lovey @girls-corrupt - Tumblr Blog

Cherry

bucky barnes x ex girlfriend ! reader

summary: she was too sweet to forget, so he convinced himself that sweetness had turned sickly with time. Until they he discovers that he never stopped craving the taste.

content warnings: angst, alcohol consumption, use of y/n, smut, slight praise kink, edging, unprotected sex, female receiving oral, pet names (baby), language!

11k+ words

main masterlist

(i wrote at like 3am when I couldn’t sleep, I haven’t reread it so sorry if it makes literally no sense)

⋆.˚ ☾⭒.˚

I just miss your accent and your friends

Did you know I still talk to them?

Cherry || Harry Styles

⋆.˚ ☾⭒.˚

Bucky hates cherries. The sharp, sticky taste and the sickly smell of them turned his stomach, and Yelena seemed to take an unreasonable amount of pleasure in reminding him of it whenever she got the opportunity.

He watched from the kitchen, the coffee machine whirring in the background, Yelena sat by the window, one leg tucked beneath her as she lazily picked cherries from the punnet balanced on her thigh. Every few seconds she would pop another into her mouth, chewing thoughtfully as she stared out at the city beyond the glass.

He tried to walk past her without comment.

The moment he came level with her, she lifted the punnet towards him, holding the plastic tub up near his face, an innocent little smile as she offered him the fruit.

Bucky recoiled immediately. He ducked away from the offer, his shoulders pulling back and his face twisting as the smell reached him.

Yelena stared at him for a moment before breaking into a delighted laugh.

“What are you doing?” she asked, looking at him as though he’d suddenly lost his mind. “It is a cherry, not a bomb.”

“I just don’t like them,” he grunted, already moving away from her.

He dropped into the chair opposite, putting as much distance between himself and the punnet as possible. His coffee was still in his hand, and he lifted it towards his face, taking a long drink as though the bitterness might somehow overpower the lingering memory of sweetness in the air.

Yelena watched him over the edge of the punnet.

Before she could probe further into his fear, the sound of footsteps approached from the hallway. Ava appeared in the doorway with a small collection of letters in her hand. She didn’t announce herself or offer any explanation; she simply crossed the room and held one of the envelopes out towards Bucky.

He frowned slightly as he took it.

Ava was already turning away before he’d even had the chance to thank her, disappearing back into the corridor without another word.

Bucky looked down at the envelope in his hand. The handwriting immediately caught his attention.

It was neat and deliberate, written in elegant cursive across the front in black ink.

James Buchanan Barnes.

His thumb traced absently along the edge of the envelope before he opened it.

Yelena’s attention shifted towards him almost immediately.

Nobody got mail at the Tower. Not personal mail, anyway. There were deliveries, reports, documents and the occasional piece of paperwork Val had decided needed to exist in triplicate, but nobody ever received a handwritten letter addressed to them like that.

She watched Bucky unfold the thick cream card inside.

His eyes moved over the first few lines.

You are cordially invited to celebrate the wedding of Brandi and Carl,

He stopped.

It was subtle enough that somebody who didn’t know him might not have noticed. His expression barely changed, but his fingers tightened slightly around the invitation, and something in his posture seemed to draw inward.

He didn’t finish reading.

Instead, he carefully folded the card back along its original crease and slipped it into the envelope before placing it face down on the coffee table.

Yelena tilted her head.

“Bad news?”

“Wedding invitation.”

“Who for?”

Bucky glanced at her.

“Old friends.”

His answer came quickly, almost too quickly, and Yelena’s eyes narrowed with interest.

She had learned a great deal about Bucky in the time she’d known him. More than he probably realised. He was not somebody who volunteered information about himself, and the more he wanted a subject left alone, the shorter his answers became.

Yelena had also learned that short answers rarely meant there was nothing to say. Usually, they meant there was far too much.

“You gonna go?” she asked casually.

Bucky looked at her again, his brows drawing together. “No.”

Yelena can practically see his defence go up. His walls raising quickly to block her from digging into his feelings.

“Why?”

His jaw tightened. He held her gaze for another moment, clearly deciding whether arguing with her was worth the effort. Apparently it wasn’t, because he simply pushed himself to his feet, picking up his coffee from the arm of the chair.

“Drop it, Yelena.”

He walked towards the hallway, leaving the letter sitting on the coffee table behind him.

Yelena watched him go. She waited until he disappeared around the corner before looking back at the discarded paper.

Her curiosity had been bothering her since the moment she’d seen his expression, and now that he’d specifically told her to leave it alone, she found herself almost incapable of doing anything else.

She placed the punnet of cherries down and leaned across the table, picking up the abandoned envelope.

“Whoops,” she murmured when she noticed the faint red marks her fingers had left across the cream paper.

She wiped her hands against her thigh before carefully pulling the invitation free from the envelope.

Her eyes moved over the names.

Brandi and Carl.

She knew those names.

It took her a moment to place them, but then the memories surfaced.

She remembered seeing them around Bucky months ago, back when things had been different.

She knew there had been double dates with them, nights out, photographs that had occasionally appeared on somebody’s phone, and stories about the ridiculous things Carl had said after too many drinks.

Most importantly, Yelena remembered Bucky during that period.

He had been different.

Not necessarily happier in any obvious, exaggerated way. Bucky had never been particularly good at showing happiness, and even then there had always been something guarded about him. But there had been a softness to him that Yelena rarely saw anywhere else. His shoulders hadn’t always been drawn tight, his expression hadn’t constantly carried the weight of a hundred thoughts, and every now and then she had caught him smiling without seeming to realise he was doing it.

It had always happened around her.

Yelena remembered noticing it whenever, y/n was stood beside him.

Bucky could be difficult with almost everyone. He was stubborn, sarcastic and perpetually irritated by something, whether it was the people around him, the world outside the Tower or simply the fact that someone had decided to speak to him before he’d finished his coffee.

But when y/n was beside him, something changed. He seemed lighter.

There had been a gentleness in the way he looked at her, an ease in the way he stood beside her, as though having her there gave him permission to put down some of the things he carried when nobody else was watching.

Six months ago was the last time she had seen y/n wandering through the halls of the Tower.

And that was how long it had been since they had broken up. In those six months, Bucky had slowly become someone she recognised from before.

The warmth had disappeared.

He had started spending more time alone, returning to old habits with an almost unconscious determination. His shoulders were permanently hunched now, his expression more distant, his patience thinner. He was colder, quieter, harder to reach.

It was as though whatever part of him had been allowed to breathe while she was around had slowly been pulled back behind his walls.

Yelena’s fingers tightened slightly around the invitation.

She looked towards the corridor where Bucky had disappeared, her expression becoming more thoughtful.

Brandi and Carl weren’t just old friends. They belonged to a part of Bucky’s life that had existed when he was with her.

Judging by the way he’d looked at that invitation, Yelena had a feeling the wedding was going to force him to confront considerably more than whether or not he wanted to attend.

