we loved once and true
Masterlist — I do not consent to my work being re-uploaded, translated or fed into AI.
Pairings: outlaw!Bucky Barnes x high born!reader
Tags: Western!AU, set in the late 1800s. Second-chance romance. 4.5k words
Warnings: violence (physical and verbal). Use of firearms. Cursing. A very angry cowboy Bucky. Alcohol. Kissing and making out. Rumlow is the villain here. Death.
Synopsis: you met a long time ago, back when the world didn't seem so complicated. You were young, and you were in love. Still, all good things must come to an end. A lady like you could never marry an outlaw like him. Breaking both your hearts, he left one day. Time passed, and you married. Bucky travelled up and down the country, only to be reunited with you four years later. Your husband had passed away, but his debts had never withered. Fearing for your life, you send a letter to Bucky in hopes that he will be able to help you.
Bucky’s world tilted on its axis when he opened your letter. He hadn’t heard a word from you in four long years. Being fair to you, it had been his decision. Though it had been the wisest thing at that moment, he regretted it daily. He scanned the piece of paper frantically. The curls at the bottom of your ‘s’s and the tilt to your ‘i’s made him feel oddly nostalgic.
What possibly could have led you to reach out to him after so long? You were a changed woman; he was certain. Bucky himself was a changed man. Life had hardened him even though he was already a tough man when you met him.
The piece of paper where the words had been so beautifully laid upon felt expensive even to the touch. Cotton, he had figured. Of course you would have used your most prized piece of paper to write a letter to him, of all people. The envelope’s red stamp had the mark of your family’s sign—he would have recognised it anywhere.
What caught his attention, however, was the content of the letter. It was short, and you have never been one to count your words. It pleaded for help throughout three quarters of it. You urged him to come to you at your family’s house. At the bottom, your signature. This time, with a different surname.
Bucky clenched his jaw, suppressing the anger that had no right being there. He had no right to you; he never had any. Not in the way he would have wanted to. You were a fine lady with a good name. Bucky knew that was going to happen from the day he left.
He had pinned a note to the tree you used to hang out by. The one that was just far enough away from town for anyone to notice the two of you were together. He knew you would find it soon after. After all, you were supposed to meet him there every Tuesday at two. It had hurt him more than he could have ever put into words, but deep down, he knew he had to do so.
Your father had caught him walking near your house a few weeks prior. A sight all too suspicious. Bucky’s hair was a mess and boots were muddy. His hands had calluses, and the gun at his hip said a lot more about him than he would have liked.
To make matters worse, he was still holding one of your lockets in his hand. ‘Sell it,' you had told him. Opening his fingers with a tenderness that had made him want to kiss you all afternoon long. Bucky had truly wanted to say no, but those eyes of yours had rendered him weak.
His note had said nothing about that interaction with your father. He had blamed it all on himself and hoped you would hate him for it.
Four years later, he had encountered the odd chance of seeing you again. Just as if it were a matter of fate, Bucky and his gang found themselves to be closer to your hometown than they had been in years. Bucky Barnes was not a selfish man. Certainly not when it came to you. Doing what any other man in their right mind would do if the woman they still likely were in love with sent a letter asking for their help, he took his horse on an early morning, taking the road to ruin.
The porch of your house and its subsequent door were a sight that had never failed to frighten Bucky. All too pristine against the likes of a man like him. The top window to the right was the one in your room. He had pretended not to stare at it while making excuses to walk by one too many times.
The wood creaked under his weight, and he hoped to God it would be you who opened the door when he knocked. Bucky did not have a speech prepared in case he came to stand face-to-face with your father. He took his hat off and held it on his hands, fiddling with the rebel strands that had started to fight their way out after being worn for so long.
Slowly but with certainty, the door opened. The bigger the gap between the door and the wall, the more he got to see of you. Once fully revealed, Bucky’s heart nearly tripped over itself. The air was sucked out of his lungs, and he could have sworn he felt almost lightheaded. You had grown a thousand times more beautiful.
When you smiled at him, bright and hopeful, he remembered exactly why he had come to you. “James, you truly are here.”
He shrugged his shoulders. “You sent a letter. What else was I supposed to do?”
You laughed, and it sounded just like he recalled: warm, in a way that swallowed him whole. “You were always a much better man than you liked to admit.”
“If you say so. You wouldn’t lie to me, would you?”
