The sky was darkening by the time the two of you reached your apartment, streetlamps illuminating one by one and melding with the warm glowing light that spilled from the windows above you. Bucky released the arm that had been firmly anchored around you and took a step back while you rooted around in your bag. He obviously figured that, after the absolute shitshow the last twenty-four hours had been, there was a pretty good chance he wasn’t going to be invited in. You pulled out your keys, letting him sweat right up until the last second.
Before you could unlock the door, however, it swung open to reveal Lily, jarringly backlit by pale, fluorescent bulbs. She looked disappointed.
“Oh, my dear, you’ve just missed them.”
“Who?” You glanced back at Bucky and gave him a reassuring smile, knowing this interaction was bound to put him on edge. “Have your family been visiting?”
“No, your friends. They only left a few minutes ago.”
“My friends?”
“Yes, the young men with the birthday cards for you. Very sweet. I sent them upstairs but my word they were noisy, they must have had some trouble working out how to use the letterbox.”
Well, now you were on edge too, partly because your birthday wasn’t for another three months and partly because you didn’t have a letterbox.
Before you had the chance to respond, Bucky charged through the gap between you and sprinted up the stairs, swiftly disappearing out of view. You asked Lily to lock the door before racing after him, pausing halfway up the stairs when it hit you that entrusting security detail to her might not have been the best idea. You weren’t even sure if she could remember who did and didn’t live here anymore.
After inwardly deliberating for a second, you shrugged and carried on, deciding that you’d actually quite like to see someone try messing with you while Bucky was nearby and this irate. Might even cheer you up a little.
You were out of breath by the time you reached the top of the stairs, but the sight you were met with somehow still managed to pull the last dregs of air from your lungs.
Your door was hanging off its hinges. There were splinters of wood littering the hallway and holes of varying sizes punched into the drywall. A vague path of cigarette burns in the carpet led from where you were standing to the spot where your doormat should have been.
Swallowing the lump that had formed in the back of your throat, you slowly approached, tears welling in your eyes as they scanned over the inside of your apartment. It was worse than you could have imagined. The couch had been torn to pieces, the TV screen was smashed, the curtains had been ripped from the wall and strewn over the floor. You dreaded to think how the rest of the place looked and you weren’t sure you had the emotional capacity to find out right now.
Thundering footsteps approached from inside and Bucky stormed into view, his voice more deep and stern than usual as he addressed you.
“They’re gone. I can’t see anything missing but you should check around too.”
“Buck-”
“Fuckin’ cowards, man,” he kicked a nearby couch cushion and stuffing exploded out of it, “couldn’t even stick around to face us.”
“Buck, please.”
A warm tear spilled onto your cheek. He seemed to soften when he spotted it, quickly moving over and pulling you into a tight embrace. You buried your face in the shoulder of his suit jacket, letting a few more drops soak into the rough material, choking back hiccuped breaths. His hand smoothed down the hair on the back of your head.
“I’m sorry, baby. Take as long as you need.”
You turned your head to the side so your voice wasn’t muffled. “Is it bad?”
“It’s fixable.”
“Are you lying to make me feel better?”
“A little,” he took hold of your hands and gently prized them away from his chest, squeezing them firmly as he moved into your eyeline, “but we’ll do it together, okay? S’gonna be alright. C’mon.”
With a deep breath, you finally stepped into your devastated apartment and looked around. Some things were fixable. Most things weren’t. Slowly, tenderly, Bucky led you from room to room and helped you find all your valuables. Your laptop was still in your bedside drawer, camera still on your desk, even the emergency twenty dollar bill you kept in the key bowl by the front door was still there. It was bizarre, but you were actually starting to feel a little relieved- that was, until you walked through to the kitchen.
You spotted it immediately. Your grandmother’s necklace, the one that had hung from the corner of her picture on the wall ever since you’d moved in, was gone. You were in disbelief. It wasn’t even valuable, it was just a brass locket with a photograph of your grandfather inside, why the fuck would anyone take that?
You spun round and pointed it out to Bucky. If you’d been in a less disoriented state of mind, you might have noticed how his face dropped into something resembling dread, how his jaw suddenly clenched and his eyes squeezed shut, but you were far too busy spiralling.
“Christ, I haven’t even called the cops. I don’t even know what crime this is. Destruction of property? Vandalism? Shit burglary?” Your shaking hands pulled your cellphone from your pocket. “Who the fuck would even do this? You think it could be that guy that was following me before?”
“No.”
“It makes sense, I mean he must have been working for someone, maybe they-” Your train of thought came to an abrupt stop as you realised what he’d said. “What d’you mean, no? Buck, do you know something about this?”
“No, I swear. It’s just- something my brother said earlier. It’s been bothering me. ”
“What did he say?”
“I might be overthinking it.”
“Buck. Tell me.”
He sighed and rubbed his forehead. “Most of the conversation was fine, really, I just told him about how much of an ass I’d been and how guilty I felt and he nodded along. But after we’d spoken, just before he left the room, he said, doesn't she know it’s a dangerous city for a girl all on her own?”
You felt the blood turn cold in your veins.
Bucky’s brother had only ever been to your apartment once, a long time ago, when he dropped off your invitation to his wedding. The hairs on the back of your neck stood up as you vividly recalled him sipping coffee from your favourite mug and asking about the picture of your grandmother hung up in the kitchen. He listened intently while you reeled off all the reasons you idolised her, even putting a comforting hand on your shoulder when you told him how much you missed her. A pinprick of white hot rage started in your stomach, slowly expanding and filling your whole chest.
“That motherfucker.”
“I can’t believe he’d do something like this,” Bucky looked genuinely shellshocked, “I thought I could trust him. I’m so sorry, I-”
“Jesus, would you stop fucking apologising?"
The air between you stilled. It seemed like neither of you had been expecting such an abrupt snap, but you knew he needed to hear this, so you swallowed back your hesitation and continued.
"You know who they are. You know what they do. How the hell is this a shock?”
“They also know how I feel about you. This isn’t how we treat family.”
“Oh, come on.” You were doing your best not to scream at him. “How many fucking times have we been told that I’ll never be accepted as part of your family? Well, now we’ve been shown, too. I don't feel like waiting around to find out what's next.”
“Nothing’s next, cause I’m gonna sort it out.”
You scoffed. “You’re gonna stand up to them?”
“Of course I am.”
“Whatever.”
You walked out of the kitchen, quickly wiping away your frustrated tears before he saw them. You needed to busy yourself or you’d end up doing a Bucky and punching the fucking wall. Dodging shattered pieces of table and couch, you made your way over to the TV and crouched down, starting to gather shards of smashed screen from the floor. He appeared after just a few seconds. His face was flushed and every visible muscle was tensed, a few beads of sweat starting to form just below his hairline.
“I’m gonna make this right, I just need to think.”
“The fuck is there to think about?”
“Well, y’know, I need to, to figure out- Fuck.”
He let his arms go limp at his sides, looking utterly defeated. Noticing what you were doing, he picked up a blanket from the floor and shuffled over, crouching beside you and emptying the sharp pieces from your hand into the soft material. You didn’t look at him.
“I don’t know what to do. My head feels like it’s falling apart. I’ve got a helluva lot of shit to sort out, I know that, but for now all I care about is that you’re not safe here.”
“No shit. What gave it away, the lack of a front door or the visits from your insane family?”
He placed the blanket down. “Look, I know you hate me right now, and you have every reason to, but I need you to stay at my apartment tonight.”
“You can’t be serious.”
“You don’t have to talk to me or even look at me, just let me make sure you’re somewhere safe.”
You spent a minute thinking about it whilst picking tiny splinters of glass out of your palm, but eventually gave a reluctant agreement. What the fuck else were you gonna do? You couldn’t stay here with no door and an increasingly unhinged downstairs neighbour, and you sure as hell couldn’t afford a hotel room for any significant length of time. Besides, even with him there, Bucky’s apartment would probably be the only place you’d feel secure enough to actually sleep.
He called a cab while you packed, collecting all your remaining valuables and yanking your clothes out of the wood pile that used to be a rickety chest of drawers. Both of you stayed quiet during the journey. The city rolling past the window became gradually less and less dilapidated, crumbling apartment blocks replaced by upscale residences and gleaming metal infrastructure, a whole different world than the one you were used to. Bucky’s world.
You hadn’t been to his apartment for a while, but it was still just as ridiculously opulent as you remembered. You dropped your bag on the floor and glanced around. Between working and seeing you, he never really spent any time here, so obviously never felt the need to properly decorate. It was sterile, like an overpriced showhome.
He set you up on the squeaky, white leather couch, flicking on the TV and wrapping you in a blanket before ordering takeout. You listened to him rushing around out of view, marching between the bedroom and the bathroom, running water and spraying cleaning products. You let slip an exhausted chuckle at the cacophony of panicked noises.
One thing you didn’t hear, however, was him picking up the photograph of him and his brother that he kept propped up on the bedroom mantelpiece. You didn’t hear him fold it in half and you didn’t hear the heavy breath that escaped from his lips as he tore it into two clean pieces.
He eventually reappeared and collapsed into the armchair to your left. The TV was blaring but he somehow managed to ignore it, instead staring at the wall all night, deep in thought and slowly tapping his fingers against the leather upholstery.
He was definitely planning something, you just hoped to god it was something rational.
Summary: Coming home from college for the summer, you expected your days to be spent reading in your bedroom and sitting through tense family dinners- but an old acquaintance had something else in mind for you.
Warnings: Language, anti-religious sentiment throughout
Author's Note: Final part! Much love!
Part 1 / Part 2 / Part 3 / Part 4 / Part 5 / Part 6 / Part 7 / Part 8 / Part 9 / Part 10 / Part 11
---
It was gone midnight by the time you and Bucky, both nursing second trimester food babies, spilled out of the restaurant and began to stumble in the vague direction of home. The evening air was chilly but his jacket was wrapped around your shoulders before you’d even begun to feel it. Your hand slotted smoothly into his, a movement that was second nature to you now.
The two of you walked for ten or so minutes when, at an otherwise pretty unremarkable corner, a bolt of inspiration struck you. It was the street name that did it, Cross Street. You remembered seeing it as a child and wondering if this was where your local church and your mother bought all their little wooden crucifixes from. You suddenly knew exactly where you were.
Bucky was heading in one direction but you stopped and tugged him in the other. “We should go this way.”
“Huh? You wanna go the wrong way? How much wine you had?”
“It’s not the wrong way,” he was pulling back against you now, feet firmly planted in place, “it’s just a different, slightly longer way.”
“Longer?
“But worth it.”
“How?"
“I think, uh- I mean, I’m pretty sure there’s a river around here somewhere.” He raised a dubious eyebrow. “Well, eighty percent sure.”
"Swear to any imaginary asshole you like. I'm not buying it, sweetheart."
Strong physical resistance was attempted for a few more seconds but, eventually, your very best puppy dog eyes melted him.
“Fine, but if you fall in I’m not coming after you.”
“Deal.”
He gave you a wide smile and snaked an arm around your waist, letting you lead him down the side street. A comfortable silence fell as you turned corner after corner, your face contorting into a smug smile once the water came into view. He just shrugged. The two of you strolled onto a low, stone bridge and watched the ripples distorting the reflections of lit-up apartment windows and orange streetlights. It was gloriously peaceful.
After a minute or so, Bucky turned to carry on walking, but you stayed in place and pulled him back. He stood opposite you, looking a little confused as you took both his hands in yours.
“Buck, what you said earlier, I really think we should talk about it.”
“Nah, it’s alright, it was in the past. Like you said, it's over now and that’s all that matters.”
“What? No, I didn’t mean-” You rubbed your forehead. Christ he was slippery, using your own words against you like that. “That’s not what I meant. If something’s still affecting you, it matters, and it’s good to talk about it.”
He bit at the inside of his cheek and turned his head to stare at the water, eyes combing over the waves. You let him simmer for a little while before bringing your hands up to his face and gently turning it back towards you, raising your eyebrows expectantly. The cold air was whipping harshly off the water and into you but his face was warm and flushed. When he spoke, you could see him carefully considering every word.
“If I keep talking, I might say something that drives you away, and I don’t know if I could take that.”
“That’s not gonna happen.”
“Right, but what if-”
“Buck, I promise there is very, very little that could convince me you’re not a good person, alright? I really don’t care about your past.” You stopped abruptly and frowned at yourself. “That came out wrong.”
He let out a small chuckle. “First you want me to talk about it, now you tell me to shut up?”
“You know what I meant.”
“Mhmm,” he pulled you closer, letting your arms curl around his neck, “I know, baby. I know I can talk to you anytime, you got no idea how much I appreciate that, but if you wanna talk now I'll tell you anything you wanna know. Just ask."
You considered. There definitely had been a few small things you were curious about, the odd interest piquing comment here and there, but for some reason you found yourself completely blanking at his offer. You suddenly realised that you didn't want to know anything. You didn't need to. Maybe just the fact that he was willing to talk was enough.
"Are you happy?"
He chuckled. "Very."
"Then so am I."
"Good."
He shot you a wink, making you giggle like a schoolgirl. You cupped your fingers around his face and brushed your thumbs across his cheeks. The hint of wine on his breath was sweet and warm. Feeling his hands pressed against your back, staring into his still blue eyes, something inside you burst or erupted or… Christ, you weren’t sure, but next thing you knew your mouth was writing a check that you weren’t sure he was ready to cash.
“I love you, Buck.” His face dropped. Fuck it, you were all in now, might as well carry on. “Completely. Like, get a dog together type love. Put up with you stealing the fucking covers all night type love. I’d even go as far as to say-”
He swiftly cut you off by enclosing your half-open, babbling mouth in his, arms squeezing your waist tight. You relaxed completely into him, not sure that you’d be able to stay on your feet if he suddenly let go but too caught up in the moment to care. He pulled away an inch, just for just a second, to whisper.
“I love you too. Just stop talking.”
You weren’t sure how long the two of you stood there, by the river. It was becoming increasingly easy to lose time while you were tangled up with Bucky. The rest of the walk home was a hazy, fragmented mess of staggering for a few minutes before getting distracted and clumsily fumbling at each other. You found yourselves regretting taking the long way, both of you becoming more and more impatient to get back to the privacy of the apartment, and not making it past the floor just inside the door when you did.
But, hey, at least neither of you ended up in the river.
—
You’d found it. The perfect apartment.
It looked small, cramped even, but would be more than enough for just the two of you- neither of you owned any furniture anyway. The beach was only a couple minutes walk away and, with it being a fifth floor apartment, the front window had a beautiful view of the ocean. It even had underground parking, meaning his majesty wouldn’t have to rush to the window to check on his bike every ten minutes. The more you read about it, the more convinced you became that it was meant for you.
Bucky was out at the store when you came across it and you couldn’t stop yourself pacing around excitedly until he got back. You kept refreshing the page, convinced that someone else would snap it up while he was out impulse-buying candy. You practically jumped him as soon as he came through the door, dragging him over to your laptop and squealing excitedly.
After a quick flick through the pictures, he dug his hand into his back pocket.
“It’s ours. What’s the number?”
“I mean, we should probably go see it first, right?”
“Nah. How bad could it be?”
You nodded slowly and wandered your gaze around his flat, lingering on the carpet stains and the patch of mould in the corner. Yep, things were starting to make a little more sense.
He waggled his phone at you. “What’s the hold up?”
Mild pangs of anxiety sparked in your stomach, committing to something this big without properly researching could turn out incredibly badly. The place could be unfinished or falling apart or infested with flesh-eating cockroaches.
Or, you thought, just maybe, it could turn out to be perfect.
A warm smile spread across your face. Maybe it was time to take a page out of his book, stop thinking so much, close your eyes and jump. He smiled back. You gave him the number.
Bucky pressed his lips into your forehead before making the call, the fingers on his left hand tapping excitedly against the table as he made notes with his right. The two of you then spent the next three hours gathering and sending off all of the information and credentials they’d requested.
And then you waited.
And waited.
All evening, checking Bucky’s phone every ten minutes. It was like torture. Nothing had come through by midnight, so the two of you gave up and slunk off to bed, outwardly trying to stay optimistic about finding somewhere else but inwardly pretty disheartened. You’d just have to keep searching.
—
You were woken the next day by the smell of cooking bacon and the sound of Bucky humming to himself in the kitchen. Stretching yourself across the deserted bed, you yawned dramatically and rubbed your eyes, debating how easy it would be to get him to abandon breakfast and curl back up with you. Very easy, probably.
Your hand found your phone on the bedside table and you yanked it from the charger, your head darting up from the pillow in shock when you saw that it was creeping up to midday. How the hell had you managed to sleep for almost twelve hours? Yesterday’s emotional roller coaster must have wiped you out.
Pulling your pyjamas on, you trudged through to the front room and saw Bucky standing over the stove, wiggling his hips along to the jaunty tune he was improvising.
“G’morning.” You walked up beside him, settling into his side as he snaked an arm around you, gazing at the pile of food he was pushing around the pan. “Looks good.”
“Mhmm, this is a real breakfast. I thought we’d celebrate.”
You nodded sleepily, a little confused. “Celebrate what?”
He looked down at you, sporting a wide, knowing smile. Your drowsiness slowly melted away as you realised what he was talking about.
“We got it?”
“We got it.”
Something you could only describe as a kind of throaty yelp noise escaped your mouth, which made Bucky burst out laughing. You threw your arms around his neck, squeezing him as hard as you could, feeling tears welling up in your eyes. A thousand thoughts began racing through your mind but the biggest, brightest one was that you’d finally get some peace. That’s all you really wanted.
When you finally let go of him, he dug his phone out of his pocket and showed you the email from the landlord. Your eyes widened as they scanned through it.
“Wait, this says we move in at the start of next month?”
“Yup.” He nodded proudly.
“Buck, that’s two days from now.”
“Mhmm. We better get packing.”
As it turned out, he’d already hired a van to arrive the next day and picked up a stack of packing boxes while he was out buying breakfast food, all of which he’d hidden behind the couch so they wouldn’t ruin his dramatic reveal. You had no idea who this guy was and what he’d done with Bucky, but you weren’t complaining.
Finally, it felt like things were falling into place.
—
The journey to your new home was about an hour. You had hoped the ride would be relaxing, a chance for catharsis and decompression, but you spent almost the entire time white-knuckled, gripping onto the dashboard. Bucky drove the moving van exactly the same way he drove his motorbike, weaving in and out of traffic like an unbelievably lucky bull in a mercifully generous china shop. He didn’t even seem to notice the sound of all your possessions sliding around chaotically in the back.
When he finally parked up outside the apartment block, you reverted back to religion for the first time in years, thanking both God and the baby Jesus that you survived the drive.
You glanced out of the window. The building wasn’t particularly attractive, sitting in an unremarkable side street opposite a seedy looking off-licence, but you still felt the excitement bubbling in your stomach as you hopped out and properly surveyed your surroundings. It was pretty clean and quiet, the only movement being a young woman with a stroller briskly walking down the opposite sidewalk. A few noisy seagulls flew overhead and you noticed for the first time that you could smell the sea air, fresh and briny. Memories of your day on the beach flooded back. You could get used to that.
