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fullconstellationalt · 3 years

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my heart rn i’m - THIS IS SO WELL WRITTEN

As It Was, Baby

— Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Fem!Reader — Summary: Living right across from James Barnes was certainly an experience, but a much different one than most people expect. A neighbor who is respectful, funny and brings you food every now and then is any girl’s dream. Too bad you’re only his neighbor and nothing else. Or, at least, that’s what you thought. One stormy night changes everything and discovering that you mean more to the Sargent than you expected has life-altering consequences. — Word count: 6.7k — A/n: This is the FIFTH chapter of the series, if you haven’t read the first ones, i recommend you do. if you enjoy, feedback is appreciated & highly encouraged. mistakes/errors might be here, let me know if you find any.

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PREVIOUS CHAPTER —

Being in life-threatening danger for the second time in your life, ironically or not, evoked the same reaction in you.

It could only be the karmic and ironic way of life to go, that you’d end up in this position once again for the second man you’ve ever truly loved.

At least this time, your body wasn’t tied and shoved inside a tiny car truck and you had a little more belief that you’d come out of this alive.

Every time you closed your eyes and thought about your cell phone live tracking your location, a relief flooded through you as you reasoned on how fucked this idiot was once you were found.

Granted, the arms you desperately wished to come and wrap around you to show you things would be fine and you’d be safe wouldn’t be the ones your heart wanted, but that was okay— James was on the other side of the world, and knowing another friend of yours could be counted on like this was just as good.

He can’t come and save you or be the one to send you help if you don’t text him, you idiot.

That was another reason, of course.

Thomas drove for minutes with his eyebrows sweating profusely and his mouth mumbling things to himself most of the time — every now and then, he’d turn around to look down at you who were lying on the backseat of the car and he’d say stupid things that drugged out, lost egotistical men would say while kidnapping a woman, but you weren’t really listening — and this whole time, Sam or one of his friends kept flashing behind his eyelids, knocking one of Thomas’s teeth in.

Unfortunately, Thomas had enough time with you to do more than just drive you around.

During the hour you were alone with Thomas, all you could think about was how some people lacked character.

Certainly, many things were at play when it came to a person’s life and mind, and what made them live good and happy lives. Thomas, for example, was someone who had a shitty life as far as you could say, but that was no excuse for where the two of you ended up, of course.

Some gave excuses for the absolute crap decisions other humans like Thomas made in life, but you weren’t one of them.

Certain things were a matter of character.

Even in the most fucked up scenario in your head, you couldn’t think you’d end up doing something like this: kidnapping someone that you know is loved by another person just to hurt them.

Because according to Thomas, that was why you were now sitting in his raggedy, dusty old apartment.

“Your Sargent didn’t take me seriously, young lady. He thinks I’m fucking around when I say he needs to pay more attention to his job? I’m fucking not! He— it’s his duty. He’s gotta save people, not let them fucking DIE! He let my angel die, you hearin’ me? He let Nikita die, and my lil’ girl is gone of because of him, so he’s gonna fucking remember what is like being worried over people you love and then losing them. That’s what I’m gonna do with you.”

“You talk too much,” you replied.

His eyes had widened, and the next thing you knew a heavy hand was flying with its back pointed towards your cheek.

The slap was more of a shock than anything else, and the laughter that bubbled out of your chest came exactly because of the shock— the slap felt like lightning.

One second, your mind was in a moldy and smelly apartment in the Bronx.

Next thing you knew, you were in a random garage somewhere you never learned the location, ten years younger than now, with a mobster boss slapping the shit out of you for mouthing him off.

The pain that blossomed across your gums was the same, but it hurt even less this time.

“Wow.” You needed to buy time with this idiot, and if the you who was sixteen years old had enough loose screws to mouth back to horrible men back then, the you of now had even less discernment or patience for this bullshit. “You slap like a little bitch,” you tell him, looking him dead in the eye.

Rage is easy to identify.

