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warnings: attempted suicide, depression, heights, slight mention of starving, no use of y/n or pet names.
Empty.
Empty is the exact word to describe how Bucky was feeling. Well, kind of. He felt so full of anger and mental pain, but he also felt completely empty, like there was a void deep inside his soul, slowly sucking out everything until all that was left was gut-wrenching agony.
With each day that passed, that void took more of his sweet, pained soul, and he started to lose it.
At first, he stopped coming to dinner, where the team all ate together every night. At first, everybody just assumed they were too loud and annoying for him to handle.
Another week, he slowly stopped eating. He'd only drink water occasionally. That's when you started noticing, because your favourite cereal stopped being stolen from your shelf in the pantry.
You tried to talk to him when he would adventure out of his room, but he'd just mutter something along the lines of, "Can't talk, I'm busy", but you knew he wasn't really that busy. He didn't have any scheduled missions.
Over the next three months it just got progressively worse for Bucky. His sleep schedule got heavily messed up, so he was only awake at night. Steve noticed by now, and despite trying his hardest to make time to talk to Bucky, he'd always end up busy or unable to stay up late to catch him.
One night, he finally decided that it was the night. The night his torture would finally end.
It had just turned midnight, and the rest of the team was asleep in their rooms... apart from one stray. You.
Any other day, Bucky would've sensed you following him up to the roof of the Avengers Tower, but his thoughts were too scattered, and he had his AirPods in - a birthday gift from Sam.
When he went up the elevator, you went up the stairs. When he opened the roof door, you waited thirty seconds before peeking your head out.
Your heart dropped.
Bucky was standing precariously close to the edge. Way too close for comfort.
He stood there, taking his AirPods out before stuffing his hands into his pockets, taking a moment to appreciate the sight of New York. It wasn't the same New York he grew up in; it would never be. The only thing that made it feel even slightly close to home was Steve, the small bakery in Brooklyn that still stood after eighty years and shitty politicians that still talked out of their ass.
The thought of Steve made him pause. He didn't write a note; he didn't think to. He hadn't even spoken to him in a week.
He needed to do that first.
He went to take a step back, but you thought he was about to jump.
"Barnes!"
Bucky absolutely froze. He didn't dare move a muscle. He'd been caught.
He had two options. Take a step back, and never have that chance again because you'd definitely tell Steve. Or two... take one step forward.
"Bucky?" You walked closer cautiously, swallowing nervously. "Wanna step back from the edge?"
Bucky kept staring ahead.
"Oh, god, Bucky-" You inhaled. "Please step back."
His flesh hand twitched.
"Okay, alright, this is understandable," You said, your voice shaky. "You're a very traumatised man, I get it, but I need you to take a huge step back, please."
His head turned ever so slightly and his hands clenched.
"Just- just think of what you'd miss out on." You started listing things. "Like, uhm, using a fresh shampoo bottle. Or, adjusting really tight underwear. Or waking up in the morning and adjusting your shirt so it's not creased!-"
His lips twitched for the first time in a while.
"Oh, oh, Steve!" You exclaimed. "Steve would break into tiny little pieces if you did this. Come on, don't do it. For Steve, oh, and Sam and me."
Bucky's jaw clenched and he closed his eyes for a moment. He thought about the peace he'd get, no more scrambled thoughts, no fights or wars...
He took a deep breath and opened his eyes, taking one last glimpse down at the street before finally stepping back.
You let out a sigh and immediately dashed forward, grabbing him by the fabric of his shirt to drag him inside. "We are going to talk."
He let you drag him without struggle, and his gaze pointedly avoided yours.
When you got down to the common room, you forced him to take a seat on the couch. You then proceeded to threaten him if he ever tried that again.
Bucky wasn't entirely focused. "Why did you follow me?"
You paused your pacing, blinking as you took a moment to process the question. "Oh, well, It's irrelevant now, but I stayed up late to talk to you."
Bucky nodded slowly, looking down at his hands before glancing back up at you. "...Why?"
"Because I wanted to."
"...But why?"
Your shoulders slumped and you sat on the couch next to him, leaving a polite gap. "I've missed seeing you around, and missed you stealing my cereal."
His brows furrowed slightly, and he stayed quiet for a beat, before saying, "That's your cereal?"
A small smile tugged at your lips. "Yeah, Bucky. It's mine."
Once again, Bucky nodded slowly. His jaw ticked before he finally looked at you properly. "We... we can talk now."
You tilted your head. "Yeah?"
"Yeah," he confirmed gruffly, then lightly tapped his head with his flesh hand. "Need a distraction."
"I can do that," You said enthusiastically. "I can totally be distracting."
You then start to talk.
And don't stop until sunrise.
Bucky watched you and nodded along, and when you started running out of things to chatter about, he started asking questions and engaging with you, which is the most he'd done in months.
When you passed out on the couch, he very carefully adjusted your position so you didn't hurt your neck before falling asleep on the other side.
Ok but picture the ultimate girl dad!Bucky with his daughters. Like the whole family is just having a movie day or something. One of his girls is curled up next to him, another is doing his hair, and if we're feeling frisky, the rest are just bumbling around him going "look at this daddy", "daddy let me cuddle too", etc. Bucky Barnes was made for little girls!!
oh, so i cried. cool cool coolio for sureeeee
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The living room is a mess.
Blankets are everywhereâhalf draped over the couch, half trailing onto the floor. Popcorn litters the coffee table, along with three different juice boxes (only one of them actually finished) and a scattering of tiny plastic tiaras that somehow made their way into the movie setup. The TV hums softly in the background, some animated movie playing that no one is fully paying attention to anymore.
Bucky Barnes sits in the center of it all like the calm in a storm.
Or⊠well. As calm as he can be.
âDaddy, donât move,â Maisie insists, her small fingers carefully separating a section of his hair. Sheâs perched behind him on the back of the couch, tongue poking out in concentration as she attempts what she proudly declared was going to be âa braid like Elsa.â
âYes, maâam,â Bucky murmurs, perfectly still despite the slight tugging.
On his right side, curled into him like she belongs there, is Lila. Sheâs tucked against his flesh arm, her cheek pressed to his chest, thumb absentmindedly brushing along the seam of his shirt. Her legs are thrown over his lap, fully claiming him as her personal pillow.
âIâm comfy,â she mumbles, already half-asleep.
âYou look comfy, bug,â he says softly, dipping his head just enough to press a kiss to her hairâcareful not to disrupt Maisieâs âmasterpiece.â
That lasts all of three seconds.
âDaddy!â
Bucky barely has time to react before something collides into his left sideâhard.
âOofââ His vibranium arm comes up instinctively, steadying the small body now attempting to climb him like heâs a jungle gym.
âLook what I made!â Nora announces proudly, shoving a slightly crumpled drawing directly into his line of sight.
He shifts just enough to see it without disturbing the rest of his very delicate situation.
Itâs⊠colorful.
Very colorful.
Thereâs a stick figure with long hair (you), a bigger one with a square torso (him, he assumes), and four smaller figures scattered around. One of them appears to have wings.
âIs that me?â he asks, tapping the larger figure.
Nora beams. âYeah! And thatâs you tooââ she points to another one. âBut thatâs you when youâre a superhero.â
âAh,â he nods solemnly. âI can tell by the⊠wings.â
âTheyâre not wings,â she says, scandalized. âThatâs your metal arm.â
âOf course it is,â Bucky corrects immediately. âHow could I miss that?â
Satisfied, Nora scrambles into his lapâwell, what little lap space remains between her and Lila.
âDaddy, I wanna cuddle too.â
âCâmere, sweetheart.â He shifts carefully, adjusting his legs so she can wedge herself in without knocking Lila off entirely.
Behind him, Maisie groans. âDaddy, you moved!â
âSorry, sweetheart,â he says, freezing again mid-adjustment. âWonât happen again.â
âThat braid better be worth it,â you murmur from where youâre sitting cross-legged on the floor, trying (and failing) not to laugh.
Bucky shoots you a look that says help me, but thereâs no real distress behind it. His eyes are soft, warm, glowing in that way they only ever do when heâs surrounded like this.
When heâs theirs.
âDaddy!â
Another voice this timeâEllieâcoming in at full speed from the hallway. Sheâs clutching a stuffed bunny in one hand and something shiny in the other.
âI found this!â she declares, climbing onto the armrest next to him.
âWhatâd you find, El?â he asks, shifting his vibranium hand to steady her before she can topple over.
âItâs your dog tags!â she says, dangling them in front of his face.
His chest tightens for half a secondâold memories, old weightâbut it melts just as quickly when she beams at him like sheâs discovered treasure.
âYou wanna wear them?â he asks gently.
Her eyes go wide. âReally?â
âReally.â
He carefully lifts them over his head, placing them around her neck. They hang comically low, nearly to her stomach, but she doesnât care.
âIâm just like you!â she announces proudly.
âYeah, you are,â he says softly, brushing his thumb over her cheek.
Now there are four of them on him.
Maisie behind him, still braiding with fierce determination.
Lila half-asleep against his chest.
Nora sprawled across his lap, holding her drawing like itâs sacred.
Ellie perched beside him, dog tags clinking as she wiggles with excitement.
And thenâ
âDaddy, I wanna sit too!â
The smallest voice yet.
She toddles over with unsteady steps, dragging a blanket behind her like a royal train. Her curls are a mess, her pajama top twisted, and her lip slightly stuck out in a pout.
âThereâs no room,â she declares, deeply offended.
Bucky exhales a quiet laugh.
âCâmere, Pip.â
He somehow shifts again, making space by pulling her up onto his chest, right above Lila.
âThere we go,â he murmurs, settling her carefully so she doesnât squish her sister.
Piper immediately melts into him, tiny hands fisting in his shirt.
âAll my girls,â he murmurs under his breath.
You catch it.
Of course you do.
Your heart does that soft, aching thing it always does when he says stuff like thatâlike he still canât believe this is his life. Like heâs still waiting for it to disappear.
It wonât.
Not this.
Not the way Maisie proudly announces, âDaddy, Iâm done!â and holds up what can only be described as the most chaotic braid youâve ever seen.
Not the way Nora immediately demands, âCan I do the other side?â
Not the way Ellie leans into him, whispering, âI love you, Daddy.â
Not the way Piper is already snoring softly against his chest.
Not the way Lila sleepily murmurs, âBest movie day ever.â
Bucky just sits there in the middle of it allâhair half-braided, arms full, heart fullerâlooking like a man who was carved from war but somehow remade for this.
For them.
For five little girls who see him not as something broken or dangerous, but as theirs.
âLove you too, doll,â he murmurs quietly, not even sure which one heâs answering.
Beefy Bucky being a (maybe nervous) gentle giant during lovemaking?
Bucky Barnes is careful in a way that feels calculated, like every movement is something heâs chosen for you. For this. For the space between your bodies where everything feels softer than it should, given the sheer size of him.
Heâs big.
Thereâs no other word for it.
Broad shoulders that block out the lamplight, thick arms corded with muscle even when heâs still, chest warm and solid where it presses against yours. The weight of him should be overwhelming, should pin you down and steal the breath from your lungs, but instead he holds himself just above you, braced on one arm, like heâs afraid to crush something fragile.
You huff a quiet laugh, fingertips brushing the tense line of his jaw. âYou know Iâm not made of glass, right?â
His eyes flick to yours immediatelyâblue, bright, just a little too sharp with concern. âI know that,â he murmurs, but his voice dips low, threaded with something that feels almost like nerves. âJust⊠donât wanna hurt you.â
It does something warm and aching to your chest.
This man who has survived wars and worse, who could lift you like you weigh nothing at all, is worried about you.
You curl your hand behind his neck, tugging him closer until your foreheads press together. âYou wonât,â you promise softly. âYouâre not him anymore, Buck.â
Thereâs a flicker in his expression at thatâsomething shadowed, something oldâbut it fades quickly when your thumb traces along his cheek. He exhales, long and slow, like heâs letting something go.
âStill,â he says after a moment, quieter now. âGotta be careful with something this pretty.â
Your stomach flips at the sincerity of it.
You shift beneath him, letting your legs slide around his hips, drawing him down that last inch heâd been holding back. The contact makes him inhale sharply, the sound catching in his throat like he hadnât expected it, like it hits him every time no matter how many times youâve done this.
âSee?â you whisper, brushing your lips against his. âIâm okay.â
His answering kiss is soft at first. Always soft at first. Like heâs easing into it, testing the edges of you, making sure youâre right there with him. His mouth moves against yours slowlyand you can feel the way his restraint trembles under your hands when you grip his shoulders a little tighter.
Itâs not that he doesnât want more, you can feel it in the way his hips shift, in the low, almost frustrated sound he makes when you deepen the kiss, but he waits. For you.
He always waits.
âTell me ifââ he starts, pulling back just enough to look at you, brows drawn together.
You cut him off with a quiet, breathless laugh, pressing your finger to his lips. âBucky,â you say gently, âI will.â
He studies your face for another second, searching for something, and whatever he finds must settle him because his shoulders loosen just a fraction.
âOkay,â he breathes.
And then he lets himself go.
Not all at once, but in slow, careful increments. His kisses grow deeper, more certain, his mouth moving against yours with a quiet kind of hunger he doesnât try to hide anymore. His hand slides along your side, warm and grounding, fingers splaying over your waist like he needs to feel all of you at once.
Even then, heâs still mindful. His grip never tightens too much, his movements never rush. Itâs strength held on a leash, power softened down into something gentle and consuming all at once.
When you shift under him again, guiding him closer, he pauses just enough to look at you.
âStill good?â he asks, voice rough now, edged with something deeper.
You nod, breath catching as he moves, as the closeness becomes something more, something that makes your toes curl and your hands clutch at him instinctively. âYeah,â you whisper. âMore than good.â
Thatâs all he needs.
He exhales your name like itâs something sacred and finally settles fully against you, careful even in the way he lets his weight rest there, adjusting instinctively until youâre comfortable beneath him. His forehead drops to yours again, his eyes slipping closed for a moment like heâs overwhelmed by the feeling of you.
âGod,â he murmurs, almost to himself. âYou feelââ
He cuts himself off with a soft groan, like he canât find the words.
You smile, brushing your nose against his. âI get it,â you tease lightly. âIâm incredible.â
That pulls a quiet laugh from him, low and warm, the sound vibrating through his chest where it presses against yours.
âYeah,â he says, and this time thereâs no hesitation at all. âYeah, you are.â
The rhythm he finds is steady, unhurried, like heâs savoring every second instead of chasing an end. Every movement is measured, his body moving with yours rather than against it. He watches you the whole time, eyes open and intent, like heâs memorizing the way your face changes, the way you react to him.
It makes something inside you melt.
âBuck,â you breathe, fingers tangling in his hair as the tension builds, as your body arches up into his without thinking.
Immediately, his hand slides up your spine, supporting you, grounding you, his touch firm but gentle. âI got you,â he murmurs, voice soft but certain. âIâve got you, doll. Youâre okay.â
Thereâs no fear in it anymore. No edge of doubt. Just reassurance, steady and warm, like he believes it now as much as you do.
You let yourself fall into it, into him, because you trust him completely.
And he handles that trust like itâs the most precious thing heâs ever been given.
By the time everything slows, by the time your breathing evens out and the room feels quiet again, heâs still hovering over you, still watching you with that same careful attention.
âYou alright?â he asks, brushing your hair back from your face.
You laugh softly, reaching up to pull him down into a proper embrace this time, your arms wrapping around his broad shoulders. âIâm perfect.â
He relaxes then, his full weight finally settling against you as he buries his face in the crook of your neck.
âGood,â he murmurs, pressing a lingering kiss to your skin. âThatâs all I want.â
And somehow, despite everything he isâdespite the strength, the history, the sheer size of himâhe fits against you like he was always meant to be gentle.
college!bucky who⊠(TW! drug abuse, alcoholism, addiction)
college!bucky who has known you ever since youâve been kids.
college!bucky who is well aware that the two of you donât have much in common except the fact that you live on the same street.
college!bucky who lives alone with his alcoholic dad because his mom left them when he was seven.
college!bucky whose dad spends all his money on liquor.
college!bucky who has been dealing with drugs ever since he was in ninth grade because they couldnât afford their house otherwise.
college!bucky who is actually desperate to move out but doesnât have the budget for it and doesnât like the thought of being away from you.
college!bucky hates your local community college but doesnât have the money to study anywhere else.
college!bucky who only still goes there because you are in the same college as him.
college!bucky who, if it wasnât for you, would be a full time dealer by now because then he wouldnât have a reason to become a mechanic.
college!bucky who is convinced that you would hate him if you ever found out about his side hustle, so he desperately tries to hide it from you.
college!bucky who knows that he will never be worthy of you, but still tries to be a better man because he doesnât want you to think badly of him.
college!bucky who relapses after being clean for three years after you tell him that youâve gotten the transfer scholarship and are going to go to ucla after the end of the semester.
college!bucky who really tries to be happy for you because he knows how hard youâve worked for this, but knows that he is about to lose the only thing that has made his life make sense.
college!bucky who only laughs when you beg him to apply for a scholarship as well so you can go to university together and tells you that youâve always been the one with the brains in this friendship.
college!bucky who knows he isnât stupid, but has stopped believing himself such a long time ago he doesnât even know what it feels like anymore.
college!bucky who spends as much time as possible with you before you have to leave to study on the other side of the country because he knows that you are the last good thing he is ever going to have in his life.
college!bucky who knows that he is going to drop out of college the second you are on the plane to L.A, because what would be the point anymore?
college!bucky who canât bear bringing you to the airport because this already hurts too much as it is.
college!bucky who never wanted to be like his dad, but consumes on a daily basis again because he canât function properly otherwise now that you arenât in town anymore.
college!bucky who thinks that the drug business is the only future he is ever going to get and doesnât deserve anything else than that.
college!bucky who is unaware that his professor has applied him to a transfer scholarship as well because she sees his potential but knows that this town is slowly but surely dragging him under, especially now that you arenât here anymore.
college!bucky who enters college the day after your flight, fully ready to tell his professor that heâs quitting only for her to tell him that heâs been accepted to ucla.
college!bucky who laughs at her face because he thinks sheâs joking, only for her to tell him that she is being completely serious.
college!bucky who knows that this is his one in a lifetime chance to get out of this town, but isnât sure if he is capable of leaving this version of himself behind.
A/N: This was inspired by a book Iâve just finished but I came up with half of the concept whilst writing this, I hope you liked it!
could you do buckys wife who has just given birth a couple of months ago and theyâve left the baby with her grandparents for the night so they can have a night in and reader is panicking because shehasnt had a night to herself since the baby was born and bucky reassuring her and just super fluffy with them taking a bath together and bucky washing her hair and relieving her swollen breasts and just full on pampering her and praising her for being the best mom ever
The silence feels wrong and unfamiliar.
You stand in the middle of the living room, arms folded tight across your chest, listening to it. No soft baby noises drifting from the monitor. No tiny hiccups or sleepy little sighs. No sudden panic that you forgot somethingâdiaper, bottle, blanketâbecause for the first time in months, thereâs nothing youâre responsible for in this exact moment.
And thatâs the problem.
âI donât like it,â you say, voice small.
From the couch, Bucky looks up immediately. Heâs been watching you for the last five minutes, tracking the way youâve paced from the kitchen to the hallway and back again like youâre trying to solve a problem you canât name.
âDonât like what, doll?â
âThis,â you gesture vaguely. âThe quiet. The⊠not doing anything. I feel like I forgot something. Or like I should be doing something.â
His expression softens, something deep and warm settling into his eyes as he stands and crosses the room toward you.
âYou didnât forget anything,â he says gently. âSheâs with your parents. Sheâs safe. Fed. Probably being spoiled outta her mind right now.â
You huff out a weak laugh, but it doesnât quite stick. Your fingers twist together. âI know. I justâwhat if she needs me? What if she cries and Iâm not there?â
Bucky stops right in front of you, hands coming up to cradle your face before you can spiral any further. His thumbs brush softly under your eyes, grounding.
âHey,â he murmurs. âLook at me.â
You do, even though your chest feels tight.
âSheâs okay,â he says, steady and certain. âAnd youâre allowed to be okay, too. Youâre allowed to take a night. Doesnât make you any less of a mom.â
Your throat burns a little. âIt feels like it does.â
His expression breaks just slightly at that, something tender and aching flickering across his face.
âCâmere,â he says softly, pulling you into him.
You go easily, pressing your face into his chest, breathing in that familiar scent of himâclean soap, something warm and woodsy, something safe. His arms wrap around you, strong and solid, his chin resting on top of your head.
âYouâve been everything for her,â he murmurs into your hair. âEvery second of every day. Feeding her, holding her, getting up in the middle of the night, soothing her when she cries. You donât get to turn around now and act like youâre slacking for taking one night to breathe.â
You sniff, your grip on his shirt tightening. âI just⊠donât know what to do with myself.â
A quiet huff of amusement rumbles through his chest.
âWell,â he says, âlucky for you, Iâve got a plan.â
You pull back just enough to squint up at him. âA plan?â
His mouth curves, soft and a little smug. âYeah. And step one is you letting me take care of you for once.â
---
The bathroom fills slowly with steam.
You sit perched on the closed toilet lid, wrapped in one of Buckyâs t-shirts, watching as he tests the water with careful precision like itâs some kind of mission. The lights are dimmed, a soft lamp casting a golden glow across the tile, and thereâs a candle flickering on the counter that you donât even remember him lighting.
âYou donât have to do all this,â you mumble.
He glances back at you over his shoulder. âYeah, I do.â
âYou really donât.â
âI really do,â he counters easily, then softens. âBecause you deserve it.â
Your chest tightens again, but this time itâs something warmer.
He straightens once the tub is full, rolling his sleeves up his forearms before turning back to you.
âCâmere.â
You hesitate for half a second, but then you stand and let him guide you closer. His hands are gentle as he helps you out of the oversized shirt, his touch lingering just slightly like heâs reminding you that this body is still yours, still something to be cared for.
âEasy,â he murmurs as you step into the water.
Itâs perfect. Warm without being too hot, wrapping around you like a quiet hug. You let out a small sigh as you sink down, your shoulders finally dropping from somewhere up near your ears.
âThere you go,â he says softly.
A moment later, he joins you, settling in behind you so your back rests against his chest. His legs bracket yours, his arms slipping around your middle, grounding you there.
For a while, neither of you says anything as he holds you.
His fingers trace lazy patterns over your skin, up and down your arms, across your stomach, over your hips. Not demanding. Not rushed. Just there.
âYou did so good,â he murmurs eventually, voice low against your ear.
Your eyes close. âBuckââ
âNo,â he interrupts gently. âLet me say it.â
His nose brushes your temple, his lips pressing a soft kiss there.
âYou carried her for nine months. You brought her into this world. Youâve been taking care of her every second since.â His hand spreads over your stomach, thumb brushing lightly. âYouâre the best mom she couldâve gotten. No question.â
Your breath catches.
âI donât feel like it,â you admit quietly.
His arms tighten around you just a little.
âDoesnât matter what it feels like right now,â he says. âI see it. She feels it. Everyone does. Youâre it for her.â
Your throat goes tight again, but you donât fight it this time. You lean back into him fully, letting yourself be held.
âJust let me take care of you tonight,â he murmurs. âThatâs all you gotta do. Nothing else.â
You nod faintly, your hand coming up to rest over his where itâs still splayed across your stomach.
âOkay,â you whisper.
His lips brush your shoulder, soft and lingering.
âThatâs my girl.â
And for the first time since she was born, you let yourself stop.
Not because you donât love her.
Not because you donât miss her.
But because, wrapped up in Buckyâs arms, with the water warm around you and his voice soft in your ear, you remember something you hadnât realized you were losing.
pairing: bucky barnes x reader, eventual stucky | 8.5k words | avengers: endgame au
warnings: angst, wartime separation, grief, longing, emotional infidelity themes, canon-typical endgame sadness, bucky x reader endgame that turns into stucky, lots of yearning
summary: when bucky gets the chance to go back in time to the woman he once planned to marry, he thinks heâs finally being given back the life he lost. instead, reader helps him see that his future was never meant to stay in the pastâand that the life he and steve deserve has been waiting for them all along.
authors note: bucky and steve deserve happiness in every lifetime and i will not be accepting discourse about that at this time. stucky are my og gay boys and i think it would have been so healing for them to get the validation that being together is ok. bucky barnes deserves sunshine and here he finds that in steveâïž
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Before the war, before the uniforms and the medals and the grief, before there were ghosts living inside James Buchanan Barnesâs skin, there was Brooklyn.
There was the smell of hot bread drifting out of the bakery on Dean Street just before dawn, the groan of the train under the sidewalks, the slap of summer heat against brick buildings, and the sound of Steve Rogers laughing from somewhere close by whenever Bucky said something he thought was smarter than it actually was. There were stoops and tenement windows and wash lines strung like prayer flags between buildings. There were girls in pressed skirts and boys trying too hard to look older than they were. There was music from somebodyâs radio three windows down and the gold of late afternoon laid over the whole neighborhood like a blessing.
And there was you.
Bucky used to swear he saw you before he really met you, though half the time he changed the story just to hear you argue with him.
Sometimes he said the first time had been outside Delmarâs, when youâd stood on the curb with your hands on your hips, telling the butcher heâd overcharged Mrs. Carlucci by six cents and ought to be ashamed of himself. Sometimes he said it had been on the train, where youâd been reading with your brow furrowed in concentration while three boys across from you tripped over themselves trying to get your attention. Once, when he was feeling especially impossible, he said the first time he saw you had been in church, sunlight through the stained glass turning your face soft and full of color, and that heâd known right then he was done for.
âLiar,â youâd told him, laughing into your teacup.
âSweetheart, Iâve been called worse.â
Steve, sitting at the table with a pencil smudged across the side of his hand, had snorted without looking up from his sketchpad.
âYou told me the first time you saw her,â Steve had said, âyou walked into a lamppost.â
Bucky had pointed a finger at him, scandalized. âTraitor.â
âYou nearly broke your nose.â
âI was distracted.â
âYou were showing off.â
âTo a beautiful girl,â Bucky had returned, easy as breathing. âWhich, if you ask me, is noble.â
You had rolled your eyes, but youâd been smiling. Bucky had always been able to make you smile, even before he had any right to it.
The truth was simpler than any of his stories and somehow more dear for it. You met because Steve introduced you.
Heâd been sketching in the park, shoulders hunched, too thin coat buttoned up wrong, when a gust of spring wind had stolen his paper and sent half-finished drawings scattering across the path. Youâd gone chasing after them before he could even stand, catching one under your shoe and another against the iron fence with your fingertips. By the time Bucky arrived with two coffees and a complaint already on his lips about Steve working through lunch again, he found the two of you kneeling in the grass, gathering pages and laughing like old friends.
Steve looked up first. Bucky looked where he was looking.
And that, as far as you were concerned, was that.
He liked you at once. Not just because you were pretty, though you were. Not just because you had a laugh that came from somewhere deep and honest, though that certainly didnât hurt. He liked you because you treated Steve like he mattered before you even knew him. He liked you because you spoke quickly when you were passionate, because you never backed down from an argument, because you tipped your chin up when you were unimpressed and did not seem, in any real way, impressed by him at all.
âBarnes,â youâd said that first afternoon when Steve introduced you properly. âSteve says youâre trouble.â
âSteve,â Bucky had said, hand over his heart, âwounds me.â
Steve had only shrugged. âYou are.â
And you had laughed, sunlight catching in your hair, and Bucky had been lost enough to feel it.
After that, he started appearing everywhere.
At first it was by chance, or close enough. He and Steve walked you home after the library. He found you at the grocer and carried your bag though you told him not to fuss. He waited outside the shop where you worked the register three streets over, leaning against the wall like he had nowhere else to be, just to escort you home. Then it became less accidental and more deliberate. He saved you a seat at the cinema. He showed up with flowers he definitely had not paid for. He took you dancing where the floorboards shook under too many feet and the whole room smelled like sweat and powder and cheap perfume, and afterward he bought you a soda and drank from the same glass because he said one straw was enough for two people in love.
âWe are not in love,â youâd told him.
âNo?â heâd said, leaning in just enough to make your pulse jump. âCouldâve fooled me.â
You did not kiss him for another three weeks.
It happened on your stoop after rain, the whole street silvered and shining, the air cool enough to raise goosebumps on your arms. Steve had gone home early with a cough he refused to call a cough, and Bucky, for once, had walked quietly beside you. No teasing. No swagger. Just the warmth of him at your shoulder and the sense that the night had narrowed down to the two of you and the sound of your footsteps.
He had stopped one step below you and looked up.
You remembered that look for the rest of your life.
Not cocky, then. Not smooth. Just earnest in a way that seemed almost to embarrass him, all his usual charm set aside. His hair was damp from the mist and his lashes were darker for it. The streetlamp painted one side of his face in amber and left the other in shadow.
âI keep trying not to,â heâd said.
âNot to what?â
âThink about you all the time.â
And because you were twenty and brave and dizzy with wanting, you bent and kissed him before he could say anything else.
For all Buckyâs confidence, for all the girls people said had come before you and would surely come after, he kissed like the world was ending and heâd been promised one last beautiful thing. His hands were gentle where they cupped your face. His mouth softened in surprise, then deepened with hunger. When you pulled back, his forehead rested against yours, and he laughed one helpless little breath like he could not believe his luck.
âSee?â he murmured. âIn love.â
You kissed him again just to shut him up.
He was good at loving you. Not perfect, never that, but good in all the ways that counted. He remembered things. He noticed when you were tired and walked a little slower. He stole oranges from a market stall because you said winter felt less cruel when there were bright things in the kitchen. He took you to Coney Island one hot Saturday and won you a stuffed bear that looked nothing like a bear at all, then spent the rest of the day acting offended when you told him it was ugly. He kissed your scraped knuckles when you cut your hand on a soup tin. He learned which songs made you drag him onto a dance floor and which books made you cry. He listened.
And you loved him for it.
You loved him for the way he filled space, like he had more life in him than one body ought to hold. You loved him for the steadiness under the charm, for the kindness he never announced. You loved him for the way he loved Steve with a loyalty so old and instinctive it seemed knitted into his bones.
Because Steve was always there, somehow. Always written into the shape of things.Â
Steve at your kitchen table, paint under his nails, accepting seconds your mother pressed on him with a muttered comment about him being all elbows and no sense. Steve on the sidewalk outside the movie house, Bucky throwing an arm around his shoulders while the two of them argued over some serial neither of them had enough money to see twice. Steve holding your coat while Bucky tied your skate laces at the winter rink, Bucky looking up at him to say something and Steve already smiling as though he knew the words before they were spoken.
You loved Steve too, in your own way. It was impossible not to.
He was gentler than Bucky and quieter, but no less fierce. The world had spent years telling him what he was not, and he had met it all with a jaw set in stubborn defiance. He saw people. Really saw them. Sometimes youâd catch him watching Bucky when Bucky wasnât paying attention, something soft and aching in his face, and then heâd look away so quickly it was easy to pretend youâd imagined it.
The thing was, you didnât imagine it.
You saw things. You always had.
At first, you thought it was only protectiveness, the kind that comes from growing up with someone, from years of scraped knees and shared meals and defending each other in alleys. And maybe some of it was. But there were moments that did not fit inside friendship no matter how determinedly they were both trying to force them there.
The way Bucky looked for Steve first in any crowded room.
The way Steveâs whole body eased when Bucky touched him, like relief.
The way their arguments carried a strange intimacy, all heat and certainty, because each of them knew exactly where the other one ended and began.
The way silence sat easily between them.
The way, once, at a summer dance, you found Bucky watching Steve across the hall instead of the girl Steve was attempting not to step on, and the look on Buckyâs face was so open, so tender, it stole the breath from your chest.
When he turned and found you seeing it, heâd smiled, easy and bright, and come to kiss your cheek. Youâd said nothing.
What was there to say?
You were in love with him. He was in love with you. That was real.
And still.
Still, there was some small quiet part of him that seemed to tip toward Steve like flowers toward the sun.
You did not resent it. Not then. Maybe not ever. You simply tucked the knowledge away, somewhere deep and private, because the world in 1940 had no mercy for certain truths, and because whatever lived between Bucky and Steve belonged to them to understand in their own time, if time was ever kind enough to let them.
For a while, life was kind.
Bucky proposed on a rooftop in August.
There was no grand plan, not really. No orchestra, no down-on-one-knee rehearsed perfection. Just the city spread out around you in brick and steam and evening light, and a bottle of contraband wine he claimed heâd gotten honestly, and Steve downstairs pretending very hard not to give the two of you privacy while absolutely giving the two of you privacy.
You had your shoes off. Bucky had his tie loosened. The heat hadnât broken yet, and the air felt thick and humming against your skin.
Heâd been quieter than usual all night. Restless, maybe. Looking at you as though trying to memorize something.
âYouâre making that face,â you said.
âWhat face?â
âThe one that says youâre about to do something dramatic.â
He smiled at that, but it trembled at the corners. Then he reached into his pocket and pulled out a little velvet box.
For a second the whole world went still.
âBuck,â you whispered.
âNow, before you say anything, I want you to know this was supposed to go smoother.â He cleared his throat, laughed once at himself, then seemed to decide honesty was the only thing left to him. âI had a speech. It was a good one too. Very persuasive. Real charm offensive.â
Your hands were already shaking.
âBut you look like that, and I canât remember a damn word of it.â He opened the box. The ring caught the last gold light of the day and flashed. âSo Iâm gonna have to tell you the truth plain.â
He stepped closer.
âI love you,â he said, and all the joking was gone now. âI love you when youâre mad and when youâre laughing and when youâre so tired you canât keep your eyes open at dinner. I love the way you take care of people. I love the way you never let me get away with anything. I love that every good thing in my day feels better if I can tell you about it after.â His voice roughened. âI want a life with you. A real one. A home and Sunday mornings and kids if weâre lucky and old age if weâre blessed. I want to be yours for all of it. Soââ
He swallowed.
âMarry me.â
You did not even let him finish asking properly before you were crying and nodding and kissing him hard enough to nearly send the ring box skidding across the roof.
Behind the stairwell door, there was an unmistakable muffled thud.
Bucky broke away, laughing against your mouth. âStevie just hit his head on the rail trying not to eavesdrop.â
You laughed too, watery and bright, and then Bucky slid the ring onto your finger.
It fit.
Of course it fit.
Afterward, when Steve finally came up pretending innocence and failing miserably, he hugged you so tightly your ribs protested. Then he hugged Bucky even harder. Bucky made a show of complaining, but his eyes were suspiciously shiny.
You remember that night sometimes as the truest shape of happiness: the city warm around you, your ring glinting every time you moved your hand, Steve leaning against the low wall with a grin, Bucky at your side, the future opening ahead like a road lit golden and sure.
You had no way of knowing how quickly war could swallow a future whole.
At first it was just headlines, names of places too far away to feel real. Then it was ration books and tense voices on the radio and boys from the neighborhood standing straighter than they used to, as if posture alone might prepare them for the things they were about to lose.
Steve wanted to go before anyone else. Of course he did. You could see it in him every time a newsreel flickered across a theater screen, every time someone talked about duty. Bucky argued with him and worried over him and marched him out of more than one recruitment office by the elbow. You understood both of them. One trying to save the world with his bare hands. The other trying to keep the world from taking the person he loved most.
By the time Steve finally got his miracle and his uniform and the impossible body that seemed to startle even him, Bucky had already made up his mind.
He enlisted with the rest of the 107th. He kissed you in the train station under a sky the color of tin and tucked his forehead to yours like he could hold the moment there through force of will alone.
âIâll come back,â he said.
âYouâd better.â
âI mean it.â
âSo do I.â
His smile was brave and terrible. âYou keep that ring on?â
You lifted your hand between you. âTry and stop me.â
He kissed you then, slow and desperate enough to make the noise of the station fall away. When he drew back, he pressed his mouth to your knuckles, right above the ring.
Steve stood a few feet off, duffel slung over one shoulder though he wasnât shipping out with Bucky, not yet. You looked at him over Buckyâs shoulder and saw, just for a second, the same grief on his face that you felt cracking your own heart open.
Bucky hugged him next, rough and fast, like if he made a joke out of it maybe it wouldnât hurt.
âDonât start any fights without me.â
Steve huffed a laugh that failed halfway through. âYou donât leave me with much choice.â
âYou write to her if I canât,â Bucky said quietly.
Something flickered over Steveâs face. âI will.â
Then the conductor called final boarding. Bucky kissed you once more, touched Steveâs shoulder, and climbed onto the train.
You stood with Steve until the last car vanished.
For a long time after, loving Bucky meant living by letters.
His came when they could, sometimes in clusters, sometimes not at all for weeks. You learned the shape of his handwriting the way some women learned prayer. He wrote about mud and lousy coffee and men snoring loud enough to shake tents. He wrote about missing Brooklyn, missing your terrible coffee, missing the way you frowned when you were reading. Sometimes there were jokes, and sometimes there were lines so simple they hurt worse than anything elaborate could have.
Had peaches today. Tasted like the summer we went to Coney.
Saw a dog with one ear and thought of the mutt you keep trying to adopt from Mrs. Levin.
Dreamed of you last night. Woke up smiling like an idiot.
You wrote back and filled pages with ordinary things on purpose. The butcher. The weather. Mrs. Carlucciâs grandson losing a tooth. The new tear in the coat Bucky swore he could mend and absolutely could not. You told him about Steveâs work with the USO, though you didnât say how the neighborhood pointed at him with wonder now, how strange it was to see the boy from the alley turned into a symbol. You told him you missed him. You told him you loved him. You never ended a letter without that.
Steve visited when he could. Sometimes he read Buckyâs latest letter with you at your kitchen table, smiling at one line and going quiet at the next. Sometimes he didnât have a letter, only worry, and heâd sit with you on the stoop in a silence that needed no apology. The two of you grieved in advance together, though neither of you would have admitted that was what you were doing.
When news came that Buckyâs unit had been captured, Steve went white as the paper in his hand.
You thought, for one impossible sick second, that he might stop breathing.
Then he looked at you.
âIâm going to get him,â he said.
Not Iâll try.
Not if I can.
Just Iâm going to get him.
And because you knew him, because you knew what lived in him where other people kept self-preservation, you believed him.
He left. He came back. Bucky had been saved.
For one shining terrible minute, it seemed like maybe the world might still bend toward mercy.
Then the mission in the Alps happened, and mercy ran out.
There was no body. No grave. No certainty. Just words like fell and missing and presumed, none of them strong enough to carry the weight of what they meant.
You sat on your bed with the telegram clenched in your fist until your mother pried it free because your nails had cut your palms open and you had not even noticed.
After that, everything became measured by absence.
The ring stayed on your finger for months. Then, when wearing it felt like ripping the wound open every hour, you put it on a chain beneath your blouse and carried it there, warm against your skin. Steve came home changed too, grief sitting under his skin like a fever. Then he was gone again, swallowed by ice and legend.
And just like that, the boys who had been the center of every room they entered were gone from Brooklyn, and the neighborhood kept going anyway.
That, you learned, was the cruelest part. Not that the world ended. That it didnât.
Years passed. Then more.
You did what people do when their hearts break and no one comes to stitch them back together: you kept living.
You worked. You moved apartments. You laughed again, which felt at first like betrayal and then, eventually, like survival. You married once, years later, a kind man with patient hands who knew from the way you sometimes looked at old photographs that your heart had not started with him, and loved you anyway. You had a daughter. Then a son. You lost your husband too early and buried him with one hand clenched around the memory that love could come in different shapes and still be holy.
You grew older.
The ring Bucky gave you stayed in a box with your keepsakes. Sometimes you touched it. Mostly, you let it rest.
Far away, in ways you could never know, James Buchanan Barnes did not die on that mountain after all.
He was stolen instead.
By the time he got himself backâby the time the Winter Soldier and Bucky Barnes had become two names for one bruised, fractured manâthe world had become something neither of you would have recognized.
He fought alien invasions. He slept in cryo. He woke to loss after loss after loss. He learned how to live inside the wreckage. He learned Steve had been alive all along. He learned that surviving is not the same thing as being saved.
And then came the end of everything.
Then came the battle.
Then came the impossible, ragged miracle of winning.
After Tony Starkâs funeral, the world felt hushed in the way it only ever does after catastrophe, like even the birds ought to speak softly out of respect for the dead. The lake behind the cabin held the morning light flat and pale. The quantum platform stood waiting like a question no one quite wanted to answer.
Bruce fussed over the controls. Sam paced and tried not to. Bucky stood a little apart with his hands in the pockets of a jacket that wasnât really warm enough, looking at the machine, then away from it, then back again.
Originally, Steve had been the one meant to go.
Return the Stones. Put Mjolnir back. Close the loops they had torn open. Simple, in theory, which meant not at all.
But sometime before sunrise, with the grass still damp and the ache of too much history hanging between them, Steve had found Bucky sitting on the porch steps staring at the water.
âYou donât have to do that,â Steve had said.
Bucky had looked up. âSomebody does.â
âI mean you.â
A pause.
âI know.â
Steve lowered himself beside him. Age had not caught up to either of them the same way it caught up to ordinary men, but weariness had. It lived in the set of Steveâs shoulders, in the lines at the corners of his eyes, in the quiet that had settled where youth used to be.
âSheâd still be there,â Steve said after a while.
Buckyâs breath left him slowly. âMaybe.â
âYou think about it?â
Every day, Bucky almost said. Instead he shrugged.
The truth was he had thought about you in all the strangest moments. Not always with sharpness. Sometimes as a flash of laughter in the middle of a mission, the remembered feel of your fingers fitting between his, the image of a yellow dress on a fire escape. Sometimes as grief so sudden it nearly brought him to his knees. You belonged to the life Hydra had taken from him before heâd even understood it was being taken. You belonged to everything soft and human and ordinary. Sometimes he had believed that if he let himself want you too much, the wanting alone would split him apart.
Steve had always known when Bucky was lying to himself.
âYou could go back,â Steve said. âStay, if you wanted.â
Bucky turned to look at him then. âYouâre tellinâ me that?â
âIâm telling you if thereâs something good waiting for you, you should have it.â
There was no jealousy in him. No bitterness. Only that fierce, impossible generosity Steve carried like it had been built into his bones. It made Buckyâs chest ache.
âAnd what about you?â
Steveâs mouth tipped, sad and small. âIâll be okay.â
Bucky looked out at the water again.
He thought of seventy years stolen. Of cold rooms and commands and blood he could never wash from his hands. He thought of you with your ring and your stubborn chin and the way you had said his name like it was a promise instead of a wound. He thought of how simple it would be, maybe, to step backward into a life that had once been laid out for him. To choose the road war had ripped away. To let himself be loved by someone who knew him before the breaking.
He thought of Steve, beside him in the dawn.
And something painful and old shifted under his ribs.
By the time Bruce called them over, the decision had settled in him heavy as stone.
âIâll go,â Bucky said.
Sam blinked. âYou?â
Steve said nothing.
Bruce looked between them, then nodded slowly. âWe can make that work.â
No one asked any of the questions that mattered. Was this about the Stones or about regret? Was this duty or escape? Was he returning to the past or running from the present? Sometimes those questions are the same.
When Steve clasped his forearm before he stepped onto the platform, Bucky held on a second too long.
âYou come back if you want to come back,â Steve said quietly.
Bucky forced a smile. âThat your way of sayinâ youâd miss me?â
Steveâs answering look was warm and wrecked all at once. âPal, you have no idea.â
The machine hummed alive around him. The world went white.
When it settled again, he was standing in Brooklyn.
Not the Brooklyn of memory, softened by distance and grief, but the real one. Brisk air. Wet pavement. Laundry snapping between buildings. A truck rattling by with milk bottles clinking in the back. The street looked smaller than he remembered and somehow more vivid, every detail sharpened by the shock of being able to see it again.
For a long moment Bucky could not move.
Then he did what wounded men always do when offered one impossible chance to return to the site of the wound.
He went to you.
You were not in the apartment he remembered. Life had shifted you one building over by then, to a second-floor walk-up with cracked green paint on the door and geraniums trying valiantly to survive in a rusted window box. He knew that because he remembered the date Bruce had fixed for him, remembered when you still wore his ring openly and still thought the war might end in anything resembling fairness.
He climbed the stairs like a ghost.
When he knocked, his hand shook.
You opened the door with a dish towel over one shoulder and your hair pinned up badly, like youâd twisted it in a hurry. For one impossible heartbeat you looked exactly the same. Then his mind caught up to what his eyes were seeing: younger, yes, but not a memory. Warm. Alive. Startled.
The dish towel slid from your shoulder and landed on the floor.
You stared at him.
He had not prepared for this part. Had not prepared for your face going slack with shock, for your mouth opening with no sound behind it, for the way his whole body seemed to remember how to ache only when looking at you.
âBuck?â you whispered.
He took one step forward and stopped because he was suddenly terrified that if he touched you, this would all dissolve.
You made the decision for him.
You crossed the threshold like the space between you was an insult and threw your arms around him so hard he nearly stumbled. The sound you made into his neck was half laugh, half sob. Buckyâs hands came up on instinct, crushing you close, and for a second the years vanished. For a second he was only a man returned to the woman he loved.
âYouâre alive,â you breathed. âOh my God, youâre alive.â
He closed his eyes. âIâm here.â
You pulled back just enough to look at him again, your hands on his face like you had to confirm the shape of him. âHow?â
The simplest answerâI fell off a train and into hell and then into the future and now Iâve stepped out of time to stand on your landingâwould have sounded like madness. You must have seen something impossible in his face, because your own expression shifted from joy to confusion to a strange, searching stillness.
âBuck,â you said softly. âWhat happened to you?â
A person can only carry so much truth at once. Bucky looked over your shoulder into the little apartment. Familiar curtains. Familiar chipped table. The ordinary details of a life he had once been meant to enter. It struck him then with almost physical force: if he stepped inside and closed the door, he could stay. He could become the man he had once expected to be. He could lay his head down in the past and let it keep him.
You were still looking at him.
âCan I come in?â
âOf course.â
You led him inside with your hand wrapped around his wrist, as if letting go might tempt fate into cruelty again. The apartment smelled like onions and clean soap and the lavender sachets your mother used to tuck into drawers. On the table sat two teacups. One was yours. The other, he guessed, belonged to Steve.
âSteve was just here?â he asked.
You froze almost imperceptibly, then nodded. âHe left maybe half an hour ago.â
Something in your voice made Bucky look at you more closely.
You knew.
Not everything. Not the whole shape of it, maybe. But enough.
You set the kettle back on the stove though it did not need setting. âSit.â
He sat because his knees felt unreliable.
You turned to face him, hands folded together too tightly. âNow tell me the truth.â
He opened his mouth with several lies lined up ready and watched every one of them fall apart under your gaze.
So he told you.
Not all of it. Not Hydraâs every horror or the roll call of names he could never forgive himself for. But enough. He told you about the future in broad, impossible strokes. About surviving the fall and losing himself and finding Steve again decades later. About a war beyond anything your generation could imagine. About a machine that could fold time in on itself like paper.
You listened without interrupting, which was somehow worse than disbelief would have been.
When he finished, the room had gone utterly quiet except for the soft whistle of the kettle beginning to boil over. You reached back automatically to pull it off the flame and set it aside. Your hands were steady now.
âSo,â you said at last, âyou came back.â
He looked at your face and saw grief there already, grief not for the past but for the decision forming in the room between you.
âI had the chance,â he said. âI thoughtââ
âYou thought youâd come home.â
âYes.â
You sat across from him. The old ring gleamed on your hand. He stared at it like a starving man.
âDo you still love me?â he asked, and hated how young the question made him sound.
Your expression gentled immediately, painfully. âOh, Buck.â
âBecause if you do, if thereâs even a chanceââ
âI do love you.â
He stopped breathing.
You smiled then, small and sad. âI think some part of me always will.â
Hope rose so fast it was almost dizzying. âThenââ
âBut not like this.â
The word struck clean through him.
You leaned forward, elbows on your knees, still watching him with unbearable tenderness. âI loved the boy I knew. I loved the man he was becoming. I would have married you. I would have built a life with you and been happy in it.â Your voice shook once and steadied. âThatâs all true.â
Bucky swallowed around the sudden ache in his throat.
âBut that isnât why youâre here,â you said.
âYes it is.â
You tilted your head. âIs it?â
âI came back for you.â
âNo,â you said softly. âYou came back because you think this is the last unopened door. Because you think if you can have what was taken, maybe all the years in between will hurt less.â
âThatâs not fair.â
âI know.â Your eyes shone. âBut itâs still true.â
He stood up too quickly, chair scraping. âYou donât get to tell me what I feel.â
âNo,â you said again, and there was steel in it this time. âBut I do get to tell you what Iâve seen.â
You rose too, facing him across the small kitchen table. He had forgotten that part of you, how impossible it was to move you once you had decided to be honest.
âI have watched you and Steve look at each other for years,â you said quietly. âLong before either of you had words for it. Long before the world would have let you use them if you did.â
Buckyâs whole body went still.
âThatâs notââ
âDonât,â you interrupted, not unkindly. âDonât lie now. Not to me.â
He laughed once, harsh and broken. âHeâs my best friend.â
âI know.â
âThatâs all.â
You gave him such a patient, heartbreaking look that he nearly turned away from it.
âBuck,â you said. âYou love me. But when the room shifts, when something frightens you, when something delights you, when your heart goes running ahead of you before your brain can catch up, where do you turn?â
He did not answer.
You stepped closer.
âWho do you look for first?â
Still he said nothing.
âYou asked Steve to write me if you couldnât,â you whispered. âDo you know what that meant to me? It meant you trusted him with the tenderest parts of your life. It meant somewhere in you, beneath all the things you were supposed to want, you knew he was home too.â
Buckyâs throat worked.
âYou think I didnât see it?â you went on. âThe way he watched you walk away from the train like losing you was tearing him apart from the inside out. The way you spoke his name like it belonged under your tongue. The way neither of you ever fit quite right beside anyone else because some part of you was always turned toward the other.â
He took a step back. âStop.â
âWhy? Because itâs easier to say you came back for me than admit youâre afraid to let yourself have him?â
âThatâs not what this is.â
âThen what is it?â
He opened his mouth and found, to his horror, nothing there.
Because beneath the grief and exhaustion, beneath the desperate wanting to reclaim something untouched by Hydraâs hands, there was a fear so old it felt prehistoric. Not just of loving Steve. Of being seen loving him. Of naming the thing that had lived in the spaces between them for so long it had become air.
You saw the moment he understood that you knew, and your face went soft.
âOh, Buck.â
The fury went out of him all at once.
He sat down hard in the chair behind him and covered his eyes with one hand. âI was gonna marry you.â
âI know.â
âI wanted to.â
âI know that too.â
He dropped his hand. âThen how can you stand there and tell me to leave?â
Your own tears spilled then, though you smiled through them. âLoving someone isnât always the same thing as being the place theyâre meant to stay.â
The room blurred.
You came around the table and knelt in front of him, taking his hands in yours. He looked at themâyour smaller fingers around his, the ring on your hand catching light. Once, he had imagined those hands growing older with his. In some broken branch of the world, maybe they did.
âYou gave me beautiful things,â you said. âYou gave me youth and laughter and a love that mattered. Donât make it smaller than it was by turning it into a refuge from the rest of your life.â
His voice came out shredded. âWhat if I donât know how to do that?â
âThen learn.â
âWith Steve?â
âWith Steve.â
He stared at you.
You gave a watery laugh. âDid you think I was blind?â
He almost smiled despite himself, because of course you werenât.
âHe loves you,â you said. âMaybe not in neat little ways. Maybe not in ways either of you know what to do with yet. But he does. He always has.â
Bucky shook his head like he could dislodge the truth. âYou canât know that.â
âI know the look of a person trying to survive their own heart.â
He thought of the porch at dawn. Of Steve saying Iâll be okay in a voice that plainly meant the opposite. Of every time Steve had come for him, every time he had chosen him, every time Buckyâs chest had gone too tight when Steve smiled at someone else and heâd told himself it was because he was overprotective, because they were family, because there had to be another explanation for the way devotion sometimes tipped toward longing when he wasnât watching it closely enough.
You squeezed his hands.
âYouâve spent enough of your life in the dark,â you whispered. âYou deserve sunshine, Buck. Go get it.â
For a long moment neither of you moved.
Then Bucky bowed his head.
He wept.
Not loudly. Not neatly. Just the ugly, exhausted grief of a man who had spent decades being torn away from himself and had been handed, in one cruel kind stroke, the truth of what he actually wanted. You held his hands and let him cry. When he finally lifted his head, your own cheeks were wet.
âIâm sorry,â he whispered.
âFor what?â
âFor all of it.â
You smiled through your tears. âMe too.â
He leaned forward and rested his forehead against yours, just once. A goodbye and a benediction and an ending. Then he kissed you.
It was gentle. Brief. Full of gratitude and mourning and the strange, shining peace that comes when two people tell each other the truth at last.
When he pulled away, you touched his face the way you had at the door.
âTell him,â you said.
He gave a broken laugh. âYou make it sound easy.â
âI didnât say easy.â Your thumb traced the line of his cheekbone. âI said worthwhile.â
He stood because if he didnât, he never would.
At the door, he looked back once. You were still in the middle of the kitchen, hands clasped to keep from reaching for him again, sunlight from the window catching in your hair. He wanted to fix the image in himself forever.
âI loved you,â he said.
You nodded. âI know.â
Then, after a beat, with all the warmth in the world tucked into your grief: âNow go.â
The platform yanked him out of the past before cowardice could do what time had not.
He reappeared on the lakeshore with a violent gasp, knees nearly buckling. Bruce jerked toward the controls. Sam exclaimed something he didnât catch. But Bucky only saw Steve.
He was standing just beyond the rail, fear written plain across his face because for one awful second he must have thought Bucky had made his choice and that choice had not included coming back.
Then Bucky took one step off the platform.
Steveâs whole body loosened.
It was such a small thing. Anyone else might have missed it. But Bucky had known him since before either of them had enough meat on their bones to cast a proper shadow. He saw the exact instant relief struck Steve hard enough to be almost visible.
And suddenly there was no room left to hide.
Later, after Bruce was satisfied the timelines had not collapsed and Sam had given Bucky a look equal parts curious and fond before tactfully disappearing inside with the others, Bucky found Steve down by the lake.
The sun was lowering, laying copper over the water.
Steve turned at the sound of his steps. âYou came back.â
Bucky huffed a laugh. âObservant.â
Steve smiled, but it was careful around the edges. âYou okay?â
No. Yes. Maybe for the first time in a long time, maybe almost.
âI saw her,â Bucky said.
Steveâs face changed. âOh.â
âShe was beautiful.â
A silence. Then, âI bet she was.â
Bucky shoved his hands into his pockets. âShe told me not to stay.â
Steveâs brow furrowed. âWhy?â
Because she saw me more clearly than Iâve ever managed to see myself.
Because she loved me enough to tell the truth.
Because she knew before I did.
Bucky looked out over the water and said, âShe told me I was being an idiot.â
That startled a laugh out of Steve. âSounds like her.â
Bucky smiled. Then the smile faded.
âShe said I should live here. In the present.â
Steve nodded slowly. âOkay.â
âShe said I should be with you.â
The silence that followed seemed to alter the shape of the whole world.
When Bucky finally looked at him, Steve had gone completely still.
âBuck,â he said very carefully.
âI know.â
âDo you?â
Bucky laughed once under his breath, all nerves now, all tenderness and terror. âNot until today, maybe.â
Steveâs gaze searched his face like he was trying to decide whether hope would be too dangerous. âYou donât owe me anything.â
âI know that too.â
âThen donât do this because somebody else told you to.â
Bucky stepped closer. âIâm doing it because she said out loud the thing Iâve been too scared to name.â
Steveâs breath caught.
âAll those years,â Bucky said, voice low and rough, âI thought maybe what I felt was just habit. Loyalty. You were my best friend, and that was supposed to be enough. Then everything happened, and wanting anything at all felt selfish.â He swallowed. âBut every time I came back to myself, even in pieces, it was you. Every time.â
Steve looked wrecked.
âBuck,â he whispered again, and this time it sounded like a plea.
Bucky gave him the truth plain, the way he should have given it years ago, the way maybe some part of him always had in every action if not in words.
âI think Iâve been in love with you longer than I knew what the word meant.â
Steve closed his eyes.
When he opened them again, they were shining.
âYou think?â he managed.
Bucky barked a laugh, relieved and terrified all at once. âShut up.â
Steve stepped close enough that their shoulders almost touched. âI was in love with you when we were sixteen and stupid,â he said softly. âI was in love with you before you shipped out. I was in love with you every day I thought you were dead.â His voice broke. âI never stopped. I just got very good at pretending that was survivable.â
Something inside Bucky, knotted for decades, finally loosened.
He lifted a hand, hesitated only a second, and cupped Steveâs jaw. Steve leaned into it on instinct, eyes going dark and unbearably tender.
âYou really are an idiot,â Steve murmured.
âTook you long enough to say yes.â
âI didnât say yes.â
Bucky leaned closer. âStevie.â
The old nickname undid them both.
Steve kissed him like he had been waiting across several lifetimes for permission.
There was nothing polished about it. It was all the years between them, all the grief and relief and hunger and homecoming, poured into one long, shaking exhale. Bucky made a broken sound into Steveâs mouth and pulled him closer. Steveâs hands found his coat, his waist, his face, as if touching him everywhere at once might make up for time.
When they parted, foreheads pressed together, the sun had dropped lower behind the trees.
âI think,â Steve said, smiling in that dazed, disbelieving way Bucky had only ever dreamed of being the cause of, âwe might have wasted a lot of time.â
Bucky traced a thumb over his cheek. âMaybe.â
Steve huffed. âLot of confidence for a guy who only just figured it out.â
âI had help.â
Steveâs expression softened. âFrom her?â
Bucky nodded.
âThen I guess,â Steve said quietly, âI owe her more than I can ever repay.â
âSo do I.â
---
Their life after that did not become easy. The world did not stop being cruel simply because two men who had suffered enough finally chose each other. Healing was still slow. Nightmares still came. There were days Bucky withdrew into himself so completely Steve had to sit beside him in silence for hours until the dark passed. There were days Steveâs guilt climbed his spine and made him restless, unable to believe he was allowed peace when so many better people had been denied it.
But there was also coffee shared in the morning light. There were walks where Buckyâs hand found Steveâs without thinking and stayed there. There was laughter in the kitchen and bickering over music and the quiet miracle of building routine after a lifetime of chaos. There was the astonishment of tenderness returned freely, without fear. There was waking in the night and finding Steve warm beside him, real and breathing, and feeling something like gratitude so fierce it almost hurt.
There was sunshine, in the end.
A year later, on a cool afternoon edged with early autumn, Bucky found your name in a directory for a nursing home in Brooklyn.
He sat with the paper in his lap for a long time before Steve came in and looked at his face once and understood.
âYou want me to come with you?â Steve asked.
Bucky thought about it, then nodded.
The nursing home smelled like lemon polish and old books and the faint medicinal tang of too many years gathered in one place. A volunteer at the desk smiled and led them down a corridor lined with framed watercolor flowers. Buckyâs pulse beat hard in his throat. Beside him, Steve moved with that calm steadiness that had anchored him since childhood.
Outside your room, Bucky stopped.
Steve touched the small of his back. âYou donât have to do this.â
âYes,â Bucky said softly. âI do.â
You were sitting by the window in a cardigan the color of buttercream, a blanket over your knees, reading glasses low on your nose. Age had changed you, of course. Softened you. Lined you. Silvered your hair. But not even time had touched the core of you, the particular intelligence in your eyes when you looked up at the sound of the door opening.
For one breathless second, you only stared.
Then your mouth parted.
âWell,â you said, voice thin with age and still unmistakably yours, âIâll be damned.â
Bucky laughed, sudden and helpless. âHi, doll.â
Your eyes flicked from him to Steve and back again. Something knowing and bright bloomed in your face.
âOh,â you breathed. âYou listened.â
He crossed the room in three strides and took your hand carefully, as if it were made of light. It felt papery and warm and real. Emotion rose so quickly it nearly closed his throat.
âI wanted to thank you,â he said.
You squeezed his fingers. âFor what?â
âFor not letting me make the wrong choice.â
A gentleness passed over your face.
Behind him, Steve hung back respectfully until you crooked a finger at him with surprising authority.
âDonât loom, Steven. Come here.â
Steve obeyed, smiling despite himself, and you took his hand too, linking the three of you together for one brief, perfect moment.
You looked between them and laughed softly. âThere you are.â
It undid Bucky more than he expected. He dropped to the chair beside your bed, still holding your hand.
âI used to think,â he admitted, âthat if I went back and lost you again, itâd break me twice.â
âAnd?â
âAnd it didnât feel like losing.â
Your thumb stroked once over his knuckles. âBecause it wasnât.â
You asked about their life then, with a delighted nosiness that had not diminished in the slightest. Where did they live? Who cooked? Was Steve still terrible at lying? Was Bucky sleeping enough? They answered everything. Steve showed you a photograph from his walletâboth of them on a quiet beach, wind in their hair, smiling so openly it almost looked like another universe. You touched the picture with reverence.
âGood,â you murmured. âGood.â
Eventually Bucky asked about your life too, because the years had belonged to you whether he had been there for them or not. You told him about your children, about grandchildren who visited on Sundays and cheated at cards, about the husband who had loved gardening and terrible radio comedies. You spoke of him with fondness, and Bucky felt something in his chest settle gently into place.