Bucky gave you a wide smile and walked towards the door, approaching a man in a cheap suit who you hadn’t even noticed. They talked for a minute, the keys were exchanged and the suit gave you a polite nod before turning and walking down the street. That was, you thought to yourself, quite possibly the only easy interaction you and Bucky had ever had with a third party since you’d been together. You knew life was going to be a whole lot easier after leaving that fucking town, but you certainly hadn’t expected such immediate results. This was incredible.
You grabbed a box and followed your roommate up the stairs, the two of you bursting through the door into your new home.
The first thing you noticed was the view. It was even better in person. You unceremoniously dropped whatever you were carrying and walked towards the window, seeing the vast ocean spread out in both directions as you got closer. Bucky came up behind you, wrapping his arms around your waist and resting his head on your shoulder.
“Whatta you think?”
“I love it.”
“Eh, it needs a bit of work,” he briefly surveyed the walls and the ceiling, “I think the last people here had dogs, there’s still some-”
You swivelled round in his arms and placed a hand firmly over his mouth, feeling a smile form against your palm. “I don’t care. I love it.”
He mumbled something. You rolled your eyes and released his face, prompting him to repeat himself.
“Me too.”
It took a couple of hours to get everything out of the van and, when you’d finally finished, you found yourselves staring at a messy pile of boxes dumped in the middle of the living room. An unspoken but unanimous decision was made that there was no point starting to unpack before having something to eat, even though you’d spent the entire drive shoving handfuls of chips into each other’s faces.
So, for the first of many times, you and Bucky watched the sunset over the sea. Sitting on cardboard boxes in your cheap flat, eating pretty terrible Chinese food, with nothing in the world but a few dollars and each other.
Couldn’t tag some names, drop me a message if the spelling is wrong but otherwise it may be to do with your privacy settings. Will delete untaggables after a few attempts.
Author’s Note: Much appreciate all the love for part one, thanks y’all!
Part 1
---
The sound of your alarm pissed you off even more than usual the next morning.
You padded down the hallway, pulled down on the knotted string hanging from the ceiling of your bathroom and winced when your face appeared in the mirror. Your horrendous night of sleep was vividly painted across your face, seeping into every pore and newly formed wrinkle. You pulled and prodded at your dull skin. Hopefully no-one would mention it.
Anxious thoughts slowly dripped into your mind as you got ready for work, eventually settling like a heavy cloud that hung around you as you left your apartment and began to walk down the stairs. You’d fought with Bucky before, of course you had, but you’d never been left feeling like this. Your relationship always teetered on the edge of chaos but this is the first time it felt like it might have lost its balance.
You paused at the bottom of the stairs, collecting yourself and taking your first deep breath of the day. The cloud thinned a little. You’d get through this, you told yourself repeatedly, you just needed some time. Turning into the lobby, your nerves were further soothed by the familiar sound of rustling paper, a faint smile starting on your lips when you spotted your old friend huddled in the corner.
“Morning, Lily,” you stopped beside her and let your eyes dance over the headlines she’d neatly arranged on the floor, “anything exciting today?”
She swivelled round from her crouched position as soon as she heard your voice, something resembling concern washing over her crinkled features. “Oh, are you alright dear?”
“Course.” You gulped. “Why wouldn’t I be?”
“Last night, I heard some raised voices and loud rattling. I thought it might be the television but I never usually hear-”
“It was the TV,” you forced a smile, “sorry. I’ll try to keep it down from now on.”
“If you say so.”
Her eyes twinkled slightly as she turned back around, attention returning to the papers. You reached for the latch on the door and pulled it open but, before you could step outside, she thrust something into your free hand and firmly closed your fingers around it. A shrewd smile briefly flashed in your direction before it and its host disappeared through a doorway like some kind of moth-eaten grey shadow.
You shook your head, just to double check you weren’t in some kind of vivid fever dream. Sometimes it worked.
Stepping outside, you paused and uncrumpled your daily offering. It was a clipping from the vows section of an old New York Times. A young couple were pictured, dressed in all their wedding finery, grinning above the headline Against All Odds. You chuckled and glanced back at the building, sometimes that place was weirder than a fever dream.
Checking up and down the street, you saw no sign of Bucky’s car. What a relief. He obviously realised you’d need some space after what happened, he could be smart like that when he took a second to stop and think instead of letting his paranoia get the better of him. If only he did that more often.
You turned and began the short walk to the library, neatly folding the paper and sliding it into your pocket. The usual sounds of engines backfiring and horns blaring were slowly tuned out as you became lost in thought, replaying the events of last night in your head. You understood why Bucky worried so much, and sometimes you felt guilty for letting it piss you off, given the circumstances, but you just couldn’t help wishing he’d at least try to move on.
The two of you never really spoke about it. It was just over a year ago when you started to notice the same guy cropping up more and more in your daily routine, leaning against an expensive-looking car with a cigarette in his mouth outside your apartment, browsing through the Home and Lifestyle magazine section at the library, joining the queue behind you at your regular coffee shop. At first you brushed the encounters off as coincidences, as someone new to the area exploring the few pleasant attractions, but noticing him tucked in the back corner of the bar during karaoke night made you start to panic.
Bucky erupted when you told him. He stormed out of your apartment as soon as you finished speaking and didn’t show up again until two days later, with the same clothes on and no skin left on his knuckles.
You guided him through to the kitchen and stuck his hands under the faucet, running warm water over the wounds while you prepared some bandages. He shook off your questions at first, only drip-feeding you bits of information once you’d cleaned him up, the thin veil of calm periodically slipping away and revealing a deep, frightened anger.
He told you that you were being targeted, while in the same breath promising that it wouldn’t be a problem anymore, that he’d solved it. He didn’t say what you were being targeted for. He didn’t say how he’d solved it. You didn’t ask.
Even since then Bucky had been incredibly jumpy, obviously terrified that the next incident might end differently. You never said it, but at the time you found yourself hoping the whole ordeal would be enough to convince him to leave all that shit behind, hoping you wouldn’t have to keep choosing the man you loved over your own safety.
You’d underestimated how deep his father’s insidious claws had already sunk in.
—
You finally checked your phone on your lunch break. Just the one missed call, he knew how to take a hint. Biting your thumb nervously, you typed out a message, offering to meet after you finished work. The coffee shop where you first met seemed like the best idea, somewhere public but filled with happy memories for the both of you. Hallowed ground.
He was waiting with your drink in front of him when you arrived. He always did that, made sure to arrive early so you didn’t have to wait in line, and you were always too appreciative of the gesture to point out that your coffee was cold by the time you got to it. His hands reached across the table to hold yours as soon as you sat down. You let it happen but didn’t let your arms stretch towards him at all, you couldn’t have him thinking he was off the hook just like that. There were a few seconds of uncomfortable silence before he cleared his throat and spoke.
“I’m so sorry baby,” his fingertips brushed over your lightly bruised wrist, “are you alright? Did I hurt you?”
“Only a little.” That answer seemed to pain him but you weren’t sure what else to say. It was the truth.
“You need anything? I can ask for some ice, or go around the corner for some Tylenol?”
“I’m good, thanks.”
You lowered your gaze to his hands so he wouldn’t see the faint smile you were attempting to smother. Again, you didn’t want to give him the impression that everything was back to normal, but you couldn’t help the joy you felt at the reappearance of your usual, sweet Bucky.
“I can’t believe I did that,” he swallowed harshly, “wouldn’t blame you if you never forgave me. Don’t think I’ll ever forgive myself.”
You took a deep breath.
“I forgive you.”
“You do?”
“Yes, but only because I know you, Buck, and that wasn’t you. It was-”
You cut yourself off, unsure if stepping into this territory again was wise.
“Was what?”
“It was more like something your dad would do.”
He looked down into his coffee. “You’re probably right.”
That seemed to hit him pretty hard. You understood what he was feeling, coming to terms with the fact that the man you’d looked up to your whole life was, to put it mildly, deeply flawed was a fucking rough thing to do.
He just needed time. Lucky for him, you were more than willing to wait a little longer, you just needed to make sure the two of you were on the same page.
“Look, I know why you think you want all these changes. All the men in your family follow the same path, meeting a nice girl at church, moving in together, marrying within a year, kids within two. Some people want that and that's fine, but I don’t, and I don’t think you do either.”
“I just want you,” his grip on your hands tightened slightly, “however.”
“Then we’ll figure this out.”
He smiled. You smiled back, loosening the tension in your arms so he could pull your hands closer. The two of you stayed there, talking, until the coffee shop closed and they swept you out onto the sidewalk. Things were starting to feel better.
He held his elbow out and you laced your arm through his, the two of you starting the short walk back to your apartment by predicting how many clippings Lily would have for him today. Your conversation was cut short, however, when his phone began chiming from his pocket. It was his dad. He apologised, answered and told him he’d call back later. As long as you’d known Bucky he’d never once sent his dad to voicemail.
You pictured the villain on the other end of the phone, bright red face framed by a receding hairline. He was quite a bit shorter than Buck but in surprisingly good shape for an old guy who was never without a cigar and a glass of liquor. His shape, however, wasn’t enough to compensate for his oily demeanour and the permanent leer that was etched on his face. To men like him, women were either useless or they were receptionists, and receptionists were just potential mistresses with plausible deniability.
He never liked you. In all fairness, you never liked him either, but at least your dislike had been vindicated when you overheard him at Bucky’s brother’s wedding calling you a cheap broad. You’d never done anything to him. Well, nothing he knew about.
You chose not to tell Buck about that, but only because you wanted him to come to his own conclusions about his father, to see the light without you having to shine it directly into his face. Your heart filled with dread as you watched him pacing and struggling to get off the phone, hoping against hope that he’d never turn into that man.
He eventually managed to free himself, his expression turning pretty bleak as he walked back over.
“Everything alright?”
“Mhmm.”
“Buck.”
“It’s nothing, really, I just-” he rubbed his eyes, “I kinda felt like I needed to talk to someone earlier, so I told my brother about last night. Fucking stupid thing to do.”
“Why’s that?”
“Cause it sounds like he’s already told pretty much anyone willing to listen, now dad’s trying to set me up on a date with one of his friend’s daughters.”
“Damn, he works quick.”
“Tell me about it.”
You chuckled. “I guess that’s what you get for picking an outsider.”
He forced a smile. You could see the cogs starting to work in his head. The whole time you’d been together he’d been trying desperately to come up with a way to marry his two opposing lives together, to work out all the kinks and somehow make everyone happy. It broke your heart having to watch him slowly realise that it might not be possible, and you wondered if he’d ever even considered what kind of life would make him happy.
You tightened your arm around his. “You know I’d never ask you to choose, right?”
“I know.” He planted a kiss on your temple. “Thank you.”
Thank you so much for all the taglist responses! Couldn’t tag some of y’all, drop me a message if the spelling is wrong but otherwise it may be to do with your privacy settings. I’ll probably delete untaggables after a few attempts.
Summary: Maybe the relationships worth fighting for were the ones in which you had to fight the hardest.
Pairing: Mob!Bucky x y/n
Word Count: 1.8k
Warnings: Language, vague references to violence, light public wankery
Author’s Note: This one has been sitting in my inbox for literal years so I hope you’re still in an angsty mood after all this time. Was meant to be a oneshot but hey I got carried away what can I say.
---
Three loud knocks hammered against your door. It made you jump every time he did that, you were used to your guests ringing the buzzer.
You checked the time as you hurried across the length of your cramped apartment, cursing under your breath when you saw that it was almost nine. Him finishing work this late was never good news. Whatever had happened, whether it be another drawn out meeting or an unplanned, after-hours assignment, it would almost definitely have left him in a shitty mood.
You sighed. It used to be that bad days for him were few and far between, now they seemed to outnumber the good ones.
Sliding the chain off and turning the lock, your heart sank when you pulled the door backwards and caught sight of his miserable expression. You wished so much that there was more you could do to uplift him when he felt like this but, short of marching into his office and scolding his colleagues as if they were suave-suited school children, you were helpless. All you could do was try to help him take his mind off things.
“Hey, Hot Shot.”
He managed to summon a weak but warm smile, planting a kiss on your temple as he shuffled past. “Hey. The crazy newspaper lady let me in again.”
“I figured,” you pushed the door shut and followed him inside, “did she give you another fistful of clippings?”
“Whatta you think?”
He stuffed a hand into his pocket and set down a few scrunched up papers on the coffee table before dropping onto the couch. With a smirk, you picked them up and smoothed them out, scanning your eyes over the headlines.
“Bless her, she always saves the business stories for you.”
“Yeah, why is that?”
“Probably ‘cause you’re always in a suit and I’m always referring to you as Hot Shot.”
“You talk to her?”
Realising your mistake, you stopped absentmindedly thumbing through the clippings, lifted your gaze to his and shrugged. “Occasionally.”
He narrowed his eyes. You knew exactly what he was thinking. He didn't like the idea of you going near her, he thought it wasn’t safe, probably thought you’d end up locked in her apartment and chopped into tiny pieces that she’d save and use as bullion cubes.
So now probably wasn’t the best time to bring up your weekly visits to her apartment for coffee and cake.
Sure, she was a little intimidating to look at, with her wild eyes and deep, sunken cheeks, but she was a sweetheart really. She’d started tearing up newspapers in the downstairs lobby after her husband died a few years ago. He loved his morning reading and she loved clipping out his favourite stories and saving them for him, apparently doing it for other people was the only thing keeping her going now she was alone. You just wished you could think of a way to explain all that to Bucky without incurring his paranoia.
His glare wasn’t letting up. You knew if you didn’t swiftly change the subject there was a danger he might start trying to convince you to move into his much nicer, much bigger and much safer apartment again. As much as you appreciated the offer, it had taken so much for you to move to the city on your own, and you weren’t ready to give up your independence just yet. You were happy the way things were.
You cut in as soon as he opened his mouth to speak.
“Rough day?”
His head collapsed backwards. “Mhmm.”
“Anything I can do?”
“Nah, s’alright, just seemed like everyone was out to piss me off.”
“Can’t say I blame ‘em.”
He chuckled gruffly as you flopped down beside him, his arm moving to cradle your shoulders and hug you tight to his side. “Have you eaten?”
“I was waiting for you.”
“You wanna order pizza?”
“Definitely.”
You leaned forward and rustled around for the takeout menu in your coffee table junk drawer. Bucky shifted slightly, out the corner of your eye you could see him starting to dig the fingers on his free hand into his knee. He cleared his throat nervously before speaking again.
“Can I pay this time?”
“We’ll split it.”
“Are you sure? I really don’t mind-”
“Buck.” You gave him a look as you dropped the menu in his lap. “We’ll split it.”
He didn’t push back. You’d gotten pretty good at standing your ground out of necessity because, if Bucky got his way, you’d never be allowed to spend a single dollar. He earned a lot more than you, a helluva lot more, but you still preferred to keep things equal. You got by just fine.
The two of you settled in on the couch together. He hustled downstairs when the buzzer sounded and you demolished the pizza in front of the TV, enjoying the peace of each other's company, chuckling at whatever shitty reality show was on at 9pm on a weeknight.
Despite his best efforts, though, it was obvious that something still wasn’t quite right with him. He needed some help unwinding.
“Hey, you wanna hear something funny? It might cheer you up.”
His head lolled towards you, a wide smile creeping over his lips. “Go on.”
“So, at work this afternoon, Judy was doing her rounds upstairs when she noticed a guy tucked in the corner by adult fiction. It’s pretty routine to get the odd embarrassed reader trying to hide away up there but apparently he was grunting like a professional tennis player , her words.”
“Jesus.”
“Mhmm. So she called the cops and they hustled up there, apparently he’d been jerking off in the aisle to a fucking Mills & Boon novel called The Dark Duke . We had to get the janitor to get rid of it in a biohazard bag, poor guy. He’ll probably call in sick tomorrow from the trauma.” You were laughing through your words but, when you looked over at Bucky, an incredibly stern face was looking back. “C’mon, you gotta admit that’s funny.”
“It’s not funny that you’re around creeps like that every day.”
“This city is full of creeps, just so happens that a few of them have library cards.” You flashed your eyebrows at him, he didn’t even crack a smile. “Jesus, Buck, you don’t think you’re taking this a little too seriously?”
“No, I don’t.”
The two of you fell into silence. His eyes flicked away from you for a second, his expression suddenly becoming resolute. You could see the words forming in his throat. You knew exactly what was coming.
“You really need to think about coming to work at my place.”
You jumped up from the couch. “I can’t have this conversation again.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“It means you’re already in a shitty mood and me making the same argument I’ve made a thousand times before isn’t gonna help.”
You picked up the empty pizza box and trudged through to the kitchen, hoping that would be the end of it.
It wasn’t, unfortunately, because he decided it was smart to jump up and follow you like an irritating child.
“I just don’t get why you won’t take it. It’s better money, better hours and we’ll practically be-”
“Practically be working together yeah, I know, I’ve heard this speech before and the answer is the same. Thank you, but I’m happy where I am.”
“You wanna work in a fuckin’ library forever?”
You threw the box down on the counter and swivelled round to face him. “Don’t do that.”
“Do what?”
“Talk about my choices like that, like you know better.”
“Jesus, I’m just tryna’ look out for you.”
You shook your head, in disbelief that you’d been dragged into this argument once again. “Whatever.”
“Is that it?”
“I honestly don’t know what you want from me, Buck.”
“I want to know why you’d rather stay in a shitty job and a shitty apartment than have something better.”
“Because I don’t want to work for your fucking father, alright?”
His face dropped. You realised that your words had come out with much more venom than intended but, in all fairness, this had been building up for a while. You’d been with Bucky long enough to know what kind of business his family was in and you wanted no part of it. Your love for him had helped you move past your unease about what he did for a living, because you knew with utmost certainty that he was a good man at heart, but you couldn’t say the same for the rest of them. You wouldn’t allow yourself to get dragged in too.
He clenched his jaw for a second before biting his cheeks, his head slowly beginning to nod, anger rising in his face. You just waited. Anyone else might have been scared of him in this moment, of how he seemed to be coiling up like a threatened snake ready to strike, but you weren’t. He’d never given you any reason to be.
His mouth fell open but quickly snapped closed before any distinguishable words could escape. With a loud huff, he stormed away, yanking his jacket from the couch as he passed and tearing your front door open.
You saw him hesitate in the corridor for a second. He brushed his hand over his hair before suddenly lashing out, striking the side of his fist against the doorframe. The whole wall shuddered.
“Whoa, hey.” You hurried over and reached for his shoulder. “That looked like it hurt, are you-”
He grabbed you.
Your eyes locked with his, you’d never seen him this angry before. In fact, you were so caught up in his warped expression that it actually took you a few seconds to feel his grip, to feel how tightly he was squeezing and how his fingertips dug into the space between the veins and tendons in your wrist. You frantically looked down at his white-knuckled hand and tried to yank yourself free, hoping that any amount of resistance would encourage him to release. He didn’t let go. You looked back up at him.