The way Thomas’s eyes bulge out of his face and his entire body seizes in disgruntlement is nearly comical, but you know what’s coming next, too.

The punch hits much harder, and you feel the soreness spreading across your right cheekbone.

“Are you insane you little bitch?” he yells at you. “I’m gonna call that Sargent of yours and you better shut the fuck up if you don’t want to die hours before he gets here!” he inches closer to you and you retract in disgust, from both his smell as well as his breath. “I want him to think he has a fucking chance at saving you, and I’ll blow your brains out just before he gets here.”

As soon as he says it, Thomas starts palming you for your phone and you begin thinking about the things you need to do if you’re gonna survive this lunatic long enough for James to send help.

Sam. You texted Sam for help.

It’s when Thomas’s greasy fingers meet your phone in your jogger's pocket that you realize exactly what your feelings did—they’ve just saved you from possible death.

Texting Sam instead of James meant that Thomas wouldn’t find your live location sharing and that’s why when he points your cellphone under your nose and breathes out, “What’s your fucking password? Make this easy and I won’t bring out any of my knives to damage this pretty little face, kay?”

The voice of your father which lives inside of your head tells you to assess and strategize, so you pretend to swallow down your nervousness and nod slowly, pouting a little.

“It’s… it’s 020678.”

He types the numbers and watches the screen unlock, and your eyes browse around him.

There are multiple knives on top of his kitchen time which is visible from where he tied you in the living room— with just a glance you can see a few American flags and combat boots thrown on the floor.

A suspicion is formed and when your eyes glance at the exposed skin of Thomas’s neck, you can see the familiar cord that usually holds dog tags.

A military man.

Ex-vet, most likely.

It adds up with the tracking abilities, as well as hanging out at the same bar Sam and James normally do. The place is familiar amongst soldiers, but the knowledge is only enough to make you more lip-tied.

Thomas is already dealing James’s number, totally unaware of your searching eyes.

“—and think he’s got a chance. That’s all he’s gonna feel for a long while—helpless. Make him focused. Make him work for it. Damn government didn’t make him super for no fucking reason—why won’t he fucking pick up?”

Sighing, you tell him. “He’s on a mission.”

Thomas’s eyes snap back towards you. “Is that so?” he asks, nodding in a kind of a manic way. “Well, I believe we got time. I know he’ll pick up a call from you. ‘s only a matter of time. You his girl.”

“I’m not anything of his,” you tell him calmly, feeling with your wrists for how strong and accurately he tied those ropes. “You got that part wrong.”

“Don’t fucking lie to me.” Thomas’s nostrils flare and he hangs up the phone with an annoyed look. “And don’t fucking move a muscle.”

He goes out in hard stomps in the direction of the kitchen, and you sigh shakily as soon as he’s out of sight.

Sam has your location and even if they’re far, far away, they’ll send some help. He will.

The knowledge keeps you distant from a panic attack.

Just like thinking about how pops would find you kept you away from a panic attack, too.

NO.

You shake your head vehemently, willing away the painful memories before they end up being the ones responsible for your lungs to stop functioning altogether and panic to rise over you.

Thinking about how your father’s work led you to be in this position in the first place, only for your father to rescue you and end up dying in the car wreck, after all the blood loss from the gunshot he claimed hadn’t hit him made him dizzy and disoriented.

You made it.

He didn’t.

The mob boss who had captured you to get to him hadn’t made it either, but that was never a thought you lingered on for longer than a second.

It was how that night ended which had traumatized you for years— ironically enough, in that case.

Those are the memories you don’t need.

You need to be focused, because even if he isn’t as dangerous as a mob boss, an ex-vet who looked and probably was drugged out of his mind had his dangers, too.

Thomas returns from the kitchen with a bottle of whiskey in his hand and your cell phone tightly pressed against his ear, the pissed-off look set deep in his creased eyebrows.

How long had it been, now?

“He’s not gonna pick up, asshole.” You never really knew how to keep your mouth shut. “He’s working.”

