⤻ elise ☆ 18 ☾ she / her ☆ libra -> introductory post
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In the three months you've lived in your apartment, you've only seen your neighbor twice.
Once, when you caught him on his way back from the store. Carrying an obscene amount of bags in one arm, all of them looking suspiciously like microwave-dinners. The other time you had caught him in the lobby looking about ready to murder the out-of-service elevator. You chatted with him while you both walked up the stairs, and he introduced himself as "simon"
And, sue you, you feel bad for the guy. Doesn't get visitors, doesn't go anywhere as far as you know.
And those damn tv dinners.
So, you buy all the fancy ingredients you usually reserve for celebrations and cook dinner for two. Your school drama teacher would have been proud of your performance when you sheepishly knocked on his door with a tray of lasagna "uhm, hi. I'm your neighbor, I don't know if you remember me–"
"I do." Simon cuts you off, door barely hedged open. His arm, the one on his cane, shakes with effort. Eyes cutting down to your tray, narrowing, "what's that?"
"Oh– uhm. Lasagna. I made more than I expected, and I'm out of town in a few days and I don't want to waste it–" you rattle off, faster than you'd like but conscious of the way his shoulder must be aching just to stand and talk to you, "I thought– if we shared–"
"Fine." Cutting you off again, door pulling further open "but I don't own dishes. Bring yer own."
Which is how you end up sharing a tense dinner with simon, footie match on the tv in the next room. You try not to stare but...he's handsome under that surgical maks he always wears. Good, strong jaw, pretty lips, nice scars.
When he's done, simon whipes the food that spilled off his chin and grunts "best damn meal I've had in years."
Really, it becomes routine from there.
You bring over a homecooked meal, every week at least. Eventually you and simon start chatting, at first bitching about the elevator and neighbors, then life in general. Ghost starts to accumulate actual plates and cups in his home, some food items other than microwave meals.
You learn a lot about simon. About what he did before the injury, about the mates he calls now and again. Eventually, you bully him into using his wheelchair when you visit instead of forcing himself to use a cane. He also bullies you into getting your shower head fixed.
It's....nice. you never notice, but when you aren't looking simon looks at you like a lovestruck fool.
All my stories are R18. I write smut, and I may touch sensitive topics or topics that are not intended to be read by minors.
YOU ARE RESPONSIBLE FOR YOUR OWN CONTENT CONSUMPTIONS.
Masterlist
Pairing: '40s!Bucky Barnes x '40s Nurse F!Reader
Warning/Tags: Canon Divergence, Bucky is a menace, Angst, Smut (Porn with Plot!), Breeding kink, Heavy on historical inaccuracies, Military Inaccuracies, Cheating (Everyone cheats on everyone, okay?), Public Sex (Lots of it), Unprotected Sex and its obvious consequences, Happy Ending. If I'm missing any tag, I'll add them later.
Word Count: ~10.5k ('40s bucky does things to me)
Summary: Even when you have someone waiting for you at home, you start to fall for Bucky, and when you go back home to get married, he keeps reminding you that your heart is now somewhere else.
Author's Note: IT'S HERE! AND I LOVE THIS FOR ME. If you know me enough you know Sgt. Barnes has a very big piece of my heart. And after my series, 40's Bucky was my first fic ever posted. And if you ask, why my 40s Bucky always has something to do with Breeding kinks, eloping, running away, and getting someone knocked up... ask my ovulation. Thank you to my one and only for beta-reading this @kileyking and of course to my babiesss @w1nter-fairy @herejustforbuckybarnes! Love you three so much!
Nurse Williams is folding linens next to you as you finish writing down some reports on earlier patients. You see him walking in with another soldier, dragging his feet while he carries him on his shoulders.
“Good morning, sergeant.” You look up at him as you leave your paperwork on the makeshift desk. “What brings Johnson around now?”
Bucky scoffs, “He’s got a new sprain.”
You grumble. “Bring it over. Let me assess him.”
You are humming a song that you heard just a few months before the doctor who had trained you for months asked you to join the Army Nurse Corps.
“I’ll Never Smile Again?” Bucky asks as he leans on the desk. Nurse Williams looks at you, smiling.
“Yes, sir.” You mumble in response as you treat Johnson’s injury.
“Williams, could you bring some cold patches? You can find them in the infirmary depot.”
But before she can leave, Bucky yells, “Brown.” A man chimes in immediately. “Can you take this lady to the med depot?”
He nods, and both of them walk away. “My partner is very capable of going on her own.” You look at him.
“And our squad is highly trained on never leaving our nurses alone.”
You scoff and look at Johnson. “Johnson, this is the last time I patch you up today. If you come back again, I’ll report you for slacking.”
The blond opens his mouth, surprised.
As you are furrowing, creating pressure with a bandage on his foot, Bucky finally notices.
You two go way further back than he thought.
“You’re from Brooklyn Heights, right?” Bucky leans in and fixes his eyes on you. “We met in high school. You’re the Lieutenant’s daughter, aren’t ya?”
“In the flesh,” You mumble as you pat Johnson’s back. “You’re dismissed. Please be careful, and find Williams; ask her for that cold patch. When you finish your daily duties, elevate it and press it with that.”
Johnson turns to see Bucky, who tilts his head to leave you both alone. He rushes to the door and disappears immediately.
“And what’s the daughter of a Lieutenant doing as a nurse?”
“Dealing with cocky men.” You sigh as you look at him, already fed up.
He lifts his hands in feigned surrender. “I'll leave you alone, Miss Nurse.”
“Thank you so much, Sergeant Barnes.”
He finally leaves the tent you’re settled in, and Williams walks in.
“So, you and Barnes?” She looks at you, and you just roll your eyes at her.
“Just childhood neighbors.”
“He seems interested…” Mockingly, she adds.
“He seems interested in anyone wearing a skirt.”
“He’s not. Leiny has been trying to shoot her shot with him, and he doesn’t even bat an eye at her.”
“Because she’s being easy. They never like their girls like that.”
Williams scoffs and continues her folding duties.
The worst? That only leads to Bucky getting caught up on you. You now have all his attention, and he is ready to show you how persistent he can be.
When you finally finish your shift and you are ready to go to your quarters, where you share space with the rest of the nurses on duty, you don’t see the soldier who’s assigned to take you to your quad and bring the night nurse here.
You are waiting for him at a station when you hear his very easily recognizable voice on your back.
“Night, Miss Nurse.”
“Good Night, Sergeant.”
“Seems I’ll be the one taking you to your quads tonight.”
“How exciting.” You say as you start walking. He follows you a few steps behind.
“C’mon, sweetheart! I’m not that bad…” He pleads as he walks behind you. “Just a chance… get to know me.”
You sigh and look at him. In the light of the moon, he doesn’t seem so cocky. Somehow, he looks even sweeter. You can still notice those features you saw when you both lived in a base when your fathers shared a station.
“What’ya want, Barnes? We haven’t even talked in years… and the fact that we are sharing now… again… base, it’s just because our parents decided to stay in Brooklyn.”
“I promise I just… want to be friendly. Just that.”
You sigh and look at him. “Barnes… I have a boyfriend. He’s in a different division, so anything you try will be worthless. Do you still want to keep being friendly?”
He scoffs a laugh. “Just friends.”
He is being honest. Or at least, he is trying. His intention is not to fall for you—but every time he brings you one of his peers, or slides a chocolate into your hands when no one is looking, he falls a little bit more.
Or, every time he pats the spot next to him he saved just for you, and you roll your eyes just to go through and sit by his side. The way he notices you are slightly softer when you are patching him up, or the way you scold him because he was being reckless in the training and got injured.
For weeks, everyone teases him about how he is basically your guard dog when he is not following his Captain’s orders, or how every time the quarters are threatened, you are his first thought and how he can protect you from getting injured.
And you are not doing any better.
Every time you learn his convoy left for a mission, you get anxious. You don’t even fake anymore that you are still waiting for Josh’s letters.
