Pairing: Congressman Barnes x Reader
Word count: 4.6k
Warnings: SMUT, p in v (doggy style), oral (f receiving), fingering, jealousy, established relationship, secret relationship, Bucky Barnes being down bad for you.
Summary: It's entirely your fault that people think Bucky is still available, but that doesn't mean that you have to like it.
+fran: this is in the same universe as undisclosed relations, can be read as a standalone. read all my congressman barnes works here
dividers by @/bhavihelps
Before he met you, early mornings in his apartment were quiet.
Bucky went out for his runs pretending the sheer stillness of the place didn't make an itch bloom in the back of his brain.
Sometimes the condo felt too big, even though it wasn't huge, it also wasn't a shoebox.
Since the night in his office, though, he wakes up around 6:45am to the sound of his kitchen being used and, if he asked you, the sound of hearts breaking all over D.C. in the process.
Bucky stretched in bed like a cat, groaning at the tightness in his low back that you'd definitely tease him about. He could hear your voice a little further down the hall when he got out of bed.
The sunlight spilling into the penthouse is soft and gold, cutting across marble floors and stainless steel like something out of an architectural magazine.
“Yes, I’m sure she’s very accomplished,” you said smoothly into the AirPod you had on. “No, I don’t need her résumé." You sighed. "If she’d like to attend the fundraiser, she can RSVP through the official channel like everyone else.”
He turned the corner and there you were.
Your laptop was open on the kitchen isle, hard paper planner and your favorite pen beside it. Your hair was pulled up by the claw clip you had on, and the only thing over your frame was a blue striped button down Bucky wore the day before.
You nodded you head as if the person on the phone could see you, and rolled your eyes knowing they couldn't, as you sliced and scooped half an avocado with surgical precision.
Bucky leaned against the doorframe for a second and allowed himself to just watch you in your bubble.
Watching you like you’re something he’s not entirely sure he deserves.
“Mmhm. I understand,” you continue, voice honeyed but impenetrable. “But Congressman Barnes’ schedule is quite full. He’s not taking personal engagements at this time.”
You placed the avocado on a piece of toast on the counter by the stove, turning to your side and scooping some scrambled eggs from the frying pan to put on top of it.
“I’m sure brunch would be lovely." Bucky raised his eyebrow at that, pushing off of the doorframe and walking over to stand behind you as you turned off the heat on the bacon pan.
"Unfortunately, Congressman Barnes does not attend one-on-one engagements with donors under forty who describe themselves as ‘emotionally intuitive.’” He snorted into your shoulder, pressing a kiss there.
You crumbled the crispy bacon on top of your toast, and put the rest on a plate over a paper towel to absorb the grease.
Bucky bit the inside of his cheek to keep from laughing as you got off the phone. “Three women have tried to secure private time with you in the last twelve hours.”
“And?” he asks quietly.
You turn, holding his plate out to him. “And,” you say, eyes cool but faintly amused, “they can get in line.”
He takes the plate but doesn’t break eye contact. “Didn’t know I had a line.” You could kiss the smug smile off his face in a second.
“Oh, you do.” You take a bite of your toast. “There’s a Pilates instructor. A nonprofit founder. And someone who signed her email ‘Future Mrs. Barnes.’”
His lips twitch. “And what’d you tell them?”
You swallowed the bite before answering it. “That Congressman Barnes is unavailable.” A beat. “For brunch,” you add lightly, raising your brow to make a point.
Bucky set his plate down on the counter by your laptop, and you do the same with yours, snagging a slice of bacon off the plate. “Just brunch?”
“Congressman Barnes’ personal affairs are private,” you say calmly, letting one foot rest on your knee, standing on one leg and leaning agasint the counter.
His thumb brushes slowly along your hip, his other hand braced on the counter, effectively trapping you between him and the marble.
“You’re eating my bacon,” he murmurs.
“You’re welcome,” you shoot back, taking another perfectly measured bite. “For saving your old man arteries.”
He actually scoffs while you take a sip off your coffee. “Old man?”
“You are over a hundred,” you point out, finally glancing at him over the rim of your mug. “Statistically speaking, you should be dust.”
He stepped closer, offended but amused. “Super soldier.”
“Mm,” you hum. “Super stubborn. Super dramatic. Super in denial about cholesterol.”
Another call came in, phone buzzing again. He reached past you and flipped the phone face down. “They can call back,” he said simply, with a smirk that told you the things going through his mind weren't simple at all.
You studied him for a second. “You know this is only going to get worse,” Another sip, and you put the coffee on the counter. “Election cycle. Public appearances. The mystery bachelor narrative.”
He leaned down slightly, voice lowering. “Good thing I’m not a bachelor.”
You arched a brow. “Oh? Since when?” His hand tightened at your waist — not possessive in a public way, but certain.
“Since you started answering my calls at six in the morning and making avocado toast in my kitchen.” You pretend to consider it.
“Strictly professional,” you said.
“Mm.” His mouth curved. “Was it also stricly professional to sit on my face until you had a calf cramp las ni—” You didn't let him finish as you shoved a slice of bacon in his mouth.
"Eat your bacon, old man."
The phone rang again and you turned in his hold, twisting just enough to reach across the counter and grab it — and in the process, you bent slightly over the marble, pushing your ass into his groin on purpose.
Bucky groaned through the bacon slice. “Congressman Barnes' Office.” you say smoothly, voice honeyed and professional.
You shifted, grinding back into him some more. “Yes,” you continue into the phone. “I’m aware she’s very interested in supporting the campaign.”
You really hoped they could not hear the sound of your panties being pulled down.
The gala is loud in that polished, fake, expensive way — crystal glasses clinking, donors laughing just a little too hard, cameras flashing every few minutes.
She’s stunning. Effortless in that way that takes effort. Red dress. Confident smile. She waits for the donor Bucky’s speaking to finish, then slides in seamlessly.
“Congressman Barnes,” she says warmly, touching his arm like she’s testing ownership. “I’ve been hoping to meet you.”
Bucky immediately clocks what she's doing, and also your reaction, which is to take a couple steps towards him awith a painfully fake, polite smile.
“I host a private policy dinner every quarter,” she continued. “Very intimate. Carefully curated guest list.”
“That sounds lovely,” you say before Bucky can respond. “If you’d like to submit an invitation, Congressman Barnes’ office reviews all engagement requests formally.”
The bitch has the audacity to look you up and down and dismiss you.
“Oh, I’m sure we can skip the paperwork,” she says lightly, eyes sliding back to him. “This is more… personal.”
A lesser woman would've grabbed her by the hair and made a scene.
If staring burned holes into people, she'd have a dinner plate sized one in the middle of her skull. “Congressman Barnes does not attend one-on-one dinners with donors,” you say, tone pleasant but final. “Transparency is very important for his campign.”
“I’m very persuasive,” she says, voice dropping, stepping closer to him.
You stepped closer too — just enough to close the gap. “Congressman Barnes is very disciplined,” you answer smoothly.
The tension hums, and her smile tightens. “Well,” she says, eyes flicking between you, “if he changes his mind—”
“He won’t,” you reply calmly. "Oh, I see Senator Whitmore," you turned your gaze to Bucky. "He was looking for you, Congressman."
Bucky gave her a half-meaning apologetic look. "Duty calls." And started to walk towards him with you.
“You were about two seconds away from committing a crime in a ballroom,” he murmured in your direction, making you roll you eyes.
"I'm not jealous, she was…" You huffed. "Presumptuous."
As you appreach the older man, Bucky files your reaction away int eh back of his mind, smirking to himself. “Whitmore,” Bucky greets easily, slipping into politician mode without effort. “Good to see you.”
You spent the rest of the night a little quieter, not as many sarcastic remarks, shifting on your feet like you did when you were itching to get the hell out of the room. You contribute when needed, nod at the right moments, redirect a conversation or two.
When you both slipped into the backseat of the towncar, the city lights streaking past the tinted windows, you haven’t said much in ten minutes before asking the driver to drop you off at your apartment, making Bucky whip his head towards you in surprise.
"What?'
You shrugged. "It's on the way."
"I know that. Why are you going home?" The driver pulls up the partition when Bucky's voice goes up a smidge.
“I don’t want to inconvenience you.” That makes his brow furrow and his lips turn.
“Inconvenience me?”
You finally look at him then, composed but tired. “You’re a very busy man,” you said evenly. “Wouldn’t want to complicate your schedule.”
“This about red dress?”
You rolled your eyes. “I don’t know what you’re referring to.”
“Don't insult my intelligence by insulting yours, yes you do.” His voice was stern now, like he was done entertaining whatever Catch 22 you had going on at the moment.
“She was inappropriate,” you say.
“And?”
“And she clearly thought she had access.”
You swear you made sense most of the time. You do. But Bucky's been around for long enough to know it does make sense, even when it doesn't.
“You think I’d go?” He was almost hurt at the thought of you thinking that.
“That’s not the point.”
“It is the point.” He sighed, turning his entire body towards you, two fingers tilting your face towards him. "You realize you're the one keeping me a secret, right?"
You huff, trying to stay mad, but he’s laughing softly now, clearly enjoying every second of your internal crisis.
“All I’m saying,” he continues, voice teasing, “is if you wanted to go public, I’d be very cooperative.”
You shake your head, frustration bubbling back up. “I’m trying to protect you.”
“And I’m trying to choose you,” he says. “You don’t get to shut this off when it’s inconvenient,” he says quietly. “Not after tonight.”
"That's not—"
“You were ready to go home because some woman thought she had a shot. But you won’t let me make it obvious she doesn’t.”
"Your career is more important than my feelings, Buck. You can make real change here."
“I want to hold your hand without you dodging me in front of reporters.” That made you falter. He noticed immediately.
His teasing softened just a little, thumb brushing your cheek. “You know I’m not embarrassed by you, right?”
You look away, and he nudges his forehead against yours.
“Also,” he added lightly, grin returning, “I’d like to stop pretending my PR manager doesn’t kiss me goodbye like I’m shipping off to war every morning.”
You blink, head snapping back feigning offense. “I do not—”
“You do,” he says, delighted. “And it’s adorable.”
You swat his chest, cheeks burning, and he just laughs, catching your wrist and kissing your knuckles like he’s won something.
He ends up knocking on the partition again, and telling the driver to just go straight to his condo instead.
By the time the car pulls up to his building, whatever sharp edge was left in your mood has dulled into something quieter.
“Bucky,” you murmur under your breath, low enough that it sounds like nothing.
He doesn’t look at you. “What?”
“You’re—”
“I know.”
The marble lobby gleams under soft lighting. A couple people linger near the seating area.
The doorman opens the door, greets him by name, nods respectfully at you.
Bucky doesn’t let go of your hand for a second, pulling your left arm behind you so he can have his right arm around your low back and pull you even closer as you wait for the elevator.
You just smirk to yourself at the same time he does. A silent "so this is what we're doing now?" being responded with "yes, it is." just as quietly.
The clicking of your heels matches the cadence of the thud of his shoes against the floor, the walk from the elevator to his front door seemingly shorter and longer than usual at the same time, anticipation bubbling in your stomach like freshly poured champagne.
Bucky unlocked the door and opened it, standing outside of the doorway looking at you like this was it.
This was your out.
You could keep the optics, turn around, and go to your place, and he wouldn't bring a public relationship up anymore for a while.
Or, you could step into his apartment, which you've basically made a home out of already, and stop hiding.
You held his gaze for what it felt like a million years to the both of you, words caught in your throat. He raised his brow, posing the question once again. Daring you to dare him to choose you.
And when you made up your mind, he could see it in your face.
Every guarded wall just came down as you sighed, happily and anxiously at the same time, biting your lip and grabbing him by the tie, walking backwards into the dark apartment wanting nothing but to turn the smug smirk on his face into your most comfortable seat.
It took him no time to press you up against the wall in the foyer, “Careful,” he muttered, one hand tight on your waist and the other hand coming up behind your head just before you hit the wall. His mouth coming down on yours immediately.
His hands met behind your back as his mouth worked over yours, tongue leaving no inch of yours unloved as your hands tugged on his hair and scraped the nape of his neck.
He popped a single button and down the zipper went, the now itchy and bothersome fabric of your Saab gown dropping and pooling around your feet, leaving you only in black stockings and black lace panties.
Bucky pulled away from your kiss to pepper kisses and licks and sucks down your jaw and neck, pulling your right leg to wrap around him, fully clothed.
"I like this way better." The fact that he had you putty in his hands, practically naked, while all you did was pull his tie off and throw it somewhere you'd find tomorrow, should be at least a fineable offense.
“This is so irresponsible,” you whisper.
He chuckles against you, pressing you on the wall harder so you feel exactly how irresponsible he's feeling. "Y'can complain tomorrow." He smirks.
Bucky carries you to the bedroom like it's routine, because it is. He doesn't bother turning a light on until he drops you on the bed softly, your hair fanning out around your head and your lipstick long gone, replaced by a sheer flush from his beard rubbing all over your face and neck.
He sat up on his knees once you snuck your hands under the shoulder of his jacket, shrugging it off and immediately going for the last few buttons of his shirt while your hands found themselves undoing his pants like you'd die if you didn't.
You’re half tangled up with him, breath a little uneven, his mouth warm against your skin, his hands steady and sure like he’s still making up for every second he had to keep his hands to himself tonight.
You felt the buzz of the phone before you heard the ring.
It came from the inside pocket of his suit jacket, thrown carelessly on the bed. He looked at you with an expression that bordered "are you serious?" before his mind took a more nefarious route.
You fished the phone out from the pile of fabric, your blood immediately boiling when the caller ID revealed who it was.
“Oh my god,” you say, sitting up slightly. “How the fuck did she get your number?”
“I didn’t give it to her,” he says easily, not even sounding concerned, keeping the assault of his lips on your neck.
“I know! That’s worse,” you mutter, looking at the ceiling like if you stared at it hard enough a meteor would crash into her house. “That means she worked for it.”
“Answer it,” he says, kissing your sternum.
You turn your head to look at him. “You’re joking.”
“I’m not.” Blue eyes meet yours as he flicks a nipple with his tongue and closes his lips around the peak.
“You want me to answer this?”
“Mhmm,” he groans, way too calm about it, biting the supple skin of your breast lightly. “Go ahead.”
You blinked at him, incredulous. “You’re insane.”
“Maybe,” he shrugs against your stomach, going lower and lower as his eyes look up at you, entertained, curious. “Let’s hear it.”
As your fingers swiped to answer the call, his hooked around your panties and pulled them off of you while his mouth bit at the skin below your bellybutton.
You brought the phone to your ear and let out a chipper "Congressman Barnes' phone." out of your mouth. Much too chipper for someone who had said congressman between her legs.
“Oh— I was actually hoping to speak to him directly.”
You glance down at Bucky as he holds your gaze, placing a kiss on your folds, making you choke on a breath.
“Congressman Barnes is unavailable,” you reply evenly.
So unavailable. Not like he's flattening his tongue against you, parting your lips and licking the slick that has pooled there for his presence near you alone.
“Well, I figured this might be a better number to reach him,” she says, a little sharper now. “Things tend to move faster when they’re… personal.”
Bucky can hear everything, the smug motherfucker.
You throw your head back, eyes shut tight, taking a deep breath to not moan at the feel of his tongue circling your clit.
Bucky shuffled above you, getting comfortable with your legs over his shoulders and his front flush against the bed.
“Not in this case.” He pulled you closer to him, groaning into you. The vibration caught you by surprise in such way you let out a whimper.
“I’d still love to discuss dinner,” she continues.
“Of course you would,” you mutter.
“What was that?”
“Nothing,” you say sweetly. “Unfortunately, Congressman Barnes does not attend private dinners.”
At this point, she was as annoyed that you picked up the call as you were.
“Is that his policy, or yours?”
Bucky's metal middle and ring fingers plunged into your heat at the same time he sucked your clit into his mouth. "Both!" Your voice went up an octave before you tried to recover, glaring at him and only receiving a wet smirk in response.
"He's a very busy congressman. Any communication will be done through official channels. This number will not be accepting anymore calls from…" You saw him raise his brow. "Anyone."
You hung up without waiting for a response, phone falling from your hand onto the hardwood floor as your hands threaded through his hair for purchase instead.
"Fuck, Bucky—" You whined, grinding your hips down on his face, heels digging onto his now naked back.
He chuckled against you once more, pulling his mouth away from your pussy to bite at the skin of your inner thigh, his own hips grinding onto the mattress. "Did so good, baby."
You whined, his fingers still curling deliciously inside of you, rubbing the spongy spot that made your feel like you were floating, soaking his hand and face even more.
"Not gonna let anyone think you're single now." You said, a complete 180 of your own opinion barely an hour before.
He kissed the spot over the bite mark. "Don't want you to."
You pull him up by the back of his neck, kissing him and tasting yourself. The kiss was messy, slow, as if he was savoring the moment you'd let all hell break loose.
You made quick work of his pants, and he discarded them just as easy.
Bucky turned you around on the bed, until you had both shoulders on the mattress, face down, and pulled your hips up, thumbs spreading your cheeks as his palms kneaded your skin.
"God, sweetheart…" He bent down and pressed kisses up your spine, until you could feel his breath beside your cheek and the blunt head of his cock nudging between your folds.
You sighed contently at the feeling, pushing back into him while your eyes met.
When he pushed the first inch in, both of you sighed into each others mouths.
Then he kept pushing, and further, and further, until your folds touched his pelvis and your mouth knew no other shape than his name.
He kissed your cheek as you let your head fall forward, and he pulled out until only the tip of him was in, then pushed back in.
So slow you could feel every ridge of him, the thick vein on the underside and left side that split into two the closer it got to where he'd spill into you.
"Mmmmm, feel so good…" Your cheek was now smushed against the soft duvet that you chose, nails scraping softly against the fabric.
Bucky kissed your shoulder blade, thursting deeper, but not faster, keeping you right where he wanted you. "There she is…" Another kiss.
His voice is softer now, rough around the edges in a way that makes your stomach flip.
You breathe out his name, barely more than a whisper, your fingers tightening in the sheets as he keeps that slow, deliberate pace—like he’s in no rush anymore.
You push back into him instinctively, earning a quiet, approving hum against your skin.
“Always so impatient,” he teases, but there’s no real bite to it. Just warmth. Just something fond underneath the heat.
“Not—” you start, breath catching, “not impatient—”
“Mm,” he interrupts softly. “You are.”
Another kiss, higher this time.
“But I like it.”
Your head turns slightly, just enough to catch his eye, and there’s something in your expression that makes his breath hitch—something open, unguarded in a way you don’t usually allow.
"Never gonna let anyone think they can compete, baby." Another punctuated thrust. "M'yours," and another. "Just like you're mine."
Your chest tightens just slightly, the weight of it settling somewhere deeper than the moment itself.
"Yours." You swallow thickly. "Yours, Bucky, please—"
His flesh hand reached down as his metal fingers interlaced with yours, deft fingertips teasing and rolling your clit between them like he was much used to doing. "I got you, baby, c'mon."
He felt you clech around him and groaned against your skin.
You pushed back into him in the same rhythm he pushed into you, a plap! plap! plap! of wet skin the only symphony aside from your moans.
Your hand grasped at his forearm, desperate for some sort of grounding, anything to keep you from floating away like your mind thought it was gonna happen.
“I love you,” you remind him, voice softer now, and he stilled for half a second.
Then leaned down, pressing his forehead briefly against your shoulder “I know.” His hand tightened at your waist just slightly, like he was anchoring you there. "I love you too, baby — fuck—"
“Say it again,” he murmured.
You swallowed deeply, turning your head just enough. “I love you.” A particularly deep thrust knocked the air out of your lungs and you let your head fall forward again. "I'll always choose you, Bucky, fuck, I'm—"
Your brain was mush at this point. Jelly.
"I know, baby, c'mon," His fingers worked deeper circles, the spring in your stomach contracting so tightly you couldn't breathe anyjmore. "That's my girl, you're almost there…"
"Fuck, fuck, fuck, oh my God!"
Your eyes squeezed shut and a rainbow of colors exploded behind your eyelids, Bucky following suit at the feeling of your cunt squeezing around him.
He thrust until he was sure you had milked him of every drop, and that he had fucked every doubt straight out of you.
He stayed there after, barely holding his entire weight on top of you as you both breathed heavy, more than just the physical component of getting your brains fucked out weighting in your lungs.
He pressed a slow kiss to your shoulder as your nails grazed his forearm lightly.
“You with me?” he murmured, voice low, softer, careful.
You hummed faintly in response, eyes still closed, cheek pressed into the duvet. “Mm… yeah.” A shy smle adorning your face.
“Hey,” he said gently, nudging your shoulder just enough with his nose. “Look at me.”
You turned your head, slow, a little dazed—and when your eyes meet his, something in his expression shifts.
“Hi,” you murmur.
He huffed a quiet breath, something almost like a laugh. “Hi.”
Your fingers loosened slightly against him, but didn't let go. “I meant it,” you said softly after a second.
His gaze didn't waver. “I know you did.”
“I always do.”
“You’re not going anywhere,” it was muffled against your shoulder as he kissed it again. It’s not a question.
You shake your head faintly. “No.”
“Good.” His thumb traceed slow, absent patterns along your side, grounding, steady. “You still spiraling?” he added after a moment, a hint of that teasing tone slipping back in.
You let out a soft, tired laugh. “A little.”
“Mm, figures.”
You turned your head just enough to look at him again. “You didn’t help.”
“I wasn’t trying to.”
You narrowed your eyes slightly, but there was no real heat in it now. “You’re a problem.”
“You love me.”
“I do,” you admitted easily.
He smiles at that—soft, satisfied in a way that doesn’t need to be loud. “Good,” he murmurs.
And when he pressed another kiss to your skin, it was slower, gentler. And the kisses that followed, all the way to your lips, were just as much.
Like he wasn't trying to take anything from you, just stay right there with you.
Exactly where you both chose to be.
Congressman Barnes Sparks Dating Rumors After Intimate Lobby Moment with PR Advisor
Washington, D.C. — Congressman James “Bucky” Barnes may have just traded his mystery bachelor status for something far more complicated.
Late last night, Barnes was photographed entering his Capitol Hill residence following a high-profile fundraising gala — but it wasn’t his arrival that caught attention. It was who he brought with him… and how he held her.
Photos obtained by The Capitol Wire show Barnes accompanied by a woman widely identified as a senior PR strategist from Pressing Issues PR, LLC, a firm closely tied to his campaign’s public image.
While the two have been seen together at official events for months, insiders have long maintained their relationship is “strictly professional.”
These photos tell a different story.
@/winterthorne
the way he looked at her in that last pic???
yeah no that man is GONE
@/buckydefenseleague
everyone saying “he’s just being polite” I’m sorry have you EVER been held like that by a man who wasn’t obsessed with you
Summary: Ever since Bucky moved out to the woods, he’d grown used to his routine. He lived comfortably and without anyone around to bother him, and he liked it that way. Then you stumbled your way into his life and changed it forever. Instead of simply helping you and sending you on your way, Bucky starts to like the way you fit right into his life, and he realizes he doesn’t mind the sudden change that came with taking you in. The longer he spends with you, the harder it is to let you go, and luckily for him, the feeling is mutual.
WC: 29.6k | Warnings: 18+, coarse language, fluff, angst, smut, toxic family environment, mentions of abuse, descriptions of injuries, mentions of starvation, running away from home, use of guns, descriptions of hunting, ex military Bucky, shy/inexperienced reader, age gap, unprotected sex, gentle sex, needy sex, use of plan b, oral (f receiving), fingering, pining, size difference, protective Bucky, possessive Bucky, big dick Bucky, beefy Bucky one would say, let me know if I missed anything. | Masterlist
It was hunting season, which didn’t mean much to Bucky since he hunts all the time. Specifically, it was deer season, but despite him being quite successful during this season throughout the five years he’s lived out here, this year was really testing him.
Either the deer were really shy this season, or there simply weren’t many around this year. He’d had very little luck over the last few days, sitting in the treestand he’d made a few miles away from his house and not seeing much movement in the forest at all.
Usually by day three he’d have lost count of how many deer that were around, but it was pushing day five and he hadn’t seen a single one.
Bucky lived, for lack of better words, out in the middle of nowhere. It was secluded, a tedious twenty five minute drive from the nearest town, and the majority of that drive was through the wooded and rocky terrain of the forest. As far as he knew, no one else lived close by, and he hadn’t heard any sounds of guns going off in the woods that would suggest someone else was hunting around the area too.
He had a feeling this was just one of those unlucky years where the deer population decided to skip over the forest he’d lived in for almost six years now. It was smart, because he’d gotten extremely lucky the last few years with deer, and had enough meat frozen to keep him fed for a long time, so for them to not be around this year was a lucky call for them.
It was unlucky as hell for Bucky, because that meant he’d have to settle for other options for food, which wasn’t the biggest deal, but still. He’d gotten used to the routine that had sort’ve fallen into his lap the year he’d packed up and moved out here.
He’d been hunched over in the stand for the majority of the afternoon, and the prime time for deer hunting had long since passed, but he didn’t have anything else to do for the remainder of the day, so he stayed a little longer.
It turned out that his patience had paid off since he saw movement out of the corner of his eye, and when Bucky turned his head, he saw the slow, careful steps of a deer passing through the trees, and he moved just as slowly as he lifted his rifle, being sure to not make a single sound.
He dipped his head down and peered through the scope, noting the size and weight of the deer, and he knew he’d get a good few weeks of meat off of it to freeze, which was a better score than he thought he’d get at this point.
The deer hadn’t noticed him, its eyes slowly blinking as it remained blissfully unaware of the rifle pointed at it. It bowed down to nip at the grass scattered all over the forest ground, and Bucky took that as his cue to press down on the trigger, but before he could fire, he heard shuffling to his left, and watched as the deer perked up, clearly having heard the sound as well.
He tried to ignore it and secure his kill, but then more shuffling was heard, and when the sound of rushed footsteps, followed by the beam of the stand he was currently crouched in shaking with the force of something hitting it, Bucky flinched, his rifle firing off but missing the deer completely.
He’d been caught off guard, his balance momentarily shifting, and the deer took off running, leaving behind the sound of leaves ruffling and twigs snapping as it disappeared into the distance.
“Fucking Christ,” Bucky cursed under his breath, then moved over to the side of the stand, peering over the edge and preparing to rip into whoever had interrupted him and scared off his kill.
What he saw had him freezing in shock, his brows furrowing together as he met your wide, terrified eyes. You looked up at him with nothing but fear on your face, and your chest was heaving with uneven breaths that told him you’d been either running or walking for quite a long time, and by the looks of it, with no water.
You didn’t say anything as you braced your hand against the support of the stand, your other hand lifted in a way that looked like you were giving up a fight that wasn’t even happening.
There was no denying that you’d been out here for a while, if the dirt staining your clothes and skin was anything to go by. Your hair was messy and he could see dried leaves in it, and your cheeks were stained with sweat streaks, but it wasn’t exactly hot at the moment, so he assumed you had just been running to the point of breaking a sweat, or you had not too long ago.
Standing up a little straighter, Bucky let his gaze sweep you up and down. There was really nothing to you, your legs all scratched up thanks to your denim shorts, and your shoes were muddy and worn out. Your t-shirt was covered in dirt, and there was a rip in the side of it, a scrape visible along your ribs. But the giant bruise that took up most of your left side was a lot more noticeable than that.
There were other noticeable bruises on your body, some more faded than others, and he saw a healed scar just under your jaw on the right side of your neck. You looked like you hadn’t slept in days, and your body seemed to be running on the last of its adrenaline as you shook your head.
You looked scared, like you were horrified of him and what he might do to you. Your lips parted then trembled, like you were struggling to speak as you lifted your hand higher in a pleading gesture, but no words left your mouth as you took a weak, unsteady step forward.
“Hey,” he called out, concern lacing his tone as he lowered his rifle. Bucky was too high up to do anything about the way your legs buckled, and the way your hand slipped from its place on the beam before you stumbled forward and became completely unbalanced.
The sound of your head hitting the trunk of the tree had him wincing and instantly putting the rifle down, swinging his legs over the edge of the stand and jumping down.
His boots hit the ground with a thud, and he immediately crouched down, confusion and concern written all over his face. You were no longer conscious, your body too weak to keep going at this point, and Bucky frowned as he reached forward and brushed your hair out of your face.
He didn’t recognize you from town, though he supposed he didn’t go there much with the intent to seek out pretty girls. He only went there every once in a while for supplies and to see his family, but he had a feeling he would notice you if he’d seen you before.
You looked like a mess, your body beaten and bruised and your clothing torn and ruined to the point of almost being unwearable, and Bucky felt his heart clench in his chest.
What the fuck happened to you?
When Bucky carried you to his house, he discovered that you were extremely light in his arms, and it felt like he was carrying a few bags of groceries rather than a human who appeared to be in her mid twenties.
He didn’t know what the hell to do with you, but he wasn’t going to just leave you out there. You’d clearly already been through hell, and he refused to turn a blind eye and mind his business when it was so obvious that you needed help.
It had just started to rain when he began making his way home with you in his arms, and he had a feeling that you would’ve probably died if he’d left you out there, and he wouldn’t be able to live with himself if he let that happen.
You were cold, your skin clammy and splotchy, so the first thing Bucky did when he got home was lay you down on the couch, sacrificing the soft throw blanket that was thrown over the back of it, and draped it over you.
He lowered the strap of his rifle down his arm before setting it aside on the coffee table, then crouched down in front of the couch. You were out cold, your body limp and unresponsive as he examined you a bit closer now that you were safe inside and away from the harsh elements outside.
Your lips were dark, and he knew you were probably even colder than you felt, your body fighting to keep itself warm in the minimal clothing you were wearing. You didn’t have a bag with you, nor a phone or wallet, so he had no clue who you are or what your name is, or even where you lived.
He’d never seen you in the woods before this, and by the small silver hoops you had in your ears, it was clear you were from the nicer part of town, which helped make sense as to why he’s never seen you around before.
But that didn’t answer any of his questions, one being how the hell you ended up all the way out here.
Bucky reached out and brushed your hair out of your face, and he couldn’t deny that you were very pretty. You had a certain innocent look to you, like someone as sweet and fragile as you had no business being out in the middle of the woods, looking like you’d been to hell and back.
His eyes focused on the gash on the side of your head, and he knew it was from when your head hit the tree and what had caused you to lose consciousness. He guessed you’d been out in the woods for a while, the exhaustion in your bones obvious since you hadn’t moved at all since you passed out on the forest floor.
He stood up and made his way to the bathroom, where he grabbed the first aid kit he keeps under the sink. As he walked back into the living room, he shrugged out of his damp jacket, setting it aside on a chair as he passed by it, then he was on his knees in front of the couch once again.
The first aid kit was open on the coffee table, everything he needed messily stored inside of it. He’d been careless a few times during hunting or fishing or wood cutting, resulting in him needing to patch himself up, and he never bothered to tidy up the kit.
He huffed as he rummaged through the kit in search of peroxide, and he found it a few moments later, then grabbed a cotton pad, pouring some of the liquid onto it. The gash on your head didn’t look too bad, but he also couldn’t see much since you were bleeding. This was one of many injuries he knew was on your body, but it also appeared to be the worst and the easiest one for him to access, so it was his priority at the moment.
Bucky pressed the cotton to the wound, and the white fabric turned red quickly, the sound of the peroxide sizzling its way into your flesh barely being heard. He cringed, because he knew that would fucking hurt when you wake up, so he tried his best to limit that pain as best as he could.
After cleaning up the wound, he taped a clean cotton pad to your head that had some sort of healing gel he’d used countless times before on it, then sat back on his knees. He couldn’t see much of you, your shivering body hidden beneath the blanket and your head turned in a way that only allowed him to see half your face.
Now that he’d cleaned up your head, he had no fucking clue what to do next. Your head would probably be pounding in a few hours, so he stood up to go grab some aspirin and a glass of water, and he set them down on the coffee table.
Your blood had dried on your face, and for some reason he felt the need to clean that too, so he grabbed a wet cloth, then cleaned you up as well as he could. And then he just simply looked at you.
There was concern in his eyes, but mainly he was just confused. How did you end up here? What happened? Why were you wearing bruises and marks that seemed like you’d gotten before you ended up in the woods?
He felt a surge of protectiveness wash over him, something he had no business feeling for someone he didn’t even know, but he couldn’t help it. You were broken, bruised and in need of help, and you could’ve died had you not stumbled upon him and inadvertently forced yourself into his life.
Why had you been running? Who were you running from? Were you in danger? Was he in danger now that he’d taken you into his home and rescued you from the woods?
That should’ve had him feeling a little on edge, but as he looked at you and took in the way you already looked a little more relaxed as you slept on his couch at seven in the evening, he didn’t give a shit if he’d just accidentally put himself in danger.
There was no way, in any life, that he’d just leave you out there.
It’d been almost two hours since Bucky had taken you in when you finally woke up.
Your body moved before your eyes slowly opened, and he watched as they instantly landed on the rifle that was still on the coffee table, then shifted over to the water and aspirin, before they flickered up to him.
He was sitting on the edge of the coffee table, his arms crossed as he looked down at you, and he could see the flicker of realization in your eyes before they filled with the same fear he’d seen in them out at the hunting post.
You tried to push yourself upright, your head shaking slightly as you held up your hands in a defensive gesture. “I-”
“It’s okay,” Bucky quickly assured you, his own hands lifting in a similar way as he refrained from touching you, knowing it would just freak you out even more. Of course the first thing you see after waking up in a stranger’s house being a fucking gun would scare you. He should’ve moved it after he’d cleaned your wound. “Shh, it’s okay. You’re okay. You’re safe.”
You squinted at that, your hand moving to your head where the makeshift bandage is, and you winced when you pressed your palm against it. “Ouch. Shit,” you gasped, squeezing your eyes shut.
Bucky stayed still, lowering his hands and bracing them on his thighs as he watched you take a few shaky breaths. “Are you okay?” he asked after a few seconds.
You glanced over at him, your expression guarded and on edge. “What happened?” you asked, slowly sitting up, making the blanket fall around your waist.
“You fell. Hit your head on a tree and passed out. I brought you to my house, cleaned you up a bit and got you warm,” Bucky answered, tilting his head as he looked at you. “That’s all I know. Might need you to fill in the rest for me.”
You pressed your lips together as you kept your hand against your head, most likely trying to will the throbbing to go away. “I fell?” you asked, closing your eyes again as you swayed slightly, even though you were still sitting on the couch.
Bucky nodded slowly, his brows furrowing together. “What happened to you?” he gently asked, “How did you… end up out here?”
You took a few more seconds to answer, then lowered your hand to your lap. “I ran away from home,” you simply answered, your voice low and your words mumbled.
Bucky sat up a bit, making you flinch, and he quickly reached out a reassuring hand. “It’s okay,” he said, giving you a small smile as he tried to look as least threatening as possible. “Why did you run away?”
You shrugged, looking so small and miserable on his couch. “I couldn’t take it anymore,” you said, and those five words somehow managed to answer a handful of his questions.
He softened his gaze, his lips turning downwards in a frown. “You have bruises on you,” he stated, watching the way you fidgeted with your hands in your lap. “They’re not all from running away, are they? You didn’t get some of them from just being out in the woods?”
You slowly shook your head, and you ending up out here was starting to make a little sense.
You’d run away from an abusive home, got lost in the woods, and had probably been out here for days before you found him, but how exactly you ended up here was still one question that hadn’t been answered.
But Bucky didn’t pry. This was a delicate situation, and even though he hadn’t been in one quite like this before, he understood that he had to be the level headed one out of the two of you, and not push you into a mental breakdown.
He cleared his throat, taking a deep breath in as he braced his elbows on his knees, moving to be at your eye level. “What’s your name?” he asked, watching the way you seemed to instantly be thrown into an inner debate with yourself. He had no idea what was going through your head, and he knew you had no reason to trust him at the moment, but he wanted you to know that he wasn’t going to hurt you. “It’s okay. I’m not gonna do anything, okay? I’m not gonna hurt you or force you to answer me. You don’t need to be scared of me.”
You swallowed harshly, blinking away tears as you lowered your gaze to the floor. “Isn’t that what every serial killer says to their victims?”
Even though you were still so on edge and uncertain, your voice still held a hint of humor, and Bucky felt a genuine smile tugging at his lips. “I wouldn’t know,”
That had your own mouth curling upwards, and even beaten and bruised and bandaged, you were still quite pretty. You looked down at the floor for a few more seconds before you gave him your name, then looked up at him again when he repeated it.
“I’m Bucky. Well, James, actually, but I’ve always gone by Bucky. Did you take anything with you? A phone or ID or… anything?” he asked, wondering how you’d managed to stay alive for as long as you did with just the clothes on your back.
You shook your head. “No. No phone or ID. I had a bag with me, my old school backpack, and I had some food in there, but I had to leave it when it started attracting… unwanted visitors,”
Bucky lifted his brows. “You mean, like… bears? Or wolves?”
“Both?” you answered, then shrugged. “I don’t know. It was dark when I had to leave it behind. I heard footsteps and growling, but I couldn’t see anything, so I got up and ran. That was… I don’t know, a day ago?”
Bucky tried to mask his surprise as best as he could, but it was extremely hard to believe that you’d gotten that close to being mauled or eaten alive just a day ago, and had somehow ended up in his part of the woods afterwards. “When did you run away?” he asked.
“Um… I don’t know. I don’t really know what day it is or how many have passed,” you said, glancing at the glass of water next to him with interest, and Bucky reached over to pick it up and hand it to you. “Four or five days ago? I think…”
“Jesus,” he muttered as you sipped on the water, and you almost finished it in one go, revealing just how dehydrated you must be. “You’ve been out there for five days? Have you slept at all? When was the last time you ate?” he fired off questions, still in shock that you were even alive right now after what he just heard.
“I slept here and there. I was too scared to sleep for long, and it was really cold at night,” you mumbled, setting the now empty glass on your lap. “The last thing I ate was a granola bar, and that was before I had to ditch the rest of the food in my bag.”
Bucky shook his head, sitting up straight as he ran his hand over his mouth. “You must be starving,” he said, and you shrugged, shyly meeting his eyes. He gestured to the glass, and you let him take it from you as he stood up and walked over to the kitchen, filling it once more.
When he came back, you took the fresh water from him with a grateful smile, sipping on it this time instead of gulping it down. “Thank you for helping me,” you murmured, looking over your shoulder at the window. It was dark out, and the temperature had dropped even more, the cool breeze coming in from the screen door. “I won’t stay long or… intrude anymore than I already have.”
Bucky furrowed his brows. “You can’t go back out there. Your head is injured, and I know other parts of you are too. It’s late and dark, and I… I can’t let you go back out there,” he said, propping one hand on his hip as he gestured at you with his other. “Not like this.”
You gave him a look that had his knees buckling, and one that made him want to do everything in his power to help you, because who the fuck would ever drive you to the point of running away and putting your life at risk?
“You don’t need to help me anymore,” you whispered, tearing up again as you gave him a tight lipped smile. “You’ve already done enough.”
Bucky took a step towards you, then crouched down in front of you so he wasn’t towering over you. “You’re not intruding. You need help. I can help you,” he said, using his softest tone of voice. “If you’ll let me.”
You were a bit more timid now as you held his gaze, then you slowly started to nod, holding onto the glass with both of your hands. “Okay,” you whispered, and Bucky gave you a small smile as he nodded towards the hallway.
“Why don’t you go clean up? You can use the shower and anything else you need in there,” he offered, taking the glass from you and setting it aside on the coffee table. “I’ll make some dinner.”
You quickly waved him off, “Oh, you don’t have to-”
“Please. Let me help you,” he cut you off, watching the way you deflated a bit, as if being offered help was something completely new to you. You nodded again, and Bucky offered you his hand. “I’ll set aside some clothes for you and get started on some food.”
You looked at his outstretched hand for a few seconds, and before he could let it fall back down to his side, you reached up and took it. “Okay,” you said again, letting him assist you to your feet. You were still a little unsteady, your body still weak from what he now knows is a lack of food and rest. He helped keep you steady for a few moments, his hands gently holding onto your arms, and when you were stable, you looked up at him. “Thank you.”
Bucky felt his heart clench again at how broken you sounded, and he had to hold off on locking his jaw as he felt a surge of anger build up inside him at the fact that someone had obviously mistreated you so horribly for you to end up here.
“C’mon,” he said, guiding you towards the bathroom. “I’ll show you where everything is.”
You’d been in the bathroom for quite a while, and dinner had been ready for some time now, but Bucky refused to rush you.
It was obvious that you didn’t trust him, at least not fully, but he could tell you were already warming up to him, and he didn’t want to backtrack in any way and risk you leaving before your body could actually rest and heal.
Bucky had set out a pair of his sweats and a t-shirt for you, but also told you where everything is in his dresser in case you needed anything else, then he let you take a shower and no doubt take in all your body had been through over the last week in the mirror.
He’d been sitting at the kitchen table for the last ten minutes, having heard the shower turn off five minutes before that, but again, the last thing he wanted to do was rush you.
While he waited, he went over his options for this unusual situation he’d found himself in.
You’d run away from home, and there was no way you’d willingly go back, and Bucky didn’t want you to go back, because he was sure the abuse would only intensify since you’d taken off. But how realistic was it for you to start over somewhere with little to nothing to your name? Bucky would drive you into town, pay for a bus ticket for you, and he’d even give you some cash so you could get by, but where would you go from there? Why was he wondering that if you weren’t really his concern?
And why did the thought of you being out there on your own with only a handful of cash and no stable home make that protective feeling from before come back in full swing?
You’re a stranger to him. Simply someone who needed help, and he’d given that to you and more. Where do you and he go from here? After he’s fed you and given you a place to rest your head for a while, what the hell happens after that?
His thoughts were interrupted by the sound of the bathroom door opening, and he quickly sat up straight, his head instantly turning in the direction of the hallway.
You slowly walked into the kitchen, clad in his sweats and shirt that looked huge on you, and now that you were clean, he was able to get a better look at you.
Your arms were littered in bruises and your face was blotchy in certain spots, and even though you were a lot cleaner, your body was still, for lack of better words, a mess.
The fabric of his shirt was damp from your hair that now had no leaves in it, and you’d somehow managed to keep your bandage mostly dry, but he would still offer to change it later anyway.
Bucky gave you a warm smile as he stood up and gestured to the chair across from his. “I’ll make you a plate,” he offered, and you returned the smile as you moved to sit down. “You scared off what was planned to be on the menu tonight,” he said as he began putting grilled peppers, chicken and scrambled eggs on a plate. It was the best he could do for now, and he’d used up the last of his eggs he was saving for breakfast tomorrow, but he honestly didn’t give a shit that he’d have to go pick up some more sooner than planned. As long as you had options. “I hope this suffices.”
You perked up in the chair as he turned and set the plate down in front of you, and you fidgeted a bit as you looked down at it. “Wow,” you said quietly, and Bucky fought off a grin as he made another plate for himself.
“What, never had eggs for dinner before?” he teased as he moved back to the table and took his seat across from you. He’d never actually cooked for a girl before, or for anyone other than himself, really, so he was kind of nervous to have his culinary skills on full display right now, but he hid it as best as he could. He was pretty decent in the kitchen, as far as he could tell, but he’d also never gotten someone else’s opinion, so really, what did he know?
“No,” you answered, curling your fingers into your hands where they rested on your lap. “Well, no, and… no one’s ever cooked for me before.”
That had Bucky pausing, his hand halfway to grabbing his fork as he looked over at you. Not only had you come from a place that physically abused you, but also potentially kept food from you, or at least let you fend for yourself food-wise.
He swallowed harshly, finally picking up his fork as he looked away from you, not wanting you to see the sudden anger he felt taking over his expression. “Well… I’ve never cooked for someone before,” he said back instead of pushing for answers to the questions that had begun forming in his head. “You get to be my first customer.”