No words were exchanged, but you saw in his face the moment he realised he was hurting you. The redness in his cheeks seemed to drain away in an instant, leaving behind a deathly paleness that highlighted how quickly the tension dissolved from the muscles in his jaw and forehead.
He let go.
With panic thumping in your chest, you quickly stepped backwards and slammed the door. You sheltered behind it, frozen, as he softly knocked against the wood and apologised over and over again.
Warnings: Language, anti-religious sentiment throughout
Author's Note: Apologies, long delay on this one, got back from London a few days ago and oh my fuck I was exhausted. Kudos to anyone that lives there man I could not hack it at all.
Part 1 / Part 2 / Part 3 / Part 4 / Part 5 / Part 6 / Part 7 / Part 8 / Part 9 / Part 10
---
Your parents’ voices only faded into the distance once the two of you had turned the corner. You couldn’t help periodically glancing over your shoulder, convinced that you’d eventually catch sight of a sprinting, fiercely angry, middle-aged bitch wielding a modestly heeled shoe in one hand while her golden crucifix pendant slapped against her sunken chest. Your mother would make a damn good horror movie villain.
Bucky was quiet. You didn’t sense any anger from him, he wasn’t squeezing your hand particularly tight or stomping his boots against the ground any harder than usual, he just seemed deep in thought. Was this… progress?
He unlocked the street-level door and hoisted both of your suitcases up the stairs, disappearing into the darkness at the top before you’d even had a chance to cross the threshold. By the time you’d made it into the apartment, your clothes were littered all over the place and he was yanking a pair of your best underwear up over his jeans.
“The hell are you doing?”
“I like these.”
“Yeah? It’s a shame you’ve stretched them beyond all recognition, then.”
“I didn’t mean on you.”
You gave him an unimpressed frown and moved to snatch them off him, but he was a slippery little fucker when he wanted to be, making you chase him around the front room for a good ten minutes before you managed to get a decent grip on your property. They were pretty much unusable by this point, but it was a matter of principle.
You were pretty shocked at how good a mood he seemed to be in. You’d expected fireworks, maybe an hour-long tirade about how much of a fuckin’ asshole your dad was and how he should’a laid him out on his own lawn, but it almost seemed like he’d forgotten the whole ordeal. Maybe he didn’t see the old man as enough of a challenge for a full-on brawl? Or maybe he’d finally realised that it just wasn’t worth it? Whatever the reason was, you weren’t about to question it.
You debated properly unpacking all your clothes but eventually reasoned that you were moving soon, so there was really no point putting the extra strain on Bucky’s rickety old wardrobe that could barely manage the weight of his three t-shirts and two pairs of jeans. Instead, you spent the next couple of hours tangled up with him on the couch. It was so nice just being able to relax and decompress after such a shitty situation, usually you’d be arguing or cleaning his wounds. Hopefully this would be the new norm.
You were slowly drifting off, letting the stress of the day melt from your body, when Buck unceremoniously jolted you back to consciousness by jumping up and proclaiming his next great idea.
“Alright,” he started to pace, “there’s gotta be somewhere nice in this stinking town. I’m gonna take you out on a proper date.”
“A proper date?”
“Yeah, somewhere fancy. S’about time I treat you how you deserve to be treated.”
“You don’t have to do that, Buck. I’m happy with takeout on the couch.”
“I know you are, but you gotta let me spoil you sometimes.”
A warm, sleepy smile spread across your face. “Sounds good.”
“You’re damn right it does,” he reached out an arm, abruptly dragging you off the couch and towards the bedroom, “c’mon, let’s get you dressed.”
—
You kept trying to guess your destination from the route Bucky was taking but you came up blank, the only time you’d ever been to this part of town was when you were fourteen and your dad brought you along to collect a life-sized, wooden virgin Mary statue that he’d bought from a seedy guy at church. The creepy fucking thing stood at the bottom of the garden for years before termites finally hollowed her out and made her crumble like Sodom and Gomorrah.
With every corner you turned your stomach tightened with a mixture of excitement and dread. You were looking forward to the evening, sure you were, but you were also struggling to forget that the last time he took you for a night out, he ended up leaving in a cop car. No way could you deal with that shit again.
He pulled you into his side as you were walking. “We’re nearly there.”
“Will you tell me where we’re going now?”
“Nope.”
“If this is another dive bar I swear to god-”
“You really think so little of me?” You shot him a side-eye. “Alright, fair enough.”
As you reached the last corner, he scuttled behind you and placed his hands over your eyes, carefully nudging your legs forward with his knees. You asked him if these theatrics were really necessary. He insisted they were. You were only blind for a couple of steps before the dramatic reveal and, to his credit, you did let slip an audible gasp.
It was a little Italian restaurant, tucked between some vague office buildings but lit up like a white-gold Christmas tree. A small canopy stretched over two wooden tables sitting on the cobbled sidewalk, both occupied by smiling couples nursing huge glasses of inky purple wine. As Bucky took you by the hand and led you to the door, you realised that the inside of the place was barely big enough to seat ten people, most of those seats being already occupied while two smartly dressed waiters rapidly buzzed between their customers, the bar and the kitchen door.
You spotted an empty table tucked in the corner, illuminated by candlelight. Bucky looked back and gave you a smile as one of the waiters led you over. He’d really nailed it, the place was beautiful.
As soon as Bucky’s butt hit the seat, a lengthy wine list was wrestled into his hand. You tried to smother a chuckle as he scanned his eyes over it and tried his best to look knowledgeable. He eventually gave you a wink and pointed to a random name about halfway down the list. Smart move, avoid coming across too cheap but also avoid risking a hundred dollars on some potentially nasty grape juice. You knew there was a reason you liked him.
The two of you sat in comfortable silence for a minute, taking in your surroundings. Maybe it was more than a minute, you weren’t too sure, you’d gotten a little lost in your thoughts.
“What’s up?” Bucky snapped you back to reality. “That’s your deep thinking face.”
“Oh, nothing, I was just-”
You were about to brush his question off with your usual, automatic response, the kind that pivoted the conversation away from your feelings, but the genuine sincerity in his face made you catch yourself. You had no reason to hide yourself from him.
“It’s strange, I guess, but I just keep forgetting that we’ve only properly known each other for a few weeks. It feels like we’ve lived a lifetime together.”
“That can’t be a bad thing though, right?” He reached a hand over the table and placed it over yours. “I wouldn’t complain about a lifetime with you.”
Your lips curled into a wide smile and you interlaced your fingers with his. “Me neither. I’d just really like the next lifetime to be a little less stressful.”
“I’ll do my best to behave.”
“I’d appreciate it.”
He smirked and leant back, nodding at the waiter as he placed the wine down on the table and half-filled both of your glasses. His eyes flicked back to yours and he chuckled deeply as he took a drink with his free hand, wincing slightly before swallowing, his expression telling you that he’d taken a fat loss on the wine list lottery. You braved a sip, it tasted like ass. The two of you fell into laughter together.
Your food arrived and you decided to finally address what was on your mind. You’d been meaning to bring up the events of the morning on the walk over, but you’d struggled to find the right moment or come up with wording that wasn’t unbelievably patronising. Well done for not punching my dad, by the way. Really proud of you kiddo. Maybe not.
“I also wanted to say,” you pulled your plate towards you and swallowed harshly, “what you did today, it really meant a lot.’
“What, wearing your underwear?” You gave him a playful scowl. “Sorry, go on.”
“I know sometimes you struggle to control this self-destructive streak, but you walked away from a fight today. I’ve never seen you do that before.”
His eyes dropped and his smile slowly faded. Shit, had you upset him? That was about as diplomatically as you could have worded it, maybe you should’ve just kept quiet. You were about to attempt a swift topic shift when he finally piped up.
“It hardly makes up for all the other times, though.”
“Maybe not, but what you do now matters a hell of a lot more than what you did in the past.”
He was staring at your hands, your words obviously not making a dent in the spiral he’d suddenly found himself in. “Y’know, before you came back, the stuff I did… it was some kind of miracle that I survived.”
“Don’t say that.”
“It’s true. It was more than a self-destructive streak, I really just had nothing to live for.”
Jesus, that knocked you back. You felt like you’d been winded. The worst part was that he didn’t even look upset, he’d just fallen into this heart-breaking expression of sunken acceptance. You’d never seen him like this before.
You reached out and squeezed his hands hard. “Things are good now, and they’ll be good from now on. That’s what matters.”
He nodded, looking back up at you and forcing a smile. In that moment it became incredibly clear to you how important it was to get away from this town and start again. Granted, a simple change of scenery probably wouldn’t be enough to completely disconnect him from the guilt of his past, but it would at least make it all seem a little further away. You just knew that you were desperate to help him, and you were willing to try anything.
You gently tried to dig a little deeper into the subject but he swiftly pivoted once he realised how upset you were, his usual cheery demeanour reappearing as he tucked into his meal. It was almost impossible to get more information out of Bucky once he’d stonewalled.
The rest of the evening was lovely and calm. He flagged down the waiter and ordered two beers after the sewer water he’d ordered had all gone, and the two of you quickly discovered that the restaurant took their ‘bottomless breadsticks’ promise a little too seriously, all but force-feeding you by hand to get them gone.
You just couldn’t shake the feeling that something was hanging over you.
You knew you’d have to talk to him more about it soon, even if you didn’t particularly want to. It was his face as he said it. You never wanted to see that again.
---
Part 12
---
Taglist: @touchstarvedforbuckybarnes
Join taglist here
I realise that I just completely abandoned my taglist when I started writing again but I figured most people on there would have just forgotten I existed lol so I'm going to start it over, please join if you fancy.
If it hadn’t been for the throbbing pain that started radiating from your neck the moment you became conscious, you might’ve fooled yourself into thinking that the incident outside the bar had been a dream, that there was no way you’d ever actually be stupid enough to try something like that for real. You attempted to swallow but it felt like there was a dry golf ball blocking the back of your throat.
Closing your eyes again, you held your breath and listened intently, trying to tune out the sounds of the road outside. You were desperate to know if he was still here. There was no way in hell you’d have ended up back in your apartment unless he’d brought you, any random bystander would have either packed you into an ambulance or left you unconscious in the gutter. You wouldn’t have blamed him for doing either.
Easing yourself into a sitting position, you reached for the glass of water on your nightstand and took a couple of tiny sips, wincing as the muscles in your throat contracted. Fuck, did it hurt. Given the choice you might even have considered taking another alien gunshot to the stomach over this.
You swallowed your last sip, looked up and saw Bucky standing in the doorway. He must’ve heard you stirring. He looked pissed.
“Hey.” You jolted at the sound of your own voice, it sounded like glass crunching underneath a heavy boot.
“How’s the pain?”
“Bad. Do you have anything I could take for it?”
“You really think you could swallow painkillers right now?”
Your head collapsed forwards and you rubbed your eyes harshly, the agony causing a thick cloud of fog to start forming in your mind. You had no idea what you were going to do. Bucky briefly disappeared from the doorway, returning after a second and moving over to the bed with something cupped in his palm. He took your glass of water and emptied his hand into it. Crushed up pills.
He held it out to you. “Drink.”
“Thanks.” You started taking tiny, rapid sips again but paused when he stood up and began heading for the door. “Wait, can we talk?”
“You need to rest.”
“I need to explain.”
“We’ll talk later,” he nodded towards the glass, “after they’ve kicked in.”
You just nodded and let him go. You weren’t willing to push him any further, not while he was being this stern. You didn’t want to risk pushing him away again.
It took you a good ten minutes to finish off the glass, but the throbbing didn’t begin to subside until about half an hour after that. As soon as you could think straight, however, you were on your feet. You figured Bucky had probably intended for you to rest a little longer than that but you were absolutely bursting for a wee, so you pulled on a sweater and shuffled through to the front room.
He was sitting on the couch in silence. He didn’t look over as you walked into the bathroom, his fingers tapping against the upholstered arm, a brooding expression on his face.
He still hadn’t moved when you came back out.
“Can we talk now?” The tapping stopped abruptly but he stayed silent. “Please, Buck.”
“I don’t know what you want me to say.”
“Anything. Jesus, scream at me if you want to. Tell me I’m an idiot, call me an asshole, just give me any hint of what you’re thinking.”
You noticed his eye twitch slightly every time your voice broke or faltered, his gaze staying fixed to the floor. He flexed his jaw as he considered his next words. They came out barely louder than a whisper.
“If you hate being spoken to like a child then why the fuck do you act like one so often?”
“I know, I’m sorry, it was unbelievably fucking stupid. I just really needed to see you.”
“So you start a bar fight?”
“Well I couldn’t exactly put up a bat signal, could I?”
“Put up a what?”
“Nevermind.” You placed yourself down beside him, lifting one leg up onto the couch so you could face him directly. “I needed to apologise and I couldn’t think of any other way to get to you.”
“Apologise?”
“Yeah, for how I acted when you were here before.”
“I don’t know what you mean.”
“I should never have let you leave, Buck. I didn’t want you to go I was just... spiteful. I’m sorry.”
He finally looked at you. You could see in his face that he was desperately trying to figure out how to feel about that, how to react. His eyes narrowed slightly and darted from you, to the wall behind you, to the floor and then back to you. He was almost starting to look pleased. His lips parted slightly but he stopped himself before he spoke, face falling into disapproval once again.
“You almost got yourself killed so you could apologise to me?”
“Yes,” you felt like picking him up and shaking him, “because you’re worth the risk, alright? You think I would’ve had the balls to do that for anyone else? You think I didn’t shit myself and want to run away when that guy was coming at me?”
“I think you’ve got a deathwish.”
“Maybe I do.”
“Well I wish you’d stop.”
A hoarse chuckle escaped through your lips. ”Make me.”
The corner of his mouth curled upwards. Your head was beginning to feel heavy so you let it collapse sideways onto the couch cushion. Bucky hesitantly reached a hand towards you, brushing his fingertips over the mottled bruising on your neck, his tough so light that you barely felt it.
“How’s it feeling?”
“Like I got kicked by a horse with really good aim.”
“S’what happens when you go picking fights with guys twice your size.” He shrugged, pulling his hand away and leaning his head back so it was sitting at the same angle as yours. “Y’know, I almost stopped checking up on you a couple days ago.”
“You what?”
“Well, I figured I couldn’t just keep following you around forever. I wanted to step back and finally give you a chance to move on but, I don’t know, I guess I just couldn’t stay away.”
“Jesus, I’m fucking glad you didn’t.”
“Me too.”
You shuffled forwards, placing your hand over the top of his and squeezing it tightly. You knew it was now or never for your relationship, either you figured out how to make it work right now or you walked away for good, because this high stakes on and off affair was clearly taking its toll on both of you. He interlaced his fingers with yours.
“You really think I’m worth it?”
“I promise you are, Buck.”
—
Your eyes shot open. What the fuck was that noise? It sounded like metal clattering against tile but it was too loud to be coming from a neighbouring apartment.
You ran a hand down the length of your side and past your hip, searching desperately for the heavy, metal arm that lay in the same place every single night. He’d initially insisted on only staying at your apartment a couple of nights a week, not wanting to be a burden on you, but he’d been there for almost three weeks straight now and you weren’t planning on kicking him out anytime soon.
The arm wasn’t there. You rolled onto your back, reaching a hand towards the lamp on your nightstand but freezing when you heard a gruff whisper.
“Don’t.”
“Buck?”
You tried to stay hushed too but you were beginning to freak out a bit. Your eyes started to adjust to the darkness and you saw him sitting bolt upright beside you, staring intently at the slightly cracked bedroom door, his chest rising and falling rapidly.
“Stay here.”
He threw the sheet off and sprung to his feet, moving across the room completely silently and peering into the front room with laser focus. It would’ve been an incredibly impressive exhibition of his stealth and prowess if he hadn’t been only in his underwear.
He looked back at you, lifted a finger to his lips and then held up a flat hand, which you translated as him telling you to shut the fuck up and stay put. You shook your head frantically. The baseball bat that you kept under your side of the bed was overdue some action, so you grabbed it and followed your defeated boyfriend through the door.
The living room was clear. He tried once more to make you stay behind as he moved to the kitchen but, once more, you refused. No amount of frenzied arm gestures would convince you that any spot in this apartment was safer than being right next to him.
He turned the corner and swiftly turned on the light in the kitchen, illuminating a metal saucepan in the middle of the floor and the cupboard you kept it in hanging open an inch. You frowned slightly, wondering why a highly-trained Hydra assassin would be rifling through your crockery collection.
Another sound came from inside the cupboard. You almost jumped to the other side of the room but Bucky rushed straight towards it, flinging open the door and breathing a sigh of relief when a small rat jumped out and scurried away across the counter. He turned back towards you with an unimpressed glare.
You chuckled. “You think he was sent to scout us out?”
“I think we need to find a new apartment.”
“Nah, the wildlife just adds to the character and charm of th-” Your tongue stuttered as you realised what he’d just said. “Wait, we?”
“Yeah. Well, unless you don’t want to.”
“I want to.”
“Me too.”
“Good.”
He smiled, stepping over the stray saucepan as he moved over, circling his arms around your waist and pulling you into his chest. You rested the side of your head against his collarbone and chuckled as you watched the rat squeeze into the gap beside the oven.
Yeah, fair enough, this place was a shithole.
“So,” you smiled to yourself, “were you really gonna fight off an intruder in just your underwear?”
“I’d fight a whole army naked for you, sweetheart.”
Warnings: Language, anti-religious sentiment throughout
Part 1 / Part 2 / Part 3 / Part 4 / Part 5 / Part 6 / Part 7 / Part 8 / Part 9
---
Your adrenaline rush quickly faded once you were alone again, leaving behind an incredibly unpleasant feeling of churning anxiety in your chest. You made a mug of hot tea, unsurprised when you opened the fridge to find that the milk was two weeks out of date, and collapsed onto the couch. Maintaining deep, controlled breaths and whacking the TV up to full volume eventually helped you pull yourself out of your spiral.
Bucky didn’t get home until the early evening. You sat him down and reeled it all off, making sure to reassure him throughout that you were fine and closely monitoring his reactions. He seemed to take it surprisingly well, staying calm and still, not interrupting with any kind of dramatic outburst. You thought maybe he’d finally turned a corner with his anger.
That was, until you got to the end of your story.
“He didn’t come back, right?” You shook your head. He nodded to himself and clenched his hands together tight, dropping his head and taking a deep, shaky breath. “Fuckin’ asshole.”
You could see he was ramping up to something so you tried your best to diffuse. “It’s fine, I’m fine. I handled it.”
“You shouldn’t have to handle shit like that.”
“Well, yeah, agreed but it could’ve been much worse, right?”
“Yeah,” he stood up suddenly, “he could’a hurt you.”
“He didn’t.”
“That’s not the point.”
Grabbing his jacket from the arm of the couch, he yanked it over his arms while storming towards the door. You launched yourself after him. There was no fucking way were you going to stand back and let this happen again. You just about managed to grab his arm before he made it out of the flat, using all your strength to tug him backwards, placing yourself between him and the exit. His judgement was being seriously impaired by his anger, that much was obvious, so he needed a sharp reality check to ground him again.