You had your sunshine too.
When visiting hours thinned and the light outside the window turned honey-soft, Bucky stood reluctantly.
âI should let you rest.â
You waved that off. âIâm old, not dead.â
Steve laughed.
You looked at Bucky one last long moment, and the room seemed to hold its breath around the tenderness in your face.
âYou look happier,â you said.
He glanced toward Steve without thinking. That alone made you smile wider.
âI am.â
âGood.â Your eyes shone. âThatâs all I ever wanted for you.â
He bent and kissed your forehead.
âThank you,â he whispered.
You patted his cheek. âGo on now. Take your sunshine home.â
Out in the corridor, Bucky had to stop and press the heel of his hand to his eyes. Steve waited beside him, close enough to touch and wise enough not to speak until Bucky was ready.
When Bucky lowered his hand, Steve was looking at him with that same expression from the lakeshore a year ago: full of wonder, full of love, still a little unbelieving.
âYou okay?â Steve asked.
Bucky let out a breath that felt like the last of a very old grief leaving him.
âYeah,â he said, and meant it.
Steve took his hand.
They walked out together into the late afternoon. The sun was low, pouring gold over the sidewalk, over the parked cars, over the city that had once held three young hearts and all the futures they could not yet imagine. Bucky tipped his face into the warmth for a second, then turned toward Steve, who was smiling at him like he still couldnât quite believe this was allowed.
Maybe it had taken them too long.
Maybe the road to this kind of happiness had been bloodier and crueler than anyone deserved.
But they were here now.
And after everything, after war and ice and time and all the ways the world had tried to deny them, James Buchanan Barnes finally understood what you had known all along.
Hey! Canât remember if I sent this to you already but I donât think I did, so I was thinking what if Bucky and reader are having a kid but after reader gives birth to the first one she feels the urge to push again and it turns out they are actually having twins. Maybe reader and Bucky are both in shock but once reader starts panicking saying she canât push as she is tired and that they arenât prepared for two Bucky starts comforting her and at the end they are just in awe of the two new babies! â€ïž
The room is quiet in that strange, suspended way that only exists after something monumental has just happened.
Your chest is still heaving, your entire body trembling with the aftermath of it all, limbs heavy and spent as you lie back against the pillows, barely aware of anything except the overwhelming relief that floods you. The sharp, relentless pain is gone now, replaced with something softer, something hazy and warm.
A babyâs cry cuts through the air.
Your baby.
Bucky lets out a sound beside youâsomething between a laugh and a sobâand suddenly heâs there, right at your side, his hand wrapping around yours like heâs afraid you might slip away if he doesnât hold on tight enough.
âYou did so good,â he murmurs, voice wrecked, thick with emotion as he presses a kiss to your damp forehead. âDoll, you did so good.â
You canât even find the strength to respond properly, only managing a weak, breathless laugh as tears slip down your temples into your hair. Your eyes drift, trying to focus, trying to seeâuntil they place your little girl on your chest.
Everything stops.
Your breath catches, your heart stuttering in your chest as you look down at the tiny, squirming weight against you. So small. So warm. So unbelievably real.
âOh my God,â you whisper, voice breaking completely. âBuckyâŠâ
He leans in close, his forehead pressing against yours as he stares down at the baby with wide, disbelieving eyes. Youâve never seen him like thisâcompletely undone, every wall gone, every piece of him laid bare in the softest way.
âSheâsââ he chokes, shaking his head like he canât even get the words out. âSheâs perfect.â
You nod, tears falling freely now as you gently cradle her, your fingers trembling as they brush over her tiny back. âShe is,â you whisper. âShe really is.â
For a moment, itâs just the three of you. Quiet. Complete. Whole.
A sharp pressure builds low in your abdomen.
Your brows knit together, confusion cutting through the haze. Itâs not the same as beforeânot exactlyâbut itâs there, unmistakable, tightening and uncomfortable andâ
You gasp.
Buckyâs head snaps up instantly. âWhat? What is it? Are you okay?â
âIââ you swallow hard, panic flickering in your chest as the pressure intensifies. âI feel like⊠like I have to push again.â
The room shifts.
Everything speeds up at onceânurses moving quickly, voices overlapping, the calm atmosphere dissolving into something urgent and tense.
âThatâs not uncommonââ
âWait, noââ
âDoctorââ
Thereâs a pause.
A beat of stunned silence before someone in the room utters the unthinkable.
âThereâs another baby.â
The words donât make sense.
You blink up at the ceiling, your brain struggling to catch up, to process what you just heard. âAnother⊠what?â
Bucky lets out a short, disbelieving laugh, shaking his head immediately. âNo, thatâsâno, thatâs not right. Weâwe only saw one, every scanââ
But the medical team is already moving, voices firm now, controlled but urgent.
âSecond baby is in distress.â
âWe need to move now.â
Everything tilts.
Your heart starts racing, panic clawing its way up your throat as the reality crashes over you all at once.
Two.
There are two.
âI canât,â you choke out, tears spilling fast now as your body tenses with fear. âI canât do that again, I canâtâIâm so tired, Buck, I canât push again, I donât have anything leftââ
Heâs there immediately.
Both hands come up to cradle your face, grounding you, forcing your gaze to meet his. His own eyes are wide, shock still lingering there, but beneath it is something strongerâsteady, unwavering, completely locked onto you.
âHey,â he says softly, firmly. âHey, look at me. Youâre okay. You hear me? Youâre okay.â
âI canât do it,â you whisper, shaking your head, your voice breaking. âWe werenâtâweâre not ready for two, Buckyââ
His thumb brushes your cheek, wiping away your tears with a gentleness that makes your chest ache.
âThen weâll figure it out,â he says without hesitation. âWe always do. You and me? We figure everything out.â
You let out a shaky sob, clutching weakly at his wrist as the room moves around you, as they start preparing for surgery.
âIâm scared,â you admit, voice small.
âI know,â he whispers, pressing his forehead to yours again. âI know, baby. But youâre not doing this alone. Iâm right here. Iâve got you.â
Your grip tightens on him as they begin to wheel you away, your heart pounding wildly in your chest.
âTake care of her,â you plead, your voice cracking as your eyes flick toward your newborn.
His expression softens instantly, something fierce and protective settling into his features.
âIâve got her,â he promises. âAnd Iâve got you. Both of you.â
---
Time feels strange after that.
Blurry. Disconnected.
But when you wake up, the first thing you hear is crying.
Two cries.
Your eyes flutter open slowly, your body aching in a completely different way now, heavy and sore and exhausted beyond words. For a moment, you donât remember where you are, but then it hits you.
Two.
Your head turns weakly, searching for the fourth puzzle piece.
Bucky sits beside your bed, shoulders hunched slightly, one baby tucked carefully in each arm. He looks just as overwhelmed as you feel, eyes rimmed red, hair a messâbut heâs smiling.
Actually smiling.
âYouâre awake,â he breathes, relief flooding his voice as he quickly leans forward.
Your eyes immediately drop to the babies.
Two.
Two tiny, perfect babies.
Tears fill your eyes again as your hand lifts shakily, brushing against one soft cheek, then the other.
âOh my God,â you whisper.
Bucky lets out a quiet laugh, shaking his head like he still canât believe it either.
âYeah,â he murmurs. âThatâs about where Iâm at too.â
You look up at him, your heart swelling painfully in your chest.
âWe have two,â you say, voice trembling.
His gaze softens as he looks down at them, then back at you.
âWe have two,â he repeats.
And somehow, despite the chaos, the shock, the fear that still lingers at the edges, t feels right.
Overwhelming.
Terrifying.
Perfect.
You reach for one of the babies, and Bucky carefully helps guide them into your arms, his hand lingering over yours for just a second longer than necessary.
âWeâre gonna be okay,â he says quietly.
You look down at your children, then back at him, something warm and steady settling deep in your chest.
âYeah,â you whisper. âWe are.â
And for the first time since everything turned upside downâ
Summary: Ever since Bucky moved out to the woods, heâd grown used to his routine. He lived comfortably and without anyone around to bother him, and he liked it that way. Then you stumbled your way into his life and changed it forever. Instead of simply helping you and sending you on your way, Bucky starts to like the way you fit right into his life, and he realizes he doesnât mind the sudden change that came with taking you in. The longer he spends with you, the harder it is to let you go, and luckily for him, the feeling is mutual.
WC: 29.6k | Warnings: 18+, coarse language, fluff, angst, smut, toxic family environment, mentions of abuse, descriptions of injuries, mentions of starvation, running away from home, use of guns, descriptions of hunting, ex military Bucky, shy/inexperienced reader, age gap, unprotected sex, gentle sex, needy sex, use of plan b, oral (f receiving), fingering, pining, size difference, protective Bucky, possessive Bucky, big dick Bucky, beefy Bucky one would say, let me know if I missed anything. | Masterlist
It was hunting season, which didnât mean much to Bucky since he hunts all the time. Specifically, it was deer season, but despite him being quite successful during this season throughout the five years heâs lived out here, this year was really testing him.Â
Either the deer were really shy this season, or there simply werenât many around this year. Heâd had very little luck over the last few days, sitting in the treestand heâd made a few miles away from his house and not seeing much movement in the forest at all.Â
Usually by day three heâd have lost count of how many deer that were around, but it was pushing day five and he hadnât seen a single one.Â
Bucky lived, for lack of better words, out in the middle of nowhere. It was secluded, a tedious twenty five minute drive from the nearest town, and the majority of that drive was through the wooded and rocky terrain of the forest. As far as he knew, no one else lived close by, and he hadnât heard any sounds of guns going off in the woods that would suggest someone else was hunting around the area too.Â
He had a feeling this was just one of those unlucky years where the deer population decided to skip over the forest heâd lived in for almost six years now. It was smart, because heâd gotten extremely lucky the last few years with deer, and had enough meat frozen to keep him fed for a long time, so for them to not be around this year was a lucky call for them.Â
It was unlucky as hell for Bucky, because that meant heâd have to settle for other options for food, which wasnât the biggest deal, but still. Heâd gotten used to the routine that had sortâve fallen into his lap the year heâd packed up and moved out here.Â
Heâd been hunched over in the stand for the majority of the afternoon, and the prime time for deer hunting had long since passed, but he didnât have anything else to do for the remainder of the day, so he stayed a little longer.Â
It turned out that his patience had paid off since he saw movement out of the corner of his eye, and when Bucky turned his head, he saw the slow, careful steps of a deer passing through the trees, and he moved just as slowly as he lifted his rifle, being sure to not make a single sound.Â
He dipped his head down and peered through the scope, noting the size and weight of the deer, and he knew heâd get a good few weeks of meat off of it to freeze, which was a better score than he thought heâd get at this point.Â
The deer hadnât noticed him, its eyes slowly blinking as it remained blissfully unaware of the rifle pointed at it. It bowed down to nip at the grass scattered all over the forest ground, and Bucky took that as his cue to press down on the trigger, but before he could fire, he heard shuffling to his left, and watched as the deer perked up, clearly having heard the sound as well.Â
He tried to ignore it and secure his kill, but then more shuffling was heard, and when the sound of rushed footsteps, followed by the beam of the stand he was currently crouched in shaking with the force of something hitting it, Bucky flinched, his rifle firing off but missing the deer completely.Â
Heâd been caught off guard, his balance momentarily shifting, and the deer took off running, leaving behind the sound of leaves ruffling and twigs snapping as it disappeared into the distance.Â
âFucking Christ,â Bucky cursed under his breath, then moved over to the side of the stand, peering over the edge and preparing to rip into whoever had interrupted him and scared off his kill.Â
What he saw had him freezing in shock, his brows furrowing together as he met your wide, terrified eyes. You looked up at him with nothing but fear on your face, and your chest was heaving with uneven breaths that told him youâd been either running or walking for quite a long time, and by the looks of it, with no water.Â
You didnât say anything as you braced your hand against the support of the stand, your other hand lifted in a way that looked like you were giving up a fight that wasnât even happening.
There was no denying that youâd been out here for a while, if the dirt staining your clothes and skin was anything to go by. Your hair was messy and he could see dried leaves in it, and your cheeks were stained with sweat streaks, but it wasnât exactly hot at the moment, so he assumed you had just been running to the point of breaking a sweat, or you had not too long ago.Â
Standing up a little straighter, Bucky let his gaze sweep you up and down. There was really nothing to you, your legs all scratched up thanks to your denim shorts, and your shoes were muddy and worn out. Your t-shirt was covered in dirt, and there was a rip in the side of it, a scrape visible along your ribs. But the giant bruise that took up most of your left side was a lot more noticeable than that.Â
There were other noticeable bruises on your body, some more faded than others, and he saw a healed scar just under your jaw on the right side of your neck. You looked like you hadnât slept in days, and your body seemed to be running on the last of its adrenaline as you shook your head.Â
You looked scared, like you were horrified of him and what he might do to you. Your lips parted then trembled, like you were struggling to speak as you lifted your hand higher in a pleading gesture, but no words left your mouth as you took a weak, unsteady step forward.Â
âHey,â he called out, concern lacing his tone as he lowered his rifle. Bucky was too high up to do anything about the way your legs buckled, and the way your hand slipped from its place on the beam before you stumbled forward and became completely unbalanced.Â
The sound of your head hitting the trunk of the tree had him wincing and instantly putting the rifle down, swinging his legs over the edge of the stand and jumping down.Â
His boots hit the ground with a thud, and he immediately crouched down, confusion and concern written all over his face. You were no longer conscious, your body too weak to keep going at this point, and Bucky frowned as he reached forward and brushed your hair out of your face.Â
He didnât recognize you from town, though he supposed he didnât go there much with the intent to seek out pretty girls. He only went there every once in a while for supplies and to see his family, but he had a feeling he would notice you if heâd seen you before.Â
You looked like a mess, your body beaten and bruised and your clothing torn and ruined to the point of almost being unwearable, and Bucky felt his heart clench in his chest.Â
What the fuck happened to you?
When Bucky carried you to his house, he discovered that you were extremely light in his arms, and it felt like he was carrying a few bags of groceries rather than a human who appeared to be in her mid twenties.Â
He didnât know what the hell to do with you, but he wasnât going to just leave you out there. Youâd clearly already been through hell, and he refused to turn a blind eye and mind his business when it was so obvious that you needed help.Â
It had just started to rain when he began making his way home with you in his arms, and he had a feeling that you wouldâve probably died if heâd left you out there, and he wouldnât be able to live with himself if he let that happen.
You were cold, your skin clammy and splotchy, so the first thing Bucky did when he got home was lay you down on the couch, sacrificing the soft throw blanket that was thrown over the back of it, and draped it over you.Â
He lowered the strap of his rifle down his arm before setting it aside on the coffee table, then crouched down in front of the couch. You were out cold, your body limp and unresponsive as he examined you a bit closer now that you were safe inside and away from the harsh elements outside.Â
Your lips were dark, and he knew you were probably even colder than you felt, your body fighting to keep itself warm in the minimal clothing you were wearing. You didnât have a bag with you, nor a phone or wallet, so he had no clue who you are or what your name is, or even where you lived.Â
Heâd never seen you in the woods before this, and by the small silver hoops you had in your ears, it was clear you were from the nicer part of town, which helped make sense as to why heâs never seen you around before.Â
But that didnât answer any of his questions, one being how the hell you ended up all the way out here.
Bucky reached out and brushed your hair out of your face, and he couldnât deny that you were very pretty. You had a certain innocent look to you, like someone as sweet and fragile as you had no business being out in the middle of the woods, looking like youâd been to hell and back.Â
His eyes focused on the gash on the side of your head, and he knew it was from when your head hit the tree and what had caused you to lose consciousness. He guessed youâd been out in the woods for a while, the exhaustion in your bones obvious since you hadnât moved at all since you passed out on the forest floor.Â
He stood up and made his way to the bathroom, where he grabbed the first aid kit he keeps under the sink. As he walked back into the living room, he shrugged out of his damp jacket, setting it aside on a chair as he passed by it, then he was on his knees in front of the couch once again.Â
The first aid kit was open on the coffee table, everything he needed messily stored inside of it. Heâd been careless a few times during hunting or fishing or wood cutting, resulting in him needing to patch himself up, and he never bothered to tidy up the kit.Â
He huffed as he rummaged through the kit in search of peroxide, and he found it a few moments later, then grabbed a cotton pad, pouring some of the liquid onto it. The gash on your head didnât look too bad, but he also couldnât see much since you were bleeding. This was one of many injuries he knew was on your body, but it also appeared to be the worst and the easiest one for him to access, so it was his priority at the moment.Â
Bucky pressed the cotton to the wound, and the white fabric turned red quickly, the sound of the peroxide sizzling its way into your flesh barely being heard. He cringed, because he knew that would fucking hurt when you wake up, so he tried his best to limit that pain as best as he could.Â
After cleaning up the wound, he taped a clean cotton pad to your head that had some sort of healing gel heâd used countless times before on it, then sat back on his knees. He couldnât see much of you, your shivering body hidden beneath the blanket and your head turned in a way that only allowed him to see half your face.Â
Now that heâd cleaned up your head, he had no fucking clue what to do next. Your head would probably be pounding in a few hours, so he stood up to go grab some aspirin and a glass of water, and he set them down on the coffee table.Â
Your blood had dried on your face, and for some reason he felt the need to clean that too, so he grabbed a wet cloth, then cleaned you up as well as he could. And then he just simply looked at you.Â
There was concern in his eyes, but mainly he was just confused. How did you end up here? What happened? Why were you wearing bruises and marks that seemed like youâd gotten before you ended up in the woods?Â
He felt a surge of protectiveness wash over him, something he had no business feeling for someone he didnât even know, but he couldnât help it. You were broken, bruised and in need of help, and you couldâve died had you not stumbled upon him and inadvertently forced yourself into his life.Â
Why had you been running? Who were you running from? Were you in danger? Was he in danger now that heâd taken you into his home and rescued you from the woods?
That shouldâve had him feeling a little on edge, but as he looked at you and took in the way you already looked a little more relaxed as you slept on his couch at seven in the evening, he didnât give a shit if heâd just accidentally put himself in danger.Â
There was no way, in any life, that heâd just leave you out there.
Itâd been almost two hours since Bucky had taken you in when you finally woke up.Â
Your body moved before your eyes slowly opened, and he watched as they instantly landed on the rifle that was still on the coffee table, then shifted over to the water and aspirin, before they flickered up to him.
He was sitting on the edge of the coffee table, his arms crossed as he looked down at you, and he could see the flicker of realization in your eyes before they filled with the same fear heâd seen in them out at the hunting post.Â
You tried to push yourself upright, your head shaking slightly as you held up your hands in a defensive gesture. âI-â
âItâs okay,â Bucky quickly assured you, his own hands lifting in a similar way as he refrained from touching you, knowing it would just freak you out even more. Of course the first thing you see after waking up in a strangerâs house being a fucking gun would scare you. He shouldâve moved it after heâd cleaned your wound. âShh, itâs okay. Youâre okay. Youâre safe.â
You squinted at that, your hand moving to your head where the makeshift bandage is, and you winced when you pressed your palm against it. âOuch. Shit,â you gasped, squeezing your eyes shut.Â
Bucky stayed still, lowering his hands and bracing them on his thighs as he watched you take a few shaky breaths. âAre you okay?â he asked after a few seconds.Â
You glanced over at him, your expression guarded and on edge. âWhat happened?â you asked, slowly sitting up, making the blanket fall around your waist.Â
âYou fell. Hit your head on a tree and passed out. I brought you to my house, cleaned you up a bit and got you warm,â Bucky answered, tilting his head as he looked at you. âThatâs all I know. Might need you to fill in the rest for me.â
You pressed your lips together as you kept your hand against your head, most likely trying to will the throbbing to go away. âI fell?â you asked, closing your eyes again as you swayed slightly, even though you were still sitting on the couch.Â
Bucky nodded slowly, his brows furrowing together. âWhat happened to you?â he gently asked, âHow did you⊠end up out here?â
You took a few more seconds to answer, then lowered your hand to your lap. âI ran away from home,â you simply answered, your voice low and your words mumbled.Â
Bucky sat up a bit, making you flinch, and he quickly reached out a reassuring hand. âItâs okay,â he said, giving you a small smile as he tried to look as least threatening as possible. âWhy did you run away?â
You shrugged, looking so small and miserable on his couch. âI couldnât take it anymore,â you said, and those five words somehow managed to answer a handful of his questions.Â
He softened his gaze, his lips turning downwards in a frown. âYou have bruises on you,â he stated, watching the way you fidgeted with your hands in your lap. âTheyâre not all from running away, are they? You didnât get some of them from just being out in the woods?â
You slowly shook your head, and you ending up out here was starting to make a little sense.Â
Youâd run away from an abusive home, got lost in the woods, and had probably been out here for days before you found him, but how exactly you ended up here was still one question that hadnât been answered.Â
But Bucky didnât pry. This was a delicate situation, and even though he hadnât been in one quite like this before, he understood that he had to be the level headed one out of the two of you, and not push you into a mental breakdown.Â
He cleared his throat, taking a deep breath in as he braced his elbows on his knees, moving to be at your eye level. âWhatâs your name?â he asked, watching the way you seemed to instantly be thrown into an inner debate with yourself. He had no idea what was going through your head, and he knew you had no reason to trust him at the moment, but he wanted you to know that he wasnât going to hurt you. âItâs okay. Iâm not gonna do anything, okay? Iâm not gonna hurt you or force you to answer me. You donât need to be scared of me.â
You swallowed harshly, blinking away tears as you lowered your gaze to the floor. âIsnât that what every serial killer says to their victims?â
Even though you were still so on edge and uncertain, your voice still held a hint of humor, and Bucky felt a genuine smile tugging at his lips. âI wouldnât know,â
That had your own mouth curling upwards, and even beaten and bruised and bandaged, you were still quite pretty. You looked down at the floor for a few more seconds before you gave him your name, then looked up at him again when he repeated it.Â
âIâm Bucky. Well, James, actually, but Iâve always gone by Bucky. Did you take anything with you? A phone or ID or⊠anything?â he asked, wondering how youâd managed to stay alive for as long as you did with just the clothes on your back.Â
You shook your head. âNo. No phone or ID. I had a bag with me, my old school backpack, and I had some food in there, but I had to leave it when it started attracting⊠unwanted visitors,â
Bucky lifted his brows. âYou mean, like⊠bears? Or wolves?â
âBoth?â you answered, then shrugged. âI donât know. It was dark when I had to leave it behind. I heard footsteps and growling, but I couldnât see anything, so I got up and ran. That was⊠I donât know, a day ago?â
Bucky tried to mask his surprise as best as he could, but it was extremely hard to believe that youâd gotten that close to being mauled or eaten alive just a day ago, and had somehow ended up in his part of the woods afterwards. âWhen did you run away?â he asked.
âUm⊠I donât know. I donât really know what day it is or how many have passed,â you said, glancing at the glass of water next to him with interest, and Bucky reached over to pick it up and hand it to you. âFour or five days ago? I thinkâŠâ
âJesus,â he muttered as you sipped on the water, and you almost finished it in one go, revealing just how dehydrated you must be. âYouâve been out there for five days? Have you slept at all? When was the last time you ate?â he fired off questions, still in shock that you were even alive right now after what he just heard.Â
âI slept here and there. I was too scared to sleep for long, and it was really cold at night,â you mumbled, setting the now empty glass on your lap. âThe last thing I ate was a granola bar, and that was before I had to ditch the rest of the food in my bag.â
Bucky shook his head, sitting up straight as he ran his hand over his mouth. âYou must be starving,â he said, and you shrugged, shyly meeting his eyes. He gestured to the glass, and you let him take it from you as he stood up and walked over to the kitchen, filling it once more.Â
When he came back, you took the fresh water from him with a grateful smile, sipping on it this time instead of gulping it down. âThank you for helping me,â you murmured, looking over your shoulder at the window. It was dark out, and the temperature had dropped even more, the cool breeze coming in from the screen door. âI wonât stay long or⊠intrude anymore than I already have.â
Bucky furrowed his brows. âYou canât go back out there. Your head is injured, and I know other parts of you are too. Itâs late and dark, and I⊠I canât let you go back out there,â he said, propping one hand on his hip as he gestured at you with his other. âNot like this.â
You gave him a look that had his knees buckling, and one that made him want to do everything in his power to help you, because who the fuck would ever drive you to the point of running away and putting your life at risk?
âYou donât need to help me anymore,â you whispered, tearing up again as you gave him a tight lipped smile. âYouâve already done enough.â
Bucky took a step towards you, then crouched down in front of you so he wasnât towering over you. âYouâre not intruding. You need help. I can help you,â he said, using his softest tone of voice. âIf youâll let me.â
You were a bit more timid now as you held his gaze, then you slowly started to nod, holding onto the glass with both of your hands. âOkay,â you whispered, and Bucky gave you a small smile as he nodded towards the hallway.Â
âWhy donât you go clean up? You can use the shower and anything else you need in there,â he offered, taking the glass from you and setting it aside on the coffee table. âIâll make some dinner.â
You quickly waved him off, âOh, you donât have to-â
âPlease. Let me help you,â he cut you off, watching the way you deflated a bit, as if being offered help was something completely new to you. You nodded again, and Bucky offered you his hand. âIâll set aside some clothes for you and get started on some food.â
You looked at his outstretched hand for a few seconds, and before he could let it fall back down to his side, you reached up and took it. âOkay,â you said again, letting him assist you to your feet. You were still a little unsteady, your body still weak from what he now knows is a lack of food and rest. He helped keep you steady for a few moments, his hands gently holding onto your arms, and when you were stable, you looked up at him. âThank you.â
Bucky felt his heart clench again at how broken you sounded, and he had to hold off on locking his jaw as he felt a surge of anger build up inside him at the fact that someone had obviously mistreated you so horribly for you to end up here.Â
âCâmon,â he said, guiding you towards the bathroom. âIâll show you where everything is.â
Youâd been in the bathroom for quite a while, and dinner had been ready for some time now, but Bucky refused to rush you.Â
It was obvious that you didnât trust him, at least not fully, but he could tell you were already warming up to him, and he didnât want to backtrack in any way and risk you leaving before your body could actually rest and heal.Â
Bucky had set out a pair of his sweats and a t-shirt for you, but also told you where everything is in his dresser in case you needed anything else, then he let you take a shower and no doubt take in all your body had been through over the last week in the mirror.
Heâd been sitting at the kitchen table for the last ten minutes, having heard the shower turn off five minutes before that, but again, the last thing he wanted to do was rush you.Â
While he waited, he went over his options for this unusual situation heâd found himself in.Â
Youâd run away from home, and there was no way youâd willingly go back, and Bucky didnât want you to go back, because he was sure the abuse would only intensify since youâd taken off. But how realistic was it for you to start over somewhere with little to nothing to your name? Bucky would drive you into town, pay for a bus ticket for you, and heâd even give you some cash so you could get by, but where would you go from there? Why was he wondering that if you werenât really his concern?
And why did the thought of you being out there on your own with only a handful of cash and no stable home make that protective feeling from before come back in full swing?Â
Youâre a stranger to him. Simply someone who needed help, and heâd given that to you and more. Where do you and he go from here? After heâs fed you and given you a place to rest your head for a while, what the hell happens after that?
His thoughts were interrupted by the sound of the bathroom door opening, and he quickly sat up straight, his head instantly turning in the direction of the hallway.Â
You slowly walked into the kitchen, clad in his sweats and shirt that looked huge on you, and now that you were clean, he was able to get a better look at you.Â
Your arms were littered in bruises and your face was blotchy in certain spots, and even though you were a lot cleaner, your body was still, for lack of better words, a mess.Â
The fabric of his shirt was damp from your hair that now had no leaves in it, and youâd somehow managed to keep your bandage mostly dry, but he would still offer to change it later anyway.
Bucky gave you a warm smile as he stood up and gestured to the chair across from his. âIâll make you a plate,â he offered, and you returned the smile as you moved to sit down. âYou scared off what was planned to be on the menu tonight,â he said as he began putting grilled peppers, chicken and scrambled eggs on a plate. It was the best he could do for now, and heâd used up the last of his eggs he was saving for breakfast tomorrow, but he honestly didnât give a shit that heâd have to go pick up some more sooner than planned. As long as you had options. âI hope this suffices.â
You perked up in the chair as he turned and set the plate down in front of you, and you fidgeted a bit as you looked down at it. âWow,â you said quietly, and Bucky fought off a grin as he made another plate for himself.Â
âWhat, never had eggs for dinner before?â he teased as he moved back to the table and took his seat across from you. Heâd never actually cooked for a girl before, or for anyone other than himself, really, so he was kind of nervous to have his culinary skills on full display right now, but he hid it as best as he could. He was pretty decent in the kitchen, as far as he could tell, but heâd also never gotten someone elseâs opinion, so really, what did he know?
âNo,â you answered, curling your fingers into your hands where they rested on your lap. âWell, no, and⊠no oneâs ever cooked for me before.â
That had Bucky pausing, his hand halfway to grabbing his fork as he looked over at you. Not only had you come from a place that physically abused you, but also potentially kept food from you, or at least let you fend for yourself food-wise.Â
He swallowed harshly, finally picking up his fork as he looked away from you, not wanting you to see the sudden anger he felt taking over his expression. âWell⊠Iâve never cooked for someone before,â he said back instead of pushing for answers to the questions that had begun forming in his head. âYou get to be my first customer.â
Your lips curved at that, and you looked back down at the plate. âI have to pay for this?â you asked, and there was a playful edge to your voice he was surprised to be hearing from someone in your state. It calmed the anger down inside of him.Â
âYou get to be my first critic,â he corrected himself, then nodded down to your fork. âIf you actually eat, that is.âÂ
Your face flushed at that, and you picked up the fork quickly, a small smile on your lips. You started with the eggs first, and he tried not to watch you the whole time, but this was feeling strangely domestic, and he tried not to think about how good you looked in his house and in his shirt.Â
âItâs good,â you said as you chewed, your eyes flickering to meet his, and when you caught him staring, your smile only grew. âBut then again, I have nothing to compare it to,â you trailed off as you swallowed, reaching for the glass of water in front of you. You brought it up to your mouth as you added, âStill, itâs very tasty.âÂ
Bucky hummed, finally tearing his eyes away from you as he began eating as well. âI was kind of rushing,â he said, âYou should see how good it is when Iâm taking my time.â
You laughed quietly at that as you bit down onto a pepper and chewed slowly. âIâll take your word for it,â
Fuck, this was really starting to feel domestic. Why was this so⊠comfortable? Why are you and he already talking as if youâd known each other for more than a few hours?
Bucky cleared his throat as he chewed, his brows furrowing as he nodded at the bandage taped to your temple. âHowâs your head?âÂ
You lifted your free hand and ran your fingers along the cotton, wincing slightly. âHurts,â you answered, âI tried to not mess with it in the shower, but⊠yeah, itâs really sore. I have a raging headache too.â
âYou might have a concussion,â he said, then nodded behind you at the coffee table in the living room. âThereâs some aspirin over there you can take after dinner to help with the pain.â
You nodded at that, giving him a grateful smile. âThank you,â
A few moments of silence passed after that, and Bucky spent most of it trying to find the right way to offer you a place to stay for the night without it sounding too forward or creepy.Â
He braced his elbows on the table as he leaned forward, his dinner momentarily forgotten. âI donât⊠feel comfortable sending you on your way tonight. You need rest and an actual place to sleep. And your head isnât in the best shape,â he said, watching as you stopped eating as well and looked up at him. âYou can stay here tonight. Take the bed and get a decent nightâs sleep. Tomorrow or⊠whenever youâre feeling better, I can drive you into town, get you a bus ticket or something.â
You gave him a look of surprise that you tried to suppress, but he caught it anyway. âYou donât have to do all that, really,â you said quietly, âI can just⊠maybe sleep here tonight, and Iâll see myself out tomorrow morning.â
Bucky let out a sigh as he shook his head. âI want to. I want to help you,â he said, âI have to go into town anyway to get some stuff. Iâll give you a drive anywhere you want to go, alright? You donât need to be stumbling around the woods again on your own.â
Your shoulders dropped at that, like you were relieved to hear that you wouldnât be forced to travel on foot again in an unfamiliar place. âOkay,â you agreed, poking at the eggs on your plate with your fork. âBut I donât need to sleep in your bed. I can sleep on the couch.â
Bucky felt one side of his mouth curve upwards at that, and he looked down at his own plate. âWeâll see about that,â was all he said, then the two of you went back to eating.
After dinner, you offered to clean up, but Bucky just shook his head, saying heâd do it later, then he led you to his room.Â
âIâll put fresh sheets on the bed,â he offered, already starting to pull off the current ones as you quickly shook your head.Â
âReally, you donât have to. Itâs fine,â you insisted, but when he turned his head and gave you a look, you deflated a bit and pursed your lips. âThank you.â
Bucky huffed out a laugh as he shook his head as well, gathering up the sheets, pillow cases and blankets into his arms. âYou donât gotta keep thanking me. Iâm just doing what anyone else would,â
You gave a small, defeated laugh as he walked past you. âNo, youâre not,â you said, and he realized that you mustâve been wronged countless times in the past by countless people to truly believe that what he was doing was him going above and beyond for you. He really didnât think he was doing that much, he actually thought he wasnât doing enough, and he wanted to do more for you, he just didnât know how.Â
Bucky didnât say anything at that, and headed down the hall to the laundry room, where he grabbed some fresh sheets.Â
Once heâd returned to his room, he made the bed and tidied up the clothes scattered around on the floor as you stood glued to the spot beside the closet. You were looking at his bed as you chewed on your fingernail, wincing slightly as you turned to face him. âAre you sure itâs okay for me to sleep in here? I mean, itâs your bed and youâre a tall guy. That couch out there isnât small, but it probably wonât be very comfortable for you. I donât mind sleeping on it,â
Bucky huffed out a laugh of disbelief. Here you are, a broken human being whoâd suffered unimaginable things over the last few days, and probably the last few years, and yet you were still putting his comfort over your own. A strangerâs over your own. âIâll be fine,â he assured you, stuffing his clothes into the laundry bin inside his closet. âIâve slept on that couch many times now. It hasnât done me wrong yet. Besides, after all youâve been through, I think you could use a night on an actual bed.â
You nodded at that, scratching at your arm. âThank y-â you cut yourself off when he lifted his brows at you, and your face flushed once again as you looked away.Â
Bucky felt a smile form on his face as he gestured to your head. âLet me look at that one more time before bed,âÂ
You nodded, then moved to sit down on the edge of the bed as he walked past you to go retrieve the first aid kit from off the coffee table. He sat down in front of you on the bed, setting the kit between you and him, then got to work on slowly peeling the cotton away from your wound. It didnât look much different from before, which was expected, but it looked cleaner, probably because youâd gotten water on it from your shower.Â
He replaced the bandage, neither of you speaking the whole time as you let him patch you up once again, this time with you being fully conscious. You winced when he pressed the new one against your head, but you didnât move, fully trusting him to be as careful and as gentle as he could, and he was sure heâd never been this careful in his entire life.Â
âWhatâs the verdict, doc?â you asked a little awkwardly, like this was your way of distracting yourself from the pain. âAm I gonna live?â
He fought off a growing grin, smoothing down the cotton before pulling back. âYouâll live,â he answered, âNinety eight percent certain of that.â
That had you fighting off a smile of your own, and you quickly looked away.
Bucky had refilled your water glass and grabbed the aspirin from off the coffee table when heâd gone to get the first aid kit, and after he was done replacing the bandage, he handed you both the water and aspirin.Â
He waited until youâd taken them before he stood up from the bed, putting the kit on the dresser, as well as the bottle of aspirin in case you needed more later. After that he turned to face you, and he propped his hands on his hips, pressing his lips together.Â
What does he say to the girl whoâs about to spend the night in his bed? This wasnât the first time a pretty girl has spent the night in his bed, though heâs usually in bed too, but heâd be spending his night on the couch instead. What was an appropriate way to end the interactions with you for the night?
âIâll leave you alone now,â he said, holding back a cringe at his words. He wasnât usually this way around girls. Heâd been with his fair share of women, and even though he hadnât been super close to any since moving out here, he liked to think he still knew how to talk to one. You made it hard to think though, let alone speak. âIâll just be on the couch. If you need anything.â he added for good measure.Â
You nodded at that, your lips pursing to the side as you didnât say anything.Â
Fuck, was this as awkward for you as it was for him?
âGoodnight,â Bucky said, giving you one last look before starting to turn around, but then you quickly stood up and reached for his arm.Â
He turned back to you instantly, and you didnât say a single thing as you moved towards him and wrapped your arms around his middle. You pressed your head against his chest, and he felt the way you trembled with nerves. âThank you,â you whispered, and he knew heâd let that one slide, because he could only imagine how much it took out of you to hug him after everything youâd been through.Â
Bucky slowly wrapped his arms around your much smaller body, his big hands splaying along your back. âOf course,â he said back, pressing his chin against the top of your head.Â
The moment ended not too long after that, with you pulling away first, and Bucky noticed the tears in your eyes but he didnât comment on them. Instead, he gave you a tight lipped smile. âGet some rest,â he said, and you nodded again as you backed away and got into his bed, and he quickly turned and left the room, closing the door almost all the way behind him.Â
He lingered in the hallway for a few moments, not wanting to leave you alone just yet for some reason, before he forced himself to walk into the living room, choosing to leave the hall light on for you in case you needed to go to the bathroom, or wake him up for any reason.
Bucky naturally wakes up super early, despite him sometimes really needing a few extra hours of sleep.Â
Like today. Heâd ended up staying up for a few hours after heâd left you in his room and got comfortable on the couch, but no matter how hard he tried, he couldnât fall asleep.Â
Heâd been on edge, constantly keeping one eye open and listening out for any noise coming from the bedroom. He was worried about you, not wanting you to need something but be too shy to come out and ask him for it. Heâd tossed and turned all night, and even though heâd been telling the truth when he told you that heâd comfortably slept on the couch countless times before, he just couldnât bring himself to fall asleep.Â
If he had to guess, he assumed heâd gotten about four hours of sleep in total before he was fully awake at six in the morning.Â
Bucky stayed up after that, not bothering to try and get a couple more hours of sleep and instead deciding to turn the TV on as a distraction.Â
He kept looking down the hall, wanting to go in and check on you, but that would probably freak you out if you were to wake up just as he was peeking in, or worse, you already being awake and seeing him poke his head in.Â
His eyes were a little sore from lack of sleep as he crossed his arms, his mouth opening in an unflattering yawn as he looked at the TV mounted on the wall. His head tipped back as his throat made a sound he had no control over, and just as the yawn began to fade, he heard the sound of a soft laugh to his left.Â
Bucky looked over immediately, seeing you standing at the entrance of the hallway, and you already looked so much better than you did yesterday.Â
You looked more rested, more light and happier, and the sight brought a smile to his face as he sat up, pulling the blanket off his lap and setting it aside. âHey,â he greeted, the TV now completely forgotten about.Â
âMorning,â you said back, shifting on your feet.Â
âMorning,â Bucky repeated, then nodded towards the loveseat a few feet away. âYou wanna sit?â he offered, and you nodded before making your way towards the seat and sitting down on it. You brought your knees up to your chest as Bucky ran a hand through his hair, trying to tame the messy strands he knew were sticking up from when he was asleep. âDid you, uh⊠sleep okay?â
You nodded again, wrapping your hands around your shins. âYeah. I slept good,âÂ
Bucky nodded, huffing out a breath of air. âThatâs⊠thatâs good,â he said, and he was growing more and more convinced that his natural, charming way of talking to a woman was fading by the day. âHow are you feeling? Howâs your head?â
You shrugged a bit, his shirt slipping down your shoulder just an inch or two. âIâm feeling⊠better. Iâm still a little tired and sore, and my head still hurts. But I feel better,âÂ
He smiled at that, leaning over and bracing his elbows on his knees. âThatâs good,â he repeated, much softer this time. He watched as you gave him a small smile before turning your attention to the TV, and he let his eyes linger on your side profile for a little longer before he looked away. âI, uh⊠I can give you a ride into town if you feel up to it. I have some cash I can give you to, you know, help you get started somewhere else.â
You looked back over at him, and your expression faltered a bit as you pressed your lips together. You shifted, reaching up to tuck some of your hair behind your ear as your lips parted, but Bucky quickly spoke up before you had a chance to.Â
âIf youâre not feeling well enough, thatâs okay too,â he said, watching the way your shoulders fell a bit, and he hadnât realized how tense youâd gotten at the thought of being alone again. âIf you still need some rest and time to heal, you⊠can stay here. For as long as you need.â
He wasnât sure if he was being too forward or offering too much, or simply not offering enough, but the smile was back on your face now, and that made one form on his own as well. âI donât want to intrude. I know this,â you waved a hand around the living room, âis what youâre used to. Your normal way of living doesnât involve looking after a girl you found in the woods,â you trailed off, hesitating briefly before you let out a shaky breath, âIâd like to stay⊠for a few days, maybe? If thatâs okay. I wonât bother you or get in the way, and I can help out around the house if you need it. I donât want to freeload. But⊠Iâd like to stay. Just for a bit.â
You were rambling, as if he didnât offer you the choice to stay in the first place. And now you were offering to do chores around his house? While sporting a nasty gash on your head? Where the hell had you come from?
âItâs okay,â he said, putting your rambling to a stop as you met his eyes. âYou can stay. I donât mind,â he leaned back on the couch, draping his arm on the back of it. âBut that means weâre gonna probably be scavenging for food since I wonât be going into town today after all. And maybe weâll see if youâre any good with a fishing rod, if youâre up for it.â
You let out a soft laugh as you nodded, âI think I can handle that,â
Bucky was standing on the dock at the lake that was a short walk from his house. It was later in the day and much warmer than it had been yesterday, but the air still had a chill to it, so heâd given you one of his jackets to wear while by the lake.Â
He was standing close to the edge of the dock, putting bait on the hook of his fishing rod while keeping a careful eye on you. You were standing off to the side by a tree, your arms tense at your sides as you watched him with interest he found oddly adorable.Â
You still looked a little tired, even though Bucky had put this off for most of the day, letting you rest some more on the couch while he did some chores around the house.Â
When he mentioned heading down to the lake to try his luck at fishing, you perked up at that and asked if you could tag along, and then you slid on your muddy shoes and accepted his jacket when he agreed.Â
Bucky wasnât sure what he was doing. Heâd lived a pretty normal life prior to taking you into his home and patching you up. Heâd wake up early every day, make himself a hearty breakfast, do some house work or some yard work, then either go hunting or fishing, eat dinner, call his sister and chat with her for a while before going to bed.Â
Heâd served in the military for a while before moving out here, and heâd received quite a large amount of money during his time he served, and heâd been getting cheques every few months that allowed him to live comfortably. Heâd go into town maybe once or twice a week, stock up on things he needed, maybe stop at a bar and let loose for a bit, then go home.Â
His priorities had shifted drastically over the last few years. When he was still living in the city, heâd have no problem spending his evening at a bar, chatting up a pretty girl, then spending the rest of the night with her, and that was something heâd done many many times.Â
But as he got older and reached his early thirties, he realized random hook ups and money wasted on bars wasnât what he wanted in life, and he wanted a change.Â
So heâd moved out of his apartment and relocated to where he is now, and heâd been living a much healthier and efficient lifestyle, and he hadnât looked back since.Â
With that being said, itâd been a while since heâd had a woman around for as long as youâve been, with the exception of his sister. He didnât quite know what to do or how he could go back to normal now that heâs taken it upon himself to try and heal you and help you in any way he could.Â
Bucky didnât know how long youâd be here, in his home and in his life, before you decided you needed to get a move on and try your luck on your own, but the thought of you heading back out into the world with essentially no one at your side didnât sit well with him.Â
He doesnât know you very well, but there was an obvious trust between you and him that was growing more and more. Itâd been over twenty four hours since he met you, and already heâd found that, despite him being on his own for quite some time now, you kind of fit in just right here.Â
But that seemed crazy to think about, and way too fucking soon. Realistically, how long would it be appropriate for you to stay with him without it becoming weird? Heâd found you in the woods and taken you in, which was already weird enough.Â
But Bucky had always wanted to help people. He was good at it, and he didnât like the thought of someone struggling when he could so easily help out.Â
The whole situation was weird and unexpected and kind of overwhelming, and yet he didnât mind the odd addition to his life - that being in the form of another person he had to look after rather than just himself.Â
Once the bait was securely attached to the hook, he cast it out into the water, then turned his head to look over at you as he waited for a bite. âHow are you doing?â he asked, and you crossed your arms over your chest.Â
âIâm fine,â you answered, gesturing to the lake. âI donât want to be in your way.â
Bucky let out a laugh, âWell, thatâs really nice, but it wasnât what I meant,â he said, watching the way you became flustered at the teasing tone in his voice. âI mean, how are you feeling? You donât have to stay out here if you donât want to. You can head back and rest some more if you need to.â
You shook your head slowly, giving him a grateful smile. âNo, Iâm alright,â you said, then gave him a small smirk, âI need to learn how to do this if Iâm gonna pull my weight around here.â
He poked his inner cheek with his tongue, then nodded, âYeah, I guess thatâs true,â he agreed, though he didnât expect you to do really anything since youâd already been through enough lately. You deserved to have someone do things for you for a while, and that person was obviously Bucky.Â
A few minutes pass with not much else being said, and as Bucky looked out at the setting sun that was making the water look orange and pink instead of blue, you moved a little closer to the dock. âHow long does this usually take?â
Bucky shrugged, keeping his eyes on the sun as it slowly moved towards the water. âDepends. Could be a few minutes, could be a few hours,â he answered. You walked a little closer until you were standing next to him, and he instinctively looked over at you.Â
Despite the bruises marring your skin, it still looked almost flawless in the orange glow of the sun. You looked soft, if that made any sense at all, and innocent in a way that had him questioning how anyone had ever treated you so badly in the past.Â
He almost commented on how beautiful you look, but quickly caught the words before they could leave his mouth, and he cleared his throat. âYou wanna give it a try?âÂ
You quickly met his gaze as your lips parted, your eyes widening a bit. âIâll probably be terrible at it,â
Bucky shrugged as he started to reel in the line, âWell, I guess Iâll just have to teach you,â
He moved to stand behind you, then offered you the rod, which you hesitantly took. âI donât know what Iâm doing,â you said as you held it awkwardly, only further proving that youâd never gone fishing a day in your life.Â
Bucky laughed as he lifted his hand. âItâs okay. I can show you,â he said, then paused once heâd moved a little closer to you. âCan I⊠is this okay?â he asked before he pushed you too far.Â
He didnât know your limits, didnât know how youâd react if he just suddenly touched you. This was a lot different than him cleaning your wound and changing the bandage for you, and he didnât want to make you uncomfortable in any way.Â
You looked over your shoulder, saw how close he was, then hesitated a bit before you started to slowly nod. âYeah. Itâs fine,â you said quietly, âGotta show me somehow, right?â
He nodded in agreement as he moved closer to you, then wrapped his arms around your frame and guided your hands into the proper position on the rod. âJust tell me if itâs too much, yeah?â
You gave a slight nod and allowed him to position your hands, then he guided your arms back a bit, the line coming with it.Â
âLet go of the line as soon as it passes the edge down here,â he said, knocking the edge of the dock with his boot, and he waited until you looked down and nodded before he guided your arms into a swinging motion.Â
Youâd caught on fast, your finger releasing the line as soon as it crossed the water line, and then it was cast into the lake, reaching almost as far as his had before. âDid I⊠do it right?â you asked, and Bucky felt his lips curl up as he took a step away from you.
âYeah, that was good,â he said, letting his arms drop back to his sides, and when you turned your head to look over at him, he couldâve sworn heâd seen a flicker of disappointment on your face as you glanced down at his hands, but it was gone before he could question it too much.Â
âHow will I know if I caught anything?â
âYouâll feel something start to tug, then youâll have to reel it in,â he said, and as if youâd predicted that very thing happening, there was a tug on the line, and you let out a gasp.Â
âOh, fuck,â
Bucky couldnât even take a second to reflect on how funny that word sounded coming from someone as seemingly innocent as you since youâd reached for his arm and tugged him to you as you pulled on the fishing rod.Â
He helped you reel the line in, then got to see how excited you became when he pulled on the hook and lifted it out of the water, a decent sized trout stuck to the end of it.Â
Your mouth opened in surprise as you held onto the end of the rod, and you looked so happy, it was hard to believe that youâd been so close to death just yesterday. âI caught a fish?â you asked, as if he wasnât currently unhooking the proof right now.Â
Bucky stood up straight, holding the fish in one hand as he looked at you. âYou caught a fish,â he confirmed, and couldnât stop the grin that took over his face at the squeal you let out.
It had still been pretty early in the evening when youâd caught your first ever fish, but you and Bucky still returned to his house soon after.Â
You were giddy as you stood next to him in his kitchen, still wearing his oversized jacket and sweats as you watched him clean the trout, because of course you and he were having it for dinner. You were so excited that youâd managed to catch a fish on your first try, and he wanted you to be able to reap the benefits and see for yourself how good it feels to prepare and eat something youâd caught all on your own.
Heâd found out himself the very first year he lived here how much better something tasted when he actually worked for it, and he wanted you to experience that as well.Â
You ended up getting in his way quite a bit the entire time he was making dinner, pairing the trout with fresh vegetables and rice, but he didnât mind. Of course he was used to being alone and having no distractions as he made dinner, but you were a welcoming one.Â
Youâd finally calmed down a bit as he began plating the food, and you took it upon yourself to set the table, with him needing to tell you where everything was in the drawers and cupboards.Â
âThank you,â you said when he set a plate down in front of you, and Bucky laughed as he sat down in his seat across from you.Â
âFor what? Youâre the one who provided dinner tonight,â he pointed out, and a warm feeling filled him at the fact that this was the second dinner you and he are having together, and you were evidently a lot happier during this one.Â
âI just caught it,â you said, as if that was easy for someone to do on their first try. âYouâre the one who cooked it.â
Bucky hummed, picking up his fork. âIt was a team effort,â he decided, and you nodded in agreement.Â
After dinner, neither of you made any move to quickly get up from the table. Youâd been in the middle of explaining how youâd almost failed Math in grade nine since you had massive crush on the teacher and couldnât focus every time he taught something, and Bucky just let you talk, because the version of you in front of him right now was so different from the version he met and saw last night.Â
You seemed brighter, like the darkness heâd seen in your eyes and face yesterday had faded throughout the day, leaving behind someone who seemed far too sweet to have ever gone through any form of abuse at all.Â
There was a certain light in your eyes, a happiness in your voice that had him leaning closer and letting you say anything that came to mind, because your voice was soothing to him. It was beautiful, and it seemed out of place in his home that had been quiet and void of anything but his own presence for so long.Â
That domestic feeling heâd noticed before was coming back, and it didnât help that you propped your elbow up on the table, and his shirt had slipped off your shoulder once again, revealing a glimpse of your skin under it.Â
Bucky had to tear his eyes away from you as he stood up, beginning to gather the plates and utensils as he fought off the growing heat he felt building up inside of him. You werenât here to stay. You were merely a guest he was helping out. He had no business feeling the way he currently is.Â
âI can help,â you offered, beginning to stand up, and when Bucky tried to protest, youâd taken the dishes out of his hands and gave him a small grin before you moved past him and began washing them, and he had to lean back against the table for a sense of stability.Â
Those feelings didnât go away. They only grew tenfold.
âItâs not about how fast you hit it. Itâs about how you swing and how much force you put into it,â Bucky said as he demonstrated what heâd just finished explaining to you.Â
He lifted the axe above his head, keeping his eyes firmly on the log in front of him that was placed on the trunk of a tree that had fallen over way before heâd even moved here. He swung the axe down in one smooth, quick motion that had the blade hitting it dead-on, the wood easily splitting into three pieces.Â
You watched from your place a few feet away, his shirt rolled up with one side tied in a knot at your hip to keep it from reaching your knees. His sweats were rolled up as well, reaching just below your knees as you observed him, your head tilted curiously. âThat looks really hard,â you said, and Bucky huffed out a laugh as he reached down and put the newly split wood into a pile next to the trunk.Â
âItâs not super easy,â he said, placing another one in its place. âBut itâs not super hard either.â
Youâd been here for a few days now, and your head had healed up quite nicely to the point where you could ditch the unflattering white bandage for a smaller, less obvious one. Though you still somehow managed to make the bandage look good, he didnât tell you that.Â
Most of the bruises on your body had faded, leaving behind faint purple spots that would also be gone soon enough, and youâd gotten more rest in the last couple days than you had in the last couple years, or so youâve told him.Â
The heat was quite noticeable today and the sleeves of his Henley were rolled up to his elbows, and he took note of the way your eyes kept lingering on his forearms every so often, but he didnât comment on it.Â
Heâd be a liar if he were to say he hadnât been looking at you in the way youâd been looking at him more than a few times now.Â
Just as Bucky began lining up the axe again, you took a step towards him. âCan I try?âÂ
He paused, the axe lifted above his head, and without thinking much about it, he lowered it and nodded. âSure,â he said, gesturing for you to come stand where he is.Â
You and he had grown rather close in the short time youâve been here, so he didnât feel like he was going too far when he wrapped his arms around you after handing you the axe. Â
He helped guide you into a few practice swings, his front pressed quite close to your back, but you werenât tense like you had been the first night you were here. You almost welcomed it now, and you didnât shy away from him. That was progress, and he was really fucking proud of you.Â
Once he thought youâd had a good handle on it, he stepped back to give you some room. âJust stay still and put some force into the swing,â he instructed, and you nodded, squinting at the log for a moment before swinging the axe down. It didnât break the log, but got stuck in it, and you looked over at Bucky for help. He laughed under his breath and reached over, pulling the blade out of the log before stepping back again, propping his hands on his hips. âItâs okay. Try again. Aim for that same spot.â
You let out a deep breath and nodded, then swung again. The axe got stuck in the log once more, and you huffed. âIâm terrible at this,â you said, letting go of the axe, leaving it stuck in the log.Â
Bucky laughed again, moving past you to retrieve it as you stood off to the side. âItâs alright. Itâs not easy for someone just trying it out for the first time,â
âYeah, but I caught a fish the first time I went fishing,â you said, and he scoffed.Â
âOh, so that made you think youâd be good at every new thing you try for the first time?â
âI was hopeful,â you said back, and he shook his head. But he could feel you looking at him as he positioned his hands on the handle of the axe, and before he swung, he looked over at you, noticing the frown on your face. âWhat? Whatâs wrong?â
You shrugged, looking down at your shoes that werenât as muddy as they were before since heâd taken it upon himself to clean them for you. âI feel useless just standing here,â you confessed. âYouâve done so much for me. I want to help as much as I can.â
Bucky lowered the axe, then looked around as he tried to think of something you could do that didnât take a whole lot of effort since your body was still healing. âWhy donât you stack what I split?â he suggested, nodding towards the already stacked wood pile against the side of his house a few feet away. âThat way I donât have to do it after.â
You smiled at that and nodded, âOkay,â you said, then bent down to retrieve a couple pieces of wood heâd just split before heading towards the pile, and Bucky let his eyes linger on your backside before he lifted the axe again and swung, splitting the log youâd failed twice at with ease.
Later that night, itâd cooled down and since heâd had the windows open all day, it was kind of cold in his house.Â
Bucky had lit a fire in the living room, the fireplace lighting up the room and making shadows flicker all over the walls. You were sitting on a blanket on the floor, your back pressed against the side of the couch as you watched him, a small smile seeming to have a permanent place on your face.Â
You were wearing one of his hoodies, his wardrobe having become yours as well since there was no saving your old clothes. Heâd tried to get the mud stains out of your shorts and debated on whether or not it was worth trying to sew your shirt, but it was a hopeless cause. And Bucky rather liked the way you looked in his clothes, almost as much as you seemed to like wearing them.
The orange glow from the fire made you look like something thatâd fallen straight out of heaven and landed directly in his path, inserting yourself into his life without a second thought about it. And yet you fit right in.Â
Youâd only been here for almost a week, and yet Bucky had already become used to having you around. Every time he cooked, you cleaned up, and every time he busied himself with work around the house, you were right there, offering your assistance and taking it upon yourself to help in any way you could.Â
You and he sit together for every meal, and you end up staying at the table well after youâve finished eating and talking for hours, and heâs made you laugh so many times now, heâd gotten used to how it sounded in his usually quiet house.Â
It felt like youâd known each other for a lot longer than you had. Youâd fallen asleep on the couch yesterday while you and he watched TV, your head falling to his shoulder as your soft breaths fanned across his cheek.Â
And, obviously, Bucky didnât move a single muscle the entire time you slept, earning him a sore arm that was well worth it.Â
You and he ended up messing around by the lake yesterday, splashing at each other, which resulted in both of you becoming completely soaked but also not giving a fuck about the uncomfortable walk back home in wet clothes. The smiles on both your faces never faded once.
He rather liked the little bubble you and he had been living in for the past week, and he didnât want to think about what it would be like when you inevitably had to go. His life would return to normal, but what would that feel like when heâd already gotten so used to having you in his space and in his life?
You and he had pretty much gone through all the food he had in his cupboards, and while he had a pretty nicely stocked garden around the back of his house, eating just peppers and tomatoes and onions wasnât sufficient.Â
That meant he would have to drive out into town tomorrow to get some groceries and other things he needed, and that meant youâd probably be taking him up on that offer to drive to the bus stop.Â
Bucky sat next to you on the blanket, lifting one leg and planting his foot firmly on the ground as he forced himself to not look at you. The hue from the fire made you look achingly pretty, but that wasnât saying much since heâd found you pretty in every type of lighting.Â
A comfortable silence settled over the two of you, with both you and Bucky watching the fire flicker and create harsh shadows all around his dark living room.Â
He knew he was a little tense, because he had to bring up the trip to town he was planning, and that would bring up the topic of you tagging along and getting a bus ticket.Â
You shifted next to him, and he had a feeling you could tell something was on his mind, but you didnât push him to tell you. Youâd been as patient with him as heâd been with you, and Bucky was growing more and more aware of the fact that if you were to leave town tomorrow, heâd really fucking miss you.Â
Even though it would mean youâre starting a new chapter in your life somewhere nicer than where you had been before, and youâd be happier, he couldnât stop himself from wanting to be in that chapter with you.Â
Maybe you and he would be able to stay in touch, though it wasnât likely.Â
Bucky swallowed harshly, looking down at the small space between your thigh and his. âIâm, uh⊠heading into town tomorrow. Youâve managed to empty out everything I had in my kitchen,â he started, trying to keep the mood light, and it worked as you let out a soft laugh. He lifted his gaze to you, and he found you already looking at him. âHave you thought more about maybe getting a bus ticket? Just⊠getting away from everything that happened?âÂ
He held back a wince when he asked that, because the thought of you being all alone again after this made his heart clench in his chest. The thought of him being alone again was even worse.
You pressed your lips together and looked away, bringing your knees up to your chest. âYeah, Iâve⊠thought about it,â you confessed quietly, and Buckyâs heart clenched again.Â
Because as much as he liked having you here, youâd been thinking about leaving him behind and disappearing. And you werenât selfish to think that or want it, but he sure was for wanting you to stay.Â
Fuck. He wants you to stay.Â
He cleared his throat harshly, tearing his eyes away from you. âSo you, uh⊠accepting that drive to the bus stop?â
You looked over at him at that, but he didnât look at you in return. He could see the way you deflated a bit out of the corner of his eye. âIf youâre still offering it,â you answered softly, and Bucky wanted to take that offer back so badly.Â
âI am,â he said instead, shifting a bit on the blanket. âWe can leave tomorrow morning after breakfast. If I can find any food to make for breakfast, that is.â
That had you huffing out a breathy laugh, and he couldnât stop the way his head turned to look at you. He couldnât help it. He liked the way you looked when you laughed.Â
You turned your head and met his eyes, and your expression softened. âThank you, Bucky,â you whispered, then slowly, hesitantly, you reached down and placed your hand over his where it was on the ground between you. âFor⊠for everything. You⊠saved me. Took me in and you made me feel like Iâm not just⊠a punching bag. So thank you. I wouldnât be here if it werenât for you. I donât know how I can ever repay you for that.â
Bucky clenched his jaw, because he felt it starting to tremble a bit, and youâd trusted him to be the strong one up until this point. He didnât want to let you down. âI already told you,â he said just as quietly. He turned his hand over and laced his fingers with yours, giving them a soft squeeze as his eyes held your gaze. âYou donât have to thank me. I couldnât just⊠leave you out there. I couldnât. I knew youâd been through hell and I couldnât add to it. I couldnât hurt you. Iâd never hurt you.â
You smiled at that, but your eyes started to water, and you started to turn your head when his other hand instantly lifted up. His fingers cradled your jaw, halting your movement and making your breath get caught in your throat.Â
âIs that⊠is this okay?â he trailed off, guiding your gaze back to his, and he watched the way your eyes darted down to his mouth as you nodded slowly. âWords, sweetheart.â
You inhaled at the name he hadnât used until right now, and then you leaned a little closer. âYes. Itâs okay,âÂ
Bucky grinned softly at that, his thumb stroking along your bottom lip as he leaned in as well. âI can stop,â he said, meaning it with everything in him.Â
But you shook your head, and before he could remind you to use your words again, you spoke up, âI donât want you to stop,â
And that had him leaning all the way in until his lips brushed along yours in the softest, most gentle kiss heâs ever had. You kissed him back, smiling against his lips and making him smile right back, his hand moving to cradle your jaw.Â
It ended all too soon, but it was still already high on the list of the most intimate moments Bucky has ever experienced in his life, and that was bad.Â
Because you were leaving tomorrow, and he wouldnât get to experience that again.