Your lips curved at that, and you looked back down at the plate. “I have to pay for this?” you asked, and there was a playful edge to your voice he was surprised to be hearing from someone in your state. It calmed the anger down inside of him.
“You get to be my first critic,” he corrected himself, then nodded down to your fork. “If you actually eat, that is.”
Your face flushed at that, and you picked up the fork quickly, a small smile on your lips. You started with the eggs first, and he tried not to watch you the whole time, but this was feeling strangely domestic, and he tried not to think about how good you looked in his house and in his shirt.
“It’s good,” you said as you chewed, your eyes flickering to meet his, and when you caught him staring, your smile only grew. “But then again, I have nothing to compare it to,” you trailed off as you swallowed, reaching for the glass of water in front of you. You brought it up to your mouth as you added, “Still, it’s very tasty.”
Bucky hummed, finally tearing his eyes away from you as he began eating as well. “I was kind of rushing,” he said, “You should see how good it is when I’m taking my time.”
You laughed quietly at that as you bit down onto a pepper and chewed slowly. “I’ll take your word for it,”
Fuck, this was really starting to feel domestic. Why was this so… comfortable? Why are you and he already talking as if you’d known each other for more than a few hours?
Bucky cleared his throat as he chewed, his brows furrowing as he nodded at the bandage taped to your temple. “How’s your head?”
You lifted your free hand and ran your fingers along the cotton, wincing slightly. “Hurts,” you answered, “I tried to not mess with it in the shower, but… yeah, it’s really sore. I have a raging headache too.”
“You might have a concussion,” he said, then nodded behind you at the coffee table in the living room. “There’s some aspirin over there you can take after dinner to help with the pain.”
You nodded at that, giving him a grateful smile. “Thank you,”
A few moments of silence passed after that, and Bucky spent most of it trying to find the right way to offer you a place to stay for the night without it sounding too forward or creepy.
He braced his elbows on the table as he leaned forward, his dinner momentarily forgotten. “I don’t… feel comfortable sending you on your way tonight. You need rest and an actual place to sleep. And your head isn’t in the best shape,” he said, watching as you stopped eating as well and looked up at him. “You can stay here tonight. Take the bed and get a decent night’s sleep. Tomorrow or… whenever you’re feeling better, I can drive you into town, get you a bus ticket or something.”
You gave him a look of surprise that you tried to suppress, but he caught it anyway. “You don’t have to do all that, really,” you said quietly, “I can just… maybe sleep here tonight, and I’ll see myself out tomorrow morning.”
Bucky let out a sigh as he shook his head. “I want to. I want to help you,” he said, “I have to go into town anyway to get some stuff. I’ll give you a drive anywhere you want to go, alright? You don’t need to be stumbling around the woods again on your own.”
Your shoulders dropped at that, like you were relieved to hear that you wouldn’t be forced to travel on foot again in an unfamiliar place. “Okay,” you agreed, poking at the eggs on your plate with your fork. “But I don’t need to sleep in your bed. I can sleep on the couch.”
Bucky felt one side of his mouth curve upwards at that, and he looked down at his own plate. “We’ll see about that,” was all he said, then the two of you went back to eating.
After dinner, you offered to clean up, but Bucky just shook his head, saying he’d do it later, then he led you to his room.
“I’ll put fresh sheets on the bed,” he offered, already starting to pull off the current ones as you quickly shook your head.
“Really, you don’t have to. It’s fine,” you insisted, but when he turned his head and gave you a look, you deflated a bit and pursed your lips. “Thank you.”
Bucky huffed out a laugh as he shook his head as well, gathering up the sheets, pillow cases and blankets into his arms. “You don’t gotta keep thanking me. I’m just doing what anyone else would,”
You gave a small, defeated laugh as he walked past you. “No, you’re not,” you said, and he realized that you must’ve been wronged countless times in the past by countless people to truly believe that what he was doing was him going above and beyond for you. He really didn’t think he was doing that much, he actually thought he wasn’t doing enough, and he wanted to do more for you, he just didn’t know how.
Bucky didn’t say anything at that, and headed down the hall to the laundry room, where he grabbed some fresh sheets.
Once he’d returned to his room, he made the bed and tidied up the clothes scattered around on the floor as you stood glued to the spot beside the closet. You were looking at his bed as you chewed on your fingernail, wincing slightly as you turned to face him. “Are you sure it’s okay for me to sleep in here? I mean, it’s your bed and you’re a tall guy. That couch out there isn’t small, but it probably won’t be very comfortable for you. I don’t mind sleeping on it,”
Bucky huffed out a laugh of disbelief. Here you are, a broken human being who’d suffered unimaginable things over the last few days, and probably the last few years, and yet you were still putting his comfort over your own. A stranger’s over your own. “I’ll be fine,” he assured you, stuffing his clothes into the laundry bin inside his closet. “I’ve slept on that couch many times now. It hasn’t done me wrong yet. Besides, after all you’ve been through, I think you could use a night on an actual bed.”
You nodded at that, scratching at your arm. “Thank y-” you cut yourself off when he lifted his brows at you, and your face flushed once again as you looked away.
Bucky felt a smile form on his face as he gestured to your head. “Let me look at that one more time before bed,”
You nodded, then moved to sit down on the edge of the bed as he walked past you to go retrieve the first aid kit from off the coffee table. He sat down in front of you on the bed, setting the kit between you and him, then got to work on slowly peeling the cotton away from your wound. It didn’t look much different from before, which was expected, but it looked cleaner, probably because you’d gotten water on it from your shower.
He replaced the bandage, neither of you speaking the whole time as you let him patch you up once again, this time with you being fully conscious. You winced when he pressed the new one against your head, but you didn’t move, fully trusting him to be as careful and as gentle as he could, and he was sure he’d never been this careful in his entire life.
“What’s the verdict, doc?” you asked a little awkwardly, like this was your way of distracting yourself from the pain. “Am I gonna live?”
He fought off a growing grin, smoothing down the cotton before pulling back. “You’ll live,” he answered, “Ninety eight percent certain of that.”
That had you fighting off a smile of your own, and you quickly looked away.
Bucky had refilled your water glass and grabbed the aspirin from off the coffee table when he’d gone to get the first aid kit, and after he was done replacing the bandage, he handed you both the water and aspirin.
He waited until you’d taken them before he stood up from the bed, putting the kit on the dresser, as well as the bottle of aspirin in case you needed more later. After that he turned to face you, and he propped his hands on his hips, pressing his lips together.
What does he say to the girl who’s about to spend the night in his bed? This wasn’t the first time a pretty girl has spent the night in his bed, though he’s usually in bed too, but he’d be spending his night on the couch instead. What was an appropriate way to end the interactions with you for the night?
“I’ll leave you alone now,” he said, holding back a cringe at his words. He wasn’t usually this way around girls. He’d been with his fair share of women, and even though he hadn’t been super close to any since moving out here, he liked to think he still knew how to talk to one. You made it hard to think though, let alone speak. “I’ll just be on the couch. If you need anything.” he added for good measure.
You nodded at that, your lips pursing to the side as you didn’t say anything.
Fuck, was this as awkward for you as it was for him?
“Goodnight,” Bucky said, giving you one last look before starting to turn around, but then you quickly stood up and reached for his arm.
He turned back to you instantly, and you didn’t say a single thing as you moved towards him and wrapped your arms around his middle. You pressed your head against his chest, and he felt the way you trembled with nerves. “Thank you,” you whispered, and he knew he’d let that one slide, because he could only imagine how much it took out of you to hug him after everything you’d been through.
Bucky slowly wrapped his arms around your much smaller body, his big hands splaying along your back. “Of course,” he said back, pressing his chin against the top of your head.
The moment ended not too long after that, with you pulling away first, and Bucky noticed the tears in your eyes but he didn’t comment on them. Instead, he gave you a tight lipped smile. “Get some rest,” he said, and you nodded again as you backed away and got into his bed, and he quickly turned and left the room, closing the door almost all the way behind him.
He lingered in the hallway for a few moments, not wanting to leave you alone just yet for some reason, before he forced himself to walk into the living room, choosing to leave the hall light on for you in case you needed to go to the bathroom, or wake him up for any reason.
Bucky naturally wakes up super early, despite him sometimes really needing a few extra hours of sleep.
Like today. He’d ended up staying up for a few hours after he’d left you in his room and got comfortable on the couch, but no matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t fall asleep.
He’d been on edge, constantly keeping one eye open and listening out for any noise coming from the bedroom. He was worried about you, not wanting you to need something but be too shy to come out and ask him for it. He’d tossed and turned all night, and even though he’d been telling the truth when he told you that he’d comfortably slept on the couch countless times before, he just couldn’t bring himself to fall asleep.
If he had to guess, he assumed he’d gotten about four hours of sleep in total before he was fully awake at six in the morning.
Bucky stayed up after that, not bothering to try and get a couple more hours of sleep and instead deciding to turn the TV on as a distraction.
He kept looking down the hall, wanting to go in and check on you, but that would probably freak you out if you were to wake up just as he was peeking in, or worse, you already being awake and seeing him poke his head in.
His eyes were a little sore from lack of sleep as he crossed his arms, his mouth opening in an unflattering yawn as he looked at the TV mounted on the wall. His head tipped back as his throat made a sound he had no control over, and just as the yawn began to fade, he heard the sound of a soft laugh to his left.
Bucky looked over immediately, seeing you standing at the entrance of the hallway, and you already looked so much better than you did yesterday.
You looked more rested, more light and happier, and the sight brought a smile to his face as he sat up, pulling the blanket off his lap and setting it aside. “Hey,” he greeted, the TV now completely forgotten about.
“Morning,” you said back, shifting on your feet.
“Morning,” Bucky repeated, then nodded towards the loveseat a few feet away. “You wanna sit?” he offered, and you nodded before making your way towards the seat and sitting down on it. You brought your knees up to your chest as Bucky ran a hand through his hair, trying to tame the messy strands he knew were sticking up from when he was asleep. “Did you, uh… sleep okay?”
You nodded again, wrapping your hands around your shins. “Yeah. I slept good,”
Bucky nodded, huffing out a breath of air. “That’s… that’s good,” he said, and he was growing more and more convinced that his natural, charming way of talking to a woman was fading by the day. “How are you feeling? How’s your head?”
You shrugged a bit, his shirt slipping down your shoulder just an inch or two. “I’m feeling… better. I’m still a little tired and sore, and my head still hurts. But I feel better,”
He smiled at that, leaning over and bracing his elbows on his knees. “That’s good,” he repeated, much softer this time. He watched as you gave him a small smile before turning your attention to the TV, and he let his eyes linger on your side profile for a little longer before he looked away. “I, uh… I can give you a ride into town if you feel up to it. I have some cash I can give you to, you know, help you get started somewhere else.”
You looked back over at him, and your expression faltered a bit as you pressed your lips together. You shifted, reaching up to tuck some of your hair behind your ear as your lips parted, but Bucky quickly spoke up before you had a chance to.
“If you’re not feeling well enough, that’s okay too,” he said, watching the way your shoulders fell a bit, and he hadn’t realized how tense you’d gotten at the thought of being alone again. “If you still need some rest and time to heal, you… can stay here. For as long as you need.”
He wasn’t sure if he was being too forward or offering too much, or simply not offering enough, but the smile was back on your face now, and that made one form on his own as well. “I don’t want to intrude. I know this,” you waved a hand around the living room, “is what you’re used to. Your normal way of living doesn’t involve looking after a girl you found in the woods,” you trailed off, hesitating briefly before you let out a shaky breath, “I’d like to stay… for a few days, maybe? If that’s okay. I won’t bother you or get in the way, and I can help out around the house if you need it. I don’t want to freeload. But… I’d like to stay. Just for a bit.”
You were rambling, as if he didn’t offer you the choice to stay in the first place. And now you were offering to do chores around his house? While sporting a nasty gash on your head? Where the hell had you come from?
“It’s okay,” he said, putting your rambling to a stop as you met his eyes. “You can stay. I don’t mind,” he leaned back on the couch, draping his arm on the back of it. “But that means we’re gonna probably be scavenging for food since I won’t be going into town today after all. And maybe we’ll see if you’re any good with a fishing rod, if you’re up for it.”
You let out a soft laugh as you nodded, “I think I can handle that,”
Bucky was standing on the dock at the lake that was a short walk from his house. It was later in the day and much warmer than it had been yesterday, but the air still had a chill to it, so he’d given you one of his jackets to wear while by the lake.
He was standing close to the edge of the dock, putting bait on the hook of his fishing rod while keeping a careful eye on you. You were standing off to the side by a tree, your arms tense at your sides as you watched him with interest he found oddly adorable.
You still looked a little tired, even though Bucky had put this off for most of the day, letting you rest some more on the couch while he did some chores around the house.
When he mentioned heading down to the lake to try his luck at fishing, you perked up at that and asked if you could tag along, and then you slid on your muddy shoes and accepted his jacket when he agreed.
Bucky wasn’t sure what he was doing. He’d lived a pretty normal life prior to taking you into his home and patching you up. He’d wake up early every day, make himself a hearty breakfast, do some house work or some yard work, then either go hunting or fishing, eat dinner, call his sister and chat with her for a while before going to bed.
He’d served in the military for a while before moving out here, and he’d received quite a large amount of money during his time he served, and he’d been getting cheques every few months that allowed him to live comfortably. He’d go into town maybe once or twice a week, stock up on things he needed, maybe stop at a bar and let loose for a bit, then go home.
His priorities had shifted drastically over the last few years. When he was still living in the city, he’d have no problem spending his evening at a bar, chatting up a pretty girl, then spending the rest of the night with her, and that was something he’d done many many times.
But as he got older and reached his early thirties, he realized random hook ups and money wasted on bars wasn’t what he wanted in life, and he wanted a change.
So he’d moved out of his apartment and relocated to where he is now, and he’d been living a much healthier and efficient lifestyle, and he hadn’t looked back since.
With that being said, it’d been a while since he’d had a woman around for as long as you’ve been, with the exception of his sister. He didn’t quite know what to do or how he could go back to normal now that he’s taken it upon himself to try and heal you and help you in any way he could.
Bucky didn’t know how long you’d be here, in his home and in his life, before you decided you needed to get a move on and try your luck on your own, but the thought of you heading back out into the world with essentially no one at your side didn’t sit well with him.
He doesn’t know you very well, but there was an obvious trust between you and him that was growing more and more. It’d been over twenty four hours since he met you, and already he’d found that, despite him being on his own for quite some time now, you kind of fit in just right here.
But that seemed crazy to think about, and way too fucking soon. Realistically, how long would it be appropriate for you to stay with him without it becoming weird? He’d found you in the woods and taken you in, which was already weird enough.
But Bucky had always wanted to help people. He was good at it, and he didn’t like the thought of someone struggling when he could so easily help out.
The whole situation was weird and unexpected and kind of overwhelming, and yet he didn’t mind the odd addition to his life - that being in the form of another person he had to look after rather than just himself.
Once the bait was securely attached to the hook, he cast it out into the water, then turned his head to look over at you as he waited for a bite. “How are you doing?” he asked, and you crossed your arms over your chest.
“I’m fine,” you answered, gesturing to the lake. “I don’t want to be in your way.”
Bucky let out a laugh, “Well, that’s really nice, but it wasn’t what I meant,” he said, watching the way you became flustered at the teasing tone in his voice. “I mean, how are you feeling? You don’t have to stay out here if you don’t want to. You can head back and rest some more if you need to.”
You shook your head slowly, giving him a grateful smile. “No, I’m alright,” you said, then gave him a small smirk, “I need to learn how to do this if I’m gonna pull my weight around here.”
He poked his inner cheek with his tongue, then nodded, “Yeah, I guess that’s true,” he agreed, though he didn’t expect you to do really anything since you’d already been through enough lately. You deserved to have someone do things for you for a while, and that person was obviously Bucky.
A few minutes pass with not much else being said, and as Bucky looked out at the setting sun that was making the water look orange and pink instead of blue, you moved a little closer to the dock. “How long does this usually take?”
Bucky shrugged, keeping his eyes on the sun as it slowly moved towards the water. “Depends. Could be a few minutes, could be a few hours,” he answered. You walked a little closer until you were standing next to him, and he instinctively looked over at you.
Despite the bruises marring your skin, it still looked almost flawless in the orange glow of the sun. You looked soft, if that made any sense at all, and innocent in a way that had him questioning how anyone had ever treated you so badly in the past.
He almost commented on how beautiful you look, but quickly caught the words before they could leave his mouth, and he cleared his throat. “You wanna give it a try?”
You quickly met his gaze as your lips parted, your eyes widening a bit. “I’ll probably be terrible at it,”
Bucky shrugged as he started to reel in the line, “Well, I guess I’ll just have to teach you,”
He moved to stand behind you, then offered you the rod, which you hesitantly took. “I don’t know what I’m doing,” you said as you held it awkwardly, only further proving that you’d never gone fishing a day in your life.
Bucky laughed as he lifted his hand. “It’s okay. I can show you,” he said, then paused once he’d moved a little closer to you. “Can I… is this okay?” he asked before he pushed you too far.
He didn’t know your limits, didn’t know how you’d react if he just suddenly touched you. This was a lot different than him cleaning your wound and changing the bandage for you, and he didn’t want to make you uncomfortable in any way.
You looked over your shoulder, saw how close he was, then hesitated a bit before you started to slowly nod. “Yeah. It’s fine,” you said quietly, “Gotta show me somehow, right?”
He nodded in agreement as he moved closer to you, then wrapped his arms around your frame and guided your hands into the proper position on the rod. “Just tell me if it’s too much, yeah?”
You gave a slight nod and allowed him to position your hands, then he guided your arms back a bit, the line coming with it.
“Let go of the line as soon as it passes the edge down here,” he said, knocking the edge of the dock with his boot, and he waited until you looked down and nodded before he guided your arms into a swinging motion.
You’d caught on fast, your finger releasing the line as soon as it crossed the water line, and then it was cast into the lake, reaching almost as far as his had before. “Did I… do it right?” you asked, and Bucky felt his lips curl up as he took a step away from you.
“Yeah, that was good,” he said, letting his arms drop back to his sides, and when you turned your head to look over at him, he could’ve sworn he’d seen a flicker of disappointment on your face as you glanced down at his hands, but it was gone before he could question it too much.
“How will I know if I caught anything?”
“You’ll feel something start to tug, then you’ll have to reel it in,” he said, and as if you’d predicted that very thing happening, there was a tug on the line, and you let out a gasp.
“Oh, fuck,”
Bucky couldn’t even take a second to reflect on how funny that word sounded coming from someone as seemingly innocent as you since you’d reached for his arm and tugged him to you as you pulled on the fishing rod.
He helped you reel the line in, then got to see how excited you became when he pulled on the hook and lifted it out of the water, a decent sized trout stuck to the end of it.
Your mouth opened in surprise as you held onto the end of the rod, and you looked so happy, it was hard to believe that you’d been so close to death just yesterday. “I caught a fish?” you asked, as if he wasn’t currently unhooking the proof right now.
Bucky stood up straight, holding the fish in one hand as he looked at you. “You caught a fish,” he confirmed, and couldn’t stop the grin that took over his face at the squeal you let out.
It had still been pretty early in the evening when you’d caught your first ever fish, but you and Bucky still returned to his house soon after.
You were giddy as you stood next to him in his kitchen, still wearing his oversized jacket and sweats as you watched him clean the trout, because of course you and he were having it for dinner. You were so excited that you’d managed to catch a fish on your first try, and he wanted you to be able to reap the benefits and see for yourself how good it feels to prepare and eat something you’d caught all on your own.
He’d found out himself the very first year he lived here how much better something tasted when he actually worked for it, and he wanted you to experience that as well.
You ended up getting in his way quite a bit the entire time he was making dinner, pairing the trout with fresh vegetables and rice, but he didn’t mind. Of course he was used to being alone and having no distractions as he made dinner, but you were a welcoming one.
You’d finally calmed down a bit as he began plating the food, and you took it upon yourself to set the table, with him needing to tell you where everything was in the drawers and cupboards.
“Thank you,” you said when he set a plate down in front of you, and Bucky laughed as he sat down in his seat across from you.
“For what? You’re the one who provided dinner tonight,” he pointed out, and a warm feeling filled him at the fact that this was the second dinner you and he are having together, and you were evidently a lot happier during this one.
“I just caught it,” you said, as if that was easy for someone to do on their first try. “You’re the one who cooked it.”
Bucky hummed, picking up his fork. “It was a team effort,” he decided, and you nodded in agreement.
After dinner, neither of you made any move to quickly get up from the table. You’d been in the middle of explaining how you’d almost failed Math in grade nine since you had massive crush on the teacher and couldn’t focus every time he taught something, and Bucky just let you talk, because the version of you in front of him right now was so different from the version he met and saw last night.
You seemed brighter, like the darkness he’d seen in your eyes and face yesterday had faded throughout the day, leaving behind someone who seemed far too sweet to have ever gone through any form of abuse at all.
There was a certain light in your eyes, a happiness in your voice that had him leaning closer and letting you say anything that came to mind, because your voice was soothing to him. It was beautiful, and it seemed out of place in his home that had been quiet and void of anything but his own presence for so long.
That domestic feeling he’d noticed before was coming back, and it didn’t help that you propped your elbow up on the table, and his shirt had slipped off your shoulder once again, revealing a glimpse of your skin under it.
Bucky had to tear his eyes away from you as he stood up, beginning to gather the plates and utensils as he fought off the growing heat he felt building up inside of him. You weren’t here to stay. You were merely a guest he was helping out. He had no business feeling the way he currently is.
“I can help,” you offered, beginning to stand up, and when Bucky tried to protest, you’d taken the dishes out of his hands and gave him a small grin before you moved past him and began washing them, and he had to lean back against the table for a sense of stability.
Those feelings didn’t go away. They only grew tenfold.
“It’s not about how fast you hit it. It’s about how you swing and how much force you put into it,” Bucky said as he demonstrated what he’d just finished explaining to you.
He lifted the axe above his head, keeping his eyes firmly on the log in front of him that was placed on the trunk of a tree that had fallen over way before he’d even moved here. He swung the axe down in one smooth, quick motion that had the blade hitting it dead-on, the wood easily splitting into three pieces.
You watched from your place a few feet away, his shirt rolled up with one side tied in a knot at your hip to keep it from reaching your knees. His sweats were rolled up as well, reaching just below your knees as you observed him, your head tilted curiously. “That looks really hard,” you said, and Bucky huffed out a laugh as he reached down and put the newly split wood into a pile next to the trunk.
“It’s not super easy,” he said, placing another one in its place. “But it’s not super hard either.”
You’d been here for a few days now, and your head had healed up quite nicely to the point where you could ditch the unflattering white bandage for a smaller, less obvious one. Though you still somehow managed to make the bandage look good, he didn’t tell you that.
Most of the bruises on your body had faded, leaving behind faint purple spots that would also be gone soon enough, and you’d gotten more rest in the last couple days than you had in the last couple years, or so you’ve told him.
The heat was quite noticeable today and the sleeves of his Henley were rolled up to his elbows, and he took note of the way your eyes kept lingering on his forearms every so often, but he didn’t comment on it.
He’d be a liar if he were to say he hadn’t been looking at you in the way you’d been looking at him more than a few times now.
Just as Bucky began lining up the axe again, you took a step towards him. “Can I try?”
He paused, the axe lifted above his head, and without thinking much about it, he lowered it and nodded. “Sure,” he said, gesturing for you to come stand where he is.
You and he had grown rather close in the short time you’ve been here, so he didn’t feel like he was going too far when he wrapped his arms around you after handing you the axe.
He helped guide you into a few practice swings, his front pressed quite close to your back, but you weren’t tense like you had been the first night you were here. You almost welcomed it now, and you didn’t shy away from him. That was progress, and he was really fucking proud of you.
Once he thought you’d had a good handle on it, he stepped back to give you some room. “Just stay still and put some force into the swing,” he instructed, and you nodded, squinting at the log for a moment before swinging the axe down. It didn’t break the log, but got stuck in it, and you looked over at Bucky for help. He laughed under his breath and reached over, pulling the blade out of the log before stepping back again, propping his hands on his hips. “It’s okay. Try again. Aim for that same spot.”
You let out a deep breath and nodded, then swung again. The axe got stuck in the log once more, and you huffed. “I’m terrible at this,” you said, letting go of the axe, leaving it stuck in the log.
Bucky laughed again, moving past you to retrieve it as you stood off to the side. “It’s alright. It’s not easy for someone just trying it out for the first time,”
“Yeah, but I caught a fish the first time I went fishing,” you said, and he scoffed.
“Oh, so that made you think you’d be good at every new thing you try for the first time?”
“I was hopeful,” you said back, and he shook his head. But he could feel you looking at him as he positioned his hands on the handle of the axe, and before he swung, he looked over at you, noticing the frown on your face. “What? What’s wrong?”
You shrugged, looking down at your shoes that weren’t as muddy as they were before since he’d taken it upon himself to clean them for you. “I feel useless just standing here,” you confessed. “You’ve done so much for me. I want to help as much as I can.”
Bucky lowered the axe, then looked around as he tried to think of something you could do that didn’t take a whole lot of effort since your body was still healing. “Why don’t you stack what I split?” he suggested, nodding towards the already stacked wood pile against the side of his house a few feet away. “That way I don’t have to do it after.”
You smiled at that and nodded, “Okay,” you said, then bent down to retrieve a couple pieces of wood he’d just split before heading towards the pile, and Bucky let his eyes linger on your backside before he lifted the axe again and swung, splitting the log you’d failed twice at with ease.
Later that night, it’d cooled down and since he’d had the windows open all day, it was kind of cold in his house.
Bucky had lit a fire in the living room, the fireplace lighting up the room and making shadows flicker all over the walls. You were sitting on a blanket on the floor, your back pressed against the side of the couch as you watched him, a small smile seeming to have a permanent place on your face.
You were wearing one of his hoodies, his wardrobe having become yours as well since there was no saving your old clothes. He’d tried to get the mud stains out of your shorts and debated on whether or not it was worth trying to sew your shirt, but it was a hopeless cause. And Bucky rather liked the way you looked in his clothes, almost as much as you seemed to like wearing them.
The orange glow from the fire made you look like something that’d fallen straight out of heaven and landed directly in his path, inserting yourself into his life without a second thought about it. And yet you fit right in.
You’d only been here for almost a week, and yet Bucky had already become used to having you around. Every time he cooked, you cleaned up, and every time he busied himself with work around the house, you were right there, offering your assistance and taking it upon yourself to help in any way you could.
You and he sit together for every meal, and you end up staying at the table well after you’ve finished eating and talking for hours, and he’s made you laugh so many times now, he’d gotten used to how it sounded in his usually quiet house.
It felt like you’d known each other for a lot longer than you had. You’d fallen asleep on the couch yesterday while you and he watched TV, your head falling to his shoulder as your soft breaths fanned across his cheek.
And, obviously, Bucky didn’t move a single muscle the entire time you slept, earning him a sore arm that was well worth it.
You and he ended up messing around by the lake yesterday, splashing at each other, which resulted in both of you becoming completely soaked but also not giving a fuck about the uncomfortable walk back home in wet clothes. The smiles on both your faces never faded once.
He rather liked the little bubble you and he had been living in for the past week, and he didn’t want to think about what it would be like when you inevitably had to go. His life would return to normal, but what would that feel like when he’d already gotten so used to having you in his space and in his life?
You and he had pretty much gone through all the food he had in his cupboards, and while he had a pretty nicely stocked garden around the back of his house, eating just peppers and tomatoes and onions wasn’t sufficient.
That meant he would have to drive out into town tomorrow to get some groceries and other things he needed, and that meant you’d probably be taking him up on that offer to drive to the bus stop.
Bucky sat next to you on the blanket, lifting one leg and planting his foot firmly on the ground as he forced himself to not look at you. The hue from the fire made you look achingly pretty, but that wasn’t saying much since he’d found you pretty in every type of lighting.
A comfortable silence settled over the two of you, with both you and Bucky watching the fire flicker and create harsh shadows all around his dark living room.
He knew he was a little tense, because he had to bring up the trip to town he was planning, and that would bring up the topic of you tagging along and getting a bus ticket.
You shifted next to him, and he had a feeling you could tell something was on his mind, but you didn’t push him to tell you. You’d been as patient with him as he’d been with you, and Bucky was growing more and more aware of the fact that if you were to leave town tomorrow, he’d really fucking miss you.
Even though it would mean you’re starting a new chapter in your life somewhere nicer than where you had been before, and you’d be happier, he couldn’t stop himself from wanting to be in that chapter with you.
Maybe you and he would be able to stay in touch, though it wasn’t likely.
Bucky swallowed harshly, looking down at the small space between your thigh and his. “I’m, uh… heading into town tomorrow. You’ve managed to empty out everything I had in my kitchen,” he started, trying to keep the mood light, and it worked as you let out a soft laugh. He lifted his gaze to you, and he found you already looking at him. “Have you thought more about maybe getting a bus ticket? Just… getting away from everything that happened?”
He held back a wince when he asked that, because the thought of you being all alone again after this made his heart clench in his chest. The thought of him being alone again was even worse.
You pressed your lips together and looked away, bringing your knees up to your chest. “Yeah, I’ve… thought about it,” you confessed quietly, and Bucky’s heart clenched again.
Because as much as he liked having you here, you’d been thinking about leaving him behind and disappearing. And you weren’t selfish to think that or want it, but he sure was for wanting you to stay.
Fuck. He wants you to stay.
He cleared his throat harshly, tearing his eyes away from you. “So you, uh… accepting that drive to the bus stop?”
You looked over at him at that, but he didn’t look at you in return. He could see the way you deflated a bit out of the corner of his eye. “If you’re still offering it,” you answered softly, and Bucky wanted to take that offer back so badly.
“I am,” he said instead, shifting a bit on the blanket. “We can leave tomorrow morning after breakfast. If I can find any food to make for breakfast, that is.”
That had you huffing out a breathy laugh, and he couldn’t stop the way his head turned to look at you. He couldn’t help it. He liked the way you looked when you laughed.
You turned your head and met his eyes, and your expression softened. “Thank you, Bucky,” you whispered, then slowly, hesitantly, you reached down and placed your hand over his where it was on the ground between you. “For… for everything. You… saved me. Took me in and you made me feel like I’m not just… a punching bag. So thank you. I wouldn’t be here if it weren’t for you. I don’t know how I can ever repay you for that.”
Bucky clenched his jaw, because he felt it starting to tremble a bit, and you’d trusted him to be the strong one up until this point. He didn’t want to let you down. “I already told you,” he said just as quietly. He turned his hand over and laced his fingers with yours, giving them a soft squeeze as his eyes held your gaze. “You don’t have to thank me. I couldn’t just… leave you out there. I couldn’t. I knew you’d been through hell and I couldn’t add to it. I couldn’t hurt you. I’d never hurt you.”
You smiled at that, but your eyes started to water, and you started to turn your head when his other hand instantly lifted up. His fingers cradled your jaw, halting your movement and making your breath get caught in your throat.
“Is that… is this okay?” he trailed off, guiding your gaze back to his, and he watched the way your eyes darted down to his mouth as you nodded slowly. “Words, sweetheart.”
You inhaled at the name he hadn’t used until right now, and then you leaned a little closer. “Yes. It’s okay,”
Bucky grinned softly at that, his thumb stroking along your bottom lip as he leaned in as well. “I can stop,” he said, meaning it with everything in him.
But you shook your head, and before he could remind you to use your words again, you spoke up, “I don’t want you to stop,”
And that had him leaning all the way in until his lips brushed along yours in the softest, most gentle kiss he’s ever had. You kissed him back, smiling against his lips and making him smile right back, his hand moving to cradle your jaw.
It ended all too soon, but it was still already high on the list of the most intimate moments Bucky has ever experienced in his life, and that was bad.
Because you were leaving tomorrow, and he wouldn’t get to experience that again.
There was a heavy feeling weighing down Bucky’s chest as he sat with you in his truck that was parked on the side of the street.
A few feet behind the truck was one of the bus stops around town, and in approximately four minutes, a bus would come and take you out of his life just as quickly as you fell into it. Literally.
His elbow was propped up on the window frame, his fingers covering his mouth as he looked at the street with a bitterness he couldn’t remember feeling for quite some time now.
You were sitting in the passenger seat, wearing an old pair of jeans that didn’t fit him anymore since he’d gained quite a bit of muscle since he started living on the outskirts of town, and one of his flannels. At your feet was one of the many bags he had lying around his house, and in it were a couple of his shirts and sweats and jeans, as well as a couple snacks and water and the extra toothbrush you’d been using at his house. There was also a stack of cash he’d slipped in without you noticing, because you refused to take his money when he offered it to you back at the house.
You felt guilty for taking his clothes, but Bucky honestly didn’t care about that at all. As long as you had something to get started with, he didn’t care how many shirts he’d need to replace in the future.
The truck was off, not even the sound of the radio able to fill the silence that filled the cab. There was tension in the air, but it wasn’t angry or uncomfortable or heated. It was more sad than anything else, because even though you hadn’t been in his life for long, this was still a hard goodbye.
Bucky had grown attached to you. He’d taken on the role as your protector, and he wanted to keep that role for much longer. He had, like you told him last night, saved your life, so he was feeling protective over you, and the thought of wishing you well then sending you on your way made him feel like he was throwing you out to the wolves.
He shifted in his seat, glancing over at you. You were sitting comically still, the bus ticket he’d bought you sitting on your lap, ignored as if you didn’t want to hold it in your hands or even look at it. “You sure you’re… well enough to go off on your own?” he asked, more than ready to take you right back to his place. “It’s okay if you’re not. You won’t be intruding or anything like that. You don’t even have to stay with me if you don’t want to. I can give you some money and you can stay at a hotel for a bit. I just… don’t want you pushing yourself into something if you’re not ready for it.”
You looked over at him, forcing yourself to smile. “I’m ready,” you said, and you sounded truthful, and yet that didn’t help soothe the ache he felt in his chest. “I don’t want to take up anymore of your time. You’ve been amazing, Bucky, and I truly meant it when I said you saved me. I’d be dead if it weren’t for you. I’ll spend the rest of my life trying to pay you back.”
Bucky frowned and shook his head, “Sweetheart-” he started, but the bus rounded the corner and began slowing down, and his time with you was up.
You gave him a small smile as you grabbed the bag and opened the door, hopping out of his truck with a lot more grace than you’d moved with before. He’d healed you. And you healed him too, in a way.
He’d been content by himself before, willing to spend the rest of his life alone in the woods and preparing meals for one and sleeping by himself in the big bed in his room.
But you’d opened a part of him up, and he no longer saw himself being alone forever. He saw himself settling down, living his life with someone by his side. And he wanted that someone to be you so fucking badly.
His heart physically ached as he watched you stand on the side walk and close the passenger side door. “Bye, Bucky,” you said quietly, and there were tears in your eyes that matched the ones he felt forming in his.
You turned and started walking towards the bus stop, your grip so tight on the straps of the bag he could see your hands starting to shake.
Bucky stayed in the truck, not trusting himself to step out and walk with you to the bus stop. He was afraid you’d turn to hug him like you had done the first night you spent at his house, and he wouldn’t be able to let go of you.
So he just watched as you walked towards the bus shelter, then stopped just as the bus pulled up to the stop. He watched with a heavy heart, his knuckles pressed to his mouth as he suppressed the tremble he felt in his lips.
But when the doors of the bus opened, you didn’t get on. Your back was turned to him, so he couldn’t see your face, but he could see how tense you were as you stayed completely still on the sidewalk.
Before he could realize what he was doing, Bucky tore off his seatbelt and opened the door, stepping out onto the street without even checking to see if any cars were coming. He rounded the truck and got onto the sidewalk, moving towards you and stopping just a few feet away.
You hadn’t turned around to face him yet, but you did turn your head when the bus driver let out a huff. “Are you on or off, Miss?” he asked impatiently. You didn’t answer him, and the man let out another annoyed sound. “Ma’am, are you staying or getting on?”
That hit Bucky hard, because he wanted you to stay. Maybe it wasn’t realistic, and maybe it was way too soon, but he didn’t fucking care. He didn’t want you to go.
You turned your head even more until you were looking at him, and when your eyes met his, your shoulders dropped, the tension leaving your body instantly. You turned to face him fully, your grip on the bag loosening, “Stay,” you said quietly, “I want to stay.”
That had Bucky closing the remaining distance between you and him, and you met him halfway, dropping the bag in your hurry to get to him. Your body collided with his just as the bus pulled away from the curb, and Bucky cradled the back of your head with one hand, his other arm wrapping tightly around your middle.
He pulled your body flush against his, and your arms banded around his shoulders as you leaned up and connected your mouth to his. He lifted you up just slightly so you could kiss him a little better, and he deepened it instantly. This was even better than the one you and he shared on his living room floor last night, and he had no doubt that he’d just become obsessed with you.
Bucky couldn’t stop the words that tumbled out of his lips when he pulled away for air, “You want to stay?” he breathed, his hands cupping either side of your face as he pressed his forehead to yours. “With me?”
You nodded slowly, keeping your arms locked around his shoulders. “Yes, I do. Can I?”
Bucky let out a soft groan, his lips covering yours once again. “Yeah. Fuck yeah, you can stay,” he muttered against your mouth, and you broke the kiss as you laughed. You laughed even more when he pressed a series of fast kisses to your cheek before he wrapped his arm around your shoulders, taking you with him as he walked the few steps to retrieve your discarded bag, then he guided you back to his truck.
He opened the passenger door for you, helped you inside, leaned in and pressed one last kiss to your lips before pulling back and shutting the door, tossing the bag into the backseat as he did so.
“First stop, the store so we can stock up on food,” he said when he got back into the driver’s seat. “Then I’ll take you back to my place.”
“Then I’ll help you put all the groceries away,” you added, and Bucky couldn’t wipe the smile off his face if he tried.
This was fucking crazy, but as he looked over at you, sitting in his passenger seat and looking so much happier now than you did before now that you’re staying, he didn’t give a single fuck about how crazy this was.
Bucky stocked up on things even more than he normally does, his counters littered with grocery bags that were filled with food and other things he was running low on.
He didn’t want to go back to town for a while now, though he would have to sooner rather than later because he planned on buying you some better clothing options - ones that actually fit you, but this was just fine for now.
Bucky had just finished bringing in the last three bags, and he set them down onto the table as he looked over at you. His flannel was tied around your waist now, his white shirt hanging loosely off your body as you placed the eggs and milk into the fridge.
You must’ve felt him staring, because you leaned against the counter beside the fridge after you closed it, a teasing smile on your lips. “You should think about investing in livestock,” you suggest, crossing your arms. “It would save you a fortune on eggs if you were to have your own chickens in the backyard.”
Bucky laughed, slowly starting to close the distance between you and him. “I live in the middle of nowhere, sweetheart,” he said, “I don’t have a backyard.”
You pursed your lips, suddenly becoming a little fidgety as he stopped right in front of you and lifted his hand. But instead of touching you like he knew you were expecting, he reached into the bag behind you on the counter, pulling out the bread. “That might be true,” you said, a lot less confidently than before, and Bucky smirked a bit. “But my point still stands.”
He hummed, “Which was?”
“That you’d save a fortune on… on eggs,” you said, your eyes flickering down to his mouth for a few seconds.
Bucky had a lazy smile on his lips as he turned a bit and opened the breadbox that was next to the sink, putting the two loaves he’d bought inside before closing it again. “I appreciate your concern. It’s quite sweet you’re worried I’ll break the bank on eggs each month,” he said, and you flushed, leaning further back against the counter. “But it’s not needed, sweetheart. I think I made sure I wouldn’t be stressed over whether or not I could afford eggs every month before I moved all the way out here.”
You pressed your lips together, reaching behind you to hold onto the edge of the counter, as if him towering over you like this was making you unsteady, but you didn’t look uncomfortable in the slightest, so he didn’t move away. “Yeah, I guess that sounds pretty logical,” you mumbled, and Bucky’s smirk softened, his hand lifting up again, but this time to cradle your jaw.
The way you leaned into his touch immediately, like you trusted him so much to never hurt you, like you’d grown accustomed to it, made Bucky feel a little feral, and he closed the gap between yours and his mouth before he could voice that to you.
You kissed him back quickly, your fingers tightening on the counter for a brief moment before you reached up and curled your fingers into his jacket, pulling him closer.
Despite you and he only doing this twice before, the first time being only last night, you and he had already found an easy rhythm. He was slowly memorizing the way your lips feel against his, and as he deepened the kiss, he was starting to memorize your taste as well.
The way you were kissing him told him that you were trying to memorize his taste and the feel of his lips too. You’d been so shy, so timid and closed off for days, but you were letting him in now. You trusted him, and somehow that made him feel better than anything else ever had.
Bucky’s hands were on your waist, gripping you still so gently as he pulled away from your lips, his breathing having already picked up drastically. “Is this okay?” he asked, his lips brushing along yours with each word.
As much as you seemed to be completely comfortable and relaxed with him now, he didn’t want to accidentally get caught up and touch you in a way that brings you right back to the very thing you’d run away from. He knew any touch could take you back there, reset your progress, and drive you away from him since he’d reminded you of that dark place.
But then you nodded your head, the tip of your nose gently bumping against his each time it passed by. “Yes,” you breathed, and then you were reaching down and grabbing onto his wrists, slowly pushing his hands further down.
His palms smoothed over your ass, then slid lower and grabbed onto the backs of your thighs, and he lifted you up, setting you down on the counter. Your breath hitched as he did so, your hands coming up to grab onto his shoulders while his grabbed onto your waist.
He kissed you again, this time a little deeper than before as he ran his tongue along the seam of your lips, and you all too eagerly parted them. He stepped between your thighs, his hips pushing them apart as he pressed closer to you, one hand sliding up into your hair.
Bucky had, without a doubt, become addicted to kissing you. Even just this felt so much better than anything else he’d done with a woman before you. There was something about you being so shy on the outside, nervous and fidgety when simply talking to him, but so eager and needy when it came to him kissing and touching you that turned him all the way on.
You had a dirty side to you despite your innocent persona, and he wanted to discover every single other side you might have.
But he could feel himself starting to throb, his jeans growing just a bit tighter, and he broke the kiss with a sigh. He pressed his lips to the band aid on your temple, his eyes closing briefly as he tried to get ahold of himself. “You don’t know what you do to me,” he muttered against your skin, and you let out a soft laugh at that.
You didn’t initiate another kiss after that, thankfully, because Bucky wasn’t sure if he’d be able to will his dick to not get hard, or harder. It’d been some time since he’d been with a woman, and even then he knew you were definitely the sexiest one he’s seen.
And while you and he were no longer kissing, you still wanted to be close as you wrapped your arms around his middle, pressing your face against his chest. Bucky wrapped his own arms around you, pulling you against him and burying his face in your hair.
As much as you are sexy, you are also so fucking sweet.
It’d been a few days since you decided you wanted to stay, and while you and Bucky probably should’ve had a talk about where to go from that, you simply hadn’t.
Because even though you were new to each other’s lives, you fit right in, and you’d become each other’s new normals.
It was hot today, and instead of sweating all day doing things around the house, Bucky had pushed aside the house and yard chores, opting to spend the afternoon by the lake instead.
He’d given you a pair of boxers and a shirt to wear, the two acting as a makeshift swimming set since he still hadn’t taken you out to town to get you some clothes of your own.
Tomorrow, he’d do that.
Right now, he liked seeing the damp fabric of his shirt stick to your body.
You were standing in the lake with him, the water up to the middle of your thighs while it was only up to his knees. He didn’t know how long you and he had been out here, but the sun was just starting to set, the heat not nearly as bad as it had been before.
The water felt nice, and it cooled you both down tremendously. You and Bucky were both soaked, your clothes sticking to your bodies as you simply let the world pass by.
You’d begun collecting a bunch of rocks that were at the bottom of the lake. You’d set them aside on the dock, and there was a growing pile of… pretty normal looking rocks starting to form. But you found them pretty, so Bucky didn’t judge you for it.
