Oh this was hard because I have A LOT of songs that I just keep putting on 😭 I tried not to repeat artists because I could just put Daughter whole discography, or Chappel Roan's, or Flower Face's, or... Yeah I think it's time for me to shut up. Thanks lots for the tag @epiphanyrogers I love yapping about music 💞
1. You're still the one - Shania Twain
2. Yesterday - The Beatles
3. Duvet - Bôa
4. She's always a woman - Billy Joel
5. Shimmer - Fuel
6. You're here that's the thing - Beabadoobee
7. Youth - Daughter
8. Paul - The Big Thief
9. Kaleidoscope- Chappel Roan
10. Lilith - Saint Avangeline
11. Honey & milk - Flower Face
12. Sextape - Deftones
13. Set Free - Katie Gray
No pressure tag: @sassandscribbles @phoenix-in-writing @quantumbarnes @erina00
Thank you @steelandvibranium as always for the tag! I've been listening to Bad Bunny and Green Day pretty much non stop for the past 3 weeks to prep for Super Bowl so I'm sure there are more of their songs that have taken over but those are just from my wrapped 2025 list!
actor!Bucky x fem!actress!Reader (no use of y/n, l/n, reader is not described in any great detail)
Warnings: Hollywood AU, language, internet nasties, flirty!Bucky, a little power imbalance, age-gap... This chapter has plenty of p-in-v smut and passing mentions of sex.
So here she is! The grand finale! There is a final chapter after this - an Epilogue - but that's not really going to pick up any story details. It'll be more of a 'things that happen next kind of thing'. In terms of actual storyline and the culmination of awards season - this is the end. And what a ride it's been! I - as usual - have the final chapter scaries where I run and hide because who knows if I've stuck the right landing 😅 I think I have. I hope I have. This one has been a beast of a story with all the extra in-universe things I've included, so please, please do take just a minute or two and me what you think! Thank you for being there, baring with me, and being so amazing. I love you!
Read on AO3
Word Count: 10.3k
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MARCH 2026
It seemed to him that LAX always felt the same. The fluorescent overhead lights, the flashes from phone cameras even early in the morning.
He was used to it.
She was much less so.
By the time they cleared customs, she was leaning against his shoulder, the adrenaline of London long gone and he was half considering investing in a private jet.
He'd lost count of how many people had done a double take.
The driver took their bags, silently and efficiently guiding them through the private exit to a waiting car.
He definitely needed to shake Sam's hand for rolling out the red carpet.
She curled into him on the backseat and within minutes she was asleep, cheek pressed to his chest, her face bare and scrubbed clean of make up, traces of highlighter still in her hairline.
He watched the city roll past as the sun began to bleed over the hills, the skyline giving way to the lush, green hills of Laurel Canyon.
When the car turned up the steep, winding road, she stirred, frowning. “This isn’t the hotel.”
“Nope.”
The car eased to a stop in front of a stone villa tucked behind olive trees, sunlight already spreading over the terrace and glinting off the windows.
She pushed herself upright, her hair a mess and her voice still husky with sleep. “Where are we?”
He got out, came around to her side and opened the door with a half-smile. “Come on.”
Inside the house was airy and bright, the rooms were sun-washed from huge windows, and she could see the ocean in the distance.
He walked her through to the kitchen, sunlight spilling in from the veranda. She trailed him past a snug den, a small home gym, the pool beyond - the quiet hum of a place that had been waiting for someone.
That had been waiting for her.
Upstairs, he pointed out the master bedroom, the dressing room where her Golden Globe gown hung on the back of the door in its garment bag.
In the doorway of the guest bedroom, she turned slowly, her eyes wide at the sight of her two suitcases side by side on the bed, her clothes washed and pressed and neatly repacked.
“Bucky… what is this?”
“I rented it.” His voice was steady, almost casual, but there was no mistaking the edge underneath. “Back in January. After you left.”
Her brows lifted, surprise written all over her face. “You… rented a house?”
He nodded once. “Didn’t want to leave L.A. Not if there was a chance you’d come back. I couldn’t stay at the hotel without you, either. So…” He spread his arms wide. “This.”
The words settled between them, heavier than the humid air.
She ran her hand over the cases as if finally realising right then, that it wasn't just a house waiting for her. It was him.
He didn’t look away from her. For once, he wanted her to see it - all of it - the ache, the hope, the quiet certainty that had kept him here.
She laughed softly, almost disbelieving. “But… what if I hadn’t come back?”
He pushed off the doorframe and came to stand on the other side of the bed. There was no hesitation, no deflection, no wry grin to soften it. Just the truth. “I knew you would.”
Something inside her cracked wide open.
She climbed onto the bed, literally scrambling over her own cases, and launched herself into his arms.
Her arms flung around his neck, her legs hooked at his waist.
He caught her with barely a stumble, his hands locking under her thighs.
She buried her face against his jaw, breathless with relief and adrenaline.
He laughed, stunned. “You’re gonna kill me one of these days.”
She pulled back, her hands on his face, pushing his hair out of his eyes and tracing his cheekbones.
The last time she’d said I love you, she’d been walking away from him. This time, she said it with her eyes shining with joy, her voice sure and certain.
“I love you.”
Her words hung in the air, and for a moment all he could do was hold her - tight enough that she had no room to doubt him, gentle enough that she knew she never had to.
“I love you too.”
This time there was no clock ticking down, no flight looming, no sign of her dad or girlfriends asleep upstairs. Just the two of them.
She kissed him like she was starving, He held her tightly, laughing into her mouth before the sound broke into something deeper.
“Mmm, slow,” he murmured against her lips, though his own hands betrayed him, tugging her hoodie over her head with one hand. “We’ve got time now. All the time we need.”
She stilled just long enough to search his face, as if she wanted proof. His eyes never wavered.
“I’m yours,” she whispered.
He smiled softly. “I know.”
“I need you.”
The last of his restraint broke. “I know.”
He steadied his grip on her thighs, and then started moving.
“Not in here. Not after everything. You’re mine, and this place is ours.”
With her knees pinned fast to his hips, she pulled at his t-shirt, trying to pull it off him. Her fingers caught on the hem, bunching the fabric as she tried to tug it over his head without breaking the kiss.
“Wait -” he mumbled, stumbling into the hallway. “Gonna rip it,” he warned, but he didn’t stop her.
“Don't care -” she said into his neck.
The shirt came free, twisted between them as he caught her mouth again.
She gave a squeal of victory as she flung it over his shoulder, the vase she hit wobbled precariously.
He laughed against her mouth, the sound half-caught between a groan and a grin as she tried to roll her hips against his.
“Easy -”
“I’ve waited long enough,” she managed, muffled by her mouth on his throat.
