch about the website." Steve said before he grabbed his file and left. 

You looked over at James who was scowling at you from his booth. 

Was he mad you hugged Steve? Tough shit. 

You gathered your tote and left the café for home.

🎭🎬

A few weeks went by, and you've been busier than ever. Your website was up and running along with a few bookings for weddings and family portrait shoots along the lake. You were glad you were keeping busy since your ex-fiancé had the tendency to show up wherever you are and it's becoming annoying. 

Between the longing looks he's been giving you, morning and evening text messages you don't reply to, the random groceries he has delivered, flowers that randomly show up to your house, it was a lot. You received a message from Wanda one morning and you almost lost it. Not that you were angry or sad, in fact, it was the opposite as you covered your mouth from laughing.

Wanda had told you she found a raccoon in her yard but wasn't exactly sure where it came from. She hadn't the heart to get rid of the thing and just left it since it wasn't causing her any issues with her house. 

Her kids had taken to naming it Agatha and it was apparently reigning terror on her renter. You opened the video she sent you to hear her snickering and chuckling in the background seeing Bucky running around the yard with Agatha chasing him followed by another shot of the raccoon hissing and snarling at him while he tried entering the house. 

Seeing him scared and lose it on a woodland creature was the highlight of your morning until one morning, you received a phone call from the hospital.

"What's going on James?" You said, entering the small exam room. 

He was sitting on the bed holding some gauze to his arm.

 "That fucking raccoon again...bit me and hung on as I stepped out of the house for my run." He muttered. 

You had to hide a snicker. 

"What raccoon?" You innocently asked. 

"The one at your friend's place. It's living in the attic of my rental house." 

So that's where it's been living. You may or may not tell Wanda about that. 

"Why am I even here?" 

You saw him shrug, but wince as his arm moved slightly. 

"I never changed my emergency contact information..." James rubbed his arm. 

"Clearly. How bad is the bite?"

"Need stitches and a rabies shot. I offered Wanda to call an exterminator, but her kids lost it when they overheard." 

You chuckled but cleared your throat. 

"Yeah, the boys see the raccoon as a buddy." 

"Well, this thing attacks me every day, like it's evil or something..." 

"Well, the nurse will stitch you up and you'll get your shot. Can I go now?" 

Just as you said that a nurse walked in. 

"Hello. Oh, I know you!" 

The nurse eagerly flopped on a chair in front of Bucky and smiled widely. 

"Your movie was awesome. I mean, those scenes with Nat were fire!" 

He rambled on. You raised an eyebrow at the over excited nurse. 

"Yeah, well, that was a mistake. I'm no longer doing movies." 

You looked at James funny. 

"Aw, man, really? I can stitch your arm, so it won't scar..." 

"Doesn't matter. Can you just get this over with?" 

The nurse shrugged then got his station set up. He went to work on stitching the bite as you watched. 

"So, you're what? Taking a break from Hollywood for the summer?" You asked, your curiosity getting the best of you. 

"Forever." James muttered, watching the nurse stitch his wound. 

Your mouth popped open, but you scoffed. 

"Yeah, ok." 

You didn't believe him, just another lie he was telling you. James looked at you and his eyes were serious.

"I'm serious. I sold my penthouse, moved everything into storage, and now...I'm here. Not sure where the future will take me, but it's no longer acting and Hollywood." 

Holy frigballs, you were stunned as was the nurse. 

"I'm trusting you not to say anything...I'll sign whatever you want if it keeps you quiet." James scowled at the nurse who nodded to him.

 "I promise..." He said, finishing the sutures.

"There we are." The nurse smiled, inspecting his work. 

"The doctor will come in and check on you. I'll go and get the shot ready..." 

The nurse pointed to the door before he slipped out. You were left with James in the exam room as he inspected the bandage. 

"I...I'm shocked..." You whispered, not sure what else to say.

 Acting was his life. Roles were coming into him like a non-stop conveyor belt. He had his pick of roles, co-stars, pay, and endorsements. Companies and designers wanted James Barnes wearing their clothes, using their products, all while making movies and attending red carpet events. 

"Well, that's...unexpected..." 

James looked at you and you felt a zing when his eyes focused on yours. You cleared your throat as the nurse came in with the shot followed by the doctor. 

"So, after the shot, rest and relax. You should be good to go after a few days. The stitches are dissolving ones, but if you have any issues, come back and see us." 

"Ok." James said as he was given his shot. 

"There we are." The nurse said proudly.

"You're free to go. Come along Peter, let's head to the next room and see what awaits us." The doctor excused himself as did the nurse, leaving you once again, along with James. 

You're not sure why you stayed but were glad you did. 

"Well, bye James." You said, turning to the door. 

"Wait, I don't have a way home..." He rose from the bed. 

"I guess I can drive you..."

🎭🎬

"So, your website looks good." James quietly admitted. 

"Mm mmm." 

You drove out of the hospital and back onto the road. 

"Been busy?" He asked, trying to fill the awkward silence. 

"Yup." 

"Good, I'm glad." 

"Where am I taking you?"

 "Just back to the house. I should rest." 

"Ok."

 "I didn't like that picture. It was someone from Pierce's team..." James blurted out.

You didn't want to hear it. 

"It was the last thing Pierce did to me before I fired him." 

You pulled up in front of Wanda's and parked. James undid his seatbelt and went to open the door before he stopped and faced you. 

"I really am sorry Y/n. I quit and am committed to living here for as long as it takes." 

"For as long as what takes?" 

He gripped the handle and opened the door, but he stopped. 

"Until I get you back" he said before he left your vehicle, closing the door.

He hasn’t come to see you. Bucky’s on the TV—his arms folded over his chest and his expression not in the harsh I can’t do anything but stand and follow way, but rather the I don’t want to talk, and I’ve got nothing to say anyways way—but he’s never on your front door. He’s in the wind, but that’s the only feeling of him you get. No hands skimming over your hips, or deep voice saying your name like it’s the only thing that’s ever been real, or fingers playing with your hair as your head rests on his knee. 

He got a haircut. You don’t hate it. It never would’ve happened on your watch, but Bucky wasn’t on your watch, and you’ll have him however you can get him. If that means shorter hair and a new, black arm, you’ll take it without a single fucking thought.

You still love him. You’ll always love him. Even if you never see Bucky again, you don’t know how to stop loving him.

He’d been the first thing you asked about, when they’d cleared you after your rescue.

“Bucky?” It had been all you could say. All you needed to say. Steve and Tony—it was really weird to be on a first-name basis so fast, but this whole thing was weird, so you’d gotten over it quick—had exchanged a look that you didn’t understand, and your arms had started to curve around your stomach.

You hadn’t seen him at all, but he was okay. He’d had to be okay. You would’ve known if he wasn’t, and you’d felt him in the Hydra base, and Steve and Tony were still having a silent conversation, but you just wanted Bucky-

“He’s your old pal, Cap.” Tony had finally muttered, jerking his head towards you. “I can make Nat do it, but it’ll be better coming from you.”

Something had formed a noose around your throat. “What will be better?”

Steve had sighed, shooting you an unreadable look. “Tony, I still think-“

“There’s nothing we can do about it right now. Talk to her before she goes crazy and we need to turn on the chill pill gas.”

“Do not use the chill pill gas-“

“I won’t if you handle this like a big boy.” Tony had shrugged, and given you a tight-lipped smile. “Sorry, kid. I looked at your file earlier, by the way. Impressive stuff. Won’t be hard to set you up after this is over. We’ll talk.”

“I…” You’d swallowed, shaking off the impressive stuff compliment from Tony Stark. “I don’t- Where’s Bucky?”

Steve had sighed. Again. Someone needed to help him work on that. 

All you’d gotten was a grimacing smile and shake of his head from Tony, and then he was gone.

“Steve?” You’d whispered, and he’d been rigid in front of you.  “Where’s Bucky?”

“He’s safe.” Steve had said, his tone impossibly even. Words almost rehearsed. “But it’s been… decided, that given the nature of your disappearance and his mental state, it might be best to keep you apart. Indefinitely.”

Indefinitely.

That meant forever, but Steve hadn’t known how to tell you.

You’d understood that. You hadn’t known how to react. You’d just felt numb. Hollow. Stuck in a loop where your brain simply had been unable to comprehend what apart meant. There would be Bucky. There had to be Bucky. That was just how the world worked. He came back. He always came back. 

Bucky was supposed to come back.

“Oh.” You’d whispered, your head still spinning around the words. “Okay.”

“You’re going to be fine.” Steve had muttered, still watching you like he was afraid you’d shatter at any second. “We’ll set you up so you can keep, you know. Having a life. Tony’s already expressed interest in all your research, so I don’t think he was joking when he said he’s hire you, but it’s hard to tell sometimes. And we’ve all volunteered to make sure you’re settled. Get you set up in an apartment, make sure it’s got the proper security. We’ve got some contacts working on overturning your legal death.”

And Steve had kept talking about logistics, and you’d barely been listening.

The thing in your head had been the word apart. Over and over and over.

So maybe home didn’t want you.

But that’s not possible. Every time the heavy, mind crushing thought crosses your head, you can cling to reality and know it’s not true. You can grab all the evidence you’ve spent so long gathering, and know that Bucky has to want you. You’ve dedicated your life to proving that Bucky has to want you. You’ve received awards and gotten paid more than you reasonably should, just because Bucky has to want you, and you need to prove it. 

He was still home. Your heart felt like it had been splintered, but you also knew Bucky. He wouldn’t have done that to you on purpose. He’d gotten worried when you’d been a little sad about a dog dying in a movie. And it wasn’t lovesick denial, like how the shitty therapist you got set up with said it was.

“Have you considered,” she’d hummed, sitting across from you on an ugly, boring fucking chair. “That maybe you romanticized this relationship-“

“No.”

She’s sighed. “I wasn’t finished with the question, you know. And it’s not a good sign that your response was that certain, without any evidence at all-“

“I have evidence.” You’d snapped, folding your arms over your chest. “And Steve told me that he was looking for me. That he turned himself in for help to find me.”

“What if Steve was lying? To preserve your feelings?”

You’d swallowed. “He wouldn’t do that.”

“Maybe. I don’t know him. I do know,” the therapist had given you a mockingly pointed look, and you’d wanted to punch her in the face. “That you claim that Bucky loves you, but he’s made no attempt to contact or see you. In your time of need, he wasn’t there. Is that how you treat someone you love?”

“Yes.”

The therapist had sighed your name, but you weren’t going to let Her keep going. You’d simply left, and texted Sam that you wanted that link to his survivors group therapy thing.

And the therapist hadn’t gotten it. No one really got it. They couldn’t. The symptoms, as it were, appeared stupid and irrational to everyone else, but you had proof. You weren’t an idiot. You’d picked up the blood-covered man on the side of the road not to be a Samaritan or out of naivety, but because you had to.

And Bucky had been there. He’s been here.

But you know him. And you know that he’s hiding from you on purpose, but he’s still there, because he always comes back.

You know he’s blaming himself. That he’d refused to even tell you about Hydra, because it would put you in just a little more danger. And you know about all the things they made him do, and that—when he’d been himself the most, before he’d leave and come back in the shell—he’d have nightmares about blood on his hands and choking down his throat.

And he’d let you hold him. But that was before. When some of that blood hadn’t been yours. 

Perceived as yours. As far as you’re concerned, none of this was even close to his fault. And if he’d show himself, you’d grab his face between your hands and tell him that, over and over and over, until he got it. 

But for now, indefinitely meant until you found where he was hiding, or he showed himself. 

You’d wait for him.

That’s how this works. You wait for him, and Bucky comes back.

And you’re still living, even without him. You’ve made friends. You got a cat, small and white and kind of a dramatic little bitch, and you named her Alpine. You don’t really go out, but you didn’t do that before, either. When someone asks you out, you polity turn them down and explain that you do have someone, they’re just solider. And you’re waiting for them to come home from war.

It’s not a lie. 

It’s just a different kind of war than they assume. 

Time continues to pass. Sometimes you’ll let your gaze linger on the sky for a little longer, just so Bucky knows you’re looking for him. You like your job—especially the money, you’ve never had money before, and most of it ends up donated but it’s good to know it’s there—and you like your apartment, and nothing really changes but that’s okay. You don’t need it to change. 