Bucky left you to do that, bending down and grabbing at rocks you’d felt along the sand with your feet, and turned around to watch the sun as it began slowly lowering down towards the waterline.
As he took a step forward, he felt his foot brush against something sharp, and he winced, pulling back before he fully stepped on whatever it was. He looked down and through the ripples of the water, he saw part of what looked like a beer bottle sticking out of the sand.
He grunted and reached into the water to carefully grab it, then looked around the area for a few moments in case there were other pieces nearby. When he couldn’t find any, he moved back towards the dock, shaking his head, “Be careful, sweetheart. There might be glass around where you are. I almost cut my-” but the words died on his tongue when he looked over at you after setting the piece of glass on the dock.
Bucky shouldn’t be looking. His eyes shouldn’t be lingering where they currently are, but they’d dropped down there without his permission, and he was having a hard time looking away.
His throat went dry and he stuttered a bit as he tried to finish what he’d been saying, but it was no use.
It was bad enough that you looked unbelievably hot in his clothes, but the air had gotten cooler, and the water was naturally cold. He knew you couldn’t help the way your body reacts to the cold, more specifically, the way a certain part of your body reacts to it.
His shirt clung to you, wet and heavy, and he could see the peaks of your breasts pressing against the fabric, and the sight was really doing something to him.
You furrowed your brows, giving him a look of confusion as you stayed still, and you either didn’t know about the way your nipples were straining against his shirt, or you didn’t think it was a big deal. And it wasn’t, really. That was a natural and normal thing and yet… it had Bucky swallowing harshly as he started to move a little closer to you.
“You almost what?” you asked, your arms hanging loosely by your sides. When he didn’t answer, you shifted a bit, letting out a soft laugh. “What?” you asked again, then followed his gaze to your chest, and you pressed your lips together tightly. “Oh. Shit. Sorry, I didn’t realize I- the water’s cold and I’m wearing wet clothes and the air is kinda chilly.”
You were rambling now as Bucky stopped right in front of you, and the fact that you thought you needed to give excuses for your own body and its reactions had that protective feeling taking over him.
When you went to cross your arms, he reached out and wrapped his hand around your wrist, stopping you. “Don’t,” he said, his voice rough from the growing arousal he felt building up inside of him. “Don’t be sorry. And don’t be embarrassed. You don’t have to be either of those things. Not with me.”
You looked up at him and swallowed quickly, and he could feel the goosebumps that had formed on your skin - ones he wasn’t sure were just from the cold water and air. “Bucky,” you said, and he dipped his head down and kissed you before you could get another word out.
His hand released your wrist as he wrapped his arms around you, his fingers tangling in your wet hair as he deepened the kiss right from the start, and you moaned into his mouth as you melted against him. Your arms wound around his shoulders, and you leaned up on the tips of your toes, trying to get as close to him as possible.
Bucky’s hands slid down and grabbed your ass, lifting you slightly so you weren’t straining yourself as much, and you moaned against his mouth again, making his cock twitch in his shorts. “Fuck. Let me take you home,” he grunted against your mouth, his hands greedily bunching up the fabric of his shirt that hung off your body. “Please. Can I?”
You let out a needy sound, your fingers tangling in his damp hair as you nodded, whispering a soft, “Please,” against his lips.
And that was all Bucky needed to hear before started to walk you backwards towards the shore, and he was so caught up in the moment, he forgot to keep an eye out for any other pieces of that bottle. Thankfully, you and he made it out of the water with no incidents or injuries, and he kept one arm around your waist, keeping your body against his as you walked the short distance back to his house.
The front door swung open, the force of it hitting the wall making a few pictures rattle before he shut it loudly behind him. His hands were on your hips, gripping tightly as he pulled you against his body, his lips finding yours once again in a deep kiss.
Your hands slid up his arms, your nails skimming along his skin and making him feel feral. He licked into your mouth as he guided you backwards towards the hall, and you clung onto him a little tighter, fully trusting him to get you to his room without letting you back into anything.
When you and he entered his room, Bucky’s hands slid down the backs of your thighs, and he lifted you up, your legs instantly wrapping around his waist. He didn’t care that both you and he were still wet and your clothes were soaked as he walked you over to the bed and laid you down on it, his hips settling between your thighs.
You leaned back on the pillows as he pulled away from your mouth, his hands reaching down to pull off his shirt, and he dropped the wet fabric to the floor before leaning down towards you.
One of your hands wrapped around the back of his neck, pulling his lips to yours as your other hand splayed along his abs, and he felt you grin against his mouth. “You’re so big,” you mumbled against his mouth.
Bucky smirked against your lips, his biceps instinctively flexing at that as he pressed his hips to yours. “Am I?” he questioned, unable to keep the smugness out of his voice as he ran his nose along the curve of your jaw. “Maybe you’re just really small.”
You shook your head at that, your hands wrapping around his biceps, but they couldn’t wrap all the way around them. “No,” you murmured, wrapping your legs around his waist and pulling him closer. “The guys I’ve been with before, they weren’t nearly as big as you. You’re so much broader and wider and… bigger.”
Bucky’s smirk grew at that, and he was surprised he didn’t feel that jealous at you mentioning you being with other guys, because you just told him that he’s bigger than all of them. That made him feel superior, and he wanted to erase those guys from your memory and replace them with just him.
“Yeah?” he hummed, giving a slow, experimental roll of his hips against yours. When you let out a soft moan, he did it again, pressing his growing hard-on against you. “Seems like you’ve been with some scrawny dudes then, huh?”
You blushed at that, your teeth digging into your lip as you shook your head. “Maybe,” you whispered, “Or maybe you’re just fucking huge, Bucky.”
He felt his cock twitch at that, and he groaned as he buried his face in your neck. “You have no right to make swearing sound that fucking hot,” he muttered against your skin, and you let out a laugh as you tipped your head back on the pillow. “You just look so sweet and innocent. Doesn’t seem like this sweet mouth is capable of saying things like that.” he murmured, his hand coming up to cradle your jaw, and his thumb brushed along your lower lip.
You hummed, turning your head and nipping softly at the shell of his ear. “I think you’d be surprised at some of the things that come out of my mouth,”
Bucky perked up at your words and he lifted his head, meeting your eyes with a smug grin on his face. “Oh yeah?” he rasped, leaning in and pressing kisses along your cheek. “My sweet girl’s got a dirty side to her?”
You shrugged, reaching down to guide his hands to the hem of the shirt you’re wearing. “Guess you’ll just have to find out,”
Bucky groaned, and he kissed you harshly as he bunched up the fabric of his shirt and lifted it up your body, breaking the kiss to rid you of it entirely. He pulled back and looked down at you, feeling his desire spike at the sight of your bare breasts and the full view of your nipples. “Fuck,” he grunted, shaking his head as he moved down a bit. He kissed along the tops of your breasts, gently sucking at your skin as he grabbed onto your hips. “I don’t believe you. You’re far too fucking sweet.”
You bit down on your lip, your eyes locked onto his every move as you shifted under him, your hands sliding up his shoulders and into his hair. “Bucky,” you whimpered, and the sound of you saying his name like that had him bucking his hips against yours.
He dipped his head down even lower. “You look sweet. You sound sweet,” he mumbled against your skin as his lips brushed along your nipple. “You taste sweet,” You let out a weak moan at that, and he smirked against your skin once more. “Think my sweet girl is incapable of being dirty. But I’ll get you there. I’ll make you mine in every way.”
You moaned louder, your back arching a bit as you tried to push your chest closer to his face, just as greedy for him as he is for you.
“You want that?” he asked, his voice deeper than before as his big hands came up to cup your breasts, his thumbs brushing along your nipples.
“Yes,” you gasped, writhing under him. “Please, Bucky. Please.”
As pretty as you sounded when you begged, Bucky didn’t want to make you wait any longer. He wrapped his mouth around your nipple, gently sucking it into his mouth. He grunted, his eyes closing as he sucked on the peak, his tongue running along the bud as you let out a moan.
His other hand continued to roll your other one, tugging gently as your head fell back on the pillow, your own eyes fluttering shut. When he switched to your other nipple, you whimpered, pushing your chest up against him more firmly. “You’re so responsive,” he murmured, pressing soft kisses all over your breasts as his hands slid down your body. “You gonna let me touch you down here?” he asked, running his finger along the waistline of his boxers.
You pressed your lips together as you opened your eyes, your gaze instantly meeting his. “Yes,” you answered softly, “Please.”
Bucky grunted, kissing his way down your body. “Listen to you. You’re so fucking sweet,” he muttered, his fingers hooking into the damp fabric. He slowly pulled it down your thighs, then your legs, then let it fall to the floor to join the other shedded clothing. He leaned in close, his hands spreading your thighs apart as he settled in between them. Before he did anything else, he looked up at you, his eyes focused while his mouth watered with need to taste you. “You let me know if I need to stop, okay? If I’m doing anything that makes you uncomfortable or if you don’t feel good, you stop me, yeah?”
Your eyes widened at that, as if you’d never had someone say anything of the sort to you before, and you nodded slowly. “Yeah. I will. Promise,”
Bucky smiled, small and genuine, before he let himself look at the most private, and in his eyes, one of the most beautiful parts of you. He leaned in close, his lips dragging along your inner thigh before the tip of his nose brushed against your clit, and you jolted at just that. “Sensitive, hm?” he teased softly.
“Been awhile,” you breathed, lifting your hips as you looked down at him with a pleading expression on your face.
Bucky smiled up at you, pressing a soft kiss to your clit. “Don’t worry,” he murmured, “I’ll make you so spoiled, baby.”
Your breath hitched at that, and he finally allowed himself to taste the part of you he’d been dying to taste for a shamefully long time. He ran his tongue along your folds, collecting the wetness that had gathered there on the muscle while also leaving behind some of his own.
A deep, pleased grunt came from the back of his throat, and just from that first taste alone, he was hooked.
Bucky grabbed onto your thighs with gentle hands and guided your legs over his shoulders, then buried his face in your pussy. He basked in the string of moans you let out, your body shifting while you tried to push yourself closer to him.
He pinned your hips down, his thumbs running along the bones as he slid his tongue along your seam yet again, then dipped it inside. “Goddamn, sweetheart,” he grunted, breathing you in as his fingers curled around your waist. “Taste so fucking good, baby. Could stay down here for the rest of the night.”
You whimpered, already greedy for him as you shook your head. “No,” you moaned, “Want you to fuck me, Bucky.”
He let out a pleased hum, purposely bumping his nose against your clit. “And I will, baby,” he promised, “But I need my fill of you first. I want to make you feel so good, sweetheart. Make you feel things you’ve never felt before.”
You squirmed at that, your body heating up as your hands fisted the sheets at either side of your hips. “You already do that. You’ve been doing that since the night I met you,”
Bucky felt his heart clench, and he gave your hips a gentle squeeze. “I want to keep doing it,” he said, sliding his hands up your body until they were covering your breasts. “If you’ll let me.”
“Yes,” you moaned, nodding quickly afterwards. “I will. I want you, Bucky. I only want you.”
He grinned, turning his head and giving your inner thigh a chaste kiss before he slid his tongue between your folds again then wrapped his lips around your clit. He gently sucked it into his mouth and he could practically feel the way your nerves throbbed against his tongue. “That feel good, baby?” he asked when he briefly pulled away and watched as you nodded again, just as fast as before.
“So good,” you moaned, “Keep going. Please.”
Bucky had a feeling he’d never deny you of anything, especially when you begged him like that. He was already so down bad for you, he was certain he’d do anything you wanted, and right now you wanted his mouth back on your pussy.
His fingers dug into your hips, pinning you down to the bed as he buried his face in you, his eyes shutting as he drank you in. Your taste, your scent, the way you sounded when he slipped his tongue inside of you.
Your hips tried to lift off the bed, but he held them down, easily overpowering you in a way he knew you enjoyed rather than felt threatened by. You only shared a little bit of your past with him, short stories here and there that gave him a glimpse into the way you were forced to live before. You didn’t have a choice, but now you do, and he wants you to always know that.
A soft, needy sound left your lips, and it went straight to his cock. Bucky refrained from thrusting into his bed, opting to hope that he’d get his relief later after he’s made you cum on his tongue.
Your hands slid down into his hair, and your fingers tangled in the strands as you moaned for him. The feeling of your nails gently scratching along his scalp felt unbelievably good after not feeling it for so long. You mentioned it being a while for you since you’d last done this, and it had been quite a while for him too.
When he returned his mouth to your clit and sucked on it, you jolted in his hold, your fingers pulling on his hair. “Fuck,” you moaned, looking down at him with worried eyes. “Is that okay? Did I hurt you?”
You’d suffered unimaginable pain, so it made sense that you were cautious when potentially inflicting pain onto someone else, but in all honesty, Bucky didn’t think you’d ever be able to hurt him. At least not like that. Your hands felt like heaven, and he was greedy to feel them all the time.
“It’s okay, sweetheart. More than okay,” he promised, removing one hand from your hip and sliding his fingers along your folds, collecting your wetness. “You didn’t hurt me. You can do whatever you want to me, okay?”
You pressed your lips tightly together at that, looking down at him at the same time he lifted his gaze to you, and your fingers ran along the length of his cheek as you gave him a look that told him everything you didn’t say. “Okay,” you whispered, your brows furrowing when he slowly pushed two fingers into you.
The tight, wet walls of your cunt stretched around his fingers, only further proving that it had definitely been a while since someone touched you. That or you were just tighter than normal. Either way, Bucky was more than willing to get you prepared and to make sure he didn’t hurt you in any way.
You gasped when he pushed his fingers in all the way, your tight walls clinging to him as you let your eyes flutter shut.
Bucky kept his eyes on you as he slowly worked his fingers in and out of you, trying to read your every expression. “You like that?” he asked, his voice a lot deeper than before as his own desire built more and more. He was unbelievably turned on, and the sounds you were making for him weren’t helping his case at all, and yet it would be even worse if you were to stop making them.
You nodded slowly, going silent with your words as you gently scraped your nails along his scalp. And while he liked to hear you confirm how you’re feeling with words, you’d been incredibly vocal about it since the very beginning, so he didn’t feel like he was overstepping this time.
His mouth returned to your clit, his tongue gently flicking over the bud a few times before he wrapped his lips around it once again. Your body jolted, your fingers tightening in his hair as you let out soft sounds and whimpers that only fueled his desire for you.
When his teeth grazed your clit, you gasped, your hands tugging at his hair seemingly out of instinct. He could feel how you were tightening even more around his fingers, your moans becoming louder and more consistent. “You’re close,” he murmured, not a question but simply an observation as he thrust his fingers into you a little faster than before.
“Mhmm,” you hummed, nodding quickly as you arched your back and bucked your hips, trying to get impossibly closer to him. “Please… please.”
Fuck, you sounded so pretty.
Bucky worked his fingers in and out of you, his tongue running over the pulsing, sensitive bud above where his fingers are. “Want to feel you cum for me,” he rasped, his other hand sliding up your body until it reached your breast, and he covered the soft mound with his palm. “Want to make you feel so good, sweetheart.”
A sharper, more desperate sound tumbled out of your mouth at that, and you were starting to shake, your legs beginning to tremble at either side of his head. Your back arched even more as your cunt clenched around his fingers, sucking them in deeper as he felt you grow warmer and wetter. “Fuck,”
“That’s it, baby,” Bucky praised, keeping the pace of his fingers for a few more moments before he pulled them out, only to replace them with his tongue. He licked you all over, cleaning up your mess while leaving behind one of his own, and he only relented when you cried out and jerked away from his mouth, your fingers scratching at his head as he worked you to near over stimulation.
He pulled back, sitting up on his knees and bringing his hand up to his lips. He sucked his wet fingers into his mouth, cleaning them of your wetness with a deep, satisfied and shameless groan, all while looking at you like you were the single most hottest thing he’d ever seen. You definitely were.
You writhed on the bed, and he wanted to burn the image of you like this into his head, because you looked undeniably sexy and sated but also needy and desperate.
When his hands moved to your thighs, your own came to cover them as your chest rose and fell unevenly, your eyes hooded and your bottom lip puffy from how hard you’d bitten on it.
Bucky smiled down at you, his hands running up and down your smooth skin that was now void of bruises, and only had faint scratches that were almost fully healed. “Anyone ever tell you how fucking beautiful you are?”
You blushed at that, writhing more as you wrapped your hands around his wrists and tried to bring him closer. “Not very often,” you mumbled, and Bucky shook his head.
“Too bad for them,” he muttered, spreading your thighs once more and guiding your legs to wrap around his waist as he settled his hips between them once again. “‘Cause you’re fucking gorgeous, sweetheart. Every single fucking part of you.”
He leaned in and kissed you after that, not letting you say anything in return as he shared your taste with you. His hips rolled forward, the rough material of his shorts rubbing against your bare, sensitive core and making you whine into his mouth. “Bucky. I need you,” you breathed, wrapping your hand around the back of his neck. “I want to feel you. Want to make you feel good now.”
Bucky hummed against your mouth, kissing you deeply again. “Sweet girl,” he mumbled in between kisses. He placed a few more before pulling back. “Trust me when I say that what I just did to you made me feel good too. Never wanted to see someone cum so badly before in my life.”
You huffed out a gasp at that, your legs locking tighter around his waist as you pulled him closer. “Bucky,”
He smirked softly, pulling back just enough to be able to reach in between yours and his body. “Alright, baby,” he murmured, unzipping and pushing down his shorts and boxers. His cock sprang free, hard and thick and long, already slick at the tip with pre-cum.
Bucky hadn’t been this painfully hard in a long time, to the point where even the pressure of his own hand stung a bit before it faded to relief. He saw the way your head lifted to look down at him, and his smirk grew when he saw the way your stomach muscles fluttered a bit. “Oh… shit,” you breathed, your hands coming up to wrap around his biceps.
He kept one hand around his cock, giving himself a slow, almost teasing stroke as his other hand grabbed your hip, his thumb rubbing gentle circles onto your skin. “What’s the matter?” he murmured, having a feeling he already knew exactly what you were thinking.
You confirmed it when you whispered, “You’re… really big,” in a voice that held both need and obvious shock.
“Yeah?” Bucky cooed softly, his hand raising to your face, and he tucked some of your messy hair behind your ear. “You don’t think it’ll fit?”
You shook your head, your grip on his arms tightening. “No, I really don’t,”
Bucky guided his cock to your pussy, rubbing its length along your folds. “But you’re so wet for me, baby,” he said, his voice holding a hint of teasing as he watched himself become coated in your slick. “Bet I could just slide right in and you’d just take me.”
Your body shuddered at either his words or his actions, or possibly both, before you looked up at his face. “Okay. Just be slow, please?” you asked, as if he’d rush you into anything after you’ve already told him it’d been a while since the last time you had sex.
“Of course,” he murmured, leaning in and pressing a soft kiss to your forehead.
“Do you… have a condom?” you asked, making him wince, his lips turning into a frown against your skin.
He pulled back and groaned, shutting his eyes tightly, “No. Fuck,” he grunted, pulling back even more. “I haven’t really been with a lot of women while living here, so I never bothered to have those around. Really wish I did now though.”
You gave him a small smile as you cradled his face in your hands, your thumbs rubbing along his stubbled cheeks. “It’s okay,”
Bucky sighed, shaking his head. “I’m sorry. We kinda rushed into this without thinking of that, huh?” he muttered, “I can get you off with my mouth and fingers again, and then I can… jerk off or something. I didn’t think I’d be having sex anytime soon, sweetheart. I’m sorry I wasn’t prepared for this.”
You let out a quiet laugh as you shook your head in return, guiding his lips to yours in a gentle kiss. “Bucky, it’s okay,” you said again, pulling him back to you so he was flush against your body once again. “I don’t… I’m okay with not using a condom tonight, if you are. You said you wanted to take me into town to get some stuff at some point, maybe we can go tomorrow and get, like, Plan B or something? And condoms.”
Bucky felt his shoulders drop at that, shamelessly feeling relieved that, despite the absolute lack of protection between you and him, he was still allowed to fuck you. He braced himself on one hand beside your head, his other one trailing down your body. “You got it all figured out, huh?” he teased, watching the way you squirmed a bit under him.
“I want to feel you,” you said simply, shrugging after, “I want you to fuck me.”
And fuck did he want that too. It sounded so good coming from your mouth, and he had a feeling you wanted it nearly as much as he did, which was an ungodly amount.
“Yeah?” he said lowly, reaching down to grasp his cock again, and he guided himself to your entrance but didn’t push in yet. “Good. ‘Cause I want to fuck you too.”
You whined at that, bucking your hips against his as you wrapped your legs around his waist, as if you were trying to push him in yourself. “Please, Bucky,” you begged, tugging him into a kiss, and he was done for.
He slowly pushed the tip of his cock past your folds, sinking the first few inches inside you and feeling the way your walls already fluttered around him. “Fuck,” he grunted into your mouth, sliding his hand up to your hip and holding onto you tightly. His other hand fisted the pillow beside your head, his jaw clenching as he held back from thrusting all the way inside you.
You were tight. Really fucking tight, and it felt impossible to push any further without hurting you. Your cunt was gripping him like a second skin, clinging onto him as tightly as he was clinging onto you, and he broke the kiss to bump his forehead against yours.
“You… you gotta tell me if I hurt you, okay?” he said, sounding a little desperate as he twisted the pillow between his fingers. “You’re so fucking tight, baby. I don’t wanna… fuck, I don’t want to hurt you, sweetheart.”
Your hands were gripping his shoulders tightly, your body tense under his as you squeezed your eyes shut. “You’re not hurting me, Bucky,” you breathed, knees digging into his hips as he stayed still. “You’re just… big. Really big.”
Bucky smirked softly, turning his head and pressing a kiss to your temple. “You need a minute?”
Shaking your head, you slid one hand around to his back, pressing on it gently. “No. You can keep going,”
He nodded, burying his face in your neck as he pushed in deeper, going all the way until his hips were against yours, and his cock was buried all the way inside of you. He stilled once again, letting out a deep, strangled groan against your skin as he felt you tighten around him, your hand sliding up his back and into his hair.
“Fuck,” he muttered, slowly pulling his hips back just a bit before pushing forward again, his eyes closing at the feeling. “God, you feel so fucking good.”
You moaned at his words, then again when pulled his hips back and repeated the motion, your head falling back on the pillow. “So do you,” came your quiet reply, your fingers tangling in his hair.
After a few moments, he found a deep, steady rhythm, one that had him pulling nearly all the way out before sliding back in again to the hilt. Each thrust allowed him to see how tight you were, your walls stretching around him every time he pulled back. His cock was covered in your slick, making every slide back in easier than the last.
Bucky’s fingers dug into the soft skin of your hip, his deep groans lost to your neck as he kept his face buried there. He wasn’t sure he’d be able to physically stop himself from coming way too soon if he were to pull back and watch you - the sounds you were making already being too much to begin with.
He kept his pace slower than he’s used to. Usually he has no problem with a quick fuck with a girl that left him and her satisfied and straining himself just enough to fall asleep afterwards.
But he wanted to savor this with you, even though you’d made it clear that you wanted to do this many more times in the future, as did he.
His hips rolled against yours, knocking gently against your own with every thrust. Your moans were going directly into his ear, each one making him push a little harder every time he pulled back.
Your hands grasped at his face, pulling his head away from your shoulder. “Bucky,” you moaned, and he grunted instantly in response. “Look at me.”
He shook his head, his cheek pressing against yours as his hand finally released the pillow and grabbed onto your other hip. “I can’t,” he rasped, his eyes falling shut as he fucked into you a little faster. “You feel too fucking good, sweetheart. Too perfect. I can’t-”
“Please,” you begged, your heels digging into his lower back and trying to pull him impossibly closer despite him being as close as he could physically be. “Please, Bucky, look at me.”
And he couldn’t deny you.
He pulled back, his eyes opening and meeting yours. The way you were looking at him was the exact reason he refused to look at you before. You were looking at him like you trusted him more than anyone else in the whole world, like you were willingly giving him your heart and letting him do whatever he wanted with it.
Your brows were pushed nearly all the way together, your eyes were hooded and glazed over, and your lips were curved upwards in a soft, lazy smile.
The way you were looking at him made him feel unlike anything he’d ever felt in his entire life, and he knew right then and there that he had fallen in love with you. He didn’t care that it was fast, and he had no idea when he’d fallen in love with you, but somewhere along taking you in, healing your wounds, and becoming your safe place, he’d fallen in love with you.
Bucky dropped his forehead to yours, his breath gently fanning along your lips as he rocked into you quicker, his hand sliding around you to your backside. “I need you to cum for me, baby,” he breathed, his hand covering one side of your ass as he pulled you against him with every thrust. “Need to feel you cum for me, sweetheart. Want to make you fall apart again.”
You moaned at that, pulling his chest down against yours so he could feel the way your breasts bounced softly every time he bottomed out inside of you. “Don’t stop, Bucky,” you murmured, keeping one hand tangled tightly in his hair while your other one raked down his back, your nails barely dragging along his skin.
He leaned in and kissed you deeply, swallowing each and every moan you let out for him like the greedy man he’d become for you. His teeth bumped against yours as he started to fuck you a little faster and a little harder, his hand squeezing your ass while the other one slid up your back and tangled in your hair. “Cum for me,” he grunted against your mouth, the sound of the bed beginning to creak alongside yours and his moans. “C’mon, sweetheart, let go for me. I want to feel you cum all over my cock.”
You gasped into his mouth, your nails digging into his skin as he felt your cunt clench tightly around him. “Fuck,” you moaned against his mouth before detaching your own from it. Your eyes squeezed shut, your body tensing up in the way it did before when you came on his mouth and fingers, and only a few seconds later he felt the way your walls became slicker, warmer and tighter, squeezing and sucking him in deeper.
Bucky grunted, keeping the same pace as he watched your every move and reaction, wanting to memorize the way you look right now and keep the sight locked away for the rest of his life. He held off as long as he could until you were whining and writhing, then he was there too.
You insinuated before that you were okay with him coming inside you, and he’d planned on asking you again before he did it, but the only thought on his mind was how perfect and wet and tight you are, and any rational thought left his mind as he buried himself inside you one last time before he came.
He filled you up, his hips jerking a little out of his control as he dropped his forehead back to yours, deep, tired groans leaving his mouth. His chest heaved unevenly against yours as he stilled, feeling the excess beads of cum leak from the tip of his cock as your walls fluttered around him.
You looked like you were in a daze under him, your lips kiss swollen, your cheeks flushed, and your body covered in a light layer of sweat. He could only assume he looked similar to the way you do right now.
Your arms locked around his shoulders, your legs staying around his waist as you pulled him down onto you, his body completely covering yours as you kissed him again, a lot less deeper than before but just as needy.
Neither of you said a word for a long time after that. You stayed cuddled in each other’s arms, kissing each other’s mouths and bodies as you both came down.
It wasn’t until what felt like an hour later when he finally pulled back and almost fully detached himself from you when he asked if you were okay, and if he had hurt you at all while being caught up in the moment.
But you’d simply shook your head, pulled him close again, and then fell asleep with your head on his chest.
And after that, his bed became his bed again, and it also became yours.
It was late in the morning since you and Bucky had both become quite worn out after the intense night you’d both had, you ended up sleeping in longer than either of you thought you would.
He had no idea what time it was. All he could think about was you, more specifically, the way you felt around him.
After last night, he’d become addicted to you like he knew he would. You’d completely fucking ruined him, and now he was sure he’d never be able to get into this very bed without thinking of the first time he fucked you on it.
You were on your side, your fingers laced loosely with his as he filled you with his cock over and over again from behind. You told him you were a bit sore, so he was being as gentle as he could right now, his hips rolling slowly against your ass.
His arm was wrapped around your middle, holding your body flush against his. He buried his face in your hair, breathing you in as your cunt swallowed him over and over again.
While the sex had been quite passionate last night and nothing short of amazing, this time it was much slower, much lazier and less desperate. He was still just as fucked up on you now as he’d been last night, but he felt more assured that this was it for him, that he’d get to do this with you for a long time. Last night gave him all the reassurance he needed.
He squeezed your fingers between his, turning his head and pressing kisses all along your bare shoulder, trailing them up to the scar just under your jaw. It’d been a long time since he’d woken up with a woman in his arms and an ache on his chest from where your head had been resting all night, and he hadn’t realized just how much he’d wanted to wake up just like that for so long now.
Bucky had been by himself for so long, purposely distancing himself from too much interaction with people he wasn’t close to, he’d denied himself the privilege of allowing someone into his life to change it for the better. He’d never allowed himself to find his person, never gave anyone a chance.
Until you fell over your own two feet and stumbled head first into his life, and it didn’t get any more literal than that.
But he has you now. He wants you, and he wants to wake up with you like this every day now.
He wanted to watch as you slowly woke up, see first hand how beautiful you look first thing in the morning after fully relaxing all night. He wanted to share his bed with you every night, share his house with you every day, and become as important to you in your life as you’d become to his.
He wanted to start and end each day with you, feel the way you squeezed him so tight whenever he’s buried inside of you, watch how you become even prettier each time you fall apart for him, and he wanted to watch you blossom into a happier, confident and more carefree version of yourself that was so unlike the one he’d met what felt like months ago.
Because even though he’d fallen in love with that version of you too, he was head over heels for the one currently shaking in his arms and coming on his cock.
You buried your face in his arm as your body trembled against his, and Bucky wasn’t far behind you as he filled you up just like how he did last night.
He huffed out a laugh when you turned in his arms and cuddled up against his warm chest, and he pulled you close as he caught his breath. “I think we need a shower first,” he said, propping his chin on the top of your head. “Then I’ll take you to town and we’ll get you some new clothes and whatever else you need.”
You hummed, placing your hands flat against his chest. “And condoms?” you teased, making him laugh again.
“Yes, and condoms,”
It took you and Bucky another two hours to pull yourselves together, detach yourselves from one another, get ready and go into town.
He didn’t really know where to take you since he’d never gone out shopping with a woman solely in mind, but he did know that the part of town with all the shops attached together along the street was a good place to start.
A pharmacy was across the street from where he parked his truck, and the first store he saw on the right side of the street was a clothing store, so he guided you into that one.
“I don’t need much,” you quickly said as you and he walked through the doors, one of his arms wrapped around your waist as he let you lead. “Just, like… maybe a new bra? The one I’m wearing might rip before we even make it home. And maybe a couple pairs of underwear? And a couple shirts, and a pair of jeans.”
Bucky held back his laugh as he looked down at you with a lifted brow. You were wearing his jeans that were held up by a belt he had to poke a new hole into since the tightest one still didn’t keep the jeans up on your hips, and they were baggy at the bottom. You were also wearing one of his shirts and a jacket, both of which looked huge on you since none of his clothing would ever fit you, and yet you thought you just needed a single pair of jeans and some shirts?
“I think you need a bit more than that, sweetheart,” Bucky said, giving your hip a gentle squeeze. “You can pick out some outfits you like and some jackets too, so you can have options.”
You winced, shaking your head as you stopped just in front of a table stacked with different sized jeans. “I don’t want to spend all your money,”
Bucky actually did laugh at that, and he leaned down to press a kiss to your temple, right on your healing wound that no longer needed a band aid on it. “We’ve been over this. I won’t be breaking the bank from buying eggs every month, and I won’t break it by buying you more than one pair of jeans either,”
“That’s different. Eggs are food and you need food-”
“And you need clothes to wear that don’t make you trip every time you walk. Though I do find you very hot in my clothes,” he said, smirking when he saw you shrink a bit at his words. “I can afford to buy you things you need too, like clothes and hair products that don’t smell like pine and whiskey and… whatever else you might need.”
You bit down on your lip, looking down at the various different shades of blue jeans in front of you. Your hand reached out and ran along ones that were close to the same shade you were wearing right now, but in your actual size, then you looked up at him. “Okay,” you relented, giving him a sheepish smile. “Thank you.”
Bucky smiled back, leaning down to press a quick kiss to your lips before pulling back and nodding towards the back of the store where the shoes were. “Pick out some new sneakers and boots too,”
After that, you became less shy and appeared to be feeling less guilty about having him spend money on you, even though he assured you that he had more than enough to cover anything you might need.
You’d picked out three pairs of jeans, a couple shorts, eight shirts, five sets of pyjamas, a new jacket, sneakers and boots, and you had to look away when the total came up on the register, but Bucky simply swiped his card before taking your hand and the two bags and pulling you along.
You looked at the various choices of underwear, but you felt a little self conscious for some reason, and he offered letting you go into the store just up the street that was full of just bras and underwear by yourself with his card so you could get an update on your size and pick out some stuff without him hovering, and you agreed.
Just before you left the store, you stopped when you saw the display for the jewellery. There were rings varying from engagement rings to ones you’d wear around the house, some bracelets and some necklaces, and you paused when you caught sight of a silver necklace with a charm of a tree on it.
Before you could look at it for too long, you tried to pull away and tug him with you towards the exit, but Bucky stayed still, tugging you back to him. “You can look at these, sweetheart, it’s fine,” he said gently, guiding you back over to the display case.
You gave him a grateful smile as you stepped towards it again, standing just in front of it. “Just a look,” you agreed, your eyes going back to that same necklace with the tree charm. You smiled a bit bigger as he came up to stand behind you, wrapping one arm around your middle as he leaned down and rested his chin on your shoulder. “This is pretty. Reminds me of your place since it’s surrounded by trees.”
Bucky hummed in agreement, his hand splaying along your lower stomach. “That’s true. It is pretty too,” he said, “Maybe you should add some accessories to all these new outfits you got-”
But before he could finish his offer, you turned your head and tensed up in his hold, your body going rigid against his. He turned his head instantly, looking in the direction you were before you pulled away and grabbed his hand. “We should go get that Plan B,” you said, surprising him with the sudden change of subject, but he didn’t resist as you pulled him with you towards the exit. “The sooner you use it, the more effective it is, right?”
“Yeah, I think so,” Bucky said back, looking over his shoulder in another attempt to see what had set you off like that, but he only saw the backside of an older woman further in the store, then he couldn’t see anything as the door closed behind him. He turned to you, noticing the way you didn’t meet his eyes as you looked across the street at the pharmacy. He frowned as he hesitantly took your hand in his, and you thankfully didn’t pull away, instead lacing your fingers with his. “Everything okay?”
That made you look over at him, and your worried expression softened just a bit as you nodded, squeezing his hand. “Yes,” you answered, “Just realized we had sex twice in the last twelve hours, and I don’t know if that will impact the pill at all. And as much as I strongly believe you’d make some really cute kids, being a mother right now is not high on my list of priorities.”
Bucky laughed at that and nodded in agreement, guiding you with him as he walked across the street once it was safe to do so. “Yeah, as much as I want to be a dad someday, I’m also not in a rush,” he said, pulling open the door to the pharmacy and holding it open for you.
After buying both a Plan B pill and a twenty four pack box of condoms, Bucky took the pharmacy bag from you and led you back across the street where his truck is. “You can head to that store down there and pick out some stuff,” he said, opening the backseat door and putting the bags inside. He turned to you and handed you his card, giving you a smug smile. “Get whatever you need. Maybe something pretty for me too,” he added, loving the way you got all flustered whenever he said things like that to you despite him finding out for himself that you have a dirty side to you as well. “You can just tap it, but if it doesn’t work, the code is 1977.”
You pressed your lips together at that, taking the card from him, “I can’t believe you trust me with that. What if I were to run off with your card and steal all your money?”
Bucky shrugged, shutting the truck door and locking it afterwards. “Guess I’ll just have to give all the stuff in my backseat to the next girl who gets lost in the woods and scares away my dinner,” he said back, and you glared up at him before grabbing his shirt and pulling him down into a firm kiss.
“I’ll be back soon,” you said against his mouth, and he grinned, kissing you again.
“Take your time,” he said back, “I’m in no rush.”
He watched as you turned and made your way down the street, and he waited until you entered the store before pushing himself away from where he was leaning against his truck, and he walked back into the store you and he were in only ten minutes ago.
He forgot about the woman or whatever you’d seen that made you leave the store so quickly before, his eyes locked onto the display case with the necklace you were eyeing inside it.
Bucky stopped an employee as she was walking by and asked if he could see the necklace, and she all too happily unlocked the side of it and pulled it out for him. “It’s been a while since I’ve seen you around town, James,” the woman said, and he looked up at her when she placed the necklace on top of the case.
He kind of recognized her from when he lived closer to town, and he was sure he’d talked to her a couple times at one point if she knew his name. “Oh, yeah,” he said, reaching for the dainty silver chain and picking it up. “I don’t go shopping very often, especially not around here, no offense,” he added, but she just waved him off. “Just needed to grab some stuff for my… girlfriend.” he finished, unsure if he should be calling you that since you and he hadn’t actually talked about what you are yet.
“Yeah, I saw you with her when you first came in. She’s really pretty, seems sweet too,” she smiled, looking down at the necklace in his palm.
“She’s so fucking sweet,” Bucky agreed, forgetting to use his manners for a second as he gave her an embarrassed laugh. “Sorry, I meant… she’s way too sweet for me. But I think I’ll keep her around anyway.”
The woman laughed and waved him off again, then nodded at the necklace. “Well this is a great way to ensure she’ll stick around,” she teased, “It’s a beautiful necklace.”
Bucky nodded in agreement, dangling the chain from his fingers as he looked at it for a few more seconds. “I’m gonna surprise her with it,” he said, setting it down as he reached into the back pocket of his jeans and pulled out his wallet.
“Perfect,” the woman said, reaching back into the case and pulling out the box the necklace had been placed in before. Once it was secured in the box, she nodded for him to follow her to the register. “She’s one lucky girl you got there, James.” she added as she took the cash he’d handed to her.
Bucky smiled at that, sliding the box into his jacket pocket. “Pretty sure I’m the lucky one,” he said back, giving her a kind nod before telling her to keep the change as he left the store to go back to his truck and wait for you.
You were in the bedroom, changing into one of the new outfits you’d got today while Bucky was in the kitchen, sipping on the coffee he’d picked up on the way home.
He stripped himself of his jacket, draping it over the back of one of the chairs as he opened the fridge and looked inside to see what he felt like making for dinner. The windows were open, letting the chilled evening air fill the space of the living room and kitchen and create a comfortable temperature throughout the house.
Just as Bucky took a step towards the open fridge to pull out the chicken he decided he wanted to cook, the sound of the bedroom door opening made him pause, and he looked over at the hallway just as you stepped out.
You were wearing a pair of your new jeans that were a baby blue shade and fit you perfectly, and a white fitted top, and on your feet were the new pair of sneakers you’d picked out that were pristine and clean compared to your old, dirty ones.
The outfit was simple, and yet to Bucky you looked hot, especially when he let himself think about what was hiding under those clothes. He let the fridge door close as he stepped away from it, letting out a low whistle as he moved towards you. “Damn,” he said, making you laugh as you met him halfway. “You look good, sweetheart. Real fucking good.”
You smiled up at him, draping your arms around his shoulders at the same time his own wrapped around your waist, and he pulled your body against his. Before you could say anything, he leaned down and kissed you, making you sigh against his lips as you kissed him back.
Your fingers tangled in his hair as you pulled back just a bit, smiling against his mouth, “Just wait until you see what I picked out when you weren’t with me,” you said against his lips.
Bucky groaned, already prepared to forget all about dinner and just take you to bed now, but just as he grabbed your hips and turned you so he could walk you right back down that hallway and into the bedroom, the sound of the front door opening made him stop.
“Oh,” he heard the sound of his sister’s voice, and he groaned against your mouth again, pulling away from you. He looked over and watched as she shut the door behind her, crossing her arms over her chest. “Well. This is a surprise. Hello.”
You pulled back even more, looking over at her with wide eyes. “Hi,” you said, giving her a kind but confused smile before looking up at Bucky.
He gave you a tight smile, dropping his arms to his sides. “That’s Becca, my sister,” he told you, and you looked over at her again with a bigger smile.
“Oh,” you breathed, “I didn’t know Bucky had a sister. Hi.”
Becca laughed, looking between you and Bucky with equally confused eyes. “Hi,” she said back, “That’s okay. I didn’t know he had a girlfriend either.”
Bucky winced, closing his eyes as you let out a sound of shock. “No, we’re… well, I guess we kind of are? Maybe? Probably?” you said, looking over at him again for help, and Bucky just propped his hands on his hips.
“You staying for dinner, Becs?” he asked, “I’m making chicken parm.”
Becca lit up at that, and she shrugged out of her jacket, tossing it aside onto the couch. “Oh, well, I couldn’t say no to that,” she said, striding over to you. “It gives me time to get to know your kind of, maybe girlfriend.”
She wrapped her hand around your wrist, and Bucky instantly noticed the way you jumped a bit at the contact. He’d been the only person to touch you since you ran away from home, so to have someone you didn’t know grab you like that was probably very alarming for you, even if Becca’s intentions were nothing but good.
Bucky stepped forward, gently pulling your arm free and guiding you over to the couch. “Here, sweetheart, why don’t you sit with Becca and talk while I get started on dinner?” he said quickly, looking over his shoulder and noticing that the confused expression was once again on his sister’s face.
“Okay,” you agreed slowly, sitting down on the couch he’d put you on that very first night. You looked up at him, and you must’ve been able to see the concern in his eyes, because you gave his hand a soft squeeze. “You’ll let me know if I can help?” you asked, and Bucky smiled and nodded.
“Of course,” he said, leaning down and kissing the side of your head. He turned back to Becca, then wrapped his arms around her in a hug, finally properly greeting her as he muttered, “She’s been through a lot. I’ll tell you later, okay?”
Becca nodded, not understanding fully but agreeing anyway as she returned the hug before pulling away and walking over to you. He watched her sit down next to you, and he smiled at the way you already seemed to have calmed back down and were smiling at his sister again.
He let himself watch for a few more seconds before he walked back over to the fridge to get started on dinner, the sound of you laughing at something Becca said filling the space that had been quiet for far too long.
“Sorry for interrupting earlier,” Becca said as she leaned back in the chair, her plate empty like yours and Bucky’s were. “If I had known my brother finally landed himself a girl, I would’ve knocked or something. I usually come by twice a month since Bucky grows the best tasting tomatoes ever, and I steal them from him.”
You smiled at her as Bucky scratched the back of his head, but the smug grin on his face told you both that he wasn’t embarrassed at the interruption at all. “It’s okay,” you said, wiping your hands on a piece of paper towel. “I’m really happy you came over. I was curious when I’d get to meet Bucky’s family.”
Becca perked up at that, looking over at him. “Is that so? Well, Buck, you need to bring her over to mom’s place and let her experience how good her cooking is,” she said, her gaze returning to you. “Our mother is a natural cook, and she’s probably one of the best cooks in the world, if I do say so myself.”
You smiled at that, nodding, “I’d love to meet her one day,” you said, and Bucky felt his heart clench in his chest. He wanted to take you to meet his mother, too, which is something he never thought he’d do with anyone any time soon.
He began gathering the dishes, but you quickly stood up and waved him off. “Bucky, leave it. I’ll clean up,” you said, but he shook his head.
“It’s alright, baby, I-”
“Bucky, you cooked, let me clean, okay?” you cut him off, making him pause, and he heard the snort from Becca at the interaction before he set his plate back down.
“Alright. Fine,” he said, stepping away from the table.
“Thank you,” you said, already beginning to gather the plates and utensils. “Go give your sister your tomatoes and talk for a bit. I’ll clean up the kitchen.”
Bucky smiled at that, trying to not show his sister how gone he already was for you as he gestured for her to get up. “Yes, ma’am,” he said, reaching for his jacket and pulling it over his shoulders. Becca gave him a teasing look, then cackled as he gently shoved her towards the door, but he stopped when he was close to you. He leaned in and kissed your cheek, watching how you instantly smiled. “Thanks, sweetheart.”
You smiled bigger, then shooed him away.