He stopped halfway down the hall, the side of his shoulder thumping the wall as he steadied them both. She squeaked, clutching at him, and he pressed her back against the plaster just to keep her from wriggling away.
“Thought you were gonna drop me,” she breathed.
“Never.” He kissed her again, harder, deliberately pressing himself against her clothed core.
She whined into his mouth, her hands reaching for his waistband. He unhooked her bra and pulled it off, dropping it on the floor next to them.
They started moving again, he shifted her higher in his arms, bumping into the doorframe. Her foot caught on it sharply.
“Ouch, shit -” she cursed softly.
He muttered an apology, half-laughing, and kicked the bedroom door open so hard it slammed the wall.
When it came back towards him, he kicked it shut behind him without breaking stride.
Somewhere in the hallway, a picture frame rattled to the floor.
Finally making it to the bed, they were both breathless.
He met her eyes, still smiling. “See? Made it.”
Her skin was hot under his palms, her heartbeat thudding wildly against his hand.
“Barely.”
“Worth it.” He kissed her again, laying her down. “So worth it.”
Her laughter faded into quiet, into anticipation and need.
He traced the line of her collarbone, down to the place where her heartbeat lived.
She reached again for his waistband, trying to free him, but he pinned her hand with ease above her head.
“You had your chance in London, now I get what I want,” he murmured, sitting up on his heels and tugging her leggings down.
He leaned over her. kissing a hot path down her body, and hooked his index fingers in the waistband of her underwear, waiting for her to lift up so he could pull them down.
He placed one of her legs over his shoulder and spread the other wide, littering kisses from her knees up her thighs.
With a final glance up at her, he traced his tongue through her folds, already slick and ready for him.
She arched off the bed but he draped an arm over her thighs and pulled her closer.
A flurry of expletives and moans tumbled from her. Instinctively, she reached down to run her hands through his hair, he grabbed her hips and pulled her firmly against his mouth, her hands tightened, pulling at his hair.
He moaned into her cunt, sucking her clit into his mouth, her hips arched up towards him, a desperate attempt to find more contact. He caught the movement, his hands tightening around her hips again as he held her steady.
"Yessss," she sighed, her voice a desperate plea. "Please, there… please," she begged, her body arching towards his mouth.
Her thighs trembled around his head, the taste of her flooded his tongue. He didn’t rush, he didn’t let her slip away from the edge. He held her there, one arm wrapped under her hip, the other hand spread low over her stomach, holding her still while he worked her apart.
The first time, she came fast, too fast, hips bucking, breath catching, his name barely audible through the groan she bit down.
He didn’t stop.
“Bucky -” she gasped, fingers clenching in his hair again.
“I know, baby,” he murmured, voice low and wrecked. “But I’m not done with you yet.”
Her whimper died on her lips as he slipped two fingers into her, curling to brush over her g-spot with a featherlight touch.
“Ohh - god -”
“See,” he said with a smirk, “told you there's another in there.”
He built her up slowly this time, gentle touches taking her closer and closer but changing at the last possible moment.
“Tell me what you need, baby,” he asked quietly against her core.
“Please, please - just let me -”
“God, sweetheart, I've missed how beautifully you come. Let me hear you -”
Her voice broke on his name and she sank, boneless and trembling, into the mattress.
For a long moment, neither of them moved. Just the sound of their breathing - uneven and shared. He pressed a kiss to her thigh, another to her stomach, as though bringing her back her piece by piece.
“You good?” His voice was rough, quiet.
She nodded, her eyes teary. “You?”
He smiled small and soft, almost disbelieving. “Never better.”
He rose over her slowly, the world narrowing until there was only this: her hands in his hair, his forehead pressed to hers, the space between them charged with everything they hadn’t been able to say.
“I missed you,” she whispered, tears spilling into her hair.
“I know,” he breathed, kissing them away. “Me too.”
Her hand between his shoulders was small but powerful, bringing him closer to her. “Come to me.”
She wrapped around him and he pushed into her slowly, all the air leaving his lungs in one ragged breath.
Her body drew him in inch by inch until he bottomed out with a low groan, her warm, tight cunt enveloping him. Her nails dug into his back, her head thrown back against the pillow, pure heat and trust beneath him.
When he kissed her, it wasn’t just hunger this time, it was recognition.
A closeness that said you’re here, you came back, you’re mine and I’m yours.
He took his time, each slow thrust leading to a roll of his hips that had her seeing stars.
She couldn’t stop touching him. Her hands were in his hair, on the small of his back, tracing over his scars and smile.
Every breath sounded like disbelief.
He touched her like he was learning her all over again, pausing as if to make sure she was real.
“I missed you,” she whispered again, her lower lip trembled as she fought back tears.
“I know,” he said. “I can feel it.”
“I need to feel you, please -” she held his face in her palms.
He drove into her again, this time harder, the rhythm losing its softness but not the meaning. She clenched around him, a sharp gasp escaping her as her climax surged through her again, this time with him inside her, gripping him, holding him there.
“God, you’re perfect,” he muttered against her skin, lips kissing the tears from her cheeks, her jaw, her mouth again.
One, two more thrusts warm and tight around him he was gone, spilling into her with a groan. He pressed his forehead to hers, trembling.
They stayed for a long time - quietly, hearts still racing, her fingers tracing idle circles against his chest.
You rolled onto your stomach and lay your head to the side on your crossed arms so you could look at him. “You know, I really, really love your cure for jetlag. You have a one hundred percent success rate.”
“Two out of two ain't bad, we should keep trying.”
“The science demands it.”
He ran his fingers lightly along your spine. “It really does. You want coffee?”
“No, I want tea. I'll get it, you shower.”
Morning filtered through the shutters, dust-motes turning slow circles in the air. It was hard to believe it was still so early. The house smelled faintly of citrus and your skin still felt warm with the scent of him.
You slipped out of bed, aware of his eyes following you, and padded barefoot to the quiet hallway.
You'd left carnage in your wake. One picture frame lay - fortunately undamaged - on the floor, the other was completely wonky on the wall.
Clothes were strewn everywhere, your bra, t-shirt and hoodie formed a path from the guest bedroom, his t-shirt was still caught on a vase filled with peonies. You rescued it, and pulled it over your head.
The shirt brushed against your thighs. You were halfway to the kitchen before you realised you were grinning.
In the kitchen, two golden statues caught the light on the counter - you hadn't noticed them on your whistle stop house tour - his and hers, holding up a stack of scripts and mail like a pair of accidental bookends.
In your rush to leave after the Golden Globes, you'd left your award behind.
You laughed under your breath. “Real subtle, Barnes.”
You figured out the coffee machine, and then noticed your favourite tea on the counter-top.
Other things started to stick out as you wandered around,
The book you’d been reading in January was on the coffee table beside his, your old boarding pass still marking the page. In the entryway, by the mirror, sat a bottle of your perfume - the one you’d left behind in the hotel bathroom - next to a small trinket dish holding your necklace and earrings.
