Discover Top Posts Tagged with #fandoms writings

Sundaes and Barbecues

Pairing: Modern!Bucky x female!reader

Word Count: 9.3K (sorryyy)

Summary: After moving back to your home town, you run into the one person you weren’t prepared for.

Warnings: Angst, mentions of past abuse (mental, manipulation), fluff.

Read part 2 here: This is Home

Bucky Masterlist || Main Masterpost

The multiple piles of boxes stared you down, daring to unpack them — to unpack your life, to re-setup your life — but all you could do was stare back. It didn't help that the box truck of furniture was staring at you from its spot in the driveway, mocking you for not hiring a moving company to unload it for you.

You didn't think you'd ever end back up in the tiny lake town you grew up in, but here you are, standing in the small house you bought with most of the money you kept hidden from your ex-husband. It was halfway across the country away from him, and you would've gone further if you could have, but your little town was always safe when you were younger. No tourists, not too much crime, other than the crimes from the big city just twenty minutes down the highway. Not even your ex-husband knew it was your home. You figured it'd be the best spot to restart.

Sighing, you decided not to unpack just yet, and grabbed your car keys. Your car was already unhooked from the trailer and you needed groceries, and what better time to go get them than when you don't want to do what really needs to be done.

Driving down to the local store, you were able to see how not much had changed. Most of the houses you walked by when you were in high-school still looked the same, save for the new paint jobs or new fences, you even recognized most of the people working out in their yards or sitting on their porches. It was a sense of familiarity you didn't know you needed until a hint of a smile had found its way on your cheeks.

The grocery store was set up the same too, with most of the same people working the registers and setting out produce. You pulled your hat down as you walked past people you recognized, hoping they didn't see you. It was not a day you wanted to spend playing catch up with anyone. You just wanted to grab what you needed to make a semi-decent dinner and you'd come back tomorrow after a good night's rest.

You were pushing the sad cart that had one wheel who just couldn't get with the program and was squeaking at every rotation, looking at different packages of noodles when you heard the thud of a set of heavy boots coming up behind you. Glancing at the ground behind you, you stepped out of the way with a small apology for being in the man's way before looking back at your options - elbow or penne.

You noticed the boots were frozen behind you, unmoving, and it made a knot of worry form in your chest. It was when your name fell on your ears in a whisper that you almost jumped out of your own skin.

Spinning on your heel with a slight gasp, your eyes followed up the floor from black boots and dark jeans to a light grey shirt paired with a leather jacket. You looked up to see those familiar slate blue eyes surrounded by dark lashes. He had the same scruff on his cheeks, but his hair was shorter now - no longer down to his shoulders, it was cut, cropped and short with a small bit of length on the top. He seemed leaner, no longer large and bulky. His eyebrows were arched, creasing his forehead as he looked over you.

"Is that really you?" His voice was soft, but it held a roughness to it that was unfamiliar. He looked the same, but yet so different.

"Uh, ye - yeah," You glanced down at your leggings and hoodie, stained with dust and paint, and you immediately wished you were anywhere but there, "Hi, Buck. . . I didn't think anyone would recognize me." Glancing back up at him from under the brim of your baseball cap, you caught the small smile that played on the corners of his lips.

"I'll always recognize you. What are you doing here anyways?" He asked in a breathy laugh, "I thought you moved away?"

"I did," You started, shoving your hands in your hoodie pocket and pulling at the tips of your fingers, "I just moved back."

"Really? Where at?" he gave you one of his show stopping smiles and you couldn't help the part of your heart that still yearned for him after all these years.

"Like a block or two away from the highschool, a small house," You grinned tightly at him, silently letting him know he wasn't going to be getting more information than that.

"Oh so not too far from here then," A silence fell between you after you nodded. He was just watching you with a sort of adoration that you couldn't quite explain. He noticed you shift on your feet, clearly uncomfortable, and cleared his throat.

"Well, if you need any help, I'm down at that mechanic shop every day. You know the one Steve's dad owned?" Your eyes widened as you nodded. "Steve and I took over so his old man could retire."

"Thanks, but I think I'll be okay," You grabbed your empty cart and went to push it to the next aisle, "It was good to see you though." You noticed his smile falter before an understanding filled his eyes.

"Yeah, you too," He nodded at you, the happy tone in his voice slipping away, "Have a goodnight." You gave him a short smile before turning down the next aisle, the corners of your lips falling immediately. You waited there for a few minutes until you were sure you heard his boots thud off to another aisle. Taking the empty cart to the front, you put it back with the others and made your way to your car. You'd decided on just ordering take out.

Out of everyone you had wanted to run into, you wished it was anyone but him. Anyone but your ex-boyfriend.

You were a firm believer that it had just been the wrong timing for you two, you broke up on good terms and agreed to stay friends. You had received a job offer of your dreams, just on the other side of the country. You wanted to leave the small town, and he wanted to stay. It was as simple as just two different people wanting different things, and that was okay — until it wasn't.