Outside, Bucky caught up with Becca, who was already rounding the house to his garden. He wasn’t sure how to start the conversation he knew he was about to have with her, so he just said the first thing that was on his mind, “Thank you for being so nice to her,”
Becca shrugged, bending down in front of the tomato plants. “She’s a nice girl herself,” she said, beginning to pick at the ripe ones.
“Yeah, she is,” Bucky agreed, moving to kneel down next to her.
“She must be special if you’re giving her things like that necklace you have in that jacket pocket,” she said casually, and Bucky paused.
He looked down at his jacket, then back at her with narrowed eyes. “How did you-” but the look she gave him had him shutting up, because of course she somehow managed to snoop around in his things. She had been sitting on the chair he’d draped this jacket over, and he had no doubt she’d managed a peak at it while he’d been distracted by you. “Yeah. She is special,” he said, and she nodded, “How much did she tell you? About what happened?”
Becca shrugged, handing him the tomatoes before she started picking at the other plant. “Not too much. She just said that my brother helped her out of a really dark place and saved her, and how she wants to be able to spend the rest of her life making up for it,”
Bucky’s heart skipped at that, and he suddenly felt the urge to turn around, go back inside and take you into his arms. He blew out a soft breath, nodding, “Yeah, that’s part of it. She ran away from home, an abusive home, and she would’ve died if she didn’t find me that day. I took her home and let her stay until she felt like she was ready to be on her own again, but…”
Becca paused and looked up at him, “But you fell in love with her already, didn’t you?” she said, not a single trace of judgement or pity in her tone. Bucky nodded slowly, and she tilted her head. “And you didn’t want her to go, because you didn’t want to be alone again.”
Bucky sighed, rubbing at his face. “Is that selfish?”
“She stayed, didn’t she?” Becca shrugged, “You didn’t force her to stay here, did you?”
“No,” he quickly answered, “Of course not. I was prepared to watch her walk right back out of my life if that was what she wanted to do, but… she wanted to stay.”
Becca stood up, making Bucky look up at her from his knelt position. “Then I see nothing selfish about that,” she said, and somehow those words made him feel ten times better about everything, because he had been worried he’d been keeping you from living your life, giving you a place to live in the middle of nowhere when you could be somewhere more lively.
But you wanted to be here. With him.
Bucky stood up too, giving her a small smile. “Thanks, Becs,”
She smiled back, beginning to walk back to her car so she could put the tomatoes in the basket she has in her backseat. As they passed by the kitchen window, Bucky looked over and watched you as you washed the dishes, looking relaxed and comfortable and safe inside his home.
Becca nudged his arm with her elbow, making him tear his eyes off you. “I know she said you saved her, and quite literally at that,” she started, a genuine smile taking over her face. “But I’m pretty sure she saved you too. From a lonely life here all by yourself, with only your hand to keep you company.”
Bucky scoffed out a laugh at that, nudging her right back. “You’re the worst,” he said, but he knew the first part of her statement was true. He believes you saved him just as much as he saved you.
“You love me,” she said, opening her car door and grabbing the basket. “I’ll get outta your hair soon so you two can get back to mauling each other.”
The sound of loud knocking at twelve in the morning woke both you and Bucky up, your body jumping against his under the sheets.
It had been just over two weeks since that trip into town, and you and Bucky had been living in pure bliss. He’d ordered you a phone he planned to pick up in town soon, and you’d started to look for jobs on his laptop he rarely used, and you both discussed getting new forms of ID for you since you’d left all of your previous when you ran away.
On your nightstand was the necklace with the tree charm he’d bought you two weeks ago, and had given you a week ago, and you only take it off when you go to sleep. The reaction he’d gotten when he gave it to you was priceless, and you started crying right then and there, and when you told him that no one had ever gotten you anything before, he almost started crying too.
You and he had only gone to bed an hour ago before the knocking had woken you up, and Bucky let out a groan as he kept one arm around your waist and rolled onto his side a bit, reaching for his phone. “Who the hell knocks on someone’s door at…” he squinted at the harsh brightness from his phone screen. “Twelve eighteen in the morning?” he grunted, setting his phone aside again.
But you were already half asleep again, cuddling up against his side. You were wearing one of his shirts and a pair of panties to bed, the new sets of pyjamas in the dresser drawer being used as lounge wear instead of your sleep attire - something he secretly loved since he’d been very vocal about how good you look in his clothes right from the very start.
“Ignore it,” you muttered, nuzzling your face against his chest. “They’ll probably go away soon.”
Bucky grunted, too tired to care at that point as well as he leaned back on the pillow. He was almost back to sleep when the sound of knocking jolted you both awake once again, and he cursed under his breath. “Stay here, sweetheart,” he muttered, sitting up in the bed and pushing the sheets off his body.
You hummed, propping your head on your palm as you looked up at him with tired eyes, and Bucky wanted to quickly find out what the person at his door wanted so you and he could go back to sleep.
He pulled on a pair of sweats, deciding that answering the door in just his boxers was probably not the best idea, before pulling open the bedroom door and making his way through the house.
Whoever is at his door started knocking more consistently, and rather obnoxiously, and Bucky gritted his teeth. He forced himself to calm down as he peered through the window next to the door, pulling the curtain back to see who it was.
It was a man he’d never seen before, and a woman who looked kind of familiar, but Bucky couldn’t place her anywhere specific. He wasn’t even sure if he’s ever seen her, but something about her was familiar, he just didn’t know what it was.
He let go of the curtain and stepped back, unlocking the door and pulling it open with a neutral expression on his face. “Yeah?” he asked, bracing one hand on the door frame while keeping his other one on the door knob in case he needed to slam it in their faces really quickly. “Can I help you?”
The man lowered his hand, his eyes widening a bit in surprise as if he was expecting a much warmer greeting from someone who’d just been woken up at midnight. “Uh, yeah. I hope you can,” he said, moving to stand back beside the woman. “We’re looking for our daughter. She ran away from home a few weeks ago, and we can’t find her anywhere.”
The woman piped up with a fake sadness in her voice that was almost comical if Bucky hadn’t instantly picked up on what the man just said. “We’ve looked everywhere, and she still hasn’t turned up. We’re just worried sick about her,”
Bucky straightened up at that, his eyes flickering between the two before he shrugged causally and shook his head. “No, I haven’t seen her,” he said, and the man narrowed his eyes.
“You don’t even know what she looks like,” he pointed out, and Bucky narrowed his eyes right back, then realized that if these were in fact your parents, he might be coming off a little too protective and guarded for them to believe him when he says he hasn’t seen you.
“That’s true,” Bucky said, softening his gaze as he lowered his shoulders he didn’t realize had raised almost to his ears. “But I haven’t had anyone come by in months. Just my sister, so again, I don’t think I’ve seen her.”
The woman lifted a photo up and all but shoved it in his face, making Bucky reel back a bit. “This is her. It’s a little old, maybe two or three years ago, but it’s the best one we have of her,” she said, and Bucky held back a grunt as he took his hand off the door frame and plucked the photo from her.
This was the best photo they have of you? Just one glance at the picture, Bucky could tell it definitely is you, but definitely isn’t from two or three years ago. You looked like a teenager in this photo, not twenty three or twenty four like you’d be if it were from two or three years ago.
It looked like an old yearbook photo, maybe from your second year of high school. What pissed him off even more though, was the obvious black eye you had in the photo. It was faded a bit, like maybe you’d gotten it just a few days before the picture was taken, but still. The proof that you’d been putting up with this for years was staring right back at him with younger features, and even more innocent eyes.
The photo was old, not only in regards to your age, but also physically. The edges were worn and the picture itself was dirty, like it had been sitting in an untouched drawer for years before someone picked it up again. It was given the same treatment you’d been given.
Bucky pursed his lips instead of locking his jaw, and he handed the photo back to the woman. “Yeah, no, sorry. I haven’t seen her,” he said, beginning to close the door when the sound of the floorboard in his hallway creaked, and Bucky stepped in the line of sight of the hall just as your dad tried to peer over his shoulder at the sound.
He flared his nose, his shoulders lifting slightly. “Does someone else live with you?” he asked, “Maybe they’ve seen her-”
“No,” Bucky said, standing firm when your dad tried to take a step into his house, and he found it very easy to lie to these people, especially after everything he knew they did to you. “No one else is here. That was just my cat, who will try to escape the longer I keep this door open. So, if you’ll excuse me.”
Your dad tensed up even more, visibly growing angrier by the minute, but so was Bucky. Before either of them could say anything else, your mom stepped in. “Of course,” she said, pulling on your dad’s arm to tug him away. “Thank you for your time. We’re sorry for coming by so late. Have a good night.”
Bucky didn’t say anything. He simply stayed where he was and watched them get into their car, and he waited until the tail lights had disappeared beyond the trees before he shut and locked the door.
When he turned, he saw you peeking your head out of the doorway of the bedroom, and you looked just as terrified as you did the day he met you. Bucky quickly walked over to you and tried to pull you into his arms, but you placed your hands on his chest, keeping a sliver of distance between you and him.
“That was- they were- my… my-” you stuttered, clearly having heard that whole interaction.
“Shh, hey. I know. I know, sweetheart,” he said, his hands gently grasping your upper arms. “It’s okay. They’re gone, okay? They don’t know that you’re here, I promise. They’re gone.”
You were shaking as you nodded your head, and you finally let him pull you into his arms, your face pressing up against his chest. You melted against him, and he felt the warm wetness of your tears against his skin, making him hold you a bit tighter. “I saw her,” you whispered, clinging onto him. “My mom. At the store a couple weeks ago when we went into town to get some clothes and the-the Plan B. I saw her, right before we left.”
Bucky tensed up at that, because that was where he knew your mom from. He’d only been able to catch a glimpse of her while you tugged him out of the store, but it was enough for him to remember what she looked like, and how scared you’d suddenly become that day. “Jesus, baby,” he muttered, cradling the back of your head with one hand as his other ran up and down your back. “Why didn’t you tell me?”
You cried quietly, shrugging. “I didn’t want it to be true. I didn’t want to bring attention to myself or risk her seeing me and taking me back there and-”
“Okay, it’s okay,” Bucky cut you off gently, turning his head and kissing your temple. He could feel the way you were starting to get worked up, and that was the last thing he wanted right now, for you to be back in that place mentally. “It’s okay. You’re okay, sweetheart. You’re not gonna go back there, okay? You’re home, baby. Here with me. You’re safe.”
You looked up at him with wet eyes, and he had to hold himself back from going after your parents and giving them both the same treatment they’d given you. “Okay,” you whispered, then wrapped your arms around his shoulders, holding onto him tightly.
Bucky picked you up and carried you back to bed, and he cuddled under the covers with you once more, letting you lay half of your body on top of his. He hoped you could feel the protective way he held you, and hoped you knew it was his way of telling you that he meant every word he said.
You are home now, here with him. He’d never let anyone hurt you or take you back to that horrible place you’d come from. He’d never let you go through that kind of pain ever again, and he’d never let your parents near you ever again.
A week had passed since that night your parents came by, and it was still unsettling how they managed to stumble upon the very house you were now living in, even though Bucky had told them he’d never seen you.
You’d come very close to being found by them that night, and you’d been a little on edge ever since, so Bucky suggested postponing the trip to town to get you a new phone and to get new copies of your ID, because it was obvious your parents had been snooping around the area in search of you.
It was nice out, the last few weeks with good weather dwindling down before the fall chill took over and it became Winter.
You were sitting under the canopy attached to the front of his house, your legs pulled up as you sat on the swinging seat he’d built with his best friend the second year he was up here after realizing he needed more places to sit on outside in case he had company.
Open on your lap was a book, one of the many ones he had tucked away on the shelf in his living room he shamefully hadn’t touched in a very long time. It was okay though, because you’d become quite fond of the collection, and you were putting it to way better use than he ever had.
He was cleaning up the area around the front of his house, putting things away to prepare for the harsher weather that would be coming his way in the following weeks. He was currently making sure he was stocked up on firewood so he’d be able to keep the house warm, and he was in the middle of chopping up what remained of a tree that had fallen over during the last bad storm when he heard the sound of tires on the dirt path that led to his house.
Bucky paused, briefly wondering if he forgot that his sister was coming by again, but then he saw the same car your parents were in that night a week ago, and he stood up straight. “Sweetheart,” he called out to you, keeping his eyes on the car as it came closer to the house, still partially hidden by the trees. “Go inside for a minute, okay?”
He heard the way you put your foot down to stop the chair from swinging. “What? Why?” you asked, but then he heard your sharp intake of breath, and you quickly got up and headed inside, closing the heavy door behind you.
Bucky rolled his shoulders just as the car drove up and stopped beside his truck, and this time he didn’t even try to be nice. “I told you, I haven’t seen your daughter,” he said to your dad when he got out of the car, your mother following his lead afterwards.
Your dad flashed him a so obviously fake smile as he strode over to him, but paused abruptly when he saw the axe Bucky was still holding in his hand. It didn’t scare him away fully though as he nodded towards the house. “I thought you said no one else lived with you?” he asked, and Bucky froze for a second, worried that they’d actually been able to see you before he quickly told you to go inside.
But then he saw how your dad nodded towards the swinging chair that was still swaying as if someone had just been sitting on it and had gotten up in a hurry. Bucky sighed deeply, before shrugging, “Must be the wind,” he said, “It’s pretty strong out here.”
Your dad’s smile faltered, and he took another small step forward. “And that book?” he asked, nodding towards the copy of Wuthering Heights you’d been reading before abandoning your spot on the swing to retreat inside. “I’m sorry, but you don’t seem like the type to read that kind of book.”
He was trying to get him to admit to having seen you, and possibly to hiding you inside, but Bucky was done at this point. Your parents had a lot of nerve to, not only treat you like shit, but to come onto his property twice and try to snoop around as if they had any right at all to do so.
“I’m sorry too,” Bucky said, keeping his grip loose on the handle of the axe as he took a few steps of his own. “That you think you have any business coming onto another man’s property and sticking your noses into other people’s shit. You must think you’re royalty or something if you think you can do whatever the fuck you want, say whatever you want, when you’re on my land.”
Your mom visibly shrunk at that, and she stepped away instantly as your dad swallowed nervously. “Well-well, I didn’t mean anything by it, I swear. I was just-”
“Accusing me of something? Trying to stick your nose in my business?” Bucky cut him off, coming to stand only a few feet away from your dad. “You’ve got a lot of fucking nerve, man. Clearly no one has ever taught your old ass a lesson, huh? That you can’t just walk up to people and talk out of your ass and not expect to have it handed to you in return.”
Your dad took a staggering step back, his eyes wide as he pushed your mother around the front of the car towards the passenger side door. “You’re crazy. All I did was come by to ask-”
“You know exactly what you came by to do,” Bucky said, getting right up in your dad’s face. “It won’t work here. Now get the fuck off my property before I make you regret ever coming here in the first place.”
Your dad looked terrified, and Bucky held back a laugh at the sight as he watched him quickly turn around and pull open the door. “You’re fucking insane,” he spat, getting into the car. “I know my daughter is in there. I know it. But you can have that little brat. You hear me?” he yelled, looking towards the house again. “He can have you! Because we don’t want your spoiled ass anymore! You’re gonna wish you never left, because no one else will ever want to put up with you or want you! Good luck with that little-”
The sound of the blade of the axe hitting the left headlight of the car shut him up, and your dad scrambled to start the car just as Bucky swung the axe back and took out the other headlight.
“You’re insane!” your dad scoffed, backing the car up rather carelessly and nearly hitting a tree.
“I’m glad you figured that out,” Bucky called back, watching the way the car sped down the dirt path and disappeared beyond the trees again.
He turned, planning to go find you in the house and promise you that they were gone for good, but then he saw you standing next to the swing, a small smile on your relieved face.
Bucky dropped the axe instantly, meeting you halfway when you started to walk quickly towards him. He picked you up and held you against his body as your legs wrapped around his waist, and he kissed you back as soon as your lips touched his. “I can’t believe you did that to my dad’s car,” you said against his mouth, your fingers threading through his hair. “He’s spent more money on that thing than on anything else.”
He grunted against your lips as he held you tight, his forehead pressing against yours. “I was gonna do a lot worse,” he said, walking over to the swing and sitting down on it, making you sit on his lap. “They’re not gonna hurt you anymore. I promise you that. I have you now. I’m not gonna let anything happen to you ever again.”
You were in a much better mood this time than you were the night your parents swung by at midnight, and he was so happy you hadn’t slipped back into that mindset they’d put you in before. You didn’t look scared or worried or anxious, but happy. Genuinely happy and relieved. “I know,” you whispered, cupping his face in your soft hands. “I love you, Bucky.” you said, and he felt his heart spike at that, and the biggest smile formed on his face.
“I love you,” he said back instantly, watching as an equally big smile formed on your face. “Damn it, I wanted to say it first.”
You laughed, pulling him into another kiss. “You did everything for me, and you saved my life,” you said against his mouth, “It’s only fair that I got to say it first.”
Bucky scoffed, shaking his head, “There’s nothing fair about that, but I’ll let you have it anyway,” he said, and you smiled even bigger before pulling him closer and kissing him once again.
I have returned with a stupidly long fic. I hope you enjoyed it.🧡
Summary: After Bucky kisses you goodbye at the Police Station, it's time to get back to business. But you couldn't have anticipated what that would entail.
Ch 19 of the Neighbors Series | Masterlist | Ch. 18 | Ch. 20
Warnings: language, Bucky's anxiety/PTSD, Zemo is an Asshole™, New Player Character Unlocked: Sam Wilson, pet names, the idiots in love are mushy… I think that's it, but please let me know if I missed something!
AN: Hello!! I'm back from the grave with this chapter that I had absolutely zero motivation for 😅 If you missed it, i made a little life update that might explain why I haven't been able to find the will to finish this chapter in a timely manner… But I love the way it came out! And I'm so fucking ready to write the next chapter, you guys have no idea. I've been thinking about it for like a year at this point, lol, I just wanna get my hands in there!!!
As always, thank you to @deceiver-of-gods for being my forever beta reader and helping me work through this chapter, and to all of you who have either found the series or stuck around for my poorly-timed chapter updates 😅 Enjoy!!
"That is why we are going to Madripoor," Zemo concluded, after unfolding his plan, sitting comfortably in his jet — if Bucky trusted his memory, which the serum obliged him to do, his training in aircraft types led him to believe was a Bombardier Challenger 600. And, based on what he saw from the German prison's cold interiors and harsh environments, Zemo had to be thrilled to be sitting in these leather seats again, rather than enduring the unforgiving surfaces prisons like that tried to call a bed. Sam and Bucky's presence as stand-in babysitters was probably only a minor deterrence, being able to do mostly as he pleased amongst his own possessions again. Though, based on the history of their relationship, Bucky didn't quite trust where the Baron drew the line of a mild inconvenience, or an action item further down on the to-do list.
"What's up with Madripoor? You guys talk about it like it's Skull Island," Sam questioned. A few memories flashed across Bucky's eyelids, all of them from trips that were less than voluntary on his part. He remembered being hot, the humid air of the tropical landscape only adding to the suffocating feeling of the leather tactical gear he was forced to parade around in.
"It's an island nation in the Indonesian archipelago. It was a pirate sanctuary back in the 1800s," Bucky answered, trying to pull back from his less than savory experiences there. He'd read about Madripoor in his attempts to make amends, coming to find the history of the island itself somewhat fascinating. However, based on his memories of Lowtown, he was still relieved not to have anyone on his list still residing there. He'd been hopeful he wouldn't ever have to return… so much for that.
"It's kept it's lawless ways, but we cannot exactly walk in as ourselves." Zemo met Bucky's gaze, and his stomach dropped. "James... you will have to become someone you claim is gone."
"He's not that guy anymore," Sam defended, and the conviction in his statement gave Bucky a chance to take a deeper breath. "He's been pardoned by the US Government, why would the Winter Solider pop back up again? It doesn't make any sense."
"It doesn't have to," Zemo continued coolly. "We've all seen that James has been pardoned, yes. But as far as Madripoor is concerned, it may as well be a false sense of security for the people who will be walking amongst him. It is very possible that – with the right codes – The Winter Solider could return again."
"But he can't. They don't work, he's gone," Sam confuted sternly, taking the sharp words right out of Bucky's mouth. Zemo shifted in his chair. It was kind of satisfying to watch his discomfort in not getting his way… The coziness he felt from being back to a certain level of luxury was likely being drowned out by a creeping feeling of still being trapped. He had the illusion of being free, but he was going to have to deal with them in order to get any further. And Bucky wanted to make him work for it.
"Of course. You and I know that, but the people of Madripoor do not. So long as we keep up the charade, they have no reason to believe otherwise." Sam looked uncomfortable, Zemo seemed to be waiting for a rebuttal, and Bucky tried one last time to come up with literally any other solution… but all he could think about was the way the wet heat would make him sweat under that god forsaken mask, and make his goggles fog up until he couldn't make out much of lowtown, relying on the silhouettes of his handlers to get to the mission target.
"The Winter Solider wasn't one to talk, so… it's not like it should be hard to sell," Bucky reasoned, making en effort to keep his voice steady. Not that he was captivated with this plan… but with a severe lack of other options, he needed to do his part to start easing the tension that was starting to build up in his shoulders. He didn't have to talk. All he had to do was sit there and stare. He could do that…
He cleared his throat, and made his best attempts to return back to something resembling nonchalant. "If that's settled, I've gotta make a call," he stated with conviction, as if this was just part of business. Sam gave him a knowing look, and Zemo bowed his head in a polite gesture, but Bucky could see the interest on his face. Bucky wanted to smack it off of him, but instead, he stood from his seat and walked to the back of the jet before either of them could say a word.
When you picked up on the other end, a wave of relief washed over him.
"Hi love!!" you almost sang, your warm voice reaching out through the phone to soothe the pressure building inside him. He could feel some of his anxieties quiet, the comfort of being at least somewhat connected to you again starting to melt the top few layers of his stress. "To what do I owe this pleasure?"
"Can't I just call cause I want to?" he almost whispered, wanting so badly to just slip back into comfortable banter with you, yet knowing that he didn't want to let his guard down in murky territory. If he'd given it a bit more thought with a sound mind, even having this conversation was a risk… but he needed you, and you needed to hear something from him.
"Well I'll take it… but I know better than to assume you're just calling to catch up."
"I… wish I could prove you wrong," he admitted, unable to help the smile on his face when he heard you laugh on the other end. As you did, he could hear Sam's voice from the other side of the curtain — Bucky doubted he would willingly start up a conversation with Zemo just to fill the silence, but it was perfectly timed to give Bucky a chance to talk with some sort of cover. He'd have to thank Sam for that later.
"Maybe you will another time," you assured him, your soft smile slipping into your words. "What's up, Buck? It's loud on your end, where are you?"
"That's probably the engines. Hopefully you can hear me okay, I'm uh… I'm on a jet." He knew better than to beat around the bush, but despite the soothing effect you had on him, having to tell you something you weren't going to like was forming a knot in his stomach.
"Aren't you so fancy," you teased. "Which one of your rich Avenger friends hooked you up with that ride?"
Fuck… He really didn't want to say it. But the idea of you finding out through headlines, potentially reading ill-informed details, made his stomach churn even more. No, it was better to just get it out now.
"It's, well… we're with Baron Zemo."
The line went uncharacteristically quiet.
"That name sounds familiar…" you managed. But he knew you – you were trying to give him the benefit of the doubt, but you shouldn't have. You were smarter than that. And it would have made his job easier if you'd have just taken the words out of his mouth.
"It should. I… He's the one who found my codes last time. He killed King T'Chaka…. He's going to be helping us."
There was another beat of silence, and if he trusted his hearing over the engines of the Challenger 600, he could hear you take a steadying breath.
"James…" you practically pleaded. "What did you do?"
Part of him wished you would yell. Scream at him, tell him off for doing something so stupid… It wouldn't change their plan, but he had a weird sense it would've made him feel better than this.
"We– I got him out of prison. It's not great, but… we need him. We had nothing to go off of, and he has intel we can't get anywhere else," Bucky explained. "I just wanted you to hear it from me first, so that you know that I've got it under control, and that I'll be okay."
"Bucky, you…" you started, but paused for a moment. You made a sound of irritation before taking a breath. "You'd better be," you said quietly – half of it was a plea, and half of it was a threat. "You know I don't want to ask this of you, after watching you trust people again… but you cannot trust him. I might be on the outside of all of this, but I doubt his time in prison has changed his opinions about you. Don't let your guard down around him for one minute, do you hear me?" you scolded. There was his girl.
"Yes ma'am," he answered, the corners of his lips turning upwards of their own accord. "I've got Sam, we'll both be keeping an eye on him. I'm sure he'll be a challenge, but we should be able to keep him under control."
"Don't jinx it, James, or I'll hurt you."
"And how do you plan on–"
"Don't make me figure it out," you finished, a frustrated chuckle slipping past your resolve. "I love you."
With three words, he could almost close his eyes and be right back home in your apartment, your favorite record playing and fresh banana bread forgotten on the counter. His perfect memory recounted – as if in real time – how your soft skin felt underneath his fingers, feeling as though he could reach out now and pull you into him, slipping back towards bliss…
But he had a job to do. If for no reason that to return back to you with a clear mind, knowing that he'd done what was necessary to keep you safe.
He backed himself into the very farthest corner away from the privacy curtain, and waited for Sam's voice to pick back up again before he answered, "I love you, doll."
As the jet approached Madripoor, Sam couldn't wait to get off. More importantly, out of this damn suit. It rubbed him the wrong way. Not necessarily the fit – in fact, the fit was damn close to impeccable. But where Zemo got such a specific suit, fit to his body, while under their supervision, in such a short amount of time… The math was weird.
The last time they were dealing with Zemo, there was a whole team of super-powered, ultra rich, or genetically engineered people standing both beside him, and against him. Now, it was just him and Bucky against this mysterious contact Zemo had in what seemed to be a playground for the worst kind of people. Hell, their plan was banking on nobody batting an eye at the Winter Soldier walking around again as if he'd just gotten back from sabbatical.
There was no doubt that Zemo had multiple layers of tricks up his sleeves, waiting for the perfect opportunity to strike and accomplish his own agenda, and Sam didn't like it one bit. The sooner they could move on to the next problem, the better he would feel.
He glanced over at the offending Baron, looking all too comfortable laid back in his seat, peering out the window at the city lights as they began descending. Then, Sam looked over at the privacy curtain Bucky was behind, as he had been for the last ten minutes. What was he doing in there?
"Hey man, you ready yet?" He called out.
"Just give me a fucking minute," Bucky choked. Immediately, alarm bells started ringing in Sam's head. Bucky was hot-headed — he either shut off completely, or lashed out. He'd never heard the super-soldier sound so vulnerable. Out of the corner of his eye, Sam saw Zemo cozy up in his chair… So he heard the tonal change, too.
He wasn't going to let him sit in the satisfaction for long.
Sam approached the curtain in the back of the Jet, and gave an attempt of a knock on the wall just outside. "You better make yourself decent, cause I'm coming in." After a short beat, Bucky answered.
"I- I'm fine," he muttered. He almost sounded meek, and that didn't sit right for the man who was supposed to be the White Wolf.
When Sam slipped through the curtain, Bucky was still fully clothed, as if he hadn't even attempted to change. But rather than letting his initial perception influence his reaction, Sam took a moment to clock Bucky's features. This wasn't him being stubborn, Sam knew him well enough to know that he wouldn't do something stupid at a time like this.
Instead, Sam found an expression he'd seen too many times before. It took him back to the halls of the VA, where Veterans of all walks of life came for guidance, to find some semblance of relief from the demons they carried back with them. The very halls where Steve Rogers once walked, and changed Sam's life forever.
This version of Bucky wasn't stubborn… he needed help. This wasn't time to be an Avenger, it was time to help a fellow veteran cope with some serious shit.
Sam followed Bucky's gaze to the folded pile of tactical gear sitting on the seat across from him, and the mask that had fallen to the floor.
"Hey man… we don't have to do this. We can find another way," Sam leveled. Bucky gave the slightest shake of his head.
"No… no, we have to do this. It's not going to work any other way." Bucky rasped, his eyes telling Sam this is what he'd been doing for the past ten minutes. Trying to think of any other plan… and when he came up short, attempting to come to terms with putting that persona back on, before desperately willing a new plan to come to him. If Sam had to wager a guess, Bucky had probably cycled through this draining thought process at least four times.
"Okay. Then what do you need? What's going to make it okay for you to get to the other side?" Sam asked earnestly. If there wasn't a way around it, sometimes you just had to adjust, and figure out how to get through. Bucky thought for a second, his eyes darting between the pieces of the Winter Soldier getup in front of him.
"I can't be muzzled again," he said, barely above a whisper. "I don't want to feel like I'm stuck being someone's attack dog again. I'm not… I'm not that person anymore." He heard what wasn't being said; Bucky was still telling himself that, as much as he was telling Sam.
He could work with that.
Sam nodded, and wordlessly made his way over to the offending object. He gave it one final glance, before stomping his foot onto it, the plastic material crunching under his shoe. With the sound of it's destruction, Bucky took a sharp inhale, clearly not expecting the harsh reaction from – by most accounts – the more level-headed of the two. But after the shock wore off, Bucky's breathing was a little bit more stable. So, for good measure, Sam did it again until he felt another harsh snap beneath his foot.
Stepping back, the mask was now shattered into at least three large pieces and a handful of little shards, having been rendered completely unwearable. Looking back up at his companion, the super-soldier seemed much more at ease… but it was almost as if he was still coming down from something as close to a panic attack as his enhanced body would let him get.
Pushing all of his personal grudges to the side, Sam fully embraced his past from the VA, reaching out to wrap Bucky in a tight hug. He half expected to be pushed away, but it didn't take long for Bucky to return it. As weird as this was for both of them, the contact was going to help Bucky regulate his nervous system.
After his uneven breathing started to fall into a definitive rhythm, Sam gave him a reassuring squeeze before pulling back to give Bucky his space. The latter took a deep breath, and nodded his head. A silent — manly — sign of thanks. Sam returned his nod, giving him an equally if not more manly pat on his shoulder before turning away, picking up the pieces of the shattered mask on his way out.
"Is James ready?" Zemo asked as Sam entered the main cabin. He looked a little too comfy, his interest a little too piqued for Sam's liking.
"He's not wearing that mask," was Sam's only answer.
"Samuel, it would be beneficial—"
"He's not. Wearing. The mask," he asserted, and before Zemo could try to make another argument, Sam made the pieces in his hands visible to Zemo before tossing them to the side. There was a beat of silence, Sam daring the Baron to say something, and Zemo clearly recognizing a boundary that was not in his best interest to cross.
"…Understood. I trust James will have no issues selling the role," he replied with an air of practiced politeness.
"No, he won't." Zemo gave a small nod of understanding, and Sam let his shoulders relax. The sooner they could all get out of these costumes, the better.
"Okay, but did you hear what the client's response was though?" River asked you from her desk, situated right behind yours.
"No, what'd they say?" You asked, already turned half-way around in your swivel chair to face her.
"They told him it felt lazy, and that he should – and I quote – 'do a thorough review of the specifications they've already sent over before coming back with another attempt'," she disclosed, as the two of you partook in one of her favorite past times; complaining about Paul.
"You're kidding…" River shook her head, a shit-eating grin across her face. "Good for them. It's about time he got called out for scraping by."
If it were possible to have a mortal enemy at the workplace, and still be a sane and adjusted human being… that would be how River felt about Paul. But you couldn't blame her. You may not have had the misfortune of working with him nearly as often as she did, but the stories you'd heard of his utter disregard for his own tasks made you angry enough to hate him by proxy.
"I'm just waiting for them to file a complaint to someone a little bit higher, so I can be soooo collected and level headed when I suggest taking over the project. I just think that–"
River was cut off when your phone started to ring. You fumbled through your bag to silence it and continue in your friend's workplace delusions, until…
"It's James," you said quietly. River's demeanor changed completely.
"Go on!" She waved you off. You were never more grateful than moments like these that you had confided in her with at least a teeny bit of what was actually going with you and Bucky. When there was an opportunity to be there for you, River never failed to rise to the occasion.
You made to ask for a plan, while absentmindedly glancing down at your phone to make sure you still had time to answer. Before you could get any words out, River answered the question you hadn't asked. "I'll cover for you!! It's not like they actually check on us, anyway. Go enjoy your man!"
"Thank you!" You whispered as you stood from your chair to find somewhere you wouldn't be interrupted. River pointed towards the sunny balcony typically used for smoking breaks, silently continuing to wave you off. Thankful that the weather was decent, and the space was currently unoccupied, you answered his call.
"Hi Peach," James's deep voice came through your phone speakers, and you couldn't help the smile that rose to your cheeks.
"Hi! I miss you!" You gushed, his quiet laughter lighting you up from the inside. "How are you doing? What's going on?"
"I'm okay, we were just in Madripoor – it's this anarchic type place a lot of bad circles run through. I'm glad to be leaving, it was… I'll just say that it's nice to be getting out of hot water," he half-explained. Somehow, you weren't amused by his attempt at a joke.
"I'm guessing I don't want to know what that means?" You questioned, beginning to pace across the balcony. There were only a few windows to the office inside, so you would just have to keep an eye out for any signs from River every couple minutes. But you could let your guard down a little bit, not being on display for the whole office floor to see.
"Mmm, no probably not. At least, not until I've got a few more answers for you," he mused.
"Well then, I will trust your judgment," you reasoned, at least earning another quiet snicker. "Where're you guys headed off to now? Are you still with…"
"Yes, we're still traveling with Zemo. He's… trouble, to say the least. But admittedly, he still has value. We wouldn't have gotten this far without him." You took a deep breath and closed your eyes, willing yourself to stop imagining all the different ways you could interpret 'trouble' for someone with Helmut Zemo's history. "We're following a lead to the Baltics, so we've got a few hours to kill before we get there. And the other two are sleeping, as far as I can tell, so I wanted to take you up on that chance to prove you wrong."
"To prove me… what?" You laughed, not quite connecting the dots.
"When I called a few days ago, there wasn't much time to catch up. Now I have lots of time, and I want to hear about you. How are you doing?" He asked earnestly, and such a simple gesture shouldn't have made you quite so gooey inside, but you couldn't help the girlish grin that spread across your face.
You missed him. And you would take any chance to spend time with him you could, even if it was just a phone call with jet engines in the background.
"Well I'm great now!" He gave a deeper laugh in response, and you could feel yourself relaxing into the familiarity of it. "I'm doing okay! I mean, I wish you could be here, obviously, but I've been fine. River's been really good at making sure I get out of the apartment. We've actually been hanging out with everyone from the diner a bunch! Grabbing lunch on the weekends, or going to hang out at the monuments."
"That's great! I'm glad to hear you're hanging out with everyone," Bucky enthused, but there was a slight hesitation. "Does that mean you've been going back to the diner?" You gave a sarcastic laugh.
"I'll give you one guess."
"Why not? You love it there, I bet they'd be really happy to see you on the dance floor again," he encouraged, but you both knew that wasn't going to happen.
"Yeah, and it'd remind me that you're still gone, so I'll pass on the additional heartbreak. Besides, I know you don't want me dancing with anyone else, so don't act like you're all that disappointed." He was silent for a beat, only proving to make you laugh in lieu of your correct assessment.
"I- yes, you're right, but that's because I want to be there dancing with you. But your reason is fair, I can't argue with that," he settled. "What else have you guys been doing?"
"Well, we've been to a few of the museums, except of course for the Air and Space. Izzy seemed really excited to go, but –" Bucky made a noise of indecision. "Right. I know there is – or at least there used to be a big ol' portrait of your face in there, I don't know what it looks like after the remodel."
"Probably a good call, I think I remember seeing a more in-depth Winter Soldier section in some of the news coverage…"
"Oh gosh, yeah, either way, I was not ready for that conversation. So I made up some bullshit about not wanting to see any promotional shit for the New Captain America," you explained, and Bucky gave a deep belly laugh in response. "I thought you'd like that… I don't know how well I sold it, but River said something about having just gone to another aviation museum nearby and really didn't want a repeat, so we pivoted to one of the other museums."
"That sounds fun! I'm very glad to hear that River is in your corner. Makes me breathe a little easier knowing someone's got your back while I can't be there," he admitted softly.
"Me too, I'm glad her and I are so close." You peeked back into the office to scan for River, who was sitting casually at her desk, until her eyes ever so slightly popped over her cubicle wall. She raised an eyebrow at you, and gave a tentative thumbs up. You nodded, watching her visibly relax. "She's actually doing me a favor for me right now, she offered to cover for me while I stepped out to take your call."
"Oh shit, you're at work, aren't you?" Bucky cursed, concern lacing the edge of his voice. "I totally forgot what day it was, I can let you–"
"No! No, it's fine!" You pleaded, stopping him in his tracks, and hoping he didn't take it as being polite. You were not letting him off of this phone call that easy. "Please, I'm not ready to let you go. Besides, I'm a top performer, what are they gonna do to stop me talking to my hero while he's out on a mission."
"I– alright… Only because that sentence killed me, and I don't want to let you go either," he assured you, and you could hear the essence of bashfulness in his voice from your endearment. You could just imagine the slight pink tinge brushing his cheeks, right above the stubble you loved to play with. "Speaking of, uh, being your hero… There's something I wanted to talk to you about."
"Oh yeah?"
"Yeah, I… well, Sam and I were talking after dealing with things in Madripoor, and some of the things we've learned have caused us to reconsider The Shield," Bucky managed, slow to get the words out.
"The Shield? I though Walker had that, what's going on with him?" You hadn't seen anything in the news coverage. Given, you weren't exactly looking for Walker, but you figured all of the search alerts that you thought might lead to anything on Bucky would probably also include the current wielder.
"Yeah, well, he does for now, Sam and I are at least on the same page about wanting it out of his hands. But Sam started to talk about… destroying it instead."
"Oh, Buck…"
"Well, the funny thing is… I told him I would take it, before I let him do that," Bucky cut in, before you could begin your sympathies. This was a very different conversation than the one you had been expecting – what that was, you weren't sure, but it definitely wasn't this. "Obviously, there's still a lot that's up in the air, and there's likely a lot that would need to happen before any of that came into play, but… How would you feel if I were to be…"
"If you were Captain America?" The words felt weird coming out of your mouth. Not so much in a bad way, just… weird. When you thought of Captain America, you thought of Steve Rogers, even despite recent events. Captain America was so much bigger than you could wrap your brain around, at least not while you were also adjusting to what it looked like to have your boyfriend out in the world actually doing the hero work he was known for. "I- I don't know. I'm totally outside of that world, I don't–"
"But, you wouldn't be quite so far outside of it, if I picked up the mantle. And that's not a decision I want to make for you," Bucky pressed gently.
You knew he was right. Bucky had told stories of women throwing themselves at Steve after becoming such an icon, despite the fact that a war was going on around them. And then when Steve had become, essentially, a modern celebrity, you couldn't count the amount of articles you had seen about his love life, or projecting ways to entice the blonde soldier if you stumbled upon him on the streets of New York. Even with Walker, his wife had usually been pictured somewhere in the vicinity, and the tabloids weren't shy about keeping her name out of the press. Could you do that? Would you be able to handle being thrust into that spotlight? You would always stand beside James, but could you keep up if he donned the stars and stripes?
Then you paused to think about Bucky… How he would look, standing strong with the Shield on his arm, and what kind of take he might want for the uniform. You pictured his sharp jaw with a serious face, his strong shoulders doing half of the work to project a feeling of safety. The image in your head was a sight to see…
But the interviews, the press, the shaking of hands Walker was doing now… that didn't fit Bucky. But, it hadn't quite fit Steve either. He had been more elusive of the public eye, focused on doing the job, and getting it done right. Not making time to sit with Vogue, or Good Morning America.
No, Bucky would fight for a backseat approach. Which might not earn him the highest favor… until he got the work done. You could stand beside that hero. That is, if he was the one to choose it.
"Well, I can't make that decision for you either," you settled on, ruminating over the core of all your feelings on the subject. "If that is what you feel is the right choice – for you and that Shield – don't let me stop you. I know how good you are, I know that everything you do is to try and make things right. So I will be right there with you to support your decision, whatever it is." Bucky was silent for a moment. "Is that what you wanted to hear?"
"It's a tad more diplomatic than I was looking for… but I wasn't expecting anything. I just want your real, honest opinion before I make a decision that could change everything for both of us." There it was again, that gooey feeling in your stomach. He wasn't even doing anything, yet here you were, grinning like an idiot. Thank goodness the smoke-break balcony was empty.
"You're so good to me, you know that?" You gushed, earning a chuckle from the super-solider on the other end.
"I'm just trying to be at least half as good as you are to me," he admitted in a dulcet tone. Your cheeks were starting to hurt with the force of your smile.
"You cheese," you laughed, unable to contain yourself long enough to find a retort.
"You like it," he grinned, as if you were sitting next to each other, bantering like it was just another day at home together, with practically nothing between you.
"I do… and I like you. Whether you're the White Wolf, or Captain America… or just Bucky. Because no matter what the world calls you, you'll be mine," you gushed, stating your final thoughts on the matter at hand, hoping to be at least a little bit helpful in his predicament when he was being so awfully romantic from thousands of miles away. It took him a moment to answer, but you could somehow hear the blush on his cheeks.
"Now who's the cheese?" He teased, and you laughed with him. "Thank you. Whatever happens, I'll always be there… I'll always catch you." Your heart swelled at the endearment the two of you had made your own, but it also ached softly with longing to reach out for him, hold him close to you and savor this tender moment.
"I know you will," you gushed. And, not wanting to risk being caught in tears if one of your co-workers used this balcony for it's intended purpose, you changed the subject. "So you're on your way to a vacation in the Baltics?" Bucky's low rumble of a laugh felt like a balm to ease your heartache as you glanced back inside the office. River must have been watching for you, too, since she acted as if she was going to fall asleep when you made eye contact.
Good. Because you weren't planning on hanging up anytime soon.
Thanks for reading!! If you’d like to be notified when I post a new fic, be sure to follow @writerlyhabits-library + turn on post notifications! 💛
Ch 19 of the Neighbors Series | Masterlist | Ch. 18 | Ch. 20
I have to say that I teared up a bit with Sam trying to "protect" Bucky (I don't wanna give any spoilers) and it brought some warmth to my heart 🥹❤️
Now, about our favorite couple... I just love them so much?????? I love how he feels so comfortable with her and their call??? EXCUSE ME???? THEY'RE TOO CUTE!!!! This story will always be my favorite one and I'll never stop talking about it! I'm also so excited and curious about the next chapter 👀👀👀👀👀
Imagine being upset Bucky didn’t know how long you’d been married or forgot your wedding anniversary only to find out his confusion stems from him thinking of you both as a married couple since the day you met and always counting since then (not that he’s ever told you incase you think it’s weird) but eventually he does because he can’t have you thinking he doesn’t care.
What if he went straight out and bought a ring the day he met you? He just knew.
You know something is wrong the second he hesitates.
It’s small—so small most people wouldn’t catch it. But you know him. You know the way his metal fingers still for half a breath when he’s caught off guard, the way his brows pinch just slightly when he’s trying to remember something he thinks he should know.
“How long’s it been now?” you ask lightly, leaning against the kitchen counter while he dries a plate. “Since we got married.”
You’re smiling when you say it. Teasing, mostly. You’d been flipping through old photos earlier—your wedding day, the way he looked at you like you were the only thing that had ever made sense in his entire life. The anniversary’s tomorrow. You’ve been thinking about it all week.
He pauses.
The dish towel stops moving.
His jaw tightens almost imperceptibly.
“Uh,” he says, and the sound is careful. Measured. “Three years?”
Your smile falters.
“Three?” you repeat softly.
He sets the plate down too slowly. “Four?”
You don’t mean for it to hurt. You don’t. But something inside your chest drops heavy and cold.
“It’s five, Buck.”
