•°∘∗ treacherous ∗∘°•
summary: you’re asking yourself why he keeps coming back, he’s asking himself why you keep letting him in. it’s a treacherous slope but neither of you can turn back now.
pairing: outlaw!bucky barnes x female reader
warnings: SMUT (18+, minors DNI), swearing, fluff, angst, mention of: alcohol, blood, injuries, guns, death, murder, violence, and non-con (it’s alluded to in regards to an unnamed character).
length: 16.8k
a/n: written for my 3k celebration, the prompt is bolded. i know nothing of the old west but this is fiction so. title inspired by this song and one part of this fic is inspired by a scene in butch cassidy & the sundance kid (if u know which part ur cool).
You never could quite handle the sight of blood, nor could you ever hide your instinctual response to it. Your father used to terrorise you with the cuts he’d sometimes earn from a hard day’s work, always finding your reactions humorous.
Each time he would smile and say, “You’ll get used to it one day, kid.”
That day didn’t come while he was alive and it hadn’t come now.
Opening your front door to the man you’d spied knocking on it from the kitchen window, you almost shut it again.
The stranger towers above you, his frame taking up the entire doorway, but your focus is drawn down to where his hands - covered in dirt and blood, press above his left hip.
“Ma’am,” He greets in a gruff tone. “I hate to bother you, but I find myself in need of some assistance…” The man nods to his injury, as if it had gone unnoticed by you.
It takes a moment for you to respond and when you do it’s with a jerky bob of your head as you step out of the doorway.
One blood stained hand raises to tip his hat at you as he enters.
Your eyes follow him as he wanders into the kitchen to his left, a slight sway in his steps.
How long has he been bleeding out?
Shutting the front door, you finally find your voice. “What do you need?”
Grunting as he lowers himself into a chair at your small, rectangular table, he answers “Rag, needle, thread, and alcohol - whiskey preferably.”
Removing his hat, he places it on the tabletop.
Okay, he’s done this before.
Focusing on the task he’s provided, you move around the kitchen and sitting room across from it, gathering each item.
The stranger is in luck. Your father had loved whiskey and there’s still plenty of bottles stashed away in the cupboard.
When you come to stand in front of him with everything in hand, you find that he’s lifted his shirt, providing an unobstructed view of his injury.
There’s so much…
“Bullet just grazed me.” The man observes quietly to himself. “Still made one hell of a mess though.” He grumbles, finally lifting his head.
Blood. There’s so much blood and the skin has -
A deep, rough laugh pulls you from your spiralling, making you swallow thickly.
“It’s alright darlin’.” There’s a lighter edge to his tone. “Just put the stuff on the table, I’ve got it.”
You do as he directs but remain where you are.
The man opens the bottle of whiskey first and takes three healthy swigs before pouring the liquid over his wound, hissing.
Quickly averting your gaze with a wince, you focus on his face instead.
What skin you can see is dirty, like his clothes. It’s clearly been some time since he last bathed or even tidied his appearance. His hair is long and tangled. You think it’s naturally a dark brown but it’s hard to be certain. A thick, wild beard hides most of his mouth and half his face, while a sharp nose -
Oh god.
You’ve seen the wanted posters hanging around town. Heard the stories that accompanied them.
Bucky Barnes.
The famed outlaw, responsible for some of the decade’s most daring robberies and revered as the fastest gunslinger in the west, is sitting in your kitchen. Tending a gunshot wound.
For the briefest moment you wonder who it was that shot him and what their fate had been.
Then you realise that’s something you really don’t want to know.
“Ma always said I could never be a tailor.” The man - Bucky mutters, eyeing his truthfully pitiful stitching. “But it’ll do.”
Placing the blood soaked rag on the table, along with the needle and leftover thread, Bucky’s eyes meet yours as he swallows another mouthful of whiskey.
You feel the shift in the air as he sets the bottle back down.
Somehow he knows.
“I’m not lookin’ for any trouble ma’am.”
“Says the man famous for trouble.” You can’t help but retort.
Did I seriously just smart mouth him?
To your shock Bucky merely grins, his teeth surprisingly white and clean. “That’s fair, but a pretty girl’s house isn’t exactly where I make my trouble.” Morphing his grin into a smirk, he amends “Unless I’m asked.”
Your skin heats at the insinuation.
“I won’t be asking.” You state firmly.
“Then you’ve got nothin’ to fear.” Bucky assures, his mouth returning to its serious line underneath his beard.
He regards you carefully and it’s only then that you notice his eyes are the most electrifying blue.
“I best be on my way.”
The sudden declaration should fill you with relief, but as you watch Bucky rise from the chair with an unsteady step, you hear yourself saying “You can stay.”
Something tells you the last time he bathed was also the last time he had a decent meal or rest. He wouldn’t be finding any of those things nearby, especially in his condition.
It’s a miracle he even found you.
The downward tilt of Bucky’s eyebrows is the only indication of his confusion as he looks up from the hat in his hands. “Are you -”
“Just for the night and no funny business.”
Bucky’s eyes study you again and you swear no one has ever looked at you with such intensity.
Then he blinks, focusing on the front door over your shoulder. “I left my guns with my horse. You can keep ‘em with you if it’ll make you feel better.” Meeting your gaze once more, his deep voice rumbles “But I promise you won’t need ‘em.”
How much was an outlaw’s promise worth?
Eyeing him in the same observing manner, you begin to understand what Bucky had been searching for.
Slowly shaking your head, you tell him “It’s alright.”
You had your father’s shotgun should it come to that and you were familiar with the weapon.
“I’ll show you the bathroom.” You declare, striding out of the kitchen. “If you’re gonna stay, you’re gonna be clean.”
Behind you, Bucky responds with a - dare you say, amused “Yes ma’am.”
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Your eyes fall shut as you lean back against the front door, sucking in a deep breath of the crisp afternoon air.
There’s an outlaw in my bathroom.
Re-opening your eyes at that insane truth, you realise you’re not alone.
Bucky’s horse watches you curiously from where she stands in front of the porch steps, her gorgeous white coat shining under the setting sun.
Descending the steps cautiously, you extend a hand to the mare, letting her sniff you. When she makes a soft whinny and nudges at your hand, you move it to stroke her neck.
Her calm temperament surprises you, as she gladly allows you to lead her over to the barn not far from the house.
You settle her in a stall opposite your own horse, Chester. A gelding you aptly named after his chestnut complexion.
When you relieve her of Bucky’s saddle, you spot two guns amongst his belongings, just like he said you would. You leave them there in the barn.
Back in the kitchen, you clear everything except the quarter filled whiskey bottle from the table.
He might as well finish it off.
Wiping down the wooden tabletop to erase any trace of blood, you lift the bottle to clean under it and get a large whiff of the alcohol, making you pause.
It’s been years since you smelt the once common scent and it has memories flickering behind your eyes as you realise you’ve missed it.
Shaking your head, you put the bottle back down.
An hour passes, Bucky yet to emerge from the bathroom.
You stir dinner distractedly, staring out the window in front of you that overlooks the barn and the great nothingness beyond it as the sky slowly darkens.
“Smells good.”
Christ.
Heart thumping sturdily at the small fright, you let the wooden spoon rest against the side of the pot and turn to face Bucky.
Oh.
It’s no wonder he took so long. Bucky had found good use in a pair of scissors and your father’s razor.
His wild, untamed beard has been reduced to stubble, highlighting a handsome jawline. Bucky’s hair - which is a dark brown and currently damp, curls under his ears instead of brushing against his shoulders.
Definitely trouble.
However, dressed in your father’s old clothes, it’s hard to find him as intimidating.
Your father had been a stout man, so you knew the clothes wouldn’t be a perfect fit.
The pants are a bit baggy and come up short, ending above the ankles of his bare feet, while the shirt tucked into them is an even looser fit. Bucky has rolled up the long sleeves to keep them out of his way, revealing just how thick and muscular his arms are.
“I can wash your clothes if you like.” You offer, realising you’ve been staring.
“No need darlin’,” Bucky responds smoothly “Washed them with me and hung ‘em over the porch.”
You hadn’t even heard the front door open or close.
“Kid, that wanderin’ mind a’yours is gonna get you in trouble one day.”
Nodding, you gesture to the table. “Well take a seat, dinner’s ready.”
Dishing out two bowls of stew, you place one in front of him, along with a basket of bread rolls.
“Can’t remember the last time I had a home cooked meal.” Bucky divulges, taking the spoon you offer him.
Sitting in the chair opposite him, you say “There’s plenty more if you want it.”
The two of you eat in silence, Bucky at a much faster pace. You’re only finishing your first serving when he begins his third.
Guess it has been a while since he last ate.
Or maybe this is just his usual appetite.
“Is it just you here?” Bucky asks after polishing off another bread roll, ending the quiet stretch.
In any other circumstance you’d think twice before giving an honest answer, but it’s pointless to lie to him now.
“Yes, it used to be my father and I, but he died two years ago.”
The pain his loss caused wasn’t something you could describe.
Your mother passed away when you were only four, taken by illness. If it weren’t for the two photographs your father had of her, you wouldn’t even know what she looked like.
After she died it was just you and him.
When his health began failing him some years ago, you both knew it was only a matter of time. You had just hoped for more.
Adjusting to life without your father had been challenging, but you were fortunate. You’d been left with a home - having no one else to come claim it, and the money that came from loaning out the land to cattle ranchers. It kept you fed, warm, and content.
Bucky lifts his eyes to look at you. “I’m sorry to hear that.”
You nod, your throat tight with emotion.
Pushing up from the table, you take your empty bowl to the sink as Bucky continues eating.
The subject of your father’s passing stopped affecting you heavily some time ago, but it seems the turmoil of today’s events has brought your pain back to the surface.
“I’ll get your bed ready.” You announce, leaving the kitchen.
He’ll stay in the spare room - your father’s old room. It’s bigger than yours, but you could never find the will to claim it as your own. You were happy in your childhood room.
Grabbing sheets from the bedroom’s wardrobe, you start making the bed.
The room is sparse, containing only the bed with a small table either side of it, the wardrobe, and a chair. On one bedside table sits the two photographs of your mother.
You’re slipping a cover over the pillow when Bucky’s figure appears in the doorway.
“Have enough to eat?”
You doubt there’s any leftovers.
“More than, your cookin’s somethin’ else.” He declares.
A smile escapes before you can stop it.