“Do you really think this is worth going back to jail for?” His chest was heaving, eyes staying intentionally diverted away from yours, “cause I guarantee I won’t be here when you get out.”
He was still for a second. You folded your arms and moved out of his way, watching, waiting to see what he would do. If he left, this was over.
He threw his jacket to the ground in frustration and ran his fingers through his hair, turning back towards you with a regretful grimace. You breathed a sigh of relief.
“You’re right,” he held his arms up in defeat, “y’know, I really try to be rational, but it all goes to hell when I look at you.”
What a strange mix of accusation and romance.
“Maybe so, but if you don’t chill the fuck out very soon you’ll only be looking at me through bulletproof glass.”
“So you’d visit me, then?”
“Only to say I told you so.”
He chuckled and rubbed his forehead exasperatedly. “Man, I wish everyone would just leave us alone.”
A light pinged on inside your head. You eyed him intently, weighing up whether or not to share what you were thinking. It was something you’d debated before, something you were considering bringing up with him closer to the end of summer, something that could potentially solve all of the problems in this relationship.
Fuck it, now was as good a time as any.
“We need to get out of this town, Buck. There’s nothing here for us.”
He shot you a confused squint. “You wanna move?”
“Look, I know it seems rushed, but I really think there’s a chance we could be happy somewhere else. Between your parents, my parents and your weird creepy friends we’ve basically got no chance here. We need to get away.”
He looked away, considering your proposal. You just shifted on the spot awkwardly for what felt like hours. Eventually he smiled, then grinned, and soon enough he was beaming at you.
“Alright. Let’s get outta here.”
“Yeah?” Your head began to spin with possibility and optimism. “Where should we go?”
“Wherever you want darlin’.”
—
You spent the whole next day researching places you could potentially move to on a shoestring budget. Something small, cosy and close to the beach would’ve been ideal, but anything a significant distance away with four walls and a roof would do. At this point you’d be willing to set up camp in the middle of fucking Death Valley if it meant getting away from this shithole town.
You tried your best to get some preferences out of Bucky, but he insisted that he wasn’t picky, and that he’d be happy as long as you were. Still, you made sure to factor dive bars and potential motorcyclist populations into your decision making.
When he got home from work, you cornered him in the kitchen, enthusiastically telling him about everything you’d found. He looked like he’d had a pretty tough day but your excitement seemed to cheer him up a bit. The warm smile that stayed planted on his face made your stomach flutter and the back of your neck tingle.
After dinner, the two of you curled up on the couch and flicked through beautiful, unbelievably expensive beachfront properties online, mutually dreaming about the kind of future in which you’d be able to afford them. His plan was to open up a body shop of his own, one so successful that the profits would support the both of you. You thanked him for the offer but insisted that you’d get very bored if you never worked again. He said you could be his receptionist. You jabbed him in the ribs.
Anyway, your current situation was presenting enough issues of its own without you worrying about an uncertain future, the most pressing one being that most of your belongings were still at your parents’ house. There was a vague plan in your head for how you were going to retrieve them but, in all honesty, you were really trying not to think too much about it. You had a terrible tendency to overthink, and doing that would only cause you to put it off for longer.
Unfortunately, you’d completely forgotten to tell Bucky all this, so he decided to bring it up casually while you were doing the dishes.
“So, when are we paying your folks a visit?”
“We’re not,” he flung the dish cloth over his shoulder and shot you a confused frown, “I still have a key so I was thinking we’d sneak over on Sunday morning while they’re at church.”
“You sure they’ll be out?”
“Mhmm, unless there’s been a major overhaul in the Catholic church that I missed.”
“Damn, that’s a shame. I’d really like to get to know them better.”
“You’re such an ass,” you grabbed a handful of soap bubbles and blew them at him, laughing as he tried to protect his hair, “they’d only call the cops on you anyway.”
“That’s half the fun.”
You spun round and playfully pointed a finger at him. “Hey, I thought we’d established that I am not cut out for being a prison girlfriend. For one, I couldn’t pull off the juicy couture tracksuit.”
A mischievous smile spread across his face. “Oh, you definitely could.”
—
Sunday came around a little too fast for your liking. The two of you walked to your parents’ house first thing in the morning, but only after you’d taken an unbelievably long time convincing Bucky that he wouldn’t be able to strap two suitcases to the back of his bike. He’d also suggested towing them on their castors, like trailers. You were moving in with this man.
The closer you got, the tighter your grip on Bucky’s hand became. He was talking constantly in an effort to distract you, bless him, but nothing could’ve calmed you down in this situation. You were a bucket of nerves.
When the house came into view and you saw that the car was gone, your anxiety was quelled a little, but you stayed cautious. As long as you’d been alive they’d never missed Sunday mass but, by now, you’d completely given up trying to predict their behaviour. You wouldn’t have been surprised if they’d both stuffed themselves into the mailbox, waiting to jump out at you.
With the coast seemingly clear, you unlocked the house and scurried inside. Bucky stepped through the door and immediately couldn’t hold in his laughter. You weren’t sure if it was all the crucifixes, the bible quote plaques on the kitchen wall or the plastic coated sofa cushions, but he was endlessly amused.
After letting him have his fun for a while, you gestured for him to follow you upstairs. Reaching your bedroom door, you turned to warn him about how your mother’s taste had inexplicably worsened while decorating in there, but he’d disappeared. You heard faint chuckling coming from your parents’ bedroom.
Rolling your eyes and huffing, you trudged through to see him holding their bedside bible, flicking through it amusedly.
“What are you doing?”
“I’m trying to find the bit where it tells you which sex positions are god-approved.”
He caught you off guard, making you burst out laughing, the funniest part being that he genuinely seemed to be invested in his search.
You knew your mother would absolutely flip her shit if she found out Bucky had been in her bedroom, but knowing that made you much less likely to drag him out.
“Try Leviticus,” you strolled over and rested your chin on his shoulder, “that’s where all the weird stuff is.”
He raised a cheeky eyebrow and started skimming through faster, eventually stopping to read a few lines, feign disappointment at the content, and rip the page out. You tried to grab it from him, but he moved it just out of your reach and carried on.
“Oh, here it is.” Still holding the book with one hand, he suddenly grabbed you round the waist with his other arm and pushed you onto your parents’ bed, climbing on top of you. “Let’s give some of these a try.”
You laughed as he threw the bible onto the floor and started kissing down your neck. Brushing your hand through his hair, you almost got lost in the moment, before remembering how fucking huge the stakes were here.
“We really don’t have time for this, Buck.”
“We always have time for something that’ll piss your mom off.”
“You just being here will piss her off.”
He brought his face back up to yours. “Yeah, but not as much as having my bare ass on her pillow.”
You shoved his shoulders, making him reluctantly push himself back onto his feet and pull you up after him. The two of you headed to your room but left the bed sheets messed up and the bible pages scattered all over the floor. You didn’t mind her thinking something had happened, even though it hadn’t. You just wished you could’ve seen the look on her face.
Time was ticking but, thankfully, you’d never actually had the chance to properly unpack. All you really had to do was grab one or two things and zip your suitcases back up.
“Jesus Christ, are your clothes made of lead?” Bucky’s only job was to carry one case downstairs, yet he still found cause for complaint.
“Oh that one’s mainly textbooks, that’s why you’re carrying it.”
He frowned, still bent double, dragging the suitcase into the hallway. “Can’t you just leave those here? You’re not gonna need them.”
“I know, but my parents paid for them, and I’m gonna resell them. Will probably fetch a decent chunk of our first month’s rent.”
“I knew there was a reason I liked you.”
He disappeared down the hallway as you finished gathering your last few things. You zipped up the second case and rolled it out of your bedroom, endlessly relieved thinking about the prospect of never coming back here. Even if your current plans didn’t work out, you were determined that this severing of ties was permanent.
As you reached the bottom of the stairs, you saw Bucky on the sidewalk outside, sitting on your suitcase and lighting a cigarette. He looked up towards you, but his attention was immediately caught by something else that made his face drop. You stepped through the door and followed his gaze.
It was your parents’ car, pulling up on the driveway. They must’ve left church early. Of course that’d happen on the one day you really needed it not to.
You tried to come up with some course of action, but all that was going through your mind was fuckshitfuck. You heard the fast clicking of heels against stone and your mother appeared from behind the car, storming towards Bucky with her usual venomous expression.
“Get off of my property.”
He looked down. “I’m pretty sure this is a sidewalk.”
You yanked your suitcase over the threshold and slammed the door behind you, drawing her attention.
“What do you think you’re doing?” She screeched, probably waking up every baby within a five-mile-radius.
You didn’t respond, marching away from the house as fast as possible and keeping your gaze fixed forwards. Before you reached the sidewalk, however, you felt a hand grip your arm tight and yank you back, almost pulling you off your feet. You turned round to see your father, a frenzied expression plastered on his bright red face.
Before you could really process what was happening, Bucky had planted himself in front of you, giving your father’s shoulders an almighty shove. Your arm was released as they squared up to each other. Your mother, in the wings, was actually encouraging her husband to start throwing punches- because that’s what good Catholics do.
Then, something happened that you never would’ve been able to predict.
Bucky walked away.
He reached for your hand and led you back to the sidewalk, grabbing the other suitcase without breaking stride. The two of you hustled away from the house as fast as you could, not looking back or responding to anything shouted after you.
Despite all that had just happened, and how fucking pissed you were about it, you couldn’t help but crack a smile.
You’d never seen him walk away from a fight on his own before.
That bears with hammers line and him naming Akita Akita🥲😭 have my heart, Bucky, he's so funny in this fic
Aw I'm v glad you enjoyed lovely 🥰 and for anyone who hasn't read my most recent oneshot it's like Godzilla vs Kong but a bear with a hammer fights a big dog
Summary: It was amazing, really, how quickly one person managed to turn your dream job into a living nightmare.
Pairing: ParkRanger!Bucky x y/n
Word Count: 6k
Warnings: Language
Author’s Note: I wrote this whole story before realising that it was some twisted RonSwanson!Bucky fantasy I'd cooked up, so if anyone can recommend a good therapist hmu
---
Monday, June 5th. Week 1.
“Oh, what a shame.”
Your eyes flicked up from the pile of paperwork in front of you, dread forming like a rock in your stomach when you saw the pitiful look she was giving you. Her head turned towards the older man sitting beside her and she pointed at something on your file.
“She's got the maintenance cabin in her coverage area.”
“Ah, oh dear.”
You shifted uncomfortably in your seat, hoping they’d just explain to you why that was such an issue so you didn’t have to ask. There was a tense silence as they shuffled some papers around. Eventually, Angela, who was your new supervisor and the woman looking at you like it was her job to let you know that you’re terminally ill, gave a weary sigh and pulled her glasses down her nose.
“Our maintenance manager can be… difficult.” The man scoffed at her delicate wording and received a subtle elbow to the ribs in response. “You’ll be fine, honestly, just don't try to make small talk and don't try to pet his dog. That thing is vicious.”
“Right. So what should I do?”
“Get in there, get his report and get out.”
That sounded easy enough. Even if it wasn’t, this was your dream job, so you weren’t about to let some crusty old man with a nasty temper ruin it for you. Six months of solitude in a tower in the middle of a national park was your idea of bliss and, if all you had to do in return was keep an eye on the canopy for signs of fire, you figured that was a pretty sweet deal. You’d eagerly snap up any opportunity to disconnect from the real world.
The meeting wrapped up and you were handed a sheet which detailed your daily and weekly duties. All you had to do each day was fill out a weather report, check in with basecamp and take a walk through your coverage area to make sure nothing was amiss. Easy. Your weekly list was a little longer, containing things like deep cleaning your tower and checking up on the wildlife, but you skipped past all that to find the point of contention.
Every Friday, collect weekly reports from any staff cabins in your coverage area. Review for urgent issues, gather further information if necessary and send back to basecamp alongside your weekly report.
Oh, that didn't sound too bad at all.
—
Friday, June 9th. Week 1.
The day was finally here.
Unfortunately, despite your initial attempts at optimism, you really had been dreading this, the occasional twangs of anxiety managing to effectively ruin what would otherwise have been an incredibly serene first week on the job. You figured there was a slight chance that Angela had been exaggerating, but you weren’t sure what benefit she’d get from scaring you like that. She didn’t seem like much of a sadist.
With a clipboard gripped in your white-knuckled hand, you reluctantly trudged up to the cabin door and gave two knocks. A bark from inside made you jump backwards before it swung open. The dark entranceway was filled with an imposing body, shoulders almost touching the wood on either side, arms folded across a broad chest.
You couldn’t help but give it a slightly confused look. Was this the dreaded maintenance manager? You’d been expecting a curmudgeonly old grandpa, but this guy couldn’t have been too far into his thirties. You were half-tempted to ask if his dad was in.
Recollecting yourself from the shock, not to mention the skittishness you always felt in the presence of men you found even slightly attractive, you gulped harshly and forced a smile.
“Hi, the new fire lookout. I'm here to collect your weekly report.”
“I don't do those.”
“Oh, right.” You looked down at your clipboard with a frown. “Just, it says here-”
The door slammed shut.
You were stunned into silence for a second, amazed that your first encounter with the national park boogeyman had gone down even worse that you’d expected. With a defeated sigh, you eventually turned away, muttering under your breath.
“Well fuck you, then.”
The porch steps creaked under your feet. Once safely out of earshot, you unclipped the radio from your belt and spun the dial, finding the frequency for basecamp.
“Come in, anybody there?”
Copy.
“Hey, so I just tried to pick up the weekly maintenance report and got a door slammed in my face. Apparently he doesn’t have to do them, I’m guessing that's a lie?”
God damn it, he does this every time, obviously thinks he can intimidate the newbies. Don’t worry, I'll get the supervisor onto him.
“Thanks.”
—
Friday, June 16th. Week 2.
Two weeks. Two whole weeks of your dream job had now been ruined by this asshole over some stupid fucking paperwork. What a waste. You’d been replaying your first encounter over and over in your head, just wishing you’d pushed back a little more or stuck your foot in the door or something, anything to look a bit less fucking pathetic.
Approaching his doorstep, you spotted a piece of paper lying on the porch. A wave of relief hit you. Getting the report and not having to talk to him at all was pretty much the ideal outcome here, maybe you could make this a regular arrangement.
When you reached it, however, you saw that it was just a blank sheet of paper with the word ‘fine’ scribbled in the top corner. For fuck’s sake. You snatched it off the ground and banged hard against the door, holding it up with an incredibly unimpressed expression once he answered.
“Seriously?”
“What?”
“I'm new but I'm not an idiot, you can't palm me off with this.”
“No idea what you’re talking about.”
“Stop bullshitting me. I know you've done these properly before, so just fucking do it, alright?” You shoved it into his chest before swivelling around and storming away, adding over your shoulder, “I'll be back for it after my rounds.”
You were pissed off for the rest of the day. It wasn’t that you cared about reports being filed in a timely fashion or even about him doing his job properly, in fact you couldn't have cared less about that, you were just concerned that his laziness would reflect badly on you and jeopardise your chances of ever landing one of these jobs again. They weren’t exactly easy to come by.
The sun was beginning to set by the time you got back to his cabin. Again, the paper was waiting for you on the porch and, again, he’d decided to behave like a child. He'd scribbled out his first draft and written underneath ‘mostly fine'. Jackass.
Naturally, you were straight back on the radio with basecamp, but their only advice was to file it anyway and just explain that he was being a pain in the ass once it got picked up on.
So that's exactly what you did.
—
Wednesday, June 21st. Week 3.
The sun was blazing in the clear sky and you were taking your time with your rounds, soaking up the warmth and making the most of your peaceful surroundings. The forest hummed with life and you pulled in the scent of wildflowers, branches cracking under your boots, wispy moss grazing against your knuckles.
About halfway along your trail, however, you noticed an unfamiliar sound in the distance. Something like rhythmic hammering was echoing through the tees. You rarely came across hikers or campers in this area, so you decided to check it out, just to make sure they weren’t causing trouble. Besides, it’d been weeks now since you’d had a pleasant conversation that didn’t crackle through a radio.
Pushing your way through the pines, you eventually reached the cause of the sound. That maintenance asshole was set up in a clearing, fixing up some dilapidated old wooden fencing while his dog sniffed around nearby. Both of them seemed too caught up in their activities to notice you peering through the shrubbery.
You observed him for a second, musing on what a shame it was that someone so visually pleasing was so fucking unbearable to hold a conversation with, and wondering how he’d ended up out here all alone. Maybe he’d just always been a huge dick to people.
The dog was inching closer. You had no idea what breed it was, your mom always had little terriers so you were hopeless when it came to the big types. Was it a husky? A big fluffy one? It looked harmless enough. Still, you figured it was best to skedaddle, slowly backing into the trees.
You thought you’d almost managed to slip away unnoticed when a booming voice made you freeze on the spot.
“You suck at hiding, y’know.”
Shit. How the hell were you going to play this off?
“Sorry,” you emerged from cover and took a few steps towards him, keeping the dog in the corner of your vision, “I wanted to make sure it wasn’t… bears.”
“Bears?”
“Mhmm.”
“With hammers?”
“...mhmm.”
He shook his head, dropped his tool on the ground and leant against the fence, shooting a resentful scowl in your direction. “Thanks for getting me chewed out last week.”
“Anytime.” He scowled harder. “Look, I really don't know what you expected. I’m not taking the fall for your lazy ass.”
“So you bad-mouth me instead?”
“Basically, yeah.”
“Can’t you just leave me the hell alone?”
“Trust me, I wish I could.”
It almost looked as though he was about to admit defeat and go back to work, but his eyes were suddenly pulled down towards something beside you. Following his gaze, you flinched dramatically, finding Cujo poised by your hand.
“Don't like dogs?”
“No, I do, I'm just,” it gave your fingers a curious sniff before licking them excitedly, “not used to big ones.”
“They told you she was vicious, right?”
“They might’ve done.”
“She can be,” the corner of his mouth curled menacingly, “when I tell her to be.”
You raised an eyebrow. “So, you tell her to be vicious towards your supervisors?”
He shrugged.
You squatted down and gave her a scratch, laughing when she eagerly began to wag her tail before flopping onto her back, legs in the air and belly exposed. Your eyes moved back up to his. You might have been imagining it but, just for a second, his face seemed to soften slightly. Then you blinked and he was back to looking like he was sucking on a wasp.
“What breed is she?”
“Akita.”
“Sweet. What’s her name?”
“Akita.”
His expression was completely blank.
“You named your Akita, Akita?”
“Mhmm.”
“Right.” You stood back up and brushed the loose hairs off your hands. “Well, I’d better get back to work. I guess I’ll see you Friday.”
“Looking forward to it.”
You ignored that snide comment and ventured back into the trees, desperately wondering why the fuck you weren’t more upset about the prospect of seeing him twice in one week.
—
Saturday, June 24th. Week 3.
Yesterday had been a fucking nightmare. The lookout in charge of the coverage area that bordered yours had spotted smoke on the horizon so it was all hands on deck. You had to rush through miles of unfamiliar forest at six in the morning, only to find an elderly couple stoking a campfire next to their tent. They claimed not to have seen the dozens of bright red signs warning travellers that it was the height of forest fire season. Idiots.
