-out of the ring🔥🚬🧸🌍 boxer!bucky x reader (series)
Where bucky is a boxer and Y/n visits one of his matches after not seeing him for years, after their messy spilt.
-Eternal love⭐️🚬🌍 vampire reader x 1940s!bucky
A vampire y/n had wondered the earth for many years, but no one had captured her heart like bucky, unfortunately he was taken from her. But shed wait forever for him.
-Cold night - 🚬🔥 (kinda)enemies to lovers
After a mission gone wrong, tensions were high and the cold was set deep in you bones. Bucky find away to thaw the cold away, but also releasing his feelings for you.
-A Different kind of christmas🔥🚬🧸🌍dbf!bucky x reader (series)
Going home for Christmas this year would be different. Bucky Barnes, your dads best friend would be there. Which shouldn't of been a problem, but you haven't seen him for 2 years since you left for uni, after sharing you first kiss together. A sloppy, drunken kiss. One you still haven't forgotten.
-Fire bucky x reader 🔥🚬🧸🌍
Fake dating trope
After trying your hardest to avoid each other after your near-kiss, fury signs you both up onto a mission 'only you two can do' under the guise of a married couple.
-Not kids anymore- 🚬🧸 Bucky x reader
Childhood friends to lovers
You and bucky were childhood friends, Until recently he'd never openly shared his feelings for you, that was until he was consumed with jealousy when your shared friend started showing interest in you after returning home from uni.
Save a horse, ride a cowboy🔥🚬🧸🌍 Outlaw!Bucky x Outlaw!Reader
Enemies to lovers.
Your group of outlaws stumbled across a new town, Unlucky for you, a local outlaw takes interest in you.
Religious scorn- Vampire!Bucky x reader 🚬🧸🌍
Your family kept to itself, on your small farm. Your parents were devout Christians. Growing up under there watchful gaze. The church taught you that monsters lurk in the dark. When you finally meet one, he wears an pale and eternal beautiful face - cursed with hunger.
Mr Popular- Jock!Bucky x Outcast!Reader 🔥🚬🧸🌍(series)
You hated how everyone loved him. You were polar opposites, bucky was his fraternity president and you an alternative 'outcast'. Opposites definitely don't attract...or do they?
flowers and thorns- bucky x mutant!reader 🚬 🧸
You were ‘given’ powers by hydra, After years if being held under hydras tight grasp, when the avengers finally free you. You’re drawn to a familiar face, but theres something different about him.
Forbidden arrow Hunter!bucky x Princess!reader 🚬 🧸🌍
A forbidden love story where a princess falls in love with her kingdoms hunter, however her parents are forcing her to choose a suitor. A archery competition should help find a suitable solution
Steve Rogers
-growth of spurt steve x reader 🔥🧸🚬🌍
When they were younger steve was infatuated with you, unfortunately for steve you never looked at him twice. Years later in the tower, you re unite and now you cant take your eyes off him
Soldier boy
Knights touch knight!soldier boy x princess!reader 🚬🧸
Promised to another man, one you didn't love, you found it hard to stay away from your personal knight
A sirens calls- Pirate!Soldier boy x Siren!reader 🚬🌍
Soldier boy, the ruthless and infamous captain of the howling sun, built his reputation on cruelty and theft, taking whatever he desired from anyone unlucky enough to cross his path. During a violent, churning sea, his attention captured by something entirely unexpected. A mysterious and impossibly beautiful creature through the storm.
The opportunity of wealth flashing before his eyes. He knew he had to have her.
Dean Winchester
His only obsession- Criminal!Dean x Detective!Reader Series 🔥🚬🌍
A detective becomes obsessed with hunting a brilliant serial killer who’s just as obsessed with her.
Summary- A detective becomes obsessed with hunting a brilliant serial killer who’s just as obsessed with her.
Warnings- Serial killer dean, violence, murder, obsession, dark romance, breaking and entering, stalking, not proof read sorry!
Word count- 1.6k
His only obsession Pinterest board
My masterlist!!
You told yourself it was nothing.
Just a stranger. Just a bump-in. Just a moment of clumsiness on a busy sidewalk.
But the memory wouldn’t leave you alone.
All day at the precinct, while you sifted through reports and autopsy photos, your mind kept drifting back to him, the man with the warm smile and the steady hands, the one who’d crouched beside you like he had all the time in the world.
You didn’t even know his name.
But you remembered the way his eyes lingered on you. Not in a creepy way. Something else, something you couldn’t quite pin down.
Something that made your stomach tighten.
You tried to shake it off. You had a killer to catch. A case that was eating your sleep and your sanity. You didn’t have time to think about some random guy you’d bumped into outside a café.
But every time you tried to focus, your mind replayed the moment your ringers brushed his. The spark of warmth. The way he’d said Detective like he already knew you.
You found yourself glancing at the café window when you walked past it on your lunch break, half-hoping, half-dreading you’d see him again.
You didn’t.
But the thought lingered anyway.
You rubbed your temples, frustrated with yourself. You didn’t get distracted. You didn’t get flustered. You didn’t get caught up in strangers with pretty eyes and soft smiles.
And yet-
You caught yourself smiling at the memory, just a little. Just enough to annoy you.
Across the street, sitting in a parked car with the windows cracked just enough to hear the city breathe, Dean watched you through the windshield.
He saw the way your expression softened when you thought no one was looking. He knew exactly who you were thinking about.
And the knowledge of that sent a slow, satisfied warmth through his chest. You were already hooked.
Not fully, not consciously, not enough to scare you.
Enough for him to start weaving himself into the edges of your life. Enough for him to start planning the next accidental meeting. Enough for him to imagine the moment you’d look at him and feel that spark again.
Dean leaned back in his seat, eyes never leaving you.
The precinct was buzzing the moment you walked in.
Phones ringing. Detectives are moving fast. Captain Dodds barking orders across the bullpen. You barely had time to set your bag down before your partner waved you over, eyes wide.
“New case.” He spoke. “High priority. We’re all hands on deck.”
You blinked. “Higher than the mine?”
“Yeah. This one’s political. Press is already circling.”
Great. Exactly what you needed. A new case with cameras, deadlines, and half the city breathing down your neck.
You grabbed the new file, flipping it open as you walked. Assault. High-profile victim. Witnesses, security footage, a mess. Hours of security footage that needed combing through. But it was solvable. It was something that needed all hands on deck.
And for the first time in days, your mind shifted away from the stranger at the café. Away from your case. You focused on the new case, diving into statements, timelines, and footage. You were sharp, fast, and efficient.
You didn’t notice the figure sitting in a car across the street.
But he noticed you.
Dean had been parked outside the precinct since sunrise, waiting for you to appear. Waiting for the moment when your eyes softened, when your thoughts drifted back to him.
But today…they didn’t.
You walked in with purpose, head down, already flipping through a file that wasn’t his. You didn’t pause; you didn’t glance around. You didn’t look distracted or restless.
You were focused.
On someone else's case, one of someone else's victims.
One thing that wasn’t him.
Dean's jaw tightened, fingers tapping a slow, irritated rhythm on the steering wheel. He watched you through the window, watched your partner lean in close to talk to you.
He hated it.
He hated the way your partner hovered near you like he had any right to.
Dean leaned forward, eyes narrowing. You were supposed to forget him, not this easily.
He’d made sure you weren’t distracted for long. He’d remind you exactly who deserved your attention.
Dean rested his head back against the seat, eyes locked on the precinct door. His hand shot to the passenger seat to a baseball cap, grabbing it, he settled it on his head, casting a shadow over his face.
You needed air.
The new high-priority case had swallowed the entire precinct, and you’d spent the last four hours buried in witness statements. Your head throbbed. Your eyes burned from hours of scanning through CCTV footage. You just needed five minutes outside.
So, you stepped out of the precinct and headed down the street toward the small park on the corner, the one with food trucks and uncomfortable benches. You didn’t even bother grabbing your coat.
You were halfway across the crosswalk when someone stepped into your path. You collided hard.
Your coffee cup slipped from your hand. The moment it hit the floor, the lip popped off, the hot liquid spilling all over the floor, splashing up against your boots.
“Whoa-sorry!” A familiar voice, warm and steady.
“Fuck-“ You muttered to yourself, stepping back, pulling your shoes out of the mess on the floor. You froze once your mind caught up to you. It was him.
The stranger from the café, the one you’d been trying not to think about.
“You again.” He said with a soft laugh, glancing at you through his lashes. “We’ve gotta stop meeting like this.”
Your breath caught.
He looked good…too good. " I- sorry.” You managed. “I swear I'm not usually this clumsy.”
“Good.” He teased gently. “I'd hate to think I'm the problem.”
You felt your heat rise in your cheeks, Ridiculous. You didn’t blush, not as a stranger.
“Sorry about your coffee.” He shuffled on his feet, hand rubbing the back of his neck. “I owe you one, sweetheart.”
Your heart stuttered. “I mean… I'd love to but-“
“Work stuff again?” He said, his tone light but his eyes sharp. Observant. “Rough day?”
“Yeah. Big case.”
Dean's jaw tightened for half a second, so quick you almost missed it. But you didn’t. You were trained to notice micro-expressions.
He covered it with a smile. “Well…I hope it gets easier.” His expression softened. “But I insist… a little break can't hurt, right?”
You hesitated, but the warmth in his voice and the easy confidence made it hard to refuse. “Okay…” You said quietly.
He smiled, holding the door open for you. “After you.”
Inside, he ordered for you both, repeating your order perfectly. You blinked, surprised.
“You remembered my order?”
He shrugged lightly. “I heard you order it this morning…I got a good memory.”
You frowned. “You were here earlier?”
“Just passing by.” He said smoothly.
You didn’t question it. You should have.
When the drinks came, he handed yours over with a small, almost shy smile. A contrast to the confidence he carried himself with.
“There.” He said. “Good as new.”
You took a sip. Perfect. Exactly right. “Thank you,” you said, genuinely. “Really.”
“Anytime,” he replied, eyes lingering on you a moment too long. “I’m Dean, by the way.”
You gave your name in return, and something flickered in his eyes, recognition, satisfaction. Something dark and warm.
“Nice to officially meet you,” he said.
You smiled back, a little flustered, a little curious, a little too drawn in.
You didn’t notice the way Dean watched you like he was memorizing every detail. You didn’t notice the way his jaw tightened when your phone buzzed with a message from your partner.
Nor the way his fingers curled slightly, possessively around his cup.
But he noticed everything.
And as you said goodbye and walked back toward the precinct, Dean watched you go with a slow, hungry smile.
You were distracted by another case. But now?
Now you were thinking about him again.
Exactly the way he wanted.
A grin spread across his face as you turned, glancing over your shoulder, a smile on your face as you met his eyes.
Back at the precinct, you tried to slip into work mode, files open, pen tapping, eyes scanning statements. But your mind kept drifting back to the cafe. To him. To the way he’d smiled when he bought you a new coffee. To the way his fingers brushed yours.
It was ridiculous.
You didn’t even know him. You were halfway through rereading the same paragraph for the third time when your partner dropped into the chair beside your desk with a groan.
“You’re quiet today,” he said, eyeing you. “Too quiet.”
“I’m working,” you muttered.
“You’re staring at the same sentence as it owes you money.” You sighed, leaning back. “I just… ran into someone earlier.”
Your partner’s eyebrows shot up. “Someone?”
You rolled your eyes. “Not like that.”
“Uh‑huh.” He crossed his arms. “So what happened?”
You hesitated. You weren’t sure why you felt embarrassed. Maybe because it felt… normal. Human. Soft. And nothing in your life had felt like that in a long time.
“I spilled my coffee,” you said finally. “On myself. And this guy, the same one I bumped into the other day, he helped me. Bought me a new one.”
Your partner blinked. “Wait. Same guy? Twice?”
“Yeah.” You tried to sound casual. “Total coincidence.”
“Or fate,” he teased. You shot him a look. “Don’t start.”
He grinned. “Was he cute?” You opened your mouth, then closed it. Heat crept up your neck. Your partner’s grin widened. “Oh, my God. He was cute.”
“I didn’t say that.”
“You didn’t have to.” You shook your head, trying to hide the smile tugging at your lips. “It was just a nice moment. That’s all.”
“Hey,” your partner said, softer now. “You deserve nice moments.” You looked down at your hands, suddenly unsure what to do with them. “Yeah. Maybe.”
But as you turned back to your work, you couldn’t stop the thought from slipping in:
I hope I see him again.
Back in his car across the street, Dean was already planning his next steps, fingers gliding over his lock-picking kit.
Summary- A detective becomes obsessed with hunting a brilliant serial killer who’s just as obsessed with her.
Warnings- Serial killer dean, violence, murder, obsession, dark romance, breaking and entering, stalking, not proof read sorry!
Word count- 1.9k
His only obsession Pinterest board
My masterlist!!
At first, you did try to pretend the case wasn’t bleeding into your personal life.
You woke up, made coffee, showered, dressed and drove to work, the same routine you’d had for years. But now every morning felt heavier. Like the killer’s shadow stretched just a little farther into your day.
What you didn’t know was that someone else had started memorising that routine.
Dean leaned against the hood of a beat-up truck half a block down from your apartment, hood pulled low, his hands in his pockets. He watched the lights in your window flick on at 6:11am sharp.
Right on time, He liked that about you, the consistency, the discipline. The way you moved through the world with purpose, even when you were tired. Even when you were frustrated. Even when you were alone.
Especially when you were alone.
He watched your shadow walk across the windows, your silhouette peeling your pyjama top off and dropping it beside you, out of view from the window. Your shadow dipped; he assumed you were taking your bottoms off. Then you stepped out of view of the window. As steam filled the window, a wet hand shot into view, cracking the window wide open.
This was his least favourite part, not being able to see you but knowing exactly what you were doing. His eyes trailed around your building block, waiting for you to reappear.
When he next saw you, you were stepping out of your building, hair still damp from the shower, travel mug in hand. You didn’t look around, you never did, you were too focused. On the other hand, digging through your bag in search of your keys. Fumbling around to unlock your car
His favourite part was reading your facial expressions and body language. He learnt to read you quite well. Your furrowed brows, you were too focused, too consumed by the case.
You crossed the street, heading towards your car. He followed at a distance, steps silent, posture relaxed, not hiding, just blending. People never noticed a man who looked like he belonged.
And Dean always made himself belong.
He watched the way you unlocked your car and shimmy in, unloading the items in your arms onto the passenger seat, muttering away to yourself.
As you began to drive off, his gaze drifted towards your window, which was still left open, something you’d forgotten about in your rush to work.
He smirked to himself, making his way back toward your home, grateful that you were only on the first floor. He quickly scanned the area for anyone passing by, his one hand slotted on the windowsill and his foot already pushing off the wall, giving him enough leverage to throw himself into the window.
He stood down, stepping inside like he'd been here a hundred times before. He closed the window behind him, gently.
The bathroom still had a warm humidity, beads of water trailing down the wall from the heat of your shower. Eyes scanning over your countertops, your perfume, your moisturiser, your toothbrush still damp from when you used it.
He picked up the perfume bottle, lifted it to his nose and breathed in. He inhaled slowly, eyes half-lidded, placing it back down, the glass bottle clinking against the countertop.
Then he started exploring.
Not rummaging, nor searching, but studying.
He moved through your living room with the same precision he used at his crime scenes. He noticed everything: the stack of case files on your coffee table, the blanket draped over the back of your couch, the mug you'd left in the sink with a faint lipstick print on the rim.
He touched nothing. Not yet.
He walked into your bedroom, steps soft on the carpet. Your bed was unmade, sheets tangled from a restless night. He stood at the edge of it, head tilting slightly, imagining you there. Frustrated, exhausted, thinking about him without knowing it.
His fingers hovered over your pillow.
He didn’t touch it. He wanted to.
He moved to your dresser next, the top drawer was cracked open just enough to tempt curiosity. He slid it open with the back of his knuckle, eyes darkening at the sight of neatly folded shirts, soft fabrics, the things you wore closest to your skin.
When he finally stepped back into your living room, he paused at your desk. A photo sat there, you and your partner at some precinct event, both in black tie event attire, your partner wore a tight-fitting suit, and you wore a tight-fitting beige dress with a light pattern of shimmer highlighting the curves of your body.
Dean's jaw tightened. He didn’t like the way your partner stood close to you; he didn’t like the way he smiled. He reached out and turned the photo face down. A small and silent correction.
Then he left your apartment the same way he entered, quietly, calmly, and without a trace.
Expect for one.
When you came home that evening, exhausted and distracted, you didn’t notice anything wrong at first.
Not until you saw the photo on your desk, face down.
Your stomach dropped, you hadn’t left it like that, and suddenly the apartment felt too quiet, too still. Across the street in the shadow of a bus stop, Dean watched all your lights flick on. He smiled.
That night, you barely slept.
Every creak in your apartment felt louder. Every shadow looked wrong. Every time you closed your eyes, you saw that photo on your desk flipped face down.
Someone had been here.
You didn't know how, you didn't know when, nor why.
But you knew.
So the next morning, you moved through your apartment with a new kind of precision. You checked the front door twice, then a third, juggling the handle until you were sure it wouldn’t budge.
You stood there for a moment, hand still on the lock, breath tight in your chest. Something was off, something was watching.
But you forced yourself to leave. You had a job, a case and a killer who was getting bolder.
You stepped outside, scanning the street before heading into your car. Nothing unusual. No strange cats. No lingering figures.
But you still felt it, that prickle at the back of your neck.
Across the street, Dean watched from behind the tinted windows of a parked Impala, fingers drumming lightly on the steering wheel. He was the way you double-checked the locks. The way your shoulders were tense. The way you kept glancing over your shoulder.
You know someone had been inside.
You just didn't know it was him.
And God, he loved that.
He waited until you drove off before starting his engine, following at a comfortable distance. Not close enough to spook you. Just close enough to keep you in sight.
You walked into the precinct with your shoulders tight and your jaw set, trying to shake the feeling that your apartment wasn't as empty as you left it.
Your partner noticed immediately, he leaned back in his chair, eyebrows raised. “You look like hell.”
You dropped your bag onto the desk. “Didn't sleep.”
“Case keeping you up?”
You hesitated. You could lie, could say yes. You could say it was the crime scene, the message, the pressure.
But the truth sat heavy in your throat. “I think…” You swallowed. “I think someone was in my apartment.”
Your partner straightened. “What? When?”
“Last night. I didn’t see anything missing. nothing broken. But something was off.”
“What do you mean off?”
You looked down at your hands, remembering the photo on your desk, flipped over like someone had been standing there, staring at it. Staring at you.
“I didn’t leave things the way I found them.”
Your partner’s expression shifted. Concern, then suspicion, then something sharper. “You think it's him.”
You didn't answer, you didn't have to.
Because the truth was already settling in your bones.
The killer wasn’t just taunting you.
He was watching you.
He was close.
Too close.
The next day you were running late.
Again.
Your mind was still tangled in the case, replaying every detail, every dead end, every instinct screaming that something was wrong in your apartment the other night. You’d double-checked every lock this morning again, but the unease clung to you like a second skin.
So when you stepped out of the cafe with your coffee and your case notes tucked under your arm, you weren't watching where you were going.
You collided with something solid.
Your files slipped from your grip, scattering across the pavement. “Shit-sorry.” You muttered, dropping to your knees to gather them.
A hand reached down at the same time. Large, warm, steady.
“Here,” a low voice said. “Let me help.”
You looked up.
And met green eyes.
Dean crouched in front of you, picking up papers with careful precision, like he already knew how much order mattered to you. He offered a small, apologetic smile. The kind that made strangers trust him without thinking.
You didn't recognise him.
Of course you didn't.
You’d only seen his work, not his face.
But he recognised you instantly.
He’d been following closely for days. Watching you, learning you and now here you were, close enough to him to see that faint crease in your brows. the way your breath hitched from surprise, the way your fingers brushed his when you both reached for the same file.
You froze for half a second.
So did he, a spark, subtle electric, passed between you both.
“Sorry,” You say again, softer this time.
“No need,” Dean replied, handing you the last sheet. “My fault. Should’ve been paying attention.”
You stood, and he rose with you, towering just slightly, but not in a way that felt threatening. More like… grounding.
You took your papers back, trying to smooth them. “Long morning.”
He chuckled, warm, easy, practised. “Looks like it.”
You didn’t know why, but something about him made your shoulders loosen. Maybe it was the calmness. Maybe the voice. Maybe the fact that for the first time in days, someone wasn’t asking you about the case.
“You okay?” he asked, head tilting just enough to show genuine interest.
You hesitated.
Then nodded. “Yeah. Just… work stuff.”
“Detective, right?” he said casually, nodding toward the badge clipped to your belt.
You glanced down, surprised you’d forgotten to hide it. “Yeah. Homicide.”
Dean’s smile deepened, subtle, knowing, almost fond.
“I figured,” he said. “You’ve got the look.”
“What look?”
“The kind of person who doesn’t let things go.”
You blinked. It was too accurate. Too close.
Too true.
You laughed lightly, trying to shake off the strange feeling curling in your stomach. “Is that a compliment?”
“Absolutely,” he said, eyes lingering on you a moment too long. “The world needs people like you.”
You felt heat rise in your cheeks , unexpected, unwelcome, but real.
“Well… thanks,” you said, stepping back. “I should get going.”
“Of course.” He gave a small nod. “Take care of yourself, Detective.”
You walked away, coffee in hand, papers pressed to your chest, heart beating a little faster than before.
You didn’t look back.
But he did.
Dean watched you until you disappeared around the corner, his expression shifting, softening, darkening, settling into something hungry and certain.
You’d bumped into him by accident.
But he’d been waiting for this moment.
And now that he’d heard your voice, seen your smile, felt your fingers brush his?
Summary- A detective becomes obsessed with hunting a brilliant serial killer who’s just as obsessed with her.
Warnings- Serial killer dean, violence, murder, obsession, dark romance, mention of a victim being a serial abuser and rapist (not gone into detail about at all) morally grey reader, mention of mutilation and restraints, mentions of words carved into bodys. Hope you all enjoy this series!
An- Let me know if you'd like to be in the tag list for this series.
Word count- 1.5k
His only obsession pinterest board
My masterlist!! His only obsession series
You were halfway through your second cup of burnt precinct coffee when Captain Dodds tapped twice on the edge of your desk. No greeting. No small talk, just a man who only showed up when something was very very wrong.
“Detective,” he said, dropping a thin, unmarked file in front of you. “You’re taking this one.”
You frowned. Homicide files were rarely ever thin. Always a plethora of forensics and witness reports to read through. “What’s the catch.”
Dodds exhaled, rubbing a hand over his jaw. “Three bodies in six months. Different ages, different backgrounds, different parts of the city. No connection. No motive. No leads.”
You flipped open the file. The crime scene photos were…strange. Clean. Precise. Almost ritualistic, but not quite. Whoever did this wasn’t sloppy. They were deliberate. Controlled and intelligent.
Your pulse ticked up. “This looks like it should’ve gone to a specialised task force.” You spoke.
“It did.” Dodds voice dropped. “They gave up.” You looked up sharply. “They don’t give up.”
“They did on this one.” He tapped the file. “But you don’t.”
There it was, the real reason. You were the detective who didn’t let go. The one who chased threads until they bled into answers. The one who didn’t sleep when a case whispered instead of screamed.
You turned another page. The wounds were surgical. The staging was careful, and on the last victim, barely visible a small deliberate mark carved into the skin.
Not a symbol or signature but a message, just one word.
‘Soon.’
A chill slid down your spine. “Soon what?” You murmured.
Dodds shook his head. “We don’t know, but whatever this guy is doing, he’s getting bolder and smarter. And he’s not stopping.”
You closed the file. Fingers tightening around the paper file. “I’ll take it.” Of course you would. You already felt the hook in your ribs, the pull of something dark and clever and waiting.
Somewhere across the city, in a dim apartment lit only by the glow of a single lamp, Dean Winchester wiped blood from his hands and smiled at the news report playing softly on the radio.
A new detective had been assigned to his case. He didn’t know your name yet. But he would.
Soon.
The case file had grown slightly thicker, but not heavier. Not with answers, anyway.
Weeks of combing through old crime scenes, re-interviewing people who where in the area at the time of the killings but somehow witnessed nothing. Re-reading autopsy reports until the words blurred. Every night you stayed later than the last, your desk lamp the only one still burning in the precinct.
And still nothing.
No fingerprints. No DNA, no fibers, not shoe prints, no leads, nothing.
It was like chasing a shadow that knew exactly how to stay out of the light.
But you couldn’t let it go. You didn’t want to. Something about this killer. His precision, his patience, the way he carved meaning into silence. It pulled at you, like he was speaking a language only you could hear.
You found yourself revisiting the first crime scene again, standing in the same spot the victim had died, staring at the same brick wall, trying to feel what the killer felt.
Trying to understand him, trying to get close.
Your flashlight beam cut through the dust-heavy air as you stepped into the alley, boots echoing across the cracked brick floor. There had to be something someone missed.
You were crouched near the rusted man hole where the victim had been found, running your gloved fingers along the floor, searching for anything the original sweep might’ve missed. A hair, a fiber, a miracle.
Nothing, just like every other time.
You exhaled sharpy, frustration tightening your jaw. “What are you hiding…?” You whispered to the empty alley.
But only, it wasn’t empty.
Not tonight, high above you balanced silently on a rusted cat walk, Dean Winchester watched you with the stillness of a predator. He’d come back to the scene out of habit, he liked revisiting his work, liked remembering the feeling of control, liked knowing no one could ever trace him.
He hadn’t expected you.
He didn’t even know you name yet. Didn’t know your voice. Didn’t know the way your mind worked. But something settled deep inside him, something raw and powerful.
You moved with purpose, scanning every inch of the room like you were trying to crawl inside the killers head. Like you were trying to understand him. Like you were trying to find him.
Deans breath hitched, a quiet, involuntary sound he hadn’t made in years.
You were smart, focused and you weren’t scared of the dark.
He leaned forward slightly, eyes tracking every movement you made, the way you tucked a strand of hair behind your ear. The way you frowned when you didn’t find what you wanted. The way you whispered to yourself like the case was a living thing.
You were beautiful in a way that had nothing to do with looks.
You were dangerous, a threat.
You were prefect.
When you finally stood, brushing dust from your hands, Deans fingers tightened around the railing, leaning closer, chest leaning over the cold railing. He wanted to see your face more clearly. Wanted to hear your voice again. Wanted to know what you’d sat about him when you thought you were alone.
But you were already heading back towards your car, shoulders tense with frustration.
“Nothing.” You muttered. “Again.”
Deans lips curled into a slow, fascinated smile.
He stayed perfectly still until your footsteps faded outside, then let out a low breath, pulse thrumming with something he hadn’t felt in a long, long time. Something killing used to make him feel.
Interest, curiosity, possession.
He watched you drive off, eyes darkening, he would see you again. He would make sure of it.
And he knew exactly how.
By the time you reached the precinct, you shrugged your jacket off dropping it on the back of your cracked leather chair, as you slouched down into the seat, pressing your fingers tight against your temples, your eyes drifted shut.
A blearing alarm woke you, unsure of how long you had been asleep for, or even that you fell asleep, your phone buzzed relentlessly in your pocket, you answered before thinking. “Hello?” You groaned out, voice thick of sleep.
A beat of silence, then your partners voice, tight and breathless.
“Y/n… we’ve got another one.”
Your heart dropped, then surged. Adrenaline, dread and maybe something darker.
“Location?”
“Warehouse district, same signature. Fresh...really fresh.”
You grabbed your coat and keys in one motion, pulse hammering, fresh meant he was active again. Fresh meant he was close.
You didn’t realize you were smiling until you caught your reflection in the glass door on the way out.
Across the city, dean wiped a smear of blood from his jaw, humming under his breath, he wondered if you’d notice the message he’d left, carved a little deeper this time, just for you.
He wondered if your hands would shake when you saw it, he hoped they would.
The warehouse district was already crawling with uniforms by the time you pulled up, red and blue lights strobing across the cracked pavement. The air smelled like rain and rust and something else underneath, something metallic and warm that made your stomach tighten.
As you walked closer to the scene and uniformed officer ran past you, face pale. One hand covering his mouth and the other holding his stomach.
Your partner jogged over as you ducked under the tape. “Victims inside, same precision as the others. But this one…” He hesitated. “This one is different.”
Different was good. Different meant escalation.
You stepped into the warehouse, boots crunching over broken glass. The space was cavernous, shadows stretching long and deep. Your flashlight beam swept across old crates, peeling paint and-
Your breath caught.
The body lay in the centre of the room, staged deliberately, reverently. No chaos, no struggle, just a man placed like an offering.
His arms bound behind his back secured to a chair, he looked bloody and beaten, multiple stab wounds scattered across his body, his top discarded leaving his lifeless torso bare.
Scatted around the body were printed off photos of the victim. As you stepped closer, you began to recognise the photos, some were of him leaving court, seemingly being followed home, all shot from a distance.
The photo closest to the victim was what looked like him attacking a woman,
That is when it clicked, this was the recently released serial abuser and rapist. He was released on a technicality, something about evidence not being managed correctly or the suspects house being illegally searched before a warrant was issued.
As you inspected the victim closer, your eyes caught onto his sternum, carved letters clean and deliberate.
‘I saw you’
Your throat tightened. Your partner swore under his breath. “Sick bastards taunting us.” But you barely heard him, because the words didn’t feel like they were meant for the department.
They felt like they were meant for you.
You crouched beside the body, studying the edge of the carving, the angel of the blade, the confidence in every stroke. This wasn’t rushed. This wasn’t sloppy. This was someone taking their time.
Someone savouring it, someone who wanted you to read it.
Across the street, perched in the broken window of an abandoned office building, dean watched you through a pair of stolen binoculars. His breath fogged up the glass, his pulse thrumming with a thrill he hadn’t felt in years.
You’d come, you read his message. As your scanned around the building looking in shadows anywhere a man could hide.
Your reaction to his crime, your deep analysis of his work sends a warm rush through him.
And the way your eyes had widened when the light of your flashlight reflected against the glass of his binoculars, He dropped them, but stayed, seeing how you’d react to spotting him.
Something hot twisted in his chest when you looked the other way, continuing your scan across the surrounding areas, a stoic looks across your face as you tried to not look back up at the abandoned building.
He learned forward, whispering to the empty room, voice low and hungry.
Summary- A detective becomes obsessed with hunting a brilliant serial killer who’s just as obsessed with her.
Warnings- More warnings disclosed in each part. Serial killer dean, violence, murder, obsession, dark romance, eventual smut mention of mutilation and restraints, mentions of word carvings in body. Hope you all enjoy this series!
My masterlist!! His only obsession Pinterest board
Sumarry- A detective becomes obsessed with hunting a brilliant serial killer who’s just as obsessed with her.
Warnings- serial killer dean, violence, murder, obsession, dark romance. this is just a teaser to see if you'd like this as a series. Let me know if you'd like to be in the tag list.
word count- 499
The case should’ve gone cold months ago.
Six victims. No pattern anyone else could see. No forensic evidence worth a damn. No witnesses who lived long enough to talk. Your precinct had quietly started calling him a ghost, a killer who slipped though crime scenes like smoke, leaving only bodies and questions behind.
But you know better. Ghost didn’t taunt, didn’t watch, ghost didn’t leave messages carved into skin that only you would understand.
And ghost defiantly didn’t know your name.
You stood over the latest body, the metallic scent of blood clinging to the back of your throat. The alley was silent expect for the distant hum of traffic and the soft click of your pen as you took notes you already knew by heart.
Male. Mid-thirties. Clean cut. No defensive wounds and carved into his ribs, neat and deliberate. “You’re getting closer detective.”
Your pulse kicked hard. Not fear, something sharper. Something you’d never admit out loud.
Obsession.
You’d been chasing this man for nearly a year, and every time you though you had him cornered, he slipped away with a smile you could almost feel against your skin.
“Y/n.” Your partner’s voice broke through your thoughts. “You, okay?”
You nodded, though your eyes stayed fixed on the message. “He’s escalating.” The case should’ve gone cold months ago.
You almost laughed. Moving on wasn’t in his nature. You knew that the same way you knew he was watching you now, somewhere in the shadows, somewhere just out of reach.
He never missed his own crime scenes.
You turned your head slightly, pretending to study the brick wall, but really you were scanning the rooftops, the fire escapes, the dark corners where a man could hide and enjoy the show.
A shiver crawled up your spine.
Because you felt him.
Not imagined. Not hoped.
Felt.
And miles away, or maybe only a few feet, Dean Winchester smiled.
He leaned against the cold metal of a rooftop vent, watching you through the scope of a stolen rifle he had no intention of firing. Not tonight. Not yet.
Killing you would ruin the fun. No, he wanted to savour you. The way you furrowed your brow when you were thinking. The way you touched crime scenes like you were touching him. The way you whispered theories about him under your breath, like confessions.
You were the only one who understood him. The only one worth the chase. He traced the curve of your cheek through the scope, breath fogging the glass for a moment. “Closer than you think, sweetheart,” he murmured.
And down below, without knowing why, you turned, eyes locking on the exact patch of darkness where he stood.
Summary- You hated how everyone loved him. You were polar opposites, bucky was his fraternity president and you an alternative 'outcast'. Opposites definitely don't attract...or do they?
An- Sorry this took so long, just a sweet little chapter to finish this series off, thank you for all the support on this series it has been insane. Requests are open <3
My masterlist
[1] [2] [3] [4] [5] 6
The hallway is still humming with the echo of that kiss. Your lips feel swollen, your breath uneven, your pulse a frantic drum beneath your skin. Bucky stands in front of your like he’s afraid to move too fast, afraid to break whatever fragile electric thing just sparked between you.
His chest rises and falls in sharp, uneven breaths. The smudged eyeliner around his eyes making him looked wrecked and undone. He brushes his thumb along your cheek bone, barely there, just a whisper of a touch.
“We shouldn’t be here anymore” he murmurs, voice low and rough. You nod, because the idea of stepping back into that crowded, noisy room feels impossible. Too many eyes. Too many questions.
He extends his hand, a tremble shooting through his hand, your slid yours into his and the relief that floods his face is almost painful to look at. His shoulders drop, jaw unclenches and he exhales like he’s been holding his breath for hours.
He squeezes your hand one, gentle. “Let’s go.” His words a soft whisper.
The two of your descend the stairs slowly, your hands still linked. The party noise swells around you, laughter and music. But it all fells distant, muffled like your underwater. People notice, heads turn. Sams eyebrows shoot up so high they nearly leave his face. “Uh- where are you two- “
Bucky shoots him a look that could level a building. Sam shuts up instantly, you don’t stop walking and bucky doesn’t let go of your hand.
The door shuts behind you with a soft thud, muffling the music and laughter until it becomes nothing more than a distant thrum. The sudden quiet feels almost unreal after the chaos inside. The cold night air wraps around you instant, sharp and clean, carrying the faint scent of damp pavement and woodsmoke from somewhere down the street.
You draw in a breath, and it feels like the first real one you’ve taken in hours. Bucky steps out after you, the porch light casts a warm glow over his face, catching on the smudged eyeliner and faint sheen of sweat at his temples. His hair is mussed from running his hands though it. His chest still rising and falling too quickly.
-=-=--==-=-=--=-==-=--==--=
You wake before he does.
It takes a moment to realize why everything feels so warm, so safe and then you feel the weight of an arm draped over your waist, the steady rise and fall of a chest pressed against your back, the faint brush of breath against the back of your neck.
Bucky
The room is quiet, the kind of quiet that only exists early in the morning when the world hasn’t quiet remembered to wake up yet. The curtains are half open and a thin beam of sunlight cuts across the bed, warm and golden.
It lands across his face, you shift just enough to see him. Hess on his side, one arm tucked under the pillow, the other wrapped around you like he’s afraid you’ll slip away in you sleep. His hair is a mess. Soft dark stands falling over his forehead. The sunlight catches on the faint stubble along his jaw, turning it gold.
His eyelashes are ridiculously long, his lips slightly parted, the expression is peaceful in a way you don’t see when he’s awake.
You lie there, watching him breathe, watching the sunlight move slowly across his cheekbone. It feels like you’re seeing something private, something he doesn’t show anyone else.
He shifts in his sleep, tightening his arm around you, pulling you closer with a soft, unconscious sound, something between a sigh and a hum. His nose brushes your shoulder, and you feel the warmth of his breath against your skin.
You smile without meaning to.
A couple of weeks ago, you were crying behind a locked bathroom door. Now you’re here.
In his arms. Wrapped up in him like it’s the most natural thing in the world.
You reach up and gently brush a strand of hair off his forehead. He doesn’t wake but he leans into the touch, instinctively, like he’s been waiting for it.
The sunlight shifts again, warming the bridge of his nose, the curve of his cheek, the corner of his mouth. He looks softer like this. Younger. Almost boyish.
You whisper, barely audible, “You’re beautiful like this.” He stirs. Not fully awake. just enough that his fingers flex against your waist, his brow furrows slightly, and he murmurs something you can’t quite make out.
Then, in a voice rough with sleep, he breathes your name. Your heart stutters.
He nuzzles closer, his forehead pressing gently against your shoulder. “You’re staring,” he mumbles, still half asleep. You freeze. “You’re awake?”
“Mm… barely.” His voice is gravelly, warm, thick with sleep. “But I can feel you looking at me.” You roll your eyes even though he can’t see it. “Maybe I was.”
He smiles, a slow, sleepy, lopsided smile that makes your chest ache. “Good. I like when you look at me.”
He finally opens his eyes, and the sunlight hits them, turning the blue soft and warm. “Morning sweetheart,” he whispers.
You swallow. “Morning.”
He pulls you closer, tucking his face into your neck like he’s trying to hide from the world. “Stay a little longer.”
You don’t even think about it. “I’m not going anywhere.”
His arms tighten around you, and you feel him smile against your skin. “Good,” he murmurs. “Didn’t want to wake up without you.”
Then he settles back against you, arms tightening around your waist. “Five more minutes,” he murmurs.
“You said that yesterday.”
“And the day before,” he adds, smiling into your skin.
You roll your eyes, but you melt into him anyway, because the truth is… you don’t want to move either.
The sunlight has fully claimed the room now, warm and golden, stretching across the sheets and spilling over the floorboards. You finally manage to slip out of Bucky’s arms
He groans the second you move. A low, gravelly, half‑asleep sound that vibrates against your spine.
You freeze. He tightens his arm around your waist, pulling you back into him like a magnet. “No,” he mumbles into your shoulder. “Don’t go.”
You laugh softly. “I’m just getting up.”
“Don’t care,” he mutters. “Stay.”
“You’re impossible.” He nuzzles into your neck, lips brushing your skin. “And you’re warm.” You try again and this time he lets you go, but only because he rolls onto his back dramatically, throwing an arm over his eyes like you’ve personally wounded him.
You slip out of bed, feet hitting the cool floorboards, and stretch. The sunlight warms your skin instantly. You run your fingers through your hair, trying to tame the sleep‑tangled mess.
You don’t hear him move.
But you feel it. That prickling awareness along your spine — the sense of being watched.
You turn.
Bucky is propped up on one elbow, hair a complete disaster, sheets pooled low around his waist. His eyes are half‑lidded, still heavy with sleep, but unmistakably focused on you.
He’s staring. You blink. “What?” He doesn’t even pretend he wasn’t caught. He just smiles “Nothing,” he says, voice rough. “Just… you.”
You feel your face heat. “Me?” He nods, eyes tracing the line of your shoulder, the curve of your neck, the way the sunlight hits your hair. “You look good in the morning.”
You snort. “I look like I fought a raccoon.” He shakes his head, still staring. “You look like mine.”
Your breath catches.
He doesn’t seem to realize he said it out loud or maybe he does, because he sits up, swings his legs over the side of the bed, and pads toward you with that slow, sleepy confidence that should not be legal.
He wraps his arms around your waist from behind, resting his chin on your shoulder. His metal hand stays gentle, cool against your hip, his human hand warm and soft.
“You always look good,” he murmurs. “But mornings… they’re my favourite.”
You lean back into him without thinking. “Why?”
He presses a kiss to your shoulder, soft, lingering. “Because you’re relaxed. Real. Not trying to be anything. Just you.”
You swallow, heart fluttering.
“And,” he adds, voice dropping lower, “because I get to hold you before the world does.”
You turn in his arms, sliding your hands up his chest. “You’re clingy today.” He grins, eyes crinkling. “I’m clingy every day.”
You laugh. “True.”
He kisses your forehead, then your cheek, then the corner of your mouth — slow, lazy, morning kisses that feel like sunlight. “Get used to it,” he murmurs. “I’m not stopping.”
And he doesn’t.
He’s always there, a hand on your back, fingers brushing yours, a kiss to your temple, a soft stare from across the room.
It’s not possessive. It’s not needy. It’s just love
This series tag list- @dpr-teag @mfstargirlsworld @avatarofthetimelords @vicmc624 @anndiesworld @chonkybonky @kileyking @namless-ken @haleygettys @mathcat345 @sizzlingstarlightsky
Bucky tag list- @sebastians-love @galactict3a @my-drvidess
Summary- A rebelious princess refuses to marry her suitors, her heart already promised to her kingdoms hunter. A simple bow competion should help convince her father.
Word count- 5.1k
An- Requests are open!!!
Warnings- Forbidden love, kissing, angst, fluff, mention of hunting, mention of arranged marriage. Arguments with parents, Based on that one scene in Brave.
My master list
Forbidden arrow pinterest board
The forest at the edge of the kingdom is the only place that still feels like yours. Moonlight spills through the canopy in silver ribbons, catching on your braid as your ride hard across the clearing. Your bow is slung across your back, your quiver half empty from an hour of shooting at straw dummies until your arms ached.
You’re not supposed to be out here alone. You’re not supposed to be out here at all. If your mother had it here way you’d be in the castle meeting suitors, as you are meant to choose yours tomorrow. But for now, the forest is much more appealing, the walls of the castle feel too tight, too loud, full of expectations you never asked for.
You dismount; boots sinking into the soft moss and draw an arrow. The familiar tension of the bowstring steadies your breath. You aim at a distant knot in an oak tree-
A twig snaps behind you, you whirl, arrow drawn, ready to fire, bowstring biting into your fingertips.
But the figure who steps into the moonlit clearing is not a threat. It’s him.
Bucky Barnes, the kingdoms most skilled hunter, the man who can track a deer across frozen stone and move through the forest like he was born from it. His hair is tied back, a few stands loose across his face and a wolf pelt across his shoulders shifts as he lifts both hands slowly, palms out.
Also, the man that has bewitched your every passing though since he has taught you how to shoot a bow.
“Easy princess.” He murmurs, voice low and rough from disuse. “Unless you really mean to put an arrow through me.” The tension in your chest spikes, not from fear but from the fact that he caught you. Out here, alone.
He steps close, slow enough that you could stop him if your wanted to. You don’t.
“You’re going to get yourself in trouble one of these nights.” He says, voice softer now, fond. “Your mothers been tearing the castle apart looking for you.” You swallow. “I needed air.”
He gazes softens. “I know, but running into the forest alone the night before you’re meant to choose a husband?” He huffs a quiet laugh. “You’re going to give the queen grey hair.”
You finally lower the bow. “Better her than me.” His smile is small, crooked and entirely unfair. “Come on. I’ll walk you back.”
But he doesn’t move, and neither do you. A smirk begins to spread across your face, his eyes narrow, face testing you. Surely you wouldn’t.
Before he could step closer, the sound of your reins crack in the air, the sound of your steed hoofs smashing against the forest floor. A shout left the man behind you. “Catch me if you can Barnes” Your hood fell as the wind blew against you.
His large hand scrubbing across his face. Branches whip past as you urge your horse faster, the familiar thrill sparking in your veins. You know these words better than any courtier knows their own reflection. You know where the ground drips, where the roots rise. But bucky knows them too and he’s on foot.
Which should give you an advantage. Should.
A low whistle cuts through the night, sharp and practiced. Your horse slows instinctively, trained by the very man you’re trying to outrun. You twist in the saddle looking back at him, eyes narrowing at him.
Hes jogging toward you through the clearing, barely winded, wolf pelt bouncing against his shoulders, a smirk carved into his mouth like he’s been waiting for this moment all evening.
“Dirty trick!” You call, breathless. He shrugs, maddeningly calm. “You stole my horse last time. Consider us even.”
You try to nudge your steed forward again, but bucky steps up and lays a hand on the bridle. His fingers brush yours, warm and calloused. The moment ends just a soon as it began. The forest seems to still around you.
His arms dropping beside him, fists clenched as if he was trying to hold himself back. “Let’s get you home before the queen loses her head.” His voice calm but almost as if he was holding something back.
“Oh, must we” You slouch in the saddle brows turning upward as a pout takes over your face. “Can’t we stay out just a moment longer” your hand reaching to his shoulder. He squeezes his eyes shut, contemplating. He looks as if he’s about to reject you when he looks at you meeting your eyes.
His resolve quick falls apart, his piercing eyes tracing over your face “I could never say no to you sweetheart.” You feel your pulse quicken, a flash of heat rushing up your neck and spreading across your cheeks. Dipping your head to avoid his gaze.
“30 minutes, then you need to go back to the castle princess.” Your head shoots up meeting his gaze again, a wide grin spreading over your face. “You’re the best!” You shout, hopping down from your horse and wrapping your arms around his neck.
He froze for a moment, before he wrapped his arms around your waist in a tight hug. Bucky’s eyes fluttered shut, his breath slowing as he held you. Hands dropping to his side as you pulled away. A large smile still presents on your face, oblivious to the torment the man in front of you was going through.
As you turned back towards your horse, Bucky’s head dropped back a sigh leaving his throat hands quickly scrubbing down his face, his scruff rubbing against his calloused palm. When the hand dropped down from his face revealing you standing in front of him. A wild smile on your face, bow in your hand. “One last lesson?”
“As if you need anymore, you’re already better than most of your fathers’ guards.” His voice rang out scoffing, a lopsided smirk across his face. “Better than you?” He sighed, eyes following you as you move “Almost.” You smiled back looking over your shoulder as you walk off in front of him, your bow swinging in by your side.
You don’t see the way his breath catches when you walk ahead, too bust pretending you don’t hear the soft crunch of his boots falling into step behind you, the way he always does. Close enough to reach you if something went wrong. Far enough that he wont betray himself, or the king.
The clearing you choose is small, moonlight pooling like silver water across the moss. You stop in the centre, turning with a flourish that makes your cloak swirl around your ankles. “Well?” You challenge, lifting your bow. “Are you teaching or are you admiring the view?”
His jaw flexes. Just barley but you catch it.
“Careful princess” He says stepping into the moonlight “keep talking like that and I’ll start thinking you’re trying to fluster me.” You scoff, nocking an arrow. “As if I could.”
He moves behind you before you can blink, silent as a shadow. His hands hover at your elbows, not touching but close enough that you feel the heat of him through your sleeves. “Your stance.” He murmurs voice low enough to stir the hair at your nape. “You’re leaning too far forward.”
You swallow, adjusting. “Better?”
“Almost.” His breath ghosts your ear. “You’re thinking too much.” You fire anyway. The arrow thuds into the tree just left of centre. “Damn.” You mutter.
He laughs softly, quiet and font. “You’re deadly when you’re angry. Try again.” You reach for another arrow, but his hand gently around your wrist. You freeze. So does he.
His thumb rests against your pulse and he feels it, the way it leaps. For a heartbeat, neither of you move. His fingers tighten, barely, instinctively. Before he snatches his hand back like your skin burned him. He steps away so fast a twig snap under his heel.
“Sorry,” He mutters, voice rougher than before. “Didn’t mean to- “
“Touch me?” you finish, tilting your head, letting the words drop like honey. His jaw clenches again. Harder this time. “Princess.” He warns but it comes out strangled, like the word is fighting its way past something he’s trying very hard to bury.
You take a slow step toward him, bow dangling loosely from your fingers. “I didn’t mind.” He looks away, not because he’s disinterested. He looks away because if he looks at you any longer, hell forget every oath he’s every sworn.