You’ve always loved cooking and it’s been years since you’ve had someone to feed or receive compliments from.
Dropping the pillow, you look over at Bucky and find his gaze fixated on the bed.
“I’ll leave you be.” You state, moving towards the door.
Still staring at the bed, Bucky steps further into the room and out of your way.
Glancing at him one last time, you utter out a soft “Goodnight Bucky.”
You’re startled by how quickly his dark blue eyes jump to you. Then you realise it’s the first time you’ve spoken his name.
“What’s your name, darlin’?”
A pause.
Softly, you tell him your name.
Bucky’s deep voice repeats it, adding “Thank you, for everything.”
His tone is lighter again, like it had been earlier after he laughed, allowing you to hear the emotion in it - sincerity, in this instance.
You’re not sure why it pleases you so much.
⊷⊷⊷⊷⊷ THE NEXT DAY ⊷⊷⊷⊷⊷
When you wake you’re not as well rested as you’d like, eyelids heavy and unwilling to open.
You spent most of the night tossing and turning, all too aware of the outlaw just two doors down.
Forcing your eyes open, you sluggishly get out of bed, taking your time getting dressed and fixing your hair.
Emerging from your bedroom, you peer down the hall to your right. The bathroom resides next to your room, the spare room next to it. Both rooms have their doors wide open, unoccupied.
Taking a few steps down the hall until you reach the opening on your left that leads into the sitting room, you walk in and find Bucky to your right, in the kitchen... making breakfast?
“Mornin’,” Bucky greets as you approach. Cracking two eggs into a pan, he answers your unspoken question. “Figured I at least owed ya breakfast.”
You weren’t going to argue that.
Taking a seat at the table, you ask “How did you sleep?”
Peering at you over his shoulder, Bucky replies “Like a rock.”
“And your wound?”
“Healin’ just fine.”
Bucky’s still wearing the clothes you gave him, but judging by the heat you can already feel in the air, you know his will be dry before you even finish breakfast.
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You walk back to the house with Bucky on your right and his horse - Alpine, as he’d introduced, on his other side.
He doesn’t mount the mare until you’ve reached the steps that lead up to your front porch. When he does you’re stunned by the ease and swiftness his large body executes the movement with.
“Thanks again darlin’.” Bucky nods, touching the brim of his weathered black hat. “For your cookin’ especially.”
Back in his own clothes with a gun belt around his hips, Bucky looks every bit like the outlaw he is.
For the second time since you’ve met, your mouth takes on a mind of its own. “Well, if you ever find yourself this way again maybe I’ll cook you something else.”
The edges of his lips turn up in a smirk at your offer. “I’ll keep that in mind.”
With a light press of his leg into Alpine’s side, the white beauty starts moving forward. You watch as she builds her momentum until she’s galloping, her and her rider becoming nothing more than a dot on the horizon.
⊷⊷⊷⊷ 7 WEEKS LATER ⊷⊷⊷⊷
Truthfully, you never expected to see Bucky Barnes again.
The memory of his visit had been stored away at the back of your mind and some days you wondered if it ever even happened - if it had simply been a daydream you’d gotten too lost in.
However, the knocking you hear on your front door one afternoon weeks later is very much real. As real as the man you see standing on your porch through the window above your kitchen sink.
Once you’ve opened the door, Bucky smiles in a way you can only describe as mischievous.
“Hi darlin’.”
You’re relieved to find not one speck of blood on him, just dirt.
Bucky’s maintained his shorter hairstyle but his beard has thickened, though not to the wild state it’d been in when you first met.
You realise your memory had failed to capture the precise blue of his eyes, as well as the depth of his voice.
Quirking an eyebrow - but giving a small smile nonetheless, your only response is “Bathroom.”
Chuckling, Bucky tips his hat at you, stepping out of his muddy boots before entering the house. You assume the bag in his hand contains clothes since he doesn’t ask for any as he disappears into the hallway.
Walking out onto the porch, you meet Alpine at the bottom of the steps and stroke her neck in greeting, leading her over to the barn.
Bucky’s left his guns on his saddle once again and you place all his belongings on one of the workbenches before settling Alpine in the same stall she’d occupied last time.
After stopping by Chester’s stall to dote on the horse, you head back to the house and start making dinner.
It’s not too long after when you hear heavy footsteps cross through the sitting room, followed by the front door opening.
Glancing to your left, to the window above the sink that looks out onto the porch, you watch as Bucky hangs his wet clothes over the railing.
He disappears from view and you hear the front door shut before his voice fills the room “How ya been darlin’?”
Shrugging your shoulders, you answer with a simple “Good.”
You’re caught off guard when Bucky appears on your right, the smell of the soap he just used invading your senses.
Standing side by side, it’s impossible to ignore his imposing height.
The top of your head barely reaches his broad shoulders and you feel like you have to look up and up to see his face.
You lower your gaze as your heartbeat accelerates, unnerved by Bucky’s sudden closeness. However, it slows as you spy him inhaling the contents of the pot simmering on the stove in front of you.
“‘M starvin’.” He quietly groans.
Smiling, you roll your eyes and tell him “It’ll be done soon.” Pointing to a cupboard at the end of the kitchen you add “There’s whiskey in there if you want some.”
When Bucky doesn’t move or say anything in response you look up at him again, startled to find him staring at you intently.
“You a saint or somethin’ darlin’?”
He speaks gruffly, but you hear a trace of humour in his tone.
Scoffing, your gaze drops again as you take a step towards him, so you can stand in front of the counter. Bucky takes a step backwards to accommodate you.
“What’s saintlike about offering someone whiskey? And to an outlaw no less.”
As the last part slips from your mouth, you tense.
“You’re always talkin’ first and thinkin’ later, kid.”
Bucky merely hums in response, turning around to lean against the counter as his arms fold. The action pulls his shirt tight across his chest.
Not that you’re paying attention to that sort of thing.
“Isn’t that what saints do? Help lost souls?” He drawls.
“You’re lost?” You retort sarcastically, raising an eyebrow at him.
That earns a chuckle from him as he shakes his head. “Nah, I’m always right where I wanna be.”
Bucky’s midnight blue gaze hasn’t left you once, while yours constantly shifts away, like it does now. “And that’s here instead of somewhere nice?”
“Nice costs money.”
Your eyes dart up to his for no less than a second before flitting away.
This time you’re smart enough to not say the first thing that comes to mind.
Concentrating instead on the corn in your hands, you jump when you feel the rough pad of Bucky’s index finger under your chin, nudging your head up until you meet his gaze.
“Don’t start holdin’ your tongue now darlin’.” Bucky states in a low tone, dropping his hand.
Your heart is racing again, but you’re not sure if it’s from fear or... something else.
Swallowing thickly, you manage to voice “I thought you’d have plenty of money.”
“Sometimes I do.”
“Sometimes?”
Really can’t help myself, can I?
The left side of Bucky’s mouth twitches. “It’s not always about the money,” He answers vaguely.
You frown, “Then what’s it about?”
At last, Bucky smirks. “Curious thing, ain’t ya?”
The comment flusters you.
“Why do you wanna know?” Bucky deflects, leaning in until his face is only inches from yours. “Thinkin’ about joinin’ the life darlin’?”
“No thank you.” The bite of your words is lost in your breathless tone, the result of his close proximity.
Bucky just huffs out a laugh, his breath tickling your face. Then he’s gone, strolling across the kitchen for the whiskey you offered hours ago - or so it feels, and that’s the end of that.
⊷⊷⊷⊷ THE NEXT DAY ⊷⊷⊷⊷
Waking with a deep inhale, your eyes blink repeatedly against the bright sunlight your curtains do little to block.
You stretch with a satisfied hum, having found sleep much easier than the last time Bucky stayed the night.
It’s well into the morning so you dress quickly, curious to see if Bucky’s still here, maybe even making breakfast again, or if he’s already taken off.
When you venture down the hall into the sitting room, you find the answer to your question lounging in an armchair, one of your favourite books in his big hands.
“Not an early riser, are you darlin’?” Bucky drawls conversationally, not looking up from the page he’s reading.
You frown, crossing your arms. “It’s morning, isn’t it?”
He’s right though, you’re not one to rise with the sun - never have been. The few times you have are few and far between, the most recent being on his last visit.
Regardless, it’s not that observation that has you feeling defensive.
“Ten o’clock is hardly mornin’, you’ve missed half the day.” There’s nothing in his tone to suggest it, but you know he’s teasing.
It goes straight over your head however, as you’re too focused on what’s in his hands.
“Enjoying the book?” You snark at him.
Bucky smirks.
Oh yeah, he’s definitely winding me up on purpose.
“Tell me, are all your books so -” Bucky breaks off in a chuckle as you pluck the worn book out of his hands and press it to your chest. “So... romantic?”
You grasp the book a little tighter, having half a mind to hit him over the head with it for the gleam in his eyes.
An urge you think he senses.
“I like their humour.” Is your only answer.
Bucky hums lazily, clearly finding your answer lacking as he raises out of the chair.
The visual reminder of his towering height briefly shortens your breath.
Gazing down at you, Bucky lightly brushes against your side as he heads towards the kitchen. “I’ll go warm up breakfast.”
⊷⊷⊷⊷ 5 WEEKS LATER ⊷⊷⊷⊷
You’re not sure what shocks you more when you open the front door. The fact that Bucky is clean, or the fact that he’s holding flowers.
Flowers.
It’s definitely the flowers.
You recognise the handiwork too. Clara, an elderly woman who was as kind as they come, grew all sorts of flowers and sold them from a stall in town.
They’re a little wilted from the long ride here, but still vibrant and pretty.
Resting a shoulder against the doorframe, inadvertently bringing him closer, Bucky’s deep voice teases “What’s the matter darlin’? No man ever bring you flowers before?”
Dragging your gaze up from the bouquet and narrowing it, you jab “I’m just wondering if they’re stolen.”
Bucky only chuckles at your bite, like you expect him to.
You’re not sure what to make of that realisation - that you expect things from him.
Holding the flowers out to you, he states “They’re paid for darlin’, I promise.”
There he goes again, making another promise.
Kept his last one, didn’t he?
Your facade doesn’t last long either way, the corners of your mouth turning upwards as you accept the flowers, your fingers brushing over Bucky’s hand in the process.
Raising the flowers to your nose - and ignoring the tingle in your fingertips, you breathe in their scent, the stems of lavender standing out the most.