You’ve had enough change for a while. You still have to do the group therapy thing, and you get nightmares about Rumlow fisting a hand in your hair and forcing your jaw open, and you don’t wear swimsuits or tank tops, because you don’t have any desire the explain the Hydra brand on your shoulder.

Tony had offered to fix it. He’d said that, if you wanted, he could make it disappear. 

You’d turned him down. You won’t erase it. Won’t pretend it never happened, because it did, and you’re still standing despite of it. 

Hydra won’t hurt you again. If, somehow, all of Tony and Steve’s measures—along with Bucky’s nightly vigils he thinks you don’t know about—fail, you won’t let Hydra take you. You can shoot a gun now, and Nat taught you how to do the thigh move thing, and you can build a bomb.

You’d gone to the compound, to learn all those things. And you’d felt Bucky there the whole time, even if you’d never seen him.

It was more than enough. To know he was safe, and somewhere that he could exist without pain. 

And time just keeps moving. And you just keep waiting.

There’s a habit you’ve developed, and you know it’s not healthy, and you don’t really fucking care. 

You go to DC a fair amount, for work. And the Smithsonian exhibit about Captain America has been there forever, and it’s been altered since the everything that comes with the passage of time, but never anything you don’t know. There are things that are wrong, parts that Bucky had told you that hadn’t made it into the updated Fall of Hydra and freedom of the Winter Solider bit of the exhibit. Bits about his childhood with Steve the public didn’t get to know about, but you did. 

It’s one of the reasons visiting the exhibit helps. You get to see his face, but you can just google that. It’s mostly just reading over all the information, and being able to fill in a lot of the gaps. It’s even further proof that he existed with you, and you hadn’t just gone fucking insane. You knew about Bucky’s sisters, even though they were never mentioned. You know that this exhibit painted Steve to be a perfect little patriotic angel, but brave and good of heart meant reckless and good of heart. That it wasn’t an ironic twist of fate that Bucky was rescued by Steve. 

Steve had gone looking for Bucky. He’d gotten that mission together to save Bucky, because Bucky was worth saving.

“Ma’am?”

You glance to the side, and find a wide-eyed teenage boy bouncing on his toes. 

“Are you alright?” He asks, watching you carefully. “You been standing here for like, a really long time. And I’ve just been doing my report,” he holds up a notebook and pen, as if to prove their existence. “But you looked a little sad. I just wanted to check.” 

You just stare at him, and he swallows, extending a hand.

“I’m Peter by the way.”

He’s bouncy. A little puppy like. And when you give him a soft smile and your name he relaxes, even as you can see that concern starting to spread across his face. 

You have been here for a while. You’re always here for a while. But nobody’s ever asked you about it. And now you have to come up with a really good reason. 

“I’m just waiting for someone.” You shrug, and the Peter’s eyes widen.

“At a museum? Is he supposed to meet you here?” He pauses. “Or she? Or, is it multiple people? Maybe two people? There’s no reason for me to think it’s a he-“

“It’s a he.” You hum, and Peter relaxes. “And I doubt he’s coming. I just like to wait here.”

“Why?”

This kid is nosy. He’s lucky he looks so earnest, or you’d walk away. “It reminds me of him.”

“Oh. Did you guys… Go to a lot of museums together?” Peter glances at the Bucky exhibit. “Was he a fan of Mr. Barnes?”

You snort at that. “No, I don’t think he was.”

“Were you?”

“Yes.” You answer without a thought. Bucky’s the whole world. “Still am.”

Peter’s silent for a long moment. “How long have you been waiting for him? Your guy?”

“A while.” You shrug, glancing down at his notebook. “Don’t you have a report to be doing?”

“I- Uh, yeah. Are you sure you’re okay? I can wait with you-“

“No.” You let out a long breath, looking back to the exhibit. To Bucky’s face, a little younger than you’ve ever gotten to see it. 

But he’d still look youthful, when he helped you plant your flowers, and frowned at the TV, and laughed like nothing had ever been wrong in the world.

“He probably won’t show up today.” You say, trying not to let your own words break your head. “I’m just here. In case.”

“Oh.” Peter frowns at you. “When do you stop waiting?”

“I don’t.”

Peter’s just a kid, but you also don’t feel like trying to dance around it today. Bucky’s yours. He’s home.

He comes back, and you wait. 

He just has to come back.

“If it helps,” Peter mumbles. “Maybe he wants to come back, but can’t. That could’ve happened, right?”

You shake your head. “He can. And I know he wants to. He just has to be ready.”

“And you’re just gonna… wait?”

You nod, and you can almost feel Peter’s gaze shift from you to the picture of Bucky. He really is handsome. And you’d waited a whole lifetime for him before.

What’s a little while longer.

“Good luck with your report.” You give Peter a small smile, and he smiles back at you, his expression still nervous. 

“Thank you. I’m, uh- I’m sorry for bothering you-“

“It’s fine.”

“Okay.” He nods to himself, then starts to back away. “I hope your guy shows up for you!” 

Peter smiles at you one last before he bounces away, and you give him a small wave in return.

You don’t move. That’s part of the waiting. 

And Bucky won’t show up today.

But you hope he does, too.

——————

“Barnes!”

Stark’s shout was coming from behind him, but Bucky didn’t break pace. He didn’t want to talk to Tony right now. He didn’t want to talk to anyone right now. He needed to get on his bike, so he could make it down to the city and continue his creepy ritual. 

If he missed Her, he’d have no way of knowing if She was safe. And Steve had promised She’d be fine, but there was always a fucking chance. A small but real chance that, the one night Bucky didn’t check on Her, Hydra would find her and she wouldn’t come home. And they wouldn’t know She was gone until it was too late. Hydra wasn’t supposed to take prisoners, but they’d take Her. And they’d still know what She meant to Bucky, and this time, he’d lose Her.

His soulmate. 

Peter’s word had been rattling around in Bucky’s head for weeks. Soulmate. Bucky’s soulmate. That was why She was an instinct. Why She was safe. The safest place. They vibrated together—whatever the hell that meant—so She was for Bucky, the same way part of him always wanted to crawl back and be for Her. Be wanted, and cared for, and safe.

Bucky didn’t deserve to be safe. He barely deserved the government’s forgiveness, let alone Her’s. The only star that had been left in the sky, guiding him home whenever he got lost. The wind that turned to blow him where he needed to go, and the sunlight that sometime filtered through his windows in the compound, reminding him that things did get better. She’d made everything better. 

He’d have to live with this, though. Just seeing Her, like the work of art She was. Watching, but never, ever touching. 

“I know you can hear me, terminator!” Stark shouted, and Bucky sped up.

He was faster. If he just got away-

“Friday! Lock the hallway doors!”

“Right away, sir.”

The door locked, seconds before Bucky got to freedom. 

“What the fuck, Stark-“

“Don’t throw a tantrum.” Stark waved him off, panting slightly as he caught up. “I’m trying to have a conversation with you like an adult, Barnes, you’re the one who- Never mind. Not important. Why have you been sending my prodigal child to spy on your girlfriend?”

Bucky blinked. “You’ve got kids?”

“I’ve got the kid. Peter.”

“The spider-boy?”

“He prefers man.” Stark shrugged. “But yes. He’s been stalking your girl, Barnes, and I want to know why.”

Bucky stared at Stark for a long moment, the word processing through his head. His girl. Her. Peter was followed Her. Stalking Her. Maybe keeping tabs on Her for Bucky, but Peter knew Bucky had been watching Her, and maybe this was a trap, and Peter had snitched, and now Bucky was supposed to admit he’d been following Her, but if Stark had something to say about that he better damn say it and move on, because Bucky wasn’t going to be stopping until one of them was dead. Preferably him, as if She died first, he’d plant all those flowers on Her grave then crawl into the coffin at Her side, holding Her until she remembered who She was and came back home, home to Bucky-

“Hey!” Stark snapped his fingers in Bucky’s face. “Answer my question, tin man. Why’s the kid following her around?”

“I don’t know.” Bucky grunted, and Stark sighed.

“Here’s the deal, okay? I know about your little trips. I’ve known about them, because, as I attempted to explain before, I am keeping her safe. But apparently I should stop trying to tell super-soldiers from the 40s to trust technology, cause Cap keeps throwing out his very expensive Starkwatch, and you feel the need to act as a personal body guard to a woman who you refuse to even speak to.”

Bucky’s eyes narrowed. “Watch it-“

“No.” Stark pointed a stern finger at him, eyes narrowing. “I will not watch it, because I’m find with the stalking, but I will not let you loop the kid into your crimes. You know, besides the one he’s doing on purpose.”

“I didn’t loop the kid into anything.”

“Then why was he trying to talk to me about-“

“He followed me.” Bucky snapped, taking a firm step forward. “And I told him to drop it. That’s all that fucking happened, Stark, so unlock the doors or I will break them open.”

If Stark was fazed, he didn’t show it. Of course he didn’t. Asshole. “That wasn’t all that happened.” 

“Yes it-“

“Peter told me about your conversation.” Stark snapped, holding Bucky’s gaze. “About the soulmate shit. And that you thought it was bullshit.”

“He fucking what-“

“I just wanted to help!” Peter squeaked, seeming to fucking materialize from the ceiling before dropping down at Stark’s side. “And Mr. Barnes didn’t make me talk to her, Mr. Stark, I did that myself-“

“You talked to her.” Bucky was trying to keep his voice from being a shout, but it was just coming out poisonous. “I told you that was it.”

“But it’s not it-“

“Peter.” Stark stepped forward, and Peter’s mouth snapped shut. “How did you get into this hallway?”

Peter bowed his head, his voice only a mumble. “Clint showed me the vents.”

“And why the fuck did you go after-“

“Barnes.” Stark snapped, his eyes narrowed. “Deep breaths. We’re handling this. Peter, why did you go talk to our lovely, angry ex-assassins soulmate-“

“She’s not-“

“She is.” Stark shrugged. Like the words were fucking nothing, instead of a grenade straight to Bucky’s heart every time they were said, because the universe couldn’t do that to Her. “I’d bet most everything I own that she is. I am more worried about why you,” he glared at Peter. “Felt the need to participate in their sad little pining situation.”

“I just wanted to talk to her,” Peter mumbled, staring at the floor. “I didn’t mean to run into her, I promise, but I was on a field trip, and she was there. Looking at your exhibit!” Peter gave Bucky a wide, almost hopeful smile. “And she said she was waiting for someone! And that she was still a fan of you-“

Stark’s nose wrinkled. “A fan? She collecting little Barnes stickers?”

Peter shook his head. “No, it- It made more sense in context. But she’d said she’d wait for you forever, Mr. Barnes! So that’s what she wants, right? You?”

Bucky couldn’t move. Him. She wanted him. 

The kid could be lying, but he didn’t seem like the type. 

But there was no reason for Her to want Bucky. He’d never done anything for Her. He’d only gotten Her hurt, and failed Her.

Yet She was still waiting for him. 

She’d always been waiting for him. Every time he’d left, Bucky could remember Her waiting for him. And She was beautiful and kind and smart, and could’ve had anyone, but She’d chosen to wait for Bucky. There had been times where he’d be gone for months on end, but still.

She’d be waiting for him.

“Stark.” He grunted. “Let me out. Now.”

“But-“

Stark placed a firm hand on Peter’s shoulder, and the kid shut his mouth. “Friday, open the doors.”

It wasn’t a trap. Stark didn’t do traps like that. He only held Bucky’s gaze, and nodded to the exit.

“Make good choices.”

Bucky grunted, and walked away. 

Choices.

That hadn’t been something he’d had, for so long. And they were fucking hard.

Nobody talks about how fucking hard choices are. 

You have to make all the right ones. For yourself. For everyone else. And there are so many options, and they’re all complicate and simple all at once, and you’re always supposed to just make the right ones. Maybe it was an instinct he’d had before, then lost, but Bucky doesn’t have a goddamn clue which ones are the right ones. He doesn’t have a clue about anything.  

He had a clue about Her. No matter how many times he’d been wiped, Bucky had always had a clue about Her. At first it would just be a breach in the programming, telling him to go. Go to Her. Then it was the flowerbed that some part of his brain had understood to mean if he stood there, he’d be somewhere better. And he’d always be flooded with more and more knowledge of everything when She was lying in his arms, and he was at peace. 

