I am old enough to remember not just before the porn ban, but before the porn. If I remember to reblog things, they will definitely be 18+, so you damn kids get off my lawn.
Summary: Arranged marriages have always been used to solidify business deals among the ultra-wealthy. Your stepfather wants to be in business with Harlan Thrombey, so now it's your turn.
Warnings: Heavy angst, age difference, adult themes, institutional sexism, explicit language, the slooowest burn - See each chapter for individual warnings. All of my work is 18+ - Minors DNI
Your marriage to the One-Eyed Prince is not as romantic as you hoped. The wedding night is beyond awkward and confusing, and afterward, your husband seems more than content to ignore you. But you keep finding yourself drawn to him, and the strange way he makes you feel. And though you don't know it, he is drawn to you as well.
Warnings: SMUT, p in v sex, masturbation (m and f) bad sex (these kids have no idea what they're doing), Aegon saying Aegon things, all the awkwardness in the world
Part I - Part II - Part III - Part IV - Part V - Part VI
For his twentieth nameday, Queen Alicent presented her second son with a handmaid of his own. âHe is the only one of my children yet without such attendance,â Her Grace is reported to have said. ââlet her be sweet and devoted, and quick upon her feet . . . a girl who will swear undying loyalty and service unto him, and to his needs.â
We are told Prince Aemond accepted the gift with all due courtesy, to the queenâs evident satisfaction. Yet if Alicent had intended only to soothe her sonâs temper, or to bind him closer to her through gratitude, she misjudged the matter.
For what began as service did not remain so, and what had been offered as obedience took root, in time, as something perilously akin to love. So smitten was the prince with this girl, the pretty bastard daughter of a serving wench from Harrenhal (as Mushroom claimed).
By the end of 130 AC, Aemond had taken his handmaid to his bed and, in time, sired three children upon her. Any hour away from Vhagar was soon spent at the side of his âsweet girl,â as he took to calling her.
These, then, are the tales of their love story.
Harlan Thrombey is throwing a party to celebrate the publishing of his 100th book and he's gone all out for it. Family, friends, and local people of influence are in attendance. No expense is spared for the food and entertainment.
Andy Barber, District Attorney, is in attendance. It would be rude to not attend one of the bigger donors to his campaign for the job. Andy honestly didn't think he could get the job with a divorce on his record, but Harlan's money was a big help in hiring people who could spin the divorce as a good thing. True, he's even more of a workaholic than he was, he's been considering finding a partner to help ease the loneliness. Someone who could give him reason to leave the office.
Ransom Drysdale will swear he's only attending for the food. Harlan's caterers are always top notch. The truth is, it was either attend or sit at home alone, waiting for Linda to tear into him for missing another family event. From time to time Ransom makes sure he's seen but, for the most part, he stays in the shadows, the kitchen, the bathroom. Anywhere he can get away.
Pairing:Racer!Bucky x Ex!Childhood Best Friend!Reader
Summary: James Bucky âBulletâ Barnes hasnât taken a proper break from his professional racing career in years. Feeling homesick and a little lost in life, he decides to take an extended break and return to his hometown. What he doesnât expect to learn when he gets back, is that you and his sister Becca are no longer best friends. Not only that, but no oneâs heard from you in years. And Bucky fears his biggest regret, a mistake he made in his sophomore year of college, is the cause of that.
WC: 13.3k
Contains: 18+ mdni / fluff / angst / smut / female reader / childhood friends to enemies to âŠ? / ex!best friendâs brother / miscommunication / misunderstandings / reunion & revenge / street racing (I did some research, but I took some liberties for plot purposes) / bucky is clueless and down bad / illegal activities tied to street racing / not everything is as it seems / lots of back and forth between these two idiots in love / backseat car protected p in v / dream sequence that takes bucky down memory lane / fun cameos / buckys pov so the truth of it all isn't revealed until the end
a/n hi barbies! đ this fic is for @stantastic-association's barbie collab! thank you to our darling @miraclediviner for putting this gorgeous collab together đ And thank you to the prettiest barbie of them all, my bestie @thelomlbuckybarnes who listened to me yap endlessly about this fic until it was ready for everyone to read. đ Thank you for reading! âËâč⥠Likes, comments, and reblogs are much appreciated!! âĄâĄâĄ
bucky's dreamhouse | bucky masterlist | main masterlist
This was it.
Bucky was home.
Nostalgia should be hitting him the hardest right now. The longing pull to be back in his childhood home with his Ma's cooking, his Pa's laughter, stupid arguments he can only get into with his sister that always end with Bucky giving her the reason. Sleeping in until his body feels like waking up, getting to pick what he wants to do in the day instead of sticking to a tight scheduleâbeing able to just exist instead of only living for the sake of his career. He should be looking forward to all of that and more right now.
And he is, to some extent.
Underneath the nostalgia, there's an persistent thrum beneath his ribcage. Poking at a part of his heart that's been deeply tucked away within him for years. It made itself known the moment he decided to take a break from racing and come home. It followed him through press conferences and meetings, to his apartment while he was packing his bags and preparing to head to the airport. The thrumming only got louder, harder to ignore, the second he landed in his home town.
And it has your name written all over it.
"Hey! James! Over here!" Rebeccaâs voice can be heard from somewhere in the distance, pulling Bucky from his thoughts. The airport was bustling with activity, people rushing to catch their flights or make it home. Bucky maneuvers through the crowd, his suitcase in tow, scanning faces at the arrivals bay until he finally spots his sister. Only half a year has gone by since he's last seen her, and yet she looks different, more grown up if that's even possible. It makes his chest squeeze slightly with the uncomfortable reality of this being one of many things he misses while he's gone.
"Hey Becs," his greeting comes in the form of a smothering hug, the kind only big brother's know how to give. She whines dramatically about him ruining the sign she made for him, pushing at his chest. He looks down at the piece of poster paper squished between them and chuckles. It's a small cheesy welcome home sign, clearly written in haste as most of the letters are wonky and the glitter thrown at it looks half-assed. He pulls away, grabbing it from her hands and smoothening it out before giving it back, "See, all better." She rolls her eyes, slapping at his arm and grumbling under her breath, "You big buffoon, learn to be more careful." Bucky barks out a laugh in response that only serves to annoy his sister more. Oh, how he's missed this.
He ignores her protests as he slings an arm around her shoulders, pushing them past the crowd of people in the direction of the elevators. "Folks didn't come?" He asks her as they get in and she shakes her head, pressing the button labeled L2, "Ma wanted to stay home and cook you up something nice for tonight. She's driving us all crazy making sure everything's perfect for you." Bucky frowns, and Becca looks at him like she's said too much, "Everything?"
The elevator doors open and they step out. "Yeah, you know how Ma gets about her cooking," Rebecca replies, waving her hand in the air like it's no big deal. He decides it's best not to press the issue, it's just dinner after all.
The conversation changes as they make their way to her car. Rebecca catches his up on her life post graduation. She talks about her new job in the city over, the apartment she's renting with a couple roommates, the coworker she doesn't get along with, how she still visits their parents on the weekends and oh, how can she forget to mention how ridiculously in love her roommates are with his teammate and friend, Steve Rogers.
"You have to get me tickets when you go back. I don't think they'll forgive me if I don't give them a chance to meet him," she mentions, and he hums in response, not fully paying attention as he places his suitcase in the backseat. But it's not like she has anything to worry about, her little sister privileges always win over Bucky in the end.
"Let me drive," he offers, closing the backseat door. Rebecca looks at him like he just asked her something atrocious. "Absolutely not. My car, I drive. Now get in," she orders, not hearing him out at all and getting into the driver's seat. Bucky is too tired to argue, so he heads over to the passenger seat and reluctantly buckles in. But as she's pulling out of the parking lot he realizes, there's something, no, someone she hasn't mentioned at all.
Bucky says your name out loud, pretty as always, but foreign on his tongue as he hasn't heard it anywhere, but in his head for years. Rebecca's body goes rigid, and he doesn't notice at first as he asks, "How's she doing?" He knows he has no right to ask. He knows he has no right to pry into your life or know anything about you now, but he can't help it. He needs to know. Maybe if he knows that insistent thrum beneath his ribcage will finally go away.
Rebecca stares straight ahead at the traffic on the road like it's the most interesting thing she's seen in a long time, exhaling apprehensively, "I don't know."
Well that's shocking.
"You don't know?" Bucky echoes, face pulling in a frown of disbelief. Rebecca's hold on the steering tightens ever so slightly, clearly uncomfortable with the topic of conversation being you. "Yeah, I don't know. We haven't been friends for years. Why would I keep up with her?" At that revelation, Bucky can practically feel the way his eyes bulge out of their sockets, a dreadful feeling creeping in to his system.
"Waitâhold on. You haven't been friends with her for years? When did that happen?" He's trying his best to wrap his head around it all. His brain picking out every memory from the last few years, holidays and birthdays he attended and not once did anyone mention you and his sister no longer being friends. Well, no one mentioned you at all, and your absence was felt, but he thought your absence had to do with what happened between you and him, not what apparently happened between you and Becca.
"Years ago," she replies simply.
"Becca."
"What? You asked, I answered."
Bucky stays silent, staring at his sister expectantly. She glances at him briefly, biting the inside of her lip knowing her brother is too stubborn to not keep pushing for more answers. "We stopped being friends after our first year of college. Things were already rocky when we started, but⊠I don't know we drifted apartâthings happened." Her response was vague, like it took effort to reach into the past and look for a proper explanation.
"Things?" He couldn't help, but keep pushing.
Rebecca sighs, "Yeah, things. New friends, boyfriends, different schedulesâlook, it was a lot of things, but mainly she changed. A lot."
"What do you mean she changed?"
She rolls her eyes, Bucky evidently having pushed her too much, "God, what's with all the questions? Why do you even care?"
The truth is on the tip of his tongue, but he's too much of a coward to let it out. "I don't know, maybe because the three of us were best friends from the moment you two were put in the same kindergarten class. Because we were basically like family to each other."
"Yeah, well, that's in the past now."
The sadness in her voice tugs at Bucky's heart, watching her slump in her seat. It's obvious she wants the conversation to end, retreating into herself the way that she is. Whatever happened between you still weighs heavy on her heart. Whatever Bucky hoped to learn about you upon his return will have to wait. He thought his sister would be the one to give him answers, but all she managed to do was raise more questions.
Bucky turns to face the window, deciding it's best to not bring you up anymore. Rebecca's shoulders relax at that, reaching over to turn on the radio so the music can fill the tense silence. He closes his eyes, trying to focus on the music, but nothing can stop his thoughts from drifting to things he's been avoiding.
When he first decided to take a longer break than he usually gives himself, it was to give himself a chance to figure out what comes next. Racing professionally had always been his dream, but once he achieved it, he felt lost on the after. His racing career took off when he was young, too young to understand when something takes off so fast and bigger than himself, some people get left behind in the dust.
For years, his racing career was overwhelming in the best way. Making a name for himself, proving he was good enough, was all he strived for. His parents and sister had always been supportive, even when certain family members gave their unwanted opinions on how he'd never make it, certain he'd fail. And even though they only got to see him during the holidays or when he flew them out to one of his competitions, his parents and Rebecca cheered him on every step of the way. Promotions, sponsorships, media events, touringâit took up all his time for over half a decade.
But when he finally has made a name for himself, when he finally has the fame, the recognition, when he always wins⊠what's the next big thing he has to look forward to?
That question brought him back here, back home. Feeling lost on his purpose and fulfillment in life made him come back to where it all started. But being back here brings him back to you. And back to the biggest regret of his entire life.
Beyond the window of the car, the streets stretch out into something more familiar. They pass his old high school, the local bakery his mother used to send him to get fresh bread every week, the street that leads to his father's office, the corner store where your first boyfriend used to work, a sleazy guy he remembers punching the hell out of in that very corner for breaking your heart. They pass a park that's been here for ages, the rusty almost rundown playground evidence of its lack of maintenance, but all the years of usage. He remembers taking you and Becca there all the time when you were kids. Chasing you two with his friends around the playground, or pushing you on the wings just a little harder every time to hear you laugh harder. Every inch of this town were where his roots were founded on and surely it must have the answers to what he's looking for.
It takes another fifteen minutes before Becca pulls into the driveway of their childhood home, a cozy light blue two story building with his mother's meticulously cared for flower beds with blue and pink hydrangeas proudly displayed in the front. There's more cars on the street than he last remembered, but he guesses the number neighbors must have grown since the last time he's been here. It wouldn't be the only thing that's changed since then.
Bucky steps out of the car, wondering if maybe he has a chance to take a nap before dinner. He vaguely listens to his sister ramble on about their mother's plans for tonight as he opens the backseat door to get his suitcase. Becca is whining about how they'll probably have to play Yahtzee for the millionth time, when he gathers his things and follows behind her.
His sister walks to the side of the house, confusing Bucky until she explains. "Gotta use the side door, the front's stuck again." Right. At least that's another thing that stayed consistent. No matter how many times his father or Bucky put in the effort to fix the door, it somehow always managed to get stuck. And his father was always too stubborn to replace it no matter how many time his mother asked him to. Stubbornness seems to run in the family.
They step into the backyard, and Bucky was halfway through making an amused comment about his father not fixing that damn door when a loud cacophony of the word surprise startles him. When Becca had mentioned the word everything earlier, when it came to what their parents had prepared for him, what she meant was a welcome party. Various family members and friends of the family were all gathered to welcome him home at least forty people. Tables were set up in neat rows decorated with blue race car table covers to match the balloons tied to each ends. Blue pennant banners were strewn from tree to tree, and whatever his parents were cooking at the grill had his stomach growling like he hadn't eaten in weeks.