Before you can thank him, Bucky’s bending forward and ducking his head until his dark blue eyes are level with yours. “Was the money technically mine...”
Your mouth drops open as he trails off, his implication hanging clear in the air.
Bucky gives a genuine laugh at your reaction, the warm sound almost eliciting one from you as he pushes away from the door.
You watch him saunter down the porch steps to take Alpine to the barn, completely and utterly bewildered by this outlaw.
He looked dangerous with his imposing height, broad shoulders, and wide chest that peeked through the unbuttoned top of his long sleeve shirts. The same shirts that his muscled arms bulged beneath.
Not to mention his roguish features - the dark hair, thick beard, and piercing blue eyes.
He sounded dangerous, his voice deep and coarse in a way you’d never heard before, every word he spoke seeming to rumble out of him.
He just didn’t act dangerous.
Outlaws weren’t giving, they didn’t tease, or smile, or laugh, and they certainly didn’t let some girl smart mouth them.
However, you weren’t a complete fool.
You knew there was another, more prominent side of him that you were yet to truly witness. You saw glimpses of it sometimes - of the outlaw.
A man who was used to being respected or feared, or both. A man who had the strength and skill to take whatever he wanted, when he wanted it, and without asking.
Then Bucky would blink or turn away, and that momentary glimpse you were afforded passed.
It shouldn’t drive you mad, it shouldn’t make you want to see that side of him, yet... it did.
If you thought about it too long - the image of him being rough and commanding like his lifestyle demands, well...
You jump when Bucky’s hand waves in front of your face.
Looking up from the spot on the porch you’d been staring at but not actually seeing as you lost yourself in your thoughts, you meet Bucky’s blue eyes below his furrowed brow.
“You really get lost in there, don’t ya darlin’?”
Thoughts still scattered, you absentmindedly respond “I don’t mean to.”
Bucky just hums.
Shaking your head to finally clear it, you walk back into the house, listening as Bucky shuts the front door behind him.
Grabbing the old, empty vase that sits on the small glass table in the sitting room, you bring it to the kitchen sink and fill it with water before arranging the flowers in it.
You can feel Bucky’s gaze following you as he takes his usual seat at the dining table, but it doesn’t unsettle you.
Returning the vase to its place in the sitting room, you admire the flowers once more with a soft smile before treading back to the kitchen.
When you pass Bucky you let out a small, confused sound as you come to a sudden stop.
Spinning to face him, you feel the skirt of your light green prairie dress tighten around your legs, and you discover the cause when you spot Bucky’s hand holding onto the bottom of your dress.
“What are you -” You start, flabbergasted until you actually focus on the section Bucky has grabbed.
“What happened?” He asks, not even having to look up from where he sits to meet your gaze.
The fabric is ripped, splitting the skirt upwards about four inches. There’s a scratch to match it along the back of your right leg, which you assume Bucky must have seen.
You can’t read any emotion on his face, but you sense that he’s not pleased.
Strange.
“I was trying to fix the curtain rod in your - the spare room, but the wooden crate I was using broke and I fell.”
Fell seems like an exaggeration.
There wasn’t much distance between you and the ground, but you had landed awkwardly, the wood catching on your dress and scratching your leg - thankfully not deep enough to draw blood.
Currently, you’re more concerned about how you almost referred to the spare room as Bucky’s.
When did it become his room?
Bucky frowns at you but doesn’t speak, making you frown back.
A moment passes before he finally releases your dress, standing up. Still silent, Bucky turns and strides towards the hallway.
By the time you catch up he’s already in the spare room, assessing the window.
You’d been replacing the curtains when the curtain rod bracket came off the wall on one side. It just needed to be screwed back in but the bracket was out of your reach.
The screwdriver sits on the windowsill, where you left it while you tossed the broken crate outside with some unfriendly words as your leg throbbed.
Grabbing the tool, Bucky reaches up to screw the bracket back in, the height not even a stretch for him.
Picking the curtain rod off the bed, you sit down in the same spot and bunch the curtains in your lap, keeping them off the floor as you watch Bucky quickly complete the task.
Turning around, he takes the curtain rod from you and hangs it up.
“What else?”
You stare at him for a second before pointing to the wardrobe behind you. “The right door’s a little loose.”
Diligently, he rounds the bed to the wardrobe and opens the right door, tightening the screws in the top hinge.
“I thought it was you the first time I saw it.” Bucky says abruptly, nodding to the bedside table closest to him where two photographs sit.
Both are of your mother.
In one she’s holding you as a child - you’re no more than two years old, on her lap with a smile. In the other she’s by herself and younger, about the age you are now.
“I once told my dad that I wished I could remember what she looked like, he told me to look in the mirror.”
He hadn’t been exaggerating, the resemblance between you and her was clear as day. Something that always made you wonder if it was hard for him at times - being constantly reminded of her when he looked at you.
You might not have been old enough to remember it, but the love your father had for your mother shone brightly, never once fading over the years that followed her death.
“He said that was the only thing we had in common,” Grinning, you drop your voice to a faux whisper as you repeat your father’s loving words “She was a horrid cook and complete trouble maker.”
Bucky grins at that, giving a slight shake of his head as he swings the mended wardrobe door shut. “I dunno darlin’, I think you’re plenty of trouble.”
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After dinner is eaten and the dishes are cleaned, you always move into the sitting room for a bit while Bucky heads straight to bed.
Tonight however, he’s joined you.
Each sitting in an armchair across from one another, he nurses a glass of whiskey while you stitch the ripped fabric of your dress back together.
You use the light provided by the oil lamp and candles on the glass table between you and Bucky, placed around your vase.
As you glance at the flowers you realise you never actually thanked him for them.
Drawing your eyes higher, you’re not alarmed when you meet Bucky’s gaze.
He’s always watching you.
“Thank you for the flowers.”
Bucky was right of course, no man has ever given you flowers before.
“My pleasure darlin’.” His deep voice rumbles.
You’re not sure why you suddenly feel so warm.
“And for fixing those things for me.”
It’s not like you don’t do anything for him in return, but you still want him to know you appreciate the help.
“I’ll fix anythin’ you need,” Bucky states a little rougher “Just don’t go hurtin’ yourself again.”
I didn’t do it on purpose, you almost huff out.
Bucky must anticipate the retort or something similar to it, because he stands, finishing the rest of his whiskey in one mouthful.
He takes his glass to the kitchen sink before returning, clearly on his way to bed.
“See you in the morning.” You say as he passes you.
“You mean afternoon?” Bucky calls back, his tone lighter.
This time you do huff, letting out a quiet “Shut up.”
His chuckle echoing down the hall lets you know you were heard.
⊷⊷⊷⊷ 4 WEEKS LATER ⊷⊷⊷⊷
The fourth time you open your front door to Bucky Barnes is... different from the others.
Nothing’s wrong per se, but it’s not right either.
Bucky’s the dirtiest you’ve ever seen him. In fact, you’re struggling to find a visible patch of skin on him.
His large hands rest on the top of the doorframe and his dark blue eyes bore into you the moment the door is open.
“Darlin’.” The word is spoken bluntly and you instantly know he’s not in the mood to talk.
You have a short-lived thought of turning him away.
Instead, you step to your left, silently inviting him inside.
For the first time since you’ve met, Bucky feels dangerous.
Especially when you eye the guns still on his hips.
If this had been the Bucky who knocked on your door while bleeding out, you’re certain you never would have let him stay the night - let alone return.
Bucky trudges off to the bathroom, your eyes trailing after him.
When you hear the bathroom door shut you release a short breath, looking outside to find another irregularity.
Your feet carry you out onto the porch and down the three steps without a thought, drawn to where Alpine patiently waits.
She greets you cheerfully, nuzzling into your hands and covering them with dirt. She’s filthy.
Every other visit her white coat has gleamed, leaving you no doubt that Bucky cared for her deeply. Yet, like her owner, it’s hard to find a clean spot on her.
Alpine makes a noise and seems to nod towards the barn, as if to tell you that she needs food, water, rest, a bath.
The irritation you felt at Bucky’s stiff demeanour is replaced with concern.
You were in town only yesterday and hadn’t heard of any new incidents involving Bucky.
Not that you were keeping an ear out.
“What happened, huh?” You ask Alpine, leading her to the barn.
She simply whinnies in response.
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You’ve just started drying Alpine when you hear heavy footsteps enter the barn.
Her white coat shines once more, the familiar sight easing you, unlike the man approaching.
Bucky’s body radiates warmth as he comes to stand behind you, the scent of soap filling the air.
Daring to glance at him over your shoulder, you find him clean but worn out, if the dark circles under his eyes are anything to go by.
Wordlessly, you let him take over the task.
You prepare Alpine’s stall, stocking it with fresh food and water while Bucky dries her. He’s quietly murmuring to the horse, but you can’t hear his words over the sound of Alpine chewing hay.
When Bucky’s finished he leads Alpine into the stall, closing and locking the gate behind her.
It’s almost humorous. Alpine and Bucky are clean but now you’re not. Your dress is soaked and covered in mud.
The walk back to the house is taken in silence.
“I’ll start dinner after I clean up.” You tell Bucky once you’re inside.
He gives no response.
After your bath you change into a simple white dress, the fabric light and less likely to make you sweat until you switch into your nightgown later on.
Stepping into the kitchen, you find Bucky leaning back in his usual seat, a bottle of whiskey opened on the table in front of him and almost finished.
You decide to make one of your specialties for dinner, hoping it will... well, you’re not really sure what you’re hoping it will do.
As you move around the kitchen you feel Bucky’s eyes on you, tracking your every movement as you keep your back to him more often than not.
That is until you have nothing left to do but let dinner simmer on the stove.
Turning around, you rest your back against the kitchen counter and meet Bucky’s stare.
He doesn’t shift his gaze and neither do you.
“What happened?” You ask quietly.
You don’t expect an answer and Bucky’s continued silence tells you there won’t be one.
Probably for the best.
Instead, Bucky lifts the whiskey bottle and swallows another mouthful, emptying it.
Pushing off the counter, you tread over to him.
“You should have some water.” You state, reaching for the bottle.
Before your hand can wrap around it, it’s grabbed by one of Bucky’s, the quick manoeuvre drawing your gaze.
He doesn’t look at you as he turns your hand over in his, focusing instead on your palm as he runs his thumb over the lines of your smoother skin.
You watch in a dazed state, letting him do as he pleases.
Bucky slowly brings your hand towards him, closer and closer until he’s pressing his forehead into your open palm.