“Shut the fuck up.”

You sigh and look away. “Rude fucker. I hate men like you,” you spit out. “Always one tragic event away from using the world as an excuse to behave like an animal.”

No one would say that your mouth open was useless—you always knew how to get a rise of people like him.

People without character.

You had been raised by your parents, that was for sure.

“Excuse me?” Thomas whispered in disbelief and simmering anger, and the hand with the phone hung up the call.

“You heard me,” you said out loud. “I don’t give a shit what happened to you— all of this?” you gesture your head around yourself and the situation he'd put you in. “This is a lack of character. Some people just don’t have that,” you announce proudly, tilting your chin up. “You lack character, Thomas. You’re not doing this because your ‘little angel’ died. You’re doing this because you’re a shit person with twisted morals and you know what? The world is filled to the brim with roaches like you. People who are sick to the core. Who got no respect, or love, or know what it’s to be good.”

Thomas listens to your words with his upper lip trembling and as soon as you’re done, he strides towards you with a vein in his neck popping.

“You have no idea what you’re talking about!”

“DON’T I?” you yell back. “Tell me why I’ve met people who went through hell and back and yet never acted out and hurt innocents on purpose, then? Tell me why I’ve met people who were handed literally dirt and blood and unfairness since they were born or for years and they still NEVER another person shittily on purpose, huh?!”

Thomas strikes you across the face again with the back of his hand.

You notice right then, that this isn’t him hitting like a little bitch— this is how he’s used to hitting women.

Laughter bubbles out of you again, shocked and now thoroughly pissed off.

“Oh, you’re a little bitch.” Blood pools inside your mouth from your gums and you spit it to the floor, laughing at him. Of course that’s who he is. Looking back into his eyes, you continue. “This ain’t your first rodeo hitting a woman. That’s why you’re hitting me like a little bitch, isn’t it? Oh, Thomas. I love when people prove my point. I do love to be right, you know?”

The shock in his face is almost enough to make you laugh all over again.

“Always love to be right, don’t you, little bug?” Your dad’s voice says loud enough in the back of your brain for you to hear it.

The common phrase and repeated memory also come back like lightning and that hurts way more than any strike Thomas could land.

“You know what might get your lover boy’s attention?” Thomas says out loud. He takes another sloppy and long sip from his whiskey, then puts the bottle down on top of his table. “Some pictures of your fucked up face.”

With that said, he punches your left cheek, then slaps your right one immediately after.

Pain radiates, bright and sharp all across your cheeks and it stings your eyes, making them water.

There’s more blood pooling on your mouth and to avoid swallowing it down and making you nauseous, you spit it out once again.

God, you wanna tell him so badly that if you’re released from this hold that you’ll kick him in the balls until he’s sterile, but that could tip him off into thinking you know something he doesn’t, so you keep your mouth shut.

The camera clicks while you’re still staring down, and your eyes shoot upright as he takes another shot.

“Ah, perfect,” he laughs maniacally.

He looks at the picture for a second before clicking around on your phone and, presumably, sending it to James.

“You think this will make him pick up his damn phone?” he asks you with a smug smile. As if he’s proud of himself.

Part of you wonders if repeating yourself will only make him more pissed off, while the other half can only think of the two hundreds of things you’d say to a man like this if you had superpowers.

Clearly you wouldn’t be in this position in the first place if that was the case, but the idea still stood.

“Not so talkative anymore? What happened?” he asks in that manic way of his, resting both hands against his knees to hunch lower and look you closer in the eyes.

“Ugh, if I open my mouth I’m gonna offend your sensitive senses with something I say, so I’m tryna hold back from my lovely commentary such as your breath fucking stinks!” you add at last, unable to help yourself at the disgusting smell that’s coming from his mouth breathing so much closer to your face.

As predicted, you were correct about his temper.

Thomas’s face twists in anger once more and his hand free of the phone comes for another strike across your face, and now with the bruises already set in both your face as well as inside of your mouth, the pain stings really badly.