So much for hoping to take a nap.
Bucky is touched by the effort his family put in to welcome him home. Although, from the moment he stepped into the backyard he isn't left alone. His mother comes over to engulf him in a hug that is larger than life itself. His father gives him a welcoming hug too before insisting he needs to sit down and eat. Bucky lost count on how many cousins, uncles, aunts, family friends, and others came up to him to welcome him home, hugging him, patting him on the back, and passing him around from greeting to greeting. Once he finally gets a moment to sit down his parents pile up enough cheeseburgers on his plate to stuff him full for a whole week.
The celebrations are enough to keep his mind off of other things for awhile. Between savoring some home cooked food, sharing stories and catching up his cousins on his adventures, and being pulled into a game of dodgeball, he barely has time to think of anything else. And yet, every so often, his eyes drift to different sections of the party as if they were searching for something. He could lie to himself about not what, but who he was searching for. Someone he foolishly hoped would be hear despite what he was told.
By the time the sun starts to set in the sky, Bucky can feel his energy deplete to a point where he can no longer hide it. It's an exhaustion that goes beyond having to evade dodgeballs to the face. Things have started to settle and everyone's migrated to their own corner of the yard depending on whether they wanted to keep playing games, relax by the bonfire, or eat leftovers. He spots his mother at the grill heating up leftovers and he makes his way over to her.
"Need some help, Ma?" He asks, grabbing one of the tongs not waiting for her answer. His mother shakes her head, "I got it, hun. You go back to having fun." She tries to get him back to the party, but at that Bucky shakes his head, scrunching his face up with a clear I don't want to look. His mother laughs at his expression and then instructs him to help out with the burger patties. She starts asking him about his travel here and how he's been liking his party, little things and start conversation. Bucky's giving her simple answers when he looks out at the guests one more time, biting on his bottom lip absentmindedly. His mother can tell he's distracted, and more than that. It seems like she knows exactly what's going on in his head.
"She wasn't invited," she starts, causing Bucky to whip his head in her direction, eyes wide like he's been caught doing something he shouldn't have been doing as she continues, "It's not like your dad and I didn't want to, but your sister was against it."
"What?" Bucky sounds and looks dumbfounded, and his mother can only respond with a short exhale. She says your name, and Bucky's heart races and breaks all in one. "How did youâ?"
"You can't hide things from your mother, James," his mother interjects as if it were obvious. He gaze locks with his mother's for a moment, and there's something close to pity in them. She's right. He was never one to lie to his mother, much less be able to.
A defeated sigh slips past his lips, "Is it stupid I thought she'd be here?" His mother prepares another leftover plate as she responds, "No, not at all," she hands the plate to one of his younger cousins who scurries off with it. "She wouldn't have come if she had been invited anyway."
Bucky clears his throat, suddenly feeling like there's something stuck in it. "Why not?" His mother gives him a look, like she has something to say, but no explanation for it. "I talk to her mom every so often, maybe once a month. She's told me they barely have any contact with her. No one really knows where she is."
"What? And no one's gone looking for her?" Bucky can't believe what he's hearing. His question has no short of worry in it, and he doesn't bother to hide it. The thought of you being out there somewhere and no one knowingâno one even bothering to lookâit didn't sit right with him. It settles within him as well as poison would.
His mother's lips draw into a thin line, a somber look in her eyes. "I'm sure they've tried. I know her parents have, but it's not easy when your kids shut you out. Especially when they're in trouble." Bucky's heart sinks, "Trouble? What trouble?" His mother starts preparing another plate, like she needs something to do, "I'm not sure, hun. Her parents don't know and even your sister hasn't been forthcoming with the way things ended between them. All I know is she got mixed in with the wrong crowd and ended up dropping out of college. The last time I saw her was when Becca found out and they had a screaming match over it. I don't think I've ever seen your sister so angryâŠ"
Out of all the thing Bucky could have been preparing himself to hear about you from his mother, none of this would have ever come close. There's something sickly brewing in his stomach and he thinks if he hears another word of your apparent disappearance, he'll spill his dinner all over the grill.
His mother can tell something is off, so she promptly sends him to bed. He wants to protest until he realizes he burned the burger patty he had been reheating and agrees some rest would be for the best. His mother gives him a goodnight hug and he presses a gentle kiss to the top of her head. Everyone at the gathering is still preoccupied with their own things, so Bucky forgoes any farewells and instead slips inside the house without anyone noticing. Every step up the stairs and toward his childhood bedroom feels heavier than the last.
When he enters his room, there's an appreciative smile that appears on his face when he realizes not much has changed in here either. He can tell his mother has changed the sheets and installed one of those little air freshener devices in preparation for his coming home. And besides his suitcase in the corner, which he still has to thank his father for bringing it up for him, everything else is exactly the same. Which isn't saying much since he's always kept his room simple the older he got. A few racing posters on his walls, shelves decorated with knickknacks, a bookcase filled with books he has yet to revisit, there's not much besides that.
He strips out of his clothes lazily just wanting to get into bed already, when his eyes stray to his desk. He knows why they did. He knows what he'll find when he looks. And yet, he walks over to it anyway, feeling the lump in his throat grow when he sees it's been left untouched. Above his desk on the wall there's a bulletin board frozen in time to the last time he ever used it. He has pictures pinned all across it, happy memories from his childhood with you with him in almost all of them. Every birthday card and letter you ever wrote him is pinned on the board too. Anything you ever gave him he saved and treasured down to the smallest thing. Even to the four leaf clover you once found, gently tucking it between tape for safe keeping. Giving it to him as a good luck charm, promising him it would help him win every race he ever dreamed up as long as he kept it close.
He keeps it in his wallet to this day.
Bucky blinks away the tears he can feel forming in the corner of his eyes. He finds himself more than upset now, maybe even bordering on an anxious frustration as he wills himself to look away. He hastily strips out of his clothes and climbs into his bed, hoping that his mind can quiet once he's bundled up in it. But of course that's not the case. All he can think about now is you. Why would you disappear? Why would you leave and tell no one? Why does no one know where you are? Why did you and Becca get into a big fight and stop being friends?
And why does he feel like it's all his fault?
As he drifts off into a restless slumber, there's a final image that haunts him. It's you. Holding back tears as you look at him with the kind of ire he deserved, but never excepted he would ever have caused you.
That image takes him back to where it all ended.
It happened at his parent's lake house, the summer after his sophomore year of college concluded. The summer you and Becca graduated high school, and had to adjust transitioning into adulthood and newfound independence. Your families had thrown a big graduation party for the two of you, but it was a little too family friendly for Bucky's liking. So without telling his parents, a couple weeks later, he threw a massive party at his parent's lake house in celebration of you two.
You had always held a special place in Bucky's heart, there was no denying that. Whether you or Bucky acknowledged it was another thing entirely. Your friendship with Bucky was just as deeply bonded as yours and Rebecca's, but it was different in its own way. Somehow you found yourself being more vulnerable with Bucky about your fears of the future, about school and life. There were times you wanted to appear strong or dependable to Becca when she was going through a rough patch, and yet Bucky was always able to crumble down your walls almost as if those walls didn't exist when it came to him. From patching up a cut on your knee you'd gotten when you were six while playing hopscotch, to holding you close and soothing you when you cried over your first boyfriend breaking your heartâBucky had always been there for you. The trust between you ran deep, deep in a way that felt rooted in something tied to your souls.
Perhaps that's what always frightened him about acting on his feelings. If he ever told you how he truly felt, that he loved you in ways that went far beyond just friends, and you didn't feel the same or it didn't work outâhe'd lose you for good. And the thought of that, he couldn't even imagine it. Not having you in his life. He honestly thought he'd never survive that.
Nothing was supposed to happen that night. He kept his drinks to a minimum, not wanting to get drunk so he could watch over the party guests. He threw it without his parents knowledge or permission, the last thing he needed was to have an accident happen that he couldn't explain away. You hadn't been drinking much, if at all, either. Mingling throughout the party a little lost since Becca had been hanging out with her boyfriend at the time. Bucky shouldn't have gone over to you when you were standing in the corner by yourself, but he did. He shouldn't have invited you to dance, but he wanted to so badly, so he did.
But he should've known things would end in more than a dance. Having you so close, your body pressed against his, touching him, all over himâit drove him crazy. Careful touches at your hips and waist turned into greedy handfuls that couldn't be satisfied despite the lack of distance. It lead to you two kissing for the first time, desperate and inevitable. And that one kiss led to two then three, until the two of you stumbled up the stairs, not being able to keep your hands or lips off of each other as you made your way to Bucky's bedroom. It led to Bucky caging you underneath him on his bed, kissing you senselessly until the heat between you became too much and you slept together for the first time.
The next morning, you were tucked into his side with his arms wrapped around you, holding you tight to his chest like it would hurt him to let you go. You looked so peaceful in your sleep, beautiful as the morning sunlight blanketed your form. Bucky didn't want to get up, but he knew he had to survey whatever potential damage was leftover from the party and possibly kick out anyone who overstayed their welcome. He kissed your forehead, whispering a promise of not taking too long before slipping on a pair of sweatpants. He groaned inwardly as he made his way downstairs, hoping the damage wasn't too bad. But a quick survey of the house settled his worry. Every room was trashed, but at least nothing seemed broken or irreparably stained. When Bucky made his way back to the living room he noticed Sam, his closest friend, stirring awake on the crouch.
"You crashed on the couch?" Bucky eyed his friend weirdly, he hated sleeping on couches. Sam yawned, stretching dramatically, "Yeah, figured you'd need help cleaning up."
"Aw, aren't you sweet."
"Shut up."
Sam threw a pillow at Bucky's head, which he dodged at the last second. Sam sat up on the couch, scratching the back of his head like he was still trying to come to, "Saw you two go up to your room last night. Congrats on finally getting the guts to make a moveâthought you'd never do it. I can hear the bells already," Sam teased, humming out the tune for 'here comes the bride' while wiggling his brows at Bucky suggestively. Bucky can't remember why, can't understand why, but he panicked in that moment. The image of you in a wedding dress and saying I do freaked him out so badly because for the first time it dawned on him that's something that he wanted. But you were both still so young, with so much life and experiences to love ahead of you. He knew he was getting ahead of himself. He didn't even know if you liked him like he loved you.
Fuck, he's in love with you.
Bucky tried to play it cool. Tried to ignore the way his heart squeezed uncomfortably with the truth. He shook his head, playing it down, "Nah, it⊠it was just an itch I had to scratch. Nothing more. Just something I needed to get out of my systemâŠ" Sam was not amused by his lies, painfully seeing through them, "Bullshit. You and I both know you're hopelessly in love with that girl." Bucky's mouth opened to deny it, but another hard look from Sam had him crumbling.
"I know I know. And I think I messed everything up." Bucky slumped on the couch next to Sam, a devastated look on his face. Sam definitely was judging him. "You did not mess anything up, Buck."
"No I did. I wanted to do this the right way, ask her out on a date. Treat her right, like she deserves to be. Show her what she means to meâ" A couch pillow hit Bucky square in the face, stopping him mid sentence. "Buck, you're spiraling, stop it. You didn't mess anything up. Trust me, just go up there and tell her how you feel."
Bucky rubbed at his face, soothing it from the hit, "But what if she doesn't feel the same?" Sam looked like he was two seconds from throwing another pillow, "I'm starting to think those engine fumes have caused you to go stupid or blind. Buck, that girl is so in love with you."
For a brief moment, Bucky dared to hope that Sam was right. That you do feel the same. That you'd want it to work out between you as much as he does. But then the image of you in a wedding dress flashed across his mind again, and that unrelenting voice in his head made him doubt everything once more. A voice that strangely sounded like his uncles. His father's brothers who constantly let him know how his racing career would never work out. How he'll never make good enough money and he'll just disappoint his parents. How he should just play it safe, smart. Become an accountant like his father and get rid of those silly childhood dreams because his parents didn't give up everything for him just to go "play racer." Scolding him like a child to stop being so ungrateful with his parents and get a proper job so he can take care of them like they took care of him. Voices of people who were supposed to love and encourage him and instead reminded him everyday that he wasn't good enough to ever achieve his dreams.
And if he wasn't good enough for his dreams, then he certainly wasn't good enough for you.
"Even if she is," Bucky swallowed hard, the words feeling bitter on his tongue, "even if we are, she deserves so much more than what I can give her right now."
"Buck."
"No, I mean it. Her life's just starting Sam. She's going to her dream college, finally getting away from this town like she's always wanted to," Bucky shook his head, like admitting his fears cost him something, "I'm pursuing something I don't even know will work out. And if it doesn't⊠I don't want to drag her into that. I don't want to drag her into my failures."
Sam sighed, feeling for his friend, "You're not going to fail, Buck. And even if you doâloves so much more than the good times. It's being there despite what happens, despite the obstacles." Bucky mulls over his friend's words knowing there's some truth to them. But, unfortunately, the voice in the back of his mind refused to let him go.
"Yeah, but loves also about walking away when the timing isn't right."
"Not when, if. You don't know which one it is yet."
With those last words, Bucky managed to find the courage to go back up those steps and back to you. With his heart on his sleeve, his hopes in the palm of your hands, and his blood pumping a mile a minute. But when he opened the door to his room, you were already making your way out of it. Eyes wide and teary when they narrowed on him.