The kind of details that didn’t happen by accident.
He hadn’t just waited for you. He’d made a home for you to come back to.
The whistle of the kettle pulled you back to the kitchen.
As you poured the water, you heard quiet footsteps behind you.
“I should send the Globe over to dad to put next to Mr BAFT-.”
You turned - and yelped.
A tiny woman in neat linen trousers and trainers froze in the doorway, looking just as startled as you.
“Oh my god!”
Your hands flew to the hem of his shirt, tugging it down over your thighs as though that would somehow make you less half-dressed.
The woman recovered first. “Good morning, Miss. Mr Barnes said you’d be home this week.”
That word - home - landed like a soft punch to the heart.
“I didn’t say that,” came his voice from behind her. He was fresh from the shower, barefoot, in grey sweats and a clean t-shirt. He grinned. “I said maybe.”
He nodded at the woman. “Mornin’, Mrs Danvers.”
“Mr Barnes,” she said, still smiling faintly. “There’s food in the refrigerator. I stocked up when Mr Wilson told me you’d be back today.”
“You're an angel, thank you.”
“Congratulations dear. If I may, you should wait for your father to come over rather than send it. Be an awful shame if it got damaged. And you looked beautiful the other night, This besotted young gentleman said I should watch.”
You felt the heat in your cheeks. “Thank you,” you mumbled shyly. Behind her, Bucky smirked.
Mrs Danvers’ kind eyes flicked briefly to your legs and then back again. “Now, I can come back tomorrow, if that’s better for you?” She said delicately.
He didn’t hesitate. “Tomorrow’s perfect.”
You shot him a look over her shoulder. “No, it’s fine,” you countered quickly. “Please don’t change your schedule because of us.”
Mrs Danvers’s mouth twitched, professional to the last. “It's no trouble at all, hon.”
You could see Bucky gearing up again, too easily, like he was daring you to argue.
You crossed your arms over his oversized shirt. “Are you really trying to send Mrs Danvers away so you can keep misbehaving in peace?”
He grinned, moving past the older woman to grab his coffee from the counter. “I’m just thinking of her comfort. Don’t want her tripping over your clothes.”
You gave a scandalised laugh. “My clothes? That was a two-person operation.”
Mrs Danvers cleared her throat, politely hiding a smile. “I’ll start upstairs. I hadn't unpacked your cases before, am I OK to do that now?”
“Great idea Mrs D. Would you mind putting everything in the master suite?” Bucky asked.
She smiled softly at him. “Of course. I'll ehh… whistle on my way back down here later on.”
You choked on your tea.
When the door clicked shut behind her, you turned back to him, trying and failing to look stern.
“You’ve probably just terrified that poor woman.”
“I’m sure she’ll survive. She’s been listening to me talk about you non-stop for a month,” he said easily, stepping closer until your back met the counter.
“Really?”
“Really,” he said, dipping his head until his breath warmed your cheek. “She’s probably just glad you finally showed up. Probably thought you weren't even real.”
You swatted his chest lightly, trying to hide the smile tugging at your mouth. “Behave.”
He stole a quick kiss instead. “Can’t make any promises, honey, sometimes I'm not even sure you're real.”
His fingers were already tracing under his t-shirt, slipping between your legs, checking for himself that you were real and were really there. “And are you really trying to tell me it was a good idea for her to stick around while I fuck you on every surface of this kitchen?”
Your breath caught as he found you wet and wanting, chasing the touch off his hand.
You arched into his touch, dropping your head back to give him better access to the path he was trying to kiss down your neck. “Don’t push your luck, Barnes.”
“Wouldn’t dream of it, baby.”
Within forty-eight hours of landing, the house was no longer quiet.
Your most recent suitcases had barely made it upstairs before the cavalry arrived - Dani first, dragging a carry-on and a suitcase full of equipment, Lulu right behind her with garment bags and Becka balancing coffees for all of them.
Bucky opened the door in a hoodie and shorts, his hair still damp from a shower.
“Special delivery! Did you miss us?” Dani asked, barrelling into him.
“You’re early,” he teased.
“Early?” Lulu laughed. “My dear Mr Barnes, we have to be early. We’ve got luncheons, fittings, interviews -”
“- and multiple red carpets to plan,” Becka finished.
He surveyed the luggage littering the entry, “and you didn't want to stop off at the Air BnB first?”
“No babe! We wanted to see you guys first!” Dani grinned.
When you came downstairs, barefoot and sleepy, the noise hit you all at once - Dani’s playlist thumping through a portable speaker, Lulu unrolling her brushes like a surgeon, in the home gym, Becka shouting for hangers.
You froze halfway down the stairs. “Oh my god.”
“Surprise!” Lulu said, arms wide. “Your glam fam has landed.”
Bucky appeared behind her, mug in hand, clearly pleased with himself. “They said they wanted to be here early. I figured if they didn’t move in now, they’d start doing drive-bys.”
You narrowed your eyes affectionately. “You planned this.”
He shrugged, entirely unrepentant. “Now I've got Tasha and Becka turning my gym into a dressing room, what's not to love?”
“Bless him,” Dani said, patting his chest on her way past with a makeup case. “We’ll take it from here, Barnes.”
He lifted his coffee in surrender and planted a kiss to your temple. “I'm going to meet Sam, good luck baby.”
By the end of the hour, you'd just about managed to stop them from taking over the entire house but it was still chaos. Loud, glittering, wonderful chaos.
The house became a hub for everyone.
Scripts fanned out on the kitchen counter in his and hers piles, Natasha was in and out with garment bags constantly, your rehearsal times were paper-clipped to the fridge.
The coffee machine never quite had a chance to cool down, and without Mrs Danvers, you'd have lived on cereal.
In the mornings, you rehearsed in the huge living area, bare feet sliding over polished tile as you ran through the choreography. He sat cross-legged nearby with a mug of coffee, pretending to read lines but really counting how often you smiled when you caught him watching.
Dani and Lulu took advantage of not being required and shopped for essential and non essential supplies.
Every afternoon you were collected and taken to a dance studio in West Hollywood where you went over the same choreography again and again with the same dance company you'd worked on the movie with.
Bruises collected on your legs and ankles, kisses from the wooden chair used in the routine.
You sent him a video the choreographer had taken where the chair skidded on the stage, taking you with it.
“this will be how I die.”
“please don’t.”
The next day he and Lulu were pictured outside a hardware store with his baseball cap low and a roll of non-slip rubber matting under his arm.
Two days later, he was gone - a whistle stop New York press junket, late night talk-show appearances, a whirlwind of tuxedos and breakfast show appearances.