Not bad enough to shut you up, but bad enough to bring more tears to your eyes.

“See? I know what I’m talking about,” you direct him with a bloody smile.

It’s clear in Thomas’s disgruntled and shocked face that he wasn’t expecting all of this to be your reaction to kidnapping.

Little did he know about you or your life.

Sometimes you thought about how much you wished that this earth was interesting and good enough for you to care whether you lived or died, but the unfortunate truth was: you were a nihilistic and slightly traumatized young adult living in a horrible reality filled with jackasses.

Someone like Thomas didn’t scare you.

The possibility that he might kill you did— despite it all, you weren’t dumb.

“You think you can, what—hurt my feelings?” he scoffs at you, and rubbing his nose with the back of his hand, he starts pacing around the living room right in front of you. “You can’t. You think you’re better than me for some fuckin’ reason and that you can judge me, but you got no idea what it’s like to lose fucking everything. How bad this world can fuck you up.”

You fought against the desire to roll your eyes, but the sneer on your lips was impossible to stop.

“That’s my fucking point. You’re trying to pin all this on the world but you are rotten. You forgot I noticed how much you’re already familiar with beating up women, hm?” you look away from him, unwilling to look at his face. “Trying to pin it on James, the death of your babygirl.”

You remembered well the details James had offered about that case—the guilt he carried over the civilians he couldn’t save.

“Our plane landed and the first thing we heard was the first collapse—” a sob was held by his metal hand pressing tight against his lips.

“She was already dead when he got there,” you pinned him with a fiery look. “We don’t have control over every single tragedy in this world, superpowers or not.”

“That’s bullshit!” he yelled, losing more of his temper. “He’s got everything and if he’s gonna be blessed with enhancements and live fucking forever, it’s his damn duty to be there before the shit happens!”

“He can’t predict the future, asshole!”

Thomas takes one step in your direction and this time, you see the slap before it comes.

“You think your precious Sargeant is one of those people you were talking about? So righteous and good even though shit happened to him, is that it?” Thomas asks you while you spit more of your blood onto his dirty floor. “Well, he ain’t. He’s been a sergeant for decades now and that means he’s got blood on his hands, young lady. He ain’t innocent at all.”

“Your perception of innocence and goodness is as fucked up as the screws on your damn head,” you spit back at him. You look up at him again, ignoring the throbbing you feel on your jaw and your mouth. “And yes, I do. James is ten times the man you could ever dream of being, for all the reasons I said before.” There’s enough conviction in you to make your voice come out steady and deep, and Thomas’s eyes are locked on you as you continue. “He’s been through things which would make you piss yourself in your pants crying like a fucking baby and he still came out on the other side just as good as he was before all the shit.”

Now that you started, nothing could stop you.

If Thomas wanted to hear why you thought James Barnes was a man to behold, you’d tell him with every word.

“You wanna know what having character is, Thomas?” you ask him, lowering your tone.

To your surprise, his eyes are frozen on yours and the way you’re addressing him.

Something about your guts and the fact that you are unable to cower in front of his facade of strength leaves him struggling to find his footing.

You take use of the shock to continue.

“Having character is being kidnapped like he was, used, abused, stripped of your identity like he was until his soul broke, several times, and he became a weapon against his own will at the hands of the people against which he fought for years, and still having so much soul that as soon as he was free from being waterboarded in their poison, he became good again.”

For the first time since you stepped foot in the apartment, the hot tears that pool in your eyes actually drip onto your cheeks, but that doesn’t waver or voice or stop you from finishing.

“He worried about things he did even when he had no control over them. They weigh on him. And he could have become something dark, something twisted and disgusting like you or whoever uses the dark parts as excuses, but he doesn’t. Bucky isn’t capable of deliberate violence until today, and he’s still good with kids, and he’s as respectful with women as he’s always been, and he still wakes up every day and tries to make a fucking difference in this world.”