The worst part of the whole ordeal, however, was that all the rushing around and subsequent paperwork didn’t leave you any time to do your weekly duties, meaning you had no choice but to visit the maintenance asshole today. You were sure he'd be thrilled to see you on his day off.
As you walked up to the cabin, you saw him sitting on the porch swing with Akita, intensely focused on something he was doing in his lap. The dog jumped down to approach you as you neared, asshole’s eyes briefly flicking up to acknowledge your presence before returning to his project.
“Hey,” you folded your arms and leant against a beam of wood, “I'm sure you heard the panic over the radios yesterday.”
“Mhmm.”
“I didn’t have time to walk over here, can I just get your paperwork now?”
He huffed, dropped what he was holding onto the seat and stood up. “If you're gonna make me do these things you could at least come get them.”
There were a few seconds of silence. He was obviously trying to provoke you into an argument but you didn’t rise to it, instead just staring him down and waiting.
“So, you gonna go get it for me or…?”
He huffed again, like a toddler having a tantrum, before trudging inside.
Your attention shifted down to the little object lying on the porch swing. Letting your curiosity get the better of you, you tiptoed over and picked it up, turning it around in your hands. It was a small, intricate wooden deer figurine. Jesus, had he carved that by hand? It was beautiful.
The front door clicked back open and it was swiftly snatched out of your grasp.
“You mind?”
“Sorry, it's just really pretty. Did someone teach you?”
“No.”
“You taught yourself?”
“Lots of time to practise shit like that in this job, you'll see,” he sunk back into his seat, “you should find a hobby for the weekends so you can stop bothering me.”
“I think bothering you might be my new hobby.”
He chuckled. Your eyebrows shot up in surprise. It was obviously a shock to him too because, as soon as he caught himself, he immediately went stone-faced again. You tried not to make it too obvious how incredibly fucking pleased with yourself you were.
After skimming your eyes down the report to make sure it was done properly, you nodded to him faintly, giving Akita a quick scratch before going on your way. Only when you had your back to him did you allow a wide grin to spread across your face.
—
Tuesday, July 4th. Week 5.
A ferocious knocking at the door of your tower jolted you awake. Half-delirious, you reached an arm out to your nightstand and grabbed your phone, the brightness of the screen almost blinding you. It was 4:27am. What the fuck was going on?
The knocking sounded again, this time even louder and faster. You bolted to your feet and yanked your coat over your pyjamas, convinced that you were going to step outside and see the whole forest engulfed in flame.
The only thing you saw when you opened the door, however, was the maintenance asshole. The dim light above the door was illuminating his face. He looked shaken up, which was strange, because you’d only even seen him look bored with a hint of pissed off.
You rubbed your eyes. “Everything alright?”
“I need your help.”
“With what?”
“Akita. She’s gone.”
“Gone?” If it weren’t for the offensively loud sound of rustling trees and the harsh wind throwing your hair around, you’d have been convinced that this was all some elaborate dream.
“Yeah, she was scratching at the door so I let her out for a piss but she must’a got spooked,” he was tripping over his words, “cause she bolted into the trees too fast for me to catch her.”
“Well, she’s trained, right? So she’ll probably come back on her own?”
“She is but she’s never done this before, what if it was a bear or somethin’?”
You were actually starting to get a little concerned, he seemed about as on edge as someone with no emotions was capable of being. “Okay, sure, I’ll help. Just let me get my boots on.”
He stared you down intently as you rushed to get your laces tied. The two of you descended the tower stairs and headed into the forest, both calling her name, torches desperately searching through the darkness for any signs of life. Half an hour passed with no luck.
You stopped walking and pointed the torch towards him. “Should we split up? Cover more ground?”
“Nah.”
“Well, what’s the point in two of us being here, then? You could’ve done this on your own.”
“Just in case there is a bear.” You gave him a confused look. “I reckon I could run faster than you.”
He kept walking. It took you a second to process, but, had he just made a joke? You wouldn’t put it past him to actually throw you to the bears, if anything you’d be expecting it, but his tone was definitely lighter than usual.
So he did have a sense of humour, then. How interesting.
“You comin’?”
You had to jog to catch up with him. “Seriously, why am I here?”
“Cause she likes you, I figured two familiar voices was better than one.”
“You’re really worried, huh?”
He didn’t answer, instead just marching ahead and continuing to call her name. This carried on for what felt like hours, the sun slowly rising, thankfully lighting up the landscape. Eventually, you came across a small stream trickling over some rocks. There, having a leisurely drink, was Akita.
He rushed over, looking absolutely overjoyed. You couldn’t help but smile at the reunion. It was nice, seeing him showing emotion, almost like he was actually human. He could obviously be pretty sweet when he wanted to be.
He clipped a lead from his pocket onto her collar and looked over to you. “Thanks.”
“No worries, I’ll leave you two alone.”
“You want us to walk you back?”
“It’s ok, I know the way,” you gave him a smile, “I’ll see you on Friday.”
“See you then.”
You wandered away from the happy couple.
By this point, you were wide awake and already halfway through your coverage area, so you figured you might as well just finish up your rounds before heading back. Besides, you could use a solitary walk to clear your head a little.
You made sure to keep a keen eye out for any big scary mammals but saw nothing, finishing up and walking back just before midday. You’d already planned out your entire quiet, cosy evening in your head.
Climbing up to your tower, you noticed something sitting at the top of the stairs. A small wicker basket. Cautiously, you peered inside, your stomach fluttering slightly when you saw that it was holding a small bottle of whiskey and a carved wooden bear figurine. It was even more beautiful than the deer he’d been working on last week.
You didn’t really drink whiskey, but you appreciated the gesture, figuring it was probably the only other giftable thing he had to hand. Picking it up and taking it inside, you noticed a small folded note underneath the bottle. It read:
Thanks again for the help.
Bucky.
Was that his name? Jesus, you’d never even asked. Well, at least you could stop calling him asshole now.
—
Friday, July 7th. Week 5.
You decided to head over to the cabin a little later than usual. You were risking facing his wrath again but, bottle of whiskey in hand, you were actually feeling bold. The sun was setting behind the mountains by the time you reached his porch.
He answered the door with slightly less resentment on his face than usual. “Thought you weren’t gonna show up again.”
“Sorry, it’s been a busy day.”
That was a lie, you’d spent three hours this afternoon trying to get a hot sauce stain out of your sweatpants. He eyed the whiskey.
“Oh, yeah, I really appreciate it, but I thought maybe we could share.” You held it out to him. “I’m guessing you don’t get to replenish your stock too often, didn’t want to deprive you.”
He hesitated for an offensively long time before taking it from you, stepping aside and gesturing for you to enter. You figured there was probably a fifty-fifty chance of you ever leaving here alive.
The inside of the cabin was pretty much as you expected, with exclusively wooden furniture, a couple of guns propped up against the wall and the faint smell of cigars hanging in the air. It was also pretty messy but, from your experience, that was typical of single male accommodation. The only thing that did throw you off was the lack of taxidermied animal heads hanging above the mantelpiece. Maybe that would be his next hobby.
You heard the whiskey pop open and the clink of glasses as he reached them out of a tall cabinet.
“Nice place.”
“Thanks. I don’t have guests very often.”
You glanced over to a pile of screwed-up clothes on the couch. “You don’t say?”
He took the hint, clearing them before inviting you to sit down. The two of you drank and made small talk for a while. It was pretty nice. He definitely enjoyed his liquor, though, cause you were only on your second glass by the time he’d finished off the rest of the bottle.
It hadn’t been your intention to take advantage of his tipsiness this evening, but you couldn’t help probing a little now he was nice and loosened up.
“So, how’d you end up with Akita?”
He glanced down to the dog whose head was resting on your lap, eyes closed as you softly stroked her head. “She’s a service dog.”
“Really? I had no idea.”
“Yeah, I got her when I left the army. I’m not great in crowded places anymore but I didn’t feel like being all alone out here. She helps me out.”
“That’s nice,” you ran one of her ears between your fingers, “I see why the two of you are so close now.”
He waited a few seconds, watching you with a vague hint of warmth dawning on his face before speaking again. “How’d you end up out here?”
“Nothing interesting, I’m afraid. I just like the peace.” He scoffed. “What?”
“Nothing.”
“No, go on.”
“S’just…” he looked embarrassed, “it was a helluva lot more peaceful for me here before you showed up.”
“I’ll bet it was. Shame you can’t intimidate me into leaving you alone.”
He chuckled. “Well, as far as pains in my ass go, I guess you’re not so bad.”
“Is that the nicest thing you’ve ever said to another person?”
“I think so.”
He smiled, you were pretty sure for the first time ever. Not bad at all. You looked down at your empty glass then across to the other side of the room, quickly realising that the whiskey had hit you like a train, and that it was probably time for you to go to bed. You had a habit of embarrassing yourself after too many drinks.
“I should get back, it's pretty late.”
“I’ll walk you.” You shook your head firmly but he didn’t back down, adding while pulling on his coat, “I don’t want you gettin’ lost or mauled by a bear.”
“Damn, you’re so much nicer when you’re drunk.”
“Don’t get used to it.”
Despite your protests, he did end up accompanying you on the moonlit stroll back to your tower, the fresh forest air swiftly sobering you up while Bucky’s knuckles occasionally grazed against yours. He even insisted on walking you to the top of the stairs, pausing as you rooted around in your pocket for the keys.
“Well, goodnight,” you pushed the door open, stepping inside and turning back around to face him, “I weirdly had a really nice evening.”
“Charming.”
You expected him to just walk away after that, cause he wasn’t exactly one for niceties, but he stayed where he was. The atmosphere between you suddenly changed, the look that settled on his face sending an electric chill down your neck and along both of your arms. He took a step towards you. What the fuck was happening?
Your answer came swiftly and suddenly as he dropped his head and firmly pressed his mouth against yours, hands perching themselves slightly awkwardly on your shoulders. He’d obviously not done this for a while. You just stayed still, frozen with shock. It was nice, it really was, but fucking hell were you confused.
He pulled away, his face immediately dropping when he saw yours all scrunched up.
“Shit, did you not want-”
“No, it’s not that, I just… well to be honest I thought you hated me.”
“Oh, yeah. I kinda did,” he shrugged slightly, “but I don’t anymore.”
“How romantic.”
Chuckling at his frankness, you took hold of his hands and manoeuvred them downwards, placing them in a less wooden position on your hips. He nodded, looking as though he was taking mental notes.
“It’s been a while.”
“I’d never have guessed.”
You got another smile from him before he moved in again, softer this time, while you reciprocated by cupping his rough face between your hands. The good news was that he was obviously a fast learner, but the bad news was that he was apparently too much of a gentleman to try and push things any further, so he pulled away after just a few seconds and took a step back. Considerate asshole.
He scratched the back of his head. “I’m gonna be away for a few days, there’s a big job on the other side of the park, but I’ll be back next Friday.”
“Okay, I’ll see you then.”
“Sounds good.”
He flashed a warm grin before disappearing down the stairs. You pinched yourself.
—
Tuesday, July 11th. Week 6.
You’d only just finished frantically tidying up when a knock sounded on your door. You really appreciated your supervisor taking the time to check up on you but, Jesus, she could’ve given you more than half an hour's notice.
“Hey, Angela,” you tried to hide how out of breath you were as you invited her in, “nice to see you.”
“Yes, you too. How have you been getting on?”
“All good, thanks. No complaints.”
“Really?” She planted herself down on the chair you’d set out and opened up the comically oversized file from under her arm, “because I hear you’ve been having some trouble with our maintenance manager.”
That was an understatement.
“Oh, yeah, a bit. But it’s all sorted now.”
She sighed and looked gravely towards you over the top of her glasses. “Look, I won’t beat around the bush, I’m here to collect evidence to support my argument for his termination.”
“You’re- his- what?”
“I need to take a statement from you about his behaviour.”
“You want to get rid of him?”
“I do.”
“Why?”
“Are you serious? You said yourself he’s impossible to work with.” She looked down and started reeling off the notes she’d already made in the file. “He doesn’t do his paperwork, he’s rude, he’s aggressive, he sets his dog on people.”
All good points.
“He’s good at his job though, right?”
“I’m afraid that just isn’t enough to cut it anymore.” She clicked her pen and poised it above the paper. “So, can you help me out?”
—
Friday, July 14th. Week 6.
You raced over to Bucky’s cabin at the crack of dawn, more eager to speak with him than you ever had been before. It was strange, if Angela had come to you asking for help just a couple of weeks ago, you probably would’ve obliged. Now, the prospect of working in the park for the next four and a half months without him actually felt pretty bleak.
You arrived at the cabin, he wasn’t there. Maybe you’d been a little overeager. Taking a seat on his porch step, you watched the birds fluttering in and out of the trees for what felt like hours before you heard his truck approaching. Your legs immediately sprung into action and launched you towards it. He pulled up, smiling at you through the windscreen. You yanked the door open.
“We need to talk.”
“About what?”
“Lots of stuff.”
“Can I unpack first?”
“No.”
“Are you alright?”
“Just, come on.”
You dragged him out of the car and into the cabin, noticing that the place looked much tidier than it did on your last visit. When did he have time to do that? He’d been away since Saturday, did he do a big clean after getting back from your tower last Friday night? Weird.
He dropped his bag by the door and Akita ran in behind the two of you, settling herself on the couch. He leaned against the wall as you paced around nervously.
“So what’s up?”
“Angela’s trying to get you fired.”
“Again?”
“I’m serious, Buck. She’s got this huge file full of evidence and statements against you, she wanted one from me too.”
“Did you give her one?”
“Yeah, obviously.”
“Really?”
“No, you dick.” You stopped in front of him, giving him a stern glare. “Look, you have to sort your shit out. She really wants you gone, you can’t give her any more ammunition.”
“What can I do?”
“File your paperwork, for a start. I can help with that.”
“Alright.” He pushed himself off the wall and gestured for you to follow, marching towards a closed door at the back of the cabin, but pausing and spinning back around just before reaching it. “Thanks, by the way.”
“It’s fine, I do so much paperwork now it’s basically second nature.”
“No, I meant thanks for warning me. I wouldn’t have blamed you for just letting me get fired.”
“Well, as far as pains in my ass go, I guess you’re not so bad.”
He smiled affectionately and you reciprocated, but all the joy immediately melted from your face when he opened the mysterious door to reveal piles and piles of unorganised papers stacked precariously on a rickety wooden desk. You shot him daggers, he just shrugged.
It took hours to get things in order, a total of twelve bulging envelopes of paperwork going back months eventually getting assembled. You also, somehow, managed to convince him to go and drop them off at basecamp in person, apologising to Angela in the process. You dreaded to think of the speech he’d come up with but you just hoped to god that it was better than nothing at all.
It was a nervous wait in the cabin with Akita. She could obviously tell you were stressed, because she kept pawing at your leg and forcing her head onto your lap, each time managing to pull you out of your anxiety spiral. She was good.
He reappeared through the door just over an hour later, the look on his face telling you it was good news. You shot to your feet.
“Well?”
“She’s agreed to give me a second chance.”
“Oh thank fuck for that,” you let out a relieved chuckle, “for a second there I thought you were gonna abandon me.”
“Not a chance.”
He rushed towards you, an excited yelp escaping from your lips as he grabbed hold of your waist and let the two of you fall onto the couch. Akita bolted and just about avoided a firm crushing. His mouth connected to yours, your bodies shuffling around until they found a comfortable position in such a compact area. His head moved downwards, stubble grazing across your jaw, lips starting to plant kisses against your neck and collarbone. Your eyes briefly fluttered closed but, when they opened again, you found yourself nose to nose with an incredibly confused looking hound.
“Uh, Buck?”
“What?” His voice was muffled against your skin.
“Does the dog usually watch or…?”
His head shot up, face contorting into a puzzled expression. “I don’t know, this is new territory for me.”
The two of you looked from her, to each other, and then back to her.
“Maybe let her outside.”
“Yeah.”
—
Friday, October 13th. Week 19.
You couldn’t believe how quickly the last few months had gone. Now you were getting close to the end of your time in the park, you were dreading it being over even more than you’d expected.
This job really hadn’t played out at all as you’d expected, but you could honestly say that you wouldn’t trade the time you’d spent with Bucky for anything. You were just nervous about what would come next. The park wouldn’t need fire lookouts until next summer and it was basically impossible to secure any other job there during the winter months. You couldn’t bear the thought of having to travel miles every time you wanted to see him, the walk from the tower was long enough.
What you didn’t know, however, was that he’d been thinking about it too.
When you went to collect his report, just like every Friday, and he invited you in, just like every Friday, there was something new in the living room. A set of beautiful, carved wooden shelves.
“Oh, wow,” you walked over and ran your fingertips across the smooth grain, “did you make these?”
“Yeah, took me weeks.”
“They’re beautiful. What are they for?”
He walked up behind you and wrapped his arms around your waist, lowering his mouth to your ear. “Well, I thought maybe you could help me with that.”
“How?”
“I spend ages makin’ them, but I don’t have enough stuff to fill ‘em. Was wondering if you’d want to put all your stuff here.”
“Why would I-” Your heart jumped and you spun round in his grasp, eyes widening as they met his. “Are you serious?”
“Mhmm. It’ll be nice having someone to talk to who can actually talk back.”
You glanced over to Akita, laughing as her ears pinned back as if she knew she’d just been slandered. “Just wait a few weeks and you’ll be begging to go back to barking.”
“You’re probably right.”
“I am right, but that’s too bad, cause you’re stuck with me now.”
Warnings: V strong language, PG13 smut, another creepy guy what fun
Part 1 / Part 2 / Part 3 / Part 4
---
The mixture of shock and residual anger made your body tense up. Your hands shot up to his chest, but only in an attempt to maintain some kind of distance while you decided how to respond, whether to reciprocate.
The wall was cold against the back of your head and your arms, the sensation clashing with the warmth of his body pressed firmly up against you. His breath tasted faintly of liquor, dutch courage maybe. You could've used some yourself.
After the initial shock faded, the one thought that clouded your mind was that this wasn’t fucking fair. He could hop in and out of your life whenever he felt like it, teasing you with affection before stealing it away again, while all you could do was sit around and wait for his whims to change. You felt dizzy thinking about having to stay on his emotional roller coaster any longer. This whole ordeal had been so incredibly draining but, the very worst part was, you couldn’t even blame him for it. He genuinely believed he was doing you a favour by trying to stay away. He was a good guy, he just gave in to his feelings too easily.
Unfortunately, you had a habit of doing the same. You kissed him back. His stubble was rough against your face. His chest started heaving, pushing you further into the wall as it did so.
You couldn’t count the hours you’d spent thinking about this back at that shitty little apartment, the nights you’d laid awake, barely able to stop yourself from tearing through to the living room and tearing into him. The reality was even better than you'd imagined.
He lifted your legs to circle his waist and pulled you away from the wall, blindly walking towards your bedroom with his mouth still locked onto yours. You briefly wondered how the hell he knew where he was going, how long he’d been occupying your apartment before you arrived home this evening, but all of that fell out of your head when he dropped you onto the bed, pulled his shirt off and climbed on top of you. Nothing else mattered after that.