You had the girls over and watched him in the snug with a blanket around your shoulders and an icepack on your knee, grinning at every self-deprecating joke he made.
“Miss me?” he texted after his second show.
You did. Every second.
By the weekend, he was home again, barefoot on the veranda with the script for his next project open and forgotten beside him. You were inside with a vocal coach, practicing the transitions from one piece to another again, music flooding through the house.
When you reached the final note, he clapped from the doorway.
“Still gives me goosebumps,” he said.
You rolled your eyes, blushing, and reached for the glass of water he handed her.
“Still rusty.” You countered warily.
“You’re getting there,” the coach told you gently. “You’ll be ready, I promise. And anyway, Sally is supposed to sound a bit…”
“Deranged?”
She beamed. “Yes! Exactly.”
When the costume designer stopped by to fit your performance outfit, he disappeared with Sam and his laptop to the patio, half-listening to the squeals and laughter coming from Dani and Lulu echoing through the open doors.
Sometimes he cooked; sometimes you relied on Mrs Danvers, sometimes one of the many visitors cooked or brought food over with them. You talked in half-sentences - about work, about travel, about what might come next - always circling back to each other, always circling back to the people you both wanted around you.
At night, finally alone, you sprawled on the couch watching movies until hands wandered and the sounds of your cries filled the room more than the TV ever could.
And somewhere in between the fittings, the phone calls, and the endless coffee runs, it stopped feeling like waiting for the next big moment.
It started feeling like living in one.
Sometimes Bucky would wake up before dawn and find her standing at the kitchen counter, hair scraped up, eating toast with one hand and scrolling through rehearsal videos with the other.
The light would catch the curve of her bare shoulder, the hem of his T-shirt. She’d look up, grinning, “You’re awake,” like it was still a surprise to find him there, and he'd drop to his knees on the cool tiles and eat her out like he’d been starved.
Mrs Danvers had nearly caught them on more than one occasion - bent over the dining table, picked up and pinned to the wall, on the stairs.
He thanked his lucky stars that the girls had yet to walk in on anything, though he usually heard them clattering through the house every morning with barely enough time to drag one final orgasm from her.
Other times, she’d come home late from rehearsal to find him hunched over a script at midnight, surrounded by pages and half-drunk coffee, and would wordlessly take his hand and drag him to bed.
He didn’t know how he’d lived without it.
He saw her dress for the Oscars fitting and forgot how to breathe for a second. All satin and light, every inch of her made for it. She caught his reflection in the mirror and smirked, “You’re more nervous than I am.”
“Not true.”
“Really? Hope not because I'm the one who's going to sing live in front of about two billion people.”
He smiled. “I'm sure it's not quite that many.”
The rehearsals were brutal.
He sat low in the dark rows of the Dolby, watching her barefoot onstage, hair scraped up, voice echoing into the rafters.
Dani and Lulu had spent the morning watching her, she'd been there all day.
She was flushed, sweat-slick, completely in command - and completely merciless with herself.
He wanted her all the more and had to sit pinned to his seat to keep from dragging her backstage like some neanderthal.
“Again,” she said, breathless, after catching the edge of a chair wrong. “I can’t get it right.”
“You are getting it,” the choreographer said. “It’s muscle memory. Don’t force it.”
But she was already counting herself back in and walking through the steps with deliberate precision. “Bye-left-bye-right-mein-up-lieber-down-Herr-”
Her knee clipped the chair again, sharp enough to make her hiss. “Fuck shit.”
“Take ten,” the choreographer ordered this time. “Or I’m calling it for the morning.”
One of the other dancers squeezed her hand and she nodded, bending double with her hands on her knees. Sweat darkened the neckline of her t-shirt, and when she looked up at him - sitting in the third row, half in shadow - she was all fire and frustration.
“Fine. Ten minutes.”
She moved out of his line of sight, grabbing a water bottle from the wings. When she twisted the cap off, her hands were shaking just enough that he noticed.
He didn’t move until she turned toward the far end, away from everyone else. Then he slipped out of the shadows and followed.
She jumped a little when she saw him.
“You’re terrifying when you’re working,” he said lightly.
She stepped into his open arms and pressed her forehead to his chest. “I can’t get it right.”
He wrapped around her. “You’ve been doing this all day, sweetheart. You need -”
“Don’t tell me to stop,” she said, voice muffled against his shirt. “Just - don’t talk for a second.”
He didn’t.
He felt her breathing him in, taking her time until each inhale and exhale was calm and steady,
Then she tilted her face up and kissed him. Not the frantic kind of kiss he’d expected, but something slower, more deliberate. He knew exactly what the force behind it meant.
What she needed.
“Finish up here, lets go home,” he said gruffly against her mouth.
Her fingers slid into his hair, grounding herself there. “Ok,” she murmured after a long moment, eyes still closed. “Ok. Now I can breathe.”
He smiled against her temple. “Good. Because you’re gonna be amazing out there.”
She drew back just enough to meet his eyes. “You always think I can do anything.”
“That’s because you always can.”
A soft sound escaped her - half a laugh, half a breath - and for the first time in hours, she looked like herself again.
When they finally made it home, he ran a bath that she dragged him into with her. Water sloshed over the sides, her nipples pebbled against the cool porcelain. He ran his hands over the curve of her ass as she pushed herself back onto him.
They didn’t hide, but they didn’t go out of their way to be spotted either. The world saw the polished version - the knowing smiles and casual waves as they crossed paths at the nominee luncheon, at the cocktail hours, at the Big Green dinner.
Cameras caught them a dozen times in the same frame but never together. But inside those rooms, her gaze always found his. Just a flicker, a shared grin across the noise.
When she went to New York for her final press push, taking the girls with her. The house felt hollow without them all, but mostly without her.
~~~~
The days blurred together, filled with fittings, lunches, rehearsals, and interviews - but the nights were still yours. The house always seemed to exhale when it was just the two of you again.
You lay tangled against him, the hum of the ocean faint through the open window, your fingers tracing lazy circles over his chest.
“I can fake it in front of cameras all day,” you murmured. “But this… this is the only time I feel alive.”
His thumb brushed under your jaw. “Then don’t let them take it from you.”
You hesitated, voice small. “Do you ever feel it? Like you don’t deserve it?”
He was quiet for a long moment. “Yeah,” he admitted softly. “Sometimes I think I’m just the guy people like, not the one they respect. That I’ll always be a step behind the ones who belong there.”
You lifted your head, eyes searching his. “You do belong there. You’re the reason half of them believe in what they do. You’re the reason I do.”
He huffed out a faint laugh, trying to hide how much your words meant. “You’re biased.”
“I’m right,” you countered, smiling. “You’re serious about this. You care. And now you’re proving that you’re so much more than they've realised all these years. You're everything, baby.”