Yelena hadn’t mentioned the invitation to Bucky. Not after she had secretly read it, and certainly not after she had watched him tear it in half and throw it into the bin the following morning.

Not due to lack of trying, but since that morning she had barely seen him around. Bucky became almost impossible to find.

He hadn’t officially disappeared from the Tower, but he may as well have. Yelena would occasionally catch sight of him emerging from the gym, usually with sweat darkening the collar of his shirt and a towel thrown over one shoulder, before he disappeared straight back towards his room. He avoided the kitchen whenever everyone else was there, ate at strange hours and stopped joining the others in the living room in the evenings.

The closer the date came, the more he seemed to retreat into himself. This wedding had brought y/n back to the forefront of his mind, she could tell this all just from the thunderous frown on his face.

It had been six months since the breakup. Six months since Bucky had ended things.

Yelena didn’t know why things ended. She had never asked him directly, partly because she knew better than to corner Bucky when he wasn’t ready to talk and partly because she had seen enough of him afterwards to know that whatever his reason had been, it hadn’t been an easy decision.

But she knew one thing. Y/n hadn’t been the one to walk away, Yelena had learnt that she was deeply loyal and even deeper in love. She had never heard them argue, until that night, hearing y/n crying calling Bucky a coward before storming out the tower to never be seen since.

That was what made his behaviour over the last few weeks so difficult to understand. He wasn’t running from somebody who had hurt him. He was running from somebody he had hurt himself.

By the time there was only a week till the wedding, Yelena found him in the gym.

The heavy punching bag swung violently from its chain, the metal creaking and groaning above him as Bucky drove another fist into it. His movements were usually controlled when he trained, each strike deliberate and measured, but there was very little discipline in what he was doing now. He was hitting the bag with the kind of relentless force that suggested he wasn’t really trying to improve anything anymore.

He was trying to exhaust himself.

His breathing had become rougher, his shoulders tense beneath his shirt, and the wraps around his knuckles were already beginning to darken where the skin beneath them had split.

When Yelena stepped into the room, he noticed her almost immediately.

His fist stopped against the bag, and he glanced over his shoulder at her with an expression that told her he already knew exactly why she had come.

He rolled his eyes, released the punching bag and walked towards the bench, reaching for his water bottle and taking a long drink.

“Don’t start.”

Yelena hadn’t even spoken.

She stopped a few feet away, watching the faint irritation settle across his face. There was something almost amusing about how quickly he could read her. He knew that look in her eyes, knew the particular glint that appeared whenever she had decided there was something worth investigating, and he had apparently decided that the safest course of action was to shut her down before she had the opportunity.

Yelena raised both hands beside her head in surrender.

“I said nothing.”

“You’re thinking.”

“I am always thinking.”

“That’s what worries me.”

A smile tugged faintly at the corner of her mouth, but she didn’t answer.

Instead, she sat down on the opposite bench and began wrapping her knuckles, taking her time with each strip of tape. Bucky watched her suspiciously for a moment before turning back towards the punching bag.

He started again.

For several minutes, the only sounds in the gym were the steady thud of Bucky’s fists against the bag, the occasional groan of the chain above him and the quiet rustle of Yelena’s hand wraps.

Eventually, she spoke. Bucky kept punching attempting to block her words out, reducing her voice down to a murmur. His fist connected with the bag again before he finally stopped, catching it with his metal hand as it swung back towards him.

“What?” Bucky grunted, giving up on blocking her out.

“I said you should go.”

He scoffed and released the bag.

Yelena continued wrapping her hand.

“They clearly want you there. Brandi and Carl invited you, and they’re your friends too. Whatever happened between you and y/n obviously hasn’t changed the way they think about you, otherwise you wouldn’t have received an invitation in the first place.”

Bucky looked away.

“So, I think you should go.”

“It’s not that easy.”

The answer was quiet enough that Yelena almost missed it. She looked up.

Bucky was staring at the floor, his hands resting against his hips.

“I haven’t seen them,” he said. “I haven’t seen her since we broke up.” His jaw tightened. “She told me she never wants to see me again.”

He let the sentence disappear. Yelena studied him. There was no bitterness in his voice when he spoke about y/n . No resentment, no attempt to justify himself. Just guilt.

“You broke up with her,” Yelena said quietly.

Bucky’s eyes flicked towards her. It wasn’t a question. He gave a small nod. “I did.”

Yelena leaned back against the bench, thinking, you could practically hear her mind turning.

“Okay,” she said eventually. “So avoid her.”

Bucky looked at her.

“From what I remember, Brandi and Carl were very popular. There will be a lot of people there. It will be a big wedding. You can stand on the other side of the room and avoid her.”

Bucky shook his head.

“You don’t understand.”

Yelena was about to argue, but the words stopped before they reached her.

Because suddenly she did understand. Not the reason he’d ended things. That was still a mystery, and judging by the way Bucky shut down whenever the subject came close, Yelena suspected it was one he wasn’t ready to share.

But she understood why he was afraid of seeing y/n.

She had watched him around her. She had seen the way his entire demeanour changed whenever y/n entered a room. Bucky could have spent hours convincing himself that he had made the right decision, could have walked away from their relationship because he believed it was something he had to do, could even force himself to believe that six months was long enough to move on.

But none of that would matter when she was standing in front of him.

His attention would always find her. He didn’t even seem to realise he was doing it.

Yelena had watched his shoulders relax whenever y/n touched him, had seen his voice soften whenever he spoke to her, had watched the hard lines of his face disappear whenever she smiled.

There had been a gentleness in Bucky around y/n that Yelena never saw anywhere else.

It hadn’t mattered who was right or who had ended things. It hadn’t mattered that Bucky had been the one to make the decision. Whatever reason had forced him to walk away from her, it hadn’t erased what he felt. If anything, judging by the state he’d been in for the last six months, it had made it worse.

Y/n didn’t need to demand his attention.

She would always have it.

“Oh.” Yelena realised something that made the whole situation almost painfully obvious “You can’t avoid her.”

Bucky’s expression hardened. “I can.”

“No.”

“I can.”

“Bucky, if she is standing in the same room as you, you are going to look at her.” Yelena shook her head.

He didn’t answer.

“And if she talks to you, you’re going to talk back.”

His jaw tightened.

“If she asks you how you are, you will forget every reason you had for leaving.”

“Yelena.”

“And if she touches you,”

“Enough.” His voice was sharper now, but there was no real anger behind it.

“You know I’m right.” Yelena leaned forward slightly.

Bucky looked away.

She had seen the way one look from her could quiet him, the way her voice could pull him out of whatever dark place he’d disappeared into, the way he seemed almost instinctively drawn towards her whenever they were together.

She simply had him. And Bucky knew it.

That was why the idea of seeing her again frightened him more than he would ever admit.

He was scared that she would look at him the same way she used to, and every reason he had spent six months building around himself would suddenly feel paper-thin.

“You will look at her even if you don’t want to, you know you will always find her.”