You moved out to your new city, leaving the town behind. You tried to reach out to keep in contact, and it was fine at first, but his replies started coming in far and few between -- and when he did bother to get back to you, it was never the same. He had grown short in his replies, he didn't tell you much of what was going on, and he stopped reaching out. It had grown exhausting trying to get ahold of him, so you let him go.

You stopped calling, stopped texting. Your friendship dwindled down to following each other on social media, and that was it. You were fine with it though, once you got married. Your ex-husband wasn't too keen on you having male friends anyways, or really any friends for that matter — one of his many insecurities that would turn out to be your life's downfall.

You didn't even consider that Bucky would still be here after all these years, but really, where else would he be? He told you he didn't want to leave, that he liked living in a small town where everyone knew each other and everyone knew what was going on in everyone else's life. He loved it for the exact reason you wanted to leave.

After picking up some subpar Chinese food and heading home, you were sat at your kitchen counter, eating, when your phone lit up next to you. You set your cheap wooden chopsticks down and picked up your phone, unlocking it to a new message.

~•~

"She just left after that?" Steve asked from under a truck, the only truck they had to work on at the moment, Bucky handing him tools as he told him about how he saw you at the grocery store the night before.

He couldn't get you out of his head after he saw you. You were still as gorgeous as the last time, but there was a caution in your movements and a sadness in your eyes that was new to him. It worried him.

"Yeah, man. I saw her put her cart back and walk out. I don't know if it was something I said, but I could tell she was super uncomfortable." He replied, handing over another tool.

"Well, she just moved back. Maybe she was just exhausted? She was probably moving stuff before you saw her." Bucky sighed. Steve was probably right, you weren't someone to ask for help so he knew you'd probably moved most of your stuff on your own, if not all of it.

"I don't know, she seemed. . . different. I don't know how to put it," He glanced at his phone on the other end of the garage, sitting on one of the tool boxes. He had messaged you last night, having to pull up your social profile, he'd deleted your number years ago. He was still waiting for a reply.

"Well, you're different than you were back then too." Steve muttered, but Bucky wasn't paying attention.

"Do you think she's still mad at me?" Steve froze, the sound of the wrench twisting turning to silence. He peaked out from under the car.

"She could be," He went back to work, "You did just drop her when she moved away. I'd be mad too."

Bucky sighed, grabbing tools back from Steve, placing them in the tool box, "It seemed like the right thing to do at the time." He backed up to let Steve out from under the truck, his blond hair tinted with grease and his blue eyes squinting at Bucky. Once Steve was up, he was wiping his hands on his already too dirty rag.

"Well, if she's mad, apologize. Hell, even if she's not mad, you should give her an apology." He turned to lower the truck, "She deserves one."

Steve's words continued to repeat in Bucky’s head all day as he not so patiently waited for you to reply to his late night courage. Steve was right. You did deserve an apology, and he wished you'd give him the chance to give it to you.

He knew he had done you dirty, leaving you in the dust like that. Not explaining that he couldn't take hearing how good it was in your new city. How you were already making friends and going out. How you loved it so much.

He knew he was the one who didn't agree on moving out of the town, but he didn't expect you to love it the way you did. He thought that you'd go for a couple months and come back, bored of the busy streets and light pollution; but you never did.

He knew it was wrong to stop replying — knowing it was working when your messages became less frequent. They thinned from once a day, to once a week, to once a month. And one day, he had received the last call from you that he'd ever get. He could still remember it, clear as day.

He watched as his phone rang on the cushion next to him, the slight vibrations crawling into his skin and the shrill ringtone piercing his ears.

He watched the picture of you - one he'd taken of you after you'd gone for ice cream, you carrying the biggest sundae with an even bigger smile on your face - displayed across the screen before it faded to black as the time ran out. You had moved out to the city a year ago - you were supposed to come visit but you had been offered the opportunity to work on a huge project and you couldn't say no.

His eyes were glued to the screen when he saw your voicemail come through. Grasping his phone, he pulled it to his ear, listening to your voice coming through crackling static. Your voice was emotionless, numb.

"Hey James," His heart hammered in his chest — you never called him James, "I don't know if you're even gonna listen to this, but, uh. . . I'm sorry if I ever offended you or upset you. But, it's pretty clear you don't wanna talk, and that's fine. Um, I guess if you ever wanna talk again, you know how to reach me. . ." The line fell silent.

He didn't know how to feel, his heart fell to the bottom of the pit in his stomach and all the air in chest vacated his lungs in a single huff. Pulling his phone from his ear, he looked down, the small screen bright in the darkness of his living room. He wanted to call you back, to tell you he was sorry for avoiding you, for giving you the silent treatment you didn't deserve. He so desperately wanted to hear you laugh and to hear you call him 'Bucky' again.

But he figured it was already too late for that. You called him James - that meant you were mad at him, it had to. Clicking to your contact info, he clicked 'edit' and scrolled to the bottom.

I'll just hold her back, he thought to himself as he clicked 'delete,' a confirmation message taking the screen, I have to let her go.

He clicked 'yes.'

~•~

"Thank you, Miss Potts, I really appreciate the offer. I'll see you in the office on Monday?" You asked. Your interview for an editing company was coming to an end, and it had gone incredibly well and you were to start in the next week.