Stepping closer “It’s just us. No guards, no court, not rules." He huffs a humourless laugh. “There are always rules for people like us.”
You circle him, deliberately brushing your shoulder against his arm as you pass. “You mean for you,” you tease. “I’m a princess. I can do whatever I want.” He catches your wrist, “Not with me.”
The words should sting, but they don’t, because his eyes betray him. They’re dark, hungry aching in a way that makes your breath catch. You lean in and he doesn’t move, your noses brush and you don’t hesitate.
You tilt your chin up and kiss him.
It’s gentle at first, a question. The firmer. His breath catches against your mouth and for a split second then kisses you back, hungry, desperate. Like he’s been drowning for years and you’re the first breath he’s allowed himself.
Then he tears himself away, violently. He stumbles back like the contact burned him, chest heaving, eyes wide with something that looks too much like fear. “Bucky- “
“No.” His voice cracks like a whip. “You can’t- We can’t-“You take a step toward him, but he flinches back again, running a hand through his hair, pacing like a caged animal. “Do you have any idea what you’re doing?” He snaps, anger sharp and sudden. Not at you but at himself. “You can’t just- kiss me like that.”
You lift your chin. “Why not.”
“Because I’m not allowed to want you!” He explodes, voice raw. “Because you’re the princess and im- I’m just a hunter. Because your father would have my head on a spike before the sun rises.”
His chest rises and falls in harsh, uneven breaths. He won’t look at you. He can’t. “And because.” He adds, quieter. “I want you too damn much already.” The words hit you like an arrow.
You step closer, slower this time. “Then why are you angry.” He finally meets your eyes. “Because wanting you the one thing I cannot let myself have.” He says, voice low and shaking. “And you make it impossible to forget.”
You swallow, heart pounding. He turns away, fists clenched at his sides, shoulders tight with restraint. “We need to go back.”
“James-“You call out, your heart aching. The feel of his lips still tingling against yours. He doesn’t turn back, just walks away his hands clenched by his side. He’s quick to untie your steed from the nearby tree.
“James.” You spoke again, louder this time. “I refuse to marry a man I do not love.” His hands still. The reins almost weigh them down. He doesn’t move, not a first. The rein hang from his fingers, his knuckles white around the leather. You can see the way his shoulders rise with sharp inhale, then fall again, heavier. Like your words have knocked the wind out of him.
“You don’t understand.” He says finally, voice low almost hoarse. “Your father doesn’t care who you love. He cares who strengthens his throne.” You step closer, the moss soft beneath your boots. “And what if I don’t want a throne without choosing who stands beside me.”
He turns and the look on his face nearly stops your heart. Theres longing there but also something deeper, something like grief. “Princess.” His voice cracks on the word. “Don’t make this harder.”
You shake your head. “I’m not trying to make it harder. I’m trying to make it honest.”
His jaw tightens. “Honesty gets people killed.”
“Then lie to the court.” You whisper, stepping close enough that your cloak brushes his. “Lie to my father. Lie to the whole damn kingdom if you must. But don’t lie to me.”
His breath stutters, you lift a hand, slow enough that he could pull away. He doesn’t. Your fingers graze his cheek, rough with scruff, warm from the heart of his skin. His eyes flutter shut like the touch hurts and heals him all at once.
“Tell me you don’t want me.” You say softly. “Tell me and ill stop.” His eyes open and the look in them is devastating. “I cant” he whispers.
Your heart leaps but before you can speak, he catches your wrist gently lowering your hand from his face.
“But wanting you doesn’t matter.” He says, voice trembling with the effort of restraint. “What matters is keeping you safe and if anyone saw what happened tonight…” He swallows hard. “They wouldn’t punish you, they’d punish me.”
You step closer anyway, stubborn. “Then let me protect you.” A humourless laugh escapes him. “You cant protect me form your father.”
“Warch me.”
He shakes his head but there’s a flick of something like hope in his eyes, “Princess.” He murmurs. “You’re going to be the death of me.”
You smile, soft and aching. “Then at least you wont die alone.” For a moment, one suspended, breathless moment, he looks like he might kiss you. His gaze drops to your lips, his hand lifting as if drawn by a force he can’t fight.
But then he stops himself, fingers curling into a fist. “We need to go.” He says, voice barely steady. “Before I do something we both cant take back.”
You nod, though your heart twists painfully. He helps you onto your horse without meeting your eyes, his touch careful and distant. Nothing like the man who you kissed minutes ago.
The castle feels colder the moment you step inside. The stone corridors swallow the warmth of the forest, replacing it with the familiar chill of duty. Servants bow as you pass, but you barely see them. Your mind is still in the clearing, still tasting the ghost of Bucky’s kiss.
You’re halfway to your chambers when a voice stops you.
“Where have you been.”
Your mother’s tone is soft, but the softness that means danger. The Queen stands at the stop of the staircase, hands folded neatly, expression carved from marble. You straighten instinctively. “Out riding.”
“At night?” Her brow arches. “You know how dangerous that is.”
You roll your eyes. “Mothe- “
She lifts a hand, silencing you. “We will discuss that later. Right now, we have a more pressing matter.”
You already know and dread coils in your chest.
“The suitors.” You say flatly.
“Yes.” She descends the stairs with the grace of someone who has ruled her entire life. “Three noble sons arrived today from the local kingdoms all strong alliances. All expecting an audience with you tomorrow.”
“I do not wish to entertain them.” You snap before you can stop yourself.
Her eyes narrow. “You do not have the luxury of wishing.” You clench your fists. “I Refuse to marry any of them.”
The Queen exhales slowly, as if summoning patience from the stone walls. “You are a princess. Your marriage is not a matter of romance. It is a matter of stability.”
“I do not care for stability.” You fire back. “I care about choosing my own life.”
“And I care about ensuring you have a life.” She counters sharply. “One that is safe. Protected. You think the world will bend for your heart. It will not.”
You step forward, voice rising. “I will not marry a stranger.”
“You will marry who strengthens this kingdom.”
“I won’t.”
Her expression hardens, not cruel but resolute. The look of a woman who has buried her own desires long ago.
“You are young.” She says quietly. “You believe love is enough. It is not. Love doesn’t not stop wars, love doesn’t not feed the people. Love does not keep you alive when enemies circle our borders.”
Your throat tightens. “Then what about your marriage? Did you love father?” A flicker crosser her face, something like pain.
“My feelings are irrelevant.” She speaks. “As yours must be.” You shake your head. voice trembling with anger. “I won’t be a pawn.”
“You already are,” she replies, not unkindly. “We all are.” Silence stretches between you, thick and suffocating. Then she steps closer, lowering her voice.
“You will meet the suitors tomorrow. You will smile. You will be gracious. And you will not embarrass this family.” You swallow hard. “And if I refuse?” Her jaw tightens. “Then your father will choose for you.”
Shaking your head, you turn, returning to your room. Heart pounding as Bucky’s face flashes in your mind.
The great hall is buzzing when you enter. Nobles murmuring, servants rushing, your father seated on his throne with the weight of a kingdom on his shoulders. Three suitors stand before him, each dressed in their country’s respected outfits. Each already imaging you as a prize to be claimed.
Your mother sits beside him, expression unreadable. You walk forward, chin high, heart pounding. “Ah.” Your father booms. “Our daughter joins us at last. We were just discussing the arrangements for- “
“I have a proposal.” You interrupt. The hall goes silent. Your mothers’ eyes widen just slightly. Your fathers’ brows lift. “A proposal.” He repeats. “You wish to choose now?”
“No” you say, voice steady. “I wish to choose properly.” A ripple of whispers spreads through the hall. You step forward, letting your gaze sweep across the suitors. All preening, all confident and all painfully unaware that none of them stand a chance.
“In our kingdom.” You begin. “Strength, skill, and honour are valued above all. If I am to marry, I want a man who proves he possesses all three.” Your father leans forward. “And how do you suggest he prove it?”
You take a breath.
“Through a competition.”
The suitors straighten, intrigued. Your mothers’ eyes narrow, as if she knows exactly what you’re doing.
You continue, voice ringing through the hall. “A test of skill. A challenge of archery. Each suitor will take aim at the target in the training grounds. The one who shoots truest will earn the right to court me.”
The hall erupts. Your father strokes his breath thoughtfully. “Archery, you say. A fitting test. You have always had a fondness for the bow.”
Your heart twists at the memory of Bucky’s hand guiding yours, his breath warm against your ear. Your father nods slowly. “If this is your wish, then so be it. Tomorrow at dawn, the suitors will compete, all are welcome to come and watch, let us make a day of it!”
You bow your head respectfully. “Thank you, Father.”
Your mother stands abruptly. “This is highly irregular,” she says sharply. “Princesses do not set challenges. They accept alliances.
“The king has agreed mother, a test it shall be.” You glared back at her. But as you turn to leave, your mother’s voice cuts through the hall.
“Daughter.” You pause. She steps closer, her voice low enough only you can hear. “You think this buys you freedom,” she murmurs. “But competitions have winners. And none of them will be the man you want.”
You swallow hard. “You do not know what I want.” As you walk from the hall, the suitors already boasting behind you, you catch sight of a familiar figure in the shadows near the doorway.
Bucky.
His eyes meet yours for a single heartbeat. Dark and unreadable. He heard everything. And for the first time since the kiss, you see something flicker across his face, something dangerously close to jealousy.
Dawn breaks gold over the training grounds, the air crisp enough to sting your lungs. The entire court has gathered, nobles in their finery, guards lining the perimeter, your father seated beneath a canopy of banners. The suitors stand proudly near the targets, each boasting loudly enough to be overheard.
You stand beside your mother, chin high expression carved from ice. But your eyes keep drifting. To the far edge of the grounds. Where bucky stands with the other hunters and rangers, arms crossed, jaw tight, gaze fixed anywhere but on you.
Your father rises, voice booming across the field. “Today, our suitors will prove their skill. The man who shoots truest shall earn the right to court the princess.”
A cheer rises from the crowd. You feel none of it. Your pulse is too bust tripping over itself as bucky finally looks at you. Just one glance, but it’s enough to steal your breath.
The first suitor steps forward. Lord Alistair of the Western Isles. Tall, handsome, terribly arrogant. He draws his bow with a flourish meant to impress the crowd. He releases. The arrow hits the outer ring of the target.
Polite applause comes from the crowd.
You do not clap, just smirk.
The second suitor, Sir Rowan of the Northern Marches, steps up next. Hes stronger, broader, Cleary trained. He draws, aims, fires.
The arrow lands closer to the canter. More applause.
You mother leans towards you. “A fine shot.”
You do not answer because bucky shifts his weight in the corner of your vision and your heart leaps like it recognizes him before your mind does.
The third suitor, Prince Dorian of the Eastern Court, steps forward with a smirk. He draws his bow with practiced ease. He fires.
The arrow lands dead centre. The crowd erupts.
Your father beams. “A perfect shot!”
Prince Dorian bows dramatically, eyes lingering on you with a smug confidence. Your stomach twists. Your father turns to you. “Well daughter? We have our victor.”
You do not speak as you stand, allowing your cloak to fall to the floor revealing your bow. Striding down the steps and onto the field. Gasps ripple through the crowd. The suitors stare offended and confused.
You hold up the bow, legs still moving, nocking an arrow with practiced ease. “Daughter.” Your mother snaps, stepping forward. “This is not your place- “
You draw.
“Do not loose that arrow!”
You release.
The arrow whistles through the air and slams into the first target. Bullseye. The crowd erupts. Your mothers face drains of colour. “Stop this at once!”
But you’re already grabbing another arrow, still moving. Drawing another arrow as you line up with the second target and fire. Bullseye.
Your mother shouts your name, furious, but you don’t stop. You’re breathless, exhilarated, alive in a way you haven’t felt since the forest.
You reach the third target and the same again. Prince Dorians perfect bullseye. You draw and fire. You arrow swirling though the air, landing directly through his arrows shaft, splitting it in half.
The crowd roar in shock and applause.
Finally, the last target. This one will be an arrow for yourself. You still, letting yourself breath for the first time since you made your way onto the field. You draw your bow, steadying your breath. The world narrows to the string against your fingers.
The tension in your shoulders, the target waiting. You release.
But something flashes in the corner of your eye. An arrow, but not yours.
It whistles past your cheek so close you feel the wind of it. Gasps explode through the crowd, your arrow hits the bullseye. The other arrow hits yours.
With such force that the shaft is driven straight through the centre of the target, buried so deep only the feathers at the end remain visible.
Silence falls.
Then slowly, heads turn.
Bucky stands at the far edge of the field, bow still raised, chest rising and falling with the force of the shot. His expression is unreadable.
Your father rises to his feet. Your mother looks like she might faint. The suitors look like they’ve swallowed their tongues and you can’t look away from him.
Bucky lowers his bow, eyes locked on yours across the field. A message in his gaze.
If you’re going to break the rules…
Ill break them with you…
The training grounds are chaos, the suitors are stunned, their father shouting, Your mother storming toward the king.
You froze staring at the target where your arrow and Bucky’s are fused together like fate itself.
Your father raises a hand, silencing the crowd.
“Hunter Barnes,” he says, voice booming, “step forward.” Bucky does steady, unflinching, bow still in hand. The suitors glare daggers at him. Your mother looks ready to order his execution on the spot.
Your father studies him with a hard, assessing gaze. “You overstep,” the king says. “This competition was not for you.”
Bucky bows his head. “I know, Your Majesty.”
“Then why interfere?”
Bucky lifts his eyes and they flick to you for the briefest heartbeat before returning to the king. “Because the princess deserves a man who can protect her.” A ripple moves through the crowd.
Your father’s jaw tightens. “These men are nobles. Warriors. Princes. They are more than capable.”
“With respect,” Bucky says quietly, “I’ve seen them shoot, we all have. “A few nobles gasp.
“I’ve watched your daughter,” he says. “I’ve watched her ride into storms without fear. I’ve watched her draw a bow with more skill than half your guard. I’ve watched her stand her ground when others would run.”
Your breath catches. “And I’ve protected her,” Bucky adds, voice low. “Every day. Every night. Long before any of these men knew her name.”
Your mother steps forward sharply. “You forget your place-““No,” Bucky says, turning to her with surprising calm. “I know my place better than anyone.”
He faces the king again. “I am a hunter. A commoner. I have no title. No lands. Nothing to offer but my loyalty and my life.” The king’s expression softens.
“But” Bucky continues, “I also know this: if the princess must marry a man who can keep her safe… then there is no one in this kingdom more suited than me.”
The crowd murmurs.
Your father leans back, studying him with new eyes. “And what makes you think,” the king asks slowly, “that you could ever be considered a suitable match for a princess?”
Bucky doesn’t hesitate.
“Because I love her.”
The world stops and you feel your heart break open. Bucky keeps going, voice steady even as his hands tremble. “I have loved her quietly. Respectfully. From a distance. I never intended to speak it. I never intended to act on it. But today” He glances at the target, at the arrow he buried through yours. “Today made it clear that silence is no longer enough.”
Your father’s face is unreadable.
Bucky steps closer, dropping to one knee, not in submission, but in solemn honesty. “I cannot offer her a crown,” he says. “But I can offer her a life. One where she is seen. Protected. Respected. Loved without condition.”
He bows his head. “And if that is not enough… then I will walk away. I will leave this castle, this kingdom, and never speak her name again.” Your breath catches painfully.
“But if skill is the measure,” Bucky finishes, “then let today’s arrows speak for me.” Silence.
The training grounds are silent. Bucky kneels before the king, head bowed, his confession still hanging in the air like blade suspended by a thread.
Your father studies Bucky with the expression of a man weighing kingdoms. Finally, he speaks.
The king steps closer, circling him like a general assessing a soldier. “You are bold,” he says. “Too bold.” Bucky doesn’t flinch. “I speak only the truth.”
“And you risk your life doing so.”
“I know.” Your father stops in front of him. “You love my daughter.”
“Yes, Your Majesty.”
“And you believe yourself worthy of her.” Bucky hesitates not out of doubt, but out of humility.
“I believe,” he says quietly, “that worth is proven, not inherited.”
A murmur ripples through the crowd. Your father’s eyes flick to the target the arrow Bucky drove through yours, buried so deep the feathers are the only thing visible. Then he looks at you.
You’re standing frozen, breath caught in your chest, heart pounding so hard you feel it in your fingertips. Your father sees everything.
He turns back to Bucky.
“You have protected her for years.”
“Yes, Your Majesty.”
“You have trained her.”
“Yes.”
“You have risked your life for her.”
“Always.”
“And you would continue to do so?”
Bucky’s voice is steady, unwavering. “Until my last breath.” Your mother steps forward sharply. “My king, this is madness” But your father lifts a hand, silencing her.
He looks at Bucky again. “You are not a noble. You have no lands. No title. No political value.” Bucky nods. “I know.” “But,” the king continues, “you have something far rarer.”
The crowd leans in. “Loyalty. Skill. Honor. And a devotion I have not seen in any man who has come to court her.”
Your mother inhales sharply. The suitors erupt in protest. But the king raises his voice, drowning them out.
“If my daughter is to marry,” he says, “she will marry a man who can protect her. A man who sees her strength. A man who does not fear her fire.” He turns fully to Bucky. “And you, Hunter Barnes… have proven that man today.”
The crowd gasps. Your heart stops. Your mother whispers, “No…” Your father lifts his chin. “I will not forbid this match.”
You exhale a breath you didn’t realize you were holding, Bucky’s eyes snap to yours.
The king’s words are still echoing across the training grounds when the crowd erupts, your mother arguing with the king in furious whispers. But none of it touches you.
Because Bucky is standing there, stunned, chest rising and falling like he’s just survived a battle he never expected to win.
And you move. You run. Your skirts gather in your fists, boots pounding across the dirt, heart hammering so hard it feels like it might burst out of your chest.
Bucky sees you coming. His eyes widen, not with fear, not with hesitation, but with something raw and unguarded. Something he’s never allowed himself to show in public.
You reach him and crash into him with all the force of everything you’ve held back for years.
He catches you instantly. His arms wrap around you, strong and sure, lifting you off your feet for a heartbeat before he sets you down again, but he doesn’t let go.
Not this time.
Not now that he’s allowed to hold you. A sob ripped through you “You risked everything.”
He shakes his head. “Id risk more.” Bring one hand to your cheek, the other still holding your waist. “I don’t know what happens next.” You rest your forehead on his. “We face it together.”
He captures your lips in a kiss. “Together.” He echoes, holding you close.
pairing: dad's bestfriend!cowboy!stucky x f!reader
warnings: 18+ NSFW, smut, angst, fluff, arguments, violence, jealousy, alcohol, one-sided enemies to lovers (grumpy!bucky), age gap, rough and mean sex, oral m!receiving, hair pulling, stucky homoeroticism, cucking, hair pulling, breeding kink, dirty talk (trickles into taboo undertones, you've been warned.) pet names: "baby doll, sweetheart, buttercup, darlin'"
word count: 20k
masterlist
a/n: reads similar to my farmer!stucky fic. and just like farmer!stucky, it kind of ends a little dark, so be warned.
synopsis:
Eager to travel the world after college, your father decides to step in and choose the countryside as your reluctant first destination. He's concerned for your safety, so he arranges two very close friends to watch over you as you set out on your new journey.
Rogers and Barnes,
How are you two doing? It’s been a long time since we last saw each other. Don’t even bother asking how things are over here in the city. I’m surrounded by people younger than me, dressed in suits and ties, commanding me around. Can you imagine how insulting that is for us men nearing forty? Hell, I miss sitting in the front yard of the old house, jamming on our guitars and banjos. I miss that connection. You can’t find anything like that in the city.
Anyway, let me get to the point. You remember my daughter, right? It’s been years since you folks saw her. Since she graduated college, she’s dying to ‘travel the world’ before falling into the hands of corporate life like her old man. She’s growing up too fast, I’ll tell ya.
She came up to me one day and said, “Dad, I wanna travel the world. I wanna go to Europe!” You can imagine the smile on my face. I told her, “Well, if you wanna start traveling, how about you play it safe and start in the States? The countryside, for example. I know a place you can stay. You remember Uncle Steve and Uncle Bucky?” She just scrunched her nose, shook her head, and said, “Nope!”
I know this is a little last minute, but the girl started packing her bags and hopped on a flight before I could give her the full rundown or even ask for your permission. Be careful when you have kids of your own—especially daughters.
I gave her your guys’ address, and she said she’ll be showing up at your front door this weekend. I tried to stop her, but once she starts running, it’s impossible to catch up. Especially when you’re getting older each day. I’m sure you two understand.
I worry about her, and I trust you two with my life. I ask that you folks give her the experience we had when we were younger and carefree.
Show her the life I’m missing out on by being stuck here.
Thanks, guys.
Take care of my little girl.
Bucky scoffed at the letter, gripping it tightly in his calloused, dirty hands. “Are you kiddin’ me?”
Steve entered through the front door, kicking off his heavy leather boots and pulling off his gloves. “What is it, Buck?” he huffed, nodding to the piece of paper. “What’s that in your hand?”
Bucky didn’t glance up. He took a sip of his beer and held the letter over his shoulder.
“You remember Crazy Clyde?” Bucky said with a satisfied exhale. “He sent us a letter—askin’ us to look over his daughter.”
Steve furrowed his brows. He hadn’t heard that name in a long time, much less anything recent about his daughter. “Crazy Clyde?”
The funny part was, Clyde wasn’t even your father’s real name. It was a nickname given to him back when he was growing up in the country alongside Steve and Bucky. The name spoke for itself—he was a shit talker who ran his mouth across half the damn town. It was even worse when he was drunk. “Clyde” only came after because it rang well together, and country folks loved stringing words together, especially when it came to insults.
Steve grabbed the letter, removing his cowboy hat and setting it on the table. His blue eyes raked over the words, his brows pinching together more and more until he reached the very bottom.
“Hell,” he breathed. “When did you get this?”
“Just got it in the mail today,” Bucky explained.
“Christ,” Steve shook his head, rereading the letter as if the ink might change. “Those damn mail carriers. Always takes long as shit.”
Both men wore unpleasant looks on their worn and aged faces. Their day had been tiresome, leaving their muscles aching for any form of relief. Now here they were, standing in a home that was in absolutely no position to be hospitable to a girl they hadn’t seen in over a decade—the daughter of an old friend they hadn’t spoken to in months.
“‘A little last minute,’” Bucky repeated the words on the letter with a bitter scoff, taking another sip of his cold beer. “Talk about an understatement.”
“Buck,” Steve finally set the paper down, hovering over his seated friend. “Crazy Clyde said his daughter would be droppin’ in this weekend.” He gulped, staring his friend dead in the eye as they reached a silent, mutual realization.
“Today is—”
“—Saturday,” Bucky finished.
For a minute, silence took up their space. They looked around their home, taking in the state of it; the couch barely standing on its wooden support beams, the beer and juice stains circling the dining table, and their dirty boots and gloves sprawled across the entrance. To top it all off, they had a mounted deer head hung on the wall that would likely send any city girl running home in tears.
“Hell,” Steve breathed, looking around the room in defeat. “Maybe she’ll come by tomorrow.”
“Either way,” Bucky interrupted, running a tired hand down his face. “We don’t have the time, the energy, or the livin’ space to just… let someone stay with us.”
Steve let out a heavy, frustrated sigh, the sound vibrating deep in his broad chest. He looked at the cramped quarters, then back at Bucky’s exhausted expression, and finally gave a sharp, reluctant nod in agreement.
“Alright,” Steve huffed, rubbing the back of his neck. “But let’s say… she actually shows up on our doorstep. What do we even say to her?”
Bucky leaned back, his chair creaking as he folded his arms over his chest, staring up at his best friend. “Then we tell her, ‘Sorry, kid. Your daddy gave us late notice and we aren’t fit to babysit while you ‘explore’ the countryside. How about you try Italy instead?’”
“That’s cold, Buck.”
“No,” Bucky cut him off, slamming his beer down on the table and standing up. “You know what’s cold, Stevie? A man who hasn’t spoken to us in years and only sendin’ us a letter when he needs a favor. The city made him soft and spoiled. I bet he raised that daughter of his a spoiled brat, too.”
Steve rolled his eyes. If there was one thing he knew about Bucky, it was that his friend was fiercely protective—possessive, even—of the things he loved. Bucky didn’t do well with interlopers. For their entire lives, it had been just the two of them, and the whole town knew it.
When Sam Wilson first moved to town and Steve started befriending the kind fella, Bucky had been like a territorial cat—hissing and hair standing up every time Sam’s name was mentioned, or if the man was even breathing the same air as Steve.
It was only after months of knowing each other that Sam and Bucky finally became close.
But other than that, Bucky believed anyone outside their usual circle had bad intentions, like they were trying to tear the two of them apart. What they had was a rare, productive, and close partnership that always got the dirty work done—a friendship you’d never find anywhere else.
And with you coming into town—well, in Bucky’s mind, that was going to ruin everything.
Steve let out a deep sigh. “You know what? Fine,” he said with a shrug.
It was already Saturday—and the chances of you arriving ‘this weekend’ were already cutting it short. For all they knew, you’d chickened out and weren’t going to show up at all.
“If this lady shows up on our doorstep, we’ll just turn her down and send her the other way. Happy?”
The corner of Bucky’s lip twitched into the slightest smirk, though he tried to hide it. He just ran his tongue over his teeth beneath his lips and gave a sharp nod.
“Glad we can come to an agreement.”
Steve couldn’t help but grin at his friend’s reaction. He reached for his cowboy hat, settling it over his head and giving Bucky’s shoulder a firm pat. “Enough bickerin’ about ‘what-ifs.’ The horsies need feedin’.”
As Steve approached the front door, Bucky grabbed his own cowboy hat from the hanger and adjusted it over his head. Steve reached for the knob, and as he swung the door wide, ready to breathe in the cool country air, the sight on the other side made the air leave his lungs instead.
There you stood, your hand frozen mid-air, knuckles inches away from where the wood had been just a second ago.
You looked like a fever dream against the backdrop of the dusty porch and green fields. You were wearing designer clothes that probably cost more than their truck and shoes that were never meant for gravel, with a mountain of expensive luggage flanking your sides.
Steve stood there frozen, his large frame filling the doorway. His eyes raked over you with disbelief and something warm… like a sudden, simmering heat building in his groin at the sight of a beautiful woman—
“Who the hell are you?” Bucky’s gruff voice rang out from behind him.
Your face, bewildered at the sight of the two burly, older men in front of you, softened slightly as you smiled despite the rude introduction.
“Uncle Steve, Uncle Bucky,” you breathed, letting your hand fall to extend a polite greeting. “It’s nice to see you guys again!”
You forced a polite, cheerful tone, though the words leaving your lips were a lie and a half. Calling these two men ‘Uncle’—men you hadn’t seen since you could barely speak—felt entirely foreign on your lips.
When your father brought up the idea of you staying in the countryside, he spoke of Steve Rogers and James Barnes with such wonder in his eyes. You were pretty sure you’d never even seen him talk about your own mother the way he did those two.
He’d shown you photographs from their golden days, and they were ridiculously handsome. Your father told you James—who went by Bucky—was the local ladies’ man, and his looks certainly proved it. Steve had been smaller then, thinner, but still just as good looking.
That’s who you expected to see standing on this porch. Instead, you were face to face with walls of muscle hidden beneath dirty denim, heavy boots, and cowboy hats. They were older—much older than the two boys in the photos.
They both wore thick facial hair now. Steve’s was dense, with blonde hair curling at the nape of his neck and blue eyes that looked visibly tired and stern. Bucky had salt and pepper peeking through his stubble. His hair was shorter than Steve’s, and his eyes were much more guarded—agitated, almost.
Bucky’s arms were folded tightly over his chest as he glared down at you like you were some common solicitor.
You swallowed hard, averting your eyes from Bucky’s rude gaze to meet Steve’s—who looked far more approachable and kind, if only by comparison.
“You guys are my father’s friends, right? I hope you got the letter letting you know that I'm…”
Bucky nudged Steve hard in the arm, as if trying to signal him for something.
You frowned, your voice trailing off. “…staying here.”
Steve straightened up as if snapping out of a daydream, not sparing Bucky a single glance. “Uh, yes. Right,” he grunted. “We got the letter, darlin’.”
You beamed, a smile spreading across your features. “Great! Um,” you stood on your tiptoes, trying to peek over that wall of broad shoulders and into the house. “Where should I put my stuff—?”
But Bucky stepped forward, propping one arm high against the doorframe, leaning down at you as he blocked your view and path.
“Sorry, kid,” Bucky grunted, though he didn’t sound sorry at all.
“Your daddy gave us a late notice, and we aren’t fit to babysit while you ‘xplore the countryside.” He shot Steve a look, his next question coming out with a harsh bite. “How ‘bout you try Paris instead?”
Steve just grinned, glancing at Bucky before stepping aside to let you in anyway. “I thought the suggestion was Italy, Buck?”
You could’ve sworn you heard Bucky mutter a litany of curses under his breath, but Steve paid him no mind. He leaned down, grabbing two suitcases at a time as if they weighed nothing, and hauled them into the living room.
“Come on, Buck,” Steve called back. “Help the little lady out.”
Bucky stayed against the doorframe for a second longer. The height difference was dizzying. You had to tilt your head back, straining the column of your neck just to meet his eyes beneath the shadow of his cowboy hat.
He didn’t look like a family friend at all.
He looked like a stormy, grumpy, old raincloud.
Your dad was actually friends with this guy?
After a few more curses, Bucky finally pushed himself off the wall and he moved with a begrudging pace, stepping deep into your personal space to snatch up the remaining bags. He didn’t just take them—he jerked them off the porch as if they were an inconvenience.
As he straightened up, his broad chest nearly brushed your shoulder. The scent of cedar, tobacco, and old leather hit you all at once, making your nose scrunch up. He cut his eyes down at you, giving you one last glare that essentially promised your stay wouldn’t be a vacation.
“Thank you—” you started, the words small and tentative.
Bucky didn’t even let you finish. He let out a grumpy, unintelligible grunt, turned his back on you, and hauled the luggage inside.
Steve set the heavy suitcases onto the floorboards, sending dust particles dancing in the shafts of sunlight cutting through the windows.
He straightened up, but before he could even offer you a tour, Bucky’s hand clamped onto his shoulder.
“Steve,” Bucky’s voice was low and dangerous. “A word. Now.”
Steve didn’t look surprised—he just looked tired. He gave you a warm, apologetic look that crinkled the corners of his eyes. “Make yourself at home, darlin’. Use the water filter if you’re thirsty. We’ll be back in a second.”
Bucky’s entire face contorted into a grimace at the ‘darlin’’ comment. It was a good thing the brim of his hat shielded most of his expression. He hooked his fingers into the back of Steve’s jacket and hauled him toward the narrow hallway. You watched as Steve practically got dragged around the corner, a startled little “Oof!” escaping his lips as Bucky pulled him out of view.
You were left standing in the middle of the living room, feeling unwelcome and entirely out of place.
When your father spoke of these two, he made them sound like friendly, caring men—which had only fueled your excitement for the beginnings of your trip.
But now, standing there and staring up at a mounted deer head in the center of the wall, you were starting to wonder if this was a massive mistake after all.
“Steve, are you shittin’ me right now?” Bucky hissed just around the corner. “Whatever happened to ‘if this lady shows up on our doorstep, we’ll just turn her down and send her the other way’?”
“Come on.” Steve rested both hands on his hips, giving his friend a scolding look. “The girl traveled all this way just to see us.”
“Not us,” Bucky corrected sharply. “She wanted to visit the town.”
Steve continued anyway, ignoring the bite in Bucky’s tone. “She’s only goin’ to be here for—what? A couple of days? We can at least manage that, Bucky.”
Bucky shook his head in disbelief, his hand coming up to grip the back of his neck. “I can't believe this. Where is she even going to sleep, Steve? On that couch? It can barely hold the two of us for a Sunday beer, let alone a princess for a week.”
“Your room,” Steve said flatly.
Bucky’s eyes practically bulged out of his head. He stepped closer, his voice dropping to a vibrating growl. “My room? Are you outta’ your goddamn mind? Where the hell am I supposed to go?”
“You can sleep in mine. My bed is big enough for both of us, and far comfier than yours anyway.” Steve watched Bucky’s face carefully, a trace of a smirk playing on his lips. “Technically, I’m doin’ you a favor.”
Bucky opened his mouth to argue—to tell Steve exactly where he could shove his ‘favor’—but the words died in a frustrated, incoherent mumble.
A heavy silence fell between them. Then, they both leaned out slightly, glancing back toward the living room where you were still standing, looking small and out of place beneath that mounted deer head.
Steve’s gaze softened, his expression turning thoughtful.
“She’s a real beauty, ain’t she?” Steve murmured, his voice turning almost fond. “She’s all grown up now.”
It was a miracle you couldn’t feel the daggers Bucky was glaring into your back. His jaw clenched at Steve’s words, though he didn’t deny it entirely.
“She’s trouble, Steve. That’s what she is.”
“Buck,” Steve turned to him, his voice dropping slightly. “She’s just a girl with dreams bigger than her own head. Her father chose us, even if it’s been,” he blew raspberries, “years since he reached out properly. He was a close friend before he moved away. He did a lot for us—the least we can do is this.”
Bucky shifted his boots uncomfortably, his gaze lingering back on you for a moment longer than he intended. Through the gap in the hallway, he watched as you reached out a hesitant hand to touch the worn fabric of an old armchair, your eyes wide and glassy with wonder.
It was the same look he and Steve used to have back in the day—when the world felt big and full of promise, before the years had weathered them down.
You looked so innocent, completely untainted, and for some reason—especially knowing you were his close friend’s daughter—it was a look he wanted to protect. Though he would never admit it aloud.
He let out a long, heavy sigh, looking down at his boots before meeting Steve’s eyes again.
“Fine,” Bucky rasped, the word barely more than a growl. “But if she breaks somethin’—or if she starts actin’ like a spoiled little brat, I ain’t the one who’s gonna be gentle ‘bout it.”
“Hey,” Steve warned, though he couldn’t help the smile on his lips. “Play nice.”
“You want me to play nice?” Bucky huffed, already turning away. “I’ll show you how I play nice.”
He adjusted his hat, squared his shoulders, and stepped back into the living room. The floorboards creaked under his heavy boots, announcing his return.
“Alright, princess,” Bucky grumbled, his voice startling you as he marched toward your luggage. “Ain’t no five-star fancy hotel, and your tour guide ain’t like the young ones you see in the magazines.” He groaned, hoisting two of your suitcases. “Follow me. I’ll show you where you’re gonna be stayin’ before I change my mind.”
You blinked, not fully processing Bucky’s words until he was already halfway down the hall. He stopped, looking over his shoulder when he realized you weren’t following him.
“Well?” he huffed, his forehead wrinkling as he glared at you. “You comin’? Or do you need me to carry you, too?”
You quickly forced yourself off the couch, the floorboards creaking as your footsteps caught up to him. He let out a grunt of approval and turned back around, leading you toward the bedrooms. Your eyes couldn’t help but trace the broadness of Bucky’s shoulders from behind. He sauntered in front of you, his forearms flexed and straining with the weight of your suitcases.
Despite all his grumpiness, he was an undeniably strong, capable, and handsome man.
So, how could you not stare?
You nearly bumped into him when he came to an abrupt stop in front of a closed door. Setting one of the suitcases down, he turned the knob and pushed the door open.
Stepping inside, it didn’t take long to realize this was Bucky’s personal space.
The bed was covered in dark blue plaid sheets that had been left unmade. Drawers were cracked open with clothes and socks peeking out. The room carried a scent that was uniquely Bucky—heavy on the masculine notes of cedarwood and worn leather.
“Well, this is it,” Bucky announced, stepping inside and dropping your suitcases in the middle of the floor.
“Your room?” you frowned, following him and taking in the rustic surroundings. “My dad told me you guys had a big family house. I… I thought I’d be staying in a guest room or something. Not one of your own bedrooms…”
“Yeah, well—your old man’s memory’s all fucked up,” Bucky grumbled, leaning against the wall and crossing his arms.
You bit your lower lip as guilt started to eat at you. You were a woman who prided herself on making good first impressions—a trait your father had drilled into you early. In the city, a good impression meant more connections, and connections meant moving up in the world. It was a survival tactic back home.
With that in mind, the way Bucky was deliberately avoiding your gaze killed you inside.
“I’m sorry—”
But before you could fully express your apology, Steve’s heavy footsteps sounded behind you. He propped an arm against the doorframe, grinning broadly.
“Don’t get too comfortable in here just yet,” Steve said, clearly trying to lighten the tense mood. “You wanted a taste of the countryside, right? Let’s go show you the rest of it.”
To say you wanted a taste of the countryside was a bit of a stretch—your father had only agreed to let you travel if you started here first. With Bucky’s gaze still digging daggers into your back, you felt hesitant, but Steve was so warm, his smile so genuine, that you were grateful for him extending a grapevine.
“You know what? Sure, that sounds nice,” you said, forcing a smile before turning back to Bucky. “Will you be coming?”
“Waste my energy walkin’ around a place I’ve seen a million times just ‘cause a pretty girl shows up on my doorstep?” Bucky looked down at his nails, deciding they were far more interesting than you. “No thanks.”
“Don’t mind him,” Steve leaned in close, offering a small, reassuring smile. “He’s all bark, no bite. He’ll come around.”
With a gentle hand hovering near your lower back, he guided you out of the bedroom and away from Bucky’s brooding presence. Steve walked you through the rest of the rustic home, pointing out the bathroom—a simple but clean space with a clawfoot tub.
“Shower’s right through there,” he noted, gesturing to the brass fixtures. “Water takes a minute to get hot, but once it does, it’ll practically peel your skin off, so be careful.”
Next was the kitchen, which felt like the heart of the house with its cast-iron pans and the scent of bitter coffee. A small, round wooden table sat in the middle with only two chairs. It was clear they weren’t used to company; the house was built for the two of them and them alone. Steve paused at the table, eyeing the two chairs before letting out a small huff of a laugh.
“We don’t have another dinin’ chair, so I hope you don’t mind sittin’ on one of our laps.”
Your face immediately flushed as the words registered. “W-what—?”
“I’m just messin’ around, buttercup,” Steve snickered, though it didn’t sound much like a joke.
Finally, he led you out onto the wide, wraparound porch. Several chairs and comfy benches were scattered about, far more accommodating than the seating inside.
“This is where we gather ‘round, bring some folks over and play some tunes,” Steve explained, gesturing to the seats.
You raised a brow. “You guys play instruments?”
“Guitar,” Steve said, adjusting his hat. “And Bucky plays the harmonica.”
The guitar was fitting for Steve, but you couldn’t help but giggle at the image of a man as grumpy as Bucky Barnes whipping out a harmonica and going to town. Steve’s grin widened at the sound of your laughter.
“You’re gigglin’ now, but just watch,” he pointed a finger at you jokingly. “He’s quite the player. We’ll have to show you sometime.”
Now that you could stand on the porch without the chaos of hauling luggage, the view was absolutely breathtaking. Vast, rolling green fields seemed to touch the sky, turning golden in the afternoon sun. Steve glanced down at you, taking in the way you stared into the distance, your eyes wide and full of wonder as a soft “Wow” escaped your lips.
“Beautiful, ain’t it?” Steve smiled, sweeping a hand toward the horizon as you stepped into the front yard. “No skyscrapers to block the view, and the only neighbors you’ll hear are the chickens, the cattle, and the horses.”
“It’s beautiful,” you murmured, letting the fresh air fill your lungs in a way city air never could. “It’s different, but it’s beautiful.”
Steve turned, his smile softening as he caught sight of you. With the afternoon sun hitting you just right—with the soft wind blowing in your hair and the sunlight and catching the gleam in your eyes—he seemed to find you much more interesting than the landscape.
To Steve, you were absolutely breathtaking. He knew that if your father were here right now, he’d slap him silly for the way he was staring, let alone for the impure thoughts running through his mind. He cleared his throat, trying to shake the filthy, mental images running through his old mind for a girl who’s more than half his age.
“I’m glad you think so.”
He began walking you toward the side of the house, leading you to a sprawling, well-tended garden and a series of larger fields beyond. “Over here is where we grow most of our own. Corn, beans, squash... and I’ve got a patch of tomatoes that’ll be the best thing you ever tasted once they’re ripe.”
You’d always thought the farmers' markets in the city square were the closest you’d get to whole foods, but this was entirely different.
Steve reached down, casually plucking a stray weed from the edge of a row with a grunt. “Bucky’s the muscle when it comes to the heavy tillin’, but I’m the one with the green thumb. I’m a damn good cook, too, if I do say so myself.”
He stood up, dusting his hands off on his dirty denim jeans as he gave you a playful, confident look. “I’ll have to whip somethin’ up for you one of these nights you’re here. Show you what real farm-to-table food actually tastes like.”
You looked at the vastness of the crops, realizing just how much work these two put in with their own very large hands. “You really do everything yourselves, don’t you?”
“That’s the only right way to do it, baby,” Steve drawled, planting his hands on his hips as his smirk deepened.
Baby.
The word rolled off his tongue—low, honeyed, and thick with a southern accent that made your heart skip a beat. You felt the heat climb into your cheeks, and you quickly looked down at your shoes, suddenly feeling too shy to maintain his gaze.
A little, raspy chuckle escaped his lips. He knew exactly what he was doing.
“Let me show you the horses,” Steve said, nodding toward the stables and gesturing for you to follow. “Don’t wanna keep ‘em waitin’ now.”
He led you toward the stables, where the heavy, earthy scent of hay and horsehide hit you all at once. It was a thick, unfamiliar smell, and you couldn’t help but scrunch your nose.
Steve noticed, glancing over his shoulder with an amused chuckle. “Not exactly the perfume you’re used to, is it?” He gestured toward the wide, shadowed stalls. “This is where we keep our beauties—”
Steve stopped in his tracks as he realized you guys weren’t alone.
Bucky was deep in the shadows of the furthest stall. His hat was tipped back, and his sleeves were rolled past his elbows to reveal beefy, corded forearms as he brushed down a massive, coal-black mare. The horse huffed, leaning into his touch, and for a split second, you saw a flicker of softness in Bucky’s eyes.
It was clearly a side he didn’t want you to see, because as soon as he heard your footsteps, his head snapped to you with a cold glare.
His jaw tightened, and his movements with the brush grew sharper, almost more aggressive.
“What’re you doin’ here?” Bucky grumbled, his eyes returning to the horse.
You bit your lip, choosing your words carefully to not upset him further. “Uncle Steve just wanted to show me around—I didn’t mean to bother you, Uncle Bucky.”
“Don’t call us uncle, kid,” Bucky snapped, still refusing to look at you. “We haven’t seen you since you were in diapers. We ain’t family.”
You flinched slightly at his cold words.
“Buck,” Steve warned, his voice dropping as he rested a protective hand on your shoulder.
Bucky finally looked at you. His eyes landed on Steve’s hand before snapping back to your face. He clicked his tongue dismissively and went back to tending his horse.
A slow, tired exhale escaped Steve behind you. With his hand still on you, he gently nudged you to the next stall, where a horse with a beautiful chestnut mane and the softest brown eyes was watching you curiously.
“This right here is my horse,” Steve said. His voice was much softer now, a far difference to the tone he’d used with Bucky just seconds ago.
You finally let out the breath you’d been holding since Bucky told you off. A small, shy smile tugged at your lips as the horse huffed a warm greeting against your palm. “She’s beautiful.”
“Her name’s Peggy.”
A loud, unmistakable scoff echoed from the far end of the barn where Bucky stood. He didn’t say a word, but the sound was enough to let you know there was a history with that name you didn’t quite understand yet.
Steve ignored Bucky’s attitude entirely, his focus remaining solely on you. Peggy, sensing your gentle energy, let out a soft whuff and began nuzzling her velvet nose against your palm, rubbing her head into your hand with an affectionate push.
You let out a startled, breathless giggle. Back home, you were used to lap dogs and small cats—not a thousand pound animal demanding your attention. You weren’t used to something so large being so friendly, and you instinctively pulled your hand away, stumbling back half a step when the sensation became overwhelming.
“Be a good girl now, Peg,” Steve murmured to the horse, though his eyes never left you. “You’re scarin’ the misses.”
Before you could fully retreat, Steve’s large, rough hand moved from your shoulder to your waist. His grip was firm and steadying, pinning you right where you were between the stall and his body. He stepped closer until his chest was a solid, warm wall against your back.
He leaned down over your shoulder, his face so close you could feel his heat. You swallowed hard as his voice came out raspy and hot, vibrating right against your ear.
“Wouldya look at that? She loves you.”
The heat from Steve’s chest was seeping through your clothes, and your gaze dropped to his hands. They were huge, his tanned, calloused fingers practically wrapping halfway around your waist, holding you in place almost possessively.
You felt like you were on fire. Being pinned between a massive horse and an even more massive man had your heart running circles in your chest.
But then, your eyes drifted just past Steve’s shoulder.
At the far end of the stable, the shadows couldn’t hide Bucky, no matter how hard he tried to tuck himself away.
His jaw was clenched so tight the muscle bulged in his cheek, and his knuckles were white where he gripped the handle of the brush. He looked beyond grumpy—he looked almost livid. His dark eyes were hidden beneath the brim of his hat, but you could still feel them boring into the exact spot where Steve’s hand met your hip.
“Can I… can I meet your horse too, Bucky?” you asked, your voice coming out soft and breathy.
The silence that followed was deafening. You nearly regretted the question the moment it left your mouth. Steve went still, hovering just behind you as he, too, waited for Bucky’s response.
Eventually, Bucky huffed out a harsh, dry laugh. “My horse don’t like strangers,” he murmured. “’specially ones that smell like expensive city soap. It’ll just aggravate her.”
“I’m sure she’s not that picky,” you said, forcing a small smile in an attempt to crack his shell.
Despite the safety of Steve’s hand and chest, you took a breath as you gently ducked out of the way. You could feel Steve’s eyes on you as you took a step toward the far end of the stall.
Bucky didn’t push you away, which was a surprise in itself. Instead, he just mumbled, “If she bites, I’m not suckin’ on your finger.”
You didn’t doubt him for a second.
As you drew closer, the massive black mare—the one Bucky claimed was so ‘aggravated’ by city folk—perked her ears up. She didn’t huff or stomp. She stretched her long neck over the gate, her nostrils flared as she caught the scent of you. Before Bucky could tell you to leave, the mare let out a low, vibrating nuzzle against your shoulder.
“Oh!” a small, genuine laugh of disbelief escaped you. “She likes my soap, apparently!”
Bucky stood still, his eyes widening as he watched his beloved horse befriend a stranger in a matter of seconds. He folded his arms over his chest, watching your delicate fingers work through the mare’s dark mane.
He watched the way your small smile lit up your face, the pure joy that took over once you’d won the animal’s affection. His heart swelled, though he couldn’t tell if it was because of how soft and innocent you looked or because his horse was being such a good girl by opening up so easily.
For the sake of his blood pressure, he chose the latter.
But then, the mare got a little too excited. Eager for more attention, she tossed her heavy head and snapped her teeth toward your fingers, catching you off guard.
As you gasped, Bucky’s hand shot out. His fingers—rough and surprisingly warm—grabbed around your wrist, pulling your hand back toward his chest and out of harm’s way.
“Easy, girl,” he cooed.
If someone were to touch your face right now, they would’ve pulled back from the heat alone.
His voice wasn’t the usual grumpy mumble he used to tell you off. It was a low, almost melodic vibration. And although he wasn’t speaking to you, your heart thrummed just the same. His thumb brushed against the pulse point of your wrist, and he could surely feel how fast your heart was moving because of him.
“She’s got a bit of a temper when she’s happy,” Bucky explained, finally dropping your hand.
You frowned slightly, feeling a pang of disappointment at the loss of contact. To Bucky, however, it looked like you were just shaken from nearly losing a finger.
“What’s her name?” you asked softly.
Bucky swallowed hard, reaching out to pet the mare’s nose. “Rebecca. Named after my late sister.”
“Oh,” you breathed, your shoulders deflating slightly at the news. “I’m so sorry, Bucky. It’s a beautiful name.”