---
You had no idea what this meant.
You carefully rolled over and eyed the completely bare man that was fast asleep in your bed. The sun had set while you’d been tangled together, so the only thing illuminating him now was the pale moonlight that streamed through the blinds in thin, uniform lines. He almost looked like he was carved out of stone. It was a sight that, a few weeks ago, would’ve filled you with excitement and delirium. Now you were just confused.
A million questions streamed through your mind. Had anything actually changed? Was everything now just going to go back to how it was before? Were you going to be left pining again while Bucky watched you from a tree or a bush to make sure you didn’t accidentally die?
Admittedly, you’d been in less healthy relationships but, still, not ideal.
You had no idea how long you’d been lying awake. An hour, at least, maybe two. Sighing and rubbing your eyes, you climbed off the bed and headed towards the door. Bucky stirred, a deep whisper coming from behind you.
“You alright?”
“Yeah, just need to pee.”
He grunted softly. You glanced over your shoulder to see him roll onto his back, eyes still closed, one hand moving to rest behind his head while a contented smile spread over his face. Well, at least he was happy.
Your clammy feet stuck to the cold bathroom tiles, the unheated air in the apartment nipping at your bare skin. You braced yourself against the sink and splashed cold water over your face. There was no way you could keep doing this. If you allowed it, there’d be countless more nights spent lying awake, driving yourself crazy wondering what the fuck was going on inside his head. No, it was time to get some answers.
You made a plan. If he was awake when you got back to the bedroom, you’d confront him now but, if not, you’d do it first thing in the morning. Letting yourself delay it any further than that would inevitably lead to pussying out completely and standing by while this situation spiralled out of control again.
You tiptoed back towards the bedroom, hoping to god that he'd fallen back to sleep.
“Buck?”
“Mhmm?”
Shit.
You slipped under the sheet and lay down beside him, using your arm to prop your head up. He looked over to you, nervous anticipation dancing over his face, blue eyes lit up by a slither of moonlight. Your words got caught in your throat. They quivered when they eventually escaped, your well-planned confrontation quickly derailing into an anxious ramble.
“I’ve been thinking, and I was, uh, wondering,” you couldn’t bring yourself to meet his gaze, “what kind of life can you have?”
“Hmm?”
“You said, about the time we spent in that apartment, that you could never have that kind of life. Right?”
“Right.”
You tried your best to prompt him with your expression but you had a feeling he was being wilfully ignorant. Yes, this conversation was going to be painful, but you’d get him to talk even if you had to drag him over hot fucking coals to make it happen.
“So, what can life look like for you, realistically?”
“Just… fighting, I guess.”
“Sounds lonely.”
“It has to be.”
“Says who?”
“Says the guy who almost got you killed twice.”
He winced as he said it, turning his head so his face was pointing up towards the ceiling. You could tell that, as far as he was concerned, that was the conversation over. Well it wasn’t. He’d played that ace one too many times and it just didn’t have the same impact anymore. You were in too deep now to care.
“You don’t think that, just maybe, you’re worth the risk?”
“No, I don’t.”
“And what if I do?”
“Then you’re wrong.”
He sat up and swung his legs out of bed. You slid yourself towards him and placed a hand gently on his shoulder, a feeble attempt to pull him back into the conversation, but it fell limp against the sheets when he stood up and started to gather his clothes.
“So that’s it, then? You’re just gonna disappear again?”
You got no answer, he just began to silently dress himself. You could’ve argued more, could’ve blocked the door and forced him to hear you out, but your bitterness got the better of you. He was leaving, again, and you let yourself hate him for it. You lay down and turned your back to him. Light footsteps padded away and the front door clicked, then silence fell again.
It could only have been a few seconds before a crashing wave of regret hit you.
Grabbing hold of the sheet and wrapping it around yourself, you jumped to your feet and bolted after him. Your heart was thudding against your ribs. You yanked the front door open and stepped out into the icy night air, squinting towards the only working streetlight in view. There was no sign of him. The rain was battering against the sidewalk, the thunderous sound deadening any attempt to scream his name.
You weren’t sure what you’d been expecting, he didn’t exactly have a habit of hanging around and there was no way you’d be able to catch up to him without clothes or shoes. It was a futile gesture, standing there in the cold, but you waited and clung to the tiny ounce of hope that maybe he’d change his mind and come back. Maybe if he found you there, soaked and shivering, he’d realise that you were willing to fight for him- that he was worth fighting for.
You’d lost all feeling in your fingers and toes by the time you gave up.
---
Days had passed since you’d seen him, each one making you more and more desperate to talk to him, to apologise for letting him go. You cursed yourself for how you acted that night. You needed to make it right.
There was, you figured, only one guaranteed way to make him show his face. It was unbelievably stupid and he’d hate you for it but, at this point, you were desperate enough to try anything.
You finished work, cleaned up and locked the door, just the same as you did every day. You took the few steps towards the sidewalk and looked around. No sign of him, obviously. With a deep breath, you set off walking in the opposite direction to your apartment. You knew exactly where to go.
You’d dated your fair share of assholes since being in the city and the very worst of them, an unemployed narcissist who still lived with his ex-wife, used to drink at the shittiest dive bar you’d ever had the misfortune to visit. Fortunately for you, that bar was only a ten minute walk from the coffee shop.
Rounding the corner, you scanned your eyes over the clientele smoking in the alleyway outside. It looked like a meetup for men whose mothers’ would describe them as disappointments. Squaring your shoulders, you picked out the biggest, ugliest one and made a beeline directly towards him.
“Hey.”
“Hey there, sweetheart.” The look that spread over his face made you immediately start regretting this plan, but you just swallowed harshly and stuck to it. “Where’d you fall from, heaven?”
“No, actually, I just came straight from your mom’s house.”
Jesus, really? Was that the best you could come up with? You cringed at yourself.
“What now?”
“Did she give you that tattoo?” You pointed as confidently as you could to a green, wrinkled blotch on his arm.
“No.”
“Well it looks pretty fucking amateur to me.”
He laughed, probably more out of shock than anything else. “Are you high or somethin’?”
“Man, I wish. Then maybe your breath would be more bearable.”
“It tastes better than it smells, baby.”
“Funny, that’s exactly what your mom said about her cunt.”
Now that’s more like it. You braced yourself, expecting at any second to feel a calloused old fist crash into your face, but nothing happened. He just threw his cigarette on the ground and turned away from you.
“Piss off, stupid bitch.”
Well, god fucking damn it. Why was it that, when you were just minding your business and trying to get home, psychos were attracted to you like flies to shit but, when you were actively encouraging them to throw hands, they go all shy? You were really starting to hate this fucking city.
It was no good, time to up the ante. You scanned your eyes over the ground, picked up the closest piece of shrapnel you could find and launched it towards his head. Your aim wasn’t great, so it hit the wall behind him with a loud clunk, but it seemed to do the job. He swivelled round with murder in his eyes.
“You tryin' to die tonight, bitch?” Not quite, you thought, but stayed silent. “What’s your fuckin' problem, huh?”
He stormed towards you. It took all of your courage to stay planted on the spot, arms and legs beginning to tremble. He didn’t hesitate for a second when he reached you, a gnarled hand shooting out and wrapping itself around your throat, squeezing with immense force. He kept shouting but your eardrums felt like they were full of water and your vision was starting to blur.
Right, okay, so you actually might die here. What a idiotic way to go, how fucking typical.
You were so busy regretting every life decision that had led up to this point, you barely noticed that he’d managed to lift you clean off the ground, the pain around your neck becoming almost unbearable. You thought you vaguely heard a dull thunk before the pressure was suddenly released.
The last thing you felt was your limp body slamming into the ground, then everything went black.
Don’t you reblog anything else on here other than fics? I’m sorry that sounds rude but I was looking for what kind of personality or any hint of it lol
Are you flirting with me, anon? If you want to know more about me you only have to ask, no need for games, let's just talk. Tell me your star sign and I'll tell you mine. 😉
Warnings: Language, anti-religious sentiment throughout, references to domestic violence
Part 1 / Part 2 / Part 3 / Part 4 / Part 5 / Part 6 / Part 7 / Part 8
---
You made yourself some coffee while you waited for Bucky, usually you were ravenous first thing in the morning but your appetite had been replaced by an uneasy knot that sat in your stomach like a rock. You had so many questions for him. It was troubling, really, how little you know about his increasingly complex past, but your determination to get him to spill his secrets was now stronger than ever.
You heard the door downstairs click open and slow footsteps crept up the stairs. Bucky appeared in the kitchen a few seconds later, looking like he was ready to call it a day on any and all matters involving deep emotions. Well, tough.
“Thanks for that,” he cautiously moved towards you, “although she does seem to think we’re all happy families over here.”
“Yeah, sorry about that. It was just easier if I went along with it, plus it seemed to cheer her up a little.”
He was trying to smother a smug smile as he leant against the counter in front of you. “S’alright, it cheered me up too.”
A brief silence fell, the sound of your teaspoon clinking against the inside of your mug resonating around the whole apartment. Your mind was occupied trying to think of the most inoffensive way to compose your next sentence.
“Buck, do you mind if I asked what happened between you and your mom? You said you barely speak but, I don’t know, your relationship seems pretty good.”
“It is. I just… choose to stay away.”
Christ he was fucking cryptic, it was like trying to crack the enigma code.
“Right. Just, from the way you spoke about her, I thought maybe it was drugs or something.”
“Nah. I mean she drinks like a fish, but she’s not nearly as bad as my dad.” He glanced over and saw you raise your eyebrows at him, prompting him to continue, which he did with a sigh. “She just won’t leave him, no matter what he does. I’ve tried everything.”
“I see.”
“I love her and I help her out when I can, but it’s too hard to just stand by and watch how he treats her. I gotta keep a distance or I get sucked back in.”
“That must be really hard.”
“Don’t worry,” he forced a smile, “I’m used to it.”
“Well, I’m glad you told me. It’s good to talk about these things.”
“Nah, you don’t need all my shit piled on top of yours.”
He dropped his keys on the counter and moved to walk away, but you swiftly reached out and grabbed hold of his arm.
“She’s really proud of you, Buck.”
The disingenuous smile was slowly swallowed as a beaming grin spread across his face. He turned and took your hands in his, pulling you towards him, looking pleasantly surprised at your lack of resistance. He was definitely still in the doghouse, but you were ready to cut him a little slack.
“She is? No idea why.”
“Cause you’re a good guy,” the slack was used up faster than you’d expected, “when you’re not throwing punches and getting yourself arrested.”
He chuckled and cautiously wandered his hands up to your waist, ready to be swatted away at any moment. That boy could do an entire figure-skating routine on the thinnest of thin ice and not fall through.
“You’re just gonna keep bringing that up, aren’t ya?”
“Yep.”
“You ever gonna forgive me?”
“Maybe, but only after I’ve had my fun.”
“As long as you stick around you can chew me out whenever you feel like it,” he slid his hands around your back and pulled you closer to his chest, “you can try to push me away but I’m not going anywhere.”
“Fine, but if you ever pull that shit and make me crawl back to my parents again I’ll chop your balls off.”
“That’s fair.”
You just stood there for a little while, eyes closed, head resting against his chest, savouring the contentment and safety you felt in his arms. These moments of peace were so rare for the two of you, when they came along you had to hold on to them for as long as you could.
Your serenity faded after a few minutes as you found his mother’s words bleeding into the front of your mind. You wanted to look after him, you wanted to heal and care for him the best you could, but you knew there was nothing you could do to make up for his past. You couldn’t fix it.
At least now, you thought, you were able to realise that everything he’d ever achieved, he’d done completely by himself. All his life he’d had no help, no support and no real reason to outgrow the life that people like your mother expected him to lead. At the very least, you were determined to change that.
Your eyes fluttered open when he eventually piped up.
“You hungry? I thought we could order food, there’s a really good-”
You cut him off by throwing your arms around his neck and pressing your lips against his, apparently shocking him a little, because it took him a few seconds to reciprocate. He eventually tightened his hold around you and tilted his head to the side, deepening the kiss while you moved your hands to cradle his face. You only pulled away when you had to catch your breath.
“-pizza place nearby.”
His stupid grin made you giggle, the grip around you staying firm as you strained to reach over to the drawer with the takeout menus. It was him who suggested ordering out but you weren’t able to read more than two words at a time before he’d insist on pulling your attention away.
The two of you ate in front of a movie before settling down and curling up on the couch for the evening. You were still holding onto this moment of peace, savouring every second, trying your best not to worry about how long it would last.
It was nearing midnight when Bucky’s phone started buzzing. He picked it up, giving you another forced smile and making his way over to the kitchen when he saw that it was his mother calling.
You tried your best not to eavesdrop but it was difficult in such a small apartment. He didn’t say much, he was mainly listening to her, but as the conversation progressed you could tell he was getting more and more agitated. You dreaded to think what she was saying. The only thing you could really gauge was that, at one point, she asked him for money. He told her he was pretty broke at the moment and didn’t have any to spare. You had no idea if that was the truth.
It was heart-breaking to experience the toxic side of their relationship in practice, especially after seeing all the love that his mother was capable of. He eventually said a short goodbye and trudged back to the couch. You waited for a second to see if he’d share willingly, but he just huffed, heaved his boots up onto the table and necked the rest of his beer. You were going to have to do this the hard way.
“Is everything alright?”
“Yeah, fine.”
He gave you a short, tight smile and reached for the remote. You caught his arm. You didn’t want to force him into divulging more than he was comfortable with, but there was no way in hell that continuing to bottle up his problems would do anything other than make his anger worse. Being broke as hell just meant that you had to be each other's therapists.
“Buck.”
“It’s nothing, just…” He let out an aggravated sigh and rubbed his eyes. “She’s not pressing charges.”
“That’s not nothing. That’s a pretty valid reason to be upset.”
“It’s not like I expected anything else, this is what always happens.”
“Doesn’t mean it sucks any less.”
You shifted closer and interlaced your fingers with his, rubbing his forearm with your free hand, feeling some of the tension in his muscles settle under your touch. You were still very much testing the waters as far as talking Bucky down was concerned. You were sure that he’d calm down himself given enough time but, if you were going to move in here properly, you’d prefer not to have walls full of holes.
“Like I said,” he lulled his head backwards and let out an exhausted chuckle, “used to it.”
He was defeated. You weren’t sure if that was better or worse than angry.
“She’ll realise you’re right, eventually. She just had to take that first step herself.”
“Mhmm. I just hope she does it before…”
He didn’t have to finish the sentence, you both knew how it was going to end, and it wasn’t worth thinking about. You just needed to take his mind off it for now.
“You know, for someone who doesn’t know when to shut up half of the time, you’re surprisingly hard to get information out of.”
He let a reluctant smile spread across his face. “Good job you’re a ruthless interrogator then.”
---
The next few days were surprisingly calm. You were actually able to spend some quality time together and unwind a little, just about managing to ignore the sixty-four missed calls from your parents and the texts inquiring about spare money from his.
Bucky went out to work whenever repair jobs came up, leaving you with free reign of the flat for hours at a time. He never noticed the subtle changes you’d make while he was out. The decoration wasn’t particularly bad, it just didn’t really… exist. It was your typical bare bones bachelor pad, you were convinced he hadn’t made any significant changes since moving in apart from a pile of magazines and a couple of suspicious stains on the carpet.
When your parents finally gave up, and when enough time had passed since the visit from Bucky’s mother, it felt for the first time like maybe everything could turn out alright. All the problems you’d faced seemed to be receding further and further and you hoped they would no longer be able penetrate the walls of this cosy little life you’d built.
So it was all the more disappointing when that turned out not to be the case.
---
You woke to the sound of Bucky’s alarm. Stretching a little, you shifted and felt his body pressed up against the back of yours, arms firmly wrapped around you. He reached over to shut the sound off, groaned dramatically and buried his face in the crook of your neck. He did this every morning.
“Man, I do not want to leave this bed.”
His words were muffled against your skin. You rolled onto your back and brushed a few strands of hair away from his forehead, smiling at the deep marks left on his cheek by the creases in the sheets. The two of you must’ve slept like logs, barely moving all night.
“Stay then.”
“I’ve got places to go,” his head disappeared as he ducked down and started placing soft kisses below your ear, “there’s a big job today, could be a few hundred bucks.”
You frowned and abruptly grabbed his head, lifting it away from you. “Hundreds?”
“Mhmm.”
“Jesus Christ, go.”
“Didn’t peg you as a gold digger.”
You scoffed and tried to push him out of bed, eventually relenting when he ferociously clawed his way back to you. “You could use some restraint, Barnes.”
“I’m not a saint.”
His hands dove underneath your shirt and you gasped at the sensation of his cold skin against yours. He smiled, eyeing you intently, and you just melted under his gaze. It must’ve been fifteen minutes later when he finally got up and headed to work. You guessed it was that long, anyway, but you hadn’t exactly been counting.
You had a day of solid lounging around planned. You thought maybe you’d take a walk into town later, but you were only willing to risk it during the hours you knew your parents would be working. Bumping into them would be the cherry on top of a fucking stressful couple of weeks.
Maybe you’d just stay in.
---
Midday came and went. Bucky had been gone for hours, you’d cleaned the whole apartment and were swiftly making your way through the pile of dirty laundry when the doorbell sounded. You shuffled over to the window, straining to try and catch a glimpse of your guest. All you could make out was the top of a head. They pressed the doorbell again.
Psyching yourself up with a deep breath, you tiptoed downstairs and cautiously inched the door open. It was the blonde from the bar, the one who got Bucky thrown in jail.
“What the hell do you want?” The severity in your voice shocked you a little.
“Calm down, suburbs,” he gave a smug chuckle, “I wanna talk to Bucky.”
“About what?”
He narrowed his eyes and stepped forward, stretching his arms out and bracing himself against the door frame. You instinctively shrunk back, tightening your grip on the open door, ready to slam it shut at a moment’s notice.
“I’d rather just speak to him, sweetheart.”
“He’s not here, but if he was I’m sure he’d just tell you to fuck off.”
A sinister, calculating look spread over his face. “You’re here all on your own?”
The shift in his tone made your entire body tense up. You immediately defaulted into fight or flight mode, forcing the door closed as quickly as you could. Somehow he moved faster, shoving his foot into the gap and letting out an irritated grunt when the door slammed into it. You felt him pushing against the other side of the wood.
“C’mon, sweetheart,” you saw his fingers emerge through the gap and curl round the edge of the door, “I just wanna talk.”
Summoning strength from god knows where, you stomped down on his foot with all your weight. When it jerked out of the gap, you rammed your shoulder hard against the door, hearing the cracking of fingers followed by loud yelp. He pulled his hand free and you swiftly turned the lock.
He was still shouting and banging on the door as you scrambled upstairs, your shaky knees collapsing underneath you as you burst back into the flat. Crawling over to the window and peeking out, you saw him limping away down the street, cradling his injured hand against his chest. You breathed out for what felt like the first time in ten minutes, remnants of your adrenaline rush making your head spin.