"Hey, baby, hey," he reached out to cup your face, "What's wrong?" You flinched back from his hold like his hands were made of ice, his heart stopped. "Nothing. I'm fine," you bite out, clearly holding back. He stood his ground, "You know you've never been able to lie to me, come on tell me what's wrong." He pleaded, feeling distressed at your change in attitude.
"Nothing is wrong, just let me through already," you tried pushing past him, but his arm shot out between you and the doorway. "No. Not until we talk. Not until you tells me what's going on." He tried to get you to look at him, but your eyes were on everything but him.
"Buckyâ" He cut you off by saying your name in a way that sounded somewhere between utter devotion and utter devastation. You sighed, broken and like you had something caught in your throat. "There's nothing we have to talk about, nothing important anyway."
Now that stung. Bucky would have preferred you slapping him across the face instead.
"What? So did last night mean nothing to you?" Bucky didn't stop the anger that was seeping through his hurt. You looked like you didn't know what to say or did and just didn't want to, "That's not what I said. And it doesn't matter what I think of it anyway. You got what you wanted." Bucky stared at you, scoffing in offense, "I got what I wanted? What the hell is that supposed to mean?"
"You know what I mean," you said with a finality that caused him to panic. You tried evading his arm by ducking below it. But he was faster than you and stopped you from getting past him. He was frustrated by your vagueness and confused on what you tried telling him without really telling him anything. This was a complete switch up from last night and he didn't know how to handle it.
"Look, I don't know where this is coming from, but just listen to me, sweetheart. I know I can't⊠I know I'm not," He ran his free hand through his hair, frustrated that he couldn't put his vulnerabilities into words, "My career's just starting. There's big opportunities ahead of me and I know I'm not guaranteed success. I'm not thinking ofâŠI don't want to make any mistakesâ" That last word, he should've never used that word. Because you didn't even let him finish when something between a cynical laugh and broken sob came out of you. "I get it. I was a mistake."
Bucky was quick in his attempt to shut that accusation down, "No! No! Absolutely not, that is not what I said," you tried to squeeze past him again, but this time he held onto your arm, "Would you please just listen to me?" You pushed at his chest, hard enough to hurt, the ire in your eyes and tone made his blood run cold. "Don't touch me." There was something close to hatred in your voice and that had him stunned, frozen in place. He was so stunned he could only watch you walk away to the guest bedroom. By the time he came to on what happened, he ran to chase after you only to have you slam the door right in his face. And no matter how hard he knocked, how long he waited, how much he pleaded into the wooden oak for you to talk to him, you never responded.
He was heartbroken beyond what you could every imagine. He couldn't understand where everything went wrong and why you were so upset. He wanted to talk to you, but he also knew he needed to give you space to cool down. He figured at some point in the day he'd be able to get you aside for a private conversation and clear things up.
He was wrong.
That small glimpse of you before the door slammed in his face was the last time he saw you for the next six whole years.
Reliving that moment in his dream was so vivid it startles him awake. Chest heaving, and face covered in sweat as the memory of that regretful morning resurfaces. Thinking back to the way you looked at him, to the way you spoke to himâit's enough to rip his heart to pieces all over again.
Even after all these years he still doesn't understand what happened back then, what had you so upset. At first he thought it was over his slip up and using that damn word, mistake. But thinking back on that moment throughout the years, he realized you had been upset before that. Something happened between falling asleep that night and him going up those stairs the next morning to confess to you that had set you off. And to this day he hasn't figured out what it was. The absence of you in his life, the hollow cavity losing you left in his chestâthat's all he's really come to understand.
Bucky is surrounded by the darkness of his room, the crescent moon in the sky not providing much light to filter in through the window. His room suddenly feels stuffy, and the ache in his chest seems like it's going nowhere any time soon, so he gets up and decides to take a hot shower. Hoping maybe that can help him relax. He's in and out before he knows it, careful to not make too much noise in the hallway as to not wake his parents or his sister in case she stayed for the night. Thankfully, the bathroom's right across the hall from him, so there's not much noise he can make anyway.
By the time Bucky's back in his room he catches the screen on his phone light up. He reaches for it where it lies on his nightstand, seeing he's gotten a couple recent messages. He frowns when he looks at the time, it's just past midnight. Who could be texting him at this hour?
Mini Falcon: Heard you're back in town! You do not want to miss this.
Mini Falcon: [Attachment: 1 movie]
Bucky has an idea of what he's going to find when he opens the video from his old street racing friend. When he clicks on the video, sure enough it's Joaquin showing off a car meet he's at. There's a crowd of people already forming, showing off their cars and probably figuring out who's going to race tonight. He plays the video a few times, reminiscing on his street racing days, and a little envious at how nice some of the cars have gotten. God, there's no amount of money he wouldn't have bet to get a chance to race against some of those machines.
On one of his rewinds, he spots someone in the background that catches his eye. No, not someone, not just anyone.
It's you.
Bucky's jaw drop comically, pausing the video and hating how pixelated it looks when he zooms in, but even through the blurriness he swears that's you. An older you for sure, but it's still you nonetheless. He's recognize you anywhere. You're laughing with a brunette and a blonde, he thinks maybe they're you're friends.
But what the hell are you doing there? Since when are you involved in the street racing scene?
Bucky's mind is working a mile a minute, but if that is youâwhich he sure it isâhe can't miss this opportunity to see you. Especially not after finding out no one knows where you are. If he's found you, then he's taking the chance to bring you home.
Bucky texts Joaquin back asking for the location of the car meet. He's scrambling to look decent, throwing open his suitcase and putting on the first outfit he finds, a matching pair of black sweatpants and hoodie, topping it off with a jean jacket and cap for good measure.
When he looks at his phone again Joaquin's sent him the location of the car meet, and when he puts it in his phone's maps it shows it's being held at an abandoned industrial complex in the next town, over thirty minutes away. With his skills he knows he can get there in half the time, so he wastes no more in getting ready and heading out the door. Extremely grateful that his father kept up with the maintence of his first car, a modified Honda Civic, and he has something of his own to get him there.
Just as he thought, he's able to get to the meet in half the expected time. He vaguely remembers racing here once or twice, which means he also remembers how it's one of the easier spots to get caught at because of the parameters of the race. He decides to park his car a few blocks away, hidden and tucked into a parking lot, a large patch of overgrown foliage and trees obstructing the view of it to anyone passing by. He makes his way over to the car meet on foot, locating it by the booming music echoing throughout the abandoned walls of the complex.
And yet, despite the music and all the engine revving getting louder as he approaches, he can still hear Joaquin's laugh above all that.
When Joaquin spots Bucky, he excitedly waves him over to where he's resting on the hood of what Bucky assumes is his car. "Bucky, man you made it!" They greet each other with one of those hand clasping, one armed embraces that guys do. "Yeah, after seeing the video you sent I knew I couldn't miss it." Bucky responds, making Joaquin grin, "Told you," he points to the guy next to him, "This is my friend Bob. Bob this is Bucky thee legendary Bullet." The man standing next to Joaquin turns to Bucky impressed, his doe eyes wide in awe as they greet each other. Bucky shakes his head, side eyeing Joaquin as if saying 'he's exaggerating'.
"He used to win all the races back in the day, he set all the records," Joaquin adds.
Bucky was going to say something when Bob beat him to it, "All the records Blitz beat?"
"Blitz?" Bucky inquires, not remembering that name in the roster of racers he knew back when he was racing here. Joaquin nods to the car positioned in the middle of the lineup race, a gorgeous blue Nissan GT-R Bucky's sure has been tuned up like hell. "That's what they call her. She's part of Rumlow's crew."
That catches Bucky's attention, "Rumlow's got a crew now?"
Joaquin hums in confirmation, "A few years back he got into a nasty car wreck. Car went up in flames and fucked up his body. He can't race now, so he got a crew to do that and his dirty work for him."
"Dirty work?"
Joaquin shrugs, "Don't know much about it. I just know he imports illegal parts from overseas to modify his cars, but I stay out of whatever they got going on."Bucky makes a clicking noise with his tongue, feeling sorry for any unlucky bastard that got stuck working for Rumlow.
"His crew hard to beat?" Bucky can't help but ask, reminiscing on all the times he beat Rumlow in a race. If his crews anything like him, then they're probably not that good. Bob is the one who answers his question, "Nope. Blitz is the best racer he's got. When he wants a certified win he has her race." Bucky takes that information in. If at any point he wanted to relive his street racing days, then it seems Blitz is the one to beat.
The three of them chat for another while. Bucky learns that Bob races tooâfor a team called the Thunderboltsâalthough he's still pretty new at it, so there's much he has to learn. Bucky offers to teach Bob a few things while he's in town and Bob seems more than eager to learn from him. Joaquin and Bob try to catch Bucky up on all the new faces in the racing scene, but it's too many names at once for him to really take anything in. Once the race starts, Bucky excuses himself from them, pretending like he saw someone he wanted to go catch up with so he could step away.
In reality, he's going back to concentrate on what he really came for. To find you.
He weaves through the crowds of people gathered, being careful not to bump into any of the showcase vehicles. As much as his eyes want to stray to admire them, he keeps his mind focused on you. He pays close attention to every single face he passes, hope blooming and then dying in his chest when he walks past someone that looks like you. When he circles back to where he started he's distraught at the realization that he might've missed you.
He goes back to Joaquin feeling dejected and like he has to start all over again with something he never really started. Bob is no longer standing with Joaquin, and Bucky barely catches the finish of the race. As expected by what he was told, Blitz comes in first with Yelena, one of Bob's teammates he pointed out to Bucky earlier, coming in a close second. He can't remember the names of the other races and quite frankly he doesn't care. They're not why he came here.
Although, even though Bucky only got a glimpse of how the race finished and a bit of the start, he's seen enough to know that whoever is racing for Rumlow is goodâreally good. Blitz drives like the car she's in is an extension of her body and she knows how to get it to do exactly what she wants it to. She's got the kind of control he's only seen with a handful of drivers. Him being one of them.
He finds it impressive.
Blitz's car door opens, and there's a small part of him that's anticipating putting a face to the name. And when Blitz steps out of the car, he finds himself receiving the shock of a lifetime for the second time that night.
You are the one to step out of the car.
You are Blitz.
That means, you're the one who's part of Rumlow's crew.
Shit.
What the fuck have you gotten yourself into?
Bucky is convinced this has to be a dream, he's rubbing the hell out of his eyes in hopes that it is. But it's not. You're standing by your car with a self-satisfied smile on your face as you're handed the winnings of the race. Yelena steps out of her car and heads toward you with a giant grin, congratulating you on your win. It's clear you two are friends. You look every part of belonging here and he doesn't know what to do with that.
Bucky clears his throat, bumping Joaquin's shoulder, "Hey, is that..?" He can't even finish the sentence, but Joaquin doesn't need him to as he follows the direction Bucky is looking in. "Blitz? Yeah, that's her." Joaquin's confirmation only makes the pit in Bucky's stomach grow. "And you said she's part of Rumlow's crew?"
Joaquin nods, not understanding the weight of what Bucky is asking. "Yeah, I don't know much about what else she does for him, but she's his main racer. Any time he wants a guaranteed win he sends her." Bucky's scared to know, but he has to ask, "And when you mention that Rumlow's got some shady business going on, how shady are we talking?"
"Class B felonies dude," Joaquin says it like it's gossip and not the worst news he could've possibly given Bucky. At his silence, Joaquin gives Bucky a look over. "Are you good? Bro, you look like you're about to spill your gutsâliterally." Joaquin steps back a bit just in case Bucky does.
"I know her."
"Who?"
"Blitz." He says your real name after. The name he knows you by, the name he knew you by.
"Oh shit." Joaquin doesn't know what to say. Not with Bucky looking like he's seen a ghost. "Look, dude, she's friends with Yelena and Kate, they're good friends of mine and I know they're always looking out for her. I'm sure she's okay. Maybe Rumlow's only got her racing, not in his other shit." Joaquin attempts to comfort Bucky, but it doesn't seem like what he said did at all.
"Yeah, maybeâŠ"
"Are you gonna go talk to her or just stare at her with your mouth open?" Joaquin teases, trying to lighten the mood. Bucky shuts his mouth and glares at Joaquin causing him to laugh. Bucky roles his eyes at him, Joaquin might've grown up, but he's still like that annoying little brother he remembers. He won't tell him, but Bucky is a grateful to have that unchanged connection to his old friend.
Joaquin's words might've not done much to comfort Bucky, but his teasing was enough to give Bucky the push to walk away from him and toward you. Joaquin whistles to cheer Bucky on, throwing some words his way that resemble good luck. Bucky shakes his head, wondering how crazy you're going to think he is for finding you here.
Every step closer Bucky is to you throws his nerves into high gear. You've already gotten your car and yourself away from the concrete race track. Somewhere over by the corner where a cluster of smaller buildings and a smaller group of people were in. He really doesn't know what to expect once he finally reaches you, or what he'll say, but he knows he can't leave without trying.
The moment you spot him approaching time seems to freeze, your eyes widening and your lips parting like you can't believe what your eyes are seeing. But just as fast as the shock hits your face, you mask it with indifference, but the iciness in your gaze is something he feels penetrate down to his bones.
He sees the door slamming in his face again. The look you gave him the last time he saw you, staring at him through the closing door like he had reached into your chest and snatched your heart right out of its cavity. And now? Now, you were glowering at him like you would put a bullet through his head and not bat an eye. Eyes looking at him with such a disdain it makes him feel physically ill.
When he finally reaches you, Bucky can only come up with one word, "Hey." He says lamely, quietly like there's an obstruction in his throat. You blink at him, crossing your arms as your friends at your side give him wary glances.