Bucky didn’t look at you. He just kept his hand on Rebecca’s nose, his thumb tracing a slow circle over her skin.
“Do you guys have family that live nearby?” you pried gently, glancing between him and Steve, who was stepping up beside you. “Or is it just the two of you out here?”
“Just us now,” Steve said, his voice gentle. “Our folks passed on a good while back, but they were the ones who started all this.”
He gestured to the sturdy beams of the barn and the fields beyond. “Our parents were best friends, just like us. Raised us side-by-side on this very dirt. Sarah and Winnie—those were our mothers.”
A small, almost shy smile touched Steve’s lips as he looked at the garden rows outside the stable door. “My ma, Sarah, she was the one with the green thumb. Always takin’ care of the crops, talkin’ to the tomatoes like they were her own kin. Pretty sure I got my patience from her.”
He then nudged his head towards Bucky.
“And Buck’s mom, Winnie?” he whistled, making Bucky shake his head with a deep chuckle. “She was a horse girl through and through. Could break a wild stallion before she even had her morning coffee. She’s the one who taught us how to ride—and how to listen to ‘em. Ain’t that right, Bucky?”
Bucky looked down at his boots, the brim of his hat casting a shadow over his eyes, but you still managed to catch a glimpse of that real smile tugging at his lips.
“Yeah. She was a hardass, that’s for sure,” Bucky nodded, his voice surprisingly soft. “Was hard on your dad, too.”
You smiled at the thought. The few times they had brought up your father today, it was always a petty remark.
“Were you and my dad close?” you asked gently.
Steve watched Bucky, his expression unreadable, as if waiting for his friend to take the lead on the answer. When Bucky remained quiet, his thumb still tracing circles on the mare’s nose, Steve finally spoke up.
“We were very good friends,” he explained with a kind, steady smile.
Before you could dwell on their tension or press for more, Steve clapped his hands together. The sharp sound made you jump and caused Bucky to snap his head up.
“Well, how ‘bout it?” Steve asked, hooking his thumbs into his belt loops. “Sun’s gonna be setting in a bit, and there ain’t no better way to see the back acres. You wanna go for a ride?”
Your eyes widened. “I—I don’t really know how to ride,” you admitted, a bit embarrassed. “I’ve only ever seen horses in movies or… through a fence.”
Steve’s smile widened as he stepped closer, resting a hand on the small of your back and gently guiding you toward his horse. “Don’t you worry none, buttercup. We won’t let you fall.”
The sun was starting to set, and Steve and Bucky led the horses out of the dim stable and into the open air. The wide expanse of the ranch felt even more intimidating now that you were expected to traverse it on the back of a living, breathing animal.
Steve checked the cinch on Peggy’s saddle, tugging it tight to ensure it wouldn’t slip. He swung himself up and settled, looking like he’d been born in the saddle itself. He looked down at you, holding the reins loosely in one hand while offering the other.
“Come on, sweetheart,” he encouraged, his voice deep and sweet. “Left foot in the stirrup. Don’t be shy now.”
You looked at the height of the horse, then at Steve, feeling hesitant. You took a step back, shaking your head. “I… I don’t know about this, Steve. Maybe I should just walk—”
Before you could finish, Bucky appeared behind you. He didn’t give you a warning, he simply pressed up against your back and gripped his hands around your waist tightly. You gasped as he hoisted you into the air effortlessly, lifting you upward until were seatled firmly on Peggy’s back in front of Steve.
Steve’s hands found your waist as you wobbled, steadying you in place.
Bucky stepped back, adjusting the brim of his hat. “You don’t decline a ride out here,” he lectured, his voice gruff. “It’s rude.”
He turned on his heel and walked back to his own horse, leaving you slightly embarassed after being humbled by Bucky yet again.
“He’s got a point,” Steve chuckled warmly from behind you. He wrapped his arms around your waist, pulling you back against his frame as he took the reins in his hands. “And besides, I’ve got a real firm hold on you. You’re not goin’ anywhere.”
With a sharp click of his tongue, Bucky urged Rebecca into a brisk trot, quickly pulling ahead and taking the lead. You watched him go, the silhouette of his broad shoulders dipped in the gold of the setting sun, making him look like he’d stepped straight out of a cinematic painting.
In contrast, your ride with Steve was gentle and slow, but you prefered it that way.
“You’re doin’ just fine,” Steve murmured behind you. He noticed the way you were white knuckling the saddle horn and reached around you. “Here. Take the reins.”
“I don’t know if this is a good idea,” you admitted, but Steve was already sliding his large hands over yours, guiding your fingers to grip the leather straps.
He kept his hands over yours, warm and firmly in control. “I’ve got you.”
You watched Bucky and his horse tread on, his pace never slowing. You bit your lip, the silence and the distance between you and him finally giving you the courage to ask the question that had been weighing on your mind since you arrived.
“He doesn’t like me much, does he?” you asked softly.
Steve’s hands tightened just slightly over yours, a small sigh escaping him.
“It ain’t that…” he trailed off. “Buck’s just… he’s really big on loyalty. Friendship, family—all that kind of stuff.”
Steve watched his friend ride into the distance, his eyes filled with earnestness.
“When your dad had you, Buck was so damn happy. Your dad was the first guy out of the group to do the whole marriage-and-kid thing. Buck thought, ‘A kid of yours is a kid of mine.’ He was excited to be a godfather, or an uncle. We were just excited to be in your life, you know?”
You stayed silent, prompting him to continue.
“So, when your ma wanted to pack her things and move you all somewhere ‘better’—Bucky was livid. He told your dad, ‘How are you gonna let a girl dictate how you live your life?’ and your dad just said, ‘When you fall in love with a woman, you’d do anything for her. You just don’t get it.’”
Steve swallowed hard as he went on.
“And since you all left for the city, we never heard back from him. So you can imagine how it felt for Buck to get a letter from your daddy out of nowhere, askin’ for his daughter to stay with us after all these years.”
You bit your lower lip, the broken raspiness in Steve’s voice making the guilt eat at your heart even faster. You knew Bucky’s resentment was technically unfair—a result of your father’s silence rather than anything you had done—but you couldn’t help the sympathy you felt for the years of friendship they had lost.
“I’m sorry things didn’t turn out the way you both wanted them to,” you whispered.
“Don’t apologize, darlin’,” Steve reassured you. He momentarily shifted his grip, one hand coming up to ruffle your hair in a playful, teasing gesture that made you lean back into him. “Sometimes you just gotta see the glass as half-full. I’m just glad your dad still chose us to take care of you after all these years. To me, that’s better than nothin’.”
He squeezed your hand where it rested on the reins, his thumb brushing over your knuckles.
“And my,” he rumbled, his voice vibrating through your spine, “what a fine woman you’ve grown up to be.”
Your face went hot, the heat of it rivaling the setting sun that touched your skin. The way he said it—with a dark, sultry appreciation that wasn’t at all familial—sent excitement from your heart straight to your core.
Instinctively, you shifted in the saddle, trying to find your breath, but the movement only caused you to lean back further. Your hips moved against the hard, muscular denim of his thighs, and you felt the hitch in his breathing the moment you rubbed against him.
Steve didn’t pull anyway—if anything, one hand found your waist, giving it a possessive squeeze.
“Don’t rub up against me like that, baby,” he rasped against your ear, his hat shielding the dark, hungry look in his eyes. “You’re gonna get me in trouble.”
Meanwhile, Bucky spurred Rebecca into a trot, circling back until he was riding parallel to Peggy. His eyes didn’t stray to you, but he was clearly aware of how closely you were tucked into Steve’s lap.
“Steve,” Bucky called out, deliberately ignoring your presence. “We hittin’ the Country Club tonight?”
The Country Club wasn’t the kind of place with golf courses and polo shirts. It was the heart of the town—a sprawling, wood planked hall where the ber was cold, the line dancing was fast and slobby, and the mechnical bull was the only thing meaner than a hungry coyote.
It was loud, rowdy, and exactly where every cowboy in the county ended up on a Saturday night.
Steve leaned back a little away from you. “Yeah, I reckon we are.” He looked down at you, eyes twinkling. “How ‘bout it, sweetheart? You wanna tag along? We’ll show you more of the countryside your dad wanted you to see.”
You felt Bucky’s gaze then.
It was practically screaming for you to say no.
“Oh, I don’t want to intrude,” you said, forcing a polite chuckle. “I’ll just stay home and get settled in. I’m sure you guys want some time with your friends.”
Bucky let out a short, huffed breath of what might have been relief, but Steve wasn’t having it.
“There ain’t much to do at home but listen to the chickens, darlin’,” Steve insisted. “Come with us. It’ll be fun. You can watch good ol’ Buck here get thrown off the bull for the third time this month.”
“I don’t get thrown off,” Bucky mumbled, folding his arms over his chest as he glared at the horizon.
“Come on,” Steve urged. “And if you aren’t havin’ a good time, or if it gets too loud for ya, just say the word. We’ll leave right then and there. Promise.”
You stayed silent, still hesitant as your eyes flickered between the two of them. Bucky technically wasn’t saying no, yet he still avoided looking at you. Steve, on the other hand, was a presence you couldn’t ignore.
“You know, your daddy loved the place.” Steve added, coaxing you in.
You smiled softly, already picturing your father getting giddy and rowdy with these two men in their younger days. You glanced at Bucky warily, seeking some kind of confirmation. “Is that true?”
Bucky didn’t look up. “Never missed a night.”
“Okay,” you breathed, a small smile finally tugging at your lips. “I’ll go.”
The tension in Steve’s shoulders dropped instantly at your agreement.
“Great. Let’s head home and freshen up, and then we’ll be right on out.” He took control of the reins, spinning Peggy around toward the house. “You’re gonna have a lot of fun, sweetheart. I promise.”
By the time you arrived back at the house, the evening air had turned crisp, and the sun had long since dipped beneath the silhouette of the mountains. You retreated to Bucky’s room—the space he had begrudgingly vacated for you—and closed the door behind you.
You began to strip out of your travel-worn clothes, shivering slightly as the cool air hit your skin. You were down to your undegarments—simple, soft white cotton that felt wholesome and modest, yet left you feeling incredibly vulnerable in the middle of this… very masculine sanctuary.
As you reached for your fresh clothes in your suitcase, your eyes caught on one of Bucky’s hats sitting atop of the dark wood dresser. It was worn at the edges, shaped perfectly to the curve of his head.
On a very curious whim, you picked it up and placed it on your own head. It was far too big, the brim dropping over your eyes, but you couldn’t help but glance at yourself in the mirror.
There was something about the rugged piece of him covering your hair that made you smile.
Here you were, in a grown man’s bedroom, wearing nothing but his cowboy hat and white cotton undergarments, grinning at your reflection. You felt like a little girl playing pretend. You practiced adjusting the brim, trying to mimic the way Steve and Bucky did it, and you couldn’t help but chuckle at how ridiculous it all felt.
Suddenly, the bedroom door swung open, the sharp creak of the hinges making your head snap to the sound.
Bucky stepped inside, his head down as he fumbled with the buttons of a half-done shirt, his mind clearly a million miles away.
“Steve, have you seen my brown jacket? I think I left it in the—”
As Bucky lifted his head, his breath got stuck in his throat. The air in the small bedroom vanished instantly, leaving a vacuum of pure, suffocating tension. You felt like you could choke.
There you were, bathed in the soft, amber glow of the bedside lamp. You were dressed only in soft white cotton, the little pink bow at the center of your underwear greeting him shamelessly. But what truly made Bucky’s throat go dry was the sight of the hat—his hat—perched on your head. The brim was tilted at that same playful angle you’d been practicing, casting a shadow over your wide, startled eyes.
“I…” you started, face flushing in embarassment. “I didn’t—”
You braced yourself. You expected him to yell, to tell you to take his precious hat off your head and stay home for the rest of the night. You were, after all, standing in his bedroom, stripped down and wearing his most personal possession.
“I came for my jacket,” Bucky croaked instead, his voice sounding like it had been dragged over broken glass.
He took a step past the doorframe, ostensibly to find his coat, yet his eyes were traitors. They kept snapping back to your face, to the hat, to the curves of your body, and back to the hat again. He swallowed hard, his adam’s apple bobbing sharply.
“You look…” he stopped himself, his chest rising and falling in a heavy breath as he struggled to find his composure. “You’re wearin’ my hat.”
Mortified, you felt the heat climb from your chest all the way to the tips of your ears. You ripped the hat off your head—leaving your hair a bit fuzzled and messed up—and clutched the stiff felt against your chest in a desperate attempt to shield your body.
“I just…” you stammered, small and breathless. “I saw it sitting there on the dresser and I got a bit curious, I guess. I didn’t mean to—”
You squeezed your eyes, waiting for his sharp tongue to lecture you on boundaries, but instead, you heard his boots move closer to you. His large hands reached out, gently prying the hat from your grip. You held your breath as he lifted it, but he didn’t set it back on the dresser.
With a slow, careful motion, he propped it back onto your head—his fingers lingered at the brim, adjusting it just so, tilting it until the shadow of it played across your flustered cheeks.
“No,” he murmured, his voice low and deep, making your bare toes curl against the floor. “Wear it tonight.”
Bucky stepped back, though he was still far too close for you to think straight. He licked his bottom lip, the moisture glistening, before he caught the skin between his teeth, biting down. His eyes were dark, hooded, and heavy as they trailed a slow, scorched path down to your face, then dropped to the curve of your body, before snapping back up to lock onto your gaze.
“It looks much better on you than it ever did on me, anyway,” he rasped.
You felt the words die in your throat. You could only stare back at him, wide-eyed, because that was the first genuinely kind thing he had said to you since you arrived.
“Thank you, Bucky,” you breathed.
Bucky didn’t say anything else. He pressed his lips together, giving you a curt nod before grabbing his brown jacket from the chair near the door.
“Meet us out front in ten,” he called out over his shoulder. His voice had returned to its usual gruffness as he walked out, though he shut the door much softer than he had opened it.
Ten minutes later, the cool night air hit your skin as you pushed through the screen door, but the atmosphere on the porch turned stiflingly hot the second you stepped out.
Steve and Bucky were leaning against the porch railing, deep in a quiet conversation that died the moment they saw you. Both of them straightened up immediately, their bodies rigid as if they’d been struck by lightning.
You stood there, a little self-conscious, wearing a dress that hugged your waist and flared at your hips. It was cute, feminine, and a stark contrast to the rugged, oversized cowboy hat resting on your head.
Steve’s breath left him in a sharp, audible hitch. With his blue eyes wide, he let them travel from the tips of your toes up the length of your bare legs, lingering far too long on the way the dress fit before landing on the hat. A slow, crooked grin spread across his face.
“Jesus Christ,” Steve exhaled. “You’re gonna start a riot in that town, sweetheart.”
Bucky’s reaction, however, was worse. He didn’t even give you the courtesy of a smile. He just stood there, his jaw clenched tight and his eyes dangerously dark.
Every time Bucky looked at you, he saw his old friend’s face—the man who had trusted him to watch over his daughter—but every time his gaze dropped to the swell of your breast or the curve of your shining lips, that trust felt like a fraying rope.
He looked at the hat on your head, and to Bucky, that hat meant he had already made his claim on you.
Long before Steve ever could.
“We should go,” Bucky strained, his voice sounding like he was physically fighting the urge to say something he shouldn’t.
“Before it gets any darker.”
By the time the neon sign for the Country Club flickered into view, the parking lot was already a sea of mud caked duallys and vintage pickups.
As you stepped out of the truck and Steve held the door for you, your ears rang with the muffled thrum of music. The entire building seemed to vibrate with the stomp and clacking of leather boots on hardwood, punctuated by the roar of a crowd cheering on someone at the mechanical bull.
Nervous, you tuck between the two men for comfort.
Steve noticed your hesitation. He placed a steadying hand on your lower back, his thumb tracing a slow circle over the fabric of your dress.
“Stay close, darlin’. It’s a bit rowdy tonight.”
They led you through the swinging double doors and straight to the long, scarred bar. The bartender—a man who looked like he’d seen a century’s worth of bar fights—gave Steve and Bucky a nod before sliding three coasters onto the wood.
“Andy,” Bucky greeted, his voice barely audible over the fiddle music.
“If it isn’t Cap and Winter,” the bartender, Andy, said, already turning around to grab a well-worn bottle of whiskey. He cut a sharp look toward you.
“And who’s the little lady?
“This here is Crazy Clyde’s daughter,” Steve said, pulling out a barstool and gesturing for you to take a seat. “She’s visitin’ town.”
You took a seat on the high stool, eyeing Bucky and Steve with a raised brow. “Crazy Clyde?”
“That was your dad’s nickname,” Bucky explained, already taking a slow, steady sip out of the amber whiskey Andy had poured him.
You couldn’t help it; a small chuckle bubbled up in your throat. The idea of your father—the man you knew as relatively composed—running around with a name like a low budget cartoon character was too much.
“How come he gets stuck with a corny nickname like that while you guys get to walk around with cool ones like ‘Cap’ and ‘Winter’?” you asked, tilting your head.
Steve let out a huff of a laugh, leaning his elbow on the bar so he could tilt his head closer to yours.
“Well, now, don’t go feelin' too bad for him, sweetheart,” Steve said, his blue eyes crinkling at the corners. “He earned that name fair and square. Your daddy had a habit of chasin’ down drinks and jumpin’ off barn roofs on a dare. He was a wild one—made us look like choir boys back in the day.”
Your smile widened, letting out a soft laugh at the thought. Steve’s eyes crinkled as he laughed along, and in the corner of your eye, you were fairly certain you saw Bucky’s lips curve into a faint smile as he watched the two of you.
“So, what can we get ya?” Steve shouted over the music. “They make a decent gin fizz if you want somethin’ light.”
You looked at the rows of whiskey bottles and the rough edged men around you. Bucky’s fingers were already nursing an amber glass, drinking it without any reaction, and although you knew you couldn’t do the same, you still wanted to try and fit in.
“I’ll just have whatever you guys are having,” you tried to sound more confident than you felt.
Steve’s eyebrows raised, amused. He looked at Bucky, who only snickered behind the rim of his glass.
“You sure about that, sweetheart?” Steve asked, his brows furrowing in concern. “That’s a lot of kick for someone who ain’t used to drinkin’.”
“Just get the damn girl what she wants, Steve,” Bucky grumbled.
He set his glass down, the heavy thud punctuating his words as he looked you up and down, his eyes lingering on the hat again.
“If she wants to bite off more than she can chew, let her.”
Steve gave Bucky a skeptical look, then turned his gaze back to you. Eventually, he sighed and signaled with his fingers for Andy to bring over another glass. Once the whiskey was nestled on your coaster, you lifted it, and the pungent, medicinal smell immediately made you scrunch your nose.
Bucky snickered, taking satisfaction in your hesitation.
Steve lifted his own glass, the rim of it hovering right against his lips. “Are you sure ‘bout this, sweetheart? You know, it’s never too late to order a fruity cocktail—”
But before he could even finish the sentence, you inhaled deeply, tilted your head back, and downed the entire glass in one go.
Steve’s jaw hung open while Bucky turned his head toward you, his eyes widening.
The drink was disgusting.
The burn hit your throat like liquid fire, making your eyes water, but the look on their faces made every bit of the sting worth it.
You slammed the glass down, the heavy thud punctuating the silence of their shock. For a second, your mind was dizzy and your eyes watered. The whiskey hit your stomach like a ball of hot lead, and you couldn’t help but gag, a hand flying to your mouth as you fought to keep your pride and the liquid down.
“Not… not too bad,” you choked out, eyes watering.
Steve blinked in disbelief before throwing his head back and slapping a hand on the bar with a laugh. “Jesus, baby!”
“Hell, if you wanted to shoot it back, you could’ve just ordered a shot,” Bucky remarked.
You shivered, your throat still feeling like you’d swallowed a hot coal.
“What do you mean?” you rasped, genuinely confused. “Isn’t that how you do it?”
Steve reached over, his fingers gently brushing your arm as he laughed. “Usually, with a pour that big, you’re supposed to sip it, sweetheart. Savor the flavor, or whatever the hell the distillers say.”
Your face felt hot from a mixture of embarrassment and the alcohol.
“… Oh.”
He shook his head, looking at the empty glass and then back at your flushed face. “But hey, looks like you got your daddy’s traits after all. Clyde never did have much patience for sippin’ either.”
Suddenly, the crowd exploded into a loud roar of hooting and hollering that made the floors shake. Across the room, a young cowboy had just been launched into the padded mats by a mechanical bull that looked… more like a prehistoric beast than a machine.
The adrenaline from the whiskey and the booming atmosphere was blooming fast in your chest, making you feel braver and a little more reckless than you had any right to be.
You looked at the bull, then back at the two men who were cheering along with the crowd.
“I want to try it,” you blurted out over the noise.
Steve’s laughter caught in his throat, and he looked down at you with wide eyes. “You want to ride on that?”
“What’s the matter, Cap?” you teased, encouraged by the alcohol. “Don’t think I've got enough of my dad’s traits in me?”
You glanced at Bucky, but he hadn’t said a word. His eyes trailed from your face down to the hem of your dress, his expression slightly judgmental. He looked as though he were a father himself, clicking his tongue in disapproval.
“It’s a long way down,” Bucky warned, his voice bordering on condescending. “And your dress is hardly fit for a machine like that. You tryna’ flash the entire bar, city girl?”
You weren’t fond of the way Bucky was talking down to you, treating you like a child who didn't know any better. If gulping down a glass of whiskey neat wasn’t enough to prove you were capable, then riding that bull would have to do it.
“I’m going,” you declared, sliding off the barstool.
You felt a little lightheaded as your feet hit the floor, but you straightened your shoulders and adjusted Bucky’s hat, pulling the brim down low over your eyes exactly the way he did. In the ruckus of the club, you didn’t hear the soft, reluctant chuckle that escaped Bucky’s lips at the sight of you mimicking him.
Steve’s hand shot out, catching your wrist before you could take another step.
“Listen, it’s not going to be like how it is in the movies, sweetheart. It’s hard—you’ve gotta use your core, and if you don’t grip it right, you’re gonna go flyin’,” he warned.
You gently pried your hand away, giving him a playful, tipsy nudge in the shoulder. “I’ve got it, Steve!”
You turned to head toward the pit, though you wobbled slightly as the whiskey did a little dance in your head. You caught your balance quickly as you approached the announcer—a guy in a dark Stetson who was holding a megaphone. You leaned in, shouting over the music that you were a family friend of Steve and Bucky’s and that you wanted a turn.
“Well, alright now!” his voice boomed through the rafters. “Looks like we got a brave one tonight! This here is Steve and Bucky’s girl! Let’s see if she’s got the grit to match ‘em!”
The crowd erupted, and you felt several pairs of eyes on you. Men whistled and women cheered, and you felt like your heart could explode in your chest from the rush.
At the bar, Bucky’s face went a deep shade of crimson that he tried to hide beneath his hat.
Steve, however, didn’t look embarrassed at all. He caught your eye and gave you a little nod, his chest puffed out like he was more than happy to claim you in front of the whole county.
The operator gave you a hand up, and you swung your leg over the leather saddle. Bucky was right—the dress was an issue. It bunched up high on your thighs, but with the adrenaline and whiskey singing in your veins, you didn’t care.
The bull started with slow rolls, and you shifted your hips, digging your knees in. As the machine began to pick up speed, spinning and bucking in sharp gallops, you held on tighter and engaged your core just like Steve told you.
Steve leaned back against the table next to Bucky, letting out a low whistle.
“Wow,” he breathed. “Look at her, Buck. She looks…” Steve’s eyes trailed from the tilt of your head down to your bare legs, clenched tight around the machine, “… delicious.”
Bucky scoffed, but he wasn’t even looking at you anymore; he was looking at the crowd. His eyes kept darting around the room, noting every low whistle and hungry gaze coming from the local cowboys. He saw the way the men were eyeing the curve of your legs and the way your dress hugged your chest as you held on for dear life.
“Stevie,” Bucky muttered. “I don’t like this.”
“What?” Steve shouted over the noise, leaning in closer to his friend.
Bucky looked around, his jaw locked tight. “I don’t like the way they’re lookin’ at her, Steve.”
He looked less like a proud family friend and more like a predator protecting his territory. The more the men around them whistled or ogled your legs, the more he wanted to walk over there and pull you off that machine himself. He hated the way they looked at you because he knew exactly what they were thinking—mostly because he was thinking the exact same thing.
“She’s doin’ a great job and she’s havin’ fun,” Steve countered. “Look at her, Buck. She’s smilin’ all cute. Just let her be.”
Bucky’s gaze didn’t waver from the crowd, his knuckles nearly turning white as he gripped the edge of the bar.
“That’s the point,” he muttered under his breath, but the ruckus was too loud, and Steve didn’t hear him.
A group of younger guys moved in right next to them, not even trying to be quiet. They leaned against the railing of the bull pit, their eyes glued to the way your dress was riding up as the machine bucked and made you bounce.
“That’s Steve and Bucky’s girl?” one of them jeered, his eyes raking over you with a slow, dirty look. “You think they’re sharin’ her?”
“Hell no,” his friend laughed behind his beer bottle. “They’re way too damn old for a girl like that. Probably just their caretaker.”
“Ain’t that Crazy Clyde’s daughter, though? We haven’t seen that old man around town in a minute.”
“Sure is,” the first guy drawled drunkenly, his voice rising over the music. “Man… the things I’d do to Crazy Clyde’s little girl the minute she gets off that machine.”
Bucky’s head immediately snapped toward them, his face darkening as he sneered in their direction. It was one thing to insult him—that, Bucky could take. But insulting the people he cared about was enough to make him see red.
As he pushed himself off the bar top and clenched his fist, Steve’s hand shot out, grabbing Bucky’s forearm in a tight grip.
“Don’t,” Steve hissed. “Not when she’s here, Buck. Not tonight. She’ll look at us differently if we start a brawl over her.”
Bucky’s breath came in harsh, jagged hitches as he fought the urge to drive his fist into the guy’s face. “Did you not hear the shit he was talkin’, Steve?” he snarled. “He needs a sock in the mouth, and I’m gonna be the one to give it to him.”
As he tried to shove Steve’s hand away, Steve’s grip only tightened.
“What’s gotten into you? Look at her!” He gestured toward you on the bull. “She’s enjoyin’ herself. Just let her have her fun tonight. We’ll deal with these kids later.”
Bucky hesitated, looking back at you. He saw your pure, genuine smile and heard that warm laugh ring out over the music. He knew he’d been treating you like hell since you arrived, and he couldn’t bring himself to ruin the one good moment you were having.
A slow, impatient breath escaped Bucky’s lungs as he finally let his shoulders drop. “Fine.”
But their exchange hadn’t gone unnoticed. One of the guys glanced over, eyeing Bucky up and down, entirely unimpressed by the glowering man in the cowboy hat.
“What’s wrong, grandpa?” the guy sneered, emboldened by his friends’ laughter. “Don’t like the way I’m talkin’ ‘bout your niece?”
Another string holding Bucky’s patience together snapped.
“She ain’t my niece,” Bucky warned. He glared at the man from beneath the brim of his hat, his eyes sharp enough to cut.
The guy just took a slow swig of his beer, a greasy smirk stretching across his face, emboldened by the audience of his friends. “Well, you’re sure as hell too old to be anything else.”
Bucky’s eyebrow twitched.
He took a heavy step forward, the movement so sudden it nearly jerked his arm right out of Steve’s hold.
“The hell is that ‘sposed to mean?”
The guy shrugged, his eyes flicking back to you on the bull before returning to Bucky with a sneer. “It means a fine thing like that needs a man who can actually keep up. Not someone who’s probably lookin’ for his reading glasses and a heating pad. Why don’t you go back to the retirement home and let a real man show her a good time?”
Bucky didn’t wait for Steve’s permission, and he certainly didn’t wait for the guy to finish his laugh.
With a movement so fast, Bucky’s fist collided with the guy’s jaw. A sharp, meaty crack cut through the country music, leaving the man’s head snapping and his greasy smirk disappearing as his eyes rolled into the back of his head. He didn’t even have time to put his hands up to defend himself before he was lifted off his feet, crashing backward into the railing of the bull pit.
“Jesus, Buck!” Steve barked from behind.
The moment the first guy hit the floor, the bar turned into a powder keg. The two friends who had been laughing seconds ago looked at Bucky, their expressions turning furious as they lunged for him next.
Steve didn’t think.
He didn’t have to.
The minute he saw his best friend getting jumped, he clicked his tongue and rolled up his sleeves. He intercepted the second guy mid-swing, catching him by the collar and throwing him back against a table, leaving the people around him in shock.
“I told you to let it go!” Steve yelled over his shoulder at Bucky, even as he ducked a swinging bottle and delivered a punishing blow to another guy’s ribs.
To you, perched high on the spinning bull, the noise of the fight was easily mistaken for cheering. Between the flashing lights, the shouting, and the whistles, it sounded like the whole bar was rooting for you. The buzzer finally droned, and the bull slowly came to a halt. You were flushed and panting, a proud grin plastered on your face as you slid down the side of the machine and hopped onto the mats.
You tried to push through the dense wall of people to where Steve and Bucky should have been.
“Did you see that?!” you laughed, shaking your hair out of your face as you stepped out of the pit, your legs still a little wobbly. “Steve! Bucky! I stayed on the whole—”
As the crowd parted, the sight made your eyes go wide. Steve and Bucky were standing in a cleared out circle, surrounded by the bar’s security and several local guys who looked ready for another fight. Bucky looked rough—his lip was torn and bleeding, staining the edge of his jaw while his chest heaved in anger. Steve was right beside him, his breathing heavy and his knuckles bruised and bloodied.
You couldn’t hear much over the blaring music and the crowd, but the owner of the bar was pointing a finger toward the door, his face red with rage.
They were in the middle of getting kicked out.
“W-what happened?” you stammered, stepping toward them while carefully dodging broken glass and the several men groaning on the floor.
Steve’s expression softened as soon as he saw you. He stepped forward, putting a protective hand on your shoulder.
“It’s nothin’, sweet—”
“It’s time to go,” Bucky interrupted, his voice snapping.
He didn’t even look at you. He just bent over with a groan, picking his hat from the floor, and propped it low over his eyes as he walked to the exit without looking back.
The bouncer gave Steve a final shove toward the door. Steve sighed, his shoulders dropping as he carefully led you out with him.
“Let’s… let’s just get to the truck.”
As the three of you walked outside, the gravel crunched under Steve’s boots. He eventually let go of your back, walking next to you while Bucky stayed a good few feet ahead.
“I’m sorry,” Steve started, his voice thick with guilt as he kept his eyes on his friend’s back. “You shouldn’t have seen that. There was a couple of guys talkin’ ‘bout some things they shouldn’t have. He… we shouldn’t have let it get that far. It was stupid, and we should’ve handled it better.”
Bucky’s stride was long and aggressive. He reached the truck and grabbed the door handle, but he didn’t open it. He just stood there for a second, his back shaking with each ragged breath as he listened to you and Steve.
“It’s okay,” you whispered with a frown. “I just don’t understand. What could they have possibly said for you guys to get into such a big fight like that—”
Bucky let go of the door handle and spun around so fast that gravel kicked up under his boots.
“This is all your fault,” he snapped, his blue eyes burning with a dark, concentrated anger as he looked at you—and only you.
You flinched back, eyes widening in surprise. “M-me?”
Steve’s hand was back on your shoulder instantly, tightening in a comforting way as if he had seen this outburst coming. “Buck, knock it off. She didn’t do anything.”
“The hell she didn’t!” Bucky shot back, gesturing wildly toward you—toward the dress, the bar.
He looked at you, his torn lip curling as he pointed a finger.
“You just had to go up there. You had to have everyone lookin’ at you, didn’t you? Shakin’ around on that thing like you don’t know exactly what men in a place like this are thinkin’ when they see you.”
“Bucky,” Steve tried to step in between you two. “Stop.”
But Bucky gave him a rough shove, causing Steve to stumble back as Bucky stepped even closer, nearly getting in your face. “We were just ‘sposed to have a few drinks, but you had to make a scene.”
“Make a scene?” you huffed a disbelieving laugh, your eyes flickering to Steve before landing back on Bucky. “Is this some sort of joke? All I did was ride the mechanical bull—!”
“No,” Bucky interrupted. “You want to know what a joke is? It’s your damn father sendin’ us a letter with zero communication after years, tellin’ us to take care of his little girl without even askin’ for our approval.”
He stepped closer, invading your space until you could smell the copper of the blood on his lip. But you didn’t back down. You stood your ground, feet planted in the gravel as you met his hostile gaze with your own, despite having to crane your neck just to look up at him.
“Is that what this is about?” you challenged, your voice trembling but firm. “You’re mad at a letter? So you’re taking it out on me?”
Bucky’s face scrunched into a snarl. “Your old man vanished without a proper goodbye, talkin’ ‘bout how we were gonna be the best uncles, just for him to cut us out of your life for years. And then you just... waltz in. No warning, no care in the world, taking up space in my house. Taking up my damn room and makin’ yourself our responsibility.”
His voice was shaking now, the resentment he’d been bottling up finally boiling over.
“And then I have to watch you,” he hissed, his eyes scanning every inch of your face with a dark, restless energy. “I have to watch Steve look at you like you’re the best thing that ever happened to this town. I have to sit at a bar and listen to every low life in there talkin’ ‘bout what they’d do to you, while you’re up there smilin’ and givin’ them exactly what they want to see.”
“So, a few guys talk dirty about me and you decide to get into a fight?” you scoffed, your chest nearly brushing against his jacket. “I can handle my own, Bucky. I’ve been taking care of myself long before I showed up on your doorstep. I don’t need you two defending me like I’m some helpless kid!”
Bucky’s jaw tightened so hard you heard the bone click. A dark, incredulous laugh bubbled up in his throat—a sound entirely devoid of humor.
“Handle your own?” he mocked.“You could’ve traveled anywhere else, yet you’re stuck here with us ‘cause your daddy told you to come. You need grown men tellin’ you what to do, sweetheart. You can’t handle a damn thing.”
Your anger was boiling over at this point, and you felt like you could cry. Steve stepped up next to Bucky as he clamped a hand on his shoulder, trying to pry him away from you. But Bucky didn’t even look at him—he just delivered a hard, two handed shove to Steve’s chest that sent him stumbling back.
“Bucky, enough—”
“You’ve been an asshole to me from the minute I arrived,” you said, your voice uncontrollably shaky as you fought to keep from sobbing. “And you’re upset because my dad didn’t keep in touch with you. I get that! I do! B-but none of that is my fault, Bucky! That shouldn’t be a valid reason to hate me!”
“You’re right, it’s not your fault,” he hissed. He leaned closer, and you could smell the whiskey.
“But it is your fault you’re here. If you were half as independent as you claim to be, you wouldn’t have come crawlin’ to two men you haven’t seen since you were in fuckin’ pigtails.”
He stood up straight, letting out a heavy, annoyed breath.
“We were doin’ just fine with just the two of us before you showed up and started makin’ us feel like we owed you somethin’.”
Your brows, which had been furrowed in anger, slowly softened as his words punched you right in the gut. Your shoulders deflated, and all the fight drained out of you, leaving only a cold, hollow ache.
He didn’t just want the guys at the bar to stay away.
He wanted you away.
Steve, standing just behind him, could only stare at his friend with wide, horrified eyes. There was clearly history there—some old wound Bucky was reopening—because there was no other reason to be this cruel. You realized then that you were just a nuisance to him. An immature girl with a silly dream of traveling the world who had simply chosen the wrong first stop. You were an interloper in their already established life.
Looking down and finally breaking eye contact, you reached up and lifted Bucky’s hat off your head. You shoved it hard against his chest, catching him off guard. Bucky stumbled back a step, his fingers instinctively curling around the brim, crumpling the felt beneath his hands as he caught it.
“You want me to go?” you whispered, your voice cracking painfully. “Fine. I’ll leave. I’ll get my things and I’ll be out of your house—and your life—by morning.”
Your eyes were blurry as you looked past Bucky’s shoulder, sniffling as you called out for Steve.
“Will you take me back?” you asked, the words barely a breath. “I need to… I need to repack.”
Steve swallowed hard, the guilt on his face agonizing to look at. “Of course,” he nodded, his voice softening instantly. “Come on, sweetheart. I’ll take you home.”
He walked around the truck, and you didn’t give Bucky even one last glance as you stepped around him. Steve held the passenger door open, helping you in with a steady hand. Once he made sure you were settled, he walked back around the front of the truck, stopping in front of Bucky with a look of cold disappointment.
“You need to fuckin’ calm down, man,” Steve whisper yelled. He gestured angrily toward the truck—toward you. “Find your own ride home, ‘cause this—all of this—is unacceptable.”
Bucky didn’t lift his head. He didn’t even try fighting back. He just stood there, staring down at the scuffed leather of his boots, his hat shielding his broken eyes as the realization of what he’d just done—of what he just said, finally began to settle in the cold, dusty air.
As the truck started and you and Steve drove off, you glanced at Bucky one last time through the side mirror. You saw him standing there in the red glow of the taillights, staring down at the hat in his hands—the one you’d just shoved back at him.
He looked at it longingly before shouting outloud to himself—angry and broken.
“Fuck!”
The entire ride back to their house was suffocatingly silent. It was clear that there were a lot of things Steve wanted to say to you, but the words wouldn’t find him.
When you finally made it back, you crossed the front door with Steve trailing cautiously behind you. Steve let out a long, tired sigh, shutting the door softly as you immediately started toward Bucky’s room to gather your things.
“You’re not actually goin’ to leave us, are you?”
You frowned, though Steve couldn’t see it with your back turned to him. “He hates me, Steve. I’m…” your voice shook as you stared down the hallway. “There’s no space for me here. I shouldn’t have turned up on your doorstep with no warning. He was right—I shouldn’t have come.”
You continued down the hall and into Bucky’s room while Steve followed at a respectful distance. You knelt in the middle of the room as you began shoving your clothes back into your suitcase.
Steve let out a low groan as he knelt down next to you. He reached out, running a hand up and down your back in a slow, soothing motion, trying to comfort you.
“Honey, he… he didn’t mean any of that,” he said. He swallowed hard, realizing how ridiculous that might’ve sounded to you. “Buck’s a guy that’s rough around the edges. Always has been. When he lashes out like that, it just means he cares. He doesn’t know how to handle feelin’ like this.”
“He cares?” you let out a small, incredulous laugh that felt more like a sob. “He doesn’t care about me, Steve. The only thing he cares about is me being out of his hair.”
You picked up another piece of clothing, your shoulders slumping as your eyes began to fill with hot, frustrated tears. You kept your head down, chin tucked toward your chest. You refused to let Steve see you like this before he started thinking you were just a helpless kid, too. Just like Bucky said.
You stood up and reached for a shirt left on the bed, a broken sniffle escaping you as you tried to fold the fabric with trembling hands.
Steve’s heart felt weak in his chest at the sound. He got up, stepping behind you and resting a steady hand on your back. He leaned down, trying to meet your eyes and gently pushing a stray lock of hair out of your face.
When he finally saw a tear roll down your cheek, he looked absolutely destroyed.
“Oh, baby. No, no... come here,” he murmured softly. He wrapped two strong arms around you, pulling you firmly into his chest.
You couldn’t hold it in anymore.
Being in the comfort of something so warm after being faced with such coldness was enough to send the tears flowing freely. Your arms came up weakly to hug him back, your face buried against his shirt as you cried.
“He’s got a heart like a bruised fist,” Steve whispered into your hair, his chest rumbling against your ear. “And he doesn’t know how to open it without hurting someone. But you aren’t a nuisance, and you sure as hell aren’t helpless. I’m gonna have a talk with him, and you’re gonna stay here and enjoy the rest of your trip—with us.”
You sniffled, clutching the front of his shirt. “I can’t stay where I’m not wanted, Steve.”
Steve slowly guided you down onto the edge of the bed without letting go.
“Sit with me, sweetheart. Just for a minute,” he urged gently, his voice low and steady.
You sank onto the quilt, the fabric bunching under you as Steve sat right beside you. He pulled you back into the crook of his arm, tucking you in so your head rested on his shoulder. He took one of your hands in his, rubbing his thumb over your knuckles in a soothing motion to stop your shaking.
“I need you to listen to me for a second. Can you do that?”
You nodded against his chest as his fingers began to trace your back tenderly.
“I want you here, and believe me, Bucky does too. Hell, does he want you here.” He chuckled softly, the sound vibrating through his chest as he tried to lighten the mood. “Earlier today, when he caught you wearin’ his hat... he would not stop talkin’ ‘bout it. Said you looked better in it than he ever did.”
You lifted your head slightly, wiping your nose with the back of your hand as you looked up at him. “Really?”
“Really,” Steve promised, a small smile playing on his lips. “Called you pretty and all that, but don’t tell him I said it.”
Steve’s expression softened even further, his gaze turning intense as he looked down at you. He reached up, his large hand cupping your cheek as he used his thumb to brush the last of the dampness from your skin. He pushed a stray lock of hair behind your ear, his touch warm against your skin as his finger trailed down, tracing over the curve of your bottom lip.
“And he’s right,” Steve murmured deeply, making your body shiver. “Who wouldn’t go a little insane over a girl as beautiful as you?”
Your face felt warm, and you couldn’t tell if it was the remnant of your tears or from the intense way Steve was staring at you.
“Steve…” you whispered, your breath hitching as you felt his thumb graze your lips again.
Steve sucked in a sharp breath, relishing the way his name sounded on your tongue. “You know, your dad told us to take good care of you when you arrived. And now, here you are, cryin’ in Bucky’s bed and packin’ your bags.” He muttered, leaning in until his hot breath ghosted over your face. “We’re not doin’ a very good job now, are we?”
Steve applied pressure to your bottom lip, dragging it down to reveal the wet flesh. “I think I’d like to do a much better job,” he whispered, his eyes dropping to your mouth and staying there. “Starting now.”
You looked up at him with wide, innocent eyes, your tears shimmering like glass against the warm glow of the lamp. Steve let out a low, pained groan at the sight of you—so vulnerable, and yet so devastatingly inviting.
“God… you really are so beautiful,” he rasped.
With his gaze fixed on your mouth, he pushed his thumb past the seal of your lips, his finger pressing firmly against your tongue. It was unexpected—it was wrong for a ‘family friend’ to be doing this—but you couldn’t help your eyes fluttering shut instinctively. Without thinking, you sucked on his thumb, the heat of your mouth swirling around his skin.
Steve’s entire body went rigid. You were so accepting of him, so eager for the comfort he was offering, and he should’ve expected it—because you were a good girl, after all.
“Christ, baby,” he breathed, his voice slightly cracking.
Steve watched with hooded eyes as your lips moved against him, the way your tongue flicked around his digit. If it felt this good with just a finger, he could only imagine the wreck you’d make of him with his cock buried in your mouth instead.
With your eyes still shut, you heard him let out a deep, jagged groan as he shifted his weight on the bed. Your eyes fluttered open, and your gaze fell directly onto the obvious bulge straining against his denim. It was heavy and prominent, twitching as it jumped for your attention.
You blinked up at him, your breath hitching as your eyes met his again.
The idea of arousing a man so much older than you—someone so wise and experienced in his years—gave you a thrill that should’ve sparked guilt. This was your father’s friend, a man meant to be your protector, but for some reason, the wrongness of it only made the heat in your stomach burn hotter.
Clenching your legs, your mouth continued to explore his thumb. Your hand came up against his thick forearm, holding him steady as you swirled your tongue, tasting the salt on his skin as you watched him watch you with hungry eyes.
Steve was trembling under your touch, his breath coming in shallow pants.
Then, his eyes lifted past yours, landing on something—someone at the doorframe.
“Bucky,” Steve panted.
Your eyes went wide. You immediately popped Steve’s thumb out of your mouth, a thread of saliva breaking from his finger as you whipped your head toward the door.
“Steve,” Bucky’s voice was deep, almost broken, as his eyes flickered from his best friend to you. “Sam gave me a ride home,” he explained, his voice low as he took a slow, predatory step toward the two of you on the bed.
In that moment, you wished you’d just packed and begged Steve to drive you straight to the airport. Bucky’s expression was dark and unreadable, his eyes shadowed beneath the brim of his hat—you couldn’t tell if he was about to explode or crumble.
You were expecting him to yell. You expected him to drag you by the arm, kick you out the front door, and hurl your luggage after you.
But he didn’t.
He just stood over you, the hat you’d borrowed gripped so tight in his hand that the felt was beginning to crush. You swallowed hard as you met his gaze. You should’ve been terrified, but you couldn’t deny the lingering arousal Steve had sparked in you.
Because right now, with the way Bucky was looking at you... it was almost like you wanted to be hurt by him.
“Bucky… I—”
Slowly, Bucky reached out. You flinched, expecting a rough shove, but his hand was surprisingly gentle as he hooked two fingers under your chin, forcing you to tilt your head back. He stared at your mouth, his eyes tracking the wet shine of saliva on your bottom lip.
“You tell me you’re packin’ your bags, and just when I think you’ll finally leave me alone, I come home and find you suckin’ on my best friend’s thumb like a baby?”
You glanced at Steve out of the corner of your eye, desperate for some sort of backup. But instead, you found Steve staring intensely at Bucky’s lap. Your eyes followed his, and a small gasp escaped at what you saw.
You didn’t know how long Bucky had been standing in that doorway watching you two, but the undeniable erection straining against his jeans told you he’d seen more than enough.
“Answer me,” Bucky hissed. He gave your cheeks a firm squeeze, the pressure forcing your lips to pout and making you look back up at him. “You want to stay so bad?” he whispered, leaning down until his nose brushed against yours. “You want to be taken care of by us, don’t you?”
After seeing the physical reaction Bucky had from watching you and Steve, and despite being pinned beneath him, you felt emboldened.
“… Do you want me to stay?” you whispered, refusing to break eye contact. “Do you want to take care of me, Bucky?”
Bucky’s expression went completely flat. He released your face and set your hat down on the quilt.
“Steve’s a gentleman,” Bucky said, gravelly and raspy. “He’ll give you a shoulder to cry on and tell you everythin’ is gonna be alright. But if you’re gonna stay in this house, under my roof, you’re gonna have to deal with me, too. And I don’t play as nice as he does.”
Steve’s hand slowly crept over your thigh, giving the soft skin a firm, possessive squeeze as he leaned in. His eyes cut up toward Bucky, challenging him.
“She thinks you don’t care ‘bout her, Buck,” Steve murmured, his voice low and raspy against your ear. “I think our girl here wants to see firsthand how much you do.”
Ours.
Bucky’s pupils flared at the word, his gaze dropping to where Steve’s fingers were digging into your skin and trailing up the hem of your skirt. He scoffed—a hard, bitter laugh that sounded more like a growl.
“Is that right?”
Steve’s hand bunched the fabric upward, his rough knuckles grazing your skin until the material pooled around your hips. He nudged your shoulders, urging you to lean back against the pillows until you were splayed open before them, revealing the thin cotton panties Bucky had caught a glimpse of earlier when he’d walked in on you changing.
Bucky’s breath hitched, his eyes locking onto the pale fabric. It was just as he remembered—except now, a dark, damp patch was blooming in the center, hinting your arousal.
“You know…” Steve began, his voice teasing as he looked up at Bucky’s tortured expression. “Bucky here was talkin’ reeaal dirty about you earlier, darlin’. You just didn’t know it.”
You shuddered, your eyes—half-lidded—glanced up at Bucky. You expected him to deny it, but all you saw was his slack jaw and the way his hand was mindlessly rubbing at the ache in his jeans.
“He told me how he wanted to pin those wrists of yours above your head,” Steve whispered, a cruel smirk tugging at his lips. “Said he wanted to see if you’d make those same sweet little sounds if he was buried deep inside you instead of just yellin’ at you and bein’ mean to you...”
You gasped softly, your face flaming.
It was as if Bucky couldn't even hear him— the blood was thumping so loud in his ears he could only focus on the sight of you. His knee hit the mattress, the bed dipping as he crawled between your legs, looming over the damp cotton of your panties.