His hand cupped the back of your neck, pulling you into another slow kiss. You rolled onto him, laughter caught between your mouths as your body pressed against his.
“Golden Globe winner,” you teased, the words muffled against his jaw as you dropped your knees either side of him and rocked your hips just enough to make him groan. “Critics Choice winner. SAG winner…”
He arched a brow, hands finding your waist. “Careful, sweetheart, that’s a dangerous tone.”
You smiled, brushing your nose against his. “Just saying - my boyfriend’s on a streak. It’s kind of hot.”
“Kind of?” he murmured, sitting up just enough to chase your mouth again.
You nipped at his bottom lip. “Mmm hmm. Very hot.”
Your hand drifted down between you both, guiding him into position. He didn’t give you a minute before pulling you down onto him.
His hand on your hip set your languid pace until you sat up, your hands on his chest. The new depth stole your breath, each roll of your hips taking him deeper.
You moved faster, chasing the high that remained just at out of reach, keeping you on the knife edge.
He sat up and your knees spread wider still, your already aching body burning with effort and exhaustion.
“Oh god - Buck -” you cried, the hot, slick walls of your cunt fluttering around him.
“Right there, huh? That what you need, sweetheart?”
Your head tipped back, your hands gripping his biceps. His tight hands on your hips helped you rise and fall over and over, dragging you closer to the release you were so desperate for.
“Fuck, Bucky - please - I need -”
He knew. He always knew.
The flat of his tongue swept over your peaked nipple, his teeth dragging over the sensitive skin until he sank them into the underside of your breast, making you whine and press your knees deeper into the soft mattress.
“Look at me,” he said. “C’mon, sweetheart, I wanna see you come for me,” he demanded, his voice hoarse, barely controlled as he watched you struggle to hold on.
You pressed your forehead hard against his and captured his mouth in a messy kiss.
“That's it pretty girl, I see you.”
You cried out, your body tightening as you finally unraveled around him,
Bucky’s grip held, pulling you flush against him as he spilled into you, every muscle in his body tensing.
“You're everything, baby,” he echoed. “Long as I got you, I've got everything.”
You looped your arms around his neck, relaxing into his warmth, but he didn't let you rest. He held you in place, still inside you.
He brought his thumb to your mouth. You caught it between your lips and wet the pad on your tongue.
His hand slipped into the tight space between your bodies, he swiped his thumb through your combined release and pressed against your slick, swollen clit.
You bucked into his hand as he toyed with the sensitive bundle of nerves. He stayed half-hard inside you, still stretching and filling you, pressing harder in small, tight circles, the pressure coiling and rolling through you once again.
“One more for me,” he grinned against your jaw, leaving a trail of hot kisses down your throat. “One more. You gonna work for it?”
“Fuck you,” you huffed a laugh. “- Oh!”
The sudden rush caught you off guard, your heartbeat loud in your ears, he didn't let up until you'd slumped against him.
You buried your face in his neck, still catching your breath. “Work for it,” you murmured in disbelief, smiling against his skin. “I'll bloody show you.”
~~~~
The next morning, laughter and sunlight filled the kitchen. You leaned against the counter, cutting fruit while he stood by the stove flipping pancakes that Lulu was convinced were definitely burning.
“Those are a little way past golden brown, Buck,” she muttered, trying to push him out of the way.
He stood his ground. “I’ve got this, Lu. Thought you were making coffee?”
The gate buzzer sounded, and you frowned. “You expecting anyone?”
Bucky shook his head, finally handing Lulu the spatula. “S’probably Sam.”
But then a familiar voice called out from the foyer, warm and unmistakable.
“Where’s my pudding?”
You froze - then grinned, a huge, startled, delighted grin - and bolted for the door.
Your dad stood there, suitcase in tow, with Joey right behind him.
“You’re here!” You beamed, trying to hug them both at once.
Bucky appeared a moment later, dish towel still over his shoulder.
“‘Bout time you two got here,” he greeted easily, offering his hand. “Thought you’d be cutting it close for the weekend.”
Your dad clasped his hand, eyes crinkling. “Wouldn’t have missed it, son.”
The word landed so casually, so naturally, he didn’t even notice. It was like it had always been there.
You looked over your dad’s shoulder at Bucky, who was already fighting a smile. And it wasn’t new anymore - this, them, all of it - but every now and then something small would happen that reminded you how much it mattered.
That night you ate outside, warmed by patio heaters and blankets - Sam, Natasha, Yelena, Dani, Lulu, your dad, Joey. Candles flickered in jars, music played softly over a speaker. Dani and Lulu had somehow managed to organise a quiet celebration ahead of the chaos, a private chef worked away in the kitchen and a handful of hostesses kept everyone topped up with wine and food.
As promised, Bucky opened the Macallan 1977 especially for your dad.
Your dad raised his glass. “Whatever happens Sunday, I couldn’t be prouder of both of you.” His hand landed heavily on Bucky’s shoulder with a firm squeeze.
You leaned into Bucky under the lights, your hand finding his under the table.
And for the first time since awards season began, you agreed. It wasn’t about winning anymore - it was about being here. About the people around the table.
The final two days were crammed, leaving barely a spare moment.
“Happy Oscars Friday!” Dani called, breezing past Bucky in the gym. “Big day!”
You exhaled slowly, bracing yourself around your coffee cup. “Right. I’m ready. Hit me with it.”
“Final fitting this morning. Becka’s bringing over the Dior gowns - red carpet, Governor’s Ball, Vanity Fair - plus backups for all of them.”
“So not much then?”
Dani grinned. “Then you’ve got your vocal session at lunch, dance rehearsal straight after. Hair and make-up back here at four, then you’re out tonight at the Women in Film Oscars pre-party at six, followed by the CAA pre-party at nine.”
You puffed out a long breath. “And tomorrow?”
“Full dress rehearsal,” she sang. “We’ve got to run the costume change from your carpet gown to the full performance and back, then you’ll have three and a half minutes to get back to your seat.”
“Three and a half minutes?”
“It’s enough. It’ll be perfect. You also have some general prep stuff at the Dolby which will fit in around your dress rehearsal, followed by the Night Before Party.”
From the sofa, your dad looked up from the sports channels. “You might need a holiday after all this, pudding.”
“Bloody tell me about it,” you laughed. “First thing I’m doing on Monday.”
~~~~
Saturday began before sunrise.
You were back at the Dolby - your second home for the week. With the full dress rehearsal out of the way, a different kind of pressure stepped in - less choreography, more precision. A simple walk across the biggest stage of your life. Say the line, smile for the teleprompter, hit your cue.
The theatre looked different from the podium. Vast, humming, endless. A sea of empty seats waiting to be filled with every dream you’d ever chased. Small pockets of Hollywood superstars catching up over takeout coffee and waiting for their run-through time.