“Stop.”

The word came quietly this time. There was no anger behind it. Only exhaustion.

Yelena’s expression softened.

She hadn’t intended to hurt him. She only wanted him to understand that pretending he could simply avoid y/n was pointless.

They both knew better.

Yelena sat back against the bench.

“You still love her.”

Bucky didn’t answer.

He turned back towards the punching bag and grabbed it with both hands, pulling it towards him until the swinging finally stopped.

“I came in here to work out.”

“I know.”

“So let me.”

Yelena nodded.

“Fine.” She didn’t push him any further.

There was no point. He hadn’t denied it. They both knew she was right.

Bucky had lost count of how many outfits he’d tried on.

At some point, he had stopped bothering to remember what he’d already worn and what he’d rejected. Shirts had been thrown across the back of the chair, trousers had been abandoned on the floor beside his bed, and at least three jackets had made it as far as his shoulders before he’d looked at himself in the mirror, decided he hated whatever he was wearing, and pulled the whole thing off again.

Every time, he had told himself the same thing.

He wasn’t going. There was no reason for him to go.

Brandi and Carl would understand. They had plenty of other people there, and he had already missed the ceremony anyway due to his outfit breakdown. There was no point turning up halfway through the evening, especially when he hadn’t spoken to either of them in months.

It would be easier to stay here.

That was what he told himself as he sat on the edge of his bed, elbows resting against his knees, staring at another shirt he’d just discarded.

Then he’d stand up and try something else.

Eventually, after another long look at his reflection, Bucky settled on an entirely black outfit.

Black trousers. Black shirt. Black jacket.

Nothing distinctive. Nothing that would draw attention. It was deliberate.

If he was going to do this, he wanted to be able to disappear into the crowd as quickly as possible. He had no intention of making himself noticeable, no intention of walking into the reception and becoming part of anyone’s evening.

He could arrive late, congratulate Brandi and Carl, stay long enough to make it look like he had made the effort and leave before anybody had the chance to ask too many questions.

He had spent six months avoiding the people he had once considered friends because seeing them meant getting too close to the life he’d left behind.

But Brandi and Carl hadn’t stopped being his friends just because he had broken up with y/n.

They had invited him. He couldn’t bring himself to ignore that. Bucky stood in front of the mirror one last time, adjusting the cuff of his sleeve.

He looked like he was going to a funeral. He almost laughed at the thought. Maybe that was appropriate.

He grabbed his keys from the dresser, slipped his phone into his pocket and opened his bedroom door.

He had barely taken two steps into the hallway before he nearly walked straight into Yelena.

She stopped.

Her eyes travelled slowly from his shoes to his jacket, taking in the fact that he was actually dressed for an evening out.

Then her face lit up.

“You’re going!?”

Bucky’s expression immediately hardened.

“If you say another word, then I’m not.”

Yelena’s smile only grew.

She mimed pulling an invisible zip across her lips, then threw away an imaginary key over her shoulder.

Bucky didn’t look back as he made his way through the Tower, down towards the entrance and out into the evening air, the cool breeze catching against his face as he stepped outside.

For a moment, he stood beside the car with his hand resting against the door.

He could still turn around.

He could go back upstairs, change into something comfortable and pretend he’d never considered leaving in the first place.

Nobody would blame him. But before he could give himself another reason to change his mind, he pulled away from the Tower and drove towards the wedding.

The venue was huge.

That was the first thing Bucky thought as he stepped through the entrance, his eyes moving slowly over the sprawling grounds beyond the old estate. He had expected a large wedding, but nothing had quite prepared him for the number of people spilling out across the gardens. There were faces everywhere, most of them completely unfamiliar, people moving between tables and clusters of conversation with glasses in their hands while servers drifted through the crowd carrying trays of champagne.

The ceremony had clearly been finished for some time. The evening reception was in full swing, taking place almost entirely outside beneath the darkening sky. Warm strands of lights had been suspended high above the garden, crisscrossing over the dance floor and stretching between the trees and the old stone building, casting everything below in a soft golden glow. Round tables had been arranged around the edges of the dance floor, their white linens scattered with half empty glasses, candles and elaborate floral arrangements, while music played somewhere near the far end of the garden.

Bucky stopped just inside the entrance.

For a second, he considered turning around.

This was exactly what he’d been afraid of.

There were too many people, too much noise, too many reminders of a life he had deliberately removed himself from. He could already feel the familiar instinct to find somewhere quiet beginning to settle over him, the urge to disappear before anybody noticed he had arrived.

Then a familiar voice cut through the crowd.

“Bucky?”

He looked up. Brandi was already making her way towards him.

Her face had completely changed the moment she’d seen him, the surprise quickly giving way to a genuine, almost disbelieving smile. She looked beautiful, still dressed in her wedding dress, the fabric catching the warm light as she hurried towards him.

“You came!”

There was so much genuine happiness in her voice that Bucky felt something twist uncomfortably in his chest.

She hadn’t expected him. Of course she hadn’t.

For six months, he had disappeared from their lives almost as completely as he had disappeared from y/n’s.

Brandi had been one of the people he’d spent countless evenings with during those two years. She had been y/n’s best friend long before Bucky had ever met her, and somewhere along the way, without him really noticing it happen, she’d become his friend too. And Carl even more so. They had folded him into their lives without hesitation, invited him to dinners and birthdays and holidays, made space for him at their table until being around them had felt almost as natural as being around y/n herself.

And then he’d walked away. From all of it.

“Hi.” Bucky gave her a small smile.

Brandi barely gave him time to say it before throwing her arms around him.

He hugged her back, one arm settling around her shoulders as he leaned down and quietly whispered his congratulations against her ear. She squeezed him tightly before finally pulling away, looking at him with the same delighted disbelief still written across her face.

“I honestly didn’t think you’d come.”

“I almost didn’t.”

She studied him for a second, as though she could tell there was considerably more behind those words than he was willing to explain.

Before she could ask, another familiar face appeared beside her.

Carl grinned as he reached out his hand.

“Jesus, Barnes. It’s good to see you.”

Bucky shook his hand firmly, returning the smile.

“Good to see you too.”

Carl gave him a small squeeze on the shoulder before glancing back towards the party.

“You’ve missed half the night already, so you better make up for it.”

Bucky huffed a quiet laugh.

Carl pointed towards the far side of the garden, where a fully stocked bar sat beneath another canopy of lights.

“Bar’s free. Go get yourself a drink. We’ll catch up properly later, yeah?”

“Yeah.”

“Don’t disappear again.”

The words were delivered lightly, accompanied by a grin, but Bucky felt the weight behind them anyway.

He nodded.

“I won’t.”

Brandi gave his arm one final squeeze before Carl gently pulled her back towards the guests waiting to congratulate them.

Bucky watched them go for a moment, surrounded by people who clearly adored them, before turning towards the bar.

He had made it this far.

He had walked through the entrance.

He had seen Brandi and Carl.