"You." Is all you say back, the word coming out almost like an accusation. Bucky grimaces, but he knows he deserves that so he tries to stay calm. He doesn't say anything else, but he glances at Yelena and who he guesses is Kate next to you, before his eyes find yours again, feeling a bit awkward at involving anyone else in your conversation.
You sigh, taking the hint, turning to your friends to ask them for a bit of space. The girls don't look happy about it, but they listen to you. Kate doesn't spare him another glance while Yelena makes sure to give him one hard glare, acting like she'd break his arm if you asked her to.
He really hopes you don't.
"Please, don't look at me like that," he finds himself saying, to which you barely react to. There's clearly a wall you've built between you, one he doesn't know how to lower for the first time in his life.
"Like what."
"Like I'm the last person you'd wanna see here."
"Well," you shrug like that's enough of an answer. Bucky takes a tentative step closer to you, making you tense up. Your reaction makes something break inside him. He steps back, feeling too many emotions all at once. A frustration at you running away, fear at you working for Rumlow, disheartened at the way you're acting like he's a strangerâconfusion over everything that has and hasn't happened in the last six years. It all accumulates the second he has you this close again.
"What the hell are you even doing here?" He didn't mean for the question to come out as harsh as it did. "Excuse me? What the hell are you doing here?" You throw the question back at him with bit of venom in your tone. He elects to ignore it.
"Looking for you," he replies honestly. And that catches you off guard, he can see it written all over your face. "A friend invited me to come watch the race, sent me a video and everything. I saw you in the background of it and I thought I was seeing things. But I had to come see for myself only to find out that not only are you a racer, but you're racing for fucking Rumlow of all people. What the hell is that about?"
You wave him off, "It's none of your concern." He says your name like you're testing his patience. "It's not," you reiterate, rolling your eyes and leaning on the hood of your car, âItâs not even that big of a deal.âÂ
âOh, youâve got to be fucking kidding me,â Bucky growls out with something deeper than frustration, debating on whether or not he should just drag your ass back home instead of trying to reason with you. You stare at him like you could bite his head off. "I haven't seen you in years and all of a sudden you want to show up here and act like you're looking out for me? Fuck off, Bucky," you raise your voice at him, your own anger increasing by the minute. Bucky's arms shoot out in exasperation, tired of you twisting his actions and words into something negative, "I am looking out for you! I did all my life and that care doesn't just go away because I left for some time."
"Six years," you correct him, the heaviness of all the time apart settling between you like a wound that hasn't healed. He swallows hard, letting out a shaky breath, "Doesn't matter, sweetheart. I thought about you all the damn time during those years. I cared about you then, and I care about you now."
You don't believe him, scoffing, "I'm sure you do." He doesn't know how to get through to you. Feeling as though his efforts are going nowhere. "I'm serious. I've been thinking about you all damn day since I got hereâits been driving me crazy. Especially after Becca told me you two stopped being friends. What happened there?"
"It's none of your business," you're quick to sayâtoo quick.
He says your name again, but this time in a plea, but you're done talking. "I'm serious, Bucky, fuck off. None of this is of your concern, none of this is your business. Leave me alone."
"No."
Before you can even start ripping him a new one, the music is cut off. Someone's voice can be heard yelling, warning everyone to get the hell out as the cops are on their way. Bucky doesn't hesitate, having through this same scenario many times before. You don't even see it coming, how fast he swipes the keys from your hand, rushing over to the driver's side of your car.
"Get in the car," he urges, and you're smart enough not to argue with him over this. He can tell you're biting your tongue as you get in the passenger's side of the car, not at all happy with him being the driver. Bucky turns on the ignition and speeds out of the industrial complex while others still scramble to get into their cars and do the same. He doesn't drive in the same direction as everyone else. Making a swift u-turn in the opposite direction everyone else is going. He ignores your protests directing him on which way to go and drives the car in the direction he left his. You don't know what he's doing until he ends up back in the secluded parking lot, parking right next to his car. There's no doubt you recognize it, having been in it more times than he can count. He shuts off the engine, making everything go quiet. There's only one streetlight working, the light flickering every so often making it even harder to see the cars past the foliage. If anyone were to drive by at this time of night, there's absolutely no chance you'd be seen.
The tension in the car is palpable, thick with everything left there is to say between you. Bucky's holding his breath like even his breathing could set you off at any moment.
"You can get out now," you say after a painfully long silence. "Not until we talk," Bucky sees the way the word spark that anger in you again. "I don't want to talk." Bucky shrugs, leaning back in the seat like he's got at all night to go back and forth, "That's too damn bad, 'cause I'm not leaving until we do." He pockets your keys in the chest pocket of his jacket, not giving you a chance to take them back.
"You're fucking unbelievable," you growl out, getting out of the car and slamming the door closed. You practically stomp your way to the other side, yanking the driver door open. "Get out," you grind out through gritted teeth.
"Don't want to."
"James."
You used his first name, clearly he's pushing you past your limits, and truthfully he doesn't want that. He just wants you to talk to him, that's all he wants. He wants to get to the bottom of whats going on with you in hopes he can help you in some way. So he gets out of the car, slower than you'd like him to, stepping to the side to give you enough room to look inside and notice your keys are missing.
"Barnes, give me my keys."
"Not until we talk."
"Are you serious?
"Deadly."
You let the door shut, before holding out your hand expectantly, ignoring his request. "Bucky give me back the keys, the car isn't mine. I have to take it back to Rumlow." Bucky's worry only grows at your words, "Why are you working for him? How did you get involved with him?"
"It's a long story."
"I got time."
"Well I don't."
You're at a stand still, neither of you willing to budge. But in the interest of moving things along, you're the first to break. "My ex got me into this mess alright? Now I gotta get myself out of it. It's that simple," you explain, but Bucky isn't satisfied with just that. "What mess?"
You take a deep breath before confessing, eyes lowering to the ground, "I dated Rumlow's cousin for about a year. I didn't know they were cousins back then, and I didn't know about the family business. He swiped some money from Rumlow and then disappeared. Since I was the girlfriend, Rumlow made me responsible for paying off the money my ex stole." At the revelation of your predicament, of you being taken advantage of, Bucky has to take a deep breath and reign in his anger before he takes his car over to Rumlow's and finishes off what the car wreck didn't.
"How much?" He's apprehensive to ask, but he needs to know. You shrug, "I don't know the exact amount. I just know it's in the six figures." Bucky's heart drops, blood running cold with dread, "Fuck, sweetheart," a beat passes as his head wraps around the amount of debt Rumlow's put you in, "How much do you have left to pay off?" You shrug again, "I don't know, Rumlow adds interest every time I race with one of his cars or some other bullshit reason. I don't think he's gonna let me go any time soon." His jaw clenches so tight, you'd think he's about to break a tooth.
"Let me go with you, let me talk to him," he says it not like he's asking you, but like he's letting you know in advance you're not doing this alone. You shake your head, refusing, "No, absolutely not."
"He knows me. I used to race against him all the time. Stop being so goddamn stubborn and let me help you." They weren't friends by any means, but there had always been a mutual respect between them.
"I don't want your help. I don't need your help." You deny, but Bucky isn't having any of that. "Yes you do. Look at you. You run away from home, you drop out of college, no one knows where you are, and Rumlow's got you racing and doing his dirty work." You bristle at being reminded of your situation. Like if it were the first time anyone's said it out loud and addressed it head on with you.
"And why do you give a fuck? I'm not your responsibility, Bucky," you spit out, making Bucky feel like he's back to square one with you. But this time, you've ran through the last of his patience. "Fuck, this isn't about that! I give a fuck because I care! I give a fuck because despite all these years you still mean everything to me! Because the thought of anything happening to you would actually kill me." His admission causes you to lock eyes with him and within yours he can see something is cracking, he's getting through to you.
"Shut up, and go," you whisper out the words weakly, but he shakes his head, "No. I'm not leaving you. Not again," he cups your face, brushing away a stray tear from your cheek, "I don't fully understand why you ran, although I can take a pretty good guess its got to do with that piece of shitâŠ," a horrifying thought strikes him, "Is he threatening you?"
You tense in his hold, "Bucky drop it."
"He is, isn't he?"
Your silence is the only confirmation he needs.
A few things finally start connecting for him, "That's why your parents don't know where you are, why you barley contact them. Is he also why you and Becca stopped being friends?" The mention of Becca has you stepping out of grasp, his hands falling reluctantly to his sides, "Becca and I stopped being friends before that. So you don't have to worry about her being mixed up in this mess."
"So why did you? Is it because of us? Because of what happened between us?" He doesn't think he's ready for the answer. But he should know better by now that answers from you don't come easily.
"Nothing happened between us."
"No, don't brush it off like it meant nothing."
"Well I wouldn't be the first to do that."
There you go again being vague and crypticâand sounding accusatory toward him when he doesn't even know what he did. "Are you saying that because of the whole mistake thing? You don't even know what I was actually going to say. You didn't even let me finish what I wanted to say back then. Not before you stormed out of my room and slammed that door in my face. Before you blocked me on everything and I couldn't even reach out to talk to you."
His grievances don't seem to move you, "Seems like you still haven't gotten the hint." Bucky doesn't know how many more of your dismissals he can take, so he decides to leave it all out in the open once and for all. "No I haven't, and I won't because I was so hopelessly in love with you and you left my room like what happened between us meant nothing to you. You left and took my heart with you. And now that I have it back I have some things I want to say to you."
His confession throws you off balance, stumbling over your own footing as you take a step back. But he's not letting you get away this time, he's saying his peace like it's the last time you two might ever speak. "That night scared the absolute shit out of me. Because it was the first time in my life I felt as alive as I do when I'm behind the wheel. The thought of you feeling the same way I did brought that out in me and I didn't know how to handle it, and that's on me."
"Bucky, please stop."
He doesn't.
"That morning, I was trying to tell you that deep down I knew I wasn't good enough for you. I was still getting my shit together, still trying to prove myself to people who didn't give a damn about me. But on the off chance that you felt the same way, I would've dropped everything for you. I would've pursued something that would've had me better off, something close to home, close to you. I would've done what I could to help you pursue your dreams andâ" this time you don't cut him off with words, but with your lips crashing against his, hard and with purpose. Knocking the cap right off his head. He's taken by surprise, but when your lips press harder, insistent on not being ignored, he kiss you back. His hands landing at your waist to keep him grounded to you.
You pull away slightly out of breath, "I just wanted you to shut up," you tease, and Bucky takes in a shaky breath staring down at your lips like he wants another taste, "You wanna shut me up again?" You don't hesitate to take the invitation, kissing him again with a passion bordering on hunger. You're stumbling backwards, pulling him in as he's crashing full force into you, lips parting to let him fully in. You're making out, your back pressed against his car, as you pull sounds out from each other that echo in the night air. He takes a moment to tell you this conversation isn't over, but you quickly shush him with another kiss. The heat between you is growing quickly, and it's no surprise when you find yourselves stumbling into the backseat of his car to take things further.
The door shuts behind you with a soft click, his body hovering over yours. One of his knees slots between your legs, deliberately pressing on your core causing you to whine. You can feel the way you've soaked through your panties and tights already. He helps you take off your leather jacket and matching shorts, and he can't help himself as he tears away at your tights, making you gasp. "Bucky, what theâ" He kisses you, mumbling into your lips, "I'll buy you as many new pairs as you want, sweetheart." His answer seems to quell your annoyance for now.
His hand reaches down to rub you through your panties, finding out just how soaked you are for him. He grins wolfishly into the kiss, "Fuck, baby. Didn't know fighting with me would turn you on so much." His tease is met with a slap to his bicep, which only makes him press harder along your slit making you cry out. He kisses your lips one last time, trailing featherlight kisses to cheek and jaw, all the way down to your neck where he nips at the skin. His fingers brush upwards toward your sensitive bundle of nerves to continue his ministrations there.
You only let him have his way for a few more seconds before you're pushing impatiently at his chest. He's already dazed by just a few kisses from you, so when you tell him to sit back he listens without putting up a fight. He sits back in the seat, watching you with something close to devotion as you go to straddle his lap, bracketing his thick thighs with your legs. You strip him of his jean jacket and hoodie, throwing it on the car floor somewhere, raking your nails down his chest with just enough pressure to make him bite down on his lip, looking like he's moments away from coming undone.
You start to grind on him, making a mess of his sweatpants, but he doesn't care, it feels too good to care. His cock twitches beneath you and with the way you smirk at him he knows you felt it. You're making him go crazy, drunk on you, and you're living for every second of it.
One hand snakes it's way beneath your white tee to palm at your breasts, while the other grips your hip to press you down on him harder. A deep groan leaves his chest, and it mingles with your own as you crash your lips to his again, biting down on his bottom lip hard enough to make him whine. Your hips continue their grinding motion, leaving you both breathing heavily enough to start fogging up the windows of the car. One of your hands finds the back of his head and tugs at his hair, pulling his attention long enough to slip your other hands into his sweats, giving him a teasing squeeze that his seems stars with how hard he's holding back from coming undone so embarrassingly soon.
"Oh, fuck," a deep groan rumbles with his chest when you squeeze him again, "Wait, baby, I can't. I don't got a condom on me," he grabs your wrist to stop you, "Just let me make you feel good okay? Let tonight be all about you." He tries to coax you, his hand leaving your wrist to bring the attention back to your cunt when you swat his hand away. He pouts, confused as he watches you pull your white tee off and reach into your bra to grab a condom out it.
His eyes narrow at you, "Why the hell do you have that there?"