You watched the production team move like clockwork - lighting techs, sound engineers, assistants in headsets whispering cues.
You walked out from the wings with your co-host, practiced your segment a handful of times, until the stage manager grinned.
“Perfect. Thanks so much guys, we’ll see you tomorrow.”
You went down the main steps directly in front and headed for Bruce and Steve.
“Ahh, she came back!” The taller man grinned widely.
Bruce shook his head gently and wrapped an arm around you. “Ignore this ass. Heard the rehearsals have been going well?”
“I hope so. I don’t want to let you down, Bruce.”
He squeezed you. “Kid, you’ve never once let me down. I know you’re not about to start. You’re still killing it.” he said, his voice warm with his signature blend of mischief and pride.
“Guess we’ll find out tomorrow night,” you replied, collapsing into one of the pull down chairs next to him. “How are you holding up?”
“Better now that I’ve seen you. Wanda Maximoff called me about a little something she’s directing on Broadway. I told her you’d be perfect. She’s interested, kid.”
You went very still.
“I… what?”
“I said I’d only mention it if I thought you could handle it,” Bruce added gently. “And you can. Think about it, ok? She’ll be around tonight, we’ll get a drink.”
Butterflies flicked in your stomach - more of them - joining the ones that had already set up camp from the moment you’d arrived in L.A.
That evening was the ‘Night Before’ party - packed with everyone who mattered and raising millions of dollars for industry professionals.
You and Bucky arrived together but, as had been the case for the previous two weeks, didn’t make an entrance as a couple. You drifted through the rooms, orbiting one another, occasionally colliding in the crowd - his hand brushing your back as he passed, your fingers lingering on his sleeve.
At one point, Joaquin Torres cornered you near the bar.
“I can’t believe how crazy this has all been,” he grinned. “And now look, you’re both up tomorrow night, How are you not nervous?”
You smiled easily, glancing across the bar where Bucky was laughing with Sam.
“I’ve got everything I need,” you said, and meant it. “Have you got much planned after?”
“Oh sure, I’m going to Australia next week to film with Loki Odinson.”
“That’s incredible Joaquin, congratulations!”
He raised his glass to Bucky who’d turned to watch them with a happy smile. “All cos of my hermano over there, he and Yelena have been so good to me”
You hugged him, “you deserve it.”
When you finally escaped into the night, you found him waiting in the lobby. The car ride was quiet - the world outside still flashing camera lights through tinted glass. You were half-asleep against his shoulder when you blurted out the thing that had been chewing at your brain all day.
“Bruce mentioned something,” you murmured. “About Broadway. Wanda Maximoff’s next project. He said she might want me.”
He didn’t even blink.
“I know,” he said softly. “News travels fast baby.”
You lifted your head. “What? You knew?”
He smiled, brushing a thumb over your cheek. “We go way back. I told her you were terrifyingly talented and allergic to taking a day off.”
“That’s cheating, you haven’t worked with me!” You groaned, hiding your face against his neck. “And if you’re going to say anything, you’re supposed to tell her I’m chill and normal.”
“Sweetheart, you’re neither of those things. That’s why she wants you.”
You laughed quietly, and he kissed your forehead. “Do it,” he said simply. “New York should fall at your feet.”
When you got home, the house was dark and still.
You toed off your heels and stood in the kitchen, watching him - jacket gone, shirt sleeves rolled to his elbows, the faintest smudge of lipstick still on his jaw.
He looked over at you, smiling that slow, devastating smile that always made the air feel thicker. “Big day tomorrow,” he said.
“It’s been a pretty big year,” you corrected, crossing the tiles to loop your arms around his waist.
“Whatever happens,” you whispered, “we’ve already won.”
His mouth brushed your temple. “You’re damn right I have.”
The world had already decided what kind of day it would be.
Headlines. Predictions. Odds.
Somewhere in the city was a carefully guarded stack of envelopes. He didn't know if they had both names, just one, or neither of them, but when he walked into the kitchen to find her and Joey dancing to Love Shack, he realised he didn't care.
After years of being the action star, the charismatic leading man, the dependable box-office draw - he’d been given a shot at the other side. Critically acclaimed.
And suddenly in the same breath, it didn't matter what the envelope said. Critically acclaimed meant nothing outside of what it had led him to.
He flipped past the fluffy breakfast headline news - “Hollywood’s Cinderella Story” - and another - “Will Cabaret Girl Take Home the Season’s Biggest Prize?” - and switched the TV off before it could show her face again.
It made him more nervous than she was.
“Are you hiding?” She asked, making him jump as she appeared with coffee in the doorway.
“Yeah, think we can just skip tonight and stay home?”
She smiled softly and stepped between his knees, running her free hand through his hair. He tilted forward to rest his head on her stomach, his palms splayed across the back of her thighs.
He felt the vibration of her words against his ear. “Order take out? Champagne in the hot tub?”
He turned to kiss the bare skin between her waistband and t-shirt. “Haven't had you in the hot tub yet.”
She wiggled in his grip, giggling. “Get your mind out of the gutter, we've got a house full of people.”
“Mores the pity. Kick ‘em out, I miss the thirty hour window where I could fuck you all over this house.”
He felt her melt into him with a sigh. “They'll all be gone tomorrow night.”
She leaned down to kiss the crown of his head and moved out of his hold, leaving the coffee she'd made him on the table.
Somewhere upstairs noise reigned supreme, with Becka’s voice calling out for a clothes steamer, Lulu giggling. The house felt alive in a way that made him grin into his cup.
He leaned on the counter, staring out at the backyard. The lemon tree was heavy with fruit. The air was already bright with an early-spring warmth that only Los Angeles could manage before ten am.
Dani padded through the kitchen, bristling with excitement and energy..
“Morning,” Bucky said.
“Good morning,” she beamed, rooting through the fridge. “Lu’s getting hangry because she was too nervous for breakfast.”
“Yeah, it’s game day.”
Dani nudged him as she stacked a pile of croissants and fruit on a plate. “You think she'll win?”
Bucky smiled. “I do. But I don't think she needs to.”
“I’m so proud of you both,” she said thickly. “No matter what happens. “I’m not sure I’ve ever seen her as happy as she is right now. She… glows. You. This place -” she gestured through the huge windows at the view.
“I hope she does like it here, I’ve made an offer on it.”
She sent an apple bouncing across the tiles. “But won’t she be in New York?”
“We’ll both be in New York. I had the green light this morning, I'll be directing in New York.”
Another apple rolled from the counter as Dani turned to fling her arms around him. “Oh my god! Bucky!”
“She doesn’t know yet, I wanted to wait until today was over.”
“My lips are sealed!” Dani cried gleefully, planting a huge kiss on his cheek.
She gathered up the food and raced back upstairs.
