Summary: Seth was Lily’s world, she was foolish enough to think that she was his. That is until he leaves her behind in pursuit of his dreams. What happens when fate throws them together again years after the heartache and tears? How can Lily see past the pain of the past when she can’t see at all?
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Epilogue
Run, Little Rabbit, Run(☁️🫦💔✅😱🌙)
Baron Corbin x OFC
Summary: Run, Addie, the Constable is coming for you.....
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Not beta'd. Dividers by @/bernardsbendystraws | Banner by me, made in canva, images from canva and Pinterest (credit to the original creators). All of my work is 18+. I do not give permission for my work to be reposted, copied, translated or put through an AI machine.
Tags/warnings: descriptions of violence, a mention of sexual threat, blood, injury, smidge of angst (but there's fluff)
Summary: The aftermath of the night before has to be discussed.
Word count: 4.1k
A/N: Happy Valentine's Day ❤️
When your good eye creaks open, encrusted with what must be sleep or maybe even blood, you're not too sure where you are. The light is blinding and after a momentary panic that you were crossing over, your optical nerve comes to life and you blink a hospital room into existence.
It's overstimulating. The white light from the window. The beep of your heart monitor. The breathing of someone next to you. Someone? You turn your head, slowly, though it doesn't help the pain.
It's a man. Your heart leaps, monitor beeping a little faster - Bucky? - but when your brain registers that he has chubby proportions and Sheriff's hat over his sleeping eyes, you know it's Bodecker.
"Hey. Close the curtains." your voice is hoarse. Barely there. But Bodecker still startles awake.
"Jesus Christ." He hisses under his breath, hands gripping the arms of the chair. If you didn't know any better, you'd think he'd seen a ghost.
He gets up quickly and draws the curtains closed, crossing the room again with measured, quieter steps. The room is dark, blissfully dark again, save for the dim glow of the nightlight next to you. Your head sinks into the lumpy pillow and you sigh.
"It wasn't Bucky." Are the next words out of your mouth.
Bucky had admitted to you in passing once that, whilst Bodecker could be a lazy son of a bitch, he often helped Bucky and his gang and could be trusted with some things. Other more serious crimes, especially to do with women and kids, Bodecker tended to lock-in like a dog with a bone and would enlist the help of Bucky if need be. But circumstances like that were rare in Briarridge - a quiet scenic town. Bodecker was more likely
"I know it wasn't Bucky." Bodecker sighs. It's exasperated - lack of sleep making him grumpier than usual. "That dumbass is many things but a wife-beater ain't one. Besides," Bodecker snorts. "He was on the scene not long after us."
If you could blink in surprise, you would. "He was?"
"Yep." Bodecker says re-taking his seat, the small chair creaking uncomfortably beneath him. "And he's in holding 'til-" he checks his watch before flashing you a soft smile. "Ten a.m."
"Do I want to ask why he's in holding?" You try to keep your voice level, unsure if you wanted to smile or be furious with Bucky.
"One of my officers wouldn't let him through, you know, active crime scene and all." Bodecker leans back, laying his fingers together over the pudge of his stomach. "Y'can imagine how well that went down."
"I said I'd stick with you 'til you woke up. That seemed to calm him down." When you focus your blurry gaze you can see the sheriff smile kindly at you. "He's real sweet on you, darlin'. I don't think I've ever seen him like this about a woman before."
"Thanks." You say weakly.
You can't tell if the acidic feeling in your chest is fury at Bucky for not being here when you woke up, heartburn, or the anxious need to be held by your boyfriend. Boyfriend.
Before you can ruminate further on the word, it's meaning and the mess of feelings stirring in your gut, your room door slams open; startling you and the sheriff.
"Goddammit, Federson!" Bodecker barks furiously at his deputy, a young guy who looks like a skittish hare locked in the eyes of an oncoming truck. "What the hell is wrong with you?"
Federson's eyes lock onto you and he visibly pales, stuttering out a response. You must look like hell. "I- I- um sorry, sheriff I was jus' wondering if I could get anything?"
Bodecker's lips twitch upwards into a cold smirk as he addresses his deputy. "Go 'n get some cocoa, Ferderson. Two cups."