“No, I could never,” you admitted almost proudly. Even if you attempted to, he was observant enough to catch it right away. He had done so more than once. Like that one time you had sworn it hadn’t been you who had given his horse a brand-new saddle.
“How are you, James? How is Steve?” you prompted, taking a step forward and closing the door behind you.
“I’m good, I always am. Steve’s still Steve, trying to keep us all afloat with sheer willpower. I swear his heart is too good for this life.”
You nodded. “Is Sam still giving you a hard time?”
He laughed. Oh, how things had changed. “Not anymore. We worked things out.”
“I don’t believe it,” you nearly scoffed, crossing your arms. For a second there, Bucky could have almost ignored everything else. How nice would it have been to just spend his time with you as carelessly as he had once done.
“Enough about me, though.” Bucky’s tone turned serious. “How’s… how’s that new husband of yours? He treats you alright?”
You closed your eyes and crossed your arms, almost shielding yourself from reality. “Actually, James, that’s what I wanted to talk to you about.” You looked around before opening the door to your house again. “Come inside. My father won’t be home until the afternoon.”
The house was everything he had thought it would be. You made him take a seat and poured him a glass of high-end, aged bourbon that he was certain cost more than half the things he owned combined.
“I’m a widow, James… there is no more husband.”
Bucky paused before he could even bring the drink to his lips. That bastard had the nerve to marry you and get himself killed. His gut told him this conversation was leading nowhere good.
“That’s why I came back here, to my father’s home. My husband…he owed a lot of money. His death didn’t erase his debts. It only transferred them onto me.”
“Goddamnit.” Bucky cursed—cursed your husband, the man he owed money to; himself; the universe; and everything and everyone. “Who does he—who do you—owe money to?
“Brock Rumlow.” It was loud enough for him to listen, and God, did he wish he had heard any other name.
Rumlow had fame, and for all the wrong reasons. Bucky was no saint, but he had honour, and he had a code. He stole, yes. But always from filthy rich men who could have easily survived with one less bag of gold. His gang robbed banks, not widows. If Bucky had it his way, he would shoot him right in the eye the first chance he got. Which would be certainly unwise, given that Rumlow had as many allies as he had enemies.
He leaned back on his wooden chair, stretching his legs out and crossing his arms. “Alright, alright. What do you want me to do, sweetheart? ‘Cause I ain’t excatly in the position to go and shoot a man like him.”
“I… I don’t know, James,” you stuttered. You hadn’t necessarily thought that far ahead. Rumlow had come to you not too long ago. He had knocked on your door with feigned grief, quickly switching topics to that of your late husband’s money debts. You were a woman with no money of your own, daughter to a man who barely was able to get himself away from the drinks and go to work. See it as you had no way to pay him back; he had made an offer.
“He asked me to marry him.” You spat out bluntly, nearly sending Bucky into the second coma of the morning. “If I can’t pay him, I have to be his wife. Clean his house and help carry his blood-soaked legacy.”
“You can’t do that.” Bucky was almost desperate. He had always known you would marry someone else, which ended up being true. He hoped that, in his time alive, your husband had been able to provide you with the love and the life you deserved. But this? Marrying Brock Rumlow was something he would not have at all. He was a wretched man, and Bucky’s blood boiled at the mere thought of what he could do to you.
“That is why I called you. I may be a widow, and I may have no money of my own. But I am still a woman with dignity. I will not marry that man. I can’t—“ The hints of desperation in your words were the final blow. Bucky was a fool, one who would have done anything you had asked him to.
Your voice also carried that air of feistiness that he had once so adored. You had never been one to ask for much, but you had always known your worth.
Bucky placed his drink down and held his head with both hands, resting his elbows on the table. His thumb ran a few circles between his eyebrows. “That just makes things more complicated, doesn’t it?”
“I know it may be too much to ask—“
He cut you off before you could continue. “No, it’s not. I’ll see what I can do.”
You stood up from your seat in one swift and grateful move. “Will you really?”
Bucky nodded. He would have done anything for you. “Thank you, James!” You exclaimed. “Truly, thank you.”
He smiled, earnest just like him. “Listen to me. If that bastard tries anything at all, you let me know. We have a camp set up not too far from town. I’ll be here on my first chance. Until then, be careful.”
Bucky stood up, too. You smiled back at him when he tipped his hat before sliding it on again. You walked him to the door, holding it open for him and ignoring that familiar flutter that had risen again in both of your hearts.
