#but because of redacted's coat if i do go both days and it's hot we may have a problem 😬

[beepbeepdespair]

sigh... why are my cosplay plans always at the mercy of the weather...

[maltedroses]

Happy Anniversary Dear, f overhaul x f reader

Chisaki, one of the most dangerous high profile criminals who was still roaming free. The soon to be queen of the criminal world. A slim curvaceous woman with piercing golden eyes that were as cold as they were beautiful, and your wife.

So what happens when your anniversary surprise is ruined.   

 Chisaki was never a high maintenance woman, well that was a lie considering how she frequently demanded the place to be spotless.

 “Dirt and grime will build up if we don’t keep this place clean, do you know how gross that is? Makes me sick”

 But other than that, she didn’t demand much, a simple woman really who would only occasionally indulge in lavish 

 or to pamper her wife. So it wouldn’t be hard to surprise her on your anniversary right?

 No. In fact it was disastrous. First you accidentally added salt instead of sugar to the dessert you spent hours making which led to you crying and while you were busy wallowing in the sadness of your mistake the meal you had in the oven burnt.

 Great, I ruined dinner, the kitchen is a mess, I don’t have time to clean the whole place and make a whole new meal, and Chisaki is going to be home soon.

 You sigh, throwing the food into the bin so much for that.

 “Fuck, what am I going to do? I practically ruined my anniversary, my wife’s going to be here soon tired and this mess is only going to make her more frustrated if the damn expandables didn’t already eat up all her patience at work” you put all the dishes in the dishwasher remembering to wash them later. “I didn’t want it to come to this but desperate times call for desperate measures I just hope she doesn’t notice” you take a deep breath before dialing a number on your phone

 “Um, hello? Is this [redacted big name Italian restaurant franchise]”

  “My work here is done” you look at the candlelit setup, the satin white table cloth without a single crease, a bottle of wine sat in a tub of ice at the center of the table surrounded by rose petals “Everything is perfect the only thing missing now is me” you look at the time  10 minutes.

It should be enough time to let you shower and get dressed, you rush over to the bathroom and get in not caring about whatever setting the water was on, taking a quick shower. You rushed out not even fully dry quickly dressing, brushing your hair as you strapped the buckles of your dress.

 “You know that’s a fire hazard, leaving candles unattended” 

 You swiftly look over your shoulder and see your wife. “Chisaki, you’re home early” you stand before your mob boss wife.

 "I am?" She hums removing her gloves, her soft hands reaching towards yours, intertwining your fingers together lowering her head. "I guess I am, considering what day it is today" she softly kisses your hand before she presents you a velvet box "happy anniversary dear"

 "Oh Chisaki, you didn't have to" you gush not even opening the box.

 "Just open it, I promise you'll like it"

 You open the box and start to cry, it was a dark wood collage picture frame. The pictures were organized in chronological order, from when you two first meet in the first year of high school, small dates and special occasions in between, to the day she proposed to you in front of the flower garden where you two technically had your first date. 

“Chisaki… this is so beautiful thank you” she patted your shoulder nuzzling her head against yours. “I know I'm not around as much ever since I became head boss and every time we do spend time together I felt that I tried to make up for my absence by buying you things so I decided to get you something more sentimental and personal.” 

You kissed her cheek “I got you something too” giggling while your hand caressed her thigh “although I think it's better if I give it to you after dinner~”

“Oh really? I was thinking about having it for dessert instead” she smirked, holsting you onto her lap, hand resting on your lower back and making its way to your ass giving it a firm squeeze. "I could just eat you up right now~” pressing her soft lips against yours. “ You outdid yourself from the looks of the table, we wouldn't want your hard work to go cold” she pouted.

“Oh right the food, yep nothing but the best for my wife” you lied between your teeth, fuck am I really giving my wife take out and passing it as my own? Is the love of my life really worth takeout to me, and on our anniversary of all days?

“_, are you coming?” Chisaki looked down at you with a mildly concerned look on her face “you look distracted, is everything ok?”

“Oh uh yeah all is fine I was just thinking about how lucky i am to have you”

“You're so starstruck, what are you in, highschool?” she jokingly jabbed.

“Me? You're the one who almost passed out trying to ask me out on a date back when we first meet” you headed over to the table taking your wife by the hand.

“I was nervous, besides the whole having feelings for someone else was new for me. I hated you for a while for making me feel weak, now I'm just glad to have met you”

“You're such a sap, I love you.”

The bottle of wine had long been gone, the two of you looked at each other with a loving gaze while feeding one another strawberries and other things.