The kitchen feels suddenly too quiet. Too still. The hum of the refrigerator is loud in the silence between you. He looks at you like you’ve just told him something impossible. Like you’ve corrected him on a fact he knows in his bones.
“Five?” he echoes, frowning.
“Yes. Five.” You cross your arms without meaning to, the motion defensive before you can stop it. “June eighteenth. Five years tomorrow.”
His eyes flicker away.
And that—more than the number—makes your throat burn.
“You forgot.”
“I didn’t forget,” he says quickly, too quickly.
You huff a humorless laugh. “You didn’t know.”
His shoulders tense. “That’s not—”
“You didn’t know, Bucky.” Your voice wobbles now, and you hate that it does. You hate that this matters enough to make your eyes sting. “It’s our wedding anniversary.”
He stares at you like you’ve just accused him of something unforgivable. And maybe you have. Because this is the man who memorizes the way you take your coffee. The man who still traces the shape of your engagement ring when you’re half asleep. The man who can recall entire mission briefings from ten years ago with photographic precision.
But five years of marriage?
He’s confused.
You swallow hard. “I didn’t think it was something you’d forget.”
“I didn’t forget,” he says again, more firmly this time—but there’s something strained underneath it. Frustration. Not at you. At himself.
“Then why didn’t you know?” you whisper.
He opens his mouth. Closes it.
Runs his flesh hand through his hair.
And then—softly, like he’s stepping off a ledge—he says, “Because that’s not when it started.”
You blink.
“What?”
He looks at you like he’s bracing for impact. “That’s not when we started being married.”
Your heart pounds, anger tangling with confusion. “Yes, it is. That’s literally what a wedding is.”
He shakes his head, slow and stubborn. “No. That’s when we had the ceremony.”
You stare at him.
And for the first time, you see it. There is no world where Bucky doesn't care about your wedding day.
“Buck,” you say carefully. “What are you talking about?”
He exhales hard through his nose. Paces once. Twice. Like he’s trying to find the right words and they keep slipping out of reach.
“I count from when we met,” he mutters finally.
You go still.
“What?”
His jaw clenches. “I count from the day I met you.”
The words hang in the air between you.
“You—what?”
He gestures vaguely, frustrated. “We were already… it was already you. From that day. I knew. So I just—” He shrugs helplessly. “That’s when I started counting.”
Your brain struggles to catch up. “Counting what?”
“How long we’ve been married.”
You stare at him like he’s just spoken another language.
“You didn’t tell me that,” you say faintly.
“Yeah,” he snaps, immediately regretful. He drags a hand over his face. “Yeah, because I figured you’d think it was weird.”
Weird.
You think about that first day. The coffee shop. The way he’d watched you like he was memorizing you. The way he’d walked you to your car even though it was broad daylight. The way he’d looked startled when you’d joked about “marrying a stranger.”
“You’ve been counting since then?” you ask.
He nods once. Reluctant. Embarrassed. “Thirteen years,” he says quietly.
Your breath catches.
Thirteen.
You’ve been together ten. Married five.
He’s been married to you—in his heart—for thirteen.
“I just… I don’t separate it,” he says, voice low now. “You weren’t my girlfriend. Not really. Not in my head. You were my wife. I just didn’t have the paperwork yet.”
Your chest feels tight in a completely different way now.
“So when I said five,” you murmur, “you thought I was wrong.”
He gives you a small, sheepish nod. “I thought you were testing me.”
You blink, and then despite yourself, a shaky laugh escapes you. “Testing you?”
“Yeah,” he mutters. “Thought maybe you forgot the first eight.”
You stare at him.
And then your eyes fill for an entirely different reason.
“Bucky,” you breathe.
He steps closer instinctively, like he can’t stand the distance anymore. “I wasn’t dismissing it,” he says urgently. “I wasn’t forgetting. I swear to God, doll, I wasn’t forgetting you. I just— I’ve never thought of June eighteenth as the start.”
Your voice trembles. “Why didn’t you tell me?”
He hesitates.
Because you’d think it was weird.
Because he’s always afraid of being too much. Of loving too intensely. Of holding too tightly.
“Didn’t want you thinking I was… I don’t know. Crazy,” he says finally.
You step into him before he can finish the thought.
He catches you instantly, arms wrapping around you like they were made for it. Like they’ve always known where to go.
“You absolute idiot,” you whisper into his shirt, and your voice is thick with tears and laughter all at once. “You thought that would make me think you cared less?”
“I didn’t want you thinking I didn’t care,” he murmurs fiercely into your hair. “I can’t have you thinking that.”
You pull back just enough to look at him.
“Thirteen years?” you ask softly.
He nods.
“And you never told me.”
“Figured it was safer in my head.”
You cup his face, forcing him to meet your eyes.
“I married you five years ago,” you say gently. “But I’ve loved you for thirteen.”
Something in his expression breaks open. Soft. Vulnerable.
“So,” you continue, wiping at your cheeks with a watery smile, “tomorrow is five years of marriage.”
He nods.
“And thirteen years of you being secretly insane.”
A huff of laughter escapes him, relief flooding his features. “Yeah. That too.”
You lean up and kiss him slow and certain.
“And for the record,” you murmur against his lips, “that’s not weird.”
His arms tighten around you, like he’s anchoring himself.
“It’s the most Bucky thing I’ve ever heard.”
He presses his forehead to yours, eyes soft and shining.
Note This is pure fluff and like, two people very much in love it's nauseous. A tiny bit of angst but it goes away so quick. I've been having this since in my head since last april, after the Thunderbolts' premiere but wasn't writing and obviously, didn't have this blog. This weekend gave me the inspiration to finally go back to it and I hooope you like it.
The apartment smelled like him—cedar and gunmetal, something old and something warm—even before he walked through the door.
You were curled on the couch, knees tucked under a quilt that had no business being on a Brooklyn evening in late May but which you refused to give up even as the first humid whispers of summer crept through the window screens. A dog-eared paperback dangled from your fingers, the ceiling fan spun its lazy circles overhead, and somewhere two floors up someone was playing jazz at a volume that suggested they either had no neighbors or no shame. The city hummed its usual lullaby outside the open windows, the smell of somebody's charcoal grill drifting up from the fire escape three floors down, and you were comfortable. Safe. That particular flavor of domestic stillness that had taken you months to get used to after Bucky had barreled into your life and turned everything you thought you knew about softness on its head.
The lock turned. Three clicks—old habit, military precision, the kind of muscle memory that didn't fade even after decades of being someone else's weapon. The door swung inward and then—
“Oh,” you said.
Not because you were disappointed. Not because you were horrified. But because your brain had just short-circuited somewhere between your occipital lobe and your mouth, and all that came out was that single, stupid syllable, flat as a stone skipped across still water.
Bucky Barnes stood in the doorway, early summer clinging to the shoulders of his leather jacket, and his hair was gone.
Not all of it—he wasn't cue-ball bald, thank god, you didn't think you would have survived that—but the familiar dark waves that usually fell across his forehead, the ones you tangled your fingers in when he was sleepy, the ones that curled at the nape of his neck and made him look like he'd just rolled out of a 1940s recruitment poster? Gone. Shorn down to a dark, velvety fuzz that hugged the perfect shape of his skull like a second skin, so short you could probably see the pale skin beneath if you stood close enough.
He'd kept the stubble on his jaw but everything else had been sacrificed to whatever demon possessed him between the hours of six and nine tonight.
The door closed behind him with a soft thunk. He didn't move further into the room. Just stood there in the entryway, the warmth of the evening clinging to him, and watched you.
And you watched him back, because holy hell.
He looked—
There was no word for it. Not in English, or Spanish, not in the three other languages you spoke passably well, not in the silence that stretched between you like a held breath. He looked dangerous. The buzz cut changed everything. Without the curtain of hair to soften the angles, his cheekbones were knives, his jaw was a cut diamond, and his eyes—those impossible light blue eyes that had seen a century of horrors and somehow still found room for tenderness—they seemed bigger somehow. More exposed. More him.
The metal arm gleamed under the overhead light, the vibranium catching the glow and throwing it back in soft golds and silvers, and without the shaggy dark hair to balance it, the contrast was almost obscene. Man and Soldier. Flesh and something other. He looked like something out of a dream you'd wake up from gasping, sweating, sheets twisted around your thighs, heart pounding.
You realized, with a distant sort of horror, that your mouth had fallen slightly open.
Bucky's expression flickered.
It was subtle—a micro-shift in the set of his shoulders, a minute downturn at the corner of his lips. The kind of thing you'd miss if you didn't know him the way you knew him, if you hadn't spent countless nights mapping the topography of his face with your fingertips, learning every crease and shadow and the stories they told.
“It's that bad, huh?” He said it lightly. Too lightly. The words hung in the air between you, fragile as spun glass.
You blinked. What?
He tugged off his jacket—movements comical and stoic, almost harsh—and draped it over the hook by the door without looking at you. “Should've known. Sam said it was a mistake. 'Barnes,' he said, 'you do not have the bone structure for a buzz cut, put the clippers down and step away from the mirror.' But did I listen? No. I never listen.” He laughed. It didn't reach his eyes. “Guess I should've asked you first, right? That's what normal boyfriends do. They ask. They don't just come home looking like a—a thug.”
“Bucky—”
“It's fine.” He ran a hand over his head—a gesture that was clearly new, clearly unconscious, his palm skimming over the short bristles like he was surprised to find them there. “It was just bothering me, you know? The heat. The weight of it. And I swear to god, sweetheart, I sweat like a sinner in church the second the temperature hits seventy-five. The serum doesn't do everything right, apparently.” Another pass of his hand, almost defensive now. “Figured this would be easier. For missions, too. Less to grab onto in a fight. Tactical. Very tactical. That's what I told myself.”
“Bucky—”
“And now I look like I just got out of basic training circa 1943, which was not the look I was going for, believe me. I was going for 'cool and collected.' Maybe 'mysterious.' Instead I got ‘now give me your lunch money.'” He finally, finally looked at you properly, and what you saw in his expression made something in your chest crack clean in two.
He was nervous.
This man. This impossible, indestructible, century-old super-soldier who had faced down Hydra and aliens and his own personal apocalypse. He was standing in his own apartment, freshly shorn, looking at you like a teenager waiting to be rejected.
“Sweetheart,” he said, and his voice had gone rough at the edges, “if you hate it, just say so. I can—I don't know. Wear a hat. That grandpa hat you love making fun of. Or I can grow it back. Whatever you want. I just... I couldn't stand it anymore. The way it stuck to my forehead. The way it felt heavy. You don't understand, it's like wearing a wool blanket on your head when it's eighty degrees out, and I know you liked playing with it, and I should have asked, and I'm sorry, I'm—”
You stood up.
The quilt fell away, pooling on the couch cushions. The paperback hit the floor with a soft thump that neither of you acknowledged. You crossed the room in four steps, bare feet silent on the hardwood, and stopped just close enough to feel the heat radiating off his body.
He was so tall. He was always tall, but without the hair, he seemed taller. Broader. More present. You had to tilt your chin up to meet his eyes, and when you did, you saw the insecurity lurking there, swimming just below the surface like something waiting to breach.
“You absolute moron,” you said, and your voice came out breathless.
His brow furrowed. “That's not—is that good or bad? Because I'm getting mixed signals here, and my therapist said I need to work on—”
You grabbed the front of his henley—soft grey, worn thin from washing, the collar stretched out because he had a habit of tugging on it when he was thinking—and yanked him down.
He came willingly, of course. He always came willingly. But there was a moment of confusion in his eyes before your mouths met, a flicker of what is happening that made you want to shake him and kiss him in equal measure.
The kiss was not gentle.
It was hungry, desperate, the kind of kiss you give someone when words have failed you and your body has decided to take over. You bit his lower lip—just a nip, just enough to make him gasp—and used the distraction to push him backward until his spine hit the wall with a thud that rattled the framed print of the Brooklyn Bridge hanging beside the door.
His hands found your waist. They always found your waist, like they were magnetized there, the flesh hand warm and calloused, the metal hand cool and smooth. He squeezed, a reflex, and you felt the tension in his shoulders start to ease.
“Okay,” he breathed against your mouth. “Okay. So you don't hate it.”
You pulled back just far enough to look at him.
His lips were already reddened, parted slightly, and his pupils were blown wide enough that the blue of his irises was barely visible. The short hair made his face look raw. Vulnerable. Like someone had peeled back a layer of him you'd never seen before, and underneath was something even more beautiful than the version you'd fallen in love with.
“Hate it?” you repeated. Your voice was doing something strange—higher, thinner, like you were about to laugh or cry or possibly both. “Bucky. Bucky. Do you have any idea what you look like right now?”
His Adam's apple bobbed. “Based on your reaction so far, I'm gonna go with 'confused and vaguely terrified.'”
You punched him in the chest. Not hard. Just enough to make a point.
“You look like a fucking god,” you said. “You look like someone took every single one of my weaknesses and put them in a blender and poured them into the shape of a man. You look—” You had to stop, had to breathe, because you could feel your face heating up and your thoughts scattering like startled birds. “I couldn't speak, Bucky. That's why I was quiet. You opened the door and my brain just... stopped. Because you're standing there looking like that, and I'm supposed to just carry on a normal conversation?”
Something shifted in his expression. The insecurity didn't vanish—it never did, not completely, not with everything he'd been through—but it receded, pulled back like a tide giving way to sun-warmed sand.
“Yeah?” he said. Soft. Almost disbelieving.
“Yeah.” You reached up and touched his head.
The sensation was wild. Instead of the familiar silky strands you usually threaded your fingers through, your palm met soft, short bristles that tickled your skin. You made a sound that you're not even going to pretend it was dignified, it was somewhere between a gasp and a moan, and ran your hand over the curve of his skull again, marveling at the way the short hair felt under your palm. Like velvet. Like a peach. Like something you wanted to rub your cheek against like a cat marking its territory.
Bucky's breath hitched.
“That's...” He trailed off, swallowed hard. “You're making a face.”
“I'm having a sensory experience,” you corrected him. “There's a difference.”
His lips twitched. The first real smile of the evening, tentative and a little bit goofy, and it transformed his whole face from heart-stopping to devastating. “A sensory experience.”
“Don't mock me. I'm grieving.”
“Grieving?” Now he just looked confused again.
You dropped your hand, let it fall to his chest, and tried to ignore the way his heartbeat thrummed against your palm. “I can't pull your hair anymore.”
The silence that followed was deafening.
Bucky stared at you. You stared back. And then, slowly, like the sun coming up over a battlefield, he laughed.
Not the hollow laugh from earlier. Not the self-deprecating deflection he used as armor. A real laugh, surprised and warm and so full of relief that it made your chest ache. His head fell back against the wall, exposing the long line of his throat, and you watched the laughter move through him like a wave.
“That's what you're upset about,” he said when he could breathe again. “Not the hair. The hair-pulling.”
“I had plans for that hair,” you said, and you absolutely did not pout. Bucky loves that lovely pout. “Do you know how many times I've lain awake at night thinking about getting my hands in it again even after I just did it? How many fantasies involved me yanking your head back by those perfect, stupid, gorgeous curls while I—”
His hand clapped over your mouth.
It was his flesh hand, warm and a little rough, and his eyes had gone dark in a way that made your stomach flip over.
“Okay,” he said, and his voice had dropped about an octave. “Okay, honey. I get it. You're not mad.”
You licked his palm.
He jerked his hand away with a scandalized noise, and you grinned up at him, triumphant.
“I'm not mad,” you confirmed. “I'm furious. There's a difference.”
“You keep using words that don't mean what you think they mean.”
“Shut up and let me admire you.”
You pushed off his chest and took a step back—just one, just enough to see all of him. The buzz cut. The sharp cheekbones. The way the collar of his henley gaped slightly, showing the pale skin of his clavicle. The metal arm, gleaming, beautiful, his. He stood there under your gaze like a man who had spent decades being looked at and never once seen, and you wanted to wrap him up in something soft and never let the world touch him again.
But first—
“Turn around,” you said.
He raised an eyebrow. “Why?”
“Because I want to see the back.”
Something vulnerable flickered across his face again, but he obeyed. Turned slowly, deliberately, like he was giving you time to change your mind. And when his back was to you, you saw that the short hair extended all the way down, hugging the strong column of his neck, exposing the place where his skull met his spine in a way that made your mouth water.
The nape of his neck. His nape. There was something about a man's nape, about the vulnerability of it, the way the hair grew in soft whorls and the skin was always a little paler there. It was the part of him that was easiest to kiss when he was sleeping, easiest to touch when he was sad, easiest to nuzzle when he came home exhausted and dropped his head into your lap.
Now it was just... there. Bare and beautiful and waiting.
You stepped forward, go on your tiptoes and pressed your lips to the back of his neck.
He shivered. Full-body, no-holding-back shivered, and his hand came up to grip yours where it rested on his hip.
“That's not fair,” he said, and his voice was wrecked.
“I'm not trying to be fair.” You kissed him again, higher this time, at the base of his skull where the short bristles gave way to soft skin. “I'm trying to make a point.”
“And what point is that?”
You wrapped your arms around him from behind, pressing your cheek between his shoulder blades. He was so warm. Always so warm, the serum running hot in his veins, and you could feel his heart beating steady and strong beneath your palms.
“The point,” you said into the fabric of his henley, “is that I love you. With hair. Without hair. In a buzz cut that makes you look like a sexy ex-con fresh out of super-soldier prison. I love you, Bucky. Not the packaging. But also—” You squeezed him tighter, felt him relax incrementally. “—the packaging is really fucking good right now, and we're going to have a conversation later about why you didn't warn me before committing an act of aesthetic terrorism on my boyfriend.”
He turned in your arms.
You were chest to chest, nose to nose, and his eyes were soft now. The insecurity had faded to something fainter, something manageable, and in its place was a warmth that made you want to curl up inside it and never leave.
“An act of aesthetic terrorism,” he repeated, and his mouth curved.
“Don't laugh. I'm serious.”
“I'm not laughing.”
“Your eyes are laughing. I can see them laughing.”
He cupped your face in both hands—flesh and metal, warm and cool, the most beautiful dichotomy you'd ever known—and tilted your head back gently. “You’re so precious. And thank you,” he said, and the words were simple but the weight behind them was enormous. “For... not hating it. For not making me feel stupid. For—”
You kissed him again. Softer this time. A promise.
“You could shave your head bald and tattoo 'Property of Hydra' on your forehead, just like you joked about that time when you got drunk on Thor’s liquor” you said against his lips, “and I would still love you. I would just also be very, very angry about it.”
He laughed—that real laugh again, the one that crinkled the corners of his eyes—and pulled you into his chest. His chin rested on top of your head, and you felt more than heard the contented sigh that escaped him.
“Promise me something?” he murmured.
“Anything.”
“If I ever do something stupid again—”
“When. When you do something stupid again.”
“When I do something stupid again,” he conceded, “don't let me spiral for three minutes before you tell me you like it. I was this close—” He held up his flesh hand, thumb and forefinger a millimeter apart. “—to calling Steve and asking if I could crash on his couch.”
“You were not.”
“I absolutely was.”
You pulled back just enough to look at him, and the image hit you like a freight train, your Bucky, freshly buzzed, standing in the hallway of your apartment building, phone in hand, contemplating whether his best friend would judge him for seeking sanctuary from his girlfriend's prolonged silence.
“I'm sorry,” you said, and you meant it. “I should have said something sooner. I just... you broke me, Barnes. You broke my brain. I was looking at you and thinking things that are probably illegal in several states.”
His eyebrow arched. “Illegal?”
“Obscene. Lewd. The kind of thoughts that get people smited.”
He was grinning now, full and bright, and you wanted to bottle the sound he made—half laugh, half groan—and carry it with you forever.
“Smited,” he said. “That's not a word.”
“It is now. I invented it. For you.”
He kissed your forehead. Your nose. The corner of your mouth. Each one a tiny absolution, a thank-you, an I love you in a language that didn't need words.
“I have a confession,” he said, and his voice had gone low again, the kind of low that made your toes curl against the hardwood.
“What's that?”
He reached up and ran his hand over his own head—the new gesture, the one you were rapidly becoming obsessed with—and looked at you through his lashes. “I kept a lock of it. The hair I cut off. Sam said it was weird, but I... I remembered how much you liked playing with it. And I thought maybe...” He trailed off, suddenly shy.
“Maybe what?”
“Maybe you'd want it. For... I don't know. A bookmark. Or a weird souvenir. Or—” He stopped, cleared his throat. “Forget it. It's stupid.”
You were going to combust. Right there in the entryway of your Brooklyn apartment, wearing a worn out black t-shirt and your favorite pair of fuzzy socks, you were going to spontaneously burst into flames because James Buchanan Barnes had kept a lock of his own hair for you.
“You kept me your hair, just like a mom would do it with the first hair cut of their baby.” you said, and your voice came out strangled.
“It's in a Ziploc bag in my jacket pocket. Don't tell Sam.”
“I'm going to frame it.”
“You are not.”
“I'm going to put it in a locket and wear it around my neck like a Victorian widow mourning her soldier husband.”
“Sweetheart—”
“And every time someone asks about it, I'm going to tell them it's a relic of the man I loved before he committed an act of aesthetic—”
He kissed you.
It was the only way to shut you up, and he knew it, and you let him because his mouth was warm and his hands were steady and the short bristles of his hair tickled your palms when you reached up to touch them.
The kiss deepened.
You weren't sure who moved first—maybe both of you, maybe neither, maybe the space between you simply collapsed under the weight of everything unspoken. His back was still against the wall, but now you were pressed flush against him, every line of your body curved into every line of his, and his hands had slid from your waist to your hips, fingers digging in like he was afraid you might disappear.
“Mmhm, honey” he murmured against your mouth, and the word was barely a breath, barely a sound, but it hit you somewhere deep and aching.
Your hands were on his head again. You couldn't help it. The velvety texture of the buzz cut was addictive, and every time you dragged your palms over the short bristles, Bucky made a sound—a tiny, broken thing that seemed to surprise even him. His eyes fluttered shut. His grip tightened. His whole body seemed to lean into your touch like a plant turning toward the sun.
“Jesus,” he whispered. “You really... you really like it.”
It wasn't a question. Not anymore. But there was still something wondering in his voice, something awed and almost childlike, like he couldn't quite believe what was happening.
You pulled back just enough to look at him, and what you saw stole the breath from your lungs.
His face was open. Not guarded, not careful, not the mask he wore for the world. The buzz cut had stripped away more than just hair—it had stripped away the last of his defenses, the last little hiding place where he could tuck himself away from being seen. And now he was just... Bucky. Your Bucky. With his pink lips and his dark lashes and the way his chest was rising and falling like he'd just run a marathon.
“I don't just like it,” you said, and your voice came out thick. “I love it. I love the way it feels. I love the way it looks. I love that you did it because you were uncomfortable and sweaty and done with dealing with things that annoy you. I love that you're mine, Bucky Barnes. With hair. Without hair. In a Ziploc bag.”
A choked laugh escaped him. “You're never going to let that go.”
“Never.”
He reached up and cupped the back of your head, flesh hand warm against your scalp, and pulled you back into him. But this kiss was different. Slower. Deeper. Less desperate and more devouring, like he was trying to memorize the shape of your mouth, the taste of your breath, the little sound you made when his teeth grazed your lower lip.
“I love you,” he said, and the words were so quiet you almost missed them. “I love you so much it scares me sometimes. Do you know that? Do you have any idea what it's like—what it's been like—coming home to you every night? After everything? After all the things I've done and all the things that were done to me?” His forehead dropped to yours, and his breath fanned warm across your lips. “I keep waiting for the other shoe to drop. For you to wake up one day and realize you deserve better than a broken super-soldier with a metal arm and a hundred years of nightmares.”
“James—”
“But then you look at me like this.” His thumb traced the line of your jaw, feather-light. “Like I'm something precious. Like I'm worth something. And I think... maybe. Maybe I get to have this. Maybe I get to have you.”
Your heart cracked open, spilling warmth through your chest, and you kissed him—not to silence him, not to distract him, but because there were no words big enough for what you felt. So you poured it into the kiss instead. Into the way your fingers traced the short bristles of his hair. Into the way your body curved against his like it had been made to fit there.
He groaned—a low, helpless sound—and his hands slid down your back, pulling you impossibly closer. The wall was cold against his shoulders but you were warm, so warm, and he could feel your heartbeat racing against his chest, could feel the way your breath hitched every time his metal fingers skimmed the bare skin of your lower back where your shirt had ridden up.
“You're going to kill me,” he muttered into your neck, where he'd buried his face like he couldn't get close enough. “You know that, right? Walking around looking at me like that, touching me like that, wanting me like that. I'm a dead man.”
“Good thing you're hard to kill,” you managed, and then his mouth found the spot behind your ear and you forgot how to form words entirely.
He kissed a path down the column of your throat, unhurried, reverent, like he had all the time in the world and intended to use every second of it. His flesh hand tangled in the hair at the nape of your neck; his metal hand pressed flat against your spine, the cool vibranium a delicious shock against your over-warm skin. And every few seconds, he would pull back just enough to look at you—to see you, really see you—and the expression on his face was something you wanted to bottle and keep forever.
Devotion. That was the only word for it. Pure, unfiltered, slightly overwhelmed devotion.
“I was so scared,” he admitted, voice muffled against your collarbone. “Walking up the stairs. Turning the key. I kept thinking... what if she doesn't recognize me? What if she looks at me and sees a stranger? What if—”
Your fingertips tugged gently on the short bristles at the back of his head—not a pull, not really, just a reminder—and he lifted his face to meet your eyes.
“I would know you anywhere,” you said. “Blindfolded. In the dark. In a crowd of a thousand people. I would know you, Bucky. Hair or no hair. Metal arm or—” You paused, considered. “Okay, the metal arm is kind of distinctive. But you know what I mean.”
He laughed—that real laugh, the one that crinkled his eyes and shook his shoulders and made you feel like the sun had come out from behind the clouds. “Yeah,” he said. “Yeah, I know what you mean.”
He kissed you again, softer this time, and when he pulled back, his eyes were bright.
“Come here,” he said, and lifted you.
You yelped—a completely undignified sound that you would deny to your dying day—as he hauled you up by the thighs, and suddenly your legs were wrapped around his waist and your arms were locked around his neck and he was carrying you away from the wall, across the living room, past the couch with its abandoned quilt and the coffee table with its ring-stained surface and the bookshelf crammed full of paperbacks and mission reports and a single framed photograph of the two of you at Steve and Natasha’s wedding, your head thrown back in laughter, his eyes soft as he watched you.
The bedroom was dim, the last of the evening light filtering through the curtains, painting everything in shades of gold and grey. He laid you down on the bed like you were something fragile—something precious—and then he just... stopped.
Stood there at the edge of the mattress, looking down at you with an expression you couldn't quite read.
“What?” you asked, suddenly self-conscious.
“Nothing.” His voice was rough. “Just... looking.”
He reached up and ran his hand over his own head again—that new gesture, the one that was already becoming yours, the one that meant he was thinking or nervous or overcome. The short bristles caught the fading light, and you watched the way his biceps flexed, the way his jaw tightened, the way his chest rose and fell with each breath.
“You're staring,” you said.
“So are you.”
“Fair point.”
He climbed onto the bed, slow and deliberate, and when he hovered over you—braced on his metal arm, his flesh hand coming up to cup your face—you felt like the entire world had narrowed to this single moment. To the weight of him. The warmth of him. The way he looked at you like you were the first good thing he'd seen in a hundred years.
“I love you,” he said again, and this time the words came easier, like they'd been waiting to be spoken. “I love you, I love you, I love you.”
Each repetition was a kiss—your forehead, your nose, your chin, the corner of your mouth. Not hurried. Not frantic. Just... certain. Like he was making a promise he intended to keep.
Your hands found his head again, and you marveled at how something so simple could feel so intimate. The buzz cut meant there was nothing to hide behind. No curtain of hair to duck behind when things got too real. Just him. Just Bucky, bare and beautiful and utterly, devastatingly present.
“I love you too,” you whispered. “Even without the hair. Especially without the hair, apparently. Who knew?”
He buried his face in the crook of your neck, and you felt him smile against your skin.
“You're ridiculous,” he said.
“I'm yours,” you corrected him.
And when he lifted his head to kiss you again—deep and slow and full of everything he couldn't say—you felt something shift between you. Not the desperate hunger from before, but something quieter. Something deeper. The kind of love that didn't need to prove itself, that had nothing to defend and nothing to hide.
The kind that could survive anything, even a haircut like that.
Later, much later, the kind of later where the jazz upstairs had gone quiet and the city had settled into its deepest hour, and the sheets were twisted around your legs and his metal arm was cool against your bare shoulder and his flesh hand was tracing lazy patterns on your hip—you lay with your head on his chest, listening to his heartbeat.
It was steady now. Calm. The frantic thrum from earlier had settled into something slow and rhythmic, a lullaby in B-flat major.
His hand was in your hair, fingers combing through the tangles with absent-minded tenderness. Fair was fair, after all.
“Hey,” he said, voice rough with sleep.
“Mm?”
“I'm glad I cut it.”
You tilted your head to look at him, and he was beautiful in the dim light filtering through the blinds. The buzz cut made him look younger, somehow. Less burdened. Like the man he might have been if the 1940s had been kinder. A sheen of sweat still lingered on his forehead—the apartment was warm, the summer humidity doing no favors—and you reached up to brush it away without thinking.
He caught your hand, pressed a kiss to your palm, and smiled.
“Because now I know,” he continued. “Even without the hair, even without the—what did you call it? 'Aesthetic'—you still look at me the same way.”
“And what way is that?”
He was quiet for a moment. When he spoke again, his voice was barely a whisper.
“Like I'm worth something.”
You lifted your head, cupped his face in your hands—flesh and metal, warm and cool, the most beautiful dichotomy you'd ever known—and kissed him until you felt the last of the insecurity drain away.
“You're worth everything,” you said. “With hair. Without hair. Sweating like a sinner in church. In a Ziploc bag in your jacket pocket. Everything, Bucky Barnes.”
He snorted. “You're never going to let that go, are you?”
“Never.”
“Good.”
He pulled you back down, tucked you against his side, and pressed one last kiss to your forehead.
“Goodnight, honey.”
“Goodnight, my love.”
And somewhere in the dark, the man with the buzz cut and the metal arm and the heart that had learned to love again smiled, held on tighter, and finally, finally let himself believe he was home.
"Stan delivers some of his most reserved and best work yet, as a man who is clearly bottling up an extraordinary amount of anger because of the situation he finds himself in. And why wouldn’t he? What parent would not feel justified in their anger at the thought of not only having their children taken away but also the threat of prison hanging over both themselves and their spouse? Mihai has to be careful not to let those emotional outbursts come to light in the presence of anyone involved in the investigation, because they can and will be used against him and Lisbet. How Stan communicates this through the smallest gestures and shifts in body posture, without relying on broad acting choices, is an impressive display of restraint that deepens the film’s ambiguity. This also marks Stan’s first role performed in his native Romanian and feels like a major career milestone following his first Oscar nomination for “The Apprentice.” As he enters a new chapter of his own life and career, becoming a father himself, there is an added layer of emotional resonance watching him wrestle with what it means to be both a father and a man."
Summary: Bucky Barnes owns a quiet little bookstore in Brooklyn. You own the flower shop next door. Somewhere between shared coffees, rainy afternoons, and flowers appearing between the bookshelves, the two of you fall hopelessly in love.
Warnings/tags: afab reader, fluff, slow burn, mutual pining, meet cute, friends to lovers, idiots in love, soft Bucky, nicknames bookstore boy & flower girl, brooklyn neighbors root for them, weaponized peonies, reader forgets to eat while stressed, no use of y/n 🌷
Bucky notices your hands first... not in a weird way, and certainly not intentionally.
He notices because they move through his bookstore like they belong there, fingertips ghosting over spines with impossible gentleness, like every book on the shelf is something alive. Most customers come into his shop with a purpose. They ask for recommendations, wander toward bestsellers, scroll on their phones while they browse. But you move slowly. Thoughtfully. Like the smell of old paper, coffee, and worn wood means something to you.
And then he notices the rest of you.
The soft knit sweater slipping off one shoulder. The tiny crease between your brows while you read back covers. The tote bag hanging from your wrist with little embroidered flowers stitched across the canvas. You're beautiful in a way that catches him off guard completely. Not loud. Not flashy. Just warm. Like spring sunlight through a window after a brutal New York winter.
Bucky nearly drops the stack of returned books in his hands when you smile at him for the first time.
The bookstore is quiet that afternoon. Rain taps softly against the windows facing the street, blurring the city into watercolor streaks of yellow taxis and umbrellas. Somewhere in the back, an old jazz record crackles low through the speakers.
"Sorry," you say, holding up a novel. "Do you happen to know if this one's any good? Or am I about to emotionally ruin my entire weekend?"
Bucky looks down at the book in your hands. Then back up at you. And promptly forgets how words work. His mouth opens and then loses.
"It's..." He clears his throat. "It's devastating."
Your eyes brighten immediately. "Perfect."
God. Even your laugh is pretty.
He walks around the counter before he can overthink it, taking the book gently from your hands to flip through it. "The ending's worth it, though," he says. "Hurts like hell, but worth it."
"That's the best kind."
"Yeah?"
You nod. "If a book doesn't alter my emotional stability at least a little, what's the point?"
Bucky huffs out a quiet laugh, and something in his chest shifts strangely at how easy this conversation feels. You introduce yourself after that, offering your name with another smile that leaves him feeling vaguely concussed. He repeats it back carefully, like he wants to make sure he says it right.
"I'm Bucky."
"I know," you say casually. "Your store's famous."
His eyebrows lift. "Famous?"
"Well, neighborhood famous." You shrug. "People online keep calling you the grumpy hot bookstore owner."
Bucky stares at you. You stare back for exactly three seconds before dissolving into laughter.
"I'm kidding," you promise. "Mostly."
He rubs a hand down his face while you grin at him over the top of the counter, and for the first time all day, the rain outside doesn't seem so miserable anymore.
By the time you leave, you've bought three books instead of one. Bucky watches through the window as you disappear into the gray blur of the city with your tote bag clutched to your chest. He tells himself he's only watching to make sure you don't get caught in the heavier rain halfway down the block.
That's definitely why. Not because he already misses the sound of your voice in his store.
A few mornings later, Brooklyn wakes up loudly. Delivery trucks rumble through the streets. Steam curls from sewer grates in cold spring air. Somebody nearby is already mentally preparing himself for inventory hell when movement catches his eye.
You... standing right beside the storefront next door. The shop had been empty for weeks. Except now, it's not so empty. Your back is turned toward him while you unlock the door, and Bucky catches sight of painted lettering across the front window that he somehow completely missed before.
Brooklyn Blooms: Florals for every occasion.
Buckets of flowers sit just inside the glass, bursts of color spilling everywhere. Pale pink peonies. Sunflowers. Baby's breath. Wild eucalyptus hanging in bundles from the ceiling. More flowers than he could even name.
You glance over your shoulder at the sound of his keys jingling and smile immediately.
"Bookstore Boy," you greet warmly.
"You own this spot?" he asks, a small smile playing on his lips.
"Proud owner, in fact," you nod at him.
You laugh again, bright and effortless, and he swears the whole block feels warmer because of it.
"Well," you say, pushing your door open with your hip, "looks like we're neighbors."
Neighbors.
The word settles somewhere deep in his chest. He's going to see you more often than he thought. Bucky looks at your shop, then at you standing in the doorway with morning light catching against your hair, and realizes with sudden, horrifying clarity that he is absolutely doomed.
Brooklyn settled into both of them quietly. It wasn't some grand, cinematic sweep where music swelled, and strangers suddenly became inseparable. It happened in pieces each morning. In soft clinks of keys against locks at eight-thirty sharp. In sleepy waves exchanged across neighboring storefronts while the city still yawned itself awake around them.
Bucky found himself noticing your routines before he meant to. The way you always arrived, balancing a coffee tray and your tote bag at the same time, like gravity simply worked differently for you. The way you crouched outside Brooklyn Blooms every morning to rearrange the flower buckets on the sidewalk until they looked "welcoming," whatever that meant. The way you tucked loose strands of hair behind your ear while reading delivery invoices with an expression so serious it made him want to laugh. He learned your habits the same way he learned favorite lines from books. Slowly. Accidentally. By paying attention too often.
And somehow, over the span of one week, you became folded into his mornings so naturally it startled him.
"Morning, bookstore boy," you called one Tuesday while drawing little flowers on the chalkboard sign outside your shop.
Bucky unlocked his door beside you, coffee warming his hand against the chilly spring air. "You know I have an actual name."
You looked up immediately, smiling like you'd been waiting for him to say something back. "I know. But bookstore boy is more fun."
"You're annoying."
"And yet you keep talking to me."
Bucky hid the smile threatening at the corner of his mouth by turning toward his door. "Tragic, really."
Your laugh followed him into the bookstore like sunlight.
The thing was, Brooklyn Blooms changed the block.
Before you arrived, the storefront beside his had sat empty for months behind dusty paper-covered windows. Now, color spilled onto the sidewalk every morning. Buckets overflowing with peonies and tulips and hydrangeas stood outside your shop like little declarations of spring. The scent of eucalyptus drifted through the open doorway whenever the weather was warm enough, sneaking next door into Bucky's bookstore until paper and flowers became permanently tangled together in the air. He liked it more than he should've.
By Thursday afternoon, the sky turned strange. Dark clouds rolled low over Brooklyn, swallowing the sunlight until the whole neighborhood looked as if it were dipped in slate-gray watercolor. The wind picked up first, rattling storefront awnings and sending loose petals skittering down the sidewalk.
Bucky noticed the weather absently while shelving returns near the front window. Then he noticed you.
You stood outside Brooklyn Blooms with your arms crossed against the wind, staring down the street with growing concern. A delivery truck had just pulled up to the curb. And then the rain started. Not a gentle spring rain... a straight up downpour.
The sky cracked open so suddenly pedestrians shrieked and scattered beneath awnings. Rain hammered the sidewalks hard enough to bounce. Within seconds the street gleamed silver beneath the storm.
Bucky watched your expression shift from annoyed to horrified as the delivery driver opened the back of the truck to reveal buckets upon buckets of flowers.
"Oh, you've gotta be kidding me," he heard you groan faintly through the glass.
You rushed forward immediately, trying to drag the first heavy box toward the shop while rain soaked through your sweater in seconds.
Bucky didn't even give it a second thought. He grabbed his jacket and headed your way. Cold rain drenched him instantly. His boots splashed through pooling water as he crossed the sidewalk toward you. You looked up in surprise just as he grabbed the other side of the box in your hands.
For a second, neither of you spoke. Rain streamed from your hair. Your cheeks were flushed pink from the cold, your shirt clinging damply to your skin. Water dripped from your eyelashes while you stared at him like you couldn't quite believe he was there.
"Hi," you said breathlessly.
Bucky tightened his grip on the box. "You looked like you were losing a fight."
Your laugh burst out immediately, bright even beneath the roar of rain. "I was absolutely losing a fight."
Together, you hauled the flowers inside. The storm turned the next fifteen minutes into complete chaos. Buckets crowded the floor. Wet cardboard piled near the counter. Rainwater streaked across the hardwood while both of you rushed back and forth between the truck and the shop, soaked to the bone by the time the last delivery made it safely inside.
By the end of it, Brooklyn Blooms smelled overwhelmingly alive. Fresh roses. Wet soil. Lilies. Rain.
Bucky stood near the doorway, catching his breath while water dripped from the ends of his hair onto the floorboards. You looked equally wrecked. And somehow even prettier than the first day he met you.
Your sleeves were pushed up to your elbows now, damp curls sticking to your cheeks while you surveyed the flower-filled disaster around the shop.
Your eyes landed on Bucky and softened.
"You ran into a thunderstorm for me," you said quietly, like you were still trying to process it.
Bucky shrugged one shoulder like it was nothing. "Couldn't let the flowers die."
"That's very heroic of you."
"I'm basically a firefighter."
You laughed again. God, he was starting to think he'd do almost anything to hear that sound.
"C'mere," you said suddenly.
Bucky blinked.
You disappeared into the back room for a moment before returning with a towel in your hands. "You're dripping all over my floor."
"Sorry."
"You should be." You stepped closer without hesitation, lifting the towel toward his head.
Bucky froze.
Not visibly, maybe. But internally, something in him stalled completely as you gently rubbed the towel through his soaked hair. The gesture was so casual. So soft. Like taking care of him was the most natural thing in the world.
"There," you murmured. "Slightly less drowned."
Bucky looked down at you standing barely a foot away from him among buckets of roses and peonies and wildflowers while rain battered the windows outside.
Something warm unfurled low in his chest. Dangerous territory.
He cleared his throat roughly and glanced toward the nearest flower bucket. "So," he said. "Which one of these dies the fastest? I need to know what not to touch."
You grinned immediately, mercifully letting him recover. "You know nothing about flowers, do you?"
"Not a damn thing."
"Cute."
Bucky nearly choked on air. You either didn't notice or pretended not to.
The storm stretched through the evening, trapping both of you inside Brooklyn Blooms long after the delivery was unpacked. Eventually, the frantic energy faded into something quieter.
You made tea in the tiny back room while Bucky sat perched awkwardly on a stool behind the counter, surrounded by flowers in every direction. The hanging lights above the shop cast everything gold and honey-soft against the storm-dark windows.
"You know," you said while setting a mug in front of him, "you look weirdly intimidating holding a cup with tiny flowers on it."
Bucky looked down at the ceramic mug covered in painted daisies. "Feels threatening."
"I'm terrified."
He huffed out a laugh into his tea.
For a little while, neither of you spoke. And somehow the silence felt easy. Bucky realized then that he couldn't remember the last time being around someone felt this uncomplicated. No expectations. No noise. Just you across from him in your flower shop while rain tapped softly against the windows.
When the storm finally weakened into drizzle, the clock had already crept past closing time.
Bucky stood reluctantly near the door, tugging his jacket back on.
"Thanks again," you said softly. "For helping."
"Anytime." And he meant it instantly.
You glanced around the shop before suddenly reaching into a nearby bucket. "Wait."
Bucky watched you pull out a single pale pink peony, still slightly damp from the rainstorm.
You held it toward him. "A bookstore shouldn't be without flowers."
Bucky took the flower carefully from your hand, absurdly aware of your fingers brushing his for half a second.
"Goodnight, bookstore boy," you teased gently.
He looked down at the peony in his large hand, then back at you, standing warm and glowing beneath the hanging lights of Brooklyn Blooms.
"Goodnight, flower girl," he said quietly.
A full grin broke out on your face as he turned to leave. When he crossed back into his bookstore next door, he carried the flower as if it were something precious enough to break.
It rained for a few days in a row, so business was slow for both of you. Brooklyn smelled like spring after the storms. The sidewalks still held traces of rain in the cracks, darkened pavement glistening beneath the pale morning sun, while steam curled lazily from nearby subway grates. Someone down the block had music playing through an open café window. Delivery trucks rumbled past in slow fits. The neighborhood was waking up after the clouds had gone away.
Bucky unlocked the bookstore with coffee in one hand and sleep still clinging stubbornly to his shoulders. The bell above the door jingled softly as he stepped inside, and he immediately stopped.
It smelled different. It looked different. The familiar scent of old paper and cedar shelves lingered beneath something fresh and green. Floral. Clean in a way the bookstore had never been before. Tiny arrangements tucked carefully throughout the shop like little secrets. A vase of pale yellow daisies sat near the register. Sprigs of eucalyptus had been woven around the front display table beside stacks of hardcovers. Baby's breath rested between shelves in little glass jars no bigger than coffee mugs.
Bucky stared. Slowly, his eyes narrowed.
Next door, Brooklyn Blooms was just opening for the morning. And through the shop window, he could see you crouched beside flower buckets on the sidewalk, trying unsuccessfully to hide your smile.
Unbelievable.