You huff, the jealousy in his tone not getting past you, "Don't ask what you don't wanna know, Barnes."
Whether or not he wants to pry into that detail, you don't let him. Making his breath catch in his throat as you tear the condom wrapper with your teethâan action he found incredibly hot.
He takes himself out of his sweats, squeezing the base of his cock to get himself under control. He's already leaking as you hastily roll the condom down his length. You're getting yourself into position when he stops you. Your gazes meet, a questioning look in your eyes. "You sure about this? We can stop if you're not. It's okay." He assures you, needing you to confirm you really want this. When you realize what he's asking, you smile at him. Taking his lips in a softer kiss, one that conveys how sure you are of this happening. "I'm sure, Bucky. I want this."
That's all Bucky needed to hear.
He rubs your folds through your panties a few more times before his fingers hook into the fabric of your panties and push them to the side. He helps guide himself inside you as you lower yourself down on him, inch by inch. "Baby, you're squeezing the hell outta meâfuck," he curses under his breath, urging you to take it slow. He hasn't told you, but it's been a long time since it's been anything other than his hand and him. And he feels every bit of that longing as your walls squeeze him tighter the more of him you take.
"Sweetheart, you gotta give me a minute. I can't. I don't want this to end so soon," he's pleading with you, breathing heavily as the need to thrust up into you gets harder to restrain. You cup his face, making sure he's staring right into your eyes as you lower yourself completely. His breath his hot against your mouth as he gasps, the sound turn into a moan the second you start riding him. Not giving him any time to adjust as if this were your way of getting payback for the way he pushed your buttons all night.
"Fuck, you feel so good," he grits out, guiding your hips with his hands to move you in ways that have you both moaning out for each other. Your arms wrap around his shoulders, pulling him in for a makeout that's all tongue and teethâmessy and passionate all in one. Breathing each other in like the only source of air you need can be found within each other. And that's when Bucky feels it again, his heart soaring with how right this feels, just like the first time you slept together.
"I missed you, Iâ" he mumbles into your lips, but when you pick up your pace, he forgets what he was going to say. You've got him pussy drunk and wrapped around your fingerâright where he wants to be.
He can tell he won't last much longer at this pace, and he needs you to come before he does. His hand goes to where you're connected, pressing circles onto your clit in the way he knows you like, making you mewl. "That's it baby, you're doing so good for me, pretty girl." His other hand grips you tighter, keeping you steady as he starts fucking up into you, meeting your hips. You whine at how deep he's going, one of your hands shooting out to the fogged up glass like that'll help anchor you. He can feel how close you are, so he doubles down, fucking up into you harder and increasing the pressure on your clit. "Come on, baby, give it to me. Let go, sweetheart, I got you," he whispers affectionately and wrecked, bringing you in for another kiss that undoes you. You come hard, crying out his name, and he follows suit, coming harder than he has in years. You got him seeing stars with the way your cunt squeezes him for all he's got.
You're both panting in the aftermath, his head resting against the backseat as he tries to catch his breath. Your head drops onto his shoulder, his hand gently rubbing at your back to help you with the aftershocks of your coupling. He kisses your temple reverently, whispering soft praises and sweet nothings as you both come down from your highs. For a few minutes, the car is quiet with a tranquility Bucky wasn't sure you two would ever get to again.
Your head rises from his shoulder, moments later, a dopey smile on your face. He laughs fondly, his hand rising to stroke your cheek affectionately, "You're so beautiful." He doesn't know if it's what he says or the way he said it, but your smile no longer reaches your eyes. It makes his heart squeeze in his chest uncomfortably.
"Everything okay?" He's looking you over to make sure you're okay, fearing he might've been a little rough with you. You clear your throat, wincing, "Yeah, it's justâI'm feeling a bit sure already." His eyes widen at that and he apologizes right away, helping you gently off of him as you both wince, sensitive at the disconnection.
You start redressing yourself, confusing him, but he didn't question you. He had hoped you two could stay together a little longer in the backseat, talk a few things out and just enjoy this pocket of happiness you had granted each other. But whatever spell you two were under seemed to be broken. And faster than Bucky could process it, you were already dressed and getting out of his car. He scrambled to clean himself up with what he had at his disposal, tucking himself back in his sweats and hastily slipping on his hoodie just as he heard the engine to your car turn on.
He gets out of his car, rushing over to you and knocking on the window for you to lower it. You do, staring at him in a way that he can't read, but it makes him uneasy nonetheless.
"You're leaving already?" Bucky can't hide the disappointment in his tone. You sigh, picking at a nonexistent thread on your jacket to keep your eyes somewhere that isn't on him. "I told you I have to return the car to Rumlow, it's not mine. He's got trackers on all his cars, so I have to return it before he comes looking for it."
"I can go withâ"
"No, you'd only make things worse for me, okay? It's best if you just stay out of this."
He can't accept that, leaving you to deal with this on your own. Especially after being the only one who knows exactly how much trouble you're in. "I dont know how to help you, but I want to. Maybe I can't help, but maybe I can find someone who can."
"No, Bucky, just drop it," your tone made it clear you weren't budging from this. And maybe he couldn't make you budge on this now, but later, later he could fully convince you to let him help. "Fine, I willâfor now. But, there's still some stuff I want to talk about," you give him a look and he's quick to dispel your apprehension, "Not now, I know you have to go. But later I'd like to have a proper talk. About us."
Something about you changes in this moment. Bucky can almost see it in the way you straighten up in the driver's seat, in the way your eyes glaze over with something deeply broken crawling it's way to the surface. Something meant to hurt him just as badly as he once hurt you.
"Us? Bucky, there is no us. Tonight⊠you were just an itch I had to scratch. Something I had to get out of my system, so thanks for that," your voice doesn't sound like your own when you say that. It sounds distant and cold, like you're trying your best to keep yourself together. However, the way in which you said certain things rings alarms bells inside his head. He's barley able to stutter out a reply when you pull back and drive off, leaving him in the dust of the engine fumes.
Those words. He's heard them before, but not from you, no, from his own mouth. He's replayed those words time and time again in his mind for the last six years. The things he once said to Sam way back then when he stupidly was trying to deny how he felt about you. You used those exact words against him tonight. It dawns on him, horrifically, that you heard him say that back then. Your anger and frustrationâthe heartbreak of that morning. It came from you thinking you weren't anything, but a one night stand for him.
And now youd done the same thing to him, as if trying to make things even. Maybe you had.
Bucky slumps against his car, sliding down it until he hits the floor. Pieces of a puzzle he could never solve slowly start clicking together until he gets a better picture of what happened. He had messed everything up like he feared he would. And it wasn't something he had done, it was something he had said. He wanted to kick himself for ever saying those things. If you were still angry at him all these years later, then you must have not heard the rest of the conversation. You only heard the part that broke your heart and made you hate him all this time.
Was there ever a possibility you would forgive him?
Could you forgive him?
Bucky doesn't know the answers to those questions, but what he does know is that he won't find out unless he tries to earn it.
a/n Well my darling barbies, you now have a choice to make. If you decide to not forgive Bucky, then your story ends here. If you decide to give him a second chance, then you're in luck! A part two is already in the works. Once again, comments and reblogs are so appreciated! âĄâĄâĄ
bucky's dreamhouse | bucky masterlist | main masterlist | purple divider by @/cursed-carmine ĘââË.â
the other day all my coworkers were talking about the various wack diets they're on and I went "nahhhh I'm on the Seafood Diet" and the lady next to me goes "oh, what's that?" and i was so shocked by actually getting a chance to deliver the punchline on that ancient gag that i barely even remembered to say it
Ok, my mom is all in on a couple of different diet plans that are just WILD though.
The first one is the blood type diet. Basically your blood type indicates what diet you should be on because it ties back to your ancestry.
The second one is the food pairings diet. I know there is some science to that, but let me give you some of my mother's examples: red meat should not be eaten with potatoes. Chicken should not be eaten with corn. There was one I can't remember except that it couldn't be paired with grape skins. Peeled grapes were fine. But not the skins.
But before the successful jump, as I was trying to turn my car on, a bee flew over. I very calmly slid out of my car and explained that there's a bee. He got a sheepish look on his face.
"Oh, that might be my fault. I take care of bees in my free time and I was handling the queen bee very recently. Might smell her on me. I'm sorry about that."
Was talking to Hubby about possibly hosting a writing challenge based around heists. He pauses and says, "thinking about your usual characters. Would Steve Rogers be ok with stealing?"
My brain immediately went to Nat asking Steve where he learned to steal cars only for him to say, "we're not stealing, we're borrowing." So not only is he already a thief, he's also falsified documents (to get into the army).
Yeah, he's down for a heist. Especially for a good cause. đ
Steve Rogers would totally steal. He is 100% a Robin Hood thief. Would he walk through a crowd stealing from random tourists? No, absolutely not, that would be Wrong. Would he steal millions from some robber baron and use the majority to fund children's hospitals? Absolutely. Steve Rogers is chaotic good and no one will convince me otherwise.
Was talking to Hubby about possibly hosting a writing challenge based around heists. He pauses and says, "thinking about your usual characters. Would Steve Rogers be ok with stealing?"
My brain immediately went to Nat asking Steve where he learned to steal cars only for him to say, "we're not stealing, we're borrowing." So not only is he already a thief, he's also falsified documents (to get into the army).
Yeah, he's down for a heist. Especially for a good cause. đ
Steve Rogers would totally steal. He is 100% a Robin Hood thief. Would he walk through a crowd stealing from random tourists? No, absolutely not, that would be Wrong. Would he steal millions from some robber baron and use the majority to fund children's hospitals? Absolutely. Steve Rogers is chaotic good and no one will convince me otherwise.
you can't say "hey has anyone noticed that M/M fic outnumbers F/F like 100:1â or âit feels racist that only 3/202 characters on the ao3 top 100 ships list are Black and two of them are Alastor HazbinHotelâ bc some ppl will start going like âoh so you think we should FORCE people to write about things they DONâT CARE ABOUT for WOKE????â and youâll be like âno, iâm pointing out that the conditions that created this disparity are informed by racism & misogynyâ and ppl will say âitâs not BIGOTED to only care about WHITE MENâ and then the gargoyle king appears
That was the rule you made for yourself the first time you clicked on Bucky Barnesâs stream.
No faces, no feelingsâjust something to pass the time.
But then he started noticing you.
At first it was smallâyour username said out loud in that low, gravel-edged voice. Then it becameâŠ.more, like he was waiting for you to type. Little smirks that only showed up after your messages showed up on the screen.
But tonight felt different.
âYouâre quiet,â he murmurs, leaning closer to the camera, metal fingers brushing his jaw. His eyes narrow slightly, like heâs searching for you through the screen. âThatâs not like you.â
Your heart stutters.
The chat is flying, but somehow it still feels like itâs just the two of you.
Ridiculous but..true.
âI know youâre there,â he adds, softer this timeâdangerously soft.
Your fingers hover before you finally type something simple.
@ softcorebaby: âIâm here.â
His lips twitch, slow and satisfied.
âYeah,â he exhales, leaning back like he just proved a point. âThought so.â
Thereâs a beat. His gaze lingersâheavy, intentional.
âDonât disappear on me, sweetheart.â
And the worst part?
You already know you wonât.
Canât.
Youâre far too deep
And somehow you love it. Deep down, you never want to get pulled out.
warnings: 18+ MDNI, eventual smut, fluffy!Bucky, power imbalance, sugar daddy / sugar baby dynamic, age gap (reader in mid-to-late twenties while Buckyâs in his early forties), mentioned illness/death of parents (minor characters), money troubles, i.e., debt, bills, etc., alcohol consumption, one instance of smoking cigarettes, no mentions of y/n
word count: 8.6k
part one - part three: coming soon
summary: The arrangement is simple enough: you give him friendship, he gives you a better life. But between the private dinners cozied up in a booth and the charity galas pressed to his side, itâs getting harder for you to hold up your end of the bargain when youâre starting to feel things for your sugar daddy that were not included in the contractâŠ
sammy speaks: part two is here!! I donât think Iâve written this many words since my 1D fanfic days lol. good news is Iâm on vacation now so the writing will be flowing! I wouldnât mind an ask or prompt about these two either đ hope you enjoy lovelies
December arrives suddenly. With it comes your winter break.
You spend most of it staying up late, indulging in mindless scrolls and shitty TV, and sleeping in until the afternoon. Itâs lazy, self-serving and irresponsible, but itâs healing something childlike within you that hasnât gotten attention since your mom passed.
Bucky understands this, but it doesnât mean he likes it.
âIâm giving my brain a break,â you tell him for the third time, phone tucked between your ear and your shoulder as you make a fresh cup of coffee at four in the afternoon.
âYouâre becoming nocturnal,â Bucky replies sternly on the other end.
âWhatâs wrong with that?â
âSunlightâs good for a person.â
âIâm looking at sunlight right now.â
âSunset,â he corrects. Sure enough, the light is fading quickly, street lamps powering on outside of your window. Damn daylight savings.
âOh, whatever,â you dismiss. âItâs not like itâs forever â I promise Iâll go back to a normal personâs sleep schedule after the new year.â
âI donât like waiting around all day to hear from you.â
Your heart skips a beat in your chest. âIâm sorry,â you say, gentler. âI donât mean to keep you waiting.â
âI know,â he sighs, resigned. âItâs just boring without you.â
You bite your lip, an idea blooming in your brain. âYou know whatâs not boring?â
âWhat?â
âMalibu.â
He exhales, long and deep, dragging it out.