He hadn’t done peace in a while, either. Here—at the compound—Bucky had the choices, but he didn’t have peace.

He missed it. 

Missed Her. 

All the fucking time, Bucky missed Her.

And he could spend another night on the roof, but She was already home. Bucky could feel it, running right along that instinct, that She was here but out of his sight.

He didn’t want Her to be out of his sight. He just wanted Her. And Peter said She was waiting for him. Looking at his exhibit and waiting for him. Just like how, every night, he returned to watch Her. 

And Bucky hated not being in control. He hated not having a choice. 

But he’d never had a choice with Her. It had always just been find Her. Go to Her. Go, go, go, you have to go to Her. First disguised as the program, but deeper. Part of Bucky, instead on just a voice in his head and strings on his body. 

She was deeper.

She was his. 

And before Bucky knew it, he was in the building. At Her doorstep.

Knocking on the door. 

It was a horrible, terrible, god fucking awful idea. His fist had barely left the wood, and Bucky knew it had been a terrible idea.

And it was far too late to turn back. The door swung open, and there She was.

Even more beautiful up close. Still clear. Colorful and made of sharp lines, and a soft, gentle smile. Like She’d been expecting him. And every bit of Her could split the heaviest of fogs, and guide Bucky home. 

To Her. 

“You’re here.”

He cleared his throat. “I’m here.”

“Do you want to come inside?” Her voice was soft too. Every bit of Her had always been soft. Not movable, not weak, but soft.

Like a ton of feathers. Just as heavy as iron. Just as strong. 

But crushing Bucky down softly, easily. 

He’d been fighting for so long. Every time he’d found Her, he’d been fighting something. His body, a target, Hydra, himself. 

And She’d been waiting. 

Bucky might be done fighting. And this—strong, suffocating, clear softness—was maybe the best place to rest. The safest place.

So he nodded, and Her smile grew as she stepped aside. 

“I didn’t know when you’d be… back.” She mumbled, scanning over Her apartment as she led him inside. “It’s a little bit of a mess, but-“

Bucky cut Her off with a grunt. “It’s good.” You’re good. Perfect. I’m home, and I don’t know where to go from here-

“Do you want to sit down?”

She’d always done that a lot. Understood what he needed. Taken care of him, even when he’d really been nothing more than a burden. 

“You- You don’t have to-“

Bucky sat down before She could finish, and her lips twitched slightly. 

There was a soft, rolling squeak, and suddenly something was jumping onto Bucky. He barely had time to brace his body back, before he realized that it wasn’t an attacker, or bomb, or any sort of threat to Her.

It was a cat. A pure white cat, purring on his lap and examining Bucky with big, curious eyes.

“That’s Alpine.” She mumbled, and Bucky glanced up at Her, clearing his throat.

“I, uh. I didn’t know you had a cat.”

“I didn’t.” She shrugged. “Let her smell you.” Bucky nodded, offering his hand, and Alpine had barely smelled it for a second before She was head-butting him, settling further into his lap.

A soft smile grew on Her face. “She likes you.”

“Gesso so.”

“Do you want-“

“I want you.” Bucky muttered, trying not to think too much. Thinking had always been his enemy. And She needed to stop asking what he wanted, because this wasn’t supposed to be about him. He was the one who failed, then left, then stayed away. 

“I-“

“I want to talk, doll.” He looked up at Her, not caring how much of his voice sounded like pleading. “Please, sit.”

She swallowed, and nodded. Dropping right at Bucky’s side, where he could feel the warmth of Her body. He reached out a slow, careful hand, keeping Alpine in his lap and giving Her plenty of time to swat it away.

But She didn’t. She let Bucky trace his thumb over Her cheekbones, then tuck some hair behind Her ears. Let him linger.

“Hi.” She whispered, Her eyes locked on his. “You’re back.”

“I’m back.” He murmured, giving Her a tiny and weak, but real, smile. 

She returned it. Like it wasn’t even a thought. “How long are you staying?”

“As long as you’ll have me.” His voice was a rasp, and what if She didn’t want to have him. What if She didn’t want him, and the spider-kid had been gone-

“Bucky?”

He nodded, something starting to sting at his eyes and strangle him, and She took a long breath.

“Why now?”

He blinked. “What?”

“Why- Why now?” She whispered. “I know you’ve been watching me, I just- I need to know why you were gone. And what made you came back. So I- I want you to stay, this time.” She swallowed, and Bucky could feel it in his own throat. “Please stay this time.”

Bucky couldn’t think about how She’d known he was watching Her. He only thought about the tears starting to roll down Her cheeks, and how She’d been waiting. Alpine was strolling away from Bucky to comfort Her, and that should’ve been his problem. Not the damn cat’s.

He never should’ve made Her cry. Ever.

He’d made the wrong choice. So many wrong choices. There was blood on his hands, over his heart, and beaten and painted over his skull. 

He wanted to start making the right choices.

He wanted to be clean.

“I didn’t want to leave you, babydoll.” He kept his voice low and slow, and She made a weak, choked sound. “I- I’m so fucking sorry. I was comin’ to get you, but Hydra got you first. Then I couldn’t find you, and I had to get mixed up in a lot of stuff to find you and- You’ve always deserved better than me, sweet girl. Better than an old man covered in blood, and I was tryin’ to be- I needed to be selfless. Needed to give you a shot at something better, and that meant me staying away. And I’m so fuckin’ sorry for not being there, and makin’ you wait, and- I’m-“ Bucky slid to his knees before Her, wrapping his arms around Her stomach. “I’m sorry. I never shoulda ever left, and I’m sorry.”

There was a long silence, as Bucky stayed on his knees, and She scanned over his face. She could break him. Cast him out, and he’d deserve it, make him repent a little more than just tear and apologies, make him earn it-

“I forgive you.” 

Bucky blinked. “But-“

“I do. I forgive you. But it’s not selfless to leave me, Bucky. And I don’t care who I deserve. And I don’t want better. I want you.” She swallowed, Her eyes going glossy on his. “And I need you to believe me when I say that.”

Believe Her.

That was easy.

She’d always helped him remember, always cared for him, always trusted Bucky not to hurt Her, even when She really shouldn’t have. 

If all Bucky had to do for Her to forgive him was believe Her, that was going to be the easiest thing in the world.

“I believe you.” He muttered, and Her smile is going to make him move mountains. “Thank you.” 

“Can we start over?” She whispered, Her eyes so bright on Bucky’s, and no choice had ever been easier.

“I’d… Like that. Please.”

“Good.” She gave him a small smile, extending out one hand. “Nice to meet you. What’s your name?”

Bucky swallowed, taking Her hand slowly. It didn’t vanish. 

This was real.

“James Buchanan Barnes.” His voice was a little hoarse. She didn’t seem to mind. “But you can call me Bucky, doll. What’s, uh- You got a name?”

Her smile grew, She said Her name and Bucky had never heard her last name before. It suited Her well.

Barnes would suit Her better.

But he’d deal with that later. Right now, they were starting over. Bucky was starting over. 

With Her.

And there was no solider programming to breathe through, but there was still the sheer power of Her. And there it was. The calmness and clarity through his whole body. Bucky could feel it.

He was home.

End Note: Are y'all ready for some toothrotting fluff and a-grade smut. They're about to be so happy you have no idea.

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It’s not hard to imagine how they got Bucky to forget his own name. You look at yourself in the mirror and seen more of a reflection of him than yourself. Not the Bucky who’d slept in your bed and fixed all the things that had broken in your house. The Bucky who’d showed up on the side of the road with no words and things behind his eyes that were mauled. 

“Do you know how long you’ve been with them?” You’d asked once, your chin resting on his knee as he played with your hair, and he’d let out a long breath.

“I… Don’t want you to know more about them then you have to-“

“I’m not asking about them.” You’d tipped your head back to meet his gaze. “I just- We know you’re really old, and that the accident was a long, long time ago, but you haven’t said how long-“

“A while.”

You’d sighed. “Sargent-“

“I don’t know.” He’d mumbled, his brows knit together and tone almost desperate. “No matter how far back I think, there’s still something in my head that- It’s always been them. It just keeps looping and telling me that it’s only them, only the mission.”

“Oh.” You’d swallowed, leaning a little further into him. “It’s- Does anything help?”

The pause had been long as he’d stared at you, scanning over your features with another unreadable expression that you somehow understood.

He hadn’t needed to say it, because you felt it too. 

You can still feel it now.

And in the dark of the room they move you to, under all the pressure and weight of this being a new, maybe permanent reality, it helps to think of Bucky.

You don’t know where he is. If he’s looking for you, or if they’re keeping him locked deeper up than before. All you can tell was that he isn’t here, because you would feel it if he was. There would be an instinct of home, the song in your blood telling you that you were safe, even as pain is pushed into and over your body.

It is maybe a mercy, then. That if they have Bucky, they haven’t kept him just a room over, where the song can lie to you and you won’t know how not to believe it. This way you’re able to imagine him somewhere a little warmer and safe, where there isn’t anything to fight or patch up, and he gets to eat and read and do nothing but easy, painless things forever.  

Because he isn’t dead. You’re certain you would’ve known if he was dead. 

Instead you got to imagine him happy, even as you’re alone in the dark. 

After a few months—or only days, or years or decades, it isn’t really possible to tell—they give you a little light. 

It’s worse than the dark.

It’s focused. Bright and blinding and hot on your skin, almost medical feeling—like you’re about it be dissected and put in a jar—and pointed at your face whenever it’s on. They’ll angle it sometimes, blinding or burning one part of you more than all the others, and it’s like they think that, if they light you up just right, they’ll find what you know.

But you don’t know anything at all. You don’t understand half their questions, and the ones you do, they don’t like your answers for.

How do you control the Soldat.

You don’t. You tell them over and over that you don’t know what that means—that you’ve never really controlled anything in your life—but they don’t care for any answer that’s not what they want to hear. 

And you’d tell them what they want to hear, if you had a single fucking clue what that was. You tell them that you don’t know what a soldat is, and they scoff and ignore your questions. They tell you that they know what you’ve been up to, and ask if you sold them out to the Avengers, and you’ve never even fucking seen an Avenger, but it’s all just a dark haze. You aren’t a good enough liar to sell them a story, and you can’t read people well enough to infer what they’re looking for you to say.

But it does click, after another infinite amount of time. 

We have seen him with you. We have reprogrammed him whenever he returned to you. How have you done it.

Bucky.

You’ve known this was about Bucky, but your head has been dazed and exhausted, and somehow you hadn’t tied the two together until now. They’d taken you because of Bucky, but not just to hurt him.

They thought you could control him.

But you didn’t. You can’t convince them that you didn’t.

“I just talked to him,” you whisper, something hot and sticky rolling down your chin. “I’ve only ever talked to him, I don’t know-“

“Liar.” The man hisses. He has a twisted and burned face, frozen in an expression of permanent hate. “He stopped comin’ to see his handler cause of you. And you’re a pretty thing, but that’s not supposed to matter. He’s never supposed to vanish like that, sweetheart, but he was doin’ it all the time, cause of you.”

“I- He’d find me-“

“Even after we wiped his memory?” The man laughs, and the cold sound was going to echo around your ribs long after he was gone. “That’s impossible, sweetheart. Just tell us what you were doin’ to him, and we’ll set you free. We can even use you, get you nice and set up as his new handler, give you anythin’ you want in the world.”

“I-“

“C’mon. And we can have fun. The Soldat was never fun, was he.” The man leans down, that hideous face pulling into a worse smile. “I can be fun.”

The song in your blood roars, and if they’re talking about Bucky, he has a fucking name. He is fun. In a quiet, gentle way that was never forced, never too loud or painful, but perfect. Bucky is perfect.

And you spit in the man’s face. 

He stares at you for a long second, wiping his face with his sleeve, and his mouth curls into a sneer.

“Fine. Have it your way, bitch.” Right before the light is angled back onto your face, he smirks. “You’ll be singing a different tune tomorrow.”

And he asks again. The next day, and the day after that, and for what had felt like the rest of time, the man asks if you’d join them.

How do you control the Soldat, and will you join them.

You never tell them the former, because you might know, but it was still only just a theory. And even if you were right, you’d never been controlling Bucky. He’d just listened because he knew you were safe, the same way that—against all logical and reasonable odds—you’d never been afraid of him. 