Ferderson nods and backs out of the room, still looking a little green around the gills. It makes you want to laugh - but you don't know why. Bodecker turns back to you, his blue eyes cold and piercing through the dim light of your room - before softening.
"I'm sorry about him, darlin'. He's..." Bodecker tries to think of a polite word before settling on, "...young."
"It's alright," you try to smile, but it hurts too much. Bodecker seems to notice and his gaze hardens.
"I can't promise ya I'll find the sonuvabitch that did this," He half growls. "But believe me, I'll damn sure try."
You don't need to look at him to know he's telling the truth. You can hear it in his voice - the promise - and whilst you're too weak to answer more than a meager thank you, you know that Bodecker can see the fat tear of appreciation roll down your cheek.
Ferderson returns, awkwardly sloshing himself with cocoa as he enters. He hands a cocoa each to you and Bodecker, hands shaking, before wiping his hands on his perfectly pressed pants.
"Thanks Ferderson. I need you to speak with the nurses and start taking some statements."
"Sir?"
"If anyone has come in with any suspicious injuries lately. I doubt they have but we need to be thorough. I'll take her statement. When you're done, watch the door."
Ferderson looks like he's about to argue with his superior but thinks better of it and nods his head before disappearing again. Bodecker sighs. You know what's coming next. Bodecker has the decency to look pained to ask you about giving a statement, to relay the last few traumatic hours of your life onto a tiny voice recorder.
"'M sorry to have to ask you darlin' but are you feelin' up to givin' me your statement?"
The whole town would know about this by now. The new girl in town, who meddled with bikers, beaten and left for...
Well, you were unsure if they meant to leave you for dead or not.
The townsfolk would probably blame Bucky even though it wasn't him. So, that being said, you should probably make the statement and clear his name. Swallowing down bile, you nod, and begin to recount the evening.
You're not sure how you manage to hold it together. Bodecker is surprisingly sweet, handing you a hankie when he notices your lip quiver and a stray tear rolls down your cheek and he insists that it "ain't a problem, sugar" when you thank him for it.
When you finally reach the end of your beating, told with eerie calmness, Bodecker puts a warm hand over your cold one. He offers you a kind smile.
"It's okay, darlin'. You're doing great. You ain't got cameras or anything?" He asks gently.
Your eyes flicker from his to your handbag. "I was just about to tell you the rest..."
The masked men had taken you upstairs to where your apartment had been ransacked. You had kicked and screamed at first but after your foot had connected with the jaw of one of your assailants, you had been stunned to silence with a hard punch to the face and the threat of "giving you a real reason to cry."
The next two hours were brutal. Face bloodied from what you'd later find out was a broken nose, you endured a beating that left breaks and fractures when you couldn't and often refused to answer questions about Bucky and the White Wolves. The man who had threatened you with more than a beating was the main aggressor - taking great pleasure in your pain. He barked orders. A second was more stoic, joining in when the first got tired. And the third... he was meek. Scared. He was the one who finally convinced them to leave after two hours and no information could be pried from you.
"Tell Bucky that if doesn't leave this town, he'll have more than just one dead biker to grieve." The first one sneered, so close to your face that you could almost taste his rancid breath. Your blood turned to ice and you curled in on yourself and whimpered in terror and two of your assailants chuckled as they left.
You waited until they had descended the stairs and you heard the jingle of the bell above your door, before sobbing uncontrollably. It hurt. Everything hurt. Where was Bucky? You wanted him and needed him to be with you. You force yourself to sit up against the counter, the brief moment of vulnerability over. You shuffle painfully over to the stairs and, with your arms shaking, you lower yourself down onto the first step.
You either had a broken or bruised a rib because the pain that shot up through your nerves almost had you letting go of the stairs out of shock. Every step you lowered yourself down was agony. Cuts and bruises that had began to swell screamed everytime they brushed the wood but you persevered until you got to the foot of the stairs and took hollow breaths before dragging yourself to the café kitchen.
You kept your second laptop hidden in the café store cupboard in a fireproof lockbox with other important documents like the original copies of the deed to the café, insurances and your passport. It was only a cheap little thing, compact enough to fit in the lockbox and easy to access. You'd bought it not long after the fire at The Den, deciding it was better safe than sorry when you'd be housing and hooking up with the leader of a bike gang. You hadn't expected to be sorry so soon.