"Let me get that for you" she pulls you into a kiss “hehe you had whipped cream on the side of your face~” her face was tinted pink and sounded a little slurred she was tipsy, not drunk, you both were and the night had barely begun.

“I know it’s a little late but if you don't mind I still have to give you your present” you teasingly lifted your dress a little slightly showing more thigh than before.

“Oh~ I like where this is going, just not on the table we eat here” she got up slowly stripping and making a makeshift trail of her clothes.

“Oh baby I’ll be eating you in a moment” giggling at your own joke. By the time you arrived at your shared bedroom, she was only in her panties and lace stockings. 

Damn, she’s so beautiful.

“Come here _, on your knees”

You crawled over to her resting your head on her lap, she gently caresses your face rubbing her thumb over your lip. “You’re the best thing I could ever ask for, now I’m going to treat you like a queen~” she grabs you by the shoulders and lifts you resting you on top of her, hands reaching over for your dress straps, soon the two of you were only in undergarments with Chisaki overhauling your bra away, she kisses you kneading your breast as you pull on the seam of her panties, pressing your thumb against her clit. 

She sucks on the nape of your neck while grinding against your hand, her juices lightly coating your hand. “Hehe, you're so wet, I'm not even using my fingers and you’re already wet. So desperate for my touch, well guess what babe, I'm gonna give it to ya” you thrust two fingers in her your thumb circling around her clit. She spreads her lips for you looking at you with pleady eyes more they beg. You lean in giving her a sloppy kiss “I'm going to push you on edge and have you scream my name, make you cum until it hurts, and make you a nice warm bath then fuck you there too.” She nods thrusting against your hand “Yes ma'am” she mewles

“Good girl” your fingers plunged deep into her moist core, her cunt quivering around your fingers. She arches her back granting you full access to her plump breasts, you take the opportunity and wrap your lips around her perky pierced nipple, sucking and biting the sensitive bud. Her nails dig deep into your skin scratching at your hips, tearing off your panties in the process.

“Fuck me_, please fuck me!” she cries wrapping her legs around your waist, her nails rakinking down your back.

“You're such a naughty girl” you harshly kiss her, pulling your hand away from her dripping cunt, reaching to a nearby drawer pulling out fuzzy handcuffs “and naughty girls need to be punished~” swiftly handcuffing her to the bed. You kiss her abdomen and pull off her panties with your teeth, your hot breath hitting her pussy. You give her folds a slow long lick ignoring her clit, she whines pressing her thighs together locking your head with them. “Playing dirty I see” you roll your eyes and nip at her labia, she gasps and quickly retracts her legs.

“You don't always get what you want Chisaki, I'm afraid this is one of those times” you flip her over “just remember you brought this onto yourself”

Smack!

The first hit lands on her ass, she hisses pulling on the cuffs shooting you a dirty look.

“Oh love don’t look at me like that” you giggle “this is your punishment after all for being naughty it's supposed to be unfair if that's what you're thinking.”

“You can be a real bitch sometimes you know that” she growled licking her lips, in the blink of an eye she waf free from the fuzzy restraints and pinned you “now it's my turn.” She grinded her pussy against yours putting all her weight against you, grabbing the metal part on the cuffs with her free hand  she turned it into a small dildo shoving it inside you.

“If  you can last 5 minutes without cumming I’ll bottom for you~” she mockingly whispers as her fingers quickly work away with your pussy, your tight muscle wraps around her fingers and the small metal inside you. Not now you wouldnt easily let her break you, but you also yearned to be fucked by her. “Just fuck me already” you sigh in defeat.

“Hmm I don't know I’m kinda tired” she fake yawned releasing you before rolling on the other side of the bed “but ill make it up to you okay? Softly gazing at you while brushing her fingers through your hair.

“Fine just because you're tired”

[bitsandbobsandstuff]

A love that never leaves (6)

Summary: Sometimes when you go looking for the past, you find things you never expected. When an accident brings him face to face with something he never knew he lost, Bucky Barnes begins to understand an age old truth – it’s so easy, sometimes, to love the things that destroy us.

Characters: Bucky Barnes x Reader Warnings: Bad language. Buckets of fluff.

A/N: Bucky’s reaction to the story takes her by surprise, a poor old truck gets hot-wired, and Bucky uses an ax because if Steve can do it so can he. Here’s what happens after the reveal. After this chapter, things take a turn for the angsty (shocking I know), so please bathe in the fluff while it’s here.  

Tags are open, if you want on the list please send me a DM or ASK, it’s easier for me to track. Otherwise you can find the new updates each weekend!

MASTERLIST ALTNL MASTERLIST

PREVIOUS CHAPTER

Previously...