"Yes! We will see you then!" Pepper Pots, the small business's acting CEO, was more than excited when you had accepted her offer. She said she took one look at your transcripts and your resume and she just had to have you on the team.

You bid your goodbyes before hanging up and sighing, a small smile on your face. Things were starting to look up, it had been years since things had gone your way and you were just hoping it would stay that way.

The smile on your lips faltered as you remembered the message that sat in your inbox, waiting for a reply. Bucky had sent it after your run-in with each other at the grocery store two days ago, and you still didn’t know what to say.

Hey, I know some of our friends would love to know your back. We’re holding a small bbq at the shop on Saturday if you wanna come along? No pressure :)

It was Thursday, you’d have two days to get your life unpacked — at least partially — before going out and then one more day before you started for Miss Potts. But did you want to go?

You hadn’t seen, let alone talked to, any of your old friends since you left. Bucky was the only one to keep in touch with you and even that dwindled away from you.

You sighed as you typed a reply — finally. If anything, you could just leave and it wouldn’t matter. There’s no harm in going, right?

Just a small bbq? Not really in the mood for a crowd.

You knew your response came off short, but you hadn’t talked with him in so long, it felt awkward. His response came just minutes later, like he’d been waiting for you to get back to him.

Yeah just a couple friends. We’d love it if you came by.

You couldn’t stop the small smile that lifted on your cheeks before you replied.

I’ll swing by for a little while, I’ve got some more unpacking though so I can’t stay long.

His response was immediate, not even giving you a chance to lock your screen.

I’ll save a plate for you ;)

Sighing, you locked your phone and looked at your pile of boxes. It was smaller than it was two days ago, most of the boxes moved to their appropriate rooms, but most of them remained unopened, the tape uncut.