Another benefit of being with Bucky meant that you got to steal all of his good ideas like dummy cameras and after booting up the laptop, which took an unnecessarily long time, you logged in and brought up your security software. It wasn't a true security software - but nannycams were easily hidden, discreet cameras that could be placed in both your apartment, kitchen and café and go undetected... and were surprisingly easy to set up. You'd installed them your first week moving in, in fact the day after you first met Bucky. Thank God for self-preservation and modern technology.
The software flashes and six screens appear one by one. The kitchen, a camera in the store cupboard facing the lock box, three areas of your café (just above the counter, across the shop floor and facing the door) and the final shot of your tiny living room-cum-kitchen in your apartment.
Every camera still alive and well.
You breathe a painful sigh of relief and rummage the lockbox for your spare thumbdrives, another great idea you had implemented in case of an emergency such as this. You begin the painfully long process of downloading the last twelve hours of footage into a folder, struggling to steel yourself when flashes of your assailants or your broken body appear on the screen.
Standing with the help of the counter behind you, you hobble out to the kitchen and get yourself a glass of water, rinsing your mouth of blood. You contemplate calling Bucky for a second and decide against it. You don't know where your phone is other than upstairs, or if it's broken beyond repair. You swil out your mouth again. You also don't know if he'd answer.
Your body begs for a break, for respite. To cower in fear and to sleep on the cold linoleum of the kitchen floor but you refuse. You can't cry. It hurts too much, both emotionally and physically. You need to be strong. Resilient. You have to be what you need because no one else will help you but yourself.
You steel yourself against the counter as your legs threaten to betray you, adrenaline waning fast. You cross your arms and lean over the sink, crying out as your ribs take the weight of your body.
A hospital is what you need. Morphine. Darkness seeps to the corners of your vision. Goddammit. You're going to pass out again. You ease yourself to the floor and lie flat, letting the darkness claim you...
Thirty minutes. You're out cold for thirty minutes. It feels like an age. It takes you a moment to recognise your own café's kitchen; you're not used to seeing it from the floor. You feel more sluggish than earlier and your right eye swollen shut from one of the punches you'd had. Every move you make causes waves of pain and you swear up and down that you can hear bones grind together like crumpled paper.
The footage is almost finished transferring. Two copies. One for the cops. One for you. You can't trust anyone. You can't risk the footage vanishing like your assailants. You don't know who to trust from the police department. Bodecker seemed decent enough - but anyone with a vendetta against Bucky meant they couldn't be trusted to handle your case.
You silently promise yourself to omit the existence of a second copy in your statement to the police as you take a shaky sip of the remanants of luke-warm water in your glass. And to omit the existence of your lockbox. Those two pieces are need-to-know information for your closest allies and right now - that only seems to be you.
"A USB drive?" Bodecker looks wide eyed at the small thumb drive in your handbag. "You have cameras set up?"
"I'm a woman who lives alone." You say pointedly. "And last I checked a biker gang ran the town. Give me some credit, Sheriff."
Bodecker smiles sheepishly. "Well, props to you for being so conscientious, sugar. If we catch these guys we can make sure they go to jail. You have any family or friends you can call? Stay with?" Bodecker asks. "I know Bucky's dealin' with his own issues right now."
"'M not telling my family about this. If they knew they'd shackle me in the basement." You shake your head with a sigh. "Besides, I'm not about to be scared out of the town I built my business in. It ain't happening."
Bodecker's eyebrows raise and he smiles, impressed. "Maybe that's not such a bad thing till this blows over. But I can see why Bucky likes you. You're full of fighting spirit."
You manage a humorless smile that makes your jaw ache. "Thanks Sheriff. Just do me a favour?"
"Sure, sugar."
"Try to keep Bu-"
Before you can finish, there's a slam of doors followed by gasps and clatters of equipment.
"DOLL?!"
"Oh for God's sake." You groan, eyes fluttering shut as you lie back onto the uncomfortably lumpy hospital pillow. You don't know how Bucky managed to find your ward but he was the last person you wanted to see in this state after recounting hands-down the most traumatic event of your life.