The action stuns you and for a moment you don’t know what to do.
So, you go with what feels right.
Pushing your fingers back and forth timidly, you weave them between the strands of his damp hair.
The droop of Bucky’s shoulders boosts your confidence and you take a step forward, raising your right hand to join your left.
Bucky’s head remains bowed, his face hidden from you.
Taking another step forward to stand more comfortably, you release a small noise of surprise when Bucky’s hands grab at your waist, tugging you even closer until his forehead presses into your stomach instead.
Your heart stutters in your throat and your hands falter, but with a shaky breath you start stroking Bucky’s hair again, just as his strong arms wrap around your waist, holding you tight against him.
Being held in such a way makes you feel...
No, don’t dare think it.
Growing bolder, your fingertips start drawing shapes on the back of his neck while you play with the ends of his hair. The longer you do this, the more relaxed Bucky becomes.
Eventually however, the sound of dinner bubbling concerningly cuts through the peace.
You look over worriedly, not wanting the meal to ruin.
Bucky seems to realise, his arms tightening around you before dropping completely. Without looking at him, you dart over to the stove and turn it off.
Dinner is eaten in silence.
“‘M going to bed.” Bucky states once he’s finished.
His first sentence since arriving.
“Okay,” You reply softly.
⊷⊷⊷⊷ THE NEXT DAY ⊷⊷⊷⊷
You don’t expect to find Bucky making breakfast.
Walking into the kitchen, you had been prepared to discover that Bucky had left long before you woke. You’re glad he hasn’t.
He doesn’t appear as worn down either, and the brief upwards tug of his mouth when he turns to see you is more than enough to have you smiling back.
While Bucky’s still clearly dealing with whatever, his mood has at least improved.
Predictably, it’s quiet throughout the meal.
You wait at the bottom of the porch steps while Bucky retrieves Alpine from the barn, admiring the flat plains that appear to stretch on forever all around you.
The sound of Alpine’s hooves reaches your ears and you watch as Bucky leads the white beauty to you, stopping her by your side.
“You gonna be okay?”
You’re not sure why you ask, but you do.
Bucky looks at you over his shoulder, his hands on the saddle he was about to mount.
He studies you, his eyes dark under his hat, before doing something that muddles your brain.
In a blink-and-you’d-miss-it moment, Bucky drops his hands and turns from Alpine, covering the distance between you in a short step before pressing his mouth to your forehead, his beard scratching at your skin.
“Just fine darlin’.” His deep voice rumbles as he pulls back.
Looking at you one more time, Bucky spins back to Alpine and mounts her in one fluid movement. Then they’re gone.
You can still feel the touch of his lips as you watch their figures fade.
⊷⊷⊷⊷ 2 WEEKS LATER ⊷⊷⊷⊷
Town was a good hour’s ride from your home, and it was for that reason you only ever made the journey once a week, every Thursday.
Your main stop was the general store where you bought food and other necessities. The store’s owner - Billy, would talk to you from his spot behind the counter, giving you a weekly rundown of town affairs.
Most of the time it was just mundane gossip you didn’t really care for, but not today.
According to Billy, there was a new gang causing havoc around the plains, trying to make a name for themselves.
“They’ve been robbin’ properties all over, startin’ fires and roughin’ up any fella in their way, they even -”
Billy never finished that sentence, but his averted gaze told you how it ended.
“Dunno why I’m worrin’ ya with this girl, God himself couldn’t find ya all the way out there.”
The declaration wasn’t that farfetched. Unless someone knew where you lived they needed to be lost to find it.
However, if someone was intentionally on the prowl...
You check over your father’s shotgun the minute you return home.
Some days it’s hard to forget that you’re a woman living on her own, with no help nearby. Tonight that fact looms over you like a dark cloud.
In fact, it keeps you wide awake, sitting at the dining table with the shotgun in reach until the sun rises again.
You’re sluggish the whole day, tired and on edge.
When afternoon rolls around you’ve cleaned the entire house in an attempt to distract yourself and for the most part, it’s worked.
That is until you hear the unmistakable sound of horse hooves in the distance.
Fear strikes your heart in a way you’ve never experienced and you instantly wish to never experience it again.
Racing to the window above the kitchen sink with the shotgun in hand, you almost cry in relief at what you see.
A white horse and her dark rider.
Sucking in deep breaths, you close your eyes and focus on the fast thump of your heartbeat until it returns to a calmer rhythm.
You’re putting the shotgun back in its place under your bed when you hear his heavy footsteps on the porch, followed by three loud knocks.
There’s no denying the way you immediately feel... safe.
“Bucky,” You greet a little breathlessly as you open the front door.
“Hi darlin’.” He grins, eyes softening just slightly.
It’s hard to picture the sombre man you invited inside only two weeks ago.
“Back so soon?” You attempt to tease, though you feel it falls flat in your drained state.
You wonder if Bucky can tell.
Ducking his head and pinning you under his stare that’s regained its usual intensity, he responds “You don’t mind, do ya?”
No, never.
Smiling, you answer “Luckily for you, I’m in a gracious mood.”
The tease lands better this time.
Humming, Bucky agrees “Lucky me.”
⊷⊷⊷⊷ THE NEXT DAY ⊷⊷⊷⊷
After dinner it wasn’t Bucky who retired to bed first, but you.
The moment your head hit the pillow you were out cold.
Maybe it should concern you how easily you let your guard down just because Bucky was close by, but you don’t ruminate on it long enough to let it.
It’s late morning, maybe even afternoon when you eventually wake. The heat in your room makes that much obvious.
Bucky doesn’t say a word once you walk out into the sitting room where he waits, reading one of your books again. However, the smirk he occupies as he gets up and goes into the kitchen says it all.
While you eat the breakfast - lunch, Bucky has made, you feel fear start to leach back in.
You don’t want him to leave you.
Unable to voice your plea, you take your time eating, dragging out the inevitable until you’re standing and taking your plate to the sink.
When you don’t hear the familiar sounds of Bucky collecting his things, you peek over your shoulder and see he’s still seated at the dining table.
Your gaze meets his.
Bucky answers the question in your eyes. “I’m supposed to meet my - some friends east of here in a couple of days.” You don’t miss his slip of tongue. “If I wouldn’t be overstayin’ -”
“No.” You interject much too quickly. “No, you wouldn’t be.”
He nods and stands up from the table, gesturing to the front of the house. “Your porch needs fixin’.”
While you kept the inside of the house to a spotless standard, the exterior was starting to show its age. The porch in particular, the boards old and beginning to rot.
“I know, I’ve got new wood to replace it with.”
You had it delivered out a couple of weeks ago. You just hadn’t gotten around to actually starting the task yet.
The sun beams down on you both as you walk side by side to the barn, past the horse stalls where you give Chester’s outstretched neck a fond pat, to the back where the tools and wood are stored.
Bucky hauls a bundle of wooden planks over his shoulder while you carry a crate full of tools behind him.
That’s all he lets you do, refusing your help when you go to walk back with him to collect the rest of the planks.
Standing on the bottom porch step, you watch him go back and forth from the barn until he’s brought out the last plank, creating a large pile.
“I can help.” You insist, feeling guilty about having him do all the work, even though he was the one who offered.
Bucky just shakes his head with a huff.
“Darlin’, go inside and relax.” He instructs, bending down to pick up a hammer from the crate. “Or,” He adds, straightening and strolling over to you, forcing you to tilt your head back to maintain eye contact. “Sit out here and give me somethin’ pretty to look at.”
Your stomach drops as heat floods your face.
Managing a weak scoff, you avert your eyes and spin around, quickly retreating into the house.
Bucky’s hearty laugh follows you inside.
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Taking Bucky up on his first suggestion, you spend the rest of the day in the sitting room, reading.
When late afternoon creeps around and Bucky’s been outside for around three hours, you mark the page you’re on and get up to make him a snack.
Using the door at your end of the hallway that leads outside to where you do the laundry, you balance a sandwich and glass of lemonade on a tray as you walk down the side of the house.
The sight that greets you when you round the corner almost has the tray slipping out of your hands.
Bucky’s shirtless.
His tanned skin glistens with sweat, the muscles in his back and arms prominent as he saws a wooden plank in half.
The longer you stare the more scars you begin to see, most small, others not, marking his body in a pattern unique to him.
You want to ask for the story behind each and every one.
Blinking out of your stupor, you step closer to where Bucky stands in front of the porch steps, sawing through the few remaining planks.
Swallowing thickly, you call out his name.
Bucky’s head lifts, looking over his shoulder at you before the rest of his body turns.
For a second time, you fight to keep the tray steady in your hands.
You’ve only seen peeks of the hair that covers his chest, but now it’s on full display and you can’t help but sweep your gaze down, over his firm stomach, to another patch of hair that leads to -
“Made you something to eat.” You declare, lifting the tray.
It only shakes a little.
Striding over to you, Bucky grins “Thank you darlin’.”
His large, rough hands brush over yours as he takes the tray and warmth pools in your stomach.
“You’ve done a lot.” You observe, desperate to look at anything except him.
All of the old boards have been ripped up and Bucky’s already laid down new ones on the entire left side of the porch, as well as on the steps, where he now takes a seat.
“Should be done by sundown.”
It’s... nice, you realise. So utterly nice to have a man around to help you - to help look after you.
Though not just any man.
Bucky.
You’ll admit that. To yourself at least.
The sound of Bucky’s glass hitting the tray draws your attention. It shouldn’t surprise you that he’s already finished.
“You keep eating that fast and your stomach will end you before anyone else gets the chance.” You comment with a raised eyebrow as you wander over to him.
Bucky smirks as he stands, handing you the tray. “Darlin’, if your cookin’ is what takes me out, I’ll die a happy man.”
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As the sun begins to dip behind the horizon, the front door opens.
You look up from where you’re curled into one of the armchairs with a book in your hands.
Bucky’s dark blue eyes roam over you for a prolonged moment before he husks out “Come take a look darlin’.”
He disappears back outside as you stand and make your way over.
Opening the front door fully, you take in the restored porch with a wide smile, stepping out onto it.
“Wow,” You gush “It looks amazing Bucky, thank you.”
You glance over to where he stands in front of the porch steps and meet his gaze briefly before he breaks it, pointing to a pile of the old wooden planks a few yards away.
“That wood’s no good for your fireplace so I’ll burn it tonight, that way it’s not takin’ up any space.” Bucky explains, moving to pick up the tools he left on the ground, dropping them into the crate.