They won’t want to hear that, though. Rumlow—you learn his name after another million years or ten seconds, when someone said it and he turns his head, landing one last blow to your body before stalking out of the room—isn’t interested in how you love Bucky, and how you’d gotten him to remember just by being there. How you really didn’t know why it worked, but you know he’d come back to you every time, just as you’d waited for him every time. 

And for the latter, you’d rather die.

You say as much. 

Rumlow hasn’t accepted your answer at all.  

“We’ll teach you better.” He drawls after more time. “Eventually it’ll get into your pretty little head that it’s better with us. We have purpose. Order. I’ve seen your file, sweetheart, I know you like order. And I’ve got a shit ton more of it than the Soldat.”

You don’t think that’s true at all. As the shell or as the person, Bucky had always had order. When he’d come back hollow, he’d still fold all the clothing you gave him and keep everything around himself neat and clean. When he was there for days and almost entirely himself, he liked being clean. He’d done your dishes and organized your whole house while you were gone for the day. He’d said the routine helped him.

You hadn’t really cared why. You’d always loved him all the same.

And you’ll keep loving him until there isn’t anything left of you to feel it.

There’s a world where you died here, though. Being asked the same unanswerable questions over and over and over again, never knowing how to say I don’t fucking know in a way they’ll believe. And that’s when the darkness starts to truly come in.

You’d rather be anywhere else in the world, but you’ve forgotten too much. How food that wasn’t bland and dry rations—designed to keep you right on the edge of alive—tasted, and how the sun looked in comparison to that horrible light, how most any voices sounded when they weren’t weak and desperate like yours, or cold and taunting like Rumlow’s.

You never forget Bucky’s voice. And it might be hard to pictures any colors but black, but you could still see the blue of his eyes. You might not be able to smell anything but blood and cleaner—stinging and horrible at your nose—but in the dead of night you’re able to pretend there was a gentle mint and spice of Bucky all around you.

“Do you have a favorite animal?” You’d asked him eons ago, still in your own bed, his arms caging you easily against his body. 

“I don’t think that’s going to help me remember anything, important, doll.” He’d drawled in your ear, and you’d rolled over, holding his gaze in the dark. 

“It will help you remember your favorite animal.”

“And what’s that going to help?”

“You.” You’d shrugged. “You’re a person. People have favorite things.”

He’d paused, a long shadow cross over his features that wasn’t made of the night. “We sure I’m a person?”

You’d pressed your hand right over his heart, beating steady under your touch, and raised your brows. He’d only sighed.

“A heartbeat doesn’t prove humanity.”

“Maybe.” You’d whispered. “But you feel like a person to me.”

His gaze had softened slightly, and he’d leaned down until his brow was pressed to yours. “Cats.”

“Wha-“

“My animal,” He’d hummed your name, his lips curling in a small smile. “Keep up.”

You’d rolled your eyes, and buried your face into his chest.

You wake up cold and alone, but there’s still a phantom warmth heavy over your body.

It keeps you alive and sane until they found you.

Because there is a world where you’d died in that room, under Rumlow’s hand.

But this is not that world.  

This is the world where something flowed through the room, right before it happened. Something nobody but you could feel or see, sparking your blood and running through your whole body in the choir. The song of home, home is near.

You smile, and Rumlow blinks. 

“What’s got you so fuckin’-“

The door bursts open, and the question is answered before Rumlow is finished asking.

Everything is blurry, but you’re dizzy and exhausted, but you still know this is it.

The end of the dark.

There are clangs of metal and heavy things crashing into each other, shouts you can’t understand and roars you can’t make out, but when the dust settles, you’re looking at blue eyes. 

But they aren’t Bucky’s. You’ve spent long enough looking at and thinking about Bucky’s eyes to know where every shade of blue is, and every hint of white and silver, and those aren’t Bucky’s eyes. 

They belong to a blond man, with shorter hair, wearing a blue suit and holding a-

“Oh, fuck.” You mumble, and Captain America frowns at you.

“Uh oh, she swore. Looks like she short-circuited Rogers.” Another voice comes from somewhere behind the Captain, the owner walking through the door in a big red suit, and maybe you had died. “And she gets to just get away with it too. No lessons about manners?”

“Tony.” Captain America mutters, still scanning over your face with a frown. “Not the time.”

“Right, sorry. Torture dungeon not the place for etiquette, I’m getting it now. But maybe it’s just cause she’s-“

“Tony.”

“Fine. Shutting up.” Iron Man starts to poke around the room like it was simply a fascinating museum. “You never let me have any fun.”

Captain America sighs, giving you an apologetic grimace. “I’m sorry about him. I’d say he’s not normally like that, but I don’t think you want to hear a lie.”

“That’s rude, Steven-“

“Stevie.” You whisper, your brain connecting things too fast. 

You don’t know how you knew. There are a million Steve’s in the world. But Bucky had said he was old, and Captain America was very famously old as well, and from Brooklyn, and had been sick until he wasn’t, and you were starting to feel a little fucking sick yourself because the song was still going, but where was Bucky-

“I-“ Steve blinks at you, exchanging what was likely a look with Iron Man, though it’s hard to tell with the mask. “How’d you-“

“I think we have a mutual friend.” You mumble, and Iron Man scoffs.

“You could say that-“

“Tony.” Steve must practice saying that in the mirror. It’s harsher each time. “We talked about this. Don’t.”

“C’mon, Cap, she just spent a year in the Hydra chair-“

“A year?” You squeak, and Steve sighs.

“Oops.” Iron Man mutters. “I’ll just- I think the Widow’s calling for me. Yeah, I can definitely hear her. Nice to meet you,” he says your name, and you swallow. “Sorry about the torture.”

He vanishes out the door, Steve sighs again, and you clear your throat, your voice still small.

“How’d he know my name?”

Steve sighs a third time. He must practice that too. 

“I think…” He says slowly, and you can still feel Bucky, but he’s not here. “We have a lot to talk about.”

——————

He’d turned himself in. After six months of combing the whole goddamn earth for Her and finding nothing, Bucky had showed up at the Avenger’s Compound, jumped the gates, and demanded to see Steve Rogers.

The punk had been on a mission. In Japan, with no-contact.

So Bucky had gotten himself stuck in a small containment room with Tony Stark trying to ask how he’d gotten around security—it had been pretty fucking easy, and Bucky wasn’t responsible for helping Stark fix things—and Sam Wilson asking him a bunch of questions about why he’d just showed up.

“I told you.” Bucky had grumbled, glaring at the floor. “I’ll tell Steve once he gets his ass in here.”

“Yeah, but call me curious.” Wilson had shrugged. “I mean, I just spent six months lookin’ for you, then you just pop-up like nothing happened? Something has to have changed.”

Bucky’s jaw had twitched. He’d wanted to tell Steve, but wherever She was, she couldn’t afford to wait for Steve. And he’d already wasted too much time on dead-ends and empty bases. He needed Her.

Back at his side, but most of all, safe.

“I need help.” Bucky had grunted, looking up to hold Wilson’s shocked gaze. “I- I lost someone.”

“Who?”

Bucky had said Her name, tensed as his head rolled around the best one, you’ve lost the best one, and Wilson had frowned.

“Man, you’re gonna have to give me more than that-“

“She’s missing.”

“I worked that out myself-“

“Hydra.” Bucky had muttered. “Hydra found her. They took her.”

Wilson had been silent for a long moment, then sighed.

“I’ll go call Steve.”

It had been an odd reunion. Short hugs and formalities that had to pushed aside for the story. The reason Bucky was here, and ready to fully deal with the consequences of it, as long as it meant She was safe.

“What I’m still not getting.” Stark had drawled after the rundown. “Was how you had time to get yourself a girlfriend while in robot mode.”

“She’s not-“ Bucky had cut himself off with a sigh. Girlfriend was too complicated, and not nearly strong enough a word. Girlfriend implied temporary. Girlfriend was external. Bucky felt like there was something missing from the fabric of his existence the longer She was in danger. “I wasn’t the robot. With her.”

Steve had blinked. “But the Soldier Programming- Nat and I saw the files, Buck. And when we were fighting, it took a lot just to get you to stop trying to kill me. Which I’m grateful for, but-“

“It was different.” Bucky had sighed, running a hand over his face. “I- There was more. I got injured, and found her. That was it.”

“Didn’t they do, like, a wiping thingy?” Wilson had asked, frowning at the air. “I mean, I’ve never brainwashed a guy, but if I did, I’d wipe his memory of his secret girlfriend-“

“They tried. It didn’t take.”

Steve had let out a long, slow breath. “And you’re sure Hydra has her.”

“Don’t know who else it could be.” Bucky had muttered. 

And there had been other questions. Where he’d looked before. What they might want from Her. What Bucky would be willing to do, if they helped him out with this.

That last question had been Stark, and Steve had shot the asshole a glare, but Bucky had just shrugged.

“Anything.”

Anything meant complete deprogramming and very long trials about getting him a pardon. Complicated meetings and days in government buildings, explaining that he had killed those people, but not those people, and he wasn’t killing people at all anymore, and he had no plans to kill people in the future, so could he please go back to ripping up the earth until he found his girl.

Only one of those things had been a lie. 

The moment Bucky got his hands on whoever had taken Her, he had very long, detailed murder plans. But that would be the end of it.

And time was giving him too many chances to think. The interrogations were making him look at himself too much, making the parts that had already been ugly become hideous. 

Bucky made a choice, when they neared the year-mark of Her disappearance. And She might hate him for it—Hell, he already hated himself for it—but it was smart. Selfless. His first step to getting better was being selfless, and being selfless was giving things up, and She was the best thing in the world.

The old saying went if you love something, set it free.

Bucky loved Her. If he’d ever loved anything, it was Her. Loving Her felt ingrained into his bones, like it was always something Bucky was supposed to do, and meeting Her had just stripping back a layer to reveal that to him. 

When he told Steve his plan, it was met with… pushback.

“Buck, you’ve spent a year looking for her, she’s probably been waiting for you-“

“They took her because of me.” Bucky had sighed, and given Steve a pointed look. “Even if the pardon goes through, she’s gonna have a target on her back. If she’s been waiting for me, she’s probably lost hope.”

Steve had shaken his head. “Or she still has it, because she loves you too-“

“She shouldn’t.”

“Bucky-“

“We both know what I’ve done, Stevie.” Bucky had muttered. “And don’t say it was just the Soldier. She met the Soldier first, I’m not worried about that.”

“So why-“

“Because as long as she’s near me, any version of me, she’ll be in danger.” Bucky wasn’t going to move on this, and he’d known Steve was getting that—he’d deflated and sighed again, giving Bucky an almost disappointed look he didn’t appreciate—but he’d finished his thought anyway. “I’m not worth keeping her in danger. Nothing is.”

They’d found Her the next week. And Bucky had helped with the mission, and gone up to roof when they found Her. Watched from afar as Steve helped Her to the Quinjet, then vomited on the floor because there were bruises and cuts all over Her body, and her hair was tangled and greasy and framing gaunt features, but She was still beautiful.

And Bucky could still feel his whole body telling him to go. Go to Her. She’s safe, She’s home, and you have to go to Her.

He’d fought it. And She’d vanished into the sky.

But Bucky still had nightmares about holding Her, watching the Hydra brand on Her shoulder appear as she died in his arms, and he wasn’t able to do anything.

He hadn’t found Her. The arrow-guy had found Her. And Steve had freed Her. And Stark had given Her a future. 

Something Bucky had never been able to offer Her. Would never be able to offer Her, not like she deserved. 

But that knowledge and resolve wasn’t quite enough to keep him away.

It was creepy. And wrong. And he knew that, but it was more torture for himself than relief, so Bucky allowed it. 

He watched Her.

And it was to keep Her safe. He reminded himself, day after day, that he was keeping an eye on Her so that if more Hydra assholes popped up, he’d be able to keep Her safe.

But She looked happy. And that was the torture. That was the pain he deserved, to see Her smile all the time and know that it had nothing to do with him. Her joy and love wasn’t for Bucky anymore. Maybe it had never been for Bucky. She’d only met pieces of Bucky, and if She’d ever loved him like he loved Her—irreversibly and primally—She’d really loved the Soldat.