Just like that, he offers his whole heart and she gives hers freely in return. Both know their world is dark and unforgiving, and this war could make liars of them both, but neither cares. To find love in this bleak life is a rare opportunity and the temptation is too strong.

Bucky kisses her one last time and rises to his feet. She watches him pause at her bedroom door to give one more crooked smile, and then the door is clicking shut and he’s gone. Alone again, she curls into a ball under the heavy blankets.

It’s hell, she thinks, to love a soldier.

Burying her face in the faded green pillow, her heartbroken tears fall fast and thick, soaking silently into the soft cotton.

*****

MISSION REPORT

LAST MISSION PARAMETERS RECALLED AND RE-ACTIVATED. APPROPRIATE TOOLS COMMANDEERED TO ADDRESS ISSUES AND SECURE ADDITIONAL SUPPORT. SECOND ATTEMPT AT CONTACT WILL BE UNDERTAKEN BEFORE PROCEEDING WITH FINAL PLAN.

He fingers the blunt edge of the tool. Scratches his temple with it and closes his eyes.

His whole body is shaking.

His whole body is sweating.

Now he digs that blunt metal into his temple until the skin splits. A thin line of blood follows the path of his jawline, dripping into his lap.

*****

Is it really any different than the morning he left? Orange flames dance in the fireplace, a comforting tune. The fire is soothing, but the silence is the opposite – thick, heavy, and colored with confusion.

Bucky sits in the armchair. Elbows propped up, one metal, one human, both digging painfully into his thighs, he keeps his face buried in his hands. There’s a dull throbbing in his head and for the first time he can remember, he has a fucking headache. The door in his head, the one that opens into the past when the memories come calling, is still shut tight. He can feel them behind it, pounding like a battering ram to break free, but nothing happens.

The door stays closed, the past stays hidden.

And he stays perfectly still.

The leather of her chair creaks as she rises to her feet, walking to the bookcase without a word. Dropping his hands, Bucky watches her select a fat novel from the bottom shelf. When she turns to face him, he sees her open it to reveal a hollow space - inside lies yet another small lockbox. Scrolling through the dial, she selects a series of numbers and it clicks open. Pulling free a thick packet of paper, she sets it gingerly on the coffee table and steps back to wait.

In front of him lies a pile of envelopes, cracked and yellowed with age. Raising wary eyes, he finds her watching at him, her posture rigid.

“I just threw everything at you. I’m sorry, Bucky. I don’t know what I thought would happen, maybe I should have told you in the beginning, but the last time we met you didn’t know, so I wasn’t sure at first and then I didn’t know how to say it and then time passed and it was so – it was nice to have you here and I didn’t want to freak you out and I know life is completely different now, neither of us are who we were during the war, you don’t – ” she breaks off, aware she’s rambling.

Shaking her head, she just stops. Stares beseechingly at him, waiting.

There’s his cue, the one telling him to speak.

He opens his mouth, but nothing comes. He closes it, staring at her. Then he tries again – but his voice is gone. Shaking his head, he looks back at the letters.

“Okay,” she whispers, and he hears a catch in her breath. “Okay. I don’t – expect anything. You don’t have to respond. I can just – give you some space.”

She walks to the front door of the cabin and gathers her coat from the rough wooden peg. Hand on the doorknob, she looks back once more to find him hunched immobile on the couch, staring at the pile of paper, and her shoulders fall.

Cold air breezes through the door and then it snicks shut. Like always, Bucky is left with nothing but the echoing silence of his thoughts.

Long moments pass before he reaches for the letters. A thin, dirty white string binds them together and it takes several tugs to release. The paper crackles warningly under his fingers, a result of old age and frequent readings, and he handles them gently. Selecting an envelope from the top, he opens it carefully, unfolding a delicate sheet of paper.

It’s like an electric shock, when he sees the writing.

Faded letters spill across the page, narrow words in a firm backhand slant that Bucky recognizes. So many things about him have changed over the years, but his handwriting was never one of them. Through the decades it’s remained the same, unalterable as the blue of his eyes and that small bit of constancy was a weird blessing to his fractured sanity.

One sweep of the letters and there’s no doubt in his mind. They’re from him. That fact is irrefutable.

His eyes scan down the page, picking out snippets of text. Occasional words and phrases are redacted, inked over in swipes of black where the US Army got exasperated hands on his stories, but most of it is there.

And there, in the warm little cabin, the truth of her memories shines like a beacon in the darkness of his past.

February 27, 1944

…so damn cold up here. I had ice in places I’d rather not say.