And he notices, too.
In the first weeks, you used to run to the mailman, who gave you the letter—or not—of the week.
The last two weeks? You even forgot it was delivery day, and your girlfriends have brought you your letters.
He says nothing. He does not want to pressure you. But he loves the way that now your hands linger a little longer on his arm—the way you soothe his uniform after you patch him up.
One night, the girls from your infirmary station and you are sitting at a bonfire; it is one of those moments where your nurse in charge allows you to feel a kind of normalcy that war doesn’t exactly offer.
“So, Sergeant Barnes…” Nilda Williams finally says, and the other three nurses fix their eyes on you.
“What?” You roll your eyes.
“C’mon! We all have seen how you two interact.” Adeline adds. “And he’s so… soft with you.”
You grunt, “Girls… I’ve got someone waiting for me…”
“Someone who you haven’t responded to in weeks…” Nilda mumbles. “I’m just saying… You’re waiting for a man who you don’t even know if he’s coming back… and you got Barnes here…”
Your eyes snap open. “What are you implying? That I should… just be unfaithful to Josh?”
“It won’t be cheating if he… doesn’t know…” Lilian says softly, “And… let’s be honest… Do you think he is not over there… flirting with a cute nurse?”
“Well, I hope he’s not…” The three girls snort a laugh, and you furrow. “Do you really think he’s flirting with a nurse over there?”
“Sweetheart, he’s not even sure he’ll survive the next mission—he won’t be wasting time on someone who’s not there…”
“What the eyes don’t see… the heart doesn’t feel…”
And that thought sticks in your mind. You want to think Josh is a good man; you want to think he will never do something like that—but you have seen it with your own eyes. The three girls in front of you have fraternized with soldiers; they have relationships that will last as long as the tour lasts—in their own words.
After that night, you decide to throw a bone to him, just to see what can happen.
Bucky notices.
He notices how you start to laugh more at his jokes; the way you accept his invitations to eat next to him more than you did before.
One night, you are waiting for the man in charge to take you to your quarters when you see him coming with a grin on his face.
“I thought your night was yesterday.” You shout when he gets closer.
“I called in some favors.” He smugly says. He offers his arm to you, and for the first time, you hook your arm with his.
The night is cold, and you both know you are not supposed to fraternize, but after some hours, after some days, every boundary set by your higher-ups has been blurred into nothing. No one sees, no one speaks.
“How’s Josh?” Bucky asks, teasingly rather than interested.
“Fine, I guess… We haven’t written too much the last few weeks.”
Liar. You haven’t responded, and he stopped writing so often.
The light from the lamps starts to fade, and you are now at that spot where the only light that comes is from the moon. He looks down at you, and his blue eyes pierce through your soul. He can notice your cheeks are heated—the colors running through them—and for the first time he finally notices what you are doing.
“If it weren’t you, I’d think you were flirting with me.” He husks, placing a hand over your hand holding his arm.
You purr a laugh. “And what if I told you I was doing exactly that?”
He cocks an eyebrow and stops in his tracks—you feel it, you feel how his arm tenses on your hand, and before you can ask what is going on, you feel his arm getting loose on your grip and finding your hand to guide you into a darker place between two shelters used for the injured men who needed to rest.
He grips your waist, his hands crumpling your white uniform as your hands find his shirt, pulling him closer.
“And I’m sure that if you were flirting, I could do this with no problem.” He crowds over you and grazes his lips on yours.
“And what if I were flirting?” He scoffs, warm air stroking your lips, then he finally meets your lips and kisses you—first carefully, like someone tasting the waters.
His chest rising up and down, hands enticing your hips on his, as his mouth keeps mooching yours fiercely.
You are getting lost in the feeling of his hands traveling over your uniform as he gropes your hips. Lips devouring yours, trying not to grunt between kisses—knowing well he would have to surrender for any disciplinary actions just to cover both your asses.
When your mind finally cleared up, you pushed him slowly—not in a heated way, something more desperate, trying to make clear you were not offended, rather—wanting to be careful.
“Wait…” He mumbles, pulling you closer again. “I’m leaving tomorrow… and I won’t be back in a few days…”
He is staring at you carefully, pleading… and even in the moment, you know he is not even overreacting. Both of you know that every time he leaves for a patrol, it is almost uncertain if he will come back. So, you do it. You yank him by the collar of his shirt to a tent you know well is never used. Not because of anything in particular, but rather because the nurses call it ‘The Love Shelter’. A tent used for side quests and secret endeavors.
There, completely amused, he continues his task, his mouth finding your lips, and he sits on the cot; you feel like he is worshiping you in a way no one has done before. His hands fondle your thighs, and in a heated moment, he rips your stockings to grant himself better access. He pulls you down and sits you on his lap, leaning over the bed, finally unzips his uniform, and with extreme eagerness draws his cock from his briefs.
He looks up at you, trying to find approval to go on. You nod and eagerly kiss him. His calloused hands sink into you to pull you down on his cock. He pounds from below; his hips jostling to find a solace he has been deprived of.
Muffling every sound you make, you sink your teeth into his shoulder; he mewls a cry, gripping your back, bucking his hips as he fucks you like this is the last time he can enjoy—because maybe this is really the last time he can get to see you.
“If I come back…” He growls in your ear. “Gotta promise me I’ll have more of this.”
“When you come back…” You correct him. “I’m gonna give you all you want, Sergeant.”
He pinches his eyes closed as he drives you down once again; your hands anchor his shoulders as he jolts you on his cock—you find his lips to strangle a cry that is stuck in your throat. When you finally reach your peak, you bite the crook of his neck, whining and crying—you have been in the base for so long that you have forgotten how good it feels to have someone doing you.
“Does he do it like this?” The question brings you back to the harshness of his hands in your body, to the way your body squirms under his touch.
“No,” You cry out. “He doesn’t.”
He smiles at your response.
“Needa' cum.” He hoarsens in your ear as he pulls out; you can feel his thick cock twitching as it spurts thick warm ropes of cum.
He is panting in your ear; his hands hold you tight from your waist as he pulls you closer to his chest. “Thank you, thank you.”
You titter, “Why are you thanking me?”
He shakes his head. “‘Cause I’m glad you let me have this before I have to leave.”
“You’re ridiculous.” You roll your eyes and try to stand up.
“Where are you going?” He grips your waist.
“Barnes… Not sure if you have forgotten—but we are both on duty.” He grunts and helps you down. “At what time do you leave?”
“Early in the morning. I don’t think I’ll see you.” He admits with a hint of pain in his voice. You try not to bite your lip, and he smirks. “Can I have a goodbye kiss?”
You tip on your toes and kiss him for the last time. You finally try to fix the last drop of dignity you have left after literally pulling him into the tent and letting him have his way with you.
Two days go by, and you’re almost positive he is not coming back. You know it too well; you can feel it in the air. And the rest of the nurses try to comfort you—they all try to make you believe he is strong enough to endure whatever the enemy is putting him through.
And what are you supposed to do with all the pain in your chest? You are not even supposed to fraternize with them—let alone to develop something this way.
Three more days later, a convoy races through the place; all hands on deck are called in—you have faith—you really do.
And he comes out from one of the vehicles; he is all wound up, and you run to the litter. A soldier is rushing to carry him; you instruct them to take him to your tent—and when he finally focuses and sees you, he smiles through the pain.
You scowl at him and try to keep your attention on the summary of his injuries as your fellows run to help other soldiers.
By the time he is stabilized, you start to write down a record as he lies on the cot. He grunts in pain once the painkillers are wearing off.
“How bad am I?” He mumbles through the grunts.
“Unfortunately, enough to survive. Just some scratches, Sergeant.” You finally look up at him, and he is still facing up. “A penny for your thoughts?”
“Thought I’d never see you again.”
“Told you you were coming back, Barnes. You owe me things.” You snort a laugh.