You watch him quietly, leaning against the railing just down from where his shirt and gun belt hang.
It hadn’t escaped your notice that Bucky was wearing it when he arrived yesterday, like he had on his last visit.
You hadn’t thought much about it at the time and you don’t now, too mesmerised by him.
There’s a sense of delight in watching him while his attention is focused elsewhere.
Suddenly you think you understand why he watches you.
“You shouldn’t look at me like that darlin’.”
Bucky’s abrupt words startle you as he turns and captures your gaze.
Like what?
You can’t find the courage to ask him.
Shifting your eyes, you act as if he hadn’t spoken. “I’ve been meaning to ask, what kind of name is Bucky?”
His chuckle makes you brave enough to look at him once more.
“It’s a nickname.” Bucky answers.
Watching him as he slowly wanders towards you, you press “What’s your real name then?”
Bucky comes to a stop in front of you and for the first time you’re the one that has to look down - if only just.
He runs a hand through his sweat dampened hair, pushing it back from his face as he studies you.
“James Buchannan Barnes.”
The confession is gentle, meaningful.
“James,” You repeat softly, giving a small smile. “Now that’s a name.”
Vivid blue eyes - dark and electric, gaze upon you with something you can’t name as you unexpectedly feel Bucky’s knuckles brushing against your cheek.
“Say it again,” He murmurs.
Your breathing grows heavier as your heart begins a wild rhythm in your chest, his touch so... addictive on your skin.
When your mouth parts to speak, his thumb catches on your bottom lip and it’s a miracle you remain upright, clutching at the porch railing.
Before you can utter his name again, you hear it.
It’s faint, but it still manages to draw your attention.
There’s horses in the distance, kicking up a large dust cloud behind them as they race towards you, the sound of their hooves echoing across the flat landscape.
You can’t tell how many there are yet.
The rough sound of your name returns your focus to Bucky, who is already marching up the porch steps. He breezes past you, reaching for his shirt and gun belt.
“Get inside and stay there.” Bucky orders sharply.
Just like that, the side of himself he’d just been presenting to you disappears, replaced by -
“Now.” He grits out, his eyes shifting to you.
That finally sends you rushing inside, leaving him as he buttons up his shirt.
Darting into the kitchen, you draw the curtain across the window that overlooks the porch.
Bending over the sink, you pinch the bottom right corner of the curtain between your thumb and forefinger, lifting it until you can just peek out.
Redressed, Bucky takes a seat on one of the two porch chairs and places his black hat on his head, tilting it down until his features are obscured and leans back.
He looks like he’s about to fall asleep.
You pick up on a faint noise and realise that Bucky’s whistling, as if truly unbothered.
A man like him would be.
Somewhere between a minute and an eternity passes before the horses - four of them, come galloping up to the house with their male riders.
Bucky keeps whistling.
The horses come to a stop beside each other in front of the porch, forming a line. The man to the far right urges his horse forward a step.
He eyes Bucky before glancing back at his comrades, pulling out a shotgun from behind him and placing it across his lap.
“Oi!”
Bucky’s whistling fades out, the sudden silence unsettling as he straightens in the chair, hat still tilted.
“Can I help you?” Bucky drawls.
His reaction has clearly thrown the men into confusion as they all look to one another before three of them focus on the man who yelled - their leader you assume.
“You’re not too bright, are ya fella?”
The insult makes you wince.
Bucky laughs.
It’s a sound you should find familiar for all the times you’ve managed to raise one out of him, but there’s nothing familiar about it - it’s dark and without humour.
Maybe it should scare you.
It doesn’t.
The men dumbly laugh with him, the one on the far left announcing “We’re here to rob you fool!”
Laughter rings out louder from them, the gang appearing to relax in this odd situation they’ve found themselves in.
“Yeah,” Another one echoes “Everythin’ ya got.”
Not to be left out, the only one yet to speak adds “That means any ladies too.”
Bucky’s laughter abruptly ceases and the leader notices immediately, unlike his three cackling morons.
“Ya gonna give us trouble fella?” He asks warily, the others falling silent at the sound of his voice.
There’s a pause before Bucky answers “Depends.”
“On what?” A moron sneers, clearly unimpressed.
“On whether or not you leave.” Bucky states, voice low and menacing. “‘Cos you make one move towards this house and the last thing any of you will see is the bullet I put between your eyes.”
He draws their attention to the guns on either side of his hips.
The leader hovers his hand above the shotgun on his lap.
Another moron lets out a guffaw, “They’re not even out!”
God they’re dumb.
“No,” Bucky agrees, his tone clearly revealing his dwindling patience. “But I’ve been told I got pretty fast hands.”
Knocking his hat back from his face, Bucky’s hands drop to rest on the handles of his guns.
“Bucky Barnes.” A moron gapes, looking like he just wet himself.
The atmosphere completely shifts amongst the gang, their leader’s eyes widening as he moves his hand away from his shotgun, raising it in the air instead.
“Mister Barnes, we ain’t mean no disrespect sir.” He quickly appeases.
Heads bounce up and down as the others hurriedly agree, watching Bucky fearfully.
You can’t stop the smile that pulls at your lips.
“Well boys, I’m not too bright,”
Oh, he’s good.
“So remind me what it was I just told y’all to do.”
Instead of actually doing it, one of the morons stutters out “Uh, well, you told us to leave sir.”
There’s a lull, Bucky’s frustration palpable, and a part of you believes he’s going to shoot them. In fact, you’re about to turn from the window to avoid the sight.
Before you can however, Bucky speaks again, his voice harsh. “So?”
Finally they gain an ounce of sense and urge their horses to move.
“Thank you sir.” The leader gasps gratefully, turning his horse around.
He’s smart enough to know he’s escaped a bullet, but not smart enough to see how his words irk Bucky further.
It doesn’t matter now. He and his morons are already racing away like the devil himself is behind them.
Maybe he is.
Bucky doesn’t move from the chair. Instead he watches as the gang disappears into the horizon.
When the sky grows dark, the sun all but gone, you pull back the curtain and move away from the window.
You’re lighting the candles and lamp on the sitting room table when the front door opens and Bucky steps inside.
Looking up at him, you straighten and say “That was...”
Trailing off, you frown as you realise you don’t really know how to describe what that was.
Watching Bucky handle the situation, making the four men appear stupid and harmless had been amazing, even though -
Even though they weren’t.
The realisation hits you then.
If you had been alone like you should’ve been, those men, those four men would have -
“Hey,” Bucky’s deep voice cuts through the terror settling in your chest - the terror he must see on your face. “You’re okay darlin’.”
But...
You’re vaguely aware of Bucky striding over to you.
“If you weren’t here -”
“I was.” Bucky cuts in, his voice leaving no room for argument. Grasping your chin, he tilts your head up until you meet his gaze. “I was here and that’s all that matters.”
The declaration is spoken gruffly, but the tender stroke of his thumb over your chin is comforting - the action belonging to your Bucky.
Your?
“Okay.” You reply quietly, after a few minutes have passed and his words have sunk in.
“You’re safe,” Bucky assures. “You’re safe with me.”
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It’s late at night, the moon high in the sky when you find yourself standing on the porch.
You can’t sleep, your mind refusing to be quiet.
Too much happened today. Too many emotions were brought to the surface, bringing with them revelations you’d been trying hard to ignore.
Ignoring them now seemed impossible.
You’ve never had romantic feelings for anyone. You knew long ago that your future would be a lonely one, and you had made peace with it.
Then he came along.
Instead of finding your usual place of contentment in the loneliness each time he left, you found yourself counting the days between his visits, eagerly listening for his knock on your front door.
Then came the feelings.
At what point did your heart choose to swell and thunder in your chest at the mere sight of him? At what point did you find yourself missing his watchful gaze when it wasn’t on you? At what point did you decide to trust him with your life?
In your relatively short time together, Bucky had somehow managed to carve out a space for himself within you, and you didn’t know how to get him out.
You don’t know if you want to get him out.
“Everythin’ alright darlin’?”
For a second you think you’ve imagined Bucky’s voice during your ruminating, but his presence beside you is real.
“Yeah,” You answer softly. “Was just looking at the stars.”
It was one of the reasons you came out here.
Humming, Bucky leans against the railing to your right, peering up. “There’s no better sight to fall asleep to.”
You remember him once mentioning that most of his nights were spent on the ground in the great nothingness.
“I’m sure,” You reply. “But I think I’d miss my bed every once in a while.”
Bucky lets out a faint chuckle.
There’s a comfortable silence as you both admire the stars twinkling above, but soon a prickling at the back of your neck has your head turning to find Bucky openly watching you.
“You drive me crazy like this.” He murmurs, almost to himself. “You drive me crazy all the time,” He amends “But especially like this.”
Like what?
You don’t have to find the courage to ask this time.
“Standin’ in your nightgown, smellin’ like lavender,” Bucky admits freely, repeating “Drives me crazy.”
Your body comes to life at his confession.
Goosebumps erupt over your skin and your heart pounds faster as a warmth settles low in your stomach.
“James...” You respond softly, not sure what to say.
“I haven’t stopped thinkin’ about you since we met. Every day, you’re my first and last thought. Always wonderin’ if you’re havin’ a good day, if you’re safe, if you’re thinkin’ ‘bout me.” He shifts closer to you, ducking his head until you’re eye level. “Wonderin’ what your mouth tastes like, how your skin would feel under my hands, what kind of sounds you’d make for me.”
Your breathing grows short and heavy as he leans in so his mouth is only an inch away.
“Gonna let me find out darlin’?” Bucky whispers against your lips.
“Yes.” Breathless and desperate, you add “Please.”
Desperate to be touched - loved, by him.
A thought you’ll come back to another day.
Bucky’s mouth claims yours gently, his lips softer than you imagined as they press against yours, his beard grazing your skin.
You’re tentative in your inexperience, but soon you’re pressing back with an eagerness Bucky happily returns. His tongue glides along your bottom lip, encouraging your mouth to open and when it does he consumes you.
Your arms anchor around his neck to steady yourself as his hands run down your sides to find purchase on your hips.
When you pull back for a desperate gulp of air, Bucky’s hands slip behind your body to grasp your bottom, making you gasp as he lifts you against him.
Securing your legs around Bucky’s waist, you cling to him as he carries you back into the house.
You use the time it takes to get to your room to feel him.