There was a heavy feeling weighing down Buckyâs chest as he sat with you in his truck that was parked on the side of the street.Â
A few feet behind the truck was one of the bus stops around town, and in approximately four minutes, a bus would come and take you out of his life just as quickly as you fell into it. Literally.Â
His elbow was propped up on the window frame, his fingers covering his mouth as he looked at the street with a bitterness he couldnât remember feeling for quite some time now.Â
You were sitting in the passenger seat, wearing an old pair of jeans that didnât fit him anymore since heâd gained quite a bit of muscle since he started living on the outskirts of town, and one of his flannels. At your feet was one of the many bags he had lying around his house, and in it were a couple of his shirts and sweats and jeans, as well as a couple snacks and water and the extra toothbrush youâd been using at his house. There was also a stack of cash heâd slipped in without you noticing, because you refused to take his money when he offered it to you back at the house.Â
You felt guilty for taking his clothes, but Bucky honestly didnât care about that at all. As long as you had something to get started with, he didnât care how many shirts heâd need to replace in the future.Â
The truck was off, not even the sound of the radio able to fill the silence that filled the cab. There was tension in the air, but it wasnât angry or uncomfortable or heated. It was more sad than anything else, because even though you hadnât been in his life for long, this was still a hard goodbye.Â
Bucky had grown attached to you. Heâd taken on the role as your protector, and he wanted to keep that role for much longer. He had, like you told him last night, saved your life, so he was feeling protective over you, and the thought of wishing you well then sending you on your way made him feel like he was throwing you out to the wolves.
He shifted in his seat, glancing over at you. You were sitting comically still, the bus ticket heâd bought you sitting on your lap, ignored as if you didnât want to hold it in your hands or even look at it. âYou sure youâre⊠well enough to go off on your own?â he asked, more than ready to take you right back to his place. âItâs okay if youâre not. You wonât be intruding or anything like that. You donât even have to stay with me if you donât want to. I can give you some money and you can stay at a hotel for a bit. I just⊠donât want you pushing yourself into something if youâre not ready for it.â
You looked over at him, forcing yourself to smile. âIâm ready,â you said, and you sounded truthful, and yet that didnât help soothe the ache he felt in his chest. âI donât want to take up anymore of your time. Youâve been amazing, Bucky, and I truly meant it when I said you saved me. Iâd be dead if it werenât for you. Iâll spend the rest of my life trying to pay you back.â
Bucky frowned and shook his head, âSweetheart-â he started, but the bus rounded the corner and began slowing down, and his time with you was up.Â
You gave him a small smile as you grabbed the bag and opened the door, hopping out of his truck with a lot more grace than youâd moved with before. Heâd healed you. And you healed him too, in a way.Â
Heâd been content by himself before, willing to spend the rest of his life alone in the woods and preparing meals for one and sleeping by himself in the big bed in his room.Â
But youâd opened a part of him up, and he no longer saw himself being alone forever. He saw himself settling down, living his life with someone by his side. And he wanted that someone to be you so fucking badly.Â
His heart physically ached as he watched you stand on the side walk and close the passenger side door. âBye, Bucky,â you said quietly, and there were tears in your eyes that matched the ones he felt forming in his.Â
You turned and started walking towards the bus stop, your grip so tight on the straps of the bag he could see your hands starting to shake.Â
Bucky stayed in the truck, not trusting himself to step out and walk with you to the bus stop. He was afraid youâd turn to hug him like you had done the first night you spent at his house, and he wouldnât be able to let go of you.Â
So he just watched as you walked towards the bus shelter, then stopped just as the bus pulled up to the stop. He watched with a heavy heart, his knuckles pressed to his mouth as he suppressed the tremble he felt in his lips.Â
But when the doors of the bus opened, you didnât get on. Your back was turned to him, so he couldnât see your face, but he could see how tense you were as you stayed completely still on the sidewalk.Â
Before he could realize what he was doing, Bucky tore off his seatbelt and opened the door, stepping out onto the street without even checking to see if any cars were coming. He rounded the truck and got onto the sidewalk, moving towards you and stopping just a few feet away.Â
You hadnât turned around to face him yet, but you did turn your head when the bus driver let out a huff. âAre you on or off, Miss?â he asked impatiently. You didnât answer him, and the man let out another annoyed sound. âMaâam, are you staying or getting on?âÂ
That hit Bucky hard, because he wanted you to stay. Maybe it wasnât realistic, and maybe it was way too soon, but he didnât fucking care. He didnât want you to go.Â
You turned your head even more until you were looking at him, and when your eyes met his, your shoulders dropped, the tension leaving your body instantly. You turned to face him fully, your grip on the bag loosening, âStay,â you said quietly, âI want to stay.â
That had Bucky closing the remaining distance between you and him, and you met him halfway, dropping the bag in your hurry to get to him. Your body collided with his just as the bus pulled away from the curb, and Bucky cradled the back of your head with one hand, his other arm wrapping tightly around your middle.Â
He pulled your body flush against his, and your arms banded around his shoulders as you leaned up and connected your mouth to his. He lifted you up just slightly so you could kiss him a little better, and he deepened it instantly. This was even better than the one you and he shared on his living room floor last night, and he had no doubt that heâd just become obsessed with you.Â
Bucky couldnât stop the words that tumbled out of his lips when he pulled away for air, âYou want to stay?â he breathed, his hands cupping either side of your face as he pressed his forehead to yours. âWith me?â
You nodded slowly, keeping your arms locked around his shoulders. âYes, I do. Can I?â
Bucky let out a soft groan, his lips covering yours once again. âYeah. Fuck yeah, you can stay,â he muttered against your mouth, and you broke the kiss as you laughed. You laughed even more when he pressed a series of fast kisses to your cheek before he wrapped his arm around your shoulders, taking you with him as he walked the few steps to retrieve your discarded bag, then he guided you back to his truck.Â
He opened the passenger door for you, helped you inside, leaned in and pressed one last kiss to your lips before pulling back and shutting the door, tossing the bag into the backseat as he did so.Â
âFirst stop, the store so we can stock up on food,â he said when he got back into the driverâs seat. âThen Iâll take you back to my place.â
âThen Iâll help you put all the groceries away,â you added, and Bucky couldnât wipe the smile off his face if he tried. Â
This was fucking crazy, but as he looked over at you, sitting in his passenger seat and looking so much happier now than you did before now that youâre staying, he didnât give a single fuck about how crazy this was.
Bucky stocked up on things even more than he normally does, his counters littered with grocery bags that were filled with food and other things he was running low on.Â
He didnât want to go back to town for a while now, though he would have to sooner rather than later because he planned on buying you some better clothing options - ones that actually fit you, but this was just fine for now.Â
Bucky had just finished bringing in the last three bags, and he set them down onto the table as he looked over at you. His flannel was tied around your waist now, his white shirt hanging loosely off your body as you placed the eggs and milk into the fridge.Â
You mustâve felt him staring, because you leaned against the counter beside the fridge after you closed it, a teasing smile on your lips. âYou should think about investing in livestock,â you suggest, crossing your arms. âIt would save you a fortune on eggs if you were to have your own chickens in the backyard.â
Bucky laughed, slowly starting to close the distance between you and him. âI live in the middle of nowhere, sweetheart,â he said, âI donât have a backyard.â
You pursed your lips, suddenly becoming a little fidgety as he stopped right in front of you and lifted his hand. But instead of touching you like he knew you were expecting, he reached into the bag behind you on the counter, pulling out the bread. âThat might be true,â you said, a lot less confidently than before, and Bucky smirked a bit. âBut my point still stands.â
He hummed, âWhich was?â
âThat youâd save a fortune on⊠on eggs,â you said, your eyes flickering down to his mouth for a few seconds.Â
Bucky had a lazy smile on his lips as he turned a bit and opened the breadbox that was next to the sink, putting the two loaves heâd bought inside before closing it again. âI appreciate your concern. Itâs quite sweet youâre worried Iâll break the bank on eggs each month,â he said, and you flushed, leaning further back against the counter. âBut itâs not needed, sweetheart. I think I made sure I wouldnât be stressed over whether or not I could afford eggs every month before I moved all the way out here.â
You pressed your lips together, reaching behind you to hold onto the edge of the counter, as if him towering over you like this was making you unsteady, but you didnât look uncomfortable in the slightest, so he didnât move away. âYeah, I guess that sounds pretty logical,â you mumbled, and Buckyâs smirk softened, his hand lifting up again, but this time to cradle your jaw.Â
The way you leaned into his touch immediately, like you trusted him so much to never hurt you, like youâd grown accustomed to it, made Bucky feel a little feral, and he closed the gap between yours and his mouth before he could voice that to you.Â
You kissed him back quickly, your fingers tightening on the counter for a brief moment before you reached up and curled your fingers into his jacket, pulling him closer.Â
Despite you and he only doing this twice before, the first time being only last night, you and he had already found an easy rhythm. He was slowly memorizing the way your lips feel against his, and as he deepened the kiss, he was starting to memorize your taste as well.Â
The way you were kissing him told him that you were trying to memorize his taste and the feel of his lips too. Youâd been so shy, so timid and closed off for days, but you were letting him in now. You trusted him, and somehow that made him feel better than anything else ever had.Â
Buckyâs hands were on your waist, gripping you still so gently as he pulled away from your lips, his breathing having already picked up drastically. âIs this okay?â he asked, his lips brushing along yours with each word.Â
As much as you seemed to be completely comfortable and relaxed with him now, he didnât want to accidentally get caught up and touch you in a way that brings you right back to the very thing youâd run away from. He knew any touch could take you back there, reset your progress, and drive you away from him since heâd reminded you of that dark place.Â
But then you nodded your head, the tip of your nose gently bumping against his each time it passed by. âYes,â you breathed, and then you were reaching down and grabbing onto his wrists, slowly pushing his hands further down.Â
His palms smoothed over your ass, then slid lower and grabbed onto the backs of your thighs, and he lifted you up, setting you down on the counter. Your breath hitched as he did so, your hands coming up to grab onto his shoulders while his grabbed onto your waist.
He kissed you again, this time a little deeper than before as he ran his tongue along the seam of your lips, and you all too eagerly parted them. He stepped between your thighs, his hips pushing them apart as he pressed closer to you, one hand sliding up into your hair.Â
Bucky had, without a doubt, become addicted to kissing you. Even just this felt so much better than anything else heâd done with a woman before you. There was something about you being so shy on the outside, nervous and fidgety when simply talking to him, but so eager and needy when it came to him kissing and touching you that turned him all the way on.
You had a dirty side to you despite your innocent persona, and he wanted to discover every single other side you might have.Â
But he could feel himself starting to throb, his jeans growing just a bit tighter, and he broke the kiss with a sigh. He pressed his lips to the band aid on your temple, his eyes closing briefly as he tried to get ahold of himself. âYou donât know what you do to me,â he muttered against your skin, and you let out a soft laugh at that.Â
You didnât initiate another kiss after that, thankfully, because Bucky wasnât sure if heâd be able to will his dick to not get hard, or harder. Itâd been some time since heâd been with a woman, and even then he knew you were definitely the sexiest one heâs seen.Â
And while you and he were no longer kissing, you still wanted to be close as you wrapped your arms around his middle, pressing your face against his chest. Bucky wrapped his own arms around you, pulling you against him and burying his face in your hair.Â
As much as you are sexy, you are also so fucking sweet.
Itâd been a few days since you decided you wanted to stay, and while you and Bucky probably shouldâve had a talk about where to go from that, you simply hadnât.Â
Because even though you were new to each otherâs lives, you fit right in, and youâd become each otherâs new normals.Â
It was hot today, and instead of sweating all day doing things around the house, Bucky had pushed aside the house and yard chores, opting to spend the afternoon by the lake instead.Â
Heâd given you a pair of boxers and a shirt to wear, the two acting as a makeshift swimming set since he still hadnât taken you out to town to get you some clothes of your own.Â
Tomorrow, heâd do that.Â
Right now, he liked seeing the damp fabric of his shirt stick to your body.
You were standing in the lake with him, the water up to the middle of your thighs while it was only up to his knees. He didnât know how long you and he had been out here, but the sun was just starting to set, the heat not nearly as bad as it had been before.Â
The water felt nice, and it cooled you both down tremendously. You and Bucky were both soaked, your clothes sticking to your bodies as you simply let the world pass by.Â
Youâd begun collecting a bunch of rocks that were at the bottom of the lake. Youâd set them aside on the dock, and there was a growing pile of⊠pretty normal looking rocks starting to form. But you found them pretty, so Bucky didnât judge you for it.Â
Bucky left you to do that, bending down and grabbing at rocks youâd felt along the sand with your feet, and turned around to watch the sun as it began slowly lowering down towards the waterline.Â
As he took a step forward, he felt his foot brush against something sharp, and he winced, pulling back before he fully stepped on whatever it was. He looked down and through the ripples of the water, he saw part of what looked like a beer bottle sticking out of the sand.Â
He grunted and reached into the water to carefully grab it, then looked around the area for a few moments in case there were other pieces nearby. When he couldnât find any, he moved back towards the dock, shaking his head, âBe careful, sweetheart. There might be glass around where you are. I almost cut my-â but the words died on his tongue when he looked over at you after setting the piece of glass on the dock.Â
Bucky shouldnât be looking. His eyes shouldnât be lingering where they currently are, but theyâd dropped down there without his permission, and he was having a hard time looking away.Â
His throat went dry and he stuttered a bit as he tried to finish what heâd been saying, but it was no use.Â
It was bad enough that you looked unbelievably hot in his clothes, but the air had gotten cooler, and the water was naturally cold. He knew you couldnât help the way your body reacts to the cold, more specifically, the way a certain part of your body reacts to it.Â
His shirt clung to you, wet and heavy, and he could see the peaks of your breasts pressing against the fabric, and the sight was really doing something to him.Â
You furrowed your brows, giving him a look of confusion as you stayed still, and you either didnât know about the way your nipples were straining against his shirt, or you didnât think it was a big deal. And it wasnât, really. That was a natural and normal thing and yet⊠it had Bucky swallowing harshly as he started to move a little closer to you.Â
âYou almost what?â you asked, your arms hanging loosely by your sides. When he didnât answer, you shifted a bit, letting out a soft laugh. âWhat?â you asked again, then followed his gaze to your chest, and you pressed your lips together tightly. âOh. Shit. Sorry, I didnât realize I- the waterâs cold and Iâm wearing wet clothes and the air is kinda chilly.â
You were rambling now as Bucky stopped right in front of you, and the fact that you thought you needed to give excuses for your own body and its reactions had that protective feeling taking over him.Â
When you went to cross your arms, he reached out and wrapped his hand around your wrist, stopping you. âDonât,â he said, his voice rough from the growing arousal he felt building up inside of him. âDonât be sorry. And donât be embarrassed. You donât have to be either of those things. Not with me.â
You looked up at him and swallowed quickly, and he could feel the goosebumps that had formed on your skin - ones he wasnât sure were just from the cold water and air. âBucky,â you said, and he dipped his head down and kissed you before you could get another word out.Â
His hand released your wrist as he wrapped his arms around you, his fingers tangling in your wet hair as he deepened the kiss right from the start, and you moaned into his mouth as you melted against him. Your arms wound around his shoulders, and you leaned up on the tips of your toes, trying to get as close to him as possible.Â
Buckyâs hands slid down and grabbed your ass, lifting you slightly so you werenât straining yourself as much, and you moaned against his mouth again, making his cock twitch in his shorts. âFuck. Let me take you home,â he grunted against your mouth, his hands greedily bunching up the fabric of his shirt that hung off your body. âPlease. Can I?â
You let out a needy sound, your fingers tangling in his damp hair as you nodded, whispering a soft, âPlease,â against his lips.Â
And that was all Bucky needed to hear before started to walk you backwards towards the shore, and he was so caught up in the moment, he forgot to keep an eye out for any other pieces of that bottle. Thankfully, you and he made it out of the water with no incidents or injuries, and he kept one arm around your waist, keeping your body against his as you walked the short distance back to his house.Â
The front door swung open, the force of it hitting the wall making a few pictures rattle before he shut it loudly behind him. His hands were on your hips, gripping tightly as he pulled you against his body, his lips finding yours once again in a deep kiss.Â
Your hands slid up his arms, your nails skimming along his skin and making him feel feral. He licked into your mouth as he guided you backwards towards the hall, and you clung onto him a little tighter, fully trusting him to get you to his room without letting you back into anything.Â
When you and he entered his room, Buckyâs hands slid down the backs of your thighs, and he lifted you up, your legs instantly wrapping around his waist. He didnât care that both you and he were still wet and your clothes were soaked as he walked you over to the bed and laid you down on it, his hips settling between your thighs.Â
You leaned back on the pillows as he pulled away from your mouth, his hands reaching down to pull off his shirt, and he dropped the wet fabric to the floor before leaning down towards you.Â
One of your hands wrapped around the back of his neck, pulling his lips to yours as your other hand splayed along his abs, and he felt you grin against his mouth. âYouâre so big,â you mumbled against his mouth.Â
Bucky smirked against your lips, his biceps instinctively flexing at that as he pressed his hips to yours. âAm I?â he questioned, unable to keep the smugness out of his voice as he ran his nose along the curve of your jaw. âMaybe youâre just really small.â
You shook your head at that, your hands wrapping around his biceps, but they couldnât wrap all the way around them. âNo,â you murmured, wrapping your legs around his waist and pulling him closer. âThe guys Iâve been with before, they werenât nearly as big as you. Youâre so much broader and wider and⊠bigger.â
Buckyâs smirk grew at that, and he was surprised he didnât feel that jealous at you mentioning you being with other guys, because you just told him that heâs bigger than all of them. That made him feel superior, and he wanted to erase those guys from your memory and replace them with just him.Â
âYeah?â he hummed, giving a slow, experimental roll of his hips against yours. When you let out a soft moan, he did it again, pressing his growing hard-on against you. âSeems like youâve been with some scrawny dudes then, huh?â
You blushed at that, your teeth digging into your lip as you shook your head. âMaybe,â you whispered, âOr maybe youâre just fucking huge, Bucky.â
He felt his cock twitch at that, and he groaned as he buried his face in your neck. âYou have no right to make swearing sound that fucking hot,â he muttered against your skin, and you let out a laugh as you tipped your head back on the pillow. âYou just look so sweet and innocent. Doesnât seem like this sweet mouth is capable of saying things like that.â he murmured, his hand coming up to cradle your jaw, and his thumb brushed along your lower lip.Â
You hummed, turning your head and nipping softly at the shell of his ear. âI think youâd be surprised at some of the things that come out of my mouth,â
Bucky perked up at your words and he lifted his head, meeting your eyes with a smug grin on his face. âOh yeah?â he rasped, leaning in and pressing kisses along your cheek. âMy sweet girlâs got a dirty side to her?â
You shrugged, reaching down to guide his hands to the hem of the shirt youâre wearing. âGuess youâll just have to find out,â
Bucky groaned, and he kissed you harshly as he bunched up the fabric of his shirt and lifted it up your body, breaking the kiss to rid you of it entirely. He pulled back and looked down at you, feeling his desire spike at the sight of your bare breasts and the full view of your nipples. âFuck,â he grunted, shaking his head as he moved down a bit. He kissed along the tops of your breasts, gently sucking at your skin as he grabbed onto your hips. âI donât believe you. Youâre far too fucking sweet.â
You bit down on your lip, your eyes locked onto his every move as you shifted under him, your hands sliding up his shoulders and into his hair. âBucky,â you whimpered, and the sound of you saying his name like that had him bucking his hips against yours.Â
He dipped his head down even lower. âYou look sweet. You sound sweet,â he mumbled against your skin as his lips brushed along your nipple. âYou taste sweet,â You let out a weak moan at that, and he smirked against your skin once more. âThink my sweet girl is incapable of being dirty. But Iâll get you there. Iâll make you mine in every way.â
You moaned louder, your back arching a bit as you tried to push your chest closer to his face, just as greedy for him as he is for you.Â
âYou want that?â he asked, his voice deeper than before as his big hands came up to cup your breasts, his thumbs brushing along your nipples.Â
âYes,â you gasped, writhing under him. âPlease, Bucky. Please.â
As pretty as you sounded when you begged, Bucky didnât want to make you wait any longer. He wrapped his mouth around your nipple, gently sucking it into his mouth. He grunted, his eyes closing as he sucked on the peak, his tongue running along the bud as you let out a moan.Â
His other hand continued to roll your other one, tugging gently as your head fell back on the pillow, your own eyes fluttering shut. When he switched to your other nipple, you whimpered, pushing your chest up against him more firmly. âYouâre so responsive,â he murmured, pressing soft kisses all over your breasts as his hands slid down your body. âYou gonna let me touch you down here?â he asked, running his finger along the waistline of his boxers.Â
You pressed your lips together as you opened your eyes, your gaze instantly meeting his. âYes,â you answered softly, âPlease.â
Bucky grunted, kissing his way down your body. âListen to you. Youâre so fucking sweet,â he muttered, his fingers hooking into the damp fabric. He slowly pulled it down your thighs, then your legs, then let it fall to the floor to join the other shedded clothing. He leaned in close, his hands spreading your thighs apart as he settled in between them. Before he did anything else, he looked up at you, his eyes focused while his mouth watered with need to taste you. âYou let me know if I need to stop, okay? If Iâm doing anything that makes you uncomfortable or if you donât feel good, you stop me, yeah?â
Your eyes widened at that, as if youâd never had someone say anything of the sort to you before, and you nodded slowly. âYeah. I will. Promise,â
Bucky smiled, small and genuine, before he let himself look at the most private, and in his eyes, one of the most beautiful parts of you. He leaned in close, his lips dragging along your inner thigh before the tip of his nose brushed against your clit, and you jolted at just that. âSensitive, hm?â he teased softly.Â
âBeen awhile,â you breathed, lifting your hips as you looked down at him with a pleading expression on your face.Â
Bucky smiled up at you, pressing a soft kiss to your clit. âDonât worry,â he murmured, âIâll make you so spoiled, baby.â
Your breath hitched at that, and he finally allowed himself to taste the part of you heâd been dying to taste for a shamefully long time. He ran his tongue along your folds, collecting the wetness that had gathered there on the muscle while also leaving behind some of his own.Â
A deep, pleased grunt came from the back of his throat, and just from that first taste alone, he was hooked.Â
Bucky grabbed onto your thighs with gentle hands and guided your legs over his shoulders, then buried his face in your pussy. He basked in the string of moans you let out, your body shifting while you tried to push yourself closer to him.Â
He pinned your hips down, his thumbs running along the bones as he slid his tongue along your seam yet again, then dipped it inside. âGoddamn, sweetheart,â he grunted, breathing you in as his fingers curled around your waist. âTaste so fucking good, baby. Could stay down here for the rest of the night.â
You whimpered, already greedy for him as you shook your head. âNo,â you moaned, âWant you to fuck me, Bucky.â
He let out a pleased hum, purposely bumping his nose against your clit. âAnd I will, baby,â he promised, âBut I need my fill of you first. I want to make you feel so good, sweetheart. Make you feel things youâve never felt before.â
You squirmed at that, your body heating up as your hands fisted the sheets at either side of your hips. âYou already do that. Youâve been doing that since the night I met you,â
Bucky felt his heart clench, and he gave your hips a gentle squeeze. âI want to keep doing it,â he said, sliding his hands up your body until they were covering your breasts. âIf youâll let me.â
âYes,â you moaned, nodding quickly afterwards. âI will. I want you, Bucky. I only want you.â
He grinned, turning his head and giving your inner thigh a chaste kiss before he slid his tongue between your folds again then wrapped his lips around your clit. He gently sucked it into his mouth and he could practically feel the way your nerves throbbed against his tongue. âThat feel good, baby?â he asked when he briefly pulled away and watched as you nodded again, just as fast as before.Â
âSo good,â you moaned, âKeep going. Please.â
Bucky had a feeling heâd never deny you of anything, especially when you begged him like that. He was already so down bad for you, he was certain heâd do anything you wanted, and right now you wanted his mouth back on your pussy.Â
His fingers dug into your hips, pinning you down to the bed as he buried his face in you, his eyes shutting as he drank you in. Your taste, your scent, the way you sounded when he slipped his tongue inside of you.Â
Your hips tried to lift off the bed, but he held them down, easily overpowering you in a way he knew you enjoyed rather than felt threatened by. You only shared a little bit of your past with him, short stories here and there that gave him a glimpse into the way you were forced to live before. You didnât have a choice, but now you do, and he wants you to always know that.Â
A soft, needy sound left your lips, and it went straight to his cock. Bucky refrained from thrusting into his bed, opting to hope that heâd get his relief later after heâs made you cum on his tongue.Â
Your hands slid down into his hair, and your fingers tangled in the strands as you moaned for him. The feeling of your nails gently scratching along his scalp felt unbelievably good after not feeling it for so long. You mentioned it being a while for you since youâd last done this, and it had been quite a while for him too.Â
When he returned his mouth to your clit and sucked on it, you jolted in his hold, your fingers pulling on his hair. âFuck,â you moaned, looking down at him with worried eyes. âIs that okay? Did I hurt you?â
Youâd suffered unimaginable pain, so it made sense that you were cautious when potentially inflicting pain onto someone else, but in all honesty, Bucky didnât think youâd ever be able to hurt him. At least not like that. Your hands felt like heaven, and he was greedy to feel them all the time.Â
âItâs okay, sweetheart. More than okay,â he promised, removing one hand from your hip and sliding his fingers along your folds, collecting your wetness. âYou didnât hurt me. You can do whatever you want to me, okay?â
You pressed your lips tightly together at that, looking down at him at the same time he lifted his gaze to you, and your fingers ran along the length of his cheek as you gave him a look that told him everything you didnât say. âOkay,â you whispered, your brows furrowing when he slowly pushed two fingers into you.Â
The tight, wet walls of your cunt stretched around his fingers, only further proving that it had definitely been a while since someone touched you. That or you were just tighter than normal. Either way, Bucky was more than willing to get you prepared and to make sure he didnât hurt you in any way.
You gasped when he pushed his fingers in all the way, your tight walls clinging to him as you let your eyes flutter shut.Â
Bucky kept his eyes on you as he slowly worked his fingers in and out of you, trying to read your every expression. âYou like that?â he asked, his voice a lot deeper than before as his own desire built more and more. He was unbelievably turned on, and the sounds you were making for him werenât helping his case at all, and yet it would be even worse if you were to stop making them.Â
You nodded slowly, going silent with your words as you gently scraped your nails along his scalp. And while he liked to hear you confirm how youâre feeling with words, youâd been incredibly vocal about it since the very beginning, so he didnât feel like he was overstepping this time.Â
His mouth returned to your clit, his tongue gently flicking over the bud a few times before he wrapped his lips around it once again. Your body jolted, your fingers tightening in his hair as you let out soft sounds and whimpers that only fueled his desire for you.Â
When his teeth grazed your clit, you gasped, your hands tugging at his hair seemingly out of instinct. He could feel how you were tightening even more around his fingers, your moans becoming louder and more consistent. âYouâre close,â he murmured, not a question but simply an observation as he thrust his fingers into you a little faster than before.Â
âMhmm,â you hummed, nodding quickly as you arched your back and bucked your hips, trying to get impossibly closer to him. âPlease⊠please.â
Fuck, you sounded so pretty.Â
Bucky worked his fingers in and out of you, his tongue running over the pulsing, sensitive bud above where his fingers are. âWant to feel you cum for me,â he rasped, his other hand sliding up your body until it reached your breast, and he covered the soft mound with his palm. âWant to make you feel so good, sweetheart.â
A sharper, more desperate sound tumbled out of your mouth at that, and you were starting to shake, your legs beginning to tremble at either side of his head. Your back arched even more as your cunt clenched around his fingers, sucking them in deeper as he felt you grow warmer and wetter. âFuck,â
âThatâs it, baby,â Bucky praised, keeping the pace of his fingers for a few more moments before he pulled them out, only to replace them with his tongue. He licked you all over, cleaning up your mess while leaving behind one of his own, and he only relented when you cried out and jerked away from his mouth, your fingers scratching at his head as he worked you to near over stimulation.Â
He pulled back, sitting up on his knees and bringing his hand up to his lips. He sucked his wet fingers into his mouth, cleaning them of your wetness with a deep, satisfied and shameless groan, all while looking at you like you were the single most hottest thing heâd ever seen. You definitely were.Â
You writhed on the bed, and he wanted to burn the image of you like this into his head, because you looked undeniably sexy and sated but also needy and desperate.Â
When his hands moved to your thighs, your own came to cover them as your chest rose and fell unevenly, your eyes hooded and your bottom lip puffy from how hard youâd bitten on it.Â
Bucky smiled down at you, his hands running up and down your smooth skin that was now void of bruises, and only had faint scratches that were almost fully healed. âAnyone ever tell you how fucking beautiful you are?â
You blushed at that, writhing more as you wrapped your hands around his wrists and tried to bring him closer. âNot very often,â you mumbled, and Bucky shook his head.Â
âToo bad for them,â he muttered, spreading your thighs once more and guiding your legs to wrap around his waist as he settled his hips between them once again. ââCause youâre fucking gorgeous, sweetheart. Every single fucking part of you.â
He leaned in and kissed you after that, not letting you say anything in return as he shared your taste with you. His hips rolled forward, the rough material of his shorts rubbing against your bare, sensitive core and making you whine into his mouth. âBucky. I need you,â you breathed, wrapping your hand around the back of his neck. âI want to feel you. Want to make you feel good now.â
Bucky hummed against your mouth, kissing you deeply again. âSweet girl,â he mumbled in between kisses. He placed a few more before pulling back. âTrust me when I say that what I just did to you made me feel good too. Never wanted to see someone cum so badly before in my life.â
You huffed out a gasp at that, your legs locking tighter around his waist as you pulled him closer. âBucky,â
He smirked softly, pulling back just enough to be able to reach in between yours and his body. âAlright, baby,â he murmured, unzipping and pushing down his shorts and boxers. His cock sprang free, hard and thick and long, already slick at the tip with pre-cum.Â
Bucky hadnât been this painfully hard in a long time, to the point where even the pressure of his own hand stung a bit before it faded to relief. He saw the way your head lifted to look down at him, and his smirk grew when he saw the way your stomach muscles fluttered a bit. âOh⊠shit,â you breathed, your hands coming up to wrap around his biceps.Â
He kept one hand around his cock, giving himself a slow, almost teasing stroke as his other hand grabbed your hip, his thumb rubbing gentle circles onto your skin. âWhatâs the matter?â he murmured, having a feeling he already knew exactly what you were thinking.Â
You confirmed it when you whispered, âYouâre⊠really big,â in a voice that held both need and obvious shock.Â
âYeah?â Bucky cooed softly, his hand raising to your face, and he tucked some of your messy hair behind your ear. âYou donât think itâll fit?â
You shook your head, your grip on his arms tightening. âNo, I really donât,âÂ
Bucky guided his cock to your pussy, rubbing its length along your folds. âBut youâre so wet for me, baby,â he said, his voice holding a hint of teasing as he watched himself become coated in your slick. âBet I could just slide right in and youâd just take me.â
Your body shuddered at either his words or his actions, or possibly both, before you looked up at his face. âOkay. Just be slow, please?â you asked, as if heâd rush you into anything after youâve already told him itâd been a while since the last time you had sex.Â
âOf course,â he murmured, leaning in and pressing a soft kiss to your forehead.Â
âDo you⊠have a condom?â you asked, making him wince, his lips turning into a frown against your skin.Â
He pulled back and groaned, shutting his eyes tightly, âNo. Fuck,â he grunted, pulling back even more. âI havenât really been with a lot of women while living here, so I never bothered to have those around. Really wish I did now though.â
You gave him a small smile as you cradled his face in your hands, your thumbs rubbing along his stubbled cheeks. âItâs okay,â
Bucky sighed, shaking his head. âIâm sorry. We kinda rushed into this without thinking of that, huh?â he muttered, âI can get you off with my mouth and fingers again, and then I can⊠jerk off or something. I didnât think Iâd be having sex anytime soon, sweetheart. Iâm sorry I wasnât prepared for this.â
You let out a quiet laugh as you shook your head in return, guiding his lips to yours in a gentle kiss. âBucky, itâs okay,â you said again, pulling him back to you so he was flush against your body once again. âI donât⊠Iâm okay with not using a condom tonight, if you are. You said you wanted to take me into town to get some stuff at some point, maybe we can go tomorrow and get, like, Plan B or something? And condoms.â
Bucky felt his shoulders drop at that, shamelessly feeling relieved that, despite the absolute lack of protection between you and him, he was still allowed to fuck you. He braced himself on one hand beside your head, his other one trailing down your body. âYou got it all figured out, huh?â he teased, watching the way you squirmed a bit under him.Â
âI want to feel you,â you said simply, shrugging after, âI want you to fuck me.â
And fuck did he want that too. It sounded so good coming from your mouth, and he had a feeling you wanted it nearly as much as he did, which was an ungodly amount.Â
âYeah?â he said lowly, reaching down to grasp his cock again, and he guided himself to your entrance but didnât push in yet. âGood. âCause I want to fuck you too.â
You whined at that, bucking your hips against his as you wrapped your legs around his waist, as if you were trying to push him in yourself. âPlease, Bucky,â you begged, tugging him into a kiss, and he was done for.Â
He slowly pushed the tip of his cock past your folds, sinking the first few inches inside you and feeling the way your walls already fluttered around him. âFuck,â he grunted into your mouth, sliding his hand up to your hip and holding onto you tightly. His other hand fisted the pillow beside your head, his jaw clenching as he held back from thrusting all the way inside you.Â
You were tight. Really fucking tight, and it felt impossible to push any further without hurting you. Your cunt was gripping him like a second skin, clinging onto him as tightly as he was clinging onto you, and he broke the kiss to bump his forehead against yours.Â
âYou⊠you gotta tell me if I hurt you, okay?â he said, sounding a little desperate as he twisted the pillow between his fingers. âYouâre so fucking tight, baby. I donât wanna⊠fuck, I donât want to hurt you, sweetheart.â
Your hands were gripping his shoulders tightly, your body tense under his as you squeezed your eyes shut. âYouâre not hurting me, Bucky,â you breathed, knees digging into his hips as he stayed still. âYouâre just⊠big. Really big.âÂ
Bucky smirked softly, turning his head and pressing a kiss to your temple. âYou need a minute?âÂ
Shaking your head, you slid one hand around to his back, pressing on it gently. âNo. You can keep going,â
He nodded, burying his face in your neck as he pushed in deeper, going all the way until his hips were against yours, and his cock was buried all the way inside of you. He stilled once again, letting out a deep, strangled groan against your skin as he felt you tighten around him, your hand sliding up his back and into his hair.Â
âFuck,â he muttered, slowly pulling his hips back just a bit before pushing forward again, his eyes closing at the feeling. âGod, you feel so fucking good.â
You moaned at his words, then again when pulled his hips back and repeated the motion, your head falling back on the pillow. âSo do you,â came your quiet reply, your fingers tangling in his hair.Â
After a few moments, he found a deep, steady rhythm, one that had him pulling nearly all the way out before sliding back in again to the hilt. Each thrust allowed him to see how tight you were, your walls stretching around him every time he pulled back. His cock was covered in your slick, making every slide back in easier than the last.Â
Buckyâs fingers dug into the soft skin of your hip, his deep groans lost to your neck as he kept his face buried there. He wasnât sure heâd be able to physically stop himself from coming way too soon if he were to pull back and watch you - the sounds you were making already being too much to begin with.Â
He kept his pace slower than heâs used to. Usually he has no problem with a quick fuck with a girl that left him and her satisfied and straining himself just enough to fall asleep afterwards.Â
But he wanted to savor this with you, even though youâd made it clear that you wanted to do this many more times in the future, as did he.Â
His hips rolled against yours, knocking gently against your own with every thrust. Your moans were going directly into his ear, each one making him push a little harder every time he pulled back.Â
Your hands grasped at his face, pulling his head away from your shoulder. âBucky,â you moaned, and he grunted instantly in response. âLook at me.â
He shook his head, his cheek pressing against yours as his hand finally released the pillow and grabbed onto your other hip. âI canât,â he rasped, his eyes falling shut as he fucked into you a little faster. âYou feel too fucking good, sweetheart. Too perfect. I canât-â
âPlease,â you begged, your heels digging into his lower back and trying to pull him impossibly closer despite him being as close as he could physically be. âPlease, Bucky, look at me.â
And he couldnât deny you.Â
He pulled back, his eyes opening and meeting yours. The way you were looking at him was the exact reason he refused to look at you before. You were looking at him like you trusted him more than anyone else in the whole world, like you were willingly giving him your heart and letting him do whatever he wanted with it.Â
Your brows were pushed nearly all the way together, your eyes were hooded and glazed over, and your lips were curved upwards in a soft, lazy smile.Â
The way you were looking at him made him feel unlike anything heâd ever felt in his entire life, and he knew right then and there that he had fallen in love with you. He didnât care that it was fast, and he had no idea when heâd fallen in love with you, but somewhere along taking you in, healing your wounds, and becoming your safe place, heâd fallen in love with you.Â
Bucky dropped his forehead to yours, his breath gently fanning along your lips as he rocked into you quicker, his hand sliding around you to your backside. âI need you to cum for me, baby,â he breathed, his hand covering one side of your ass as he pulled you against him with every thrust. âNeed to feel you cum for me, sweetheart. Want to make you fall apart again.â
You moaned at that, pulling his chest down against yours so he could feel the way your breasts bounced softly every time he bottomed out inside of you. âDonât stop, Bucky,â you murmured, keeping one hand tangled tightly in his hair while your other one raked down his back, your nails barely dragging along his skin.Â
He leaned in and kissed you deeply, swallowing each and every moan you let out for him like the greedy man heâd become for you. His teeth bumped against yours as he started to fuck you a little faster and a little harder, his hand squeezing your ass while the other one slid up your back and tangled in your hair. âCum for me,â he grunted against your mouth, the sound of the bed beginning to creak alongside yours and his moans. âCâmon, sweetheart, let go for me. I want to feel you cum all over my cock.â
You gasped into his mouth, your nails digging into his skin as he felt your cunt clench tightly around him. âFuck,â you moaned against his mouth before detaching your own from it. Your eyes squeezed shut, your body tensing up in the way it did before when you came on his mouth and fingers, and only a few seconds later he felt the way your walls became slicker, warmer and tighter, squeezing and sucking him in deeper.Â
Bucky grunted, keeping the same pace as he watched your every move and reaction, wanting to memorize the way you look right now and keep the sight locked away for the rest of his life. He held off as long as he could until you were whining and writhing, then he was there too.Â
You insinuated before that you were okay with him coming inside you, and heâd planned on asking you again before he did it, but the only thought on his mind was how perfect and wet and tight you are, and any rational thought left his mind as he buried himself inside you one last time before he came.Â
He filled you up, his hips jerking a little out of his control as he dropped his forehead back to yours, deep, tired groans leaving his mouth. His chest heaved unevenly against yours as he stilled, feeling the excess beads of cum leak from the tip of his cock as your walls fluttered around him.Â
You looked like you were in a daze under him, your lips kiss swollen, your cheeks flushed, and your body covered in a light layer of sweat. He could only assume he looked similar to the way you do right now.Â
Your arms locked around his shoulders, your legs staying around his waist as you pulled him down onto you, his body completely covering yours as you kissed him again, a lot less deeper than before but just as needy.
Neither of you said a word for a long time after that. You stayed cuddled in each otherâs arms, kissing each otherâs mouths and bodies as you both came down.Â
It wasnât until what felt like an hour later when he finally pulled back and almost fully detached himself from you when he asked if you were okay, and if he had hurt you at all while being caught up in the moment.Â
But youâd simply shook your head, pulled him close again, and then fell asleep with your head on his chest.Â
And after that, his bed became his bed again, and it also became yours.
It was late in the morning since you and Bucky had both become quite worn out after the intense night youâd both had, you ended up sleeping in longer than either of you thought you would.Â
He had no idea what time it was. All he could think about was you, more specifically, the way you felt around him.Â
After last night, heâd become addicted to you like he knew he would. Youâd completely fucking ruined him, and now he was sure heâd never be able to get into this very bed without thinking of the first time he fucked you on it.Â
You were on your side, your fingers laced loosely with his as he filled you with his cock over and over again from behind. You told him you were a bit sore, so he was being as gentle as he could right now, his hips rolling slowly against your ass.Â
His arm was wrapped around your middle, holding your body flush against his. He buried his face in your hair, breathing you in as your cunt swallowed him over and over again.Â
While the sex had been quite passionate last night and nothing short of amazing, this time it was much slower, much lazier and less desperate. He was still just as fucked up on you now as heâd been last night, but he felt more assured that this was it for him, that heâd get to do this with you for a long time. Last night gave him all the reassurance he needed.Â
He squeezed your fingers between his, turning his head and pressing kisses all along your bare shoulder, trailing them up to the scar just under your jaw. Itâd been a long time since heâd woken up with a woman in his arms and an ache on his chest from where your head had been resting all night, and he hadnât realized just how much heâd wanted to wake up just like that for so long now.Â
Bucky had been by himself for so long, purposely distancing himself from too much interaction with people he wasnât close to, heâd denied himself the privilege of allowing someone into his life to change it for the better. Heâd never allowed himself to find his person, never gave anyone a chance.
Until you fell over your own two feet and stumbled head first into his life, and it didnât get any more literal than that.Â
But he has you now. He wants you, and he wants to wake up with you like this every day now.Â
He wanted to watch as you slowly woke up, see first hand how beautiful you look first thing in the morning after fully relaxing all night. He wanted to share his bed with you every night, share his house with you every day, and become as important to you in your life as youâd become to his.Â
He wanted to start and end each day with you, feel the way you squeezed him so tight whenever heâs buried inside of you, watch how you become even prettier each time you fall apart for him, and he wanted to watch you blossom into a happier, confident and more carefree version of yourself that was so unlike the one heâd met what felt like months ago.Â
Because even though heâd fallen in love with that version of you too, he was head over heels for the one currently shaking in his arms and coming on his cock.Â
You buried your face in his arm as your body trembled against his, and Bucky wasnât far behind you as he filled you up just like how he did last night.Â
He huffed out a laugh when you turned in his arms and cuddled up against his warm chest, and he pulled you close as he caught his breath. âI think we need a shower first,â he said, propping his chin on the top of your head. âThen Iâll take you to town and weâll get you some new clothes and whatever else you need.â
You hummed, placing your hands flat against his chest. âAnd condoms?â you teased, making him laugh again.Â
âYes, and condoms,â
It took you and Bucky another two hours to pull yourselves together, detach yourselves from one another, get ready and go into town.Â
He didnât really know where to take you since heâd never gone out shopping with a woman solely in mind, but he did know that the part of town with all the shops attached together along the street was a good place to start.Â
A pharmacy was across the street from where he parked his truck, and the first store he saw on the right side of the street was a clothing store, so he guided you into that one.Â
âI donât need much,â you quickly said as you and he walked through the doors, one of his arms wrapped around your waist as he let you lead. âJust, like⊠maybe a new bra? The one Iâm wearing might rip before we even make it home. And maybe a couple pairs of underwear? And a couple shirts, and a pair of jeans.â
Bucky held back his laugh as he looked down at you with a lifted brow. You were wearing his jeans that were held up by a belt he had to poke a new hole into since the tightest one still didnât keep the jeans up on your hips, and they were baggy at the bottom. You were also wearing one of his shirts and a jacket, both of which looked huge on you since none of his clothing would ever fit you, and yet you thought you just needed a single pair of jeans and some shirts?
âI think you need a bit more than that, sweetheart,â Bucky said, giving your hip a gentle squeeze. âYou can pick out some outfits you like and some jackets too, so you can have options.â
You winced, shaking your head as you stopped just in front of a table stacked with different sized jeans. âI donât want to spend all your money,â
Bucky actually did laugh at that, and he leaned down to press a kiss to your temple, right on your healing wound that no longer needed a band aid on it. âWeâve been over this. I wonât be breaking the bank from buying eggs every month, and I wonât break it by buying you more than one pair of jeans either,â
âThatâs different. Eggs are food and you need food-â
âAnd you need clothes to wear that donât make you trip every time you walk. Though I do find you very hot in my clothes,â he said, smirking when he saw you shrink a bit at his words. âI can afford to buy you things you need too, like clothes and hair products that donât smell like pine and whiskey and⊠whatever else you might need.â
You bit down on your lip, looking down at the various different shades of blue jeans in front of you. Your hand reached out and ran along ones that were close to the same shade you were wearing right now, but in your actual size, then you looked up at him. âOkay,â you relented, giving him a sheepish smile. âThank you.â
Bucky smiled back, leaning down to press a quick kiss to your lips before pulling back and nodding towards the back of the store where the shoes were. âPick out some new sneakers and boots too,â
After that, you became less shy and appeared to be feeling less guilty about having him spend money on you, even though he assured you that he had more than enough to cover anything you might need.Â
Youâd picked out three pairs of jeans, a couple shorts, eight shirts, five sets of pyjamas, a new jacket, sneakers and boots, and you had to look away when the total came up on the register, but Bucky simply swiped his card before taking your hand and the two bags and pulling you along.Â
You looked at the various choices of underwear, but you felt a little self conscious for some reason, and he offered letting you go into the store just up the street that was full of just bras and underwear by yourself with his card so you could get an update on your size and pick out some stuff without him hovering, and you agreed.Â
Just before you left the store, you stopped when you saw the display for the jewellery. There were rings varying from engagement rings to ones youâd wear around the house, some bracelets and some necklaces, and you paused when you caught sight of a silver necklace with a charm of a tree on it.Â
Before you could look at it for too long, you tried to pull away and tug him with you towards the exit, but Bucky stayed still, tugging you back to him. âYou can look at these, sweetheart, itâs fine,â he said gently, guiding you back over to the display case.Â
You gave him a grateful smile as you stepped towards it again, standing just in front of it. âJust a look,â you agreed, your eyes going back to that same necklace with the tree charm. You smiled a bit bigger as he came up to stand behind you, wrapping one arm around your middle as he leaned down and rested his chin on your shoulder. âThis is pretty. Reminds me of your place since itâs surrounded by trees.â
Bucky hummed in agreement, his hand splaying along your lower stomach. âThatâs true. It is pretty too,â he said, âMaybe you should add some accessories to all these new outfits you got-â
But before he could finish his offer, you turned your head and tensed up in his hold, your body going rigid against his. He turned his head instantly, looking in the direction you were before you pulled away and grabbed his hand. âWe should go get that Plan B,â you said, surprising him with the sudden change of subject, but he didnât resist as you pulled him with you towards the exit. âThe sooner you use it, the more effective it is, right?â
âYeah, I think so,â Bucky said back, looking over his shoulder in another attempt to see what had set you off like that, but he only saw the backside of an older woman further in the store, then he couldnât see anything as the door closed behind him. He turned to you, noticing the way you didnât meet his eyes as you looked across the street at the pharmacy. He frowned as he hesitantly took your hand in his, and you thankfully didnât pull away, instead lacing your fingers with his. âEverything okay?â
That made you look over at him, and your worried expression softened just a bit as you nodded, squeezing his hand. âYes,â you answered, âJust realized we had sex twice in the last twelve hours, and I donât know if that will impact the pill at all. And as much as I strongly believe youâd make some really cute kids, being a mother right now is not high on my list of priorities.â
Bucky laughed at that and nodded in agreement, guiding you with him as he walked across the street once it was safe to do so. âYeah, as much as I want to be a dad someday, Iâm also not in a rush,â he said, pulling open the door to the pharmacy and holding it open for you.Â
After buying both a Plan B pill and a twenty four pack box of condoms, Bucky took the pharmacy bag from you and led you back across the street where his truck is. âYou can head to that store down there and pick out some stuff,â he said, opening the backseat door and putting the bags inside. He turned to you and handed you his card, giving you a smug smile. âGet whatever you need. Maybe something pretty for me too,â he added, loving the way you got all flustered whenever he said things like that to you despite him finding out for himself that you have a dirty side to you as well. âYou can just tap it, but if it doesnât work, the code is 1977.â
You pressed your lips together at that, taking the card from him, âI canât believe you trust me with that. What if I were to run off with your card and steal all your money?â
Bucky shrugged, shutting the truck door and locking it afterwards. âGuess Iâll just have to give all the stuff in my backseat to the next girl who gets lost in the woods and scares away my dinner,â he said back, and you glared up at him before grabbing his shirt and pulling him down into a firm kiss.Â
âIâll be back soon,â you said against his mouth, and he grinned, kissing you again.Â
âTake your time,â he said back, âIâm in no rush.âÂ
He watched as you turned and made your way down the street, and he waited until you entered the store before pushing himself away from where he was leaning against his truck, and he walked back into the store you and he were in only ten minutes ago.Â
He forgot about the woman or whatever youâd seen that made you leave the store so quickly before, his eyes locked onto the display case with the necklace you were eyeing inside it.Â
Bucky stopped an employee as she was walking by and asked if he could see the necklace, and she all too happily unlocked the side of it and pulled it out for him. âItâs been a while since Iâve seen you around town, James,â the woman said, and he looked up at her when she placed the necklace on top of the case.Â
He kind of recognized her from when he lived closer to town, and he was sure heâd talked to her a couple times at one point if she knew his name. âOh, yeah,â he said, reaching for the dainty silver chain and picking it up. âI donât go shopping very often, especially not around here, no offense,â he added, but she just waved him off. âJust needed to grab some stuff for my⊠girlfriend.â he finished, unsure if he should be calling you that since you and he hadnât actually talked about what you are yet.
âYeah, I saw you with her when you first came in. Sheâs really pretty, seems sweet too,â she smiled, looking down at the necklace in his palm.Â
âSheâs so fucking sweet,â Bucky agreed, forgetting to use his manners for a second as he gave her an embarrassed laugh. âSorry, I meant⊠sheâs way too sweet for me. But I think Iâll keep her around anyway.â
The woman laughed and waved him off again, then nodded at the necklace. âWell this is a great way to ensure sheâll stick around,â she teased, âItâs a beautiful necklace.â
Bucky nodded in agreement, dangling the chain from his fingers as he looked at it for a few more seconds. âIâm gonna surprise her with it,â he said, setting it down as he reached into the back pocket of his jeans and pulled out his wallet.Â
âPerfect,â the woman said, reaching back into the case and pulling out the box the necklace had been placed in before. Once it was secured in the box, she nodded for him to follow her to the register. âSheâs one lucky girl you got there, James.â she added as she took the cash heâd handed to her.Â
Bucky smiled at that, sliding the box into his jacket pocket. âPretty sure Iâm the lucky one,â he said back, giving her a kind nod before telling her to keep the change as he left the store to go back to his truck and wait for you.
You were in the bedroom, changing into one of the new outfits youâd got today while Bucky was in the kitchen, sipping on the coffee heâd picked up on the way home.Â
He stripped himself of his jacket, draping it over the back of one of the chairs as he opened the fridge and looked inside to see what he felt like making for dinner. The windows were open, letting the chilled evening air fill the space of the living room and kitchen and create a comfortable temperature throughout the house.Â
Just as Bucky took a step towards the open fridge to pull out the chicken he decided he wanted to cook, the sound of the bedroom door opening made him pause, and he looked over at the hallway just as you stepped out.Â
You were wearing a pair of your new jeans that were a baby blue shade and fit you perfectly, and a white fitted top, and on your feet were the new pair of sneakers youâd picked out that were pristine and clean compared to your old, dirty ones.Â
The outfit was simple, and yet to Bucky you looked hot, especially when he let himself think about what was hiding under those clothes. He let the fridge door close as he stepped away from it, letting out a low whistle as he moved towards you. âDamn,â he said, making you laugh as you met him halfway. âYou look good, sweetheart. Real fucking good.â
You smiled up at him, draping your arms around his shoulders at the same time his own wrapped around your waist, and he pulled your body against his. Before you could say anything, he leaned down and kissed you, making you sigh against his lips as you kissed him back.Â
Your fingers tangled in his hair as you pulled back just a bit, smiling against his mouth, âJust wait until you see what I picked out when you werenât with me,â you said against his lips.Â
Bucky groaned, already prepared to forget all about dinner and just take you to bed now, but just as he grabbed your hips and turned you so he could walk you right back down that hallway and into the bedroom, the sound of the front door opening made him stop.Â
âOh,â he heard the sound of his sisterâs voice, and he groaned against your mouth again, pulling away from you. He looked over and watched as she shut the door behind her, crossing her arms over her chest. âWell. This is a surprise. Hello.â
You pulled back even more, looking over at her with wide eyes. âHi,â you said, giving her a kind but confused smile before looking up at Bucky.Â
He gave you a tight smile, dropping his arms to his sides. âThatâs Becca, my sister,â he told you, and you looked over at her again with a bigger smile.Â
âOh,â you breathed, âI didnât know Bucky had a sister. Hi.â
Becca laughed, looking between you and Bucky with equally confused eyes. âHi,â she said back, âThatâs okay. I didnât know he had a girlfriend either.â
Bucky winced, closing his eyes as you let out a sound of shock. âNo, weâre⊠well, I guess we kind of are? Maybe? Probably?â you said, looking over at him again for help, and Bucky just propped his hands on his hips.Â
âYou staying for dinner, Becs?â he asked, âIâm making chicken parm.â
Becca lit up at that, and she shrugged out of her jacket, tossing it aside onto the couch. âOh, well, I couldnât say no to that,â she said, striding over to you. âIt gives me time to get to know your kind of, maybe girlfriend.â
She wrapped her hand around your wrist, and Bucky instantly noticed the way you jumped a bit at the contact. Heâd been the only person to touch you since you ran away from home, so to have someone you didnât know grab you like that was probably very alarming for you, even if Beccaâs intentions were nothing but good.Â
Bucky stepped forward, gently pulling your arm free and guiding you over to the couch. âHere, sweetheart, why donât you sit with Becca and talk while I get started on dinner?â he said quickly, looking over his shoulder and noticing that the confused expression was once again on his sisterâs face.Â
âOkay,â you agreed slowly, sitting down on the couch heâd put you on that very first night. You looked up at him, and you mustâve been able to see the concern in his eyes, because you gave his hand a soft squeeze. âYouâll let me know if I can help?â you asked, and Bucky smiled and nodded.Â
âOf course,â he said, leaning down and kissing the side of your head. He turned back to Becca, then wrapped his arms around her in a hug, finally properly greeting her as he muttered, âSheâs been through a lot. Iâll tell you later, okay?â
Becca nodded, not understanding fully but agreeing anyway as she returned the hug before pulling away and walking over to you. He watched her sit down next to you, and he smiled at the way you already seemed to have calmed back down and were smiling at his sister again.Â
He let himself watch for a few more seconds before he walked back over to the fridge to get started on dinner, the sound of you laughing at something Becca said filling the space that had been quiet for far too long.