You hadn’t had much motivation to open anything, not wanting to revisit harmful memories as you pulled things out of boxes, one by one coming back to haunt you. But now you have a reason to unpack — at least enough of a reason to find a decent outfit, a nice pair of shoes, and your makeup. So, you stood from your old couch — the one that took way too long to move into your house without help — and got to work.

~~~

There was quiet music playing from the old stereo in the corner, Steve’s old man’s stereo from when he still owned the shop. All the tools were put in their respective places in the toolboxes, locked away. The grill was already going, Bruce flipping burgers and rotating skewers while Natasha kept him company.

Wanda and her husband Vis were with Steve catching up with the brothers Thor and Loki — polar opposites whose parents liked Norse mythology a bit too much.

Bucky was waiting, standing with Sam while he rambled on about his adventures in the Air Force — he was only in town for the week. It didn’t take long for Sam to figure out that Bucky wasn’t listening as he stared at the open garage door like he was expecting something to happen.

His attention was torn from the door when a jab met his ribs and he whipped his head to his friend who had that knowing look in his eyes.

“What, Sam?” He grumbled before lifting his beer to his lips and taking a sip.

“Man, who are you waiting for? Your eyes have been glued to the road outside that door for the past ten minutes,” Sam laughed.

“She’ll show, she always does,” he mumbled, “She always did.” Sam’s brows creased at the last addition.

“Did? Who did?”

Bucky let his eyes drift back to the empty road just outside the large door, mumbling your name, making Sam’s eyes narrow.

“Wait — Didn’t she move away?” Bucky nodded before explaining how he ran into you at the grocery store.

“You’re telling me, your ex-girlfriend, who you stopped talking to, moved back and is coming by tonight?” He asked, eyes wide in amusement, “After what you did, I’m surprised she said she’d come.”

“Yeah me too,” Bucky muttered, “Somethings different about her, man. She used to be so upbeat, happy, always dancing to a tune in her head. When I saw her, she was just as gorgeous as she was seven years ago, but there was a sadness to her. She was hiding behind a hat, she hardly smiled, and when she did it was so small, it was barely noticeable. She seemed… broken.”

Bucky stated at the road as Sam weighed what he said, a silence settling between them. The sun was setting, filling the sky with pastel pinks and purples. When Sam finally responded, his tone was quiet, softer than it usually was.

“Buck, a lot can change for a person in that time. You may not know her as well as you used to. Just be ready for that. But you also need to remember that you've changed too,” He rested a hand on Bucky’s shoulder, giving it a nudge and drawing his attention back, “Just be patient, give her some time, and be honest with her." There was a knowing glint in his chocolate eyes — he knew Bucky better than most, even if he never said the words that his friend was picking up on.

Bucky nodded with a small smile, “Yeah. . . Thanks.”

Just as he smiled at Sam, he heard the closing of a car door followed by a jingle of keys and his head whipped to the door. There you were, walking through the open doorway, arms wrapped around yourself. You were wearing a pair of light skinny jeans and a loose black blouse, a pair of black flats on your feet. He could feel his heart lift at the sight of you.

He excused himself from Sam’s side, and made his way to you, smiling when he caught your attention.

“You made it,” He smiled, nudging your arm with his elbow.

“Yeah, though it seems I’m a little late,” you mumbled as you peaked around him to see who was there.

“Hey, I’m the one who never told you a time, that’s on me,” he laughed as he led you over to Sam. “You remember Sam right?” He watched as your eyes widened and sparkled as you saw Sam.

“Yes! Oh my god, hi,” you laughed as you went in for a hug with your old friend — Bucky wanting to take Sam’s place.

The three of you stood there for what felt like forever, catching up on the lost years. Sam telling you the same stories Bucky had already heard about his deployments. You telling them both stories about the city you went to work in for two years and the next city you eventually lived in for the past five. It was just like old times, as if you hadn’t gone almost a decade with radio silence. That was until Sam asked a question that appeared to strike a nerve in you.

“I saw you got married, is your husband coming too?” The moment the word ‘husband’ left Sam’s mouth, Bucky noticed your shoulders tense. The spark left your eyes as they fell to the floor and it was as if you were closing in on yourself. This was the way he saw you at the store and his heart clenched at the sight.

“I did get married, but we’re not… together anymore,” you whispered, fiddling with the hem of your shirt.

“I’m sorry to hear that,” Sam caught on to your discomfort and switched the subject, making fun of Bucky for something he did back when they were in school, pulling a small laugh out of you.

It went on like that for a few hours, catching up with more people as they recognized you and came to say hello. There were only a few instances where you’d start to close off — people asking too personal a question or asking about your husband — but Bucky would pick up on your nervous ticks and take over the conversation for you.

That was something that hadn’t changed in him, he was always trying to make sure you were comfortable and okay.

Eventually, he caught you checking the delicate wine red watch that wrapped around your wrist and he remembered you saying you still had stuff to unpack. He wanted to offer to help, but he didn’t know if you’d accept it. If you’d just let him walk into your home to unpack the years of your life he didn’t know about. But just as he was about to open his mouth, a shrill ringtone cut through the music from your back pocket.

Bucky watched as your shoulders tensed and you scrambled to pull your phone out, eyes widening as you saw who was calling.

“I — I’ll be right back, sorry,” you mumbled as you scurried off out of the door, phone to your ear.

Bucky watched you pace back and forth next to your car as you actively chatted — more like argued — with whoever was on the other side. He wanted to know who could call you and cause that kind of a reaction. You looked scared as if the person on the other end was going to reach through the screen and hurt you.

Your phone call lasted longer than either of you thought it would, and people started to pick up their things and head home. They'd wave to you as they walked by — you quieted down so they didn't hear your frustrations — and you'd wave back with a small smile. When the phone call was finally over, you returned to the garage, the quiet tune of music filling the air of silence.

"Everything okay?" Bucky asked from his seat against the wall. You walked over to him, standing a few feet away, arms crossed.

"Yeah, I'm-uh-I'm gonna head home though. It's getting late and I gotta get up early tomorrow to get some stuff done around the house before Monday," You glanced to the floor, staring at your shoes as he leaned forward, placing his elbows on his knees.

"Do you need any help? I'm free all day tomorrow." You glanced up at him and shook your head.

"No, I should be fine. Thank you though," You smiled, it not quite reaching your eyes, "I'm gonna go." He quickly jumped up from his seat with a mumble of agreement and walked you to your car. He held the door open for you and shut it once you were seated comfortably in your driver's seat. He watched as you pulled out from the driveway and took off down the road, still wondering who called you and upset you.

He had known you'd gotten married, he'd seen it on your profile. But other than the occasional recipe or holiday post, there wasn't much to your profile. But, the way you didn't want to talk about it, and the way you closed in on yourself when it was brought up made him wonder. What happened to you?

~•~

You weren't fine like you told Bucky last night. Your phone call with Billy had sent a huge wave of anxiety over you and you hardly slept. Every time you had to speak to him, a wave of anxiety would take over you for at least a day. Because you didn't sleep much, you couldn't clear your head enough to unpack. The pile of boxes was smaller, only a few remaining sealed. But your box truck of furniture still sat outside, daring you to open it.

If you were going to be well rested for your first day at your new job, you'd need your actual bed, not just the couch that was covered in blankets and pillows — a sad attempt to make it comfortable enough.

After the long debate in your head and Bucky's offer echoing in your ears, you shakily reached for your phone. It had been years since you had asked for his help with anything, but you knew he would help, he would keep his word. Scrolling through your contacts, the butterflies in your stomach erupting, you found his name, took a breath, and hit 'call.'

The phone rang for a few moments, the monotone ring filling your ear as you paced the kitchen, a habit you couldn't seem to break no matter who it was you were talking with. Just as you were about to hang up and figure something else out, the ring was cut off and it was followed by a grunted, "Hello?"

"Hey, Buck, it's me," Your voice was hardly there, but you knew he heard it when you heard his shuffling on the other end stop and the distant sound of revving engines became distant.

"Hey! What's going on?" He sounded concerned, and you couldn't blame him. Your voice was shaky and quiet and you were about two seconds away from hanging up the phone and just giving your furniture to the place you rented the truck from.

"I was wondering if I could take you up on that offer?" The line fell quiet for a moment and you stomach started to sink as your nerves rose, "I got all the boxes moved and mostly unpacked, but I have some furniture I can't move on my own and I don't have anyone else's number anymore so—“

"Send me your address, plum," The old pet name rolled off his tongue as if he never stopped using it, making your heart skip a beat, "I can get Steve and Sam to help out too if you think we'll need it?"

"Um no, just you should be fine, I think," You heard him chuckle followed by keys jingling.

"Alright, I'll see you soon."

Bucky was surprised you had called him, happy, but surprised nonetheless. He almost didn't pick up, he still didn't have your number saved in his phone, but something had told him to answer it, and he was glad he did. Though, you sounded so timid over the speaker, your voice quiet and nervous, it made that ball of worry settle in his chest again as he revved up his bike and pulled out of the shop.

He made his way to your house once you sent over your address — you were only a couple blocks away from the shop — and he pulled up to find you sitting on the porch with a mug of what he assumed was coffee in your hands as you stared at the truck in your driveway. He shut off the bike, taking his helmet off and swinging his leg over the side to walk to you. You were still staring at the truck, slowly blinking, as he made his way up the driveway. You were zoned out and hadn’t really noticed him yet, giving him the time to take you in.

You looked exhausted, in a pair of pajama shorts and a loose short sleeve with beat-up tennis shoes on your feet. You had bags under your eyes, and your lips were chapped and picked at, something you used to do when you were younger when you were nervous.

"Hey," He announced himself, trying his best not to startle you, though it hardly worked. Your eyes snapped to him, wide, and you quickly stood from your spot on the small porch.

"Sorry, I wasn't paying attention," You mumbled, "Ready to get to work?"