The next few hours were chaotic: Natasha had taken over the kitchen island, she had garment bags draped on chairs, cologne and hair spray clouding the air. He kept himself busy - shining his shoes, then Sam's, fixing cufflinks, checking his tie twice.
Every now and then she appeared in passing - bare-faced and barefoot. Radiant, wrapped in a robe, her eyes lit with the kind of adrenaline that looked like sunlight.
Once, she stayed long enough to hug Sam tearfully, whispering something that made them both laugh.
“Don’t make me cry, Wilson,” she teased, but her voice shook.
Sam grinned, his hands gentle on her shoulders. “I’m gonna be the one crying later, honey.”
Bucky watched them from across the room - his best friend and the woman who’d somehow rewritten both their lives - and felt something in his chest settle.
When she pulled back from the hug with glassy eyes, Sam caught Bucky’s eye over her head and mouthed, you’re in trouble.
He already knew.
She laughed off the tears and vanished again.
Sam turned to him with a low whistle. “Man. Next time we’re getting ready like this, I’d better be the best man, or I’m quitting.”
Bucky snorted, adjusting his cufflinks. “You planning the bachelor party too?”
“Damn right. I already got ideas. It involves a lotta bad decisions.”
Bucky shook his head, a grin tugging at his mouth. “You realise she’d kill both of us, right?”
“Yeah,” Sam said easily. “But it’d be worth it. She’s good for you, Buck. You look -” he paused, searching for the right word, “- settled. Peaceful.”
Bucky went quiet for a moment, thumb running along the edge of his tie. “Yeah,” he said finally, softly. “Think I am.”
Sam bumped his shoulder. “C’mon, superstar, you’re gonna wrinkle that suit before the big night and Natasha will be the one doing the killing.”
When it was finally quiet upstairs, he went to find her.
She was standing by the window in the bedroom, the gown spread out across the bed like liquid silver, her hair pinned up and make-up complete. The room smelled of hairspray and perfume.
For a second, he just stood and watched her fussing with her hands and jewellery.
“You ok?” he asked softly.
She turned, a diamond bracelet twisting in her hand, and smiled. “Ask me in six hours.”
He crossed to her, hands sliding through the opening of her robe. “You look -”
She pressed a finger to his chest. “Don’t you dare say perfect, don’t you dare -”
He caught her hand anyway and kissed the inside of her wrist. “You look like trouble.”
She smoothed his lapel, her hand firm on his chest. “You look pretty good yourself.”
“Am I allowed to kiss you, or will Lu try and fight me?”
“She can try.” She lifted onto her toes and brushed her lips over his, “I’ll protect you.”
He grinned against her mouth, “yeah?”
“Uhuh, she’s all bark. And I want my kiss.”
He obliged, pulling her into his arms. Her arms looped around his neck, toying with the hair at the nape. He could feel her thrumming with restraint and he met it equally but unwillingly.
She arched further into him with a needy sigh. He tickled up her side and cupped her breast over the expensive lace he’d seen Becka arrive with earlier, boxed and wrapped in pale pink tissue paper. The pad of his thumb grazed over her nipple and she nipped his bottom lip, angling for more.
“Buck -”
“Can’t baby, there’s a dozen people in this fuckin’ house.”
She whined unhappily, pulling away. “I know. I know.”
“Later. Tomorrow. I’m gonna get us on a plane and take you somewhere beautiful that you’re not even gonna see.”
“Promise?”
“You have my word, it’s gonna be the best hotel room you don’t leave.”
“Got to get through tonight first.”
“Nervous?”
“Terrified.” Her laugh cracked the nerves for both of them. “Now shoo, I have to put the dress on.”
As if by magic, Becka appeared in the doorway holding a pair of stilettos.
“Put her down, Barnes, it’s time to go to the ball.”
~~~~
You could hear them before you saw them.
You waited near the top of the stairs listening to laughter, music, the faint muttering of Lulu checking Dani’s lipstick.
Your dad’s booming laugh cut through it all, and for a moment, you just held back, your stomach tumbling and turning anxiously.
Then Dani called you. “Babe? You’re not gonna vom are you?”
The house fell quiet aside from Joey sniggering at Dani’s question.
“Pudding?” Your dad asked. “Car will be here in a bit, we want to take some photos?”
You took one step out to the top step, then another, feeling the weight of the gown move around your legs like water. The silver shimmered with every breath of light. You didn’t look at them, you concentrated solely on meeting every step. By the time you reached the bottom, no one was moving.
Bucky stood a little apart from the rest - his tie perfectly straight and his eyes locked on you. His smile was soft and proud and something else entirely. You could feel it in your chest, the gravity between you pulling the world back into focus.
And then - noise again.
Your dad let out a whistle. “My god, puds, look at you!”
Lulu squealed, “Ok no one touch her, she’s perfect, Becka get the train!”
You laughed. “Forget that, c’mere!”
Your dad squeezed you gently, holding his whiskey glass aloft and out of your way. Joey made to ruffle your hair but Dani quickly snarled at him.
The room filled with laughter and movement. Someone pressed a glass of champagne into your hand. Becka crouched, fluffing the gown’s hem, Dani twirled curls around her fingers and Lulu was already directing people toward the backyard.
“Outside!” she commanded. “Photos outside!”
“Have we got any food left?” You asked on the way to the veranda, pausing at the kitchen island to grab some of the canapes sent over by the studio.
The sliding doors opened to a flood of sun and birdsong.
They fussed and snapped and laughed - Becka’s phone camera clicking rapid-fire, your dad trying to stand behind her for a better angle.
“Ok now some with Bucky!” Lulu demanded.
You turned, reaching for him, your hand brushing his chest as he came to stand behind you, his arm sliding easily around your waist.
The group went quiet again.
Even the cameras seemed to pause.
For a second, the world shrank to the press of his palm, the warmth of his breath against your shoulder, the soft murmur: “You ready, honey?”
You nodded. “I think so.”
Then Sam clapped his hands. “Alright, that’s the one. Let’s roll!”
Two sleek black cars idled outside, waiting for Sam’s direction. “Sweetheart,” he squeezed your hand, helping you into the first car.
“Thanks Sam.”
“Paul, you’re in the same car, you too Buck. Let me just help these beautiful ladies and I’ll be back.” He shot you a wink and grandly opened the back door of the other car for Dani, Lulu and Becka. Joey slipped in with them and Sam shut the door firmly behind him, tapping on the hood of the car.
He jumped into your car next to your dad and the car rolled quietly away from the house.
Toward Hollywood Boulevard, toward the Dolby, toward everything they’d worked for.
The closer they got, the louder the world became - cheers, flashes, names being shouted from every direction.
Bucky reached for her hand. “Remember what you said?”
She glanced at him, nervous smile trembling into something real. “That we already won?”
He nodded. “Yeah. Hold on to that.”