âAlright,â he relents. âFine. But when we get back, youâre gonna start going to bed at a normal time like a well-adjusted person. Iâm tired of eating lunch alone.â
âOk, grandpa. I promise.â
He picks you up an hour later when youâre still zipping up your suitcase, dressed like a Tom Ford ad with a cashmere scarf and designer pea coat draped over him, face appropriately disgruntled but eyes bright with adventure as he holds the car door open for you. By six, youâre buckled into the seat next to him on the private jet. By midnight, youâre touching down at Santa Monica Airport.
Sun, sand and ocean breeze occupy your next forty-eight hours. Buckyâs house in Malibu boasts floor-to-ceiling windows that overlook the Pacific, a waterfall pool set to the perfect temperature, and a large back deck to soak in the sun while eating breakfast. Bucky scrolls the morning news on his phone, shades on and shirt unbuttoned to his naval, while you sip mimosas and try not to stare.
Thatâs a difficult ask when youâre finally getting an unobstructed view of the chest hair that teased you so long ago.
The first day, you hop in his vintage convertible and drive up the coast to his sprawling vineyard. He gives you a tour of the grounds while you catch a buzz taste testing all the wines heâs made. Youâre flushed and giggling by the time you head back, and Buckyâs smile seems like a permanent fixture on his face. Dinner is a seafood feast at a small restaurant right off the beach, where the owner welcomes Bucky like a son and calls you stunning at least five times. The night ends with a glass of wine in front of the moonlit ocean, curled up on a blanket with oversized sweatshirts to block the wind. Whispers back and forth about childhood dreams and failed first kisses; favorite books and most embarrassing moments. You feel light as a feather by the time you float off to bed, a warmth that has nothing to do with the wine settling deep in your chest.
The next day, Bucky rouses you from your sleep before the sunâs fully up, claiming you âneed the practiceâ and muttering that itâs already 9 in the morning back home when you prove difficult to move from the guest bed. When youâre finally up, the two of you walk the beach with the rest of the early risers, sipping travel mugs of extra strong coffee and making fun of runners who stumble through the sand.
The oceanâs coming alive at this time of day, and for a few minutes, the two of you stop to watch it do its thing. Waves crash, shells tumble. Not far from the coast, dolphins jump through the air, chasing fish and playing.
Itâs the calmest your mind and heart have been in ages, and the feeling makes you smile, face tipped up toward the sun. When Bucky reaches for your hand, you thread your fingers through his and squeeze.
Later, you take a dip in the pool while Bucky makes a work call. The sun beats down on your skin relentlessly like itâs never heard of winter. Youâre starting to doze on your floating lounge chair when you hear a small splash, and waves lap at your skin. You push your sunglasses up and look around.
Bucky breaks through the water at the other end of the pool. You blink at him.
When he spots you, a wicked smile crosses his face. Before you can say a word, heâs ducked under again and streaking towards you like a shark.
âBuckyââ
Youâre tossed overboard, the sound of Buckyâs laughter the last thing you hear before you hit the water. Heâs still laughing when you emerge, drenched and in disbelief. You answer his laugh with a sharp splash right to the face, scowling. His smile turns evil after he shakes the water from his eyes.
âDonât start something you canât finish, sweetheart.â
You splash him again because he fucking deserves it. Then he lunges.
You shriek, making a break for the edge of the pool, but heâs got you by the ankle before you even touch the wall. He yanks, sending you spiraling underwater again.
Youâre sputtering when you come up, but itâs game on now. You throw yourself at him, hands pressing down on his shoulders to give him a taste of his own medicine, but heâs immovable to your touch. Wasting no time, he grabs you by the waist and tosses you several feet across the water. You launch another attack when his headâs turned, coming up from behind and wrapping your arms around his neck to drag him down with you. He goes willingly this time, but his hands maneuver you easily so that youâre thrown over his shoulder when you break the surface. You writhe and wrestle him to let you go, but heâs got an unbreakable grip across your legs; he carries you through the shallow end while you whine about unfairness, fists beating at his back. He crosses the deck quickly and suddenly, youâre airborne.
Until you smack the water in the deep end.
You gasp for air when you come up. âYouâre a fucking bully,â you cough, throat raw from the unprecedented amount of water you inhaled. âYou win.â
âYou started it,â Bucky lifts his hands helplessly. Then, without warning, he gives you his best smile before cannonballing directly next to you. You scream as another wave of water brings you under.
You have half a mind to shove him back down when he reemerges, but his unbridled laughter is possibly one of the greatest sounds youâve ever heard in your entire life. You greedily take in the arch of his neck as he throws his head back, and the way his nose scrunches in delight.
After he accepts your white flag, he helps you to the wall, a hand on your back pushing you gently. He hoists himself out first, and suddenly the water in your nose isnât the only thing making it difficult for you to breathe.
Rivulets trail down his broad back, emphasizing the isolated muscles used to push himself up. Theyâre large, but sharp, clearly built by hours spent in the gym. When he turns around to offer you a hand, you canât look him in the eye. The front of him is downright obscene, a replica of any Greek sculpture you can think of. And with his hair slicked back, swim trunks clinging to his muscular thighs, and the chest hair on full displayâ the chest hairâ
He lifts you one-handed out of the water. You scurry away before you can make a bad decision â like lick the water from his chest.
Dinner is sushi on a private deck with the stars shining down on you. Heâs placed his jacket around your shoulders, the scent of his cologne and something innately him smothering you in the best way possible. Buckyâs chatty tonight, talking about work, talking about the vineyard, talking about old friends from college. You only absorb every other word, too busy sneaking lingering glances when heâs not looking.
His posture is more relaxed than youâve ever seen it, and his phone â his usual stressor â is nowhere in sight. The ocean breeze ruffles his hair but he doesnât bother to fix it. When he meets your eyes, he offers a smile that says heâs right where he wants to be. Like he could do this for the rest of his life.
But all good things must come to an end eventually.
New York is a tundra wasteland when you return. Your timing was impeccable because you just missed the biggest snowstorm of the season. Buckyâs grumbling about the cold the minute you step onto the tarmac, drawing the collar of his coat around his ears despite the car idling thirty feet away.
The drive into the city goes by too quickly. Malibu fades more into a memory with each mile you put between you and the plane.
You think you must be sleep-deprived and jet lagged, because when Bucky presses a parting kiss to your forehead once youâre in front of your building, tears spring to your eyes. Youâre out of the car before he can get a chance to see them.
But as soon as you step foot in your apartment, youâre missing the warmth of California, the beautiful Malibu home, the smell of the ocean, and Bucky by your side. Itâs not exhaustion that brought the tears â itâs longing. Heavy, irrational, unfiltered longing.
You force yourself to take a nap anyway.
Eventually, the holidays are here, and Bucky gets into the spirit by sparing no expense.
Two days before Christmas, he rents out the entire top floor restaurant of a skyscraper and presents you with a solid gold, heart-shaped locket in the middle of the quiet, candlelit room. Itâs vintage, itâs supposedly priceless, and itâs everything you never knew you wanted but now canât live without. Youâre stumbling over your thank yous as he helps you put it on. His fingers are warm and confident as he hooks the clasp, and trail down your neck unintentionally as you turn, giving you goosebumps.
âBeautiful,â he says quietly. Your skin flushes and your heart soars. Thatâs all you need to hear. You canât help but touch it repeatedly throughout the night, and Bucky notices, hiding his smile behind his drink.
Heâs over the top with giddiness when you give him his gift. A vinyl for his collection, a one-of-a-kind collectorâs album of his favorite band that took weeks to track down. And itâs something you purchased with your own meager savings â you know you didnât have to, but it means something to you to have given back even a minuscule fraction of what heâs given you.
Later that night, when youâre getting ready for bed at your own apartment, you take the locket off and unclasp it.
It pops open easily, revealing two empty frames.
Despite the incredible night, your heart canât help but sink.
You donât know what you were expecting â Buckyâs hardly the type to put a photo of himself in a locket, he barely looks in the mirror in the morning. But something inside of you was obviously hoping for it. A small sign of possession. Of claiming this relationship, no matter how it started or what itâs defined as.
You set the locket gently on your bedside table. You fall asleep looking at it, mind sifting through whatâs real and whatâs imagined.
Christmas day is a quiet event with an estranged aunt that makes the effort to keep family in your life. Itâs an awkward affair, with stilted small talk and pauses long enough to make you sweat, but you donât have the heart to tell her no each time she comes around.
Buckyâs unusually silent throughout the day, nothing from him except a text in the morning wishing you a merry Christmas. Itâs a strange feeling for you when most of your day is spent in contact with him. Youâre not sure where he is, or if heâs with family, or if he has any. Somehow, you havenât asked, and he hasnât volunteered that information yet.
But as the day goes on and you still havenât heard from him, the curiosity is starting to burn you alive.
Or is it jealousy? Jealousy for whoeverâs taking up all his time, time thatâs normally dedicated solely to you?
Youâre probably being overdramatic, but this feels like the first taste of what your life would be like without him, and itâs turning you inside out. Your usual detachment tendencies are nowhere to be found, instead making room for a frantic need to confirm his existence. You have to battle with the urge to call him three different times before your aunt gives you a stiff hug and heads out.
Once itâs just you and Lucky, the silence is a bitter enabler. Youâre ringing him before you know it.
He picks up just before it goes to voicemail. âHey,â he answers, voice hushed.
âHi,â you say. âMerry Christmas.â
âMerry Christmas, sweetheart. Howâs your aunt?â
âSheâs good. She made cookies and then we ate them in silence while watching Rudolph.â
He chuckles. âSounds like a heartwarming Christmas tradition.â
âI know. Sheâs trying, at least. She just left, actuallyâŠhowâs your Christmas?â
âItâs good.â
Thereâs a pause as you wait for him to say more, but he doesnât.
âGood,â you croak. âI-Iâm glad. I was afraid youâd spend it in the office.â
âEven I know when to take a day off, unlike some of us.â
Your smile is automatic as you recall the conversation from months ago. âHey, some of us didnât have a choice.â
âI know,â his chest rumbles, âbut now you do.â
âI donât have a job, Bucky.â
âSo you can take as many days off as you want.â
You giggle. âI donât think it works like that.â
âIt works whatever way you want it to, dollââ He cuts off when a voice in the background calls his name. A womanâs voice. High and lilting, musical. Your blood runs cold, like youâve been dropped into the Hudson. âHey, listen, I gotta go,â Bucky says, low and rushed. âBut Iâll call you first thing tomorrow, okay? Weâll do something. Donât sleep in.â
Your mouthâs open to reply but heâs already hung up. You stare at your phone until the screen goes black. Lucky jumps off the couch next to you, disappearing into the other room and leaving you to deal with your new fears alone.
Bucky makes good on his promise to call you the next morning. In a strange twist of events, you wake up early, probably because you were tossing and turning all night after the abrupt end to your call.
âHey, doll,â he says cheerfully.
âHey,â you breathe, praying you hide the hint of relief in your tone.
âFeel like ice skating today?â
Famous last words.
Much later, when your feet are numb from loss of circulation and the cold, and youâve tired of grumbling at Bucky about how effortless he is at skating, you stare down over the city from his penthouse windows. He has the fireplace lit, Christmas tree lights on, a Bing Crosby carol playing on the vinyl; your hands are wrapped around a hot tea, its steam warming your face. Itâs peaceful and serene.
Bucky falls into place beside you on silent feet.
âWhatcha thinking about?â
Your mind conjures up the phone call, the womanâs voice on Buckyâs end.
You smile. âThat I missed my calling as a figure skater.â
Buckyâs laugh is low and gravely. It scrapes against your spine and makes you shiver.
âI was thinking the same thing. You couldâve had a gold medal by now.â
âA dream deferred.â
Itâs quiet for a moment. Bucky reaches for you, pulling you closer by the hip. You can smell his cologne again, and it momentarily deprives you of all other senses.
âI had fun today,â he tells you. âSkating was my favorite thing to do as a kid. I couldnât tell you the last time I went.â
You hum and look up at him. âWhat made you think of it, then?â
âI donât know,â Bucky says slowly, taking a sip of tea. âI guess I was feeling nostalgic.â He meets your eyes. âThank you for coming with me.â
âThank you for taking me. It was surprisingly fun to embarrass myself in front of all those people.â
He scoffs. âYou were a lot better than you think. You just need practice.â
âSure. But letâs save that for next year when thereâs a better chance that people donât remember me.â
âWhatever you say, doll.â He pauses. âWhat are you doing for New Years?â
You blink. âOh, uh â nothing, I guess.â
His head tilts. âUp for another fancy party?â
Five days later, youâre draped in silk and diamonds, hair done and skin glowing. Buckyâs hand is dragging lazily up and down your back as he listens to a board memberâs hypothetical on splitting shares. You barely hear a word heâs saying.
When the man walks away, Bucky leans in. âHaving a holiday work party on an actual holiday is already dickish, but talking about work at the holiday work party? Unbelievable.â
âThe nerve of him,â you whisper back. He sends you a wink before leading you to the other side of the room.
Before the end of the night, Bucky gives a speech to the partygoers. He thanks everyone for coming before humbly acknowledging the company having another record-breaking year. Cheers erupt all around; everywhere you look, people are smiling at him with respect and admiration. Bucky calls out a few people in particular for exemplary performance, then reminds everyone to arrange for rides home before cracking a joke about who will be the first one in HRâs office after tonight.
Heâs charming, heâs magnetic, heâs impossible to look away from. And when he steps off stage and heads directly for you, your heart nearly goes into cardiac arrest.