I swear to god, there’s nothing I’d like more right now than to be back in your arms. Can’t stop thinking about our last night – the boys are giving me hell every day, telling me to stop mooning around, but you make it real damn hard to think of anything else.

Sure as hell won’t say it in front of those idiots, but I got to thinking the other night and I don’t know what it is you bring out in me, but I figure you’ll indulge me getting all sappy for a minute. That morning we headed out, I left something pretty damn important behind - so I’m asking you to hold real tight to my heart darlin. You stole it fair and square that day we met, and I know there ain’t a safer place in the world than in your hands. 

Stay warm and stay safe.

Love,

Jimmy

May 2, 1944

…and I don’t know if I’ve ever laughed so hard! We’d set up a row of bottles we found and were throwing Delilah around, trying to knock them off and G got a little cocky. Tried to throw it behind his back and it ricocheted off a god damn tree, hit him in the knees and knocked his legs out. He fell face first, got a mouthful of mud and I swear to god, we laughed for an hour. Every time I thought we were done, G got this look on his face, acting all high and mighty, and it set us off again. He recovered just fine, but his knees were bruised all black and purple. It’s good for him though, keeps him humble.

G says hello, by the way, and hopes you’re doing well.

And now the rest of them are hanging over my shoulder and asking if they can all come over someday and you can make them that potato soup you made for me, and I’m sorry, I promise I’ll find new friends when this damn war is over…

Love,

Jimmy

July 23, 1944

You know, the first thing I want to do when I get home, is go to one of those drive-in movie theaters. I don’t know if you’ve heard of them, they’re new in America, but it’s a real basic idea - there’s a big screen and you drive into a parking lot and watch a movie from the car. It sounds weird, but I went once and it was great. And good lord, the teenagers love it. They pretend to watch a movie and spend the entire time getting all frisky, and no one’s the wiser.

So, here’s what I’m thinking.

You. Me. A big box of popcorn and a couple bottles of Pepsi. It’s dark outside and once the movie starts, no one will pay us any attention. Maybe we watch the movie, or even better - maybe we don’t. I can’t think of anything I’d love more, than spending two straight hours kissing you. You’re already an addiction for me darlin, but add a little salt to your lips, and I don’t think you’ll ever get rid of me. We could steam up the windows, give those kids a run for their money. I can’t wait to show you.

You’re going to love it, I promise.

Love,

Jimmy

September 18, 1944

Morning Darlin,

I’m on watch and it’s early, suns not even up yet. Should be paying attention and I am (I swear!), but the stars are so damn bright and like everything beautiful in this world, they make me think of you. You know, I never understood how many stars there were until I got to Europe. Never saw much of anything growing up, the city lights were too much. Now though, I sit here, and there’s this – infinity, I guess – staring back at me and it makes me feel small. Like I’m this tiny thing in the universe and why the hell would the universe care about one more soldier with a busted conscience and too many kills to his name.

Don’t get me wrong. It’s okay, in the grand scheme of the world. I don’t need to be famous or remembered or anything. I’m okay being one of many, because there’s a big damn difference between me and every other schmuck out here sweating and humping through the mud.

That big difference is you. This thing we have, it keeps me going. Every damn day.

Your last letter came just when I needed it. Been real hard out here lately. More than it’s ever been. How the hell’s this thing not over? How’d the world get here? I don’t understand it. Never will. All I know, is that I’m so damn ready to hang up my gun and put this all behind me. No more killing, no more tramping through the rain and camping in the snow. No more sleeping with a gun in one hand a knife in the other. I know it does no good to complain and I don’t want to put it on you. Guess I’m just tired.

But you know, I’ve been thinking about the future lately. What life will mean when this thing ends, how we all move on. What happens next. Sometimes I can’t see much past the next mission, but god willing, I’ll see you soon. There’s something important I want to ask you and I need to see your face when I do.

Wish I was there with you.

All my love,

Jimmy

Bucky reads through 12 different letters. When he finishes, he starts back at the beginning and reads them all again.

These words, these promises - they turn him inside out.

On the surface, perhaps some of the words make no sense, but wartime correspondence is unique - no names, no locations, nothing permitted that could be an identifier if letters were intercepted by the enemy. So maybe Bucky doesn’t remember writing these specific letters, but history and common sense tell him enough.

Which is why certain things buried in those simple words are so important – they trigger the patchy album of memories Steve’s given back to him, and it all begins to make sense.

Particularly those names.

Delilah. During the war, it’s what the Howlies called Steve’s shield. Steve got all red and flustered when he grudgingly reminded Bucky, saying Dugan liked to joke it needed a pretty, fancy name, because ‘oh gee whiz boys, Captain Rogers is so pretty and fancy.�� Bucky still calls it that now and then, a muscle memory screech that bursts unconsciously forth when he’s diving to the ground, trying to avoid a vibranium concussion as Steve flings it around the room.