“And that’s not even the best part,” Steve continued, his hand moving to the waistband of your panties, his thumb hooking just inside the elastic. “He told me he wanted to mark you so bad your daddy wouldn’t even recognize you. Wanted to leave his teeth marks all over these pretty thighs just so everyone knew exactly who you belonged to.”
Steve’s gaze shifted back to you, his eyes heavy and half-lidded. He leaned in closer, his thumb tugging slightly at the elastic of your panties, revealing your mound to Bucky’s gaze.
“But then you had to go on and get on that bull,” he muttered, his breath hot against your cheek. “Showin’ yourself off to everyone. That’s not a good girl now, is it?”
A little mewl left your lips, and Steve chuckled—amused by your lack of response.
Bucky let out a low groan. He couldn’t take the talking anymore. His hands went to his waist, fumbling the buckle of his belt as he undid it with trembling fingers. His eyes were glued at to the damp center of your cotton panties, just begging to be licked and touched by him.
“Remove her panties, Stevie,” Bucky ordered desperately.
Steve’s eyes darkened instantly. His thumb stilled at your panties, and he looked up at Bucky, his expression shifting from teasing to territorial.
“You’ve been on thin ice all night, Buck,” Steve countered, the raspy warning of his voice making you shiver. His thumb slowly trailed down against the cotton, rubbing at the damp spot against your clit. “You better ask me real nice if you want me to share.”
You held your breath, bracing yourself as you expected him to snap—to lunge at Steve or roar in frustration at being told what to do in his own house.
But instead, Bucky’s shoulders slumped, his lips curving into a pained, desperate frown. He ducked his head, finally pulling off his hat and dropping it blindly to the floor. His dark, messy hair fell over his eyes as he stared at your lap, his chest heaving.
It was a jarring sight—the man who had been yelling at you in the parking lot was now physically shaking with the need for Steve’s approval.
“Please,” Bucky choked out in pain.
Steve kept his thumb pressing firmly against the damp cotton over your clit, circling it slowly, making you gasp and arch your hips up into his hand.
“Please what, Buck?” Steve prompted calmly.
Bucky’s breath hitched, a broken sound leaving his throat as he finally looked up. His blue eyes, usually so gruff and distant, were glassy and pleading. He looked like a man starving, and you were the only meal in sight.
“Please, Stevie… let me see her,” Bucky begged in a desperate whimper. “Let me have her. I’m sorry. Just… please take ‘em off. I’ll be good.”
Steve hummed, the sound vibrating deep in his chest. He looked down at you, his thumb never ceasing that slow rub against your slit, making the damp cotton cling to your skin with every pass.
“What do you think, sweetheart?” Steve asked. “You want Bucky to make it up to you?”
You looked from Steve’s calm, commanding face to Bucky, who was still kneeling between your legs, trembling. His eyes were wide, glued on the movement of Steve’s thumb, his tongue darting out to lick his dry lips as he waited for your verdict.
The difference in how he’s acting was dizzying—Bucky, the man who had spent the day pushing you away with cold glares was now hanging on your every word.
But after how he’d treated you, you weren't ready to let him off the hook.
You almost felt bad for what you were going to say next.
“I don’t know, Stevie,” you taunted, using Bucky’s nickname for Steve against him. “I don’t think he deserves it.”
Bucky’s face went from pleading to almost murderous in a heartbeat. A low growl ripped from his throat as he lunged forward, his hand snapping out to grab the hem of your panties.
“What did you just say—”
Before he could even tug the fabric down, Steve’s hand shot out. His fingers wrapped around Bucky’s forearm, forcing him to halt.
“You heard the lady, Buck,” Steve warned, his voice turning cold and authoritative. “You don’t deserve it. Not yet.”
Bucky looked up, his chest heaving as he stared at Steve with wide, disbelieving eyes. “W-what?”
“I’m gonna have my turn with her,” Steve declared. He released Bucky's arm, his hand sliding instead to your waist to pull you flush against his chest, claiming you in front of him. “And you’re going to be good and watch.”
You didn't even have time to process Bucky’s shock before Steve’s rough hands were threading through your hair. He fisted the strands to tilt your head back, pulling you flush against his chest as his lips crashed onto yours. His tongue pushed past your teeth, deep and demanding, intertwining with yours as he drank you in like a man dying of thirst.
Your mind spun, caught in a dizzying haze of desire.
You had never been kissed with such need, much less by a man twice your age, whose experience and strength made you feel so small and claimed.
“Fuck,” you heard Bucky groan, the curse followed by the rattle of a belt being yanked through loops and the friction of denim being pushed down.
Steve ground his hips against your leg, the hardness making you ache for more. Your only coherent thought was the desperate wish that he’d follow suit—that he’d also strip out of those jeans and let you feel him properly.
Moaning softly against Steve’s lips, you couldn’t help but peek your eyes opening, flickering over to Bucky.
He was kneeling at the edge of the bed, his face grimaced into tortured longing. One hand was fisted tightly around his cock, stroking in a frantic, uneven rhythm, while his other fingers were clutching the bedsheets as he watched you being devoured by his best friend.
Bucky was being good—doing exactly as Steve had instructed. But the second Steve spread your legs wider, hooking his thumbs into the waistband of your panties and peeling them down to reveal your wet cunt, Bucky felt the last of his restraint snap.
He squeezed his dick hard, a mewl—or a whimper—escaped his throat.
“Steve, please,” he begged, the words ragged with pain as he stroked himself faster, his breath coming in short, shallow hitches. “I’m… I’m so hard. I can’t take it anymore.”
Steve ignored him. His lips never left yours as his own hands found his belt, the metallic of the buckle and the slide of the zipper echoing through the room, only making Bucky more agitated.
Desperate to hear more of Bucky crumbling apart for you, you trailed your hand up your side, cupping your own breast through the fabric of your dress and squeezing. You didn’t even need to open your eyes to know his reaction—you could hear the air being punched out of his lungs.
“Fuck, look at her—look at that little slut,” Bucky groaned, the mattress dipping and groaning as he scooted closer, unable to keep his distance a second longer. “She’s askin’ for it now. Steve, tell me she's askin’ for it.”
Steve sat up, the bed creaking under his weight as he freed himself from his jeans. He wrapped a thick hand around his cock, giving it a few heavy strokes that had your eyes widening.
He was big. And you weren’t sure how it was going to fit.
He leaned forward, the head of his cock probing against your entrance, smearing your own slickness back and forth over your sensitive folds. He was teasing you, pushing just a fraction of an inch inside before pulling back, over and over, until you were arching off the back in a desperate attempt for friction.
“Are you seein’ this, Buck?” Steve murmured, his eyes watching Bucky’s face, watching his best friend’s eyes trace over every wet, sliding movement of his cock against your skin. “Look at how she’s openin’ up for me.”
It was pure torture for Bucky, but it was agonizing for you, too. Your hands fisted the sheets as you tried to tilt your pelvis up to catch him, but Steve held you firmly in place with his free hand on your hip.
“Steve, please,” you whimpered, your voice breaking.
Steve let out a dark, amused chuckle, his gaze still locked on Bucky—whose hand was moving in a blurred frenzy against his own cock. “You hear that, Buck? She wants it so bad. She wants me to take care of her.”
Bucky let out a strangled sound. “I hear her, Stevie. God, I hear her. Let me… let me help. Please let me hold her while you fuck her.”
You tilted your head back, your hair spilling across the pillows as you looked up at Bucky. His eyes searched yours, looking for any sign that you would finally let him in after the way he’d treated you.
“Hold me, Bucky.”
Bucky sucked in a breath, his hand pausing at his cock as he glanced at Steve, waiting for the final word.
Steve gave him a sharp, single nod. “Come here, Buck,” Steve commanded, his voice thick and low. “Hold her while I fuck her.”
The mattress dipped violently as Bucky scrambled forward, crawling up the bed urgently. He didn’t just touch you—he cradled you, gently lifting your head onto his lap. His hands came up to frame your face, and you could feel his slick fingers from his pre-cum trail your face.
You stared up at him, breathless and upside down, as he loomed over you, breathing heavy at the sight of you desperate for them.
“Jesus,” Bucky breathed, his pupils so blown they’d nearly swallowed the blue of his irises. “So fuckin’ beautiful up close, too.”
Steve leaned forward, his large hands gripping your hips with bruising force as he finally guided himself in. Your mouth dropped into an o-shape as he pushed in slowly, his thick cock stretching you inch by inch. You let out a sharp wince, your back arching off Bucky’s lap as he forced your walls to accommodate him.
Bucky’s face scrunched into a pained expression—as if he were feeling every bit of the stretch you were.
“I know, baby doll—I know,” he whispered, his voice broken. “He’s so big, ain’t he?”
You nodded, eyes watering as you looked up at him. “So big…”
Bucky’s cock was twitching beneath you, his pre-cum leaking and trailing along your skin as he watched his best friend’s length disappear in and out of your wet cunt.
“Fuck,” Bucky groaned. “Need… need to feel somethin’ too, baby doll.”
Shifting his hips, he laid you flat on the bed and shuffled to the side of your head, his cock springing free as he knelt beside you. His fist returned to his length, his thumb swiping over the tip to smear his pre-cum over the swollen head.
“Bucky…” you breathed, your body jolting as Steve buried his full length into you. “W-what are you—”
Your words were cut off as Bucky’s salt slicked tip rubbed against the curve of your lips—still puffy and sensitized from Steve. A low, ragged groan escaped him at the contact with your mouth.
“Need… need somethin’ warm and tight,” Bucky hissed through clenched teeth, his control evaporated. “Can’t take it anymore.”
Bucky glanced at Steve, who watched him with heavy, half-lidded eyes. “I ain’t waitin’ anymore,” Bucky snapped defiantly. “Punish me later for all I fuckin’ care. I need to fuck her mouth.”
Inside you, you felt Steve’s cock twitch at the mention of his friend’s own punishment.
“Careful,” Steve warned, his breath hitching. “Go easy on her, Buck. She’s so—fuck, she’s so tight down here… I don’t know if she can take you all the way in her mouth either.”
Despite the warning, Steve was very much losing the battle for his own control. His grip on your hips were tight, forcing himself to maintain that slow, agonizingly deep movement even as his own body screamed to pick up the pace and fuck you ruthlessly.
“I don’t give a damn,” Bucky grunted.
He fisted his hand in your hair, giving it a harsh, possessive tug to tilt your head back toward his lap. He slapped his cock against your lips, the wet, heavy sound of it making you wince as his masculine scent filled your lungs.
“Open up,” he ordered, his pupils so blown with lust that his eyes looked like bottomless black pits.
Your cunt clenched tighter around Steve as Bucky’s tip parted your lips to let himself in. His thick length dragged past your teeth and along your tongue, sliding deep until he hit the back of your throat. You let out a muffled, helpless choke around him—a sound that only made Bucky groan, his head tossing back in visceral pleasure.
“Thaaat’s it,” he cooed with a rasp. He drew his hips back slowly, letting you catch your breath for a split second before rocking hard against your face again. “Breathe through your nose, baby doll. Just take it.”
Bucky began to move, his movements were frantic and messy compared to Steve’s slow and easy rhythm inside you.
“Look at him, sweetheart,” Steve rumbled, his voice dropping condescending. “Look at how pathetic he is. After all that growlin’ and actin’ like a big man earlier, here he is now…”
You blinked through a haze of tears, watching as Bucky’s face scrunched in pure, agonizing pleasure. His forehead wrinkles were deeply lined, his eyes rolling back as his thrusts against your mouth became sloppier, driven by pure needy instinct.
Strings of saliva and drool slicked your chin, dripping down to the base of his cock with every frantic thrust. Every time your lips made wet, heavy contact with his heavy slicked balls, Bucky let out a deep, raspy groan that vibrated through your tongue—a sound so primal it made you clench even harder around Steve.
“Christ,” Steve moaned, his head dropping as his pace finally fractured faster and more desperate. “She’s squeezin’ me, Buck.”
Bucky huffed a shaky, dark laugh, his fingers tightening in your hair to hold you steady. “You like this, don’t you?” he grunted, looking down at your tear streaked face. “Bein’ used by your daddy’s two best friends. Shit... we’re supposed to be watchin’ over you. Keepin’ you safe. But instead, we’re just ruinin’ you.”
“Old enough to be her father,” Steve agreed with a rough, mocking laugh. He hooked one of your legs over his shoulder, tilting your hips up to plunge even deeper, his thick length stretching you to your absolute limit.
“Now look at her. She’s ‘sposed to call us uncle, and now she’s got your cock in her mouth and mine stuffed deep in her cunt. She’s a filthy little thing, ain’t she?”
Bucky’s cock pulsed deep in your mouth after Steve’s filthy words registered. Your face was hot with shame, but you didn't care. The room reeled with the scent of sex and Bucky’s masculine musk, and all you wanted was to be filled by these two older men.
“Fuck—her daddy’s gonna kill us,” Bucky gasped as your tongue flicked against the sensitive underside of his head. “But I don’t fuckin’ care. It feels too good to stop.”
Steve’s thumb pressed against your sensitive clit, making you arch your back and muffle useless moans around Bucky’s cock. You felt like you were getting close—with the filthy words that they were both spurring, mixed with moans and grunts filling the air—it was becoming too much.
Your walls fluttered around Steve, and he barked out a rough laugh. “Fuck, she’s cummin’ all over my cock!”
“You know what that means, Stevie.” Bucky groaned, his dark eyes meeting his. “Means she’s beggin’ you to breed her. Beggin’ you to put your cum where it doesn't belong.”
You let out a broken whine, your vision blurring as your orgasm ripped through you. You came hard, sobbing around Bucky’s cock as Steve continued to piston into you like a rabid animal, uncaring of your sensitive state.
“Yeah?” Steve moaned, his thrusts turning sloppy and heavy as his own release caught up. “Shit—I think you’re right, Buck. I'm gonna fill her up.”
Your father had practically sent you into a den of wolves, leaving you to fend for yourself against men who had been starving. Steve and Bucky pawed at your body with a desperate hunger, the sounds leaving their throats sounding less like men and more like animals scenting prey.
Steve’s hips began to rut against yours uncontrollably, his breathing turning into a series of uneven, jagged hitches. He buried himself as deep as he could go, his cock throbbing violently against your cervix before he finally snapped. You let out a muffled cry as he came, a heavy, searing stream of cum flooding your overstimulated flesh, filling you until you felt like you were overflowing.
You saw Bucky’s balls draw up tight against your lips, , and as his fist tightened in your hair, you knew he was about to cum, too.
“That’s right,” Bucky encouraged, his voice dry. “Fill her up, Stevie. Make sure she’s spillin’ over with your cum, and then I’m gonna finish inside her, too.”
Bucky’s cock popped out of your mouth with a wet, sloppy sound, leaving a string of saliva trailing down your chin. Before you could even draw a full breath, Steve was pulling out of you, the sudden absence of his heat leaving you feeling cold and hollow for a split second.
But you didn’t stay empty for long.
“S-Steve?” you whimpered.
Bucky shuffled around the mattress as Steve moved to the side to make room. Bucky scrambled into the space between your thighs where Steve once was, his face dark and distorted with hunger. He wrapped his hand around his cock—now red, angry, and pulsing—and rubbed the head up and down your slit, slicking himself through the mess Steve had left behind.
A thick, pearly blend of his best friend’s seed and your own wetness coated the entire length of him. Bucky groaned at the sight, the friction of Steve’s fluids making him growl.
Using your arms to weakly prop yourself up, your stared at Bucky wide-eyed.
“Bucky… I—”
“You’re gonna be a good girl for him now,” Steve interrupted. He wasn’t asking. He was demanding.
With a heavy breath, Bucky guided himself against your entrance and pushed past the tightness, your walls enveloping him just as it did with Steve, except it was more intense this time.
“Oh my god—!” your eyes bulged wide, your breath leaving your lungs.
Bucky was thicker—and with your pussy already so raw and overstimulated, the feeling of him claiming that space was overwhelming. You were stretched deliciously, every nerve ending burned as he buried himself to the hilt.
“Look at you,” Bucky rasped, a shameful, shaky laugh bubbling in his chest as his lungs burned.
“God—when I found out…” he rocked his hips into you, Steve’s leftover seed making a wet, squelching sound. “…your daddy was gonna have a baby girl—shit, I was so ready to take care of you. I promised I’d be there for you, for Christ’s sake.”
He grabbed both of your legs, lifting them high and urging you to lock them around his waist so he could get even deeper.
“I never thought I’d be balls deep inside his precious girl.”
“You should be ashamed of yourself,” Steve lectured, his voice mocking. He gave himself slow, lazy strokes over his half-hard cock, his eyes stuck on the way your entrance was struggling to accommodate Bucky’s thickness.
“You should be beggin’ her father for forgiveness right now. But she feels too good, doesn’t she?”
Bucky growled, his eyes glassing over as he watched his thick length disappear in and out of your wet, stretched out heat.
“Hell yeah, she does.” He met your eyes now. “You’re so much tighter than a girl your age ‘ought to be for dirty, old men like us. You were made to be ruined, weren’t you, baby doll?”
You looked up at Bucky, and the sight of him between your legs—his composure fraying and completely undone, made your head spin with a dizzying rush of power.
“Bucky,” you panted, eyes half-lidded as you held his hungry gaze. “I want you to forget who my father is. I want to be the reason you can never look him in the eye again.” You swallowed hard, your fingers digging into the mattress. “Fill me up just like Stevie did… show me how much you really want to take care of me.”
Bucky’s eyes went wide, his pupils swallowing the blue as he processed the absolute, unadulterated filth coming from the girl he was sworn to protect.
Steve huffed a laugh, already feeling his cock twitch at your words. “Jesus—this girl…”
He had been close to bursting when he was in your mouth, but now, being swallowed by your tight pussy while those dirty words rang in his ears, it was too fucking much. His cock trembled and pulsed in a final, violent act of betrayal against his conscience.
He was close. Too fucking close.
“You little…” Bucky choked out, his voice failing him.
He grabbed your hips together, pulling you impossibly closer until the tip of his cock kissed your cervix.
“Fine,” he hissed, face scrunching in pleasure. “You want me to fill you up? I’ll fuckin’ knock you up, doll. You’re gonna carry my mess and Stevie’s all the way back home, and you’re gonna smile at your daddy while our cum is leakin’ out of you.”
The words were like a match to a fuse.
Between the wet slap of his thighs against yours and the rough sounds of his heavy breathing, you hit another breaking point. Your walls began to spasm, tightening down on him so hard that it made Bucky’s head roll back.
“Bucky… I—ah!”
Your pussy clenched almost painfully around Bucky’s cock. Even after the fucking Steve gave you, you were still so tight—and cumming again while Bucky was still buried deep made him grind his teeth together, his jaw clenching as he fucked you right through your second climax.
“Steve,” Bucky gasped as he fought to hold back his own release for just a second longer. “Steve, she’s—fuck, she’s goin’ again.”
Steve grinned, leaning over Bucky’s trembling shoulder. His large hand reached around your waist, overlapping Bucky’s grip, while his other palm rested on Bucky’s lower back—pushing him even deeper.
“That’s it, Buck,” Steve rumbled against Bucky’s ear. “Don’t you dare pull out. You put it right where I put mine. Got it?”
Bucky hissed, his hips moving in a frantic, uneven stutter as he felt himself unwinding. “Fu-fuck, okay—I’ll cum inside, just like you told me to—shit!”
He bottomed out completely, his entire body locking into a rigid arch. “Fuck!”
His length pulsed violently inside you—his cock streaming thick, hot ropes of heat into your overstimulated cunt. He was absolutely flooding you, his seed mixing with Steve’s and filling you until you felt heavy and stretched to the brim.
“Oh my god,” Bucky breathed, his chest heaving as he gave your hip a final, possessive squeeze. He looked down, taking in the sight of how completely debauched you looked. “I… shit. That felt too damn good.”
“Good boy,” Steve praised softly, his hand moving to stroke Bucky’s damp hair before his eyes dropped to the messy, wet junction of your thighs. “Look at that. She’s so full of us.”
Steve leaned down, gently pushing a stray hair out of your sweaty face. He gave you a soft, boyish smile—one that looked entirely too innocent given his age and the brutal way they had just had their way with you.
“Now, you’re not still thinkin’ about leavin’ us, are you?”
Bucky’s jaw remained slack, his chest heaving in heavy breaths as he stared down at you.
“No,” he rasped. “She ain’t goin’ anywhere.”
You could barely process their words. Your head felt light, and your limbs turning to jelly against the damp, sweaty sheets. The air in the room was stifling—heavy with the scent of sex and musk. Every time you tried to draw a full breath, your lungs felt weighted, and your eyelids began to flutter, growing heavy.
Steve and Bucky stayed right where they were, hovering over you like two twin peaks of heat and muscle.
“Aww, look at her,” Steve cooed, his voice dropping tenderly yet still mocking. He reached out, his calloused thumb gently brushing a tear off your cheek. “The little baby’s fallin’ asleep on us, Buck.”
“I know,” Bucky breathed, his body finally beginning to soften inside you, yet he still refused to pull out—anchored in place as your body began to shut down. “We put her through a lot today. When she wakes up, we should…—”
Bucky’s voice trailed off into a low, indistinct murmur as your eyelids finally failed you. The room faded into a hazy blur.
With your body overstimulated, heavy, and utterly spent, the only thing you could think of—the only thought that managed to pierce through the fog of exhaustion—was how the hell you were ever going to explain this to your dad.
thank you so much for taking the time to read my work! this is my longest fic ever, and i tried my best to proofread as much as i can so apologize for any mistakes. and in case you haven't noticed, yes, the fic title is inspired by the song tennessee whiskey!
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Thought I would start another fic please lmk if you would like to be added to the taglist!!
Dean Winchester x Hunter!Reader
Strangers to enemies to lovers
Summary:
Stuck working at a decaying Arizona motel and barely surviving paycheck to paycheck, you have learned to distrust drifters, especially charming ones. When Dean and Sam Winchester check in, Dean’s instant flirting irritates her, and you keep him at arm’s length, convinced he’s just another guy passing through.
But while cleaning their room, you discover their hidden weapons and realizes they’re hunters too, something she never expected from the men she dismissed as careless outsiders. The discovery forces you to reevaluate your assumptions and brings her into uneasy contact with the Winchesters, especially Dean, whose charm now feels less superficial and more complicated.
What begins as mutual suspicion and irritation slowly turns into a tense, charged connection, built on shared secrets, danger, and a reluctant understanding of each other’s worlds.
Pinterest Board for fic! (this will get constant updates)
pairing: clark kent x jimmy olsen's sister!f!reader
synopsis: You had spent a large proportion of your life in love with Clark Kent. He had spent a large proportion of his life avoiding you, honouring the boundary that Jimmy had always set. When you can no longer deny the draw you have to each other, it's Clark's insistence on keeping your relationship a secret that threatens to break you apart.
warnings: 18+, angst, smut (unprotected p in v, dirty talk, size kink - reader is referenced as being small but only in comparison to clark, bigdick!clark), jealousy, hurt/comfort, cursing, alcohol, reader doesn't know clark is superman and doesn't find out in this fic
word count: 12.7k
note: i felt like bucky was let off the hook too easy in my last fic so clark is paying for his sins <3
You had been visiting your brother in Metropolis since you were an awkward, gangly teenager, just starting college in Boston.
He was an intern photographer at the Daily Planet back then. He had braces and acne and no idea how to talk to women, but he would still complain that you were cramping his style by hanging around. You didn’t think he really minded it all that much behind it all, even if he did whinge about it constantly in the family group chat.
Following him and all of his friends around made you feel more like the annoying little sister than you ever did when you were both growing up together - no matter how nice they all were. They spent a lot of time bar-hopping, which you did more than enough of on weekdays in college. You would often spend those weekends stressing about an incoming essay deadline or wishing that yourself and Jimmy could hang out alone for once. But at least, on those nights, you got to see Clark.
Jimmy warned all his friends - made them swear up and down - not to make a move on you. Raved about how he would never speak to them again if they dated his sister because that was, ‘like, seriously against bro-code’. It was drilled into them in front of you, every single time you visited, which you found to be monumentally unfair. You couldn’t count on two hands the number of friends you had sleepover at your house as a teenager, only for them to end up in Jimmy’s room for the night. You were sure there was some lingering trauma from sitting cross legged and horrified in your room, listening to the headboard rattling next door.
Much to your smug satisfaction and Jimmy’s chagrin, most of Jimmy’s friends did end up trying their hand at getting you into their beds at some point or another. Maybe it was something about the off-limits label that attracted them. On those nights out, Jimmy would sulk in the corner for a while, until Lois eventually slapped him upside the head and told him to: “Get over it! It’s not like your sister would give them the time of day anyway.”
But none of that mattered to you, really - because Clark had never made a move. Not even once.
Clark was dorky and gentle and obscenely handsome. The kind of handsome that makes your breath catch and your stomach clench. The kind of handsome that makes you want to kiss someone the very first time you lay eyes on them. For years, you watched him get older and bigger and impossibly more attractive. He also watched you get older, treating you so kindly but with such distance. He couldn’t even ask about your personal life - blushed when Jimmy brought up anything about your love life in front of him.
You used to just watch him; catalogue his smiles and laughs and jokes and blushes. You kept him like a secret when you would return to college after spending the weekend in Metropolis - something you would pull out of the archives of your mind and replay during a dull property law seminar or a dull frat party where all the boys failed to impress you. You felt too old to be harbouring a crush like that - but there was no harm in it if nobody knew, right?
You had to watch him date Lois for a brief, awkward moment until it fizzled out. You had to watch every woman’s head turn to watch him when you walked into a bar with Jimmy’s friends. You had to watch him give more to everyone else than he ever gave to you and wonder why.
You supposed it was something to do with the fact that you were his best friend’s kid sister - and maybe something to do with the million warnings Jimmy had dished out over the years.
But you were nothing if not determined. As you lost the ‘teen’ label at the end of your age, you began to flirt with Clark relentlessly. It was all under the pretense of messing with him, but really you were testing the waters. You supposed flirting at him might be a more apt term - he never returned your advances. You could relish in the way he would go pink immediately, but not in much else. He would stammer out an excuse to leave, embarrassment tinging his face, or change the subject swiftly.
When you graduated, you moved to Metropolis to begin your career as a defence attorney. Jimmy acted annoyed but you knew he was pleased. You two still bickered like hell, but you were best friends too. Now that you weren’t crashing at his apartment all the time, he had to actively invite you to things - which made it harder to pretend he didn’t want you around. His friend group became yours, including Clark.
Truthfully, you found Clark difficult to be around. Those moments when you saw him were what you looked forward to most in the world, but when you were in them, you found them hard to stomach. You knew as a general fact - like how 1+1=2 and the earth is round - that Clark Kent was the most beautiful man you would ever see in your life. But looking at him in person? It took your breath away and made your chest hurt.
Going on nights out with the group helped. You could still bank on the heat that would pool in your abdomen at the sight of him as if it was the most natural thing in the world, but the exposure therapy allowed you to at least act normal in a conversation with him.
On one of those many nights out, everyone except yourself and Clark had had a bit too much to drink and the two of you were left to clear up the beer bottles and pizza boxes left in Jimmy’s kitchen together. You were flirting and teasing the way you always did.
But you clearly flirted a bit too close to the sun because Clark - sweet, shy, chivalrous Clark - snapped and before you knew it, he was fucking you, desperate and messy, on the kitchen counter while your brother and his friends slept a few doors down.
Clark came to your apartment the very next night to apologise for his totally reckless and completely unacceptable behaviour. He felt absolutely awful that he had compromised you in that way and hoped you didn’t think any less of him for it. He would never want to make anyone feel disrespected - much less you, his best friend’s sister.
That night had ended with both of your clothes on the floor and Clark pulling orgasm after orgasm from you, the way only he could. He stayed the night and left with his tail between his legs the next morning.
This all leads you to the situation you were in now.
For six months, you had both been hanging out, for lack of a better term. He would come over to blow off steam from work frustrations, when he was upset but couldn’t tell you why, when he was tired and wanted to watch a movie with some takeaway, when he got some good news and wanted to tell someone straight away.
You thought it was love - it was for you, at least. It had been love since that very first night in Jimmy’s kitchen - maybe (definitely) before. But you couldn’t quite say the words when he wouldn’t acknowledge your place in his life in front of any of your friends. Clark’s toothbrush was in your bathroom but he couldn’t meet your eyes in public.
At the start, the secret had felt fun and sexy. Giving him your best fuck me eyes from across the room or biting your lip suggestively while hanging out with your friends and watching him blush and scramble to try to hide his excitement with a pillow.
But having to watch girls approach him at bars and give him googly eyes, laughing too hard when he hadn’t even made a joke. Watching them ask him if he had a girlfriend and having to listen to him say no. It ate you up.
Soon, it stopped even being fun to tease him. It would just annoy you to know that you wouldn’t have him - wouldn’t even be allowed to give him a chaste kiss or feel his huge arm wrap protectively around your body - until everyone had cleared out and gone home. On days when he felt particularly paranoid, he even insisted that you take separate Ubers.
You had spent so much of your life wanting him in secret, you had lost the patience for it.
Clark came up behind you and watched bacon sizzle and crackle through strands of your hair, his abnormally large hands gripping your hips and rubbing sleepy circles.
“Hey you.” You could feel a goofy smile on the soft lips pressing up against your neck.
“Hey yourself.” you said, switching the stove off so you could turn around to wrap your arms around him. He was all muscle and hard edges, but he melted to liquid when he felt your arms travel up his sides.
His hair was messy and drooping around his face. His eyes, still bleary with sleep, were not fully alert behind his lopsided glasses.
“You looked so deep in thought.” he said, casually lifting you up and placing your bum carefully on the island. “It was cute. What were you thinking about?”
You hesitated, knowing that you were about to knock that adorable smile right off his face.
“Well, I was thinking we should just show up to Jimmy’s together today. Saves me going home first for no reason.”
Clark’s smile did, indeed, drop. He frowned at you, confused. “But… then everyone would know.”
“Would that really be so bad?” You hated how weak it came out.
Clark sighed, and you felt his warm hands move away from you. You had to stop yourself from grabbing them back.
“How many times do we have to talk about this? We just can’t.”
It was true - you had both talked around the subject in circles for months and you had never pushed it. But for some reason, you could feel irritation bubbling up in your chest at Clark’s response, and maybe a little bit of offence. You felt a decision fall into your lap, firm and resolute.
“Well, what’s the plan then?”
“The plan is; you go home at 5 or something, get changed and then we'll stay here again tonight after the party.” he said, moving his hands back to you, this time grabbing your bare thighs. “And then I plan to make you come on my tongue again, and again, and-”
As delightful as that sounded…
“No.” you cut him off sharply and Clark’s smirk dropped.
“I mean what’s your plan here? Like, with us. Are we just going to sneak around forever?”
For a moment, Clark looked so caught off guard, you wondered if you had made a mistake. Maybe he had no plan because you weren’t what he wanted. Maybe this wasn’t what you thought it was - did you get the wrong end of the stick?
“Are you seeing someone else?” you asked sheepishly, looking down at your hands. It made you queasy to ask.
You could feel Clark jolt in surprise. “No!”
“Do you want to?”
“God, no. Why would you think that? I’m not- I don’t want that. No.”
You looked up to see Clark, gaping at you in astonishment. You took in his frazzled, appalled face, tinged pink with mortification.
“I don’t want that at all.” he muttered again shyly.
“Okay.” you said, fighting the urge to reach for him. You felt silly to even entertain the idea. If there ever was a one-woman man, it was Clark. You almost smiled, before you remembered the conversation you had yet to conclude.
“What are we doing then, Clark? You’re not mine but you’re not not mine.”
“Jimmy can’t know.” Clark mumbled. His head hung low, curly locks just about ticking your nose. He didn’t say anything, just held on to you tight like it would stop you from walking down this road you were travelling. It didn’t.
“And I’m supposed to… what? Wait until you build up the courage to tell him? When will that be, Clark? Months? Years? You act like you’re my boyfriend when we’re alone but you won’t even look at me in front of our friends. It hurts my feelings.”
You hadn’t meant for the hurt to seep into your voice. You had planned to give him hell - get angry. But you guessed the hurt had lingered and festered inside you for long enough. It needed a place to go.
Clark was crestfallen. He looked up to find fat tears spilling out over your eyelids and slowly down your cheeks. He tried to wipe them away with his thumb, calloused but gentle. You shoved his hand away unceremoniously and wiped at them aggressively with your sleeve instead. You saw hurt flash in his eyes at that, but he said nothing.
“I’m sorry, baby. I never wanted to make you feel that way. I never want to hurt you - ever. That’s the last thing I want. But I can’t tell Jimmy about us when he’s made it so clear for years that you are the only thing in his life that’s off-limits.”
“Fuck Jimmy! He can’t just decide that for us, Clark. He might be grumpy and grossed out with us for a few days but he would get over it. God knows he’s done it to me with enough of my girl friends from home.”
“I can’t risk it.” Clark said and his voice was so decisive and immoveable that you feared there was nothing else you could say to change his mind. You tried everything... all except one thing.
“But I love you, Clark. And I don't really want to hide it anymore.”
Clark was stunned, completely shellshocked. His mouth parted as if you had slapped him and he stood in front of you, suspended in disbelief.
You thought this might happen and you allowed for it. This might be a big moment for him and you didn’t need him to say it back. You knew that all those years you spent pining after him might mean you would fall harder and that was something you could accept. But you just hoped it might snap him out of his resolve to act like this thing between you wasn’t solid and real.
But as the seconds and then minutes ticked by, you realised that Clark wasn’t just not going to say it back. He wasn’t going to say anything. He was still just looking at you, completely frozen, like he couldn’t get out of the conversation quickly enough.
You felt humiliation gnaw at you as you decided that you had completely misunderstood what it was that was happening between the two of you. He was panicking at the idea that he had attached you. You had never pegged Clark as the sort of person to keep someone around for a quick fuck - it didn’t even make sense, really. It wasn’t like you two had sex every single time he stayed over, but maybe there was a lot you didn't realise about the situation in general.
“Okay.” was all you said.
Your heart was racing but you kept your face blank. You slowly moved around the apartment to pack some of your stuff up. Fluffy socks, phone charger, underwear. You took your time collecting your things, giving him ample time to stop you, ask you to stay. He didn’t.
A voice in your head rang out, Surely, he’s going to say something. Any minute now. He won’t let you leave.
The cruel voice became more and more hushed with each article of clothing you threw into your old shopping bag, until it was just a whisper.
“Bye Clark.” you said, waiting for one last minute at his front door.
Still, he looked at you like a guilty dog and said nothing. You turned and left before the tears got the chance to reappear.
Maybe Jimmy had a point after all. You had ignored his urgings to not date any of his friends with an almost cocky abandon but look who was laughing now - and who was crying.
Sure, you had dated a few guys in college - even let some stick around long enough to call you their girlfriend. But you had never been attached like this before.
Clark had always been at the back of your mind somewhere. Back when you were in college, he had felt so unattainable, like some celebrity you could only dream about having. But every time one of your dickhead, daddy’s money boyfriends said something snarky to a waiter or told you that you “just wouldn’t understand the situation in Bavaria, babe”, you couldn’t help thinking that Clark would never.
But, you supposed, at least they were always proud to have you on their arm. They introduced you to their friends and family. Guess they’re all the same, just different versions.
You called out of work for two days and told all your friends that you were sick. Jimmy called to your flat with medicine and chicken soup on your mom’s instructions. He looked suspicious at your dry nose and clear voice, but he didn't say anything. You supposed your swollen eyes convinced him.
It was almost three months later and you still refused to go out with Jimmy and the rest of the group.
“Come on.” Jimmy whined. “This is the seventeenth time in a row.”
“Okay, more like the fifth. And maybe I've taken a vow of sobriety or something.” You rolled your eyes.
“Then just come and have a Coke. duh.” He kicked his shoes off and put his feet on your coffee table. You swatted them with a magazine and he smiled mockingly at you, wiggling his toes.
“You should be happy about this. The last time we went out you said I annoy you.”
“You do. But you can be fun sometimes, too.”
You smiled, feeling a rush of affection. You made a note to visit him more often. He was being cavalier but you could tell he did miss having you around.
“Lois said she’s really pissed at you, too,” he said with a shrug. “She said you’re ditching us.”
“Liar.” you deadpanned. “I met her yesterday for lunch.”
Jimmy pouted at you, muttering something about how you were no fun anymore. A few years ago, he found it much easier to get a rise out of you. Becoming a lawyer has a way of knocking the naivety out of you.
“Seriously, though. When will you come round again? Everyone misses you. Not me, obviously, but the others do.”
You raised an eyebrow at him, but didn’t have the time to answer. At that moment, you heard someone shuffling around for the spare key you left in the lantern outside your door.
Instinctively, you jolted upwards and jumped up from the sofa, knocking some peppermint tea on yourself and Jimmy in the process.
“Dude, what the fuck - oh hey.”
You stood completely frozen, watching Peter walk into your home with a bottle of wine and a bouquet of flowers.
You had completely forgotten that you had told him to come over and let himself in after work. Based on complete muscle memory, you had been expecting Clark to walk through the door instead.
A million emotions flooded through you all at once. Relief that Jimmy was not, in fact, about to learn that you had been sleeping with his best friend. Embarrassment, at Jimmy finding out about your new fling from work. And - worst of all - disappointment, that it was no longer Clark walking through your door to bring you flowers and wine before settling in for a cozy movie night.
Yourself and Peter were in an uncomfortable stand-off, staring at each other from across the room. He looked just as shocked as you at your reaction to him walking through the door. His eyes flicked from you to Jimmy. You realised dimly that you had reacted as if you were caught red-handed with another man.
Jimmy obviously came to the same conclusion. Giving you a weird look, he stood up and shook hands with Peter, introducing himself as your brother.
Peter immediately straightened up, shooting him a warm smile as they swapped pleasantries.
It gave you a chance to get your bearings and squash down all those uncomfortable feelings coursing through you.
Peter was great, truly. He was nothing like any of your past boyfriends. He was respectful, thoughtful, and made you feel like a priority from the get-go. He had no weird ex-situationships still in the picture, no loose morals or dubious politics, no tendency towards anger in the midst of a disagreement. The two of you could talk for hours. You had met all his friends and loved them. He was handsome and funny and super smart; you had known as much just from working with him and seeing him win case after case. He was the guy everyone in the office had a crush on - your friends at work droned on and on about how lucky you were to be seeing him.
So why did you catch yourself feeling, at your lowest points, like he was just a poor imitation of Clark?
“I guess you’re the reason she hasn’t been coming out with us anymore, huh.” Jimmy said wryly, shooting you a dirty look. You rolled your eyes.
“Guilty.” Peter laughed, a smile gracing his handsome face. “Sorry about that.”
As if you could read his mind (and sometimes you really felt like you could) - you thought you might have known what Jimmy was about to say before the thought even occurred to him himself.
You floundered a bit, knowing what was coming and not having the power to stop it. He shot you an innocent look. “Actually, I was just saying that you guys should come out for drinks with my friends on Saturday. Do you have plans?”
You wanted to murder Jimmy with a butcher knife, but you suppose you did owe him one for making it sound like you had already mentioned the existence of Peter. In fact, you hadn’t told anyone outside of work. You weren’t really sure why and you didn’t think about it too much - it just made you feel guilty.
Peter was overjoyed. He agreed, insisting that you didn’t have plans, looking at you to confirm.
You hesitated. It was easy to turn Jimmy down and tell him to mind his own business when he asked why. But you weren’t quite sure how to explain the situation to Peter.
Hey, my top-secret kinda-ex slash brother’s best friend will be at said drinks and I would rather throw myself off a cliff than have to see him again because I had to fight for my life to move on from him?
Somehow you didn’t think it would go down super well.
You nodded reluctantly and Jimmy clapped once with a self-satisfied grin on his lips. Dick.
“I'll leave you two lovebirds to it then. See you Saturday!” He pointed at you. “My place, 7 o’clock.”
When it was just yourself and Peter, things became a bit quieter. You stood across from each other for just a second in mutual awkwardness, until Peter took a couple of steps towards you and wrapped you in an embrace, giving you a quick kiss to the cheek.
“Hello.” You smiled up at him.
“Hi there.” He smiled back. “So what was that all about, huh?”
He looked a bit uncertain. The first time he stayed the night at yours, he found some of Clark's clothes in your wardrobe and his toothbrush still in your bathroom. Up until that point, you had kept them purposely. You told yourself you hadn't gotten around to throwing them out but you knew you were realistically just holding out hope that he would call and you guys could work it out.
You threw them out the next day. Peter never said anything about it, but you knew he wondered whose they were. At the time, he had just looked warily at them, but you could see a hint of suspicion every time you did something weird - something like this.
You groaned. “I'm sorry! I’m just so bad with that stuff, I lost track of time and I wasn’t expecting Jimmy to still be here when you called and I was just overwhelmed- urgh, I don’t know! Thank god you two are less awkward than me or we might still be standing here in silence.”
Peter laughed affectionately and brought you in for a kiss, but you could taste the doubt on his lips.
You arrived an hour late to Jimmy's house. You had moved slowly, ‘forgotten’ to book the Uber, taken longer than usual to do your makeup - hoping that Peter would eventually tell you that he wasn’t feeling it anymore and that you two should stay at home instead.
That never happened.
Seeing how keen he was to build a relationship with your brother and your friends made you feel… a bit weird. Almost guilty. Even though it didn't make sense.
When you arrived, everyone jumped up to greet you instantly. Cat and Lois hugged you as if they hadn’t seen you in years (the three of you had gone for a cinema date just the evening before). Some of Jimmy's college friends began to test their luck with you as always, but Jimmy beat them away. Even Jimmy was overly glad to see you, not even grunting the performative ‘ugh, it’s you’ when he answered the door.
Clark, however, didn’t stand up. He was perched on Jimmy's armchair, suddenly very interested in the ingredients of his beer.
You couldn’t stand how disappointed you were about it. Your chest felt tighten and there was an ache in your heart so painful that you almost doubled over. But you didn’t. You put on a fantastic poker face and went around the room to introduce Peter.
“He. Is. Gorgeous.” Cat said, eyes almost popping out of her sockets.
“How do you always get the hottest guys?” Lois whined in agreement, glancing over at him where he stood chatting with Jimmy. “It’s so not fair. You need to start sending me on blind dates.”
You laughed but truthfully, this was all just making you feel worse. You knew you should be grateful that someone like Peter even gave you the time of day. Why should Clark be able to make you feel like this, after all these months?
You decided to bite the bullet. You weren’t okay but you would act like you were until you started to be. You would talk to Clark, even though it was hard. Even though half of the cells in your body were screaming at you to get closer and the other half were screaming to stay away. You would show him you were fine and that you were over him and that things were okay even if they weren’t.
Your nerves of steel weakened to paper the closer you got to him and when you stood in front of the couch where he sat, your knees were wobbling.
Clark looked up from the sticker on his beer bottle in astonishment. He must have read it one hundred times over by now. He was glancing warily at you, as if he thought you might start screaming at him. His blue eyes were round and cute and guilty and he was pouting at you in that way he always did when he had done something wrong. You used to kiss that pout off his lips whenever it appeared… but that wasn't the point right now.
“Hey Clark," you said. “Mind if I sit?”
He blinked at you and you wondered for a split-second if he might actually say you couldn’t. He shook his head quickly, though and you popped down beside him.
You realised, then and there, that you hadn’t really planned out what to say. You fumbled with your fingers for a bit and Clark watched you, face twisted up like he was in pain.
This isn’t exactly pleasant for me either, Clark!
“How have you been?” you landed on, speaking gently as if you were going to scare him off. “Haven’t seen you in a while.”
“Yeah, fine. Work is work.” he said with a shrug. His voice was strained. “How about you?”
“The same, I guess. I won that case - you know the one I was telling you about, with the basketball coach?”
“Oh wow." he said, the first hint of genuine pleasure spilling through to his voice. “Congrats, that seemed like a tough one.”
“Yeah, you’re telling me. Peter and I pulled many all-nighters on that one.”
You shouldn’t have said that. A stretched silence swam between the two of you while Clark surveyed Peter. He was now chatting busily with Jimmy and Cat, who was looking at him starstruck.
“That's Peter?” Clark finally asked, voice low.
You had spoken about Peter to Clark before - back when he was just someone you worked with and Clark was the one going home with you at night, albeit secretly.
“Yeah.” you mumbled. Your toes were curling and an anxious feeling was working its way up your gullet.
He just nodded, clenching his beer bottle so hard his knuckles went white. He never took his eyes off Peter. This was clearly a bad idea.
You were on the cusp of standing up from the sofa with some lame excuse about how you were getting yourself another drink when you caught sight of Peter and Jimmy walking in your direction.
The same panic that you felt in the living room of your apartment, when Peter and Jimmy met for the first time, grasped you again. Your eyes blew wide and you looked around for some kind of escape. Where was Cat when you needed her, demanding you come into the kitchen for shots?
Clark looked no less enthused, face crumpling in discomfort and something else you couldn’t read. He looked tired.
“Clark!” Jimmy boomed, voice warm with excitement and liquor. “You gotta meet my boy, Peter.”
Jimmy always got like this when he was tipsy. Warm and excited and bubbly. He also started talking like a goddamn fratboy.
“He’s your boy now?” you drawled, raising an eyebrow at him with amused sarcasm. Jimmy made connections quicker than anyone you knew.
“Okay, your boy then, Miss lovergirl. Don't worry, I'm not trying to steal him.”
You didn’t even have the chance to flush red. The beer bottle in Clark's hand exploded under his grip, glass and beer flying all over the two of you.
“Shit.” you squealed, standing up from the sofa and brushing what you could off from yourself.
Clark sprang up instinctively and grabbed your forearms to stop you from brushing off the glass before you got cut. “Gosh, I'm sorry.” he gushed. “Don’t touch anything. Hold on- careful.”
And then he was grabbing your hips, large palms searing through the fabric of your dress, and you were listening to the glass crunch beneath his shoes while he lifted you away from the shards of glass.
You knew Clark was ridiculously strong - strong enough to break a beer bottle with nothing but one hand. He always claimed it was all from his days on the farm at home in Kansas. But when you saw him like this, lifting a whole person as if they were air, muscles not even tensing, you wondered if he had actually just been gifted with some rare genetic disorder. It didn’t seem humanly possible. It took your breath away.
When your two feet were firmly planted on the ground once again, Clark took to brushing off any remaining shards of glass from the skirt of your mini sundress, collecting them with his hands so they wouldn't land on your toeless sandals.
You could feel sticky beer drying on your thighs and dress - you were just grateful that it was fruity-flavoured and relatively pale. If you were walking around wafting the stench of beer with a noticeable stain on the front of your dress, you might have just gone straight home.
“Sorry.” Clark muttered again softly, inspecting the lace on your dress to see if any glass got stuck.
“It’s okay,” you tried to say, but it came out as more of a whimper. The feeling of his hands on your upper thighs, even through your dress, was concentrating your attention delightfully. You hadn’t felt those hands touch you in months.
Clark looked up from your dress for just a second and met your gaze. You thought you might have seen something there in that wondrous blue - something dazed and wanting - but the moment was over before you could be sure.
Peter emerged beside you, eyes flitting between yourself and Clark, and you snapped back to reality.
‘Jimmy gave me a towel for you.’ he said quietly, handing you over a rough rag that smelt slightly of mildew.
“Yuck,” you said, trying to keep your tone light and airy. “He clearly wants me to smell mouldy. Let me go find another.”
You tried not to think too hard about the fact that you were leaving Peter and Clark alone together.
At 10 o’clock sharp, Jimmy began to usher everyone out the door and towards the direction of the bar. People filed out slowly, and you noticed the chatter subside slightly as you whizzed around the kitchen with a trash bag, dumping in as much as you could before you too were steered in the direction of the bar. You knew how much Jimmy hated waking up with a hangover to find the kitchen in shambles.
Peter was waiting patiently for you in the next room over, still talking to Lois and Cat. You could vaguely hear Lois asking whether he had any hot lawyer friends.