During the countdown to midnight, Bucky has you pressed against his side, eyes twinkling as they take in the room. Meanwhile, youâre barely breathing, desperately wondering if Bucky will respect the age-old tradition of a kiss to ring in the new year. Just as the clock hits twelve, and you turn your face to his, Bucky leans down and brushes his lips to your forehead. Gentle, steady.
And not at all what you wanted.
âHappy New Year, honey.â
You exhale softly. âHappy New Year, Bucky.â
It takes everything in you to keep those floodgates right where they are.
After the partyâs ended, you agree to go back to Buckyâs. Heâs rubbing the marks of your heels from your feet while you recap the night, massaging the stiffness out of them; youâre bundled up in his sweatshirt and sweatpants, and he wears the same.
âThank you for coming with me tonight,â he says.
âOf course. It was a really beautiful party.â
âAgreed. Iâm looking forward to signing off on that bill on Monday.â
You laugh. âYou know, your employees really love you. I could see it on their faces.â
Bucky shrugs, but his ears go pink. âTheyâre good people.â
âI think youâre good people.â
âYouâre not so bad yourself,â he says with a smile. You attempt to push his chest with your foot, but he holds your ankle steady, eyes twinkling with mischief.
âI also think you donât give yourself enough credit,â you continue softly, voice lowering. âYou work hard, you fight for things thatâll make the company better, and you care so much. These people see it. Theyâre lucky to have you and they know it. I know I am.â
His hands pause. When his eyes find yours, theyâre wide, vulnerable. âThank you,â he whispers.
You shoot him a shy smile. âYouâre welcome.â
Your phone lights up just then, an alert from your cat camera detecting movement. But Buckyâs gaze is drawn to the time.
âChrist,â he swears, âitâs already three. Think itâs time for bed.â
You follow him toward the bedrooms, fighting off yawns; he turns to you in front of his door, sleepy smile already stretched across his face. âGoodnight, sweetheart,â he murmurs, turning the handle.
A thought occurs to you. A very selfish thought.
âBucky?â you blurt out.
He turns.
âYeah?â
âCan I, uh â can I sleepâŠin your bed? With you?â
Buckyâs silent, eyes blinking. You feel the heat creep up your neck and more words rush out of your mouth in response. Youâre looking everywhere but at him.
âJust for tonight, I â um, I just mean, itâs a holiday and, you know, you spend holidays with peopleâŠYou totally donât have to say yes, oh my God, I probably crossed a lineââ
âSweetheart.â
Bucky holds the door to his room open, standing aside to allow you to pass. Your mouth opens and closes without a sound, but you scamper by him when he raises an eyebrow. The lights are off, the bed made; you unfold it together, like youâve done this before a million times, and slide under the sheets.
Lying down, you face each other, eyes dancing over the otherâs features softly illuminated by the lights of the city through the window; thereâs only a few inches of space between you â it feels too close yet not close enough at the same time.
âThank you,â you whisper to him. A soft smile flits across his face. Wordlessly, he reaches out and curls two fingers around yours, then his eyes flutter shut.
âSleep tight, sweetheart.â
You watch his breathing slow, getting comfort from the steady rise and fall of his chest. Like this, youâre free to stare. You drink him in, every inch you can see, from the strands of hair falling in his face to the outlines of his legs underneath the sheets. You wish you could see all of him, every freckle, every line, every angle, so you can greedily commit it to memory. So you can be one of the lucky few to have known Bucky Barnes so intimately.
It isnât lust, it isnât want âitâs something much deeper than that. Something much more devastating.
Youâre eventually lulled to sleep by the pulse in his wrist beating against yours.
January is cold and brutal. February is no better. March finally brings a taste of the sun, but youâre too busy buried up to your neck in school that you hardly step outside to savor it, unless Buckyâs there to drag you out the door.
With finals on the horizon, sometimes you have to make the hard decision to decline Buckyâs invites to dinner, or a show, or another charity gala. The guilt and pressure cut so deep after you say no that you burst into tears as soon as you get off the phone with him.
To his credit, Bucky doesnât push â heâs your number one champion for you getting your degree â but in your weakest moments, when a headache throbs at your temple and youâve gone cross-eyed from staring at a screen all day, you think about the womanâs voice on Buckyâs phone. Itâs like your brain is punishing you for overworking it day in and day out, pushing nasty propaganda about losing him to a faceless woman as you try to fall asleep.
Dark circles under your eyes become a constant. You live off of electrolytes, coffee and takeout that Bucky has delivered to your apartment. Youâre too tired to even doomscroll when you allow yourself a five minute break. Itâs a very isolated existence.
Bucky comes by when he can, bearing groceries and ibuprofen and looking larger than life in your little one bedroom flat.
When heâs with you, he shows absolutely no signs of there being another woman in his life, patiently listening to your complaints about thesis formatting and unproved data formulas, gently making you eat after youâve paced a ditch into your floorboards, holding you close on the couch until your body finally relaxes.
But your brain is a vengeful motherfucker. It torments you for choosing school over Bucky in between writing papers and compiling research. It convinces you that heâs faking every sweet word of encouragement that he gives you. It blends your reality until you believe that heâs cozied up at dinner with someone new, working his effortless charm on your replacement while you sit at home in the dark with your textbooks.
Unsurprisingly, you reach a breaking point.
Now, a sane person would pick up the phone and talk to him about it. But youâve been entertaining a mild psychosis for days, brought on by stress and fatigue and pathetic amounts of yearning, so â naturally â you decide to show up at his home.
Itâs half past midnight when you stumble out of the elevator into his dark penthouse. You bump into a side table as you struggle to find the light switch, sending it to the floor with a crash that could wake the dead, i.e., Bucky. Sure enough, you hear his bedroom door open and the sound of feet rounding the corner. The light flips on.
âWhat the fuck?â
Heâs wearing nothing except his briefs, hair mussed from sleep but eyes wide and alert. He looks like heâs seeing a ghost. You certainly look the part â your clothes are soaked through from the rain, your teeth chattering and lips blue.
âH-hey,â you say weakly.
He says nothing, a tense moment passing between the two of you, before he crosses the room and pulls you into his chest.
âWhatâs wrong?â he demands. âAre you okay?â He pushes you back to scan you from head to toe. Your fingers curl around his forearms.
âN-no, Iâm f-fine. Just c-c-cold.â
He yanks you back into his hold, arms like pythons around your waist and shoulders.
âWhat are you doing here?â he breathes against your hair. âI thought you were asleep.â
Your sigh brushes against his collarbone; your body is melting against his already. âI t-tried, butâŠI m-missed you.â
Bucky stills, just for a second. Then his arms pull even tighter around you.
âI missed you, too.â
âIâm sorry I woke you up,â you whisper.
âDonât apologize. Iâm glad youâre here.â He lifts his cheek from your head, taking in your wet clothes. âDid you â did you walk here?â
You have the grace to look guilty.
âFuck,â he hisses, leaning down to meet your eye, âdonât ever do that again. I donât want you walking around the city alone at this time of night â either call Bob or call an uber and charge it to my card. You donât walk. Do you hear me?â
The tone of his voice is new and startling to your already-vulnerable psyche. Tears spill over before you can stop them. He exhales deeply, hands coming up to cup your face.
âIâm sorry,â he says, softer. âI shouldnât have said it like that. You justâŠscared me.â
âIâm fine,â you repeat, sniffling.
âSays the woman who walked God knows how far in the pouring rain at midnight.â His eyes search your face. âWhatâs going on?â
Your lip trembles. âIâm sorry,â you whisper.
âShhh. Tell me whatâs wrong,â he urges, and all of the ugly thoughts rear their heads inside your brain.
âIt â itâs stupidâŠâ
âIt canât be if you came all this way. Just tell me.â
He waits in silence for you to answer. You struggle to find the words, sifting through scraps of explanations while your head and your heart duke it out.
ââŠI guess I wasâŠafraid,â you mumble, unable to hold his gaze.
âAfraid of what, sweetheart?â His thumbs brush your cheekbones soothingly.
âOfâŠlosing you.â
He frowns. âWhat do you mean?â
You take a sharp, rattling breath. âI keep saying no to doing things with you because Iâm so worried about school, and I â I havenât made any effort at all to make up for it. Weâve barely seen each other in weeks â I didnât realize until now how much Iâve been pushing you a-away. It made me scared that youâd see that I was choosing school over you andâŠy-youâd get tired of me, or want someone elseâŠâ
For the longest minute of your life, he says nothing. You watch as a thousand different emotions cross his face, from anger to sadness to relief. He settles on a blend of happy and pained, jaw clenching but eyes calm as ever. Bucky brings you closer, leaning his forehead against yours.
âSweetheart, youâre not losing me.â He speaks softly, melodically. âI told you a long time ago that I wanted you to be able to focus on what matters to you, and I meant it. Iâm so damn proud of what youâre doing, it makes every second Iâm not with you worth it.â
He tilts your head up so that you meet his gaze. Itâs warm, tender, almost pleading.
âAnd I could never get tired of you, even if we go days, or weeks, or months without seeing each other. You bring so much joy to my life just by being in it. Just by being you. Why would I ever want anyone else?â
In the back of your mind, you know youâre sobbing, but you donât care. A hundred pound weight has been lifted off your chest and you think you might float to the ceiling if you werenât wrapped up in Buckyâs arms. Whimpering, you bury your face into his chest, clutching at him with all your might. Buckyâs hands spread across your back, pressing you closer.
âThank you,â you whisper against his skin. His lips brush your hair in a soft kiss.
The other floodgate cracks open, as inevitable as the sun rises. This time, you donât fight it â you push the door all the way open, standing aside to let the oncoming rush of feelings flood your heart after theyâve been locked away for so long. It hurts, but itâs a good kind of hurt. Especially when Buckyâs holding you through it.
He only pulls away once your tears have turned into the occasional hiccup. âCome on,â he says gently, âletâs get you warmed up.â
He steers you into his bathroom, turning on the shower and placing a hoodie and boxers next to the sink. He leaves you to it, and you spend a good amount of time scrubbing at your face and regaining feeling in your limbs.
When you open the bathroom door, drowning in his clothes and smelling like his soap, heâs waiting for you, dressed in a hoodie of his own. A tiny part of you mourns the loss of seeing his skin. He helps you climb into his bed, pulling the covers up to your chin as you settle against the pillows. He flicks the light off before sliding in beside you, shuffling over until his cold toes touch yours, and his hand slides down your wrist and grabs your arm, pulling you in to close the distance between you.
A faint noise escapes you as you tuck your head against his shoulder. Youâve never been this close to him before â it feels like coming home after a long time away.
Youâre drifting off in minutes, Buckyâs arm a comforting weight around your waist. Your dreams start sweetly when you hear his voice saying, âIâm all yours, sweetheart.â
When you receive the email that late April morning, youâre lying in Buckyâs bed scrolling on your phone. Even though Bucky left for work hours ago, you have a habit of drawing out your mornings from the comfort of his king mattress. As soon as you get the notification, your heart stops. You shoot up quickly, opening the email with shaky fingers, and read.
On behalf of the faculty and administration, we extend our sincere congratulations on the successful completion of your Masterâs degree in Business Analytics.
This message serves as official confirmation that your degree has been conferred. Your academic achievement reflects a high level of dedication, discipline, and commitment to your field of studyâŠ
You scream before erupting into a fit of laughter, scrambling out from under the covers to jump on the bed until your legs give out. You fucking did it.
Breathless, you collapse onto the bed, immediately dialing Bucky. He picks up in one ring.
âYour ears mustâve been burning âcause Iâve got a bone to pick with you, doll, you took all the covers from me last night arouââ
âBucky. I did it. I got the email.â
Silence for the length of a heartbeat. Then, with a smile in his voice, âThatâs my girl. Congratulations, sweetheart, I always knew youâd do it.â
âThank you, Bucky â I-I couldnât have done it without you.â
âNah, that was all you, smarty pants.â
You giggle, smushing your face into the pillow to hide your blush.
âIt doesnât feel real,â you muse, blowing hair from your eyes. âIâm not sure if Iâm supposed to feel different or what.â
âThatâs because you need to celebrate. You worked so hard for this, your brain isnât out of school mode yet. You need to show yourself that you earned it. Thatâs when it will sink in.â
Your smile grows. âI like the way you think, Barnes. What do you think our odds are of getting into Minetta tonight?â
Thereâs a pause on his end, the sound of his keyboard the only thing you hear.
âActually, I was thinking of something a little further away than Minetta.â
You know that tone. You sit up straight.
âBucky. What are you planning?â
Youâve never seen water so blue in your entire life. Not even the beaches of Positano hold a candle to the sea surrounding the Maldives.
Bucky offers you a hand as you step out of the car. You take it gratefully, squeezing tightly just to make sure heâs real, that all of this is real.
âWelcome to One&Only Reethi Rah, Mr. Barnes. Weâre so happy you could join us here.â
Bucky pulls you close, an arm slung over your shoulders, as the guide takes you across the grounds and to the docks where several large huts are built over the turquoise water. He shows you to the door of yours and Buckyâs villa, prattling off the agenda Buckyâs already set with the staff. You just barely register the words âsnorkelingâ and âprivate dinnerâ while you wander. Itâs a long structure with an open concept, you can just see the end of the bed past the dining table; all of the walls are windows that are open to let in the breeze; on the far end, a large sundeck faces the ocean.
Bucky speaks with the guide while you weave in and out of the rooms. Two bathrooms, a small kitchen, a pool, and one bed. A small smile stretches across your face as your fingers brush over the comforter.