G. That must be Steve. It makes sense in the context. His middle name was Grant, and very few people would have known. It wasn’t released to the public until after his plane went down, so it would have been hard to decipher.

And god dammit all to hell. Jimmy.

Bucky Barnes was a blood-soaked legend throughout the European theatre, and his quirky name was instantly recognizable. But Jimmy - it was one of those silly things that popped up when half the Commando unit had the name James. A silly moniker, one only used for messages and mission reports.

Now here it is in another context. Exactly like Steve told him.

The strange thing though, is that even with these letters and her story and confirmation from Steve’s tales - there are still no memories of her that he can recall. Normally they come flooding back when someone hands him information like she’s done, but they’re still inaccessible in his brain and that fact sits bitter in his stomach. All he can claim are the tentative words offered from her heart, through these quiet recollections and worn handwriting scrawled across yellowed paper.

But the icy rock lodged in his gut begins to melt when it dawns on him.

Before everything, before he fell from that train, before his life crashed and burned, he had something. He had someone. He had a life and a future and a woman who loved him.

He was in love with someone.

His brain still refuses to show him the past, but his heart – that’s another matter. Like an iron fist, muscle memory grips him and the curtain lifts. It’s a god damn tragedy that he can’t remember her, that he can’t recall the feel of her lips or the scent of her skin or any of the words she must have gifted him in her letters. It’s a tragedy and he’ll never forgive himself, but in this moment, he realizes that it’s okay.

This is why his breath catches every time she smiles at him. This is why he felt his stomach plunge the first time she spoke. This is why her laugh sets his blood on fire.

Because his heart never forgot her. Not once, not for a single moment.

Against all odds, across the endless chasm of space and time, they found each other again. Maybe this is it. Maybe after all the shit he’s been dealt, Fate decided to lift her endless ban on allowing Bucky Barnes a measure of happiness.

Maybe Fate is giving them another chance.

Well if that’s the case, he’s sure as god damn hell not going to lose it.

“Shit,” he breathes, jumping to his feet. Flying to the door, he throws it open, panicked she’s somehow slipped away, disappeared and left him all alone.

And then he skids to a stop.

Wrapped in her fluffy winter coat, she sits huddled on the front steps. At the sound of the door, she stumbles to her feet and spins to face him. Her hands are clenched in tight fists at her side and there is such naked, desperate hope in her eyes. To be seen, to be loved.

To be remembered.

Bucky steps slowly onto the porch. Cautiously, as though he’s afraid she could shatter, he reaches for her. Burning hot palms lay gently on her frozen cheeks, wandering blue eyes search every inch of her face, and he hears her breath snap harshly.

He leans closer, lets gentle lips ghost over her forehead, over fluttering eyelids, over the tip of her nose, to the softness of her lips. Searching, searching, searching, searing the scent of her skin back into his brain. When he touches hesitant lips to hers, he feels her mouth open to him, and he drinks up her shaky breath with a contented sigh.

Pulling back, he looks into wide eyes brimming with fierce, terrified love. Without a second thought, he lays himself at her mercy and begs the forgiveness he should have requested decades ago.

“I’m here. I’m here now, and I’m so god damn sorry I took so long.” Rubbing his thumb lightly over her lips, he stares in wonder. His gaze roams hungrily over her face, drinking in the color of her eyes, the shape of her nose, the curve of her lips. Every detail he never knew he missed until suddenly he did. “I see you. I see all of you. Let me memorize it, I never want to forget again.”

In the next moment, her shoulders begin to tremble. Small tremors at first, until her whole body is shaking, her breath rattling in her lungs, and the dam breaks.

“Bucky,” she whispers and her voice cracks, the sob ripping from her throat. “Bucky.”

Gravity brings them together, two dying stars collapsing into each other. He folds her in his arms and in the steel cage of his body, protected against the world, she lets go and she cries. She cries for everything.

For her past. For Bucky. For the life they could have had and for everything they lost. For all the secrets and hiding and half-truths. For everything both of them have done. For the decades spent apart, the solitude she fell into, and the horrors he endured.

Tears pour out, great heaving sobs and she burrows into him, the first real taste of heat she’s felt since that barren Parisian apartment at the dawning of 1970. His hands rub up and down her back, and he hushes her softly, murmuring soothing words again and again.

“You’re okay, I’m here, I got you. I’m not going anywhere. I’m not letting go.”