âSorry for interrupting earlier,â Becca said as she leaned back in the chair, her plate empty like yours and Buckyâs were. âIf I had known my brother finally landed himself a girl, I wouldâve knocked or something. I usually come by twice a month since Bucky grows the best tasting tomatoes ever, and I steal them from him.â
You smiled at her as Bucky scratched the back of his head, but the smug grin on his face told you both that he wasnât embarrassed at the interruption at all. âItâs okay,â you said, wiping your hands on a piece of paper towel. âIâm really happy you came over. I was curious when Iâd get to meet Buckyâs family.â
Becca perked up at that, looking over at him. âIs that so? Well, Buck, you need to bring her over to momâs place and let her experience how good her cooking is,â she said, her gaze returning to you. âOur mother is a natural cook, and sheâs probably one of the best cooks in the world, if I do say so myself.â
You smiled at that, nodding, âIâd love to meet her one day,â you said, and Bucky felt his heart clench in his chest. He wanted to take you to meet his mother, too, which is something he never thought heâd do with anyone any time soon.Â
He began gathering the dishes, but you quickly stood up and waved him off. âBucky, leave it. Iâll clean up,â you said, but he shook his head.Â
âItâs alright, baby, I-â
âBucky, you cooked, let me clean, okay?â you cut him off, making him pause, and he heard the snort from Becca at the interaction before he set his plate back down.Â
âAlright. Fine,â he said, stepping away from the table.Â
âThank you,â you said, already beginning to gather the plates and utensils. âGo give your sister your tomatoes and talk for a bit. Iâll clean up the kitchen.â
Bucky smiled at that, trying to not show his sister how gone he already was for you as he gestured for her to get up. âYes, maâam,â he said, reaching for his jacket and pulling it over his shoulders. Becca gave him a teasing look, then cackled as he gently shoved her towards the door, but he stopped when he was close to you. He leaned in and kissed your cheek, watching how you instantly smiled. âThanks, sweetheart.â
You smiled bigger, then shooed him away.Â
Outside, Bucky caught up with Becca, who was already rounding the house to his garden. He wasnât sure how to start the conversation he knew he was about to have with her, so he just said the first thing that was on his mind, âThank you for being so nice to her,âÂ
Becca shrugged, bending down in front of the tomato plants. âSheâs a nice girl herself,â she said, beginning to pick at the ripe ones.Â
âYeah, she is,â Bucky agreed, moving to kneel down next to her.Â
âShe must be special if youâre giving her things like that necklace you have in that jacket pocket,â she said casually, and Bucky paused.Â
He looked down at his jacket, then back at her with narrowed eyes. âHow did you-â but the look she gave him had him shutting up, because of course she somehow managed to snoop around in his things. She had been sitting on the chair heâd draped this jacket over, and he had no doubt sheâd managed a peak at it while heâd been distracted by you. âYeah. She is special,â he said, and she nodded, âHow much did she tell you? About what happened?â
Becca shrugged, handing him the tomatoes before she started picking at the other plant. âNot too much. She just said that my brother helped her out of a really dark place and saved her, and how she wants to be able to spend the rest of her life making up for it,â
Buckyâs heart skipped at that, and he suddenly felt the urge to turn around, go back inside and take you into his arms. He blew out a soft breath, nodding, âYeah, thatâs part of it. She ran away from home, an abusive home, and she wouldâve died if she didnât find me that day. I took her home and let her stay until she felt like she was ready to be on her own again, butâŠâ
Becca paused and looked up at him, âBut you fell in love with her already, didnât you?â she said, not a single trace of judgement or pity in her tone. Bucky nodded slowly, and she tilted her head. âAnd you didnât want her to go, because you didnât want to be alone again.â
Bucky sighed, rubbing at his face. âIs that selfish?â
âShe stayed, didnât she?â Becca shrugged, âYou didnât force her to stay here, did you?â
âNo,â he quickly answered, âOf course not. I was prepared to watch her walk right back out of my life if that was what she wanted to do, but⊠she wanted to stay.â
Becca stood up, making Bucky look up at her from his knelt position. âThen I see nothing selfish about that,â she said, and somehow those words made him feel ten times better about everything, because he had been worried heâd been keeping you from living your life, giving you a place to live in the middle of nowhere when you could be somewhere more lively.Â
But you wanted to be here. With him.Â
Bucky stood up too, giving her a small smile. âThanks, Becs,â
She smiled back, beginning to walk back to her car so she could put the tomatoes in the basket she has in her backseat. As they passed by the kitchen window, Bucky looked over and watched you as you washed the dishes, looking relaxed and comfortable and safe inside his home.Â
Becca nudged his arm with her elbow, making him tear his eyes off you. âI know she said you saved her, and quite literally at that,â she started, a genuine smile taking over her face. âBut Iâm pretty sure she saved you too. From a lonely life here all by yourself, with only your hand to keep you company.â
Bucky scoffed out a laugh at that, nudging her right back. âYouâre the worst,â he said, but he knew the first part of her statement was true. He believes you saved him just as much as he saved you.Â
âYou love me,â she said, opening her car door and grabbing the basket. âIâll get outta your hair soon so you two can get back to mauling each other.â
The sound of loud knocking at twelve in the morning woke both you and Bucky up, your body jumping against his under the sheets.Â
It had been just over two weeks since that trip into town, and you and Bucky had been living in pure bliss. Heâd ordered you a phone he planned to pick up in town soon, and youâd started to look for jobs on his laptop he rarely used, and you both discussed getting new forms of ID for you since youâd left all of your previous when you ran away.Â
On your nightstand was the necklace with the tree charm heâd bought you two weeks ago, and had given you a week ago, and you only take it off when you go to sleep. The reaction heâd gotten when he gave it to you was priceless, and you started crying right then and there, and when you told him that no one had ever gotten you anything before, he almost started crying too.Â
You and he had only gone to bed an hour ago before the knocking had woken you up, and Bucky let out a groan as he kept one arm around your waist and rolled onto his side a bit, reaching for his phone. âWho the hell knocks on someoneâs door atâŠâ he squinted at the harsh brightness from his phone screen. âTwelve eighteen in the morning?â he grunted, setting his phone aside again.Â
But you were already half asleep again, cuddling up against his side. You were wearing one of his shirts and a pair of panties to bed, the new sets of pyjamas in the dresser drawer being used as lounge wear instead of your sleep attire - something he secretly loved since heâd been very vocal about how good you look in his clothes right from the very start.Â
âIgnore it,â you muttered, nuzzling your face against his chest. âTheyâll probably go away soon.â
Bucky grunted, too tired to care at that point as well as he leaned back on the pillow. He was almost back to sleep when the sound of knocking jolted you both awake once again, and he cursed under his breath. âStay here, sweetheart,â he muttered, sitting up in the bed and pushing the sheets off his body.Â
You hummed, propping your head on your palm as you looked up at him with tired eyes, and Bucky wanted to quickly find out what the person at his door wanted so you and he could go back to sleep.Â
He pulled on a pair of sweats, deciding that answering the door in just his boxers was probably not the best idea, before pulling open the bedroom door and making his way through the house.Â
Whoever is at his door started knocking more consistently, and rather obnoxiously, and Bucky gritted his teeth. He forced himself to calm down as he peered through the window next to the door, pulling the curtain back to see who it was.Â
It was a man heâd never seen before, and a woman who looked kind of familiar, but Bucky couldnât place her anywhere specific. He wasnât even sure if heâs ever seen her, but something about her was familiar, he just didnât know what it was.Â
He let go of the curtain and stepped back, unlocking the door and pulling it open with a neutral expression on his face. âYeah?â he asked, bracing one hand on the door frame while keeping his other one on the door knob in case he needed to slam it in their faces really quickly. âCan I help you?â
The man lowered his hand, his eyes widening a bit in surprise as if he was expecting a much warmer greeting from someone whoâd just been woken up at midnight. âUh, yeah. I hope you can,â he said, moving to stand back beside the woman. âWeâre looking for our daughter. She ran away from home a few weeks ago, and we canât find her anywhere.â
The woman piped up with a fake sadness in her voice that was almost comical if Bucky hadnât instantly picked up on what the man just said. âWeâve looked everywhere, and she still hasnât turned up. Weâre just worried sick about her,â
Bucky straightened up at that, his eyes flickering between the two before he shrugged causally and shook his head. âNo, I havenât seen her,â he said, and the man narrowed his eyes.Â
âYou donât even know what she looks like,â he pointed out, and Bucky narrowed his eyes right back, then realized that if these were in fact your parents, he might be coming off a little too protective and guarded for them to believe him when he says he hasnât seen you.Â
âThatâs true,â Bucky said, softening his gaze as he lowered his shoulders he didnât realize had raised almost to his ears. âBut I havenât had anyone come by in months. Just my sister, so again, I donât think Iâve seen her.â
The woman lifted a photo up and all but shoved it in his face, making Bucky reel back a bit. âThis is her. Itâs a little old, maybe two or three years ago, but itâs the best one we have of her,â she said, and Bucky held back a grunt as he took his hand off the door frame and plucked the photo from her.Â
This was the best photo they have of you? Just one glance at the picture, Bucky could tell it definitely is you, but definitely isnât from two or three years ago. You looked like a teenager in this photo, not twenty three or twenty four like youâd be if it were from two or three years ago.Â
It looked like an old yearbook photo, maybe from your second year of high school. What pissed him off even more though, was the obvious black eye you had in the photo. It was faded a bit, like maybe youâd gotten it just a few days before the picture was taken, but still. The proof that youâd been putting up with this for years was staring right back at him with younger features, and even more innocent eyes.Â
The photo was old, not only in regards to your age, but also physically. The edges were worn and the picture itself was dirty, like it had been sitting in an untouched drawer for years before someone picked it up again. It was given the same treatment youâd been given.Â
Bucky pursed his lips instead of locking his jaw, and he handed the photo back to the woman. âYeah, no, sorry. I havenât seen her,â he said, beginning to close the door when the sound of the floorboard in his hallway creaked, and Bucky stepped in the line of sight of the hall just as your dad tried to peer over his shoulder at the sound.Â
He flared his nose, his shoulders lifting slightly. âDoes someone else live with you?â he asked, âMaybe theyâve seen her-â
âNo,â Bucky said, standing firm when your dad tried to take a step into his house, and he found it very easy to lie to these people, especially after everything he knew they did to you. âNo one else is here. That was just my cat, who will try to escape the longer I keep this door open. So, if youâll excuse me.â
Your dad tensed up even more, visibly growing angrier by the minute, but so was Bucky. Before either of them could say anything else, your mom stepped in. âOf course,â she said, pulling on your dadâs arm to tug him away. âThank you for your time. Weâre sorry for coming by so late. Have a good night.âÂ
Bucky didnât say anything. He simply stayed where he was and watched them get into their car, and he waited until the tail lights had disappeared beyond the trees before he shut and locked the door.Â
When he turned, he saw you peeking your head out of the doorway of the bedroom, and you looked just as terrified as you did the day he met you. Bucky quickly walked over to you and tried to pull you into his arms, but you placed your hands on his chest, keeping a sliver of distance between you and him.Â
âThat was- they were- my⊠my-â you stuttered, clearly having heard that whole interaction.Â
âShh, hey. I know. I know, sweetheart,â he said, his hands gently grasping your upper arms. âItâs okay. Theyâre gone, okay? They donât know that youâre here, I promise. Theyâre gone.â
You were shaking as you nodded your head, and you finally let him pull you into his arms, your face pressing up against his chest. You melted against him, and he felt the warm wetness of your tears against his skin, making him hold you a bit tighter. âI saw her,â you whispered, clinging onto him. âMy mom. At the store a couple weeks ago when we went into town to get some clothes and the-the Plan B. I saw her, right before we left.â
Bucky tensed up at that, because that was where he knew your mom from. Heâd only been able to catch a glimpse of her while you tugged him out of the store, but it was enough for him to remember what she looked like, and how scared youâd suddenly become that day. âJesus, baby,â he muttered, cradling the back of your head with one hand as his other ran up and down your back. âWhy didnât you tell me?â
You cried quietly, shrugging. âI didnât want it to be true. I didnât want to bring attention to myself or risk her seeing me and taking me back there and-â
âOkay, itâs okay,â Bucky cut you off gently, turning his head and kissing your temple. He could feel the way you were starting to get worked up, and that was the last thing he wanted right now, for you to be back in that place mentally. âItâs okay. Youâre okay, sweetheart. Youâre not gonna go back there, okay? Youâre home, baby. Here with me. Youâre safe.â
You looked up at him with wet eyes, and he had to hold himself back from going after your parents and giving them both the same treatment theyâd given you. âOkay,â you whispered, then wrapped your arms around his shoulders, holding onto him tightly.Â
Bucky picked you up and carried you back to bed, and he cuddled under the covers with you once more, letting you lay half of your body on top of his. He hoped you could feel the protective way he held you, and hoped you knew it was his way of telling you that he meant every word he said.Â
You are home now, here with him. Heâd never let anyone hurt you or take you back to that horrible place youâd come from. Heâd never let you go through that kind of pain ever again, and heâd never let your parents near you ever again.
A week had passed since that night your parents came by, and it was still unsettling how they managed to stumble upon the very house you were now living in, even though Bucky had told them heâd never seen you.Â
Youâd come very close to being found by them that night, and youâd been a little on edge ever since, so Bucky suggested postponing the trip to town to get you a new phone and to get new copies of your ID, because it was obvious your parents had been snooping around the area in search of you.Â
It was nice out, the last few weeks with good weather dwindling down before the fall chill took over and it became Winter.Â
You were sitting under the canopy attached to the front of his house, your legs pulled up as you sat on the swinging seat heâd built with his best friend the second year he was up here after realizing he needed more places to sit on outside in case he had company.Â
Open on your lap was a book, one of the many ones he had tucked away on the shelf in his living room he shamefully hadnât touched in a very long time. It was okay though, because youâd become quite fond of the collection, and you were putting it to way better use than he ever had.Â
He was cleaning up the area around the front of his house, putting things away to prepare for the harsher weather that would be coming his way in the following weeks. He was currently making sure he was stocked up on firewood so heâd be able to keep the house warm, and he was in the middle of chopping up what remained of a tree that had fallen over during the last bad storm when he heard the sound of tires on the dirt path that led to his house.Â
Bucky paused, briefly wondering if he forgot that his sister was coming by again, but then he saw the same car your parents were in that night a week ago, and he stood up straight. âSweetheart,â he called out to you, keeping his eyes on the car as it came closer to the house, still partially hidden by the trees. âGo inside for a minute, okay?â
He heard the way you put your foot down to stop the chair from swinging. âWhat? Why?â you asked, but then he heard your sharp intake of breath, and you quickly got up and headed inside, closing the heavy door behind you.Â
Bucky rolled his shoulders just as the car drove up and stopped beside his truck, and this time he didnât even try to be nice. âI told you, I havenât seen your daughter,â he said to your dad when he got out of the car, your mother following his lead afterwards.Â
Your dad flashed him a so obviously fake smile as he strode over to him, but paused abruptly when he saw the axe Bucky was still holding in his hand. It didnât scare him away fully though as he nodded towards the house. âI thought you said no one else lived with you?â he asked, and Bucky froze for a second, worried that theyâd actually been able to see you before he quickly told you to go inside.Â
But then he saw how your dad nodded towards the swinging chair that was still swaying as if someone had just been sitting on it and had gotten up in a hurry. Bucky sighed deeply, before shrugging, âMust be the wind,â he said, âItâs pretty strong out here.â
Your dadâs smile faltered, and he took another small step forward. âAnd that book?â he asked, nodding towards the copy of Wuthering Heights youâd been reading before abandoning your spot on the swing to retreat inside. âIâm sorry, but you donât seem like the type to read that kind of book.â
He was trying to get him to admit to having seen you, and possibly to hiding you inside, but Bucky was done at this point. Your parents had a lot of nerve to, not only treat you like shit, but to come onto his property twice and try to snoop around as if they had any right at all to do so.Â
âIâm sorry too,â Bucky said, keeping his grip loose on the handle of the axe as he took a few steps of his own. âThat you think you have any business coming onto another manâs property and sticking your noses into other peopleâs shit. You must think youâre royalty or something if you think you can do whatever the fuck you want, say whatever you want, when youâre on my land.â
Your mom visibly shrunk at that, and she stepped away instantly as your dad swallowed nervously. âWell-well, I didnât mean anything by it, I swear. I was just-â
âAccusing me of something? Trying to stick your nose in my business?â Bucky cut him off, coming to stand only a few feet away from your dad. âYouâve got a lot of fucking nerve, man. Clearly no one has ever taught your old ass a lesson, huh? That you canât just walk up to people and talk out of your ass and not expect to have it handed to you in return.â
Your dad took a staggering step back, his eyes wide as he pushed your mother around the front of the car towards the passenger side door. âYouâre crazy. All I did was come by to ask-â
âYou know exactly what you came by to do,â Bucky said, getting right up in your dadâs face. âIt wonât work here. Now get the fuck off my property before I make you regret ever coming here in the first place.â
Your dad looked terrified, and Bucky held back a laugh at the sight as he watched him quickly turn around and pull open the door. âYouâre fucking insane,â he spat, getting into the car. âI know my daughter is in there. I know it. But you can have that little brat. You hear me?â he yelled, looking towards the house again. âHe can have you! Because we donât want your spoiled ass anymore! Youâre gonna wish you never left, because no one else will ever want to put up with you or want you! Good luck with that little-â
The sound of the blade of the axe hitting the left headlight of the car shut him up, and your dad scrambled to start the car just as Bucky swung the axe back and took out the other headlight.Â
âYouâre insane!â your dad scoffed, backing the car up rather carelessly and nearly hitting a tree.Â
âIâm glad you figured that out,â Bucky called back, watching the way the car sped down the dirt path and disappeared beyond the trees again.Â
He turned, planning to go find you in the house and promise you that they were gone for good, but then he saw you standing next to the swing, a small smile on your relieved face.Â
Bucky dropped the axe instantly, meeting you halfway when you started to walk quickly towards him. He picked you up and held you against his body as your legs wrapped around his waist, and he kissed you back as soon as your lips touched his. âI canât believe you did that to my dadâs car,â you said against his mouth, your fingers threading through his hair. âHeâs spent more money on that thing than on anything else.â
He grunted against your lips as he held you tight, his forehead pressing against yours. âI was gonna do a lot worse,â he said, walking over to the swing and sitting down on it, making you sit on his lap. âTheyâre not gonna hurt you anymore. I promise you that. I have you now. Iâm not gonna let anything happen to you ever again.â
You were in a much better mood this time than you were the night your parents swung by at midnight, and he was so happy you hadnât slipped back into that mindset theyâd put you in before. You didnât look scared or worried or anxious, but happy. Genuinely happy and relieved. âI know,â you whispered, cupping his face in your soft hands. âI love you, Bucky.â you said, and he felt his heart spike at that, and the biggest smile formed on his face.Â
âI love you,â he said back instantly, watching as an equally big smile formed on your face. âDamn it, I wanted to say it first.â
You laughed, pulling him into another kiss. âYou did everything for me, and you saved my life,â you said against his mouth, âItâs only fair that I got to say it first.âÂ
Bucky scoffed, shaking his head, âThereâs nothing fair about that, but Iâll let you have it anyway,â he said, and you smiled even bigger before pulling him closer and kissing him once again.
I have returned with a stupidly long fic. I hope you enjoyed it.đ§Ą
Buckyâs pregnant wife (reader) thinks sheâs been bossing him around whenever she asks him for something, but itâs just her pregnancy hormones making her think that and Bucky assures her that sheâs not bossing him around and he absolutely loves doing stuff for herđ„ș
The issue is you don' realize you've been doing it.
It slips in quietly, somewhere between the nausea and the exhaustion, between the way your body no longer feels entirely like your own and the way your emotions sit just a little too close to the surface. It starts smallâasking Bucky to grab you water when youâre already curled up on the couch, asking if he can grab your blanket from the bedroom instead of getting up yourself.
And Bucky? He doesnât hesitate. Not once.
âGot it, sweetheart,â he says every time, already halfway up before youâve even finished asking.
At first, it feels normal. Logical, even. Youâre pregnant. Youâre growing an entire human being. You should be taking it easy.
But then it keeps happening.
âBucky, can youââ
âYeah.â
âBucky, would you mindââ
âAlready on it.â
âBuck, I think I left my phoneââ
âKitchen counter. Iâll grab it.â
And he always says it so easily. So gently. Like itâs nothing. Like itâs second nature.
Thatâs when the guilt starts creeping in.
It hits you one afternoon, hard and sudden, while youâre sitting on the edge of the bed trying to put your socks on. Your stomach is just big enough now to make it awkward, your balance a little off, your patience nonexistent.
âBucky,â you call out, a little breathless. âCan you help me withââ
He appears in the doorway almost immediately, like heâs been waiting for you to need something.
âYeah, doll?â he asks softly.
And something about the way he says itâso attentive, so readyâmakes your chest tighten.
âIââ You hesitate, looking down at your feet. âCan you help me with my socks?â
âCourse I can.â
He doesnât tese you. Doesnât even blink. He just drops down to his knees in front of you like itâs the most natural thing in the world, carefully taking the sock from your hands.
His fingers are warm against your skin as he gently lifts your foot, guiding it into place with slow, deliberate care.
And thatâs when it really sinks in.
Because youâve been doing this all day. All week. Maybe longer.
Asking. Calling. Needing.
âBucky,â you say quietly.
âMm?â
Heâs focused, adjusting the fabric so it sits comfortably against your ankle, making sure there are no wrinkles.
âAm I⊠being bossy?â
His hands pause.
Just for a second.
Then he looks up at you, brows pulling together slightly. âWhat?â
Your throat feels tight all of a sudden. âI feel like Iâm just⊠constantly asking you to do things. Like I canât do anything myself anymore and Iâm justââ you swallow, blinking a little too fast, ââbossing you around all the time.â
Bucky stares at you like youâve just said something completely absurd.
âDoll,â he says slowly, âyou think youâre bossinâ me around?â
âI meanâŠâ you gesture vaguely, frustration bubbling up under the surface. âI am, arenât I? Iâm always asking you for stuff. You never get a break. Youâre basically just following me around doing whatever I needââ
âAnd you think thatâs a bad thing?â he cuts in, not harsh, but firm enough to stop you.
You blink at him.
âI justâI donât want to be that person,â you say, your voice softer now. âI donât want to be demanding or⊠or annoying.â
Something in his expression shifts then. Softens in a way that makes your chest ache.
âHey,â he murmurs, gently resting his hands on your knees. âLook at me.â
You hesitate, but yu do.
And the second your eyes meet his, heâs right there.
âYouâre not bossy,â he says, clear and unwavering. âNot even a little bit.â
You let out a small, shaky breath. âIt feels like I am.â
âYeah?â he asks gently. âOr does it feel like everythingâs just⊠harder right now?â
That lands deeper than you expect.
Because itâs true.
Everything is harder. Moving, thinking, sleeping, existingâit all takes more effort than it used to. And asking for help? Thatâs new. Thatâs uncomfortable.
âI just donât want you to feel like Iâm taking advantage of you,â you admit quietly.
Bucky huffs out a soft breath, something almost like disbelief slipping through.
âSweetheart,â he says, shaking his head a little. âYou could never take advantage of me.â
âYou say that, butââ
âNo, listen to me.â His tone is still gentle, but thereâs something firmer underneath it now. Something grounding. âYouâre carryinâ our baby. Youâre dealinâ with all the crap that comes with thatâfeelinâ sick, beinâ exhausted, your body changinâ every dayâand you think askinâ me to grab you a glass of water is too much?â
When he puts it like that, it sounds ridiculous.
Still, the guilt lingers. âI just feel like I should be able to do more.â
Buckyâs gaze softens even further.
âYou already are,â he says quietly.
Your brows knit together. âWhat do you mean?â
He shifts closer, one hand coming up to rest gently against your stomach, his touch instinctively protective.
âYouâre doinâ somethinâ I canât,â he murmurs. âYouâre growinâ our kid. Every second of every day. You donât get to clock out from that. So yeah⊠if I can make things a little easier for you? Iâm gonna do it.â
Your eyes sting.
âI donât mind it,â he continues, his thumb brushing softly against your skin. âI donât feel bossed around. I donât feel used. I feelâŠâ he pauses, searching for the right word, âuseful. Needed.â
Your breath catches.
âI like takinâ care of you,â he says simply. âAlways have. This just gives me more of a reason to.â
Thereâs no hesitation in his voice. No resentment. Just quiet certainty.
And suddenly, all that guilt youâve been carrying around feels a little lighter.
âYouâre sure?â you ask softly.
He lets out a small, fond huff. âDoll, if you were actually bossinâ me around, Iâd tell you.â
That earns a weak laugh from you.
âBesides,â he adds, a hint of teasing creeping in now, âyouâre way too polite to be bossy. Half the time youâre askinâ like youâre afraid Iâm gonna say no.â
You duck your head, a little embarrassed. âWellâŠâ
âHey.â He nudges your knee gently. âI like when you ask me for things.â
You glance up at him again. âYou do?â
âYeah.â His smile is soft, a little crooked. âMeans you trust me.â
That hits you right in the chest.
Because you do. Completely.
âI just donât want to overwhelm you,â you say, quieter now.
Bucky leans in slightly, pressing a gentle kiss to your knee before looking back up at you.
âYou couldnât overwhelm me if you tried,â he murmurs. âNot when it comes to you.â
Thereâs something so steady about him. So grounding. Like no matter how loud your thoughts get, heâs always right there to quiet them.
You take a slow breath, letting his words settle.
âOkay,â you say after a moment. âBut you have to promise me something.â
He raises a brow. âWhatâs that?â
âIf I do start getting bossy⊠like, actually bossyâŠâ you trail off, a little sheepish. âYouâll tell me?â
He considers that for a second, then nods.
âDeal,â he says. âBut Iâm tellinâ you nowâthat dayâs not cominâ.â
You smile a little at that.
âStill,â you insist lightly.
âAlright,â he relents, squeezing your knee gently. âIâll tell you.â
You nod, satisfied enough with that.
Thereâs a small pause before you glance down at your other foot, then back at him.
ââŠCan you do the other sock too?â
Bucky doesnât even pretend to hesitate.
âYeah, sweetheart,â he says, already reaching for it, his voice warm and easy. âCâmere.â
The cold air of the Atlantic bit at your skin as you stepped onto the deck.
It slipped beneath the thin fabric of your dress and wrapped around your bruised skin like icy fingers. The night air of the ocean was sharp enough to sting but you welcomed it. It was the first honest feeling youâd had all evening.
Inside, the music still floated faintly through the shipâlaughter, clinking glasses, polished shoes gliding across marble floors. The grand world of the first class cabins glittered like something unreal.
Out here, the cold was real.
Your hand curled around the railing as you walked, the metal biting against your palm.
You didnât even notice the ache in your ribs when you breathed too deeply. You were used to that kind of pain now. The dull throbbing beneath the silk sleeves. The fingerprints blooming purple and blue along your arms.
Your fingers traced your lips gently, You could feel the bruise forming. The makeup must have chipped away by now, the blue of it showing clearly in the glow of the ballroom lights.
The thought passes through your mind like a wave hitting the bow of the ship. You let it splatter away like water. Willing yourself not to care.
The man who adorned you with such grisly marks, didnât care if it hurt. The mother who asked you to compromise, didnât care if it stung. The friends who saw the evidence but remained silent, didnât care if this was your life.
So why must you care?
Thereâs a burn behind your eyes. But the tears donât fall. They refuse to, now. After all the times the tears fell, and went unnoticed, they have made their dejection known.
Thereâs an ache in your skull, that denies to make itself known. Thereâs a lump in your throat, that abstains the words from flowing out.
So you just stared wordlessly, into the darkness.
The ocean stretched endlessly ahead, black and restless beneath the moonlight. It looked peaceful from far away.
You climbed the railing slowly.
The metal was slick with frost as you lifted one foot up, gripping tightly with your numb fingers. The wind tugged at your hair, whipping strands across your face as the ship carved through the water beneath you.
For the first time in what felt like years, your chest filled with something close to relief.
No expectations.
No suffocating rooms.
No dominating hands.
No one watching you.
Just the wind, the sea⊠and the quiet promise of freedom waiting below.
You balanced carefully on the railing, your toes gripping the narrow bar, dress fluttering wildly in the wind. The cold air burned in your lungs, but you leaned forward slightly, staring down at the dark water rushing past.
One step.
A little courage.
That was all it would take.
You could surrender yourself to the cold, to the waves below, to the loving embrace of mother nature, and put an end to your misery.
Your eyes closed themselves, body leaning forward before your mind caught up and alarmed you with the consequences.
Just a little more.
JustâŠ..
âCareful there. The water must be cold at this hour.â
The voice startled you. Body jolting in surprise as you gripped the railing harder for balance. You didnât turn around to see who it was âGo awayâ your voice came out shaking.
The ocean roared beneath you.
âMa'amâ he tried again, softer this time, breath fogging in the cold âIf you jump, Iâm gonna have to jump in after youâ
You turned around just enough to glare at the man. But the sight of him knocked the breath out of your lungs.
The man standing a few steps behind you looked entirely out of place against the dark ocean and freezing wind.
A soldier.
The sharp lines of a sergeantâs uniform caught the moonlight, the dark wool coat buttoned neatly despite the cold. The brass buttons glinted faintly, the insignia on his sleeve unmistakable even from where you stood. The wind tugged at his hair, a little longer than regulation perhaps, dark strands falling across his forehead.
He looked⊠warm. Kind.
Real in a way the polished men in the dining hall never were.
Your eyes drifted up before you could stop yourself and then they stopped.
His face.
Strong jaw dusted with stubble, lips curved slightly like he already knew something you didnât. But it was his eyes that held youâlight in the moonlight, sharp and focused entirely on you.
Watching you with a strange mixture of caution and curiosity.
You realized, dimly, that you had been staring at him for far too long.
His mouth curved slowly to one side.
âWell now,â he said, voice warm and rough with a Brooklyn drawl softened by the wind. âThatâs a first.â
You blinked. âWhat is?â
âUsually when a ladyâs standing on the railing of a ship in the middle of the Atlantic,â he replied easily, taking one slow step closer, âsheâs not lookinâ at me like sheâs deciding whether Iâm worth interruptinâ the evening for.â
Your fingers tightened around the cold metal bar. âI wasnâtââ
âBecause I gotta tell you,â he continued, strolling another step closer like the situation was nothing more serious than a late-night conversation, âIâve had women look at me plenty of ways before. Annoyed. Amused. Once or twice impressed.â
His eyes flicked deliberately up and down your figure before settling back on your face again. âBut that?â he said with a soft chuckle. âThatâs a new one.â
âWhat do you mean?â Your brows furrowed
âThe thoughtful lookâ He cleared âWhat's that about?â He leaned closer, like asking for a secret âWhat are you thinking?â
âNone of your businessâ you attempted, but the bite in your voice was swallowed in the cold wind around you.
âCertainly not.â He agreed âBut if I'm about to watch a young lady, and a very beautiful one at that, hurl herself into the cold waters of the Atlantic, Only to get mauled by the sharks and die of hypothermia, I guess it becomes some of my businessâ
âWho tells you I'm not getting mauled by sharks here.â You confessed, voice shaking, as your chest constricted at the agony you tried to swallow down.
His eyes softened, understanding rising beneath the concern. Its only then that he took in the the blue of your lips, the green on your arm, the slight limp in your foot.
He winced, the woman in front of him was the epitome of beauty to him by all means. Her skin glowing in the faint glimmers of moonlight.
Face bright but shadowed by something he recognised as torment. His heart gave a lurch. The only marks on the skin of a woman like this, should be of love. Of passion.
The only expression on her face should be of joy. Of glee. Not the raging dilemma of whether to suffer through or to end it.
âWell,â he tried slowly, âIâd appreciate it if you didnât jump.â
You blinked at him, confused. âAnd if I do?â
He didnât need time to consider that. He just shrugged, the answer clear as day in his head. âWell,â he said, âthen I gotta jump in after you.â
Your brows drew together. âWhy would you do that?â
He gestured vaguely toward the ocean. âBecause if I stand here and watch a lady go over the side, someoneâs gonna say Sergeant Barnes shouldâve done something about it.â
You stared at him. âAnd thatâs the only reason?â
He grinned slightly. âWell,â he admitted, âthat and the fact I donât much like the idea of you freezing to death down there.â
âI wasn't gonna jumpâ you lied. Still standing on the shipâ stern, gripping the railing for dear life, you lied. You didn't know why. Just something about him made you want to say that.
âThatâs a relief,â he replied, sounding entirely unconvinced. âHere I was thinking Iâd interrupted something important.â
His gaze drifted casually over the dark ocean below your feet. Black water surged alongside the ship, endless and merciless beneath the moonlight.
He let out a low whistle. âHell of a view you've picked.â The waves roared past the hull, distant and cold and final.
Your stomach twisted. âItâs quiet,â you murmured.
âQuiet?â he repeated.
âYes.â
He huffed out a short laugh. âLady, that water down there is about thirty degrees and meaner than a pack of alley cats,â he said. âQuiet ainât the word Iâd use.â
You glanced back at him. âThen what word would you use?â
He tilted his head, studying you more carefully now. âCold,â he said.
Another step closer.
âLonely.â The wind blew harder across the deck.
âAnd permanent.â
Your breath caught in your throat. The wind whipped your dress around your legs as you tried very hard not to notice how close he was getting.
He was only a few feet away. You could see the faint scar along his jaw. The steady rise and fall of his chest as the cold air fogged his breath.
âYou seem awfully calm about this,â you said.
âOh Iâm not calm,â he replied lightly.
âYouâre not?â
âNo maâam,â he said. âIâm just buying time.â
You frowned. âFor what?â
âFor you to keep lookinâ at me like that,â he said, voice turning teasing again, âinstead of lookinâ down.â
You rolled your eyes and turned your head away from him feigning annoyanceâAnd that was the moment he moved.
One strong arm shot forward, wrapping firmly around your waist. And before you could even gasp, he pulled you backward off the railing.
Your feet left the metal bar and suddenly you were stumbling against solid deck again, the world tilting as you crashed straight into him.
His other hand steadied your arm, holding you firmly against his chest until you regained your balance.
For a moment, neither of you moved.
The wind rushed across the deck, louder now that your feet were firmly planted on it again. The ocean roared past the hull below, but it sounded farther away somehowâlike it belonged to another world entirely.
Your hands were still clutching the front of his coat. You hadnât even realized youâd grabbed him. The thick wool felt grounding beneath your fingers.
His arm was still around your waist, steadying you as though he didnât quite trust that you wouldnât tip backward again the moment he let go.
Your breathing slowly began to calm. So did his.
When you finally looked up, you found him already looking down at you. The teasing expression heâd worn earlier had softened into something quieter now. Concern lingered in his eyes, but he didnât say anything right away.
He just studied your face like he was trying to memorize it. Or trying to understand it.
The wind pushed a strand of your hair across your cheek. Without thinking, he lifted a hand and brushed it gently aside. The touch was so careful it startled you more than the sudden grab from before.
You weren't used to gentle touches after all. Of course you belonged from a rich family, a noble family. But money doesn't guarantee gentleness. Nor does it guarantee happiness.
âYou alright?â he asked quietly, breaking the fragile silence.
You nodded after a moment. âYes.â You confirmed.
But he didnât let go just yet. Instead, his gaze drifted past you briefly to the railing you had been standing on moments earlier. The dark water rushed below it endlessly.
When his eyes returned to you, they were firmer. âListen,â he said, voice low but serious now. âYou donât gotta tell me what put the idea in your head tonight.â The wind tugged at his coat as he spoke.
There was no teasing in his voice this time.
No clever remarks.
Just quiet certainty.
âJust please don't do that againâ he requested, as if you were something precious to him, that he was afraid of losing.
âDonât climb railings,â he added softly. âDonât stand up there alone thinking nobody would notice if you disappeared.â
The words hung between you.
For a moment you didnât know what to say. Not because it was true, it wasn't. People would notice your disappearance, just they wouldn't care. Your eyes dropped briefly to the brass buttons of his coat, still gleaming faintly in the moonlight.
âThank you,â you said finally.
âFor what?â He blinked. Like he hadnât just saved your life
âFor pulling me down.â Your voice was soft but steady. âFor not⊠letting me make the mistake.â
He studied you carefully, like he was weighing those words. âYouâre welcome,â he said after a moment.
Silence settled again. Not the kind that was uncomfortable. But the kind that felt full.
He tilted his head slightly. Fingers coming up and brushing your lower lip. You winced at the sting that went through the blooming bruise. But even through the pain, you were surprised at the touch. It wasn't sexual in the slightest. Not demanding, not asking, not taking. Just feeling.
âTell me what happenedâ he inquired, fingers still skimming against your lips.
You realized a second later that he isn't just talking about the bruise. Or about the railing. You feared he might have already connected the dots.
âWhat is it?â he insisted. His eyes shone with something similar to care.
You swallowed through the lump in your throat, eyes going glassy. âItâs nothingâ
âPleaseââ he tried again but you shook your head. He didnât need to know. He must not.
You had realized very quickly that the people around you were vultures. They would tear away at any one who tried to attack their reputation. And somewhere in the dark night and the cold waters, you had realized that this man, this stranger youâve never met before would fight for your safety.
You had no idea how you knew. Just that you did. Just like you also knew that you'd protect him from those vultures at all costs. His eyes found yours again. waiting. Hoping. But the words that come out of your mouth are anything but.
âThank you again.â you curtsied âIf thereâs anything I can do to return the favour, pleaseââ
âYour nameâ he cut you off
âIâm sorry?â
His cheeks turned rosy as he answered. If it was due to the winter air, or something else, you didnât let yourself think. âYou can give me your name in returnâ
You hesitated. Part of you didnât want to answer. Didnât want to tie this momentâthis strange, unexpected kindnessâto the world waiting for you inside. But something about the way he stood there⊠patient, but curious⊠made it difficult to walk away without saying anything at all.
You finally gave in.
You told him your name.
He repeated it quietly, almost testing the sound of it. A small smile appeared on his face, brightening it up even more than the moonlight in the dark night.
âNice to meet you,â he said.
You took a step back. Then another. The wind caught your dress again as you turned toward the doors leading inside. âGoodnight, Sergeant,â you said softly.
He straightened slightly. âYou know my rank but not my name?â
You glanced back over your shoulder.A faint smile touched your lips. You almost didn't want to put a name on that face. Allowing yourself the only freedom you could by letting your imagination run wild. If you never see him again, you can call him whatever you wanted. In your dreams, he could be whoever you wanted.
âI didnât ask.â You whispered, smiling faintly.
Before he could answer, you stepped through the doors and disappeared into the warm glow of the shipâs interior.
Out on the deck, Sergeant Barnes stood there a moment longer, the cold wind tugging at his coat. Staring at the place where you had been. And wondering why he already hoped heâd see you again.
Warm air and music rushed over you the moment the doors closed behind you.
The ballroom glittered just as it had before you slipped outsideâcrystal chandeliers dripping light over polished floors, the orchestra swelling into another lively tune, couples gliding past in perfect circles. Laughter carried across the room, glasses clinked, silk and satin shimmered under the lamps.
It looked untouched by the cold night outside.
Untouched by the ocean.
Untouched by the moment that had almost happened.
You paused just inside the doorway, the warmth rushing painfully back into your skin. Your fingers still trembled faintly from the coldâand from the memory of steady hands pulling you back from the railing.
For a brief second, you considered turning around.
Going back out.
But before you could take another stepâ
A hand seized your arm.
Hard.
Your breath caught sharply as you were yanked sideways into the shadow of a tall pillar near the edge of the ballroom.
âWhere have you been?â John Walkerâs voice was low and sharp enough to cut through the music.
You froze.
He stood far too close, towering over you in his immaculate dinner jacket and overpowering cologne. Everything about him looked polishedâthe pressed lines of his suit jacket, the perfect knot of his tie, the slicked-back hair.
Except for the anger burning in his eyes. His fingers tightened around your arm. Pain shot up your shoulder. âIââ you began quietly. âI was justââ
âDonât,â he snapped. The word came out through clenched teeth. His grip tightened again, nails digging through the thin fabric of your sleeve until you had to bite down on a small gasp.
âI only stepped out for some air,â you said quickly, your voice small despite your effort to sound calm. âIt was warm inside and Iââ
âFor air?â he repeated sharply. His eyes swept over your face with sudden irritation. Then they narrowed. âWhat the hell is that?â
Your stomach dropped.
His hand released your arm only to grab your chin, turning your face toward the nearest light.
The bruise.
The one blooming faintly along your lower lip, barely concealed beneath powder that had smudged in the cold wind outside.
Your heart began to pound.
âYou couldnât even manage to cover it properly?â he hissed.
âI tried,â you whispered. âThe cold outside must haveââ
âYou tried?â he scoffed.
His grip on your chin tightened painfully. âYou walked into a ballroom full of people looking like this.â
Your gaze dropped immediately to the floor. Not by choice. By habit. âIâm sorry.â
âSorry doesnât fix my reputation,â he snapped.
A couple drifted past nearby, laughing together as they crossed the dance floor. No one looked your way. No one noticed the way his fingers dug into your arm again when he released your face.
âDo you have any idea what people will say if they see that?â he went on coldly. âWhat theyâll assume about me?â
His hand clamped firmly around your jaw again. Harder this time. âJohn,â you said quietly, trying not to wince. âYouâre hurting me.â
âGood,â he muttered. âYou need to be punished for your foolishnessâ
And then he started pulling you through the crowd. You stumbled slightly as he dragged you along, trying to keep pace with his long strides. âJohn, pleaseââ you murmured urgently. âPeople are watching.â
âThat would be a shame, wouldnât it?â he said bitterly.
The ballroom blurred past in glittering lights and music as he hauled you toward the grand staircase leading to the private cabins. âI was only outside for a moment,â you said again quickly, your voice shaking now. âI just needed some air.â
âOh Iâm sure you did,â he replied coldly. You almost tripped when he jerked your arm again.
âWalking around a ship alone in the middle of the night with your face looking like that,â he continued, his voice low with contempt. âDo you have any idea what conclusions people might draw?â
âI wasnât speaking to anyone,â you said quickly.
He stopped abruptly at the base of the staircase. Turning to face you. His eyes were sharp and searching. âNo?â he asked.
Your heart pounded. âNo,â you whispered.
He studied your face for another long moment. Then his hand tightened again around your arm.
âGood,â he said flatly. And without another word, he dragged you up the staircase toward your cabin.
All the while you kept your head lowered. Trying not to cry. Trying not to think about the quiet man standing on the freezing deck outsideâThe one who had held you carefully. The one who had asked gently. The one who had said please like you mattered.
So very different from the man now pulling you painfully down the corridor.
The music from the ballroom barely reached this far down the hall, softened into a distant murmur behind thick walls and polished doors. The carpet swallowed the sound of footsteps, leaving only the faint rustle of clothing and the tightening grip of John Walkerâs hand around your arm.
You tried to keep pace with him. You really did.
But his strides were longer, faster, fueled by anger that made his grip harsher with every step.âJohnâplease,â you whispered once more. âYouâre hurtingââ
He stopped abruptly. The sudden halt made you stumble straight into him. Before you could regain your balance, he shoved the cabin door open and dragged you inside.
The door slammed shut behind you with a sharp crack that echoed in the small room.
For a moment, neither of you spoke. The cabin was dimly lit by a single lamp on the bedside table, its warm glow illuminating polished wood furniture and neatly arranged luggage.
The bedspread remained untouched, perfectly smooth, like the room itself had been waiting patiently for your return.
John finally released your arm. But only so he could pace away a few steps.
You stood where he had left you, hands clasped tightly together in front of you to stop them from shaking.
âYou disappeared.â The word cracked through the room.
âI stepped outside for a moment,â you said softly, trying to keep your voice steady. âI told you it was warm in there and I just neededââ
âYou needed, what!â he snapped.
He let out a short, bitter laugh. You needed to parade that bruise around where people could see it?â
âIf it bothers you so much, you shouldn't have put it on me in the first placeâ words tumbled out of you before you could stop them, your brain to mouth filter malfunctioning.
John whipped around. Eyes dark with fury, and regret washed over you like an ice cold bucket of water. His hand came around the back of your neck. Gripping tight enough that you could hear his knuckles crack.
âWhat did you just say to me?â He hissed through gritted teeth. He reeked of alcohol, making you grimace.
You tried to draw your face back, fighting against the grip. âJohn, pleaseââ you tried again and his hand loosened slightly, before tightening again.
âI told you,â he snapped sharply, âto stop talking back.â The room seemed to shrink around you. Your hands trembled violently at your sides.
âIâm not talking back,â you said, your voice thinner now but still there. âIâm just saying it isnât fair that you blame me when youâre the one whoââ
âYou donât get to tell me whatâs fair.â His voice rose suddenly, sharp and dangerous.
Before he drew his hand back, only to swing it down harder as it met your cheek with a sharp crack. The force caught you completely off guard.
You stumbled backward, your heel catching on the rug as the world tilted violently. Your shoulder slammed into the edge of the small wooden table beside the door before the back of your head struck it.
Pain exploded behind your eyes.
You cried out softly as your body collapsed to the floor.
The table lurched with the impact.
The porcelain vase sitting on top of it crashed down beside you.
It shattered against the floor with a sharp crack.
Fragments scattered across the carpet and polished wood.
You barely had time to lift your hands before one of the larger shards sliced across your palm.
A sharp sting followed by warmth.
Your breath hitched.
For a moment the room spun around you, the dull ache in your head pulsing with every heartbeat.
You stared down at your hand.
A thin line of red welled across your skin where the broken porcelain had caught you.
Across the room, John stood frozen.
His chest rose and fell heavily as he stared at the scene in front of himâthe broken vase, the overturned table, you sitting on the floor clutching your hand.
âYou see?â he said finally, his voice tight with irritation rather than concern. âYou canât even have a simple conversation without turning it into a disaster.â
You looked up at him, stunned.
Your head throbbed where it had struck the table.
Blood slowly slid down your fingers.âFor Fuckâs sake,â he muttered. âNow look at this mess.â
His eyes flicked briefly to your injured hand, but his expression remained cold. âYou should remember your place.â
Your throat tightened painfully. Slowly, you pulled your hand closer to your chest, trying to stop the bleeding with the fabric of your sleeve. Your vision blurred slightlyânot just from the pain in your head. But from the agony in your heart.
You whimpered, trying to hold the sobs in. Trying not to break down in tears in front of the man who would rather worry about his expensive carpet getting stained from your blood than the anguish he had caused you.
He scoffed at the noise, turning around and storming out of the room like you weren't worth wasting another moment on. The door shut behind him with a firm, irritated click.
His footsteps faded down the corridor a moment later. And then the cabin fell completely silent.
You stayed where you had fallen.
For a long moment you didnât move, didnât speak, didnât even try to stand. The soft lamp beside the bed cast a warm glow across the room, catching on the shards of porcelain scattered across the floor like tiny pieces of moonlight.
Your head still throbbed where it had struck the table.
When you touched the back of your hair carefully, your fingers came away trembling.
Your other hand hurt worse.
Blood had begun to drip slowly along your wrist, thin red lines slipping between your fingers where the broken vase had cut your palm.
You pressed your sleeve tighter around it.
The sting pulsed steadily.
But the pain barely reached you.
Instead, your mind drifted somewhere else entirely.
Cold wind. Dark ocean. A steady voice saying Donât move. You could still feel the warmth of strong arms pulling you safely off the railing. Still hear the quiet firmness when he had said, Donât do that again.
You stared at the floor. For the first time that night, tears blurred your vision, before a soft knock sounded at the door.
You quickly wiped your eyes with the back of your wrist before you could think about it.
The door opened slowly. Your mother stepped inside. She paused immediately when she saw you on the floor. âOh my goodness,â she breathed. Her heels crossed the carpet quickly as she hurried toward you. âWhat happened?â
She crouched beside you, carefully lifting your injured hand. âOh dear,â she murmured when she saw the cut. âYouâre bleeding.â
âItâs nothing,â you said quietly.
But she was already rising, moving quickly to the washstand. âI told you to be careful,â she called gently over her shoulder as she fetched a clean cloth and the small tin of antiseptic she always carried while traveling.
You said nothing.
She returned and helped you sit up properly, brushing broken porcelain aside before guiding you to rest against the edge of the bed. âThere now,â she said softly, dabbing the cloth against your palm.
The sting made you flinch slightly. âYou must be more careful around these things.â Her voice remained calm, practical. As if this were simply another small accident.
You watched her hands as she worked. Precise. Efficient. The way she had done countless times before. âWhat happened?â she asked again, though her tone suggested she already knew.
âThe vase fell,â you murmured. She glanced briefly toward the shattered pieces across the floor. Then back to your face. You saw disappointment flash across the eyes of the woman that had birthed you.
Her gaze lingered for a moment on the bruise along your lips. A small sigh escaped her. âI told you to cover that better before going downstairs.â
Your fingers curled slightly. âThe powder came off outside,â you said quietly.
You stayed silent.
She wrapped a bandage carefully around your palm. âYou must try harder to avoid upsetting him,â she continued gently. âMen like John carry a great deal of pressure.â
You already knew what she was going to say next.
You had heard it before.
So many times.
âMarriage requires compromise,â she repeated softly. âAdjustment.â
Your eyes drifted toward the floor again.
âYouâre very fortunate,â she continued. âJohn is well respected. Successful. A man with a promising future.â Her hand rested lightly on your arm. âYou must try not to provoke him.â
The words slid over you like a familiar script.
You didnât argue.
Didnât correct her.
Didnât mention the slap.
Or the bruise.
Or the way your head still ached from striking the table.
You knew she didn't care.
Instead, your thoughts drifted again to the freezing deck outside.
To a man in a sergeantâs uniform who had spoken to you like you mattered. Who had looked at you with concern instead of irritation. Who had said please.
You could still see the faint scar along his jaw. Still hear the warmth in his voice. Still remember the way he had repeated your name quietly, like it was something worth remembering.
Your mother finished tying the bandage. âThere,â she said gently. âAll fixed.â
You nodded faintly.
But your mind was far away. Back in the cold night air. Back at the railing. Back with the soldier who had pulled you back from the edge.
And somewhere deep inside, a quiet thought formed before you could stop it.
What might life have beenâŠ
âŠif Sergeant Barnes had been the one waiting for you behind this door instead?
The night was dark out side the cabin. The ship had grown quieter.
Most of the laughter and music had faded into distant murmurs somewhere deep inside the great floating palace. The corridors outside the cabins were dim now, the lamps turned low as passengers retired for the night.
But sleep would not come to you.
Not with your head still aching faintly.
Not with your hand wrapped in fresh bandages.
Not with your motherâs soft, practiced words still echoing in your ears.
Marriage requires compromise.
You must try not to provoke him.
Not with John sleeping peacefully beside you like nothing ever happened.
You laid in bed for nearly an hour staring at the ceiling before finally giving up.
Carefully, quietly, you slipped from the room. The corridor was empty. No one stopped you as you made your way up the staircase again, your steps light against the carpet.
Your heart pounded faster the closer you got to the deck.
You werenât entirely sure why.
You told yourself it was the air.
The cold that had felt good earlier.
Honest.
But somewhere deep down, another hope stirred quietly beneath the surface.
A ridiculous one.
One that had no business igniting you like this.
You pushed the door open.
The wind greeted you again immediately, colder now that the night had deepened. The vast ocean stretched endlessly under the moon, silver waves rolling against the shipâs hull.
You stepped out slowly.
And then you saw him.
He sat on a floor near the railing, leaning back with one arm stretched along the hardwood floor, the other resting loosely against his knee.
His coat collar was turned up against the cold, his dark hair ruffled by the wind as he looked out across the water.
Or ratherâ
Up at the sky.
The stars stretched a vast curtain of shimmering crystals above the ship.
For a moment you simply stood there watching him.
Then the deck creaked softly under your step.
His head turned.
Those same sharp eyes found you almost immediately.
For a second he just stared. Before a slow grin spread across his face. âWell now,â he said, pushing himself upright. âLook who it is.â
You felt warmth rise unexpectedly to your cheeks despite the cold air. He tilted his head slightly, studying you with amused curiosity. If he saw the handprint on your cheek, he didn't mention it.
âDonât tell me,â he continued, standing and brushing invisible dust from his coat. âYou changed your mind again.â
You blinked. âAbout what?â
He nodded casually toward the railing. âThe dramatic exit.â
Your lips parted and before you could stop yourself a laugh escaped you. The sound surprising to you in all it's honesty. âNo,â you said, shaking your head. âNot tonight.â
He placed a hand over his heart with exaggerated relief. âWell thatâs good news,â he said. âI didnât feel like swimming again.â
You walked a little closer. âAgain?â you asked.
âWell if youâd jumped earlier, I wouldâve had to,â he said matter-of-factly.
âYouâre very sure of that.â
âOh absolutely.â He gestured to himself with mock seriousness. âHeroic instincts.â
Your smile grew before you could stop it. âI see.â
He looked pleased with himself. But his gaze softened slightly. âYou alright?â he asked quietly.
You hesitated before nodding. âYes.â
His eyes lingered on your face for a moment longer, like he was deciding whether to believe that. But he didnât push. Instead he leaned back against the railing, crossing his arms.
âSo,â he said casually. âWhat brings you back out here if itâs not the ocean calling your name?â
You tilted your head thoughtfully. âI suppose I was hoping to see the stars.â You said, gazing into his eyes like they held all the constellations you wished to see.
He glanced up at the sky. Then back at you. âFunny,â he said. âThatâs exactly what I told myself I was doing.â
You raised a brow. âAnd what were you actually doing?â
He grinned. âWaiting to see if the mysterious lady from earlier came back.â
Your breath caught slightly. âYou were not.â You huffed out a disbelieving laugh.
âWas too.â
You tried to look unimpressed but the hopeful look on his face made you fail miserably. âAnd what if I hadnât?â
He shrugged. âThen Iâd have sat here looking at the ocean pretending I wasnât disappointed.â
That made you laugh again.
Softly this time.
He noticed, grin widening.
âWell Iâll be damned,â he said. âShe smiles.â
âOf course I smile.â You countered.
âDidnât see it earlier.â
âThatâs because you were too busy insulting my life choices.â
âTry, saving your life,â he corrected.
âDebatable.â You teased
He leaned closer slightly. âOh I donât think so.â
The wind shifted again, brushing your hair across your cheek. Without thinking, he reached out and tucked the strand gently behind your ear again.
The same quiet motion as before.
Your breath caught.
For a moment neither of you spoke. You were standing closer now. Close enough that you could see the faint lines at the corners of his eyes when he smiled. Close enough that the warmth from his coat reached you in the cold air.
âSo,â he said softly.
âSo?â
âYou got a name,â he reminded you. âFeels a little unfair that Iâm still just âSergeant.ââ
You smiled faintly, teasing slightly. âYou never told me.â You said even though yku were the one who never asked in the first place.
âWell that seems like an oversight.â He straightened slightly. âJames Barnes,â he said.
Then he added with a crooked grinâ âBut most people call me Bucky.â
You repeated it quietly. âBucky.â The way you said it made something flicker across his face.
âAnd you,â he said, leaning a little closer again, âare still the most mysterious passenger on this ship.â
You tilted your head. âIs that so?â
âOh absolutely.â
âWhy?â
âWell,â he said thoughtfully, âyou appear on a railing in the middle of the night, nearly give me a heart attack, disappear without explanation⊠then come back smiling like none of it happened.â He leaned slightly closer still. âIâd say that qualifies.â
Your heart fluttered strangely. âYouâre very dramatic.â
âOnly when necessary.â
The two of you stood there quietly for a moment. The ocean rolled endlessly beside the ship. The stars burned above.
You crossed the deck to lean against the railing. Settling beside him, wordlessly. Letting the moment settle softly around you.
For the first time in what felt like forever, you felt light. Almost giddy. Excited.
And somewhere inside, a quiet voice whispered that this momentâthis strange, unexpected night under the starsâmight be the beginning of something you had never dared imagine before.
For a while neither of you said anything.
You stood beside him at the railing, the cold wind brushing past you both while the great ship pushed steadily through the dark water. The stars stretched endlessly overhead, brighter than you had ever seen them from land.
Bucky leaned his elbows against the rail, looking out across the ocean.
You followed his gaze.
For once, the quiet didnât feel heavy. It felt⊠easy. Like something that belonged there.
He turned around to face you, eyes drifting down, pausing on your hand.
The bandage was wrapped clumsily around your palm. It was impossible to miss in the pale moonlight.
His brow knit slightly.
âHey,â he said gently, making you look up. âWhat happened there?â
You glanced down at your hand as if noticing it for the first time. âOh,â you murmured.
He waited.
The wind tugged softly at your hair again.
âItâs nothing,â you said after a moment. âJust a vase that decided it didnât like gravity very much.â His eyes flicked back to yours.
A faint smile tugged at his mouth. âUh huh.â
He didnât say anything else right away.
But something in his expression changedâsomething quieter, more thoughtful. Like he understood that the sentence youâd given him wasnât really the whole story.
You felt his gaze linger on your hand a moment longer. âVases can be real dangerous like that,â he said lightly, but there was no humour in it.
âI can't really do anything about themâ the words tumbles put of you before you could stop them.
âThen maybe you should let someone do it for youâ his eyes never left yours as he spoke. Earnest. Willing. The honesty, too much for you. You turned away, willing your eyes to look at the stars and not at him.
The irony wasn't lost on you. âYou can't really do much about the vasesâ you retorted
âWell, you can always throw them awayâ he shook his head slightly, hair moving with the wind.
âIt's not so easy when you're attached to such vasesâ you looked away, the kindness in his eyes making your voice shake.
The wind shifted again, colder this time. You rubbed your arms slightly without realizing it. Bucky noticed immediately.
âCâmere,â he said softly.
Before you could protest, he guided you toward the bench heâd been sitting on earlier.
You hesitated only a second before sitting beside him.
The wood was cool beneath you.
For a moment you both stared out at the ocean again. Then, slowly, carefullyâ
His arm slipped around your shoulders.
Not forceful. Not claiming. Just⊠there.
Warm.
You leaned into him before your mind had time to argue.
The movement felt strangely natural.
Your head rested lightly against his shoulder, the steady rise and fall of his breathing grounding in a way you hadnât expected. For several quiet minutes neither of you spoke.
The ship hummed beneath you. The waves rolled endlessly beside it. His hand rested loosely against your arm. Then it shifted slightly. His fingers brushed the back of your head. The exact spot where it had struck the table earlier.
Pain flared sharply. You winced before you could stop yourself. He froze. âWhoa,â he said quietly, pulling back just enough to look down at you. âWhat was that?â
You tried to wave it off. âItâs nothing.â
His eyes narrowed slightly. âThat didnât look like nothing.â
You gave a small shrug. âJust a table that didnât like gravity very much.â
For a second he just stared at you. Then realization flickered across his face. The wind ruffled his hair again. His voice softened slightly. âYou hit your head pretty hard?â
You shrugged again. âTables can be unpredictable.â
âYour furniture doesn't seem to like you very muchâ His face was grim when he said it. The expression telling you that he wasn't just talking about the furniture.
You tore your gaze away.
Because it really was as simple as that. You don't hurt the person you love. And if John thought hurting you was his right, that it's not love.
âCan't really do anything about itâ you said, still looking at the stars.
He sighed letting it go. He must've seen the ache behind your eyes. Must've realised this was the very thing you were trying to escape.
So he dropped it, letting the conversation drift somewhere else. Slowly. Naturally.
You talked about the ocean first. About how endless it felt.
Then about the stars. Bucky pointed out a few constellations he remembered from nights spent camping as a boy.
You admitted youâd never really looked at them before. âYouâve never just⊠sat somewhere and watched the sky?â he asked.
You shook your head faintly. âThere was always somewhere I was supposed to be.â
He looked at you thoughtfully. âThat sounds exhausting.â
You smiled slightly. âIt is.â
He told you about Brooklyn. Small streets and crowded apartments and summer nights sitting on rooftops with friends.
You listened quietly.
It sounded like another world entirely.
âWhat about you?â he asked eventually.
âWhat about me?â
âWhat did you want to do?â he said. âBefore all this.â
You hesitated.
No one had asked you that question in a very long time. âI used to want to travel,â you admitted softly.His brow lifted.
âYeah?â
âI wanted to see cities,â you continued slowly, the words feeling strange on your tongue. âDifferent countries. Learn languages.â
His smile was warm. âSounds like a pretty good plan.â
You looked down at your bandaged hand. âThat was a long time ago.â
He didnât respond right away.
Instead, his arm tightened slightly around your shoulders.âPlans donât always stay buried forever,â he said quietly.
The words lingered in the cold night air.
You leaned into him again, your head resting against his shoulder.
For the first time in a long whileâ
You let yourself imagine things. Dreams. Places. A life that felt different from the one waiting behind your cabin door.
And beside you, Bucky Barnes kept talking softly under the starsâAbout everything. About nothing.
As if the two of you had known each other far longer than a single night on the deck of a ship crossing the Atlantic. Bucky leaned back against the bench, one arm still loosely around your shoulders. His coat was warm where you rested against him, the steady rhythm of his breathing quiet and calm beside you.
Then he glanced down at you. âSo,â he said.
You looked up slightly. âSo?â
âYou told me about wanting to travel.â
You nodded.
He tilted his head, studying you in the soft moonlight.He tilted his head, studying you in the soft moonlight.
âWhat else?â
You blinked. âWhat do you mean?â
âWell,â he said simply, âwhat else do you want?â
You stared at him for a moment. No one had ever asked it that way before. Not like it mattered. Not like the answer might actually interest them. âYou mean⊠in life?â you asked.
âYeah,â he said easily, smiling a little. âIn life.â
You let out a small breath, unsure whether he was teasing you again. But when you looked up at him, his expression wasnât playful.
He was genuinely waiting.
Curious.
âYou really want to know?â you asked.
âSure I do.â
Your fingers fidgeted lightly with the edge of the bandage on your hand. âWell⊠I suppose I always thought Iâd live somewhere near the water,â you said slowly. âNot on a ship exactly but⊠somewhere you could hear the waves if you opened the window.â
Bucky nodded thoughtfully. âGood choice.â
âAnd Iâd like a small house,â you continued, the words beginning to come easier. âNot very grand. Just comfortable.â
You paused. âMaybe with a garden.â His mouth curved slightly.
Your voice grew softer as the images formed more clearly in your mind. âThereâd be a porch,â you added. âWith a swing.â
âOh yeah?â
You nodded. âSo you could sit out there in the evenings.â
âAnd watch the sunset?â he guessed.
âExactly.â You turned to look at him, eyes earnest as you talked animatedly about your dreams for the first time ever.
He looked pleased with himself. âSee? Iâm good at this.â You laughed quietly.
The sound felt lighter this time. More natural.
âAnd children,â you added after a moment, surprising yourself. His brows lifted slightly. âOh yeah?â
âIâve always wanted children.â
âHow many?â
You thought about it. âFour.â
He chuckled softly.âFour?â
âYes.â
âThatâs ambitious.â
You nudged his arm slightly. âI think itâs the perfect number.â
He held up a hand in surrender. âAlright, alright. I wonât argue.â
You smiled again. âIâve even thought of names.â
âOf course you have.â
You tilted your head, resting it on ypur palm as you spoke. âI always thought I'd name one of them Jamesâ
âYeah? you like that name?â There was a slight smirk playing on his lips when your eyes found him again.
âI really doâ
âWell what if your husband has the same nameâ he pretended to think, as if he was trying to find a solution for a problem that didn't even exist yet.
âWell I guess I'd have to find one who goes by his middle name thenâ you teased back.
âI guess you doâ he winked making you laugh.
It was so easy with him. No practised smiles that were meant to appease important people. No âDon't laugh to loudâ and âDon't smile too wideâ comments from your mother or john every once in a while, when a real smile threatened to outgrow the fake ones.
Here the moment belonged to you and only you. No shouting voices telling you to stay in your limits. No whispered advices asking you to compromise. Just you under the stars with a man who listened like every word mattered
You kept talking.
About books you loved. About the places youâd dreamed of seeing. Paris. Italy.
Little towns along the coast where you imagined walking narrow streets and buying fresh bread in the mornings.
You told him how you loved music, though youâd never been allowed to learn an instrument properly. How you liked drawing when you were younger. How you always thought autumn was the prettiest season.
The words poured out of you before you even realized it was happening. Like something that had been locked away for years suddenly found an open door.
For once, the life you described felt entirely your own.
Just yours.
Just for this night.
Eventually you paused, suddenly aware of how much you had said. You glanced up at him nervously. âIâm talking too much, arenât I?â
Bucky was quiet for a second. Then he shook his head slowly. âNo,â he said softly.
His arm tightened just slightly around your shoulders again. âI think itâs the most beautiful conversation Iâve had in a long time.â
You looked at him. The moonlight catching the faint scar along his jaw. The quiet warmth in his eyes.
And for the first time in your life, the dreams you had just spoken aloud didnât feel foolish anymore.
They felt possible.
At least here.
On this quiet stretch of deck. In the arms of a man who had asked simply because he wanted to know.
You stood on the front of your mirror dabbing compact powder on your skin with careless concern. Your mind was too preoccupied to care if the application was even.
The applicator kept hitting the same dip of your cheekbones again and again as you let yourself be lost in the thoughts of the night before.
Thoughts of the man who held you like you were precious. Of how much you talked and still had words left inside you. Of the animated look in his eyes when he told you about brooklyn and Steve.
You felt yourself wanting to meet his friends. To see his life and to be a part of it.
âYou ready?â John's rough voice cut through your thoughts like knife through silk.
You turned around, adjusting your gown and checking the makeup before nodding. He took your hand without a care to compliment you on your looks or even checking his grip to not hurt your ring clad fingers.
When you reached the main ballroom, it glittered more brightly than the evening before.
Every chandelier blazed with light, scattering gold across polished floors and crystal glasses. Music poured out in practised symphony from the orchestra, elegant and precise, while laughter drifted between carefully measured conversations.
You stood beside John, dressed exactly as expected. Silk draped perfectly. Hair pinned without a strand out of place. Makeup carefully appliedâthis time thick enough to hide every trace of yesterday.
From the outside, you were flawless.
From the inside, Your chest ached.
ââŠa remarkable opportunity,â one of the men was saying, his voice rich with importance. âThe expansion alone could double returns within the year.â
John nodded, fully engaged, his posture straight and confident. âExactly my thinking,â he replied smoothly. âItâs simply a matter of timing.â
You stood at his side, quiet, poised, offering the occasional polite smile when expected.
But your mind wasnât in the room.
It was somewhere else entirely.
Cold air.
Endless stars.
A quiet voice asking, What else do you want?
Your fingers tightened slightly around the stem of your glass.
The morning had arrived way too quickly for your liking and you hadnât been able to stop thinking about him ever since you left.
There was a charm about him that you never could find in the men that belonged to nobility.
There was an ease about being with him. About the way he listened. The way he made space for you in a world that had never done that before.
ââŠdonât you agree?â one of the men suddenly asked, turning toward you.
You blinked. âIâyes,â you said softly, though you hadnât heard a word.