âWhat do you think?â
You turn, finding Bucky leaning against the wall across from you. Your smile grows and you let out a squeal, scrambling up and over the bed in your hurry to wrap your arms around him.
He smiles back, crushing you to him. âIâve never heard that sound from you before. Iâm guessing you like it?â
âBucky â I love it. This place is a dream!â
âGlad you think so. Not a bad spot to celebrate getting your Masterâs, huh?â
You laugh. âWay better than Minetta.â
The celebrations start with â of all things â a nap, because the twenty-four hours of traveling catch up to you once the adrenaline wears off. You stretch out on the bed next to Bucky, his hand carding through your hair, feet dangling over the edge, the sound of the ocean lulling you to sleep.
You feel like youâve just closed your eyes when he nudges you awake. His hairâs all over the place in the most endearing way possible, so you reach up and muss it up even more; he grabs your wrist and holds it tight, warning you that youâll be swimming in the ocean sooner than you think if you keep it up.
The sunâs just kissing the horizon when you head toward the beach, where another member of the resort staff escorts you to a private table set up for dinner. You sit through six courses of the freshest seafood and sweetest fruit youâve ever had, sipping Bellinis while you and Bucky talk about nothing and everything at once.
At the end of the meal, after you canât eat another bite of the desert, he pulls out a small black velvet box. Inside is a pair of earrings of your birthstone, shined till they gleam. You give him an earful for buying these when heâs already brought you here, but he smiles through it until your chastising turns into an endless stream of gratitude.
The next morning begins with a huge breakfast spread out on the sundeck, where Bucky insists on sunscreen first thing. You laugh at him for his responsible antics, but when you take turns putting it on each otherâs backs, his big hands touching parts of you he hasnât touched before, you canât think of a more beautiful invention than sunscreen.
Bucky looks like Godâs gift to women lounging next to you in the sun chair, sipping coffee and eating berries in a linen shirt he doesnât bother to button, like itâs his birthright, like he was made to do it. Youâre thankful for the heavy tint on your sunglasses concealing your wandering gaze.
Later, the two of you set off on a private yacht tour of the islands. You sit leaning against him on the front of the ship, pointing out dolphins that flip through the air and waving at passing boaters. With the roar of the wind and the motor, Bucky has to lean down and speak directly into your ear so you can hear him, and every time his lips brush your skin, youâre melting further and further into him.
You know youâre not being as subtle as youâd like â a small voice in your head wonders if he notices.
Dinner is back at the villa, where a private chef prepares choice cuts of steak and lobsters the size of your arm. The chef is entertaining, cracking jokes and flipping knives, and as you laugh through his horrible impression of Gordon Ramsay, you catch Bucky watching you from the corner of your eye.
He smiles shyly when he sees heâs caught, but he doesnât look away. You feel a flush of warmth drag down your spine, limbs tingling in anticipation of something you donât know the name of.
That night, youâre facing each other in bed, heads propped up by elbows so that you can reminisce on the day. Youâre raving about the miles of rainbow coral you saw when Bucky reaches over and tucks a strand of hair behind your ear. His fingers linger longer than necessary, much longer than appropriate, and it takes everything you have to keep going like his touch didnât just send your heart into a frenzy. You take note of his half-lidded gaze locked onto your face â it could be from exhaustion, or it could be from something else.
You try not to let your mind spiral into the possibilities.
But when he has you cuddled close to his chest, just like every other night, you can hear his heart pounding through his thin t-shirt.
The rest of your week in paradise is a balance of dream-like activities and tension-filled moments. One minute youâre snorkeling, the next, Buckyâs undoing the back strap of your bikini and retying it with slow, concentrated precision. One minute youâre learning how to sail, the next, Bucky has you laid out on his chest, every inch of you on him as you take a nap in the sun.
You tell yourself that this is just Vacation Bucky, that nothingâs changed for him when it comes to what this arrangement is.
But his eyes follow you everywhere, he follows you everywhere, a hand lingering near your skin at all times.
Itâs enough to make a rational person snap. And you do.
Youâre getting ready for dinner after hours spent in the ocean. Buckyâs already cleaned up, now rummaging through his suitcase for something to wear while youâve slipped into the connecting bathroom. You absentmindedly slide the door shut behind you, and it doesnât quite connect with the frame; instead, a sliver of space is left open, just enough that, when you reach to close it all the way, you can see Bucky moving about the room.
The idea arrives unbidden, and it makes your stomach swoop low. Do it, the devil on your shoulder urges. The angel on the other shoulder stays silent.
You wait until heâs directly lined up with the crack in the door, then you turn your back to him.
âHey, Buck?â
âYeah?â
âRemind me what weâre doing for dinner again.â Thereâs a brief pause.
âWeâre heading inland,â Bucky says. You think he sounds like heâs directly behind you.
Wasting no time, you take the ties of your bikini bottoms and pull them loose â they crumple to the floor.
âDo you know what theyâre serving?â
Then you turn to the side, reaching up to untie the knot at the back of your neck; slowly, your bikini top slinks down your torso, exposing your breasts to the warm, night air.
You want to look â you really, really want to look â but you know you canât. You canât risk what comes after catching him looking. And what if heâs not looking? What if heâs done the decent thing, like the decent man he is, and walked away? Youâre not sure how youâd be able to shoulder that feeling for the rest of the trip, not when youâre bartering your firstborn to the higher powers above for him to be looking.
You realize that Bucky hasnât said anything.
âBucky?â you call out, reaching to undo the last of the ties, and the bikini top lands on the bottoms, leaving you completely naked before the crack in the door.
âYeah,â you hear. Low, rough, distracted.
Donât fucking lookâ
âThe food,â you reply, forcing an amused smile. âDo you know what it is? I donât think I could eat another tartar with a gun to my head.â
Thereâs a pause before he speaks, sounding further away. âYouâll be fine.â
His words sound final; you think you hear the slide of the door leading out to the water. You bite your lip before turning for the shower. The boldness you were feeling before is quickly shrinking into nothing, leaving you with an empty feeling in your stomach and a knot of guilt in your chest.
Back in the room, Bucky nowhere in sight, you sit on the bed with a towel wrapped around your chest, damp hair clinging to your skin.
âFucking idiotâ you whisper to yourself. You think you might actually be insane. Or tremendously stupid. Or both. Who tries to seduce their best friend, their supportive, respectful, gorgeous best friend, with a fucking strip tease?
The words are like a knife to your chest as you sit with them. Itâs the first time youâve acknowledged Bucky being your best friend, and itâs right after going down in history as the shittiest friend ever.
âŠbut are you?
Your mind replays every crooked smile heâs sent you, every dirty joke heâs laughed at, every hug and cuddle and forehead kiss, every second of this damn trip. Youâre analyzing all of it frame by frame in pursuit of a sign that he wants more.
Because you sure as hell do.
Itâs no question that things have changed completely for you, as devastating as a religious reckoning. You want him. You love him. Youâre fucking head over heels for him.
But until you get that sign. The sign that he wants more, too. You canât tell him. Not without risking everything â and youâd rather die with your love a secret than destroy what you have with him now by saying it out loud. Yet another tragedy to add on to your already pitiful life.
Buckyâs out on the deck when you emerge from the bathroom, wearing a flowy white linen dress that allows your skin to breathe.
âHey,â you call out, voice on the wobbly side, heart fluttering nervously. âYou ready?â
He turns from staring out at the ocean. When his eyes land on you, he stills.
âWhat?â you canât help but ask as the silence stretches. âShould I change?â
He shakes his head, taking a step toward you. âPlease donât. You lookâŠyou look like an angel.â
The new compliment sinks deep into your heart, making you blush. Your answering smile is shy. âThanks, BuckâŠso, are we going or what?â
The dinner is beautiful, no surprise there; you, Bucky, and a few other guests sit in a treehouse-like structure while aproned servers bring around plates of local dishes that melt on your tongue and introduce you to flavors you could only dream of. Thereâs live music in the corner of the room, a light breeze that cools your skin, and the ambiance is the perfect mix of cozy and seductive.
Meanwhile, Buckyâs giving an Oscar-worthy performance of everything being perfectly fine and normal. He smiles at you over his drink and lets his hand wander over your back. He laughs at the serverâs joke and encourages you to get a second desert. He seems calm. Content. Happy.
But his eyes are dark and distracted. You catch him staring off into the distance more than once. And when you say his name to brink him back, his gaze burns into yours like a brand.
Back in the villa, the two of you get ready for bed quickly, the day getting the better of you both. Youâre fighting through a fifth yawn when you finally collapse on top of the bed, spreading out over the covers in a small tank top and matching shorts to fight off the heat of the night. Behind you, Bucky emerges from the bathroom; the sound of his footsteps stop suddenly near the end of the bed, where youâre on full display to whoever passes by. They start up again before you can turn and look, and then Buckyâs pulling back the covers and sliding into bed.
âBudge over, doll,â he murmurs, stretching out his legs beneath the sheets. You sigh and roll over and off the bed so you can join him. He reaches over to turn off the light, and then itâs just the two of you and the moonâs reflection on the ocean.
âItâs so pretty,â you whisper. âI donât think I could ever get tired of this.â
âMe neither,â he says. You turn on your side to look at him, a hand propping up your head.
âWhatâs been your favorite part?â
A faint smile flickers across his face. âThe eel.â
You laugh. âOh, Iâm so glad you found my fear so entertaining.â
âIâve never seen anyone swim that fast.â
âA moray eel crossed right in front of us and youâre saying you didnât almost shit yourself?â
He shrugs before flipping onto his side. âThey donât bother you if you donât bother them.â
âIâll be sure to remember that for next time.â
âAnd maybe next time you wonât push me toward it while youâre trying to get away.â
You cover your face with your hand. âOkay, that was shitty of me, I admit it.â
âJust shitty?â he repeats. âYou were sacrificing me to save yourself! I started questioning everything I thought I knew about you.â
Your jaw drops open. âThatâs not fair! Iâd love to see what youâd do to me if a big fat spider crawled up the bed.â Bucky shudders for effect. âAnd what happened to âthey donât bother you if you donât bother themâ?â
âTheyâre territorial, doll â you pushed me into his reef.â
âAnd he didnât do anything because he could sense your hippie-dippy, ârespect the ocean, it respects you backâ manifesto. Point is, youâre fine.â
âYeah, physically. Emotionally? Iâll never recover.â
âDrama queen.â You shove at his shoulder to push him out of the bed.
Quick as a whip, he seizes your wrist and pushes you back. You canât help but laugh as your plan backfires, his strength overtaking yours by a long shot. He rolls you closer to the edge of the bed, restraining your other wrist easily. You push back with all your might, slipping one wrist from his grasp and pushing at his chest, locking your leg around his to keep you anchored. Your giggles and his huffs of laughter fill the room as you struggle to push each other out of the bed.
And then something shifts, like a light switch turning off; Buckyâs eyes, bright with laughter, turn darker, steadier. His breath hitches.
âAlright, thatâs enough,â he murmurs, voice rough. With no effort at all, he grabs both wrists in one hand. His other hand grips your bare knee, unhooking it from around his thigh and placing it on the mattress.
Shocked, you slide your leg down beside the other, your skin burning where his hand touched. He keeps your wrists.
âWhatâs wrong?â you ask.
He says nothing, breathing deep as he stares at your hands. You shake them in his hold. âBucky.â
He sighs softly, just a push of air from his lungs like heâs come to a decision but hates the choice he made.
âI need you to stay there, sweetheart.â
You gape at him. âWhat? Did I â did I hurt you?â
âNo, you didnât hurt me.â
âBuckyââ you start, inching closer, but he pins your wrists to the mattress, pressing firmly to make a point.
âPlease.â
You watch with wide eyes as he slowly turns from his side to his stomach, resettling into the mattress with a fleeting wince.
Is he�
He canât meet your gaze, and thereâs a flush to his neck that wasnât there before, that you suspect is not from the heat. His hand over your wrists tightens imperceptibly. You stay silent until he has no choice but to look at you, and all you see is blown pupils.
He is.
You nod and he releases you, but you canât look away from him. Not when he looks like this. Not when heâs the most vulnerable heâs ever been in front of you.
âItâs okay,â you whisper.
He makes a faint noise in the back of his throat, but he doesnât move.
Eventually, his breathing levels out and so does yours â you hadnât realized it had picked up when he held your hands down. The waves crash again and again, a tropical white noise to chip away at the tension.
Somewhere in the back of your mind, a voice screams at you that this is it, this is your moment to let him know exactly how you feel.
You think about crossing that symbolic six inches of space between you and kissing him. You think about touching him softly until he relaxes for you, until he welcomes you over to him. You think about forcing him over and straddling him before he can say a word.
What stops you is the look on his face. He isnât embarrassed, like you expected â heâs disappointed, remorseful, pained, like he violated your trust as his friend and decided itâs unforgivable.
It makes your gut sink, remembering the bait you dangled before him earlier. A conflicting mix of emotions crowd your heart, vying for priority, the biggest battle between sweet satisfaction, and crushing guilt.
You canât do it. Not like this. Not when he looks so broken over it. You take a deep breath, strands of hair floating into your face.
Without a word, and giving you all the time in the world to stop him, Bucky reaches over and tucks the pieces carefully behind your ear. Your eyes flutter shut.
âSleep tight, sweetheart,â he whispers.
Your lips part. Your eyes open. Heâs staring at you.
âYou too, Buck.â
sammy speaks again: thank you for reading! I appreciate all the love I got from part one so much, it meant the absolute world to me. itâs a privilege just to be able to share my silly little stories with others đ€ last part coming soon!