Neither of them had looked at him with anger or resentment. They had looked at him exactly as they used to, as though six months of silence hadn’t been enough to erase the place he’d once held in their lives.

His eyes moved across the garden. That fragile sense of relief disappeared almost instantly.

He knew somewhere among the hundreds of unfamiliar faces, there would be one face he knew better than any other. He had no idea how long it would take before he found her.

He ordered a whiskey and stood leaning against the bar, hoping the burn of it would settle the restless feeling sitting beneath his ribs. It didn’t.

He finished one and ordered another. Then another.

None of them did much to ease the nerves twisting tighter inside him, but at this point Bucky was willing to try anything. It wouldn’t kill him to spend one evening letting himself forget exactly why he’d come here in the first place.

He was staring down into his glass when a man appeared beside him at the bar, ordering himself a beer and a cherry whiskey sour.

Bucky’s face immediately tightened at the mention of that deeply sweet drink.

The man caught the reaction, his eyes flicking towards him with mild curiosity before he gave Bucky a curt, polite smile. A second later, however, recognition seemed to settle over his features. His entire body turned towards Bucky.

“Holy shit.”

Bucky slowly raised his eyebrows. The stranger stared at him for another second.

“You’re the Winter Soldier.”

The name made Bucky grimace.

“I’m not the Winter Soldier anymore,” he corrected, his voice carrying the familiar irritation that always accompanied the name.

“Big fan.”

The man immediately stuck out his hand.

Bucky hesitated before taking it, but the man’s attention wasn’t even on his face anymore. His eyes had dropped towards Bucky’s metal arm, the polished metal just visible where his sleeve pulled away from the edge of his trouser pocket where his hand was tucked.

“Baby,” the man called, turning towards whoever was standing behind him. “It’s the Winter Soldier.”

Bucky’s attention shifted automatically.

And then the woman stepped out from behind him.

The breath left Bucky’s lungs so abruptly it almost hurt. For a second, he genuinely forgot how to breathe.

Y/n stood beside the man, one hand loosely wrapped around her glass filled with cherry whiskey sour. The warm lights strung above the garden caught against the silk of her dress, the blue fabric falling effortlessly over her figure as she stood beneath them.

Bucky stared. There was no disguising it.

His eyes moved over her before he could stop himself, taking in the familiar shape of her face, the way her loose curls framed it, the dress he had no business noticing as closely as he did, the way it fell over your figure. Six months of distance had done absolutely nothing to dull the effect she had on him.

He had spent months trying to remember why he’d walked away. Trying to convince himself that he had made the right decision.

Trying to accept that she hated him now, that she had every reason to, and that staying away from her had been the only thing he could do.

None of those thoughts survived the moment she looked at him.

Y/n’s eyes met his over the rim of her glass. She took a slow sip of her drink, never breaking eye contact. Her stare bitter and burning.

Bucky felt like he was choking.

The stranger beside him glanced between them, apparently noticing the way Bucky had completely stopped listening to anything else around him.

“I would say stop checking out my date,” he said with a half laugh, “but you would probably choke me with that metal arm.”

Bucky barely heard him. He couldn’t look away.

Y/n lowered her glass.

Her expression hadn’t changed much, but there was something in her eyes that told him she knew exactly what he was doing.

“Stop looking at me like that, Bucky.”

Her voice hit him harder than the whiskey ever could. There was a warning threaded through it, enough to tell him she meant every word.

But the way she said his name, it slipped so effortlessly from her lips, Bucky felt something inside his chest give way.

The stranger’s eyes moved between them, his expression shifting as he finally seemed to realise that whatever was happening between Bucky and the woman beside him was considerably more complicated than two people who happened to know each other.

“You know him?”

Y/n didn’t hesitate.

“No.”

There wasn’t even the smallest crack in her voice. She kept her eyes fixed on her ex boyfriend, her expression composed as she took another slow sip from her glass.

“Not anymore.”

Bucky’s fingers tightened around his whiskey glass, his eyes remaining fixed on her as though staring long enough might somehow undo what she’d just said.

“Y/n.”

Her gaze finally shifted across his face.

For one brief second, Bucky saw something underneath the coolness. Something that made his chest ache with the memory of a woman who used to look at him as though he were the only person in the room.

Then it disappeared.

Bucky felt sick as he watched the man’s arm wrap around y/n’s waist.

The jealousy was immediate and ugly, something he had no right to feel when he was the one who had ended things. He had been the one to make the decision. He had been the one who had walked away and left her devastated enough to tell him she never wanted to see him again.

So what right did he have to feel anything when another man stood beside her?

None. Absolutely none. Yet his hand on gripped the glass tighter, the tips of his fingers going white as the man fingers begin to trace over the dip in her waist. Bucky could’ve sworn he saw a grimace briefly move over your face.

Bucky couldn’t stop wondering who he was, how long he’d known her, whether he knew the way she took her coffee or the songs she listened to when she was sad. Whether he knew the little expressions she made when she was trying not to laugh, or the way she would always need a hand on Bucky when she needed to calm herself down.

Whether he knew her the way Bucky had. The thought made his stomach twist.

“Y/n,” he tried again, quieter this time.

She held his gaze for another moment. There was no anger in her expression anymore. That made it worse.

“Have a good night, Bucky.”

She slipped back into the crowd before he could find another word, disappearing between unfamiliar faces and bodies moving beneath the warm strings of lights.

Bucky watched her go.

His eyes followed her instinctively, helplessly, tracking the familiar sway of her hips as she walked away from him.

He caught himself.

His jaw clenched, and he forced his gaze elsewhere, disgusted with himself for staring when she had made it painfully clear she didn’t want him looking at her.

But it was too late.

He had seen her.

He had spoken to her.

And in the space of barely five minutes, every carefully constructed defence he’d spent building had come crashing down around him.

He had walked into the wedding telling himself he could survive seeing her.

He’d lasted five minutes.

Bucky took another drink of his whiskey, staring down into the amber liquid as though it might offer him some kind of answer.

It didn’t.

He was screwed.

Y/n had successfully avoided Bucky for the rest of the night.

Or, at least, she had tried.

Every now and then, across the crowded garden, she would feel his eyes on her before she even looked up. Their gazes would meet for a second, sometimes two, and every single time she would immediately turn away and make a beeline for the bar, ordering another cherry whiskey sour as though the drink might somehow dull the awareness of him sitting somewhere behind her.

It hadn’t worked.

Now, several drinks down, she had settled herself at one of the tables surrounding the makeshift dance floor, the warmth of the alcohol making the edges of everything around her slightly softer. The music carried across the garden, people laughing and dancing beneath the strings of lights, their shadows moving over the tiled floor.

Her attention eventually settled on Brandi and Carl.

They stood together across the room, seemingly oblivious to everyone around them as Carl leaned down to kiss his new wife softly. When they pulled apart, Brandi laughed, her hands coming up to his face as he grinned at her.

Y/n smiled.