Bucky returned to his camp with a loaded conscience and an even heavier heart. He dragged his boots through the dirt, kicking rocks and sticks like a lost boy. The hair that he had tried to tame before visiting you was now sticking out in all the wrong directions. God knows how many times he had pulled at it on his way back.
It was all useless. He had to think of a plan, and quickly. Times were rough for both of you. The gang were always short on money, and they couldn’t afford to stay in one place for too long. He had to find a way to help you out before the local sheriff realised that Bucky’s face looked all too familiar. Wanted and bounty posters of him and his gang were painted in towns all across the country.
“Buck”, a voice called out, pulling him out of his nervous trance. It was Steve.
“Mhm?” He replied, halfway irritated. The last thing he needed was to be sent to blow up another bridge seventy miles to the west.
“Are you done staring at the ground like it’s the cause of all our problems? We could use some help over there.”
“I’m sorry, pal, bad day.” Bucky muttered, finally looking up.
“You went into town. You know you shouldn’t do that.” Steve was right. Walking in there in broad daylight could only lead to trouble.
Bucky scoffed and rolled his eyes. He was no child, he had more experience with that life than Steve himself. Steve had no right to tell him what to do, even if he was stating the truth.
Then again, that was his best friend. If there was anyone who Bucky had told about you, it had been him. Steve had been the one to hand him a drink and pat his back when they had run away. He had supported him through his silent heartbreak when the world had suddenly turned bleak.
“She… she wrote me a letter, Steve. She needs my help.”
That certainly caught Steve’s attention, and he walked closer to whisper the next part. “She needs your help? What happened?”
“Brock Rumlow, that bastard happened.” Bucky was barely able to keep his anger contained in a whisper. His hand tightened into a fist, and his jaw tightened. “He’s after her. Her late husband owed him money. Now he wants her to marry him as a payoff.”
Steve frowned. He knew how much you mattered to Bucky, even after all this time. They would find a way; they would help you. “Any idea how?”
“The way I see it, we've got two choices, and both of them are absolutely terrible. I either shoot him in the head or take her with us.” As appealing as both options were to him, he knew it was reckless. You lived a comfortable life until a few months ago; you surely would not want to run off with your gunslinger ex-lover, would you?
“We have to think this through, Buck. I want to help you help her, but we can’t be careless right now.”
“I know, I know…” He sighed. “I’ll find a way. I have to.”
Time started moving slowly after that. The missions, the robberies, and the errands – they all stretched endlessly. Bucky had, for a very long time, been the first to throw himself headfirst into danger. He was skilled at what he did; nobody wielded a gun and a knife. the way he did.
Since your letter, though, he had seemed to quiet down. Perhaps he had found again a reason not to risk himself without purpose. He had, after all, made you a promise. Every day, he had to come to camp in one piece.
He had agreed to do jobs on his own—sixty per cent of the income he would get to keep; the remaining percent went to camp. That was how he slowly started gathering the money to, hopefully, be able to give it to you.
With the care that was needed, he visited town. He rode slowly and with his head down. He nodded politely at everyone who walked by. Bucky became a casual regular to the point where the average citizen did not question his sight.
He knocked on your front door at the same time he always did. Right when he knew you were home alone with nobody to spot him. He held a thick envelope in his hands, one with roughly a hundred dollars – not nearly enough to pay off your debt, but the most he could do for now.
You opened the door quickly and hurried him in. Over time, you had grown more accustomed to the sight of each other. The four years in which you had been apart seemed entirely unimportant. More and more, you wished you had never grown apart.
“I brought you some money. It’s all I could do.” Bucky handed you the envelope with a sheepish smile.
“Thank you a lot, James. Truly.” As much as your heart loved him, you could not manage to form a full smile.
“Don’t mention it…” Bucky paused, his eyes lingering on the way you hugged your arms close to your chest. Your fingers pulled on the sleeves of your dress, and your face was stained with something he couldn’t describe, but he knew signalled nothing good.
“He’s pressuring you, ain’t he?” Bucky wasn’t really asking. He took a step closer, and his hands hovered over your body. He had to remind himself multiple times that holding you was a bad idea, that you surely would not want that, and that it would lead to trouble.
“It’s alright. Don’t worry, please. I’m already asking so much of you. I will manage.” You looked away, hiding all the pain and all the fear. Rumlow had visited more than once, with too many drinks in his system and a pair of hands that wandered where they shouldn’t.