Gently picking her up, he slips back into the warmth of the living room, locking the door against the cold night. Stepping carefully to the couch, he falls into the velvety cushions, hugging her close. She sobs seventy years of heartbreak against his chest, and Bucky rocks her, answering her pain with hot, silent tears dripping down his cheeks.

*****

The night crawls by, a full white moon traveling a slow arc above the small cabin, while he cradles her in his arms. In the final hour before dawn, he rises from the couch.

Emotionally drained, she fell asleep hours ago. Now, she curls into him as he carries her up the stairs to her bed. Unwilling to let go for even a moment, he keeps her tucked to his chest when he sinks into the soft pillows. In the depths of sleep, she hugs him tighter, winding herself around him.

Where does he end, and where does she begin? It’s impossible to define.

Her refusal to let go is fine with him. Bucky doesn’t plan to leave anytime soon.

In her sleep, she sighs in contentment, because for the first time in a lifetime, she feels warm. Safe and protected, she doesn’t need a pile of blankets.

Bucky is enough.

*****

Light filters through the tall evergreens outside her window and when she wakes, she’s surrounded by heat. Opening puffy eyes, she finds Bucky lying beside her, bright eyes calm and watchful.

“Good morning,” he whispers.

“Bucky?” she whispers, disbelief clear in her eyes. “You’re still here?”

He runs a light finger down her cheek. “I meant it. I’m not going anywhere.”

There they are, the words she’s wanted her entire life. She has no clue if they’ll fade away, but for now, she lets herself believe him, because hope feels so much softer than the black abyss of depression.

“You’ll stay?” she repeats numbly. Needing to hear the words one more time.

“I’ll stay,” he answers, his fingers still brushing her skin. “Long as you’ll let me. We have a love story to remember.”

*****

So, he stays.

Bit by bit, they begin to discover who they are now, after decades apart. Bit by bit, she offers small memories that he clings to with ferocious enthusiasm. Bit by bit, they find the new rhythm of a life together.

And bit by bit, they fall back in love.

*****

Gripping a mug of coffee between fingerless gloved fingers, she gives him a dubious look.

“Have you ever chopped wood before?”

“Nah, but how hard can it be?” Bucky shrugs, hefting the ax. “Steve said he did it. I can do it.”

He balances a chunk of wood on the stump and scrutinizes it from all angles, before choosing his approach. Lining up the blade, he takes aim and with a smooth swing, slices it neatly in two.

His eyes dance excitedly when he looks at her. “I feel like this could be cathartic. Can I keep going?”

She looks at the huge pile of logs stacked behind him. “Knock yourself out.”

He considers her for a moment and then stands up a fat log, twisting it to sit level in the snow, away from any bark shrapnel, but close enough he can see her.

“Keep me company?” he asks.

She plops happily on the log, savoring the image of his tall, heavily muscled form. “Anytime,” she says softly.

*****

“I saw in that journal, you watched the moon landing? Back in ’68?”

Her eyes light up. “I did. It was unbelievable.”

“Wish I could’ve seen it,” Bucky says wistfully. “Would’ve been so cool.”

“Yeah,” she says softly, “it really was.”

The ax embeds in the stump with a thwack and he wipes his forehead with his sleeve. He comes over to her and leans down, his mouth warm when it touches hers.

“You were right,” he admits. “I’d have signed up with NASA in a heartbeat, if I could’ve.”

“I thought you might,” she murmurs against his lips and he hums.

“Hey. Would you go up to space with me?”

She kisses the tip of his nose. “I’ll go anywhere with you.”

*****

“Since you’ve come back, what’s the strangest mission you’ve been on?”

Bucky contemplates the question, while he searches for the perfect chunk of wood.

“Well, last year there was this one where a crazy ass botanist engineered this breed of super Venus Fly Traps that came to life.”

“A crazy what? No.”

“Dead serious. It caught me in the middle of the fight and broke its teeth on my arm,” he says, shuddering. “Got all this sticky saliva shit on me. So fucking gross. When I got home, I threw away all the plants in the Tower, you know. Just in case.”

She presses her lips together, but a fit of hysterical giggles makes her double-over, clutching her stomach.

“Cross my heart,” Bucky insists. He plants his hands on his hips and pulls a face. “I can’t believe you’re laughing, I was terrified!”

*****

“Tell me more things about you,” he grunts as he swings the ax. “Like for instance, why did you keep a bunch of t-shirts from Bon Jovi’s 1986 tour?”

Looking over to her, he finds her eyes comically wide. Deer in the headlights. He can practically see her mind racing while she debates the answer.

“Um. Okay, so listen,” she starts, and Bucky feels a silly grin beginning. “No, stop. I mean it. Bucky, shut up!”