Thomas starts pointing his index finger in your face, the twisted anger in his eyes steaming up and ready to boil.

“Neither one of you is better than me,” says Thomas.

“I quite disagree. My momma says I’m special and as for James, he’s worlds better than you.”

The next strike is an angry one.

This one splits the corner of your bottom lip open, and you think oh, if pops was alive.

This motherfucker would surely lose this hand before going to jail.

You spit out a little more blood on the floor, but even not swallowing it all down, you can start feeling nausea from the blood you inevitably swallowed.

“Ugh,” you mutter to yourself.

There’s nothing grosser than puking.

“You really are his girl,” Thomas scoffs loudly, and you hear the sound of the whiskey bottle being picked up again. When you glance up at him, Thomas is taking another big sip. “Arrogant. Fucking useless.”

“The name-calling’s starting to get a lil’ out of hand, man,” you say. “And I’m not his girl.”

The same moment you see the anger boiling out of Thomas's eyes and you realize the mistake of your words, is the moment you notice movement outside the window behind him.

“I didn’t ask if you two are going steady you little bitch. He’s in love with you and that’s more than enough for what I need. I just wanna see him suffer.”

Your eyes go wider at his words, which is a blessing in disguise.

Thomas is standing in front of the big glass window of his living room and the movement you saw a second ago makes itself a presence.

Holy shit.

“He’s… what?” you say, averting your eyes from the window before Thomas notices your shock is more from what you see than what you heard.

It’s not as if you’re gonna listen to a maniac who kidnapped you regarding James’s feelings.

Plus… he was out with a woman.

Shaking your head, you try to will those images away, but Thomas misunderstands your movement for denial and snicker at you.

“Pathetic.”

You must agree.

Thomas standing right in front of Spider-Man’s target while half-drunk and drugged out is what you define as pathetic.

“I agree,” you voice out loud.

As a true smile forms on your face, Thomas’s confusion returns a second too late.

He watches the smug happiness take over you as the window is propped open silently by Spider-Man, and before Thomas can finish the thought on ‘what is this bitch smiling about’, three webs are shot in his direction.

The first one envelopes his entire body and makes him drop like a piece of log on the floor— the glock he had on his hand and he left behind on the desk is the first thing Spider-Man picks up as he swiftly moves inside the apartment, and the second web flies straight to Thomas’s yelling lips.

The third one lifts his body up and locks it against the wall.

Watching it happen is the most fun you’ve had in years.

“Holy shit that was awesome!” you yell in happiness, and then start laughing. “Are you serious? That was amazing! Did Sam call for you?”

Spider-Man’s head tilts to the side and you don’t need to see his face to feel the confusion underneath it.

“Uh…” he starts.

“Hi! I’m Y/n.” With a bloody smile, you nod towards Thomas. “That idiot is Thomas. Could you free my hands, please? I’ve been trying to wiggle free, but the idiot’s also been in the military and he can actually tie a knot, so my wrists hurt like a bitch right now.”

“Uh. Yeah! Yeah, of course—one sec.”

The boy — because that voice is unmistakably a boy’s — goes around you to free you.

“Sargent Barnes called me, actually— he called me multiple times, to be honest, but I was in the middle of class and I totally missed the first three or four times, but then my friend noticed my backpack was vibrating like crazy and told me to pick it up and man, I’m glad that I did. He sounded pissed off. Like, properly pissed off.” As the boy rambles, you’re freed from the ropes and he helps you up.

You watched amused as he continued talking, gesturing wildly with his hands.

“He told me to come find you and sent me your location and said I am not allowed to leave your side until he’s here, so I’m gonna take you to my place while I take care of that one,” he points at Thomas, “and you’ll sit tight with my Aunt ‘cause if you know Captain and the Sargent, then I know I can trust you. Is it okay if I call you Y/n? I know you’re older than me, but you don’t seem that much older than me and calling you misses would sound really weird, but I could totally do that.”