She was genuinely happy for them.

They deserved this. They deserved the laughter and the dancing and the ridiculous amount of champagne being poured into glasses around them. After everything they’d been through, watching two people she loved so deeply find their way to each other should have been nothing but beautiful.

And it was.

But there was still a quiet ache beneath her happiness.

A tug somewhere deep in her chest as she watched them build the kind of life she had once imagined for herself.

A life that had been there.

A life she’d been so certain was hers.

And then, somehow, it had been pulled completely out of her reach.

Y/n swallowed, looking down at the drink in her hands.

She hadn’t realised how little she’d moved on.

She had convinced herself that six months had to mean something. That eventually the memories would become less vivid, that waking up wouldn’t immediately remind her of him, that she would stop instinctively searching for his face around her apartment.

She had thought she was doing better.

Sitting here now, watching Brandi and Carl kiss beneath the warm lights, she realised she hadn’t moved forward at all.

She had simply become better at pretending she had.

A shadow fell across the table.

Y/n didn’t turn around.

She already knew.

There was only one person she knew who could approach her so quietly that she could feel his presence before hearing him.

The chair beside her scraped softly against the floor as Bucky pulled it out.

Y/n kept her eyes fixed on the dance floor, her fingers slowly turning the glass between them.

“What do you want, Bucky?”

She didn’t look at him. It was easier that way. If she looked at him for too long, she wasn’t sure how long she could maintain the coldness she’d been carefully constructing all evening.

Bucky shifted in the chair.

“Where’s your boyfriend?”

He had tried to make the question sound casual, as though he were asking simply because he’d noticed she was alone.

He failed miserably.

Y/n let out a quiet scoff.

The nerve of him.

He had wanted out of her life so badly. He had been the one who had walked away and left her to pick up whatever pieces he hadn’t taken with him.

And now he wanted to know who she was seeing?

“I don’t know.”

Bucky’s eyebrows pulled together.

“You don’t know?”

“No.”

“Do you want to know?” Bucky asked, curious to how unbothered she was about her date.

That made her turn slightly.

Bucky had leaned forward, his forearms resting against his thighs as he watched her. His expression was carefully neutral, but y/n knew him well enough to see the tension beneath it.

She dragged her fingertips slowly across the tabletop, her nails making a faint scratching sound against the wood.

“No.”

Her answer was simple, but there was no hesitation behind it.

Bucky’s eyes moved over her face.

He noticed the slight glossiness in her eyes, the telltale softness around them that hadn’t been there when he’d first seen her. The alcohol had begun to settle into her system, loosening the edges she was normally so careful to keep sharp.

A gentle breeze moved through the open windows behind them, catching her hair and lifting it across her shoulders.

And then Bucky caught her scent.

Cherries. Whiskey. Vanilla.

It hit him with such familiarity that his chest tightened.

She had always smelled like that.

Vanilla musk and something sweet underneath it, usually cherries. He remembered it from nights spent tangled together on the sofa, from the mornings when she’d climb into bed beside him, from the quiet moments when he’d bury his face against her neck simply because he could.

Tonight, the scent was stronger, infused with the whiskey she’d been drinking. The drink she always chose.

Every one of his senses seemed to sharpen at once.

His eyes stayed fixed on hers.

His ears strained to hear her speak again, desperate for that familiar voice, desperate to hear his name in the same tone she used to say it when they were alone.

His fingers twitched against his thigh. He wanted to reach across the small distance between them, wanted to rest his hand on her knee the way he had done a thousand times before without thinking about it.

Instead, he curled his fingers into his palm.

Because she wasn’t his to touch anymore.

Y/n turned her body towards him.

Her back was now to the party, leaving the two of them tucked away from the crowd. For a moment, it felt strangely private despite the hundreds of people only a few feet away.

“He isn’t my boyfriend.”

Bucky blinked.

“What?”

“He’s not my boyfriend.”

Something inside Bucky loosened before he could stop it. He hated himself for the relief.

“Good,” he said, perhaps a little too quickly. Then, remembering himself, he added, “Because I’m pretty sure he was just giving his phone number to one of the bartenders.”

“Good for him.” Y/n shrugged.

Bucky stared at her.

“If you don’t like him, why did you bring him?”

“We’ve been on a couple of dates.”

A couple of dates.

He knew he had no right to care, but the thought of her sitting across from another man, letting him get close enough to one day call her his girlfriend, made something bitter twist inside his stomach.

Y/n watched the reaction cross his face.

“I was worried you’d bring someone,” she admitted.

Bucky’s eyes snapped back to hers.

“So I was covering all areas.”

There was something almost defensive in the way she said it, as though she had spent the entire evening preparing herself for the possibility of seeing him with somebody else.

Bucky stared at her.

“You thought I’d bring someone?”

“I didn’t know what to expect.”

“You thought I’d bring a date.”

Y/n’s fingers continued tracing absent minded patterns against the table, her eyes dropping to the amber liquid in her glass.

“Well, you made the decision to leave me so quickly,” she said, her voice deceptively light. “You might’ve already had someone new lined up.”

Bucky’s expression shifted immediately, he hated the undertone of self doubt in her voice, he’d never heard her sound like that before.

“I didn’t.”

“I wouldn’t have known if you did.”

“Y/n.”

“What?” she asked. “You left. You made it very clear that whatever we had wasn’t something you wanted anymore. I didn’t exactly have much say in it.”

“That isn’t what happened.” Bucky swallowed, his gaze dropping briefly to the table between them.

“Isn’t it?”

There was no bitterness in the question, which somehow made it worse. She wasn’t trying to pick a fight with him. She was simply telling him how it had felt from where she had been standing.

“Because from my side, Bucky, you made a decision one day and then my entire life changed.”

He looked back at her.

She gave a small, humourless smile, turning her glass slowly between her fingers.

“So forgive me for thinking you might’ve had somewhere else to go.”

“There was never anyone else.” Bucky’s jaw tightened.

The answer came so quickly that y/n’s fingers stopped moving.

Bucky held her gaze.

“There was never anyone else,” he repeated, quieter this time. “I did it for you.”

Bucky’s voice was quiet, almost lost beneath the music and conversation continuing around them.

“To keep you safe.”

A scoff escaped her, but there was nothing genuinely amused about it. She lifted her glass towards her lips, though she didn’t drink, using the motion to hide the way her expression had faltered.

“From what?”, a small laugh leaving her as though the idea was ridiculous.

Her eyes met his. “From you?”

“Yes.”

There was no hesitation in his answer.

“From me. From the hell that comes with everything I touch.”

He looked down at his hands, the words becoming increasingly difficult to force from himself now that they were finally being spoken aloud.

“I like being a soldier. I like trying to do some good, trying to make up for,” He stopped. The rest caught somewhere in his throat.

The anger in her face softened for just a moment as she watched him struggle with whatever he had almost admitted. She already knew what he was trying to say.

He shook his head and continued.

“And you hated seeing me get hurt.”