And that was enough; you both knew you were not going anywhere without the other anymore. You both were tired of pretending to be nonchalant, and not even twelve hours later, he got you on top of him—he was grunting, and you were not sure if it was from the pain or the pleasure, but every time you tried to stop, he made you resume your movements.
“Sergeant… I’m gonna need to patch you up again if you keep doing this.” You mumble.
The noise outside muffles your voices enough.
Everyone outside is celebrating their comeback. You know well you are probably not the only nurse in this same scandalous situation; you know well, at least, Nilda is in this same position with a soldier in the tent next to yours. You saw them earlier sneaking into the tent just before you did the same with Bucky.
“It’s great that I got the prettiest nurse to patch me up as many times as needed.” His cock draws and slams into you, and that makes you roll your eyes. “Look at you, and you weren’t even open to look my way.”
“That’s because I’m taken—” your voice comes out broken—almost like a cry.
He scoffs the dirtiest laugh ever and slams again. “You don’t seem to be taken right now.”
You place your hands over his mouth, and he laughs again.
Time passes by, and boundaries and lines faded away weeks ago. No one really cares enough at this point, and Bucky is almost parading you all over the place—other soldiers are well aware that you are ‘his girl’, and no one ever messes with you anymore.
Then, the letter came by.
You are not even aware until your boss pulls you aside.
“Your father sent a letter.” She hands you the paper. “Josh is back home, and he wants to get you dismissed by the end of the week.”
Greenaway is a young veteran nurse—as you all call her—she knows the show, and knows well that you are having something with Bucky. Not that she cares; she did the same when she was young, but now, widowed and married again, she is not seeking a new man anymore.
“He wants me to get married…” Greenaway nods.
“I’ve seen this before, and he called on some favors; you are leaving next convoy tomorrow morning.” She sounds apologetic.
“Tomorrow morning?” You snap unintentionally at her.
“It’s the most time I could get you… I… called on some favors too…” Her voice is soft, like she is trying to make up for an inconvenience. “Barnes will be at dusk in the thing you all use as a private room.”
“Does he know?” Greenaway shakes her head.
“That’s on you, kid.”
“Thank you, Greenaway.” She smiles, his lips not even reaching her eyes.
“Nurse,” She says before you start to walk out, “Don’t rush yourselves—I took care of everything.” You smile back almost in the same way.
Later that night, you are sitting on the cot, scratching your fingers enough to pull some skin with a blood drop when he finally walks in.
“How much are you gonna owe Greenaway after this?” He starts to unbutton his uniform; he doesn’t even waste a minute before his chest is finally exposed in front of you. You smile and try to hide the tears you have been holding.
He finally towers over you and pulls up your uniform; his buttoned-down shirt exposes the dog tags that dangle from his chest, making you weak in the knees.
His finger finds the hem of your underwear and pulls it aside, then you remind yourself of Greenaway’s words. ‘Don’t rush yourselves…’
“Wait…” You softly interrupted.
“What?”
“Can you… Can we take all our clothes off?” He snaps his head in surprise, but nods immediately.
“Do we have the time for this?” You nod at him.
He kneels and carefully gets rid of his shirt—you sit and start to unbutton your dress; he starts to help you when his shirt is completely out of sight.
You look at him as if he were the most beautiful thing your eyes have landed on—because, to be fair, at the moment, he is. Your clothes lie on the floor as you finally notice him as a whole, and it is the first time you both get to see each other completely exposed, and you are loving every moment.
Your lungs are filled with musk and dust, a faint scent of his now worn-off soap and the sweat covering his body—it is not even a smell you particularly like, but when he is the one wearing it, it feels right to have your nose full of it. It feels like the only thing you would like to smell for the rest of your life, given the chance.
His hand falls on your hips, finally making you lower and sit on the cot once again. He towers over you, and you can feel every inch of skin gazing at yours—and you even let yourself think for at least a second about the life you could have had if it were a different situation.
When you finally come back to your senses, you notice one hand is holding you by the waist and his other hand is jerking his cock, his eyes are not even fixed on your most sensitive spot—they are fixed on your eyes, and even when he doesn’t want to admit it, he is growing fond of every moment near you. Every time your shoulder bumps into his in the kitchen area, or every time he runs to you to get patched, and every time he slides into you—he feels like heaven; he feels like every time he goes to patrol, it is worth it if he comes back to you.
He slams into you, his mouth muffles every moan in your lips, and his hands grip tight in your waist, like he wants to pull you closer and become one. His hands try to grasp at every part of you he can. Tracing paths on your arms, gripping your waist, even groping your breasts, even when you let out a giggle every time he does it.
And then, you realize.
It is literally the last time you will ever feel this in your life.
Not even because you are leaving, but because you are leaving to marry your actual boyfriend.
A tear starts to run down your cheek, and even before you try to hide it, you feel his hand soothing your cheek—his hips stop their pace until he is only looking at you.
“Don’t stop,” You cry out. “Please don’t.”
“You’re…” Shaking your head, you straddle his waist, pulling him deeper.
Nodding, he starts to pump yet again; his hand is still soothing every tear that is falling, as he kisses the crown of your head every time he thrusts.
When you feel that indistinctly twitching on his cock, you know he is about to come, you have learned each other’s body now, and he knows he has taught your body to follow his lead—the heat in your core starts to grow and travel to your lower stomach, and before you can even control your body, you straddle him—your legs creating a lock on his back, and he wants to resist. He knows he has to do it, but he can’t, and starts to pump you full. And you know it is wrong too; if this sticks, you are fucked, because now you’re not sure if you can go back home and let Josh touch you the way Bucky has been doing it for the past month.
He lets his body go stiff over you. Your legs are still locked in his back, and now you soothe him, stroking his back delicately. He chuckles softly and looks at you.
“If the Nazis don’t kill me, your father will if you get pregnant, you know that? What are you gonna say when they dismiss you, and you go back home all round with someone’s baby but not your boyfriend’s?”
And you start to break down; you know he is not doing it on purpose. He is teasing. But oh, if it hurts.
“No, goddamn. I'm an idiot, sweetheart. That’s not what I meant…” He rushes to soothe your tears.
“James…” You cry out, and he hurries to hug you.
“No, baby. You know I’ll respond to your father if something ever happens… I won’t let you be alone; I’m not that kind of man…”
“James… please listen to me…” You are finally able to form a sentence. He looks at you; his eyes are growing worried. “I’m leaving at dawn in the first convoy.”
“What do you mean?” He stops and holds you by your shoulders. “What are you even talking about?”
“My father called in some favors because Josh is back in town…”
Bucky sighs. He knows well what it means. He has seen it before. He blinks twice before he tugs you to his chest. “You’re gonna be the most beautiful bride in all of Brooklyn.”
You can’t see it, but Bucky is staring blankly as he kisses the crown of your head. He wants to tell you not to go, to dismiss your father and stay here with him. But at least in Brooklyn you will be safe and have a future.
“You’re a sweet coincidence, sweetheart. And I loved that I got the chance to have you at least for a while, but we both knew you weren’t mine.”
The night washes over you as Bucky explores your body once and twice; his calloused hands graze every inch of skin as he pecks your face, your neck, his tongue exploring your breasts, swirling his tongue in your nipples—he took every minute he had in his hands to let your body know his touch—the coat groaning with every movement Bucky inflicts in you. It burns your inside; it burns the way you know you will be touching another man’s body and thinking about him.
The morning comes with the first soldiers getting ready for their rounds—voices of Generals guiding, Nurses walking to change shifts, and you start to wake up. You notice Bucky is tangled around your legs, his hands holding you close.
You hear Nurse Greenaway ordering outside, “Next Convoy leaves in three hours.”
She announces to the nurse who is walking next to her, and you know it is your signal. You look up at Bucky, who is sleeping so peacefully that you feel bad for waking him up—he has probably not slept this well in a hell of a time.