Bodecker raises an eyebrow at you. "Want me to tell Ferderson to barricade the door?"
"You think that'll stop him?" You arch your crusty eyebrow at him and Bodecker sighs and shrugs, waving at his jittery deputy peeking through the small window to let Bucky through the door, hurriedly stuffing the USB into his breastpocket and getting to his feet.
Bucky all but shoves Ferderson out of the way to get to you but screeches to a halt once he sees your face. He visibly pales - just like Ferderson had - colour drained in an instant. God, you must really look like shit.
"I'll give you two some privacy." Bodecker glances at you one last time and nods curtly. "I'll be just outside - holler if you need anything."
You half-nod back, still unable to fully move your neck, and appreciate Bodecker's hidden meaning; that if you decide you don't want Bucky around, he'll remove him for you.
Bodecker claps Bucky on the shoulder as he passes and mumbles something to him, something that makes Bucky swallow harshly, blue eyes still wide and fixated on you. The sheriff nods again before giving Bucky a cautious once over, edging past and exiting the room. Your turn your head away to look at the wonderfully ugly hospital curtains over your window.
The room seems darker than you remember, colder too, and you find yourself unable to focus on the patterns of the curtains for very long without feeling sick. Instead you look at your bruised wrists and battered knuckles that attempted to block the blows and kicks of your assailants.
The silence is heavy, grounded in unspoken words. Minutes pass without a word between you.
"Who did this to you?"
You almost don't recognise Bucky's voice. It's quiet - too quiet - the dangerous undertone a growl away from being bone-chillingly calm. You don't bother looking up when you shrug.
"Don't know." You say, voice barely above a whisper. You don't trust yourself to speak louder for the same reason you can't look at Bucky; because you'd cry. "They wore masks."
What good was crying? Your fingers scrunch the thin material of your bedding and ache with pain but you can't bring yourself to care. Crying hurt too much.
"Did they say who they were?"
"Why the fuck would they tell me for?" You snap, whipping your head around regardless of the pain that sears down your neck, with eyes like a storm and you see Bucky visibly recoil at the sight of your swollen eye. Your lip quivers.
"I thought it was you." You say finally, voice jumping three octaves more than you would like. "I thought you had come back. I thought I was getting an apology. Or at least another argument."
Your voice wobbles as you recall stepping across the threshold of your home and hoping to see Bucky, only to find three masked men waiting for you. "And you weren't there."
Silence falls again, your words filled with venom and hatred although you know it's not Bucky's fault. Well - you supposed you could argue it wasn't if Bucky was normal - but then he wouldn't be Bucky.
You should tell him to get lost. You shouldn't let him stay. But after the night you've had, Bucky brings comfort and safety. He brings normal.
Your hands tremble with anger. Your ribs cage your heart and lungs squeezing hard, leaving no room for air. You want Bucky close, to feel those warm hands caress your swollen cheeks but you also wanted him out of your sight.
Looking across the room to your neatly folded, bloodied clothes on the sterile plastic armchair you let your body slump again. You're tired of fighting today. Tired of the games. It would do you no good to bite Bucky's head off for something out of his control. Still, it didn't change the fact that it happened because of him. The atrocity of your beating was a message intended for Bucky and the White Wolves and anyone else who stood by them.
You were a pawn in a game you weren't even playing. A game you very much didn't want to play and hadn't ever wanted to.
Your sigh fills the room. Bucky hasn't moved, hasn't spoken. You wonder what he's thinking.
Your anger isn't because you wanted him there to protect you - rather ironically, you had wanted him to be there in the aftermath as the comforting, unsung anti-hero of the hour like in a damn movie so that he would still remain safe. But this wasn't a movie. This was reality.
You blink away tears again. You weren't prepared to have this revelation today. You didn't want it and you certainly didn't need it.
"Why are you here?"
"To see you."
"You've seen me." Your voice holds no emotion only exhaustion.
"Not like this and you know it."
"How did you know I was here?"
"I came back."
You suck in a breath. "What do you mean?"