There’s a second of pause, and your brain catalogs about ten different things about Spider-Man before you speak again.

Unfortunately, your brain also gets stuck in one piece of information he gives you and nothing else seems to enter your brain after that.

“Did you just say James is coming back? He still has days left on his mission, though?”

“I did. I’m a hundred percent sure he’s coming back. He said so himself. He said ‘Peter, I’m sending you the location. You’re gonna pick up my girl, you are absolutely forbidden of leaving her side until I get there in a few hours and you’re also gonna leave the person who took her in the second location I’m gonna send you, and when I’m there, you’ll be allowed to take them to the cops. You got me?’ Verbatim."

He’s coming back.

James is leaving his mission and coming back to you.

He’s in love with you.

Thomas’s words ring loud in your head and you nod, wordlessly to the boy in front of you.

His body looks almost like a ragdoll’s when Spider gets rid of it in the warehouse James provided him with the location.

He drops Thomas’s body in the empty, dark and humid place, right in the middle, but before you leave, you ask Spider for a moment.

As you had promised your father, no man lays hands on you without getting away with it.

The good thing about wearing heavy and platform boots with heels is that it takes only two strong, well-placed kicks to see Thomas writhing in pain and agony on the floor.

That should be enough to render him sterile.

“That’s for the bitch slaps you gave me.” With a pleased smile, you turn around to Spider. “We can go now.”

Spider has his whole upper body contracted in sympathy pain— every man seems to feel in themself when another man’s nuts are properly cracked and he needs only one second to recompose himself.

He shudders, but relaxes right after.

“You’re scary,” he whispers. “Bye, Thomas!” he waves in the direction of Thomas’s body, which is curled in a ball.

Initially, you’d thought that Spider boy would keep his identity safe and hidden, but when you two are out of Thomas’s sight outside the warehouse, he removes his mask and extends a hand to you.

“Hi again! I’m Peter.”

Well. There goes his secret identity— you chuckle at him, taking his hand.

Peter is a boy, just as you’d thought, and just as hyperactive without his mask as he is with it.

To your utter delight, the both of you get along phenomenally well.

He explains to you that he’s taking you to his house because your apartment is being analyzed for bugs and possible trackers, given how thoroughly Thomas had dedicated his past week into stalking you, and that for that reason you’ll have to find refuge in his place until James arrives.

“My aunt May is at work now, but she should be back in a couple of hours,” Peter starts explaining when you two enter his household. “Oh, shit. I’m gonna have to find a way to explain to her why I have a bruised girl up in my room— uh, I don’t wanna expose you or anything, so we’ll have to come up with a story that she can buy it; aunt May doesn’t exactly know about my other work. I mean, sometimes I think she might? But then— “

“Peter?” You interrupt him.

He’s the perfect picture of an ADHD kid. Thankfully, you had plenty of cousins and knew how to deal with that level of energy quite well.

“Yeah?”

“We can tell your aunt that I’m the person who gave you a tour guide at the NYC when I found you lurking around the university a while ago and for my utter luck, you were the person who found me being robbed of my only few precious possessions,” you tell him, offering what you hope is a soothing smile.

Clearly your face isn’t the picture of comfort right now, but he breathes in and out with clear relief.

“Oh.” He smiles back at you. “That’s good! That’s really good.”

“Thanks.” You look around his living room.

“Y/n?”

“Yeah?” you look back at him.

Peter’s looking at you with open and concerned eyes. “Are you okay?”

The pain of everything is somewhere at the back of your chest and the truth is— you’re not. Without the adrenaline and the shock running through your veins it’s hard to point all the hurt and the cracks in your well-developed armor.

But Peter isn’t the person equipped to handle any of it.

Or at least, he isn’t the person you want it to.

“I’ll be okay.” It’s the truth, even if it sounds like an excuse at the moment. “I’m… this isn’t the first time this happened,” you shrug your shoulders. “I’m just annoyed at the nausea and the blood drying, if I’m honest.”