“That isn’t,”

“You did.”

“I hated seeing you get hurt because I loved you.”

His eyes lifted to hers.

“You wanted something that doesn’t come naturally to be,” he continued. “You wanted a normal life. Domestic bliss. Something safe. Something I can’t give you.”

Y/n stared at him as though she couldn’t quite believe what she was hearing.

“That isn’t fair.” Her voice had become quieter “That isn’t true.”

Bucky opened his mouth, but she didn’t let him interrupt.

“Actually, Bucky it’s a bullshit excuse to make you feel better for running away. Convincing yourself that it was right, blaming it on me, when it’s all in your head. It’s your fears that did this.”

Her eyes were beginning to glisten now, tears gathering along her lower lashes, but she refused to let them fall.

“I would never have stood in the way of you doing what you wanted. I never asked you to stop being a soldier. I never asked you to become somebody else.” Her voice trembled.

“You didn’t even ask me what I wanted. All I wanted was us. That was it. I wanted you. I wanted us. And you let that go so easily.”

“It wasn’t easy.”

“You make it look easy.”

He had no answer.

Y/n shook her head, blinking rapidly as she tried to keep the tears from escaping.

“You’ll fight for everything else, Bucky, but you wouldn’t fight for us.”

His hand moved across the table almost instinctively, reaching for hers where it rested beside her glass. His fingers were only inches away when she pulled her hand back.

“No.”

Bucky stopped.

“Y/n.”

“No, Bucky.”

She shook her head, her voice barely above a whisper now.

“You don’t get to do that.”

He stared at her.

“You show up here and look at me like that, like you love me.”

Bucky’s breathing caught.

“I do. I never stopped.”

“But you did this.”

She pressed a trembling hand against her chest.

“You did this to us.”

She pushed her chair back.

The legs scraped against the floor, drawing the attention of a few people nearby, but she didn’t seem to notice.

She stood, wiping quickly beneath one eye before the tear could fall.

“I wish you didn’t come here.”

Bucky stood too.

“I wish I didn’t have to see your face.”

The words were quiet, but they landed harder than anything she’d said before.

She turned away from him.

Bucky watched helplessly as she walked into the crowd, her pace quickening the further she got from him until the people between them swallowed her completely.

He had told himself leaving her was an act of love. He had convinced himself that hurting her once was better than allowing his life to eventually hurt her more.

But standing there now, watching the person he loved walk away from him in tears, he couldn’t help wondering whether he’d simply found a way to disguise his own fear as sacrifice.

He knew he shouldn’t follow her.

Every sensible part of him was telling him to stay where he was, to let her walk away because she had made herself perfectly clear. She didn’t want to see him. She didn’t want him following her. She had spent six months without him, and tonight he had only managed to reopen something she had clearly been trying to heal.

But his body moved before his mind could catch up.

Bucky followed her through the crowd, his eyes fixed on the glimpse of her disappearing between shoulders and unfamiliar faces. He caught sight of her again as she reached the entrance to the manor, the warm light from the foyer spilling across the stone floor as she hurried inside.

“Y/n!”

She didn’t stop.

Bucky quickened his pace.

He caught her just as she reached the far side of the foyer, his hand closing gently around her arm.

“Wait.”

He pulled her back, careful not to hurt her, but enough to stop her momentum.

Her body turned with the gentle force, and she nearly collided with his chest.

She immediately looked up at him.

For a moment neither of them spoke.

Bucky could feel her breathing, could see the remnants of tears still caught in her lashes, and the sight made his chest ache.

“Don’t run,” he pleaded. “Please. Just let me try to explain.”

“Do you not understand the irony of you asking me not to run?”

Bucky’s expression faltered.

Her eyes travelled up to his, and she hated how small she felt standing this close to him. He was so much bigger than her, still so physically imposing, but that wasn’t what made her feel small.

It was his eyes.

It was the way one look from him could still make her forget what she had been about to say.

It was the fact that, despite everything, some part of her still wanted to step closer.

She hated that he still had that kind of power over her.

“I know,” Bucky said quickly. “I know.”

His hand loosened around her arm, but he didn’t let go completely.

“Just listen to me.”

“No.”

“Listen to me.”

She pulled her arm from his grasp.

“You ended it.” She snapped, anger taking over from the hurt as her finger jabbed in to his chest.

Bucky went still.

“You wanted this.”

“I know.”

“So I’m not going to let you do this. I’m not going to let you play this push and pull game with me because you suddenly decided you don’t like the consequences of your own decision.”

“That’s not what I’m doing.”

“Then what are you doing? What happens next time?”

Bucky frowned.

“When it gets too hard again. When you decide you know what’s best for me. When you decide you’ve got all the answers without even asking me what I want.” Her head tilted sideways, anger radiating off her now. “Are you just going to leave again?”

“No.”

“You don’t know that.”

“I do.”

“I can’t believe you,” she breathed. Her voice was a jagged mix of hurt and frustration, her chest heaving as she fought the pull of him. She was annoyed that he still had this effect on her, that her body was betraying her resolve even as she tried to push him away.

“I can’t believe,”

Bucky didn't let her finish. He couldn't. His hands shot up to frame her face, his head dipping down as his lips captured hers in a desperate, demanding kiss. Anything to stop her rambling, anything to prove her wrong and silence the arguments with the raw heat of his mouth.

She was caught off guard, a small gasp escaping her, but the shock didn't last long. Within seconds, she was kissing him back with a hunger that mirrored his own. One of his hands reached up, his fingers grazing her skin as he tucked a fallen lock of hair behind her ear. The softness of the touch hit her like a ton of bricks, a sudden reminder of the intimacy they once shared. It ripped her out of the kiss, and she pushed against his chest, pulling away.

“What are you doing?” Her voice was stern, shocked, and laced with a visible crack of emotion.

“I’m sorry,” was all he could manage to say, his voice sounding wrecked.

She looked at him, her chest rising and falling in heavy, uneven rhythms. She had no words, no way to express the storm inside her as she stared at the guilty man before her. Her eyes were conflicted, searching his. Maybe it was the deep, aching emotion, or maybe it was the whisky blurring her judgment, but she couldn't stay away.

Driven by a need she couldn't name, a weakness that took over when she looked into his eyes, she reached out and grabbed the lapels of his blazer, hauling him down to kiss her again.

Bucky groaned deep in his throat. His hands snaked around her waist, sliding down the small of her back before resting firmly just above the curve of her ass. He tasted the sharp burn of whisky on her tongue and caught the intoxicating scent of cherry vanilla perfume whisking into his nose. It was the scent he had craved for so long, the one he had tried so hard to teach himself to hate, only to find it was the only thing that could ground him.

Her hands slung around the back of his neck, pulling him closer, trying to merge their bodies. His hands drifted further down, squeezing a handful of her ass with a possessive grip that earned a loud, needy moan that skipped past her lips.