“Bucky…” You mumble, tracing paths on his chest. “You need to get going.”
He mumbles something and pulls you closer, and you giggle.
“C’mon, Sergeant. I don’t think Greenaway can give us more than this.” He grunts and sets you free.
He finally sits on the edge of the cot. “I guess I’ll see you if I survive the Nazis… and you’ll be the most beautiful wife of another man.”
He stands up and starts to gather his own things when he’s finally ready. He looks at you and smiles for the last time.
“Bucky…”
“Take care, Sunshine.”
And your heart pangs in your chest. You know this is how it is supposed to end—there is no way to have a happy ending on this one.
When you finally get home, your father is waiting for you in the station. He is talking about things you are not paying much attention to. He is probably explaining how excited you should feel about being back home and getting ready to finally marry Josh. How Miss DeLauren, the most famous seamstress in town, is already ready to start with the fitting appointments—and you just nod and smile at his words. Just the bare minimum for him not to notice you are not even understanding half his words.
Your house looks exactly the same—and your mother looks eagerly happy to have you there. She has always been fond of Josh, and it was her dream to see you married to him.
“And Josh?” You finally ask when you notice not even a trace is seen.
“Oh, poor soul had to run some errands with his father out of town, but they will be back soon. Don’t worry; in the meantime, we will be preparing things so when he comes back you will be ready.”
It is at that moment when you try to remember why you are with him—you try to remember to yourself that he is a good man—that he was probably not the man everyone was describing at the base—a man who fucked another nurse just as you were fucked by Bucky.
Your father does not even ask how your months at the base were. He was not even happy you had gone—even when all your neighborhood was proud that you had served your country in a way. He kept insisting that it could be dangerous.
You knew it was not that.
You knew he never wanted you to expose yourself in such a way, but he also knew you were so stubborn and you were never going to follow his words to that extent.
Almost two weeks go by; Josh is still out of town with his father—it is just that you understand your father knew he was not going to be back as soon as you were told, but he wanted to be sure you were his to really welcome him. Your first real steps as a wife.
Evenings are spent searching for the best things for your wedding, and that morning is no different; you are walking at Sunset Park with your mother. She is trying to find the best flower shop to arrange your bridal bouquet as well as the decorations—and as she is talking to an owner, you start to wander around the place. You know it well; you can even see the terminal surrounding the edges.
But something makes your blood run cold.
You see Winnifred, Bucky’s mother, walking with Becca—hurrying Becca, better said, towards the terminal, and your heart fluttered in your chest.
You walked behind them—not enough to be noticed, but enough to see the platform from afar. You have been walking for what seems like an eternity, and you stand on a corner where the whole place is on display.
Some soldiers are being welcomed—dozens of them—families being reunited, wives waiting for their husbands, children waiting for their father, and then you see Becca running towards a man.
Bucky holds her in the air. His face falls on her shoulder as her mother weeps in front of them, and you stay still. Not even a muscle falters at his sight; you know you can't do it; you can’t have the benefit of running towards him and clinging to his neck.
When he finally puts Becca down and is about to hug his mother, he sees you from afar. His face softens for a split second before he hugs his mother tight—and you look away. You turn around and walk quickly to your mother, who is still talking with the lady about the floral arrangements.
The thought lingers in your mind, and you turn around, and you can barely see the platform.
“Oh, look at it. It seems some soldiers made it back.” Ophelia, the owner, softens as soon as she notices the cars going back, with some soldiers in the windows cheering up.
“God bless their souls.” Your mother answers, and you nod in response.
You finally see him; he is walking with Winnie and Becca on each side, smug as he is, proud as he should.
“Look at it, your boy's back.” Your mother cheers at Winnie, who hugs Bucky tighter.
“Healthy and handsome,” Winnie smiles and nudges him to greet you.
“Morning, ladies.” Bucky takes a step and leans; you three do the same.
“Glad to see you back, Sergeant.” You try to keep your stern face.
“You were the main reason for it to happen,” He says, and you try not to gasp. “She was the best nurse in charge in my troop, ma’. You gotta see her in action.”
And you get every word; you understand this is only a dagger disguised in colleague praising.
“You shared base with him?” Your mother looks at you, and you feel the color rocketing on your face.
“Yes… Yes.” You stutter, “We shared base.”
“Look at it. What’s life? How many times your fathers didn’t share base, and now you two did.” Winnie says with a nostalgic hint.
You smile at your mother but notice Bucky has not taken his eyes off you, and you hate it. You hate how affected you are by his staring eyes.
“Well, now we both have to celebrate!” Winnie adds, “Your beautiful daughter is getting married, and my handsome son is back home and not going anywhere ever again.”
“Ma’” Bucky scolds, and she just pats his shoulder.
“Lots to celebrate! And I really hope to see you three at the wedding.” Your chest, as well as Bucky’s, rise and falls at the mention.
“We will be honored to be there.” Bucky looks down at you as he answers your mother.
And when the farewells are finally starting, you see Bucky walking with Becca in his arms, and a faint sound comes from his mouth, “I’ll never smile again… until I smile at you…”
“I thought you hated that song.” Becca looks up at him as he turns slightly back to see you.
“Let’s say it’s an acquired taste.”
And you are left there, a heavy feeling on your shoulders as Bucky walks away with his family in his arms, while your mother resumes her conversation about your upcoming wedding.
Your friends finally take you to celebrate your engagement.
What engagement? You were never asked. Everyone just decided, and you were too cowardly to comment on it.
You are sitting in a soda shop with two of your closest friends. They are all talking about different things as you try to keep up with all the conversations.
“Wait, we’ve been here for hours and she,” Kate points at you, “hasn’t told us anything about her overseas…”
You chuckle and shake your head. “Nothing interesting, just patching up wounded soldiers, bad sleeping, worse uniform. What can I tell you?”
“Oh, c’mon!” Sara chimes in. “My cousin served as a nurse too, and she told me every nurse there slept with one soldier…”
You feel your cheeks getting heated. “You all know me well; that’s not my type of thing. Besides, I knew I was going back home to get married to Josh.”
“Oh, you really think he did not do it?” You feel a knot in your throat.
“I like to think that.” You furrow your eyebrows at them. “Do you all think he’s capable of being with another woman?”
“Well, he’s been there for months, even before your departure; it is almost obvious he couldn’t… be… unattended?”
You scrunch your nose. “So, you’re saying I should have… been unfaithful to him to be even?”
“We all know you could never, don’t you worry. It was just a thought.”
If it were not enough, you see Bucky walking into the restaurant, and then you cuss at the fact that the neighborhood is the size of an apple.
You look down and sip on your Coke, trying to go unnoticed—just as Sara squeezes your hand, she mumbles your name and looks at you.
“Did you really share base with him?” You sigh and nod.
“We barely talked there. We were both too busy.” And suddenly, the reminder of his hips rolling above you made you shiver.
“Well, if I’d had him on my base, I wouldn’t be exactly loyal, mhh…”
You roll your eyes, and when they get distracted, you notice he is staring intently at you. He tilts his head towards the back door, and before you can even register what it means, he disappears through it. You don’t understand why you are doing it, but you excuse yourself to the bathroom and walk like a moth to a flame.
He is waiting for you in a hallway leading to the back door where the dumpsters are. Rapidly, he pushes you against the dark door and kisses you hungrily. His tongue swirls on yours, as his hands grope your hip. Your hands find his neck immediately, squishing your digits on it.
“How’s the mister doing?” He mumbles in your ear, and you pant the warm air from his mouth. “Oh, I heard. He hasn’t even set foot in your house yet.”
“Bucky…” You mumble, tilting your head back. He chuckles and carefully slips his hand from your hip to the inside of your skirt—finding the hem of your underwear.
“It’s easier when you’re not using a goddamn tight uniform.” He coos in your ear and teasingly goes down until he finds your wet spot. His middle finger goes deeper and finds your clit. You gasp and bite his shoulder to muffle your moan.