“You can take a shower!” he offers quickly, gesturing upstairs. “If you want, of course? I can’t leave you alone, but I can borrow you some clothes.”

You nod at him and he starts leading you to his room.

“You sure that you can’t go grab some clothes for me at my apartment?” you ask.

Peter gives a very honest and nervous laughter. “I’m very sure. That verbatim was no joke. That man will tear one of my limbs apart if I leave you alone and I quite fancy my limbs.”

“Right.” James is coming back.

He’s leaving his mission in god knows where to come and find you, even though he knows that you’re safe and sound in Peter’s hold. Even though he called Peter himself and made sure that you weren’t left alone.

He’s coming back for you.

The inside of your chest feels like the eye of a storm.

There’s so much going on all around you, in the corners of your body and your mind, but currently, without him, the false calmness seems to be enough to keep you grounded.

Peter does as he promised and gives you a spare change of clothes and you take your time to clean your wounds in his tiny shower.

When you come out of it, you find Peter sitting on his bed with a sheepish smile and his computer hooked up with a Ghibli movie.

“It’s Princess Mononoke,” he points at the screen.

Dumbfounded, you stare at the screen and Peter. The edges of the storm inch closer to your heart and water threatens to spill out of your eyes, but you blink them away.

“Sargent gave me the tip. Well, technically he texted me ‘put one of the Ghibli movies to distract her, I should be there soon. Choose Mononoke, it’s her favorite one’, so…” he pats the place beside him on the bed. “Wanna watch?”

Wordlessly, you sit down beside him and inch close enough for your arms to brush.

Peter presses play, somehow aware of why you need the physical proximity.

The movie starts, rendering your mind captive the entire time.

You don’t say a word throughout half of the movie, and when Peter leans in to whisper that he’d never seen this one before, you two start discussing in hushed whispers about Ghibli movies and what other movies the two of you prefer.

His Aunt eventually arrives and the excuse you two had preferred works wonders— she fusses over you and gushes over Peter’s help, kissing both of your heads and talking for over an hour about the dangers of this city and how lucky this youth was to have each other’s back in such a way.

May feeds the both of you, and you retire back in the bedroom upstairs after dinner.

Peter must sense your growing uneasiness because he props Arriety in his computer, claiming that to be his favorite one.

That’s the position in which James finds the both of you.

Huddled close together with the credits of Arriety playing and you two talking about the beauty of watercolor works.

At first, you don’t notice his presence.

But Peter must have heard him coming in, because when you’re done making your point, he nods to you and turns his attention to the door behind you.

Immediately, your eyes snap to your back, too.

James is standing under the threshold with the same storm in his eyes as you feel in your chest.

“Well— I’m gonna go! I’m gonna check on her place ‘cause Ned is done with his check-up of her accounts and the security cameras, and so far he hasn’t found anything and… You two aren’t listening to a word I’m saying, right?... Right. Uh—feel at home. I’ll be downstairs.”

With that, you feel the bed dipping and becoming lighter, and Peter leaves his bedroom to leave you and James alone.

When he’s out, James crosses the room in two strides and envelopes you in his arms in the tightest hug he’s ever given you so far.

As soon as his arms are around you, a broken sob escapes his chest with an apology.

“Y/n. Baby, I’m so sorry, I’m so, so sorry this happened to you,” his words are muffled and broken into syllables in the place where his face meets your neck, and the hot tears spilling out of his eyes make it easy for the storm inside of you to erupt out.

When you start crying too, James picks your body up from the bed with the ease only a super-soldier could muster and then he sits himself down on the bed, pulling you onto his lap.

“It’s okay. Buck, it’s okay— I’m okay.”

The words are said between tears, too, and you wrap around his body like an octopus.

Your legs come to wrap around his waist and like that, James can hug you even closer.

Time is irrelevant as the two of you hold each other close.

James whispers continuous apologies, and you feel the sadness and guilt in each one of them.