Laughter spills out at her embarrassment.

“Sorry, sorry,” he chuckles. “I won’t laugh. I’m interested. Just wanna hear more about you. Continue. Please.”

Arms crossed, she sighs heavily and shoots him an embarrassed look.

“Look, it’s not that big a deal. I may have had a crush on Bon Jovi. Okay? It was 1986 and I loved that album and his voice was so sexy and he had this beautiful hair, and I just – you promised you wouldn’t laugh!”

She grabs a piece of wood and throws it at his leg and he laughs harder.

*****

After a long day of chopping wood, her shed is bursting at the seams. Warm and cozy on her couch, Bucky stares off into space, while she sits beside him, absorbed in a book.

“Did I get blood all over the seats in your truck?” he asks suddenly.

Wrinkling her nose, she glances up and gives him an apologetic look. “Yeah. You did. I need to get it cleaned. Or buy seat covers, so I don’t have to explain why it looks like a murder scene.”

“Ugh,” Bucky sighs, shaking his head. “I’m sorry.”

She shrugs good-naturedly and grins. “I don’t mind. Least no one will steal it.”

She goes back to her book. He goes back to spacing off.

“But you have another truck in that old shed, right? Didn’t I see one?”

“Yes, an old clunker from the ‘50s. It hasn’t run for years though.”

“Hmm.”

Bemused, her lips quirk up. “Any reason you’re asking?”

“Just thinking,” he mumbles vaguely.

He goes back to spacing off. She goes back to her book.

Two minutes later, he jumps up and she topples over into the cushions. Looking down, he rubs his mouth while she untangles herself from her blanket.

“Shit. Sorry. Got an idea,” he says, offering her a hand. Pulling her to her feet, he starts collecting the multitude of blankets strewn about the living room, folding them into piles. Tucking them under his arm, he heads into the kitchen, rummaging in the cabinet for a bottle of wine and two plastic cups. Striding over to the front door, he sets the pile down and grabs her winter coat, extending it out without a word.

“What is this?” she asks suspiciously, shrugging into the coat. Bucky takes a knobby wool scarf from a hook and helps her wrap it securely around her throat.

“Get your gloves,” he replies. “And those furry snow boots.”

Finally buttoned up, he appraises her from head to toe, satisfied with the result. Grabbing his own coat, he pulls it carelessly on, picks up the pile of blankets and wine, and opens the door.

“Follow me,” he says, heading down the porch.

Stomping toward the rickety garage near the cabin, he pulls open the doors and props them open. Sitting in the small space, is an old light blue Land Rover.

Bucky takes her puffy gloved hand and pulls her to the passenger side door. Opening it with a dramatic flourish, he nods for her to get in.

“It doesn’t even run, Bucky,” she argues, climbing up into the dusty seats.

Bucky goes to the driver’s door and slides inside. Giving her a grin, he flips the flashlight on his phone and hands it to her, lighting up the interior of the cab while he reaches blindly below the steering column.

“Any chance you got a screwdriver?”

“I do, actually,” she answers, flipping open the glove box to snag the wobbly screwdriver that went to die there years ago. But where it’s normally nestled, she finds only blank space.

She blinks. How strange. When was the last time she was even in this truck?

“No matter,” Bucky grunts, and with a few strategic jerks, he pulls the metal cover away. A nest of tangled wires falls loose, ribbons of white and red and yellow. She shines the light on his fiddling, and with a practiced hand, he selects several and strips the ends until they fray. Tapping them together a few times, she hears the sharp crackle of electric current and suddenly the ancient truck sputters to life.

“What? How?” she asks excitedly. “How’d you do that?”

Bucky grins and tucks the wires away. The gas gauge shows a nearly full tank, so he fiddles with the dials and cranks the heat up full blast. It smells like wet leaves and a hint of motor oil, but there’s a welcome nostalgia to the scent. Unfolding the blankets, Bucky wraps one around her shoulders, and spreads another over their laps. He situates her legs across his thighs and wraps an arm around her.

“Reading those letters, I saw I made you a promise. Said I’d take you to a drive-in movie. Here we are, seventy god forsaken years later, and I still haven’t taken you on a date. Seems overdue,” he thumbs through the video app on his phone until he finds an old favorite. Pressing play, he props it up on the dash and turns to her with a crooked smile. “This is my favorite movie. Thinkin’ you might like it too.”

The screen is blank and then a tornado of sound surrounds them and big white letters flash across a black and white screen.

“Oh,” she sighs delightedly. Humming contentedly, he drops a kiss to her forehead and she lays her head on his shoulder, while the opening theme from The Wizard of Oz begins to play. “You’re amazing Bucky Barnes.”