“Don’t…” You try to stop him, and try is the most fitting word you can think of, because you don’t really want him to stop.
“Are you sure you want me to stop?” His finger pauses its movements as he tilts your head with a finger in your chin.
Pure lust is shown in his eyes, and you are sure you can cry from the withdrawal of pleasure. You shook your head, and he kissed the tip of your nose, resuming his ministrations. Not enough time later, you come undone immediately; he takes his hand out of your skirt and licks the wetness left on it as he looks directly at you.
He waits for you to recover, and before you can even ask anything, he disappears and goes back to the tables. You quickly go to the bathroom, trying to recompose yourself. Your cheeks are heating, your mouth is now slightly swollen, and you are sure that if someone sees under Bucky’s shirt, they will find a reddened spot about to go purple.
You go back to your table, and the girls barely notice you were out for longer than a bathroom visit should take.
Later that night, when the girls were satisfied with the stories you gave them about the base, you go on your way back home, and you see a car you don’t recognize. When you finally walk in, you see him sitting on your couch; your father is sharing a whiskey with him and his father, and you try to fake the biggest smile your lips let you.
He stands up and opens his arms; you walk fast toward him and hug him—and even there, you can feel Bucky’s scent filling your nose; you can still feel his finger rubbing your clit.
“How’s the bravest nurse in the county?” You smile at him, but something feels different.
You both started so young; he did not even propose, and when he enlisted, he assumed you were just going to wait for him and get married as soon as he came back. And at first you were fine with the idea. What else could you do? It was every girl in town's plan, and he was a daydream for many girls.
But looking at him did not feel fine. He was someone else now, or maybe you were someone else.
The rest of the night you stay by his side, his calloused hand holding tight to yours, squeezing it once in a while—and it’s the fact that you have never felt half the things Bucky made you feel; it’s the fact that you now think if he ever made a nurse in his base feel the way you feel now about Bucky.
They talk about the wedding, the house he has already bought out of town—and then you realize he wants you two out of town, and the idea of not seeing Bucky ever again seems realistic so suddenly.
After that, the wedding preparations become serious. You start to go with Mrs. DeLauren, and the first time you stand up in front of her, she looks so wise. Incredibly, there is not even one wrinkle on her face, even at her age.
You know her story vaguely. She was widowed some years ago, and her husband, Mr. Thomas DeLauren, helped her to found this whole business—she always loved to create, and she loved seeing her future brides excited to have their bridal dresses by her.
“Look at you; it’s gonna be easy on you. You got a perfect body, sweetheart.” She smiles and starts to measure parts of your body. “Who are you marrying?”
“Josh Foyer.” You mumble, looking at the window behind her.
“Oh, good boy. Great parents. You got one of the good ones.”
And you feel a pang in your chest. In fact, every time you are there, you feel hollow in your chest, not only because this woman is pouring her heart into creating the perfect dress for your wedding, like with thousands of women who have married in real love, but because you still see Bucky in alleyways—every time you are on a date with your friends at Pop’s, or every time you are lurking around at the park and he finds you there and takes you to dark places to remind you of everything you are losing by marrying Josh.
And now, this woman who has dedicated her life to this is wasting her sweet time on you—a girl who lets a man who is not her fiancé wander on her body in hidden places.
But rumours spread fast, and Bucky learns you spend your evening there, fitting your dress, getting all dolled up for a man that Bucky does not think deserves you.
The piece of silk of your petticoat that falls to your ankle looks so expensive—and you know you don’t even have to worry about it, but it looks like a waste of fabric to you.
You look down at her and smile. “Take the time you need, Mrs. DeLauren.”
“Stop it with that; call me Dana. Mrs. DeLauren was my mother-in-law, and that woman was a bitch.”
Trying to hide a laugh, you cough, and she shakes her head. “No hiding here. She knows well how much we hated each other; that’s why she doesn’t haunt me.” She stands up and irons her dress. “Take five, sweetie. If you need to, you can take the dress off and take a walk to get some air.”
“Thank you, Dana.”
You sit on the small store window where a mannequin stands, and when you look away, you see him. Standing on a corner, cocky smile, eyes fixed on the store, and you know he is waiting for you.
You are now the one who tilts your head, guiding him to the alleyways you noticed in previous days. You run to the door and find him already there; he takes you by your waist and lifts you to straddle him. He corners you and starts attacking your neck.
“You look so goddamn beautiful.”
“Me and how many more?” You pant, and he chuckles.
“I’m not the one getting married to someone else, sweetheart.”
He says before pinning you to the brick wall and unzipping his jeans.
“James… We can’t…” You try to stop him.
“It’s gonna be fast, I promise. I just… I miss you…”
You feel his tip grazing your entrance even when your cunt is fully clothed. You nod, closing your eyes. Let hell go loose; if you are already going to hell, you should as well enjoy the way.
He hooks a finger and slides aside your underwear, finally sliding in. He thrusts and rolls his hips, and you can cry some moans into his shoulder, digging your nails into his back—the last time you had something was him back in the base—the twitching of his dick takes you out of your thoughts, and he is about to pull out when you stop him immediately.
“If you stain this dress, she’s gonna know.” He chuckles and kisses you again.
“You just want me to make it stick.” He grunts and pumps harder to fill you in. “You're more worried ‘bout the damn dress than your future husband.”
You motion your head; you are not even sure if it is a nod or a shake, and he fills your ear with a laugh.
“You're so lost on me that you're not even making sense.”
He rolls his hip once again and reaches your most sensitive spot, making you come undone, crying out. He lets you cool down and puts you down, helping you wipe away any trace of dust from your gown.
“Look at you, sweetheart. You look so beautiful.” He checks you up and down. “That bastard is a lucky one.”
“Bucky… We can’t keep doing this… I’m getting married… You should be out there looking for a woman who loves, and I know you can find plenty of them.”
You cup his cheek, and he leans into your touch, closing his eyes.
“I need to get back there, Bucky.”
“When’s your night appointment?” He says, gripping your wrist before you can even walk away.
“I’m not telling you.”
“Then I’ll be here every day ‘till I see you.” He coos, and you know it’s not a fake threat.
“Next Friday night is my last fitting.”
“See you here.”
You roll your eyes, and before you can even think, you sit again on the store window under the mannequin. Some minutes later, Dana comes back. “I’m sorry for taking so long; I got lost finding some things.”
You smile and shake your head—you hurry to stand up on the platform as Dana starts to check on the fabric—and you don’t notice, but she furrows her brow at a reddish-orange stain in the back of your gown; she laughs in a low voice.
After some minutes, she is done with today’s fixing and lets you leave.
The week goes by without further ado, and you just can’t find more excuses to go out when your wedding is barely some weeks away, and you should not be showing off yourself that much in the city with your single friends.
The date fades like nothing; he does not even mention the wedding until you do. He just drops that some of the remaining men in his troop who came back alive are attending, and that is just that. You then realize he is as interested in the wedding as you are.
When he is driving back home, you finally notice something—an undergarment, and you really try not to make a fuss out of it; you just stare at it while you remember Greenaway’s stories.
“Oh, we were bolder than you all think,” She would say. “We used to give them something to take home when they or us were dismissed; it could be underwear—anything would work.”
And you really try to be annoyed, but you are not.
You are somehow relieved.
You don’t feel bad anymore; the problem now is what kind of marriage you are going into.
You can’t talk with your mother. She is devoted to your father—and you don’t want to know how your parents ruled their relationship.
After spending most of the day with him, he drops you off at DeLauren’s shop, but before you can even walk in, you notice Bucky leaning on the wall near the alleyway. You look around, and no one is to be seen.
“You can keep doing this; we will be caught up.”
“I know, but I wanted to catch a glimpse of the beautiful bride.”
“You will see me at the event.” You roll your eyes.
“Quite not the same…” You roll your eyes.
“Oh, why not?”