Johnâs hand brushed lightly against your back. A silent warning to pay attention. You straightened slightly. âI think it sounds⊠promising,â you added carefully.
The men nodded, satisfied enough. The conversation moved on. You exhaled quietly.
And that was when you saw him.
At first, it didnât make sense.
A server moving through the room with a tray of drinks. Perfectly ordinary.
Exceptâyour breath caughtâIt was him.
Bucky.
Dressed in a waiterâs uniform that didnât quite fit him rightâtoo tight across the shoulders, the sleeves rolled just enough to reveal strong forearms. His hair was slightly neater than the night before, but no less unruly under the ballroom lights.
And his eyes, they found you immediately. A slow, familiar grin tugging at his lips.
Your heart nearly stopped.
What is he doing here?
Panic flickered through you.
If anyone noticedâ
If John noticedâ
You forced yourself to look away quickly. But it was too late. You could feel it. That pull. That awareness of him moving through the room, closer, weaving between guests like he belonged there.
You swallowed hard.
âIâll justâexcuse me,â you murmured suddenly, stepping back from the group before anyone could question it.
John barely glanced at you, too absorbed in conversation.
Relief rushed through you. You moved quickly. Carefully. Trying desperately to not draw attention.
Until you caught sight of him slipping through a side archway near the edge of the ballroom.
Without thinking, you followed.
The corridor beyond was dimmer, quieter, the music softening behind heavy curtains.
You turned the cornerâAnd nearly ran straight into him.
âCareful, doll,â Bucky murmured, catching your arm to steady you. Your eyes widened, both at the nickname and at the way he looked in front of you.
Skin slightly flushed and lips curved upwards into a grin. You told yourself that none of the views you've seen so far travelling around the world could top this one. It will always be the favourite to your eyes.
âWhat are you doing here?â you whispered urgently.
He looked entirely unbothered. âWell,â he said casually, shifting the tray onto one hand, âI was in the neighborhood.â
âThis is not funny,â you hissed, glancing nervously back toward the ballroom. âYou canât be here.â
He leaned slightly closer, lowering his voice. âFunny,â he said, âI seem to be here just fine.â
âBuckyââ
âJames, when Iâm working,â he corrected with a crooked grin.
You stared at him. âThis is serious.â
âI know,â he said lightly. âThatâs why I dressed for the occasion.â
You glanced down at the uniform. âThis is not dressing for the occasion, this isâthis is sneaking into a first-class ballroom!â
âTechnically,â he said, âI walked right through the front.â
You pressed a hand to your forehead. âYouâre going to get caught.â
âNot if Iâm charming enough.â
âThis isnât one of your games!â Your voice came out sharper than you intended.
For a moment, he just looked at you. Then his expression softened slightly. âI just wanted to see you,â he said quietly.
The words hit harder than they should have. Your breath faltered. âYou shouldnât haveââ you whispered.
âI know.â
âThen why did you?â
He shrugged lightly, though his eyes stayed on yours. âDidnât feel right not to.â
Your heart twisted painfully.
You stepped closer, lowering your voice further. âIf someone sees youâif they recognize you donât belongââ
âThey wonât.â
âYou donât know that.â
âI got a pretty good track record so far.â
You grabbed his sleeve suddenly, pulling him slightly deeper into the shadowed corner. âYou need to leave,â you said, your voice urgent now. âRight now.â
He looked down at your hand gripping him. Then back at your face. âOr what?â he asked softly.
âOr youâll get in trouble.â
âWouldnât be the first time.â
âBucky,â you insisted, your voice trembling now, âIâm serious.â
He tilted his head slightly, studying you. âYouâre worried about me.â
âOf course I am!â The words slipped out before you could stop them.
For a moment, neither of you spoke. Then his grin returnedâsofter this time, but unmistakably there. âWell,â he said quietly, leaning just a little closer, âthat makes sneaking in here worth it.â
You stared at him, half exasperated, half⊠something else entirely. âYou are impossible.â
âIâve been told.â
You shook your head, trying not to smile.
âThis isnât funny,â you repeated, though your voice had lost some of its edge. âYou need to go before someoneââ
Footsteps echoed faintly from the ballroom. Your grip on his sleeve tightened.
âPlease,â you whispered.
This time, he heard it. Really heard it. The worry behind your trembling voice. The concern behind your eyes.
His expression shifted. The teasing faded just enough. âAlright,â he said quietly. But he didnât move immediately. Instead, his gaze lingered on you for one more second.
âYou lookâŠâ he started, then stopped himself, a faint smirk returning. âDifferent,â he finished.
You exhaled shakily. âThatâs because Iâm supposed to.â
He shook his head slightly. âNo,â he said. âNot that.â His voice softened. âYou look like you donât belong in there.â
Your heart stuttered but before you could respond, voices grew closer.
He straightened quickly. âGuess thatâs my cue,â he murmured.
You nodded, stepping back. But your eyes stayed on him. âGo,â you whispered.
He took a few steps back before thinking better of it, surging forward and pulling you into his chest. And despite being startled at the suddenness of the hug, your body melted into him all the same.
When he pulled away, you felt him pushing something into the palm of your handâa noteâbefore he turned, making his way towards the door.
He gave you one last look over his shoulder then turned, disappearing smoothly down the corridor with the ease of someone who had always known how to slip through places he wasnât meant to be.
You stood there for a moment longer. Hands shaking. Heart racing. Before forcing yourself to return to the ballroom. Back to the lights. The music.
The music swallowed you again. Bright and loud.
You slipped back into your place beside John as if nothing had happened, your posture perfect, your expression composed.
But your hand remained closed.
Tight.
Careful.
It took several long minutes before you found a moment to yourselfâjust enough to turn slightly away from the crowd, just enough to unfold the small piece of paper hidden in your palm.
Your eyes flicked down quickly.
Third class dance room.
In case this gets too dull.
Iâll make sure youâre entertained proper.
His handwriting was slightly messy. Like his fingers were shaking when he wrote it. It almost seemed like a weak attempt at fine cursive but charming nonetheless.
Your breath caught. You folded the note quickly, hiding it again. Your heart was racing now. You glanced across the room instinctively.
He was nowhere to be seen. Of course he wasnât. He had already gone. You'd asked him to. Even though you wished anything but that.
The room suddenly felt even more suffocating than it had before. Because now, you knew what it felt like to breathe. The note stayed hidden in your glove.
You didnât dare read it again.
You didnât need to.
The words had already carved themselves into your mind.
Third class dance room.
In case this gets too dull.
You stood where you were meant to stand. Beside John. Perfectly composed. Perfectly still.
The ballroom shimmered around youâlight catching on glass and silk, music rising and falling in careful rhythm. Everything was exactly as it should be.
And yetâYour fingers kept brushing against the folded paper tucked inside your glove.
A quiet reminder.
A possibility.
You forced yourself to focus. To stay.
To be sensible.
This was your life.
This was what was expected of you.
You could not simply⊠walk away from it.
ââŠand of course, discretion is everything,â one of the men was saying.
John nodded, engaged, confident. âNaturally.â
You shifted your weight slightly, your shoes beginning to ache.
No one noticed.
No one ever did.
You told yourself againâ
Youâre not going.
This is foolish.
You will stay right here.
Johnâs hand came to rest lightly on your arm. At first, it looked like nothing..A casual gesture. Possessive, but acceptable. Then his fingers tightened. Not enough for anyone else to notice but enough for you to feel it.
You stiffened slightly.
âSmile,â he snarled under his breath, his voice low enough that only you could hear. âYou look miserable.â
You forced your lips to curve into the fakes smile imaginable. âThere,â he said. âBetter.â
The conversation around you continued. Numbers. Names. Opportunities.
You barely heard any of it.
His grip didnât loosen.
Instead, his thumb pressed deliberately into the inside of your arm, right where the bruise from earlier still ached beneath your sleeve. A sharp sting shot through you making your breath hitched.
Johnâs smile never faltered as he continued speaking.
But his voice dropped again, quiet and cutting. âTry not to look like youâd rather be anywhere else,â he said. âItâs unbecoming.â
Your chest tightened. âIâm doing my best,â you whispered.
âYour best isnât very convincing.â His fingers pressed harder for a second before they released as one of the men turned toward you again.
âYou must find all this terribly dull,â the man said politely.
You blinked. âNo,â you replied quickly. âNot at all.â
Johnâs hand slid back to your waist. Firm. Holding you in place. âYou see?â he said smoothly. âSheâs perfectly content.â
You felt it then. Clear. Sharp.
Not just the discomfort. Not just the pressure. But the certainty.
This was your life. This. Standing still. Speaking when spoken to. Smiling on command. Hurting quietly where no one could see.
Your fingers curled inside your glove. The paper crinkled softly.
The orchestra chnaged tunes. Someone laughed too loudly nearby. Johnâs voice cut through it as he continued speaking with the men, confident and smooth, completely unaware of the storm building quietly beside him.
You tried to focus again. You really did.
You nodded when expected. Smiled when required. But the words around you blurred. The room felt smaller.
Heavier.
The note in your hand seemed to burn against your skin.
Third class.
You shouldnât go. It was ridiculous and so very dangerous. Completely improper. You knew that. You knew exactly what your mother would say. What John would say. What anyone would say.
So you stayed where you were. Trying to ignore it. Trying to stay calm. Trying to be who you were supposed to be.
But your heart had already resigned itself to the man in sergeantâs uniform at the edge of the ship calling your name in the dark of the night.
His voice had already replaced the voice of John in your dreams, in your late night fantasies where you wondered how it would've been if John were a gentle man.
Now they were about how your life would've been if it was bucky holding your hand through it all.
You let yourself imagine it. The small house, the garden, the kids. And bucky through it all, building swings on the porch. Harvesting tomatoes from the garden. Teaching math to the kids.
You let yourself build the life of your dreams with the man you could never have. How could you? Women like you were born to be married for business.
And what you wanted for your life didn't matter to anyone but him. To him, it did matter. At least that was what you felt. It mattered to him that you smiled and that you were hurt. Or perhaps it was another fantasy of yours.
But you let yourself commit this sin. You let yourself dream and hope and wish and imagine. Because your mind was the only part of you that was still yours, that didn't have to obey someone else. The only part of you that you could still trust with a secret like this.
ââŠexcuse me,â you said quietly.
The urge to see him again suddenly overpowering enough to mask your fears. You should have thought about consequences, about your reputation. But you couldn't bring yourself past the thoughts of how fun it would be to do something reckless for once.
No one paid much attention as you slowly tried to slip out. John barely glanced at you. âDonât be long,â he muttered. Voice gruff and insolent.
You nodded faintly. But something in you had already shifted. You stepped away, swiftly at first. Then faster once you were out of their immediate sight.
The music grew faint behind you as you moved toward the doors. Your heart began to race.
And for once you didn't think about stopping. Turning back. Rturning and apologising.
You didn't care about being good.
Being proper.
Beingâ
Your hand tightened around the note. His messy handwriting swimming in your mind waiting to sink in.
You pushed through the doors.
The corridor air hit your face, cooler, and quieter than the ugly screech of tables and chairs of the ballroom.
You didnât stop walking. Didnât hesitate this time. Your steps quickened, pulse followed. And the further you went, the lighter something inside you felt.
Like a weight was slowly lifting with every step away from that room. From john. From all of it.
You gathered your gown and started moving faster. Almost running now, ignoring the echo of your footsteps. Ignoring the voice that told you this was wild.
Because another voiceâstronger nowâanswered back. He is not worth it. None of this is worth it.
You reached the lower decks breathless.
The sound of music met you before you even saw the door.
Loud. Unrestrained. Alive in the way rehearsed orchestra could never be.
You slowed just long enough to catch your breath, hand hovering at the door. Your heart pounded wildly in your chest as you pushed the door open.
The moment you stepped into the third-class dance room, warmth crashed into you like a wave.
Not just heat. Life. The room pulsed with it.
Music rang through the crowded space, fiddles playing fast enough to make your heartbeat stumble into rhythm with them. Boots pounded against the wooden floorboards, laughter burst from every corner, people sang loudly and terribly without shame, and somewhere near the back a group of men were arguing over cards while someone else balanced precariously atop a table.
It was chaos. Beautiful in all its liveliness. Nothing matched. Nothing was restrained. Nothing was orchestered in the way the noble people loved to have.
And somehow it felt more real than every polished ballroom upstairs combined.
For a brief moment you lingered near the doorway, suddenly aware of how out of place you looked in your expensive gown and carefully pinned hair.
Several people noticed immediately. Conversations faltered. A few heads turned. A woman carrying drinks nearly stopped mid-step.
You could practically feel the room thinking the same thing, âA first-class woman? Here?â
Your eyes scanned the crowd impatiently until you spotted him.
Bucky sat at one of the long wooden tables near the corner of the room, sleeves rolled to his forearms, suspenders slightly crooked now like heâd long since given up trying to look respectable.
He was laughing at something the blonde man beside him had just said. Probably Steve. You remembered him telling you about his best friend.
Then his eyes lifted and immediately found you. You watched his entire face change in real time. Like the room vanished for him. Like you were the only thing he saw.
âWell, Iâll be damned,â the blonde man beside him said, following Buckyâs stare toward the doorway.
Another friend leaned over, a black man. Probably sam. Bucky told you he was the funniest of them all. âNo way.â
âBarnes,â someone muttered in disbelief, âyou actually got her to come?â
Bucky was already standing before theyâd finished talking.
He crossed the room quickly, weaving through dancers and chairs with that same easy confidence he seemed to carry everywhere.
You barely had time to smile before he reached you.
âThere she is,â he said warmly. And before you could even think about itâHis arms came around you, pulling you into a hug.
It startled you at first. Not because it was unbecoming. But because it was so natural. So genuine. His arms wrapped around you tightly, stroking your back in gentle sweeps of his massive palm, like he was honestly happy you were there.
No hesitation.
No calculation.
Just happiness.
You laughed softly in surprise as he held you for a second longer than necessary before pulling back slightly.
âI hoped youâd come,â he murmured with unmistakable satisfaction.
âYou did?â
âYeah. Would've been a shame if all my charm was wasted.â You rolled your eyes despite the warmth blooming in your chest.
Behind him, you noticed his friends openly staring now. Not rudely. Just⊠shocked. And rightfully so. It wasn't everyday they saw a person like you in a place like this.
The blonde man blinked at you several times like he still wasnât convinced you were real.
Bucky glanced back at them with a grin. âAlright, stop gawking,â he called. âYouâre embarrassing me.â
âThatâs her?â one of them asked.
âYou make it sound like he caught a rare animal,â you replied before thinking.
The table erupted into laughter immediately. Bucky looked positively delighted. âOh sheâs funny too,â someone, probably sam, announced proudly.
The blonde man finally stood, recovering enough to offer you a kind smile. âSteve Rogers,â he introduced himself warmly. âNice to meet you.â
You told him your name.
Steveâs expression softened immediately. âWell,â he said, âany friend of Buck is welcome here.â
He was every bit of the person bucky told you he was. Kind blue eyes. Sweet serene smile. Thin and frail body but voice of iron. Unwavering in a way you rarely ever saw nowadays.
The others quickly followed, introducing themselves one by one, suddenly eager and warm now that the initial shock had passed.
But what struck you most wasnât just their friendliness. It was how easily they included you. No one cared whether your manners were perfect. No one watched your every movement waiting for you to embarrass yourself. No one seemed interested in your family name or social standing.
They simply⊠welcomed you. Like it was the easiest thing in the world. One of the women at the table, natasha from what you knew, scooted over immediately to make room for you.
Another handed you a drink with a grin. Someone else asked if you danced. The warmth of it hit you so suddenly it almost hurt. Because it felt so different from the people upstairs.
Johnâs friends spoke at you.
Buckyâs friends spoke to you.
Johnâs world felt polished and cold and careful.
Bucky's world felt alive and real.
And before you even fully settled into the feeling, Bucky leaned closer.
âSo,â he said, lowering his voice slightly. âYou gonna sit here lookinâ pretty all night or you gonna dance with me?â
Your stomach fluttered. âYou dance?â
He looked offended. âLady, I dance beautifully.â
Steve snorted loudly from behind him. âYou dance like a drunk sailor.â
Bucky pointed at him immediately. âDonât listen to him.â
You laughed before you could stop yourself. Buckyâs expression softened instantly at the sound. He watched you for a momentâthis woman who was totally out place in his world looking up at him like he was the best thing that happened to her that day.
He held out his hand toward you. âCâmon,â he said. âOne dance.â
You looked at his hand. Strong and warm and waiting patiently for yours.
You realised that this was the first time in your life where no one was forcing you.
No expectations.
No obligations.
Just a choice.
Your choice.
Slowly, you placed your hand in his. The grin that spread across his face nearly made your knees weak. âThank you my ladyâ he murmured again softly making you giggle.
He pulled you toward the dance floor in a swift motion.
The music was fast. Far faster than the elegant waltzes upstairs. You barely had time to react before Bucky spun you into the crowd.
âOh my Godââ you gasped between laughs as he caught your waist.
âRelax,â he teased. âI got you.â
âThatâs exactly what you said before dragging me into this.â
âAnd was I wrong?â
You opened your mouth to argue but your words came out as startled laughter as the room blurred around you when he spun you again.
He danced like everything else about himâmessy, confident, entirely unconcerned with dignity.
And somehow it was perfect.
His hands stayed firm on your waist as he guided you through the crowd, grinning every time you stumbled slightly.
âYouâre doing that on purpose,â you accused breathlessly.
âWhat?â
âSpinning me too fast.â
âWell,â he said solemnly, âA guyâs gotta impress a woman somehowâ
You laughed again. It wasn't the small polite sound you used upstairs. But an actual laugh. A real one. Bright enough that even Steve noticed from the table and shook his head with a smile.
Bucky chuckled softly when he heard it. Your heart skipped. He looked so handsome with that amused smile. That joyous laugh. You realised almost immediately that this moment would haunt your dreams for a long long time.
The dance slowed slightly as the music changed. Buckyâs hands settled more carefully at your waist now. You moved closer naturally.
Neither of you seemed to notice it happening. Or maybe you both did. But nobody said anything.
The room around you faded softly into warmth and music and laughter.
And when you looked up at him, he was already watching you. Not your dress. Not your manners.
You.
Like he couldnât quite believe you were real either.
âYou know,â he murmured as you swayed together, âI was worried you wouldnât come.â
You smiled faintly. âI almost didnât.â
His brows lifted slightly. âWhat changed your mind?â
You thought about the ballroom upstairs. Johnâs hand digging into your arm. The suffocating conversations. The feeling of disappearing piece by piece every time you stepped back into that world.
Then you looked at Bucky. At the warmth in his eyes. At the way he held you like something precious instead of something owned.
And your answer had nothing but honesty in it when you said âI remembered there was somewhere else Iâd rather be.â
You saw a flicker of something pass between his eyes. Maybe shock or surprise. Or maybe something else entirely.
You wished to know what that look meant. You wished to ask him. You wanted to talk. Tell him everything you felt. And somehow, you also wanted to saty quiet. Not utter a word and let this moment ingrained itself into your very bones.
Before you could think better of it, you leaned in, nose brushing his as his eyes flicked toward your lips before finding your eyes again.
When your lips met, the kiss wasn't explosive. It was warm. Tenuous in a way new things always are. Both mouths desperate to feel each other. Both tongues itching to explore each other.
He let you savour it. Let you melt into him as his hands found your jaw, tipping it up just enough that his tongue delved deeper into your mouth.
Your eyes shut themselves closed as you forgot all sense of time. Not caring if people saw or if rumors spread.
This was your moment. And for the first time in your life, you were sure, you'd rather die than let it go.
âTake me to your room, buckyâ you whispered against his mouth, pulling away, your breath fanning his face.
âWhat?â his eyes widened, and you repeated, a smile making its way to your face.
âYour room, buckâ
He didnât waste another moment. Didn't give another thought to what people around you would think. What they'd say. He just took your hand in his and guided you out of the dance room.
The hallway to his room was narrow. Very much I like the wide pathways to luxurious first class suites.
When he pushed the door open, his room was small. Very small compared to lavish first class cabins.
It was simpleâtwo narrow bunks, a tiny washbasin, a crooked little mirror hanging against the wall. A jacket was tossed carelessly over one chair and a pair of boots sat near the bed like theyâd been kicked off without thought.
It was nothing like rooms you grew up living in but somehow, it felt warmer. More lived in and honest.
And you found yourself willing to spend an eternity in this tiny room instead of palaces that John talked about gifting you.
Mostly because a palace with John would still be a cage while a small brooklyn apartment with bucky would be heaven to you.
âItâs not much compared to your nice rooms. But if you compare it to brooklyn, it's basically luxuryâ he attempted to joke but you could hear the nervousness behind it.
âI like it better,â you admitted quietly.
Bucky looked at you for a second like he thought you might be teasing him before smiling softly. âYeah?â
You nodded. âIt feels real.â you answered honestly making something in his expression soften at that.
The sounds of the ship hummed faintly around youâthe distant rumble of engines, muffled laughter somewhere down the hall, the quiet creak of the ocean beneath everything.
You took his hand in yours walking in and tugging him with you until the back of your knees hit on one of the bunks.
He shut the door with a flick of his arm and your hands found the lapels of his coat the moment the door shut behind him with a conclusive click.
You pulled him closer like he was oxygen you needed to breathe, and before you could overthink it, you pressed your lips on his in a searing, desperate kiss.
It might just have been the most outrageous thing you have ever done in your entire life. If anyone came to know about it, you'd be banished, and tortured, and what not.
But you couldn't bring yourself to care. Your lip trembled against his, making its insecurity known when bucky didn't kiss you back immediately, more out of surprise than anything.
He felt your hands shaking around the lapels of his coat and he gently slid them around his torso, before cupping your face in both hands and kissing you back.
It was slow.
Nothing like the impatient kiss you had started with. You realized he was savoring the feeling of your lips on his, of your face in his hands, of your hands around his body.
He didnât ask for more, didn't delve deeper into your mouth. Not because he didn't want to. God, he wanted to. But he wanted you to feel comfortable even more. He wanted you to feel cared for. In command of.
Your courage ignited just a little more and you let your tongue dart out to brush at his lower lip in the slightest of a lick.
He let you in immediately. Mouth opening, chasing you, as your tongue explored his mouth with curious adoration of someone having their first real kiss.
His own tongue had found home in your mouth. Sliding against your tongue and licking at your lips before promptly pulling away for air.
His mouth was shiny from the kiss, lips swollen where you had sunk your teeth in them. His eyes were dark, pupils blown wide, but fond all the same.
His hands didn't leave your cheeks, fingers caressing the soft skin as he finally spoke, âYou okay?â
You nodded pulling him furhter into you until the back of your knees hit the bed again and you stumbled down onto the mattress with him on top of you.
He adjusted his weight on his forearms with a low groan, unwilling to move too much and lose the feel of your body under his.
His mouth chased yours with the kind of urgency that only someone who's been waiting too long can have.
His lips trailed down slowly, mouthing at your neck until you whined, tugging at his shirt. He took the bait, pulling it off of him in a swift motion and revealing the planes of his toned chest to you.
It was clear he worked out. He was a sergeant and it showed. Your mouth went dry, hands itching to feel the skin and muscle of him under your palms, your lips.
His hands shook at their resting place on your waist, pawing at the skirt of your gown, pulling at the strings of your corset.
You helped him with a giggle, swiftly peeling each layer off and baring yourself to him. You were flustered in a way someone having a new experience always would be. But the way he looked at you, so adoring, so fond, made you feel respected even though you have never been in a more vulnerable position before.
He kissed every inch of you revealed to him, muttering praises into your skin and making you giggle.
By the time youre both naked and breathless you don't think there's any part of you left unkissed.
Maybe because bucky didn't rush it, he touched you like he was worshipping you. Asking every step of the way if you're okay. Murmuring soft praises as he explored parts of you that no one else ever had.
Which was exactly what he was doing right now. Knelt between your thighs, as his mouth worked slow and teasing on your dripping core.
You shuddered beneath him as he licked a long stripe from your sopping hole to your clit, circling his tongue on the aroused bundle of nerves making your thighs tighten around his head.
He made a pleased sound of approval at that. Working to fast and slow, alternatively, the pleasure building tighter and hotter inside of your until his name was the only thing on your mouth.
âBuck, pleaseââ you whimpered
âYou don't gotta beg sweetheart.â He kissed your thigh âC'mon. Come for meâ
You broke with a loud cry, white waves of pleasure washing over you completely. Bucky didn't let up, his tongue worked you through your orgasm until you pushed weakly at his shoulders.
He crawled back up your body and you immediately pressed your lips onto his, tasting yourself on his tongue and moaning at the feel of it.
His fingers found you then, stroking slowly, sliding through the slick wetness of you and nudging at your entrance.
He leaned down slightly. Mouth finding your breast and closing over a nipple. Your back arched itself, offering more of you to him, as your mouth opened in a silent gasp.
His fingers slowly slid in, one at first then another. Two thick digits driving in and out of you as his mouth fondled over your breast.
âNeed you buckyâ you whined, wanting more of him.
âNot yet baby,â His hand replaced his mouth on your chest as he spoke âgotta stretch you out for me.â His fingers scissor inside you and you cry out.
âCan't have you hurting, can we?â he kissed the tip of your nose, fingers ploughing into faster now. âCome for me baby.â He cooed âYou want my cock, donât you?â
âWant it bucky. Need your cockâ you whimpered.
âThen come on my fingers first.â His thumb came up to rub tight circles on your clit, making your thighs shake âCome for me sweetheart. Then I'll give you my cockâ
The orgasm surged violently through you. And by the time bucky's fingers left you, your chest was heaving.
He waited patiently for you to come down. Ridding himself of the tight constraints of his pants and stroking himself at the sight of you.
There was a faint blush to your cheeks. Face dewy with sweat and mouth open in ecstacy and bucky decided that there was never anything more beautiful than this. Than you.
He stopped the movements of his hand as yours came to wrap around him instead.
Your hand felt soft and warm on his cock. So tiny but so much better than his own calloused hand. You grip wasn't as tight as he'd like but having you like this was already so fortunate of him.
Your thumb swiped across the tip, spreading the wetness there and making him groan.
And before he knew it, you nestled slightly closer still, letting his cock slide through the slick of your core, the tip of him nudging your clit and making you both moan into each other's mouths.
He pushed in slowly. Inch by torturous inch as you fluttered and clenched around him, adjusting to his size.
âFuckâ he cursed âStill so tight, Sweetheart. I can't even moveâ
You drew your hips up slightly, helping him slide all the way in to the hilt. His body lowered itself onto you with a low grunt. Face finding the crook of your neck and biting down on your shoulder as he began to rock forward slightly.
His thrusts were shallow at first. Barely pulling out before rutting back in.
The pace built slowly, mostly because bucky wanted to take his time with you. His hips stilled every time he felt his restraint snap. He fucked you until your whole body was taut and ready to snap.
âWhy are you so tense honey?â He asked driving back in faster now âYou can let go. Its just me. Its your bucky.â His hand found your cheek, thumb stroking softly at your cheekbones. âYou know I'd never hurt you.â He reassured.
Your eyes found his then, holding his gaze. This man who was so earnest, so painfully reverent even in a moment like this. And in a passing second, you decided that this was the man you wanted to spend the rest of your life with.
Not John.
Not anyone else.
Bucky.
Only bucky.
He saw the burn behind your eyes, kissing your tears away as they swiftly leave your eyes. âI love youâ he said, voice shaky but firm all the same. You surge forward in an instant. Hiding your face in his neck, the sudden change in the angle making his cock hit deeper and your sniffle comes out breathy.
âI love you too, bucky.â You sobbed âI love you so muchâ
He ground down, before pulling back out. Rutting into you with more urgency now. The room was filled with muffled sounds of gasps and moans. It reeked of sweat and sex.
But neither of you could bring yourself to care. All you could think about was bucky on top of you. All you could feel was him inside you, twitching ever so slightly as he held himself back.
His fingers found your clit again, circling faster, tighter, pulling you toward the edge with him. You surrendered yourself to the pleasure as it developed you whole, your mouth parting in a choked gasp and you felt bucky's hips still, burying himself to the hilt and spilling into you with a grunt.
He let the weight of his body fall onto you ever so slightly as he rode out the aftershocks of his orgasm.
When he finally caught his breath, he rolled over, taking his weight off of you and your body immediately protested at the loss of him.
He would've understood it because he tugged you closer to him almost instantl. Pulling you onto him until you were laying on his chest.
His lips found your forehead in a chaste kiss. Hands settling on your back, stroking it slowly and gentle. Occasionally taking q detour anf playing with your hair, twirling it around his fingers.
It should've been soothing, but as you came down from the high the reality of the situation began to dawn on you. You might be here right now, sated and so in love. But when tomorrow you're forced to go back to your old life, your real life, the nightmare that you're trying so desperately to escape, what would you do then?
And yoh realised, he desevred the truth. After what he said to you, after what you did, you owed him honesty. âBucky, Iâum, maybe you donât know thatâI mean, you definitely don't knowâYou had no idea and I know its my fault. I should've said something before weââ
âHey, if this is about me not knowing that you have a man in your life, then you don't need to worry. I knowâ
âYou know?â You were shocked to hear that.
âI saw that man with you when I sneaked into that ballroom to meet youâ he confessed âAnd I realised what your relationship was.â
When you didn't show any signs of horror that bucky was worrying about, he went on. âFor a moment i thought about pulling away but then i remembered the vaseâ his fingers found your forearm where the scar from the vase was still fresh.
âAnd the tableâ His hand went to the back of your head as if to emphasise what he was talking about.
âAnd the way your eyes shine when youâre with me.â he whispered. âI saw it in that room, baby. How dead you looked. How miserable. And all I could think about was that you deserved better than that. So much better, sweetheart. You deserve the world.â
His eyes shone with something you didnât know if you truly understood, he cupped your cheek as he said the next part. âAnd even though I know I can't give it to you. But Iâd sure as he'll die trying.â
âYou might have known, bucky. But that doesn't make me less guiltyâ you confessed
And for the firsttime that night, you hoped that maybe you could have it all with him.
All you had to do was say yes and the future would be right there. He would be right there. He'd hold your hand and everything would be fine.
You could disappear. John would never find you and you would find everything. The freedom. The joy. The dreams. The future.
Him.
âYesâ
The room had grown quieter as the night passed.
Not silentânever truly silent on a ship this largeâbut softer somehow.
The distant hum of the engines vibrated faintly beneath the walls while muffled footsteps echoed occasionally through the corridor outside. Somewhere farther down the hall, someone laughed loudly before being immediately shushed.
But inside the little cabin, everything felt warm. Safe.
You lay curled against Buckyâs side on the narrow bunk, your head resting against his shoulder while he absentmindedly played with your fingers.
At some point you had both decided sleep wasn't the priority for your tired bodies and now you both laid awake in each other's arms.
The careful curls that your hair had been arranged in a few hours ago had come apart almost completely.
Bucky seemed very pleased about that.
âYou know,â he murmured thoughtfully, twisting one escaped strand around his finger, âI think this is my favorite version of you.â
You glanced up at him suspiciously. âYour favorite version?â
âMmhm.â
âWhat happened to the mysterious elegant first-class lady version of me?â
âOh sheâs alright,â he said. âBut this one laughs at my jokes.â
âTheyâre still bad jokes.â
âYou keep laughinâ though.â
You rolled your eyes. âThatâs pity.â
âSure it is.â His grin widened when you smiled again.
The warmth in your chest felt almost frightening now. Like you were becoming too attached to this. To him.
But every time you tried to pull back mentally, heâd say something ridiculous and drag you right back in.
At some point the conversation had dragged your consiousness to future again. He talked about wanting a cat. You joked that the cat would hate him.
He pinched your side and you tried to turn away feigning annoyance, only to be pulled back into him. You shook your head, smiling helplessly.
âYou think about this often?â You said after some time, when he started talking about building a garden for you in your house.
âNot usually with such a pretty audience.â Your cheeks warmed immediately.
Bucky looked unbearably pleased with himself. Smug in a way that made you feel like you've made the right choice in a man.
âYou blush real easy, you know that?â
âYou flirt constantly, you know that?â
âYeah,â he said easily. âMostly because watching you react is my new favorite hobby.â
You nudged him lightly with your shoulder. âYouâre impossible.â
âAnd yet,â he said softly, âyouâre still here.â
Your fingers traced lightly over the fabric of his shirt while the conversation drifted again.
You told him about books you loved as a child.
He admitted he once tried to impress a girl by pretending to understand poetry and accidentally quoted a laundry advertisement instead.
You laughed so hard you nearly fell off the bunk.
He looked deeply offended about it. âYouâre never lettinâ that go, are you?â
âAbsolutely not.â
âCruel woman.â
âYou deserve it.â
He spoke quietly about wanting a little mechanic shop someday.
Nothing grand.
You listened carefully while he described it.
âYouâd hate it,â he warned.
âWhy?â
âGrease everywhere.â
âThatâs manageable.â
âIâd come home filthy every day.â
âI think Iâd survive.â
He smiled softly at that.
You were lost to the dreams of future and into each other when a sudden pounding hit the door. Hard enough to rattle the walls. Both of you jolted upright immediately.
âBuck!â Steveâs voice shouted from the other side. Urgent and panicked. âBuck, open the damn door!â
Bucky frowned instantly, already climbing off the bed. âWhat the hellââ
Another fist slam against the door.
âBUCKY!â
Something in Steveâs voice made your stomach drop ominously.
Bucky yanked the door open. Making steve practically stumble inside, breathless and pale. Paler than bucky had ever seen him.
âSteve?â Bucky said sharply. âWhat happened?â
Steve grabbed his arm. âThe ship hit something.â
For one second, nobody moved. The information taking itâs time to sink in. âWhat?â you whispered, breaking out of the trance as you felt the floorboards rattle beneath your feet by the surge of water.
Steve looked between both of you. âItâs bad,â he said quickly. âReal bad. Waterâs coming in downstairs already.â
A strange sound groaned through the ship beneath your feet and one of the tile creaked open, giving way to an insistent trickle of water flowing into the room.
Your blood went ice cold. Buckyâs expression changed instantly.
No teasing now. Only sharp focus.
âHow bad?â he demanded.
Steve swallowed. âTheyâre saying itâs sinking.â
The room went utterly still. You could hear the faint voice of people shouting, children crying, feet rushing as groups of guests ran toward the deck, doors slamming open and luggage thudding behind as they dragged whatever they could save, with them.
The ship tilted, just slightly. But enough. Enough to feel it. Your breath caught. âOh my God.â
Bucky moved immediately. âCoat,â he said sharply, already grabbing his own. âPut your coat on.â Your hands shook as you obeyed.
Outside the corridor, panic was building fast now. Voices overlapped chaotically.
âWhatâs happening?!â
âMove!â
âGet upstairs!â
The ship groaned again beneath your feet. Louder this time, more insistent. You looked toward the floor instinctively and saw water slipping beneath the corridor door farther down the hall.
Cold seawater rushing inward from the farther side of the hall
Your heart stopped. âBuckyââ
âI see it.â He grabbed your hand immediately. âStay with me.â
Steve was already moving into the corridor. âCâmon!â
The hallway outside had transformed into chaos. Passengers poured from cabins in various stages of dress, frightened voices echoing against narrow walls while crewmen shouted conflicting instructions.
The ship tilted again. Harder this time. A woman screamed as luggage slid suddenly across the floor. The lights started to flicker like you were in a horror movie. Which, given the situation was an accurate description.
Water rushed visibly now at the far end of the corridor. Fast. Far too fast. Your pulse thundered painfully in your ears.
Bucky tightened his grip around your hand. âStay with me,â he said firmly. âWhatever happens, you donât let go of my hand, understood?â
You nodded shakily.
People shoved past desperately. Someone cried openly nearby. A child screamed for their mother. The sound of metal groaning deep within the ship echoed like thunder through the walls.
âMove!â Steve shouted ahead.
You ran.
Your shoes slipped against wet flooring as the ship tilted again beneath you. Bucky kept one arm firmly around your wrist whenever the angle shifted too sharply, practically dragging you upright through the crowd.
Water surged suddenly around your ankles. Ice cold and unforgiving. You gasped sharply.
âJesus Christ,â Steve muttered ahead.
The hallway behind you erupted into screams as the water rushed faster. People started running in earnest now. Pure panic. The ship groaned violently again.
Lights flickered themselves off, turning the lower deck dark and unsettling.
Someone fell. Bucky immediately pulled you around them before the crowd crushed forward again. âKeep moving,â he said tightly.
Your breathing came in panicked bursts now. The staircases were packed. People shouting and pushing. Trying to get to the lifeboats before the others.
Crewmen tried desperately to direct passengers upward calmly. But calm had gone out of the window the moment ice cold water of the Atlantic touched peopleâs feet.
âWomen and children first!â
âWhatâs happening?!â
âIs it true?!â
The ship tilted harder.
A chandelier somewhere crashed violently. Glass shattered. You nearly lost your footing entirely before Bucky caught you against him. âI got you,â he said immediately and his voice cut through the panic somehow. Grounding.
You clung tightly to his hand as you climbed higher and higher toward the deck. Toward the freezing night air. Toward whatever waited above the chaos below.
When you reached the deck, it was chaos. The moment you emerged into the freezing night air, the full horror of it crashed into you all at once.
People everywhere.
Shouting.
Crying.
Crewmen yelling orders over one another while passengers pushed desperately across the tilted deck. Steam billowed into the night sky from the great funnels overhead, and the once-beautiful ship now groaned like something wounded beneath your feet.
The cold hit brutally.
Wind tore through your hair and clothes while the Atlantic stretched black and endless around you.
But more merciless than the cold right now was fear. Real and endless and bone deep fear as the reality and graveity of the situation suddenly started to dawn on everybody.
You could see men making calculations as to how to get their wives and kids to the lifeboats, in case they themselves couldnât make it.
You could see women trying to mask their own fear to console their crying children and worried husbands.
You could see children trying to make sense of the situation and trying to believe as their mothers said âeverything will be fineâ even though they could visibly see the otherwise.
You clung tightly to Buckyâs hand as he guided you through the crowd, Steve trailing close behind.
âStay close,â Bucky said sharply over the noise.
You nodded quickly, struggling to keep your footing as the ship started to crack right down the middle.
Women were crying openly now. Children clung to parents. Some people still stood frozen in disbelief while others surged toward the lifeboats in growing panic.
A crewman shouted nearby âWomen and children first!â
The words sent a chill through you colder than the wind. Buckyâs grip on your hand tightened. His eyes darted quickly toward the lifeboats. Then toward you.
Something in his face changed.
âNo,â you said immediately.
He blinked. âWhat?â
You shook your head before he could even speak. âNo.â
âSweetheartââ
âNo.â
Bucky looked briefly stunned. âYou donât even know what I was gonna say.â
âYes I do. You were gonna tell me to go.â
Another violent groan echoed through the ship. Somewhere nearby, metal screamed loudly enough to make everyone flinch.
The crowd surged suddenly, people falling through the cracks in the ship into the dark endless abyss beneath.
Bucky immediately steadied you against him. âListen to me,â he said firmly.
âNo.â
âYou need get on that boat. You have first class access, now's the time to use it.â Your stomach dropped painfully. âGo sweetheart.â
There it was.
You shook your head harder. âIâm not leaving you.â
âYes, you are. You have to.â
âNo.â
âHey.â His voice softened slightly despite the chaos around you. âLook at me.â
You did.
And immediately wished you hadnât. Because there was fear in his eyes now. Not for himself. For you.
âYou have a better chance than me,â he said carefully. âYou know that.â
âI donât care.â
âYou should.â
âI donât.â
He huffed out a breath that almost sounded frustrated. âDarlinâ, this ainât the time to be stubborn.â
âAnd this isnât the time for you to tell me what to do.â
Despite everything, his mouth almost twitched. âNowâs really when you decide to start talking back?â
You cupped his face in tour freezing hands âYou listen to me bucky barnes, you are the omly thing that matters to me now. Don't you see it? How precious you are to me? I can'tââ your voice broke âI can't lose you. I won'tâ
Another lifeboat began lowering nearby, half-full already while people screamed to be let aboard.
Crewmen held them back. âStand back!â
âI have a child!â
âPlease!â
Your heart pounded painfully in your chest. Bucky cupped your face suddenly, forcing your attention fully back to him. Holding in all that he felt for you in the moment because now wasn't the time to say it aloud.
Maybe if he gets another chance at life, he would try. But not now. Now his only priority was to get you on the boat safe and sound.
The world around you blurred for a second.
âI need you to listen,â he said quietly. The seriousness in his voice terrified you more than the sinking ship. âYou can survive this.â
âSo can you.â
He didnât answer quickly enough. And you saw it. That flicker of doubt. Tears stung your eyes instantly.
âNo,â you whispered shakily. âNo, donât do that.â
âDo what?â
âLook at me like that.â
His expression broke slightly. âSweetheartâŠâ
âYou donât get to decide I leave without you.â
His thumb brushed quickly against your cheek, cold from the night air. âIâm trying to keep you safe.â
âI donât want safe without you.â The words came out before you could stop them.
Bucky went still at that.
Even with the panic raging around you. Even with the ship dying beneath your feet. His eyes searched yours like he was trying to understand whether you really meant it.
You did.
And he knew.
Steve appeared beside you both again, breathless. âBuck, more boats are loading on the port sideââ
Then he stopped when he saw your faces. Understanding crossed his expression immediately. âAw, hell,â he muttered quietly.
Bucky ran a hand through his hair roughly. âShe needs to get on a boat.â
âShe does,â Steve agreed gently.
You looked between both of them in disbelief. âOh, absolutely not.â
Bucky almost laughed despite everything.
âSee?â Steve said. âSheâs scarier than you.â
âNot helping.â
The ship tilted sharply again.
People screamed as several passengers lost their footing and slid directly into the ocean.
Bucky stumbled but you caught his hand instantly in both of yours.
âI got you,â you said automatically.
You realised your hands clutched tightly at his coat even when he found his footing.
And there was a moment where suddenly you realized something with terrifying clarity. You trusted him more than anyone else in the world.
More than your fiancee.
More than your mother.
More than yourself, maybe.
And the thought of stepping into a lifeboat while he stayed behind felt impossible. Like tearing something out of your chest.
âIâm not leaving you,â you repeated quietly.
Bucky shut his eyes briefly. When he opened them again, they were glassy and it nearly undid you.
âYou barely know me,â he said softly.
A watery laugh escaped you. âAnd iâm not losing the only chance I have at knowing you more.â
âHoneyââ
âNo buck. Don't you know that if I leave we'll never see each other again? They'll take me away bucky. They'll lock me up somewhere andââ you sniffled âand memories of us will all I have for the rest of my life.â
He sighed. Undone by emotion but logic still weighing heavy on the back of his mind. âYou will die hereâ he blurted out the ugly truth.
âThen it'll be kinder than a life with himâ you pointed behind you where John would probably be somewhere trying to get into the lifeboats with all his precious jewels and artifacts.
Bucky looked away. He didn't know what to say. He couldn't ask that of you. Your life in return of his love was too high a price.
You pressed your palm on his chest. âI'm choosing this bucky. Iâm choosing you. It might be the last and the only thing I get to do with my own will. So, please let me make this choice.â
The lights on the topmost deck flickered and dimmed slightly. A fresh wave of panic ripped across the deck. People began running now.
The bow dipped lower. The reality finally impossible to deny. Bucky looked around once.
At the lifeboats.
At the freezing ocean.
At the terrified crowds.
Then finally back at you. And something in him gave way. A small, helpless smile crossed his face masking his concern for your sake.
âYou are unbelievably stubborn,â he murmured.
You nodded shakily. âThatâs a first.â
He stared at you one more second. Then pulled you tightly against him.
His arms wrapped around you fiercely enough that you could feel his heartbeat hammering against your chest. And quietly, against your hair, he whispered âAlright.â
Not agreement. Not surrender. Just Alright.
Like he understood now that neither of you was walking away from the other again. And even when he wasn't sure of it, he knew one thing for sure that if it meant keeping you, he'd die trying.
The night had become a nightmare.
The deck was no longer a place of music and laughter. It was screaming and chaos.
The great ship that had seemed unsinkable only hours ago now groaned like a dying thing beneath everyone's feet. The bow was disappearing into the black Atlantic fast and irreversible.
The stern rose higher and higher. People stumbled across tilted decks desperately trying to find safety where none existed.
Steve was ahead of you both, helping clear a path through panicked passengers.
"Over here!" he yelled.
The deck lurched violently. Bucky never left your hand through it all. All around you, people were crying. Praying. Calling for loved ones.
The sound was almost unbearable.
That was until you heard a terrible noise. A deep metallic roar that seemed to shake the entire world. Everyone froze for one horrible second.
Then screaming erupted everywhere.
The ship was breaking apart.
"Oh God," you whispered.
Bucky's face had gone pale. "Run."
Nobody needed telling twice. The deck became a flood of terrified people. The angle grew steeper way too fast. Much steeper.
You found yourselves climbing rather than running now. Clinging to railings. Pulling yourselves upward while the ship rose beneath you.
The ocean seemed impossibly far below. Black. Endless and deadly.
"Buck!" Steve shouted.
A section of deck shifted suddenly beneath you. Metal shrieked. People fell through.
Bucky grabbed your arm and yanked you toward him just as the flooring buckled.
The movement saved you. But not him.
A heavy piece of twisted railing slammed into his left arm. The impact throwing him sideways. You heard him cry out.
"Bucky!"
He hit the deck hard. You stumbled toward him, worried. Hands cupping his face and making him look at you before your mind had caught up with the incident.
For a terrifying second he didn't move.
Then, much to your relief, he opened his eyes. They were glassy and terrified. You helped him as he pushed himself upright.
His face had gone completely white.Left arm hanging awkwardly against his side, bleeding profusely and flesh peeking out from where the skin had given way when the railing struck him.
"Buckyâ"
"I'm fine."
He wasn't. He was anything but fine. You tore a piece of fabric from your skirt, wrapping it around the wound in a makeshift bandage.
When you looked up again his jaw was clenched so tightly you thought he might crack a tooth.
Steve saw it too. "Jesus, Buckâ"
"I'm fine. We gotta keep going."
The lie was obvious. But there wasn't time. The ship groaned again, deck tilting further. People were already sliding.
Bucky grabbed your hand again with his good arm. "Move."
The stern rose higher and higher.
The freezing wind tore at your clothes. And in a moment, the railing slipped from your hand and the ship disappeared beneath you.
For one impossible second there was only weightlessness. The stars overhead. Bucky's hand in yours as you both tumbled down towards endless nothingness.
The terrified look in Steve's eyes as he watched his best friend fall into the dark abyss.
Then the ocean hit. The cold stole everything.
Your breath.
Your thoughts.
Your voice.
It felt like being struck by lightning. Sudden and all at once. Like every nerve in your body had shattered. You surfaced choking and gasping for air.
The screams around you were worse now. Far worse.
Hundreds of voices crying out in the darkness.
You spun desperately, looking for him, praying, hopingâŠâŠ.
"Bucky!"
There he was. A few feet away. Still alive. Still fighting toward you through the freezing water. Relief crashed through you. "Bucky!"
He reached you moments later. Face pale, Lips blue, Teeth chattering but smiling nonetheless. "There you are."
You almost laughed.
"Steve!" bucky suddenly shouted.
You turned around just enough to hear steve yell, "I'm here!" He mustâve jumped in after you and was now fighting the surgung waves to reach his best frined.
You and bucky tried to cross the short distance toward him the best you could. The three of you fought through floating debris. Broken furniture and pieces of the ship, to reach each other.
The cold was unbearable, every movement feeling harder than the last. At some point a wooden panelling floated toward you, you grabbed it with sheer will power, hands and legs feeling numb in the cold of water.
The three of you held onto it for dear life.
Then another wave struck. The wreckage spun violently making bucky lose his grip. The injured arm failed him completely.
You caught him before he could disappear bemeath the water. Interlocking your fingers with his good arm to keep him afloat as you could visibly see his consiousness fade slowly due to the blood loss.
The cold continued to steal strength from all of you. Minutes felt like hours and hours felt like days.
The lights of the unsinkable had died between all the commotion. Leaving you in nothing but endless darkness. The ocean down below and the sky up ahead.
And somewhere during the darkness and silence, you realised how quiet everyone had gone. Maybe everyone was tired, maybe dead.
Bucky was barely holding on in front of you, eyes drowsy and ice kissed. And steve,âŠ.STEVE?
Where was he?
âBuck,â you shook him awake, âWhereâWhereâs steve?â
You both looked around desperately, one moment he was there.
Holding onto the wreckage.
Talking.
Trying to keep everyone awake.
The next you knew, heâs nowhere to be found.
"Steve!" Bucky yelled.
No answer.
You looked everywhere. Every direction but there was nothing but darkness.
Bodies.
Debris.
And the endless black ocean.
"STEVE!" You shouted too.
Silence.
Only the wind and waves answered.
The realization settled slowly and terribly, like a rock hitting the bottom of a pitt.
The ocean had taken him.
You both kept looking anyway. For minutes. Maybe longer.
Until your voices became too weak.
Until the cold became too much.
Until there was nothing left to do.
The stars blurred overhead. Your body felt impossibly heavy now. Sleep tugged at you. Dangerous sleep. The kind where you know thereâs no waking up from.
As the hours passed, the cold became its own world. After a while, it stopped feeling like water. It became something larger than that, something scarier, pulling at your consiousness asking to surrender yourself to it.
Something that wrapped itself around every thought, every movement, every breath. The wreckage beneath you creaked softly with each passing wave. The ocean stretched endlessly in every direction.
Black water.
Black sky.
Only the stars remained bright.
You couldn't feel your feet anymore. Or your hands. You weren't even entirely sure how long it had been.
Minutes.
Hours.
A lifetime.
Beside you, Bucky was still holding on with his good arm. Barely. His injured arm remained limp against his side, hanging uselessly in the freezing water. Every so often his jaw tightened sharply when a wave jostled it.
But he never complained.
Not once.
You hated him for that. Because it made it harder to ignore how badly he was hurt. And you realised with a terrifying certainty, that he was waiting. Waiting for rescue. WAiting for death. Whichever came sooner.
The ocean rose and fell beneath you, slow and endless. As if unaware of the lives it had taken tonight.
"Hey." His voice sounded rough now.
You turned your head. Or at least you tried to. Even that felt difficult.
"What?" His eyes were fixed on the stars.
"You still awake?"
"Unfortunately." A faint smile appeared.
The darkness stretched around you. Somewhere far away voices occasionally echoed across the water. Fainter now. Far fewer than before. The reality of that sat heavily between you. The ocean had become quiet. Too quiet. And you hated it.
"Bucky."
"Hm?"
"I'm scared." The admission slipped out before you could stop it.
He turned his head toward you immediately.
For a moment he looked younger somehow. Not Sergeant Barnes. Not the confident man from the dance floor. Just a frightened young man floating in an impossible ocean.
"Yeah," he admitted quietly. "So am I."
You stared up at the stars again. They seemed cruel now.
Beautiful.
Unreachable.
Uncaring.
"I thought tonight would be different."
Bucky huffed softly. "I'd say it definitely qualifies as different."
You rolled your eyes weakly. How could this man still hold onto his humour. "That's not what I meant."
"I know." His good hand found yours beneath the freezing water. The grip was weak. But present. Grounding. "I know."
Silence settled again.
You listened to the waves. To the wind. To the sound of Bucky breathing beside you.
And gradually a terrible realization began creeping into your thoughts.
No lights. No boats. No rescue. Nothing. Just darkness. And cold. And waiting.
Your throat tightened. "Bucky?"
"Yeah?"
"If..." The word got stuck in your throat. You tried again. âIf I don't make it."
Immediately he shook his head. "No."
"Bucky."
"No."
His voice was firmer this time.
You looked at him.
He wasn't looking back. His eyes remained fixed stubbornly on the horizon. As though refusing to acknowledge the possibility made it less real. "Bucky."
His jaw tightened.
Finally he sighed. "Fine." The word sounded reluctant. Painful.
You swallowed. "If I don't make it..."
His grip tightened immediately.
You almost stopped. But the words were already coming. "If I don't make it, I need you to promise me something."
His eyes closed briefly. "What?"
You thought for a moment.
About the little house.
The porch.
The wildflowers.
The future you'd built together in conversations over a handful of hours.
A future that suddenly felt very far away.
"Be happy."
Bucky immediately looked offended.
"What kinda request is that?"
"I'm serious."
"So am I."
Another wave rolled past. The cold dug deeper making you shiver violently.
Bucky shifted closer immediately.
Trying to block some of the wind.
Trying to protect you from an ocean.
The ridiculousness of it almost made you cry.
"You deserve happy," you whispered.
His eyes softened. "So do you."
You looked away.
The stars blurred slightly.
"You know what the worst part is?"
"What?"
"I only got one day."
His brow furrowed. "One day?"
"With you."
The words came out quietly. Truthfully. "I spent years doing what everyone else wanted." You swallowed hard. "And when I finally got something for myself. I only got one day."
Bucky stared at you. His expression breaking a little more with every word. âHeyâ His voice was firm. âLook at meâ
"We're getting that house."
You smiled sadly. "Yeah?"
"Yeah."
"The garden too?"
"Especially the garden."
A laugh escaped both of you. Small. Fragile. But real. The only sign of life in this pitt of darkness.
Then silence returned. Longer this time. The cold kept pulling at you. Pulling you downward. Toward sleep. Toward rest. You could feel it.
And judging by the way Bucky's eyes kept drifting closed, he could too.
Eventually he spoke again. "So if I don't make it."
Your chest tightened immediately. "Buckyâ"
"Let me say it." His worrds hung heavily between you.
You nodded.
His gaze returned to the stars. "Travel."
You blinked. "What?"
"Everything you told me." His voice had grown soft. Dreamy.
"See Paris." You felt tears sting your eyes.
"See Italy."
"Bucky..."
"Learn those languages."
His smile was faint now. "But don't get one of those tiny dogs."
You laughed through the tears. "Why?"
"They're mean."
"They are not."
"They absolutely are." He stayed quiet for a moment Then; "And name one kid after me."
Your eyes widened. "One?"
"Minimum."
You laughed again. "Bucky Barnes, that is incredibly arrogant."
"I know." His grin appeared briefly before fading again.
The darkness seemed heavier now.
Both of you were drifting.
Fighting it.
Losing.
Winning.
Losing again.
Your head felt strange.
Far away.
The stars blurred into streaks. And for the first time all night, neither of you had a joke. Neither of you had a plan. Just each other.
The ocean rocked gently beneath the wreckage. Peaceful now that it's hunger was quenched.
You rested your forehead against his. Too exhausted to hold it up any longer. And for a moment it felt like maybe this was it. Maybe this was where the story ended.
Not with screaming.
Not with panic.
Just darkness and cold.
And one last quiet moment together.
And when you decided to finally surrender yourself to the current, you heard it.
A sound. Faint and distant but an anchor nevertheless.
The sound came again. Louder now. A voice. Shouting and looking for survivors.
Bucky's eyes widened. "Wait."
"What?" He lifted his head, slightly.
And then a lantern appeared in the darkness. Tiny. Far away. But real.
A boat.
Someone shouting.
Someone searching.
"Bucky..."
His face transformed.
Relief.
Disbelief.
Joy.
All at once.
"Hey!" His voice cracked as he shouted. "HEY!"
You joined him.
Weakly.
Desperately.
The light turned toward you. Toward the wreckage. Toward the two stubborn people who had refused to let go. And as the boat drew closer through the darkness, neither of you said a word. You simply held onto each other.
And watched hope come back across the water.
The first thing you remembered after the rescue was warmth.
Not safety. Not relief. Just warmth.
Blankets piled over your shaking body. Hands helping you sit up. Voices speaking somewhere nearby.
And Bucky.
Even half-conscious, barely awake himself, he kept searching for you. Every time his eyes opened, they found you.
The weeks that followed blurred together.
Hospitals.
Questions.
Officials.
Lists of survivors.
Lists of the missing.
Lists of the dead.
You hated all of them.
Especially the questions.
"What is your name, ma'am?" The man sat behind a desk with a pen poised above a ledger.
You looked down at your hands.
Then at Bucky.
He was sleeping in a bed across the room, pale from surgery and exhaustion. His left arm had been too badly damaged during the sinking. The doctors had done everything they could. In the end, they had been forced to remove what could not be saved.
The loss hung over him quietly. Neither of you spoke about it much. Not yet. The grief was still too fresh.
The official cleared his throat. "Your name?"
For a moment you saw John Walker's face. Your mother's. The life waiting for you if anyone found you. The cage you escaped.
Then you looked at Bucky again. At the man who had pulled you from a railing. Pulled you through a sinking ship. Pulled you through an ocean. And somehow given you back yourself.
You lifted your head.
The words were soft when they came out, yet firm all the same "Mrs. Barnes."
Bucky hated the first months after surgery.
Not because of the pain, though there was plenty of it, but because now suddenly simple things became difficult.
Buttons.
Doors.
Writing.
Even holding a cup.
When the grief got too heavy, you sat beside him and took his hand. The real one. The one that still trembled slightly when he was upset.
"Bucky." you would say.
His eyes remained fixed on the floor. "Buck."
Finally he looked up.
"Youâre still youâ you said âand you still got me,"
He didnât say anything. He never did. Just leaned forward until his forehead rested against yours.
Eventually a metal replacement was fitted.
Crude by later standards.
Heavy.
Silver.
Complicated.
The sort of thing people stared at.
Bucky hated that too. At first.
Then one day he accidentally crushed a walnut with it. Then realised he could do stuff that was harder for him to do before the metal arm.
Like pulling doors right off the hinges. Fixing stuff that required heavy lifting. After that he became considerably more enthusiastic.
You found him showing it off to children in grocery aisles at least twice. "Bucky Barnes."
"What?"
"You are using your metal arm to impress six-year-olds."
"They think it's cool."
"They absolutely do." You grinned.
"They got excellent judgment."
And even though the scars of past were slowly healing but through everything, the one subject neither of you could escape was Steve.
For months you hoped. People kept being found. Survivors appeared unexpectedly. Rumors spread. Stories changed.
Every knock at the door made Bucky sit up.
Every newspaper made him look twice.
Every list made your stomach twist.
Maybe Steve had survived.
Maybe he was somewhere else.
Maybe he was recovering.
MaybeâŠâŠ.
Hope can survive a very long time when there is nothing else to hold onto. Until one morning the final list arrived.
Government officials. Recovered remains. Confirmed identities.
You watched bucky pull the paper open with shaky hands. He read it with glassy eyes and the moment you saw Bucky's face, you knew.
You crossed the room slowly. "Bucky?â
He didn't answer. Couldn't. Words had left him the moment he read the paper. The finality kicking in as the hope flickered out like a flame in a stormy night.
He handed the paper to you, wordlessly. Your eyes found the name almost immediately. Steven Rogers.
Recovered.
Identified.
Deceased.
The world stopped around you as you stared and stared at the paper until your vision turned blurry from unshed tears.
You read it again and again. As though repetition might somehow change reality.
It didn't.
The paper slipped from your fingers. And suddenly you couldn't breathe. âOh God."
The words came out chocked and watery.
Bucky bowed his head. One hand covering his eyes. His shoulders shaking slightly. And for the first time since the ocean, he cried.
Years of friendship and memories gone in an instant.
The grief hit both of you like a wave. You cried until your throat hurt. Until your eyes burned. Until exhaustion finally forced silence where words could not.
That night neither of you slept much.
You sat together on the porch steps watching the stars. Thinking about a blonde boy fromBrooklyn. Thinking about laughter in a third-class dance hall. Thinking about all the futures that the ocean swallowed whole that night.
Life continued anyway. Slowly and reluctantly.
But it did.
Because that's what life does. It goes on even when it's stained with grief and scars.
And that was how you found yourself several months later, standing in front of a small cottage near the water.
The paint needed work. One shutter hung crooked. The garden was mostly weeds. The porch creaked alarmingly.
It was perfect.
You looked at Bucky and found him already looking at you, smiling. "The porch squeaks."
"I know."
"The roof's uneven."
"I know."
"The front gate doesn't close."
"I know." You laughed.
"So we're buying it?"
"We're buying it."
The first year at the cottage chaos. Wonderful chaos.
You planted wildflowers only for half of them to die.
Bucky insisted he could fix the roof himself. He nearly fell off twice.
You learned quickly that neither of you had any idea what you were doing.
That did not stop either of you.
The garden slowly grew.
He built a porch swing one day to surprise you. And day by day, piece by piece, the house became home.
Then one rainy afternoon a scruffy little stray cat wandered into the garden.
She was tiny and grumpy. Covered in mud and entirely unimpressed by humans.
Naturally, Bucky fell in love immediately.
Bucky picked her uo from the graden like she already belinged to him and the moment she curled up in his lap, bucky knew he'd lost his heart.
"We're keeping her." He looked up at you with puppy eyes.
"Obviously." You rolled your eyes but there was no heat in it.
"What are we naming her?"
The answer came almost immediately. "Alpine." The cat yawned. Completely indifferent.
And so Alpine stayed.
The garden grew.
The porch swing creaked.
The house filled with laughter.
And some evenings, when the sun dipped low over the water and painted everything gold, you'd find yourself sitting beside Bucky on the porch.