No. That was a cruel thing to think of Her, and it wasn’t true. She had cared for, and—at least—liked Bucky. He’d still close his eyes and remember the last night, where he’d finally kissed Her and everything in the world had been painless.

If that was the price he had to pay for Her being happy and safe—remembering that and never having it again—Bucky would do it in a second.

But he still watched. And maybe remained more static than he’d been when Hydra put him in ice. She had an apartment Bucky would never get to go into, with a bed he’d never get to sleep in. Stark had found Her a new job Bucky would never get to hear about, and She finished Her doctorate in a field of study that Bucky didn’t understand.

“Quantum Relativity Theoretical Meta-Physics,” Stark said when Bucky—in a very casual, neutral way—brought it up. “I’d try to explain it to you, but half those words didn’t even exist when you and Capsicle were born.”

Bucky scowled, and left the lab understanding less. At least it sounded smart. She’d always been pretty damn smart. 

Even now, as Bucky waited on the roof make sure She got home safe, he was starting to worry She was too smart for her own good. She always looked around when She stepped out of her car, and Bucky always worried that tonight would be the night she caught him, and their eyes would meet, and Bucky wouldn’t be strong enough to leave-

“Mr. Barnes?”

Bucky whipped around, ready to strike first and ask question after-

“Woah!” The Spider-Boy—Paul? Patrick? Parker?—dodged Bucky’s punch with annoying ease, his hands raised high in the air. “It’s me! Spider-Peter! I mean- Spider-“ The kid sighed. “Shit. I mean, you already knew, right? It’s okay, because you already knew.”

Bucky shrugged, turning back to watch the sidewalk. She wasn’t close—Bucky usually got a feeling like his heart trying to pound into his gut and throat all at once when She was near—but he still didn’t want to risk it. “Sure.”

“Cool.” Peter mumbled, and appeared right at Bucky’s side. “What are we looking at?”

“None of your business.”

“It seems like a sidewalk.”

Bucky sighed, shooting him a glare. “Don’t you have school.”

“Yeah, but it’s like, nine pm on a Friday. And aren’t you supposed to be up at the compound?”

Bucky’s eyes narrowed, and the Spider-Kid’s eyes widened in his suit. 

“Sorry! I won’t say anything!” His voice dropped to a whisper. “Is this a mission? Can I help with it?”

This wasn’t going to end in Bucky’s favor. He’d been so careful to make sure even Steve didn’t know he was visiting Her. 

He was still going to try and work his way out.

“It’s not a mission. Go home.”

Peter only frowned. “If it’s not a mission, why, uh- This is kind of a roof.”

Bucky sighed. “I know that.”

“Then what-“

“I’m telling you, don’t worry about-“ Bucky cut himself off, because he could feel it. Her. Coming. “You need to go, kid.”

“So it is a mission-“

“It’s not-“

“But- Oh.” Bucky froze, and Peter was looking over his shoulder.

And he didn’t need to look to know She was there. Beautiful, and a little tired but still healthy, still smiling at nothing, fiddling with Her hair as she paused, scanning around for something She never seemed to find.

“I recognize her.” Peter whispered, and for a second, Bucky had forgotten he was there. “Why do I recognize her?”

“Who.” Bucky muttered, and if it was possible, Peter gave him a flat look through the mask.

“The girl you were staring at, dude, I- She looks really familiar- Oh!” Peter blinked. “She has a file! Mr. Stark showed me, he said that she was on a Hydra watchlist-“

Bucky jaw clenched, his words suddenly pushed through teeth. “What the fuck are you talking about, she’s not Hydra-“

“Yeah, sorry, it’s a watchlist to prevent Hydra. From like. Getting her.” Peter tilted his head. “Is that why we’re here. Are you watch-listing?”

That could work. If Stark was already keeping an eye on Her, Bucky was allowed too as well. “Sure.”

“Why?”

Bucky blinked. “You just said why. She’s on Stark’s list-“

“Yeah, but like, he uses a bunch on systems and programs to watch them. I’ve never heard of someone getting a personal detail. Do you, are you like, her friend? From when you were the spooky solider guy?”

It was easier to agree. Maybe if Bucky agreed enough, the kid would leave him alone. “Yeah. That.”

“What?”

“She was my friend.”

“Oh.” Peter frowned again. “Then why are we on the roof-“

“Kid.” Bucky grunted. “Stop asking questions and just say what you’re thinking.”

“But I’m not thinking anything.” Peter paused. “Well, I wasn’t. But now I am. Were you guys like, good friends? Like, kissing friends?”

Bucky stared at him. “How old are you?”

Peter seemed to blush under the mask. “Sixteen, sir.”

“And you’re calling it kissing friends?”

“I- I mean, yes?” Peter bounced slightly on his feet. “Am I right?”

There didn’t seem to be a way out of this. And Bucky had a feeling that if he refused to answer the kid’s questions, he’d just turn around and ask Stark, or worse, Steve.

They’d only kissed once. And friends wasn’t nearly strong enough. 

So Bucky did his best. “It’s complicated.”

“But… yes?”

“Yeah. Sort of.”

“What does sort of mean?” Peter asked, and when Bucky glanced over at him, he’d taken off his mask.

He had a bright, almost innocent—but not naïve—look in his eyes. It, in a really annoying way, reminded Bucky a whole lot of Steve.

Goddamnit. 

“I used to visit her.” Bucky muttered, staring at where She’d been standing on the sidewalk, even though She’d long gone inside. “As the Soldier. And she helped me remember who I was.”

“I thought Captain Rogers-“

“Steve already knew me. She just found me. And I went back, over and over. And Hydra wiped me, and I lost her.”

Peter frowned. “But she’s right there?”

“I told you.” Bucky grunted. “It’s complicated.”

There was a long paused, the night air flat and hot as Bucky and Peter both stared at the sidewalk, and maybe that was enough. Peter would leave, and Bucky could keep wallowing in peace-

Peter cleared his throat, and Bucky should’ve known better. He never got peace.

“So you’d known her… Through the Hydra brain-stuff.”

“Yes.”

“Did they like, wipe you, and then you’d still remember? Because I’ve heard they used really complex neuro-engineering, and that stuff takes like, years to undo-“

“I don’t care what they used.” Bucky grunted. “I’d find her again. And she’d undo it.”

“Huh.” Peter paused, frowning into the air. “Have you heard of soulmate theory?”

Bucky frowned at him. “What.”

“Oh, it’s really cool. It’s like, this new branch of string theory where they think that two people can be vibrating in the same harmony-“

“Vibrating-“

“It’s part of string theory, which is a whole other conversation, but it’s basically saying that all your like, particles? I guess? They’re the same. So you’re soulmates. And,” Peter made a gesture to the sidewalk. “Maybe that would be able to cheat-code through all the Hydra brain stuff?”

“Kid.” Bucky sighed, running a hand over his face. “I’m not here for therapy. Or suggestions. I’m making sure my- That she’s alive and safe. That’s it.”

“What about what she wants?”

Bucky laughed at that. Dry and flat, because it mostly just hurt. 

Even She’d wanted Bucky before, there was no way She’d want him now. And if She did, she wouldn’t after. Once She looked at Bucky and saw that he was better, but still angry and tired and heavy. Still having nightmares, still unable to give Her a future.

“Trust me.” Bucky muttered. “I’m not what she wants.”

Because it didn’t really matter if they were soulmates. If they were, Bucky loathed the universe for cursing Her like that.

Because no matter what, She’d be better off without him.

And Bucky would just have to keep being selfless, and being alone. 

He stayed on the roof, even after Peter heard a siren and swung away. He watched Her window because, even though She never opened the blind shades, he’d see Her shadow moving and know She was fine.

Bucky wasn’t there, but She was fine.

So he kept watching past midnight, and fought the urge in his body every single second to return to Her side.

He’d have to fight it for the rest of his life. He knew he would.

It really was a small price to pay, if it kept Her safe. Gave Her a future.

A future Bucky would watch from the roof.

Wanting to return to Her side every second.

But never being selfish.

Never giving in.

End Note: Did I... correctly estimate how long a series was going to be?

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Besides, at least a woman of your size wouldn't have to worry about the old men in your father's syndicate making unwanted advances. They prefer the small, petite girls that they actually have a chance of overpowering.

Still, a woman of your status was expected to marry well for your father's business. You tried, honestly you did, to get the attention of someone who would make father look good. You know better than to expect love, of course, but it would be nice to find someone who didn't immediately dismiss you when they saw you weren't wearing heels but were still eye level with them.

Honestly, the temptation to give in to the men who wanted you to step on them was getting harder and harder to fight. They'd promise you money, jewelry, custom made clothing and lingerie, just let them use your body how they wanted. All the while they made it clear you would just be a sex toy to them, not a person. You know love isn't an option but respect shouldn't be so hard to find.

It was quite the duality to have a body that was simultaneously seen as "unfit" and also fetishized.

So it was that, when your father called you into his office to tell you there had been offer for your hand, you were surprised and nervous.

"He's a former federal agent who helped our family get through some dicey times," Father explains. "He's out of the legit game, early retirement or whatever. But he's willing to continue helping us out with his connections so long as he gets you."

"I understand, Father," you nod. "Though I'm surprised you trust him enough. He betrayed his agency, why wouldn't he betray the family?"

"That's another reason I'm giving you to him. I trust you and I know where your loyalties lie."

"We'll probably have to come up with some new phrases," you nod.

"That's my girl," Father smiles. "He's asked you to meet him at your future home. Says he wants to get your opinion on things so he can get things renovated or fixed up before the wedding."

"That's...quite considerate of him," you blink. "What's his name?"

"August Walker."

The car pulls up to the townhouse you'll be moving into after the wedding. The exterior is quite plain but, if Mr. Walker can be expected to keep his word, you'll have a say in changing that.

When your car door opens, you're surprised to be greeted by your future husband, offering his hand to help you out of your seat.

"Thank you," you smile softly as you take his hand.

Stepping out of the car, you make sure to not put too much of your weight onto him, forever mindful that many cannot handle your size. But there is a strength in his arm that makes you wonder if he could.

Mr. Walker kisses the back of your hand and your cheeks heat up, unused to such gentlemanly behavior.

"I know this isn't a mansion or a penthouse, but I do hope the townhouse will be sufficient for you," he smiles. "Especially after all of your requested changes are made. I've got Mr. Carter, a local construction supervisor whom I trust, and who your father recommended, already inside, ready to take notes."

"Thank you, Mr. Walker."

"August, please. We will be married after all, and I would prefer my wife call me by my first name."

"I understand," you nod.

His lip twitches and you're not sure if it's in amusement or annoyance.

"Shall we?" he gestures to the front door.

"Please."

When you're inside, it's clear the townhouse is an older construction and you feel a slight thrill. You admire the custom work done that have withstood time. The contemporary style of everything being sleek, shiny and white has never appealed to you. Testing the waters of your fiance's promises to listen to you, you make sure to state aloud the fixtures you'd like to keep. You're pleased to not hear any arguments from Walker on the matter.

As the tour continues, you grow bolder, asking about replacing things that can't be kept with something similar in terms of style. Mr. Carter says he knows a very good woodworker who can provide some estimates and you find yourself smiling.

Every so often you catch a glimpse of Walker and you swear he's smiling more as you're going on.

"And now, for the final part of the tour," Walker takes your hand again, "the main reason I sought this house."

When he opens the final door you enter into a two-story tall library, making you gasp. You almost feel like Belle from Beauty and the Beast.

"The shelves are empty, waiting for the books you currently own and, hopefully, there will be enough room for future books you should seek to purchase," August informs you. "My own books will remain in my office and this will entire library will be yours."

"August..." you whisper.

"I have seen other men attempt to woo you with gold and riches," he explains. "But you are no Atalanta, distracted by shiny things. You are a woman who craves intelligence more than money or power. Our lives are not given to expectations of love, but having a wife I can respect? That's a very good start, in my book."

You beam at him, almost teary eyed, "and having a husband who can genuinely make me smile is far more than I could have ever expected. Thank you, August."

You really thought by now he'd have stopped surrounding himself with people who didn't appreciate him. It was becoming a rather disappointing pattern.

Did she even know his name? Or did she only know the title whispered behind closed doors? Did she know he disliked people touching his tailored suits? That he'd always adjusted his left cufflink before the right? That he took his whiskey neat, but only after particularly tedious meetings?