The bell above the bookstore door jingled again twenty minutes later. You walked in carrying coffee and looking very pleased with yourself.
"Morning, bookstore boy."
Bucky crossed his arms behind the counter. "You break into my store, flower girl?"
You blink at him innocently. "Break in is such an ugly phrase."
"You had unauthorized floral access to my property," he responds.
"You gave me a key."
"I didn't expect you to use it for botanical warfare."
Your laugh rang through the bookstore instantly, bright enough to pull a reluctant smile at the corner of Bucky's mouth despite himself.
"I was helping," you defended, setting his coffee down on the counter. "Your shop looked emotionally unavailable."
"It's a bookstore."
"It looked like it listened to sad jazz on purpose."
"It does listen to sad jazz on purpose."
"Exactly my point."
Bucky shook his head while you wandered deeper into the store like you belonged there already. You moved naturally through the aisles now, fingertips grazing familiar shelves while morning sunlight spilled gold across the hardwood floors around you. Your tote bag bumped lightly against your hip as you browsed, pausing every few minutes to tilt your head thoughtfully at a title.
Bucky found himself watching you more often than he meant to. Actually, scratch that. Constantly. It was distracting.
"You're staring again," you said casually from halfway across the store.
Bucky nearly choked on his coffee. "I wasn't staring."
"Mhm."
"You're very smug for someone trespassing before business hours."
You grinned over your shoulder at him, and Bucky suddenly understood why people wrote poetry. Unfortunately.
The flowers became a thing after that. Every morning, Bucky would find something new somewhere in the bookstore. Tiny white carnations near the classics section. Lavender tucked beside the register. Once, an entire little arrangement of wildflowers sitting beside his coffee machine in the back room. And every single time, he pretended to be annoyed about it while secretly protecting those flowers with his life.
"You know those have to be watered, right?" you asked one afternoon while leaning against the counter.
Bucky looked offended. "I know how plants work."
"You absolutely do not."
"I've kept all of them alive."
"You almost killed the hydrangeas yesterday."
"They're dramatic."
"They were thirsty."
"Same thing."
Your laughter came easier around him now. So did his.
Somewhere between rainy afternoons and shared coffees and flowers appearing in his bookstore overnight, the space between your shops had started shrinking. The neighborhood noticed before either of you did. Mrs. Alvarez from the bakery next door leaned across Bucky's counter one morning while buying her usual mystery novels.
"That sweet girl from the flower shop has you smiling," she informed him bluntly.
Bucky nearly dropped the book he was holding. "I smile."
"Not before her." She patted his cheek like she'd solved him completely and walked out.
Things only got worse from there. The café on the corner started handing Bucky two coffees automatically every morning.
"You waiting for your florist today?" the barista asked with a grin one Thursday.
"She's not my florist."
"Sure, man."
Meanwhile, customers inside Brooklyn Blooms had apparently started asking questions, too.
A woman buying tulips glanced between you and the bookstore next door before smiling knowingly. "The handsome man at the bookshop your boyfriend?"
You nearly stabbed yourself with floral scissors. "Nope," you answered far too quickly.
Unfortunately, Bucky chose that exact moment to walk into the shop carrying a stack of mail. The woman's smile widened immediately.
"Oh," she said. "Definitely not your boyfriend."
Your face burned.
Bucky looked between both of you suspiciously. "Why do I feel like I walked into something?"
"Nothing!" you rushed the word out.
"Feels aggressive for nothing."
The customer looked delighted by your suffering.
By late afternoon, Brooklyn Blooms glowed warm beneath hanging lights while golden sunset spilled through the front windows. The shop smelled overwhelmingly like roses and fresh greenery. Soft indie music hummed quietly overhead while you stood behind the worktable assembling bouquets with practiced hands.
Bucky lingered nearby, pretending to organize a display of candles he had absolutely no reason to be touching.
"You know," you said without looking up, "most people buy flowers before hanging around a flower shop this much."
Bucky leaned against the counter. "Maybe I'm here for the free entertainment."
"You watching me process inventory?"
"You threaten hydrangeas in a very compelling way."
You laughed softly, shaking your head. Then, without warning, Bucky stepped closer behind you to reach for the scissors resting near your elbow. The movement brought him close enough that the sleeve of his jacket brushed your lower back.
The air shifted in a way you fully expected. You caught the scent of cedar and coffee and old paper clinging to him from the bookstore next door. Bucky suddenly became aware of the warmth of your shoulder, inches from his chest, the faint floral perfume wrapped around you like spring itself.
Neither of you moved immediately.
Then Bucky cleared his throat roughly and lifted the scissors. "Weapon acquired."
Your heartbeat stumbled annoyingly hard.
"Cool," you said weakly.
By closing time, the neighborhood had settled into evening calm. Storefront lights glowed amber against deepening blue skies while pedestrians drifted home carrying grocery bags and takeout containers. Somewhere farther down the block, someone laughed loudly enough for it to echo between buildings. Bucky locked the bookstore door later than usual that night after getting caught reorganizing shelves for nearly an hour.
The street outside had mostly emptied by then. As he shoved his keys into his jacket pocket, he looked into your shop window, just to see what you were up to. What he saw was a very asleep you. The lights inside your shop still glowed softly over scattered paperwork and half-finished floral arrangements. You sat slumped behind the counter with your cheek resting against folded arms, completely passed out beside an open inventory binder.
A tiny crease pinched between Bucky's brows immediately. You'd skipped lunch earlier. Again.
Muttering under his breath, he crossed the quiet sidewalk toward your shop. The door was unlocked. Girl...
The soft bell jingled faintly overhead as he stepped inside. Flowers perfumed the air around him while warm light spilled across the hardwood floors. You didn't stir. Bucky glanced around the shop before quietly flipping the sign on the door from OPEN to CLOSED. Then he disappeared briefly down the block.
When he returned ten minutes later, he had a paper takeout bag from the little deli on the corner. Carefully, he set it beside your sleeping form on the counter. For a second, he just stood there looking at you. At the way your hair had fallen across your cheek. At the exhaustion written softly into your sleeping expression. Something in his chest tightened unexpectedly.
Before he could think too hard about it, Bucky grabbed a pen from beside the register and scribbled across a receipt.
Eat something, flower girl.
He placed the note on top of the bag, then he quietly walked back out into the Brooklyn night before you could wake up and catch him caring too much.
Friday mornings in Brooklyn can be chaos. Very alive chaos. The sidewalks outside the bookstore were flooded with people before nine in the morning. Couples walking dogs, morning coffee runs, someone nearby playing music loud enough to echo between buildings. Doors are swinging endlessly open and shut beneath the rush of weekend customers.
Next to the bookstore, Brooklyn Blooms looked like it had exploded. Flowers crowded every available surface. Buckets overflowed onto the sidewalk beneath the striped awning outside your shop. White roses, pale blush peonies, delicate renunculuses, and full-bodied hydrangeas were carefully bundled beside ribbons and greenery spilling across a worktable near the back.
Bucky stood in the doorway of his bookstore with coffee in hand, watching you move frantically around the shop before he'd even technically opened for the day. Your storefront sat only a few feet away from his, but he could almost hear your voice through the open shop door when the street noise quieted.
You were already stressed, and he could tell immediately. Your hair was clipped up messily, though strands had escaped hours ago and curled around your face while you worked. Your apron had splotches of wetness and dirt on the front. A pencil was tucked behind your ear while you balanced a phone between your shoulder and your cheek.
“Yes, I understand the ceremony starts at four tomorrow,” you were saying patiently into the phone while trimming stems one-handed. “No, I absolutely did not forget the sweetheart table arrangements.”
There was a pause where your expression flattened. “No, ma’am, I do not think white roses symbolize bad luck.”
Bucky snorted into his coffee. You looked up to see him, standing in the shop doorway, and mouthed help me at him dramatically through the open doorway. Bucky only grinned before turning to open the bookstore.
By eleven, the entire building smelled like coffee and flowers. The wedding order had apparently consumed your whole life. Bucky learned this because you kept appearing in his bookstore throughout the morning, looking vaguely unhinged.
"Do you have tape?"
"Yes."
"Scissors?"
“You stole mine yesterday.”
“Rude. Do you have more?”
“You’re terrifying under pressure, flower girl.”
You pointed at him threateningly before hurrying back next door into Brooklyn Blooms again.
The thing was, Bucky liked watching you work. Maybe too much. Every time business slowed in the bookstore, his attention drifted instinctively toward the neighboring shop. Toward you, weaving between flower buckets with focused determination. Toward your hands, carefully tying satin ribbon around bouquets. Toward the concentrated little crease between your brows while you worked through invoices spread across the counter. You moved beautifully when you were busy. Quickly and gracefully. Every motion already existed in your body before you made it.
Around two in the afternoon, Bucky wandered next door carrying coffee and found you sitting cross-legged on the floor behind the counter, surrounded by flowers and ribbon scraps. You looked exhausted.
“Alive?” he asked.
“Debatable.”
Bucky handed you the coffee. Your fingers brushed his briefly as you took it, warm from handling floral buckets all morning.
“Thanks,” you murmured before immediately taking a desperate sip.
Bucky leaned against the counter nearby, eyes drifting around the shop.
The wedding order was enormous.
Half-finished centerpieces crowded every table. White roses rested in neat piles beside overflowing greenery. Soft instrumental music floated through the overhead speakers while sunlight streamed through the front windows, turning the whole flower shop gold.
“She looked relaxed, too.” You stared into your coffee bitterly. “Like she had peace.”
Bucky only laughed softly, and just like that, your shoulders loosened a little. That was becoming his favorite thing, watching stress leave your face around him.
By late afternoon, Brooklyn Blooms had turned warm and dreamy beneath hanging lights while evening settled slowly over the neighborhood outside. The bookstore had quieted too. Most of the foot traffic disappeared as dinner hour approached, leaving the block calmer than it had been all day. The sky outside glowed dusky blue beyond the windows while storefront lights flickered on one by one down the street.
Bucky locked up the bookstore around seven. Your lights are still on next door. He stepped out of the bookstore and crossed the few feet between your neighboring storefronts before pushing open the door to Brooklyn Blooms. The soft bell chimed gently overhead.
You didn’t notice him at first. You sat on the hardwood floor near the back worktable, surrounded by bouquet boxes and paperwork, one knee pulled against your chest while you tied ribbon around another arrangement with exhausted concentration.
For a second, Bucky just watched you. The shop looked softer at night. More intimate somehow. Golden light spilled low across the floorboards. Flowers cast long shadows against the walls. Outside, Brooklyn moved more quietly now beneath glowing streetlights and passing headlights. Inside, it felt tucked away from the rest of the world.
Your eyes lifted eventually. The second you saw him, your whole expression changed. Your body relaxed a little, and so did your mind.
“Store closed already?” you asked softly.
“Yeah.”
You nodded absently before returning to the ribbon in your hands.
Bucky frowned slightly. “You still working?”
A long sigh escaped you. “Unless one of these bouquets magically finishes itself.”
He looked around the shop at the mountains of flowers, at the exhaustion written all over your face, at the half-eaten pack of crackers abandoned beside your invoices. Then he looks back at you.
“C’mon.”
You blinked up at him. “What?”
“You’re done for tonight.”
“I literally am not.”
“You are now.”
“Bucky.”
“You haven’t eaten real food all day.”
“I had half a muffin.”
“That’s not food.”
“It had blueberries.”
Bucky crouched down in front of you before you could keep arguing. Close enough now that you could smell cedar and coffee clinging to his jacket from next door.
“Flower girl,” he said more quietly this time, “the flowers will still be here in an hour.”
Your breath caught a little at the softness in his voice. You looked down at the ribbon still tangled loosely between your fingers before finally mumbling, “I still need to finish the bridal bouquets.”
“Tomorrow.”
“The wedding’s tomorrow.”
“Then future-you can deal with it.”
You laughed tiredly despite yourself.
“There she is,” Bucky murmured.
Your chest squeezed unexpectedly. Before you could process that too deeply, Bucky reached forward and gently tugged the ribbon from your hands. Then he stood and held a hand toward you.
“Dinner,” he said simply.
You stared up at him. At the roughness of his larger hand, waiting patiently for yours, at the way he looked so certain you’d follow him, and maybe the dangerous thing wasn’t that you wanted to. Maybe it was how safe it felt to.
Slowly, you placed your hand in his. Bucky's fingers closed warmly around yours as he pulled you to your feet. Neither of you let go immediately after.
The tiny Italian restaurant sat three blocks away, tucked between a laundromat and an old tailor shop with faded green awnings. It was warm inside and crowded. The air smelled of garlic, wine, and fresh bread while soft Sinatra crackled through the overhead speakers. Candlelight flickered across dark wood tables packed close enough together that conversations blurred warmly into one another.
Bucky looked unfairly handsome there. You noticed that almost immediately. The low lighting softened the sharp edges of him while warmth colored his features in amber gold. His sleeves were rolled slightly up his forearms now, exposing strong hands wrapped loosely around a wine glass while he watched you across the table with quiet attention. He looked comfortable, relaxed in a way you rarely saw during busy workdays.
“This place is nice,” you said softly while tearing apart a piece of bread.
Bucky shrugged one shoulder. “Been coming here forever.”
“You know everybody in Brooklyn?”
“Most people know me.”
“You’re like a cryptid neighborhood uncle.”
Bucky nearly choked on his drink, laughing. “That’s the meanest thing you’ve ever said to me.”
Your laughter spilled between you easily now.
The evening stretched slowly after that. It was comfortable. The conversation wandered everywhere. You learned that Bucky grew up only a few neighborhoods away from the bookstore. He inherited the shop from an older family friend who retired years ago. He liked old records because they sounded “warmer” than digital music. That he secretly loved terrible black-and-white monster movies despite pretending otherwise.
And Bucky learned things, too. You moved to Brooklyn three years ago because Manhattan felt too loud. Those flowers reminded you of your grandmother’s garden growing up. That you talked with your hands when you got excited. Your smile changed completely when you laughed for real.
At some point, the waitress refilled your wine glasses and smiled knowingly at both of you.
“You two are cute,” she said casually before walking away.
Neither of you spoke. Bucky looked away from her and rubbed the back of his neck. You stared very hard at your plate. You mumbled a quick thank you as she turned to walk away. Your knee brushed his beneath the small table a few seconds later.
Outside, Brooklyn had settled fully into the night by the time you finally left the restaurant. The air felt cooler now. Soft. Streetlights reflected gold against damp sidewalks while the city hummed low and distant around you. Most storefronts had already gone dark for the evening, leaving pockets of warm light glowing across the neighborhood.
You walked beside Bucky slowly. Not because either of you needed to. Because neither of you seemed ready for the night to end yet. Your shoulders bumped occasionally along narrower stretches of sidewalk. Sometimes his hand brushed yours for half a second before pulling away again. Every tiny accidental touch felt enormous now.
When your storefronts finally came into view down the block, both of you slowed instinctively. Brooklyn Blooms glowed softly beside the bookstore beneath the apartment windows above. Bucky’s shop sat dark except for the warm lamp he always left burning near the front window overnight.
You stopped beneath the awning stretching across both storefronts. Neither of you spoke immediately. The city moved quietly around you while distant music drifted faintly through the street somewhere nearby.
You smiled at him softly. "Thanks for dinner, bookstore boy."
Bucky looked at you for a long second, like he was seeing something new.
"Anytime, flower girl," he said quietly.
Eventually, you glanced upward toward the apartment above Brooklyn Blooms before taking a small step backward.
“I should probably finish those bouquets,” you admitted reluctantly.
“Probably.”
“But I’m significantly less miserable now.”
“That’s my specialty.”
Your eyes drifted toward Bucky beside you, and your chest tightened a little at the sight of him standing there beneath the warm streetlight glow. His jacket hung open slightly from the walk back. His hands rested in his pockets like he was trying very hard to seem calmer than he actually was. But something about him felt different now.
Bucky looked down the street briefly before exhaling softly through his nose.
“So,” he started roughly.
You smiled a little. “So?”
His jaw shifted like he was reconsidering whatever he’d been about to say. “I've been thinking about what that waitress said.”
Your heartbeat stumbled immediately. “Oh?”
Bucky rubbed a hand over the back of his neck, suddenly looking deeply uncomfortable in a way you’d never really seen before. Not guarded, but very nervous.
“She said we looked cute together,” he muttered.
Warmth flooded your face instantly. “She did say that.”
“Yeah.”
Silence settled briefly between you again while distant traffic hummed somewhere farther down the block.
Bucky’s gaze dropped toward the sidewalk before lifting back to yours. “And I don’t know,” he admitted quietly. “I guess it got stuck in my head.”
Something soft opened painfully in your chest. The city suddenly felt very far away. Bucky shifted closer slightly beneath the awning, close enough now that you could smell traces of cedar and wine and old paper lingering on him from the bookstore.
“I just...” He paused, visibly searching for the right words. “These last few months with you next door...” A quiet laugh escaped him, almost disbelieving. “You kinda became my favorite part of the day.”
Your eyes widened when he finished his sentence, and Bucky... well, Bucky looked terrified after saying it.
“You come into the bookstore, and suddenly it doesn’t feel so empty anymore,” he continued softly. “And I keep finding reasons to walk next door even when I don’t need anything.” His mouth tugged into the faintest self-conscious smile. “Pretty sure everybody on this block figured it out before I did.”
Your eyes burned unexpectedly, because god... You'd been feeling it too. Every morning waiting for his bookstore lights to turn on beside yours. Every coffee shared between customers. Every flower he carefully kept alive like it mattered. Every moment he lingered in Brooklyn Blooms just to stand near you.
You stepped closer to him. "Bucky," you whispered.
His eyes lifted to yours immediately, hopeful in the smallest, most fragile way.
"I like you too," you admitted softly.
The tension in his shoulders loosened so fast it almost hurt to see.
“No,” you corrected gently, smiling despite the way your heart pounded. “Actually, I think I’ve been a little in love with you for a while now.”
Bucky stared at you, completely still. Like the words had knocked the air from his lungs. Then he laughed quietly under his breath, almost overwhelmed by it.
“Jesus Christ,” he murmured.
“What?”
“You can’t just say things like that to me, flower girl.”
Your smile widened helplessly. The look on his face right then nearly ruined you. Soft and warm, like he was seeing something precious.
Slowly, carefully, Bucky lifted one hand toward your face, giving you every chance to pull away. You didn't. His knuckles brushed your cheek so gently it made your chest ache.
"You sure?" he asked quietly.
And there he is... Bucky Barnes beneath all the gruffness and teasing and quiet staring. Careful with you, gentle.
You leaned into his touch slightly. "So sure."
Something tender cracked open in his expression. Then Bucky kissed you. Softly at first, tentatively. Like he was still half-convinced you might disappear if he moved too quickly. But the second your hand slid into the front of his jacket, and you kissed him back, something warm and relieved left him in a quiet breath against your mouth. It deepened slowly after that. Totally unhurried. His hand settled gently against your jaw while yours curled against his chest, feeling the steady, rapid thud of his heartbeat beneath your palm.
The kiss felt exactly like the last few months have felt with him. Warm coffee. Soft music through the walls. Rain against the flower shop windows. The faint smell of dirt and florals. The musky, cedar scent of the bookstore. Home.
When you finally pulled apart, neither of you had moved very far. Bucky rested his forehead lightly against yours, eyes closed briefly like he needed a second to recover.
“Well,” he murmured softly.
You laughed breathlessly. “Well?”
“Think the neighborhood’s gonna be unbearable about this.”
You grinned. “Mrs. Alvarez is going to throw rice at us.”
“Barista’s never letting me live it down.”
Your fingers brushed lightly along the front of his jacket. “You seem pretty okay with that suddenly.”
Bucky opened his eyes then. And the look there nearly stole your breath all over again.
“Yeah,” he said quietly. “I really am.”
Above you, apartment windows glowed warmly over Brooklyn Blooms and the bookstore while Brooklyn hummed softly into the night around you. And beneath the shared awning between your neighboring shops, Bucky kissed you again like he’d been wanting to for months.
All Chalky Rainbow Dividers used are made by @uzmacchiato, and you can find them here! Thank you <3
Thanks for reading! A reminder that my requests are open! <3
summary: it's a busy summer for the Barnes family; between farm chores and playdates, baby appointments and avenger meetings- life can seem a little chaotic. but on days like this, the chaos reminds you that even with all the changes, you'll always love your little family.
notes: it's been so long since I posted something!! Is this considered the opposite of Christmas in July lol? July in Christmas?? Idk- anyways...
Little giggles fill the large farmhouse, tucked into the green back roads of the small town hidden in upstate new york. It was worn, the porch weathered by the rain and gutters in need of cleaning, the gate always squeaked when you opened it, the power had a habit of going out during the storms.
It was hard work. A farm that hosted too many chickens, a grumpy cat, a few cattle, a motorcycle which had seen better days. A garden project that was always halfway sewn before something happened and it had to be restarted; an attic which was always locked, the secrets inside telling a history of pain and sorrow.
But those little giggles made it all worth it.
At least, that's what was running through the back of Bucky’s head in the vague thoughts which surfaced as he kissed you shamelessly.
Bucky’s lips work on yours, his hand digging into the mattress as he supports himself over you, being careful of the swell of your belly. Your soft lashes flutter gently against his cheek, fingers splayed out against his bare chest as you kiss him with just as much vigor.
He honestly hadn't meant to end up here.
Halfway into getting dressed for the day, the two of you orbiting the dresser in the practiced dance parenthood had provided, had been broken by a singular glance from you.
“What?”
“Nothing.”
“That was not a nothing look.”
You had flushed.
“You just…. you look nice.” Bucky smirks, buttoning his jeans, glancing back as you pull on your soft blouse.
“Just nice?”
“I- you know what I mean,” You laugh. “You're very distracting.”
Of course, Bucky may have gotten a little carried away with teasing you about how distracting he could be.
Your hands shift up towards his shoulders, pushing gently, the soft pads ghosting along his skin.
“Bucky,” you manage to breathe, chest rising up and down. “Hon-”
He hums, dragging his kisses lower, lips marking a path from the hollow of your throat to the heavy peaks of your breasts. You'd lost your blouse at some point. Bucky can't remember when, possibly between him calling out to the kids to stay downstairs and his all too eager hands guiding you to the bed.
“Hon, you have to stop. We're going to be late.” Bucky glances up at your face as he pulls back, enjoying the way your cheeks were flushed a pretty pink. Partially from the kissing, partially because you were well into the second trimester of your third pregnancy and glowing.
Both wholly, his fault.
Bucky smirks, leaning on his elbow, face close to yours.
“You started it.” You scoff, shifting your back slightly against the mattress, nostrils flaring in the way that told Bucky the baby was at it with your ribs again.
“I did not! Your the one who said- ‘you want to make out?’”
“You said I looked nice,” he smirks, glancing down as he rests his palm against the curve of your exposed bump. “I’m a soldier. I know how to decipher codes and signals, doll.” You roll your eyes.
“Well, what else am I supposed to say? Of course you look nice. I’m hormonal and the summer sun does wonders for your tan.” Bucky hums as you reach out, fingers tracing the strong line of his abdomen.
“Well, you weren't exactly complaining about my suggestion. I mean, hey look where we are.”
“Yeah, and you remember what happened the last time we did something like this?”
Another morning just like this, shared looks and mischievous smiles. Back when you only had to worry about one pair of listening ears, still too small to even notice her parents were fooling around.
She did notice when nine months later her brother appeared.
Bucky chuckles to himself, eyes flitting from your stare down to your lips.
“Of course. But you needed it- yes! Don't give me that look, it was stress relief,” Bucky laughs. “Besides, it's not like you can get any more pregnant.”
You sigh, looking down at the curve of your belly, your hand bumping his as you rest it there.
“No, I don't think there'd be any room for another.” Bucky smiles, thumb brushing away the baby hairs sticking to your hairline.
“Come on. The appointment isn't for another couple of hours. Just give me five more minutes.”
Bucky waits as you lay there, lips pursed in thought. You finally glance at him,
“Five more minutes?”
“That’s all I need, doll,” he grins as he leans in again, pressing a kiss to your lips. He moves in for another when the giggling downstairs pauses, turning into loud gasps of surprise.
“DAAAAD”
Bucky groans, pulling away and trying to ignore your amused laugh.
“What?” He calls out, listening as little feet patter up the stairs, coming to a thud just outside your closed door.
“Ow.”
“You okay?” You ask, sitting up.
“I’m okay,” Rebecca’s voice follows, muffled by the wood. “But dad, you hafta come quick.” Bucky frowns, already moving for his shirt, tossing you the blouse lying by the door. You'd both have another five minutes at some point in this lifetime.
Bucky opens the door once you're both decent, giving his daughter a curious look as she bounces outside your room's threshold with urgency.
You stand in the doorway of your room, watching as Bucky hoists Rebecca up into his arms, her hand still instinctively clinging to his shirt like when she was little. She was still little. At five years old she was still all glitter and fruit slices and night lights. But she was getting older. Undeniably so.
“You saw him?”
“Uh huh. Grant was hiding behind the curtains and saw the cats.”
Bucky sighs, glancing back at you with a look that said all his plans for an easy morning had been thrown out the window. You laugh behind your hand, following Bucky downstairs, his face twisted in deadly concentration.
A man on a mission.
You catch Grant standing by the kitchen slider, his little hands pressed against the glass with a sticky smudge. His eyes were locked on the pair of cats nestled beneath the backyard's picnic table.
Alpine’s special friend.
Or in Bucky’s eyes, the rogue tomcat who had begun to sneak over in your family’s absence. Alpine, your grumpy and reclusive girl, had managed to make a special friend while the four of you were staying at the Tower.
Bucky sets Rebecca down by her brother, moving to slip on his mud boots.
“I swear, if he knocks her up-” Bucky mutters beneath his breath, opening the slider and walking out onto the grassy field with the gait of a man on a mission.
Rebecca tilts her head curiously, looking up at you.
“Why does daddy hate Alpine’s friend so much?”
You smile, glancing down as Grant toddles next to you, reaching for you to pick him up. You oblige with a tired grunt giving his chubby cheek a kiss.
“He doesn't hate Alpine’s friend. Your dad just wants to make sure Alpine isn't getting into any trouble.”
“Oh. Like when I play with Yelena and daddy says not to touch her belt?”
The belt Yelena permanently kept one of her guns attached to. You knew the one.
“Um, yes. Something like that.”
Grant looks up at you, head tilted so he could meet your eye. You smile, waiting for him to say something.
He looks down at his leg resting against your bump, and he points.
“Belly?”
“Yes, the baby’s still here,” you run your free hand over the curve. “We get to say hi to the baby later. When we go to the doctor's.”
Grant cheers, giving an enthusiastic yell that makes you cringe.
“We're going to the doctor’s?” Rebecca looks up from where she was watching her father outside, wrangling the tabby cat from beneath the table.
You hum in agreement. She smiles brightly, running up to you and giving your belly a kiss.
You honestly hadn't been sure how your two kids would take the news that another baby would be joining the Barnes household. Rebecca had a bit of a hard time at first understanding just exactly what being pregnant meant. It was hard for her to connect that just because she couldn't see the baby yet didn't mean it wasn't there.
It didn't take long for you to start showing though, so her dilemma wasn't too drawn out.
Grant, on the other hand, was still too small to really understand what was going on. He made weird faces when you helped your kids feel their sibling kick, he shook his head when Alexei asked if he was ready to be a big brother. To be honest, you don't think Grant had ever really seen another baby before. At least close up.
But like Bucky always said, there was still time. He'd get there eventually.
“So, Mommy.”
“Yes babe?”
Rebecca follows you to the couch, climbing carefully on the cushions and leaning against your shoulder. Her pink socks press into your thigh, a Cinderella bandaid bright on her knee. Grant is engrossed with his plush horse, the soft material occasionally dancing against the top of your belly as he plays in your lap.
“When the baby comes, does that mean I hafta share a room?”
“Well, it depends. If the baby’s a girl, she will. But not right away. They’ll be sleeping in our room for a while.”
“Oh. And if the baby’s a boy?”
“He’ll share a room with Grant,” You run your fingers through the boy’s chestnut hair, giving your daughter a smile.
“Is the doctor going to tell us today?” She leans into you, her hands playing with your hair curiously, little fingers tugging on the strands gently.
“Well, we’ll get to see and hear the baby. But we’re keeping it a surprise. Just until the baby’s born.” Rebecca frowns, like that was news she wasn't expecting.
“I can’t wait that long!” You laugh, wrapping your arm around her and giving her side a squeeze. Your daughter giggles, enjoying the way you pressed her close.
“Yes you can, baby. If your dad and I can do it, so can you.”
“Maybe we can ask the baby and she’ll tell us.” Rebecca squats and leans in close to your belly, Grant watching her curiously. “BABY! Are you a boy or a girl?” You laugh, your daughter grinning.
“What do you think Becca?”
“Um,” she tilts her head, thinking. “I think it’s a girl.”
You hum in acknowledgement. Of course she did. She’d already worked out the next ten years of her potential sister’s life and how they’d be best friends. Forever, as Rebecca liked to put it. The thought made you feel warm inside; content knowing your eldest daughter was excited to be a big sister again.
Grant makes a noise in your lap, his foot kicking precariously close to where Rebecca’s face was pressed against your belly. His lips are scrunched up as he makes sounds, fingers tight as he guides his horse through the air.
“What do you think, cowboy? Is the baby going to be a boy or girl?”
Your son looks up at you giving you a smile.
“Horse.” You and Rebecca laugh.
“Grant,” Rebecca giggles. “The baby can’t be a horse.”
“Horse go NEIGH!”
“The horse does go neigh.”
Grant rests his horse on the curve of your bump, looking up again over your shoulder.
“Daddy!”
You glance back, smiling as Bucky comes back inside from the back yard, Alpine following him with a dejected scowl. Clearly Bucky had won the round this time. His eyes light up as he spots the three of you on the sofa, a soft smile cracking.
Bucky slips off his boots, ruffling Grant’s hair as he passes by, giving the top of yours a gentle kiss.
“Hi bud.”
“You get Mr. Baggins?” Bucky gives you a look, pausing as he leans on the back of the sofa. Rebecca looks up at his curiously.
“Thought we were in agreement on not getting attached?” You shrug.
“I’m not attached. Just feel bad referring to him as ‘Alpine’s special friend’ and nothing more.”
“He is nothing more. And yeah, he’s gone for now.”
Bucky moves around to the recliner on the other side of the coffee table, slumping into it with a grunt.
“Poor Mr. Baggins.” Rebecca sighs, leaning into your side.
“Hey,” Bucky gives her a playful glare, reaching for his worn sneakers at the side of the recliner. “No feeling bad for him. He’s trouble.”
Alpine meows in protest from the kitchen.
You laugh, looking down as you feel the baby roll, awoken from all the commotion. Rebecca grins.
“The baby’s awake!”
Grant gets a panicked look, darting between your face and belly, like he wasn’t sure he wanted to be there if the baby started kicking. The two year old was a lot more nervous about the way your bump moved, not quite grasping the concept of what carrying a baby meant. To him, it was just a strange magic trick, something mom’s belly did occasionally.
You give the boy a smile, guiding his little hand to feel the gentle movement.
“It’s okay Grant. Just the baby, remember.” He smiles, warily of course, happy you were happy.
Bucky just watches the three of you as he ties his shoes, a smile permanently fixated on his face. It was the simplest things that made him so grateful for this little family. Like seeing the three of you squished together on the couch, or the shoes littering the living room entryway, or the crayon scribbled drawings that littered the fridge’s chrome doors.
It was small, perfect in ways many would roll their eyes at. Something Bucky thought had slipped away from his fingers all those years ago; something he held tight to now, trying to capture every memory.
He looks up, catching your gaze on him, eyebrow raised as you smile gently.
“Okay you two,” Bucky chuckles, looking away. “Stop hogging all the mommy love.” Rebecca giggles, pressing harder into your side, arms wrapped around you tightly.
“No! She’s my mommy!!”
“YEAH!” Grand seconds, always following his trend setting sister.
“Well how are we going to go to see the baby if you don't have your shoes or jackets?”
The two kids give each other looks, Rebecca sliding off the couch and running off to get her things. Grant is a little slower to get down, moving onto his stomach as he flails around, trying to find the ground. You laugh, helping him onto the rug carefully and he's off too, plush horse still clutched in his little fist, giggling all the way.
Bucky laughs, standing in a blink and leaning over you. You laugh as he kisses you, arm trapping you to the couch, lips peppering your cheeks and lips.
Bucky laughs, getting up faster than you could blink and leaning over you. You laugh as he kisses you, peppering your cheeks and lips.
“James!”
“What? I was serious. They were hogging you.” You laugh, pushing his face away playfully.
“What happened with upstairs earlier?”
“What about it?”
“That wasn’t enough for you?” Bucky laughs, pressing one more kiss to your cheek.
The little downtown was crowded. It was always crowded on the weekend, especially during summer. When there were plenty of kids running around the grassy park, kites flying, bubbles floating; the little Farmer’s market bustling that you occasionally visited after appointments, getting vegetables for dinner or the occasional treat.
Bucky is elbow deep in the trunk of your car, setting down a few bags of produce you’d gotten earlier. He glances up, watching carefully as you push Grant on the swings, Rebecca swinging her legs wildly beside him. He vaguely registers your laugh, your smile bright beneath the shade of your sun hat.
The doctor’s appointment had gone without a hitch. The little clinic downtown was just as small as he remembered. Or maybe your family just took up more space now.
“And baby’s still kicking?”
“A storm,” you smiled, glancing over at Bucky from the examination table.
“That’s good. We like babies who like to move around.” The doctor had glanced at your two children- Grant, who Bucky had given up trying to sit still, toddling around the plastic chairs lining the wall, and Rebecca who sat patiently on her father’s lap, watching you carefully. “And are you two ready to meet your sibling in a few months?” Rebecca nods eagerly. Grant… shakes his head.
The doctor laughed. “I said the same thing about my brother, and guess what? We’re good pals now. You’ll love the baby. Just like your mommy and daddy do.”
Bucky shuts the trunk, patting his back pocket, feeling for the ultrasound pictures he’d stowed there. It was comforting just knowing they were there, that black and white face he knows you’ll both look at later tonight, fingers tracing lines and whispers shared in the dark. The ever continuing conversation about a changing future.
You smile at Bucky as he trudges up next to you, your hand reaching out for his. He gives you a grin, eyes flitting out to the park where Rebecca and Grant were running around.
“They doing okay?”
“Of course. They’re enjoying the sun. Happy because they got to listen to a stethoscope and put stickers on a chart.”
Bucky chuckles, hand letting go of yours as he moves it around to rest on the small of your back.
“You thinking chili for dinner?” You make a face. “What? I thought you like my chili?”
“It’s seventy degrees Bucky.” He shrugs and you laugh. “Honey, we’re not having chili for dinner. The baby says so.”
“Oh, really. And what does the baby want?” You think, smiling as an idea pops into your head.
“Tacos? With the spicy salsa on the side.” Bucky raises an eyebrow.
“We’re just trading vegetables and spices.” You raise your hands in defeat.
“I am at the whims of your offspring right now,” you smile down at your bump.
“Yeah- hey!” Bucky peers over your shoulder, watching as Rebecca jumps off the play structure. “Hey, you two, be careful!”
“I’m alright dad!” Rebecca yells back, looking back up at the landing where Grant was getting ready to jump. You cringe, squeezing Bucky’s arm.
“Buck- he’s too little for that.”
“Don’t worry, he’ll- Grant Samuel Barnes! Don’t you jump from there. Hey-”
Too late.
Five minutes later you’re buckling a crying Grant into the car, Rebecca frowning sympathetically in Bucky’s arms as she looks at Grant’s poor scraped knees.
“You’re okay,” you sigh, wiping away his snotty nose, giving his red cheeks a kiss. “It’ll be fine buddy. We’ll get you a couple bandaids and it’ll be all better.”
Bucky sighs as he gets Rebecca into the car, looking over at you.
“Goodness, three better not be as much trouble as two.” You smile behind your hand, giving him a look.
“Wishful thinking Buck. Especially when your kids take after you.”
Bucky laughs, giving Rebecca’s hand a squeeze before shutting the car door.
“We can handle it, right?” You nod, cradling your bump.
Popsicle juice dripped onto the front porch, Rebecca working diligently to slurp hers before it melted. Grant’s bandaid covered knee had unfortunately fallen to another blunder- the sticky residue of a popsicle he was half paying attention to. But he wasn't crying anymore.
Nothing a cold sweet treat couldn’t fix.
You smile as you leave them be, front door ajar in case they called out. Bucky was already in the kitchen, phone balanced between his shoulder and ear as he chops some of the vegetables you’d bought earlier.
“No, Yelena- Yelena I thought we said it would be better to avoid the main floors. If the vault is underground anyways, the sublevel sewage systems would be better.” He glances at you, brows drawn low in the serious face he always took on when talking about work. “Okay, well, who blew up a building last time? ‘It was an accident’ doesn’t cut it, Yelena.”
You shake your head as you pass Bucky, giving his shoulder a kiss before digging in the freezer for your own popsicle.
Bucky finishes his phone call, ending it with a sigh and fingers pinching the bridge of his nose. The ever present headache that came when he was dealing with Avengers things.
“You want a bite?” You ask, holding out the cold treat. Bucky leans close, biting approximately three fourths of the thing. “I said a bite! You heathen.”
Bucky grins triumphantly, his expression quickly morphing into something pained as he chews.
“Oh- oh man. Brain freeze.”
“That’s what you get for stealing my whole popsicle.”
“I’ll make it up to you later.” Bucky wiggles his eyebrow, turning back to his cutting board. You sigh, clearing the rest of your popsicle stick and hugging him from behind.
ᴘᴀɪʀɪɴɢ: husband!bucky barnes x fem!reader
ᴡᴄ: 2553
ᴄᴏɴᴛᴇɴᴛ: girldad!bucky, fluff, pregnant!reader, literally its all just cuteness
ꜱᴜᴍᴍᴀʀʏ: bucky has his 2 favorite girls with him, he doesnt need anything else
ᴀ/ɴ— bucky is such a girldad. alsooo first post!! i decided to start with fluff before going into smut ! 𑣲⋆
The sunlight in the Brooklyn brownstone was thick and honey-colored, catching on the stray dust motes dancing over the living room rug. Bucky was sitting on the floor, his back against the velvet sofa, looking every bit the man who had traded a century of war for the quiet chaos of fatherhood. He was still the same Bucky Barnes—the broad shoulders, the heavy, watchful gaze, and the deliberate way he moved—but the jagged edges had been sanded down by years of peace and the steady rhythm of a life he never thought he’d get to keep.
Clara, barely three years old and a whirlwind of mismatched socks and messy curls, was currently treating his prosthetic arm like a high-end salon station. She had a pile of colorful, plastic butterfly clips scattered between her knees, and she was concentrating with a ferocity that mirrored her father’s own focus.
"Steady, doll," Bucky murmured, his voice a low, gravelly rumble that lacked any of its old bite. He kept his metal arm perfectly still, resting his palm flat on the rug so she could reach the plates of his forearm.
"Don't move, Daddy. I'm making you pretty," Clara insisted, her tongue poking out of the corner of her mouth. She snapped a neon pink clip onto the edge of the vibranium, the tiny plastic click echoing in the quiet room.
Bucky caught your eye from across the room where you were tucked into the armchair. A small, knowing smirk tugged at the corner of his mouth—the look of a man who knew he was being absolutely played by a toddler and didn't mind one bit. His gaze dropped momentarily to the curve of your stomach, visible beneath your soft shirt, and his expression softened into something so profoundly tender it was almost ache-inducing.
"I think I’m plenty pretty already, Clara," Bucky teased, though he didn't pull away when she reached for a glittery purple clip.
"No," she sighed, exasperated in the way only a toddler can be. "You need more. For the baby."
Bucky’s hand—the warm, human one—reached out to steady Clara as she leaned a bit too far forward. His touch was light, seasoned by a lifetime of knowing exactly how much pressure to apply to keep something from breaking. He wasn't the kind of dad who did "baby talk"; he spoke to her with a grounded, calm respect, treating her like the most important person in the room.
"The baby can't see the clips yet, Peanut," he reminded her gently.
"But she knows!" Clara insisted, patting his metal shoulder before turning her attention back to her handiwork.
Bucky let out a soft huff of a laugh, leaning his head back against the cushions. He looked content, his frame relaxed in a way that had taken years to achieve. In this light, with his daughter decorating his arm and his wife resting nearby, the Winter Soldier felt like a ghost from a different lifetime. Here, he was just Bucky—the man who made sure the house was warm, the man who read bedtime stories with a tired but devoted patience, and the man who was currently becoming a very shiny, very decorated canvas for his favorite girl.
Bucky shifted his weight, being careful not to jostle Clara's "workstation" as she started trying to weave a stray ribbon through his thumb joint. His gaze drifted back to you, settling on the way you were resting your hand over the baby. There was a quiet, heavy groundedness to him—the kind of presence that made the whole room feel sturdier just because he was in it.
"You're awfully quiet over there," he said, his voice dropping into that private, intimate register meant only for you. "You okay? Need another pillow?"
Before you could answer, Clara stood up, admiring the metallic arm now covered in a chaotic array of neon plastic and silk bows. "All done! Daddy is a princess."
Bucky looked down at his arm, then back at his daughter with a perfectly deadpan expression. "A princess, huh? Do I get a crown, or is the butterfly clip on my wrist enough for the royal title?"
"You need a wand," Clara decided, already scouting the room for a suitable substitute.
Bucky caught your hand as you moved to get up, his fingers lacing through yours with a gentle but firm pressure. "Stay put," he murmured, his thumb grazing your knuckles. "I've got the wand-finding under control."
He stood up with a slow, fluid grace, the clips on his arm jingling slightly. He didn't look ridiculous to himself; he looked like a man who finally had something worth protecting. He scooped Clara up into the crook of his human arm, settled her against his hip, and leaned over to press a lingering, soft kiss to your forehead.
"Go back to your book," he said softly, his eyes reflecting the late afternoon sun. "The princess and his advisor are going to go find a wand in the kitchen. Probably one that looks suspiciously like a wooden spoon."
Clara giggled, burying her face in his neck, and Bucky's smile was small, private, and entirely whole as he carried her out of the room.
The kitchen was filled with the rhythmic clatter of Bucky opening drawers, his movements steady and purposeful even as Clara directed him with the authority of a tiny commander. You followed the sound, leaning against the doorframe while folding your arms over the top of your stomach.
"I don’t know, Clara," you teased, watching Bucky hold up a silicone spatula with a look of extreme skepticism. "A princess usually has something with a bit more... sparkle. That looks like it's for pancakes."
Bucky turned his head, a glimmer of amusement lighting up his eyes as he took in your expression. "Listen to your mother, Clara. The Queen has spoken. This is a culinary tool, not a magical one."
Clara huffed, squirming down from his hip to begin her own frantic search through the lower cabinets. Bucky took the opportunity to close the distance between you. He didn't say much—he never needed many words to get his point across—but he stepped into your space, his presence warm and grounding. He reached out with his human hand, his palm coming to rest gently over the curve of your belly. He waited, his breath hitching just a fraction, until he felt that familiar, sharp little kick against his skin.
"She’s active today," he murmured, his voice dropping into that low, gravelly rasp that always felt like a secret shared between just the two of you. "Must have heard us talking about her."
"She’s probably just protesting the 'princess' title," you joked, though you leaned your head against his shoulder, letting out a long breath. "She’s been doing gymnastics in there since breakfast."
Bucky’s thumb traced a slow, soothing circle against the fabric of your shirt. His focus was entirely on you, his brow furrowed in that characteristic way that showed he was checking in, cataloging your comfort the same way he used to catalog threats. He wasn't hovering, but he was there, a constant and unwavering anchor.
"Are you tired?" he asked, his gaze searching yours. "I can take Clara to the park for an hour. Give you some actual quiet."