~~~

Having Bucky help you unload the truck was one of the better decisions you had made. You were able to get everything unpacked in just a couple of hours and he even helped put your bed frame together and reattach the mirror to your dresser. You were able to spend the rest of that day unpacking everything else. Nothing was perfect, but it was starting to come together. He even returned the truck for you so you wouldn't have to lose time doing what you needed to do.

After that, the awkwardness between the two of you faded, not all of the way, but you didn't feel weird texting him or calling him. You weren't necessarily close yet, but your friendship really just picked up where it left off — including your heart and stomach doing flips when he would call you 'plum' or 'doll' or any of the pet names he'd call you when you were together. You were sure it was just a habit, something he didn't even realize he was doing, so you didn't ask him about it, but you couldn't deny how it made you feel. And that scared you.

You couldn't drag him into your life, no matter how you felt about him. You knew you were safe, but there was that nagging voice in the back of your head that made you question how long your safety would last — being married to a narcissistic manipulative asshole did that to you. So you kept him at an arm's distance over the next few weeks.

He would come help you with simple home repairs, like the light fixture in your kitchen that wouldn't turn on and ended up needing a new wire soldered to it. He fixed the broken pipe in your kitchen sink, and even fixed the chipped grout in the laundry room. He became your go to when things went wrong in the house. He would immediately drop what he was doing — a perk of being part owner to the shop, you supposed — and when he'd come to fix it, you'd supply him with a hot meal, but that was really all you would let him have — let yourself have.

The dinners with him were always calm as he'd relive memories with you from your late teens and very early twenties when you were friends. He didn't dare bring up memories from when you were together, he was scared that talking about that alone would make you close yourself off from him again. It was nice though, being domestic with you even in a platonic sense. He liked seeing you relaxed around him again, even if he wanted more.

Your job was going well, you were helping Pepper Potts directly with editing for her larger projects for the company's owner, Tony Stark. You loved it there and you hoped that after they made their move to the city not too far away, you could stay with them, even if you stayed in the town.

It was two months after you moved back that Bucky asked you over again. He had been respecting your space, but was holding another barbeque before summer ended, and it was supposed to be more of a party. He asked you to come, to get you out and socialize with old friends again, and you agreed. You hadn't heard from Billy since the last time you were at the garage, and you felt like you deserved a night out.

The day came for the party, and you picked out a pair of skinny jeans and a white blouse, one that's neck didn't plunge too deep but didn't leave too much to the imagination. Your makeup was simple, but it accentuated your eyes and when you were ready, you took a look in the mirror. You were starting to look like yourself — your ex-husband would be furious if he saw you, and that thought made a smile crawl up your cheeks as you walked out to your car and made your way to the shop.

~•~

Bucky was waiting for you, just like last time. He wanted to spend the night at your side, trying to make you laugh and get you to shine your radiant smile his way. The music rang through the air, the bass of whatever was playing shaking his ribs, he wasn't paying attention to lyrics though as he spotted your car pull up and park along the curb. He pushed his way through the sea of people, most of them moving out of his way, and out to the curb to wait for you to climb out of your car. When you did, he couldn't help staring at you. Every time he saw you, it was like seeing you for the first time again — his heart would stutter and his stomach would do flips as everything in his head silenced.

He walked in with you, grabbing you a drink after you told him you wanted to have a good time and that it had been too long since you'd let yourself drink and have fun. The night was filled with laughter, drinks, and good food. Near the end of the night, they had set up a small bonfire behind the shop and set up camping chairs where you wrapped yourself in a blanket and made yourself comfortable.