No.

Of course she didn't.

Why would she?

Because if she had, she would've known better than to drape herself all over him like she belonged there.

You sighed, swirling the wine in your glass as your gaze remained fixed on the darkened balcony across the street.

Even from here, you could make out unfamiliar fingers lingering against the front of his suit.

The glow of your phone reflected across the rim of your glass.

He always did have a habit of making things harder than they needed to be.

And unfortunately for him, you had always been very good at correcting bad habits.

Unknown Number: I don’t like people touching things that are MINE. Remove her hands before I remove them myself.

James: Then come remove them yourself.

Unknown Number: You’ll find that I really hate repeating myself, James.

REMOVE. THEM. NOW.

I assure you your little friend won’t like what will follow because YOU failed to listen.

James: And you’ll find I’m getting quite bored of your little games.

Where’s your originality?

It’s disappointing, really.

Read.

He stared at his phone a moment longer, willing the tiny word beneath his message to dissolve into three familiar dots.

It never did.

He hated that he noticed, hated even more that he cared.

He had genuinely thought tonight might be the night you finally showed yourself, another piece of you, another glimpse behind the curtain.

Disappointing.

What was even more disappointing were the hands still tracing the front of his tailored suit, fingers skimming over his chest as soft promises for the rest of the evening drifted past his ears.

He heard every word.

He simply didn't care.

His attention remained fixed on the silent screen in his hand.

Where were you?

As the minutes ticked by, the screen remained dark, and somehow, that bothered him more than it should have.

With a quiet sigh, Bucky finally pulled away.

The woman beside him looked up, confusion crossing her features as he gently removed her hands from his suit.

“Sorry, sweetheart,” he murmured. “Not tonight. You've got to go.”

Her expression shifted immediately. “What?” she scoffed. “But you invited me here.”

Bucky glanced toward the phone now resting on the table, “and now I’m uninviting you.”

She stared at him, clearly offended, but Bucky had already turned away.

His mind was somewhere else.

It had been somewhere else all night.

It was late into the night when your response finally came through, the notification cutting through the silence of the room.

Unknown Number: You look better alone.

Attached was a photo; grainy, dark, taken from an angle that should've been impossible. Him, alone in his bed, the soft glow of his screen illuminating his features.

James: You should come join me.

Unknown Number: I like the view instead.

James: Coward.

The three dots appeared, disappeared, and appeared again.

Silence. Αnd then... “We’re coming.” “Bring everyone.” “Understood.” He hung up. A soft knock hit the door. Three gentle taps. Rollins’ voice seeped through the wood. “James… you’re being rude. I came all this way.” Bucky didn’t answer. “Are you scared?” “Not of you.” “Then open the door.” Nothing. Silence. Then a low chuckle. “You know… I walked past your bedroom earlier. You two sleep very deeply.” Bucky’s blood froze. “She didn’t even stir when I stood over her.” His vision blurred with rage. “I’m going to kill you.” Rollins laughed. “Oh, James. You can’t even catch me.” A soft scrape. Something slid under the door. A photograph. Bucky picked it up. Odette. Sleeping. Peaceful. Taken from inches away. “She dreams so sweetly,” Rollins whispered. Before Bucky could respond—boots. Loud. Fast. Dozens. The elevator dinged. The stairwell door slammed open. Voices filled the hallway. “Boss!” “We’re here!” “Clear the floor!” “Check the vents!” “Secure the perimeter!” “Move!” One of the men approached. “Boss, we’ll breach.” “No,” Bucky said. “He’s not there anymore.” “How do you know?” Bucky pointed at the rattle, the photo, the note. “He wanted us to know he was here. He wanted her scared. He wanted me angry.” The man swallowed. “Boss… he was inside your home.” Bucky’s jaw tightened. “He stood over my pregnant wife while she slept.” Every man in the hallway stiffened. That sentence alone was enough to ignite war. Bucky turned. “Get Odette. Bring her out. Stay with her. Don’t let her out of your sight.”" "No, no Bucky please!!!!" Odette protested. “Lock down the building. Every exit. Every vent. Every stairwell. Every camera. Every blind spot.”

“Yes, sir.” “Find him.” “We will.” “And when you do…” Bucky’s voice dropped to a lethal whisper. “…you bring him to me.” The men scattered, shouting orders, radios crackling, boots pounding. The penthouse transformed from a home into a fortress in seconds. Odette appeared at the end of the hallway, escorted by two men. Her eyes were wide, terrified. Bucky rushed to her, pulling her into his arms. “Is he gone?” “No,” Bucky said. “He’s close.” Her breath trembled. “Bucky—” He kissed her forehead, her cheeks, her lips—fast, desperate, protective. “I’m not letting anything happen to you. Or the baby.” Behind them, a shout: “Boss! We found something!” Bucky turned. One of his men held a small object wrapped in tissue. “We found this in the nursery.” Bucky took it. Unwrapped it. Odette gasped. A tiny pacifier. White. Clean. Brand new. And on the plastic shield, written in tiny letters: “He’s not done.” Odette’s knees buckled. Bucky caught her instantly. His voice dropped to something dark and final. “Get everyone ready. We’re hunting him.” The men nodded. Bucky held Odette close, his hand on her belly, his breath shaking with fury. “He’s inside,” he whispered. “But he won’t be for long.” But the chaos didn’t stop. A voice crackled through one of the men’s radios. “Boss—camera feed from the lobby just went dark.” Another voice:

“Basement access compromised.” Another: “Motion sensor tripped on floor twelve—no visual.” Another: “We found fingerprints on the stairwell railing. Fresh.” Bucky’s eyes sharpened.

“He’s still in the building.” “Sir,” one man said, breathless, “we think he’s moving between floors. He’s using blind spots.” “Then eliminate the blind spots,” Bucky snapped. “Already on it.” Another man ran up. “Boss, we found something else.” “What?” “A message. On the inside of the vent in the nursery.” Bucky’s stomach tightened. “Show me.” The man handed him a small metal panel. Words were scratched into the steel: “You should’ve checked the closet.” Odette’s breath broke. “Bucky—” He pulled her close again. “I’m here. I’m right here.” Another shout echoed from the hallway: “Boss! We found a camera!” Bucky turned sharply. “Where?”

“In the nursery. Hidden behind the bookshelf.” Odette covered her mouth, shaking. “He watched us.” Bucky’s men tore the bookshelf from the wall. A tiny black camera fell out, still warm. “He was watching us,” one man said quietly. Bucky’s voice dropped to a deadly calm. “Destroy it.” A crunch. Metal snapped.

Another radio crackled. “Boss… we found footprints on the balcony.” “Fresh?” “Fresh.” Odette’s eyes widened. “He was outside?” “No,” the man said. “He came in from outside.” Bucky’s jaw clenched. “He climbed.” “Sir… the prints go back over the railing.” “He’s moving between balconies,” another man added. “Like he’s playing.” Odette trembled.

“Bucky, please—” He held her tighter. “I’m not letting him touch you.” Another shout:

“Boss! We found a second note!” Bucky turned.

“Where?” “In the laundry room. Inside the dryer.” Odette’s stomach dropped. “Inside—?” The man handed Bucky a small folded paper. He opened it. “I like hide-and-seek.” Odette’s knees buckled again. Bucky caught her, lifting her slightly, holding her against his chest. His voice was a low growl. “He’s taunting us.” Another radio crackled. “Boss… we think he’s still on this floor.” Bucky’s eyes sharpened. “Then seal it.”

“Already sealing—” A loud metallic CLANG echoed through the hallway. Everyone froze. Another CLANG. Then a slow, dragging scrape. Odette’s breath stopped. “What is that?” One of the men whispered, “The ventilation shaft.” Another scrape. Closer. Slow. Deliberate. Bucky’s voice dropped to a whisper. “He’s in the vents.” Odette’s heart slammed against her ribs. The vent above them rattled. Every man drew their weapon. Bucky pulled Odette behind him, shielding her completely. The vent grille shifted. Just slightly. Just enough. A single object dropped out. It hit the floor with a soft plastic tap. A second baby rattle. Identical to the first. But this one had a new note tied to it. Bucky picked it up. Odette stared, shaking. The note read: “You’re getting warmer.” Bucky’s eyes went cold. “Find him,” he said. “Now.” And the hunt began.

@world-of-aus-reads @world-of-aus

She shakes her head of the thought. She might be in this deep but she could still dig herself out. She just needed more time. Time that at the moment she does not have.

The door to her apartment shuts with a bang as she rushes to the kitchen to put a kettle on. Hoping it’ll help her get warm faster and kicking her creaky radiator to heat up right that instant.

She taps a panel on the wall, pulling it back to retrieve a burner, dialing a number from memory.

“Checking in.” she mutters and exhales as the voice on the other side tells her to hold.

“Progress?” the voice inquires after a tone plays shortly, the conversation being recorded.

“Barnes is slowly getting back in but is currently still not associated with the organization.”

“You’re out of time. We’re pulling you out in three days. It’s over.” She stutters but before she could respond the line goes dead. She looks at the phone in her disbelief before anger takes over and she slams the thing on the wall several times.

Curses spill from her mouth followed by denial. She could not be out of time. Not now when she was close. No, that was a lie. Her whole assignment has lead her nowhere. That’s why she needed more time so she can fix it.

“Temper, temper.” The cold muzzle of a gun is placed on her temple as she freezes at the intruding voice. “Things ain’t goin’ well for ya, huh, Celine?”

She raises both hands as the metal presses harder on her skin. Big, rough hands frisk her to search for any weapon or even a wire. When none is found she gets shoved back out the hallway and into the unit across from her own.

She stumbles on the rough carpet and sees you sitting on the couch having tea with her neighbor, Mrs. Fitz. You looked out of place inside the dingy apartment, your all white ensemble a contrast to the muted and faded colors of the interior.

“Sit.” You command, sipping on what seemed like an antique cup. The elderly woman stares at her accusingly before leaving for the kitchen. She hesitates and remains where she stood until she gets pushed forward. She growls at the massive blonde behind her but takes a seat.

“Jealousy doesn’t look good on you.” She tries to bait you in as she crosses her arms, huffing as she gets cornered. She could not escape this. Not without losing her life. Or worse. She knew how you operated, how much joy you took from mutilating your enemies.

You snort and shake your head, smirking into your tea. “Funny. If you still think your cover is intact.” You look at her, eyes shooting daggers despite the calmness of your face. “Times up for you, Celine. Or should I say, Agent Carter.”

Her demeanor cracks at the mention of her title and her name. She balls her hands into fists on top of her thighs, posture straightening.

“Sharon Carter, FBI Agent. Planted by the Organized Crime Unit for the purpose of infiltrating and subsequently dismantling my club.” You sit back and look at your nails. “Unfortunately, they planted you with the wrong person… I mean, it was the right person but the timing was way off. The heart being a fickle thing and all that bullshit.”

“Must have killed you to see him in my arms then, huh?” She responds, voice almost wavering in fear. She was surprised this conversation is even happening, knowing fully well your reputation for blood and gore preceded you. “He was in my bed, too. Spilling all his secrets while he was inside me.”

You hum appreciatively. For someone who was close to being torn into pieces and thrown into the river, she was still mouthy. “I think we both know, Agent, that the only thing Bucky spilled on you was his cum. I also think that you shouldn’t really be antagonizing me when other families and clubs are looking for a rat in the midst of all the successive busts—midnight arrests and early morning shoot outs—too much blood spilled on the concrete if you ask me.”

Sharon shifts, the past months of bloodshed had been her doing. She was finding out schedules, transports, and names for other clubs, sending them back to HQ for action but none of them were connected to you, much to her dismay.

“I have your file on hand…” you toss a folder on the coffee table. “The Italians buried three of their sons because of you. If copies of these were to end up on Carmine’s lap, you would disappear like any rat in New York.”

“Are you threatening a federal agent?”

“Y’know—“ you chuckle darkly, eyes glinting with barely suppressed anger. “—you sound just like your old man. He pulled that exact same shit on Aleksi fifteen years ago. I was there…”

“You bitch!” she stands up but Steve pushes her back down. She shakes his hand off her shoulder and glares at the man before regaining composure.