Despite your overwhelming panic, you couldn’t help but feel a little pleased with yourself, cause that was pretty fucking badass. You felt like you could take on the world.
You considered calling Bucky, but figured that as long as you didn’t answer the door again, you should be alright until he finishes. You didn’t want him to rush home and miss out on a couple hundred dollars for no good reason. It would be much easier to fill him in after you’d had some time to think about it and to calm down a bit, anyway.
Summary: You thought that dying of exposure was the worst thing that could happen to you out in the desert. You were wrong.
Pairing: Mechanic!Bucky x y/n
Word Count: 6k
Warnings: Language, some very PG 13 smut
Author’s Note: Yes this oneshot was partially inspired by Before He Cheats by Carrie Underwood and yes, I'm British so I had to Google what a slugger was. Everyday's a school day folks. It was also partially inspired by that one photo from a movie I've never seen that I used in the banner okthanksbye.
There was nothing coming. Not a single other vehicle had passed since you broke down over two hours ago. The roof of your car was getting pretty unbearably hot now, even through the layers of clothes you were using as a makeshift picnic blanket you could feel it starting to burn your legs. You considered trying to sit inside for a while again, but you had to give up last time because it became like a fucking sauna, and at least up here you were clearly visible to anyone passing.
---
This isn’t how you thought you were going to die. Granted, you’d never actually spent a great deal of time considering it before, but there wasn’t much else to occupy your mind while you slowly baked underneath the midday sun. You looked up and down the road once more, still only able to see a few feet clearly before the rising hot air started to blur and obscure the view. The brown, cracked landscape stretched on and on before bending over the horizon and disappearing out of sight.
You checked your phone once more but, unsurprisingly, service had not magically descended upon you. Glancing over your shoulder at the bonnet, propped open and somehow still smoking, you wondered whether it was a bad idea to be this close to an engine that could probably explode at any second. At least a quick death would be less painful than slowly being cooked alive.
Leaning your head back and squeezing your eyes closed, a new sound caught your attention. Something whirring in the distance. Your head snapped towards it, eyes straining at the horizon, heart jumping when it came into view. A pickup truck.
A sudden burst of energy hit and you scrambled onto your feet, balancing precariously and frantically waving your arms above your head. As it moved closer you started to smile to yourself, overjoyed thinking that you’d soon be somewhere with shade and cold water, somewhere with air conditioning.
Your face dropped, however, when you realised that it wasn’t slowing down. You waved your arms faster. Nothing. You started to jump up and down, shouting as loud as you could.
“Hey! Stop, I need help!”
Your voice cracked as it drew closer. Your arms dropped and you watched, helplessly, as it sped past, too fast for you to even make out the face of the driver. Jumping down to the ground and running into the middle of the road, you screamed after it.
“Fuck you, motherfucker! ”
Bursting with anger, you pathetically kicked a rock, barely managing to muster the energy to move it more than a few feet. That was it, your one chance at rescue, gone. You squatted down, needing to rest but knowing the asphalt would be hot enough to fry an egg. You could feel the sunburn starting to prickle on your arms.
There was nothing else for it now, you’d have to walk. Either you’d come across civilization eventually or you’d just die, both were better options than being found out here as a sun-bleached skeleton in three weeks' time. You grabbed your backpack and all of your remaining water from the car, setting off in the direction you’d been heading before the breakdown. You knew there was nothing for miles in the direction you’d come from, so this was your best bet.
You’d been walking for over an hour when the vague shape of a building appeared on the horizon. You were half-convinced it was a mirage but, once you picked up your pace, the blurred outline started becoming clearer. The rusty old roadside sign eventually came into view and you saw that it was a baseball themed diner called The Slugger’s Dugout . You looked around, there wasn’t a blade of grass in sight. Strange place to play baseball.
You practically ran the final stretch towards it, the taste of dry baked earth caking your throat and tongue as you kicked up clouds of dust. You stopped dead, however, when you reached the edge of the parking lot and noticed that there was just one car sitting outside. The fucking pickup truck. This would be interesting.
You burst through the door and threw yourself at the counter, making the elderly server jump out of her skin and almost drop a pot of steaming coffee.
“Are you alright, dear?”
“I broke down,” your throat was so dry that your words were coming out horse and sticky, “do you have a phone? And water?”
She kicked into gear a lot faster than you’d expected after hearing that. She filled a tall glass with tap water and placed it in front of you, patiently waiting for you to gulp it down before reaching three quarters out of the tip jar and pointing out the payphone on the far wall.
“There’s a card over there for a towing company, they should be able to help you out.”
You thanked her profusely, returning the glass and sliding the change into your palm.
You only then realised that, in all the excitement around finally quenching your thirst, you’d briefly forgotten that the person you now hated most in the world was somewhere inside this building. Was it the elderly server who’d abandoned you on the side of the road? Well, the door said they opened at 8am and she was the only employee here, so either she’d been very late for her shift or there was someone else skulking around.
You gave her a suspicious side-eye while you wandered towards the phone but you instantly felt bad about it. The coins clinked as you dropped them into the slot, the dial tone sounding through the receiver. You pressed in the number from the faded business card taped up on the wall. A lady with a thick accent answered the call and, as you were explaining your situation to her, you spotted someone walk out of the bathroom and take a seat in one of the booths.
He looked like a fucking pickup truck driver. Flannel shirt rolled up to his elbows, old blue jeans, dirty brown hair slicked back. You could feel anger rising in your stomach as you watched him begin to eat. You were so distracted giving him daggers that you almost missed the lady on the other end of the phone telling you that they wouldn’t be with you until 7pm.
That was the final straw.
You slammed down the receiver, making the poor server jump once again, and marched over to his table, bracing yourself against the seat opposite him.
“Thanks for the help back there, asshole.”
He looked up from his plate and eyed you calmly, staying silent. That just riled you up even more.
“Seriously? I could’ve fucking died out there, you couldn’t have stopped for just a few minutes? What, were you in a rush to get to the bacon pancakes before they sold out? Were you late for the ignorant cunt convention?”
“No.” There was a clatter as he dropped his fork on the table.
“There was another incredibly good reason then, was there?”
“Yeah, actually, cause the last time I picked up a hitchhiker she started smoking crack in the passenger seat then robbed me.”
“I'm not a fucking hitchhiker. My car broke down, did you not see the tower of smoke?”
“No.”
He was lying, the piece of shit was definitely lying.
“Fuck you.”
“Hey, it’s not my fault you got yourself into a situation you weren’t prepared for, sweetheart. Play with fire, get burned.”
You sucked your teeth in frustration and began to storm out, but got distracted by something just beside the door. It was a little area designed for kids to take pictures in, with a backdrop of a baseball field and a wooden bat propped up against the wall. The sign above it read:
Take a swing and make a memory at The Slugger’s Dugout!
Well, if they insisted.
You casually picked up the bat and pushed the door open, waltzing over to the lovely shiny pickup truck glinting under the sun.
Batter up.
With one swift movement, you connected the end of the weapon with one of the tail lights, shattering the glass and watching it splinter onto the floor. It was gloriously fucking satisfying. You heard the sound of the door swinging open behind you almost immediately.
“What the fuck are you doing?”
You twisted around, pointed the baseball bat at him with a smile and winked. “Play with fire, get burned asshole.”
He started yelling wildly but you tuned out, dragging the bat across the floor as you walked away, preparing yourself for the hour-long trek back to the car.
At least you’d be in a better mood for this one.
---
You could only have been walking for ten minutes when you heard a sputtering engine approaching from behind. You didn’t turn to look, you knew exactly who it would be. Your hand tightened around the weapon you were still holding.
The truck pulled up beside you and the passenger window slid down, but you didn’t break stride, walking straight past it without so much as a sideways glance. Out the corner of your eye you saw it begin to slowly roll forwards, eventually matching your pace and cruising beside you
“Hey, Babe Ruth.” You ignored him. “Look, I’m sorry, alright? I should’a helped. Can I give you a ride?”
Well, that wasn’t what you were expecting. You stopped abruptly and turned towards the window, prompting him to slam on the brakes.
“You really shouldn't be driving with a tail light out, y’know. It’s dangerous.”
“You shouldn't be messing with strange men out in the desert.”
“Is that a threat?”
“No,” a hint of a smirk crept over his mouth, “but there's bigger assholes than me out here.”
“Doubt it.”
You considered for a second. On the one hand, you didn’t want to give him the satisfaction of accepting his help but, on the other, it’d be pretty fucking stupid to decline when there was still a slim chance you could die out here. The sun was searing hot now, sweat rolling down your forehead and aches starting in all your joints.
With the bat still gripped firmly in your hand, you reluctantly swung the door open and climbed in. The blasting air-con was annoyingly refreshing. A candy wrapper crunched under your foot as you got comfortable, the faint smell of stale cigarettes mixed with cheap aftershave seeping out of the seat beside you. He offered you a bottle of water, which you eagerly accepted, finishing off half of it without taking a breath.
As the truck rolled away, he turned towards you.
“I’m Bucky, by the way.” You nodded. “So where you headed?”
“Let's not small talk.”
“Suit yourself.”
He reached over to the centre console and switched on the radio, turning the volume up offensively loud when he heard whatever generic, god-awful country song was playing. You lost it when he started tapping along on the steering wheel.
“This is worse.”
“You just keep gettin’ burned today, don’t you?”
You rolled your eyes. You had to sit through three whole banjo-plucking, pickup-trucking, cousin-fucking slow jams before you saw your poor little car approaching in the distance. It had stopped smoking, at least, but you had no idea if that was a good sign.
Your driver pulled off the road and parked up directly in front of the wreckage, giving it a dubious frown.
“How long did they say for a tow truck?”
“Six hours.”
He burst out laughing and opened his door, climbing out of the car. You sat for a few seconds and watched him approaching the open bonnet, very confused, before following suit and exiting the truck.
“Can I help you?”
“No,” he flashed you a smile, “but I can help you.”
After properly securing the hood, he leaned over the front of the car and started tinkering with god knows what, tutting occasionally. You loitered behind him and watched suspiciously. It looked like he knew what he was doing but you didn’t trust him at all.
"You wanna back off a little? I can feel you breathing down my neck."
“What are you doing?”
“Look, I can stand here and try to explain it or I can try to fix it, your choice.”
"Fine," you slinked backwards, "but if this is some kind of eye for an eye, car for a car revenge plan you've hatched, I will fucking come for you."
"That a promise?"
His unexpectedly flirty tone caught you off guard for a second. You tried to think of a witty retort, but all attempts just seemed to die on your tongue. That had never happened before.
It only occurred to you then that, in your new position standing a few feet behind him, you'd gained a pretty impressive view. You tilted your head slightly. Those blue jeans were really working overtime.
"Everything alright back there?"
You snapped out of your daze. "Yeah, what, why?"
"You haven't insulted me in over a minute, thought you might've fainted or somethin'." He stood up and turned towards you with a smile, wiping his hands down the front of his shirt. "You wanna make yourself useful and try to start her up?"
With a brief scowl in his direction, you climbed into the driver's seat and tried the ignition. A slightly smug smile settled on your face when it sputtered for a few seconds and died.
"Try again."
"Might be time to admit defeat my guy." You turned the key once more, it worked. "Holy shit."
"Not bad, huh?"
You were actually incredibly impressed, but there was no way in hell he was going to find that out.
"That depends, will it last?"
He strolled over and leaned over the open driver's side door, shrugging. "Would help if I knew how far you were going."
"About two hundred more miles."
He laughed. "Not a chance."
"Brilliant."
You didn't care. As long as he'd done enough to get you off this godforsaken stretch of road, that was enough. You jumped out and retrieved your backpack and weapon from his truck, pleased that you’d taken a gamble and accepted his help, but even more pleased that you could now drive away and never have to see him again.
Why did god have to give such great asses to such awful people? What a waste.
"Here," he stopped you before you got back into your car and pulled out his wallet, grabbing a slip of paper and holding it towards you, "stop at this workshop. They'll help you out."
"I don’t have any money."
"Well, maybe just tell 'em that after they’ve fixed it up."
"Alright."
You plucked it from his fingers, climbed in behind the steering wheel and slammed the door, so ready for this shit chapter to be behind you. Asshole only moved out of the way after you revved at him a few times, holding his arms out in annoyance and shouting.
"You're welcome!"
You ignored him and drove off. He'd helped you out but, after the shit he'd pulled earlier, you figured this just made you even. No need for thanks.
---
You pulled into The Slugger's Dugout on your way past, intending to apologise, return the bat and pick up the broken glass you'd left scattered in the parking lot. When you got out of the car, however, you couldn't seem to find a single piece of it. He must’ve beat you to it. That explains why it took him ten fucking minutes to come pick you up.
A car horn blared from the road and you looked up to see the hick truck whiz past, probably too fast to clock the middle finger you stuck up at it.
You pulled the stolen baseball bat out of your car and timidly wandered inside, unsurprised at the hostile look that the poor old dear behind the counter greeted you with.
"Just… returning this."
You placed it back where you found it and gave her an awkward smile. Before you could escape, however, she leaned over the counter looking like she was ready to unleash a verbal thrashing.
"Now you look here, miss. I understand that you were upset, I would be too, but he is a good man and he didn't deserve that."
You winced slightly, trying not to come across too argumentative. "A good man who left me on the side of the road to die?"
"I'm sure he had his reasons."
You nodded, too intimidated by her strict demeanour to argue back anymore. Why was she so much scarier than the broad-chested tower of a man you just spent the last hour laying into?
"Do you know him?"
"Not very well, but he used to come in here every single Sunday with his father. Every week I watched him help that old man out of the car and to a table, watched them talk and laugh together for hours. I don't think I've ever seen someone of his age look so happy," her expression changed, "but I haven't seen the two of them for months now. That was the first time he's ever been here alone, I didn’t like to ask what happened."
You nodded again, figuring both of you could guess exactly what happened. If she was trying to make you feel like a guilty piece of shit then she was doing a cracking job.
Personal tragedy aside, however, he still acted like an ass.
After thanking her again for her help earlier, you headed out. There wasn't much more you needed to know about a guy you were probably never going to see again.
---
The garage you’d been recommended was just over an hour away, there was weak service outside the diner so you managed to scope it out on maps. To your great relief, as you drove, the stretching desert started to gradually give way to actual civilization, a small, dilapidated town springing up around you. It seemed like the kind of place where people were born, lived and died without ever leaving. You dreaded how they’d react to a broke stranger turning up and begging for free help.
Eventually reaching your destination, you pulled up into the forecourt, cringing at the sound your engine made as it powered down. There was no way in hell that any self-respecting mechanic would come near this thing without a hefty down payment. Still, all you could do was try.
You left the rustbucket and wandered through the open shutter, looking around for any signs of life, preferably someone in coveralls who looked easily manipulated. There was only one person inside. You couldn’t believe it.
“You’ve got to be fucking kidding me.”
He spun round, a clang sounding when he dropped whatever complicated tool he was holding onto a nearby table. “Hey, firecracker. I thought you’d ignored some great advice there for a second.”
“And I thought I’d finally got rid of you,” you scanned your eyes around desperately for anyone else who looked vaguely useful, “but hey, at least one of us is happy.”
“It’s just me here, darlin’. The other guys are on lunch.”
“Fantastic.”
He met your unimpressed scowl with a wink as he strolled past. “The shitbox out front?”
“Mhmm.”
You weren’t too sure what was happening here. He already knew you couldn’t pay, and he knew how much work that fucking thing needed, so what was his plan? There was very little you could do to repay any kind of debt to him, and even less that you were actually willing to do. You wondered how easy it would be to just do a runner with the car once it was back in working order.
He opened up the bonnet again but barely even glanced over it before turning back towards you.
“It’s gonna be a few hours at least. There’s a bar just around the corner,” he pointed down the street, “if you wait there I’ll come find you when it’s done.”
“Look, when I said I had no money, I wasn’t exaggerating. Apart from a little gas money I think I’ve got about fifteen dollars to my name right now. A beer would cost me over a third of my net worth.”
You were half-expecting him to slam the hood down and tell you to get lost after that, but he didn’t. He just chuckled and shook his head.
“Start a tab, give ‘em my name. They know I’m good for it.”
“That’s a risky offer.”
“Nah,” he pulled a dirty rag from his back pocket and used it to wipe down his hands, “surely the crazy broad who called me a cunt and busted my tail light can’t also have a drinking problem, right?”
You shrugged.
---
The door to the bar was unexpectedly heavy, almost tugging your shoulder out of its socket when you tried to yank it open. You felt a little embarrassed when you noticed a couple heads turning in the direction of the pathetic stranger wrestling with the slab of wood. Once inside, you apprehensively looked around, forcing down a dry gulp. This place was seedy as hell, maybe Bucky really did want you dead.
His idea worked, though, and you managed to set up a tab without any qualms. He must send ladies in here with that line all the time.
You decided to settle yourself on a stool at the end of the bar, reasoning that it might be marginally safer to stick as close as you could to the only staff member in the building. The hours passed slowly. It was almost five thirty when Bucky eventually trudged through the door and planted himself on the stool beside you.
He pointed to your glass. “What’re you drinking?”
“Just soda water, got a long drive tonight.”
“No you don't,” he hailed the bartender, “two double scotches, no ice.”
“What?”
“That thing ain’t gonna be ready ‘till at least tomorrow, midday.”
“You’re fucking with me.”
“Nope. Your suspension is more rust than metal.”
“Where the fuck am I supposed to sleep, then?”
He shrugged, picking up one of the glasses that the bartender had deposited in front of you and taking a quick nip. You leaned forward and let your head collapse onto the bar as a wave of hopelessness passed over you.
“Bucky, I am so exhausted. I’ve slept in my car for over a week and I haven’t had a proper shower in twice that.” Your words started to crack as tears welled in your eyes. “I don’t think I can handle this.”
“Woah, hey, don’t cry. It’ll be alright.”
“How? In what fucking world is it going to be alright?”
“Look, you can stay at my place tonight.”
You lifted your head to shoot daggers at him, in disbelief at how he was trying to engineer this situation. “You can’t be serious.”
“I didn’t mean it like that. I’ll sleep on the couch, you can take the bed.”
“Why would you do that?”
“Cause then we’d be even, right? Surely a smashed tail light, a fixed-up car and a place to stay balances out leaving you to die in the desert?” You raised an eyebrow in faint agreement. “Plus I can’t handle it when women cry, if this’ll make you stop then it’s worth it.”
You smiled at him, which was a new experience. Grabbing your glass of golden liquid from the bar, you drank it all down in one, immediately regretting your decision when it kicked you in the back of the throat like a pissed off mule. Bucky laughed at you before standing up gesturing for you to follow him out.
The two of you walked in silence for a few minutes before he hesitantly piped up.
“So, you gonna tell me why the hell you’re driving through the desert on your own, or am I still in the doghouse?”
“You’re still in the doghouse.” A prompting look in your direction somehow swayed you a little, you were getting too soft. “It’s really not exciting, I just got kicked out of my apartment. I used to have some family out here but we lost touch, now tracking them down is my only shot at avoiding living in my car full-time.”
“I wondered why there was so much crap piled in the back of that thing.”