You tried not to take any heed of Clark, but your brain was betraying you. You were accidentally taking note of where he was and what he was doing at any given time. When he joined you in the kitchen, you didn’t look up.
Clark grabbed a bin bag and began to help you clear up. You wanted to tell him it was okay, you got it covered, but you felt too uncomfortable to even speak. You were sure Clark wouldn’t have listened to you anyway, gentleman that he was.
“He your boyfriend?” Clark asked. He tried to keep his voice casual but you could tell he wasn’t feeling very casual. A quick glance at him showed you that much. His brows were furrowed, as if in concentration, and his lips were pressed into that familiar pout.
“No,” you sighed. Not yet, was the unspoken follow-up.
It was true - Peter was not your boyfriend yet. You two hadn’t had the ‘Let’s see each other more seriously’ conversation or even the ‘Let’s be exclusive’ conversation yet. It had only been a month, but you knew he was just biding his time until he knew your feelings.
You wished him the best of luck with that. You hardly knew them yourself.
You knew from the look on his face that Clark was grappling with his words, trying to fetch the right ones.
“I thought you said you’d never date another lawyer.” he finally landed on. “You called them slimy.”
You chuckled. “Most of them are. Peter's a nice guy though.”
“Are you…’ Clark hesitated. “Are you happy…”
… like you were with me.
Your heart sank and your lip wobbled. You felt the needling sting of tears behind your eyes and you shoved them down with gusto. The answer was no. God, no. Not even close.
It was so un-Clark of him - so cruel of him to even ask. He had plenty of time to reach out and chose not to. It was almost like he was now trying to sabotage your attempt at moving on.
You could be cruel too.
“He is proud to be with me. Brings me around his friends. I met his sister last week.”
You didn’t want to look at him when you said it but you couldn’t help it - it was like a car crash you could see happening for miles, but you couldn’t stop watching. His face crumpled and fell and you immediately regretted saying anything. Clark was like a puppy. As soon as that wounded look appeared on his face, your immediate instinct was to go to him and soothe and coo and kiss. But that was no longer in your power.
He was completely tortured by your words, as if they had leaned out and slapped him in the face. You swore you saw the ghost of tears in his bright blue eyes and it tore you in two.
You wondered if this was all guilt, or whether any part of him genuinely felt the loss of you. Did he miss you like you missed him? Did he feel your absence every morning when he woke up? Did he miss the way you wouldn’t shut up talking his ear off on your movie nights? Did he ever even consider reaching out?
“Alright, bozos. Stop being responsible and cleaning up. Give me those trash bags. Off you go, please and thank you.”
It almost made you jump when Jimmy came bouncing in. You handed him the bag without argument and stalked off to find Peter.
“Clark is… interesting.” Peter observed casually, watching him chatting halfheartedly with one of your mutual friends by the bar.
“Uh-huh,” you agreed, affecting indifference. In reality, your heart was rattling around like a rabbit in your chest.
“Are you guys close?”
“Oh… no, not really.”
Peter nodded and the two of you sat in silence for a while.
You were tired and wanted to go home - didn’t want to see what you knew was in store for you - but you knew you had about an hour until Jimmy would even hear about you leaving. Peter had been a bit distant all night. You really should have asked him if everything was ok, but you were afraid it might spark a conversation that you were just not ready to have.
You knew it would happen - it always did - but it felt like it happened in slow motion this time. A tall, leggy blonde woman flounced over to Clark, and put one graceful hand on his shoulder blade. She was dressed in an elegant, black dress and you thought miserably about the beer-stained number you were currently sporting. You couldn’t find even one hint of doubt or self-consciousness in this woman. She was beautiful.
Of course, you were forced to see this every time the two of you went out together but for months, you at least had the reassurance that, while you couldn’t quite stake your claim on him publicly, he would still be going back with you at the end of the night. That wasn’t the case anymore.
Clark spun around at the touch, smiling politely. You had no idea what sweet nothings she was saying to him. She was probably telling him all about how she saw him from across the room and wanted to say hi. He would probably laugh - respond with ‘hi’ and ask her if she wanted a drink. You felt nauseous.
“I'm gonna head out.” Peter said, smiling in an odd, displeased way that you had never seen before. He was standing in front of you with his coat already on. You hadn’t even noticed him get up.
You were a little flustered but you got up quickly, grateful for the excuse to get out of here and out of Clark's vicinity.
“Ok great, let me just say bye to Jimmy.” you said, collecting your bag from the floor. You paused when you saw him shake his head.
“I’m gonna go back to my place." he said decisively.
“Okay…” you said, frowning up at him. You had clocked that he was being distant, but you didn’t think this would be the outcome.
“Walk me out of the bar though?” he asked. You nodded and began to walk out with him, bringing your coat in case you couldn’t bring yourself to go back in and watch Clark getting hit on.
You stepped outside and a shiver ran through you at the nip of September in the air. You could still see Clark talking to the woman through the glass walls but at least there was some sort of barrier between you now. You put your back to it and tried not to think about it.
The street was dead silent, except for a few distant sirens and the odd car passing. Your ears were ringing unpleasantly from the booming noise of the bar.
“Sorry if it wasn’t very fun.” you tried for a light tone. “I swear it’s usually better than this.”
Peter gave you a look you had never seen before - somewhere between a smile and a grimace.
"It was fun, really. Your friends are super nice. But…”
You thought you saw where this was going. Not now, you wanted to beg him. Please, not right now. You thought about plugging your ears with your fingers.
“There's clearly something happening between yourself and Clark. I’ve always kind of known there was someone else and you can deny it but you looked like you were about to throw up when someone else approached him just now. I really like you, but I don't want to get any more attached to someone who is clearly… hung up on someone else.”
He was smiling at you apologetically - as if he had something to apologise for. As if you hadn’t completely wasted his time. As if you hadn’t basically done exactly to him what Clark had done to you - string you along without giving you all of himself. Hell, you hadn’t even wanted him to meet your friends.
“I'm so sorry.” you said. “I don't know what’s wrong with me. I just can’t…”
Can’t shake him.
“There's nothing wrong with you.” he assured you. It almost made you feel worse - how nice he was being about the whole thing.
You said your goodbyes to Peter and he promised to call by tomorrow to grab some of his things. He gave you a kind wave as he lowered himself into the Uber, but you could tell how disappointed and upset he was.
You sighed.
You couldn’t have Clark but you couldn’t have anyone else either. He wouldn't take you but you couldn’t release yourself from the grip he had on you either. You were stuck in this awful limbo.
You finally allowed yourself to give in and do what you had been fighting not to since you stepped out into the cold. When you looked through the glass walls, Clark was still standing at the bar.
But instead of flirting with that woman as you had expected, he was completely alone. Eyes concentrated solely on you.
For a second, you almost thought he had heard the conversation you just had. He was looking at you with such sad reverence and guilt.
You hailed a taxi.
You were rotting in self-pity alone that Sunday. Peter had come and gone to collect his things. You two had had a cup of coffee while he was here - he still seemed hurt but it looked like he was taking the whole thing a lot more graciously than you had with Clark.
You had felt strangely optimistic when he left with a light kiss to your cheek and a promise to see you tomorrow in the office but as the hours dripped by, doing laundry and meal prep, you began to get the blues. You felt very sorry for yourself indeed.
Another failed situationship. Thanks to Clark.
Not that you necessarily blamed him for this or for any of the other men that you dumped, for the sole reason that they were fine but they just weren't quite Clark Kent.
Maybe you had built him up in your head, you tried to reason, but you knew it wasn’t true. He was just the gold standard for all men; as close to perfect as they came. Maybe you were stupid to think that he was someone you could have.
You thought about whether he had gone home with the blonde woman from last night. You doubted it. For all the women that approached Clark in bars, he had never been one for a one-night-stand - had never taken any of them up when they offered themselves to him. He was a relationship man, through and through, which made this whole situation harder - because why was he only not like that with you?
A knock on your door made you stop folding. It could only be Jimmy - nobody else would show up unannounced. You knew immediately that he was there to ask what had happened with Peter. You had shot him a quick text to let him know things had ended between the two of you before turning your phone off hours ago.
You slipped silently over to the door, wondering if you could get away without answering. Glancing through the peephole, though, you spotted a very nervous-looking Clark Kent. Standing at your door in a casual shirt and slacks, hair mussed up and glasses askew. He held a bunch of blushing roses, wrapped in brown paper, in his arms.
You stepped back from the door as if it had burned you. Your heart was galloping.
The sight had been everything you had wanted for the longest time. You had waited months to see this and here it was, right as you had given up hope of it ever happening.
You hesitated for a moment. Did you even want to let him in?
Part of you felt hope and familiar giddiness bloom in your chest. Clark Kent at your door with flowers was definitely a sight for your sore, heartbroken eyes.
Another part felt more cautious. Clark had listened to you tell him you loved him and completely ignored you for months, until you showed up to a party with another man. Wasn't that a bad sign?
But, worst of all, part of you wondered if he was there purely to bury the hatchet. If these roses meant, Hey, sorry I let us do that silly thing for a few months - let’s forget all about it and be friends again. You have Peter now anyway, right?
“I can hear you.” a sheepish voice muttered from the other side of the door.
You slowly pulled the door open with a frown. “I thought I was being pretty quiet.”
Seeing Clark in front of you was different to seeing him through your peephole. Your knees went to jelly every time you saw him, tall and imposing and wonderfully handsome. You found to keep the worship from your face.
“I wanted to talk,” he stammered. “It’s ok if you don’t want to see me though.”
You parted the door and, with a sigh of relief, Clark crossed the threshold to stand in the middle of your apartment, smiling slightly as he looked around.
You wondered if he was remembering everything that had happened between the two of you here. The slow, lazy mornings when he would wake you up with kisses and coffee. The evenings where you held him while he cried about stuff he was not yet ready to share with you. The late nights where it felt like his body had been made specifically to fit yours.
“I messed up. Really bad.”
You nodded for him to continue, no intention of speaking. He shifted on his feet, sucking in an awkward, shaky breath.
“I know that you and Peter broke up because of me. I'm really sorry.”
The words were knocking around like pool balls in your head. Your heart shattered. So that’s why he was here. You were angry at him for even bothering you with this. Angry at yourself for hoping for more. You could feel your face curl up.
“Who told you that?” you demanded, hand on your hip. You hated giving Clark this treatment because every voice in your head screamed that he didn't deserve it. But you always let him walk all over you - it didn't matter that he didn't mean to.
“Jimmy…” he tried hesitantly.
“I didn't tell Jimmy anything about why we ended things.”
You avoided the term ‘broke up’ - it made it sound like the situation between yourself and Peter had been more than it actually was. You wondered if Clark used the same term in his head when thinking about the two of you.
“Well, I guess I kind of just… maybe, assumed?” Clark was uncomfortable now, squirming under your angry gaze.
You sighed, the fight leaving your body. You were numb with humiliation. You logically knew your feelings for him were obvious, but knowing he could read you like a book still made you feel pathetic. You didn’t want him feeling sorry for you. You wished you could have showed up last night with Peter and not given Clark the time of day. Shown him that you were unaffected. But if he really wanted to talk about it, you would be honest.
“Well, you would be right. I'm just… struggling to move on.”
Clark blinked at you.
“Obviously, I will. I can't be hung up on you forever.” you rushed to clarify, tripping over your words. You wouldn't meet his eyes. “But I guess maybe just because I had a crush on you for like, forever, it’s just harder to shake it. But I will. You don’t need to feel bad, or whatever.”
“But I don’t want you to move on.” Clark said, eyes gentle and sad and his soft lips pouting.
Your eyes snapped to him. You said nothing. Your vital organs felt dislodged in your body.
“Sweetheart, I told Jimmy everything. About us, I mean. Just today.”
The words flooded out of him like a faucet, a line between his brows and an attractive little winkle forming at his pretty lips. He didn’t even give you a moment to process his words - just charged on.
“You know what the worst part is? He already knew.” Clark smiled sadly at you and couldn’t breathe suddenly, as if he had reached out and grabbed the air from your lungs.
“He… what?”
“He knew.” Clark repeated, rubbing a hand over his face. “Everyone did, apparently. He said ‘You guys weren’t exactly subtle, Clark.’ in that annoying voice he does when he’s got the jump on you. He was just waiting for us to tell him. Said he wasn’t mad at all until I went and-” his voice broke. “Well, until I went and broke your heart.”
You felt a rush of love for your big brother so impactful that tears began to swell in your eyes. He hadn’t changed since you guys were kids. You knew him inside out and you knew he would be like this. You knew he would act all grossed out, probably complain about it for the rest of your lives, but in reality he would be glad to see you two together - glad to see his two favourite people happy and happy together.
He was only mad that Clark had broken your heart.
You wish you could have felt some sort of satisfaction that you were right. You were right because you knew your big brother better than anyone else did, like you had always told Clark. That this whole thing had backfired on him because he didn't listen to you.
But really, you just felt a sort of biting hollowness. Your relationship - if you could even call it that - had been blown up and for what? Jimmy didn’t care - seemingly none of your friends did. Everything the two of you had was gone because Clark was too much of a coward to claim you in front of people who would have been happy for you anyway. You watched the pink roses hang dejectedly from his hand while he waited for a response you weren’t planning on giving him.
“I know I'm probably too late.” Clark said in not much more than a whisper. “But I can’t stop thinking about that morning you walked out of my apartment. When you told me you loved me and I just didn’t say anything.”
You almost winced at the reminder.
“But I love you, sweetheart. Gosh, I love you more than anything. I love you so much it terrifies me. It's why I couldn't bear to tell anyone about us. I had convinced myself Jimmy would go crazy about it. I thought it would blow up and I'd lose both of you in the fallout. But I ended up pissing him off and losing you anyway.”
You felt a bit pathetic for your reaction to him - the way your chest clenched at his words and the way he said them. A real acknowledgement that something had been there, between the two of you. That you weren’t imagining this thread tying the two of you together for years. That he loved you.
You just blinked at Clark. You were struggling to fill your lungs.
“Say something? Please?” Clark begged you. He was towering over you but he had a strange way of making it look like he was looking up at you, all sweet and guilty.
“What would you like me to say, Clark?"
You were still angry with him - so angry it made your teeth clench and your stomach curl. You were, probably, even more angry with him now that you knew he had loved you and still given you up.
“That it’s not too late.” he murmured, eyes growing wet. “That I can still get you back. I'm so sorry, sweetheart. I can't tell you how sorry. These last three months have been miserable for me.”
“Why didn’t you tell me this before? Why didn’t you call? I waited for you.”
His head hung like a child, unshed tears spilling onto his pretty cheeks.
“I didn’t think you would want to hear from me,” he admitted. “I didn’t know how to tell you that I love you without being able to call you mine. And, to be honest, I was panicking because everything you were saying made sense. And I knew I had been avoiding thinking about it.”
You sighed. Yes, you were angry - but you weren’t as angry as you knew you should be. You couldn’t help the way your heart was soaring one minute in the aftermath of his confession, and squeezing the next as you saw Clark beg.
“I made up my mind to tell Jimmy about a month ago,” he continued, uselessly blinking away more tears. “but when I went to your apartment, you had that guy over. Gosh, sweetheart - seeing you with him killed me.”
You crossed your arms in front of you.
“Was just trying to move on, Clark.” you mumbled, sniffling. “I didn't know- how could I have known? You didn’t say anything.”
He nodded frantically, eyes snapping up to meet yours.
“You couldn’t have, honey, it’s not your fault. It's mine. I know I messed everything up.”
You didn’t need to see him beg any longer. You had been so starved of him for the last three months, you didn’t think you could put yourself through anymore waiting. And, besides, he looked so sorry and pretty and sweet in front of you, crying.
“You didn’t mess everything up, Clark.” you said, stepping forward to gingerly take the flowers from his hands and bring them to your nose. They smelt fresh.
He watched you take them and put them on the counter with a sort of awe usually reserved for when you were sitting on top of him. The thought made you flush.
“You hurt me. Really really bad. But I love you and I've waited so long for you to be mine. I don't want to wait anymore.”
Clark was giving you a watery smile, the edges of his mouth twitching in disbelief. You couldn’t hold yourself back from kissing him anymore.
He had the eyes of a baby cow or some other bright-eyed wondrous creature when he looked at you step closer to him - in raptures.
Kissing him felt like you had been holding your breath for a very long time and you finally let yourself breathe again. You had missed this - missed him - so much. Nothing was like this - nothing at all.
You stood beside Clark at the door, shoulder knocking into his arm in what you hoped was a reassuring gesture. Your knees were shaking slightly, threatening to collapse from under you, and Clark looked nervous too.
“C’mon” you said gently, opening the door to Jimmy's apartment and walking in. You could feel Clark's enormous presence behind you, almost throwing a shadow over your frame.
You were attacked immediately.
“Finally!” from Cat and Lois.
Many fist bumps were dished out to Clark by Jimmy's college friends. You heard one of them mutter conspiratorily, “If it can’t be me, I'm glad it’s you, bro.”
“Thanks bro.” Clark nodded, smiling over at you cheekily. You just rolled your eyes but you couldn’t help the smile dancing on your lips.
Clark grabbed your hand and kissed your knuckles gently. You felt his messy hair tickle your wrist.
“No!” Jimmy screamed. “When I said I was cool with this,” his finger gestured between yourself and Clark. “I meant, like in theory. As a concept. I don't want to see it.”
You narrowed your eyes at him. “I see you’re already on the beers.” you said, pulling him in for a quick hug. He didn’t say anything, but he gave you a quick peck on the cheek and you understood everything he didn’t have to communicate.
“So you’re, like, totally done with Peter, right?” Cat asked once everyone had settled into comfortable conversation, feigning indifference. Clark pretended not to hear, enveloped in conversation with one of Lois' high school friends, but you just about saw his ears perk up.
You almost couldn’t help the wild, giddy laugh that escaped you. It captured Clark's attention fully and his lips curved up slightly, flushing red, as he noticed he had been caught. Lois' high school friend awkwardly latched on to another conversation.
“Do you want his number?” you asked, looking back to Cat as Clark put a large, warm hand on the small of your back. He kissed your temple.
“God, yes.”
“So when did you guys start sneaking around?” Lois joined the circle, giving you a sly smirk.
Clark went a deep shade of red, clearing his throat with embarrassment and clutching you a little tighter.
“January.” you returned.
“January?” Cat gawped. “We have thought you guys were banging for at least a few years now. We thought it was, like, a sexy little game or something, keeping it a secret.”
Lois agreed. “Clark has always given you this, like, moonstruck look whenever he thinks you’re not looking. It was sooo obvious.”
Clark was almost sweating now, his face going a deeper shade of red. You took pity on him.
“Alright, Nancy Drew. Who is gonna come with me to get a drink?”
Naturally, Cat and Lois flung to your side. Clark gave you a gentle squeeze in thanks and let you go. You made a mental note to bring this up later.
One hour and two drinks later, you began to feel warm and gooey - a pleasant warmth spreading its way from your lower abdomen around your body. Clark had hardly gone five minutes without approaching you and peppering you with kisses.
You caught his eye from the couch opposite. He looked so handsome, the first two buttons of his crisp white shirt undone so you could see just a hint of his large, tanned chest. He was leaning forward, forearms on his thighs, still laughing at a joke some intern from the office made.
Carefully, you uncrossed your legs and - just for a split-second - tilted them open slightly before crossing the other leg again.
You knew he had caught sight of the lace white panties beneath. The smile slipped instantly from his face. His breath caught, and he was almost doubled over in agony. He leaned forward more in what you could only assume was an attempt to hide his excitement.
A tidal wave of desire crashed through you, but you kept your cool, innocently chatting with someone you had never met before - someone from Jimmy's fantasy football league or something?
Yourself and Clark had made amends two weeks ago and you were letting him back into your life as slowly as you could manage while also needing him like an air supply.
You had not yet slept with each other again, however. You had justified it by telling yourself that this was your way of punishing him for stepping out of your life without a word. But a bigger part of you knew, for absolute certainty, that you were playing a game. You wanted to see just how far you could push him before he burst.
You could tell he was close. He frayed at the seams a little bit every time you swung your leg around his waist and sat directly on his cock, kissing him slowly and intimately, before quickly hopping off him with an innocent “G’night!”
But Clark - ever the gentleman - never pushed it. Probably felt he deserved it.
He did, your mind added unkindly.
When you sat on his lap at the dinner table, ass pressing into his pelvis, or when you stripped down to your underwear in front of him a bit slower than you would if you were on your own, you felt the desire rolling off him in waves. He would take a minute to stare at the wall, take a few deep breaths and return his gaze to you as if nothing had happened.
Still, though… you could sense he was close to breaking.
Jimmy had recruited Lois, Cat and even one or two of his college friends to convince yourself and Clark to join the group on the expedition to the bar. You firmly and resolutely declined.
You had almost been looking forward to girls approaching Clark at the bar so that you could, finally, finally, stake your claim on him. But you had more important plans in mind for Clark tonight.
“When did you guys get so boring?” Jimmy groaned. “Is this gonna be it now that you guys are together - you just never do fun stuff again because you’d prefer to go home and, like, do the laundry or some other domestic shit?”
“I have a feeling they’re not planning to do laundry tonight, Jimmy.” Lois smirked.
Jimmy blanched at that, mouth snapping shut and nose wrinkling in disgust. He didn’t say another word except, “Goodnight and god bless. Get out of my sight.”
When yourself and Clark had gotten changed for sleeping, you waited until he was sat up in bed, pale sheets glowing against his tan skin. He looked angelic, wearing nothing but his black briefs and slutty little glasses.
You stalked over to him, watching him watch you. You were wearing an oversized gimmicky superman t-shirt, bought for him as a joke, and the same white panties you had been wearing earlier. His Adams apple bobbed up and down as you clambered onto his lap, feeling incredibly small pressed against him.
You trailed a finger over his biceps, loving how the swollen muscles felt on your skin. You traced your fingertips over to his chest and pectoral muscles, watching the skin there jump and dance under your touch. He was so big.
Wrapping your thighs around his waist, you leaned into him innocently, pretending not to notice that your body weight was pressing down hard onto his dick. Clark suppressed a hiss, gripping your hips under your t-shirt with bruising strength. He instinctively pulled you closer.
You gave him those innocent, doelike eyes that you knew made him hot under the collar and he flushed, mouth opening just slightly.
You brushed a thumb over his parted lips, resisting the urge to slip it inside to rest on his tongue, and leaned in. You kissed him slowly, but it was messy from the get-go. Clark must have been close to drooling at the eyes you were making at him - his mouth was sloppy and wet and so so soft against yours. You felt how bad he wanted you - he put every ounce of it into that kiss.
His dick had been hard before you had even changed - you’re not sure it had gone soft since you teased him at the party. You felt it twitch when you playfully nipped his bottom lip with your teeth. He was getting riled up - rubbing his hands up and down your hips, grinding you down on his lap with messy desperation.
You released his mouth from yours with a pop and he looked up at you, dazed. You almost felt bad for what you were about to do - he looked so pretty, his eyes hazy with lust and his lips swollen by the force of yours.
“Night, Clark!” you called innocently, giving him a last quick peck to the lips before scrambling out of his lap.
Before you could make much progress, however, Clark had caught you by the hips and lifted you back. You smiled up at him, feeling reckless.
“You are so mean.” he whined, nudging at your neck with his nose and pressing soft kisses there. “You know what you’re doing to me.”
You frowned, feigning confusion. “What am I doing?”
You could hear the pout in Clark's voice when he muttered against your mouth, “Killin’ me, baby. I want you so bad. You know I do. Please.”
He looked up then and you saw a frown line delving between his brows, eyes soft and pleading and ruined. You felt yourself get wetter. “I need you like crazy. Been so long. You're so pretty and I love you so much.”
You smiled at him adoringly, moving a stray inky curl out of his face and combing a hand through his hair. Clark's frown line became deeper. He was frantic, trying to explain himself further while you admired him.
“Gotta feel you again. Keep thinking about it.”
“Yeah?” you asked, eyebrows raising. That got your attention.
He nodded. “Every night. Couldn’t even sleep for those three months you were gone. Kept dreaming ‘bout you on me. Woke up with my bedsheets soaked and I would have to jerk off so I could go back to sleep.”
“Poor Clark.” you cooed, stroking your thumb across his warm cheek and feeling the stubble rub your fingertip. You were trying to be patronising but it came out a bit too breathy. Truthfully, your mouth was watering.
He nodded solemnly. “I missed you so much. I want you so bad. Please, honey. Please?”
You giggled. “Why didn’t you just say sooner, baby?”
Clark was struck by lightning, looking at you in utter astonishment. He didn't even know that had been a possibility.
“You're so mean.” he repeated, pressing his messy mouth back to your neck and biting down hard.
“I’m about to let you fuck me, Clark. That's not very mean, is it?”
He groaned and you felt it rumble through your neck. You felt lightheaded and lovestruck at this mountain of a man worshipping you.
You put both hands on his chest, feeling the mounds of pectoral muscles flex under your touch, and rocked your hips back and forth. Noise after noise was spilling from Clark's lips, his head bent low to rest on your shoulder as he gripped your hips once again and moved you back and forth at his own pace.
You were already wet, dripping right onto his black briefs until they were see-through, but Clark's unearthly strength - the way he could move your entire body with no effort whatsoever - had you dripping.
You gave up power to Clark and let him move you at the pace he desired. He lifted the stupid t-shirt above your head and tossed it to the floor, squeezing you with a mouth-watering grip. He pressed his lips to both breasts, sucking and kissing. You could feel the head of his cock knocking against your clit through two layers of underwear and you saw stars.
Everything with Clark was just more. You felt more, you said more, you loved more. When you were with him, you forgot about the existence of any other man you had ever been with.
Because Clark was kinder. He was hotter. He was more responsible. And he was, of course, much better in bed. By a massive margin.
It wasn’t just his size, though that helped. You had never been so naturally in tune with someone else’s body - knew what they needed just from looking at them. And had definitely never had anyone know your body the way Clark did.
Every time the two of you messed around, you could almost see Clark, brows pulled together and tongue ever-so-slightly peeking out, making note of your reactions. What your body liked and what it didn’t. And all that work paid off - it was as if he had cheat codes to your body that nobody else had, knowing exactly what to do and how to do it in order to get the best reaction out of you.
All this to say, when Clark quickly but carefully pulled both of your underwear to the side, rubbed the swollen head of his cock down hard on your clit and bounced you around in that way he knew you liked - you screamed.
“I think you missed this too, didn’t you baby?” Clark asked, taking full advantage of the way you were struck dumb from pleasure. “Bet you thought about me like this too. You look so pretty right now- gosh.”
Clark began to rub your slick folds over his cock and, shit, you knew it was big but you didn’t remember it being that big.
Clark's hands were on your ass, pushing and gripping and squeezing. His hips were jerking upwards. The way your clit was rubbing against him was almost as sinful as how he looked - eyes clenched shut, head thrown back and sweating.
His tip brushed your hole lightly, accidentally dipping in less than a half inch deep. The two of you tensed up and your eyes met. Clark, slowly, carefully pressed deeper, ever so slightly, and you gasped.
“Please can I put it in?” he asked, pouting at you so prettily.
You wanted him so badly. You wanted to feel that familiar stretch you had been dreaming about every day for the last three-and-a-bit months - sorry, Peter - but you played the game anyway.
“I don't know, Clark." You bit your lip. “Aren’t we moving a bit fast? We’ve only been together two weeks.”
“Two weeks!” Clark gaped at you. “You’ve been mine for much longer than two weeks, sweetheart.”
“Have I?” you asked sweetly, taking him just another half-inch.
Clark’s head was rolling back. He was slurring “Please, baby. You’re mine. Always have been. Let me fill you.”
You smiled. “When you ask so nicely…”
You had planned to sink down on him completely. But when you stopped, feeling full to the brim, you looked down to see you had only taken him just about half-way. Clark whined filthily, laser focus on where you were taking him.
“Can’t do it, Clark.” you moaned, losing all semblance of control. “’s too big.”
He was looking at you with a sort of wonder. Like he couldn’t believe you were real and existed and were sitting on his cock.
“You can take it, sweetheart.” he assured you, slightly condescending. “Just been a long time since you’ve taken a dick this big, hasn’t it? Didn’t even have my fingers first to stretch you out, poor thing.”
Clark was gently sinking your hips down further and further, pressing in so deep you could feel him in your stomach - it felt like it shouldn’t have been possible.
When he bottomed out, you were a mess, babbling and moaning and crying. You couldn’t think when he was this deep inside you. Placing both hands on his abs, you stilled, getting used to the stretch.
Clark was marvelling at how you were taking him with wide eyes and awe.
“Missed this so much.” he almost cried. “Never gonna let you go again. Gonna wrap you around me like this every single day. Never gonna let you off my cock. Wanna stay like this forever, you sitting pretty on my lap, filled with my cock.. please, baby.”
He was ranting now, every word adding a rush of heat to your core. You were making a sticky mess on the coarse black hairs that dusted his groin. The stretch inside you went from too much to not enough the more you watched him whine and moan and writhe around desperately.
When you began to move, slowly and tentatively, Clark was astonished. He still couldn’t tear his eyes from the way he was stuffing your pussy, but every now and then his eyes would flick to your face, taking in the cockdrunk pleasure playing its way out there.
He was so deep and thick inside you, it felt almost unreal. His tip was kissing that wonderful spot deep inside you that made you turn to goo - the one nothing else could reach except Clark’s cock. The need for him was building in you and you increased your pace, grinding down even harder on him. Clark made a needy choked sound at the back of his throat.
“Look at that, baby, you didn’t even think you could take all of me and now you’re riding it like it’s yours.”
“It is mine.” you shot back snootily.
“Brat.” Clark smirked, jerking his hips up slightly in time with your rhythm.
“Clark.” you choked out. “Not fair- oh!”
Clark was in charge now, holding you and fucking into you. You were in a state of perpetual bliss - a pliant, messy wreck.
How did you survive, holding out on him for those two weeks? You didn’t know if you could ever last a day without having him now that you got a taste of him again - now that you knew he was completely and truly yours.
Clark's hand reached out, lightning-fast, and began to stroke loving patterns on your clit, just the way you liked. You couldn’t help the punched-out groan that fell from your lips.
You knew he was close when he did this. He had an obsession with the two of you coming at the same time and your clit was the fastest way to get you there.
“Not gonna last long.” he panted. “You feel too good. Missed you too much. Please, baby- I love you so much, sweet girl.”
If you had been thinking any clearer, you might have actually been embarrassed to admit that it was Clark's cheesy confession that sent you over the edge. You grinded down hard - felt Clark twitch inside you before spilling inside. Your back arched while you squeezed and clenched around him, pleasure so great it was almost agony spilling out from you.
Clark was looking at you the whole time like he had discovered a whole new religion, mouth slightly parted and face flushed while he rode the last waves of his own climax.
When you began to slump in exhausted ecstasy, last whimperings falling from your lips, Clark pulled out from you as gently as he could and held you against his chest, pressing a small, wet kiss to your shoulder.
“Want to hold you like this forever.” he whispered.
That didn’t sound so bad, really. All things considered.
Summary- You hated how everyone loved him. You were polar opposites, bucky was his fraternity president and you an alternative 'outcast'. Opposites definitely don't attract...or do they?
Word count- 5.6k
Warnings- Angst, fluff, angst, alcohol consumption, Halloween party, make outs, illusion to cheating. Misunderstanding. mean bucky, Grovelling bucky, not proof read.
My masterlist
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You and bucky make it halfway down the hallway before he slows, tugging gently on your hand. You turn, confused, and he’s watching you with that same quiet intensity from the study room, the kind that makes your stomach flip.
“Come with me.” He says softly. Not a demand, not even a request, more of a hope. You hesitate. “Bucky, we have class.” He shakes his head. “Not today. You’ve had enough for one morning.”
You want to argue, but the truth is you’re exhausted. Emotionally wrung out, nerves buzzing, heart still somewhere back in that study room. So, when he gives your head a small squeeze and nods towards the exit doors, you let him lead you outside.
The air is cold, crisp, grounding. Bucky walks beside you, close enough that your arms brush with every step. He doesn’t talk and your grateful for the silence, letting your footsteps fall into the same rhythm as bucks.
He takes you off campus, down the street, to the small dorm room he shares with Steve and same You’ve been here once or twice, but never like this, never with your heart pounding and your hand still in his.
He unlocks the door, pushes it open and calls out. “We’re back!”
Sams voice floats from the kitchen. “We?” Then Sam appears, wiping his hands on a towel, and stops dead in his tracks when he sees you. His eyebrows shooting up, then he grins like he’s been waiting for this moment.
“Well, well,well.” He speaks. Bucky groans, dragging a hand down his face “Sam.”
Steve appears next, hair damp from the shower, hoodie sleeves pushed up he gives you a small warm smile. “Good to see you.” He says, then to bucky, “You alright.”
Bucky nods, but Steves eyes flick to your join hands, and something like approval flashes across his face. You feel your cheeks heat. Bucky clears his throat. “We’re gonna go to my room.”
Sam calls out. “Door stays open!!” Bucky flips him off without turning around, Steve snorts from the settee.
He leads you down the hall to his room, small a little messy and warn in a way that feels lived in. He drops his backpack on the floor and sits on the edge of his bed, looking up at you like he’s waiting for you to bolt.
You don’t.
You sit beside him, knees touching. For a moment neither of you speaks. Then he exhales, long and shaky. “I hated seeing you upset today.” You swallowed “I wasn’t thrilled about it either.”
He nods, staring at your hands. “I know I can’t fix everything. I know I can’t stop people from talking. But I can be here. If you want me to be.” Your chest tightens, “I do.”
His head snaps up, eyes wide, hopeful in a way that makes your heart ache. “You do?”
You nod “I didn’t come here because I’m hiding, I came here because you make me feel safe.” He lets out a breath like he’s been holding it all day. “You’ll always be safe with me.”
You believe him. He grabs your hand, gently guiding you closer, you move closer. Settling on the bed beside him, leaning up, you could feel his breath on you, your nose brushed his as you moved closer, your lips pressing together in a tight kiss, his hand threads through your hair, scratching softly against your scalp. The kiss growing more passionate, your tongue darting out to wet your lips.
He pulls back, with a wrecked look on his face, letting out a huffed breath. The smile on his face was devastating., he flops down, letting the breath clear his lungs. Without thinking your slide your hand through his hair.
His eyes fluttered closed like he could fall asleep right there, the calmest either of you have felt all day. Which of course is exactly when Sam barges in. He doesn’t knock, never does. “Alright.” He announces, hands on his hips like an exasperated parent. “This pity party for two if officially over.”
Bucky groans without lifting his head. “Sam, I swear- “
“Nope!” Sam cuts in, pointing at both of you. “I’m invoking my right as the only sane person in the apartment. You two need a break.”
You blink, ceasing the movement on buckys head which causes him to groan and sit up, glaring at sam. “A break from what?”
Sam gestures wildly. “From the drama, from the rumours, from the brooding.” He waves a hand again. “From this.” Your brow furrowed in confusion looking between you and bucky.
“This?” Bucky repeats. “What’s wrong with this?”
Sam snorts. “Nothing. Its adorable. Your day has been depressing. Which is why- “He claps his hands together, far too loudly. “You’re both coming with me to the Halloween party tonight.”
You and bucky both speak at the same time.
“What?” “No.”
Sam ignores both of you. “Steve’s already going. I’m going. Half the campus is going and you two are not staying here moping like a Victorian child.”
Bucky sits up scowling “I don’t mope.”
“You absolutely mope.” Sam fires back. “You brood. You sulk. You stare out windows like you’re waiting for your lover to return from war.”
You chock on a laugh. Bucky shoot you a betrayed look. Sam points at you. “See? Even she knows.” Bucky muttered something under his breath that sounds suspiciously like traitor.
Sam continues, relentless. “Look. You’ve both had a rough day. You need fun. Music. Bad costumes. Alcohol.”
You hesitate. “Sam…I don’t know If I want to be around people right now.” Sams expression softens instantly. “I get that. I do. But you won’t be alone. You’ll have us and honestly?” He glances at bucky. “It might be good for him too.”
Bucky crosses his arms. “I’m fine.”
“You’re a disaster.” Sam corrects. “A lovesick, sleep deprived disaster.” Bucky’s ears go pink. Sam turns back to you. “Come on. One night. If you hate it, we’ll leave early. Deal?”
You look at bucky and he was already looking at you. Nothing pushing, not pressuring just waiting. “If you don’t want to go.” He says quietly. “We won’t.”
Sam throws his hands up,” Oh my god, he’s whipped.” A hidden smile behind his words. Bucky glares “Sam.”
Something inside you wants to go. Not for the party, for the idea of doing something normal, something fun. That isn’t hiding or avoiding rumours. And maybe the idea of seeing bucky in a costume.
You take a breath. “Okay. I’ll go.” Bucky’s eyes widen a little, shocked you actually said yes. “Yeah?”
You nod. Sam claps once, triumphant. “Excellent. Costumes now. Other groans ripples from bucky. “Really.” Sam grins like the devil. “Oh, your gonna love this.” Bucky looks back at you, resigned. “This is your fault.”
A laugh bubbles out your throat. “I know.”
Sam herds you both into the living room like your two toddlers he’s responsible for. “Alright” he says “Costumes. We’re doing this properly.” Bucky drops onto the settee with the energy of a man facing execution. “Why do we need costumes.”
“Because it’s a Halloween party. Not a funeral.”
You hide your smile, bucky sees it and narrows his eyes at you. While looking at bucky, you didn’t notice Sam disappeared. When he reappeared, he dumps a mountain of costumes onto the couch like he’s performing some kind of ritual sacrifice to the gods.
“Alright.” He declares, hands on his hips. “Pick your poison.” Pointing towards the pile, your face contorts in shock at the amount. “It helps that Stevie designed costumes for the school theatre freshman year.” You nod in understanding.
You kneel beside the pile, fingers brushing through layers of fabric, velvet, faux leather, glitter, lace. The rooms smell faintly of popcorn and laundry detergent, warm and lived in. Bucky sits slouched on the settee, one arm, thrown over the backrest, watching you with that quiet unreadable intensity he always gets when he thinks you’re not looking.
You pick a few options, a witch hat, a sparkly mask, until your hand closes around something heavier. Black faux leather corset a deep red skirt short enough to make your breath catch and a gold rimmed pirate jacket. Along with a hate with a dramatic feather curling over the brim.
Sam whistles low. “Oh, that’s dangerous.” You hold it up, letting the fabric spill over your hands, the corset gleams under the living room light, structured and sharp, the kind of thing that demands attentions. The skirt is soft and scandalously short.
Bucky looks up lazily and then stops breathing. His eyes drag over the items, slow and stunned like he’s trying to process what he’s seeing. His jaw tightens, His posture shifts, shoulders straightening, chest rising with a sharp inhale he doesn’t quite hide.
“You’re thinking of wearing that.” His asks, voice lower than before, rough around the edges. You shrug, pretending your pulse isn’t hammering. “Maybe.”
Bucky swallows, throat bobbing. His flicks from the corset to your face, then back again like he’s fighting some internal battle and losing spectacularly.
Sam grins “Barnes, close your mouth.”
Bucky snaps his jaw shut, glaring at Sam but his eyes keep drifting back to the outfit like gravity itself is pulling them in, “you’d look incredible.” He breathes out slowly.
Sam cackles. “Translation- he’s about to pass out.”
You lift the corset against your torso, just to see the shape of it. Bucky makes a sound. Involuntary and punched out like the air left his lungs all at once. “Yep.” Sam says delighted. “That’s the one.”
You move back to the settee as bucky shifts closer to the pile, digging through, before he could find anything Sam looks through too, he pulls out a black button down shirt along with it came a pair on fangs and a tiny pot of dark eyeliner.
Bucky recoils like Sam just handed him a live grenade. “no.”
“Yes.” Sam says, already tossing the shirt at him. “no.”
“Yes.” Steves wanders in with a bowl of popcorn, takes one look at the outfit and nods. “It’d look good buck.”
Bucky glares at him too. “I’m not wearing eyeliner.” Sam tosses him the pot.” Oh, you absolutely are.”
Youre about to laugh. Until bucky holds the shirt up to his chest. And suddenly the room feel too warm, the shirt is fitted, the kin that would cling to his shoulders and taper along his waist. The fangs glinting in Sams hand.
You brain short circuits. Because you can imagine it, bucky in black, collar open, eyes darkened with smudged liner and fangs catching the light when he smirks. You forget how to breathe.
Sam notices instantly. “Ohhh. Look who’s flustered now.” You ignore him, staring at bucky like he’s already wearing it.
“It would look good.” You swallow, heat crawling up your neck. Bucky raises an eyebrow, a slow knowing smirk tugging at his mouth. “Yeah?
You nod unable to look away. “If you want me to wear it…I will.” Your breath catches. “I do.” You say quietly. His expression shifts. “Then I’m wearing it.”
Sam groans dramatically. “Then I’m wearing it.” Before moving to kick you out the living room. “Go put them on. Separate rooms and no peeking!”
Bucky mutters something about Sam being insufferable, but he heads to his room with the outfit draped over his arm. You take the pirate costume to the bathroom, heart thudding in your chest.
The mirror is harsh at first, pulling you in just enough to make your silhouette sharp. The red skirt swished around your tights. The jacket settles over your shoulders the gold trim catching the light. The corset pushing your chest up just perfectly.
Scrambling through your bag you add a touch of eyeliner to your makeup and a swipe of lipstick. You ruffle your hair and taking a deep breath, you open the bathroom door. Bucky is standing in the hallway waiting.
Hes mid-buttoning his shirt. Black, flitted sleeves rolled to his forearm. His hair is pushed back, a little messy like he’s ran his fingers through it too many times. The eyeliner is smudges perfectly around his eyes. Making the blue look impossibly bright.
He sees you and everything in him stops. His hand freezes on the last button. His breath catches, his eyes drag over your slowly, reverently. Like he’s afraid he’ll miss something if he looks too fast.
“Holy.” His voice cracks. He clears his throat then tries again. “You look- “He doesn’t finish, he can’t, he’s staring at you like your unreal.
You feel heat crawl up your neck. But you force yourself to meet his eyes. “You look good too.” He huffs out a laugh. Breathless, disbelieving. “Good? I look like I’m about to embarrass myself.”
You step closer, boots clicking softly on the floor. “You look incredible.” His jaw tightens, his eyes flick to your mouth then back to your eyes, like he’s fighting the urge to do something reckless. “You can’t look at me like that.” He murmurs.
“Like what?”
“You know exactly what you’re doing.”
Your breath stutters, because you do and so do he. Sam’s voice explodes from the living room. “ARE YOU TWO READY OR DO I NEED TO COME GET YOU?” Bucky doesn’t look away from you. Not even for a second.
He leans in, voice low enough that only you can hear it. “If we don’t go now, I’m not letting you leave this hallway.” Your pulse jumps so hard you feel it in your fingertips. You swallow. “Then we should go.”
The moment you say it, something shifts, like the air itself tightens between you. Bucky’s eyes stay locked on yours for one beat too long. Until he finally exhales, a slow shaky breath that sounds like it’s costing him effort. He steps back just enough to give you space.
“Yeah” He murmurs. Voice still rough. “We should.”
You both turn toward the living room, but neither of you move for a second. It’s ridiculous, Sam is ten feet away yelling about punctuality. But it feels like stepping forward will snap something fragile and electric that’s humming between you.
Bucky clears his throat, straightens the collar of his shirt like it’ll help him regain composure. It doesn’t. His fingers tremble slightly on the fabric. He notices you noticing and immediately shoves his hand into his pockets like that’ll hide it.
It doesn’t. You walk side by side into the living room. Sam takes one look at the two of you and groans dramatically. “Oh, for the love of- did you two make out in the hallway?”
Bucky sputters. “We didn’t- Sam- “
You’re not sure if you want to laugh or hide behind the nearest piece of furniture. Steve looks between you both with the calm judgement. “You both look great.” He says simply. Then after a breath. “And also like you’re about to combust.”
Sam glares at him. “Exactly! Thank you! See, this is what I’m dealing with.” Bucky glares at Sam. “You’re not dealing with anything.”
Sam ignores him completely.” Alright love birds. To the party!”
You step out into the cool night air, the breeze brushing your legs, the faint scent of autumn leaves drifting around you. Bucky walks beside you, close enough that your arms almost touch.
He opens the passenger door for you without thinking, like its instinct when you slide in, he hesitates, leaning down just slightly, eyes catching yours again. “You really do look…” He trails off, searching for the right word. His voice drops. “Unbelievable.”
Your breath catches and Sam honks the horn loudly. Bucky jerks upright, flipping him off without looking. You bite back a smile as he rounds the car to climb in beside you.
The house is already alive when you step inside, warm light spilling from every doorway, music vibrating through the floorboards, laughter echoing down the hall. Fake poorly hung up cobwebs hand form the ceiling.
Bucky walks beside you, close enough that your shoulders brush every few steps. Hes trying to look casual, but the way his eyes flick around the room gives him away. Hes alert and tense.
Sam wonders off, leaving you and bucky standing near the kitchen doorway. A group of people pass by, admiring your costume. Someone whistles, someone else says. “Damn.”
You feel heat rise in your cheeks, bucky hears it too. His jaw tightens and he shifts slightly closer, like his putting himself between you and the comments without even realizing it. “You, okay?” You ask softly.
He nods, eyes still scanning the room. You bump your shoulder into his. “We can leave whenever you want.” His eyes flick to yours, something warm and grateful in them. “Same goes for you.” For a moment, the noise of the party fades. Its just you and him. Just the soft thrum of something neither of you are brave enough to name.
Then someone shouts from across the room. “Barnes! Nice fangs.” Bucky groans. “I hate this costume.”
“You look good.” You say before you can stop yourself. He freezes, actually freezes. Then he turns his head slowly, eyes darkening under the smudged eyeliner. “Yeah?” His lips curling into a smirk.
You swallow. “Yeah.” His lip twitch like he’s fighting a smile or something more dangerous. Before either of you can say anything else, Sam reappears with a bowl of neon green punch. “Okay love birds, enough staring. Drink. Dance. Pretend to be normal.”
Bucky snatches the cup just to shut him up. You take some too, sipping it carefully, it tastes like sugar and a bad hang over.
Sam drags bucky towards a group of people, leaving you momentarily alone. You wander toward the living room, taking in the decorations, the costumes, the energy. Its nice, loud but nice.
You’re admiring a wall of decorations when bucky returns, slightly breathless, hair a little messier than before. “Sam tired to make me dance.” He says, deadpan.
You laugh. “Did you?”
“No.”
You shake your head, smiling he looks at you’re like the sight of your smile is the only thing keeping him upright. Then a girl walks past you and your stomach drops. Larissa. And she’s wearing your costume. Not similar, not inspired by. The exact costume. Corset, skirt and stupid feathered hat.
She looks incredible, confident, loud. The kind of girl who owns every room she walks into. You blink thrown of balance. Bucky doesn’t notice. Hes too bust watching you. “Hey” he says softly. “You, okay?”
You nod even though you’re not sure why your chest feels tight. “Yeah. Just taking it all in.” He steps closer, voice low. “If it gets too much tell me.”
You open your mouth to answer but someone calls your name from across the room, and you turn instinctively. When you look back bucky is already scanning the crowd again, unaware of the girl in your same costume drifting toward the kitchen.
Unaware of walker heading straight towards her. The music shifts into something bass heavy, the kind that makes the floor vibrate. People are dancing in the living room. Spilling into the hallway, drinks sloshing dangerously close to the carpet. Someone has set up as fog machine that’s doing way too much.
Bucky stays close to you, hovering like he’s trying not to hover.
Every time someone bumps into you, his hand twitches like he wants to steady you. Every time someone looks at you a little too long his jaw tightens.
Bucky’s attention is caught by Sam calling him over to get a team photo, he smiles at your mouthing that he’ll just be a second before weaving through the crowd. You nod, then a burst of laughter erupts from the kitchen catching your attention, you glance over, that’s when you see her.