You whisper back reassurances, claiming that none of this is his fault, because you know it isn’t.

“What am I even doing? I should be the one calming you down and reassuring you right now, not the other way around,” he sniffles, cleaning his nose on the sleeve of his forearm.

With his head a few inches apart from yours, you can see his swollen eyes and the bags underneath them.

“You’re allowed to worry and feel sad,” you whisper back to him, sniffling too. “It’s not your fault, though.”

“Y/n,” he protests, shaking his head.

“Bucky. That man was unstable, drugged and had faulty reasoning to say the least.” You grab his head between your hands. “You and Sam saved me.”

At the mention of Sam’s name, something else flashes in James’s face and you know what’s coming next.

“Why did you text him?” he asks in a low voice.

His arms which were wrapped tightly around your waist and back seem to loosen their hold a bit at your question, and you feel empty without them pressed firmly against you.

He’s in love with you.

I’m a hundred percent sure he’s coming back.

“I didn’t know if I could reach you,” you answer truthfully. Next, the answer that’s been plaguing your mind since the view of him and the women stained your eyesight is out of your lips before you can stop yourself. “Who was that woman with you at Milky Way?”

The look James gives you is nothing like ever before.

He’s looking at you like he’s properly seeing something for the first time.

It stirs something bright and alive inside your ribs, and when a smile shows up at the corner of his lips right after, you know that if you had any chance of hiding how in love with him you were before today, it just became impossible.

“Sam was right,” he whispers out loud, sounding like he’s talking to himself more than anything else. “Baby,” he whispers again, and leans in closer to you.

His forehead comes to rest against yours, and the metal hand which was caressing your back comes up to your nape, holding your head close against his.

“I was on a mission, my precious babydoll,” he tells you, and the words steal all the air you had left on your lungs.

The words sound like you silly girl. My precious, silly girl, how could that have been anything else?

“I’m so sorry I answered you in such a cryptic way, I didn’t wanna risk the mission and I had no idea you’d see it.” James shakes his head, and you only know that because you feel his forehead moving against yours.

With the breath stolen out of you, your eyes close instinctively.

Your lips feel like droplets of water on top of a sound-system—shaking, vibrating with the need to cry, or perhaps find haven in the pair of lips which are so close to yours.

“Bucky.”

“Doll,” he laughs, bright and happily. “I’m in love with you, Y/n.” The words prompt your eyes open, and staring right into the depth of his sky blue eyes has the power to make you feel like falling in love all over again.

Those eyes, staring at you like you’re the most important thing in the world.

Like you’re everything he’s seeing and some more.

“I’ve been in love with you for so long now that I don’t even know when it began,” he continues in a soft whisper.

“I’m in love with you, too,” you whisper back at him. There’s the feeling of water trailing down your cheeks, and you blink hard to clear your vision because not seeing him right now feels worse than anything you could’ve been through today.

“You are?” he asks, smiling even bigger.

“‘Course I am.” Your hand which was tightly holding onto his shoulder comes up to his hair, running your fingers through it and holding onto them. “You’re everything.”

The look and smile he gives you has the power to clear the entire storm which brewed inside your chest.

One smile from James and suddenly, it’s all clear skies once more.

“I’d kiss you now, but,” his flesh hand leaves your waist to gently brush against the cut on your lip. His eyes darken as they look at the wound. “Don’t wanna hurt you. Our first kiss shouldn’t hurt at all,” he adds, then closes the minimum distance to press a kiss very close to your mouth.

“Does that mean you will kiss me?” you ask, feeling even more tears spilling from your eyes, but this time from happiness.

“I’ll kiss you.” James holds your face between both of his hands, and looks deep into your eyes. “I’ll give you everything you ask me, Y/n.”

The world explodes in colors around you, and you wonder how you’d lived so long blinded.

“And I’ll give it all back to you,” you press a kiss to the corner of his lips, too.

For now, that’s all either of you needs. For now, that’s everything and some more.

It’s only the beginning.

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