His metal fingers intertwined with yours.
Alpine sleeping nearby on the way tree her dad had built for her.
Wildflowers swaying in the breeze.
And sometimes you'd look at him and remember a freezing night beneath impossible stars.
A railing.
A dance.
A sinking ship.
An ocean that had nearly taken everything.
And you felt immensely grateful that somehow, against all impossible odds, the two of you had made it home.
Epilogue coming in a different post because tumblr keeps fucking with me
Summary - After bringing their newborn daughter home, Bucky and Reader navigate the emotional first days of parenthood. Between recovery, postpartum tears, and Buckyâs terrible dad jokes, they find comfort in the love they share for their tiny baby girl and the family theyâve created together.
Warnings - fluffy new dad Bucky, postpartum recovery, mention of a c section birth, crazy hormones, mild physical pain/discomfort, newborn bubble, soft bucky, breastfeeding/nursing mentioned, Alpine interaction, healthy relationship, tooth rotting fluff, happy ending
Writers notes - no proof read or word count. Happy first of the month loves! đ«¶đ»
The drive home from the hospital was quiet.
Not uncomfortable quietâjust the kind that settled after one of the biggest days of your life.
Your daughter slept peacefully in the backseat, bundled in blankets that looked ridiculously oversized on her tiny five-pound frame.
Bucky drove with one hand on the wheel and the other reaching across the console whenever he could, brushing his fingers against yours.
Every few minutes heâd glance in the mirror.
Checking on her.
Checking on you.
Making sure both his girls were okay.
When the car finally pulled into the driveway, Bucky was out before you could even think about moving.
âStay there,â he ordered gently.
You rolled your eyes.
âJamesââ
âStay.â
The super soldier was already opening your door.
The C-section incision pulled unpleasantly as you shifted, and Bucky immediately slid an arm around your waist.
âEasy.â
You hated feeling fragile.
But today?
Today you were exhausted.
Sore.
Emotional.
And honestly grateful for the support.
His vibranium arm lifted the car seat effortlessly while his flesh hand remained firmly wrapped around yours.
The Winter Soldier carried the diaper bag over one shoulder, a tiny pink car seat in hand, and carefully guided you up the front steps like you might break.
But to Bucky?
Nothing had ever felt more important.
Inside the apartment, he helped lower you carefully onto the couch.
âComfortable?â
âYes.â
âNeed a pillow?â
âBucky.â
âA blanket?â
You laughed weakly.
âIâm fine.â
His blue eyes narrowed suspiciously.
âYou donât sound fine.â
âThatâs because somebody cut me open three days ago.â
He immediately looked guilty.
âOh.â
Your expression softened.
âNot your fault, Buck.â
He leaned down and kissed your forehead.
Then his attention shifted to the car seat.
Immediately.
Like a magnet.
Like he physically couldnât stay away.
His face melted into something impossibly soft as he crouched beside it.
âHey, peanut.â
Your daughter stirred.
Tiny fists stretching.
Tiny face scrunching.
Then came the newborn scrunch.
Her entire little body curled inward as if she was trying to return to her favorite position.
Buckyâs heart visibly shattered.
âOh my God.â
Carefully, he slid his hands beneath her.
Lifting her from the carrier as though she were made of glass.
She weighed almost nothing.
A tiny pink onesie swallowed her whole.
Dark hair dusted the top of her head.
And somehow she was even smaller in Buckyâs arms.
The former assassin settled onto the couch beside you.
His broad frame made your daughter look impossibly tiny.
She wriggled slightly.
Making sleepy little noises.
Immediately Bucky lowered his head.
Pressing a kiss against her dark hair.
âItâs okay, sweetheart.â
Another kiss.
âDaddyâs got you.â
Another.
âYouâre home.â
His voice cracked.
Just slightly.
But you heard it.
And so did he.
You watched him stare at her.
Completely captivated.
As though nothing else existed.
Then suddenly Alpine appeared, The white cat hopped onto the couch arm, Curious green eyes locked onto the baby.
Bucky immediately tensed.
âAlpine.â
The cat ignored him, Slowly stretching her neck toward the bundle in his arms. Sniff. Sniff. The baby yawned, Alpine blinked then sat down beside Bucky like sheâd made her decision.
Accepted.
Family.
You should have been laughing.
It was adorable.
Insteadâ
A tear slipped down your cheek.
You frowned.
Confused.
Then another followed.
And another.
Bucky looked up instantly.
His eyes widened.
âBaby?â
You wiped your face, Which somehow only made more tears appear.
âWhatâs wrong?â
âI donât know.â
The answer came out as a sob.
âOh no.â
Bucky carefully adjusted the baby against his chest before wrapping an arm around your shoulders.
âAre you hurting?â
You shook your head.
More tears.
âDid I do something?â
âNo.â
More tears.
âDo you need something?â
âNo.â
âThen why are you crying?â
âI donât know!â. The words dissolved into another sob.
Bucky looked completely terrified.
The man had fought aliens,Hydra,Assassins,Gods.
But crying postpartum girlfriends?
Absolutely not.
You laughed through your tears.
Which only confused him more.
âI donât know why Iâm crying.â
âOh.â
A pause.
âOkay.â
You sniffled.
âOkay?â
âYeah.â
Bucky pressed a kiss against your temple.
Then another.
Then rested his forehead against yours.
âThen we can cry together.â
That finally broke you.
You laughed so hard you started crying even more.
Bucky smiled.
Relieved.
His arm tightened around your shoulders.
His daughter slept peacefully against his chest.
Alpine purred beside him.
And for the first time since everything had gone wrong in the delivery room, since the emergency surgery and fear and painâ
You looked around your home.
At your boyfriend.
At your baby girl.
At your strange little family.
And realized everything had gone right after all.
âSheâs perfect,â you whispered.
Bucky looked down at the sleeping newborn.
His entire face softening.
âYeah.â
He kissed her head once more.
Then reached for your hand.
âShe really is.â
âž»
The afternoon sunlight spilled through the apartment windows, casting everything in a warm glow.
Your daughter was curled against your chest now, happily nursing while Bucky sat beside you on the couch.
He couldnât stop staring.
Every few seconds his eyes flicked from the baby to you and back again, as though he was still trying to process that this was real.
That the tiny little girl in your arms was his daughter.
That you were her mother.
That somehow the two of you had created an entire human being.
His gaze lingered on the baby.
Then on you.
Then back on the baby again.
A grin slowly spread across his face.
âOh my God.â
âWhat?â you asked.
Bucky pointed toward your daughter.
âShe shows up.â
You immediately knew that look.
The look that meant he was about to say something ridiculous.
âBuckyââ
Then he pointed at you.
âNow youâre making food.â
You burst out laughing.
Unfortunately, laughing after major abdominal surgery wasnât exactly pleasant.
The moment the sound escaped you, pain tugged at your healing stomach.
âOhâowââ
Your hand instantly moved to your abdomen as you winced.
Buckyâs grin vanished.
âBaby?â
âIâm okay.â
âYou donât look okay.â
âIâm fine,â you insisted, despite your face scrunching slightly.
Bucky immediately scooted closer.
âSee? This is why I shouldnât tell jokes.â
âYou absolutely shouldnât.â
âYou laughed though.â
âAgainst my will.â
A smug smile appeared.
âSo Iâm funny.â
You rolled your eyes.
âDonât let it go to your head.â
Too late.
His ego was already thriving.
Bucky carefully brushed a hand over your shoulder before glancing down at the baby again.
The tiny girl continued eating completely unbothered by the conversation around her.
âSo thatâs it?â he asked.
You raised an eyebrow.
âWhatâs it?â
âShe just eats whenever she wants?â
âPretty much.â
Bucky looked horrified.
âThatâs a dangerous amount of power for someone who canât hold her own head up.â
You laughed againâmore carefully this time.
The baby made a tiny contented noise.
Bucky stared.
Then pointed at her once more.
âLook at her.â
âWhat about her?â
âSheâs not paying rent.â
You snorted.
âBucky.â
âShe contributes nothing.â
âSheâs three days old.â
âExactly. Freeloading.â
Your daughter detached for a moment, making a sleepy little face before settling again.
Buckyâs expression immediately softened.
The tough-guy act disappeared in an instant.
âA cute freeloader,â he corrected.
You watched him melt completely as he gently stroked one finger over her tiny dark-haired head.
His blue eyes were full of wonder.
âYou know,â he said quietly, âI still canât believe sheâs ours.â
Your heart squeezed.
Even with the pain, the exhaustion, the wild postpartum hormones, moments like this made everything worth it.
You leaned your head against his shoulder.
Bucky immediately kissed the top of your hair.
Then the baby suddenly let out the tiniest milk-drunk sigh.
Bucky froze.
âOh.â
âWhat?â
âDid you hear that?â
You smiled.
âYeah.â
His eyes widened.
âThat was adorable.â
âEverything she does is adorable to you.â
âBecause sheâs perfect.â
His hand found yours, squeezing gently.
âAnd so are you.â
The hormones nearly had you crying again.
You pointed a warning finger at him.
âDonât.â
Bucky looked alarmed.
âDonât what?â
âBe sweet.â
âOh no.â
He immediately pulled you closer.
âAre we crying again?â
âI might be.â
âOkay.â
He kissed your temple.
And judging by the way his own eyes looked suspiciously shiny while he stared at his daughter, he wasnât entirely joking.
summary: youâre a runaway and his truck has broken down. the only thing you two have in common is that youâre both staying in a shitty motel. you have three days to try to convince him to take you all the way to california, and three days to decide whether or not you can trust a stranger more than the place you ran from.
pairing: trucker!bucky barnes x fem!runaway!reader
word count: 30.5k................. im so sorry guys it drags a bit
content contains: 18+ contentâ smut. porn with way too much plot, slowburn(?) not really, age gap (bucky is early fourties, reader is early twenties minimum), strangers to lovers, mentions of an abusive boyfriend, sambucky mention đ, creepy man, mentions of gun use, pet names (princess, sweetheart, etc), fem!masturbation, dry humping, boobies, fem!oral, unprotected PinV, basic sex stuff
authors note: hi guys ;P i am back. take this monster as a reward for your patience with me. this idea and the plot came to me at 10pm on a friday night. i was staring at the last picture on the moodboards and i was possessed by something evil and a little freaky. i was genuinely in a flow state⊠imagine jeffree star organising that eyeshadow and then shane dawson saying oh oh oh in the background that was my vibes.
you've never really liked highways.
they were far too big and still so small at the same time. they were barren and isolating, almost metaphorical in a way you can't quite name; but even though you find they take more than they give, you find escape in route 66.
it stretches and stretches, a torn grey ribbon pulled tight against the ground, disappearing against the horizon. every mile looks exactly the same as the last. its the same yellow lines and the same broken guardrails, the same low hills and the same signs that promise towns that you never seem to ever reach.
it all feels like a big circle that you can't escape, and from the passenger seat of a stranger's car, it certainly feels endless.
the window is half-open, just enough for the wind to tangle in your hair and carry in the smell of gasoline and dry asphalt. the car hums beneath you, the steady rhythm you've been enduring for the past seven hours constant enough that it almost lulls you into forgetting where you are or WHY you're really doing this at all.
but you remember. you always remember.
the car you sit in is a rented SUV. it smells faintly of sunscreen, beef jerky, and the sour tang of someone who hasn't showered in a couple of days. the glovebox is full of old batteries, a few maps of america, and fast food wrappers. in the front, a cassette tape rattles quietly in the stereo, the sound of bruce springsteen's voice filling the cab, loud enough to be heard, but still quiet enough that nobody has to yell.
there's one person in the drivers seat and two in the back, their voices overlapping like they've been traveling together long enough to finish each other's sentences. you dont know their names yet, and you don't think you'll ever learn them, but you can tell by the way they talk that they met on the roadâ friends made at rest stops, gas station restrooms, motels with peeling wallpaper, andâ like youâ on the side of the road.
they'd seen you on the side of the road in missouri with your thumb stuck out and a bag that fit your entire life slung over your shoulder. they'd picked you up with no hesitation with the simple explanation of 'that was us once', and you fit in the passenger seat like it was made for you.
"dude, seriously, stop singin'." the woman in the back groans, her plea directed to the man driving the car. "you're gonna blow our ears out if you keep tryin' to duet springsteen."
the driver scoffs, "come on. you know you love it. admit it."
"you sound like a dying dog. nothing to love about that." the man in the back seat chimes in, his arms crossed against his chest. "put my mixtape in and we'll see what real music is."
the woman in the backseat narrows her eyes. "sorry, but nobody wants to listen to ten hours of duran duran's best hits either."
"oooh, burn!" the driver snorts from the front seat, glancing into the rear-view mirror to catch a glimpse of his friend's defeated face. "i think that officially made you the least popular person in the car."
you watch them out of the corner of your eye, sometimes finding yourself glancing in the rear-view mirror just to see what they're doing. they're loud and messy and a little corny, but a part of it is comforting. you say nothing and find peace in their noise.
"hey." the man in the back says suddenly, attention diverted towards you now. "is this your first time riding like this? spending hours in the car with people you don't know driving across america?"
you blink a few times before glancing over your shoulder. the attention is a little sudden, and it takes you a moment to gather your thoughts. your thumb brushes against the fabric of your pants, a small and unconscious anchor.
"i only started doing it when i first decided to leave chicago." you tell them, your voice only slightly louder than the hum of the music. "it was more impulsive than anything."
"huh..." the driver tilts his head as he sneaks a glance at you. "you dont look like someone who just throws themselves out there without a plan."
you shrug, keeping your eyes on the dark streaking asphalt outside. "i didn't think i was that type of person either." you mutter.
the man in the backseat hums in acknowledgment, but then leans forwards again like one question wasn't enough. "why are you on the road? whats the story?"
you hear a slap of flesh against leather, and you can only assume that the woman had hit the man on the arm. "what is this, twenty one questions? let the lady breathe!"
"it's fine." you say quickly, almost hesitantly. "i just... needed to get away from home for a while. packed up what i could and i don't plan on going back there anytime soon."
the man in the back leans back with a thoughtful hum. "yeah, i get that. sometimes moving's better than being stuck."
the driver perks up in his seat, eyes wide like he's forgotten his keys at home. "i forgot to ask, but where were you headed?"
you hesitate. for a moment, you consider lying, and then you consider not saying anything at all. you dont know these people and your answer would do nothing but satiate their thirst for stories of the road; but something about the way the car hums beneath you and the way that the wind tunnels down your sleeve makes it easier than usual to let a small piece of yourself slip.
"i'm going west." you finally say. "california."
the woman smiles like you've given her the perfect answer. "that's the spirit. the road likes it when you don't stop movin'."
you manage a small humourless smile as you turn back to the window. california sits in your mind like a red pin on a map of america. its more of a fantasy than anything solid. you dont have an address or a plan that makes much sense when spoken out loud, and with nothing more than the clothes on your back, your duffel bag, and the certainty that if you keep moving west, something has to change eventually.
and almost like a light in the pitch black darkness, a neon glow flickers up ahead. slicing through the amber orange haze of the sunset, a sign that reads 'HOTEL CALIFORNIA' comes into view, and you find yourself following it even as the car passes, your head turning to watch it disappear into the darkness behind you. the letters shine like a signal, a promise, a miracle like an oasis in the desert, and you would be stupid to ignore it.
your hand braces against the car door as you push yourself up in your seat, your other hand tightening around the strap of your duffel almost instinctively. you turn back to the front of the car, brows knitting together as you lean down and zip open your duffel.
"do you think you could drop me off at that hotel california? the sign said it should be about five miles down the road." you ask.
you reach down and riffle through the unorganised mess in your bag and pull out your wallet. its scuffed from years of use and it pops open the moment you press in the buckle. the cards inside rustle around as you count what cash you have, thumb running over the notes just to make sure it's all there.
the driver glances down at you, his eyes scanning over your alarming amount of money you have. "sick of the car life already, drifter?"
you nod as you shove your wallet back into your duffel, a small smile on your face. "i think i need to stand on solid ground for longer than an hour. my body's forgotten what it feels like to be stationary."
the woman smirks. "that's fair. even the best road warriors need a pit stop sometimes. can't be movin' forever. we can spare five miles for our new friend, can't we?"
the driver nods like it's the easiest question he's ever had to answer. "yes ma'am. hotel california, here we come."
and just like that, the road stops stretching endlessly forwards and instead starts narrowing in on a single glowing sign that promised the hope of a new beginning and a moment to rest your feet on solid ground after what felt like a lifetime of running. at least for tonight, the road can wait.
you clutch your duffel bag straps, letting your eyes linger on the motel as it grows larger by the second. the neon light that stands in the front shines against the darkened sky, spitting orange and teal light across the windshield. and after a few minutes, the indicator starts blinking and the SUV swerves to the left, the vehicle shifting as it pulls into the carpark of the motel.
gravel crunches under the tires, and the hum of the engine drops into a softer sigh, like the car itself is exhaling. a few lonely streetlights cover the area in a soft glow and the motel looms just in front of the carâ low, wide, and tired-looking, its paint peeling off of the walls and the roof shingles threatening to fall off of the roof.
you hesitate for a moment before opening the door, like you're waiting for permission you don't need. the night air slips in as soon as it clicks open and you hope out, duffel bag following close behind you and your feet finally touching solid ground. it feels strange after hours of motion, but you find comfort in the smell of dust and warm pavement, like the road has finally let you go.
you turn back, glancing at the people in the carâ at their messy hair, at their lopsided smiles, at their clothes that haven't been washed in god knows how longâ and you can't help but feel grateful. they didn't have to stop for you or give you a seat in their journey across america, but they did it anyways, and that feels bigger than anything you could possibly say.
your hand grips the side of the door like you're unsure of what to say. finally, you settle on "i really appreciate you guys stopping for me. i'm sorry for just... ditching you for a motelâ"
"hey, it's all good. don't let us keep you." the man in the backseat tells you with a sincere smile. "if you need a real bed, then i say go for it. after all, seven hours in a car seat isn't the best for your back or for your mind."
the woman smiles, "just take care of yourself, alright?"
"yeah, and if it's anything like the song, just try not to get stuck in the there forever, alright?" the driver jokes, and you meet him with a weak laugh.
you nod, a smile on your face as you manage a small "thanks for everything" before finally closing the door, and the click of it sounds louder than it should. they drive off with a waving hand out of the window, and now you're all alone in the outskirts of glen rio, texas with nothing but the weight of your life on your shoulders.
the night air is warm and dry, carrying the smell of dirt and the sound of vehicles passing by on route 66. the front office glows dimly through the glass windows, the single LED light flickering like it's considering giving up too. a vending machine on the other end of the motel and the ventilations on the rooftop fight for title of loudest noise in the quiet. a rusted water tower stands neglected on the far side of the property, there are no other cars in the parking lot apart from a beat-up pickup truck parked along two spaces, it's paint sun-bleached and chipped, and you can only assume it belongs to the person at the front desk.
somewhere in the distant, there's a bang. a dog barks and the noise echoes in the desert. the world feels thin out hereâ stretched wide and emptyâ and you feel so very small inside of it.
you hesitate for a second, eyes lingering on the motel, before you shift your duffel higher up on your shoulder and head towards the office. the concrete is warm beneath your shoes, still holding the heat from the day, and the closer you get, the louder the hum of the lights becomesâ a thin, tired buzz that seeps into your bones.
the door squeals as you tug it open, the rubbing lining along the frame sticking before giving way. cool recycled air washes over you as you step into the office, and the sound of the door shutting cuts through the silence of the room.
the office is small. cramped. a long counter runs along one wall, scratched and worn down by years of borrowed keys and elbows. behind it, a lanky middle aged man wearing glasses sits slouched in a swivel chair, his face half-lit by the glow of his ancient monitor. there's a small radio that sits beside him that plays music from the local radio station, a voice and a guitar that blur into the hum of the lights, and you find it incredibly hard to ignore the smell of lemon air freshener and moist carpet.
the man takes a long moment to really register you and your presenceâ the bag slung over your shoulder, the dust on your shoes and your clothes, the way you're standing just inside of the doorway like you're not sure whether or not you're meant to be thereâ and he smiles, dental issues on display for you to see.
"evening." he says eventually, head tilting upwards just slightly like he's trying to take you in, "what can i do for ya?"
"hiâ" you step towards the desk, your weight shifting as you lean against the counter. you look at the name on his faded name tag, "trevor. i was wondering if you had any rooms available?"
trevor doesn't answer right away. he just looks at you like you're a pretty thing in the wrong place, and his tongue darts out to wet his bottom lip. his eyes trace over you slowlyâ your face, your bag, the way your fingers wrap around the straps like you might runâ and then he leans back in his chair, hands reaching up to rest on the back of his head.
"yeah." he finally says. "got a few."
you dont like the way he says it.
"okay." you blink. "how much would it be for a week?"
"depends what kinda room you want." trevor makes an odd noise with his mouth as he leans forwards, something like sucking in his teeth and popping his tongue on the roof of his mouth. "you by yourself?"
you hesitate, trying to push down the odd feeling that starts to well in the pit of your stomach, but you nod. "yeah. just me."
his eyes flick over you again, slower this time, and the corner of his mouth lifts into something you'd barely call a smile.
"just you, huh." trevor repeats like he's letting the fact settle. then he sighs and twists in his chair, "alright, give me a sec to pull up the prices."
he turns back to the monitor, fingers moving over the equally as ancient keyboard, and you try to ignore the porn pop-up that he quickly clicks out of and the solitaire match that he's losing. each key he presses fills the silence, loud in the silent office.
click. click. click. thenâ
blinding headlights sweep through the office, the small room flooding with harsh white light. for a moment, it's so bright that you can't even see a foot in front of you, and you instinctively shield your eyes. when your vision adjusts, you can make out the outline of a massive semi-truck rolling to a stop in the lot, tires crunching into the gravel and engine growling loud enough for you to wonder whether it's meant to be that loud.
it idles near the far end of the motel, headlights still blazing, long shadows cast against the walls. the cab door opens, and you can barely make out the figure of a tall, broad shouldered silhouette stepping out. he pauses for a moment, one hand resting against the cab before he disappears into the darkness of the parking lot.
there's a small, metallic clank, then another, the sound almost hesitant, like he's trying to figure something out or fix something.
but a grating voice brings you out of your head.
"y'know, we don't usually get much foot traffic out here." trevor's lips smack, eyes flicking over to yours in a way that makes your skin crawl. "couple'a hippies and cross country truckers, but nothin' like you."
"who wouldn't want to spend a night in a place like this?" you murmur with a hit of playful sarcasm lacing your voice.
"you don't gotta sugarcoat it, darlin. this place isâ and always will beâ a shithole." trevor sighs as he rests an elbow on the desk, a cheeky smile growing on his face. "the only thing that makes up for it is the company. if you get lonely and need someone to talk to, iâ"
"yeah, i don't think i'll be talking to anyone much tonight." you quickly and bluntly cut him off. you dont really have time to deal with creeps right now.
he chuckles, the noise low and almost wet, like he's amused and disappointed all at once. "we'll see about that, sugar."
trevor goes back to clicking away at his keyboard. you're picking at your nails when you feel the heat on the side of your face cool, and you turn your head to find that the semi truck's headlights are off now. your attention drifts back to the clanking of metal and the tall silhouette that moves around in the dark.
you wonder if you'll see the face that's swallowed by shadow. you wonder if he'll come into the office and save you from the creepy receptionist. you wonder if he'll be equally as creepy and if you'll need to sleep with a weapon in hand.
the squeak of trevor's chair brings you back to reality.
"right. single room's cheapest. one bed, small. got a pull-out sofa if you decide you don't wanna spend the week all alone." trevor drags the word, tongue running along his teeth. "but if you want a bigger bed for your beauty sleep and a bathroom for all of your girly things, then we do have a double."
your brow quirks. "the single room doesn't have a bathroom?"
"nope, so i'm assumin' you're gonna pick the double. it's two-fifty for the week." trevor says, "cash or card, sugar?"
"cash." you reply. "and don't call me sugar."
you ignore the huff trevor lets out. you zip open your bag, riffling through it before pulling out your wallet. you pop it open and pull out exactly two hundred and fifty dollars. you set the cash down on the counter and slide it towards trevor.
trevor's eyes widen just slightly as he does a faint double take. his hand slaps against the counter as he takes the money, counting it. "right on the dot. where'd a lil' thing like you get all this cash?"
"work." you simply reply. a stranger doesn't need to know anything about you or your money, and you're not about to give away more information than needed.
trevor hums. he pops open the register and places the cash into the tray with a small metallic clink. then he turns around in his chair, head cranes towards you like an idea had just popped into his head.
"y'knowâ" he pauses, brows raising just slightly as he leans closer to you. the closer he gets, the more he smells of tonsil stones and tooth decay, and you swear you can see a thought forming in those bloodshot eyes of his. "if you wanted the room a lil' cheaper, you could come around the desk and show me what that pretty little mouth can doâ"
"i'll pay the two-fifty." you cut in, voice firm, eyes meeting his and trying to keep him from crossing the line any further. "and i'll take my key now."
the annoyed groan that leaves the man sends a chill down your spine. trevor reaches under the counter and pulls out a tarnished room key with a small plastic tag. he holds it out for you to grab, but just as you do, he snaps it back like a predator played with cornered prey.
"don't think you can just walk around here with that attitude, lil miss." he mutters, low and rough, head tilted down enough that his eyes bore into yours. "just because you've got a pretty face doesn't mean things always go your way. you pay, but sometimes... you owe."
the hairs on the back of your neck stand on end and the pit in your stomach almost comes up as vomit. you narrow your eyes at the sick grin he has on his face, about to tell the asshole to go to hell, but the squeal of rubber lining and metal screeching stops you.
the office door swings open and slams shut, harsh and sudden, and it catches both your and trevor's attention. the two of you turn your heads towards the figure who had just walked inâ a tall, broad shouldered man, no doubt the one you'd seen outside working on his truck in the shadows.
with a shaved head, a thick scruffy beard, and a torn denim jacket, the man moves through the room with quiet confidence. there's grit in his posture, his face tired and rugged, with soft lines on his forehead and a shadowed jawline thats strong but worn. he's the type of man you'd see in a movie and be intimidated by, but this man felt different.
the man doesn't smile, nor does he speak. he simply looks between the two of you like he's figuring out what he's just walked in on. before anyone can react, you lean forwards and snatch the room key from trevor's hand. he awkwardly rubs his hands on his oily shirt like he's suddenly uncomfortable.
the receptionist gives you a fake smile as he ushers you away, voice dropping with false charm. "room one, sugar. best room in the house."
you scoff as you walk off, your shoulder just barely clipping the man's arm as you stomp past. the contact is almost nothingâ a brush of denim against your sleeveâ but it sends a strange shiver up your spine anyways. you push the door open and the night air hits you instantly, a soothing feeling after being trapped in that stuffy office.
as you cross the lot towards the room, you glance back, and through the office window, you see him.
the man stands exactly where you had left him, broad frame filling out the office, half shadowed by the dim yellow lights, his head slightly tilted as he cranes his neck down to watch you. not in the way trevor had watched you. not hungry or leering, but with curiosity, like he's trying to decide something, and you can feel his eyes boring into your back until you reach your door.
the key sticks in the lock for a moment before you twist the doorknob. you shoulder the door open and step inside.
a single double bed sits pressed against the wall, its blankets thick and vaguely floral in pattern, the colours dulled from years of washing. a small nightstand holds an even smaller table lamp on top, a worn bible sitting on the lower shelf. the bathroom light flickers on the far end of the room, and you wonder how long it's been on for. the carpet feels flat and stiff beneath your shoes, and the air smells of moth balls and fruity room spray that feels like it's trying to cover up the scent of something old and damp.
the room is fine. its nothing special, but it's dry, it's quiet, and it has a door that locks. that's about the nicest thing you can say about it.
you drop your duffel bag at the end of the bed and kick off your shoes. you peel your jacket from your arms and throw it over the backrest of the small dinning set chair before sinking down into the mattress. it creaks under your weight, but it holds. exhaustion settles over you all at once, your eyes feeling heavy now that you've stopped moving.
you dont even bother changing. you just lie back, stare at the stained popcorn ceiling, and then let your eyes fall shut.
sleep comes fastâ or at least you think it does.
some time laterâ you're not sure how longâ a sound pulls you back to the edge of consciousness. you think it's a door. it softly opens and closes. your eyes stay shut, but your mind sharpens in on the noise. you hear footsteps, slow and heavy, and then the low murmur of movement through the thin wall next to you in room two.
you frown slightly into the pillow as the noise comes to a slow stop. the trucker, you assume. the man with the shaved head and the quiet eyes. the one who had indirectly saved you from the advances of the creepy receptionist.
you roll onto your side, tuck your legs in a little closer, and tell yourself not to think about it. you're safe, you're inside, and you're not on the road anymore. nobody is going to find you.
eventually, the sounds fade and the motel settles into silence, and when sleep takes you, you welcome the old friend gladly.
the next day, you wake up slowly. not with an alarm or a bad dream, but with a soundâ a dull, metallic bang.
your eyes crack open, unfocused and strained in the low light. light bleeds in around the edges of the frilly curtains, brighter than you expect. you place a hand against your eyes, and for a moment, you're disorientated and heavy limbed, your body still weighing on the mattress like it's trying to hold onto sleep.
you blink and the sound comes againâ metal against metal, constant and loud as it echoes through the empty parking lotâ and your brain catches up to your body.
you groan quietly and roll onto your back, staring at the ceiling before pushing yourself upright. your joints ache in a way that comes with too much rest and your head hurts in a way that comes with not enough. you rub a hand over your face and glance at the blinking alarm clock in the bedside table.
it's late. not morning late; afternoon late. you'd slept through most of the day and woken up with a grogginess that makes it feel like you never really slept at all, but you give yourself a little leewayâ you'd been awake for a day and a half beforehand and this was your first proper bed in a while.
your stomach gurgles, void of any proper food. you get up, tug on your shoes, shove your room key into your pocket, and step out into the heat.
the day has already settled over the motel, the texas sun bleaching the colour out of everything. it still smells like dust and hot concrete, but now there's a faint smell of gasoline and soldered metal. you impatiently make your way to the vending machine you'd spotted last night, the humming getting louder as you near it.
the semi truck is still there, the hood up now, the massive front tilted forwards like a jaw. the man from last night is crouched besides it, his hands and shirt darkened with grease and dirt as he works. tools are scattered at his feetâ wrenches, screwdrivers, things with long handles and odd contraptionsâ and a dirty rag is thrown over his knee.
he looks different in the daylightâ still intimidating, still broad and still quiet, but you can see the tiredness in him. the set of his shoulders as he tightens a bolt, the slow and careful way he moves like he's trying to conserve energy, the way he huffs out a breath whenever he meets a particularly stubborn piece of metal. he pauses, wipes his hands on the rag, then leans back to look at whatever he's working on with a slight frown like it's not cooperating and hasn't been for a while.
the vending machine beeps obnoxiously loud at you.
its only when he turns his head just slightly to spot the source of the noise and he catches your eye that you realise you're staring. you turn back quickly and begin feeding your coins into the vending machine, awkwardly pressing on the first button you can see, and wait for the dull thud of something half edible to drop.
you're almost disappointed in yourself when a bottle of old fanta makes its way through the machine instead of food, but you pull it out anyways. the cap hisses when you pop it open. you take a sip more out of obligation than enjoyment. its warm, flat, and too sweet. you take another sad sip and let your eyes wander around.
there isn't much to look at.
the motel stretches out in a long line, sun bleached doors, curtains drawn in most windows, and outdated signs as far as the eye can see. you skip over trevor's badly parked car and focus more on the heat waves that hover just above the ground, and just beyond that, there's a hum of cars passing by every so often. you're about to turn around and go back to your room, but your eye catches on a pink sign that says 'pool'.
it hangs haphazardly on a light post on the far end of the property, the arrow beneath it pointing to a pathway between two buildings with cracked pavement. the sign is barely illegible, the paint faded and cracked, but curiosity gets the better of you and you follow it.
the path eventually opens up into a small, fenced in area behind the motel, and you find that there actually is a poolâ or at least a poor excuse of one. the water inside is cloudy, a dull bluish green with leaves and a few empty plastic water bottles floating on the surface. the tiles that surround the pool are either cracked or gone completely, and just beyond that, a few plastic lounge chairs are stacked awkwardly on top of one another, sun bleached and warped from age.
you step closer to the edge and peer down into the water. its so murky that you can't even see your own reflection. alas, you try to squint through at the glare of the sun, but then you feel someone behind you, your shoulders tensing before you even turn around.
"thing hasn't been used in years."
you turn. trevor stands there, hands on his hips and squinting at the pool like he owns it. you hadn't even heard him sneaking up on you, and the thought of it happening again makes you queasy.
"i figured." you mutter.
you take a small step backwards just as trevor steps forwards, his head craned down towards the pool like this is the first time he's seen it in years. he kicks a pebble and it lands into the water with a thick splashing noise before he turns to you.
"used to be nice though. families'd come during the summer. kids'd scream and they'd barbecue. used to get a lot of action." his eyes flick to yours, "not like that anymore."
you nod even though you don't really care.
trevor smacks his lips. "what are you doin' round back?" he asks, the question a little pointed and slightly accusatory.
you straighten a bit, gesturing vaguely. "just looking."
"at the pool?"
"at whatever was back here." you say, already turning away from him. "i was bored."
you start walking back towards the front of the motel before he can respond, but the scuff of shoes against pavement behind you tells you that he's close behind and that the conversation is far from over.
"i get that. not much to do round here." he says easily like this is completely casual and like he isn't matching your pace too well. "but we got a little kitchen just beside the front office if you wanna heat up or cook your food. microwave, coffee pot, workin' sink, that kinda stuff."
"okay."
"and you can probably tell, but housekeepin' doesn't run regularly anymore," he continues, "so if you need fresh towels or soap or anything, you just gotta swing by the front desk and ring that little bell. i'll sort it out for ya."
"i'll manage."
"independent type, huh?" he chuckles softly, and thenâ almost like he has a death wishâ he reaches out and places his clammy hand on your shoulder like you're just an old pal. "i like that about you, sugar."
your body reacts before your brain does. your shoulder jerks back, pulling away from his touch, and you turn to him with a glare sharp enough to kill.
"don't touch me and don't call me sugar."
trevor blinks, caught off guard. his hand hangs limply in the air for a moment before it dramatically drops back to his side. he scoffs, hand returning to his hips.
"alright, alrightâ" he says, lips pursing like you've personally offended him. "no need to get snappy with me."
you don't reply. you just turn and walk away.
trevor stalls for a second, hands on his hips like he's deciding whether he should follow you or just let you go. the clanking from earlier has stopped, but you barely notice it through the ringing in your ears and the crunch of gravel underneath your shoes.
"we also got laundry service if you wanna change outta those rags." trevor calls from behind you, hand cupped around his mouth to make himself louder. "maybe get a new shirt onâ it doesn't do much for your figure!"
you ignore the jab, keeping your eyes straight ahead as you reach your room. you reach into your pocket for your keys and pull them out, but your hands shake just enough for you to miss the lock on the first try, the key scraping uselessly against the painted wood. you manage to slip the key in, but thenâ
"everything alright over there?" a low, calm voice calls out from the far end of the lot.
you pause halfway through turning the key. your shoulders tense before you can fully control it, your breath catching just slightly as the words sink in. you've never heard his voice, but there's only three people here and it's not hard to guess who it belongs to. you glance over your shoulder, half expecting him to be speaking to you, only to realise that his eyes aren't on you at all; they're on trevor.
the trucker has gone still beside the hood of his truck. the rag that once rested on his knee is now thrown over his shoulder and his hands rest on his hips as he takes in the scene in front of him. his posture is calm, almost casual as he glares at trevor like he knows exactly what he's looking at.
"all is good, sir." trevor says quickly, with a thin smile and a weak thumbs up, "jus' helpin' a guest get settled."
the trucker doesn't look away. "doesn't sound like it."
the words aren't loud or aggressive. they're calm in the same way that his posture is calm, and somehow that makes them carry more weight than if he'd raised his voice at all.
trevor shifts in his spot. its subtle and barely noticeable, but you see it anywayâ in the way his shoulders drops, in the way his cheeks dimple into an awkward smile, in the way his hands flap around like he's searching for the words.
"everything's fine." he insists with a forced smile. he turns to you and gestures to you like you're supposed to back him up. "isn't that right, lil miss?"
but you don't reply. you twist the key and shoulder the door open, stepping into the room and shutting it behind you. you lean against the door for a second just enough to catch your breath before throwing the fanta bottle onto the bed.
through the thin curtains, the motel parking lot stretches out like a stage. the trucker and trevor are standing in what looks like a stand-off, their bodies still and eyes locked. there's a few words exchanged, but you can barely hear what's being said before trevor flaps his hand once and turns to walk away.
you watch as the trucker shakes his head, and thenâ just slightlyâ he tilts his head, and you swear he's looking right at you. your chest tightens and you press yourself a little closer to the wall beside you.
until long, the stranger goes back to working, bending back over the hood of his semi, the metallic clanking noise breaking the tension, and for the first time since you arrived here, you dont feel like you're the first person to realise something is off about this place.
you spend the next three days doing all that you can to bunker down in your motel room and avoid any and all interaction with trevor.
you keep the curtains drawn. you reuse the same towel over and over again just so you don't have to face him. you time your trips to the vending machine with the noises outside of your door. you listen for footsteps, for whistling, for anything that signals his presence before you even think of placing your hand on the door handle.
although it helps, you find that the isolation keeps your mind running rampant with no distraction from it. everything you'd once pushed down floods to the forefront of your mind until they feel like they're echoingâ the reason why you'd run from home, the reason why you'd chosen to ditch the travellers, the reason why you're even here at all. its an endless cycle of staring at the roof and spiralling into thoughts that you can't escape from.
and by the third day, your hunger overpowers your caution. the vending machine had stopped offering anything desirable and your stomach has been gnawing at itself for hours by now. later that day just as the sun had set, you find yourself sneaking off to the motel kitchen with the hunger of a man starved, and just like the rest of the motel, you find that it's anything but special.
the fluorescent lights above poorly illuminated the room. the linoleum floor is cracked and sticky with every hesitant step you take. the contact paper on the cupboards is peeling, and they smell of dust and mildew. there's an odd mould stain on the roof in the corner of the kitchen that watches you as you step inside. the refrigerator hums in the corner and the counters are clean apart from a thin layer of dust andâ trevor was rightâ there was a microwave and a coffee pot and a working sink, but theyre so outdated that you aren't even sure whether they function properly.
the first thing you do is inspect the kettle. it's dusty and it's text a little faded, but otherwise useful. you brush the thick layer of dust from the metal and bring it over to the sink, humming softly to yourself as it fills with water. the stove flicks onâ surprisinglyâ with little hesitation, and you waste no time in placing the appliance onto the flames.
you wander towards the kitchen cabinets in hopes of finding something edible. the last proper meal you had was a week ago, and even then, it wasn't much more than something to keep you upright.
most of the shelves are empty or packed with things that have long outlived their usefulnessâ dusty imploded bean cans, jars of preserves that weren't preserved well, and cardboard boxes full of cereal that were certainly stale by now. your stomach growls anyways as you rifle through the mess, your hand landing on a cup of instant ramen, the kettle whistling as you do so.
the ramen container is slightly dusty and the use-by date had passed a handful of years ago, but it sat like treasure in the palm of your hand. desperate times count for desperate measures, sure, but you really did not want to eat red beans smothered in crystallised strawberry jam anytime soon.
you peel open the foil of the ramen container, empty the sachets, pull the kettle from the stove, and begin filling the container with the boiling water. the faint smell of sauce and dried vegetables mixes with steam, and for a moment, the kitchen feels like its yours; a small refuge in a motel that otherwise reeks of tired paint and decay.
but then the door squeaks open behind you and you freeze, hand hovering over your food as you pray in your mind that it isn't trevor. you tilt your head just enough to glance over your shoulder, and the small breath of relief that leaves you is almost instant.
it's the trucker.
he steps inside the room with the same quiet confidence he's been holding onto ever since he pulled into the lot. he holds a plastic container in one hand and a set of plastic utensils in the other, and for a moment, he takes the time to glance at you. he doesn't say hello or really acknowledge you in any way; he simply moves towards the microwave on the other side of the kitchen like this is his own home and opens the door, sliding in his food, pressing a few buttons, and then leaning back against the counter as he waits, his arms crossing loosely over his chest.
neither of you speak, but you're sure you're both aware of each other. it's a constant battle against your brain to try not to stare at him and watch his every move, not because he's threatening, but because he's unfamiliarâ unlike trevor, he's a presence you haven't learnt how to place just yet.
and as you continue trying to make your old ramen soak up the broth, you hear his boots press against the old linoleum as he heads towards the tableâ the only table in the roomâ and place his keys and his utensils onto the surface with a soft clink like he hasn't even considered whether or not you might have wanted it. its a small table with only two chairs, but he takes up the space in a way that makes it feel like there's only room for one.
so you stay where you are, hip pressing into the kitchen counter as you stab at your noodles with a fork, watching as the steam lazily curls from the cup, and pretending you're not waiting for him to move.
but he doesn't.
the microwave beeps three times, and the trucker steps forwards and pulls at the handle. the smell of plastic and artificial food spills into the kitchen, and he wastes no time in tearing the plastic seal off and tossing it haphazardly into the trash before setting it down onto the table, pulling a chair out, and sitting down to indulge.
he eats in silence like it's all he knows. his eyes are on his food and his plastic fork scratches at the plastic container, his shoulders loose and his jaw working as he makes quick work of the microwaved slop.
eventually, you turnâ just a little, just enough to check whether he's still there. you try not to watch him, but you fail, and thats when your eyes meet his.
he's already looking at you. not in a sharp way, or in a way that feels judgemental, but more like he's observing you. his gaze almost feels the same way as your first night when his semi truck pulled into the motel parking lot and the high beams blinded you, and in a funny way, you almost feel like a deer in headlights.
his gaze flicks from you to the empty chair across from him, then back at you. there's a small shift in his composureâ the pause of his jaw as he scavenges for food in his teeth, the scoot of his jean-clad butt in the squeaky metal chair, the cock of his head as he lets out the softest sigh you've ever heardâ and then he moves.
he reaches out with his foot and nudges the other chair out by its leg. it scratches against the floor as he pushes it towards you, creating a space where there hadn't been one before. he lifts his chin in a gentle gesture towards it, lip jutting out just slightly.
"i don't bite." he simply says.
you hesitate. your fingers tighten just slightly against the warmth of the cup, your brain running through all the reasons why you shouldn'tâ all of the ways this could end horribly for youâ before you suck in a soft breath, push off of the counter, and move towards the table anyways.
you take the seat across from him. the chair legs shift slightly as you sit, and the sound feels louder than it actually is in the silence of the kitchen. you dont bother tucking in your chair, afraid of invading his space, and the trucker goes back to eating like nothing has changed, his fork stabbing at various vegetables and chunks of artificial meats, eyes on the container in front of him; but not entirely.
every so often, his gaze finds you. he doesn't stare long enough to make it obvious, but his eyes find you frequently enough for you to wonder what he's looking for, and you have to pretend you don't feel it. you believe it's because he's checking on you, like maybe he's trying to figure out what someone like you is doing out in the middle of nowhere.
you shift under the weight of it, not uncomfortable, just hyperaware of it allâ of yourself, of him, of the little space there is between you, and of the silence that surrounds you. it's something you didn't necessarily prepare for when you left your room a little while ago.
you continue swirling the noodle around the cup, putting off actually eating them. you dont know whether you should just get it over with and possibly be sick for the rest of the week or if you should just pour it down the sink and live off of stale vending machine chips.
eventually, the table creaks under his arms as the trucker sits back up and sets his fork against the side of his container. you pause at the sudden shift, eyes drifting slowly up to find that he's already looking at youâ not in a way that feels invasive or creepy, but thoughtful, like he's trying to piece together the puzzle that is you instead of asking for answers out loud.
"you been on the road long?" he asks like its not even a question he really needs the answer to, but something to fill the silence.
there's a small raise of your brow as you huff out a small breath, the corner of your mouth twitching like you almost find his question funny. you stop stirring your noodles and let the fork sink into the cup.
"not long," you say, head tilting just slightly. "but it feels like it's been forever."
he hums quietly at that like he knows exactly what you're talking about, and you're sure he does. you can see it up close in the lines of his face, in the soft greying of his hair and his stubble, in the freckles surely painted on by the sun through his truck windows, and in the tiredness that sits heavy in his eyes as he nods.
"yeah," he says after a long moment. "roads'll do that to you."
he doesnt say anything after that. he simply shovels food into his mouth, quick but still neat like he hasn't lost interest in eating. a part of you thinks he's only invited you to sit for the company, and you appreciate the gesture for what it is, because you believe you needed it too.
your eyes flick to the dirty curtain-covered window without really meaning toâ to where his truck sits out in the parking lot, the hood up more often than not. it sits in the dark, toolbox still on the ground beside it and a half-empty beer bottle laying on the ground next to that.
you decide to ask a question next; something to fill the silence that sits in between the two of you just like he did.Â
"is there something wrong with your truck?" you ask, trying to seem casual and actually landing somewhere close to it. "i heard you working on it all day."
there's a second where you think you might've crossed an invisible lineâ asked something too personal or maybe been a little too demanding in your question. his fork pauses over his food, jaw working as he swallows what remains in his mouth. there's a small pause as he follows your eyes out to his truck before he gives you a half shrug.
"somethin' like that." he sighs like the topic is something that stresses him out. "she runs, but not as good as she used to. somethin' in the hood exploded back in shamrock and i've been tryin' to keep her alive long enough to get where i'm goin'."
you blink. "where are you headed?"
he glances at you, just briefly, like he's deciding whether or not the question is worth answering. the corner of his mouth tugs like he's in on some inside joke you aren't aware of.
"california. america's very own golden state."
his words land heavy as they leave his mouth, and your brain moves before any other part of you does.
california. warm. bright. somewhere that isn't here or home. somewhere thats still so, so far.
three days. that's all you have. three days before the cash you have tucked in your duffel bag grows thin, before trevor gets bolder and meaner and before you inevitably have to leave. you can't stay here and you know that. you dont have a car or a plan. you dont even have a general direction, just a need to keep moving; and suddenly, sitting across from you, is a man who is already doing exactly that.
you hesitate.
you shouldn't ask. you know you shouldn't. this is how people get into troubleâ they trust sketchy strangers from dingy motels, follow their impulses, mistake a well-time coincidence as opportunity, and end up on the evening news as a missing person. it's something you know all too well and you're not going to leap into it headfirst.
you're smart and you know it. you'll come up with a plan and you'll stick to it. all you have to do is ration, stick to yourself, and try not to think about how three days is so much closer than you think.
so you keep your mouth shut and simply nod. your eyes fall back down to the neglected cup of ramen in your hands. it's gone lukewarm and a thin film has formed over the broth. the noodles finally suck up the liquid, but they swell into something soft and mushy and vaguely unappetising. you wouldnt even feed this to starving a stray animal.
the man's eyes briefly drop to the cup of ramen that sits in your hands. you stare at it like you dread even thinking about it, and he furrows his brows.
"you gonna eat that, or are you just gonna stare at it until it goes cold?"
"oh, it, uh... i was going to, but..." you grimace like watching the corn pieces swimming around in the soup has suddenly made you loose your appetite. "i'm not even sure if it's still edible."
"here," he motions gently for you to come closer, and you're confused for a moment before he points a finger vaguely at your mug of mediocre noodles. you slide it over and he wastes no time shovelling some of his food into yours. vegetables and meat sink into the soup. the gesture is sweet and you feel your stomach growl at the thought of having actual food for once.
he slides your cup back towards you, and you dare yourself to dip your fork back into the soup, stab at a floating piece of meat, and bring it to your mouth. you chew on it and swallow the bite, the warmth of it settling in your stomach like a small comfort.
"young girl like you has to eat food that hasn't been rottin' in a cabinet for god knows how long." he says, and then continues before you can respond, "trust me. i've been on the road long enough to know what malnutrition looks like."
you shovel another forkful of noodles into your mouth, ignoring the way the soup sloshes around in the cup and certainly sending droplets of the liquid into the air. you shake your head, half-amused and half-unnerved by how closely he seems to be watching you.
"thanks, but i'm not young." you manage between bites.
the low laugh that leaves his mouth catches you off guard.
"well, you definitely aren't old. skin's all plump and clean and you've still got all your teeth." he says, his voice low and almost teasing, eyes still glazing over you in a way that makes your stomach twist. "i've probably got tools in my truck older than you."
the way he says it makes all the noise you hear go silent. suddenly the soup that drips from your chin and the noodle hanging out of your mouth doesn't feel all that casual nor does it feel presentable. he's watching you like you're something he's never seen before, eyes steady and intent, and you're unsure what to do with all of the attention.
you hastily wipe at your mouth with the back of your hand, clear your throat, and sit up a little in your chair. maybe a small part of you wants to prove him wrongâ show him that you might be young but you're wise beyond your yearsâ and you try to do so by fixing your posture and looking at least somewhat put together even with a cup of reasonable ramen in your hands.
it doesn't go unnoticed. if anything, it seems to catch his attention more.
his gaze lingers, but not in the way that trevor's didâ not with hunger or entitlementâ but with intrigue, like he's catching the shift in you and filing it away in his head. there's something softer in his expression now, a faint crease in his brows that you've only noticed just now as if you've just become a little more intriguing than he had first assumed.
he gently nods, curiosity trickling into his face. he leans forwards just slightly, elbows digging into the table. "what's your name?"
and the question hits you off guard even though you know it was inevitable.
for a moment, you consider dodging his questionâ lying, deflecting, keeping yourself small and unremarkable like you've been doing for days. it's not that you don't want to tell him, it's just that answering feels like you're giving this stranger a piece of yourselfâ a story, something to hold onto, something from your past that you'd been running from this entire time, and the reason you're here.
you turn your head, eyes flicking to the large crack in the middle of the kitchen's linoleum floor that sits split in two. it feels safer to look at something broken that isn't you. he takes your silence as an answer.
"that's alright. you don't owe me anythin'." he says as he leans back in his chair like he's trying to ease the pressure off of you without making a show of it. "my name's james, but you can call me bucky."
hm. he doesnt look like a james, but he sure as hell looks like a bucky.
you turn back to him with a turned lip. "what's bucky short for?"
"full name's james buchanan barnes. it was just a nickname my pa gave me that stuck." he says easily. then, like he's joking, he adds, "now you've got my full name just incase i try to pull somethin' on ya."
you huff softly, "how do i know you aren't lying about your name? i could come up with about fifty fake names right now, and you wouldnt know any better. criminals lie all the time."
he quirks a brow as he pops open the top of his coke bottle, the bubbles popping at the surface as he lifts it to his lips with a sneaky smile. "guess you just gotta trust me then, sweetheart."
you hum softly in acknowledgment, the faintest smile on your lips, fork scrapping at the bottom of the ramen cup for scraps. the food settles warmly in your stomach, and it reminds you that you're tiredâ really tired.
you stand, the empty ramen cup in your hand, and awkwardly brush your other hand on your pants before vaguely gesturing to the cracked kitchen door.
"i think i'm gonna head back." you tell him like you're unsure of what you should do. you don't know if he even cares, but it feels like the respectful thing to do.
bucky inhales a breath, the sound low and sharp, and it feels like you might've just pulled him from his thoughts. he reaches up and runs a hand over his head before nodding once. "s'pose that's fair. princess needs her beauty sleep."
you hesitate for a second, but a small smile tugs at the corners of your mouth despite yourself. "night, bucky."
he offers you a smile of his own, head tilting just slightly with a soft nod. "sleep tight, sweetheart."
you turn and push the kitchen door open, slipping into the night. the door creaks shut behind you as you tread through the parking lot, unaware of how long bucky sits there after you're gone, or how long he stares at the empty seat across from him like you might come back.
you've never been a great judge of characterâ you have the scars and the pain to prove itâ but this man didn't seem bad, or at least didn't seem like an axe murderer, and unless you want to walk along the edge of route 66 with your thumb stuck out hoping that another car full of non-murderous travellers picks you up to take you to california, your only other bet is trying to hitch a ride with bucky.
and plus, there are worse ways to get to california than riding shotgun with a trucker who calls you princess and sweetheart.
the next morning doesn't come with any great revelation, and you wake with the same boring nothing. there's no obvious sign, no sudden clarity, no omnipresent voice from the universe telling you what to do. theres only the texas heat seeping through your room windows, pressing in in you like it wants you to stay and rot in your room.
the heat is so prevalent that at midday, you've already had about three showers in the dingy bathroom.
it doesnt help much. the water never gets quite cold, the shower head sprays water in every direction but yours, and the humidity clings to your skin before you even step out of the shower. the towel you'd received when you'd checked in had served you well, but now it smelt of dirty laundry and damp cloth, and no amount of air drying or shaking it out seems to fix that.
you stare at it for a second before deciding you're not desperate enough to use it again.
you get dressed into something that could battle the heat yet leave you covered enough when you inevitably have to face trevor and leave your room with your dirty towel tucked underneath your arm.
the lot shimmers in waves under the sun, radiating the kind of heat that you might think will melt the soles of your shoes.
unsurprisingly, bucky's already out there. his truck's hood is up as per usual, his tools scattered all around the front, and he's leaning over the engine with the focus of someone who's been at this for hours, and you could already tell by the metal-against-metal noises that he'd had been up before you'd even opened your eyes.
and the second you shut your door, the noise pulls him from his work.
his head turns to see the cause, and when he noticed it's you, he straightens like he's trying to get a better look at you. for a moment, the truck seems forgotten, his attention caught on the sight of you leaving your room with your little shorts and your towel tucked under your arm. he doesn't rush to get back to what he's doing, and his gaze lingers instead, taking you in like this is a rare pause he doesn't mind stretching out.
sweat darkens the front of his tank top, clinging to his body in a way that makes it clear that the heat is winning. the thin fabric is stretched across his chest, damp and heavy, tracing every muscle earned through years of labour rather than vanity. his jeans are stained with grease and grime from his work, and what little hair he has on his head sticks to his temple in small soft curls.
his tongue darts out and swipes across his bottom lip almost like he's forgotten you can see him, a reflex born from the heatâ or maybe something else entirely.
god, he looks good.
after a long moment, he straightens with a soft exhale, grips the hem, and pulls the tank over his head in an attempt to free himself of the wet fabric. the muscles in his arms flex with every move he makes, glistening under the texan sun, and the light catches the sheen of sweat that forms over every inch of his body. the fabric finally slips free and gets tossed over the hood of the truck, leaving him bare to the heat.
you nearly walk straight into the curb. the toe cap of your shoe bumps against the concrete, jolting you from your wandering thoughts. you only barely manage to catch yourself, the towel sliding slightly from your arm, and bucky knows exactly what's happened.
he tilts his head just slightly, a small grin tugging at the corner of his mouth like he knows exactly what's he's doing. his eyes flick briefly to the curb you'd almost stumbled over, then back to you, a mix of amusement and some genuine concern flooding his face.
"you alright, princess?" he calls out, his voice low but carrying easily over the heat-laced lot, and you realise you've been staring like a madman.Â
"i'm fine." you awkwardly reply, and he hums.
you break eye contact and pick up the pace towards the front office. sweat prickles along your skin, and the warmth of the sun suddenly feels more invasive than it does comforting. you dont even know if youre sweating because of the heat or because of him.Â
you hadn't expected this when he'd sat in front of you in a baggy denim jacket last night in the kitchen. where had he been hiding all of... that? the broad shoulders? that lean muscle? the six pack? it had all been covered by fabric and shadow, and you almost want to drop to your knees and thank mother nature for deciding to work in perfect harmony to reveal bucky like this.
you skid to a stop in front of the front office door. the handle squeals as you push down on it and shoulder the door open, and a cold blast of air hits youâ blessed, if a little stale. it smells faintly of mold, the result of a leaky unit, and of vinegar potato chips.
trevor is there slouched in his chair like he hasn't moved since the first time you met him. his eyes flick up as you step inside, and with a lazy smile and lopsided glasses, he turns to face you like he's excited to see you.
"hey, you." he drawls with a hint of surprise in his voice. "thought you'd never come back 'round to see me."
"you said you handle the laundry and all that stuff?" you recount, your voice stiff and to the point. you place your folded towel onto the counter and slide it towards him, the action swift. "i'd like a new towel, please. maybe two."
trevor smiles, a yellow tooth poking out from his lips. "i do do the laundry. i can fix up a towel or two for you, gorgeous. can't have the little princess walking around here with a dirty towel now, can we?"
you don't reply, nor do you give him the pleasure of seeing you smile. the rhetorical question hangs in the air between you, practically gathering dust as it remained unanswered. the nickname doesnt roll off of his tongue nearly as good as it does when it comes from buckysâ
oh my god. stop thinking about that man.Â
trevor leans back in his chair with his shoulders raised. "c'mon, that was funny. you gotta admit that i'm the best thing about this dump."
"the best thing about this dump is the air conditioning." you quickly retort before crossing your arms against your chest. "how long is this gonna take?"
his grin falters just slightly before twisting into something sharper. "it'll take no time, but it'll cost ya a pretty penny."
something cold settles in your chest. "you said it was FREE."
"boss raised it to ten bucks per piece." trevor stays like it's perfectly reasonable. "but if you wanted to discuss another form of payment, you can always come back after dark and we can see how it goes from there."
your jaw clenches. its one thing to demand ten dollars to wash a singular piece of clothing, but it's another to continuously press down on you with the threat of a good time to see if you'll break.
"i'll figure something out." you grab your towel from the counter and turn towards the door. "thanks anyways."
the word thanks tastes bitter on your tongue, but you don't give him the satisfaction of seeing it. you push open the door, and just before it shuts, you can hear trevor shout outâ
"oh come on, sugar! you know you want it!"
the door slams behind you harder than you meant it to.
heat hits you all at once, thick and suffocating as it wraps around you like a punishment. you clutch the towel tighter in your hand as you stomp back out into the parking lot, your pulse ringing in your ears.
metal clanks somewhere to your left, and then stops. you dont look, but you can feel the way the air shifts; the weight of someone's attention.
you risk a glance, and quickly find that bucky's no longer bent over the hood of his truck. he's standing upright now, a hand on his hip and a rag in the other. his expression is unreadable, his lips parted just slightly, his eyes slow and assessing, and whatever he sees on your face makes his grip on his rag tighten.
"you okay?" he asks, breaking the silence like he's testing the ice. his voice is calm like it usually is, but there's something sharper that rests underneath it.
you hesitate. every instinct you've honed over the years tells you to just shrug it off, that this is just another case of a man expecting something, to say its nothing and to keep moving. but you're done holding it in.
you huff, gesturing angrily at the front office where trevor is still sitting like a king. "asshole wanted ten bucks for a new towel. and he keepsâ" you pause, the words echoing in your mind, "he keeps making these horrible passes at me and i justâ"
you stop yourself and bucky's expression changes almost immediately. its not dramatic, nor is it explosive; it's colder, like something you'd said had rubbed him the wrong way.
you look at him then. "it's fine. i'll figure it out."
he studies you for a moment longer as you stand there soaking up the heat. its silent as his eyes flick from your face to the towel and then back to your face. then he exhaled and reaches into his jean pocket.
"i've got a spare towel in my room that you can take. it's clean." he says as he digs for something before he pulls out a pair of keys with a cheap plastic keychain that you recognise as his room key.
you quickly shake your head, "you don't have toâ"
"i wasn't askin'." he tosses his room key to you and you catch it, the metal rattling in your palm. "you can take it."
your jaw tightens as you fidget with the keys. they feel heavy in your hand and still warm from his pocket. "i don't want to owe you anything."
the corner of bucky's mouth lifts just a fractionâ not quite a smile, but something softer. "good. wouldnt want you to." then quieter, like he can sense your hesitation and like he doesn't want anyone else to hear it, he adds, "it's just a towel."
you really do want to turn him down, but the heat presses in on all sides and you're sure that if you use your towel one more time, it'd leave you stickier than you'd entered the shower feeling. to top it off, bucky is looking at you like he expects nothing in return.
"...thanks, bucky." you finally say.
he nods once, easy and almost proud of you for accepting his help. "it's folded up on the tv console. you cant miss it."
your fingers curl around the key and you give bucky one last glance before you turn and head towards his room. the walk across feels longer than it should, every step you take heavy with the awareness of bucky's eyes on your back. sweat sticks to your skin and the sun is relentless overhead, but the heat isn't what's bothering youâ it's the fact that you're about to walk into the room of a stranger and cross a line you didnt even know you were standing on.
you stop in front of the door, slide the key into the lock, and twistâ but it doesn't open. you try again, a little harder this time, but there's still nothing. you glance over your shoulder towards bucky.