Larissa, leaning against the counter, laughing at something someone said. Tossing her hair over her shoulder. The feather on her hat bounces dramatically with every movement. You blink, thrown off again. Its surreal.
Walker enters the kitchen, he spots hers and his face lights up like Christmas, “Oh hell yea.” He says swaggering over. “Didn’t know pirates came this hot.” She giggles, before you can blink, she’s pulling him down by the collar, you see a glimpse of tongue before you grimace and turn away.
You watch from afar as bucky walks back into the room scanning the crowd for you, brows furrowed when the cant find you, he quickly glanced over toward the kitchen. His entire body goes rigid. He sees walkers hands on her hips. He sess her kissing him with everything she has.
sees your costume and thinks its you. His face drains of colour, then floods with something else, something sharp and wounded, disbelief.
He takes a step back like he’s been hit. Your heart lurches. “Bucky- “
He doesn’t hear you, his eyes are locked on the scene like he’s watching his worst fear unfold in real time. His jaw clenches, his throat works and hands curl into a fist at his side. His eyes darken.
He doesn’t look back, doesn’t hesitate. He storms across the room, weaving through people with a single minded fury. Shoulders tense, fists clenched.
You push through the crowd after him, heart hammering. But the room is packed, bodies every where and you lose sight of him for a moment, by the time you reach the kitchen The girl is gone, walker is wiping his mouth, confused.
Looking around like he’s not sure what just happened and bucky is standing Infront of him. Chest heaving, his eyes ablaze.
“What the hell was that?” Bucky snaps. Walker blinks. “Uh…what?”
“don’t play fucking dumb walker.” Bucky growls. “You think you can just grab her like that?” Walker frowns. “Grab who?”
Bucky steps closer, knuckles turning white. Walker raises his hands. “Look man, I didn’t grab anyone. She kissed me.” Bucky’s jaw flexes. “You didn’t push her away.”
Walker shrugs. “Why would I? She wanted it.” Bucky’s breath stutters a tiny involuntary sound of hurt buried under anger. You finally break through the crowd. “Bucky”
He turns, and the second he sees you his face changes, the anger drains and something worse takes over. Hurt.
“You’ve got to be kidding me.” He mutters. You step closer “Bucky listen- “He cuts you off, voice sharp. “No. you listen.” The room feels like it tilts.
His jaw is tight, his eyes cold in a way you’ve never seen directed at you, the anger and alcohol pulsing through his veins was clear. “You didn’t even last ten minutes before throwing yourself at the first guy who looked at you.”
The words hit like a punch, you feel them physically, your chest tightens, your throat burns, eyes stinging. “I didn’t- “
He steps closer, anger simmering under his skin. “You know what? Fine. Do whatever you want. Just don’t pretend you’re any different.”
That one lands the hardest, you stare at him, stunned. “You don’t mean that.” He looks away, jaw clenched. “Maybe I do.”
Silence. Its heavy, you could feel it crushing your chest suffocating you. You swallow hard, voice barely steady. “I would never do that to you.” He finally looks at you and for a split second, you see regret flicker across his face.
You don’t say anything else. You can’t, your throat is tight, your chest burning. You turn before he can see the tears forming, pushing through the crowd, ignoring the music, the laughter, the people bumping into you.
You make It to the hallway, then the stairs and somehow to the bathroom. You lock the door behind you and press your back to it, sliding down until your sitting on the cold tile floor. Then the tears come.
Hot silent and angry. You press your palms to your eyes, trying to breath, trying to swallow the ache in your chest. You wipe your fast, furious at yourself for crying, furious at him for making you feel like this.
You don’t know how long you sit there, long enough for the music downstairs to shift, long enough for you breathing to steady. The hurt started to settle into something sharper.
Bucky stands in the kitchen, fists still clenched, his jaw beginning to ache. He runs a hand through his hair, pacing one, twice, trying to get the image out of his head. The way it felt like someone punched him in the ribs.
He grabs a drink off the counter, down it in one swallow and slams the cup down harder than necessary. “Rough night?”
He turns, Larissa. His eyes roll at her presence. She’s leaning against the doorway, twirling a stand of hair around her finger, smiling at him like he’s already decided something.
She steps closer. “You look tense.” Bucky doesn’t answer, she steps even loser, brushing her fingers lightly along his arm. “You want to dance? Or something else?”
He pulls his arm back, expression flat. “Not interested.” She pouts. “Come on. You were staring earlier.”
His brows furrows in confusion. “I wasn’t staring at you.” She laughs. “Sure you weren’t”
She moves closer again and that’s when he really looks at her. The corset, the skirt, the hat. The exact same costume. His stomach drops, his anger stuttering. Breath catching in his chest suddenly realizing something.
He never saw your face kissing walker, just the costume. And he assumed it was you.
Larissa tilts her head. “You, okay?” Bucky’s voice is low, rough. “Where’s the guy you were kissing?” She shrugs. “Walker? U don’t know. I left.” He stares at her, really stares.
And the truth hits him like a punch to the hut, it wasn’t you, it was never you. But he said those things anyway. His chest tightens painfully. “Shit.”
Larissa raises an eyebrow. “What?” But bucky is already moving, pushing past her, scanning the room searching for you with a growing sense of dread clawing up his spine. Because he hurt you. And had probably lost you.
You sit on the cold tile floor, back against the door, breathing unevenly. Your makeup is smudged, your chest tight, your hands shaking with a mix of anger and heartbreak. You replay his words. “You didn’t even last ten minutes before throwing yourself at the first guy who looked at you.”
It hits repeatedly. The tears pouring down your cheek, not because of walker but this time, because bucky looked at you like you were nothing more than a mistake.
Bucky takes the stairs two at a time, heart pounding, breath uneven. The house feels too loud, too crowded, too suffocating. He hurt you, and the guilt is eating him alive. He reaches the top of the stairs and scans the hallway. Empty.
He mutters under his breath. “Come on doll where are you.” He checks the first bedroom, empty. The second, empty. Then he sees it, the faint flow of a bathroom light under the door. He stops in front of it, chest tight. His lifts his first to knock, “Hey…its me.”
Silence.
He swallows hard. “Can you open the door?” nothing.
He presses his forehead to the wood, eyes closing “Please.” Still nothing. He exhales shakily, voice cracking just a little. “I know you’re in there. I know you heard me, I messed up.”
You stare at the door, jaw clenched, tears drying on your cheeks. He keeps talking, voice low and rough. “I shouldn’t have said what I said. Any of it. I was angry and I- “
You cut him off, voice sharp. “Go away.”
The words hit him like a slap. He flinches. “Doll- “
“Don’t call me that.” He goes silent, completely silent. You hear him breathe in, slowly like he’s trying to keep himself together.
Then quietly. “I thought it was you.” Your chest twists painfully. “It wasn’t.”
“I know that now.” His voice cracks. “I know and I’m sorry, I’m so damn sorry” You don’t answer. His presses his palm to the door, like he’s trying to reach you through it. “I shouldn’t have said those things. I didn’t mean them.”
You laugh. “You sounded like you meant every word.” “I didn’t,” he says instantly. “I swear I didn’t.”
You wipe your face again, anger rising. “You looked at me like I was nothing.” His breath catches. “You’re not nothing. You’re- “He stops himself, swallowing hard. “You’re the last person I ever wanted to hurt.”
You close your eyes, fighting the sting behind them. He leans his head against the door again. “Please… just let me talk to you.”
You don’t move.
You don’t answer.
His voice drops to a whisper. “I’ll wait. However long it takes. I’m not leaving.”
He stays there, sitting on the floor outside the bathroom door, back against the wall, elbows on his knees, head in his hands. He knocks again, softer this time, like he’s afraid of hurting you more. “Please” He whispers. “Just…please talk to me.”
Nothing.
He swallows hard, voice cracking. “I know you don’t want to hear me.” I know I don’t deserve it. But I’m not leaving.” You stare at the door, tears threatening again.
He keeps going, voice wrecked. “I messed up. I messed up so bad and I know saying sorry doesn’t fix it, but I’m saying it anyway.”
“I shouldn’t have said those things. I shouldn’t have even though them. I was angry and jealous and stupid, and I took it out on you.”
His breath stutters. “I saw that costume and I thought” He stops, voice shaking. “I thought I lost you.” Your chest tightens painfully.
He laughs, a broken sob. “And instead of asking, instead of trusting you, I threw the worst words I could find right at you. Because I was scared.” He drags a hand through his hair, frustrated with himself.
“You didn’t deserve that. You didn’t deserve any of that.” Silence. He leans his head back against the wall, eyes closing. “I’m sorry,” he whispers. “I’m so damn sorry.”
Still nothing from you.
He swallows hard, voice barely audible. “If you never want to talk to me again, I’ll take it. I’ll deal with it. But I need you to know I didn’t mean a single word I said.”
His voice cracks again. “You’re not like that. You’re not what I called you. You’re… you’re the best thing in my life.” Your breath catches.
He hears it, he faintest shift of air and his head snaps up.
“Please,” he says, voice raw. “Please open the door. Yell at me. Hit me. Tell me I’m an asshole. I deserve all of it. Just… don’t shut me out.” You stare at the handle.
Your hand twitches. He notices the shadow under the door move and he leans forward, desperate. “Sweetheart,” he whispers, voice breaking completely. “I’m begging you.”
The word begging hits you like a shock. You’ve never heard him sound like this. Never heard him this undone.
Your hands trembles on the knob, you don’t even know why you’re opening it, anger and hurt still coursing through you. The door clicks, bucky jerks upright instantly. He looks wrecked. His eyes rimmed red, hair mussed from running his hand through it.
He stands slowly, like he’s afraid any sudden movement will make you shut the door again. “hey” he whispers, you don’t answer, he swallows hard, stepping closer but just short of touching you.
“I’m sorry,” he says, voice raw. “I’m so damn sorry. I shouldn’t have said any of that. I shouldn’t have even though it.” You look away, jaw tight. He flinches like the sight physically hurts him.
“I was angry,” he continues, words tumbling out, “and jealous, and scared, and I saw that costume and I thought, I thought you were with him and it felt like someone ripped something out of me.”
Your breath catches, but you don’t speak. He steps closer, slowly, carefully, until he’s right in front of you. “I didn’t mean what I said,” he murmurs. “Not one word. You’re not like that. You’re not what I called you. You’re… you’re everything I’m terrified to lose.”
Your chest tightens painfully.
He lifts a hand, hesitates, then lets it hover near your cheek without touching. “I’ll spend the rest of the night apologizing if that’s what you want. I’ll get on my knees. I’ll do whatever it takes. Just… don’t shut me out.”
Your voice is barely a whisper. “You hurt me.” His eyes close, like the words cut him open. “I know. And I hate myself for it.”
You finally meet his eyes. “Tell me how to fix it,” he breathes. “You can’t,” you say, but your voice cracks. He steps even closer, your bodies almost touching, his breath brushing your cheek.
“Let me try,” he whispers. You don’t know who moves first. But suddenly his hands are cupping your face, gentle, trembling and your fingers are fisted in the front of his shirt, pulling him down and then his mouth is on yours, its not soft, its desperate.
Full of everything he couldn’t say. He kisses you like he’s afraid you’ll disappear. Like he’s trying to pour every regret, every fear, every unspoken feeling into the space between you. You gasp against his mouth, and he breaks just long enough to whisper, breathless. “I’m sorry.”
Another kiss. “I’m so sorry.” Another. “I’ll never talk to you like that again.” Another, deeper this time. “I swear.”
Your back hits the wall gently as he crowds closer, but his hands stay soft on your face, thumbs brushing your cheeks like he’s memorizing you. You pull him closer anyway. And he lets you.
When you finally break apart, both of you breathing hard, he rests his forehead against yours. “I thought I lost you,” he whispers. “You didn’t,” you breathe. His eyes close in relief. “Good,” he murmurs, voice low and shaky.
“Because I’m not letting you go.”
-------
This series tag list- @dpr-teag @mfstargirlsworld @avatarofthetimelords @vicmc624 @anddiesworld @chonkybonky @kileyking @nameless-ken @haleygettys @mathcat345 @sizzlingstarlightsky
Bucky tag list- @sebastians-love @galactict3a @my-drvidess
Pairing: Prince!Bucky Barnes x Mermaid!Reader
Warning: smut (p in v, fingering), innocence kink, handjob, personal boundaries being disrespected (reader doesn't understand why humans don't share bathtubs?), corruption of a Disney trope?, it's giving disney if they let them fu-
Word Count: 12.3k
Summary: You were never supposed to interact with the shore people, told yourself just keeping their artifacts was enough. But a storm that crashes Bucky into the sea has different ideas, a mermaid who doesn't know the rules ends up too close to a prince who doesn't follow them.
+fran: she's here! my contribution to the bwa fairytale collab is finally public! she's huge! I had so much fun with this, I love writing mermaid!reader. funny story, my dad bought me a stuffed flounder as a gift the day I was born. the rest is, as they say, history. @earthsmightiestbenders I'm sorry I edged you <3
The palace slept, its spires and coral arches glowing faintly with bioluminescent light. You should’ve been asleep too, curled in the safety of your chambers. But your heart thrummed with restlessness, and your tail flicked against the current like it had a will of its own.
So you slipped past the sentries, careful not to stir the sea anemones that lit the halls, and darted into the open water.
The deeper you swam, the darker it became. No lantern-fish guided your way; no conch-shell guards patrolled here. This was the border of your father’s kingdom—the place he forbade you from going.
Which made it all the more irresistible.
You’re not supposed to be here. Not in this part of the reef, not beyond the kelp wall, and certainly not inside the old wrecked cave with the split hull of a ship jutting out from the rock like broken teeth.
You grinned, darting down through the broken planks. Your fingers trailed over strange objects half-buried in the sand: cups of dulled silver, beads of glass, a rusted blade. Treasures. Human treasures.
You gathered what you could into the woven bag slung at your hip. But one thing caught your eye, glinting faintly in a shaft of moonlight that pierced the waves.
A chain. Thin, tangled, half-buried in silt. You dug it free, heart pounding, and found a small plate dangling at the end. The letters etched into it were strange, foreign, but you traced them carefully all the same.
James B. Barnes.
You pressed the tag to your chest, curious at the way the cool metal seemed to echo with a heartbeat not your own.
If you were caught, you’d be dragged back to the palace, scolded, maybe worse. But staring at the artifact in your hands, you knew you’d come back tomorrow. And the next night. And the next.
Because collecting these artifacts made it feel like the world above the waves wasn't so far away.
You darted through narrow tunnels of stone until the sea opened into your hidden grotto, your sanctuary.
Every ledge glittered with stolen wonders: tarnished forks, broken lanterns, colorful shards of glass polished smooth by the tide. Your collection sparkled in the dim blue light filtering from the cracks above.
You tucked the newest find—a thin chain with its curious etched plate—onto the highest shelf, as though that made it more important than all the rest. You whispered the strange words, testing the shape of them on your tongue. They meant nothing, but somehow they felt like more than all the treasures you’d collected before.
Then you hear them. Voices. Laughter. The swish of fast tails. Your sisters.
“Oh no,” you whisper, trying to rearrange a curtain of seaweed to hide your grotto’s entrance, but it’s too late. They burst in like a storm, all limbs and noise and glittering teeth.
“We knew it,” Kate laughs, flipping upside down in the water. “She’s here with her trinkets.”
“Are you talking to statues again?” Yelena says with a giggle, poking at one of the old compasses. “Ooh, what’s this? Another broken time spinner?”
You grab it before she can toss it. “It’s a watch,” you mutter. “It tells time.” They exchange a look and burst into laughter again.
“Tell time for what? How long it takes a human to drown?” Yelena snorts.
You scowl. “They’re not all like that.” You look at the big statue at the center of your grotto, one you dragged through sand and current a few moons ago after a particularly gnarly storm that was partially your fault. It was the last time you pranked your father with sea urchins, that's for sure.
“No,” Kate says, eyes glittering. “Just the ones who hunt us, dump trash into our waters, destroy reefs, and build those big wooden boxes that sink during storms—those humans?”
Your grip tightens around the old watch. “Some of them are different.”
Your sisters circle lazily, light current from their swimming pushing you to float right against the chest of the statue, teasing but not cruel. Not really. This is a game they’ve played your whole life. “Let me guess,” Yelena purrs, “you’re still dreaming about your human prince? The one with the strong arms and the sad eyes and the big—”
“Stop!” you laugh, flicking your tail hard enough to send a little bit of pressure through the water at them. “You’re horrible.”
“He’s not real, you know,” Kate says, but her voice softens. “No human prince is going to come sweeping into the sea to rescue a little coral-brained romantic like you.”
You glance at your collection—at the chipped music box that still plays a wobbly lullaby, the feathered quill encased in glass, the portrait of a man with a beard and stormy eyes who looks a little bit like how you imagine him.
You weren’t supposed to want this. You weren’t supposed to crave the surface. But every artifact told a story, and tonight you wondered — not for the first time — if one of those stories could be yours.
The tide was low. The sky painted in lavender streaks and salted gold, the moon beginning to rise like a silent promise over the distant cliffs. Prince James Buchanan Barnes walked along the shore with his boots in one hand and the salt wind in his hair, kicking sand lightly as he walked.
He wasn’t supposed to be here. Not this late, not without guards. Not with the weight of the crown looming closer each day. But he came anyway.
Steve trailed behind him, arms crossed over his chest, one of the only people left who could speak to him without ceremony or title. “You ever gonna tell me what you’re looking for out here?” Steve asked. "You've been disappearing into the shore every night for weeks now."
Bucky didn’t answer right away. His eyes scanned the surf like it might reveal something. Like it owed him something. “I don’t know,” he murmured finally. “Peace, maybe.”
Steve’s boots crunched in the wet sand beside him. “You can't find peace in wine, the best food, and the prettiest women begging to be let in your chamber at the palace?”
Bucky huffed a dry laugh, then shook his head. “I feel… like I can breathe out here.” He turned, eyes skimming the waves as they rolled toward the shore. “I feel like I’m always performing in there,” he said, gesturing vaguely toward the cliffs that cradled the castle in stone. “Like I have to be someone I’m not. But when I’m out here... I can think.”
“And what are you thinking about?” Steve asked gently.
Bucky hesitated. His jaw tensed, then relaxed. “That maybe I don’t belong anywhere. That maybe I’m not enough — for the court, the kingdom, the war council. For any of it.” Steve didn’t interrupt. Just let him speak.
Bucky exhaled, dragging his fingers through his dark hair. “I feel… alone,” he admitted, softer now. “Even when I’m surrounded by people. Even when I’m in a room full of nobles and soldiers and advisors.” His voice dropped to almost nothing. “Especially then.”
He looked back at the waves. “But when I’m near the water... it’s like something settles in me. Like something out there understands.”
You were alone, nestled behind a jagged cluster of rocks, nothing above the surface besides your shoulders, neck, and face. Wet hair floating behind you, your fingers gripping a bed of mossy stone, your eyes fixed on the shoreline.
And on him.
Your cheek rested on your forearms, now crossed on the stone, hidden enough from shore that you could stay like this and just look at him pacing until he got tired enough to retreat back behind the walls that divided your worlds.
Gods, was he beautiful.
The hem of his pants was pulled up around his calves, his vest was undone, as was the shirt under it, letting his tanned chest be bathed in moonlight. His hair fell on his face every time he looked down, and when he looked up he flickered it back over his broad shoulders.
You were close enough to see the way his lips moved as he talked to the blond one beside him—Steve, you’d learned from surface gossip and one of your better-eavesdropping sisters. Their voices didn’t carry over the waves, not clearly, but you caught fragments. Words like alone, lost, don’t belong.
It was all very mysterious and a little bit sad, which made you sigh like a maiden in a ballad, resting your chin on the barnacled stone with a dreamy smile on your face.
You watched as he paused at the shoreline, staring out at the sea as if you were the one missing piece in his princely little life. Which, obviously, you were.
You held your breath, as though breathing too loudly might give you away.
And then—
“Gods, you’re pathetic.”
You yelp, spinning around in the water so fast that your tail hits the rock. A sharp sting slices through your fin, but you bite it back.
“Yelena!” you hiss, eyes wide. “What are you doing here?!”
She’s floating just behind you, grinning smugly, her arms crossed over her chest and her tail lazily flicking against the current.
“I followed you,” she says, all syrupy sweetness. “You’re not exactly stealthy when you sigh like a lovesick dolphin every five minutes.” She got closer and made you scoot over so she could see what you saw, both of you just peeking around the rocks now to make sure the two humans didn't hear you.
“He’s even sadder up close,” Yelena mutters beside you, following your line of sight. “You sure you want that?” You ignore her. “Why are you watching him again?” she asks, softer this time. “You know it’s dangerous.”
You press your cheek to the cool rock, frowning, watching as Bucky stops to look out at the sea. The wind plays with the hem of his shirt. He looks so tired. So real. You just want to reach out and touch his skin.
You smiled dreamily. “Isn’t he beautiful?”
The sea outside was alive with noise—guards patrolling, schools of fish darting past—but in your grotto, all was still. Here, tucked deep in rock and coral, time belonged to you.
And to him.
The statue loomed from its place of honor, shadowed but magnificent. The marble face was softened by the water, but you could still see him in every line—the set of his jaw, the broadness of his shoulders, the proud tilt of his head.
You circled him slowly, your fingers trailing along the cold stone of his arm. “You should be heavier,” you murmured, half to yourself.
“Ohhh, listen to her! Already talking to him like he’s her betrothed. This is love, I tell you. Star-crossed, storm-born, fate-bound love!” Ava, one of your oldest sisters, gushed from her place where she was brushing her hair, perched on a stone.
Her romantic nature was only second to yours.
Yelena rolled her eyes, “Fate-bound trouble,” she swam closer. “If father knew you’d dragged this into the grotto? If he knew you touched a human—”
You waved her off, "He'll never know." pressing closer to the statue’s chest. The stone was cool, but you imagined the warmth you’d feel beneath your palm on the shore. Slowly, daringly, you let your lips brush against the marble jaw. “He'd be warm,” you whispered, eyes fluttering shut. “So warm.”
“You’d hold me differently, if you were flesh,” you murmured, just to yourself. “You’d burn like I do when I think of you.”
“Oh, little sister, it’s written all over your face. You’re smitten!”
“I am not!” But even as you said it, your mind betrayed you with the memory of Bucky’s voice, the curve of his lips. “I’m not,” you whispered, weaker now.
But then—the water shifted. Darkened. A deep voice rolled through the current, heavy as thunder. “You what?”
Your blood ran cold. Slowly, you turned. Your father hovered just beyond the entrance, his trident gleaming, his eyes alight with fury. The currents around him churned, violent and unyielding.
“Father—” you started, but the words died as his shadow loomed closer.
“A human?” His voice cracked like a whip. “After everything I’ve warned you, everything I’ve forbidden—you dare bring their filth into my waters?”
“No—please—” But he was already surging past you, his trident blazing with power. “Father, please!” you begged, darting in front of him. “These are mine, they’re harmless—”
But he barely heard you. With a sweep of his trident, light burst through the water. Your treasures shattered: glass shards spun into sand, silver dulled into nothing, your shelves crumbling into rubble.
“No!” you cried, clutching at broken pieces as they drifted away. “Please, stop!”
And then—his gaze fell on the statue. Bucky’s likeness stood tall in the dim glow, his marble eyes watching silently as though even now he might protect you.
Your father’s rage deepened. “This… thing,” he thundered, “you dare bring him into our world?” Before you could speak, his trident crashed down. The statue split in two, stone splintering, Bucky’s face shattering into nothing.
You screamed, the sound torn raw from your chest, as the pieces drifted past your hands. When the glow of the trident dimmed, your grotto was ruined. Nothing left but shards, dust, and the hollow ache in your heart.
Your father turned, his expression carved from stone. “This ends tonight. You will never see the shore again.” And with that, he left—leaving you in the ruins of your secret world, cradling a broken piece of marble in your trembling hands.
Your sisters hovered in shock, tails shaking, eyes wide and fearful. You knelt in the rubble, curled around the broken marble fragments like they were the pieces of your own heart.
The storm came on entirely too fast. It didn’t roll in like weather—it ripped. The sky went black like someone had torn out the stars. Thunder cracked through the cliffs like bone snapping. The tide surged upward without warning, swallowing boats where they floated, dragging debris onto shore.
It was the kind of storm sailors feared in stories, the kind that didn’t belong to nature, the kind born from wrath.
Prince James Barnes stood at the prow of his ship, wind whipping through his dark hair. Saltwater sprayed against his face, and the storm bruised the sky black and silver. His crew shouted warnings, scurrying to secure sails, but Bucky only grinned into the chaos, eyes alight with challenge.
“Your Highness!” his first mate cried. “We need to turn back before the storm splits us!”
Bucky shook his head, tightening the leather strap on his arm where the metal gleamed faintly beneath his sleeve. “We hold course. This ship was built for worse than this.” But then thunder cracked, shaking the heavens, and lightning struck the mast with a deafening roar. The wood splintered, flames licking before the rain smothered them.
The ship lurched violently. Crewmen tumbled. And Bucky was thrown hard across the deck, his shoulder slamming against the railing. The sea rose like a hungry mouth. With one last jolt, the ship tilted, and he lost his grip.
Cold water swallowed him whole. For a moment, he kicked furiously, the weight of his boots dragging him deeper. He thrashed, reaching upward—but the surface was too far, the storm too strong.
And then—just before the darkness claimed him—a shadow moved beneath him, swift and strong. Small hands caught his chest, pulling him down instead of up, carrying him somewhere he didn’t understand.
The last thing Bucky saw was a glimmer of a face in the moonlit water, features blurred by the current, a voice humming through the depths like a dream.
Then everything went black.
The storm spat you out onto the sand, waves crashing around your tail as you dragged the heavy man onto the shore. He was heavier than any treasure you’d stolen from the wrecks, his body limp, boots and clothes weighing him down.
Your eyes dragged over him shamelessly—because what was he gonna do, complain? He was unconscious. This was a safe space.
His soaked shirt outlined muscles you didn’t even know humans had. His pants were fitted. And tight. And his boots were huge, which made you stare at other parts of him and question things you didn’t have names for yet.
You slapped your own cheek.
You collapsed beside him, chest heaving, seawater streaming off your hair and skin. He lay there unmoving, his dark hair plastered across his forehead, his lips pale. “Wake up,” you whispered, poking his sternum. “Come on, big guy. Don’t leave me here alone with all these intrusive thoughts.”
And then—a cough. His chest convulsed, seawater spilling from his mouth, followed by a ragged gasp. His eyes fluttered shut again, but he was alive.
Relief coursed through you like a current. You brushed wet strands of hair away from his face, studying him in awe. He was beautiful—sharp jaw, broad shoulders, lashes fanned dark against his skin. So unlike the finned men of your world.
Your heart jumped. You leaned closer, fingers trailing along his cheek, fascinated by the rough stubble there.
“[Y/N]!” a sharp whisper hissed from the shallows. You glanced back to see your sister — waving her arms at you, fins flapping furiously. “What are you doing?! If he wakes—if he sees—you’ll be dragged back in chains! Get in the water, now!”
You ignored her, mesmerized by the rise and fall of the man’s chest, the warmth of his skin beneath your hand.
“Don’t be foolish!” she snapped, his little tail lashing. “He’s dangerous. All of them are. Leave him be before it’s too late!”
But you couldn’t. Not yet. Not when he was here in front of you, the human you’d dreamed of holding in your grotto full of broken artifacts.
“James,” you whispered again, brushing your thumb across his cheekbone. “I’ll see you again." The man’s lashes fluttered, his lips parting on a hoarse breath. You startled, heart hammering.
“Now!” she hissed. “Into the sea!”
With one last lingering touch, you pushed yourself back into the surf. The tide seized you, dragging you beneath the waves, and by the time Bucky's eyes opened—bleary, searching—there was nothing left but the echo of your voice in the storm.
Sand clung to his clothes, seawater pooling beneath him, every muscle aching from the wreck. Bucky groaned, dragging a hand across his face, his lungs still burning from the salt.
Then—sharp barks split the air.
“Rex?” His voice cracked as his big shepherd bounded across the sand, whining frantically, nosing at his chest. The dog’s tongue was warm and insistent, dragging him further into waking.
And then another voice. Familiar.
“James!”
Steve’s boots pounded across the shore, his cloak whipping in the wind. He dropped to his knees, relief flooding his features as he gripped Bucky’s shoulders. “You’re alive. By God, you’re alive.”
Bucky blinked up at him, dazed, half expecting the vision of her face to still be hovering above him. His lips were dry, but the word slipped out anyway:
“Angel.”
Steve frowned. “What?”
“She saved me,” Bucky rasped, clutching weakly at Steve’s arm. “Dark hair… soft voice… she pulled me from the sea.”
Steve glanced at the wreckage still burning in the distance, then back to his friend with concern. “Bucky, no one was here. You must’ve dreamed it.”
But Bucky only shook his head, stubborn even in exhaustion. His dog whined, pressing against his side as Steve helped him upright.
“No dream,” Bucky muttered, his gaze fixed on the waves. “She was real.”
The palace was tense when you returned.
Not stormy—yet—but the kind of eerie quiet that made the sea itself hold its breath. Guards swam stiffly in the halls. Your sisters refused to make eye contact. Even the anemones lining the walls dimmed their glow like they didn’t want to witness what was about to happen.
You barely made it ten feet into the throne chamber before his voice thundered through the water.
“YOU SAVED A HUMAN?!” You flinched like he’d struck you.
Your father stood at the top of the coral steps, trident in hand, surrounded by currents that spun too fast, too sharp. His eyes blazed like moonlight on a storm tide.
“Did I not forbid this?” he growled, voice rising with each word. “Did I not warn you? Did I not say their kind cannot be trusted, that their world is not ours, that no good has ever come from reaching above the surface?”
You opened your mouth, but he wasn’t done.
“You dragged him onto our shore. You exposed yourself. You endangered your sisters. You’ve disgraced this family—”
“I saved his life,” you said firmly. “That’s all. He was drowning.”
“He is human.”
“He was dying!”
“He is human,” he repeated, voice low and cold. “And that is not your concern.”
Your throat tightened.
He didn’t understand. Of course he didn’t. He never saw the way the surface shimmered at night, the way shipwrecks whispered secrets through the tides, the way human voices sounded like music even when they were just shouting.
He didn’t see him.
The man with the sad eyes and the rough hands and the kind of face that made you ache with wanting to know everything he’d ever lost.
“I couldn’t let him drown,” you said quietly.
“That wasn’t your choice to make.”
“And was it yours?” You defied. "The storm only happened because you were mad at me."
Your father took a threatening step down. “And what if he’d seen you? What if he told someone? Do you have any idea what they would do to us?”
“He didn’t see me.” You muttered.
“But he could have—”
“I don’t care!”
Silence.
Your voice cracked as you pushed forward, heart racing now. “I don’t care if he could’ve seen me, or if it was stupid, or if it broke a rule, or all the rules—because I couldn’t just let him die. And—and—”
You stopped.
There it was.
The feeling that had been building since the moment you saw him talking to himself scribbling on his journal all of those moons ago. Since you saw the way his lashes rested against his cheek like he’d been born for softness, not war.
Your voice dropped to a whisper.
“Because I love him.”
Your sisters gasped in sync from somewhere behind a column. Your father stared at you like you’d just said you wanted to marry a sea cucumber.
“You… love him,” he repeated slowly.
You straightened your spine. “Yes.”
“You love a man you’ve spoken zero words to.”
“I’ve heard his words,” you said defensively. “He talks to the sea. It’s romantic.”
“He was probably drunk!”
“He’s sensitive, too!”
He groaned and turned away, dragging a hand down his face. “You are grounded,” he said flatly.
“Again?!”
“Until you regain sanity. No surfacing. No wreck-diving. If I so much as hear you say the word ‘surface’ again—”
“But, daddy!”
“GROUNDED. Go to your reef.”
“I hate it here.” You flung yourself out of the throne room in a whirl of fins, humiliation, and romantic delusion. You didn’t kiss him. You didn’t even touch him like you wanted. But now? You were grounded. You were banned. You were trapped.
That night, you went to the surface one last time. The prince leaned against the railing of a high balcony, the lamplight behind him catching in his dark hair. His dog lay at his feet, tail wagging lazily as if keeping him company through his restless vigil.
You pressed closer to the rocks, daring the waves to carry you nearer. Your chest ached at the sight of him—alive, whole, breathing. So close, and yet impossibly far.
He sighed, his voice drifting faintly down to you. “I know you’re real.” Your heart stopped. “I felt you,” he continued, running a hand over his face before bracing it against the railing. “Your hands… your voice. You saved me. And I—” He broke off, shaking his head. “I can’t stop thinking about you.”
Heat flared in your chest, that dangerous fire you still didn’t understand. You leaned forward, straining to catch every word.
“I sound insane.” he muttered, his lips quirking into a humorless smile. “A prince, talking to the waves like some lovesick boy... I’d trade every jewel in this damned palace just to see you again, though. Just once.”
You wanted to move. Wanted to swim as close to the shore as the water would let you and flail your arms and call out his name. But you didn’t move. Couldn’t.
Above, James leaned heavily against the railing, his voice breaking into the night air. “Angel… wherever you are—come back to me.”
Your throat tightened. All it took was one reckless heartbeat, and you dove back into the dark waters and swam as fast as you could.
The currents grew cold and strange in the unpatrolled depths, but you didn’t care. You curled into a hollow of black stone, tears of frustration in your eyes. So when the water shifted, colder still, you thought you were alone.
Until you heard her voice.
“My, my,” purred the Sea Witch, her silhouette forming in the gloom. She drifted closer, her tendrils of shadow and hair curling like smoke. “Such a pretty little thing, crying over a human. Tell me, child—do you want him?”
You startled, clutching the marble shard tighter. “What do you mean?”
Her lips curved. “Don’t play coy. You saved him, you watched him, you dreamed of his touch. You want legs to walk beside him. Arms to hold him. A mouth to kiss him.”
Your face burned, your throat tight. “I can’t—my father—”
“Your father has destroyed what you love,” she cut in, her voice low and smooth. “But I can give it back. I can give you him.”
Your heart thudded painfully. “How?”
“Trade.” She slithered closer, her eyes gleaming. “Your voice—for legs. You’ll rise from the sea, beautiful and silent. If he loves you before the next moon wanes, you’ll remain with him. If not… the sea will reclaim you.”
Your breath hitched, the fire in your chest sparking at the thought of his arms around you. “My… voice?”
The witch’s grin sharpened. “Such a small thing, for everything you’ve ever wanted.”
You hesitated—then closed your eyes, clutching the shard of marble one last time. “Yes. I’ll do it.”
The witch’s laughter coiled around you, and suddenly, pain split through your chest. A burning, wrenching pull tore the song from your throat. You tried to scream, but nothing came out—only bubbles streaming upward as darkness rushed in.
The last thing you saw was her grin, and the flare of her magic.
You woke to warmth.
Sand beneath your palms, the sun blazed against your damp skin. Your lungs seized, then dragged in sweet, sharp, light air. It was blinding, really, and you weren't entirely sure why your eyes were that much more sensitive.
You tried rolling over and notices part of the weight you usually had on your lower half wasn't there anymore. And when you looked down, a gasp left your lips.
Your tail was gone.
The bi— witch really did it.
In its place were two long, definitely not tanned legs sprawled clumsily in the surf, bare and trembling. Every nerve screamed unfamiliar sensations of rubbing on the sand. You whimpered silently, wiggling your toes and digging them deeper in the coarse grains, dragging yourself further up the sand, while the waves pulling at you like they wanted you back.
But you pressed forward, shaking, helpless, until you collapsed further on the beach. Your throat ached raw, thirsty from all the saltwater you probably ingested on the way up, unconscious.
Above you, gulls wheeled. The castle you looked at longinly for so long loomed on the cliffs, closer than ever.
The sun was lowering, painting the waves in molten gold. You lay tangled in the surf, every breath a battle, your new legs trembling with every futile push against the ground.
Was he there? You thought.
Was he as close as just on the other side of these stone walls?
Was he even going to spare you a second glance? I mean, you could just not be hi—
A sharp bark split the quiet.
You startled just as an enormous sheepdog barreled across the beach, shaggy fur flying, paws thundering over the wet sand. He skidded to a stop in front of you, nose pressing against your shoulder with frantic whines. His tail wagged so hard his whole body shook with it, and before you could even flinch, his warm tongue was dragging against your wrist, slobbering all over you.
You gave the faintest laugh—silent, breathless, but real.
“Rex!”
Your heart lurched at the voice. Deep, strong, achingly familiar, belonging to the one and only James Buchanan Barnes.
And then he was there.
The man you’d pulled from the storm. The one whose name you whispered against stone lips in your grotto. The prince you heard vent more times than you could count, listening to all of his problems and all his heart's desires.
But he didn't know that.
Bucky's boots sank into the wet sand as he sprinted toward you, the orange and yellow from the sunset catching in his dark hair.
He dropped to his knees beside you, his breath a little ragged from running. His blue eyes locked onto yours, wide and stunned, almost like he knew you from somewhere but couldn't quite place you. "Hi,” he breathed. "I'm James. Bucky." He extended his hand to hold yours and bring your knuckles to his lips.
You wanted to tell him—yes, it was me, I saved you—but when your lips parted, nothing came out. Just silence, your throat burning.
She wasn't kidding about the voice part either, huh?
He frowned, brushing damp strands of hair from your face with gentle fingers. “You can’t… talk?”
You shook your head faintly, panic sparking in your chest.
His expression softened, twisting with something you didn’t understand. “You’re, uh,” he whispered, wonder breaking across his face, at the same time he realized you were indeed very, very naked. “God, you’re real.”
If you weren't so mesmerized by finally being able to feel the heat of his skin against yours, even for a second, you'd be self conscious of the way his eyes raked your frame up and down.
Rex barked happily, pressing himself against the side of your leg as if to prove it. His nose nudged your arm until your palm rested on his head again, and your lips curved into a tiny smile despite the ache in your chest.
Bucky's breath hitched. He took off his cloak, leaving him in the flowy linen undershirt. "Here.” His gaze lingered, heavy and searching. “We can, uh— we can get you some clothes.”
You didn’t have the strength to protest when he wrapped it carefully around your trembling body. The weight of it was warm, steadying, and it smelled like him.
And when he slid an arm beneath your knees and lifted you, you clung to him without thinking.
“Don’t be afraid,” he murmured, his voice calm and certain against the rush of the waves. “You’re safe now. I’ll keep you safe.”
And as Rex bounded at your heels, you pressed your face into his chest, your silent little heart screaming all the words you couldn’t speak.
“She’s not a stray, Buck.”
Steve’s voice was patient, if a little amused, as he leaned against the edge of the balcony railing, arms crossed over his chest. The sea stretched out behind him, calm for once, a rare shimmer of peace on the horizon. The setting sun bathed the stone walls of the palace in a honeyed glow.
Bucky didn't look up.
He sat slouched in one of the cushioned chairs in his chamber, elbows on his knees, his damp hair still tousled from the sea breeze. His boots were discarded nearby, as were the clothes he wore that morning, now wet and salty from the sea.
Down the hall, servants whispered about the silent girl sleeping in the prince’s spare chamber—wrapped in one of his cloaks, apparently incapable of speech, and very much acting like this was her first day in the human world, for some odd reason.
“I know she’s not a stray,” Bucky muttered.
“But you brought her in,” Steve said, raising a brow. “From the beach. Not speaking. Naked. Sounds like something out of a bard’s tale.”
“She was hurt,” Bucky's voice was a little more defensive than he intended to, glaring up at him. “Exhausted. She could barely walk.”
“I’m not judging.” Steve’s hands lifted in mock surrender, a teasing smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. “Just... wondering what makes you so sure she’s not dangerous.”
Bucky scoffed. “Is that seriously your worry?” Bucky looked at the horizon and back at Steve. "She's mute and naked, Steve. If anything, she's the one needing protection from whatever creeps roam this world."
"You mean you?" Steve teased.
Bucky glared at him playfully. "Watch it." He ran a hand over his face, exhaling hard. “I don’t know, alright? I don’t know why I’m doing this. I saw her, and—she looked at me like she knew me.”
Steve tilted his head.
“She was scared, but not... not of me. Like she trusted me, even before I said a word.” He leaned back, head tipping against the chair. “And when I touched her—her hand was ice cold, Steve, like she’d just been dragged out of a wreck—and she smiled. Barely. But it was there.”
Steve’s brow furrowed. “You sure it’s not the head injury talking?”
Bucky gave him a look.
“Alright, alright.” Steve chuckled, stepping closer. “She’s beautiful, she’s mysterious, she washed up at your feet like a gift from the sea—and now you're completely out of your depth.”
“I’m not—” Bucky started, then sighed, rubbing his temples. “Okay. Maybe a little.”
Steve’s grin widened. “Bucky. You’re acting like you’re in love.”
Bucky opened his mouth to protest—and paused.
Because that shouldn’t sting.
But it did.
He swallowed, thinking of your eyes—how they searched his face, drinking him in like it was the first and last time. The way you held onto him, trembling but trusting, completely mute and vulnerable in his arms.
How your smile, even silent and weak, had nearly gutted him. “…I don’t even know her name,” he whispered.
Steve’s smile softened. “Maybe she’ll tell you.”
“She can’t.” Bucky looked up at him. “She hasn’t said a word.”
“Then maybe she’s waiting for the right moment,” Steve replied gently. “Give her time. Let her show you who she is.”
He had no idea you were the one who’d pulled him from the waves. How could he? He remembered his guardian angel of the sea talking him back to life, and it clearly couldn't have been you, could it?
The sun spilled over the sea one last time as start started to glitter in the sky in the late afternoon through the high windows of the palace’s spare chamber, turning the marble floors into pools of sprakling glass.
“You’re really not from around here, huh?”
Natasha stood in the center of the room with a hand on her hip, watching as you held a wooden hairbrush like it was a weapon. Your brow furrowed, your head tilted as you poked yourself in the cheek with the bristles.
“This hurts,” you mouthed silently, holding it out to her in accusation.
“It’s a brush,” she said, taking it gently. “You use it on your hair, not your face.”
You blinked. Then looked at her wild red waves. Then at your own damp, tangled curls. Then winced in realization.
Salt water was much better for your hair when it was constantly wet.
She smirked. “Yeah. You’re gonna hate it.”
Nat turned back to the bed where a neat line of folded dresses had been laid out—soft linens, simple cottons, all things a “guest” of the palace might wear. She didn’t know where Bucky found you, or why you couldn’t speak, but she had enough sense to know you weren’t dangerous.
Just… a little weird. But in a cute way.
“You’ve got a good figure, at least,” she said, holding up a lavender dress with puffed sleeves and soft laces. “Let’s start with this.”
You reached out for it, curious fingers running over the fabric. Your eyes lit up.
“Ooh,” you mouthed soundlessly, pulling the dress to your face and rubbing your cheek on it like a cat.
Nat laughed. “Okay, we’re gonna work on the dignity part later.”
It took a few attempts to get you into the thing. Sleeves? Confusing. Ties? Absolutely baffling.
Eventually, with some teamwork and a bit of dramatic sighing, the dress was on. You spun once, letting the skirt billow around your legs, delighted by how it moved with you. Nat couldn’t help but smile.
“You’re like a puppy,” she said. “A really pretty, weirdly hot puppy.”
You gestured to the vanity next—eyes darting over the unfamiliar items like it was treasure. An eyelash curler piqued your interest, and you picked it up and immediately pretended to use as tongs.
“Nope.” Nat plucked it away before you pinched your own nose off. “That one’s dangerous.”
You pointed to the lipstick next and made a questioning face.
“That one,” Nat grinned, twisting the tube up so the color peeked out, “is magic.”
She dabbed some on your lips, and you blinked, looking in the mirror with awe. Your fingers touched your mouth like you weren’t sure the color was real.
You grinned at her in silent thanks.
“I still don’t know who you are,” Nat said, brushing your hair back and tying it with a ribbon, “but anyone who makes Bucky Barnes act like a stunned teenager probably isn’t all bad.”
She stood, brushing off her hands, and nodded toward the door. “C’mon. Let’s go find him before he starts brooding again.”
You followed her out, the small heels on your feet made it harder to look normal as you tried to figure out how to walk in them properly, arms still swinging at your sides like a deer in a princess costume.
Nat chuckled, holding the door open. “We’ll work on that, too.”
The grand dining hall of the palace was candlelit and echoing, the sky outside now a deep indigo as the warm breeze came through the open windows. At the long, polished table, five plates gleamed beneath silver domes, and five seats were filled—though only one occupant sat stiff as a board, wide-eyed, and very clearly out of her depth.
You.
The dress was soft but chafy against your skin due to unfamiliarity, the laces were too tight, and shoes were squeezing your newly gifted feet, and you felt the ribbon pull at your hair to tightly.
You were perched on the seat to the left of Bucky, who sat at the head of the table, looking as good as the first day you saw him roam the beach talking to the ocean like a tortured poet. Prince James Barnes, heir to the throne, and the reason you had legs, a soul-aching crush, and zero voice.
“You alright?” Bucky murmured, leaning toward you with an amused smile.
You nodded way too hard.
Steve sat across from you, trying very hard not to laugh as he watched you attempt to butter your roll… with the handle of the knife.
“That’s the wrong end, sweetheart,” Nat murmured helpfully from your left, her own plate untouched as she observed you like one might a nervous stray kitten trying out a new toy for the first time.
You blinked. Looked at the knife. Flipped it. Beamed.
Bucky chuckled quietly beside you, then reached out without thinking to lay your cloth napkin on your lap from where it sat by your plate. “Here. You’ll want this.”
Your cheeks burned. You felt like a kid, embarrassed you were quite literally a fish out of water, out of your element playing dress up with someone you didn't even know actually wanted you.
Sam raised a brow, sitting beside Steve. “So,” he said, cutting into his roasted duck, “where exactly did you find this one, Buck?”
Bucky didn’t even look up. “She was on the beach. Injured. I told you.”
“You told me,” Sam agreed. “Didn’t explain.”
“She’s staying in the spare wing until we figure out who she is,” Steve added mildly, chewing thoughtfully. “Still doesn’t speak.”
“Does she understand us?” Sam asked, giving you a skeptical glance.
You straightened up, nodded quickly, and gave a thumbs-up for good measure, delighting yourself on your newly found true love: salted butter.
Nat snorted into her wine. Bucky hid a smile behind his hand. “She understands just fine. She’s been reading and getting accustomed to the palace all day.”
“She’s got spirit.” Steve said kindly, watching you poke your asparagus suspiciously.
Sam nodded in agreement. “You’ve definitely had worse dinner guests.”
You looked up hopefully—maybe someone got it. Sam winked. You liked him immediately.
The conversation drifted—court politics, trade negotiations, upcoming festivals—and you listened quietly, sipping your water and watching everyone speak like it was the most fascinating performance you’d ever seen.
Your soft heels tapped delicately against the marble floor, the lavender dress fluttering around your calves as Bucky led you back toward your chamber, walking beside you with his hands tucked behind his back.
You watched the way his brows pulled together ever so slightly as he glanced down at you. The way his chest rose and fell just a little deeper than usual, like something was swirling in him just beneath the surface.
“You held your own back there,” he said, a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. “Even with Nat grilling you. That tart in Sam’s wine was pretty funny.”
You looked down, blush spreading up to the apples of your cheeks. You hadn't meant for that to happen, but forks were tricky and the tart crust wasn't nearly as forgiving as some of the foods you'd had.
He laughed, warm and low in his throat. “I mean it. You made an impression.”
Your lips curved up. You liked his laugh. You liked him. Everything about him. His voice, his scent, how broad his shoulders were and the patch of hair that was always visible on his chest, since he seemed to absolutely despise shirts that made him feel claustrophobic.
He paused outside the door to your chambers.
The silence wrapped around the two of you like velvet, soft and heavy and humming with unspoken things.
“I was thinking,” he said, rubbing the back of his neck, “tomorrow, if you’re up for it… we could go into town.”
Your eyes lit up immediately. Your hands flew up in excited gestures, nodding quickly, stepping closer, barely stopping yourself from grabbing his arm.