Most of the people had gone home, leaving a few stragglers inside playing cards or darts, or having one last bite to eat before they left. Bucky had joined you, sitting just a few steps away, but it was just the two of you by the fire. Silence blanketed you in a comfortable embrace, but the alcohol in your veins pushed for conversation.

“I missed this place,” you started, glancing at the small gathering of people watching Nat throw darts, not missing a single shot at the bullseye.

“Then why’d you leave?” Bucky's voice dragged your eyes to him. He had that look in his eyes that said he had more to say, but just couldn’t get the words out.

“You know why I left,” you mumbled, staring back into the flames, “I got my dream job, and it was amazing. I loved it there…” The memories of your old life were bittersweet, and they left a sour taste in your mouth — or was that the lime from earlier?

“Then why’d you come back?” It was a simple question, but the answer was so much more complicated than you wanted him to know. But the alcohol in your head had reduced your inner filter to almost nonexistent.

“It’s safe here. Things didn’t really work out for me, and I’d rather be here where I know most of the town, than be completely alone in a new city. Even if it feels like I’m alone here,” you pulled the blanket tighter around yourself as you huffed out a sigh.

“You’re not alone, plum,” Bucky uttered, thinking you’d miss it, but when you let out a sad laugh his eyes widened.

“I am. These people don’t know me, not anymore.” He tore his eyes from the dancing flames and turned to face you.

“I know you.”

You peaked at him from the corner of your eyes before looking down at your lap, “You used to, you don’t know who I am. I’m not who I used to be, Buck. We went so long without talking, I can't expect you to know me anymore.”

Bucky's chest tightened at your words. You had said them so casually, as if you weren’t calling him out on ditching you, on ghosting you for so long.

“Doll, I’m sorry,” he started, noticing the way your hands stilled under the blanket, “I’m so sorry I hurt you.”

A moment of silence fell between you, the only noises coming from the crackling of the fire and the subtle tune of soft music from inside. Finally, your head lifted as you looked over the fire.

“I don’t know why you’re apologizing, it’s fine, things happen. I get it,” you turned to him, and he could see the sadness in your eyes, in the unshed tears that were slowly gathering along your lower lashes, “People grow apart and it’s okay.”

He didn’t know what to say, he didn’t expect you to have that reaction to his words, he was bracing for anger or accusation, not tears and acceptance. All he could do was watch you as you rambled on, unable to stop yourself.

“I didn’t want to grow apart. I wanted to stay friends. I wanted to have a reason to come back and visit. Or a reason to get you to spend some time out of this damn town. I was gonna ask if you wanted to come spend a weekend with me. I wanted to show you the city, all the cool little bars and small restaurants and the parks. But you wouldn’t pick up,” your voice wavered and he was able to see the first tear fall, the light from the fire reflecting off of it.

“Y/N…”

“But I guess it’s okay, Billy wouldn’t have liked us being friends. He didn't like a lot of things." Bucky watched as you sniffed and wiped your face before sitting up, "I should get going." You pulled the blanket off of yourself, messily folding it as you stood, setting it on the chair.

"Hey, you're still drunk," He stood to steady you as you rocked on your feet, grabbing both of your forearms, "Let me help you home." His voice held a sternness he didn't intend, but he wasn't about to let you wander home when you could barely walk straight or keep your eyes open more than half way.

You simply nodded and let him wrap an arm around your waist to guide you through the garage and out to the sidewalk — your house was just a couple blocks, and he'd carry you if he had to.

And he did, about halfway there your knees started to shake. Before you could become good friends with the ground, he caught you, steadying you on your feet long enough to get you on his back. Your nose buried in the side of his neck as your arms wrapped around his shoulders, and his hands held you up under your thighs, your feet dangling beside his legs. It reminded him of when you two were younger, when you’d trip in your heels and he’d have to carry you because one of them snapped. He teased you about it for weeks, but he never told you how much he loved it — or how quickly he would do it all again.

Once you reached the familiar little house and you were both safely inside, he helped you up to your bed and got you seated before he knelt on the ground and removed your shoes. He helped you lay back and went to grab you a glass of water and some ibuprofen to set on your nightstand. Taking one more glance at you, the light from the hallway catching your cheeks and the tips of your lashes, he sighed before turning to make his way out when there was a grip on his wrist.

"I'm sorry. . ." Your soft voice, though slurred and muffled by the pillow, cut through the silence and pulled his eyes to your half lidded ones, "I'm sorry I left." Every muscle in Bucky's body relaxed — the tension in his jaw, in his shoulders, even in his clenched fists, dissipated as he sank to sit next to you, gently placing a calloused hand on your soft cheek.

"You don't need to apologize for that, plum," He stroked your cheek with his thumb, a sigh leaving your lips. "We were young, we wanted different things. It's okay." A small smile took over your features as you drifted off. He stood from your bed, pulling your hand from his wrist and gently setting it on the blanket before he leaned over you and placed a ghost of a kiss on your forehead.