The car slowed, joining the queue of other arrivals, the red carpet gleaming just ahead.
He helped you out, fingers laced with yours for the briefest heartbeat - a secret in plain sight - before you split into your separate lanes, his lips brushing your cheek, and the crowd went wild.
“I love you,” you heard him whisper into your ear over the sounds of the crowd.
You nodded once and smiled softly. “I love you. Go get ‘em.”
~~~~
He thought he knew what to expect.
He’d seen enough of the rehearsals, heard her humming through half-finished verses, watched her run choreography barefoot in their kitchen, a mug of tea on the counter beside her.
But nothing prepared him for her now.
He’d kept half an eye on her all along the red carpet, but now sixteen seats to his right and one row back, Paul sat next to Joey nervously, a seat filler in her place.
Joey looked over and caught his eye. Bucky nodded - he hopped reassuringly - and then the lights had dimmed.
The auditorium was in darkness, a voice rang out - the emcee.
“Willkommen, bienvenue, welcome!”
She didn’t appear with the ensemble during the shortened introduction. Wisely, he thought, because by the time the emcee had moved on, the audience were waiting for her with baited breath.
“Meine Damen und Herren, mesdames et messieurs
Ladies and gentles
I give you the international, sensation Fräulein Sally Bowles”
She was suddenly everywhere - in the music, in the air, in the way the audience leaned forward like they’d forgotten to breathe.
Then the spotlight hit her.
“You have to understand the way I am, Mein Herr…”
He forgot to breathe.
She held the audience in the palm of her hand.
She owned the stage like it had been built for her.
Not the girl who once doubted herself in his bed.
Not the woman crushed by whispers behind her back.
Not even the version of her he loved.
Something bigger. Something untouchable.
She prowled across the stage, her smile confident, her legs slicing through light. The men and women around her moved in perfect synchronicity - lifts, spins. Every flick of her wrist, every tilt of her chin carried danger and delight.
When the tempo shifted, she shifted too - melting from tease to vulnerability.
The stage fell quiet for Maybe This Time. The chairs moved, the stage bare apart from her.
The orchestra fell away to just a piano accompaniment - the same arrangement as her interview.
Her voice dropped to a whisper, raw and real, the words aching out of her:
“Maybe this time, I’ll be lucky…”
Her eyes glistened in the spotlight. The theatre was so still you could hear the musicians in the pit preparing for their cue.
He felt it hit him square in the chest - the same awe he’d felt the first time she’d ever sung to herself without knowing he was listening.
And then stage lit up again, the ensemble returned and the emcee launched into a bawdy and lewd rendition of Money Money.
Then the finale. The stage exploded.
By the time the medley reached Cabaret, she was a storm. Her hair had loosened, her eyes were wild, a woman burning down the world she’d built.
She was everything - her kicks high, and a daring tumble caught at the last second by two dancers in black suspenders. The orchestra hammered out the rhythm; the floor pulsed beneath her heels. Every turn looked impossible until she landed it with ease.
“Start by admitting from cradle to tomb
It isn't that long a stay
Life is a cabaret, old chum
It's only a cabaret, old chum
And I love a cabaret!”
The audience was already on their feet.
Her voice cracked beautifully at the end - half delirious laughter, half heartbreak.
The lights snapped to white. The music cut.
And for a heartbeat, he could hear her ragged breath over the microphone.
Then the Dolby Theatre erupted.
The applause rolled like thunder - a wall of sound that he felt in his bones. People were shouting her name.
She stood centre stage, chest heaving, smiling through tears.
Because right there - in sequins, sweat, and spotlight - she’d already won everything that mattered.
She bowed gracefully, linking hands with her castmates. As they rushed from the stage, she was lifted into the air on someones shoulders shrieking and giggling.
Five and half minutes later, during the commercial break, she was back in her gown and being led to her seat by an usher, getting stopped every few steps to receive hugs and hand clasps of congratulations.
Her hands still shook.
Once she was seated next to Paul and Joey, she looked around - clearly looking for him.
He smiled, a hand on his heart and she beamed with relief and pride.
You met up with him briefly in the backstage bar, the show aired on TVs around you with seat-fillers in your places.
He stole a kiss before even greeting you, his arms tight and his kiss breathtaking.
“Hello to you too -”
“Fuck, sweetheart - that was -”
“Babe, you’ve been watching the rehearsals for two weeks!”
“I know but… Christ you were born for this.”
You smiled shyly and whispered in a corner until he was dragged away to present the next award.
You made it back to your seat in time to see him cross the stage arm in arm with the woman Steve Rogers had reportedly been romancing.
It felt like you’d done this a hundred times, but tonight it felt different.
The anticipation built in the room - people eager to find out the winners and escape to the after parties.
And then it was time. It had taken an age but also had - you were certain - only been five minutes.
Best Actor. The montage ran and his face filled the screen along with the four other nominees.
Your dad squeezed your hand.
When they called Bucky's name, you were on your feet before he was.
He stood, still half-in disbelief, his feet refusing to move until Yelena shoved him ungracefully to the steps.
You stayed up, clapping and cheering, your eyes shining. Not the polite applause of an industry peer but the full-body joy of someone who’d seen him doubt himself and fight anyway.
Then, sandwiching between his win and your announcement, Bruce won for his direction.
You hugged him tightly and cried throughout his speech.
He pointed at you with love and pride shining in his eyes.
“You. God, I’ve gotta work with you again.” He grinned.
You’d nodded firmly.
Your category came near the end. Last but one. Your name in lights and the clips rolling.
But when the envelope opened, your name wasn’t the one read out.
You applauded wildly for the winner who sat on the other side of your dad, you jumped up to hug her before holding your arm out for her to climb the stairs.
From sixteen seats away, you could feel Bucky studying your profile. When you looked over, his eyebrows pinched.
You wanted to kiss away the frown lines.
He looked more cut up about it than you were.
The Howling Commandos took Best Movie.
Bucky was up there again, on Yelena’s arm.
The orchestra swelled, the house lights rose, and applause rippled like like the ocean against the stage.
Around you, people stood and cheered, confetti starting to fall.
The host signed off and Bucky was already moving - weaving through the crowd, ignoring hands and congratulations until he reached you.
“I told you,” you breathed, your forehead resting against his. “Now let’s go and party, Oscar-winner.”
He laughed, pulling you in until the world disappeared beneath the roar of the crowd.
“You should have won,” he murmured against your hair. “Don’t think for a second I don’t know that.”
You smiled against his chest and kissed the top of the Oscar statuette. “Then we’ll share him.”
“Deal,” he said, tilting your chin up, kissing you like it was the only promise that mattered.
Tomorrow there would be headlines, reviews, new beginnings. But tonight, this was the ending you both needed.
And when he kissed you again, it tasted like victory.
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