Hearing that sweet sound snapped him out of the intoxication of the kiss. He suddenly became aware of their surroundings, the foyer, the people passing by, the risk of being seen.

He pulled away just an inch, his hands still gripping her, their chests pressed tightly together. Her eyes looked up at him, flicking between his own, wondering if he regretted it, wondering why he had stopped.

“I can’t have anyone hearing you like that,” he whispered. His protectiveness flared, the thought of anyone else hearing those sweet, broken sounds she made for him made him feel sick with jealousy.

She pulled out of his grip, and for a second, Bucky’s heart dropped, fearing she was leaving again. But instead, she grabbed a hold of his hand and pulled him toward the stairs. Her heels clicked rhythmically along the floor as she led him upward.

As they crossed the landing, Bucky asked, his voice low and curious, “Where are we going?”

She turned back and gave him a knowing smile. “Maid of honor perks,” she whispered.

She opened the door to one of the most beautiful bedrooms in the building and pulled him inside by the collar. Bucky pulled himself together in an instant, spinning her around and pushing her firmly against the closed door.

Her body was trapped between the heavy wood and his massive frame. He leaned down, kissing her again with a renewed intensity. Her hands flew to his hair, pulling at the roots and earning a guttural grunt from him. His hands found the bottom of her thighs, hoisting her up until she wrapped her legs around his waist, clinging to him.

“Bucky,” she moaned into his mouth, feeling more intoxicated by him than any drink she’d had all night.

“Y/n?”

Both their eyes shot open, their heads whipping around to see her date sitting up on the bed, having just woken up from being passed out.

She slid slowly down Bucky’s body as his grip loosened on her thighs, her hands resting on his chest as she tried to catch her breath.

“What are you,” the date began, his voice slurring and confused.

“Out,” Bucky snapped. His voice was irritated, dark, and laced with a lethal edge.

“What? She’s my date, man.” the man said, stumbling to his feet.

Bucky stepped away from y/n, closing the distance between himself and the man in two predatory strides. He loomed over him, his presence suffocating.

“Okay! Okay, I’ll go!” the man stammered. He grabbed his jacket from the chair and scurried out of the room, shifting past y/n without a single word.

Bucky’s eyes remained dark, glinting with a mixture of raw desire and territorial possessiveness. He walked back over to her.

“You were going to share a room with him?”

“Bucky.”

“Does he fuck you like I do?“ he asked, his finger hooking under her chin, lifting her eyes so she had no choice but to look at him.

She didn’t answer, swallowing deeply as she trembled under his gaze.

He leaned down and kissed her, this time, it was less romantic and more driven by a desperate, starving want. He picked her up again, moving her over to the bed and laying her back.

Her stomach swirled with desperation as she leaned back on her forearms, watching him.

Bucky stood at the foot of the bed, removing his jacket and unbuttoning his shirt slowly, his eyes calculating exactly what he wanted to do to her.

He leaned down, holding himself up over her body, and kissed the sweet spot just under her ear. His kisses trailed down her neck and across her chest while his fingers worked to scrunch her dress up, pushing the fabric up until it rested under her hips.

He lifted his head and moved his body down to kiss his way up her thighs. His fingers moved her underwear to the side, sliding up into her slit to collect the moisture. He tasted her on his fingers, she moaned loudly at the contact.

Bucky’s tongue dragged slow and deliberate through her folds, the flat of it pressing hard against her clit before he sucked the swollen bud between his lips. Two thick fingers worked inside her, curling with every thrust so the pads stroked that spot that made her thighs shake. Her hips bucked up, chasing the pressure, but the second her breathing hitched and her walls started to flutter he pulled his mouth away and stilled his fingers deep inside her.

She let out a broken whine, the sound raw in the quiet hallway. Bucky kissed the inside of her thigh, lips wet, and spoke against her skin. “You’re doing so good, baby.“ His voice vibrated straight through her, making her clench around his unmoving fingers.

He waited until the pulsing inside her eased, then lowered his head again. This time he licked broad stripes up her slit, collecting every drop of slick before he sealed his mouth over her clit and sucked in a steady rhythm while his fingers started pumping again. She moaned louder, fingers twisting in his hair, thighs trying to close around his head. The tension built fast, her stomach tightening, toes curling, until he felt the first hard squeeze around his fingers. He stopped cold. Pulled his mouth off, eased his fingers out until only the tips remained inside her.

“Bucky, fuck, please,” she gasped, voice cracking. Her hips rolled, trying to force his fingers deeper, but he held them just inside her entrance, denying her the stretch she needed.

“You taste so good,” he murmured, kissing just above her clit, anywhere except where she was throbbing hardest. “Still so sweet.”

He waited, breathing hot against her, until her desperate movements slowed and the edge backed off again.

The third time he gave her more. Three fingers this time, sliding in with a wet sound, scissoring gently before he curled them hard against her front wall. His tongue flicked quick and light over her clit, never letting up, never giving her a second to breathe. She was panting, cursing, hips snapping up to meet every thrust of his hand. “I love hearing you.” He mumbled against her.

The orgasm crashed toward her so fast her vision blurred.

Right as her walls started to clamp down he pulled his fingers free completely and lifted his mouth, leaving her empty and clenching around nothing.

She slammed her palm against the mattress, frustration boiling over. “Bucky, please, I need to cum!” Her voice was ragged, half sob, half snarl. Her thighs trembled, pussy visibly pulsing, slick dripping down the curve of her ass.

He looked up at her from between her spread legs, lips shiny, eyes dark.

He moved back up to her face, kissing the corner of her mouth. “You want to cum? Baby, you should’ve just said.”

Bucky shoved his trousers down his thighs and kicked them off, the heavy fabric hitting the floor with a dull thud. He wrapped his fist around his cock and dragged the thick head through her soaked folds, coating himself in her slick. Every slow pass over her clit made her hips jerk, but he never gave her the pressure she craved. He lined himself up and pushed in one smooth, relentless thrust, burying himself to the hilt.

She cried out his name, loud and broken, the stretch forcing the air from her lungs. He felt perfect inside her, thick, hot, filling every inch like he’d been carved to fit her exactly. Her walls fluttered around him, trying to pull him deeper.

“Fuck,” he groaned his head falling against her shoulder, voice rough. He stayed buried for a moment, savoring the tight, wet heat gripping him.

Then he started moving. Slow, deep rolls of his hips that dragged every inch of his cock along her inner walls. Each thrust felt like a promise, like he was trying to remind her body who it belonged to. Her hands slid up his back, fingers digging into muscle, pulling him closer.

The rhythm changed without warning. His pace turned sharp and punishing, hips snapping forward hard enough to jolt her up the bed. The headboard thudded against the wall in time with his thrusts. He watched her face the whole time, eyes locked on every gasp, every flutter of her lashes, every time her mouth fell open on a moan.

“You’re doing so good,” he growled, voice low and filthy. “Taking every inch like you were made for it.”