"And leave you alone with a toddler who thinks your arm is a jewelry box?" You laughed, reaching up to adjust one of the butterfly clips that was hanging precariously from his wrist. "I think I'd rather stay and watch the chaos. Besides, you're doing a great job, Your Highness."
Bucky caught your hand, holding it against his chest for a second. The metal of his other arm was still adorned with pink and purple plastic, a stark contrast to the man who had survived more wars than he cared to count.
"I found it!" Clara shrieked, emerging from the pantry with a long, wooden pasta spoon. She brandished it toward Bucky's knees. "Daddy, kneel! I have to make you magic."
Bucky looked from the spoon to you, a resigned but soft smile playing on his lips. "Duty calls," he sighed, though he didn't move to let go of your hand just yet. He leaned in, pressing a quick, firm kiss to your lips—one that tasted like home and the promise of a future he was finally allowed to keep. "Don't get up. I'll handle the knighting ceremony."
He moved away, dropping to one knee on the linoleum floor with a heavy thud, bowing his head as Clara tapped the wooden spoon against his shoulders with all the solemnity of a true coronation.
Bucky took the "blow" of the wooden spoon to his shoulder with more grace than he’d ever taken a hit in the field. He kept his head bowed as Clara moved the "wand" to his other side with a look of extreme concentration.
"I dub thee... Princess Daddy," Clara announced, tapping him firmly on the head.
Bucky let out a small, huffing sound that was definitely a suppressed laugh. He looked up at you, his eyes crinkling at the corners. "I think that’s a promotion," he said, shifting his weight to sit back on his heels. "Though I’m not sure the guys at the gym would agree."
"I think it suits you," you said, leaning against the counter and rubbing a hand over the small of your back. "The pink butterfly clips really bring out your eyes."
He stood up, the metal plates of his arm shifting with a faint, familiar whirr. He reached out to scoop Clara up before she could find another household object to turn into a weapon. "Alright, Princess Daddy is retiring for the afternoon. I think it’s time for someone to have a snack and then maybe a nap."
"No nap!" Clara protested, though she was already leaning her head against his shoulder, her energy finally starting to flag.
"We’ll see about that," Bucky murmured. He turned back to you, his expression shifting from playful to that quiet, observant intensity he saved just for you. He noticed the way you were shifting your weight. "Go sit on the couch. I’ll bring her back in once she’s settled with some apple slices."
"I can help, Bucky, I'm just pregnant, not incapacitated," you reminded him with a small smile.
"I know what you are," he replied, his voice softening as he stepped closer, the toddler a solid weight in his arms. He used his free hand to gently tuck a stray hair behind your ear, his touch lingering. "But I've got this. Let me take care of my girls, okay?"
There was no arguing with that look—the one that said he was exactly where he wanted to be, doing exactly what he was meant to do. You nodded, giving his arm a quick squeeze—avoiding the neon clips—and headed back toward the living room, leaving him to navigate the kitchen with a wooden spoon in one hand and his favorite little girl in the other.
A few minutes later, the quiet of the living room was broken only by the soft, rhythmic sound of Bucky’s boots on the hardwood. He emerged from the kitchen, having successfully navigated the snack transition. Clara was trailing behind him, clutching a small bowl of apple slices like it was a prize, her focus now diverted to a picture book she’d left on the coffee table.
Bucky sank onto the sofa beside you, his presence like a warm weighted blanket. He let out a long, grounded exhale, his metal arm—still sporting a few stubborn butterfly clips—resting behind your shoulders on the cushions.
"She’s finally slowing down," he noted, watching Clara flip through pages with a look of intense concentration. "I think the knighting ceremony took a lot out of her."
"It's a lot of responsibility being the Royal Advisor," you joked, shifting your position to rest your head on his shoulder. "You handled it well, though. I think your form was excellent."
Bucky’s hand dropped to your arm, his fingers tracing absentminded patterns against your skin. "I’ve had a lot of practice taking orders. At least these ones come with snacks."
You let out a soft laugh, feeling the baby give a gentle nudge against your side. "I was talking to Natasha earlier," you mentioned, your voice trailing off into a comfortable hum. "She called while you were in the middle of the 'hair salon' session. She said she’s dropping by tomorrow with some more baby clothes she found. Apparently, she’s convinced this one is going to be just as much of a handful as Clara."
Bucky’s lips quirked into a real, albeit tired, smile at the mention of his friend. "Natasha just likes having an excuse to teach Clara how to pick locks with hairpins. I’m still finding bobby pins in the floorboards from her last visit."
"She calls it 'essential life skills,'" you reminded him, tilting your head up to look at him. "And you know she’s probably right. Between the two of you, these girls are going to be the most over-protected, highly-skilled toddlers in Brooklyn."
Bucky didn't argue. He just pulled you a little closer, his gaze softening as it moved from Clara back to you. The weight of the world felt very far away from this living room. "As long as they're safe," he murmured, his thumb catching the edge of your jaw. "They can learn whatever skills Nat wants to teach them. But for now, I think I'd settle for them just staying this small for a little bit longer."
You smiled, leaning into the solid warmth of his chest. "I don't know, Bucky. I think Nat is just excited to have more 'recruits.' She already told me she’s bringing over a tiny leather jacket that matches hers."
Bucky groaned, though the sound was fond. "A leather jacket. Great. She’ll be wanting a motorcycle next." He looked over at Clara, who had finally abandoned her book in favor of leaning her head against his knee, her eyelashes fluttering as sleep started to win the battle.
"She’s almost out," you whispered, watching the way he instinctively adjusted his posture so she’d be more comfortable.
"Yeah," he breathed, his voice barely a thread of sound. He looked down at his metal arm—the one still decorated with Clara’s clips—and then at your stomach, where the baby was finally settling down for a nap of her own. "I used to think the quiet was the hardest part of being back. The silence felt... heavy."
He shifted his human hand to cover yours, his skin warm and slightly calloused. "But this? This isn't that kind of quiet. This is the first time in a hundred years I feel like I can actually hear myself think."
You squeezed his hand. "And what are you thinking, Sergeant Barnes?"
He leaned down, his forehead resting against yours for a brief, grounding second. "That I'm a very lucky man," he murmured. "Even with the pink hair clips."
He stayed like that for a long moment, breathing in the scent of the house—old books, apple slices, and the soft, clean smell of a home that was finally, truly his. The war was over, the Winter Soldier was a memory, and Bucky Barnes was exactly where he was supposed to be: right here with his girls.
Pairing: Taxi/Cab Driver!Bucky Barnes x Passenger!Female Reader
Summary: You’re Bucky’s favorite passenger. He knows your schedule by heart. The same day, time, and location. You’re kind. You talk to him like he’s more than just the man behind the wheel. You always tip well.
He can’t help but fall for you.
But he’s just a cab driver. You deserve better than that. Better than him. So, he keeps things professional… until you lean on him one fateful night when the world feels too heavy.
He doesn’t just want to drive you home anymore.
He wants to be someone you can come home to.
Word Count: Over 12.2k
Warnings: Pining, mutual pining, slow(ish) burn, a bit of idiots in love, hurt/comfort, angst with comfort, slight jealousy, flirting, emotional breakdown, crying, insecurities, sick family member, Bucky Barnes (his POV and he's a warning, okay?)
A/N: @tavners suggested Bucky as a cab driver ages ago and the Barbie Dreamhouse helped bring him to life. Huge thanks to @miraclediviner for putting it together and for being patient and letting me submit this late and @stantastic-association for letting me participate. ❤️ Beta read by the lovely @mumbles411, but any and all mistakes are my own. Dividers by the talented @saradika-graphics. Please follow @navybrat817-sideblog new fics and notifications. Comments, reblogs, feedback are loved and appreciated!
The city sky was still light as Bucky pulled onto your street, a smile touching his lips briefly. Every week for the last three months he picked you up to take you to your brother’s apartment. Same time, same day without fail. He knew the route by heart. Could do it in his sleep.
Thursday had become his favorite day of the week thanks to you.
His favorite passenger.
Someone bright and soft during his long shifts and rough nights.
He came to a stop in front of your building, making sure he adjusted the heat so you wouldn’t be too cold. There was a blanket in the back just in case it wasn’t enough. He also changed the radio station to something he knew you’d enjoy but kept it low enough in case you wanted to talk.
He liked it when you talked to him.
“Do I look okay?” he asked himself, checking his hair in the mirror before he chuckled.
Bucky didn’t dress up a lot since he drove a cab for a living, but he tried to take a bit of pride in his appearance. Clean clothes and a subtle amount of cologne. Beard and hair kept neat, too, even with the bit of gray showing more in his chestnut strands these days.
He liked to think it gave him a refined look.
Something you might notice.
The steady hum of the engine grounded him as he looked at the door, his breath catching when you stepped outside. You paused on the top step, your gaze sweeping along the street as you adjusted the bag on your shoulder. Something warm bloomed in his chest when you spotted him and gave him that familiar soft wave and smile. He wanted to believe that smile was reserved just for him.
Get it together. You’re just her driver. Nothing more.
It didn’t stop him from hoping.
He straightened up when you made your way to the car and opened the door.
“Happy Friday Eve, Buck,” you said, sliding into the backseat.
The corner of his lips twitched at the familiar greeting. Not “driver” or “sir” or anything like that. Just Buck. Steve was the only other person who called him that.
It sounded right coming from you.
“You mean Friday Junior,” he teased, trying hard not to make a show of breathing in your scent.
There were plenty of passengers who practically bathed themselves in colognes and perfumes. It was enough to choke on before he aired out the cab. But not you. You always smelled so nice. So sweet.
Jesus fucking Christ. Get a grip.
“Same thing,” you teased back, slipping your shoes off and tucking your legs beneath you.
The first time you asked if it was okay for you to take your shoes off, he almost laughed. It surprised him more than anything that you cared enough to ask. Like you cared about his space and him. He didn’t mind as long as you were comfortable.
He always wanted you to feel comfortable and safe in his presence.
“We made it through another day,” you sighed.
“And your prize for making it through another day is spending time with me,” he joked.
You laughed, a soft sound like music to his ears. “Lucky me,” you said without a hint of sarcasm.
He cleared his throat, his heart skipping a beat. “Blanket back there and the heat’s on.”
“Thanks,” you said, adding above a whisper, “You’re so good to me.”
Bucky opened his mouth and closed it. “Just doing my job,” he said, the words bittersweet on his tongue.
“Well, I appreciate it.” You hummed a little as you dug through your bag. “And… I got something for you.”
He already knew what it was.
“Protein bar?”
“Protein bar,” you confirmed.
He made an offhand comment in the beginning about his favorite brand.
You surprised him by giving one the following week, and you have brought him one every week since then.
Part of him wanted to save the wrappers, but Sam shut that down by saying it was serial killer behavior.
Your fingers brushed his when he reached back to grab, a jolt running through his body and settling deep in his chest. “I think you’re too good to me,” he said.
It was a thoughtful thing for you to do.
“Just being a good passenger,” you said casually, but he caught the hint of affection there.
Something soft… and real.
Bucky glanced at you in the mirror, his gaze lingering longer than it should’ve when you covered yourself with the blanket and settled into the leather with a sigh. His chest puffed out a little, a sense of pride filling him since you used the blanket. He picked the softest and warmest one he had.
You looked completely at ease, like you belonged there.
“Heading to your brother’s place, or you gonna switch it up on me?”
“Same trip as always,” you replied.
Of course.
A visit to your older brother’s place on the other side of the city. Dinner. Helping your sister-in-law with some chores. Spending quality time with your niece and nephew.
Every Thursday.
He knew about your routine more than he probably should, but he couldn’t help but pay attention. It was nice knowing that you had family close by. Nice that you got to spend time with them.
Some nights though, you looked a little worn down by the time he brought you home.
He carefully pulled away from the curb and glanced in the mirror again, catching your eye. “How was your day?”
Bucky was polite to his passengers, but didn’t typically initiate small talk. It wasn’t that he didn’t care about the people he transported. He did. But his job was to get people where they needed to go, not force them into conversations to fill the silence. If he sensed that they wanted to talk, he’d engage. Most were glued to their phones anyway. But not you.
Never you.
You groaned, your head falling back against the seat. “Work was a pain today. Short-staffed. Didn’t really get a full break. You know how that goes.”
He hummed sympathetically. “Sorry you had to deal with that.”
“Don’t be. Not your fault,” you said with a small shrug. “On the plus side, we’re close to the weekend, and I can relax once I get home.”
“Glad you can still see the bright side,” he said.
It wasn’t always easy to do that.
“I try.” You lifted your head with a soft smile. “How are you?”
He swallowed hard. It was nice to have someone outside of his normal circle ask him sincerely how he was doing. “Not too bad. Some guy tried to correct my driving.”
You sat up straighter. “Are you kidding me? You’re the best driver in the city.”
Warmth bloomed in his chest from how fiercely you defended him. You stated it like it was a fact. He wasn’t one to brag, but he was an excellent driver.
“I want his name,” you added, narrowing your eyes. “I’ll handle him.”
He laughed. “Oh, you’ll handle him, huh?” he asked, turning his blinker on.
“Oh, yeah,” you answered, his heart racing faster.
“I appreciate that,” he said above a whisper.
You really were something.
“And if I can’t, Alpine can scratch him up for me,” you mused lightly.
A wide smile broke out on his face. “Al’d make sure he never messed with anyone ever again.”
Alpine, his beautiful white cat. He found her in an alley when she was just a kitten, trying to stay warm on a chilly day. One look in her blue eyes and he knew he couldn’t leave her there.
“My place isn’t much,” he warned her when he crouched down. “But it’s warm and I have milk.”
She curled right in his arms and tried to burrow her face in his leather jacket.
She became his partner-in-crime from that day forward.
The feline flourished in his apartment, making herself right at home and sticking by his side whenever he was around. He admittedly spoiled her with toys and such, but she deserved it. She was also protective of him, quick to hiss at anyone who got too close, and could imitate his grumpy stare well. He knew she’d adore you.
He certainly talked about you enough to her.
He talked about you with his younger sister, too.
“Becca messaged me a bit ago, too,” he said, smiling a little. “You know how she likes to check in and make sure I’m not living off just protein bars and stubbornness.”
Becca didn’t live as close as your brother did, but he visited when he could. She visited, too, between work and her new boyfriend. She seemed happy, and that made him happy.
“And here I am giving you protein bars. I hope she doesn’t mind.”
“Not at all,” he promised. “She knows one extra bar a week won’t hurt.”
You smiled softly. “She cares a lot about you, doesn’t she?”
“Yeah,” he said warmly. “She does.”
And she liked that he had someone like you who cared, even when he tried to argue that you were just being nice.
“She isn’t just being nice, big brother. She cares.”
He liked to think so.
“Hey!” you said suddenly, leaning forward in your seat. “You know what I just realized?”
“What?”
“This is the thirteenth Thursday that you’ve driven me around.”
“Is that right?” he asked softly, knowing full well exactly how many Thursdays he had seen you.
Because he had been counting.
“That is right.” You settled back into your seat with a smile. “Feels like ages… and not long at all.”
It seemed like only yesterday to him.
He remembered the exact shade of blue you wore on the first ride, something pleasant against the harsh city lights. How you shivered when you slid into the car, and the smile you gave him when he turned the heat on. You were so beautiful. And kind.
The kindest passenger he had that day.
“Thanks for getting me here safely, Bucky! Happy Friday Eve!”
“Friday Junior,” he’d called after you like an idiot.
“Same thing!”
He was a goner.
Every week his crush grew stronger.
But every week he told himself he was just your cab driver and nothing more.
“Thirteen Thursdays,” he said. “That why you look so nice today?”
Your gaze flickered to your lap, smiling. “You think I look nice?” you asked gently.
His heart hammered in his chest. “Yeah. You always do,” he said honestly, willing himself to concentrate on the road.
Don’t make it weird. Don’t make her uncomfortable.
“Thanks, Buck,” you whispered.
He should’ve left it at that, but he didn’t.
“You sure I’m taking you to your brother’s and not some date?” he blurted out.
The air thickened in the cab, his grip tightening on the steering wheel. Something uncomfortable twisted in his gut. He paid enough attention to know that there wasn’t a ring on your finger, and you hadn’t mentioned having a boyfriend.
Not once.
But what if there was someone? What if one day you dressed up for someone else? What if you gave some other man that soft smile you always gave him?
His jaw clenched and he was thankful you couldn’t see his expression.
I have no reason to be jealous. She isn’t my girl. She can see whoever she wants.
I just wish it was me.
“A date?” Your laughter made its way to his ears. “Please. I’m very single.”
For a moment, all Bucky could hear was the sound of his heart slowing to a steady rhythm, effectively blocking out the moving vehicles around him. His next breath was easier, his grip loosening. It shouldn’t have been such a relief to hear that, but it was.
Single. Good. That’s good. Stay single. Stay away from bad guys. Stay… here. With me.
…I’m in deep.
“Haven’t dated in months,” you added.
That made him pause.
“Months?” he repeated. “I find that hard to believe.”
“Well, it’s true,” you said, quieter than before and gazing out the window. “Guess I haven’t caught anyone’s eye.”
Your words wiped out his relief. You didn’t have to say out loud that you were lonely. He sensed it. Recognized it.
It just didn’t make sense to him that you were alone. You were a catch. How were guys not lining up down the block to ask you out?
Your words also weren’t true. Because he was there and he saw you. Wanted you.
“Or… maybe you have,” he said carefully. “And they just haven’t said anything yet.”
A beat passed. “Maybe,” you said.
He tapped the wheel when he stopped at a red light.
Say it. Tell her. Tell her that she caught my eye. Tell her that she’s…
He sighed to himself, the cab feeling smaller than usual. He wanted to admit how he felt, but he couldn’t like this. It wasn’t right when he was in the driver’s seat and you were back there.
“And what about you?” you asked, turning away from the window. “You seeing anyone?”
He huffed out a laugh. “No.”
Women weren’t exactly fighting to date a cab driver.
“My ‘date’ nights are me, a book or a movie, and Al,” he told you. “That or kicking the guys out of my place once the pizza and beer are gone.”
You smiled. “Those sound like good nights to me.”
“They’re not bad,” he said casually.
As if the idea of a date night with you wasn’t painting a picture in his mind.
“You know,” you said, snuggling into the blanket more. “If you ever need anyone to critique your book or movie choices, I’m available.”
He didn’t think it was possible for his heart to trip over itself, but it did. “Yeah?” he asked, keeping his voice even.
“Yeah,” you said casually, but your eyes flicked to the mirror. “I mean, I’m sure you have great taste, but it doesn’t hurt to get my own confirmation.”
Bucky swallowed hard. “I’ll keep that in mind.”
You smiled. “You better.”
The cab fell into a comfortable silence after that, but something shifted. You had given him an opening that would’ve been easy to take. But maybe you were just being nice. Maybe it didn’t mean anything at all.
Or it might mean everything.
He eased the car to a stop at your brother’s building minutes later. “Here we are.”
You slipped your shoes on and folded the blanket as best as you could. “Thanks,” you said, holding out the cash for him.
He reached back automatically to grab it, feeling that spark again when your fingers touched. He didn’t need to count it to know it was all there, along with a nice tip. You were generous.
Always.
“Anytime.”
You lingered when you opened the door. “Hey, Buck?”
“Yeah?”
“You look nice today, too,” you said.
It was a simple compliment, but it hit him square in the chest.
“Yeah?” he managed to ask.
“Yeah,” you said, smiling softly. “You always do.”
It was an echo of his own words to you.
Before he could respond, you slipped out and tapped the roof twice. “See you later. Drive safe.”
“See ya,” he whispered.
He didn’t leave right away. He watched as you made your way inside safely, his hand still clutching the cash. Glancing at the protein bar on the seat beside him, he exhaled.
You said he looked nice. Offered to watch a movie with him. Kind of.
But he was just your driver.
Nothing more.
“I’m in trouble,” he muttered.
By the time Bucky pulled back up to your brother’s building later that night, things felt quieter. But his mind didn’t. It was too busy racing with thoughts of you and wondering how long he could keep his line drawn in the sand.
You waved to him when you stepped outside, your steps a little slower. Your smile wasn’t as bright as earlier, but it was still soft and easy. It made sense. Family time after a long work day was tiring, even if it was nice.
“Hey,” he said once you got in.
“Hey,” you echoed, settling in.
“Good night?” he asked, easing back into the road.
“It was,” you replied, laughing a little. “But those kids wear me out.”
He smiled to himself. No way they didn’t adore spending time with you. “Sounds about right.”
“Did you have a good night?”
It was the best night because he got to see you again.
“Not too bad,” he answered.
You checked something on your phone and put it away. “Random, but I have a few extra dollars in my account, so I may do takeout for dinner tomorrow as an end of the week treat for myself.”
You could have takeout with me.
“Get those noodles from the place you like on 5th,” he suggested instead. “The number seven, right?”
Why did I say that?
“That’s right.” You giggled. “Am I that predictable?”
He almost said, “I notice everything about you.”
“You’re not predictable,” he replied instead, easing his foot off the gas. “I just… pay attention.”
Because you’re… you.
It was quiet for the rest of the ride.
He glanced back a few times and saw that your eyes were heavy. He hoped you were able to relax more when you got back to your place. You deserved the rest.
A pang of disappointment hit him when he got to your place, the drive seeming quicker than normal. “Here we are.”
You stifled a yawn. “Thanks.”
“Anytime.”
“Oh. I almost forgot.” You sat up, seemingly more awake now. “I have something for you.”
He raised an eyebrow. “You already gave me a protein bar.”
“Well, this isn’t from me,” you said, handing him a folded piece of construction paper along with the cash. “It’s from my niece and nephew.”
He opened it carefully, his heart melting on the spot.
A drawing of a car stretched across the sheet. It was lopsided with uneven wheels and windows that were too big. There were two stick figures inside. One in the back with a large smile that was clearly you. And one in the front with brown hair, blue eyes, and a small smile.
It was him.
There was a message in crooked letters above the car, surrounded by glitter glue.
BUCKY DRIVING AUNTIE! YAY!
His throat tightened unexpectedly. “That’s us?” he asked with a hint of disbelief.
You mentioned him to your family?
“That’s us,” you said affectionately, making him wonder if that was for him or your niece and nephew. “They wanted to thank you for always getting me there and back every week.”
He swallowed, his throat dry. “You… talk about me?”
“Of course, I do,” you said like it was obvious. “You’re part of my week.”
He folded it back up like it was something fragile, your words slowly sinking in.
You talked about him. Your family knew he existed. Your niece and nephew had never met him, but still made him a card like he mattered.
His heart felt full.
And he didn’t know what to do with that feeling.
“Tell ‘em I said thanks,” he said quietly. “Really.”
“I will,” you promised, hesitating when you reached for the door handle.
You waited long enough for him to look at you over his shoulder. Long enough that his heart thudded. Hope flickered deep within.
She feels something, right? It can’t just be me.
Your fingers tightened around the strap of your bag, but your eyes were soft. “I…” Your gaze flickered down before looking back at him, sighing a little. “I’ll see you next week, Buck.”
He exhaled, trying not to let disappointment show. Something passed between you. He felt it. It was real.
Or… maybe he just imagined it.
“Yeah,” he said, offering you a small smile. “Next week.”
“Good night.”
“Good night,” he repeated. “And thanks again for the card and tip.”
You smiled softly before you got out.
He leaned against his seat and once again stayed to make sure you got inside safely. You didn’t rush inside when you got to the door. You paused instead and glanced over your shoulder at the door, like you were waiting for him. It was an opening. Maybe.
But he didn’t take it.
He kept that line drawn.
You waved before you went inside, and he closed his eyes, the quiet surrounding him once again.
His fingers brushed the construction paper in his lap.
Steve and Sam would flip when he told them about it. Hell, they already did whenever he talked about you. He could practically hear them now once he gave them the recap of tonight’s events.
Sam shaking his head and saying, “She gives you protein bars, offers to watch movies with you, her family knows about you, her niece and nephew made you a card, and you didn’t ask for her number?”
Steve, a little quieter but no less insistent, with, “Buck… you’re allowed to want something.”
Bucky’s jaw clenched. They acted like it was simple, like he could just ask and it wouldn’t change a thing. It would change everything.
He didn’t want to risk losing you or holding you back when he didn’t have you to begin with.
For now, he’d continue driving you where you needed to go and leave it at that.
Coward. Life’s too short.
He set the card aside and took one last look at your building.
“Yeah,” he sighed. “I’m in big trouble.”
Bucky arrived a couple of minutes early the following Thursday.
He told himself it was habit. Being mindful of traffic. Not because he was eagerly waiting for you.
Not at all.
And you also weren’t the reason he spent ten extra minutes picking out a shirt.
Just because she said I look nice…
He made a mistake of checking the group chat he had with Steve and Sam while he waited.
Sam: “Be a man and get her number.”
He gritted his teeth, quickly typing. He almost regretted confiding in them about you. It would’ve been easier to keep his mouth shut.
“Fuck off, Samuel. I am a man.”
The dots appeared with both of his friends writing something back.
Sam: “OOH. Samuel. My full name. Hit a sore spot, huh?”
Maybe he did.
Stevie: “Just go at your pace, jerk. We got your back.”
Some of the tension left his shoulders.
“Thanks, punk.”
He put his phone away and smiled just a little. They were good guys. Had been with him through thick and thin. Brothers.
Sam definitely acted like an annoying brother in the most supportive way.
And as much as he adored Becca, he didn’t want to bother his little sister with his lack-of-relationship woes. She had enough on her plate. He’d be just fine.
Eventually.
His attention snapped in your direction when you left your building and everything else faded away.
There you were again.
The same familiar sweep of your eyes along the street before you found him. The soft smile. The small wave. How you always looked incredible no matter if you dressed up or down.
Like tonight, you had on the same soft sweater you wore last month. It reminded him of comfort. It also made you look gentle in a way that made him want to take care of you.
The instinct hit him harder than before.
Yeah. I’m royally fucked.
He straightened up as you walked closer, his brows furrowing. You were still smiling at him, but your steps didn’t look as light as normal. There was tension in your shoulders.
“Happy Friday Eve, Buck,” you said, unfolding the blanket with extra care.
There was a touch of weariness in your tone under the warmth.
It would’ve been easy to miss if he wasn’t paying attention.
“You mean Friday Junior,” he said automatically.
“Same thing,” you murmured.
“Your brother’s place?” he asked gently.
“Same trip as always,” you replied just as gently.
He looked at you in the mirror after pulling away from the curb. You were already gazing out the window, relaxed but not completely. His chest tightened when he spotted the slightest frown on your face.
It didn’t belong there.
Is she okay? Was work extra rough?
He waited a couple of blocks before he asked, “Long day?”
Bucky didn’t want to push if you didn’t want to talk, but he did want to make sure you were okay. If something upset you, he wanted to fix it. If someone upset you, he wanted to handle it.
Let me help however I can.
“Yeah,” you replied after a second. “Long week, actually.”
“Those are the worst.” He tapped a finger on the wheel. “Becca always tells me to take a breath and not let the week eat me alive.”
“That’s good advice.” Something soft and a little sad flickered in your eyes. He didn’t know if his words triggered a memory, but it felt important. “Especially coming from a sibling.”
“It is,” he replied. “Siblings just get it some days.”
You hummed in agreement, but didn’t say anything else.
He bit his tongue. It was times like this when he wished he wasn’t driving. He wanted to turn around and give you his attention. You deserved it.
“Would it make you feel any better if I said you look nice today?” he asked, hoping he didn’t sound as desperate as he felt.
That brought a smile to your face. “It does make me feel better,” you said, your tone almost back to normal. “Thank you.”
He smiled back gently, the sound of the engine and low music filling the space for a moment. It didn’t fix your long week, but he was glad the compliment helped. He’d consider that a win.
“You look nice, too.” You craned your head to look at him. “I really like that color on you.”
His pulse jumped. The usual ease was coming back, the cab lighter. And you noticed his shirt.
I chose well.
“Oh, this old thing?” he teased, like it wasn’t a big deal. “Really brings out my eyes.”
You giggled. “It sure does.”
He stole another glance at you when you looked out the window again. You were tired, but you were okay. Still warm. Still you.
He felt like he could breathe again.
“Hey,” he said after another block, reaching into the console. “I, uh… made you a list.”
“A list?” Your eyebrows went up. “What kind of list?”
“Movies. Some I like. Some I think you’d like,” he clarified, passing it back to you before he could change his mind. “You did offer to critique them.”
“And you’re taking me up on it?” You gasped, putting a hand to your chest. “I’m both shocked and flattered.”
“You should be,” he deadpanned before grinning.
You smiled, a little tired but genuine. “The first title has a star next to it.”
“Because it’s my favorite and a good one to start with.”
“Did you get Steve and Sam’s seal of approval?”
He scoffed. “They’d like it. Enough oldies for Steve, and Sam has somewhat decent taste in recent stuff… but he’ll never know I said that.” He coughed into his hand and added, “They’ve heard about you.”
You smiled. “Is that right?”
“Yeah, I talk about more than I probably should.” He shrugged, but his left foot lightly tapped. “You’re a good passenger.”
And I’m just your driver.
Your smile faltered, just for a second, before you smoothed it over with a laugh. “And you’re a good driver.” You scanned the small piece of paper once more. “You put a lot of thought into this, didn’t you?”
Warmth rushed to his cheeks. “You should see the book list I’m making for you,” he muttered.
He valued your opinion, and the lists were a way for you to think of him between rides. A way to keep you two connected. Maybe it was selfish that he wanted you to have him on your mind.
But maybe it wasn’t.
“You’re making me a book list, too? Oh, I can’t wait for that.” You folded it neatly and put it in your bag. “I’ll watch the first movie tomorrow night.”
Another Friday night with no date? I wish I could man up and change that.
“I expect a full report next week,” he teased.
“You got it, Sarge,” you teased back.
His breath caught. “Sarge?” he repeated. “You remember my military ranking?”
Sergeant Barnes.
It was mentioned only once, just like the protein bars. A passing comment and nothing more. But you listened.
You remembered.
“Of course, I do.”
The same thing you said about mentioning him to your family.
He blinked rapidly, trying to steady the emotions stirring inside him as he drove. You continued to surprise him with your soft words and smiles, making him feel special in your eyes. You undid him in ways nothing or no one else could.
“Here we are,” he said minutes later.
“Thanks, Buck.” You gathered your things before you stopped, your inhale sharp. “Oh… you kept it.”
He followed your gaze to the dashboard. Your niece and nephew’s card was proudly on display. It was a beautiful reminder of you.
“Of course, I did,” he said, trying to play it cool. “It’s a nice drawing.”
“That’s really sweet, Buck.”
He shrugged a little, but heat crept up his neck. “It deserved a front and center spot.”
Your gaze softened more. “They’ll think you’re the coolest guy ever when I tell them.”
They made him feel cool by giving him the card.
“Guess I’ll have to try to live up to that.”
“You already are,” you said without missing a beat, passing him a protein bar with the cash.
His heart pounded in his chest. Another thoughtful gesture. More words that made him feel good.
Say something. Do something.
But he didn’t.
There was a small pause before you sighed and got out, the door gently closing behind you. Tap. Tap. The familiar rhythm against the roof should’ve felt normal and comforting.
But why did it feel like you were disappointed?
“See you later,” you said. “Drive safe.”
“See ya,” he exhaled.
He watched until you went inside, half tempted to hit the dashboard since he chickened out. He held himself back. There was no sense in taking his frustration out on the car. He could hit a punching bag later.
Maybe he could knock some sense into himself, too, and man up.
“Should’ve said something,” he muttered, running a hand through his hair.
Some of the frustration at himself faded when he looked at the card. He imagined your niece and nephew were the kind of kids who loved when the garbage men came by every week or drivers dropped off packages. They’d probably have a blast riding around in his cab, cheering him on for driving you around. If Becca ever had kids, they’d likely be the same way.
He wondered, briefly, if you’d ever meet her, and the thought didn’t scare him the way it should.
But what would your brother think of me? Would he think I’m good enough?
At the end of the day, didn’t it matter only what you thought and saw in him?
His phone buzzed.
Sam: “Well??? We’re waiting.”
Bucky stared at the message before typing back. “Dropped her off. Didn’t ask.”
Three dots appeared immediately. He didn’t want to look. Didn’t need the additional salt on the open wound of his self-doubt.
But he looked since he was a glutton for punishment.
Sam: “Man, if we can even call you that, you're killing me! I’m gonna lose the bet.”
Bet? What fucking bet?
Stevie: “There’s no bet. You’ll do it when it’s right.”
Sam: “Don’t make me get Becca and Sarah involved. I’ll do it.”
He tucked his phone away and shook his head. Tough and gentle love. He needed both.
And he needed just a little more time to convince himself to erase the line he had drawn.
The next passenger he picked up, a man complaining about the state of the economy, didn’t shift his focus fully away from you. The restaurant he dropped him at seemed like a nice one to take you to, something quiet and romantic. A couple of women he drove after that mentioned an acoustic concert in the park, which made him picture you leaning your head on his shoulder while listening to music together. Every passenger was like that, managing to tie something back to you.
He still got everyone where they needed to go safely since that was the job.
He just couldn’t stop thinking about you.
By the time he arrived to pick you up again, the city lights had taken over the streets. He spotted you immediately, your arms wrapped around yourself to keep warm. You looked about the same as when you went in. A little more tired, but okay.
And you still gave him a smile when you got in.
Smiling like she’s happy to see me.
“Hey.”
“Hey,” he replied, double checking the heat. “Kids wear you out again?”
“You know it. They had so much energy tonight, and I almost stepped on a lego when I was chasing them around.”
“Occupational hazard of being a great aunt.”
“You know it.” You laughed a little. “They were also thrilled that you have their card up.”
That warmed his heart. “So, they think I’m cool?”
“The coolest.”
He smiled at the sincerity. He believed that they believed that. It was a feeling he needed to lean into more.
“Did you have a good night?”
“Yep. Just driving. Getting everyone where they need to go,” he answered.
And thinking of you. Always thinking about you.
He turned the radio up a notch after that instead of trying to fill the silence, letting you relax. For a moment, he pictured swaying with you. Minus the quick brush of your fingers, he hadn’t touched you in any way.
To hold you would be a gift.
“Hey, Buck?” you asked once he pulled up to your place.
“Yeah?”
You bit your lip. “I wanted to give you something.”
“Yeah?” he asked, his chest tightening in anticipation as you reached into your bag.
You hesitated before you nodded. “Yeah.”
Your hand shook a little when you passed him a small slip of paper with the cash. He unfolded it, blinking hard to make sure he was reading it correctly. He turned it over, too.
It was your handwriting. Your name. Your number.
You gave him your phone number.
His heart forgot how to beat before it thundered. He imagined this scenario for weeks, but he hadn’t prepared himself for the reality of it. He didn’t think the universe would be that kind to him.
“I just figured, this way you don’t have to wait until next week for my report on the movie. You could just text me and see what I think,” you explained, trying to play it off casually. “Or if you ever want to send me pictures of Alpine. Or you’re just… bored.”
His pulse roared in his ears. You wanted to hear from him. You gave him another opening while he kept mentally blocking the door with his foot.
You trusted him enough to want a connection outside of the cab and the rules he internally created and enforced.
“But you don’t have to,” you added quickly, reaching for the door handle. “I can wait until next week to talk to you and-”
“Wait,” he begged, trying not to panic. The last thing he wanted was for you to think he didn’t want to reach out. “I’ll, um… give you mine, too.”
You met his gaze in the mirror. He wanted to memorize how you looked at this moment. Hopeful. Beautiful.
“Yeah?”
“Yeah,” he whispered.
He found a pen and a receipt, making sure his writing was legible as he jotted it down. Your smile when he handed it over soothed his nerves. The smooth thing to do would’ve been to put his phone number on the movie list when he gave it to you earlier. But this was better.
This felt more right.
“Thanks.” You tucked it away like it was something sacred. “I’ll text you.”
He nodded, his throat tight. “I’d like that.”
You stepped out into the cool air, glancing back at him. The tension was almost completely gone from your shoulders. The glow from the street lamps made your eyes sparkle.
He couldn’t look away from you if he tried.
“Good night, Buck.”
“Good night.”
Once you were inside, he glanced at your number again, reading it until the numbers ran together. He reached for the phone to message the guys and Becca before deciding against it. Sam would lose his mind. Steve would tell him not to overthink it. Becca would be somewhere in the middle. He didn’t need that tonight.
He wanted to hang onto this just a little longer and let it sink in that it was real.
Besides, it was just an exchange of phone numbers. You didn’t ask him out. He didn’t ask you out. He was still being professional.
But he did check his phone immediately when a new message popped up.
“Happy fourteenth Thursday. Thanks again for the ride.”
Still counting like me.
“Anytime. Get some rest. And let me know when you watch the first movie.”
A neutral message. Polite. Professional.
“I’m still in trouble.”
And he grinned like an idiot because of it.
You messaged him on Friday night.
He saved you under his contacts as MFP, my favorite passenger.
MFP: “Halfway through the movie.”
His fingers hovered over the screen. If he typed back too quickly, he’d look desperate. If he waited too long, he’d look aloof.
A full minute was enough time.
“And?”
He winced at himself. That was too short. Too blunt.
MFP: “They switched part of what happened in the book. Trying to reserve my judgement until the end.”
A sense of awe filled him. You read the book. Of course, you did. That made him want you even more.
But he couldn’t say that.
“I didn’t like the switch at first either, but keep watching. Trust me.”
MFP: “I trust you.”
That made his breath catch.
He scratched behind Alpine’s ear, smiling when she purred. “She’s watching it and texting me. That’s good, right?”
She meowed happily.
He put the movie on, too, in the hopes that he wouldn’t keep checking his phone.
You messaged him again an hour later.
MFP: “My score: 8/10. Adventurous, heartwarming, and visually stunning. I see why it’s your favorite.”
He smiled, typing out, “Dinner and tell me more?”
He deleted it and started over.
“8/10? I’ll take it. What didn’t you like besides the book switch?”
MFP: “A one point deduction was for the book switch. Another deduction for the bad wig. I mean, a huge budget like that and they couldn’t give the lead some good hair? Tragic.”
Bucky chuckled. “You make a good point. It was pretty bad.”
MFP: “But movie wise? So far, so good for your taste.”
That was a win in his book.
You didn’t message him again until Saturday night.
MFP: “Is brinner an acceptable choice on a Saturday night?”
He smiled immediately.
“Brinner is an acceptable choice every night.”
MFP: “I knew you’d understand. I can eat while I watch the second movie on the list.”
“I bet you’ll give it a 7/10.”
MFP: “We’ll see if you’re right. Hope you're having a good weekend.”
He reread that statement twice. It felt measured. Careful.
“You, too.”
He read the message again after sending it.
Maybe it was another message that was too short.
And it was too late to erase it.
You sent him a photo of a white cat on Sunday.
MFP: “Is this Alpine’s doppelganger?”
He chuckled. The image wasn’t too far off but Alpine was prettier. He was a bit biased when it came to his feline.
“There’s no cat like Al.”
MFP: “I believe it. And you were right, but the way. 7/10. I deducted two points for the one terrible accent.”
He tilted his head and laughed again. He had almost forgotten about the bad accent. It was amazing how one actor or actress could throw off an entire scene.
“Much deserved deduction. Al would approve.”
MFP: “I’m honored.”
He didn’t hear from you for the rest of the day.
It was his turn to message you first.
“Hope you have water and caffeine to get you through Monday.”
He stared at it after sending. Maybe that too personal. Maybe it wasn’t enough.
MFP: “Do I have to have water?”
He laughed, picturing you scrunching up your face.
“Need you to stay hydrated.”
Because he cared.
MFP: “But what if I try to live on stubbornness like you?”
You’re too good to live on stubbornness.
“Still need water.”
MFP: “Yes, Sarge.”
Oh, that did something to him.
MFP: “But only if you drink some water, too.”
“I will.”
He would for you.
He didn’t hear from you on Tuesday.
That was fine. You were busy. You had a life outside of him. And he didn’t want to bother you.
But he checked his phone more than he should have.
You messaged him first thing on Wednesday.
MFP: “Is it Friday Eve yet?”
Relief hit him faster than he expected.
“Almost. You surviving?”
There was a delay this time. Long enough for him to notice.
MFP: “Barely, but I’m trying.”
He frowned a little.
“Hang in there.”
He hesitated before adding another message.
“I’ll see you tomorrow.”
There was another pause.
MFP: “Yeah. See you tomorrow.”
He stared at it longer than he meant to.
Something about it felt different. Quieter. He could’ve been imagining it.
He sent one more message before he could stop himself.
“Can’t wait.”
He meant it.
Even if something told him tomorrow would feel different.
Bucky waited at the curb as patiently as he could, checking his hair three times. Just like every week before, he looked forward to seeing you. But this felt different because the texts had been good overall. Almost effortless.
Almost.
Tonight could be a turning point.
Bucky checked his phone again, even though he told himself he wouldn’t.
Sam: “You better not fumble this now that you got her number.”
Stevie: “Ignore him. Just be yourself.”
He huffed under his breath, locking the screen.
Like it’s that easy.
He turned his attention back to your building, his heart sinking the moment you stepped outside.
The usual sweep of your gaze didn’t happen since you were looking at your feet. You hardly seem to notice or care that your bag slipped from your shoulder. When you finally lifted your gaze, you looked worn out in a way he had never seen before.
It was like someone took the light inside you and dialed it down.
Everyone had bad days. That was a normal part of life. But this was you.
It didn’t sit right with him at all.
“Happy Friday Eve,” you stated with a dim smile, hugging the blanket against your chest like a pillow. Your fingers trembled just enough that he spotted it.
“Friday Junior,” he said because that’s what he was supposed to say.
Same thing.
You didn’t say it.
You looked out the window, your jaw tight enough that he could see the tension in your neck. There was no teasing either as he drove. No references to any of the messages between you, like brinner or the bad wig or accent from the movies. No jokes about staying hydrated or calling him Sarge.
There were no comments on anything.
Just the kind of silence that for the first time felt off between you two.
Something was wrong.
I fucked this up, didn’t I?
He thought back to every message he sent like he could figure out the exact moment things flipped.
He responded in a timely manner. He initiated at times so it wouldn’t all fall on you. They weren’t overly flirty but they weren’t cold either.
Maybe you expected more and he let you down.
Or maybe he leaned in too far with the “can’t wait” message and now you were pulling back.
“Hey, um…” He cleared his throat, his grip shifting on the wheel. “If I said something wrong, or if I upset you with one of my texts…”
“What?” Your head snapped toward him, your brows pinching. “Buck, no.”
He blinked, surprised at how quickly you shut that down when his mind was screaming at him. “You sure?” He bit the inside of his cheek. “You just seem off, and I didn’t want it to be because of me.”
He was sure he could handle just about anything but that.
He didn’t want to lose the one bright part of his week because he misread a moment or sent the wrong text.
“Buck,” you said, even gentler this time. “You didn’t do anything wrong.”
His shoulders dropped. “Really?” he pressed, needing to be absolutely certain.
“Really. I like talking with you… a lot,” you promised, a shallow breath leaving your lungs. “I swear, it isn’t you.”
The weight in his chest eased enough for him to breathe but not enough to feel okay since your voice cracked. You liked talking to him, which was good. Better than good. But if he wasn’t the issue, it was something else. Something you weren’t telling him.
It worried him.
“Can I ask you something?” you asked softly.
“Yeah. Anything,” he said honestly.
“I don’t think I’ve ever asked you this.” You paused to consider your words. “Why do you drive?”
He inhaled. It wasn’t unusual for you to ask about him. But most people didn’t care enough to ask why he did this job.
You weren’t most people there, were you?
Your gaze was back on him instead of looking out the window, waiting patiently for his answer because you wanted to know.
Like Becca said… you care.
“I guess the easy answer is having a flexible schedule, getting decent money on the right nights, and it beats being in an office with some boss hounding me.”