"I left Steve in charge. He was the one who convinced me to come back to you. To apologise." He explains. "Drove all the way without stopping. Thinkin' about where would be open to get you flowers, thinkin' of a real way to make it up to you... only to come back and find your café surrounded by cops and- and-"
He sniffs then and you purse your lips tight, willing yourself to hold back the dam of emotions threatening to overflow and overwhelm you. He came back. He came back.
"I'm sorry." He says finally, voice barely above a whisper. You hear the shuffle of biker boots across the sterile linoleum floor. "I should have been there. I should never have left. I should never had said it was just a café- God, I-"
Another step.
"Doll, I-" he sucks in a breath; harsh and quick. He soinds as broken as he looks. "God, I'm so sorry. I'm so fucking sorry."
A touch. Fingers on your arm. You flinch. The fingers retreat. You still can't look at him. It hurts too much. Your face. Your ribs. Your heart. Maybe your liver too.
"No one would tell me anything." His knuckles wrap around the metal frame of your bed, tightening with creak. "I was so fucking scared that you were-" He stops himself, like he's unable to finish the sentence. So you do it for him.
"Dead? Worse?" You look over at him again amd wish you hadn't. He looks like a mess - annoyingly, still a hot mess - but his hair is windswept and his eyes downcast, gripping the side of your bed like he's on a roller coaster he can't get off. Yet, you can't bring yourself to be angry at him.
"Yippee for you I'm one tough cookie then huh?" You joke, though your voice wavers and in that split second you see Bucky's periwinkle blue eyes glance up to yours, red and wet with tears, and your already broken heart shatters.
Part of you wants to reach out and touch him. To wipe away his tears and assure him you're fine despite how you look - despite what your chart says. And part of you wants to tell him it's his fault your here.
Your hand is heavy when you lift it to rest on his and you breathe a sigh of contentment when you feel the cool of his rings indent into your flesh.
"Don't beat yourself up over it." You tell him softly, resigning to listen to your better part. "And don't go and do something stupid either. Well, stupid-er." You give him the best sideways glance you can. "Bodecker told me you got put in holding overnight."
Tears still roll down his cheeks as he lets out a sharp laugh of surprise. "Yeah. I did." He turns serious again. "Cupcake, I-"
"James." You cut him off with a sad smile. "Don't do that either."
"You don't even know what I was going to say." Bucky murmurs, his other hand encapsulating yours, thumb gently grazing your bruised knuckles.
"You were going to apologise. Again." You say. "It's not your fault."
"It is." Bucky argues back, voice breaking. "It's because of who I am. And I dragged you right into this mess because I-... because I couldn't help myself. Fuck - I wanted you so bad and was so-"
"Reckless?" You offer with a chuckle. "Which one of us looked at the leader of a biker gang and decided to slash his tyres? And who and invited him to temporarily live with her?" You shake your head lightly and squeeze his hand weakly. "You're lucky I'm stupid enough to love you."
There's a sharp intake of breath and for a moment you can't tell if it's from you or Bucky, until quivering lips wet with tears, press against your knuckles.
"I love you too, doll." Bucky whispers. "God, so much." He sniffs as he wipes away some of your tears from your cheek with a touch as soft as velvet. "Can I… Could I stay for a while? Please?"
"Sure." You give him a cheeky smile, ignoring the ache it causes. "It's your turn to play nurse."
"I don't think I'd make a very good nurse." His bottom lip quivers again as he releases a shaky breath, rubbing his eyes with his left hand and trying to keep another sniff quiet. Bucky moves into the seat Bodecker was previously in and scooches forward closer to your bed.
"I don't know - I think if you asked to borrow some scrubs you'd look pretty sexy." You murmur, eyes fluttering. "Or maybe that's the morphine talkin'."
"Shh, Cupcake." Bucky coos. "Rest up. I'm not leaving you again." Then more firmly, adds. "I promise."
"I don't wanna go to sleep," you sigh, eyes fully closed. "You came back."
"And I'll be here when you wake up this time." Bucky assures you, kissing your hands. "Go to sleep doll. I'm right here."
You hum in acknowledgement before drifting to sleep with a small smile on your lips.
Lena: ‘And just to be absolutely clear, I would quite happily leave you in the bed you've made for yourself if I thought it wouldn’t affect the others.’