He smiled wider at your reaction. “There’s a dressmaker in the market district. You’d love her. She’s a little nuts—swears fabric can talk to her—but I figured you could pick something yourself. Something that feels more like… you.”
You melted.
“But only if you want to,” he added quickly, as if nervous.
You nodded again, so hard your ribbon slipped a little from your hair, strands of hair falling to frame you face.
“And there’s this bakery,” he went on, warming to your enthusiasm, “right on the corner by the fountain. I used to sneak out just to go there when I was a kid. They have these sweet buns—glazed, warm, dripping in cinnamon. They're dream worthy.”
Your smile got wider and his gaze lingered on you then. Quiet, gentle, almost something a little stunned in his expression, like he couldn’t believe you were real.
For a second, the air shifted.
His hand almost lifted. Almost reached out to touch a strand of your hair. His fingers hovered near your jaw. His eyes dropped—lips parting just barely—and you thought he was going to kiss you.
Pretty easy true love's kiss, if anyone asked you.
You tilted your chin up, your breath caught in anticipation. And Bucky, ever the gentleman he is, stepped back.
“I’ll have someone come get you after breakfast,” he said, clearing his throat. “Get some rest.”
Oh.
Your smile faltered just slightly, not enough for him to notice, but enough for you to feel. You gave a small nod. A quiet goodbye.
His smile was soft, kind, and then he turned and walked away down the hall, the hem of his dark jacket sweeping the floor behind him.
You lingered in the doorway, biting your lip, your fingers lightly resting on the edge of the frame, watching until he disappeared around the corner.
The morning sun was already warm by the time the palace carriage reached the edge of the village. Birds chirped overhead, the air thick with the scent of fresh bread, flowers, and the faint tang of sea salt carried on the wind.
You clutched the edge of your seat, practically vibrating with excitement. Your nose was almost pressed to the glass as you watched people bustle about, children dart between stalls, and merchants call out their wares like a symphony of chaos.
“You’d think she’s never been to a market,” Nat muttered with amusement, arms folded, lounging on the opposite seat.
Bucky grinned, resting his elbow on the windowsill as he looked at you.
The moment the carriage door opened, you didn’t walk—you bounded. Nat called after you, “Whoa, slow down, Bambi!” but you were already halfway to the nearest flower cart, eyes wide as saucers.
Bucky jogged after you with an apologetic nod to the driver. “She’s enthusiastic.”
“That’s one word for it,” Nat said, following with an exaggerated sigh.
Colors, scents, voices — it was all too much and not enough. You flitted from one stall to the next, poking, touching, smelling everything like it was treasure. Nat kept grabbing your elbow just in time to keep you from knocking over displays or getting swindled by charming cheese vendors.
Bucky trailed behind you with his arms full of things you’d silently insisted on carrying for you: ribbons, a little wooden trinket shaped like a dolphin, a bread roll you tried to pay for with sea glass before Nat slipped the vendor a coin.
“You can’t just smile at people and expect free things,” she scolded with a grin. You tilted your head and smiled even harder while Bucky bit back a laugh.
You stopped at a stall with dresses next, your fingers grazing the flowing fabrics, all different and new sensations at your fingertips, holding one up to your frame and spinning slightly. It was a soft seafoam green silk with a sparkling tulle layer over it, a color that shimmered faintly in the sun.
Bucky watched you twirl, his heart stuttering. “She looks like she belongs in that.” he murmured, mostly to himself.
Nat raised a brow. “Careful, your highness. You’re staring.” She smirked.
The seamstress came over, asked for your preferences. You blinked at her helplessly, fingers fluttering toward your throat. Nat stepped in, speaking softly to the vendor while you held Bucky’s gaze like you were asking him silently, Do you like this one?
He gave you the faintest nod and that dazzling smile. “It’s perfect.”
Later, you found the bakery.
Oh, the bakery.
Bucky barely had time to say, a word before you were pressed to the window, eyes wide at the rows of golden pastries dusted with sugar and glazed with citrus. The baker inside jumped slightly when he saw your face mashed to the glass, then laughed as Nat pulled you gently back by the shoulders.
“Let’s go inside, sweetheart.” she said, sighing again.
You left with a paper-wrapped bun in each hand and sugar on your lips. Bucky took one look at you and, without thinking, wiped the side of your mouth with his thumb.
Both of you froze when you realized what happened. You in glee, and him in a feeling he couldn't name, but it was something along the lines of scolding himself to stay proper in public with a lady he was not betrothed to.
“Oh,” he murmured, blinking down at you. “S-Sorry. That was—sorry.” But you smiled up at him like he’d just handed you the moon. And he nearly tripped over a crate of apples trying to move on from the moment and walk towards the next vendor.
Nat barked a laugh. “You two are exhausting.”
A few minutes later, you were bent over a display of glass pendants at a vendor’s stall, fingers dancing just above the glittering trinkets, marveling at how each one caught the sunlight, when a tiny tug at your pale pink skirts pulled your attention away.
Startled, you turned and found a little girl staring up at you with wide eyes, a half-eaten pastry clutched in one hand and jam smudged across her chin. She couldn’t have been older than six, her curls bouncing as she tilted her head.
“Hi,” she said, voice bright with curiosity. “You’re really pretty.”
Your lips parted in surprise, and your heart fluttered at the compliment. You dropped into a crouch, tucking your legs awkwardly beneath you, still not entirely used to them, as you offered a shy, silent smile.
The girl stepped closer, eyes roving up and down before stopping on your hair, still soft from Nat’s careful styling that morning, pink ribbons that matched your dress holding your hair out of your face in a half up-half down style, letting it fall behind your back in a cascade that reflected the sunlight.
“Your hair is sooo long,” she whispered reverently. “And shiny. You look like…” Her eyes lit up. “…a mermaid!”
You gasped, nodding quickly, eyes wide. Yes! You wanted to say. Yes, you’re right! You knew! You finally found someone who knew—someone who saw it. Someone who could tell. You gripped her sticky little hand in both of yours, glowing with something like relief and joy.
Behind you, Nat smirked behind her drink.
The girl’s mother called out from another stall, completely unfazed, “Oh, honey, don’t pester the nice lady.”
The girl beamed, not paying any mind to following instructions. “Do you live in the sea?”
You nodded again, quickly, maybe a bit too eagerly, and Nat snorted. “Oh boy.”
You placed a finger over your lips, wide-eyed, and gave a playful shake of your head, the little girl gasped like you’d just given her the great cosmic truth and clasped her hands together. “I knew it,” she whispered, bouncing in place.
She scampered off toward her mother, shouting something about scales and sea foam and how she had proof now. You stood frozen for a moment, your heart beating a little faster, since now fianlly, Bucky had to know the truth, right?
Your smile slowly dimmed as you looked around and realized… no one else was reacting. No shocked stares, no gasps. Just laughter. Teasing. Nat leaning back against a barrel, eyebrows raised, lips twitching in amusement.
No one believed her. No one believed you.
Of course they didn’t.
Your fingers curled slightly at your sides, disappointment settling heavy like a stone in your stomach. The magic of the moment drifted away, swept up by the wind like sand through your fingers.
“Hey,” Bucky’s voice came from behind you, soft and calming, in a way you heard him talk a couple of times when he thought it was just him and the tide. He’d returned at some point—quiet enough that you hadn’t even noticed.
You turned, swallowing the lump in your throat, schooling your expression into something resembling calm.
He gave you a small, apologetic smile. “We should probably head back,” he said. “The ball tonight… there’ll be guests from the neightboring cities. My mother’s probably already driving everyone crazy.”
You nodded quickly, lips pressing together.
You fell into step beside him, lifting the hem of your dress just enough to keep from tripping over it. You didn’t look back, not even once, though your mind replayed the moment again and again.
You didn't catch the glances Bucky stole your way as he walked by you, you really didn't pay him much mind when he offered his hand to help you inside the carriage either. Your mind was off to wondering how you were going to tell him you were you without having so much as a voice.
The sun was beginning to dip, its warm light slanting through the tall windows of Bucky’s chamber. In the bathroom, the scent of lavender and cedarwood filled the air, steam curling lazily from the surface of the bath sunk into the marble floor, all sorts of beautiful sea-themed patterns etched onto the surface.
Bucky hissed in pleasure when his limbs hit the hot water, muscles relaxing almost immediately. He had his eyes closed, head tipped back against the edge of the tub, hair slicked back, arms resting along the rim. He looked blissfully unaware, muscles loose for once, the weight of the palace momentarily forgotten.
Which is exactly when you walked in.
Barefoot, quiet, and curious.
You’d been looking for him. After you got back from the markets it was mid morning, Nat had told you someone would help you get ready soon, but you hadn’t seen Bucky since and—well, you missed him.
It was already late afternoon, and you liked being near him. You liked the way he looked at you like you were something rare, something worth watching. Liked the way his hand felt in yours and how it fed those insidious little thoughts of what his touch would feel like elsewhere.
You pushed open the door, peeked inside... and paused.
There he was.
Naked. Wet. Glowing like the marble statue come to life in the soft flickering light, water dancing at his waist while steam curled around him making him look like an angel of your deepest, coral-brained desires.
Your eyes widened slightly.
Bucky, to his credit, didn’t even notice. Not at first. You padded closer, slowly, head tilting, taking in the strange sight of him submerged in water. It was such a human thing. So… inefficient. He just sat there. Soaking. Not even doing anything.
You hummed soundlessly, then began to untie the sash at your waist, the moment your robe dropped to the floor, Bucky stirred.
He cracked an eye open—and immediately sat bolt upright, splashing a bit of water. “What the—? What are you—?”
It was mean, honestly. The way the light hit the hard walls and floors and just bounced off of your body, accentuating the curve of your breasts, your waist, and he had to actually stop his brain from continuing.
You stepped in, carefully lowering yourself into the water opposite him, sighing as the warmth soaked into your sore new muscles. Your legs were still unfamiliar, heavy and awkward when they weren’t being pulled by the tide. This felt… better.
Worse, if you asked Bucky. Since now you were wet, glistening, and naked in front of him. So willing, clueless, and wanting.
You blinked, wide-eyed, confused. Your fingers trailed along the water’s surface. You looked around the space, then at him, like wasn’t this what people did?
“You’re naked,” he hissed. You looked down at yourself. Then at him. Then gave a little shrug like, yes, obviously? “I’m in here,” Bucky whispered, panicked, trying to cover himself with the foam.
You hummed, shrugging softly, then began to kneel into the tub with the most determined innocence he had ever seen, trying to get comfortable, somehow ending up leaning towards him.
Bucky cursed under his breath and tried to stand. Bad move. Worst move, actually. Sam would have the time of his life making fun of him for this for the rest of existence when this inevitably ended up making its way to his ears.
Because the moment he stood—half rising, trying to create distance, and grace, and dignity—his dick, which had been desperately not trying to behave, sprang forward through the bubbles like a traitor. Standing fully at attention. Hard and thick, barely inches from your wide-eyed, curious face.
You gasped softly, blinking in surprise, eyes going directly to it.
“Okay—nope,” he muttered, hands bracing on the edge of the tub. “This was a mistake. I need—space. Distance. Jesus—”
You leaned back slightly on your heels, blinking up at him, completely baffled. And good God if the sight wasn't almost enough to feed whatever fantasies he has in mind.
Bucky swore and grabbed the nearest towel, fumbling to wrap it around his hips as he turned away from you so fast he nearly slipped. “Don’t—don’t look,” he said hoarsely. “That’s not—this is not—”
You made a face and a motion with you hands, mouthing does it hurt?
The innocent concern on your face made his cock twitch, he squeezed his eyes shut. “No. I’m not hurt.”
You pointed at the pitching tent in the towel again, as if to say "Why is it like that, then?"
He let out a helpless, breathless laugh, half hysterical. “Because my body is stupid,” he said. “And you’re beautiful. And naked. And sitting in my bath like it’s the most normal thing in the world.”
You stared at him, absorbing the groundbreaking information, then you scooted forward just a little, reaching out like you were going to help. Bucky snapped his head around. “Nope—no—sweetheart, please don’t try to fix it—”
You stopped immediately, hands hovering midair. He exhaled, shoulders sagging, voice softer now. “You didn’t do anything wrong,” he said gently. “This is just… a human thing. A me thing.”
You settled back, folding your hands in your lap like you’d been scolded but understood — mostly. Because you were watching him with that same soft, fascinated gaze. Like he was a puzzle you wanted to understand. Like you weren’t embarrassed — just interested.
He ran a hand through his hair, laughing under his breath. “You’re gonna be the death of me. You smiled and splashed him gently with a handful of sudsy water.
He laughed despite himself. “Okay. Out. Both of us. Nat’s gonna murder me.” You didn’t move.
You just looked at him, bright and trusting and completely unaware of how close he was to losing every ounce of self-control. Bucky groaned and offered you his hand. “C’mon, mermaid. Before I do something really stupid.”
He teased it, not even knowing how close to the truth he really was.
The palace’s spare chamber had never looked more like a war zone.
Dresses were strewn across every surface—spilled from trunks, flung over chairs, draped across the bed in waves of silk, satin, and embroidered tulle. Shoes were scattered like casualties on the floor. Ribbons, gloves, and delicate sparkling jewelry were arranged on the vanity like tools of seduction.
And in the middle of it all stood Natasha Romanoff, her sleeves rolled up and her red hair twisted back, hands on her hips as she stared you down like a general surveying the battlefield.
“You,” she said, narrowing her eyes, “are going to look like a goddess tonight.”
You stood barefoot in the middle of the chaos, arms wrapped around yourself, looking equal parts excited and terrified. You couldn’t stop tugging nervously on your lip as your eyes flicked from the dresses to the door, like Bucky might burst in at any moment.
Nat caught the glance and smirked. “Don’t worry. He’s not allowed in here. I made sure of it.” She raised a brow. “Unless you want him to see you half-dressed.”
What followed could only be likened to a whirlpool, pulling you to the depths no matter how hard you tried to swim out of it, inevitably landing you in a sparkling light pink gown, with a matching ribbon on your hair, uncomfortable feet cages humans liked to call shoes, and standing by the punch watching your prince be flirted with by the entire fucking kingdom.
Lady Lillian of Somewhere. The Marchioness of Someland, you didn't care to hear, to be perfectly honest, ears turning pink in anger watching them all fawn over what was yours. Someone with a ridiculous feather in her hair whose name you hadn’t caught but who laughed a little too loudly at everything Bucky said.
Hello? Don't they see you here?
Crystal chandeliers bathed the marble floor in warm golden light, making the specks of color dance like the way people were meant to be dancing at that moment. Musicians played a waltz in the corner.
Noble guests in gowns and polished shoes twirled across the floor like petals in the wind. Laughter chimed like bells, champagne sparkled in cut glass flutes, and servants floated through the crowd with trays of delicate hors d'oeuvres.
He looked handsome tonight. Too handsome. His hair was tied back, his tailored navy suit pressed to perfection, every gold button gleaming. The sword at his hip was ceremonial, but it didn’t stop him from looking like he’d stepped straight out of one of the illustrated romance books Natasha had read aloud to you.
One of the girls reached forward and brushed imaginary lint off his shoulder, and your stomach flipped violently.
Natasha, beside you with a goblet of wine, leaned in. “You know you’re allowed to look angry,” she said out of the corner of her mouth. “But if you snap a fan in half, I will laugh.”
Bucky's eyes scanned the room, searching, the crease between his brows only softening when his gaze found yours. Like he could breathe. Like you were a little piece of the ocean breeze that made his lungs so easy to fill in nights where the walls closed in too tight.
He looked at you like he might walk away from all of them if you so much as tilted your head.
You looked down instead, heart hammering in your chest. You couldn’t be angry—couldn’t blame him. You weren’t a duchess. You weren’t even technically human.
And nothing beyond a little coral-brained lovesick idiot who thought she had a chance with a man she's never spoken a word to.
And he didn’t know.
Didn’t know you’d pulled him from the sea.
Didn’t know the ache in your chest was love, sharp and stupid and growing heavier every day.
A few minutes later, you felt his presence at your side, you huffed silently and looked away. Bucky reached for your hand.
“I was going to ask if you’d dance with me,” he said, then leaned a little closer. “But now I think I have to ask if you’ll even look at me.”
You turned slowly, meeting his gaze finally. He smiled softly, that look he only gave you spreading across his face like sunlight. “Hi.” Your shoulders relaxed.
He offered his hand, and in no time, he was waltzing you around, the slowest song of the night for sure. You thought this would be the moment he'd kiss you. Give in to the thoughts you knew he had, and just put you out of your misery.
Until it got interrupted by yet another stupid human girl thinking she could flirt with your prince.
You'd had enough, honestly.
It was stupid of you to think you ever had a chance. Should've listened to your father, to Kate… Hell, even Yelena! You should've never messed around with magic, or humans, or magic to mess around with humans.
As soon as Bucky got pulled away yet another time, you swiftly made your way back to your chambers, eyes welling up. Your feet carried you through the marble halls faster than your thoughts could catch up.
If you were your father, the sea would be roaring by now.
You had imagined it all—the look in his eyes, the breathless way he’d held you close, the near kiss, the way his hand had lingered on yours. You thought he felt it. You knew you did.
But maybe this was what humans did. Pretend. Smile. Flirt with one girl while another waited like a ghost behind a glass wall.
The nightgown Natasha had laid out earlier waited folded on your bed—long and soft, white like seafoam, cinched with the tiniest lace ribbon beneath the bust. It was delicate, dreamy.
You undressed slowly, sighing as the gown whispered over your skin. The cool fabric helped wash away the heat of the ballroom, but not the ache in your chest.
You moved to the vanity, taking out the ribbon and brushing your hair out with slow, thoughtful strokes, finally letting a few tears fall free, when you heard a knock. Probably Natasha bringing you tea and checking in on you, she was thoughtful like that, you learned quickly.
When you opened the door, the breeze moved your gown and hair slightly, revealing a very worried-looking Prince James Barnes. “Can I come in?”
Talking to you like he was the stray, and this wasn't his palace, with his staff, and his guards, and his everything. He waited a second and then asked quietly, "Please?"
He stood there in the soft lamplight of the hall, jacket gone, shirt undone at the collar. His hair was loose now, falling around his jaw, and he looked… unsure. Tense. But God, did he look delicious.
You moved out of the way for him to come in, and his steps were slow, almost as if he was sure he was making a mistake but couldn't afford not to.
Bucky rubbed the back of his neck. “You left.” You blinked and tilted your head. “I was looking for you,” he said, his eyes scanning your face. “You just… disappeared.”
For a long moment, neither of you spoke. Your bare feet padded softly over the rug as you returned to the vanity, brushing again to keep your hands busy, pretending you weren’t trembling with embarrassment.
“You’re mad,” he said softly. You didn’t turn, barely catching his gaze through the vanity mirror. “You have every right to be,” he added, coming to now kneel in front of you, warm hands on your covered thighs.
Bucky’s jaw flexed, like the words hurt coming out. “I wanted to. I still do. But I didn’t want you to think I was just another one of those men tonight. That I only wanted you because you looked beautiful.” He swallowed. “Even though you did. You always do.”
You hated this trade. You wanted to be able to tell him, wanted to be able to just— well, you could.
You looked down at him, hand cradling his jaw, the stubble there tickling your palm. And the way he looked at you, like you'd disappear into seafoam the second he took his eyes from you. You knew you shouldn't, but just couldn't resist.
You bit your lip, barely contemplating the thought, leaned down, brought his face to yours and kissed him softly. Bucky's fingers flexing on your thighs and squeezing, grounding himself.
You kissed him like you were still underwater and he was the surface.
Bucky kissed you like he’d been starving for it, like every part of him had been aching to touch you again since the bath, since the market, since the second he laid eyes on you washed ashore.
His hands slid up your thighs slowly, as if he didn't want to scare you off, until they curved around your hips, thumbs brushing the thin fabric of your nightgown. He rose from his knees, towering above you now, lips still pressing harder against yours like he wasn’t ready to let you go.
Your fingers wrapped around the collar of his shirt as he pulled you close and up with him. He broke the kiss, as if looking for the moonlight reflecting off your eyes to tell him to stop, and when he found no trace of hesitation, once he saw your dazed look too eager to go back for more, he gave into it all.
the second kiss was rougher, more possessive. His tongue explored your mouth like he wanted to plant a flag and claim you as his, strong arms pulling you up to wrap your legs around his waist, hands finfing the plush skin of your ass under the gown.
Bucky walked both of you to bed, laying you down carefully onto the soft sheets, the fabric of the nightgown bunching around your hips the more they chased friction against his body.
You tugged him down again, mouths crashing softly, hungrily. Your fingers tangled in his hair, lips parting to taste the little gasps you’d been dreaming about for nights.
His hips pressed into yours and you felt him—hot, thick, hard between you—and your knees nearly gave out.
You whimpered into his mouth and it was the first sound he'd ever heard come from you. It didn't even register to either of you that it happened, you didn't pay close enough attention when you were distracted by the thick feeling of him between your legs.
Specially since you knew what he was packing.
And when he finally, finally slid his hand between your thighs, when he touched you where you were softest and slickest, Bucky nearly broke.
“You’re so wet,” he whispered, voice cracking. “Is this all for me?” All you could do was whine and nod, begging him for more. You didn't even know what, but you knew his fingers between your folds were a balm to a fever you never wanted to be rid of.
As he inserted one finger, and then two, he felt your gummy walls contract around him. "I never wanted anything like I want you." was muffled and whispered agasint the side of your mouth.
"Bucky, please…" Now, that registered.
Bucky stopped dead in his tracks, "Y-you can talk?" And you looked surprised with yourself, nodding, trying our the words again, less hoarse this time.
Your thoughts were interrupted by his hand, again, curling his fingers in a come-here motion while his thumb rolled your clit in a slow circle that had you squeezing your eyes shut and letting out a whimper.
"I know, baby, just— just feel it." You bit your lip and nodded, hands roaming his shoulders, then his chest, and finally settling on the laces of his pants.
"Need you— please…" You palmed him, begging. He groaned, the sound coming from deep in his chest. He wanted to savor it, he really did, but something about the flashes of you in the bath and your voice now begging for him had him thinking he'd just have to make you overstimulated another time.
"I— fuck," He took his hand from between your legs, getting a disapproving whine out of you, and managed to barely get his pants down enough to free his cock. He stroked himself, the schlick sound making your cheeks pink, and leaned back over you, spreading your legs wider.
He slid the head of his cock up and down your soaked slit, bumping your clit in the process and making both of you hiss, and notched the head in.
Every inch he pushed in was nother kiss, another nibble, another nudge he gave the straps of your nightgown to make it fall away from your shoulder. His mouth lapped at every inch of skin it could until he was buried at the hilt.
"You feel so good, baby— fuck."
You whimpered, the fullness being too much to think of anything but. "So— so full, James, please…"
Bucky slowly started rocking his hips, the tip of him kissing your cervix every time and dragging over that sweet spot that had you grabbing the headboard to prevent from letting the entire palace know what you were up to.
"You're doing so— shit, so fucking good—"
"It was me—" You gulped, your brain coming abck to you for a moment. "I— I saved you, oh!, during the sto-o-rm." Breathy little words left your mouth as you felt a tight coil in your stomach getting worse by the second.
He laughed once, breathless and disbelieving, then kissed you like he’d been holding his breath for years. Like the world had narrowed down to this moment alone. "I knew you were real, fuck — I knew I wasn't dreaming of an angel."
His thrusts got more erratic, and he felt you clench around him, "Let me feel it, just— just let go." And as his thumb found your clit again, that exactly what you did.
You hid your face in his neck as pleasure crashed over you like angry waves would take a ship under, and he followed close behind, filling you up with hot spurts of cum,
“You feel—fuck, you feel like heaven,” he groaned, forehead pressed to yours. “You were made for this. For me.”
As he lifted himself just enough to look at you after, he saw the moonlit glow over your face, and paid no mind to the waves that started to crash outside. “I love your voice,” he whispered finally, kissing just below your ear. “But I loved you even before I ever heard it.”
He had found his angel, and you finally got your prince.
“Like you were a little piece of the ocean breeze that made his lungs so easy to fill in nights where the walls closed in too tight.” you ate with this
Summary- You were 'given' powers by hydra. After years of being held under hydras tight grasp, when the avengers finally free you. You're drawn to a familiar face, but there's something different about him.
Word count- 5.8k
Warnings- Mentions of kidnapping, mentions of torture (hydra) reader has chlorokinesis (can create or manipulate plants) reader is traumatised, slight ptsd, brief issues with solid foods mentioned, violence, scientific testing, breif mention of reader having long hair due to neglect but thats it, winter soldier, hydra, fighting, one bed trope, miscommunication, misunderstanding. sad bucky, pining bucky.
an- let me know if you want to join my bucky taglist!!
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In your damp cell the vines had begun to grow up the walls, surrounding you in a tight cocoon, which gave you the smallest illusion of safety. They responded to your heartbeat more faithfully than any human ever had, curling inward as you trembled, bristling when footsteps echoed down the corridor. Hydra called it containment. You called it survival.
You didn't hear the door open at first. The vines did, their tips stiffened leaves quivering like they were preparing to strike. You pressed a hand down to the nearest stem. Your mind else where thinking back to the training session you had with the soldier.
The training hall was as cavernous room of concrete and steel, lit by harsh white lights that buzzed overhead. The air always smelled like metal sweat and blood.
You stood barefoot on the cold floor, vines coiled loosely around your ankles like nervous snakes. Suppressants dulled your powers, but they were wearing off.
Across the room the winter soldier stood perfectly still. Expression blank, posture rigid, he didn’t look at your, not at anyone. He just waited. “Begin.” The hydra instructor circled like vultures.
The soldier moved first, not to attack you but to circle you. Assessing your stance, your breathing, the way your vines twitched. His movements were silent, predatory, efficient.
You swallowed hard. “I don’t want to fight you.” You voice was quiet, unheard by the distracted hydra agents. He didn’t respond, he lunged.
You barely dodged, vines snapping up to shield your torso. His metal fist slammed into them, sending a shock through your entire body. The vines recoiled, trembling. He struck you, you blocked, he advanced and your retreated. But then something happened, every time your vines faltered or every time you stumbled. His blows slowed, just barely, enough that you noticed.
When he grabbed you, his movement was rough and aggressive, but the actual contact was soft, the way his thumb brushed softly up and down against your skin. His foot tripping you, knocking you to the floor, your vines curled around him dragging down with you. His hands slammed against the ground either side of you. Pinning you under him.
You sucked in a shocked breath, your eyes attached to his, something flashed behind them, before you could say anything it was gone, the hydra handler calling out, signalling that the training session was at an end.
A figure stepped inside snapping you out of your daydream, you still flet the soft brush of his finger on your skin, broad shoulders, mental arm catching the dim light. The winter soldier. You'd seen him before, always silent, always watching, with eyes that looked carved from ice, yet always hollow, always missing something. You never knew whether he was there to escort you to another experiment or simply to remind you that escape was impossible.
But today he hesitated.
His gaze swept over the cocoon of greenery, then landed on you. As if something behind his eyes flickered awake form half a second. You felt the vines loosen around you, confused by your confusion.
He didn't speak; he never did. But instead of dragging you out or turning away, he took one slow step closer, metal fingers brushing a leaf that curled instinctively toward him.
The stem quickly retracted at a harsh yell from outside the room, echoing down the corridor.
He didn’t move but he tensed, “soldier hurry up!” The man’s Russian tone was sharp as he barked the command.
The winter Soldier didn’t look away, not even when the guard barked again. His jaw tightened, a faint twitch in the muscle near his temple, like the command grated against something buried deep inside him.
The vines sensed began to coil protectively around your legs, your body’s natural reaction as your fear spiked. You swallowed hard, forcing your breath to steady. If they thought you were disobeying, they lash out and hydra loved using that as an excuse to punish you.
The soldiers gaze flicked down to the vines, then back to your face. Something unreadable passed through his eyes. Not pity, not sympathy but something quieter, something dangerous for both of you.
He moved, towards you and the vines. Slow and deliberate, he was gentle as he reached out. His metal fingertips brushed a tendril that curled in defensively. This time the vine didn’t recoil, it shivered, then cautiously wrapped around the edge of his knuckle like a curious animal.
Your breath caught, no one touched your plants without them reacting violently, no one except you. No one had been kind or careful.
The soldier’s brows drew together, the faintest crease of confusion. As if he didn’t understand why he wasn’t being attacked, as if he didn’t understand why he wasn’t attacking you.
“Soldier!” The voice was closer now, boots pounding down the corridor.
His head snapped towards the door, instinct overriding hesitation. As you tensed so did the vines, ready to strike at whatever treat entered next.
But then, he did something unthinkable, he stepped in front of you, not fully, not obviously just enough that his broad frame blocked the view of your curled form from the doorway, enough that if someone entered. They wouldn’t immediately see how the vines had grown, how they responded to him.
Enough to protect you.
Your heart hammered, and the vines responded, blooding tiny white flowers along the stems in a burst of startled emotion. His eyes flicked back to you at the sudden blossoms, widening just slightly.
The door slammed open, a hydra handler stormed in, irritation etched across his face. “What is taking so low- “He froze when he saw the soldier standing rigidly in the centre of the room. “Move aside,” The handler snapped. “We need to take it for testing.”
The handler shouts the command again, and this time the soldier reacts instantly.
His body snaps into motion like a switch had been flipped, he grabbed your arm, firm but gentle, not cruel. The vines recoil in shock at the sudden movement, you stumble forward as he pulls you out of the cocoon.
The handler smirked. “Good, bring the subject.” The soldier didn’t acknowledge. The light that was once in his eyes now gone. You tried to dig your heels in, but it didn’t matter, he pulled you like you weighed nothing.
The hallway outside was colder, brighter lined with a metal, your skin shivered at the eerie feel of the corridor, but you walked it before, you knew where it led. Testing.
Your heart hammered, all vines had now disappeared. Your bare feet stumbled across the cold floor, the remnant of your plants falling to the floor behind you.
The door slammed shut behind you with a metallic finality that made your stomach twist. The winter soldier didn’t look back. His footsteps faded down the hall, swallowed by the hum of machinery and the low murmur of hydra scientists preparing for you.
Before they could grab a hold of you, you shot your vine out, a long green vines littered with thorns wrapped around one of the scientists necks, using your strength you slammed him against the wall. The overhead lights flickered on, bright and merciless. A man in a lab coat stepped forward, tablet in hand. “Subject is agitated, increase restraints.” Two guards moved in.
Cold cuffs snapped around your wrists, pinning your arms to the chair, your vines grew, trying to slip between the clamps, but the guards shoved them aside with insulated rods. “Plant response is heightened.” One muttered. “We’ll need suppressants.”
Suppressants.
Your heart lurched, a third scientist approached with a syringe filled with a pale green liquid. “Hold her steady.” You struggled, but the restraints held firm. The vines writhed, trying to shield you, but the clamps tightened until they couldn’t move at all.
The needle slid into your arm, a cold numbness spread through your veins and your vines went limp, their leaves drooping like dying petals.
“Good.” The scientist said, making a note. “Begin phase one.” A machine lowered from the ceiling, an array of sensors, lights and metal prongs that hovered inches above your skin. You felt the faint buzz of electricity, the prickle of energy scanning your body.
“Photosynthetic output is elevated.” Someone muttered. “Let’s push her limits.”
A panel slid open on the wall, revealing a harsh UV lamp. It flared to life, bathing you in a blinding light. Your skin tingled, then burned, as the machine monitored every reaction. Your vines twitched weakly, trying to respond but the suppressants held them down like invisible chains.
“Fascinating.” A scientist whispered. “Even sedated, the plant structures attempt to protect her.” You clenched your teeth, refusing to give them the satisfaction of a scream. Another machine whirred to like, as a doctor stepped closer holding a small blade.
“Testing regenerative capacity.” The lead scientist announced, your breath hitched. The blade touched your forearm, just shallow cut, enough to make your vines surge in panic. They strained against the restraints leave trembling violently.
The scientist watched with clinical fascination as the skin around the cut glowed faintly green, tiny tendrils of plant matter weaving through the wound to seal it. “Remarkable.” Someone murmured. “Her healing is accelerating.”
You felt sick, the lead scientist stepped closer, eyes gleaming behind his glasses. “Let’s see how far we can push her today.” The machines hummed louder, the lights brightened, the restraints pulled tighter.
Time stopped meaning anything. The tests blurred together, light, needles, restraints, suppressants. Your veins grew thinner each week, their one vibrate green fading to a sickly pale.
When you could muster the energy they protected you, curling weakly around your wrists, but hydra had perfected the dosage that kept them docile.
You barely remembered what sunlight felt like, the winter soldier became a routine, a shadow, he’d occasionally took you to and from testing, metal fingers closing around your arm. He never spoke, never hesitated again.
Over time he disappeared, you didn’t have the strength to enquire where he was. As they moved your around the base, you noticed, the staff were on edge, the building looked more and more run down, until slowly staff that wasn’t needed, staff that had saw too much were disposed of.
You were strapped to the table again, in a quick moment of consciousness the uncomfortable feeling of you sitting on your hair pulled at your neck, your brow furrowed, not realising just how many years it had been since you were truly coherent.
The scientists paced around you, adjusting machines, preparing for another round of tests. Then the lights flickered, once, twice. Then the room fell silent. A low rumble shook the floor, dust drifted from the ceiling.
“What was that?” A scientist snapped, before anyone could answer, the entire facility shuddered with a deafening explosion. The lights went out, emergency alarms blared, bathing the room in red. Guards rushed past the glass window. Shouting.
“Breach in sector three, Unknown hostiles.” Your vines twitched, the first real movement in days. Another explosion rocked the hallway. Then one closer. The scientists panicked, scrambling to shut down equipment, to lock your restraints tighter, to call for backup.
But the door to the testing chamber blew inward before they could finish. A circular shield ricocheted off the far wall, knocking two guards’ unconscious. Smocked billowed in. And through it stepped a man, broad shoulders, his blue eyes blazing and shield raised.
He took in the scene, the restraints, the machines your limp vines. His expression contorted, he looked shocked to of come across you. Quickly he recovered. Rushing forward. “Don’t worry.” He said, voice steady and sure. “We’re getting you out.”
Behind him, a red head swept into the room, taking down a guard with a single strike, she held her hand to what seemed to be an earpiece and spoke, the words faded into the background as your head lolled to the side.
Steve stepped closer, eyes softening. “You’re safe now.” But before he could lift you from the table, a shadow moves in the smoke filled doorway. A figure stood there, framed by the smoke and flickering red lights.
A metal arm, long hair and haunted eyes. His breath hitched, his shoulders tensed. Forcing your eyes over to the door your vines stirred, reaching toward him instinctively, remembering him even after everything.
He flinched.
Not from fear, but from shame. Steve lowered you down slightly “Bucky- “Bucky didn’t answer, he didn’t look at Steve, he didn’t look at Natasha, he only looked at you.
And what he saw, tore away at him, the restraints digging into your skin, like it had begun to mould to you, the bruises from repeated testing, the way your body sagged from exhaustion, a shell of what you once were. It hit him like a blow, his jaw tightened, his shoulders hunched. His breath stuttered.
Natasha voice broke the silence, “She’s safe now Barnes, its-“ Bucky shook his head once, sharp and pained, like the words physically hurt him, but he didn’t speak, not a single explanation, not a single apology, not a single word. He just turned away.
Steve called after him, voice firm. “Bucky, wait.”
Bucky didn’t stop and didn’t look back. He disappeared into the smoke filled hallway, footsteps fading fast, like he couldn’t get away from you, from what he’d done.
Your vines wilted, your head sagging as you lost consciousness. Natasha steadied you with a hand on your shoulder “We need to move now.”
Steves jaw was tight, eyes flickering between the doorway and your trembling form. He wanted to go after buck, but he marched towards you, lifting your limp body into his arms, you fazed in and out of consciousness, the loud alarm had quietened the cold wind hitting against your body, then the hum of a jet of sorts.
You woke to warmth, not the harsh artificial heat of hydras lamps, not the burning sting of UV tests, real warmth, sunlight filtering through a window, a soft blanket tucked around you, the faint hum of machines.
You jolted up at first, the medical surrounding filling you with fear, but then you took in your surroundings, soft white walls, a vase of flowers on the beside table, real ones, ones not grown from your powers.
You weren’t in hydra anymore.
Bruce stepped closer, voice gentle. “Hey…you’re awake.” Your throat felt jaw. “Where…?”
“Avengers Tower,” he said. “You’re safe.”
Safe.
The word felt foreign. Bruce checked your vitals, careful not to touch you, “The suppressants are leaving your system, you’ll feel weak for a while, but you’re healing.” You nodded, though you chest felt tight. “You’ve been on them for around 10 years…I assume” He spoke voice growing quieter at he finished. Smiling at you when you didn’t respond, excusing himself.
Leaving you alone in the bed, the feeling of your blood rushing around your body overwhelming you, the tug at your skin of your powers wanting to explode.
Dragging in three deep breaths your managed to channel the pressure towards your hand, sprouting a small flower. Your head shot up to the sound of footsteps, Steve moving quietly like he didn’t want to startle you. Carrying a tray of food, real food.
“You don’t have to eat yet,” he said softly. “Just here if you want it.”
You grew your vines out towards him, he didn’t flinch, letting one curl around his wrist. Its leaf brushing his skin. “They’re beautiful.” He murmured, eyes the flower that bloomed in your palm.
You swallowed hard, thinking back to when they tested on you, spewing cruel words at you just to pull a reaction. Your mind pulling you back there. Turning over in your bed, facing away from him. You weren’t ready.
Natasha sat with you that night, she didn’t speak, she knew you didn’t want to. Just sat next to your bed her presence easing your thumping pulse. When you woke up thrashing from a nightmare, she soothed you back to sleep.
When you woke in the morning she was gone, your body flinched at every sound, vines curled right around your wrists, defensive and trembling. Your breath hitched whenever a door opened too quickly, Hydra had trained you to expect pain.
A soft knock sounded at the door, gentle and deliberate. You didn’t answer but the door opened anyway, slow enough that you could track every inch. Steve stepped inside, hand raised slightly to show he wasn’t carrying anything but a folded blanket. “I thought you might be cold.” He said quietly.
You weren’t, but the gesture made something in your chest twist, he placed the blanket at the foot of your bed, not coming any closer. He just stayed. For a moment, neither of your spoke. The silence wasn’t heavy. “I know you don’t want company,” Steve said, voice low. “But you didn’t have to be alone either.”
Your throat tightened. You didn’t trust your voice, so you said nothing. He nodded like he understood anyway. “Nats getting breakfast” He added. “She said shell bring it up. She threatened to break my fingers if I tried to wake up.”
A tiny, startled sound escaped you, something almost like a laugh, though it felt foreign in your mouth, his eyes softened at the sound, but he didn’t comment on it. On the other side of the wall, stood bucky, his head resting backwards eyes closed as he took in your laugh.
You pulled the blanket up and around you.
Weeks passed. You were stronger now, walking the halls without assistance, eating full meals, sleeping through most nights. You were able to project your power more. Everyone noticed the change, everyone except bucky.
Or rather he noticed, he just refused to be in the same room long enough for you to see it. He always left the second you entered, always turned ta corner just as you looked up. Always found a reason to train at 3am when he knew you wouldn’t be there.
It wasn’t subtle and it wasn’t accidental. Steve tried to bridge the gap, but every time he brought Bucky’s name up you tensed and he dropped the subject with a sigh. The though of you reminding him of being there sent shivers down you.
One morning, you stepped into the gym early, too early for anyone else to be awake. Or so you thought, Bucky was there. He froze mid punch, metal fist still pressed into the sandbag. His hair was tied back, sweat dripping down his temple.
He looked tired, like he hadn’t slept in days. He didn’t move, didn’t speak, didn’t even breathe for a moment. You swallowed “I didn’t know anyone was in here.” He nodded once, a stiff jerky motion, “Ill go.”
He grabbed his towel, already turning away. Something in you snapped. “You don’t have to leave every time I walk into a room.” He stopped, shoulders tensed and his back rigid. But he didn’t turn around, your voice cracked despite your best efforts.
“I’m not afraid of you.” His breath hitched, barely audible, but you heard it. Still, he didn’t look at you. “If you hate me just say it.” That got him, he spun so fast you flinched. His eyes were wide, horrified. “I don’t- “His voice broke. “I don’t hate you.”
“Then why won’t you look at me?” He did look at you then, really looked, and the pain in his eyes nearly knocked the air from your lungs.
“Because I don’t deserve to.” He took a step back, like he expected you to lash out. “You don’t understand what I did to you.”
“I remember” You whispered. “But I also remember…” Your throat tightened. “You were the only familiar thing I had…the only person that didn’t intentionally hurt me, even as the winter soldier.” His jaw clenched
He shook his head, backing away again. “You shouldn’t want anything to do with me.” You grew your vines towards him, just a few inches. He froze staring at them like they were a confession. You pulled them back quickly, embarrassed.
His expression shattered, “I’m trying to stay away so I don’t hurt you again. “He took a shaky breath.
“You’re hurting me now.” The words slipped out before you could stop them. He closed his eyes, pained. “I don’t know how to be around you.”
“Then learn.” He opened his eyes slowly, and for the first time since hydra, he didn’t look away. “I don’t know if I can.” He whispered. You stepped closer, closing the distance by a single step. “Then let me try too.”
His breath stuttered and you could see the internal battle in his head, but he just nodded, grabbing his water bottle and leaving the gym, leaving you in there by yourself, you watched him walk away.
Recovery had become a routine, morning check ins with Bruce, where he monitored your powers progress. A quiet slow breakfast with Natasha, training sessions with Steve, where he never pushed you harder that you could handle. Once you began to understand and better control your powers, they slowly started letting you join them on missions.
You were healing, except for one thing. Bucky. After meeting him in the gym, he kept his distance, still slipped out of rooms the moment you entered. Still refused to meet your eyes unless forced.
You were walking toward the common room, toying with a small freshly bloomed flower twiddling it between your fingers. When you heard voices, Steves low and steady, buckys rough and strained. You froze just outside the doorway, you didn’t mean to eavesdrop.
But then you heard your name.
“You need to talk to her you know.” Steve said, Bucky scoffed under his breath. “Its not that easy.” Your chest tightened. Steve sighed. “Buck, she keeps asking for you.”
“That’s the problem,” Bucky muttered. “She thinks I’m something I’m not.” The flower in your hand wilted. Steves tone softened. “She just wants to understand what happened between you two in hydra.”
Bucky let out a bitter laugh, “There was nothing between us.” Your breath caught. Steve frowned. “That’s not what it looked like.”
“That’s because you didn’t see the truth.” Bucky snapped. “She was a mission. A responsibility. Hydra put her in my hands because I was the only one strong enough to drag her around. That’s it.”
Your heart dropped, you didn’t hear the rest. You stepped back, pulse hammering as you turned down the hallway. You didn’t see bucky step into the doorway a moment later, didn’t see him freeze when he caught a glimpse of your retreating form.
You didn’t see the way his face fell. “Steve…” He whispered, horror dawning. “She heard.” Steve swore under his breath. “Buck, go after her.” But he couldn’t move, he just stared at the empty hallway where you’d been seconds before, guilt twisting his features.
“That’s not what I meant…” He murmured, voice breaking “That’s not what I meant at all.”
You made it back to your room before the tears came, you sat on the edge of your bed, the wave of emotions ploughing through you, caused your vines to sprout out, growing out and around the floor, it wasn’t long before all the floor was covered in your plants. Vines with sharp thrones and dead leaves everywhere.
You thought back to his words, that you were just his mission, just a responsibility. That night down the hall, bucky stood frozen, staring at your closed door like it was the only thing in the world he wanted to open.
When you finally fell asleep the vines around you had wilted away, waking up that morning, letting the sun rays soak into your skin. Preparing yourself the mission you had to be on soon, one bucky would be on as well.
The mission was supposed to be simple, recon. Just in and out, minimal contact.
Youd been cleared for field work only a week ago, and Steve insisted you take it slow, Natasha agreed. Even Bruce gave you a look that said please be careful.
But fury wanted eyes on a hydra remnant facility, and your powers made you the perfect scout. When you stepped onto the quin jet, bucky was already there, checking his gear, jaw tight, shoulders tense. He froze when he saw you, you froze too.
Natasha looked between you both and muttered. “Great.” Steve clapped his hands once. “Let’s move.”
You sat as far from bucky as possible. He noticed of course he noticed, his eyes flicked toward you every few seconds, guilt etched into every line of his face.
You ignored him.
Everything was going smoothly, until it wasn’t.
The hydra base was more active than expected. More guards. More weapons. More chaos. You and bucky ended up separated from the others, pinned behind a crumbing wall as gunfire tore through the air.
“Stay down.” Bucky said, voice low. You didn’t answer. He risked a glance at you. “I know you heard me.” Still nothing, he exhaled sharply. “Okay. Fine. Don’t talk but listen.” As the wall behind you crumbled more you focused your energy on building a protective wall behind you both further supporting the wall. A thick wall of vines curled around you both.
You kept your eyes on the corridor ahead as you did so. “I didn’t mean what you think I meant.” He said, words tumbling out fast, like he’d been holding them in for days. “What you heard, I wasn’t saying you didn’t matter, not that you were nothing to me.”
You jaw clenched. He swallowed, “I was trying to say I wasn’t allowed to feel anything back then, they didn’t let me. The moment they saw me crack free of the programming they’d wipe me again.”
You didn’t look at him. “I didn’t mean that there was nothing between us, I meant I didn’t understand what it was, I didn’t have the capacity to.” You glanced towards him, he softened. “I care now, too much. That’s the problem.”
You breath hitched, but before you could respond a grenade clattered across the floor, bucky reacted instantly grabbing you, pulling you against him, shielding you with his body as the explosion ripped through the hallway. The hallway shook with the force of the grenade blast, dust rained from the ceiling, your ears ringing.
The blast threw you both backward, dust filling the air, your ears rang. Bucky groaned, pushing himself up. “Are you hurt?” You blinked, dazed shaking your head. “No”
You could see he wasn’t, not fully, his shoulder was bleeding, a cut on his brow bone. But he didn’t care. Je reached for you, hesitated then he pulled back like he’d been burned. “Good because I- “He didn’t get to finish
The echoes of footsteps running toward you both caused you to shoot up, taking off down the hallway bucky tried to contact the others, only to find the line was dead. You quickly grew a wall separating the armed hydra soldiers from you both. “Move” he shouted, swearing under his breath as he ran, grabbing your wrist, not roughly but urgent and pulled you behind him as bullets tore through the wall where you’d built just a second before.
You stumbled, vine flaring instinctively to shield you both, deflecting a few shots before the strain made your vision blur.
“Easy,” Bucky muttered, steadying you with his metal hand. “Don’t burn yourself out.” You couldn’t answer, not with the echo of his earlier words still slicing through your chest. You shoved the thoughts down and focused on running.
The two of you sprinted through the crumbling facility, weaving through smoke and debris, every exit you tried was blocked, every hallway swarmed with hydra reinforcements. Steve wasn’t answering nor was Natasha. No one was.
Bucky slammed his fist into a locked door, breaking the mechanism. “We’re cut off. They must be jamming the signal.” You swallowed hard. “So, what now?”
He hesitated only for a second. “Theres a safe house. Old S.H.I.E.L.D. property. Off grid, we can regroup there.” You didn’t want to go anywhere with him. But you didn’t have a choice.
“Fine.” You said, voice flat. He flinched at your tone but didn’t argue. He led the way through a maintenance tunnel, the two of you emerging into the forest behind the facility. Snow crunched under your boots as you ran, breath clouding in the cold air.
Bucky kept glancing back at you, checking your pace, checking your breathing, monitoring you.
The safe house was a small cabin tucked deep in the woods, half buried in snow, bucky unlocked it with a code he seemed to know. Inside, it was cold, dark and silent. He shut the door behind you. Locking it.