You gave him a knowing, very small smile. “And what’s the real answer?”
He took a breath. “You remember I served in the army.” You nodded in acknowledgement. “When I got out… there was no clear objective. No structure.” His voice stayed even, but quieter. “It was just… a lot of noise.”
He stared at the taillights in front of him, lost for a moment.
His smile had been wrong for days when he got out. Everything seemed like too much or not enough. And the world didn’t slow down just because people couldn’t keep up.
“I had my friends. My sister. I wasn’t alone,” he said like it mattered because it did. Not everyone had that support. “But it still felt like I was supposed to be doing something… and I didn’t know what that was.”
You didn’t interrupt or rush him, so he continued.
“But this?” He gestured around the cab. “It gave me something again.”
A sense of purpose. A mission.
“I have an objective… orders,” he explained, tapping the dashboard. “I pick a passenger up and I get them from point A to point B. That’s the job.”
You nodded slowly. “That makes sense.”
“And how I get you there? That’s on me.” He tapped his chest. “If the weather’s bad, I take it into account. If there’s awful traffic, I adjust. If my usual route is blocked, I find another way.”
“So, it gives you a sense of control,” you mused. “You know what you have to do, but you choose how you execute it.”
He nodded. You seemed to understand. Not everyone did.
“It’s simple in a good way. Discipline and structure with adaptability.” He ran a hand along the wheel, smiling to himself. “I know what I’m supposed to do. I know I can do it well.”
He glanced at you in the mirror, vulnerability shining in his eyes.
“And at the end of the ride… I get someone where they need to go. Safely.”
He paused, the sounds of honking horns and engines surrounding him. It was strangely comforting. But the most comforting thing was your presence and tender expression.
“And sometimes… that’s enough,” he finished.
“It is. It matters,” you insisted, gently but firmly. “More than you think.”
You make me feel like I matter.
“I do my best.” The words came out nonchalantly but he meant it. “I can’t control what others do when they’re on the road, just like they can’t control me. But if something does happen, I fix it.”
Your expression shifted. “And if there’s a time that you can’t fix it? You can’t control what’s happening?”
Bucky stilled before he realized it. That didn’t sound like you were talking about driving. He had a good read on people, but he couldn’t read between the lines of this. Couldn’t figure out why you were asking that.
What needs fixing?
“I just keep driving,” he finally answered. “Like Steve always says… We have to move forward.”
You shifted in your seat. “I guess it’s all we can do,” you said more to yourself than him. “And for what it’s worth, you really are doing a great job,” you added.
He inhaled sharply. “Yeah?”
“Yeah. You help people every time you drive. You don’t just drive well. You do it safely, like you said,” you pointed out, giving him a small smile. “I always feel safe when I’m with you.”
Those words landed in the middle of his doubt in himself, threatening to tear it apart. There was trust within your compliment. It was pure in an impure world.
“Good.” He had to swallow to keep his voice steady. “I’m glad you feel that way.”
You smiled again, but it didn’t reach your eyes.
His chest ached. Every smile seemed to take more effort than it should, like you were chipping away little pieces of yourself. He hated that.
He hated that he couldn’t shoulder the weight still pushing you down, even just a little.
“Here we are,” he said once he stopped, quieter than before.
“Thanks, Buck,” you said, handing over a protein bar with the cash. “And I’m sorry if I made you think that you upset me.”
“Don’t apologize,” he said quickly, turning around as best as he could so he could see you. “You don’t have to do that with me.”
There was no reason for you to apologize when he was the one overthinking.
“But are you sure you’re alright?” he asked, searching your face for the answer your lips may not say.
Lean on me if you aren’t.
Something passed in your eyes and then it was gone. “I will be,” you assured him.
His stomach dropped when you took the blanket with you, like you forgot you were holding it. You clutched it like a lifeline as you walked away from the cab. He watched you go, reaching for the door handle. You disappeared into the building before he could follow, which he had never done before.
You weren’t okay.
For the first time since he met you, he had no idea how to fix it.
But something told him he was about to find out.
By the time he came back, he was tense. He told himself you just needed time with your family tonight. That whatever was on your mind eased with some laughter and familiar warmth.
It had to have helped.
…Right?
His heart didn’t sink when he saw you.
It cracked.
You had the blanket around your shoulders, trying to hold yourself together as you put one foot in front of the other. The look of sadness on your face wasn’t fleeting or light. It was the kind that settled in your bones.
What the hell happened?
You forced a smile when you met his eye and it twisted something inside him painfully.
Don’t do that. Please, don’t do that.
“Hey.”
“Hey,” you replied, your voice thin.
He didn’t drive off right away, giving you a moment to get your bearings.
But you didn’t.
You didn’t slip your shoes off or tuck yourself in. The blanket stayed around your shoulders like an afterthought. Your breaths were too measured. Too careful.
He held the wheel so tight that his fingers ached.
You were a heartbeat away from unraveling.
“Ready?”
“Yeah.”
The city bustled around like normal, but nothing inside the cab felt the same.
The air felt even heavier than earlier. The silence was too loud.. Louder than any word you ever spoke.
And you simply stared ahead like you were bracing yourself for impact.
His teeth snapped together, trying hard to keep himself in check. His job was to get you home safely. If you wanted to confide in him, he’d listen. But you didn’t have to lean on him.
He was just…
Your breath hitched on the next turn.
He made it three more blocks before he couldn’t take it anymore.
Fuck this. I’m not just your driver.
He switched lanes and turned down a road he had never taken on your route before. It was familiar to him, of course. Away from some of the noise. It had a soothing view, too.
Exhaling through his nose, he stopped the car and turned to look at you.
He recognized pain when he saw it. Had lived through it. He couldn’t recall ever seeing you look so fragile.
It’s okay to break with me.
“Hey,” he said carefully because you needed something gentle. “I know you said you’ll be alright… but you’re not.”
“I will be,” you said quickly, your lower lip trembling. “I have to be.”
“Hey…” he whispered again.
You don’t need to be strong tonight.
You shook your head automatically, your next breath shaky. “I don’t want to dump this on you.”
“You’re not dumping anything on me,” he promised, needing you to believe him. “You’re hurting.”
Your eyes filled and you tried to blink the moisture away.
He didn’t think when he got out of the cab, his body moving on instinct at the sight of your tears. He got in the back with you, leaving you enough space so you wouldn’t feel cornered. His hands rested on his knees, making sure not to touch you since he didn’t know if that would help or make things worse.
But he wanted to be there for you.
“Please, let me help,” he begged, his voice thick. “Even just a little.”
That did it.
A sob burst from your chest, your hand coming up to cover your mouth and failing to keep it in.
His heart stopped, his fingers curling to hold himself back from hauling you into his arms.
You hastily wiped your tears away that fell, like it would hide them. Your shoulders shook the more you tried to hold them in. Another broken sound escaped, the threads inside you slowly pulling apart.
“He’s sick,” you whimpered. “My brother…”
Your words were like a punch to the gut.
Oh, no…
“He has been for a while. They thought he was getting better, but the last couple of weeks have been bad,” you admitted, your face crumbling. “He barely made it through dinner tonight before he had to lay down.”
His jaw tightened in that helpless way when grief felt too close and overpowering.
“And the kids… They don’t get why their dad is so tired or why their mom looks so sad when she thinks no one’s looking.” You hiccuped, the sound raw. “And I’m trying to help when I can. I’m trying to be strong for everyone, but I’m scared and… I can’t fix this.”
His throat went tight.
“And if there’s a time that you can’t fix it? You can’t control what’s happening?”
It all made sense now.
The nights where you looked a little worn down. Your smiles that didn’t reach your eyes. Your light dimming. The talk earlier tonight.
While he had been overanalyzing his interactions with you, you were carrying this.
Alone.
And he couldn’t fix it for you.
“I help cook, clean, make the kids smile, but I don’t know what to do anymore,” you whimpered, looking at him with teary eyes. “It hurt for me to smile tonight.”
Trying to smile through pain was one of the hardest things a person could do.
“I’ve been holding this in and I… can’t anymore.”
Bucky couldn’t keep staying behind the line he drew.
Not anymore.
His arms went around you without another thought, strong and steady, pulling you in like it was the most natural thing in the world. You clung to him, your fingers curling in his shirt as you sobbed painfully into his neck. He closed his eyes, willing whatever being was watching over them to feed some of your pain into him.
Don’t do this to her. Give it to me. I can take it.
“I’ve got you,” he murmured, cradling the back of your head as your cries continued. “I’ve got you.”
He didn’t say it was okay because it wasn’t. But he was there. Solid and real. Nothing else mattered except you.
“He’s my big brother. He’s a good guy. He’s supposed to be okay,” you choked out between sobs. “But he isn’t, and I can’t make it any better.”
He pressed his cheek to your temple. He knew how afraid Becca had been when he served and how relieved she was when he came back. If he were to get sick now… If anything happened to him…
“You just need to love him,” he whispered against your ear. “And you do. You have such a big heart.”
You cried harder, making him hold you closer.
“Just let it out,” he urged, rubbing your shaking back.
Minutes passed before your cries eventually slowed to small sniffles. Your body slumped against his, the tears wearing you out. And he held you through it all, letting you feel his warmth and comfort.
You lifted your head slowly, your cheeks wet. “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you sooner.”
“Don’t you dare apologize for that,” he said, wiping a stray tear away with his thumb. “Sometimes saying it out loud makes it more real and it opens up the floodgates before you’re ready.”
Like me being a coward about my feelings for you.
You leaned into his touch briefly. “I didn’t want to be a burden,” you said, your voice wrecked.
“You’re not.” He pulled back enough to really look at you. “You never could be.”
You searched his face, your lip trembling again. “Am I doing enough?”
Your grief already cut open his heart, but your question made him feel the blade all over again.
“You’re doing more than enough. You’re showing up for everyone. That matters,” he swore to you, echoing some of your earlier words as he held you tighter. “More than you know.”
Your eyes shimmered again, but the tears didn’t fall.
“And you can lean on me whenever you need to,” he added, giving you a tender smile. “You don’t have to do this alone.”
You smiled back faintly. “Thanks, Buck.”
“Yeah,” he whispered. “Anytime.”
You let go of his shirt, but didn’t make an effort to move out of his arms. He didn’t move either, taking a second to breathe with you and memorize how it felt to hold you. He’d keep you in his embrace all night if he could.
“Can I just...” You glanced down, your fingers absentmindedly tracing a pattern on your thigh. “Can I say something?”
“Anything,” he answered, adjusting the blanket around your shoulders.
Say whatever you need to. I got you.
“Seeing you… talking to you,” you began. “I always look forward to it.”
You lifted your gaze, somehow more exposed and vulnerable than your earlier tears.
“It’s the best part of my week,” you admitted.
Bucky froze completely.
You exhaled shakily, like you said too much.
“I didn’t want to fall apart in front of you,” you went on while his brain was scrambling to catch up. “But everything felt heavy and I just… I felt safe enough that I could. So… thank you. For that.”
He didn’t speak. He couldn’t. Your words flowed through him, filing every crack he couldn’t seal shut himself.
I’m the best part of your week?
Not work, your friends, or even your family?
Me?
Since the beginning, he told himself to stay in his lane and keep things simple. To be professional. Driver and passenger. That was it.
But you were here in his arms, trusting him enough with something so raw and admitting that he was the one thing that made your week a little lighter.
Him.
And he was still acting as if there was a line he shouldn’t cross?
His thumb brushed your shoulder. You looked to him for comfort tonight. You needed him in a way.
Maybe you wanted him, too.
If that were true, what the hell was he waiting for?
Don’t rush her. Don’t make this about me.
“I appreciate you telling me that,” he whispered once he found his voice. “Let’s get you home, okay?”
You nodded, your energy spent as you shifted from his hold. He felt the loss immediately, the cab feeling colder. But he didn’t linger, as much as he wanted to.
He moved back to the driver seat grudgingly and started the engine.
You weren’t too far from your place, but he drove a bit slower and checked the mirror more than he needed to. You had your legs curled up now, your eyes heavy but open. Not distant or shut down. Just tired.
You had a good reason to feel tired.
But you also gave him a smile when you caught him looking the last time. A small, real one. Because you felt safe.
You’re safe with me.
The lights didn’t seem as harsh when he turned onto your street. The breeze wasn’t as strong. The world seemed to realize you needed little wins after breaking down.
Neither of you moved right away when he parked.
“Hey.” He turned slightly in his seat, your expression glassy but more clear when you handed him the money. “I’m gonna walk you to your building tonight.”
It wasn’t a question or suggestion.
Should’ve been doing that since the first night.
“I’d like that,” you uttered.
“And you can take the blanket,” he offered when you started to fold it. “If you want.”
“Really?” Your eyes widened in realization. “Oh, my God. I took it with me earlier. I’m so sorry.”
Bucky had to smile at the way you looked genuinely distressed, like you had done something unforgivable.
“It’s okay,” he said gently. “You had a lot on your mind.”
You hesitated, but didn’t set it down. “Are you sure I can take it with me?”
“Yeah.” His gaze softened. “I put it back there so you’d be comfortable, and it kinda defeats the purpose if you don’t use it.”
He wouldn’t be there to hold you tonight if you cried again, so the blanket would have to do. It was a small piece of comfort. A small piece of him.
Warmth filled your eyes. “Thank you.”
“Anytime,” he replied, meaning it in more ways than one.
He stepped out first, going to your door to open it. He didn’t rush you as you gathered your things, letting you go at your pace. He understood how the body lagged sometimes after everything spilled over.
And his hand was already outstretched to help you out if you wanted it.
You took it.
Instead of the usual spark when your fingers touched, something steadier and grounding moved between you both.
It felt like your hand belonged with his.
It feels right.
He helped you out and fell in step beside you, matching your pace without thinking. Your thumb brushed his skin, making his grip tighten a fraction when he glanced at you. Faint exhaustion lingered in your body, but you weren’t as tense. Your breathing had evened out.
The hurt was still there, but you were safe.
You made it to the door, the light above it casting a glow over you, but you didn’t reach for the handle or let go of his hand.
The soft good nights usually happened at the car, but not tonight.
“Thank you for tonight,” you said above a whisper.
He nodded, everything from the last few weeks pressing into his mind.
Sam on one shoulder. “Be a man and get her number.
Steve on the other. “You’re allowed to want something.”
The teasing. The smiles. The protein bars. The card your niece and nephew made. The movie list.
How you quietly gave him your number. The careful texts. The deeper talks.
The way you trusted him and broke in his arms tonight.
The way you said he’s the best part of your week.
The way he was done pretending that there wasn’t something there between you.
Time to erase the line for good.
He kept your hand in his, refusing to retreat into neutral territory. “I, uh…” He rubbed the back of his neck and exhaled. “I was thinking.”
You gazed at him expectantly.
“I know things are… a lot right now,” he said, trying to be careful and not add pressure when you had so much on your mind. “With your brother and everything.”
Your grip tightened on the blanket, but you nodded for him to continue.
“And I’m not trying to…” He huffed a little, almost frustrated with himself. “I’m not trying to make things harder for you.”
That was the last thing he wanted to do.
“You’re not,” you said, stepping closer. “You never could.”
That gave him just enough courage to keep going, taking one last deep breath.
Just say it.
“I just… I don’t want to keep pretending that I’m just your cab driver anymore. Not after tonight,” he said, his forehead almost touching yours. “Because you’re the best part of my week, too.”
Your breath caught enough that he felt it.
“So. When things feel less heavy, or you just need a break…” His heart was pounding now. “Would you like to have dinner with me?”
He didn’t breathe as the question hung in the air.
Opening up and asking you out wasn’t going to magically erase the pain or worry you felt. It wouldn’t fix what was happening with your brother. But you didn’t need to go it alone.
You stared at him, almost like you were afraid he’d take the offer back. “Dinner?” you echoed.
“Yeah. Dinner. With me,” he said, his voice low. “No meter running or route. Just… us.”
Just the two of you enjoying each other’s company.
“Because I want to see you outside of the cab.” His thumb brushed your knuckles. “I want to critique movies and books with you and eat pizza or noodles or brinner and just talk. I want Al to finally see my favorite passenger in person.”
A small laugh escaped you, the sound like sunlight appearing after a storm.
“But only if you want, and only when you’re ready.”
You stared at him for a long moment before you smiled, one that reached your eyes for the first time tonight.
“I’d like that,” you said
The rush of relief hit him so fast it almost made him lightheaded. You wanted to have dinner with him. You wanted to see him outside of the weekly routine.
“Yeah?” he asked, just to be sure.
“Yeah,” you replied, tender and certain. “Is… tomorrow too soon?”
Bucky blinked, genuinely thinking he misheard you.
Tomorrow?
His heart stuttered. He expected an offer to check your schedule or something weeks down the line. But not this.
“Tomorrow?” he repeated breathlessly.
You nodded, a tad shy. “Yeah. I mean, if you’re free… and it’s not too fast or anything?”
Too fast?
I’ve been waiting fifteen Thursdays now for this.
“It’s not too fast.” He shook his head, a faint, disbelieving smile tugging at his lips. “It’s actually kinda perfect.”
“It is?”
“It is,” he said, more certain. “Tomorrow’s great.”
Tomorrow meant you wanted this. Not just someday down the line, but now. Even with everything going on.
“We can keep it easy,” he said, his thumb moving over your knuckles again. “Whatever you’re up for.”
“Movie?” you suggested, a small hint of your usual warmth slipping back in. “And noodles?”
He laughed. “Number seven?”
“Number seven,” you confirmed, your smile widening.
“Alright. Noodles and a movie at my place.”
“It’s a date,” you whispered.
A date.
You were still standing close. Close enough that if he leaned in just a fraction… God, he wanted to kiss you. More than anything.
The two of you took an important step. He finally stopped being a coward. You didn’t hold everything in.
But he didn’t kiss you.
Tonight wasn’t about that.
His forehead, however, did intentionally brush yours this time.
“I’ll text you,” he murmured.
“I’ll be waiting.”
And I’ll be counting down the minutes.
You squeezed his hand before finally stepping back, his blanket tucked against your chest. “Good night, Buck.”
He memorized the way you gazed at him, basking in that glow. “Good night.”
You slipped inside, the door clicking shut behind you. There was no drop in his stomach. No nerves.
He didn’t have to wait for another Thursday to see you again.
He finally turned back toward the cab, running a hand through his hair like he was trying to physically process what just happened.
Dinner and a movie.
You wanted to spend time with him.
“Jesus,” he muttered happily under his breath as he slid back into the driver’s seat.
His gaze drifted to the backseat, landing on the empty space where you had been curled up just minutes ago, his blanket wrapped around you, trusting him with something rough and fragile.
When he picked you up tomorrow, you could sit in the front beside him.
His phone buzzed, his heart picking up before he even saw your message.
Of course, it was you.
MFP: “Curled up on the couch with your blanket. Thanks again. For everything.”
It gave him peace of mind knowing you made it into your place safe and sound since he only walked you to the building door.
“Thanks for letting me help.”
He made a difference tonight.
He almost set the phone down when another message popped up.
MFP: “My brother was awake when I reached out.”
He held his breath. Was he okay? Did something happen?
“Yeah?”
Three dots appeared long enough that he sat up straighter.
MFP: “I told him we’re having dinner tomorrow, and he said he’s looking forward to meeting the guy who keeps me safe every week.”
He reread the message until the screen went dark.
Your brother, the one you were terrified for, wanted to meet him.
Becca would want to meet you.
He rubbed a hand over his mouth, trying to ground himself. Something earnest and dangerously close to overwhelming spread from his chest, the card on the dashboard staring at him. It brought a smile to his face.
“I’d be honored to meet him. I’ll have to make a good first impression.”
As a big brother, Bucky sensed and respected that he would be a bit protective of you.
MFP: “You already have.”
The additional layer of assurance did wonders.
MFP: “Get some rest tonight, okay? Happy Friday Eve.”
There it was.
Soft, familiar, and you.
“You, too. And it’s Friday Junior.”
MFP: “Same thing. I’ll see you tomorrow.”
“Tomorrow,” he whispered, happiness filling him to the point where he thought he’d float away.
He shot off a quick message to the guys and Becca. “Got a date tomorrow night. I’ll let you know how it goes.”
With a smile, he put the phone away. He could already see Sam losing his mind and Steve would try and fail to act subtle about it. Becca would demand every detail after. He’d wait until later to see and hear their stunned reactions.
For now, he was going to drive and get a few more people where they needed to go.
But not before taking one last look at your building and picturing you curled up with his blanket.
Fifteen Thursdays.
Fifteen weeks of watching you slip into his cab with tired eyes, soft smiles, and sweetness that made a difference in his day. Fifteen weeks of falling for you in steady increments. Fifteen weeks of chances he almost let slip by because it took him some time to feel brave.
And tonight he erased the line he drew in the sand for good because you mattered more.
You let him see you and it was a beautiful thing.
“Tomorrow,” he said again like a promise, starting the car and pulling away from the curb.
Tomorrow there wouldn’t be a meter running or rearview mirror glances. No pretending it was just another ride. It would just be you and him.
He was counting down the minutes.
And for once, he didn’t feel like he needed to second guess any of it.
Whew! Did we make it? This isn't the end for these two. It's very much a beginning. Would love to hear your thoughts!
I've just discovered that Ellipsus Snippets are a thing, and I'm a little bit obsessed with it. I also was getting a little antsy sitting on ~4.5k words of a chapter while my Tumblr looked close to dead... so here's a sneak peek at what I'm working on! 🤍
I'm really excited for this chapter!! It's been a hard to find motivation for, partially because it's very heavily tied to the plot, and @deceiver-of-gods had to beat me away from the script of the show 😅
But I am gonna ask for some slack, because part of my lack of motivation is from getting engaged!!! 💍 My real-life Bucky and I are so so happy, but life lately has felt crazy. Wedding planning is no small feat, but I'm a determined DIY Girlie and Oldest Daughter™, so I'm not worried about it all coming together 😂
Between working on MerMay for my Artist account this year wish me luck 🤞 , planning a wedding in another state, and workshopping a book idea I have... I'm hoping I can get this Neighbors chapter out soon! Or at least, until another Snippet might tide you over 😅
Let me know your thoughts!! What do you think is gonna happen? How do you feel about being in the thick of TFATWS? Who else feels like they need a rewatch 🙋♀️
First of all: CONGRATS ON YOUR ENGAGEMENT!!!! ✨️❤️
As a big fan of TFATWS I'm really excited for this one!! I THINK reader might end up understanding when/if (I think he will hahaha) Bucky eventually get into details, BUT not before being worried and maybe having a word or two about the whole situation? I'm not sure though. What I do know is it's time to read Neighbors again just because I love it 😌❤️
mission parenthood was never to be considered easy, but bucky somehow (slightly) disproved that tonight with your four kids.
words 2.5k
warnings pure fluff, alpine mentioned!, obv parenting/family dynamics, you and bucky are litch the world's best parents, like two suggestive sentences at the end
you swore you gave up on parties and raves, but right now, your household sounded like one. your living room had the telly on, volume at least at twenty. your son’s action figure’s voice box was exhausting itself. your daughter was playing with her barbies, reenacting a plot she made up. your husband wasn’t even home yet. you shooed alpine off the counter about five times in the past ten minutes.
in the kitchen, you chopped up vegetables for dinner. the pot was already boiling, but there were still two celery sticks to be cut and five carrots to be peeled. you definitely couldn't have asked your kids for help. your two five-year-old twins, grant and becca, were just getting the hang of dull scissors. three-year-old jaime was too focused on drawing circular dinosaurs. winnie, now just barely fourteen months, was still refusing tummy time.
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winnie sat in her high chair at the counter, babbling as she watched you. her binky fell out every twenty minutes or so, making you rinse it with lukewarm water before popping it back in. you had now finished preparing everything. now, when bucky came home, all you had to do was heat the food.
you took winnie out of her high chair, soft little hands feeling your jaw. you put her on the side of your waist as you walked over to the living room. you swore you’ve seen obstacle courses cleaner. toys were everywhere, and you could barely see the white carpet beneath.
“mama, look at my drawing!” jaime squealed as he held up a paper with two green circles and a smiley face.
“look at that!” you smiled. “why don’t you sign it so i can hang it on the fridge?”
“okay, mama,” he laughed, pulling out a blue crayon.
you trekked your way over to grant and becca now, the two divided by a butter-yellow streamer from winnie’s first birthday. bucky swore he got it all.
“now, what's this?” you asked your twins, their backs turned on one another.
“becca’s toys are taking up too much space,” grant whined.
“grant won't stop playing optimus prime’s voice,” she spat.
you raised an eyebrow, kneeling to the two. winnie still held onto you like a koala as you pushed the binky back in, sensing it was about to fall out.
“granton, rebecca, turn around,” your voice now a bit more stern.
everyone in your household knew that full names were intended to be taken as seriously as possible. the two spun around now, staring into their laps.
“look up at mama,” you instructed, tone a tad softer. “is that why you put the yellow streamer there?”
becca nodded. you assumed she put it there in the first place, because she always took charge of her brother, being born ten minutes before grant (which you regret telling her three months ago).
“well, how about you both clean up your toys, and then we can figure out a solution tomorrow, hm? mommy is a bit tired, so she can’t help too much.”
the twins stood up now, silently picking up the figurines and placing them in their respective boxes. “you too, jaime. can you put your crayons and paper back inside the mudroom?”
“yes, mommy,” he said, pushing his chair in.
you sighed out of relief, thankful that there was no fuss or plastic bits shoved up someone’s nose.
you sat on the couch and immediately muted the television, fed up with some talking dog. you threw your head back on the pillow that was against the armrest, closing your eyes. you already felt winnie drifting off, instinctively pulling out the binky and putting it on the coaster behind you. little footsteps were heard approaching, and you opened one eye. grant, becca, and jaime stood in front of you like a firing squad.
their eyes were drooping, and their heads tilted downwards. your lips tugged into a small smile, and you lifted your arm, signalling them to come cuddle. the three climbed on the couch, getting as close as they could. grant came to the side of your arm. becca’s head rested on your thigh. jaime face flat on your shoulder. you pulled the throw blanket into an awkward shape, ensuring all three got some sort of warmth. it was rare to get a moment with all four kids, especially now, since they were all quite different in age, and you were as busy as ever.
you stared up at the ceiling, waiting for the little snores and purrs before you drifted away as well.
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as you and the kids were asleep, bucky had made it home. congress was back in session, so he stayed later than usual some days. the garage hummed shut, and the door unlocked gently. he heard the house being suspiciously quiet, which was rarely ever a good thing, until he heard a crowd of murmurs and huffs. he slipped off his dress shoes and set them on the rack before making his way to the living room.
bucky stopped in his steps, fawning over the sight. his four small children, all asleep on their mother’s body, like a litter of kittens. he snapped out of thought when he felt a bushy tail around his ankle, and looked down to find a pair of blue eyes.
alpine purred, obviously joyed to see bucky after a long day of sleeping on her cat tree and stealing pieces of chicken from the chopping board.
bucky pulled out his phone and took a photo quickly, saving the image to gaze at later when it was his lockscreen. he took a seat beside you five (now six that alpine decided to join), pulling up the blanket that was slipping on becca’s side.
you could’ve assumed that she had senses just as good as her super-soldier father’s, because she woke up just as bucky’s hand brushed over her scalp. her eyes fluttered awake, eyes icy blue. her little pink lips curved into a grin immediately. “daddy!”
he smiled, “hey, princess.” his arms opened up to catch her. his tone was a bit hushed, trying to let you and the rest sleep. “you took a good nap, didn’t you?” he asked, noticing the stray raven wisps of hair. “mhm! mommy wasn’t very happy earlier, so she lay down, and then we all did, and then we took a catnap.”
“oh, i see,” bucky soothed. he knew you were fine this morning, and you were home with jaime and winnie until you picked up the twins from daycare. he wondered what had happened in between it all.
his eyes then wandered to grant, now awake because of his sister’s rambling. “mornin’ bud.”
“hi, daddy,” he yawned. grant now came over and took his usual seat right next to his older sister. “look how clean the floor is?”
“mommy made you do that?”
“no.”
bucky gave a quirked brow.
“maybe.”
bucky hummed at his son’s attempt to cover up his and his sister’s messiness. “good job anyway, you two. i think mommy’s awake now,” he said.
the twins turned around to look at you, but your eyes were still closed. “but mommy’s eyes aren't open,” becca said.
“act’s up, babe.”
your straight lips now curved upwards, smiling at your own defeat. bucky could read you like a book. you now opened your eyes, but not moving your body to disturb winnie or jaime.
your hand came up to cradle winnie’s head as the other reached out for bucky, grasping his hand. “hi, baby. how was work?”
bucky brought your hand up to kiss it, mumbling “good” against it.
“dinner’s ready. just gotta heat up.”
“thank you, my love. can’t believe jaime is still asleep.”
“deep sleeper, isn’t he?” you replied, taking your hand to brush through his dark curls. your shoulder was moist from his saliva, his habit as an open-mouth sleeper remaining consistent.
winnie now cooed awake, gripping your shirt. she blew a raspberry against the skin of your chest, signalling she wanted up.
bucky took winnie from your chest, now lifting her in the air, earning a giggle. when she leveled with bucky’s face, she put one hand on his mouth, the other on his forehead.
you turned your head and gently blew on jaime, a method you learned to wake him without spooking him. he groaned awake, mumbling something that sounded like, “mama” and “five more.”
“come on, bud, time to eat,” bucky patted the boy on his back. he rolled over and sat straight up suddenly, giving bucky a slight jump. erratic little fellow, you both thought.
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you finished washing the dishes with bucky as the kids cleared the table (with a little help). winnie’s high chair had sauce somehow on the back of it, but the crisis was averted when bucky came in with the lysol wipes.
“okay, everyone, it’s bathtime,” you said as you finished the last dish. you threw a towel at bucky with a laugh, knowing what was coming next. you then heard the unmistakable, collective whine.
“mama, please!” “noooo..” “i no wanna,” echoed throughout the kitchen.
you sighed, leaning against the counter.
bucky stepped in, “mommy already reminded you guys once today to tidy up your toys. don’t make her remind you guys you have to clean up again, hm?”
the kids became silent, not wanting a stern talking-to for the second time today.
“daddy’s turn for bath time today. boys, you’re up first.”
you hadn’t expected bucky to step in, because normally you planned for things like this. but tonight, you appreciated his initiative.
bucky came around the counter to you and whispered in your ear, “go take a hot bath. i got it for tonight.”
“are you sure, buck?” you asked, running your hand through his hair. “it’s really okay,” your tone is quiet.
“let me. you’ve had enough for today,” bucky assured.
you gave a tight smile, “okay, yeah. thank you, baby.”
“no worries, doll,” he said as he kissed you. “alright, guys, mommy is going to bed, so say goodnight now, okay?”
you kneeled to jaime and pressed a kiss on his cheek, then becca, then grant. the three gave you a tight hug, pressing the wet spot on your shoulder that still hasn’t dried yet closer to your skin.
“goodnight, you three. mommy loves you so so much,” you cooed.
｡ﾟ•┈୨✪୧┈• ｡ﾟ
bucky was currently struggling as his two sons were splashing bubbles on one another, catching him in the crossfire. either bucky’s hearing improved, or the rubber duckies were especially squeaky today. bucky’s suit was now covered in green candy apple-scented soap and captain america shampoo.
grant and jaime’s waves were now stiff mohawks and had bubble beards. bucky sighed, promising he would read a bedtime story if they let him finish washing them up.
“daddy, why is your hair always so shiny?” jaime asked.
“because daddy combs it more than we do,” grant giggles.
“hey now,” bucky jokingly warns. “it’s because daddy gels it over for work.”
“can we gel our hair one day?”
“i don’t see why not.”
two lotioned and freshly clothed boys now sat on the bathroom counter, still as a tree getting their hair blow-dried.
luckily for him, the girls were much easier. becca told bucky about her day at school and how she spotted a bunny and chased after it, wanting to give alpine a friend. after bucky explained how rodents and cats weren't the best of friends, she said she wouldn’t chase after a bunny again.
winnie was cooing per usual, all giggly to see her dad. bucky always had a soft spot for his kids, especially when they were winnie’s age. he remembers the day she left the hospital and how her entire hand didn’t even cover his pinky finger.
he held winnie in one arm, the hoodie of her frog towel shielding her against bucky’s damp suit. he massaged the last bit of curl cream into becca’s hair, the waves already appearing.
“your hair is getting longer every day, bug,” bucky says, the nickname tugging at his heartstrings.
when becca was two, your family was still living in new york. on the rooftop of your penthouse apartment, there was a little garden where you planted fruits and vegetables. becca would dig in the dirt as an attempt to help “nourish the soil,” as bucky excused, and pulled out the worms.
after a lesson on the importance of the worms, becca caught more and more bugs. worms led to praying mantises, mantises then led to caterpillars. on her third birthday, you and bucky gifted her a monarch butterfly rearing kit. after a couple of weeks of nurturing them, she let them loose, waving bye-bye and giving kisses. the milkweed was immediately removed from your garden upon your instruction.
“really? i want it to be long like aunt ava’s,” she curiously asked.
“if you wait a bit longer, it will,” he replied, squishing the gel before plugging in the diffuser.
winnie smelled of baby powder and vanilla oats, the same as she did when the nurses first cleaned her up. becca preferred her strawberry milk body wash because it smelled like mommy’s danishes.
the boys were sitting on the ottoman outside your and buckys' room, playing with a wooden puzzle.
“ready for bed, you two?” bucky asked as he carried winnie on his shoulders, and becca held onto his hand. she rubbed her eyes, sleep coming to take her again.
“mhm!” the boys said, setting the wooden puzzle on the shelf behind them.
bucky’s usual bedtime routine consisted of, first, getting the kids showered, then tucking them in, from youngest to oldest, showering himself, then spending time with you, in whatever way you both wished.
it was no different from tonight. after three ‘goodnight daddy, i love you daddy' and one “dada” with coos, he showered and slipped into a navy tee and grey sweats. you turned to your side, resting your chin on your hand as he emerged from the bathroom.
“how was that?” you grinned, petting alpine.
“good, actually. we are running out of becca's curl cream, so i'll run by and grab that tomorrow on the way home,” he said, reaching down to kiss you before heading to the nightstand.
bucky took his pills and a sip of water before settling in bed next to you. “i love you so much, you know that? if you asked me twenty years ago where i would be now, i couldn't imagine this.”
“mm, i love you too, baby. but why the sudden pouring out?” you giggled , still appreciative of his words.
“the kids are so young, and i know i’m gonna miss this when they grow up. one day, jaime will hate combovers instead of wishing for one. becca and jaime will be the snarkiest twins at school. god, i can’t even imagine winnie getting any cuter.”
you brought your hand to his face and pulled him in for a kiss, melting at how he was looking into the future.
“i wouldn’t trade it for the world,” you whispered, pulling yourself on top of bucky.
he chuckled, his hands coming up to your sides. “neither would i.”
alpine meowed loudly before exiting through the kitty door.
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a/n: this was sooo fun to write lol i hc bucky and his wife having a big ahh family and obv he's obsessed with them
summary: You come home late, exhausted and expecting a quiet house—only to find your husband and daughter in the middle of a very serious dance rehearsal.
word count: 1.6 k
warnings: domestic fluff, pre-stablished relationship, parent life, tooth roothing fluff, girldad!Bucky. | english is not my first language, so I'm sorry in advance for any mystypo / grammar error.
a/n: I've been getting a lot of ideas from tiktok's lately, so when I run into this one I said, why not? Also, thank you so much for the 700 followers! It means a lot to me. this is a little thank you since it won the poll.
read in AO3
The house is quiet when you slip your key into the lock, later than you planned. Your shoulders ache from hunching over your desk, and all you want to do is to collapse on the couch, preferably between your husband's arm around you and your daughter curled against you.
"Hello?" You call out, setting down your bag and kicking off your heels. The relief is immediate, your feet screaming their gratitude against the cool hardwood.
There's no answer. No thundering footsteps of your five year old daughter launching herself at you like she usually does when you get home. No Bucky appearing from the kitchen with that particular smile he only has for the both of you.
You frown, padding further into the house. "Bucky? Sage?"
Then you hear it: a muffled voice from your bedroom, deep and serious. "Wait wait— was that a hip-wiggle-step or a step-hip-wiggle?"
You freeze mid-step.
"Daddy, you're not listening!" Your daughter's exasperated voice comes, her tone so much like your own when Bucky's being deliberately difficult that you have to press your hand over your mouth. "It's step, then wiggle. The wiggle comes after!"
"Right, after. Got it."
Curiosity thoroughly piqued, so you creep toward the bedroom doorway, careful to stay out of sight. You peer around the corner and— Oh, this was good.
Bucky, your husband, is standing in the middle of the bedroom in his henley and jeans, attempting what can only be described as the world's most awkward hip wiggle. Sage stands in front of him, tiny hands planted on her hips, wearing her pink tutu over her overalls. Her dark hair, so much like Bucky's, is escaping from its ponytail in wild corkscrews.
She watches her father with the critical eye of a seasoned choreographer, which is hilarious considering she only started dance class three weeks ago.
"Better," she concedes, though she doesn't sound entirely convinced. "Now, we do the arm thing."
"The arm thing," Bucky repeats dutifully.
"Yeah! Like this!" Sage throws both arms up in a V-shape, then brings them down to cross over her chest, then shoots them out to cross over her chest, then shoots them out to the sides like she's flying. It's chaotic and graceful in the way only small children can be.
Bucky mirrors her movements with complete seriousness. His execution is much smoother than hers—decades of combat training means his body control is flawless. But there's something endearing about watching him deliberately match her energy, making his movements just a little bit looser, a little bit sillier, so she doesn't feel like he's showing her up.
Your heart does something complicated in your chest.
"Good!" Sage chirps. "Now the hops!"
"How many hops?"
"Three! I told you, daddy, three hops, then the spin!"
"Right, three… not four."
"Three."
Bucky hops once, twice, three times and you can see him counting under his breath like he's defusing a bomb. Then he spins, and his natural grace almost betrays him before he deliberately makes it wobbly, arms windmilling slightly.
Sage dissolves into wiggles. "Daddy! You look like a penguin!"
"Penguins are dignified creatures," Bucky informs her with mock offense, but he's grinning—that soft, unguarded smile that still makes you fall in love with him all over again evey time you see it.
"They're silly!"
"Maybe I'm a dignified and silly penguin."
"There's no such thing!"
"Sure there is, I'm looking at one right now."
Sage gasps in outrage, but she's smiling too wide for it to land. "I'm not a penguin! I'm a dancer!"
"The best dancer," Bucky agrees and the tone in his voice makes your throat tight.
This is the Bucky the world doesn't get to see. Not the Winter Soldier, not the Avenger, or even the version of him that smiles politely at your friends or makes small talk with neighbors. This is the Bucky who reads the same bedtime story five nights in a row because Sage likes the voice he does. The Bucky who learns the name of every single stuffed animal in her collection and asks about them individually. The Bucky who was terrified when you were pregnant that he wouldn't know how to be soft, wouldn't know how to be safe… and the one who held his daughter from the first time and cried.
"Okay, from the top!" Sage announces, resetting her position. "Remember, is hop-hop-spin, wiggle, arms, hop-hop-hop, spin and then the finale!"
"What's the finale again?"
"Daddy… we just practiced this!"
"Humor me."
Sage sighs as if she's holding the weight of the world on her tiny shoulders. "You pick me up and spin me around while I do the arms!"
"Right, the lift."
"It's not a lift, it's a spin."
"My apologies, the spin."
You watch as they run through it again, Bucky's counting under his breath, completely unfocused, like this choreography is a mission brief he needs to memorize. Sage's narrating every move, her voice bright with enthusiast. When they get to their finale, Bucky sweeps her up with the ease of someone who's been carrying her since she was born, and she throws her arms out like she's reachingfor the sky, giggling uncontrollably as he spins her.
The sound of her laughter fills the whole house, and you think this is everything you've ever dreamed of.
You must make some kind of noise, or maybe Bucky's sense are just that good, because his eyes suddenly snap to the doorway. He stops mid-spin and Sage shricks with delight at the abrupt halt. "Mommy!"
"Don't stop because of me," you say, stepping fully into the room. "That looked Broadway-ready."
Bucky sets Sage down carefully, and you watch the faintest pink creep across his cheeks. "We're, uh… rehearsing."
"I can see that," you move closer, dropping onto the edge of the bed. "What's the occasion?"
"Miss Andrea says we can do a dance for the recital if we want!" Sage bounces on her toes, vibrating with excitement. "And I said I wanted to do one with daddy, and she said okay as long as we practice and we're practicing!"
Your eyes meet Bucky's over your daughter's head. He shrugs, but his smile is helpless.
"She's very serious about the choreography," he tells you.
"I can tell. How long have you been practicing?"
"Hour and a half," he admits. "We took a snack break."
"And hour and a half?" you look at Sage, impressed. "That's a long time to practice."
"Daddy keeps messing with the wiggle."
"I'm getting better at the wiggle!" Bucky protests.
"You are," you assure him, fighting back a smile. "I saw improvement just now."
Sage tugs on your hand suddenly, her face tilted up with that expression that means she wants something now. "Mommy, do you want to learn it now?"
"Oh, I don't now, sweetheart, I just got home—-"
"Pretty please?" Her eyes go wide— Bucky's eyes, you think with a mixture of love and exasperation, because she definitely learned that look from him. "You can be at it too! We can all do the recital together!"
You open your mouth to explain that you have two left feet, that you've been at work all day, that you're tired and hungry and definitely not dressed for dancing. But then you see the hope on her fce, bright and genuine and you see Bucky watching you with that expression that says he knows exactly what you're going to say before you say it.
"Okay," you hear yourself say. "Teach me."
Sage's face light up like it's Christmas morning. "Really?!"
"Really, but I'm warning you, I'm probably worse than daddy."
"That's not possible," Bucky mutters, but he's moving to mke space for you, his hand warm when it finds the small of your back.
You take off your work blazer, leaving you in your blouse and slacks, and let Sage position you next to Bucky. She takes her role as the choreographer very seriously, adjusting your stance and explaining each move with the seriousness of someone teaching brain surgery.
"First is the step-wiggle," she instructs. "Step with your right foot, then wiggle your hips… like this!"
You attempt it. Based on Bucky's poorly concealed snort, you do not succeed.
"I told you," you say.
"You're doing great," he lies, because he loves you.
"Mommy, you look like you're trying to hula hoop," Sage says with devastating honestly.
"I'm out of practice," you defend yourself.
"Well, then you need a lot of practice."
Bucky's shoulders are shaking with silent laughter. You elbow him lightly in the ribs, and he catches your hand, pressing a kiss to your knuckles in apology.
"Okay, let's try together." Sage decides. "Daddy, you help mommy."
So Bucky takes your hands and guides you through the moves. Step-wiggle, arms up, down out. You're absurdly uncoordinated, stumbling through the steps, but Sage's encouragement is endless and Bucky's hands steady you every time you wobble.
"You're getting it!" Sage cheers when you manage three hops without tripping.
"I don't think I am," you laugh.
"You are! Now the finale!"
"Wait, how does the finale work with three people?"
Sage considers this with a furrowed brow, one finger tapping her chin. Then her face brightens. "Daddy picks me up and you do the arms with me!"
"I can do that."
So you run through it again—-the whole ridiculous, wonderful choreography. This time when you get to the finale, Bucky lifts Sage and you stand close, arms raising in sync with your daughter's as Bucky spins her gently. She's laughing and when you catch Bucky's eye, he's looking at you like you're the only thing that matters in the universe.
When he sets Sage down, she throws her arms around both your legs, squeezing tight.
"We're going to be the best dancers at the recital!" She declares.
"Absolutely," you agree, running your fingers through her wild hair.
"The best," Bucky echoes and his hand finds yours, threading your fingers together.
And somehow, standing there in your bedroom, still in your work clothes, exhausted and hungry, you think they might be right.
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