~•~

When you woke the next morning, a pounding in your skull and your stomach in knots, you groaned and turned over. A glass of water and a small pill were on your nightstand and your brows pulled together as you tried to remember what happened. It only took a moment, but once all the memories flooded your head, you groaned.

You had gotten emotional and Bucky walked you home. You remembered him trying to apologize for not talking to you, and you apologizing to him for leaving. You remembered the way he carried you home, his hands under your thighs and his thumbs rubbing circles in your skin. Your skin got heated thinking about it, you always loved his hands and the feel of his skin on yours.

"Oh god. . ." You sat up, rubbing your temples before reaching for the water and the pill, quickly swallowing both before swinging your legs over the side of the bed. You stood, making your way to the hallway when a smell hit your nose. You inhaled, the scent of breakfast filling your senses. Your stomach growled, but your mind was racing. Bucky went home last night, didn't he?

You reached for the baseball bat by your door, the one that Bucky had bought for you when you were teenagers, before you even dated each other. He had asked you to help him with his pitching for the school baseball team and you soon learned you had a mean swing.

Slowly descending the stairs, you avoided all the spots that creaked and held the bat at the ready when you nervously peaked into the kitchen. You stared at the muscled back and the short cropped hair that was messy and sticking out in all different directions. He was humming along to a tune in his head as he pulled the bacon off of the pan on the stove. When he turned the slightest, his tattooed arm reaching for the pancake batter, he saw you from the corner of his eye and froze.

"Bucky?" Your arms relaxed as you dropped the bat to your side.

"I didn't wanna leave and have the door unlocked, so I slept on the couch. I hope that's okay?" You nodded as you watched him eye the bat in your hand, "Were you going to hit me with that?"

You shrugged, "If I needed to." He chuckled at that as you set the bat against the wall and made your way to his side, glancing down at the cooking pancakes. "You cook now?"

His eyes squinted at your teasing tone, "I do, if you want some though you'll have to be nice to me." You scrunched your nose at him before turning to walk around the counter, taking a seat and watching him finish breakfast. When he was done with the stove and had it turned off, he made you each a plate — he knew his way around your kitchen like it was the back of his hand.

"I'm sorry you had to help me home last night," you started as he slid your plate in front of you, "And I'm sorry I got emotional." His shoulders tensed slightly before they sagged.

"I didn't think you'd remember." He uttered as he grabbed you a fork and a glass of orange juice.

"I remember most of it." You whispered before shoving a bite in your mouth.

"Do you remember me apologizing? Well, trying to apologize?" He wouldn't look at you, and was just pushing the cut off bite of fluffy goodness around his plate with his fork. You thought hard about what exactly he had said to you, only remembering the words 'I'm sorry.'

"Kind of. I don't remember exactly the words you used." He set his fork down and placed both hands on the counter, sighing before lifting his eyes to yours. Those slate blues held a sense of sorrow and regret that you hadn't seen before, and you definitely didn't have a sober enough gaze to notice it last night.

"I'm sorry for hurting you. I'm sorry for not keeping in contact, and I'm so sorry that I never explained why I stopped responding." His voice was tense, like he was fighting to say more but didn't want to dump everything on you at once.

You set down your fork and folded your hands together in your lap. "Do you want to explain it to me? Or is that something you'd rather keep to yourself?"

He sighed, dropping his head, and was silent for a moment, "I want to, but it might make you change your mind about me. You might hate me."

"I don't think I could ever hate you, Buck," He looked up at you, a small flash of hope crossing his face. "Don't get me wrong, I can get mad, and I have been mad at you before. But I could never hate you. Not truly."

"I was. . ." He paused, pulling his bottom lip between his teeth, worrying the skin before starting again, "It hurt knowing you loved the city so much," He looked up at you, with a sad smile on his face, "That you had gone so far and you were so happy about it. I was happy for you, don't get me wrong. I was so happy you got to have your dream job come true. I was happy you loved the city — hell, I was so worried you would regret it," He huffed out a harsh breath as he carded his fingers through his short hair and scratched the back of his head before continuing, "I was so proud of you," He smiled at the floor, pulling his hand away from his head and crossing his arms again. His eyes were glued to the floor, refusing to move from the tiniest crack in the tile, "But, it was hard hearing about it, because. . . Because I was still in love with you," Your brows knitted together as your heart flipped, ". . . I still am."

Your jaw slacked slightly as you processed his words. I still am. It echoed in your head as he watched you, gauging you for a reaction. He was still in love with you? Even after all this time? You thought about the weeks you'd spent with him, having him come over and help, how he was so fast to pick up the phone when you called. How he would drop everything to come over and fix the stair railing or the chipped grout. You thought about how he would stay by your side at the two barbecues and how he was so willing to make sure you got home safe. And how he even spent the night on the couch and cooked you breakfast in the morning. It was something you should've picked up on by now you realized.

"It's okay if you don't feel the same way. I just couldn't not tell you," He uttered, crossing his arms over his chest as he leaned back against the edge of the now cold stove.

Did you feel the same way? You knew the answer, you always have. You knew you would always love him, no matter where life took you, no matter the distance between you, no matter the years you'd gone with silence between you.