His beard scratches against the palms of your hands before you slip them into his smooth hair, all while you press light, shy kisses to the bare skin of his neck. The soft sigh Bucky releases enchants you.
Then you’re feeling the floor of your bedroom under your feet as he gently sets you down.
Bucky lowers to his knees in front of you, his eyes never leaving yours as his hands close around the hem of your white nightgown, his knuckles brushing against your calves.
The only lighting is the candle you left burning on your bedside table and the moon beaming through your thin curtains, but it’s enough to see the desire in his eyes - which is surely reflected in your own, as you nod to his unspoken question.
In one swift motion Bucky stands, slipping the nightgown up and off of you.
Your legs press together instinctively and your hands twitch with the urge to cover yourself once more as you’re hit with the vulnerability of being completely bared to Bucky.
“No darlin’,” He husks out roughly, grasping your wrists and holding your arms still as his heated gaze peruses your body. “Prettiest fuckin’ thing I’ve ever seen.”
The fervour Bucky speaks with has you weak.
Pulling you to him, Bucky’s clothes rub against your skin and for some reason make you burn even hotter as his mouth swallows yours in a passionate kiss.
Walking you backwards until your legs hit the bed, Bucky breaks the kiss to lay you down, crawling over you still clothed. His lips seek out your neck this time, sucking and nibbling at the skin.
The sensations of his mouth are soon drowned out by the sudden feel of his rough hands on your lower stomach and you gasp as he slides them up your body to cup your pebbled breasts.
For the first time, you moan.
Bucky’s head jerks up from your neck to look down at you, his expression ravenous as he massages your breasts, his thumbs flicking over your nipples as you feel the wetness pooling between your legs.
He lowers to kiss your mouth, this time slow and intimate as his hands continue their sinful touch, his right hand straying away from your chest to trail down and down and...
Gasping against his lips, your body shudders as you feel Bucky’s fingers push through the curls covering your sex, just millimetres from -
You reach for his wrist.
Bucky stops instantly, his hand stilling as he pulls back from your lips to meet your gaze.
There’s no way he doesn’t already know, yet you still find yourself needing to say “I... I’ve never...”
“I know darlin’,” Bucky soothes. “I’m gonna go nice and slow. Make you feel so good, I promise.”
You release his wrist.
Bucky’s left hand cups and rubs one of your breasts while his right continues its way down to where no man has ever touched you.
The whole time, you watch one another.
You gasp sharply when his fingers graze along your folds, feeling the wetness and warmth flowing from your centre.
It pulls a deep grunt from Bucky who dips down for a hot kiss.
“Gonna treat you s’good, sweet girl.” He whispers as he breaks away, moving down your body.
He’s never called you that before.
Say it again.
You’re torn from your thoughts when his mouth wraps around your left nipple while his right hand keeps caressing your sex.
Bucky switches his attention between each breast until you’re a wriggling, panting mess. With a smirk he moves even further down, planting kisses over your stomach as he goes.
Kneeling between your spread legs, Bucky wraps his large hands around your ankles before skimming them up your legs to grasp your thighs. He rests them on his broad shoulders, his warm breath fanning over your core.
Confused, you’re frowning down at him when he does the unexpected. Staring at you, Bucky lowers his head and licks along your slit.
Your hips buck up but don’t go far in his hold, your stomach tightening at the strange sensation as you let out a strangled noise.
Bucky makes a sound of satisfaction as he glides his tongue over your sex, his hands clutching your inner thighs tightly to keep you open for him.
This...
You’ve talked about sex in hushed whispers with some women in town but they never, ever mentioned anything like this.
When Bucky closes his mouth around your sensitive bud your legs jerk while your hands seek him out, gripping his hair firmly as you moan so vulgarly you don’t recognise your own voice.
“That’s it,” Bucky praises, licking your clit. “Keep makin’ those noises for me sweet girl.”
Your brain is nothing but a puddle of mush as one of his fingers pushes into you experimentally.
How long Bucky spends working you over, you have no idea, but eventually he’s pushing three of his fingers in and out of you.
You’re loud, making noises foreign to you as he licks, pushes, and sucks. It’s too much, it’s not enough, it’s...
“I’ve got you darlin’, come on, come for me.”
With one final suck on your clit, your body tenses and then snaps.
You shout out in your pleasure, tugging on the strands of Bucky’s hair as he keeps licking, watching you explode.
It’s not until your sounds turn into something small and pitiful at the overstimulation that he stands from the bed, his beard shining with you in the moonlight as he finally undresses.
You eye him hungrily in your dazed state, watching as his shirt flutters to the floor, followed by his trousers. Your stuttered breath fills the otherwise quiet room.
He’s...
Subconsciously, you press your legs together again.
Bucky tsk’s, his hands sliding under your knees and pulling them apart. “Sweet girl, what did I tell you?”
Settling between your legs once more, he hovers above you.
You can only hold his dark gaze for a moment before your eyes drift downwards.
His cock is hard, and leaking, and big. You don’t think they’re supposed to be that big. Your hand wouldn’t even be able to fit around it, so how was it supposed to fit in you?
“Like whatcha see darlin’?” You hear the smirk in his rough tone before you look up and see it.
Flustered, you mumble out a breathless “It’s big.”
Bucky groans deeply, like he’s in pain, and swoops down to kiss you, dominating your mouth.
“Don’t worry sweet girl,” He whispers against your lips. “It’ll fit in your little pussy.”
Shivering at his wicked tongue, your eyes dart down to look at it again.
“Can I touch it?”
Bucky grunts, watching you from underneath his lashes. “S’all yours darlin’.”
Timidly, you reach down between your bodies until you can wrap your hand around the base of his cock.
You were right, your hand doesn’t fit around it.
It’s hot and heavy in your palm as you give it a soft stroke before returning to the base. You repeat the action but this time you trail your thumb along the vein you had felt on the underside of his cock.
Bucky’s forehead drops onto yours, his breathing heavy.
A flick of your eyes upwards shows you that Bucky’s are closed, his jaw clenched tight.
The sight sends tingles through you and with a burst of confidence you tighten your grip around his cock and stroke him again, thumbing at his leaking head when you reach the top.
Hissing, one of Bucky’s hands shoots down to grab your wrist.
You look up and meet his open eyes.
Pulling your hand off his cock, Bucky husks “Won’t last if you keep doin’ that sweet girl.”
The statement thrills you.
Bucky’s hands wrap around your thighs, placing them over the top of his and spreading you beneath him.
Grasping himself in one hand, Bucky keeps his eyes on you as he slowly pushes into you. The stretch burns, making you bite down on your lip as you try to take all of him.
Stopping, Bucky lowers to capture your mouth while his other hand sneaks down to gently circle your bud, relaxing and distracting you as he continues to push in bit by bit until he finally bottoms out.
“You tell me when darlin’.” Bucky pants above you, unmoving.
A few minutes pass and when you feel like you’ve adjusted as much as you can, you say “Okay, just...”
“I’ll go slow sweet girl.” Bucky promises again, reading your mind.
True to his word, Bucky gradually pulls his length out of you before pushing it back in at the same pace. Your teeth snag your bottom lip again as he moves in and out of you, the feeling just shy of painful.
Bucky never looks away from your face, catching every emotion that flashes across it. You’re warm and tight - so tight, around his cock and it has him on the brink of madness. However, your pleasure is what he cares about most and when your face remains pinched on his fourth push into you, his eyebrows draw in concern.
As he pushes himself in on his fifth stroke, Bucky says “Darlin’, do you -”
You moan loud and short, the sound a mixture of bliss and surprise as the pain suddenly gives way to pleasure.
Bucky grunts above you, the look on your face seeming to make him even harder as he puts a little more power behind his next thrust, watching as it makes you moan again.
“There you go sweet girl,” He husks. “That feel good darlin’?”
“Yes.” Your hands wind in his hair, bringing his face down to yours for a desperate kiss as Bucky continues his slow thrusts.
Something’s clawing at your stomach, wanton. You need more.
Your right hand untangles from Bucky’s hair to slide down his muscled back, brushing over the bumps of scars as you hold onto him.
Breaking apart, you pant against his lips “Faster.” You don’t know how you know that’s what you need, but you do. “Harder, please.” You plead in a lustful tone.
You haven’t been oblivious to the wild look in his dark blue eyes, to the barely restrained control he exhibits.
However, your words, your tone, they undo Bucky’s control for a moment and in an almost uncontrollable action his hips slam up into yours as he grunts “Fuck darlin’.”
The powerful thrust claws a breathy whine of shock out of you.
“Gonna kill me, aren’t ya sweet girl?” Bucky murmurs thickly, reining his control back slightly as he does what you asked and pushes into you at a faster pace, his thrusts harder.
Your head pushes back into the bed beneath you as you moan out, the nails of your right hand digging into their hold on Bucky’s back while your left grips his hair tighter.
“Look at me.” Bucky commands in a tone so low you feel the rumble of it against you.
You tilt your head down to meet his heady gaze.
“James,” You whimper, the sensations building within you.
“Fuck.” He thrusts a bit deeper, pushes a bit harder, making you mewl. “I know, I know darlin’, gonna come for me again, aren’t ya?”
He gives another deep thrust, the force pushing you slightly up the bed.
It feels so good. You’re so close, you’re right there...
“Say my name sweet girl,” Bucky groans, rubbing at your clit. “Say my name when I make you come.”
A pleasure so intense it has your eyes rolling back erupts in you, making your whole body tighten and relax repeatedly as you moan, whine, and pant for James as you swim in ecstasy.
The sight of you coming so undone for him - because of him, sends Bucky hurtling.
Pulling out of your pulsing heat, his right hand wraps around his painfully hard cock and squeezes as he tugs it roughly, consumed by lust. On the third harsh stroke he spills over your stomach with a wrecked moan of your name.
Bucky’s forehead drops to yours, your heaving breaths mingling together as you both come back to yourselves.
Pressing forward, Bucky claims your mouth in a brief, sweet kiss.
“You okay darlin’?” He whispers.
A drowsy, satisfied nod is all you can manage.
⊷⊷⊷⊷ THE NEXT DAY ⊷⊷⊷⊷
You’re surrounded by warmth when you blink awake and it takes you a moment to realise the source isn’t the sunlight streaming into your room, but Bucky’s body underneath yours.
If heaven was a feeling this had to be close.
“Mornin’ darlin’.” Bucky’s voice is raspier, a clear sign he’s not long woken.