“Oh, sweetheart, is that what this is about? You came looking for revenge when you couldn’t find answers?” you laugh, throwing your head back. “Your old man, planted by the DEA, was a creep. I was sixteen and he always looked at me funny. Alek could take the siphoning of the coke and the stealing of the cash but your dear old dad laying his hand on me was the proverbial straw that broke the proverbial camel’s back.”

Her eyes widen at your words. She didn’t know any of this. All she knew that her father was deep undercover in the Russian mob and then he never got out, never came home.

“He was my first kill. Well-deserved on both sides if you ask me.” You sigh, reminiscing the rush of taking a life so easily. “They say killing a man changes one’s soul…” you entwine your fingers and place your hand on your lap, sitting straight and smiling. Sharon shivers at your expression, a perfectly made up face but eyes devoid of humanity. “…well, my soul changed way before that when your old man raped me at knife point. Killing him brought me my sanity back.”

“Anyways.” You stare Sharon down and still smiling. “Since you failed your assignment here, it would be better for you to pack your things and go back to whatever hole you came from. The next time you step foot in New York, we might not be as lenient with your life, Agent.” You stand and nod at Steve. “You have two hours.”

You disappear out the door with your posse and it was only then that Sharon releases the breath she was holding. But then Mrs. Fitz emerges from her kitchen and glares at her, “Get your ass off my couch, tramp! Go on! Git!”

---

He’s been caught in a whirlwind. So much volleying of his emotions had occurred Bucky thought he was going to have whiplash.

First, he hasn’t heard from Celine since she kicked him out of her apartment. She hasn’t returned her calls and she hasn’t been at work. Guilt was eating him away thinking that he was the cause of the fallout. Shame was prominent though, as his head replays the scene of him being feral in bed with her, even choking her with his substitute arm. She was sweet, of course she wasn’t going to cater his need for fucking. Celine was the kind of woman you made love to. He should have kept in mind she wasn’t the choking type.

Speaking of the type of women to choke, Bucky was in his wits end with trying to process you. More specifically he was trying to figure out if you wanted him back or he was just projecting his lingering feelings for you. No—that’s a lie. His feelings weren’t lingering. Something cannot linger if it never went away. If the last couple of months were confusing, you spending the night in his arms while you murmured in your sleep was nearly causing him an aneurism.

And then to top it all off, Sam had fired him from the restaurant. His only source of income was cut off from him without prior notice. He wanted to punch his boss’s gap toothed smile when he delivered the news. But then Sam took him for a drive and gave him another job. Managerial job for his newly re-opened bar since a shootout that claimed the former manager went down. Better hours and better pay, he was moving up the employment ladder.

Which was how Bucky found himself having time to think about his problems.

“And here I thought you’d be happy I gave you this job.” Sam knocks on the bar top to bring back Bucky from his wall staring. “Or are you already slacking off?”

The brunette takes a glasses from below the counter and places it in front of his boss, pouring dark liquor into them as he shakes his thoughts off.

“I am happy. Good looking out, man.” He raises the glass and accepts the smirk Sam was giving him. “Salud.”

Sam winks and walks away with his drink. As Bucky turns around to arrange bottles on the shelf someone calls his name from over the counter.

“James Barnes?” The woman in a puffy vest asks again as he turns around. When Bucky nods, the woman waves a hand to someone behind her and points to him. “Mr. Barnes, you’re under arrest for the death of Celine Sousa.”

“Wait—what?! Celine’s d-dead?” the news shocks him more than the cold cuffs they were putting around his wrists. He struggles as two men apprehend him and drag him out into the street.

The commotion gathers a small crowd outside the bar, people stopping to film someone getting apprehended with their phones. Amongst the crowd, a blonde disguised in a hoody and baseball cap smirks at the scene unfolding before her.

As Bucky’s head disappears inside the police car, Sam dials Steve’s number into his phone, staying behind in the shadows while red and blue lights flood the block.

“Steve? Yeah, they got Bucky.” He mutters and escapes through the back.

Steve mutters expletives under his breath. He knew this was going to happen, he had prepared for this and so had you but the fact that it’s actually happening still annoys the shit out of him.

“Boss?” He opens your door after two haste knocks, not even looking up from the papers that littered your desk. Not until he informs you what just occurred. “They got Barnes, just as you said they would.”

You sigh and put down the pen you were holding. You stretch and crack your neck then pointing to the chair in front of you for Steve to take, awaiting for your next instructions. You pull your burner phone out of the drawer and dial someone’s number.

“Hill? I’m cashing in my favor from the DA’s office.” You look at Steve and grin. “Yes, that’s right. Barnes. James Barnes.”

With a final hum, you hang up and wave to Steve. He stands up and buttons his jacket, nodding to you. It was not the time to panic. Bucky could not be left alone for too long unless they wanted the club to be exposed.

---

You wrap your coat tighter around your middle as you knock again on the door. This time louder, banging your whole fist on the wood. Someone’s yelling on the other side for you to calm down before it opens, warmth seeping out from indoors.

Blue eyes look at you with glee before it gets replaced by worry at the look on your face. Your name spills from their lips in a question.

“Becs, where’s your mom?” you reach for her hand, the coldness a contrast to hers. She points to the living room and you nod. “Okay, I need you to pack a bag as quickly as you can, alright? Essentials only. One for you and one for Winnie.”

“What’s happening?” She asks, voice filled with concern and fear.

“I’ll tell you in a bit. Don’t forget to put on a coat!” you push her gently towards the stairs before you look for her mother. You spot her on the couch, reading a worn book. “Winnie?”

She looks up and smiles at you. Eyes crinkling at the sight of you in her home. “Darling girl! To what do I owe this pleasure? Have you eaten?” she puts the book aside and stands to open her arms for you.

“Winnie, I need you to come with me right now, okay?” you tell her as she wraps you in her arms. When you pull away, curiosity is etched in her features. “Bucky got arrested. I need to bring you somewhere safe.”

She gasps and covers her mouth. “Arrested? On what charges?” her eyes flit as you try to usher her out of her seat, “If the police have him why do we need to go somewhere safe? Darling girl, what is really happening?”

You give her a muted smile, apologetic. It was the smile she got when someone from the Army visited her to inform her that her son was going to be sent home minus a limb. For a split second she was trying to process what question to ask next but pushes them aside, opting to nod instead and take your hand. You happily grip her hand and lead her outside, grabbing a coat by the doorway to cover her with.

“Wait in the car, please. I’m going to get Rebecca. Morita will keep you company in the meantime.” You nod to the man standing by the open door and he smiles at the woman. Just as the door shuts, you rush inside to get her daughter.

You call Rebecca’s name in the hallway and trace her inside her mother’s room, muffled sounds of bumping and banging can be heard. You see her frantically trying to place clothing in a duffel.

“Becs? We need to go.” You approach her by the bed. When she looks at you, her eyes were red rimmed, tears flowing down on her cheeks.

Celine said that you she sniffles, movements ceasing to focus on you. “Is he dead? Is my brother dead?”

“No! Of course not. He got taken in by cops. He’ll be fine, Rebecca.” You take her in your arms, embracing her. She was shaking like a leaf as you ran a soothing hand up and down her back.

“Then why are we running away?” her voice is muffled into your shoulder, hiccups barely suppressed.

“Because someone is trying to hurt me by using the people I care about.” You pull back, cupping her face to look straight at you. “I’m taking you to safety until I can pull your brother out. Okay?”

She nods, wiping errant tears away. You kiss her forehead and drag her outside in a hurry. When she settles in the backseat, you shut the door and nod to the driver.

“Wait, you’re not coming with us?” Winnie sits forward when you don’t take the front sit.

“I’ll catch up with you. I’m bringing Bucky when I do.” You smile at her, hoping it looked assuring. You look to Morita, face changing as you instruct him for the last time. “Take them to the house up state, full lockdown. Don’t get followed.”

Shoot on sight. A silent order before the windows roll up. When the car speeds away, another one takes its place in front of you. The door opens and Steve is sitting in the back, wearing the deepest scowl you’ve ever seen on him. That scowl meant he found answers and that you weren’t going to like them.

---

Bucky was somewhere between falling asleep and trying to formulate an escape plan. About four agents had taken turns interrogating him. Surprisingly, none of them were about Celine despite being arrested for being her alleged murderer. How the fuck was he supposed to process that the woman who he saw only some days ago was now dead? To top it off he learned about it from getting arrested.

The door opens again and the first agent, tired looking, smelled like cigarette smoke and had mustard stains on his pants, who took him in comes back to take the seat across the table.

“Ready to talk, Mr. Barnes?” the man asks, as if he was the one tired from all the questioning. Bucky shrugs and the chain clinks on the table. “Very well, I’m going to ask you again.”

Several photos of you are slid on the surface, arranged in a line for his viewing. The agent points to each one of them.

“Your girlfriend—“ mustard stain began.

“Ex-girlfriend.”

“—is under surveillance for a lot of illegal shit. Help us take her down and we let you go.”

“Alleged illegal shit. You fuckers never found evidence. If you did, I wouldn’t be here getting’ harangued by your stinkin’ breath.” Bucky leans forward, arms resting on the cold metal surface. “And here I thought I was arrested for murdering somebody? Tell me how Celine Sousa died and I’ll talk—maybe.”

A staring contest ensues for the next minute. Blue eyes unmoving from cigarette breath. It only gets interrupted when someone else comes in to call the agent, whispers exchanged before his eyes widen. The latter finally lets up and sighs, slouching back on the chair. He tuts and collects the photographs on the table.

But even before he was out of the door, it opens again as a well dressed woman slams it directly to the wall.

“Is this what your agency is up to these days? Arresting civilians on false charges and praying they confess to crimes?” her voice is cold, eyes raging. Agent mustard was about to reply when he gets cut off. “Don’t fuck with me, Prosciutto.”

Her gaze follows the agent as he makes himself smaller heading out the door. When it shuts again, the woman approaches Bucky and produces keys for his cuffs. The metal restraints clink at the release and Bucky stretches himself, rubbing at his wrists.

“I’m Maria Hill.” The woman then takes the seat across him, placing another folder on the table. She tells him that it was you who sent her to help him out. “You must mean real something if she’s using her only favor to take you out of here.” There was a hint of humor and disbelief in her voice. “You’ll be transferred out of here immediately. The Families don’t really like it when someone gets taken in for questioning, they have eyes and ears all over this precinct. Don’t get caught again.”

She pushes her chair back and extends a hand for him to shake. Bucky is still confused as to how things were going. None of if questions have been answered and now more were piling up. A small piece of paper slides onto his palm and he balls it in his fist. He leaves the precinct, looking as inconspicuous as he can.

He unrolls the paper and sees plate numbers. He walks the length of the street and spots a car with the same plates. He hops in and pulls the sun visor down for the keys. As the engine hums to life, the GPS blinks with the last origin point and reroutes back to it. Maybe he’ll get his answers there.

---

He was late. Maria had texted you almost an hour ago that she had Bucky released and any trace of him in the system deleted. It was bad enough that he was seen being taken by the Feds but with his data in the system meant he could be used to trace every single one your team members, yourself included.

A car can be seen speeding to the warehouse gates and you breathe a sigh of relief. Once Bucky was here, you were going to ditch the city and lay low for a while. With his family upstate it would be easier to smuggle them out of New York and to a quieter place—maybe to Connecticut.

But as the car skids to a stop, your stomach churns like it knows something was off. The car doors open and multiple people exit it, none of them Bucky. Before you could react, the sound of a gun rings in the empty lot and your left shoulder makes a popping noise. You fall back and land on the pavement with a thud.

“Get her inside the car! Where’s the other one?” someone yells out as another checks your vehicle.

“It’s just her!”

“We need the other one. Take her and tie her up. Make sure she stays quiet.” The man orders and you get hauled into the SUV, shoulder bleeding and beginning to throb.

You thrash and fight them off but the shock had gotten to you first. You get tied and gagged in the backseat as they wait for someone else. The other one? You thought as you tried to process what was happening. Who else were they waiting for? Then it clicks.

Bucky.

They were waiting for him. Which means that he was compromised while under custody. And someone had leaked out the information, that’s why they were intercepting. Why you now had an additional hole in your body. You had to get out of here if only to warn Bucky.

But another car was already coming through the gates and you just knew. You shoved the man sitting next to you, kicking his head through the window. You scramble and reach for the door handle, sprinting out of there screaming.