"Bucky, I. . ." Your voice trailed off as you searched for the right words. You looked to him to see nothing but worry and patience. He wasn't going to cut you off until you said what you needed to say. He was looking at you with so much love and adoration — something you haven't been on the receiving end of in years — and it brought tears to your eyes. "You don't know me anymore," Your voice was quiet and wavered as you tried to keep the unexpected emotions at bay, "I don't even know me anymore."

"What does that mean?" He stepped forward, placing his hands on the counter, outstretched to you. Watching his fingers lightly tap on the counter, you knew it was an open invitation that you didn't have to take — it was just there if you needed it.

Pulling your gaze from his hand that pushed a little further across the table than his other, you looked down to your own fingers, fiddling with the fabric of your shirt. "I don't know who I am anymore, Buck. I married a man who drained everything from me. He convinced me to leave my dream job. To move out of the city I loved. . . to forget who I am as a person. . ." You glanced up to him, "The only thing he couldn't take from me, was my love for you." You gave him a watery smile as your voice cracked and the first tear fell.

You could tell he wanted to smile, wanted to be joyful that you still felt the same way about him, but the concern at your tears and the uncertainty in your words kept his smile at bay. He wanted to ask you what you meant, to forget who you were. How could your husband do that to you? What would he want to change about you? You were perfect in Bucky's eyes, he didn't understand, but he kept his questions to himself because he could tell you weren't done talking yet.

"I don't know if I can be the person you fell in love with," You reached for his hand, his fingers immediately reacting to yours and squeezing them, "I want to be. I want to be that happy, go-lucky person you asked out after years of being friends. I want to be the same person who went with you to your first tattoo appointment, who you used to take star gazing at the lake," He gave your hand another squeeze as his eyes became glossy, waiting for you to finish, "I want to be her. But, I don't know if I can be. A lot's happened and I'm not that girl anymore. And I love you, I always have. But I don't think you'd love who I've become." You swallowed the nerves in your throat itching you to say more, knowing if you kept talking you'd start sobbing.

You knew the toll your marriage had on you, you weren't blind to it. You just didn't notice it until you were in too deep. When you had married him. Had moved for him. Had changed who you were. For him. Bucky had fallen in love with the girl with the big dreams. The girl who could find a tune in the most annoying of sounds and make a dance to it or hum a song in response. He fell for the girl who hadn't been broken yet. The feel of his hand pulling away from yours broke you out of your head by making your heart drop. It wasn't the reaction you wanted, but you had expected it. You couldn't expect him to want to stay to re-learn you.

The shuffling of his feet on the tile drew your eyes up to watch as he rounded the counter and pulled up the second bar stool to sit next to you. He turned you to face him, tucking your knees in between his own as he held your hands again.

"If you feel like I don't know you anymore, will you let me?" Your brows pinched together at that, the anxiety trickling slowly away.

"What?"

"Let me re-get to know you? Let me take you out — we can start as friends if you want — but let me learn who you are again," He brought your knuckles to his lips as he smiled softly, "Let me show you that no matter who you become, I'll always love you."

You didn't know what to say, those weren't the words you had prepared yourself for. This wasn't what you had thought would happen. You didn't think he'd want to have to re-learn who you were now. You didn't think anyone would. But the way he was looking at you, like you were the most important thing in the world, how could you doubt his words?

"Okay," You whispered, giving his fingers a squeeze.

"Let me take you to dinner tonight?" His voice matching the volume of your own. He was inching closer, hardly noticeable but you caught it — and you didn't stop it. You nodded, eyes flicking down to his lips as one of his hands reached to wipe your tears before cupping your cheek. "I'll take you to the diner with the sundaes you used to love."

You giggled as you remembered the too large sundaes that nearly made you sick with how sweet they were. You never could finish a whole one by yourself, but you always tried. Bucky stopped ordering anything after the first couple of times, offering to finish yours when you were too full to even think about taking another bite. You nodded again with a smile, one you didn't have to force.

Before you knew it, he was so close, his nose was brushing up against yours. His eyes shot to your lips once before looking back up at you. Waiting for you to close the gap, he stopped just a breath away. He was waiting for you to make the decision, giving you time to say no. Watching your eyes for a sign that he needed to back up, but you gave him none. Instead, you closed the gap, slotting your lips over his.

It started soft, just a couple of kisses against his lips before you pulled back and glanced up to his eyes, before closing the space again. This time in a more frantic, needy way. There were years of emotion, years of yearning, of loving from a distance behind the way your lips danced, his tongue tangling with yours.

It was full of the love you wished had never stopped between you. The type of love you remembered having with him, and had always wished to find again. Full of the pain that filled your heart when he stopped talking to you, when you became nothing more than strangers. And the love he’d been showing you the past two months. All of it came pouring out in a single action.

Thank you for reading! As always: comments, likes, reblogs, and replies are all appreciated!

If you liked the story, please consider helping me out on Ko-fi 💕

Taglist: @spid3rgwen @austynparksandpizza

#fandoms writings

Trending Tags

Recently Viewed Tags

#fandoms writings