Tilting your head up from where it rests on his bare chest, you meet Bucky’s gentle gaze and give a small smile, quietly returning “Morning.”
In a movement too fast for your sleepy mind to comprehend, Bucky grabs your hips and effortlessly rolls you onto your back so he can hover above you.
Nudging your nose with his own, he captures your mouth in a tender kiss.
“How do you feel?” He asks after pulling back.
Images of last night rush back to you, flooding your body with heat as you answer honestly. “A little sore, but good.”
Humming, Bucky runs his left hand up and down your side. “Just good?”
You duck away from his burning gaze, making him laugh.
“Still shy after last night darlin’?” He questions, though it comes across more like a statement.
Regardless, Bucky doesn’t wait for a response, instead he leans down and kisses you again.
This one is deeper, his lips pressing against yours harder as you willingly open your mouth to him.
You feel the air in the room thicken as Bucky’s left hand continues to roam and grasp while both of yours stroke through his hair.
Despite the soreness between your legs, that desire from last night begins pooling in your stomach.
Breaking apart, you both breathe heavily as Bucky utters “Already need you again sweet girl.”
Pressing soft kisses all over your face before moving down to your neck where he scratches his beard against you, Bucky speaks against your ear. “But I gotta let you recover first before I ruin you all over again, don’t I darlin’?”
You shudder at his words as he places a final kiss below your ear before moving away and getting up.
He pulls on his trousers, his blue eyes swimming with desire as he peruses your naked body while doing them up.
Licking his lips, Bucky husks “I’ll get breakfast started.”
⊷⊷⊷⊷⊷⊷⊷⊷⊷⊷⊷⊷⊷⊷⊷⊷⊷⊷⊷⊷⊷⊷⊷
“When do you have to meet your friends?” You ask Bucky as he takes your plate and sets it with his own in the sink.
“Whatcha mean darlin’?”
“You said you were waiting to meet them.” You remind him, recalling the conversation you had yesterday.
Yesterday?
It felt like a lifetime ago now.
Bucky’s back is still to you and his silence makes you frown. “You’re... not meeting them?” You guess hesitantly.
Why would he lie?
If he wanted to stay longer, he just had to ask.
Turning around to lean against the kitchen counter, Bucky’s arms bulge as they cross over his still bare chest.
Despite the current circumstance, the sight makes your stomach flip.
Bucky observes you for a moment before admitting “I heard there was a new gang causin’ problems ‘round these parts.”
That’s all he says, leaving you to fill in the blanks.
Your heartbeat quickens at the possible implication of his words.
“So...” You prompt softly, daring to hope.
Pushing from the counter, Bucky steps over to you, his gaze holding yours as he rests a hand on the table beside you before ducking until your eyes are level.
“So I needed to make sure my sweet girl was safe,” He whispers, raising his other hand “And that she stayed that way.” Brushing a gentle finger over your cheek, Bucky finishes “I’ve got nowhere else to be darlin’.”
⊷⊷⊷⊷ 6 DAYS LATER ⊷⊷⊷⊷
For six days you’re in a world of your own, where only you and Bucky exist.
You knew it was only a matter of time, but that doesn’t stop the disappointment you feel when life finally crashes in.
Waking up to an empty bed for the first time since you surrendered yourself to Bucky, you don’t think too much about it as you slip on your nightgown.
Venturing out into the hallway, you freeze when you hear voices.
Fear begins to take hold until you push it back.
Bucky would never put you in danger. Of that, you’re certain.
“You sure? The law’s been gettin’ closer than I like.” An unfamiliar male voice states.
“We’ve been plannin’ this for too damn long to back out now.” Is Bucky’s reply.
Sucking in a breath, you know you really shouldn’t be listening to this.
Continuing towards the sitting room, you step louder than you normally would, alerting them of your presence.
Two men sit in your kitchen, their hulking figures making the small table between them appear child-sized. Their heads turn and two sets of blue eyes - one light, the other dark - land on you as you loiter awkwardly in the sitting room.
Glancing as long as you dare at the stranger, you note his dark blond hair which brushes against his dirty collar and wild beard that reminds you of Bucky’s the first time he knocked on your door.
You know you’ve seen his wanted posters, but his name eludes you.
“Darlin’,” Bucky crooks a finger at you, urging you over to him. “This is Steve, we’ve been friends since we were kids.”
Steve.
You could recall the name at the bottom of the posters now - Steve Rogers.
“Hello,” You greet shyly, offering your name as Bucky’s hands settle on your hips and pull you onto his lap.
Not meaning to interrupt them, you look up at Bucky in question. He squeezes your hips, telling you it’s okay.
“It’s nice to finally meet you,” Steve declares with a secretive smile. “I’m sorry for barging in.”
“It’s okay.”
“Are you?” Bucky grumbles at the same time, making Steve chuckle.
This one laughs too.
“I’ll give you two a moment.” Steve appeases, standing up and settling a worn brown hat on his head.
You realise he’s only wearing socks and find it oddly thoughtful that he took his boots off before coming in.
“We’ll have to get acquainted some other time.” Steve remarks, and by the way Bucky’s grip tightens you gather he’s only saying it to be a menace, especially when he adds “Maybe you can cook me somethin’ too.”
“Fuck off.” Bucky growls, but Steve’s already slipping out the front door with a grin.
Grumbling, Bucky lifts you off his lap and onto the table, fusing his mouth to yours.
Once he’s thoroughly reduced your mind to empty space, Bucky pulls back and orders “Don’t you dare cook him or any other man anything, ever.”
“James.” You sigh, smiling.
“You won’t like what happens if you do darlin’.” He promises in a darker tone.
The thrill that shoots up your spine suggests that maybe you would.
Regardless, you playfully huff “If you insist.”
“I do.” Bucky grunts before kissing you again.
When you break apart, the mood turns solemn.
“You have to go?” You ask, already knowing the answer.
“Yeah darlin’, I gotta go.”
Forcing a smile, you whisper “Okay,” as if you have any say in the matter.
Rubbing his nose against yours, Bucky soothes “I’ll be back darlin’, like always.”
⊷⊷⊷⊷ 3 WEEKS LATER ⊷⊷⊷⊷
Sighing, you dry the plate in your hands and eye the dishes you still have left. You probably would’ve finished the mundane task by now if you didn’t move so slow while daydreaming.
You spent most of today in the barn, completing chores. It wasn’t until the sun had almost set that you wandered back into the house and began making dinner.
Once these dishes were away you planned on taking a long bath.
Stacking the last plate, you pick up one of the candles on the dining table and blow out the rest, blanketing the house in darkness.
Using the light source in your hand, you check over the windows and lock the front door before trudging down to your bedroom.
Stepping into the dark room you can’t help but miss the moon and the light it provides as you place the candle on your bedside table.
Clutching the bottom of your pale yellow dress you lift it up and off, leaving you in nothing but a thin slip when you hear the unmistakable sound of a match striking.
Gasping, you whirl around as your heart hammers in your chest.
“Don’t stop on my account darlin’.” Bucky drawls, seated in the chair at the opposite corner of your room.
Waving out the match he just used to light the candle on the dressing table beside him, his dark eyes watch you like a hawk. “Go on.”
A shiver races down your spine.
This isn’t your sweet Bucky.
In an almost nervous manner you reach for the straps of your slip, hesitating for just a second before pushing them off your shoulders.
You hear Bucky’s deep inhale as the fabric pools at your feet.
“Come here.”
Your feet are quick to obey the order.
The candlelight flickers over his face, allowing you to take in his appearance.
He looks much the same as he left, beard full but tamed and brown hair reaching his shoulders. He’s a little dirty, but you can’t complain since you are too.
Bucky grabs your waist as soon as you’re within reach and pulls you down onto his lap, your legs either side of his as your naked breasts press into his shirt.
His hands move to grip your bottom roughly, drawing another gasp from you.
Grazing your lips with his own, Bucky whispers “I’ve missed you.”
You’re not given a chance to return the sentiment as his mouth captures yours.
The kiss is ravenous as Bucky takes everything he wants - everything he needs, from you. All you can do is hold onto him, your hands wrapped around his thick biceps as you let him take.
Both of you are panting for air when he eventually pulls away, his right hand gliding up your back to cradle the base of your neck and urge your head backwards, exposing your throat to him.
Running his nose under your jaw, all the way down to your collarbone, Bucky groans in satisfaction against your skin. “Smell s’good.”
It was merely coincidence that you had been using your lavender oil more often since his comment on the porch.
You feel him bite the place where your neck and shoulder meet - as if in claim, before licking over the spot, making you moan.
Bucky nips and sucks along your collarbone, dipping lower until he tugs one of your nipples between his teeth.
You don’t even realise you’ve started rocking against his hard length under you until both his hands seize your hips, halting your movements.
Raising his head, Bucky taunts “Desperate for me darlin’? Where’d my sweet, shy girl go?”
Why those words make you whine at him you have no idea, but Bucky loves it.
Smirking, he slowly rocks you up and down on his length and hums “Maybe my girl’s not so good, huh?”
You moan as he moves you faster, pressing you down to rub harder against his erect cock straining beneath his trousers. Your hands tighten around his biceps as your head drops to his shoulder.
“That’s alright darlin’, ‘cos I plan on doin’ bad, bad things to you.” Bucky murmurs in your ear, beard scratching as your sensitive skin.
His words added with the light press of his thumb on your clit undoes you, making you cry out his name.
If it didn’t feel so good, you’d be embarrassed at your quick climax.
Growling, Bucky stands while you’re still reeling in pleasure and carries you to the bed, manoeuvring your compliant body until you’re on your knees, face down.
He’s never had you like this before.
The sound of Bucky removing his belt has your hands gripping the sheets.
“Can’t wait any longer darlin’.” He grunts, shoving his trousers to the floor before grabbing your hips. “Been thinkin’ ‘bout this little pussy every day, dyin’ to feel it wrapped ‘round me again.”
That’s all the warning you get before Bucky pushes in, the intrusion tearing a shout from you, followed by a drawn out moan.
You feel so full. You didn’t realise how much you missed this.
How badly you’ve been craving it.
“That’s it.” He purrs, your walls clenching around him. “Fuck.”
Pulling out until just the tip remains, Bucky surges back in.
You whine again, clawing at the sheets beneath you.
“Oh, you are a good girl, aren’t ya darlin’?” Bucky thrusts into you, pitching your whole body forward as he bends down and husks in your ear, “‘Cos you’re gonna take everythin’ I give ya.”