“Mhmm, everything I own in the world is in that car. Had to sell most of my stuff for gas money, though.”
“That sucks.”
“Yep.” You glanced at him out of the corner of your eye, for some reason now experiencing some pangs of curiosity about your host. “How about you?”
“Me? What d’you mean?”
“Well, the lady at that diner said she used to see you with your dad a lot, but that you hadn’t been in for a while.”
“You two were talking about me?”
“She was talking at me, trying to convince me that I was the asshole.”
“I always liked her.” He smirked slightly, but it faded as he carried on. “My dad died a few months back. It was pretty hard, he was a good guy, helped me out a lot. More than I deserved, anyway."
“Go on.”
“Well, I was kind of an idiot a few years back. I let some shitty friends talk me into some stupid ideas and wound up inside for a few months.”
“Shit.”
“It was, I pretty much lost everything. When I got out I was pretty depressed, so all I wanted to do was get high and sleep, but he didn’t let me. He got me the job at the garage and gave me enough money for a couple month’s rent, to be honest I’d probably be dead now without him.”
“He sounds great.” The two of you exchanged warm glances for a second, but you didn’t want to give him any untoward ideas about the evening, so you continued. “It’s nice when people don’t leave others to die.”
“You have to let that go at some point.”
“I really don’t.”
When the two of you reached his apartment, you jumped straight into the shower, triple checking that the ensuite door was firmly locked before doing so. The place wasn’t nearly as dirty or bachelor pad-esque as you’d expected. Yeah, it was half-empty and hardly decorated, but that was to be expected of any man living on his own. At least it didn’t smell like ass.
Bucky was already knocked out on the couch when you came out of the bathroom, his neck folded in half and his feet dangling over the edge. It was his own fault for only buying a two-seater.
You changed into the t-shirt and gym shorts he’d left out for you, just hoping to god they were clean, and jumped into bed. It was far from perfect but, compared to the backseat of your car, it could’ve been a five star hotel. You drifted off almost instantly.
---
You were woken by a few loud raps on the bedroom door. It took you a few seconds of panic to remember where the hell you were, your head falling back into the pillow once you did so.
“What?”
“Are you all covered and stuff?” The low voice came through the wood. “I really need to pee.”
You let out a groggy laugh. “Go ahead.”
Bucky burst into the room and sprinted over to the bathroom, holding onto his junk like a child about to pee their pants. You would’ve laughed even harder at that sight, but you found yourself a little distracted by the fact that he was also shirtless. You only got a brief glance but, fucking hell, he was build like a brick wall. Suddenly you were wide awake.
You could hear him pissing like a firehose through the bathroom door and sighing audibly when he was finished. He wandered back through after a minute and paused at the foot of the bed.
“How’d you sleep?”
You were trying your very best to stay composed under the circumstances. “Mhmm, good, thanks.”
“Were the clothes I left out okay?”
“Yeah, yep, all good.”
“You alright?”
“Fine. Why?”
“You’re acting weird. Did something happen?” He grabbed a fistful of the duvet and tried to yank it out of your grip. “Did you piss the bed?”
“No I didn’t piss the fucking bed, Jesus.”
“What’s up then?”
You sat up, looking from his face, down to his chest, then back up to his face with a confused expression. He quickly cottoned on to what you were getting at.
“Oh, yeah, sorry. I made myself a coffee but spilled it down my shirt, and all my clothes are in here.”
He gestured over to the chest of drawers. You weren’t super convinced by that explanation, it sounded like he was making it up on the spot, but you nodded anyway.
“It’s fine.”
“It is?”
“Mhmm.”
“Good.”
His expression changed. Your heart started thudding, the look he was giving you making you start to break out in a sweat, your toes curling under the covers.
Reaching down, he grabbed hold of the duvet again but, this time, he tore it away and dropped it onto the floor with one swift movement. Moving slowly, cautiously, he climbed onto the bed on his knees, making his way forwards and carefully lowering himself down over you.
Well, you certainly hadn’t expected this. Just a few minutes later the two of you were tangled together so closely that you didn’t know where his body stopped and yours began. The skin on his face and hands felt rough as it grazed over yours, the sensation making you gasp each time you felt it, the deep chuckle that sounded right beside your ear in response making your stomach flutter wildly. As he panted, his warm breath spread over the side of your neck, sending an electric tingle all the way down your spine. This felt good, really fucking good. This might’ve been exactly what you needed.
What felt like hours later, he rolled over and landed with a thud on the mattress beside you, both of your chests rapidly rising and falling in unison. Lulling his head in your direction, he gave you a smile.
“Y’know,” he pushed his words out between deep breaths, “you could stay here for a while, if you wanted to. While you figure things out.”
“Was it that good?”
“Hell yeah it was.”
You laughed at his corny ass. “So, what you’re saying is that you’d be willing to give me a place to stay in exchange for sex? Sounds dangerously close to prostitution.”
“That’s not what I meant.” He rolled onto his side, resting his head on his hand so he could look you in the face. “You can stay with or without sex, I just like your company. No point sleeping in a crappy car when there’s a perfectly good bed right here.”
You gave him a smile. “I’ll think about it.”
---
After breakfast, Bucky gave you a ride to the garage in the pickup truck, now complete with a duct tape covered tail light. He said he could finish off the final touches on your car while you waited in the office, apparently the bar wasn’t open this early and there was nothing else to do in town apart from a shitty cafe and a gun range.
The two of you ducked under the half-open shutter and he headed into the back, telling you to wait by your car for a few minutes while he tidied up. The place was pretty small, just one other car being worked on aside from yours. You wondered how Bucky’s dad got him the job here, whether he had an in with the owner or whether he was just that easy a guy to trust. Running your fingers over the tools lined up on the workbench, you thought that maybe you could be happy with a life here, maybe it was exactly what you’d been looking for.
You almost jumped out of your skin when an older, grey-bearded man in coveralls suddenly appeared beside you. He gestured toward the rustbucket.
“This yours?” You nodded politely. “Here.”
He was trying to hand you the keys, eyes glued to the clipboard he was holding.
“Oh, Bucky said it still needed some work.”
He looked confused. “This one? Nah, this was ready to go yesterday. He said you were out of town or something.”
“He said what?”
Grey beard replied but you didn’t hear it, too busy piecing together the events of last night and becoming increasingly more pissed off as you did so. Bucky had lied to you for a quick lay, of course he fucking had. You felt like such an idiot. You snatched the keys and asked the now very puzzled looking man to open the shutter for you, climbing in and firing up the engine as he did so.
Bucky appeared at your window. “What are you doing?”
“Ask your friend over there.”
You gestured over to the other employee, who just shrugged while yanking on the shutter chain, and a wave of realisation washed over Bucky’s face.
“Let me explain.”
“I’m good, thanks.”
He banged his hand on the side of the car in frustration, quickly moving round to stand between it and its route to freedom.
You honked the horn. “Move, asshole.”
“Not until you hear me out.”
“Why should I? I don’t fucking know you, I don’t owe you shit.”
“Right.” Moving at a lightning pace, Bucky somehow managed to sprint around the side of the car, yank open your door and pull the keys from the ignition before you could even register what was happening. “Get out.”
“Go fuck yourself.”
With a frustrated sigh, he hurled the keys as hard as he could out onto the forecourt. “What’s your plan now, huh?”
You grunted loudly, narrowed your eyes at him and stepped out, marching straight past him and heading outside. He caught your arm before you reached the keys.
“Just stop for a second.”
“I don’t want to hear it.”
“Tough shit. I’m going to talk and you’re going to fucking listen, alright?” His firm tone shocked you a little, it was enough to make you relent just for a second. “Look, I’m sorry, okay? I shouldn’t have lied. I just wanted to spend some more time with you.”
“Well you pulled that off, so congrats, but now that you’ve had what you were after I’d like to go.”
“It wasn’t like that, I wanted more than that.” He rubbed his forehead. “I want more than that.”
“I’ve heard it all before, Buck. You barely even know me, just let me leave and we can both move on.”
“I can’t.”
“Why not?”
“Cause you’re the only fucking thing that hasn’t depressed or bored me since I lost my dad, alright? I know it sounds stupid, but watching you take out my tail light was the first time I’d actually felt alive in months,” he slid his grip on your arm down, taking your hand in his, “and, maybe I’m out of line here, but I think you feel the same.”
You thought back.
Jesus, he was right. That was the first time you’d actually been in a good mood since leaving your apartment. Surely it can’t be healthy to base any kind of relationship on the joy you get from destroying each other’s property and screaming at each other, though? Can it?
In all fairness, he was the only person you’d even met that actually kept you on your toes, and you quite liked that. Usually people just responded to your insults with offence or tears.
“I don’t know. I mean, I guess, but I’m just not sure that-”
Your train of thought derailed completely when his mouth crashed against yours, your words getting swallowed as all of the breath left your lungs at once. You were hesitant at first, but you soon relented, relaxing, wrapping your arms around his neck and smiling against him, which he reciprocated.
He pulled away, looking incredibly pleased with himself. “So that’s how to shut you up.”
You stepped out of the coffee shop and took a deep breath, shaking off the indignity of having to literally beg your boss not to fire you. Unsurprisingly, she wasn't too impressed that you'd missed almost a week of work without so much as a call but, luckily for you, since the event employers had to give employees more leeway with "stress-induced absences".
In any other circumstance you would’ve felt bad for exploiting new laws forged as a result of citywide trauma but, by this point, you were skirting dangerously close to the brink of a stress-induced breakdown, fuelled by stress-induced binge drinking and stress-induced inhalation of any high calorie food that was unlucky enough to cross your path. You needed to be cut some slack.
Days came and went. You woke up, rode the subway to work, tried to make the day pass as quickly as possible and then travelled home. Your evenings mostly consisted of sitting on the couch, crying and eating takeout; you'd most definitely overestimated how well you'd adjust to a sudden return to normal life.
One thing that did keep your mind occupied, however, was a new game that had replaced Siblings or Dating? You now spent your days playing Spot the Spy. Bucky had said that they'd send someone to keep an eye on you, and that you wouldn't notice their presence at all, but you weren't expecting them to hire an actual fucking ghost. Despite hours and hours of searching, you never once spotted someone who seemed to be watching you.
That was, until the night when the subway station by the coffee shop was closed. It was undergoing major works, just like everything else in the city, and the nearest alternative station was a fifteen minute walk away through some incredibly seedy side streets. You optimistically checked your banking app but quickly realised you couldn’t justify splashing out on a cab. That's what you get for ordering out every night for weeks.
You kept your headphones in your bag, turned the corner and hurried along as fast as you could move without running. It was only a short walk away, no problem.
You could only have been walking for a couple of minutes when you heard heavy footsteps behind you. Problem? You increased your pace to a jog and heard them do the same. Problem.
You started to run. Too scared to glance behind you and too short of breath to scream, it felt like your only option. Everything else just fell out of your head. You cursed yourself for being so caught off guard, after the amount of fucking self-defence classes you'd attended when you moved to the city, the amount of fucking money you'd spent to make sure every single bag you owned had a can of Mace insi-
The Mace. You pulled your bag off your shoulder and started frantically searching, not breaking stride as you did so. You were just a few short steps from the safety of the well-lit main street, fingertips about to grasp the small metal can, when a hand grabbed your shoulder and yanked you backwards. You were instantly knocked off your feet.
The shock of the impact winded you for a second but you still managed to push your feet against the ground and shove yourself backwards, away from the sinister silhouette back-lit by the streetlights. Your hand was still in the bottom of your bag. While straining your eyes through the darkness in a futile attempt to make out any of your attacker's features, you finally managed to grab hold of the spray, wrenching it out and pointing it towards them as confidently as you could.
You never got a chance to use it. Before the shadowy figure had even come close to being in range, they were intercepted, thrown violently against the crumbling brick wall by another indistinct body. You watched the two of them straining against each other for a few seconds, your whole body frozen in shock. The interceptor eventually landed a punch so hard that the crunching of broken teeth was clearly audible even from six feet away. As he did so, you saw the light from the street glinting off something silver, something metal.
You took that as a cue to scramble to your feet, the attacker going limp and slumping down against the wall. Jesus, there must've been a good chance he was actually dead.
You swallowed harshly and tried to speak but your voice was shaking, a faint whisper all that you could muster.
"Buck? How did you-"
"Are you hurt?" He sounded more pissed than concerned, throwing an accusatory look in your direction. You shook your head feebly. "The hell are you doing walking around here in the dark? What, you can’t look after yourself?"
A pathetically weak gesture towards the pepper spray still gripped in your palm did nothing to appease him. He marched over, grabbed it from your hand, removed the cap and detached the plastic safety tag that you didn’t even know was on there. Whoops. He just stared at you sternly for a second as you stood in front of him, shaking, holding back tears. You would’ve given anything in that moment for a kind word, for any kind of comfort, but you got nothing from him. He picked your bag up and started walking towards the main street.
"Come on."
Your legs were trembling but you just about managed to propel yourself forwards. As you passed the lifeless body sprawled on the floor you looked over, wincing at the blood weeping from his open mouth, but relieved when you saw that he was still breathing. You didn't care whether that piece of shit lived or died but you did care about whether or not Bucky had just straight up murdered someone in front of you. You really hoped that leaving him alive was intentional.
Your short-tempered saviour briskly walked you towards the subway stop, staying a few paces ahead of you the whole way. You would've yelled at him to slow down but the prospect of trying to make conversation with him after all that was more than you could handle.
He reached the top of the stairs leading down to the station and abruptly stopped, holding your bag out but intentionally avoiding looking directly at you. After taking it from him you waited for a second, but he didn't speak.
"So, is that it?"
You got no answer. Not a look, not even a nod.
You scoffed, shaking your head in frustration as you headed down the stairs. Maybe this was how it would work now, you had no choice but to stay away and try to heal but he was allowed to just dive back into your life whenever he saw fit and make you feel guilty for needing help.
The very least he could've done was send someone else to follow you around, at least then you wouldn't have to start trying to forget him all over again.
---
You were tired the next day. You’d barely slept, going over the events of the evening over and over again in your head. It happened so fast that you’d barely had a chance to process it but, as soon as you lay down in bed, it all hit you at once. Once the floodgates opened they were almost impossible to shut off.
You caught a glimpse of yourself in the shiny metal of the coffee machine and sighed at how red and puffy your eyes looked. This was just your default appearance now. Moving over to the window, you scanned your eyes up and down the street in search of your invisible escort. You figured that, now you knew who you were looking for, he'd be easier to spot. You were wrong. For the whole day, every time you got a free second, you were back in that spot. There was no sign of him anywhere.
The clock eventually ticked over to closing time, so you locked yourself in and started cleaning up. Another thing that had been playing your mind all day was how the hell you were going to get home. Your subway station was going to be closed for the rest of the week but you were convinced that, if you attempted to walk to the other one on your own again, Bucky would drop out of a tree, bundle you into a burlap sack and try to drown you in the river.
You checked the tip jar. There were four dollars in there, barely enough for a cab ride to the end of the block. Eventually you just said fuck it, you had no choice other than to just start walking and accept whatever punishment that would afford you.
As you stepped outside and locked the door behind you, you noticed a cab idling in front the shop. You ignored it, assuming it was for someone living in the apartment upstairs, and started to walk past. The driver spotted you, rolled down his window and shouted.
"Y/n?"
"Yeah?"
He looked annoyed. "I’m the cab you ordered."
"I didn’t order a cab."
"Well, someone with your name at this address did."
"Must be someone upstairs."
"Not unless there's a coffee shop up there, too."
He was talking to you like you were a complete fucking idiot, so that was nice. You folded your arms defiantly.
"I don't have any mon-"
"It's prepaid, sweetheart."
You raised a suspicious eyebrow and asked him what destination address he'd been given, it was yours. Dropping your arms, you approached the window and leaned in slightly.
"Did I have a deeper voice and a Brooklyn accent on the phone, by any chance?"
"Now that you mention it, yeah."
"Great."
You rolled your eyes. After thoroughly checking all of the credentials displayed in the rear window, you pulled the door open and flopped down into the passenger seat.
"Jesus lady, it's just a cab ride," he fired up the engine, "the stakes aren't that high."
"You have no idea."
---
You kicked open the rickety door of your apartment and slammed it behind you, dropping your keys on the counter and abandoning your bag on the floor. It was lucky that you only lived a twenty minute drive away from the shop because, if you'd had to listen to that fucking driver complain about how his ex-wife maxed out his credit card and fucked his best friend for any longer, you would've exploded. You were so ready for a calm, quiet evening in front of the TV.
Rubbing your eyes, you flicked on the lights and wandered from the hallway into the living room. You almost had a heart attack when you saw Bucky sitting in your arm chair.
"Jesus Christ, what the fuck?" Your hand shot up to your chest, heart racing. "Are you trying to fucking kill me?"
"No, you’re doing a pretty good job of that yourself."
"Huh?"
"You just get into a car with anyone who knows your name?"
Oh hell fucking no. You couldn’t believe what you were hearing. Had he seriously broken into your apartment to chew you out for taking a cab that he'd sent for you?
"What, you’re testing me now? What the hell is the matter with you?"
He launched himself to his feet. "What choice do I have? You keep putting yourself in danger, you expect me to just stand back and let it happen?"
"Yes, Bucky. That's what breakups are, okay? You're not supposed to keep fucking following me after telling me you don't want me around anymore."
"I never said that," he took a few steps towards you but you backed yourself up to the wall, "and I'm not following you, I told you we had to make sure you're safe."
"Someone else could've done it."
"I didn't trust anyone else."
"Whatever."
You were so exhausted. Resting your head back against the wall, you wiped your hands over your face, taking a deep breath and attempting to collect your thoughts. You were trying desperately to think of a way to continue this conversation without it devolving into more arguing, but you were coming up blank.
"For the record," you let your arms drop to your sides, "I only got in the cab because I figured there probably aren’t many Siberian Hydra agents with a thick Brooklyn accent."
"That's a stupid reason."
Yep, time to argue again.
"Look, if you’re just here to lay into me, you can kindly fuck off. I don’t need a babysitter."
"You sure about that? Do you even understand what the stakes are here?"
"Apparently not," you shrugged and gave him a sarcastic smile, "maybe you should explain it to me like I’m a fucking idiot."
"Don't be like that."
"Like what? I'm fine."
You could tell that your casual manner was pissing him off even more. He thought you weren’t taking this seriously, but you were, you were scared as hell. What he obviously didn't understand was that his condescension and patronising anger were just making the situation so much worse.
"I’m not being paranoid here, your life is in danger."
"You don’t say."
"Can you take this seriously?"
"I honestly don't know anymore but, at this point, if this is the alternative, I’ll take my chances with Hydra."
"You don’t know what you’re saying."
"Stop treating me like a fucking child." Now you were shouting. "You think I wanted any of this? I just wanted a date, Buck. Now I’m scared for my fucking life while being followed around by someone I thought I was in love with, who now just treats me like shit. I’m so fucking sick of-"
Your words were swallowed as his mouth crashed against yours, the length of your body becoming pinned against the wall under the weight of his huge frame.