“Sweetheart,” Bucky murmured, fully allowing the pet name to slip past his lips. “Don’t be ashamed to ask for my help. After all the trouble I caused you, this is the least I could do.”
“Cause me trouble?” Your head shot back up, lifting your eyebrows in confusion. “When have you ever caused me trouble?”
“You know exactly what I’m talking about. Getting you involved with me. Romantically. It was a bad idea, and I shouldn’t have done it.”
He watched as your face fell. Confusion turned into sadness, and Bucky had never once regretted his words more than in that moment. “You… you regret me? Us?”
“No—God, no,” Bucky exclaimed desperately. “Never, not once. You’re the best thing I’ve ever had. I had never loved anyone like that until I met you.”
He meant it. The only women he had held dear had been his mother and sister, who he would much rather not talk about. He had closed himself off after that, only sometimes letting Steve in. Until he met you, with your sharp wit behind the face of the proper city lady. Who had both managed to kiss him fervently and tenderly at the same time, who had looked at him like he was worthy.
“Then what did you mean? Because I look back at those times almost daily. Nobody ever listens to me the way you do, James.”
“I meant that I am sorry that I caused you trouble. I angered your family because I was foolishly in love with a woman who was beyond what I deserved.”
You sighed with tenderness and placed one of your hands over his. “My marriage would happen either way. Phillip was a decent husband, but he was not you. He never knew me like you did, and he never made me feel as whole as you did. Please, do not ever regret us.”
Against anything rational, he shook his head and dropped it against your forehead with his eyes closed. “Never. I’m sorry I ran away without a word.”
“That is alright. I knew you would. I saw the way you hesitated during our last meetings before that.” Your hand cupped his face, and your thumb brushed against the scar on his cheekbone.
He kissed your head and stripped himself away from your arms, despite how much every inch of him yelled for him to stay by your side. “I have to go. The gang needs me back.”
You nodded, squeezing his hand before letting go. “Of course.” You walked him to the door, and before saying goodbye, you spoke a few final words. “I wouldn’t mind if you took me with you. Away from this hell. I always wanted to see the world.”
Bucky smirked. “You crazy woman.”
Hope began to grow in both your hearts. You had finally made peace, apologised for the things that had bothered you, and even shared a moment. A part of Bucky even hoped that you would resume things and be together, like he had always dreamt of doing.
Bucky foolishly allowed himself to relax. A man like him should have known better. Nothing in life comes for free—certainly not happiness. He let his guard down, and soon enough, things took a turn for the worse.
Bucky woke up that morning with a heavy feeling in his gut. He was cold and sweating. His chest felt tight. He had not slept well and had not rested. He was too worried thinking about you. You had not sent a letter in an entire week, and between running errands for his camp, Bucky had not been able to visit you.
That very same morning, Bucky could not shake the haunting feeling of dread that surrounded everything he did. It all felt wrong. Too wrong. He couldn’t take a bite to eat and couldn’t drink any of the coffee that had been brewed.
He moved like a ghost through the tents, dragging his feet and trying not to wake those who were still blessed with sleep. Crouching down by the river that the campsite had been built around, Bucky splashed droplets of cold water on his face. He blinked once and twice. No change; he still felt inexplicably anxious.
When he could no longer stand it, he walked to his horse. She was huffing, moving her head and brushing her hoof against the dirt. “You feel it, too, huh? You think we should check on her? Just to be safe.”
The horse brushed her head against Bucky’s open palm. “Thought so.”
By the time Bucky arrived at your house, the sun was almost at the middle of the sky. The ride had taken much longer than he would like.
Not much time went by until his worst nightmares were confirmed. The door to your house was halfway open. He stepped in cautiously, his hand already hovering around the gun on his hip. Bucky held his breath and prayed for the best.
Inside, the chairs around the table were scattered. One had fallen to the ground sideways, and the other rested haphazardly against the wall. He felt the crunch of broken glass beneath his boots and turned his head to the side to find a shattered vase on the floor next to the bookshelf.
Bucky called out your name and received no response at all. The remaining rooms were also empty. Your bed hadn’t been made, which was unlike you. Bucky’s chest felt tighter by the second. Each door he opened, each curtain he turned, he hoped to find you behind.
When his search came to a futile end, he took the door through the back. Behind your house was a field. It led out into a quiet road, the side of town that nobody ever visited. Bucky followed a trail of shoe prints that went further up a hill.