The way he’s talking is hurtling you towards the edge again.
You don’t respond - you can’t, but Bucky’s not looking for a response.
Straightening, he begins pounding into you relentlessly. You swear the bed is going to give out with how it creaks as the frame bangs into the wall, competing with the sounds coming from you.
When Bucky’s large, rough hand trails under your body to cup your sex, his fingers sliding up until they reach your bud, you almost scream.
Chuckling out a groan, he states “You’re squeezin’ the life outta me sweet girl.”
Bucky’s fingers are as unforgiving as his cock as they rub tight circles on your clit, bringing you to that point.
“Come.” He growls, leaning over you to wrap his large body around yours as his fingers bully your bud. “Now.”
You’re helpless to his demand.
“James!” You squeal, falling limp as your release slams into you.
Moaning deeply, Bucky pulls out of your spasming centre and flips you onto your back. Tugging his cock, he spills onto your stomach, cursing your name.
Collapsing forward, Bucky catches himself on his left elbow, hovering above you.
You’re breathless, eyes fluttering as he lowers to kiss your lips.
It starts out tender but soon turns into something lustful as you feel Bucky growing hard against your stomach. Your resulting whimper breaks the kiss.
“Keep those eyes open sweet girl,” He whispers. “I’m not done with you yet.”
⊷⊷⊷⊷ THE NEXT DAY ⊷⊷⊷⊷
You wake wrapped in Bucky’s arms and a smile instantly spreads across your face. Lifting your head from where it rests on his shoulder, your smile widens when you realise his eyes are still closed.
Bucky always woke before you, yet here he is, fast asleep.
He looks different. Peaceful.
For a while you just watch him, listening to his steady breathing as you feel his chest rise and fall under your right palm.
Eventually you can’t resist the urge to brush his hair back from his face, which leads your fingertips to dance over his beard, down his nose, and over his mouth.
Your forefinger traces across his bottom lip before it’s suddenly snagged between his teeth, making you gasp then laugh.
Bucky’s eyes blink open and lock onto yours as he releases your finger.
“Morning,” You smile softly.
“Mornin’ darlin’.” His raspy voice after waking up is a sound you’ll never tire of. “What you doin’ up so early?”
Huffing at his teasing words, you sit up and move until you’re straddling his firm stomach, both your hands pressed against his chest.
“It’s not that early,” You glare playfully.
Cupping your hips, Bucky smirks “I just know how much my girl likes her sleep.”
My girl.
Lowering until your nose bumps his, you respond “I like spending time with you more.”
Bucky gives a quiet groan, his hands gliding up to cup your face and pull you down further until your mouths connect. It’s a slow kiss, every stroke of his tongue deliberate as he savours the taste of you.
He doesn’t let you go far when you break away for air, his nose prodding yours as he whispers “I have to go.”
“You just got back.” You can’t help but protest, eyebrows furrowing.
Bucky sighs, “I know darlin’.”
Rolling the two of you over so he can hover above you instead, Bucky’s forearms settle on either side of your head as he rests his forehead against yours.
“I got a... job to do,” Bucky explains vaguely. “But, when I come back it’ll be for a good while.”
You mull his words over for a moment before whispering “Promise?”
“Promise.”
He angles his face lower to place light kisses over your cheeks and down your neck where he then rubs his beard, well aware of how much it tickles your sensitive skin.
Once you have tears in your eyes and are stuttering for him to stop between giggles he finally relents, raising his head to meet your gaze.
The grin on his lips is much too boyish to belong to the man who spoke such sordid things to you last night.
“How ‘bout I get breakfast started?” Bucky suggests.
It’s at that moment, in the warmth and safety of your bed - of Bucky, in the little world you’ve started to create together that you realise you love him.
That you have for quite some time.
It’s in that moment, with his dark blue eyes shining down at you, his rough hands tenderly caressing your skin, and the lingering ache in your body from last night that you almost tell him.
Fortunately, common sense rears its head, snatching the words from you before they can tumble out and ruin everything.
You know he cares for you - maybe even adores you, but you don’t think men like Bucky Barnes can do love.
So instead you say “That sounds great.”
You’ll take everything you can from him before he leaves, knowing his absence will be even more palpable this time around with your realisation, and you’ll wait patiently until he comes back and gives you more.
⊷⊷⊷⊷ 2 WEEKS LATER ⊷⊷⊷⊷
Securing Chester’s reins around a post outside the general store, you give his chest a loving rub as he drinks from the water trough.
Moving around him to retrieve some money from the satchel on your saddle, the sound of running feet grabs your attention.
You turn in time to see a group of young boys race past, rushing towards the town centre.
“Hurry up or we’ll miss it!” One of the boys shouts back to his slower friends.
Frowning, you look around and notice that quite a few people are heading in the same direction.
Closing your satchel with the money still inside, you walk up the two steps leading to the general store’s small porch, intent on asking Billy what all the fuss is about.
A piece of paper stuck to the front door informs you he’s not inside. The messily written ‘be back soon’ only fuels your curiosity.
Striding back down the steps, you join the people making their way to the town centre.
It’s an underwhelming reveal.
Your eyes roll when you round the final corner and see that the gallows have been erected.
A hanging, of course.
What else drew such a crowd?
Certainly not one to enjoy such a gruesome sight, you turn around and head back the way you came. You’ll simply wait with Chester until Billy gets back.
You take four steps before stopping.
The whole town seems to be gathering - if not more. Only someone with a name important enough to know would be worth so much attention.
Don’t be stupid.
Fear turns your blood cold.
It can’t be him.
You’re thinking foolishly, you know that.
In what world did law enforcement ever actually catch a man like Bucky Barnes?
The notion was comical.
However, your need for reassurance has you spinning back around and trekking closer. You weave your way through the growing crowd, trying to catch a glimpse of the criminal yet to be led up to the high platform of the gallows.
After a few minutes you’ve only managed to make it halfway through the throng of spectators, the rough shoves of uncaring men hindering your progress.
Standing on the tips of your toes, you peer around the figures in front of you, looking to the left corner of the gallows where you know the stairs that lead up to the platform start.
You’re not sure if it’s just a trick of your overactive imagination, but for a split second you swear you catch sight of familiar brown hair and your breath lodges in your throat.
No. It can’t be. It can’t.
The next few moments seem to occur in slow motion.
A brief gap in the crowd gives you a perfect, straight line of vision to the brown haired man. The reveal of his face almost brings you to your knees.
No. No, no, no -
You’re frozen in denial at who you see.
James.
His hands are tied behind his back and two deputies flank him, ready to escort him up the stairs.
Your direct line of sight is broken by the crowd, causing everything to speed up as you finally kick into motion.
Like a desperate woman - because you are, you push through the crowd, ignoring the protests and elbows you receive. You don’t stop until you’ve reached the front.
Ducking around the unsuspecting deputy stationed to keep the mob at bay, you bolt to Bucky, sliding to a standstill in front of him, your shoes touching his boots.
“Darlin’,” Bucky speaks like the wind’s just been knocked out of him, his blue eyes wide.
“James what are you - they’re -”
You can’t speak. You can’t breathe.
This was Bucky Barnes, the famous outlaw. He didn’t get caught and he certainly didn’t die.
“You promised.” You gasp out, eyes itching with tears “You -”
“I’m so sorry baby.” Bucky’s voice strains in his effort to speak softly and you hate it.
As much as you hate that you can’t give a second thought to his sweetest term of endearment for you yet.
“Don’t -”
Regaining their wits, the deputies around you spring into action, one of them grabbing your arms from behind and pulling you backwards.
“Hey!”
“Don’t touch her!” Bucky spits vehemently, rearing forward only to be tugged back by the deputies either side of him.
Throwing your right heel back, you catch the deputy in his shin, forcing him to let go. You lunge at Bucky, clinging to the front of his shirt like it’s your only lifeline.
“Please James,” You plead, as if he has any say in this. “I love you, please.”
You should’ve told him. You should’ve told him that morning.
“Listen to me baby,” Bucky implores, his deep voice gentle like you know it can be with you - not soft. “I want you to know how much I love you, that you’ve given a meanin’ to my life that I had no right to expect, that no one can ever take from me.”
“James.” You choke out, throat tight with the tears that stream down your face.
He loves me. He loves me.
The beautiful declaration should fill you with happiness, not anguish.
“You’re the best damn thing that ever happened to me.” Bucky declares, lips curling as his blue eyes admire you.
When the deputy grabs hold of you this time there’s no chance of you breaking out of his tight hold even if you had the strength to try - which you don’t.
Your body is limp, weak, and shattered as you’re dragged away from the only man you’ve ever loved. The only man you’ll ever love.
“It’s alright darlin’,” Bucky insists over his shoulder as he’s pushed up the stairs, his gaze unwavering. “You’ll be okay, I promise.”
You’re shoved into the crowd - which parts from you in disgust, while you watch Bucky ascend to the top of the platform, feeling anything but okay.
They stand him beside the noose and your legs tremble as you subconsciously start walking backwards through the horde of onlookers - as if you can escape what’s about to happen next.
“Bucky Barnes...” A big, well dressed man addresses him before reading out his sentence.
They’re going to kill him.
Your hand shoots up to cover your mouth as the reality sinks in.
He’s going to die.
Only watching you - always watching you, Bucky’s mouth opens.
You can’t hear what he says, but you make out the words.
“Don’t watch.”
“Please.”
The pain suddenly burns you and your shoulders shake from the force of your tears.
Gasping in a deep, shuddering breath, you look at him one last time before closing your eyes, forcing yourself to honour his final request.
Why? Why does death have to take him from me too?
You’re barely aware of anything other than the affliction raging inside you, so you don’t know how you even hear it over the jeering crowd, but you do - a low whistle.
It shouldn’t mean anything to you, but something urges you to open your eyes.
Blinking through your tears, you turn your head to the right - where the sound had been loudest, and zero in on a man who towers over most of the spectators.
A black bandana covers the lower half of his face, but he’s looking at you, his bright blue eyes visible as he winks.
Steve.
Shifting his gaze from you to Bucky, he whistles again, this time a two tone note that’s loud and piercing.
All around you, people scattered within the crowd fling back ponchos to reveal guns that they fire up at the sky or towards the gallows, sending the crowd screaming and running as all hell breaks loose.
One of my top obsessive re-reads!