Only then did he turn to you. “Please” he said quietly, voice raw. “Let me explain.” You stepped back. He took a step towards you “I said those things because I thought it would make it easier for me.” He said voice cracking. “They didn’t let me feel anything back then, but now- “
He stopped himself, jaw tightening, you waited. He didn’t finish of course he didn’t. You let out a shaky breath. “You don’t have to lie to make me feel better.”
“I’m not lying.”
“Then say it.” You whispered. “Say what you were going to say.” He looked at you like the words were tearing him apart from the inside. “I can’t.” He whispered.
You nodded one, sharp and final. “Then we’re done talking.” You turned away, walking toward the small bedroom at the back of the cabin. Behind you bucky stood in the dim light, shoulders slumped, his hands shaking.
Taking in your surrounding it was smaller than you expected, one main room as you opened the door, you saw one bed. The only bed.
Of course. You stood in the doorway, fingers twitching anxiously around your wrists as you took in the cramped space. Bucky hovered behind you, silent and tense.
He cleared his throat. “Ill take the floor.” You walked past him dropping your bag on the bed. The mattress dipped under the weight, the springs creaked softly. You finally turned to look at him. “You’re injured”
He blinked, caught off guard. “Its nothing.” You flicked to his shoulder, blood had soaked through the fabric. “That’s not nothing.” He looked away, jaw tightening. “I’ve had worse.”
You didn’t argue, you just walked to the bathroom, grabbed the first aid kit and returned to him. You held it out. He stared at it like it was a weapon.
“I can do it myself.” He muttered.
“Then do it.” He hesitated, then sat. you watched him fumble with the bandage trying to reach up and around his shoulder. You knelt beside him, taking the bandage from his hand. “You don’t have to.” He spoke as you reached for his torn shirt. “I know.”
You peeled the fabric back carefully. He hissed when the cloth struck to the wound. “Sorry.” You whispered. “Its okay.”
You cleaned the wound in silence. His breath hitching one or twice, but he didn’t pull away. Not from you hands. When you finished, you stood abruptly, putting distance between you. “You should sleep.” He nodded. “Yeah. You take the bed.”
You shook your head. “We both need rest and you’re not sleeping on the floor with that shoulder.” He opened his mouth to argue; you cut him off “We can share.” His breath caught. “Are you sure?” He asked, voice barely above a whisper. You nodded even though you heart was pounding. “Its just sleep.”
He swallowed hard. “Okay.” You both climbed into the bed awkwardly, staying as far apart as possible.
The bed was small, too small. Bucky lay stiffly on the other side, as close to the edge a physically possible. You stared at the ceiling; he stared at the wall. You whispered. “You hurt me.” His eyes closed, pained. “I know and I’m so sorry. I’m so damn sorry.”
You nodded, unable to control the shiver that ran down your spine at the cold pouring into the room. The rattle of the heat gave out. Your arms wrapped around yourself. He tensed, his arm rubbing the back of his neck. “It’s going to drop below freezing tonight.”
You nodded, breath fogging in the air. “Ill manage.” He turned, hair scuffing up as he moved against the pillow, looking at you. “You won’t.” You didn’t respond, you didn’t want to admit he was right.
He hesitated, jaw tightening like he was bracing for impact. “Body heat will help.” He swallowed. You raised an eyebrow. He rushed to add. “Not like- I mean- just to keep warm. That’s all.”
You stared at him, heart pounding. He looked like he wanted to sink into the floor. “Its fine.” You spoke.
You shifted closer to him, not touching but just enough that you could feel the warmth of him. Your fingers were numb, you couldn’t help but tremble. He exhaled, breath shaky. “Come here.” You stiffened. “Bucky- “
“You’re freezing” he said softly. “Please” The word please did something to you. You shifted closer, inch by inch until your shoulder brushed his. He sucked in a breath but didn’t move away. His warmth seeped into you slowly, painfully like thawing frostbitten skin.
After a moment, he lifted his arm, hesitant, offering. You hesitated too. Then you let yourself lean into him. His arm wrapped around you carefully, like you were something fragile. He just held you. “Better?” he murmured. You nodded against his chest. “Yeah.”
Silence settled over you both, his heartbeat was steady beneath your ear. His breath warned your hair. His metal hand rested lightly on your hip, careful not to grip too tightly.
After a long moment, he spoke, voice barely above a whisper. “I used to dream about this.” Your breath caught. He froze, “I- I didn’t mean- forget said that.”
“No- “You whispered. “What did you mean?” He swallowed hard. “Back at hydra, I didn’t understand what I felt but I remember wanting to keep you warm. Wanting to protect you.”
He stopped himself, breath shaking. “But then, they’d wipe me…and id forget everything.” His eyes met yours, the space between you changed. Softening and warm, shifted into something neither of you could pretend wasn’t there.
He rested his forehead against yours, breath mingling with yours. “Tell me to stop.” He murmured you didn’t, you whispered. “Stay.” His arm tightened around you, pulling you closer, holding you like he’d been waiting years for this.
“I’m not going anywhere…not thing time.” He murmurs against your lips, voice barely holding back restraint. His mouth was on yours, his hands trailing down your body, they slide along the curve of your waist. Pulling your body close against his, his metal arm coming down over you. His warmth spreading through your body. Pressing a kiss to your forehead. “Goodnight sweetheart.”
And for the first time in a long time, you fell straight to sleep.
Summary-You hated how everyone loved him. You were polar opposites, bucky was his fraternity president and you an alternative 'outcast'. Opposites definitely don't attract...or do they?
Word count- 2.7k
Warnings-Walker being a bully and just a prick, angst, yearning bucky, Rumours, angst, fluff, kissing
My masterlist
[1] [2] [3] 4 [5] [6]
The kiss ends slowly, reluctantly, like neither of you really wants to pull away but both of you are terrified of what happens if you don’t.
When your lips part, you’re both breathing too hard for such a soft kiss. Bucky’s hands still on the back of your neck intertwined with your hair, your fingers are still curled into his shirt, neither of you move.
For a moment, it feels like the world has narrowed to the space between your mouths, then reality crashes back in. Bucky’s eyes flicker open, and the look in them is raw. Not regret or fear but something messier, something he doesn’t know how to hide. He lets his hand fall away first. You drop yours a second later.
The space between you feels suddenly enormous. He clears his throat, looking anywhere but you. “I…shouldn’t have done that.” Your stomach twists “Oh.”
“No-no, not like that.” He drags a hand through his hair, frustrated with himself. “I wanted to. I’ve wanted to for a long time. I just- “He stops, jaw clenching.
You wait.
He exhales shakily. “I don’t know what this is. I don’t know what you want. I don’t even know what I’m allowed to want.” Your heart stutters “You could’ve asked.” He laughs under his breath, bitter and soft. “I’m not good at this.”
“You’re doing fine.”
“I’m doing terrible” he mutters, “I kissed you when I’m still shaking from a fight, I kissed you when your upset, when I don’t even know if you want me to.” You lean in closer, just enough that he notices. “I kissed you back” you spoke with a soft smile on his face.
He freezes, you continue, quieter “That wasn’t an accident.” His eyes flick to yours, searching. “So…what does that mean?” You open your mouth, nothing comes out.
You swallow “I don’t know yet.” Bucky nods slowly, like he expected that answer but hoped for something else. “Okay.” He stands up giving you space even though it clearly hurts him. You wrap your arms around yourself. “This is…complicated.”
“Yeah.” He says softly. “It is.” Silence stretches between you, not cold but thick with everything neither of you knows how to say. He finally breaks. “I don’t want to mess this up.” He spoke clearing his throat. “Whatever this is. Whatever it could be.”
Your chest tightens. “Then don’t.”
He huffs a quiet, humourless laugh. “I’m trying.” You nod, because you are too.
The kiss should’ve made things clearer. It didn’t It made everything louder, you left buckys dorm with your pulse still raising, your lips tingling your thoughts a tangled mess of want and fear. You didn’t sleep, you just lay there in the dark, replaying the moment over and over till it was burned into your brain.
Bucky wasn’t doing much better. He says on the edge of his bed, elbows on his knees, staring at the floor like It might give him answers. His knuckles throbbed, his chest aches, his mind wouldn’t shut up.
He shouldn’t text you, he should give you space and let you think. But every time he closed his eyes, he felt your hands on him, your breath against his mouth, The way you whispered I kissed you back.
It was torture and hope. By 2:17am he cracked. He picked up his phone, opened a new message and typed something, deleted it. Typed something else, deleted that too. Tried again. Deleted that.
He groaned, dragging a hand down his face. “Get it together Barnes” He tried one more time, this time he didn’t delete it, he hit send before he could stop himself.
Bucky: Are you awake
You stared at the screen the second it lit up, your heart dropped straight into your stomach, you should pretend you were asleep, but your fingers moved before your brain caught up.
You: Yeah
The three dots appeared instantly, disappeared came back, stopped and came back again. He was struggling, you could practically feel it through the screen.
Bucky: I can’t stop thinking about you, and I don’t know what to do with that.
Your pulse hammered, you typed back with shaking fingers.
You: You don’t have to do anything tonight. Just…don’t disappear again.
The reply came faster than you expected.
Bucky: I won’t. I promise.
You lay back against your pillow, phone pressed to your chest, heart pounding. Bucky did the same, neither of you slept, but for the first time in days, the ache in your chest felt a little less sharp.
You barely slept.
Every time you drifted off, you dreamed of him, not in some dramatic cinematic way, but in small devastating flashes.
His breath against your mouth. His fingers brushing your cheek. The way he whispered I can’t stop thinking about you.
You woke up flustered, heart pounding, the ghost of his lips still on yours and then your phone buzzed.
Bucky: Morning
Just that, simple and soft. You stared at the message far too long before replying. You repeated his words, before leaving the dorm and hitting send. Beginning to make you way across campus.
You didn’t even make it across the quad before you heard it. Walkers voice, loud, smug, carrying across the courtyard like he wanted everyone to hear.
“I’m telling you, Barnes is losing it over that girl, dude went feral. Like, actually feral. Someone laughed. “What, that freak?” Walker snorted. “Yeah. He’s obsessed. Its pathetic.”
Your stomach twisted, you kept walking trying to ignore it. But then he said, “But apparently she kissed him, practically climbed him, desperate.” You stopped dead, heat rushed up your neck, anger rushing through you.
You turned around, walker was surrounded by a few teammates, basking in their attention like a lizard under a heat lamp. You walked straight toward him, he noticed too late. “Oh look,” he said, smirking. “Speak of the- “
“Shut up.”
The words came out slow and steady. Walker blinked. “Excuse me?”
“You heard me.” You stepped closer, voice quiet but lethal. “Stop talking about me. Stop talking about him. Stop pretending you know anything about either of us.”
His smirk faltered. You didn’t stop. “You’re not funny. You’re not clever. Your just loud, and everyone tired of hearing you.”
A few of his friends shifted uncomfortably. Walker’s jaw tightened, “You think barns is gonna back you up.”
You just leaned in closer, you finger poking at the raw bruise blossoming around his eye. “He already did.”
Walker’s face went red, you walked away before he could respond.
Your adrenaline was still spiking when you stepped into the school, and that’s when you saw him, standing at the end of the hallway, backpack slung over one shoulder, hair still damp from a shower, looking like he hadn’t slept either.
He froze when he saw you, you froze too. The hallway buzzed with students, but it felt like two of you were trapped in bubble of silence, he took one step toward you, you smiled and carried on walking, you could hear your pulse in your ears, quickly making your way to class. You felt his eyes on you’re the whole way down the hall.
By lunchtime, the whispers had started. You knew this would happen, being around someone like bucky came with the consequence of how popular he was.
“Did you hear? Walker said she threw herself at Barnes.” “Apparently she begged him to kiss her.”
You kept your head down, you didn’t cry, didn’t break, but every word felt like a bruise, and bucky heard the too, you saw him across the cafeteria, jaw clenched, fists tight, eyes scanning the room like he was trying to find you.
When he finally did, his expression softened instantly, he took a step towards you, you turned away not because you wanted to but because you didn’t know how the handle wanting him this much and the attention you were getting for it. You left your tray abandoned on the table.
You didn’t mean to hide, you just needed a minute, a quiet corner a place where walkers voice couldn’t reach you and the rumours couldn’t crawl under your skin.
So, you slipped into one of the empty study rooms on the second floor, the one with the flickering lights and the window that overlooked the quad. You sat on the floor with your back against the wall, knees pulled to your chest, trying to breath past the tightness in your throat.
You didn’t hear the footsteps at first, but you heard your name, soft and frantic. “Hey- hey there you are.” Bucky stood in the doorway, chest rising and falling like he’d rushed after you, his backpack half unzipped. His expression somewhere between relief and panic.
When he saw your face, something inside him broke. He stepped inside and shut the door behind him, leaning against it like he needed it to stay upright. “I’ve been looking everywhere for you.” His voice low and breathless. “You just…disappeared.”
You looked away. “I needed space.” He nodded slowly, like he understood but hated it. “Okay. Yeah, I get that. I just- “He swallowed hard. “I didn’t want you to be alone with all the crap he’s saying.”
Your jaw tightened. “You heard.”
“Everyone heard.” He said quietly. “And I’m sorry, so sorry.” You shook your head. “Its not your fault.”
“I feel like it is.” You didn’t answer, he took a hesitant step closer. “Sam told me you snapped at walker.” You let out a humourless laugh. “I didn’t snap, I detonated.” A tiny smile tugged at his mouth, proud even, but faded quickly when he saw the look in your eyes.
He sat down beside you. “Talk to me.”
You stared at your hands, “Everyone thinks I threw myself at you.” His jaw clenched. “They’re wrong, they’re all idiot if they believe anything walker spews”
“They think you only fought walker because you’re obsessed with me.” He didn’t respond because it was true. You finally looked up but he was already looking at you, “Bucky…why did you fight him?” You whispered.
His throat bobbed but he didn’t look away, “Because he hurt you.” He said softly. “Because he made you think id talk to you like that, because he made you doubt yourself, made you doubt me.”
Your chest tightened. “And because” he added, voice just above a whisper. “I couldn’t stand the thought of you walking around thinking you were anything less than…everything.”
Your breath hitched, he exhaled shakily, running a hand through his hair. “I know things are complicated. I know this kiss didn’t fix anything, I know the rumours are awful. But I’m here, I’m not going anywhere not unless you tell met to.”
You stared at him your lip caught between your teeth, slowly you reached out, your fingers brushed his. He froze then carefully, he threaded his fingers through yours. The tension in his shoulders melted like he’d been holding his breath for hours.
“I really want to kiss you again.” You voice was quiet, he smiled, pulling you closer, he didn’t kiss you right away, just held you his forehead dipped towards yours, his breath warm against your cheek. “Tell me to stop.” He murmured.
You leaned in that last impossible inch, and he met you halfway, this kiss was slow, careful. Like he was memorizing the shape of you, the way you tasted, the way your fingers curled in the front of his hoodie. His thumb brushed you jaw, gentle in a way that made your chest ache.
When he finally pulled back, he didn’t go far. His nose brushed yours, his voice barely a breath. “I’ve been losing my mind.” He admitted. “All morning. I though you were avoiding me because of what people were saying.”
“I wasn’t avoiding you.” You whispered. “I just…didn’t know how to deal with all of it.”
His eyes softened, something warm and fierce flickering there. “You don’t have to deal with it alone.” You swallowed, the words catching in your throat. “The stuff people were saying…about you, about us. I don’t want to make your life harder.” He huffed a quiet laugh, shaking his head.
“You think I care what walker or anyone else says? I care about you. That’s it.”
Your heart thudded painfully. “You shouldn’t have fought him.”
“I’d do it again.” He said instantly, no hesitation. “I’m not proud of it, but I’m not sorry either.” You stared at him, stunned by the honesty, he squeezed your hand, grounding you. “Look.” He said softly, “I know this is messy and I know you didn’t ask for any of it. But I’m not going anywhere. Not because I feel like I have to protect you, or because of some stupid rumour. I’m here because I want to be.”
Your breath trembled. “I don’t know what this is.”
“Me neither.” He admitted, a small smile tugging at his mouth. “But I know what I want it to be.” You blinked “And what’s that?”
He didn’t answer right away, instead he reached up, brushing a strand of hair behind your ear. His fingers lingering at the base of your neck, his voice dropped low and earnest. “Something real.”
The room felt too small, too warm. You opened your mouth to respond, but footsteps echoed down the hall, loud fast and getting closer. Bucky stiffened, his hand tightening around yours. “they’re looking for you.” You muttered, Steves voice echoing through the corridor.
He nodded “Probably for you too.” His hand now wrapped tight around yours, his thumb brushing circles on your skin. You exhaled shakily. “I’m not ready to go back out there.”
“Then we won’t.” He stood, pulling you gently to your feet. “We can stay here for a minute.” You hesitated. “People will talk. He gave you a look that was almost a challenge “They already are, let them talk more.” You felt something in your chest shift.
You stepped closer, your fingers curling into the fabric of his hoodie, “Okay” you whispered, “Just a minute.” He smiled, soft and relieved. He leaned his forehead against yours. You couldn’t help but lean in again and pressed your lips to his.
But the footsteps stopped right outside the door, and someone knocked. The knock comes again, firmer this time. Bucky’s hand slips from your cheek, but he doesn’t step away, He just turns his head toward the door, jaw tightening like he’s ready to right who ever is on the other side.
You clear your throat, trying to steady your pulse. “We should…probably answer that.” He doesn’t more for a second, then sighs, pushes himself up and opens the door just enough to peek out.
A student you vaguely recognize, some sophomore with a stack of text books, stands there shifting awkwardly from foot to foot. “Oh” she says when she sees the two of you. “Sorry. I, uh…my group booked this room for a project.
Bucky blinks at her, “Right. Yeah. Sure.” She gives you both a curious look and steps back to let you pass.
You gather your things, your heart still thudding and step into the hallway. Bucky follows, closing the door behind him. The moment it clicks shut you realise you’ll have to walk out there, together.
The hall way is busy, students moving between lunch and class now, voices echoing the usual midday chaos, but the second you step into it, you feel eyes on you. Not many. Not loud, just enough.
Your stomach twists, bucky notices instantly. He shifts closer, enough that you can feel the heat of him. His voice was low, only meant for you. “We don’t have to do anything you’re not ready for.”
You nod, “I just don’t want to make things worse.” He studies you for a long moment, then slowly, giving you every change to pull away. He reaches for your hand. His fingers brush yours, your breath catches, you look up at him and he’s already watching you.
You slide your fingers between his. His shoulders drop, relief flooding his expression so raw it almost hurts to look at, he squeezed your hand once, gentle but sure and you feel something inside you settle.
The hallway goes quiet, not literally. But it feels like it, the noise fades around the edges, like the two of you are stepping into something new and terrifying and real. Someone whispers, someone else stares.
But bucky doesn’t look at any of them, he looks at you. “Ready?” He murmurs, you nod, even though you’re not sure you are. But his hand is warm in yours. And you walk.
Summary: You hated how everyone loved him. You were polar opposites, bucky was his fraternity president and you an alternative 'outcast'. Opposites definitely don't attract...or do they?
Word count: 3.3k
Warnings: Walker being a major ass wipe, angst, violence warning, fighting, angstt with comfort!
My masterlist
[1] [2] 3 [4] [5] [6]
He didn’t hear a single word the professor said. Not one.
He sat in the middle row of his lecture hall, surrounded by the low him of laptops and whispered conversations, but all he could focus on was the folded scrap of paper burning a hole in his pocket.
Your number, your handwriting, your choice.
He kept his hand pressed against the pocket like he was afraid it might vanish if he didn’t physically hold it there, every few minutes, his fingers brushed the edge of the paper and his pulse kicked up like he’d been shocked.
He shouldn’t text you, he knew that he’d told you he’d leave you alone. Hed meant it, he meant every word, even if saying them had felt like ripping something out of his chest. But then you slipped him your number.
But then a piece of paper with your number on fluttered to the floor. Not handing it to him, not saying anything. It could have been an accident, or it could have been a maybe.
Like a don’t go too far.
He exhaled slowly, staring at the blank notes page on his laptop, the cursor blinked at him, impatient, judgemental. His knee bounced under the desk. He shouldn’t text you.
He should respect your space, respect your silence. But the note was still there. He pulled it out, just for a second, keeping it hidden under the desk. The paper was soft at the edges from how many times he’d unfolded and refolded it in the last hour.
Your handwriting stared back at him Simple, unassuming, devastating. He traced the numbers with his thumb, heart thudding painfully.
He swallowed hard. What if you gave it him out of pity? what if you regretted it?
The professor called his name, he didn’t respond.
A few people turned to look at him. He blinked, forcing himself to sit up straighter, to pretend he was present, to pretend he wasn’t unravelling over a piece of paper the size of a fortune cookie.
“Barnes.” The professor repeated, irritation creeping in. “Are you with us?” Bucky nodded stiffly, “Yeah. Sorry.” He wasn’t, not even close.
With his attention drawn away from the note and to his professor, he didn’t notice walker approaching until a hand snatched the paper right out of his grip. Bucky froze.
Walker held the note between two fingers, eyebrow shooting up. “Well, well, well. What’s this?”
Bucky stomach dropped. “Give it back.”
Walker unfolded it, eyes scanning the digits. “Whose number is this?”
“Walker.” Bucky warned, voice low.
Walker grinned, leaning back against the desk in front of him. “Dude, you’ve been weird all week. Now your hiding mystery numbers in class? Who is she?”
“It’s none of your business.” He practically growled. The bell signalled for the end of class, everyone began packing up their belongings, including walker, his grip still sight on the piece of paper.
“Oh, so it is a she.” Walkers grin widened. “Is it Larissa. She’s been all over you.”
“no.”
“Then who?” Walker dangled the paper just out of reach. “Come on, man. You don’t get secret admirers. That’s not your thing.”
Bucky’s jaw clenched. Hard. And that was enough. Walkers grin vanished. “Holy shit. She did.” Bucky reached for the note, but walker pulled it back again. “You’re actually into her? Like, for real?”
“Walker.” Bucky said, voice low and dangerous. “Give me the paper.”
Walker stared at him, something ugly flickering behind his eyes. “You’re seriously choosing her? Over- I don’t know- literally anyone else?”
Bucky didn’t blink, “Give. It. Back.” For a moment, walker looked like he might push further, like a light bulb went off, bucky saw him open the note and then hand it back.
But walker didn’t leave it alone. Of course he didn’t.
Bucky should have known the second walker walked away muttering under his breath that something was wrong. But he was too busy securing the note back in his pocket.
He didn’t notice walker lingering by the door. Didn’t notice him smirking. Not until it was too late.
Your phone buzzed during your walk back to your dorm. You didn’t expect anything. Probably Yelena sending you a meme of something stupid.
But when you glanced at the screen, your heart stopped.
Unknown Number: Hey. It’s bucky
Your breath caught, you slowed your steps, thumb hovering over the screen. You shouldn’t feel this much at one, relief, panic, hope, dread. But you did. Quickly adding his number as a contact, you typed back carefully.
You: Hi. Didn’t think you’d text.
Your pulse thumped as you waited for a reply.
Bucky: Yeah well. Been thinking about you.
Your stomach flipped. That was too fast, too forward, too…not him. But maybe he was nervous, or maybe he was trying. Another message came through before you could finish the thought.
Bucky: You free tonight? Wanna come over?
You stopped walking,that wasn’t him, it couldn’t be…could it?
Your fingers trembled as you typed back.
You: Is everything okay? You don’t sound like yourself.
The reply came instantly.
Bucky: Lol what does that mean. I’m literally just asking you to hang out.
Your chest tightened, something was off, very off. You didn’t answer. You couldn’t. But you phone buzzed again.
Bucky: Come on, don’t make this weird.
Shaking your head, you closed your phone shoving it away in your bag.
Across campus, bucky sat alone on a bench outside the gym, phone in hand, thumb hovering over your number. He hadn’t texted, he hadn’t worked up the courage. He hadn’t even opened a new message thread.
He didn’t know that walker had memorized your number, didn’t know walker had typed it into his phone the second he walked out of class. Didn’t know that walker was laughing with his friends right now, showing them the messages, he was sending you or that you were staring at your phone, heart sinking, wondering why bucky sounded like someone else.
Your phone buzzed again, you tried to ignore it, but you couldn’t.
Bucky: Wow. Didn’t think you’d be this uptight.
Your breath stuttered. That couldn’t be him surely. But you gave him your number and only him. Your fingers hovered over the screen, cold creeping up your spine.
You: I think you have the wrong idea.
Another buzz.
Bucky: Nah. I know exactly what I’m doing.
Your stomach twisted. You didn’t reply, shoving your phone back into your pack and continued walking, heart pounding throat tight, you didn’t know what hurt more. The possibility that he meant it or the possibility that he didn’t care enough to notice how much it hurt you.
Across campus bucky was still sitting on the bench, staring at your number like it was a live wire. He still hadn’t texted. But then his phone buzzed, he pulled it out quickly, hoping It was you that somehow you got his number instead.
It wasn’t, it was walker. He sent just a photo, Bucky’s stomach dropped when he saw it, it was screenshot of a text thread, with your number at the top.
Walker’s messages, sent from walker’s phone, pretending to be him. Bucky’s blood ran cold, walker had memorized the number, walker had texted you. Another message from walker came through.
Walker: bro she’s so sensitive lol, didn’t take too much to freak her out.
Bucky’s vision tunnelled, his hands shook, he stood so fast the bench scraped against the pavement, he didn’t even text walker back. He didn’t trust himself to.
He just started walking, fast, furious and towards the dorms, toward anywhere he might find you, toward anywhere he could fix this before it shattered completely.
You reached your dorm room with your chest tight and your eyes burning, Yelena looked up from her bed instantly. “What happened?” You shook your head, trying to breathe. “I think…I think bucky texted me.”
Her eyebrows shot up. “And?”
You swallowed hard. “And he isn’t who I though he was.” Yelena sat up straighter. “What did he say?”
You handed her your phone. Her face darkened. “This isn’t him.”
“How do you know?” Your voice soft, your arm rubbing up and down your other one, trying to provide yourself with a small comfort. “Because bucky Barnes can barely look at you without short circuiting. He wouldn’t send this.”
You wanted to believe her, God you really wanted to. But the messages were right there, from him number. From him.
You sank onto your bed, burying your face in your hands. “I shouldn’t have given him my number.” Yelena opened her mouth to respond-
But a loud nock rattled the door. Both of your froze.
Yelena stood, crossing the room in three strides. She opened the door a crack.
And bucky was standing there. Breathless, wild eyes and terrified. “Is she here?” He asked. Voice raw. Yelena didn’t move. “What did you do?”
“Nothing.” He said quickly. “I didn’t text her. Walker- he- he saw her number and I don’t know fuckin remember it or some shit. But he pretended to be me, I swear, I didn’t- I would never- “
Your heart stopped. You stood slowly, Bucky’s eyes snapped to you instantly. And the look on his face was devastated. “You think I said those things” He whispered.
You didn’t answer, couldn’t, just shrugged your shoulders slightly. His chest rose and fell too fast, like he couldn’t get enough air. “I didn’t. I swear to you. I didn’t text you. I didn’t say any of that. I wouldn’t never talk to you like that.”
He ran a hand though his hair, pacing once like he was unravelling. “I was going to text you. I was trying to figure out what to say, I didn’t want it to screw it up. And then he- “He stopped, looked at you, really looked.
“I’m sorry,” He whispered. “I’m so sorry.”
Silence stretched between you, heavy and fragile. You didn’t know what to say, didn’t know what to feel. But you knew he wasn’t lying.
And with that he disappeared into the hallway and out you’re building. You couldn’t move, Yelena closed the door and guided you back to your bed and laying with you.
Walker didn’t even make it across the parking lot before bucky found him, he didn’t shout his name, didn’t warn him just stepped directly into walkers path, forcing him to stop short.
Walker blinked, annoyed. “Dude, what- “Bucky grabbed the front of his hoodie and slammed him back against the nearest brick wall. Walkers eyes went wide. “Woah what the hell- “
“You texted her.” Bucky’s voice was low, steady, terrifyingly calm. “Pretending to be me.” Walker scoffed, trying to play it off. “Relax. It was a joke.”
Bucky’s jaw flexed. “You think humiliating her is a joke.” His fist pulling tighter against walkers hoodie. “I didn’t humiliate her.” Walker said, rolling his eyes. “I just- pushed a little, wanted to see how far shed go.”
Bucky slammed his against the wall again. Walker winced. “Jesus, Barnes chill.”
“You don’t get to talk about her.” Bucky said, pulling his fist back and slamming it into johns jaw, voice dropping even lower. “You don’t get to look at her.” His fist pulled back again. “You don’t get to say her name.” Fist slamming against his cheek bone.
Walker coughed, “You’re seriously this pressed over some freak wh- “Bucky’s fist collided with his face again, this time walkers breath caught, blood pouring down his face from his nose.
Bucky leaned in, eyes burning. “You don’t know her and you sure as hell don’t get to mess with her because you’re bored.”
He let go abruptly, stepping back like walker disgusted him, Walker wiped his nose and straightened his hoodie. Trying to recover his ego. “You’re overreacting. She probably didn’t even care.”
Bucky’s eyes flashed with rage. “She obviously thought it was me.” Walker paused. Bucky’s voice broke, just slightly. “She thought I said those things.” Walker opened his mouth, but nothing came out.
For once, he had no joke, no smirk, no comeback. Bucky shook his head, breath unsteady. “You don’t get to do that, not to her.” Walker scoffed weakly. “You’re acting like you’re in love with her or something.” Bucky didn’t answer, he didn’t deny it, he didn’t have to.
Walker’s eyes widened. “Oh, you’re serious.”
Bucky stepped closer again, voice quiet but lethal. “If you ever text her again, or even go near her again, I won’t stop at a bloody nose.” He threatened. Walker swallowed hard. “Okay. Fine. Whatever I won’t.”
Bucky didn’t move. Walker lifted his hands in surrender. “I said I won’t. Chill.”
Bucky stared at him for a long moment, making sure the message landed. Then he turned and walked away, fists clenched, chest tight his heart pounding.
Bucky took the stairs two at a time, he could barely feel his legs, he just moved, fuelled by adrenaline and the sick twist in his stomach that hadn’t eased.
As he pushed open the door to his dorm, he froze. You were there.
Sitting on the edge of the couch, hands wrapped around a mug Sam must’ve shoved at you, Steve sat across from you, leaning forward, elbows on his knees, listening intently as you spoke. Your voice was quiet. Shaky. You were explaining something, Explaining him.
Sam noticed bucky first. His eyebrows shot up. “Oh. Look who finally decided to show up.” Steve followed next, expression softening with something like sympathy. “Buck.” You looked last, and the moment your eyes met his, bucky forgot how to breathe.
You weren’t angry, weren’t crying. But you looked hurt, guarded. Like you’d built a wall in the last hour and didn’t know if he was allowed past it.
Bucky stepped inside slowly, shutting the door behind himself. “You’re here.” You nodded once. “Sam let me in…I came to find you.”
Steve spoke “but when she got here you were out looking for walker.” Bucky’s jaw tightened at the mention of him, turning to meet your gaze “He won’t bother you. Not after- “He cut himself off, glancing down at his now bloody knuckles, tucking his hands in his pockets. “Not after I talked to him.”
You looked down at your mug about to speak when Sam shot up saying he was going to get food, Steve followed, clapping buckys shoulder as he passed. “Don’t screw this up.” The door closed behind them.
Leaving bucky and you alone. He took a hesitant step closer. “I didn’t text you.” You nodded. “I know.” He sighed with relief grateful that you believe him. “I’m so sorry.” He moved closer, slow enough that you could stop him if you wanted. You didn’t.
“I would never talk to you like that.” He said, voice low, rough.” Not even on my worst day.”
You looked up at him then, eyes searching his face “Why didn’t you text me first.” He exhaled shakily. “Because I didn’t want to mess it up.” You blinked. “You didn’t.”
“I almost did.” He spoke. “I keep almost doing it, every time I get close to you, I feel like I’m gonna ruin something.” Your breath caught. He ran a hand through his hair, pacing before stopping in front of you again.
“I wanted to text you. I wanted to say something that didn’t sound stupid or desperate or- “
“Bucky” You murmured. He stopped talking instantly. You set the mug down and stood, facing him fully. “You could’ve said anything.” His throat bobbed “I didn’t know that.”
You took a small step closer “You do now.” He stared at you like he was memorizing every detail, like he was terrified to move. Like one wrong breath would shatter the moment.
Bucky didn’t move when you fingers brushed his, he barely breathed. It was like the whole room held still, waiting to see what you would do next. Then your eyes flicked down. His knuckles, split, swollen bruised in ugly shades of red and purple. The skin torn in places. Fresh enough that the blood hadn’t fully dried.
“Sit down.”
He blinked. “What?”
“Sit” You repeated, pointing to the couch. He hesitated, not because he didn’t want to listen, but because he didn’t know how to be taken care of. Not by you. Not by anyone. But he sat, slowly.
Like he wasn’t sure he deserved it. “Where do you keep your first aid kit.” You spoke softly. He pointed, you quickly crossed the room to collect it. When you returned, bucky watched you with something raw in his eyes, something that made your stomach twist.
You knelt in front of him. He immediately tried to pull his hand away. “You don’t have to- “
“Give me your hand.” His breath stuttered. He gave it to you. Carefully, you took his injured hand in both of yours, his skin was warm, rough, trembling just slightly. You could feel the tension running through him.
You cleaned the cuts gently, your touch feather light, he hissed once when the antiseptic stung, but he didn’t pull away. He didn’t even flinch, he just watched you, like he couldn’t look anywhere else. “You shouldn’t have fought him.” You murmured. “He deserved it.” Bucky said quietly.
“That doesn’t mean you should’ve done it.” He swallowed. “He hurt you.” Your hands paused, you looked up. His eyes were dark, stormy, full of something fierce and unspoken. “He made you think I said those things, he made you look at me like I was someone you needed to protect yourself from.”
Your chest tightened painfully. “I didn’t know what to think.”
“I know” He whispered. “And that’s what killed me.” You wrapped his knuckles gently, your fingers brushing his skin with every pass of the bandage. His breath hitched each time, not from the pain but the intimacy.
When you finished, you held his hand a moment longer than necessary. Neither of you move or spoke, the air between you felt electric and impossibly warm. Finally, bucky exhaled, voice barely audible “Thank you.”
You nodded, your thumb brushing the edge of the bandage. “Don’t make me do it again.”
He gave a soft, humourless laugh. “Ill try.” You looked up at him for a moment, the world narrowed to just the two of you. His hands in yours, his heartbeat loud in the quiet room, his eyes searching your face.
The moment hands between you like a held breath. “Don’t look at me like that.” You whisper, he swallows. “Like what.”
“Like I’m- “You stopped, because you didn’t know the word, or maybe you do and your too scared to say it. Bucky’s voice was barely audible “I can’t help it.” Your heart stutters. He lifts his uninjured hand slowly, giving you every change to pull away. His fingers hover near your cheek, trembling just slightly. “Tell me to stop.”
You don’t, you lean into his touch instead. His breath catches, quiet and that’s all it takes, he leans forward, closing the space between you inch by agonising inch. His forehead brushes yours first, tentative, like he’s asking permission without words. You tilt your chin up and he kissed you.
Softly at first, barely there. Like he’s terrified of hurting you even now. But when you exhale against his mouth, when your fingers curl into the fabric of his shirt, something in him gives way.
His hand slides to the back of your neck, gentle but sure, pulling you closer as he deepens the kiss just enough to let you feel everything he’s been holding back. You kiss him back and he makes a sound like he’s been drowning and finally surfaced. When he finally pulls away, he doesn’t go far. His forehead rests against yours, his breath warm on your lips.
“I’ve wanted to do that for so long.” He whispers. Your voice is barely steady. Then why didn’t you?” He lets out a shaky laugh. “Because I didn’t think I deserved to.”
You lifted you hand, brushing your thumb across his cheek. “You do.” His eyes closed, like the word physically hit him. Surging forward you caught his lips again.
His hands slide through you hair as he pulls you closer, putting his all into this kiss.
Summary- You hated how everyone loved him. You were polar opposites, bucky was his fraternity president and you an alternative 'outcast'. Opposites definitely don't attract...or do they?
Word count- 2.3k
Warnings- Walker being a bully and just a prick, angst, yearning bucky, just angst really, tintsy possible fluff near the end. Not proof read/ part wrote on phone
AN: part 3 coming soon :) let me know if you wanna be in the tag list
My masterlist
[1] 2 [3] [4] [5] [6]
The cafeteria was loud enough that you should’ve been able to disappear into the noise, clattering trays, espresso machines hissing, someone’s terrible indie playlist crackling through a phone speaker a few tables over. Perfect place to forget the way bucky had looked at you a few days earlier.
Except you couldn’t forget. Not when the memory kept replaying like a glitching video. Yelena plopped her tray down across from you, sliding into the seat with the grace of a brick wall. “Okay. Spill.”
“Theres nothing to spill Lena.” You muttered, stabbing your fork into your pasta like It had personally offended you. “Mm.” She took a sip of her drink. “Then why are you staring at your food like it’s going to turn into him.”
You choked. “Yelena.” She smirked. “Barnes flavoured soup. I told you!” You were about to argue again when something prickled at the back of your neck. A strange, heavy awareness. You didn’t want to look. You really didn’t. But you did.
Across the cafe, at the table full of football players and frat boys, Bucky Barnes was staring at you. Not glancing, not peaking, staring.
Elbow on the table, chin resting on his hand, blue eyes locked onto you like you were the only person in the room. His friends were talking, laughing, shoving each other, but he wasn’t paying attention to any of it.
He was watching.
You stomach flipped so violently you nearly dropped your fork. Yelena followed your gaze, eyebrows shooting up. “Oh. Ohhhh. Hes not even being subtle.”
“Shut up.” You hissed, heat crawling up your neck. “I’m just saying” She whispered, leaning in. “If a man looked at me like that, I’d be pregnant.”
“Yelena!” your voice was aloud whisper
Before you could tell her to be quiet, walker noticed. You saw it happen, the moment his eyes tracked buckys line of sight, then landed on you. His grin spread slow and mean. “Oh, great.” You muttered. “Here we go.”
Walker elbowed bucky,” Dude. Seriously? Her?”
Your blood ran cold. Bucky didn’t look away from you. Not even for a second. Walker laughed louder, making sure half the table heard. “Barnes has a crush on the campus cryptid.”
Yelena’s jaw dropped. “I will kill him.” You grabbed her wrist before she could stand. “Don’t. He’s not worth it.”
Walk kept going, voice carrying across the café. “What’s the plan, buck? Gonna ask her to read your aura? Maybe summon a demon together?”
You face burned. People were looking now, whispering, snickering. You wanted to sink into the floor, willing your face to stay stoic.
Before walker could say anymore a girl walked over to their table, her long blonde hair cascading down her back. It seemed every thought walkers small brain could muster disappeared at her presence.
Her manicured nailed brushed across the table as she stopped, standing right in front of bucky cutting you from his view. “Hey Jamie” she purred using her other hand to twirl her hair. “Larissa” he gruffed back at her, trying to look around her to see you, but she angled her body each time.
A sigh fell from his lips as he looked up at her. “So, I was thinking, I’m throwing a Halloween party and would love for you and your team to come.”
Her voice filled his ears like an itchy velvet. “Yeah sure” he agreed just trying to get her to leave. As he spoke a high pitched giggle rippled from her throat, he winced at the sound. Rolling his eyes.
“Oh my god! I can’t wait! We should totally do matching costumes” he tuned her voice out, nodding his head as he stood brushing her off, as he moved around her leaving the table.
His eyes shot back over to the table you were sat at, only to find empty chairs at empty tables. His brows furrowed instantly eyes scanning the room for you, as he began to feel hopeless that you’d already gone, he caught a glimpse of your signature jacket, his heart quickened.
And so did he pace, rushing through the crowd of people trying to leave, bumping past people, shoulders colliding as be moved, a quick sorry and excuse me fell from his lips.
As you saw the blonde arrive at their table you were quick to finish your lunch and drag Yelena out of there, although she was still furious at walker.
As you walked through the corridor to your next class, unaware that a certain buff jock was trailing you. Yelena’s arm was wrapped around yours, grumbling about how much she hated walker.
Yelena was till muttering curses under her breath when she suddenly stopped walking. You didn’t notice at first. You were too busy trying to swallow the humiliation burning raw in your throat.
Then she tugged your sleeve. “He’s right behind us.” Your stomach dropped. You turned before you could stop yourself. Bucky Barnes stood a few yards away, chest rising and falling like he’d run after you. His hair was mussed, his jaw tight, eyes fixed on you with something sharp and unreadable.
Something that made your ribs feel too small. Yelena’s expression hardened. “If he’s here to apologise for walker, he better- “
“Lena” you whispered, but your voice cracked. She heard it, her eyes softening for a second before she stepped back, giving you space.
Bucky approached slowly, like he wasn’t sure if you’d bolt. You almost did. You didn’t answer. He swallowed, glancing away for half a second before forcing his eyes back to yours.
“I…wanted to check if you were okay.” You let out a humourless breath “why wouldn’t I be.” He flinched at your tone. “Walkers an idiot, he shouldn’t of said any of that.”
“You didn’t stop him.”
That landed like a punch. His jaw clenched “I didn’t want to make it worse.”
“It was already bad. “You said quietly, “you staring at me while he made fun of me didn’t exactly help.” His brows pulled together, hurt flickering across his face. “I wasn’t staring to make fun of you.”
“Then why?” You asked, voice barely above a whisper. He opened his mouth, closed it then looked away and that hurt more than anything walker had said.
“Forget it.” You muttered, turning to leave. “Wait.” His hand shot out, catching your sleeve, but he froze before he actually touched you, fingers hovering like he was afraid your burn him. “I didn’t mean for any of this to happen.”
“Yeah, well it did.” He looked wrecked. Actually wrecked, like hed been holding something in for too long and it was starting to crack through. “I wasn’t staring because I was judging you.”
He said his voice rough, “I was staring because I can’t stop looking at you. And that’s the problem.” You caught you breath. He kept going, words tumbling out like he hated every one of them.
“You make me- “he shook his head. “I don’t know. Forget things. Lose track. I don’t get distracted. And then walker noticed and- “
“You let him humiliate me.” He shut his eyes like the truth physically hurt him. “I’m sorry” he whispered.
You wanted to believe him, God you really did, but the ache in your chest was louder than anything. “Sorry doesn’t change anything.”
He opened his eyes, and the look in them made your throat tighten. Desperate. Frustrated. Like he was trying to hold onto something already slipping through his fingers.
“Just…tell me you’re not mad at me.” He said quietly. “I don’t know what I am.” That broke something inside his expression. He stepped back, hands curling into fists at his sides. “Okay. Yeah, I deserve that”
You didn’t say anything. He nodded once, jaw tight eyes glassy in a way he tried to hide by looking at the floor.
“I’ll leave you alone. If that’s what you want” he murmured, your chest twisted painfully, but you didn’t answer, couldn’t.
And Bucky who had chased you through a crowed cafeteria, who had looked at you like you were the only thing he could see. Took your silence as an answer.
He turned around and walked away.
Yelena stepped beside you again, voice soft for once “you, okay?”
You weren’t. Not even close but you nodded anyway.
You didn’t see bucky for the rest of the day, not in the hallways, not outside your next class, not even across the quad where he usually held court with his teammates.
It shouldn’t have mattered. But it did, more than you wanted to admit. Yelena kept glancing at you like she was waiting for you to crack open and spill everything you were feeling, but you kept your face neutral, your voice steady, your step even.
You were fine. You were absolutely-
“Okay, you’re walking like someone just stole your spine,” Yelena muttered as you left your last lecture. “Just say you miss him.”
“I don’t.” you said too quickly. “Theres nothing to miss.” She raised an eyebrow. “Sure. And I don’t want to punch walker in the throat.”
You didn’t answer. You couldn’t. Because the truth was sitting heavy in your chest, pressing against your ribs like it wanted out. You didn’t miss Bucky. You missed the version of him you thought existed.
The one who looked at you like you were something he didn’t know how to name.
The one who chased you through a crowded cafeteria.
The one who apologized like it physically hurt him.
You were halfway across the courtyard when you heard footsteps behind you. Heavy ones. Familiar ones. You didn’t turn around.
“Hey.”
His voice was rougher than before. Tired. Like he hadn’t slept. You stopped walking but didn’t face him. “What do you want, bucky?” A beat of silence, then quietly “To talk.”
You exhaled slowly, staring at the ground. “I thought you said you’d leave me alone.” “I know.” His voice cracked just slightly. “I’m trying.”
You finally turned, he looked awful, not physically, he was still bucky Barnes, all broad shoulders and stupidly pretty eyes but there was something strained in the way he held himself. Like he was bracing for impact.
“I didn’t come to bother you,” he said. “I just… wanted to explain.” You crossed your arms. “Explain what?”
He hesitated. You could see the war happening behind his eyes. The part of him that wanted to stay guarded. And the part that wanted to tell you everything. “I didn’t stop Walker because I didn’t want him to make it worse for you,” he said. “But also, because… I didn’t want him to know.”
“Know what?”
“That he was right.” Your breath caught. Bucky looked away, jaw tight. “I do stare at you. I do get distracted. I do… feel something. And Walker would’ve turned that into a joke. I didn’t want him to use it against you.”
You swallowed hard. “You could’ve told him to shut up.” I know.” His voice was barely a whisper. “I should’ve.” Silence stretched between you, thick and fragile.
You didn’t forgive him. Not yet. Maybe not for a while. But something in your chest loosened, just a little.
He took a step back to give you space. “I’m not asking you to like me, or talk to me, or even look at me.”
You hated how your heart reacted to that. “I just… wanted you to know I’m not ignoring you because I don’t care.” He swallowed. “I’m ignoring you because I care too much, and I don’t know what to do with that.”
Your breath hitched, he turned shoving his hands into his pockets. “I’ll uh… see you around. I hope.”
He started walking away, you didn’t call after him. You watched him go, feeling something warm and painful twist inside you.
You didn’t sleep that night, every time you close your eyes you saw him walking way, every time you tied to breath you heard his voice. I care too much, and I don’t know what to do with that.
By morning, you’d convinced yourself to avoid him. Not out of spite out of self preservation. You weren’t built for whatever storm lived behind Bucky Barnes’ eyes.
But fate, apparently, didn’t care. You ran into him outside the library. Literally.
Your shoulder collided with something solid, and your books went flying. You muttered a curse, dropping to your knees to gather them. Then you heard him.
“Sorry,” Bucky said quietly, crouching to help. “I wasn’t looking.” You froze.
He handed you a notebook without meeting your eyes. His hair fell forward, hiding most of his face, but you could see the tension in his jaw. He looked like he hadn’t slept either. You swallowed. “It’s fine.”
He nodded once, still not looking at you. He started to stand. Something inside you twisted, sharp and desperate and before you could think you reached out. Your fingers brushed his wrist. He stilled instantly.
You snatched your hand back like you’d touched fire. “Wait.” He looked at you then. Really looked.
And the exhaustion in his eyes nearly knocked the air out of your lungs. You scrambled for something to say, something that didn’t sound like I miss you or I hate how much you matter.
Instead, you shoved your notebook against his chest. “Can you just hold this for a second?” you blurted. He blinked, confused, but took it.
You pretended to adjust your bag, heart pounding so hard you thought he might hear it. When he wasn’t looking, you slid a small scrap of paper behind the notebook he was holding.
Your number, folded twice, hidden. You took the notebook back, acting like nothing happened. “Thanks.” He nodded, stepping aside. “Yeah. Sure.” You walked past him, pulse roaring in your ears. Letting the small piece of paper flutter to the floor.
You didn’t look back. Not even when he bent down grabbing the paper of the floor . Not even when you heard his breath catch as he opened it.
Not even when he whispered your name like it hurt.
You kept walking.
He watched you walk away, hope burning in his chest, the piece of paper heavy in his hand.
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AN: okay i said next week but its here now! Thank you for all of the love for this series, hope you guys like it
Taglist for this series- @dpr-teag @mfstargirlsworld