Her orgasm built fast, the earlier denial making her hypersensitive. Her thighs started to shake. Just as she tipped over the edge he leaned down, lips brushing her ear.

“Cum for me.”

She shattered. The scream that tore out of her was raw, his name ripped from her throat again and again while her pussy clamped down hard around him. He fucked her straight through it, never slowing, riding every pulse and flutter until she was trembling and gasping beneath him.

His metal hand slid up from her hip and wrapped around her throat, not squeezing, just holding her there, forcing her to meet his eyes.

“Look at me,” he ordered, voice dark. “Did he ever make you feel like this? Did he ever make you scream like that?”

She tried to answer but the words dissolved into another moan. He kissed her hard, swallowing the sound, tongue sliding against hers until she was dizzy.

When he pulled back she managed, “No. Only you, Bucky. No one else since you.”

He brushed the hair from her face with surprising tenderness even as he kept pounding into her. The brutal rhythm never eased, but something in his eyes softened.

“You waited for me,” he murmured. “Good girl.”

“I’m yours,” she breathed, voice steady even as another orgasm coiled tight inside her. “No one else could ever touch me the way you do.”

He hooked one of her legs over his shoulder and drove in deeper, the new angle punching the air from her lungs with every thrust. She could feel him swelling inside her, getting close.

“I, I’m,” she stammered, nails biting into his shoulders.

“Wait for me, baby,” he rasped. “Just a little longer.”

He chased his own release with short, brutal strokes until his rhythm faltered. He came with a low groan, pulsing deep inside her, filling her with hot, thick spurts. He didn’t stop moving. He kept thrusting through his own orgasm, pushing his cum deeper, refusing to let up until her second climax crashed over her.

Her back arched hard off the bed. Her nails raked down his back, leaving red lines as she moaned his name over and over, voice hoarse. Her walls milked him through every aftershock until she finally went limp beneath him.

Bucky’s arm shook as he held himself above her. He let her leg slide down from his shoulder and lowered himself slowly, pressing soft, lingering kisses to her lips, her jaw, the corner of her mouth. She felt small and spent under him, and he kissed her like he was trying to put her back together.

When he finally pulled out, a mix of their cum leaked from her, but he didn’t move away. He stayed close, forehead resting against hers, breathing the same air while their hearts hammered against each other’s chests.

He moved his body off her and lifted her up, carrying her into the shower. “Let’s get you cleaned up,” he whispered.

The hot steam filled the bathroom, her body leaned into him, her legs weak and shaking, his arm gripping her waist for support.

He used her cherry body wash, lathering her skin until she was soapy and warm. He kissed her neck one more time once the soap suds had been washed away.

He helped her out of the shower slowly, keeping one hand steady at her waist as she stepped onto the cool floor. The warmth of the water still clung to her skin, leaving her cheeks flushed and her hair damp against her shoulders. He reached for a towel and wrapped it carefully around her, taking his time as he dried her arms and shoulders before gently running it through the ends of her hair.

There was something almost painfully tender about the quietness between them now.

After everything they had said, everything that had been dragged back to the surface between them, neither of them seemed to know what to do with the softness that had somehow followed.

Bucky helped her back towards the bed, watching as she sat down on the edge. He grabbed his discarded shirt from the floor, holding it out to her.

She slipped her arms into it, and Bucky crouched in front of her, carefully fastening the buttons one by one. His fingers moved slowly, almost deliberately, as though he was giving himself an excuse to stay close to her for just a little longer.

When he reached the final button, his hands rested briefly against her waist.

Their eyes met.

There was so much neither of them had said that the silence almost felt heavier than the words had been.

“Do you want to talk?” he asked softly.

“No.”

The answer came almost immediately.

She looked exhausted, but there was a lazy contentment in her expression now, the tension that had been wound so tightly through her finally beginning to loosen.

“I just want to sleep,” she added, her voice softer.

“Okay.”

He didn’t push.

Bucky climbed into bed beside her and settled onto his back, leaving a small space between them. He was careful not to assume anything, careful not to reach for her when he wasn’t sure she wanted him to.

Y/n turned onto her side, facing away from him.

Neither of them moved.

The room was quiet except for the faint sounds of the wedding still carrying through the distant walls, the music muffled now by the manor around them. Bucky stared into the darkness, his mind still moving through everything that had happened that night, unable to decide whether he was awake because he was afraid to sleep or because he was afraid that when he woke up, she might be gone again.

He thought she had fallen asleep.

Then he felt movement beside him.

Her hand reached backwards across the mattress, searching blindly until her fingers found his.

Bucky looked down.

He simply curled his fingers around hers as she pulled his arm to wrap around her. He shifted closer, closing the distance he’d deliberately left between them.

She relaxed almost immediately.

His face settling into the curve of her neck. The familiar scent of cherries, vanilla and warm skin surrounded him. It was almost enough to quiet every thought in his head.

He breathed her in slowly, his eyes closing as the warmth of her body settled against his. She fit against him with a familiarity that made his chest ache, as though the space she’d occupied beside him had never truly disappeared.

His breathing gradually slowed. The tension left his shoulders.

Just as sleep finally began to pull him under, he heard her voice, soft and barely conscious against the darkness.

“I love you, Buck.”

Bucky woke slowly, his mind still heavy with sleep, the warmth of the night lingering over him.

For a few seconds, everything felt strangely peaceful.

Without opening his eyes, his hand moved across the mattress. He expected to find her. His fingers searched through the sheets, brushing against the cold space where her body should have been.

His brow furrowed. He reached further.

Nothing.

His eyes opened. The other side of the bed was empty.

Bucky sat up immediately, his heart dropping as his eyes swept across the room.

“Y/n?”

Nothing.

He threw the covers back and stood, looking towards the bathroom as though she might somehow silently be there.

The room was empty.

She was gone.

Bucky stood completely still, his chest tightening as the reality settled over him. He looked back towards the bed, almost expecting her to appear again, to tell him she’d only gone downstairs or that she was getting coffee.

His shirt, the one she slept in last night, folded neatly over the chair.

She had taken the clothes she’d arrived in, but his shirt was sitting exactly where she had left it, carefully folded rather than abandoned.

He crossed the room slowly.

Beside the glass of water on the bedside table was a small folded piece of paper.

Bucky picked it up.

I meant it when I said I love you.

But I don’t know if I trust you.

Give me time.

His fingers tightened slightly around the paper before he carefully flattened it against his palm.

Bucky folded the note carefully and placed it in the pocket of his trousers.

He wasn’t going to chase her.

For once, he understood that loving her meant letting her make this decision for herself.

So he picked up the glass of water she’d left for him and stared at it for a moment, his throat tightening at the quiet thoughtfulness of it.

Even after everything, she’d still thought to leave him water before she left.

He drank it slowly.

She had given him a boundary.

He would respect it.

But as Bucky stood alone in the quiet room, the smallest, most fragile part of him held onto the only thing she had given him permission to keep.

Time.

Trending Blogs

Recently Viewed Blogs

lovey