"oh, the door sticks." he yells from across the lot. he makes a stranger gesture with his shoulder, "gotta give it a shove."
you hesitate, then brace yourself before shouldering your way into the room. the door pops open with an awkward crack, swinging inward enough for you to slip inside.
the first thing you notice is how lived in it feels. its similar to yours, but it's warmer somehow. the curtains are half drawn, letting in a thin strip of sunlight that cuts across the bed and the worn carpet. the air smells faintly of engine oil and generic dollar store soapâ the grit hidden underneath the cleanâ and something distinctly him, like heat and metal and long hours on the road.
there's very little decoration, but what is there counts. a denim jacket is slung over the small desk chair in the corner and a pair of black jeans sit messily folded on the table, scuffed with red dirt like they've seen more miles than most people. a half empty water bottle sits on the rickety bedside table beside a folded up receipt and an open pocketknife, the blade well-used.
the bed isn't neat, the blankets thrown to the side without much care. an open duffel bag sits on the end of the bag, and you hate how nosy you feel when something in it catches your attention.
you take a few steps forwards until you're able to peek inside, hand brushing against the zipper of the duffel. there's not much; a wallet and folded clothes, a blend of worn and clean fabricsâ a flannel, torn blue jeans, crisp white socksâ but then something out of place catches your eye.
paper.
it's not loose. it's tucked carefully into a pocket on the inside of the bag. you tell yourself that you're only looking because it's there, and you reach in before you can even think, pulling it out with care. just a glanceâ that's all.
the edges are worn and it's creased down the middle like it's been folded and unfolded more times than it should've survived, evident by the thin piece of tape that's holding a corner of it together. the colour has faded into something dull, but the frozen memory printed onto the front is anything but.
two men stand in the centre of it, close in a way that feels more personal than anything you'd ever known. you recognise one of the men as buckyâ younger, happier, and clean shavenâ a bright smile on his face as he stares at the other man. the other man is broad shouldered, his features sharp underneath his stubble, and wearing a smile similar to bucky's, one so wide that it almost looks like world hasn't had the chance to take anything from them yet.
your thumb absentmindedly brushes against the photo where bucky's face is, the finger curling right down the curve of his jaw.
there's no writing on the back, nor is there an explanation. who is this mystery man, a friend? a boyfriend? either way, they look awfully close.
your chest tightens, red hot guilt flaring in your stomach with the awful realisation that this is something extremely personal to bucky and you've probably just crossed hundreds of lines. the open bag seems to stare at you, and for the first time since you stepped foot in the motel room, you've become acutely aware of how much of an invasion of privacy this is.
you look away from the photo like it might burn you, heart thudding as you fold it back up and shove it back into the pocket you found it in. you find the towel folded up on the tv console just as bucky had saidâ white, clean, and untouchedâ and you grab it quickly, beelining straight towards the door.
you shut the door behind you and lock it. you cross the lot, quicker this time and with your eyes fixed on bucky like he might see through you if you blink. he's still by the truck, arms deep in the engine system, but he stops what he's doing as soon as he hears your rushed feet heading towards him.
"you find it?" he asks as he steps off of the bumper.
you nod and hand him the key. "yeah. thanks again."
your fingers brush when he takes itâ just the briefest touch of his calloused fingers against your soft onesâ and he curls it into the palm of his hand, gaze flickering at the clean towel in your hand.
you turn to leave, a half smile on your lip. you're halfway through a step whenâ
"hey." bucky calls.
you pause and turn back around.
"you busy tonight?" he asks,
"unless you count watching old reruns all night and listening to the rats in the walls, not really." you try to joke, but the humour dies halfway in your throat when you realise it's your reality. "why?"
he shrugs like his suggestion is nothing big. "there's a decent diner about ten miles down the road. thought maybe we could get something in you that isn't shit from a vending machine."
for a split second, you almost say yes immediately. the idea of real food, of leaving this place even if its just for a little while, of just having someone normal to talk to, feels like a god-given grace. but instinct cuts in fast. the logical part of your mind tells you to not get comfortable.
comfortable is how you get stuck. comfortable is how you get hurt.
"yeah, i don't know about that." you gesture vaguely to your room, and then to your empty pocket. "running low on cash."
"don't worry bout it." bucky says almost immediately. "my treat. least i can do after you've kept me company these past few days."
you blink. "we met last night."
then, almost like you'd just told him a joke, a small laugh falls from his mouth, and god, something about it makes you weak in the knees. "maybe, but you sittin' in your room all day staring at me fixin my truck is still better company than listenin' to trevor watchin' cheap cable porn in his office all day."
oh. he noticed that?
you open your mouth but shut it again. there's no point in denying it, and the cheeky grin that sits plastered on bucky's face shows that you can't gaslight your way out of this one.
the texas heat presses in and the motel hums around you, and for once, the idea of staying in your room all night feels worse than the risk of saying yes. you lift your eyes back to him and sigh, the fight leaving your shoulders.
"okay." you say, more to yourself than anyone else, then you nod. "yeah, okay. dinner sounds... dinner sounds nice."
bucky's smile spreads across his face, slow and satisfied like he knew you would accept. "good. i'll knock around seven."
and he does.
the knock comes at 6:58pm, solid knuckles banging against the wood. the sound echoes through your room louder than it needs to, and it sets every nerve in you alight.
you sit up straighter in the edge of your bed, your heart giving a traitorous jump. for a second, you stare at the door like the sound might go away, but it doesn't. there's a soft scuff of boots against concrete on the other side, and then there's a quiet huff of breath, patient and unhurried.
"hey." bucky's voice comes through the door, low and careful, almost like he's giving you an out. "it's me."
you swallow. your hands are clammy and there's a strange heaviness that sits in the pit of your stomach. you can't remember the last time someone knocked on your door for you.
"yeahâ" you rub a hand over your face, clearing your throat as you push yourself to your feet. you're too aware of how your clothes fit and how you look. "uh, just... give me a second."
"i'm not goin' anywhere."
you smooth your hands over your shirt, eyes glazing over your reflection in the small hanging mirror, and then you look down at yourself. you're presentable enough. with one final breath, you cross the room and open the door.
the creak of the door catches bucky's attention. he's standing there with his hands shoved into his jean pockets, his boots scuffed and his hair a little wet like he's washed up since the last time you saw him. there's something pleasant about the way he smellsâ like sandalwood and leather and him, a welcome change from the stale mix of dusty carpet and mouldy insulation.
he looks good. he looks handsome.
"ready?" he asks, and you cant ignore the way his eyes travel down the length of your body like he's taking you in for the first time instead of the girl he's seen coming and going all week. "let's get some food in you."
it isn't scrutinising, but it's thorough enough for warmth to creep up your neck, to make you suddenly aware of where your hands are, how you're standing, how close he feels in the narrow doorway. you haven't felt this way sinceâ never mind.
your brows knit as you glance past him and towards the lot. "wait, are we taking your truck? i thought it was fucked up."
bucky's face relaxes as he turns over to glance over his shoulder, then back at you. "she's fucked, but she can still drive."
"i hope so." you murmur as you lock your door and slide the keys into your pocket. you hear bucky chuckle.
as you walk beside bucky, you manage to sneak a glance at him. he's relaxed, his shoulders loose and his steps casual. he carries himself with the confidence of a man who does this all the timeâ talking to strangers and helping them out, letting himself form connections that inevitably lead nowhereâ meanwhile your pulse is throbbing throughout your body, struggling to differentiate the difference between the first date jitters you feel and your fight or flight response kicking in.
you force yourself to suck in a deep breath. bucky is nice. he's done nothing but help you., and even if he weren't, you aren't helpless. you know how to run and you know how to fight. you've done it before and you'd do it again. the thought settles the restless anxiety in your chest, and that gives you enough clarity as you near the truck.
the first thing you realise is how big the truck is. from afar, it looks just like every other semi you've seen in your life. up close, it's rusted metal and worn paint, scratches and dents adorning the length of it, and it towers over you like a skyscraper.
bucky reaches up and over and pulls open the door. "might be a bit of a climb. you think you can get up there yourself?"
"i think i'll be fine." you quickly reply, already stepping forwards.
you reach up and grab a hold of the support handle and plant your foot on the step, and you immediately realise you have no idea what you're doing. something about the layout of the truck is strange in a way that makes your brain short circuit for a long moment. the step is higher than expect, the handle a little too far back, your arms criss crossed and your leg is suspended for a moment as you try to figure out where to go next.
its not graceful at all.
you drop to the ground in defeat. before you can try and embarrass yourself again, bucky's hands are there, firm and warm on your waist, steadying you without being rough.
"'s alright, princess," he murmurs. "i've gotcha."
he lifts you like you weigh nothing. your hands instinctively brace against his shoulders, solid beneath your palms, and you can feel the heat of his skin through the fabric of his shirt. for a second, all you can feel is his hands. you're painfully aware of how close his face is to your stomachâ to that areaâ and you feel a little breathless as he hoists you up and sets you down into the passenger seat like you belong there.
you look down at him with a tight lipped smile, "sorry."
"don't be." he says gently as he gives you a small pat on the side of your thigh, already stepping back with a small smile and his hand on the door. "truck's old. not exactly built for somethin' little like you."
you blink as he shuts the door for you and circles the truck before clicking open his own door and climbing in with ease. the cab feels smaller when he settles into his seat, filled with the low rumble of the starting engine and bucky's scent.
he glances over as you as he pulls his door shut. he glances over at you, eyes flicking downwards. "seatbelt." he reminds you, and you quickly buckle in. he nods once when it clicks, satisfied.
bucky clicks some switches and tugs at some levers, and the truck lurches forwards with a load groan. gravel crunches under the tires as bucky reverses the truck with ease, manoeuvring the huge vehicle out of the small lot. the headlights sweep across the cracked paint of the motel, illuminating the stretch of route 66 that it sits on.
it feels strangeâ being here on the road again, moving again after a stagnant periodâ like your body remembers the rhythm of the road even if your body hasn't quite caught up.
for a few miles, neither of you speaks. the radio hums softly between stations, bucky skipping until it lands on something that vaguely resembles dire straits before he finally leans back, one hand on the wheel and the other resting along the sill of the window, the glass cracked open just enough for wind to funnel into the cab.
you watch the world go by through the windshield. there's desert scrub, flickering neon motel lights, the occasional passing set of headlights that fly past before you even really notice them. it's peaceful in a way you hadn't really expected.
"so," bucky breaks the silence without turning to look at you, his voice just slightly louder than the hum of the radio and the growl of the truck. "california."
your head turns towards him before you can really control it. "california." you echo, the word sitting strange and heavy on your tongue despite it being the goal you'd been trying to reach for so long.
theres another small pause before bucky hums.
"what's so special about california? job? family?" he turns and glances at you for half a second, throat bobbing once before he turns back to the road. "or did you just throw a dart at a map and decide it was good enough?"
a small laugh slips from your mouth before you can stop itâ soft, surprised, one that almost catches you off guardâ but it fades into something you'd barely call a smile. you glance down at your shorts, fingers picking at the fabric, and although bucky doesn't look over, you get the feeling that he's listening in a lot closer now.
"i don't know." you admit. "i just needed to get the fuck out of chicago."
bucky nods once, slow and understanding. "that's fair. not always good to stay in one place forever."
he doesnt ask you to explain, nor does he pry. he simply adjusts his grip on the wheel and shifts in his seat before he adds, almost absentmindedly, "a lotta people end up on the road for that reason."
"hmm." you softly nod. then your head lulls to the side just slightly, enough that you can gesture to the back of the truck that rumbles behind you. "what about you? what've you got back there in the trailer?"
bucky glances over at you for just a second, his brows furrowed like you'd just recounted a complex math equation. "who taught you that?"
"taught me what?" you ask, "trailer?"
"yeah." bucky's lips curl into a soft smile, and you can see the small crinkle of his eyes in the rear view mirror. "usually pretty girls like you just refer to the backâ or they just call it the truck. you knew what you were talking about, and that's not usually something you just know unless you've picked it up from someone."
you ignore the pretty part of the sentence, and instead try to put on a teasing grin. "do you talk to a lot of pretty girls?"
and then, almost like he can sense the playfulness in your tone bucky turns his head just enough for you to catch the smirk that sits on his lips. "only the ones who can tell the different between a cab and a trailer."
your chest flutters in a way that unconsciously makes a smile grow on your face, warmth creeping up your neck until bucky finally turns away from you and back to the road. there's something in the curve of his jaw, in the blue of his eyes, in the quiet confidence he drives, in the faint rush of his scent carried by the windâ it's confusing, but also exciting. you can't help the pull of curiosity or the way your mind lingers on the idea of him for longer than you should.
but something horrible tugs at your heart. it's something familiar, something you've know for so many years, something that's made its home in your body;Â guilt.
"my, uh..." you scratch the side of your neck, pausing just momentarily to pull your eyes away from the side of bucky's face. "my boyfriend built semis. he taught me all about the parts and the frames and stuff to try and get me into the business to help out butâ" a small, self conscious shrug follows. "not a lot of it stuck."
"boyfriend?" bucky asks. "and where's he?"
"far away, i hope." you say. there's a tightness in your chest, and you reach up to fidget with the necklace that hangs around your neck. "he's actually the reason why i left chicago."
you're looking out of your window now, but you can feel the burn of bucky's eyes on the back of your head as he turns to look at you for a moment.
"he an asshole?" he asks, half joking, but his tone is soft and patient like he already knows the answer.
"you could say that." you reply with a soft laugh, a little tight lipped and a little sad, but relieved that he isn't prying for more, and for the first time in days, it feels okay to leave it out in the open and mostly unspoken.
the road ahead stretches into flat darkness. the radio hums quietly. the truck rumbles as it rolls over rocks and asphalt. ahead, a bright pair of headlights glow bright. it's peaceful.
"garden gnomes."
your brows furrow. you turn your head towards bucky, who's eyes are set on the road. you're sure you'd misheard him. "what?"
he glances at you, then back at the road, his voice low like he's confessing a classified secret. "in the back. it's garden gnomes."
you blink, a bubble of a laugh slipping free before you can stop it. "you're hauling gnomes across the country? is that a joke?"
"sounds funny, but apparently those little bastards are worth more than both you and i and this truck." he says, dead serious, but there's a small twitch of a smile on his face. "rich people have nothin' better to spend their money on."
you snort again, laughter bubbling from your chest and breaking the heaviness that had settled there. bucky smiles at the soundâ small, satisfied, toothyâ like that was exactly the reaction he had hoped for. you press a hand against your mouth to try and suppress your laughter, but it barely works.
"heyâ they're gettin' a nicer trip than most people do." he half-heartedly adds with a grin. "they're drivin' with the best trucker in america. not everybody can say that."
"the best trucker in america and the most humble."
"don't start, missy." bucky warns you, but the amusement on his face gives him away. "you're apart of the lucky few who can call themselves a passenger of mine."
you scoff, "whatever you say, buck."
the nickname slips out before you can stop it, and for half a second, you wonder if you've crossed a line. but you watch how bucky's eyes linger on you and the way his knuckles flex against the wheel, turning white just ever so slightly as his grip tightens. there's a slight tick in his jaw before his tongue darts out and swipes across his bottom lip.
a neon light catches your eye. it's bright against the dark of the sky, the singular word DINER illuminated in bright pink and faint blues. it's a simple sign, but it gets the work done. a small building comes into view, small and unassuming yet warm and homey, like it's just waiting for people to stumble in for a feed.
"that must be it." bucky mutters as he squints through the windscreen. he pulls at a few things, and the truck rolls to a slow as you near the building.
"good." you murmur. "i'm starving."
bucky slows the truck, turning off of the highway steering wide and pulling the truck to the far end of the lot where the truck won't block anyone in (even though there's only three or four cars in the lot).
"she's too big to squeeze in there." he adds as he pulls the brakes and shuts the engine off. the rumbling stops, and suddenly it's quiet again. "hope you don't mind the walk."
"it's fine." you tell him as you unbuckle your seatbelt. you click open the door and push it open, almost falling out at the weight of it. you glance down to the step, and then towards the trucker. "uh, bucky... would you be able toâ"
before you can finish, bucky's door swings open, the cab groaning at the shift of weight. "i've got it." he says, voice calm but amused before he hopes out and shuts the door behind him.
you watch the top of his head as he circles the front of the truck, and he appears at your door. he reaches a hand out before you can even think about trying to hop down yourself.
"here." he says as you take his hand, the other arm extended just in case you slip.
you let him guide you down, one hand in his and the other on his shoulder. you hop down knowing that bucky would catch you if you fell without hesitation. the gravel crunches beneath your boots when you touch the ground and your hands slip from bucky's.
he takes the time to give you a small smile like it was nothing, and the two of you head towards the diner. the evening air carries the scent of grease and coffee and something faintly like him, and you're not sure if you're smelling him because he's so close or if its because
bucky steps ahead of you to push the door open for you, and the bell overhead dings and echos through the diner. the first thing you notice as you step inside is the clatter of dishes in the kitchen and the soft buzz of the coffee machine on the counter.
although clean and well-kept, the diner looks like it hasn't been updated in decades. the checkered vinyl floor is worn in some places from years of customers, the metal trim around the counter and the stools shine in the bright led light, and the red leather of the booths fray and tear at the corners. there are dozensâ if not hundredsâ of framed black and white photos on the wall of passing customers, food, and the employees, and next to those are various old school records hung haphazardly.
a few customers are scattered around the diner, all invested in their own world, and don't dream it's over by crowded house plays faintly from the jukebox in the corner, filling the space with music where otherwise would be ambient diner noise. a bell dings and your eyes dart to the kitchen where a chef passes the waitress a plate full of fries and a cheeseburger. the sight makes your stomach growl despite the vending machine snacks you'd had earlier that day.
bucky seems to catch onto your hunger and is quick to place a hand on your lower back and usher you towards an empty booth in the emptier half of the diner. the leather creaks as you both slide in, your hands instantly grabbing for the menu and flipping it open.
the first thing you look atâ almost instinctivelyâ are the prices.
"it's a bit expensive for a highway diner." you think out loud as you scan the menu, your thumbnail in between your teeth.
"get whatever you want." bucky says as he watches you. you catch him looking, and through your lashes, you watch his expression soften. "i don't like keeping a bunch of cash on me anyways."
you feel bad, but he's offering. you look down at the menu again, thumb playing with the frayed corner. after a minute, you ask, "so... what are you getting? the BLT looks good."
he shrugs lightly as he leans back against the booth. he gives you a small smile as he shakes his head. "i had somethin' back at the motel."
before you can reply, a waitress appears at the side of your booth. she's older, grey streaks in her brown hair and her eyes kimd but tired. her hair is pulled into a loose bun, and a red apron is tied around her waist. she reaches for her notepad and her pen, and then she smiles.
"evenin'." she greets. "what can i get for you folks?"
you sit up straight and smile, menu in hand. "hi. could i get one classic cheeseburger with fries? and two cokes, please."
the waitress nods and jots down your order on the notepad. you put the menu down thinking you're done, but then you look at bucky, and find that he's already looking at you. you blink at each other before an idea pops into your head.
"actually, sorry, could you make that two cheeseburgers?"
the look at bucky gives you makes you grin.
"of course, sweetheart. so two cheeseburgers with fries?" the waitress recounts, and you nod feeling a little victorious. "alright, it'll be out in no time."
"thank you." you smile.
the waitress leaves, and you lean back in the booth like you hadn't done anything. there's a moment of silence where you're smiling at bucky and he's staring back at you with a perplexed look.
"what was that?" bucky asks after a moment. his brows are raised, and the look on his face turns into amusement.
"what was what?" you reply, feigning innocence.
"that." he gestures vaguely to you. "theâ you know... the cheeseburger thing."
you lean forwards. "i'm not gonna sit here and eat a burger while you stare at me, bucky. if we're doing this, we're gonna eat fries and drink out cokes together."
bucky scoffs and shakes his head. "anyone ever told you you don't play fair?"
"once or twice." you grin.
and just like the waitress had said, your cheeseburgers were out in now time. she slides the plates in front of you with practised ease, and you dive in without hesitation.
the bun is soft, the cheese is melted just enough that is droops off of the patty, and the fries are the perfect amount of crispy. you take a bite, one that makes you sigh in relief, and you dont even bother to eat politely. you scarf down half of your burger before bucky's even touched his.
he shoves a fry into his mouth as he watches you chew. "should i be worried you're gonna steal mine too?"
you swallow. "if you dont eat it fast enough, then maybe."
he huffs a laugh through his nose and shakes his head before he finally leans forwards and takes a proper bite of his burger.
the two of you keep eating, but your eyes drift back to bucky every so often. there's something about him that you just can't look away fromâ the way he holds his burger, the way he chews, the way his eyes watch the other customers behind you, the way his shoulders relax now that he's finally eatingâ but then, uninvited, your mind slips back to the photo in his duffel bag.
the worn edges. the fading colour. the way bucky looked. the man beside him. everything about it pulls at something in you.
you finish your burger and slow down. you wipe at your mouth with a tissue, your stomach full as you lean back to digest. you watch him for a moment longer before you tilt your head just slightly, reaching for a fry as if to imitate cluelessness.
"what did you do before all of... this?" you start, aiming for casual but landing somewhere more questioning. "the hauling, i mean. the travelling and all that stuff. did you always do this, or was there... someone who got you into it?"
its subtleâ something in the way your words trail off, in the way your eyes search his for an answerâ and bucky clocks it immediately.
his jaw pauses mid-chew. his eyes flick between yours like he's replaying what you asked word-for-word. he swallows his food, and he squints just slightly.
"you snooped in my bag, didn't you?"
your shoulders tense. for a moment, you think about denying it or telling him that he's crazy, but you respect him too much to lie.
"i swear i didn't mean to. it was just... open, and i justâ" you blink, huffing out a small breath. "i'm sorry."
bucky doesn't say anything for a moment. he takes another bite of his burger and continues chewing on his food while you stress the fuck out. you sort of just stare at him as he places his burger back down and takes a breath.
"'s fine. not much in there for you to take anyways." he says as he leans back. he crosses his arms against his chest, eyes flicking towards you. "i'm guessing you wanna know who he is."
"only if you want to tell me." you tell him.
a beat passes. then bucky exhales through his nose, the corner of his mouth twitching like he's decided on something.
"alright. i'll tell you about samâ" his gaze sharpens just a bit, more intent now. "but you have to tell me more about your boyfriend."
the proposition sits in front of you heavier than you'd expected. your stomach twists, not with fear, but with the awareness that agreeing means opening a door you've been keeping shut.
but your curiosityâ or maybe your resilience, that stubborn part of you that refuses to let your past dictate every choice you makeâ overcomes your fear.
"okay." you nod. "fine."
bucky leans back in the booth, hands reaching out to rest on the table. his fingers drum slightly on the table, his eyes unfocused for a second like he's replaying a memory in his mind.
"the man in the photo... his name is sam." he begins. "we were... friends. real good friends. we had a truck together onceâ an old thing, nothin' fancy, but we'd spent hours tinkerin' with it, fixin' whatever broke. sometimes we'd race the damn thing down the road just for somethin' to do. felt like we could do anything' back then."
his lips twitch, not quite into a smile, but into something fleeting. you watch as it passes on his face, brief but visible.
"where's sam now?" you ask softly.
bucky exhales. "i don't know. one day, we got into an argument about... everything and nothing, really. it was stupid. and then we just... went in different directions." he speaks slow like he's trying to remember, or maybe he's trying not to feel. there's something underneath, like he's choosing to trust you even if it costs him a second of discomfort.
"do you ever think of going back? of ever talking to him again?"
"all the time. not a day passes where i wish i could just... call him up and tell him i'm sorry." bucky admits. "i've done a lot of things wrong in my life, but not fixin' that... not tryin' to make it right... it sticks with me."
he pauses, fingers stilling on the table. "no matter what i do or where i go, a part of me stays back thereâ with him."
its said plainly, but there's something in the way that his jaw works that shows he's already said a lot more than he usually allows himself to. the memory isn't old or something fleeting he thinks about every so often. the memory of sam is still very much alive in bucky, and he carries it with him mile after mile.
bucky reaches over and grabs his coke. he brings the straw to his lips, takes a long sip, and sets it down with a sigh. he crosses his arms again, and his eyes flick back to you, steady now.
"that's all i've got. your turn."
you nod once, then again, like the motion might knock you out of the daze you'd pulled yourself into. there's a small inhale through your nose,
"right. okay, umâ where do i start..." you think out loud, eyes focused on the condensation of your glass like it might give you an answer.
"i guess it started back in high school. i didnt have many friends or talked to anyone, so the moment a guy started paying attention to me, i guess i didn't know any better." you swallow, eyes unfocused now. "he was older. he knew how to talk, and he was confident, and i fell head over heels. it felt like it was the first time anyone had ever actually seen me."
"but then we moved in together, and it got bad. he hurt meâ a lot." the laugh that leaves your mouth is more uncomfortable than anything humorous. your finger traces the edge of your plate just to try to ground yourself. "he knew how to do it in a way that made sure i'd always somehow come running back to him."
your voice wobbles on the last word, and thats when bucky moves.
its not abrupt or enough to startle you, and you barely even look up. he just leans forwards, forearms resting on the table now, like he's making sure you know he's there and that you don't have to do this alone. his jaw tightens, not angry at you, but in anger at the man who left scars you dont name.
"i didnt realise that the attention started turning into control." "you admit softly. "or how easy it is to mistake the control for love when you don't know any better. i don't know. sometimes i wish i could just... shove it all into a box and throw it from a moving car... and then go to bed and sleep for once."
"but would you be able to rest?" bucky asks.
"no." you shake your head. "no, i don't think i would."
you can hear a small sigh slip from his mouth, and you almost feel pathetic. you hated being pitied, and this was prime pity territory.
but then bucky reaches forwards to hold your shaking hand, his grip warm and steady. his thumb presses against your knuckles, grounding, like he knows exactly how close you're coming to slipping.
a part of you still shivers at the vulnerability you displayâ at being seen like thisâ but the tired part, the honest part, of you doesn't mind the contact if bucky is the one pitying you.
"sweetheart, people like that... they're good at makin' it feel like you're the problem. like you're the one who keeps messin' up. but that doesn't mean you were weak or stupid. it means you were young and you were lonely, and someone cruel decided to take advantage of that." his thumb presses into your skin just slightly. "you got out."
you look up for the first time since you started talking. your waterline burns with unshed tears, and there's a quiver in your lip despite your best attempts to keep it steady.
"i did something bad, bucky. i did something really bad."
he doesn't interrupt. he doesnt tense nor does he pull away. his hands stay exactly where they are in yours, his thumb stilling. his eyes search yours, waiting, giving you the space to speak.
"i shot him."
the words hang heavy in the air between you, whispered but still deafening, and for a second you think the world might come crashing down on you. you prepare for bucky to rip his hands away from you, to spit in your face, and leave you here to rotâ but it never comes.
if anything, his grip on your hands tightens. bucky exhales through his nose. he's not shocked. he's not angry with you eitherâ he could never be angry at you. his jaw tightens, and you watch as his thoughts pass in his eyes. his thumb resumes the small circular motion on your knuckles like he's trying to calm you down.
"okay." he says quietly, like he's afraid he might shatter something more fragile than you, like anything louder that leaves him might break you. "okay. thats okay."
his hands never leave yours, but you watch his face change like he's distanced himself from you.
"did you mean to?" he asks gently, not prying nor accusing, just trying to understand what happened. and before you can spiral into whatever answer you're forming, he adds, still soft, "you don't gotta justify yourself to me. i just wanna know what you're feelin' right now."
you pull away from his touch. it almost feels like too much. you retreat into yourself, hands holding yourself just for another sense of safety, but even then, you dont feel safe in your own skin. your fingers press into your sides just to remember that you're there and that you exist outside of the memory and the guilt and the fear.
"i don't know. i was just scared, and he wasâ he was yelling, and it was so loud. and i shot him, and i wasâ god, i don't even know if he's alive." you spit out all at once. you turn to bucky, "please don't be scared of meâ"
"i'm not scared of you, princess."
bucky says it immediatelyâ no pause, no hesitationâ like there was never another option. his voice doesn't rise in anger or soften in pity, and he never once looks away from you.
"you were scared and you did what you needed to survive." he adds quietly. "nobody can blame you for that."
and for the first time since you've said it out loud, the word shot doesn't echo as violently in your mind as it once did. its still there, but it isn't screaming at you anymore.
you nod because its all you feel you can do. you wipe at your eyes with the back of your hand, embarrassed by the wetness, the vulnerability, the rawness you feel after admitting it for the first time.
"how about we get this packed up, and we'll head back." bucky suggests like he's offering you an out.
"yeah." you blink and nod, "okay."
and that's exactly what you do. you leave the diner in silence, and you drive back to the motel in the same silence. bucky helps you down from the truck, and he hands you the entire bag of food with the soft assurance that he 'isn't hungry', bidding you a good night at your room door.
in the shower, you stand under the running water until your skin prickles and your fingers prune, letting the water run over your body for what seems like hours, and when you get out of the shower, you lay in bed half under the covers staring at the ceiling and tracing the cracks and bumps for what feels like even longer.
your body is exhausted, but your mind won't follow. every time you blink, it's there again; the yelling, the smell of sweat and metal, how loud is was. god, it was so loud.
you see it in fragments. the way his face had changed, the split second wgere you realised this was going to happen whether you wanted it to or not, the recoil, the ringing in your ears, the sound of him collapsing, and the blood.
you suck in a breath and sharply turn your head to the side.
the alarm clock glows an ugly red. 3:04am. you reach over and click on the table lamp, and before you can overthink it, you swing your legs over the bed and pad over to the dresser where your duffel sits, half open and slumped against the wood.
you kneel in front of it and unzip it the rest of the way. you begin sifting through your belongings, your fingers clumsy but determined as you dig through scraps of your life that you've shoved together without much care.
and then your hand brushes against something heavy and metallic. you reach in and grab the gun by the barrel, pulling it out and watching as the metal glows under the lamp light before you pull it into your lap. a shotgun. it looks smaller there, stripped of context and fear, but your hands still remember the weight of it. your body itches like it's bracing for something you know has already happened.
you stare at it for a long timeâ the stupid, ugly thing that changed everything.
it'd been the thing you shoved into your boyfriends face when he'd threatened to keep you locked up in that cramped apartment of his. it'd been the reason he'd let you go, and the thing that saved your life; but simultaneously, it'd also been the thing that'd ruined you.
you decide to be rid of it.
one second you're sitting on the carpet with the shotgun on your lap, and the next, you're pulling on a spare hoodie and stepping out of your room, completely barefoot and all sense of rationality thrown out of the window. you dont even lock your room door.
you cross the small space between your room and bucky's. you knock once, twice, and then once more for good measure, knuckles stinging as soon as they make contact with the wood.
there's a pause. there's a shift. then the door opens.
the door creaks open, and from the dark, bucky emerges. the first thing that you notice is that he's shirtless, and the first thing he notices is that you're carrying a shotgun.
"what's wrong?" is the first thing he says. his voice is still gravely with sleep or something close to sleep, and you almost feel bad for dragging him into your drama again. he doesnt sound scared or in fear for his own life, but you can hear the concern laced in the question. "is thatâ"
"i want to get rid of it." your hands tighten around the barrel of the gun.
bucky doesn't ask why. he just nods once and steps back inside of his room to tug on a shirt and grab his keys.
the truck eats the miles quickly, the headlights carving a thin path through the dust and the scrub of the texas desert. the land opens up the further out you go, and the two of you drive until you can't see anything but the darkness. bucky pulls off of the road where the tires fade into the sand and kills the engine.
the land bucky helps you down onto is bare in a way that only places with nothing to witness can be. you cant see much further than a couple of feet ahead of you, and the silence is almost deafening. nobody is driving past on route 66 at this time, and nobody is there to watch you hide the weapon.
you hold the gun while bucky holds the shovel and a flashlight.
you dont know how far out you walk. the ground shifts under your bare feet, toes digging into the cooling sand and small stones, but you keep going until the heavy metal in your hands starts feeling heavier than your body can hold. when you glance over your shoulder, you can barely see the moonlight silhouette of the truck in the distance.
in front of you, bucky slows, his flashlight scanning the area out of habit, then he nods.
"here should be good." he says quietly, turning back to you just to check on you. "doubt anyone every comes out this far."
you don't reply. you simply nod, the action small, fingers curling tighter around the barrel and the handle. your throat feels thick, your words lodged there with nowhere to go, and maybe it's better that way. you dont know what you'd say even if you tried.
bucky holds the flashlight out for you to grab, and you take it and shine it at the ground. the light cuts a pale circle onto the sand, and your brows furrow when bucky presses the tip of the shovel into the ground, tasting the density.
"maybe i should do it." you interrupt, the words coming out thin, like you're testing out the question more than asking it.
he doesnt even look at you. "i've got it."
but you still feel so guilty. he doesnt even know your name and he here is on the border between new mexico and texas buring evidence for you.
"it's my gun, bucky." your grip tightens around the flashlight, the muzzle of the gun scratching against the ground. there's a quiet guilt and responsibility in it, a quiet belief that this is something you have to carry alone. "you don't have to do this for meâ"
bucky sighs as he finally pauses to look at you. he pulls his hands from the handle of the shovel and folds them on top of each other on the handle, his eyes soft and unyielding like he's already made up his mind and he's just waiting for you to catch up.
"you already asked me to bring you out here, sweetheart. i'm not lettin' you do this on your own anymore." bucky says, quieter but no less sure, and his eyes never leave your face. "you've done enough survivin' by yourself. let me do this for you."
you hesitate for half a second longer like you might still argue, but the fight drains out of you instead. the way he's looking at you feels like he's willingly shouldering the weight with youâ or maybe for you.
you nod once. "okay."
bucky gives you a short nod back like your compliance is all he needs before he turns to the shovel again. he drives the shovel down, the metal biting into the ground with a dull clang. he pulls the shovel from the ground before slamming it back down again, harder and stiffer this time like he knows exactly how much force to use and when.
you keep the flashlight trained on the growing divot, the beam wobbling just slightly whenever the shovel meets the ground. after a while of staring at bucky, you swallow, your voice low.
"do you think i could go to jail for this?" you ask him. the question had been running rampant in your mind ever since you'd left y the apartment in chicago.
bucky pauses mid-scoop for a second, head tilting upwards towards you. the raise of his brows and the small huffed out laugh he gives you makes the question you just ask feel stupidâ and in retrospect, it probably was.
"people go to jail for less serious shit than shooting your ex-boyfriend, princess." he says, not unkind, just honest. he turns back to the ground and stabs into the sand. "if that asshole's still alive and he gives the cops a story about how you left guns a-blazin', you could be set up for attempted murder."
"oh." you mutter as you fight the urge to roll your eyes. "thanks bucky. that really helps. super comforting."
he huffs quietly. "you asked."
you kick at a mound of sand like it had personally wronged you, and it's only then that you realise you're completely barefoot. you're not sure when that happened.
"wellâ" you pause, flashlight dipping just slightly, "yeah, i asked, but hearing it that way instead of a simple yes or no or maybe just freaks me out."
"sorry." bucky exhales through his nose. "not much point in worryin' about it now. thinkin' that far ahead'll eat at you, and it sounds like it already has been."
"whatever." you grumble. "i at least wanna get to california before i get thrown in a cell to rot."
bucky glances at you. "and you will."
bucky finished digging the hole with a finally jab of his shovel, sand piling up around it in a large mound. he steps back and nods towards it, giving the the go-ahead without saying it out loud. you lean down and place the gun inside, pushing it down as far as it can go, the metal scratching against the sand as it sinks inside. when you stand back up, you cross your arms over your chest.
the weapon you'd used to maim someone now looked so small. stripped of its power and its noise. just a cold, ugly thing sitting in a hole in the ground.
for a long while, the two of you just stare at the gun. there's not much to look at, but there's something about it that just feels different now. it doesn't look like fear or adrenaline anymore. it just looks out of place, almost wrong, like it never belonged in your hands in the first place.
bucky breaks the silence first, his question a little too casual for the context behind it. "was it a good shot at least?"
you turn your head just slightly to look at him, and he does the same. he watches you as you search for the answer, a soft sigh falling from your mouth.
"i got him right in the shoulder." you bluntly reply, your voice quiet even in the silence of the desert. "he was bleeding a lot, though. almost thought his arm was going to fall off."
bucky hums once, his face unreadable, then he steps forwards and starts pushing the gathered sand back into the hole. you watch as the ground swallows the gun, and inadvertently swallows up everything else you'd brought with youâ the dread, the panic, the buzzing tension you'd felt for so long.
but you feel a lot better now. of course you still have the topic of being homeless and being arrested on your mind, but at least you aren't carrying around the immediate weight of that cold metal in your hands. the gun is gone, and you can rest a little easier now.
you stand there for a moment longer as bucky finishes up, kicking the sand around so it looks a little less messed with. then, almost wordlessly, the two of you walk back to the truck.
he opens the truck door for you, helps you in, and then he circles around the front and gets in his seat. the engine growls as it comes to life and the headlights blink on like the sun on a bleak morning, and with a few pressed buttons and pulled levers, bucky is pulling the truck back onto the road and back towards the motel.
the road is steady underneath the wheels, and for the first time in a while, you feel a little lighter. neither of you really speak at first. the desert stretches onwards, and your eyes glance to the small analogue clock on the dashboardâ 4:17am.
and it's almost like bucky can sense the exhaustion that laces your bones. he glances at you, his own eyes tired although his mind is anything but. "you think you're gonna sleep much tonight?"
you shrug, staring out of the windscreen. "i'll try. there's still a lot on my mind."
your thoughts drift, unbidden and unrulyâ memories of your boyfriend, the way things had been once and how they are now, and the tension you felt in your body when you left homeâ but the thought of your him somehow brings you back to trucks, and the thought of trucks and sleep brings you back to the thought of the sleeper cab of a semi truck.
a little impulsively, you twist in your seat and pull at the curtain that sits behind you and you peek inside. the little bed sits neatly against the wall, the blankets neatly made and the singular pillow slightly askew at the head of the bed. it's nothing inherently interesting, but it's something that's always confused you.
bucky glances at you in the rear view mirror, "what are you lookin' for back there?"
"just looking at the bed. i've never seen one in real life." you casually reply, "is it comfy back there? mattress looks thin."
bucky half shrugs, his eyes ahead on the road. "it gets the job done, but its not as good as the real thing."
you pull the curtain back just a little further. it's hard to see in the dark, the shadows making it hard to see any object in real detail, but you can make out the pillows and the blankets, a small shelf with a basket full of miscellaneous itemsâ a couple of batteries, a bottle of painkillers, an empty water bottle, and a couple of magazines. you cant read the words, but even in the dark, you can make out the shape of a... is that a lady wearing a playboy bunny costume?
you turn back to bucky and find that he's already watching you through the rear view mirror like a hawk. his brows are slightly furrowed, his eyes dark and steady, but theres a small, sly tilt of his lips.
"are those... playboy magazines?" you almost laugh, glancing at bucky with your brows raised and a cheeky grin. you tease, "those get the job done too?"
theres a moment where bucky sucks on his teeth and glances at you over his shoulder, and you think you should've probably kept your mouth shutâ but then he smirks.
"like i saidâ" bucky lets the corners of his mouth curl, his voice low as he replies. "not as good as the real thing."
oh.
you blink. you blink again. you blink so much that you think you might actually start crying, or throw up, or do something equally humiliating. heat crawls up the length of your neck, settling in your cheeks. what the hell do you reply to that?
"right." you manage, pushing it out a little too quickly. you slide the curtain shut and turn back in your seat, tugging at your seatbelt to get it adjusted right. "yeah. thatâ that makes sense."
you clear your throat, forcing yourself to stare forwards at the dark stretch of highway instead of paying any attention to bucky. you can feel him glancing at the side of your face, lingering whenever you feel particularly flustered, and you can hear the soft chuckle he makes at your reaction that he doesn't even try to hide.
it settles somewhere low in your stomach, warm and aggravating and far too effective for how little he's actually doing.
god, that image is gonna be burnt in your mind forever.
the motel sign flickers back into view not long after, and the breath of relief that leaves you is almost instant. the neon lights buzz as bucky pulls into the parking lot, headlights beaming over the building before he kills the engine and opens the doors. you follow, and he circles the front and he helps you down from the truck just like he usually does, your hands on his shoulders while his wrap around your waist. it lasts for only a second, but it lingers on your skin all the same.
you walk side by side towards your rooms, the ground luke-warm under your feet and the air cooler now that the night has deepened. it's quiet now in the way most empty places areâ no noises or other people for miles, just the two of you sliding your keys into the locks and pushing open your doors.
and when you're about to step foot into your dark room, that's when bucky clears his throat. you pause, poking your head out of the doorframe.
"hey. i'm, uh..." he pauses, voice slower than usual. "i'm sorry about earlier. in the truck. i didnt mean to make things weird."
you blink before the conversation floods your mind. you take a step back out of the door and put on your best attempt of trying to act nonchalant before swallowing down the butterflies that come with the memory.
"there's nothing to be sorry about. its a normal human function and we're both adults." you reply with a casual smile, but you're not sure if you're actually convincing anyone. "right?"
bucky doesn't answer right away. he just sort of looks at you like he's thinking about something that he hasn't decided how to say yet, his jaw clenching once as if he decides against saying anything at all.
"right." he watches you for a second longer, unreadable eyes falling to the dip of your neck, his gaze tracing your collarbone before he looks up again. he gives you a small nod, "get some sleep, okay?"
"i'll try. thanks again for tonight. i really do appreciate it." you pause with a small, faint smile, then quieter, you add, "goodnight, bucky."
"goodnight, princess." bucky replies, his voice soft and steady, carrying enough warmth to make your chest tighten.
and then you're both retreating into your own rooms, doors closing and keys clicking, the thin motel walls swallowing whatever else might've been said.
you don't bother turning on the lights. you pad towards the bed, feet brushing against the carpet to get rid of the sand that sticks to your toes, drop keys onto the tiny table and crawl into bed like sleep might take pity on you if you lie down fast enough.
minutes pass. you glance at the clock. 4:56am. its only been thirty minutes, but it feels like you've been in bed for hours. you lie there on your back half under the covers, your eyes tracing the cracks and divots in the ceiling like they might lead somewhere else, trying to will your brain to shut up, but it doesn't.
the magazines. the sleeper. the idea of bucky
you had meant what you said earlier about how it is a normal human function and that you're both adults and can joke about this sort of stuff all the time and it shouldn't matter, but the mere thought of bucky getting himself off makes you feel like a pervert.
you roll onto your side with a frustrated huff, pulling the blankets tighter over your body as if it might smother the thoughts that plague you, but you have no such luck.
not as good as the real thing.
your brain is cruel enough to supply you images you definitely don't wantâ bucky alone in the sleeper cab in low light and the magazine crinkling awkwardly in his hands. his pants pool just above his knees, his hand gliding down his stomach, brushing past his happy trail and the waistband of his underwear, the rough palm of his hand wrapping around the base of his cock, the slow looseness of his jaw as it falls open with every tentative strokeâ
oh god. you squeeze your eyes shut, heat blooming under your skin, mortified by how fast your own brain betrayed you. you try to push the thought away before it can fully form, like distance is something you can try to manufacture in your head, but it's difficult.
"jesus," you mutter into the empty room.
this is ridiculous. you're exhausted. you're emotionally wrecked. you're traumatised. you should be asleep, and thats all you want to do; so why do you feel so wet? it's pathetic, really, getting wet over the thought of a handsome stranger after he made one joke, but now you're never going to be able to sleep when the heat between your legs feels inescapable.
your handâ almost like it senses your desperationâ trails down the length of your stomach and slides past the band of your underwear, fingers dipping through your folds, and the ragged breath that leaves you is almost shameful.
you slide a finger into your weepy entrance, the rhythm you set is slow, the pads of your fingers brushing against your insides at the same pace you imagine bucky would touch you. you can't stop imagining it's his fingers instead of your own.
"bucky." you whine breathlessly into the air as you glide in another finger, the stretch almost delicious.
you pump in and out of your cunt until youre panting into the side of your pillow, until your hips move on their own, until you feel that familiar heat growing deep in your stomach.
then you catch it. cedarwood. musk. his scent. your shirt still smells like him from all those miles you spent sitting in his truck, and the small whimper that leaves your mouth at the smell brings you closer to the edge.
"fasterâ god, please." you beg, brows furrowing and mouth falling slack as you speed up the assault on your pussy.
you continue until you feel that tight ball of heat finally in your stomach snap. you barely have time to shove your face into your pillow before a borderline pornographic moan rips from your throat, breath hot into the cotton as you grind into your hand.
you pull your shirt over your nose, inhaling bucky's scent with every breath you take, and you find that sleep washes over you easier that night.
the morning light seeps into your room in thin and warm stripes through the curtains, landing across your legs and the crumbled up sheets. you wake slowlyâ not startled or filled with dread, just rising with a sense of awareness of things of you'd been too overwhelmed with to notice before.
your body feels lighter than it has in a while, rested in a way that almost surprises you. you're not sure if it's because you'd buried one of your biggest worries under four feet of sand or if it was because of your late night self-love session. either way, it was a win for you.
you sit up in the bed, sleep still fuzzy in your eyes, and you look over at the alarm clockâ 2:34pm. you'd slept for a while.
then you hear it. the low rumble of a truck outside. it's definitely bucky'sâ because who else would pull over into this fuckass motelâ but it sounds different, almost steadier, not rattling like it had been the last few times you'd heard it. it idles smoothly and confidently, like it finally wants to be running.
you kick the sheets off, pad across the room, shove your feet into your shoes with half-assed effort, and push the door open without bothering to check yourself in the mirror.
the afternoon suns shoots down at you from the sky, rays burning against your skin as you step outside, door closing behind you as you make yourself towards the scene.
bucky is at his usual spot near the hood, shoulders bend and back hunched over the engine, a dirty rag thrown over his shoulder and his grey tank dark in places, spotted with sweat and oil stains, clinging to his body in a way that makes it very hard for you not to notice how broad he is.
but you try to ignore those thoughts and the fact that you'd fucked yourself to the thought of him last night. you perk up, hands folding in front of you as you put on an award winning smile.
"morning." you greet, your voice still a little scratchy from sleep but still light.
bucky is quick to cock his head to the side, and when he sees it's you, he straightens, hands still leaning against the metal of the vehicle, a faint smile tugging at the corner of his mouth as the truck continues to purr under his palms.
"mornin'." he says back, low and easy like it's the easiest thing in the world. his eyes flick over you onceâ almost habitualâ before finally settling on your face. "you look happy."
you grin. "i feel happy. she sounds better than she has all week. did you figure out what was wrong?"
bucky groans as he leans back up, pulling at the rag on his shoulders and wiping off his hands, eyes focused on the newly fixed engine. "yup. figured it out about an hour or two ago. somethin' wrong with the fuel line, but i managed to fix it up. i think she'll be ready for the road tomorrow morning.
he gives the metal of the truck a light tap as you nod before his attention drifts back to you. this time, his eyes dont just flick over you once; they take their time, slow and analysing, like he's reading something you're trying not to show.
his gaze lingers at your face, on your posture, on the way you hold yourself in an unwittingly protective stance in response to his peering eyes. his mouth curls into a smirk, almost amused.
he nods towards you, "how'd you sleep?" he asks, voice even, but now there's something in the way he speaks that makes you wonder if he knows.
"it was fine." you meekly reply with a pathetic smile.
bucky hums under his breath in acknowledgment. his eyes stay on yours, unreadable in nature but not unkind. after a second, he exhaled and rolls his shoulders back like he's trying to release the tension that weaves through his muscles.
"hey, you still got the leftovers from the dinner?" he asks.
you blow out a huff of air through your mouth as you glance back towards your room. "i think so. i can heat it up if you're hungry."
"yeah." he says easily. "that's be great."
so that's exactly what you doâ after all, it's the least you could do for bucky after he'd practically sidelined his own mission just for you. you head back to your room, pull out the leftovers, head over to the kitchen.
you pop the lid off of the leftovers and slide it over to the microwave, but when you press the button, but there isn't a beep nor is there any numbers on display. you press it again, harder this time like it might flicker to life, but it doesn't. the microwave sits there dead and useless, smelling faintly of popcorn and disappointment.
"great." you murmur.
after a moment, you snap the lid back onto the container. there's only one other option, and you already dread itâ trevor.
you enter the office, the air conditioning hitting you square in the face the moment you open the door. you step forwards and ring the cheap desk bell on the counter, and the back room door opens by the second ding. trevor steps out, glasses askew, a few strands of his dirty blonde hair sticking up in strange directions, and a lit cigarette hanging from his mouth like it's part of his uniform.
you don't bother with pleasantries and are quick to get to the point. "the microwave in the kitchen is broken. is there any way you could fix it or maybe heat this up for me?"
trevor squints at you, unimpressed. "i'm not doin' no favours for you after the attitude you've been givin' me ever since you stepped foot onto the property."
"it's not for me." you tip your head towards the window. "it's for him."
both of you glance towards the parking lot. bucky's by the truck, still working, still sweating, still leaning over the hood in a way that makes his muscles look extra toned in the sun and his body look carved out of heat and hard work. you feel your heart thump against your ribs and trevor lets out a pathetic huff, but you're sure you and trevor both look away for different reasons.
he sucks on his teeth as he looks you up and down once because he holds his hand out and makes a gesture for you to hand it over. "i got one in the back. it'll be a minute."
you hand it over with a shit-eating grin. "i can wait."
trevor murmurs something under his breath as he disappears behind the back door. a few seconds later, the microwave kicks onâ a loud, rattling sound that you can hear even through the shut door.
you tap your fingers against the counter, eyes wandering around the offie. there's a popping noise that catches your attention, and you find yourself looking out of the window and watching bucky again.
he wipes his hands on his rag and tosses it back onto his shoulder, unaware of your eyes on him and focused enough that his tongue sticks out against his lower lip in concentration. there's something unusually calming about watching him work like this, like the world is simple under the hood of a truck.
"... authorities are still searching for the suspect responsible for the shooting of a man in central chicago last week.
your fingers curl at the edge of the counter? your eyes darting towards the small red radio in the corner of the room. you lean over and turn the volume knob until you can hear the words clearly over the microwave.
"witnesses describe her as..."
your blood runs cold.
the description never seems to end. your hair colour and texture, your eye colour, your skin colour, your height, your build, your type of clothing. everything is listed. it feels like everything about you is being peeled open and dissected live on air for millions to hear.
"... authorities urge anyone with information on the whereabouts of this individual to come forward..."
you turn to the back room door.
you're not sure if trevor can even hear the broadcast, but you hope that he set the timer for longer than a minute. the microwave whirs loudly behind the door, drowning out the radio, and you go silent as if the broadcaster could hear you if you spoke, like any sound you make would make them aware of where you are.
and then it ends. just like that, the radio clicks, replaced by cherry country music that spills back into the room as if nothing had ever happened. you don't realise how tight you'd been holding the counter until you hwar the beep of the microwave from behind the door, and trevor pushes it open with his foot soon after, the steaming container in his hands.
you swallow your fear as trevor slides the leftovers across the counter towards you, forcing your hands to uncurl from around the table.
"it's hotâ" he starts, but your hands wrap around the container anyways and you pull it from him.
you turn and shoulder the door open with little care.
"not like i wanted a thank you or anythin'." trevor shouts behind you as you practically shut the door on his face.
the heat seeps through the container and into your palms as you cross the lot towards bucky. he straightens when he sees you, lips already curling into a smile and his mouth parting like he's about to say something.
"what were you doin' in thâ"
you lean down and place the leftovers on the top of his toolbox, catching his wrist and pulling him to the side of the truck all without missing a single step. the shade from the truck's body swallows you both, and you almost bucky's quick to steady you, brows knitting as his free hand comes up almost instinctively to hold you by the upper arm.
his brows furrow at the worry in your face. "woah, what's goin' on?"
"we have to go. we have to leave today or tonight, okay? like right now." you rush out in a singular breath. it almost feels like everything from chicago had come back to bite you in the ass.
"heyâ slow down." he says, another arms reaching out to hold you steady by your shoulders. he lowers his head slightly, looking at you through his eye lashes. "what happened, sweetheart?"
your lip quivers, and bucky reaches up to cup your face in one of his hands. his thumb presses firmly into the skin on your cheekbone, and the touch is reassuring enough for you to speak.
"in the office, they were talking about what happenedâ what i did. they started listing all these things about me. my hair, my eyes, myâ just everything."
something ticks in bucky's jaw. he glances past you towards the office for half a second, his expression almost unreadable. his shoulders square like he's bracing himself for a hit he'd been expected but still hated taking.
the hand that cups your cheek falls back to your shoulder. "did they say anythin' about a location?" bucky asks, eyes boring into yours.
you shake your head. "no. it just said that there's a suspect, said my full name, and described exactly how i look." "
"and did he hear anythin'?" he asks again.
"no, he wasâ" you shake your head, glancing over your shoulder towards the office where you can see the top of trevor's head. "he was in the back room with the door closed and the microwave was way too loud."
bucky exhales long and slow, like he's trying to come up with both a plan and a promise at the same time. it doesnt help that you're watching him like he's the only thing keeping you afloat.
his hands fall from your shoulders and rest on his hips.
"alright," he says at last. "we're okay for now."
your chest tightens. "but buckyâ"
"hey." his voice softens, his eyes the calm of the storm in the hurricane of emotions you feel. "if they knew where you were, they wouldn't be broadcastin' it all over the radio. this place'd be locked down and you wouldn't be talkin' to me right now. we're fine."
you nod, hesitant, but you're sure he means it.
"and even if they were here, i wouldn't go done without a fight." he adds, trying to cheer you up. "i've had my fair share of encounters with the law."
the mental image is ridiculous enough to shake a bit of the nerves out of you. you let out a soft scoff, eyes rolling just slightly as some of the tension actually manages to bleed away.
"i'm serious, princess." bucky defends himself, brows raised in complete seriousness even though you can hear the tinge of dry humour in his tone. "i fought the cops before and i'll do it again if i have to. just say the word and i'm goin' in there, fists swingin'."
"you can't fight the cops, bucky." you tell him.
"fine. maybe not, but look... how about you justâ" he exhales through his nose, the humour escaping from his voice. he gestures vaguely to the toolbox you'd set the food down on. "sit down while i work, have somethin' to eat, and then we'll figure out a plan."
you nod, the last of the tension seeping out ouf you as you finally let yourself believe him. you both turn, bucky's hand falling to your back to direct you to the large toolbox, the metal still warm from the sun. you grab the food and sit down, appetite slow but present, while bucky turns back to the truck, his hands disappearing back into the engine.
you watch him while you eat. the way his shoulder flex, the occasional mutter of something irrelevant under his breath, the pause he takes every so often to think, his jaw set and his eyes focused. its ordinaryâ almost domesticâ and somehow that normalcy steadies you a lot more than any reassurance could.
every so often, bucky glances over just to make sure you're still there with him, and you always are.
as you continue to eat, you realise you'd practically consumed the entirety of the leftovers. all that's left is a quarter of a cheeseburger and a couple of fries, and you feel a little guilty for taking what was meant to be bucky's food.
"are you going to eat anything?" you ask.
bucky pokes his head out from the hood. "no, i'm good. have what you can and i'll have whatever's left over."
you furrow your brows at the slight smile he has sitting on his face, and then it slowly dawns on you. he never really wanted the foodâ not for himself, anyway. he just wanted to make sure you ate.
you glance down at what's left, then back up at him. without a word, you extend the container out to him, eyebrows lifting just enough to make your point.
bucky pauses. he looks at the food, then at you.
"bossy." he mutters, but there's no real malice in it.
he reaches out and takes what remains of the cheeseburger and takes a bite out of it like he hasn't eaten all day. then another, and another, and the burger is gone in seconds.
you can't help the smile the spreads across your face.
bucky wipes his mouth with the back of his hand, gives you a quick, almost sheepish look, because he clears his throat and goes back to fixing the fuel line like nothing had happened.
you stay right there, sunlight warm on your skin, the truck humming beside you, bucky working hard, and for now, you decide this is enough.
night comes gently.
the texas heat bleeds out of the day, replaced by silence and the occasional cricket chirp, the low buzz of the motel sign outside ringing softly in your ears as you shuffle around the belongings in your duffel bag, reorganising the mess and ensuring you have everything you left with.
you have less than a day left here. in the morning, you'd have to leave. you dont know how you'll get there, but you've mustered up enough courage to ask bucky if you could hitch a ride to california. after all, you'd basically spent the past three days spilling your deepest darkest secrets to him; you aren't just going to leave him now.
you're in your room in the partial darkness, body enveloped in the shadows while the far corner of the room is covered in light from the table lamp. the curtains stir slightly in the breeze of the rattling air conditioning, and its so quiet that you can almost hear the electricity running through the walls.
you pause mid-movement, fingers brushing against something small and cold at the bottom of your bag. you reach in and pull it out.
a locket.
it's small. easy to forget. you'd ripped it off the moment you'd gotten on a bus to st louis and thrown it into your bag hoping it'd get lost and you'd never see it again.
you turn the locket over in your palm, the snapped chain curling around your fingers as you inspect the scratched piece of jewellery. it doesn't open, at least not anymore. the hinge bent inwards and snapped the last time you'd forced it closed, and you're almost grateful for your harsh treatment of the metal. you dont even try to open it. you already know what's in there: a picture of you and your boyfriend, one where you're forcing a smile and he isn't bothering to even try to look happy.Â
for a moment, you just stand there. the weight of it heavy against your skin in the same way it'd been heavy around your neck when you still cared for it. then you cross the room and drop it into the trash. it makes a soft, dull thud at it hits the bottom, and you barely flinch as the engraved flowers stare back up at you.
it's gone now, and although a version of you from the past wouldve mourned the cheap locket, the version of you now feels better without it weighing you down.
then comes a knock at the door. it's soft but firm, and you know who it is before you even look over your shoulder. you wipe your hands out of habit as if the locket was filth and cross the room, the lock clicking and the handle squeaking as you open the door.
bucky is standing there. he looks cleaner than he did when the two of you said goodnight a few hours ago, and truth be told, you're not sure why he's here. he's wearing a clean white shirt and a pair of jeans he probably thinks are comfortable but are covered in splashes of paint and dark spots of dried enamel. the shitty LED light that glows overhead bathes him in a glow that almost makes him look angelic, and you almost have to do a double take.
"hey." he says.
you blink. "hey."
the two of you stand there for a moment. bucky rocks on his heels with his hands in his back pockets and your fingers drum against the back of your door, both of you waiting for the other to say something.
"uh," you clear your throat. "did you... need something?"
his brows raise just slightly like you'd pulled him out of a thought, then he shakes his head once, "no, i just... wanted to check in. make sure you were okay."
something soft blooms in your chest at his words, and a part of you is glad that you shot your boyfriend. that asshole wouldnt have bothered to check on you, and he certainly wouldn't have asked if you were okay. if anything, he would've been the reason you were feeling like complete shit.
"you canâ" you hesitate, door creaking open a little more as you step to the side, "you can come in. if you want. i could use the company."
"yeah." he nods. "okay."
you step back as he steps inside, his once confident footsteps falling just short of awkward as he steps into your room. you close the door behind him, the lock clicking shut, pushing the night out and sealing the two of you into the silence of your room.
bucky glances around the room, and the poor guy looks like he's never been in a woman's room before. his gaze falls on your shoes messily discarded by the door, then towards the bed and it's mess, and then it lands on your duffel bag. clothes are still thrown everywhere, and he looks like he might combust at the sight of so much... woman.
you smile softly as you walk back over to your bag, glancing over your shoulder just to glance at him. "you can sit down if you want to, bucky. you're not gonna get cooties or anything."
"...right." he mutters with another nod, and yet he hesitates anyways and decides to sit on the edge of your bed, his thigh just barely brushing against the side of your duffel bag, and he glances down at it before looking back at you. "reorganising?"
you huff out a small, tired breath as you go back to digging in your bag. "just trying to see what i brought. it all happened so fast that i forgot how fast i packed up my shit and left."
you pull out a hoodie and hold it up to the light. the logo of one of your favourite bands stares back at you, you haven't worn it in ages because your boyfriend insisted that you listen to 'girlier' bands, and you being naive and compliant, you listened. the small frown that grows on your face doesn't go unnoticed by bucky.
"you should put it on." he suggests, leaning back on the bed with his palms pressed firmly into the mattress.
you "i'm not even sure if it fitsâ"
"then you should see if it does. no harm in tryin'." he's quick to interrupt.
you blink at him, but he just cocks his head like he wants you to do just as he said. you hesitate, fingers tightening over the worn fabric, then you huff out a breath and tug it over your head.
its a little oversized, but it fits better than you expect it to. the sleeves fall just past your wrists and the hem brushes against your thighs, the fabric warm against your skin, finally yours again in a way it hasn't been in a long time.
you glance down at yourself, then at bucky. "happy?"
"very." he says, a grin pulling easy at his mouth as he tilts his head. he jokes, "suits you. i don't think you should ever take it off."
you roll your eyes at him, already reaching for the hem of the hoodie. "very funny, buck." you say dryly. "it's a million degrees outside. i'd die if i kept it on forever."
you grab the bottom of the hoodie, pulling it upwards to pull it off, the action slow and barely thought through. the cotton slides back over your stomach, the cool air brushing against your skin as it takes your shirt up with it for a couple of inches.
and bucky's eyes drop without meaning toâ for a long, gruelling secondâ just long enough for him to catch the tiniest sliver of black lace peeking out of the waistband of your shorts, the fabric digging into the plush of your hips.
it's practically nothingâ barely thereâ but it's enough.
"shit." he mutters under his breath, the word barely audible but still loud enough for you to catch it as you pull the hoodie over your head.
but just as quick as it had appeared, it vanishes as your shirt falls back down the length of your stomach. his eyes linger for a second longer before flicking back up to your face, hair messy from the hoodie.