“I’m not the groom. I should get to see you with it before the wedding.” His eyes meet yours, and you feel the heat in your core.
“Need to get going, but I’ll see if I can escape for a minute.”
“I’ll be waiting all evening if it’s needed.”
Dana is finishing up the details, and she walks you to the mirror that is next to the window—you look at yourself, and you can’t deny how beautiful you look. The dress fits and hugs you in an excellent way. You wish it were the dress you used for the wedding of your dreams.
When you look up, Bucky is now leaning against a wall on the other side of the street. He catches a glimpse of you, and you can even hear the whistle of his. That whistle he always did when he saw you in your uniform, just before telling you how beautiful you looked in it.
You want to stop yourself, but you smile at him.
“You two need to be more careful,” Dana says from below, and your breath hitches.
“Sorry?”
She scoffs and sits on the floor.
“I might look old, but I was young once and, unfortunately, not in a very different context than you are right now.” She leaves her tools to her side.
“You did not know Mr DeLauren, but he was a gentleman. You don’t see much of them nowadays.” Silence reigns in the shop. You lift your skirt and sit on the platform in front of her. “Unfortunately, I just learned to appreciate him, never to love him.”
And you look at her, agape. “Mrs. DeLauren!”
“Oh, don’t ‘Mrs. DeLauren’ me! I had to wash and dry your gown from the brick stain at your last appointment. You, lady, have no place to judge.”
And heat rises to your cheeks.
“I get it, okay? We need to accomplish our parents’ standards—but you don’t have to marry that poor Josh just because you have been together for years.”
“And then why did you marry Mr. DeLauren?”
“He asked me to. Thomas was a great man, and our parents worked together—they thought it was the greatest idea. I was seeing Roberts in secret—and I got pregnant.”
“By Thomas?” You ask, tilting your head, and she shakes her head.
“Thomas took him as his child as soon as he learned. We got married as soon as it started showing off.”
“Why didn’t you marry Robert?”
“Robert was just a soldier; it was not as well seen as it is right now. And he was someone without a name. Mr. DeLauren was not, and you can not compete with that.”
“Thomas always knew Charles was not his. He never cared.”
“And what happened to Robert?”
“He got married, passed away some years later, leaving his widow alone with one child; she remarried a few years later.”
“Did you get to see him after you got married?” Your voice is a thread; you can cry any minute.
“A few times, but then he got married, and even if Thomas was mildly aware of my affairs, Robert’s wife was not part of the deal. But I think she got married the same way I got married—because she had to.” She looks at the way you are almost crying. “We don’t always get our happy ending.”
Both of you smile with resignation.
“I know men nowadays are not the… most faithful, but… Can I ask something?” She nods and looks at you.
“If a man keeps something that belongs to a mistress…”
“That’s not a mistress anymore; that’s the woman who has his heart.” She admits, and you swallow.
“But why are you giving away things when you are still seeing each other?” She chuckles at the irony. “Or was it back in the base?”
“Not really. I never thought of giving him something.”
“Then why…” Realization comes to her. “Oh… I should say sorry, but neither of you are completely committed. Welcome to marriage, I guess.”
You sigh and look at him, who’s staring back at you—those longing eyes pleading for something he is sure he will never get.
“I need to pick up some things some stores away to finish the last details.” She says as she stands up, and you look at her, confused. “Don’t know what you're doing, but your cups keep getting bigger, and I need to fix them before the big day.”
“Oh… not sure.” You furrow, and she laughs.
She looks at the window and sees him waiting. “Thirty minutes, and if any of you dare to ruin my dress, you will walk the aisle with a ruined dress.”
Your mouth falls to the floor once again, and Dana says nothing before closing the shop’s main entrance.
You look at him from afar, and he looks as confused as you, but you hurry him up to the back door. There, you pull him by his jacket and take him to a linen room. Before you can close the door, he stops on his tracks and looks at you.
You think you are about to see teary eyes, but what you find is pure lust—pure hotness pooling all over his eyes.
He pushes you inside and lifts your dress, making you take every piece of fabric between your hands as he drops to the floor.
“What are you doing?” You ask in a rush.
“Something I’ve been dreaming of since the first day I kissed you.” He hooks up a leg on his shoulder as he slides aside your underwear; before you can even comprehend, he is already tracing a line on your slit with his tongue. You gasp loudly as you grip the fabric of your dress.
His tongue is working its way between your folds, while his hand traces paths on your thigh, while you try not to make any sound that will tell on you. His tongue is relentless, savouring and drinking every taste he can gather from your arousal—you have never felt this way before. Josh was a classic man. He would never even think about doing this, and now Bucky is claiming every one of your memories as his.
You know that after this, he is the only thing you will be able to have in your mind, and then you start to feel the orgasm rocketing from your core to your stomach—you shiver at the feeling and arch your back as you start to let yourself go.
He drops to his thighs and looks at you from below.
His chin is completely damp, glistening with your arousal, and when you think he is done, he stands up and turns you around, pinning you on the wardrobe, your hand grips the furtniture as you look to your side, his face is fixed on the way your ass is exposed with your lifted dress, and he strokes the curve of your ass before finally pulling down your underwear. He bends you over and exposes your breasts over the dress, spilling them out as he pinches one of your nipples, and you cry out one more time—the feeling is almost too much.
“You were not that sensitive back in the base.”
You try to shake your head, but your mind is getting foggy. When you finally feel his tip kissing your entrance, you gasp and look at him.
“Did you really think I would let him be the one to fuck you in your wedding dress?” He mumbles in your ear, but you are far gone to even form a coherent sentence, and without previous warning, he just thrusts and slides in.
His now well-known movements over you feel perfect, like your body has accepted that he is the only one who can make you feel like this.
“I swear to God you put a spell on me, because every time I take you I feel like your body feels better and better, and these here,” he gropes your breasts, “feel even bigger in my hands.”
He pumps again and, with trembling legs, spills inside his warm cum. You rest your body in the wardrobe, and he starts to kiss your hair, your neck, your shoulders, and at last your temple.
“Look at you, your dress smells like me, and you are marrying someone else.” He says as he turns you around again and lifts your dress, trying to soothe it.
“I think he cheated on me in his base,” You titter, and he scoffs, tugging a strand of hair in the back of your ear.
“Well, at least you are even now.” You shake your head. “I think he fell in love with her too.”
“Why would you think that?”
“He keeps her underwear and brings it everywhere. I saw it in his car just earlier.”
“Poor evil.” He tousles his hair back. “Then what? Are you calling off the wedding?”
“For what? Underwear? There’s no way my father will accept it.”
He purses his lips and nods.
“I guess I won’t see you until the wedding then.” He cradles your face and looks at you.
“You are gonna be there?”
“Just in case the bride needs a getaway ride.”
“That wouldn’t be fair…”
“You know what they say…”
You scoff and help him get out of the linen room.
He walks towards the back door and looks at you once again. “I’m keeping my word, even at the last minute. There will be a car waiting for you that day. I mean it.”
The big day comes by, and your mother is so busy with so many things that she sends you alone to Mrs. DeLauren. When you arrive, you see the wedding dress on the mannequin and the rest of the setup next to it.
“I was so sure you were going to chicken out.” Dana appears from the hallway, but her gaze shifts immediately. “There’s no way…”
“What?” You turn around and look to your sides.
She walks quickly towards you and fixes her gaze directly on your breasts, then she looks around and points at your belly.
“You didn’t protect yourself?!” She shouts, and you jump on the spot. “I thought you were more intelligent than this, for Lord’s sake.”
“What are you talking about?!”
“You’re pregnant! I can see it! Shit, I can smell it!” She hurries with the measuring tape to check your hips and waist and shakes in disbelief.
And then, every time you and Bucky were reckless enough not to give a shit come to your mind. She storms off immediately, and you can hear her walking upstairs and yelling now on the second floor.
You hear some commotion and then two pairs of steps coming downstairs, and then you see him.