Bucky knew you, and Bucky knew you well. His instincts were all confirmed when he saw your figure being dragged away by Rumlow. You kicked your feet, trying to land a hit on one of his legs.
“Don’t you touch me!” You yelled when he pulled at your hand with his fingers so tight it made your wrist hurt.
Bucky’s heart was in his throat. His mind hadn’t caught up with his feet, and he was already running. He should have known; of course, he should have. Things with you had been going too smoothly for what was normal.
With all the air in his lungs and the desperation of a lover, Bucky screamed. “Stop right there.”
His gun was already out, pointing at the man he had once thought wise not to kill. Your head turned in his direction immediately, eyes widening in hope and horror. You were tired and teary-eyed but determined. Seeing Bucky only made you fight harder to wiggle your way out.
“This is none of your business,” Rumlow spits out, stopping dead in his tracks. “She owes me money. I’m just taking what’s mine.”
Bucky’s heart was racing, and his mind could not form a single rational thought. All he wanted to do was to put a bullet through the man’s chest, have him drop cold on the ground, bleed out and suffer for all the pain he had caused you.
And the heart never cares about rationality. The heart only wants, and Bucky wanted you. In his right as one of the West’s most feared outlaws, he did as he desired. In a movement Rumlow had not been able to foresee, with the precision of an arrow, he landed a bullet right at the centre of his chest.
Rumlow dropped to the ground with a groan. Taking your chance, you ran. You could only run a few steps before your body finally caught up with the moment. You stumbled on the grass, and Bucky sprinted your way.
He placed a warm hand on your shoulder and tugged you close. You were trembling, crying with wide eyes as your head fell against his shoulder. Bucky hushed you, wiping your tears away with a broken heart. “You’re alright. It’s over. You’re safe.”
You shook your head. “It is everything but alright, James. That man—“ Bucky could see the way you bristled behind your anguish. “He killed my father! Came right through the front door and stabbed him before taking me.”
The comforting facade Bucky was trying to put up for you fell. The situation had escalated to a point he had never expected. He had once believed that paying off your debt would be enough; what a fool he had been.
“Oh, sweetheart.” He pulled you into the tightest of hugs. His arms wrapped around your body, embracing you as though trying to mould your body into his. His lips pressed a kiss to your hair and whispered an apology.
Once he felt your breathing had quietened, he spoke. “Is there any family I can take you to?”
“Must you always be that daft?” It was almost a reproach. When would he ever ask what you had wanted him to ask since you had met him?
“I don’t follow.”
“You saved my life, James. You’ve played enough of a righteous hero.” You stared right into his baby-blue eyes as you spoke. “I don’t want to go anywhere that is not with you. Stop pulling away from me.”
Bucky was dumbfounded. Never in his life had he believed it possible. It seems like he had been effective enough at convincing himself that you would never want a life with him. “Do you mean that, sweetheart? Or is it just the adrenaline talking?”
“I mean it. Truly and wholly. I love you.”
The widest of smiles broke through Bucky’s face like the first rays of sunlight after a long storm. His hands cupped your cheeks, and he pulled you into a kiss. You returned it instantly. The hand that you placed over his chest sent shivers down his spine and only made him kiss you harder.
You pulled away to catch your breath, and he pulled you back in at the first chance he got. One of his hands wandered, tracing a slow path from your face to your waist, lingering in a spot that made your head spin.
Bucky pulled away and leant down to kiss your neck. “I love you, too. And that definitely ain’t the adrenaline talking, either.” He murmured between desperate kisses.
You laughed and laced your fingers through the back of his head, pulling him closer. Bucky kissed like a drowned man gasping for air. He had just been granted the keys to the heaven he had always wished for—you, in his arms, forever.
“You mean it? You’re ready to come with me?” He was only starting to catch his breath as he spoke. The lack of oxygen was nothing against the sheer joy that coursed through every vein in his body.
You took his hand into yours and interlocked your fingers. “I spent four years wishing that you had asked this. I will not back down now that I have the chance to be with you.”
With that, Bucky kissed you again, knowing that right there, a new life was starting.
A/N: Here it goes! I loved writing this piece. This AU became so, so dear to me. The start of this fic was heavily inspired by Mary and Arthur from RDR2, because I wish they had also ended up together. I hope that you enjoyed it.
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