"hmm?" you hum as you toss the hoodie somewhere on the bag, brow raised just slightly as you ask him about what he said. "did you say something?"
bucky blinks before he quickly shakes his head, tongue running over his teeth as an involuntary way to distract himself. he sits back up and readjusts himself, digging his elbows into his knees to try and hide the growing tent in his pants, but the faintest amount of tension in his posture has you furrowing your brows.
"nothin' important." he mutters, but there's a tightness in the way he says it. "it was, uh... nothin'."
you brush it off. you lean back into your bag, sifting through clothes and belongings before deciding that you've had enough. you lean over and grab a shirt and shove it back into the bag, not bothering to fold it.
bucky watches you for a second, completely silent. you can feel the weight of his eyes on you as you move, and you try your best to not pay him any attention. finally, he clears his throat.
"your... boyfriend," bucky starts, the title cold and a little accusatory on his tongue, but there's something in his tone that's more careful than it is angry. "you always talk about how he wasn't good to you. talks all big, but inside, he's really just an asshole with a tiny dick."
you sigh, just shy of a laugh. "sounds just like him."
your words come out flat, but there's a crack underneath them that gives you away. you hadn't meant to sound hurtâ you tried not toâ but the ache sneaks through anyways.
bucky. notices. of course he does. before you can turn back to your things, he reaches out and catches your wrist, his fingers closely gently around your skin, stopping you mid-motion.
"sit." he tells you.
and pathetically enough, you do exactly as he asks. his demands dont fall onto you in the same way your boyfriends did. bucky's are softer and rooted in certainty rather than control, and you're not sure if you could ever disobey him.
you sit on the edge of the bed beside him, your hand settling in your lap while bucky holds the other. your heart thuds against your ribs as your eyes flick between his, never quite brave enough to stay there for long enough. you exhale a small breath, eyes trailing down the curve of his throat, tracing over the bump of his adams apple, and settling on the hollow at the base of his neck where you can see the soft thump of his pulse beating underneath his skin.
bucky swallows when he notices. his thumb just barely shifts against your knuckles, like he's trying to ground himself more than you are.
but god, he smells so good. it's unfair how something so subtle can make your thoughts slow and your pulse speed up. you don't want to think about it, you just want more of it. you almost want to slip his shirt off of him and wear it so the scent lingers even when he moves away.
you want to sit a little closer. you want the bed to be smaller. you want any excuse just for him to touch you more, for him to stop holding onto your hand and touch you in all of the places you'd imagined him touching the night before.
bucky's head dips, eyes focused on where his hand begins to trail down to your fingers, the rough skin on his hands ghosting over your soft knuckles like he's memorising every single joint and every swirl embedded in your skin.
"did he ever pay attention to the little things?" he asks quietly. his thumb brushes gently over your ring finger, pressing into the skin where an expensive ring would sit if he had his way. "like how pretty your hands are. how careful you are with them."
your breath hitches as his hand trails back up your arm, the tips of his fingers climbing up until they're pressed firmly on the skin just under your shirt sleeve, warm and intrusive in all of the right ways.
"or how when you're nervous, there's a little hitch in your breath like you forget how to breathe." his thumb shifts, feeling it happen again as he presses into the plump skin. his eyes lift to yours then, searching your face for something you'd never say out loud. "he ever notice that?"
you whisper, "bucky, what are you talking aboutâ"
"your boyfriend never... took care of you, did he?" the question is innocent, but there's something deeper hidden in the words. this isn't idle curiosity, this is something that wants to claim.
"what do youâ" you swallow, your mouth suddenly thick with saliva that makes the words stick half out. "what do you mean?"
bucky doesn't answer immediately. his eyes drop back to where his hand is held against your arm, his other hand sliding slowly up the side of your thigh until he has a firm grip on you. his thumb traces tiny circles into the skin, and he can feel the slight quiver you try to hide so hard.
"never made you feel good? never made you cum?" he murmurs, lips parting just enough for his tongue to dart out and wet his lips. then a small smirk tugs at the corner of his mouth. "you probably got off better last night than he ever did for all those years."
and just as head observed, your breath hitches ahain, catching in your throat at his words. god, you thought you were quiet. fuck this stupid motel and fuck its stupid thin walls and fuck bucky. fuck him and his stupid deep voice and his stupidly big hands that make you shiver under his touch.
you blink. "you... heard that?"
he shifts in his spot, moving further onto the bed so he can face you completely. his hand moves from your arm and slides up the side of your neck. his hand cups your jaw, thumb digging into the dip of the bone as he tilts your head, eyes glazing over the soft skin and imagining how pretty it'd looked all bitten and bruised.
"the walls are thin. i heard everything, sweetheart." bucky admits, his voice so low and his lips so close to yours that arousal starts pooling low in your stomach. "your breathing when you touched yourself through your panties... that gasp when you finally dipped your fingers into your needy pussy. could practically hear every time you pumped yourself full of those pretty fingers."
the hand that rests on your thigh slides a little higher, just enough that his thumb digs into your inner thigh, dangerously close to where you need him the most.
"bucky." you almost whimper.
"heard you say my name too, just like that. almost burst through the door right then and there." he continues, his voice low and even, but you watch as his brows knit together softly as his thumb digs into your inner thigh. "but no. had to settle for my hand instead and imagine it was yours."
you lean into his hand, the warmth and the roughness of his skin something you'd been craving for far too long.
"tell me." he whispers, close enough that you can feel his breath against your lips. "tell me you want me to stop and i will."
you shake your head. "i don't want you to stopâ"
and he doesnt wait any longer. bucky leans in fast, almost crashing into you as he pushes you back onto the bed. his lips find yours, demanding and insistent, and your chest tightens as soon as you meet him halfway, caught off guard with how much heat he's radiating. there's no teasing or testing, just the urgency of him needing to close the space between the two of you.
his tongue parts your lips in a quick and desperate action, pressing against yours like all he wants to do is taste you.
his knee slips up until it presses against your clothed cunt, the denim of his jeans rubbing against the soft cotton of your shorts. you pant into his mouth and he swallows them with ease, pressing his leg harder against you as you press down onto him.
the hand that rests on your throat trails down until he has a firm grip around your neck, pressing gently into the skin. his other hand digs into your hip, dragging your hips against his thigh until you leave a spot of your own arousal on the fabric of your shorts. you grind down on his knee, trying to find friction where you need it the most. your hands rest on his sides, and you barely have time to break away for a breath before he's swallowing your words.Â
"buck." you manage to whine.
a low groan leaves his mouth, his hands leaving your hips despite the small hesitant 'no' that leaves your lips.
"i like when you call me that." he murmurs before his lips are back on yours, his voice thick with something heavy and almost inhumaneâ a need to be close, a need to be in you.
his hands trail away from your hip, rough fingertips dipping inside of your shirt and dragging along the soft skin of your stomach, reaching higher and higher until he hits the band of your bra. you reach down and pull the hem of your shirt up until it bunches just below your neck, putting your bra on full display for him.
bucky pulls away from the kiss, his lips all bitten and coated in saliva. almost impatiently, he slides a hand under your back and lifts you up, hand fumbling with the clasp of your bra before it clicks open with a satisfying pop. they spill out as bucky pulls the confining fabric away.
"fuck." he groans, "such pretty tits."
his head dips down before he can even really think, dragging his tongue across the flesh of your breast, lapping up any of the salty sweat that'd gathered in the valley of your chest, his other hand massaging what he can't abuse with his mouth. and when he takes one of your nipples into his mouth, the sound wet and loud in the quiet of your room, you arch into his touch. your hips rut against the air trying to find frictionâ any frictionâ but he moves his leg the moment he feels you press against him.
"no, pleaseâ"
he detaches from your nipple with a wet pop, a string of saliva connecting his lips to the bruised skin. he pushes himself up onto his knees and eagerly tugs his shirt off, throwing it onto the ground beside the bed. he glows in the dim light, catching the dips of his shoulders and his chest, highlighting all the soft scars and burns from his work, and all of the muscle that he'd gained over the years of hard work. it's nothing you haven't seen before, but you're not complaining either.
he tugs at the waistband of your shorts, sliding them off, and you lift your hips to give him easier access. he slides them down the length of your legs and off of the tip of your toes before he discards them just as he did with his shirt, and the site that greets him steals his breath.
you're wearing possibly the laciest panties he's ever seen. there's almost no opaque fabric, thin lace barely covering anything. its more of a thong than actual underwear. his thumb runs along the edge of your panties, tracing the lace like it's a physical manifestation of everything you need and want.
"did you wear these for me?" he asks.
he sounds so sweetâ so sureâ that he's the reason you're wearing them, and if you entire body wasn't already warm with desire, you're sure it was burning from embarrassment.
"no, they wereâ" you swallow, almost embarrassed as the truth slips out of your mouth. "they were my only clean pair."
he hums softly, a small smile playing at his face as he lets out the smallest amused huff. "cute."
you smile, and he leans down to press a warm kiss to your lips. you chase his mouth when he pulls away, but let out a soft gasp when he presses a kiss to your cheek, then another onto your jaw. he presses one onto your neck, kisses your collarbone, and continues downwards until his lips find the delicate lining of your panties.
he hooks a hand under your knee and gingerly places it into his shoulder, his hands wrapping around your waist so he can pull you closer to his face. you hold your breath, waiting for what you think is going to happen to happen. your boyfriend could never get this part right.
and then he does it. bucky presses a chaste kiss to the fabric of your panties, lips pressing into the fabric with a delicious pressure. his tongue darts out of his mouth as he licks a long, slow strip across your clothed pussy, soaking what little fabric there is covering you with his saliva and your slick.
you bite down on your hand and he groans at the taste, eyes flicking from your face to the soaked fabric. he reaches forwards, hooking a finger around it and tugging it to the side, and you instinctively clench at the knowledge that you're practically laid out for him and on full display. he's so close that you can feel his breath fanning over your cunt, and you don't think you'd trade this feeling for anything in the world.
he leans in and presses a kiss to your inner thigh before he licks a slow wet stripe from the bottom of your leaking pussy right to your clit.
you let out a moan, biting down on your finger until it burns, but he reaches up and pulls your hand from your mouth. he interlocks his fingers with yours and places your hands firmly against your hips.
"don't be shy, baby." he murmurs into your cunt, not bothering to come up to make sure you can hear it. "wanna hear every noise you make."
he leans in again and laps at what he can, his nose nudging against your swollen clit every time he tries to stick his tongue further into you. you're not sure if you're the one grinding down on his face or if he's doing it himself, but his tongue pokes through your entrance and you find yourself hooking your other leg over his shoulder and holding him there, and bucky gladly accepts his fate.
his tongue plunges in and out of you, pulling away ever so often to suck on the soft skin of your folds. the ball of heat in your stomach in your stomach is so close to snapping and bucky can tell. he lets go of your hand and slides two thick fingers inside of you, pushing until he brushes up against the spongy spot that makes you curl into his touch, and you can't help but slide your fingers through his hair and tugging at the salt and pepper strands.
he continues the rhythm until your legs are clamping around his head and he tastes the sweetness that leaks from your heat.
"fuckâ" you cry, your brain fuzzy and your body hot with arousal, "bucky, i'm gonnaâ"
but just as you're about to spill all over his face, he pulls away. you gasp, your legs instinctively try to tighten around his head to pull him closer, but bucky's stronger. he pries your legs open like it comes naturally to him and rises until he's on his knees.
and then he reaches for his belt buckle. the noise is startling, but it also brings a flurry of butterflies through you. the band of his underwear peeks from his jeans and you can't help but stare up at him as he pulls his belt from his jeans. his eyes bore into yours as he undoes his jeans and slides them down like he knows he's torturing you.
bucky's thumbs slide under the waistband of his underwear and he slides them down, his cock springing out and hits his stomach, the head all flushed and leaking and begging to stretch you open.
his eagerness is barely hidden in the way his hands are back on you, calloused palms running up your sides and cupping your breasts. the blunt tip of his cock presses against your entrance, sliding past your folds and resting there as he leans down for another messy kiss, but you stop him.
"wait, buckyâ" you whisper against his lips, hands flat against his chest. you push him away with little resistance. you can feel his breath against your face, and the worry on his face sends a pang of guilt through you.
"am i hurtin' you?" he murmurs with furrowed brows.
youre quick to shake your head. "no, i'm okay, i just... you still don't know my name. you still don't know my name and we're about toâ"
bucky's hand slides up from your breast and cups your cheek, his thumb running against your bottom lip. "you don't have to tell me it if you don't want to, princess."
your head shakes the slightest bit, "but if we're gonna do this, i want to tell you."
so you do. your name falls from your lips like a secret you're whispering to him in the dark, and bucky repeats it back to you with such reverence that you've never experienced before, and you find that you never want him to stop saying it.
you lean forwards and kiss him. the kiss is slower than the others you'd shared, and bucky groans into your mouth as he finally pushes into you. the stretch burns, but your hips push against him despite the pain because he feels just like safety.
his cock drags against your soft walls, every second feeling like pure heaven. every sound that slips from your lips is swallowed by bucky and echoed back into your mouth, a chorus of moans and heavy breathes that never seems to end.
he bottoms out with a low groan before he grinds against you like he can't get enough of how you feel, but before you can beg for him to start moving, he pulls out and rams back into you. a yelp jumps out of you, but you try to hold it back.
"be loud, sweetheart. i wanna hear those pretty moans."
"trevor's stillâ fuckâ trevor's still here."
a breathy scoff spills from bucky's mouth, and the shit eating grin that he wears on his face tells you he couldn't care less. "let him hear. the only time that lowlife's gonna get any action is when he hears how good i fuck you."
then bucky's thrusts get harder and sloppier. his chest presses against yours with a welcomed weight, dragging out all of the pathetic bodies you'd been trying to hold back, and your nails dig into the rough skin of his back to try and make them stop. you're embarrassed. your eyes fall shut in a daze, but a growl stops you.
"no, look at me." bucky huffs out, hands coming to grab you by the jaw and redirect your eyes. his thumb digs into your cheek. "look at me, princess. want you to see who's fuckin' you better than that pathetic boyfriend of yours ever could."
and god, you can't do anything but obey. you practically fall limp in his arms as he looks into your eyes and fucks you, every thrust bringing you closer and closer to where bucky wants you. he's brushing against your walls and pressing into spots that you didn't know where there and dragging noises out of you that you didn't know you could make. your name falls from bucky's mouth like he's a sinner begging for forgiveness, like he's been promised that your name is all he needs to be pure again.
all you feel is warm. bucky's skin as your nails carve your presence into his back, your insides as he fucks you better than your stupid boyfriend ever could, your heart as you pull yourself closer to him with every bit of your beingâ everything is so perfect.
the noise the fills the dingy motel room is wet and filthy, the stickiness between you building, and with a few final thrusts, you cum with a loud moan, and bucky follows soon after, his head tucked into your neck as he fucks his seed into you with a groan.
you're trembling, every small movement wringing out the aftershocks of your orgasm. bucky pulls his head out of your neck and places a chaste kiss to the soft skin below your ear.
"took me so good, baby. just perfect for me," he murmurs.
bucky pulls out of you with a soft breath. his thumb swipes at the liquid that leaks from your weeping cunt before he brings it to his mouth without a second thought, his lips closing around the digit with a soft hum. his thumb pops out of his mouth and he lays beside you, quick to make sure you're tucked into his side, your body pressed against his perfectly like you'd both been shaped from the same mould. your head falls to his chest, a soft tired sigh escaping you.
a while passes. there's no noise coming from the outside world anymoreâ no cars or trucks, no planes overheard, no game show playing on full volume coming from trevor's office. you're not sure how long it's been quite for, but you know for a fact that the only thing that could've been heard for miles was your moans.
the bedside table lamp buzzes. bucky's heart beats steadily in his chest. there's the faint call of a coyote, and then another, and then silence. it's the kind of quiet that only happens when you're sure everything will be already.
but of course, nothing stays perfect forever. doubt creeps into your mind like a parasite and feasts on the security you feel. bucky is a stranger and you are just another girl. who's to say he won't just abandon you at this motel and leave you for another sketchy trucker to pick up?
"bucky?" you whisper into the silence, unsure if he's awake or if he's simply staring off into space just as you are. your fingers run through the wispy hair on his chest as you try to anchor yourself, but the wave in your tone gives you away.
"hmm?" he hums, his head tilting just slightly towards you.
"can i ask you something?"
"of course, sweetheart."
"this is probably too much to ask, and you can say no if you want." you hesitate. "but can i come with you? to california, at least. and you don't have to say yes, because i know it's sort of your thing to travel alone and everything, butâ"
"i was just inside of you, sweetheart. i don't do that with just anybody. thought it was already a given that i'd be takin' you."
you shrug. "you might've changed your mind."
there's a soft silence until bucky shifts. his hand slides up the back of your next and his fingers glide through your hair. you prop your chin up until you're looking straight at him, eyes flicking between his as you await his answer.
"i'd take you around the world if you asked me to." he says.
your breath falls short, replaced by a smile that makes its way onto your face before you can stop it. "thank you, bucky."
"'course." bucky meets you with a similar smile. "now get some sleep. we've got a long drive ahead of us."
morning arrives faster than you'd like. the truck is packed, your duffel bag sitting snugly on the floor of the passenger seat, and the engine rumbles steadily outside in the texan sun. the familiar sputtering and mechanical sounds that had plagued it for days before was finally gone, and you couldn't wait to get the fuck out of this place.
"checking out." you announce as you place both yours and bucky's room keys onto the counter. the metal clatters against the counter, echoing in the silence of the office.
trevor looks up from the magazine in his lap and stops chewing on his piece of strawberry gum, eyebrows lifting from the keys to you, then towards bucky, who stands behind you with his arms crossed.
"hm." trevor sniffs. he eyes the two of you like you'd dropped a suspicious package right in front of him before he puts his magazine down and stands up. "didn't think you'd get your truck fixed. thought you two were never gonna leave."
"tempting." bucky replies dryly.
"right. you're all set. safe travels, sir." trevor grabs the keys from the counter and holds them in his hands for a second before he nods towards you. "you too, sugar."
the word spills from his mouth like he knows it'll be the last time he can piss you off before you disappear into the desert like all of the other visitors. you want to walk awayâ it's the responsible thing to doâ but you're already on the run, so what's the harm?
you pull your fist back and slam it directly into trevor's face. a loud crack fills the office as he yells, his hands flying to his fac to figure out what damage you'd done. red seeps through his bony fingers and curses spill from his mouth, the man too preoccupied with his broken nose to notice that you and bucky are already leaving.
the last thing you hear is "you fuckin' bitch! you'll pay forâ" before the office door shuts. his yelling is drowned out by the glass, and even if you could understand what he was yelling, you really couldn't care less.
bucky steps forwards with a smug smile. he reaches up and opens the truck door for you, a hand extended. "you feel better?"
"a little." you sigh, your hand in his as he helps you climb up the steps and hop into the passenger seat. "would've been better if i knocked out a few of his teeth."
"i could go back in there and bring back a few of 'em." bucky suggests with a grin, though you're not entirely convinced he's joking.
you shake your head, "nah, he can keep them. i'm sure i'm not the first person to hit him and i definitely won't be the last. they'll need something to aim for."
bucky sucks in a sharp breath with a playful shake of his head. "i think spending time with lil old me turned you into a monster."
you roll your eyes. "i shot my boyfriend, fled my homestate, and ran from the cops, bucky. i was a monster before you even pulled into this parking lot."
the passenger door shuts behind you. bucky circles the truck and hops into his seat. the truck rolls forward, tires squealing as the vehicle veers into the road and takes off, and for the first time in a while, you finally know where you're going. your final destination? california.
Summary - After five years with the Avengers, you go on a cabin trip wherey your relationship with Bucky Barnes quietly falls apart as it becomes clear he has feelings for Natasha. After a painful breakup and an emotional breakdown he helps you through, you leaves in the middle of the night, lying about work and walking away from both Bucky and the only family youâve got.
Warnings - heavy angst, breakup,emotional cheating (implied) unrequited feelings, love triangle (bucky/you/natasha) dynamic, panick attack, anxiety, crying, hurt/comfort, alcohol, late night argument, feelings of abandonment, heavy emotional themes, slow emotional deterioration of relationship, miscommunication, jealousy, emotional neglect (perceived), lying for emotional self-protection, found-family separation, Avengers team dynamic, sad ending vibes
Writers notes - no proof read or word count. Grab a snack this is long! đ«¶đ»
The cabin was quiet.
Too quiet.
Inside, you could hear faint laughter from the others â Sam arguing with Clint over cards, Thor booming loud enough to shake the walls. Natashaâs softer laugh followed a moment later.
You stared out into the forest from the porch chair, wrapped in one of Buckyâs old sweaters.
Your sweater now, technically.
But maybe not for much longer.
The door creaked behind you.
Heavy boots. Metal fingers brushing the frame.
Bucky.
You closed your eyes briefly before he even spoke.
A shaky breath left your lips. âTook you long enough.â
Silence.
Then the quiet sound of him sitting beside you.
The wood shifted under his weight.
For a while, neither of you spoke.
You could feel him looking at you, probably trying to figure out how to start. Bucky Barnes â former assassin, war hero, feared by half the world â completely terrified of one conversation.
Your chest ached.
Because you already knew.
Youâd known for months.
The way his eyes followed Natasha when she walked into a room. The softness in his voice whenever he said her name. The way she understood pieces of him no one else could touch.
Including you.
Especially you.
âI never wanted to hurt you,â he said finally, voice rough like gravel.
You gave a weak laugh that almost broke halfway through. âThatâs usually how these conversations start.â
His jaw tightened.
You turned toward him then, really looking at him.
God.
You loved him so much.
The cold had turned his nose pink, dark hair slightly spiked like he done lately keeping it out his eyes. He looked exhausted. Guilty. Heartbroken.
But not enough to stay.
And that hurt worst of all.
Your fingers twisted in the sleeves of the sweater. âIs it Nat?â
He looked down immediately.
That was answer enough.
Something inside you cracked quietly.
Not dramatic. Not loud.
Just⊠the final splintering of hope.
Tears blurred your vision, but you smiled anyway because you refused to make this harder for him.
âI was hoping youâd choose meâ you whispered.
Buckyâs face crumpled.
You reached up before he could speak, cupping his face gently in your hands. The cold from outside clung to his skin, but beneath it he was warm, familiar.
Home.
âIâm not gonna stand between you and Nat,â you said softly. âI wonât do that to either of you.â
âDonât,â he choked out. âPlease donât make this easier.â
A tear slipped down your cheek.
Then another.
You leaned forward and kissed him.
Softly at first.
One kiss.
Then another.
And another.
Like if you kissed him enough, maybe your heart would memorize him forever.
Bucky made a broken sound against your mouth, his hands gripping your wrists like he was afraid youâd disappear.
Your tears kept falling between kisses.
Salty.
Warm.
Endless.
âI love you,â you whispered against his lips.
His forehead dropped against yours immediately, eyes squeezed shut in pain.
âI love you too.â
And somehow that made it worse.
Because he meant it.
But not enough.
You brushed your thumb along his cheek, memorizing every line of him. âYou should go inside.â
He didnât move.
Neither of you did.
A cold wind drifted around the porch while the world inside the cabin kept going without you.
Finally, Bucky pressed one last trembling kiss to your forehead.
Then he stood.
You watched him hesitate at the door.
Watched him almost turn back.
But Natasha laughed again from somewhere inside, and his expression changed in that tiny, devastating way youâd noticed a hundred times before.
And that was it.
The answer.
He opened the door.
Warm golden light spilled across the porch for one brief moment before disappearing again as the door shut behind him.
Leaving you alone with the cold.
And the echo of goodbye.
â
The cabin was warm with noise.
Music hummed softly through the speakers while everyone crowded around the fire, half-drunk on cheap beer and wine and the unmistakable comfort of being together. Sam and Clint were arguing again, Thor was absolutely demolishing a bowl of popcorn, and Bruce looked one inconvenience away from going to bed.
Normal.
Everything felt horribly, painfully normal.
Which was why you kept smiling.
You sat cross-legged on the rug near Wanda, carefully avoiding looking toward the kitchen island where Bucky leaned with a beer bottle in his hand.
You could feel him anyway.
Like a bruise.
Like gravity.
Natasha stood beside him saying something low enough that no one else could hear. Bucky answered automatically, but his eyes flicked toward you for half a second.
Then away again.
Your stomach twisted.
You stood abruptly before the feeling could swallow you whole. âWanda?â
She looked up immediately. âYeah?â
You forced brightness into your voice. âCan I have a sleepover in your room tonight?â
That got everyoneâs attention.
Wanda blinked once â then grinned instantly. âOh, absolutely.â
A few people laughed.
âSleepover?â Sam repeated. âWhat are you, twelve?â
âYes,â you deadpanned. âAnd if you insult me again, Iâll steal your wings.â
âFair.â
Wanda scooted closer excitedly. âWait, wait â are we talking snacks? Movies? Gossip?â
You held up a small bag dramatically. âI brought face masks.â
Wanda gasped like youâd announced free money. âOh my god.â
âThought youâd appreciate that.â
âI love you,â she declared instantly.
The room chuckled softly.
Across the cabin, Bucky went very still.
You felt it before you saw it.
When you finally looked over, he was watching you over the rim of his beer bottle, blue eyes unreadable in the firelight.
There was something fragile in his expression.
Almost confused.
As if he didnât understand how you could still laugh after what happened on the porch.
Truth was, you didnât understand either.
You just knew if you stopped acting normal, youâd fall apart in front of everyone.
And you refused to give yourself that humiliation tonight.
Natasha said something to Bucky again, nudging his shoulder lightly.
His attention shifted to her automatically.
Your heart clenched so sharply you thought you might actually be sick.
So you turned away first.
âOkay,â Wanda announced, grabbing your arm dramatically. âGirlsâ night starts now. Nobody is allowed in my room unless they are hot and emotionally intelligent.â
âGuess that rules out all of us,â Clint called.
âEspecially you.â
You laughed softly, grateful for the distraction.
As Wanda dragged you toward the hallway, you risked one final glance behind you.
Bucky was still staring.
Beer loose in his hand.
Eyes heavy with regret.
And for one terrible second, it looked like he wanted to come after you.
But he didnât.
He just stood there while Wanda pulled you away, disappearing down the hallway with your forced smile and your stupid little bag of face masks.
The last thing you saw before turning the corner was Bucky tipping his head back and finishing the rest of his beer in one swallow.
â
Wandaâs room was quiet in a different way.
Not emptyânever empty with her. Sheâd set up a ridiculous amount of blankets like a fort, face masks lined up on the bedside table like you were preparing for battle instead of heartbreak.
She was halfway through a rant about Samâs âpersonality flawsâ when your phone lit up beside you.
One new message.
Your stomach tightened before you even looked.
Bucky B
You stared at his name for a second too long.
Then opened it.
The message was simple.
No emojis. No fluff. Just him.
Bucky: Are you coming back to the room tonight?
Your throat went dry.
Wanda kept talking, oblivious, peeling open a face mask packet like it was a sacred ritual.
You typed carefully. Too carefully. Like if you pressed the wrong key, everything would come spilling out.
You: no, gonna sleep beside Wanda tonight. leaving tomorrow, something came up at work.
The lie sat there on your screen for a moment after you sent it.
Heavy.
Final.
Delivered.
Three dots appeared almost immediately.
Typing.
Stopping.
Typing again.
Your grip tightened on the phone.
Wanda glanced over. âEverything okay?â
You nodded too fast. âYeah. Justâwork stuff.â
She didnât look convinced, but she didnât push. Instead, she held out a face mask like it was emotional support. âPut this on. It fixes literally everything.â
You almost laughed.
Almost.
Your phone buzzed again.
You didnât look right away.
You already knew what it would feel like.
â
The phone buzzed again.
Once.
Then again.
Wanda noticed this time, her eyes flicking toward your screen. âYou donât have to look at it if you donât want to.â
âI do,â you said automatically.
But you still didnât move.
Your thumb hovered over the screen like it weighed too much to lift.
Finally, you opened it.
Bucky: Thatâs a lie.
Your breath caught.
Simple. Direct. No anger in itâworse. Just certainty. Like he knew you too well to be fooled by something that small.
Another message came almost instantly.
Bucky: Can I come talk to you?
You stared at it.
Wanda shifted beside you, quieter now. âIs it him?â
You didnât answer right away.
Because if you did, you might say yes.
And if you said yes, you might undo everything you were trying so hard to hold together.
Your fingers tightened around the phone.
âNo,â you whispered finally, more to yourself than her.
You typed back before you could change your mind.
You: donât. itâs fine. just tired. goodnight bucky.
You hit send.
The room felt suddenly too small.
Wanda frowned. âThat didnât sound like âitâs fine.ââ
You gave a weak shrug and reached for one of the face masks, tearing it open just to have something to do with your hands. âIâm just tired.â
But your phone lit up again immediately.
This time, no hesitation.
Bucky: Please donât shut me out like this.
Your chest tightened so sharply it hurt.
Across the cabin, through walls and distance and everything youâd just tried to build between you, you could almost picture himâstanding in that same kitchen light, still holding onto whatever was left of you like it might slip through his fingers.
Wanda watched you carefully now. âHey⊠what happened?â
You pressed your lips together, staring at the message until the words blurred.
Because the truth was simple.
Nothing had ended cleanly.
Nothing ever did with him.
You swallowed hard and finally set the phone face-down on the bed like it might stop it from existing.
âI canât do this tonight,â you said quietly.
Wanda didnât push. She just shifted closer, bumping her shoulder gently against yours. âOkay. Then donât.â
The phone lit up again anyway.
And again.
And again.
But you didnât look.
You just lay back into the pile of blankets, staring at the ceiling while Wanda eventually turned off the lamp, leaving the room in soft darkness.
Somewhere in the cabin, Bucky Barnes was still awake.
Waiting.
And for the first time since the porch, you realized something terrifyingâ
You werenât the only one pretending it wasnât already over.
â
The knock came hard enough to make Wanda pause mid-breath.
Not a casual knock. Not Sam being an idiot knock.
A Bucky knock.
She stared at the door for a second, then at youâcurled up under the blankets, face turned into your hand, completely still. Youâd fallen asleep like that without even meaning to. Exhaustion, emotion, everything finally catching up and dragging you under.
Wanda sighed softly and got up.
She opened the door just enough at first.
Bucky stood there immediately.
Hair slightly messy, jaw tight, eyes too awake for someone who shouldâve been drinking and laughing with the others. He looked like he hadnât moved since your last text.
âI need to talk to her,â he said quietly.
Wanda didnât answer right away. She just looked at himâreally looked at himâthen stepped aside and opened the door wider.
âSheâs asleep,â she said simply.
Buckyâs gaze shifted past her instantly.
And froze.
You were right there.
Curled on your side like you always slept, hand tucked under your cheek, lashes resting against your skin. There was nothing dramatic about it. No performance. No hiding.
Just you.
Asleep.
His expression cracked in a way Wanda didnât miss.
âIs she okay?â he asked, voice lower now.
Wanda nodded. âSheâs tired.â
Before anything else could happen, the hallway erupted.
âWHEREâS THE SNACKSâOH MY GODââ
Sam came stumbling in first, laughing too loudly, followed closely by Steve who looked equally unsteady and equally convinced he was stealthy.
They didnât even register the tension in the room.
They saw the bed.
And you.
âOhhh,â Sam whispered like it was a sacred discovery. âThere she is.â
And then, with absolutely no sense of survival instinct, he climbed onto the bed and flopped down beside you like a dog finding a warm spot.
You jolted awake instantly.
âJesusââ you coughed, voice rough as the impact knocked the air out of you. âWhat theââ
Steve followed, immediately dropping onto the other side like it was a coordinated attack.
âGroup nap,â Steve declared seriously.
âI am going to kill both of you,â you muttered, still half-breathless.
Sam, completely unbothered, pulled the blanket over himself and draped an arm over your middle like he belonged there. âDonât be dramatic. You invited us emotionally.â
âI did notâget offââ
Your voice cracked slightly as you tried to sit up, still recovering from being basically steamrolled.
That was when the temperature in the room changed.
Bucky.
He didnât move at first.
Just stared.
Then he walked forward.
Slow. Controlled. Dangerous in a way that had nothing to do with fights and everything to do with restraint.
âGet the fuck out,â he said.
Steve blinked. âHuh?â
Sam barely lifted his head. âDude, sheâs fine.â
âI wasnât talking to her,â Bucky said sharply.
That got Sam to pause.
Wanda, very quietly, stepped back like she knew better than to interfere.
Buckyâs eyes didnât leave them. âGet off the bed.â
Steve finally noticed his tone. âWhoa, okayââ
âNow.â
It wasnât loud.
It didnât need to be.
Sam slowly lifted his arm off you like he suddenly remembered he had self-preservation instincts. Steve followed suit a second later, both of them climbing off the bed with exaggerated care.
Sam held his hands up. âWe were justââ
âI donât care,â Bucky cut in.
You sat up now fully, blinking sleep away, hair a mess, still slightly dazed.
âBucky,â you said quietly, like a warning and a question all at once.
He finally looked at you.
And whatever he saw thereâhalf-asleep, overwhelmed, realâmade something in his expression soften just a fraction.
But not enough to erase the tension still pulling tight between you both.
Steve and Sam backed toward the door.
âOkay, yeah, weâre gonna⊠go,â Steve muttered.
âGreat talk,â Sam added quickly.
Wanda gave them a look that couldâve killed them both on sight and followed them out, shutting the door behind her.
Silence rushed in.
Just you and Bucky.
And the bed still warm from everyone else who didnât belong in the middle of whatever this was.
â
The room felt too quiet after they left.
Even the cabin outside seemed to hold its breath.
You sat there on the edge of the bed, blanket slipping off your shoulder, trying to get your thoughts to line up properly. They wouldnât.
Bucky was still standing near the door.
Watching you.
Not moving closer. Not leaving either.
That in-between space hurt the most.
You swallowed hard, swinging your legs off the bed. âIâm just⊠gonna go now.â
It came out flat. Careful. Like if you said it softly enough, it wouldnât matter.
Your eyes stung, then spilled over before you could stop it. You turned your face slightly like that would hide it, like he wouldnât notice.
Except he always noticed.
âI can just go,â you said again, quieter this time, more fragile. âItâs fine. Iâm fine. I justââ
Your breath hitched.
You wiped at your cheek quickly, annoyed at yourself more than anything. âI never had a drink anyway. Iâm not even tired in that way, so I can justâdrive or whatever, Iâll figure it out.â
Bucky stepped forward immediately. âNo. No, youâre not driving anywhere.â
You shook your head, still trying to hold onto control that was slipping. âI just donât want to make this weird.â
His jaw tightened. âIt already is weird.â
That made you laugh once, but it broke halfway into a breath that sounded more like a sob.
You pressed your fingers against your eyes, frustrated now. âI didnât mean for it toâBucky, I didnâtââ
âI know,â he said softly.
That stopped you.
You lowered your hand slightly.
He was closer now without you noticing. Not touching you yet, just close enough that you could feel the warmth of him, the familiarity you didnât know how to turn off.
His voice was quieter. âYou donât have to leave.â
You looked at him through blurred vision. âThen what am I supposed to do?â
That question hung there.
Heavy.
Honest.
Bucky didnât answer right away.
And that silenceâjust like on the porch, just like in every moment that had led hereâtold you more than words ever could.
â
It didnât happen all at once.
It built in layers.
The tight room. The late hour. The mess of emotions still hanging in the air between you and Bucky. The exhaustion youâd been pushing down since the porch. The noise of everything unsaid finally pressing too hard against your ribs.
Your breath started to feel wrong first.
Like it wasnât reaching far enough.
You tried to steady it, but your chest tightened instead, sharp and sudden, like something had locked around your lungs.
âHey,â Bucky said immediately, voice changing the moment he noticed. âHeyâlook at me.â
You shook your head without meaning to. Your hands curled slightly at your sides like you were trying to anchor yourself in the bed, in the room, in anything.
âIââ you started, but the word caught.
Too many things hit at once.
The breakup. The cabin. Natasha. The kiss on the porch. The texts. The pretending. The laughing downstairs. The weight of being in the same space as him and still not being with him.
Your vision blurred.
âNo, noââ you whispered, but it wasnât clear what you were denying.
Your breathing turned shallow, faster now, panicked.
Wandaâs voice faintly from the hallwayâcalling Sam something sharpâfaded into nothing.
Everything narrowed down to too much and not enough at the same time.
Bucky was in front of you instantly.
âHey, hey, Iâve got you,â he said, low and steady. Not forcing. Just there.
Your hands lifted slightly like you didnât know where to put them.
âI canâtââ you gasped, shaking your head. âI canâtâthis isââ
âLook at me,â he repeated gently.
Something about his voice cut through just enough.
You tried.
Your eyes found his.
Blue. Steady. Not demanding. Not pushing. Just waiting.
âBreathe with me,â he said.
In.
You tried.
Out.
It didnât work the first time. Then the second. But his hand hovered near yoursânot grabbing, just offering something solid if you needed it.
âGood,â he murmured. âThatâs it. Youâre safe. Youâre in the cabin. No oneâs hurting you.â
Your breath stuttered, but it started to slow.
Wanda appeared in the doorway for a second, saw your face, and immediately stopped everyone else from coming in.
Bucky stayed focused on you.
âStay with me,â he said softly.
And you did.
Bit by bit, your breathing stopped spiraling. The pressure in your chest eased from crushing to painful, then to something manageable. Tears still slipped down your cheeks, but the panic stopped climbing.
Eventually, your shoulders sagged.
Like your body finally remembered it could.
Bucky didnât move away right away.
Just stayed close until you could sit without shaking.
When you finally spoke, your voice was wrecked.
âI need to go,â you whispered.
His brows pulled together slightly. âItâs stillââ
âI need to go,â you repeated, firmer this time, even though your eyes were still red and swollen.
Silence.
He searched your face for a long moment, then nodded once. Slow. Understanding, even if it didnât make sense to him.
âOkay,â he said quietly. âOkay.â
Downstairs, people were still laughing, still drinking, still not aware of what had just happened upstairs.
Which made everything feel even more surreal.
When you finally came down, suitcase already packed like youâd planned it before anyone noticed, the room shifted.
You forced your voice steady. âYeah. Something came up at work. I need to be back in New York for first thing tomorrow morning.â
That part wasnât entirely a lie.
Not entirely the truth either.
âIâll just drive back and sleep when I get in,â you added quickly, like over-explaining could make it believable.
Steve frowned. âAt this hour?â
âItâs fine,â you said.
Bucky stood a little behind you.
Not interrupting.
Just watching.
Sam suddenly crossed the room and pulled you into a tight hug before you could protest.
âDonât be weird,â he mumbled into your shoulder. âText me when you get there, okay?â
You let out a small, shaky laugh. âOkay.â
Steve followed immediately after, hugging you just as tightly, careful but firm. âDrive safe.â
âI will.â
Neither of them seemed fully convinced, but alcohol and affection made them less likely to question it further.
When they let go, you looked around the room once.
Wanda gave you a small nod, understanding more than she said.
Natashaâs gaze lingeredâsharp, assessingâbut she didnât stop you.
Bucky didnât move.
But his eyes stayed on you the entire time.
Like he was memorizing the moment you left again.
You adjusted your bag on your shoulder.
âBye,â you said quietly.
And then you walked out into the cold night air, red-eyed, shaking slightly, trying very hard not to look back.
â
The cold hit you first.
That sharp, clean air outside the cabin that always felt like clarity until it didnât.
Your car was parked further down the gravel path, half-lit by the porch light spilling out behind you. The woods were silent in that heavy, watchful way they got at nightâlike everything was listening, even if nothing answered back.
You stood there for a second with your hand on the car door, not opening it yet.
Because leaving wasnât just leaving a house.
It was leaving them.
Five years.
Five years of missions and injuries and inside jokes shouted across quinjet bays. Five years of shared silence after losses no one else understood. Five years of Sam pretending he hated everyone while showing up anyway. Steve insisting on doing things âthe right wayâ even when no one agreed what that was. Wanda quietly fixing people without asking. Natasha reading rooms like she could see the future. Thor treating Earth like it was both strange and sacred. Clint acting like chaos was a second language. Buckyâalways there in the edges of it, even when he didnât know where he fit.
And you.
Somewhere in the middle of all of them, like youâd been carefully woven into something bigger without noticing the moment it happened.
You swallowed hard.
The cabin lights glowed behind you through the trees. You could hear faint laughter drifting outâsomeone probably telling a story that would get exaggerated by morning.
Warm.
Alive.
A family, even when it didnât call itself that.
Your fingers tightened around your keys.
Because the worst part wasnât that you were leaving Bucky.
It was that you were walking away from all of it at once.
You blinked fast, trying to stop your vision from blurring again. Your chest still felt tender from earlier, like the panic had left bruises no one could see.
âYouâre really doing this,â you whispered to yourself.
The words didnât feel dramatic.
Just true.
Behind you, the door of the cabin opened brieflyâwarm light spilling out again. You didnât turn around, but you knew someone was there. You could feel it.
Watching.
Waiting.
But not stopping you.
That mattered too.
You let out a slow breath, the kind that trembled at the end.
Then you opened the car door.
The leather seat was cold when you slid in. Familiar in a way that felt hollow now. You set your bag down carefully like if you made too much noise, the moment might fracture further.
Hands on the wheel.
Still for a second.
Five years of memories didnât leave quietly. They crowded the inside of your head all at onceâlaughing, bleeding, arguing, healing, surviving.
And somewhere in the middle of it all, Bucky looking at you like he was still trying to choose correctly.
You pressed your forehead briefly to the steering wheel.
Just once.
A quiet, broken pause no one saw.
Then you started the car.
The engine turned over, soft but real.
And as you pulled away down the gravel road, the cabin shrinking in your rearview mirror, you didnât look back again.
Not because you didnât want to.
But because you knew if you did, you might not be able to leave at all.
bucky and reader trying to get pregnant but for some reason they canât, and both of them individually think it is their fault (without communicating this guilt or sadness to the other). eventually one day late in the evening maybe after another negative pregnancy test, reader feels like she is failing bucky so she quietly confesses that she thinks there is something wrong with her but then buckyâs heart breaks bcuz he thinks there is something wrong with HIM, and they just reassure each other and happy ending pls <3
The bathroom light is too bright for this hour of the evening, sharp and clinical in a way that makes everything feel worse than it already does. It reflects off the tile, off the mirror, off the small white stick sitting on the edge of the sink like itâs something important instead of something that keeps breaking your heart.
Negative.
Again.
You donât pick it up this time. You donât flip it over like maybe the answer will change if you look at it from a different angle. You just stare at it, arms wrapped tight around your middle, like if you hold yourself together hard enough you wonât come apart.
The apartment is quiet. Bucky is in the living roomâyou can hear the faint murmur of the TV through the wallâbut he hasnât come to check on you yet. He never hovers. He gives you space, always, like heâs afraid of crowding you when youâre already hurting.
You know why.
Because every time this happens, he looks at you like itâs his fault.
And every time, you let him.
Just like you let him believe youâre okay.
Your throat tightens, the pressure building until it feels like it might choke you, and you press the heel of your hand against your mouth to keep the sound in. You donât want him to hear. You donât want him to come in and see you like thisâagain, always againâbecause youâre so tired of the way his face falls, the way guilt settles into his shoulders like something heavy and permanent.
You hate that he carries it.
You hate that you do too.
You close your eyes for a second, breathing through it, counting in your head the way youâve learned to do when things get overwhelming. One, two, threeâ
Youâre fine.
Youâre going to be fine.
You just need a minute.
But the minute stretches, and the silence presses in, and the thought thatâs been living in the back of your mind for months now finally pushes its way forward, loud and impossible to ignore.
What if itâs you?
What if thereâs something wrong with you?
The idea settles in your chest like a stone, heavy and cold, and suddenly everything makes too much sense. All the negative tests. All the waiting. All the quiet disappointment that never quite gets spoken out loud.
You swallow hard, blinking rapidly, and finally reach for the test just so you can shove it into the trash, like getting rid of it might make the feeling go away too.
It doesnât.
Nothing does.
When you step out into the hallway, the light from the living room spills toward you, warm and soft in contrast to the harsh brightness you just left behind. Bucky is stretched out on the couch, one arm thrown over his head, the other resting on his stomach, the TV flickering across his face in shades of blue and gold.
He looks up the second he hears you.
âHey,â he says quietly, voice careful in a way that makes your chest ache. His eyes flick over your face, searching, and you can see the moment he understands. His expression softens, something sad slipping in around the edges. âCâmere.â
You hesitate for half a second, because if you go to him, youâre not sure youâll be able to keep it together.
But you go anyway.
You always do.
He shifts to make room for you, sitting up just enough to pull you into his side, his arm coming around your shoulders automatically, tucking you in close like you belong there. Like youâre something to be protected.
âHey,â he murmurs again, softer this time, his hand coming up to cup the back of your head, pressing a kiss into your hair. âItâs okay.â
The words hit something fragile inside you, and before you can stop it, you let out a shaky breath that sounds a little too close to a sob.
Itâs okay.
Itâs not, though.
It hasnât been for a while.
You press your face into his chest, breathing in the familiar scent of him, trying to ground yourself in it, but the thought wonât leave you alone now that itâs out in the open, circling and circling until it feels like itâs going to swallow you whole.
âBuck,â you whisper, your voice small against the fabric of his shirt.
His hold tightens immediately. âYeah, doll?â
You donât know how to say it.
You donât know how to put something like this into words without breaking something between you, without confirming the fear thatâs been eating at you for months now.
But you canât keep it in anymore.
âI thinkâŠâ Your voice catches, and you have to swallow hard before you can keep going. âI think thereâs something wrong with me.â
The words hang in the air between you, fragile and terrible all at once.
For a second, everything goes very, very still.
And then Buckyâs hand freezes where itâs been rubbing slow circles against your arm.
âWhat?â he breathes.
You pull back just enough to look at him, and the expression on his face is enough to make your heart twist painfully in your chest. He looksâŠstricken. Like youâve just said something that physically hurts him to hear.
âI justââ you start, your voice wavering despite your best efforts to keep it steady. âWeâve been trying for so long, and itâs justâŠnothing, and I keep thinkingâmaybe itâs me. Maybe I canâtââ You cut yourself off, your throat closing up around the rest of the sentence. âI feel like Iâm failing you.â
The second the words leave your mouth, Bucky shakes his head hard, like heâs trying to physically reject them.
âNo,â he says immediately, too fast, too sharp. âNo, donâtâdonât say that.â
âButââ
âItâs not you,â he insists, his hands coming up to frame your face, forcing you to look at him. His eyes are wide, almost frantic. âJesus, sweetheart, itâs not you.â
You blink at him, confused by the intensity in his voice. âThen what is it?â
His jaw tightens, something conflicted flashing across his expression before he looks away, like he canât quite meet your eyes anymore.
âI thoughtâŠâ he starts, then stops, dragging a hand through his hair in a frustrated motion. âI thought it was me.â
You stare at him.
âWhat?â
He lets out a humorless little huff, shaking his head. âAll the stuff I went through. Hydra. The experiments. I figured they probably messed something up.â His voice drops, rough around the edges. âI thought I was the reason we canâtââ
âBucky,â you breathe, your chest tightening painfully.
âI didnât want to say anything,â he continues, the words coming faster now like heâs been holding them in for too long. âDidnât want you to think I wasâŠbroken, or that I was the one keeping this from happening for us.â
Something in your chest cracks wide open.
All this time.
All this time, youâve both been carrying the same fear, the same guilt, just in different directions.
And neither of you said anything.
âOh my God,â you whisper, your hands coming up to cover his where theyâre still holding your face. âBuckâŠâ
His gaze finally meets yours again, and thereâs so much vulnerability in it that it makes your heart ache.
âIâm sorry,â he says quietly. âI shouldâve told you.â
âNo,â you shake your head, tears slipping free despite your best efforts to hold them back. âNo, I shouldâve told you. Iâve been sitting there thinking Iâm the problem, and youâve been thinking the same thing, and we justâŠnever talked about it.â
He exhales slowly, his forehead dropping forward until it rests against yours.
âGuess weâre both a little stubborn,â he murmurs.
You let out a watery laugh, the sound soft and shaky but real.
âYeah,â you agree. âA little.â
For a moment, you just stay like that, breathing each other in, the weight of everything thatâs been unspoken finally starting to lift, piece by piece.
âItâs not your fault,â you say softly, brushing your thumb over his cheek.
âItâs not yours either,â he replies just as gently.
The words settle into something warm and steady between you, replacing the cold uncertainty thatâs been there for so long.
âWeâll figure it out,â he adds after a second, his voice firmer now, more certain. âWhatever it is. Together.â
Together.
The word wraps around you like something solid, something you can actually hold onto.
You nod, leaning in to press your lips to his, the kiss soft and lingering, full of something deeper than just comfort. Itâs reassurance. Itâs promise.
Itâs hope.
When you pull back, he nudges his nose against yours, a faint smile tugging at the corner of his mouth.
âNo more keeping this stuff from each other, okay?â he says.
âOkay,â you agree, your own smile coming a little easier now.
He presses one more kiss to your lips, then pulls you back into his arms, holding you close like he never plans to let you go.
And for the first time in a long while, the future doesnât feel quite so heavy.
Walk with me hereâŠ. Bucky x reader where the reader suffers from sleep paralysis. Bucky knows this but has never witnessed it. One night she has an episode and it looks like whatever sheâs seeing is going to get Bucky. Once she gains control of her body again she throws herself on top of him. He wakes up and is concerned at first and then gets all soft because she was going to protect him.
There's a heaviness in your chest, like something has quietly decided to sit there. A strange awareness creeping in at the edges of your mind while your body refuses to follow. You know the feeling instantly, dread curling cold in your stomach before your eyes have even fully opened.
Not again.
You try to move your fingers firstâalways the fingersâbut they donât listen. Your breathing stays shallow, trapped, like even your lungs are hesitant to push too hard against whatever has you pinned.
Beside you, Bucky sleeps on, warm and solid and completely unaware, his arm draped loosely over your waist. His presence is usually enough to ground you. Usually enough to make the episodes shorter, quieter.
But tonightâ
Tonight is different.
Because the moment your eyes fully open, you see it.
Standing at the edge of the room.
Too tall. Too still. Too wrong.
Your heart lurches violently against your ribs, panic slamming through you in a wave so strong you almost think it should break whatever hold this is. The shape doesnât move, but you knowâyou knowâitâs looking at you.
Watching.
Waiting.
No, no, noâ
You try to speak. To call Buckyâs name. To do anything other than lie there helpless as your brain screams and your body betrays you.
Nothing comes out.
Your throat wonât work. Your jaw wonât move. Youâre trapped behind your own eyes, forced to watch as the thing shifts.
It doesnât walk.
It glides.
Closer.
Your vision blurs at the edges, tears gathering without falling, terror clawing up your spine as it crosses the room in slow, unnatural increments. Every instinct you have is screaming at you to move, to run, to do somethingâ
But you canât.
You canât.
You canâtâ
It stops at the side of the bed.
And thenâ
It tilts its head.
Toward Bucky.
Something inside you snaps.
No.
Not him.
Your fear fractures, reshapes, turns sharp and furious in your chest. The panic doesnât disappear, but it changesâredirectsâbecause whatever this is, whatever your mind is conjuring, it is not touching him.
Not Bucky.
Not yours.
You fight harder.
Every muscle strains, every nerve screaming as you try to force even the smallest movement. Your fingers twitchâbarelyâbut itâs something. You cling to it, push harder, harder, harderâ
The thing leans closer to him.
Your vision tunnels.
Your heart feels like it might explode.
Move.
Your arm jerks.
Itâs weak, clumsy, but itâs real.
Move.
Your leg follows, then your shoulder, control snapping back into your body all at once like a rubber band finally breaking freeâ
And you lunge.
Thereâs no hesitation. No thought.
You throw yourself across Bucky, arms wrapping around him, pressing your body over his like a shield as if you can physically block whatever nightmare still lingers in your vision.
âDonâtâ!â your voice finally works, raw and shaking. âDonât touch himââ
Bucky startles awake beneath you.
Hard.
Years of training kick in instantlyâhis body tenses, metal arm shifting, ready to reactâbut it halts the second he registers you.
You.
On top of him.
Clinging.
Shaking.
âHeyâhey, dollââ his voice is rough with sleep and sudden alarm, hands coming up carefully, not pushing you off, just⊠holding. Grounding. âWhatâs goinâ on? You okay?â
Youâre still half there, half not. Your eyes dart toward the side of the bed, expectingâ
Nothing.
The room is empty.
Dark. Quiet. Safe.
Your breath stutters, coming too fast now, your grip on him tightening like youâre afraid if you let go, something will come back.
âIt wasââ your voice cracks. âIt was here, Buck, itââ You swallow hard, shaking your head against his shoulder. âIt was gonna hurt you.â
Thereâs a pause.
A beat where he processes that.
Then everythng about him softens
âOh, babyâŠâ His arms wrap around you properly now, pulling you closer, one hand cradling the back of your head as he tucks your face into his neck. âHey, itâs okay. I got you. Youâre alright.â
You cling to him harder.
âI couldnât move,â you whisper, the words small, embarrassed despite everything. âI tried to wake you, I couldnâtâI thoughtââ
âI know.â His voice is gentler than youâve ever heard it, steady and warm and there. âI know what it is. You told me, remember? Sleep paralysis.â
You nod against him, breath still uneven.
âIt felt real,â you admit quietly. âIt looked like it was coming for you.â
He huffs softly, not quite a laugh, pressing a kiss into your hair.
âYeah?â he murmurs. âAnd whatâd you do about it, huh?â
You hesitate.
Then, quieter, âI tried to protect you.â
That does something to him.
You feel it.
The way his chest rises a little deeper, the way his arms tighten around youânot in fear, not in tension, but something softer. Something fond.
âYou threw yourself on top of me,â he says, voice low and almost⊠amused.
âI didnât want it to get you,â you mumble.
Thereâs another pause.
And then he pulls back just enough to look at you, his expression impossibly soft, blue eyes warm even in the dim light.
âDoll,â he says gently, brushing his thumb under your eye where a tear finally escaped, âIâm a hundred years old, got a metal arm, and a body count that would make most people run for the hills.â
You sniff weakly.
âAnd you still decided you were gonna be my bodyguard?â
Your lips wobble despite yourself.
âI didnât think about it,â you admit.
âI know you didnât.â
He leans in, pressing a soft kiss to your forehead, lingering there.
âThatâs what makes it so sweet.â
Your arms loosen slightly around him, the adrenaline finally starting to ebb, leaving you tired and a little shaky. He notices immediately, shifting so youâre not hovering over him anymore, guiding you gently down so youâre tucked against his side instead.
One arm stays wrapped around you.
The other pulls the blanket up higher.
Safe.
âNext time it happens,â he murmurs, voice quiet against your hair, âyou donât gotta protect me, alright?â
You hum faintly, not fully agreeing.
He smiles into your scalp, tightening his hold just a little.
âButâŠâ he adds softly, âI gotta say, I donât mind knowinâ you would.â
Your eyes finally close, exhaustion pulling you under for real this time, your breathing evening out as you settle into him.
And long after youâve fallen asleep, Bucky stays awake for a while.
Just holding you.
Just thinking.
Because no oneâs ever looked at him and decided, without hesitation, that he was worth protecting.
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-đ°
Itâs almost midnight when the bedroom door creaks open.
You and Bucky both freeze.
Heâs half asleep, warm and heavy at your back, one arm slung over your waist like you might vanish if he lets go. The room is dim except for the sliver of hallway light spilling across the floor. You donât need to look to know who it is.
Small footsteps. A dramatic sigh.
âMom?â
You push up onto one elbow. âIvy?â
Your daughter stands in the doorway clutching her stuffed rabbit by one ear, hair mussed from sleep, big green eyes blinking against the dark. She looks so small it makes your chest ache.
âI canât sleep,â she says, voice serious in that way only five-year-olds can manage. âMy room is too dark.â
Bucky groans softly behind you but doesnât move his arm from around your waist. âBaby doll,â he murmurs, still half buried in the pillow. âYou got the nightlight shaped like a unicorn. That thing could guide ships at sea.â
âIt flickers,â Ivy says flatly.
You bite back a smile. âIt does not flicker.â
âIt flickers in a spooky way.â
Bucky lifts his head just enough to squint toward the doorway. âYou tryinâ to negotiate, kid?â
Ivy doesnât blink. âYes.â
You swing your legs over the side of the bed and pat the mattress. âCome here, honey.â
She pads over, climbs up between you both without asking, immediately burrowing into your side like a tiny determined mole. Buckyâs arm instinctively shifts to accommodate her, draping over both of you like heâs shielding you from something.
You smooth Ivyâs hair back. âSweetheart, you know weâve talked about this. Youâre getting big. You canât sleep in our bed every time you get scared. You need to work on your independence.â
She stares up at you, expression unreadable.
Bucky makes a quiet offended sound. âHey.â
You ignore him. âRemember what we practiced? Deep breaths, turning on your lamp, reminding yourself thereâs nothing in your room except your books and your stuffed animals and the laundry you refuse to put away.â
Ivy narrows her eyes. âThe laundry is suspicious.â
âIt is not suspicious.â
She props herself up on one elbow and studies you with far too much calculation. You can practically see the wheels turning in her head.
âWell,â she says slowly, âwhat about Dad?â
You blink. âWhat about him?â
âWhen is he going to learn his independence and sleep alone?â
Silence.
Then Bucky sputters. âExcuse me?â
Ivy rolls onto her back and gestures vaguely behind her without even looking at him. âHe sleeps next to you every night.â
Your lips press together hard as you try not to laugh.
âThatâs different,â you say carefully.
âHow?â
Bucky pushes himself up onto one elbow now, hair sticking up in every direction, blue eyes narrowed in exaggerated suspicion. âYeah,â he mutters, âhow?â
âYouâre my husband,â you say, turning to him.
âAnd?â Ivy challenges.
âAnd grown-ups share a bed.â
Ivy tilts her head. âSo you donât need independence?â
Buckyâs mouth opens and closes.
You glance at him and see the exact moment he realizes heâs walked straight into a trap laid by a five-year-old.
âListen,â he tries. âItâs different for me. Iâm big. I can protect Mom.â
Ivyâs gaze sharpens. âFrom the dark?â
He hesitates. âWell.â
âYou said thereâs nothing in the dark,â she points out.
You bury your face in your hand.
Bucky looks personally betrayed. âYouâre using her words against me.â
Ivy crosses her arms over her tiny chest and gives him the same deadpan expression he uses when Sam annoys him.
âSo,â she says calmly, âwhen are you going to sleep alone to practice?â
You lose it.
A laugh bursts out of you before you can stop it, and Bucky shoots you a wounded look like youâve sided with the enemy.
âOh, thatâs funny to you?â he mutters.
âSheâs got a point,â you say, wiping at your eyes.
He huffs. âUnbelievable. I raise her to be clever and this is what I get.â
Ivy flops back down dramatically. âI think Mom should sleep in my room tonight. To practice independence.â
âThatâs not how that works,â you say weakly.
âIt is for Dad.â
Bucky leans over you to look at her. âKid, I earned this spot.â
âDid you?â she asks.
You canât breathe from laughing now, and Bucky finally cracks, a grin spreading across his face despite himself.
âAlright,â he says, pulling Ivy closer to him with his flesh arm. âYou wanna know a secret?â
She squints at him suspiciously.
âI donât sleep alone,â he admits. âBecause I donât want to.â
She pauses.
âYouâre not scared?â she asks.
âSometimes,â he says honestly, his voice gentler now. âBut mostly I just like being close to Mom. Makes me feel better.â
Ivy processes that. âSo you donât have independence?â
âOh, I do,â he says solemnly. âI just choose not to use it.â
You snort.
Ivy looks between the two of you, then nods like this information has been logged and categorized. âOkay.â
âOkay?â you repeat.
She scoots down under the blankets and wedges herself firmly between you both. âThen I also choose not to use mine.â
Bucky barks out a laugh and collapses back onto the pillow.
You open your mouth to protestâbut then Ivyâs small hand slips into yours, warm and trusting, and Buckyâs metal arm settles carefully over both of you.
Your bedroom feels smaller now, but softer. Safer.
âIvy,â you murmur gently, âwe canât make this a habit.â
âMhm,â she says, already sounding drowsy.
Bucky leans over and presses a kiss to her messy hair. âJust tonight,â he whispers.
She nods against the pillow.
You glance at him over her head, raising an eyebrow.
He shrugs, sheepish. âIâm practicing not using my independence.â
You roll your eyes but shift closer anyway, tucking yourself against his chest while Ivy stays curled between you like the worldâs most stubborn little buffer.
Within minutes, her breathing evens out.
Buckyâs thumb traces slow circles against your arm. âSheâs too smart,â he murmurs.
âShe learned from you.â
âYeah?â He smiles softly. âThen sheâll be okay.â
You look down at your daughter, small and fierce and brilliant, wrapped in both of you.
âShe will,â you agree.
Bucky tightens his hold just a little, pressing his lips to your temple.
In the dark, surrounded by the quiet hum of the house and the steady rhythm of the two people you love most in the world, independence feels overrated.