Uniform spotless, hair mussed back, his eyes are now wide open, and his face is pale.
“I try to do one thing for you two, kids. And how do you pay me? Getting knocked up!” She grunts.
“What are you doing here?”
“I wanted to say goodbye to you. I wanted to see you one more time before you were Mrs. Foyer. Mrs. DeLauren saw me wandering and gave me a chance to see you here.”
“I’ll give you a minute.” Dana pats his back and gives you a look.
It’s not a scowl; she is not even mad. You can see it. She wants to tell you more than her years of experience can say, but she needs to remain professional. She is hired to help brides look beautiful the day they get married, not to run away with a soldier. But you know her eyes are pleading; you know she means to ask you to do what she did not have the guts to do decades ago.
You nod, and she walks away.
“Bucky…” You finally look at him.
“Let’s go away. I can’t promise you much, but I got some dimes under my name, and we can go as far as possible. I’ll give you everything. I’m gonna work twice as hard; this is not even about the baby. I asked her to help me because I can’t let you get married to someone who doesn’t love you, and you don’t love either.”
You start to tear up, and he kneels in front of you.
“I’m asking you to start something together. Far from here. And I know your parents will hate you and my mother will be worried as hell, but we will write them a letter when everything cools down. And if they never forgive us, we've got each other…” He is begging, and his hands grip your hips.
You don’t stop to think and just nod. Looking at him. He stands up and towers over you, hugging you, holding you tightly as you keep tearing up.
“I love you, and I don’t care what things come our way; we will face them together.”
He grips your hand, and before he can pull you out to start running towards the car, you stop him.
“Need to do something before we flee.” You run towards the stairs, but before you get to them, you see Dana standing up in front of them. You hug her, and she hugs you back.
Words not said are understood, and you look up at her.
“I demand a happy ending.” Both of you chuckle, and she nods.
“You have every right to have your happy ending.”
“I’m sorry you got to do such a beautiful dress, and it will go to waste…” You try to sound serious, but you laugh.
“That thing? Will be sold by the end of the week. I’m sorry you will be a runaway bride.”
“I think happy endings come in different forms.”
She nods. “Please, leave. I will have to say you never even came to the store, and if you are seen here, it will be difficult to lie.”
You nod and run to Bucky, who is already looking around to be sure no one is near. You both hop into the car.
You look back and see Dana looking at you, and she is crying—even when she does not want to admit it, you know she wishes it had been different.
Bucky holds your hand and kisses the back of it when you finally pay attention to the radio in the background.
“I’m so in love with you… I’ll never thrill again to somebody new…” Frank Sinatra sings to you, as if the world is trying to tell you that it could not have been different for you.
They were always too big, considering his behemoth size above the rest of his peers. Long, spindly fingers that over the years in the military, became thick with callouses and scars. Yellowed with cigarette butts, a knuckle here and there slightly out of place from all of the fractures and breaks.
The palms of his hands were completely webbed with delicate lines from both age and the extensive length of times he had worn his fingers in a fist. He had tried to make them look a little better, had gotten tattoos, would lotion when he could remember. The ink ran deep, little swirls and designs eating up the thick, aged skin on the back of his hands, fingers blotched on the first knuckle with little images or letters. It had started to bleed and fade that strange sort of navy that tattoos do after a prologued time under the skin.
But no amount of ink on the planet would erase the blood that they carried each day. Breaths silenced by those jagged palms, lives ended with just one pull of an index finger. His hands were dirty. Worse than the muck constantly tucked under his trimmed nails. They were forever stained crimson with decisions he would never be able to take back.
Right now, he was fighting hard to stop his fingers from trembling. He’d never felt his heart race this way. His palms were tense, outstretched to minimise the age lines that spanned them, and waiting for when the weight settled between them.
His breath stopped.
Bundled up in blankets and a tiny pink hat, those same hands that had carried grenades and guns and knives, was now so carefully balancing a tiny baby girl. No bigger than the length of his hands held open side by side, weighing nothing more than just a small few pounds and ounces.
Just her face was visible. Still a little smushed up from birth, peach fuzz coating the softest, pinkest skin. Her eyes shut, tiny lashes splaying across little rosy cheeks. She had his nose. Well the one before it has been broken four times. A little button nose, a little long, with a tiny bump down the bridge. But she had the poutiest little lips on the planet. Glossy with salvia, undoubtedly a carbon copy of her mother’s.
Simon was breathless and speechless.
This tiny thing, no bigger than this calloused, ugly hands… it had come from him. And the fact somebody loved him so much to give him one.
He could feel the hot sting of tears in the corner of his eyes.
His daughter stirred, her little face scrunching up even more before she yawned. Simon only watched, how her tiny pink tongue flexed in her mouth, how the fat of her cheeks shifted to accommodate that teeny tiny jaw to open as wide as it could go. Then, she settled back into the blankets, clearly comfortable in Simon’s hands. She squeaked quietly before settling in completely.
The first tear streamed down Simon’s cheek. Then the next. And the next.
His hands. Those calloused, ink stained, bloodied evil-doing hands. He had hated them for as long as he could remember.
But now, holding the smallest, most delicate, precious being in the world.
ExHusband!Andy Barber who was devastated. The documents were laid out in front of him, mocking his pain. Three years of married bliss, five of you in his life, now coming to their fateful end.
ExHusband!Andy Barber who smiled still, hiding the tremble of his hands as he signed the pages.
ExHusband!Andy Barber who kissed the back of your hand, a goodbye he didn't want to miss, as you headed back to your parent's place.
ExHusband!Andy Barber who drove back home that evening with static in his head, a deafening silence echoing through the mess that was his brain. You were gone now.
ExHusband!Andy Barber who opens the door to his house with the keys that had your initials engraved. Who walks in the hallway with all your pretty flowers and frames. Who sits down on the couch you picked out, staring at the half empty coffee cup on the table-- your cup, with your lipstick still smudged on the edge.
ExHusband!Andy Barber who goes to bed, inhaling in your scent that still clung to every fibre of the sheets. Who cries, for the first time since you told him about the divorce, as he hugged the blanket.
ExHusband!Andy Barber who realised then and there that he won't ever move on. He couldn't!
ExHusband!Andy Barber who keeps all your stuff exactly in its place, never drifting an inch away. The engravings? Polished. The flowers? Watered and trimmed. The coffee cup? Still half drunk.
ExHusband!Andy Barber who remembers all the times he made you smile. The way your pliant, wrecked body reacts to him as he leads you to delightful ruin.
ExHusband!Andy Barber who smiles as he looks down at your sleeping form, caressing your soft skin as he takes his time relishing your taste.
ExHusband!Andy Barber who just can't move on.
I'm sorry for my absence guys uni is doing exactly what uni does...drain the life out of me 😭
but I was horny for andy....and i missed him and I listened to this song and I was in the feels, and I missed you🥹
❝ you got that james barnes daydream look in your eye ˎˊ˗
From late-night drives with windows down to fleeting moments that surpass your wildest dreams, this collection features love stories with Bucky Barnes inspired by Taylor Swift's 1989 album.
Note: Each story will have its own set of content warnings, including NSFW — please read thoroughly before proceeding! More fics may be added beyond the dates/songs listed for this current collab in the future <3
▸ You are in Love — @unificsation (August 6)
You, Bucky, and a feeling that doesn't end.
— inspired by 'you are in love'
▸ Dirty Little Secret — @blowingbarnes (August 13)
"I'm like Six Flags. I'm a fun ride. Everyone wants their turn, and they move on to the next park. And that's fine by me." You tilted your head at his words, eyes slightly narrowing in his direction like you'd slip through one of the cracks and see the real Bucky.
"Is it?"
— inspired by 'how you get the girl'
▸ Bad Blood — @tw1sters (August 20)
Interning with your ex-boyfriend’s brother wasn’t how you imagined your summer, but somewhere between the long hours and conversations over late-night takeouts, he’s becoming harder to hate.