However, Bucky’s first reaction was to come to your aid. And now the man who had shot you was grabbing at your collar and pointing a gun to your head.

“Stop right there, Barnes!” he pulls the gun’s hammer down, the click stopping Bucky right in his tracks. “Or your little girlfriend here is going to color the ground with her brains. Get in the car, you’re coming with us!”

Bucky raises both his hands up as he looks at you, eyes widening when he notices blood dripping from your fingertips. Half of you was beginning to get soaked in your own blood and his jaw clenches. You look right back at him and nod, telling him you were alright. He complies the man’s order and walks carefully to the parked SUV.

As soon as he was cuffed and shoved in the backseat right next to you, the butt of a gun hits him in the nape and everything goes dark.

---

A splash of water over his head wakes him, gasping as his lungs burn at the coldness that startled him. He lifts his head and a bald, bulking guy is staring down at him. Cracking his knuckles before fitting them in with brass rings.

“What did you tell the police?” he asks, thick Eastern European accents emitting from his hard tongue.

“Nothing.” He answers, staring back at the man defiantly when a fist collides with his jaw.

The punch makes his ears ring and his jaw ache. He moves to touch his face but he can’t, arms and hands tied behind him on the back of a chair. Typical. He moves his jaw and looks back to the man who just socked him. He felt rage starting to form in his chest, not because he just got hit but because this wasn’t a fair deal with him being tied down and all.

“What did you tell the police?” he asks again followed by another hit to his jaw. Same place, only harder. That throws his head to the side, neck straining at the pressure. Bucky spits out blood from inside his mouth and chuckles.

“My geriatric neighbor hits harder than you, soft hands.” He comments and earns another hit this time to the chest.

The cycle repeats, the same question is asked over and over until Bucky could only see from his right eye, the left completely swollen shut. He might have also lost a tooth or two in the process after a small comment about the man’s penis size. The last blow, hitting him right in the center of his noise finally shuts him up.

Bucky wakes up slowly at the sound of screaming in his ears.

He was slumped on the floor with a dull ache in his head and blurry eyes. His shoulders were burning from the positioning of his hands behind his back, knees and ankles bound together like cattle getting readied for slaughter. When had life decided to shit on his dinner and then burn his whole table down after? This was not how he imagined his week would go.

Another scream erupts and he suddenly remembers what had brought him here. He tries to sit up, adjusting his eyes to the dimness around him. Then he sees figures a few feet away, in the center of an empty room. Someone was hanging from the beams, screaming, as others watched someone else was throwing punches at them.

He yells when he recognizes who was dangling. “Stop! You fuckers, stop!”

The assailants turn around but only respond with laughter and jeering before they take turns to get a hit.

“Get your hands off her!”

Bucky yells again and struggles against his restraints. More laughter comes as they see him struggling. You cough up blood and groan in pain.

The low life stops his assault when another approaches and informs him the trucks for transport will arrive in thirty minutes. They were instructed to execute the both of you inside the shipment containers to avoid being traced. Bucky almost laughs when he hears it because that strategy was popularized by you. Life is a circle until it ain’t.

You get untied from the beam and dragged to be tied next to Bucky on the floor. Your clothes had darkened with your blood and your face was beginning to swell up. If Bucky was angry then, seeing you struggle to breathe has made him close to being livid.

“Hey, doll. Come one, lean on me—Right here, c’mon.” he moves to his left and crouches forward to place your chin on his shoulder. You were mumbling, probably delirious from the pain. “Stay awake, alright?”

You spit blood on the floor next to you and groan as you pull your head up. “Yes, sir. I’m going to stay awake until someone comes to get us. We are going to be just fine.”

Bucky chuckles at your optimism but stops when his ribs start to hurt.

“Bucky.” You whisper as if you weren’t alone with him in this damp basement.

“What?”

“I love you—I always have.” You groan and try to shift on your right butt cheek, the left starting to numb out. “Should have told you the second I felt it. The second I knew that you were it for me.”

“They hit you too many times on the head, doll. You’re saying things you don’t mean.” He counters although his chest tightens at your confession. But he somehow thought that he had to deflect it, not wanting to hold on to something while you were out of it.

“I mean it. I’m not telling you all of this because we’re about to die—“

“I thought you said we were gonna be fine?!” he scoffs and regrets raising his voice. His chest hurting.

“We are!”

“Then why say it like that?”

He growls at you. Annoyed that you picked this time to tell him things that were supposed to be talked over with clear heads. Not while both of you were leaking blood.

“I’m not—I’m confessing feelings over here, gimme a break Barnes.”

“Fine! Continue, then.”

“You ruined the momentum. I was already there!” he gives you a look and you shut up immediately. “Ughhh! God, I can’t believe I’m in love with your annoying ass.”

Bucky thinks he’s dead. You just told him you were in love with him, twice! The word love actually came out of your mouth more than once so he might just be dead and this is his purgatory.

“Hello? Earth to James Buchanan Barnes? I just told you I loved you and you space out on me?”

Bucky chuckles. “No, you just told me I’m annoying. Try again, doll face.”

You glare at him. You want to strangle him. But forgo any thought of murdering him and blow out a long breath, your disheveled hair moving about your sweaty face. “Bucky… I am… disgustingly, deeply, irrevocably in love with you. And I’m sorry it took us getting beaten to pulps before I told you. I’m—for lack of a better adjective—a dumbass.”

“Yes. Yes, you are. A dumbass. My dumbass.” He leans to his side and presses his forehead to your temple, smiling while he closes his eyes. He might really be in purgatory already but if he spent eternity stuck in a loop of this moment in this musty basement he was fine with it.

“Mngg, stop rubbin’ up on me, my face hurts.” You groan and whine. It was painful everywhere.

Bucky was almost ready to just die where he sat when an echo of gun fire reverberates through the walls. He hears you hum snarkily and somehow he knew that the both of you were indeed going to be just fine.

As the basement returns to a quiet lull, save for the Albanian conversation happening in the background, Bucky tries to rationalize what just happened to him. “Is Celine dead?”

“No.” You grunt and squirm beside him. “She’s a planted fed. Tried to take me down by getting through you. But she might as well be… pissed off too many people by running her pretty mouth.”

Oddly, there was a relief to your information. Celine was a rat. He might have gotten out of the business for a while but he never told on nobody. “I didn’t give her anything…”

You hum and hiss. “I know, Buck.”

He looks down at you, eyelashes clumped up with dried blood and dirt. How he managed to remain enthralled will always be both a mystery and a miracle to him.

Then echoes of gunfire reverberate through the walls. The door crashes open and the Albanians who beat the shit out of the both of you drop dead on the damp floor.

“Well ain’t the both of you’s a sigh for sore eyes!” Bucky looks up at the blonde behemoth approaching them and smiles heartily. It was always a good thing when Steve was around. Steve had never let him down before. Steve was his day one good luck charm.

---

Two weeks later…

You’ve always had a love/hate relationship with Port Authority.

It was where all walks of life conferred: low lifes, druggies, hookers, people running away from their pasts, people trying to get a better future, small towners with big city dreams, you name it. Everyone passed through the terminal.

This bus that you were on? It was the closure that you needed. Thirty minutes on it and you can already smell freedom. You look to the bus driver’s reflection on the giant rearview mirror and nod.

Within seconds, the front wheels explode and the bus skids to the side of the road before stopping completely. The driver yells out a curse and an apology to all passengers, asking them to stay calm as he calls for help from the terminal.

Within minutes a replacement bus arrives and everyone is instructed to take it instead. You pull up your hood and get off the bus, staying beside it as you watch passengers get off.

When the last passenger steps on the gravel, two men grab her and place a sack over her head, shoving her into a nondescript SUV. You hand a wad of cash to the bus driver and thank him before taking your place in the vehicle as well.

As the car merges with traffic, you nod to the man near behind you to take off the head covering. A familiar face blinks at you, hair now in a dark shade and a different cut but you would know her anywhere.

“Good evening, Agent Carter.” You greet her darkly and she begins to struggle against her restraints. “You should have skipped town when I asked you nicely.”

When she moves to yell and make a fuss, she gets gagged and the sack replaced on her pretty head. Your phone rings just in time and you elbow her ribs to make her compliant before answering.

“You’re not going to be late are you?” a warm voice greets you, making your stomach flip.

“When have I ever been late?” you roll your eyes but smile nonetheless.

“Never. But Rebecca refuses to cut her cake unless you’re here and I want a slice already.” You get shoved slightly as Sharon struggles again beside you. You grab her head and shove it forcefully into the window making it crack. She slumps then and you relax. “Please tell me you’re near?”

“On the bridge now. Be there soon.” You fix your dress and look outside the window as Manhattan comes to view.

“Okay. Love you.” Bucky sighs into the phone and you can’t help but smile.

“Love you too, baby.”

You hang up and tuck the phone back in your clutch.

“You’re in a lot of trouble, Missy. But let’s get one thing straight.” You grab the sack and pull her towards you. “I win, bitch.”

---

“Oh, God! Oh, fuck!”

“Louder, sweetheart. I don’t think God heard you.”

“Fuck! Ri—right there! God!”

Your ears ring as you take everything Bucky was giving you. Both of you just got through the door when he decided he needed to be inside you right that moment. You were bent over behind the couch, legs spread apart as he pounded you from behind, his nimble metal fingers rubbing circles on your oversensitive clit.

Everything had become too much and you didn’t know whether to escape him or not. On the one hand you wanted to cum so hard around his cock, that would subsequently trigger him blowing his load inside you. On the other, you were drooling like a mad mutt thinking that he was going to be the death of you.

His cock wins and your head bursts into a searing crimson heat when you finally climax. You yell out his name as your legs give out under you. The bastard doesn’t stop then. He lifts one of your legs over the sofa’s back, spreading you wider for his pleasure, reaching places inside you that you didn’t know were there.

“Takin’ me so good, sweetheart. Pussy made just for me.” His strokes were a symphony and you were the instrument. Every time he enters you, touches a part of you, you sing for him. Like a fine tuned cello, plucked for the heavens.

“I’m going to fill you up so good, you’re going to be leaking me until tomorrow.” He hisses in your ear as his pace is relentless. You can feel every ridge of him inside you like this. When you don’t answer, he pulls your hair and your back meets his broad chest.

“Not so mouthy now, huh, Sweetheart? Now that I’m deep inside you?” he lets your hair go but places his hand on your throat, pressure just enough to make your head spin. Every push of his cock makes you stand on your toes and every pull of it cuts your air.

“Buck—I—“ you strain to talk back, blinded by the pleasure building yet again in your core. He was the only one who could do you like this. The only one allowed.

“You can cum, sweetheart. No need to ask for permission.” He pants in your ear, breath as hot as his body. You shudder when he nips at your earlobe. “You’re the boss, ain’t ya darlin’? You cum when you want.”

At his words you clench and yell out your climax, gripping at his biceps as you let go. He follows you shortly. His hot seed painting your walls, claiming you over and over with every drop.

You fall forward, the magnitude of your love making wearing you out, and he catches you in his arms. Wrapping you in his safety. He takes your leg off the couch and carries you to your shared bedroom. His steps were heavy and almost wavering. The aftereffects taking a toll on him as well.

He smiles as he places you in bed, your spread out position exposing your cunt leaking of him.

“Clean me up tomorrow…” you raise your hands toward him as he moves for the bathroom, “just hold me for now, Buck.”

Bucky chuckles but sighs in contentment. “You’re the boss, Boss.”

He slides under the blanket and covers you with him. Sharing your body heat as the hammering of your hearts sync up. Sleep then takes the both of you, the night smiling inside the quiet of your room.

As the city outside is muted, the moon high over the nighttime skyline, you are roused by a giant warm hand, snaking its way between your legs. You couldn’t help but smile. You had won him back. You shift and turn to face Bucky who was gently snoring. His hair was a mess, sticking out in places and lumping together in others. You reach to cup his sleeping face. He was sinfully gorgeous even when he was doing nothing. You had missed this. You had missed him.

“No one leaves the club without my say so, darling.” You whisper as you rub your thumb on his cheek before withdrawing it to place an open palm on the left side of his chest. You place a gentle kiss on the other side and snuggle closer to him. In his sleep, Bucky shifts and wraps his left arm over to you.