— inspired by 'bad blood'
▸ Welcome to New York — @epiphanyrogers (August 24)
New York has always been a city of fresh starts. That’s what Bucky Barnes is counting on when he moves back home for the first time in eighty years. except so far he’s only figured out three things: the subway still runs late, Brooklyn has gotten expensive, and he is spectacularly bad at modern dating. Enter, you: an entirely off limits matchmaker who somehow becomes the best part of his life, one terrible first date at a time.
Or, Bucky almost gives up on dating until he meets you
— inspired by 'welcome to new york'
▸ I Know Places — @pinksplace (August 26)
While the rest of the world searches for Bucky Barnes, the two of you carve out a life in the shadows. Some love stories are written in grand gestures. Yours is written in escape routes.
— inspired by 'i know places'
▸ Everything but You — @love-stucky (August 28)
Bucky spent years making sure you never went without, but he never noticed how often you went without him.
— inspired by 'all you had to do was stay'
War is afoot, blood stains the streets, and by your side stands your husband's sworn knight. With a command to flee the city, you stick close to his side with the blind assumption that he is operating under your husband's orders. But as weeks pass and distance grows between you and the bloodshed, you discover there is something selfish in the protective glares and scowling words Ser Barnes casts your way; a devotion so carnal, the realm shuns it as deadly.
— inspired by 'wildest dreams'
An ode to old taylor songs from one of our favorite albums! Please look forward to all the stories. If you enjoyed reading it, please be sure to reblog, comment, and like! Every single interaction is very much appreciated and treasured, particularly when you share your lovely thoughts and reactions <3 this masterlist may grow again in the future if the writers choose to add more!
A very big thank you to my friends for agreeing to participate in this lil activity <3 I'm glad we can all suffer through the writing process together while crying to Taylor Swift
all graphics above made by me so please don't use elsewhere!
♫ wave divider by @/angeliicid
Become a star today under the guidance of our famous producer & songwriter Bucky Barnes, alongside our top manager Yelena Belova! From the very first demo to sold-out arenas, they’ll take care of every step of the journey!**
so i lowkey haven't posted anything since february (that's actual noob behaviour on my part so i apologise) and i have a bunch of ideas but i haven't had much motivation this week because i'm worried about stuff 😭 but i'm getting it over with tomorrow (an injection but i'm a scaredy cat lol) so hopefully i get a lil bit of mojo back after that
it's genuinely kept me up at night but it's not even that bad... BRO 😭 anyways just thought i'd explain more and i appreciate everyone who has shown support for my page, even as i drifted into the abyss of writers block LMAOO
𝑏𝑜𝑦𝑓𝑟𝑖𝑒𝑛𝑑!𝐬𝐢𝐦𝐨𝐧 who carries all of the heavy shopping bags when you go to the mall. Buff arms piled high with cloth and paper bags.
𝑏𝑜𝑦𝑓𝑟𝑖𝑒𝑛𝑑!𝐬𝐢𝐦𝐨𝐧 who follows you into every store without any complaint.
𝑏𝑜𝑦𝑓𝑟𝑖𝑒𝑛𝑑!𝐬𝐢𝐦𝐨𝐧 who won’t complain when you take him into the candle store even tho just passing it gave him a small headache.
𝑏𝑜𝑦𝑓𝑟𝑖𝑒𝑛𝑑!𝐬𝐢𝐦𝐨𝐧 who will smell every candle you brought up to his nose to sniff.
“That doesn’t smell bad.” You said, bringing the large candle back to your nose for another sniff.
Simon’s nose scrunched. He didn’t like it. It was too sweet for his liking. “Bit sweet, innit?”
“It’s mild to me.” You replied as you flipped the candle to look at the fragrance notes. “Maybe you just have a better nose than me.”
“Maybe.”
𝑏𝑜𝑦𝑓𝑟𝑖𝑒𝑛𝑑!𝐬𝐢𝐦𝐨𝐧 who lingers outside of the changing room, arms crossed as he leans against the cool wall - patiently waiting for you to push the curtain to the side and model the clothing you picked out.
“Does this look good?” you asked, running your hands down your waist.
Simon's eyes examined you from head to toe. “Look lovely, dove.” His tone was almost bored as he replied.
You hummed as you tilted your head side to side. You twisted your body in the mirror, getting every angle to determine whether you liked it. “I don’t know...”
He watched as you twisted and turned. Simon’s mouth turned into a subtle frown. “What do you not like about it?”
“Sits weird here.” You grabbed the extra fabric darting around the armpit.
𝑏𝑜𝑦𝑓𝑟𝑖𝑒𝑛𝑑!𝐬𝐢𝐦𝐨𝐧 who will grab different sizes of the clothing you're trying on if the one you brought into the room didn't fit right at first. He’d keep grabbing until one was just right for you.
“That fit better?” He asked through the thin curtain.
You pulled the curtain back with a smile beaming on your face. Now modeling the tailored clothing happily. “Yeah!”
𝑏𝑜𝑦𝑓𝑟𝑖𝑒𝑛𝑑!𝐬𝐢𝐦𝐨𝐧 who sneakily pays for most of the shopping. If you took too long to pay, he’d pay. If you took too long to get the right amount of change, he’d already swipe his card. So fast you didn’t even realize it until you held out your cash or card.
𝑏𝑜𝑦𝑓𝑟𝑖𝑒𝑛𝑑!𝐬𝐢𝐦𝐨𝐧 who would take you to dinner if you were at the mall past dinner time. Taking you to a nearby fish and chips shop, making sure you got your fill.
𝑏𝑜𝑦𝑓𝑟𝑖𝑒𝑛𝑑!𝐬𝐢𝐦𝐨𝐧 who, when you’d get home, would bring your legs over his lap and rub your sore feet as you both crashed on the couch. He’d watch some football game as he pressed his thumb into your arch, almost absentmindedly.
a/n: simon is a good boyfriend, can't change my mind (>'-'<)
No thoughts just ghost getting a text from a number he doesn't recognize, right?
He usually ignores them, has no interest in much of anything besides when he'll be sent back to base and what he'll eat the next day. But the words that only flick across his screen have him pausing, opening the text.
Unknown number: dad? Cam you pick me up(? My frriends dirched me and I feel weirf
And the thing is, ghost is no vigilante, hardly even a good person. But he knows too well what sort of situation this is. Has seen it, has played it, has been bystander to it. So he grabs his keys, checks his knife, texts back
You: where are you, kid?
He receives a location pin in return. Shit. Bad part of town for whoever this kid is to be in.
Ghost turns a thirty minute drive into a ten, though it doesn't feel fast enough. Rolls to a stop outside of some club, and spots you.
You, clearly more than drunk, supporting yourself against a fence while two men lean over you.
Ghost will make sure to call price about the bodies. Tried hard enough to make it look like a robbery gone wrong...the smashed in heads may prove that hard to believe. Whatever, not his problem, he's legally dead.
No, ghost is more concerned about you, blinking up at him without a hint of recognition "dad? ...m sorry."
"It's fine, kid," ghost grunts, pulls you by the hand until you can support yourself against him. "Let's get you someplace safe, yeah?"
In retrospect, putting the stranger who was definitely drugged alone in his bedroom without a note wasn't his brightest idea. Ghost doesn't exactly have a guest room, and having you sleep on what is functionally a concrete couch just seems cruel. So he spent the night covering up some impulsive decisions, then panicking when he realized he had no actual food in his apartment and running to the closest 24/7 shop.
Which is how he ends up dropping eight grocery bags on his apartment floor in the attempt to dodge a frying pan.
All credits to you, it leaves an extremely impressive hole in the wall. Lot of force for someone hungover and coming out of being drugged. You glare, wide-eyed, terrified and looking far younger than you had last night "who the hell are you?!"
Ghost, grunts, puts himself on the other side of the room, "I'm dad, apparently."