“Well, that’s what I’m always telling people,” he agrees, his voice sweet against her skin. “I’m glad you agree.”

Watching the movie together is an experience. Bucky hums along to the music while she repeats the dialogue under her breath. The movie is clearly an old hat for them both, and the familiarity is comforting.

It’s not until Dorothy’s skipping down the yellow brick road in her sparkly red shoes, that she notices he’s gone quiet. Glancing at him, she finds blue eyes riveted on her. A slow smile spreads over his face, and he leans down to leave a featherlight kiss at the corner of her mouth; then the hinge of her jaw; then the smooth spot behind her ear.

“I thought we were watching a movie,” she murmurs, tilting her head to offer up the curve of her neck.

“But we’re at the drive-in,” Bucky answers, his lips tracing the shell of her ear. She shivers at the feel and tries to scoot closer. “This is what the kids do. They ignore the show and make out, right?”

“Yes, I think I read that somewhere,” she replies breathlessly. “A letter I had from a rather charming soldier. Some American, I think.”

Rubbing his scratchy face along her neck, he makes a disapproving noise and his teeth nip her ear.

“Charming American soldier, huh? What’s his name? I’m gonna kick his ass.”

“No ass kicking.” She pokes him in the belly and he grunts a surprised laugh. “I sort of like him.”

*****

The truck still idles along, while the windows have long since fogged over. Dorothy makes it back to Kansas safe and sound, returned to a world of black and white. There’s no place like home, Bucky hears the voiceover in the background. Immersed in reacquainting himself with the taste of her lips, he agrees.

There really is no place like home.

*****

“Was it always like this?” he murmurs the next night. Laying face-down on the couch, his face is nuzzled in her lap, his arms wound around her waist. Cool fingers scratch lightly at his scalp and he rubs against her like a cat.

“Well, you were a little sappy sometimes,” she teases. “But I loved it.”

Muffled laughter rumbles deep in his chest and he hugs her tighter.

“This feels so easy. Never thought I’d get something like this.”

“Sometimes you get lucky, I guess. You fit with someone, like they were made for you. That was us.”

“I just wish I could remember.” Disappointment vibrates in every syllable. “All those years with Hydra, that shit’s coming back. Nightmares and — memories of what I did to people. I don’t understand why that’s there, and my stupid ass brain refuses to give me you.”

Her hand pauses briefly, before resuming the gentle strokes.

“I know,” she says, and Bucky hears the thread of sorrow wound through her words. “None of this was fair. You deserved so much more than what they did and I - I’m so sorry Bucky.”

“No, don’t. I’m the one who should be apologizing.” He rolls onto his back and pillows his head in her lap. His expression is dark when he grinds out the words. “I just left you. Fell off a fuckin’ train and left you alone. I’ll never forgive myself for it.”

For the longest time, she doesn’t speak. Lost in thought, she gazes out the living room windows, fingers still absently stroking his hair. When she finally looks down, he sees ancient resignation in her face.

“Listen to me. I never want you to apologize Bucky, it was a war. I walked into loving you with my eyes wide open and I don’t regret a single day. I never have. You were worth it.” She pauses, and a strange look comes over her face, an odd blend of sadness and regret and - fear. It disappears as quickly as it comes, and her voice drops to a low whisper. “I’m full of memories. After all these years, after everything I - after being alone for so long. Sometimes I think I’ll drown from them.”

Drowning in the past. There’s a feeling he knows. Curling his fingers around the back of her neck, he tugs her face down.

“Give them to me then,” he breathes against her lips. “I get it. Better than anyone. Remembering things, sometimes it’s a burden. You don’t have to do it alone. I’m with you now, let me help.”

The sentiment breaks her heart.

She says nothing. She kisses him instead.

*****

In the middle of the night, watching the stars wink through the window of her bedroom, she lays awake and thinks.

Bucky is sprawled on his stomach beside her, still dressed in his old sweats and his Captain America shirt. One arm is curved tight around her waist, a leg thrown over her knee, his deep even breaths warm against her neck. It’s funny, she muses. He sleeps the same as he did during their brief time together in 1944. With his nose to her skin and his limbs clutching her tight. Like her softness is the balm he needs to combat the horrors that come for him in his dreams.

It’s strange, in a way. He knows her more intimately than anyone on Earth. Emotionally. Physically. But even with a knowledge of what they used to be, he keeps a tight rein on his desire, nothing more than chaste brushes of his fingers that leave her restless for more. But while his hands may be innocent, his kisses still leave her breathless - they’re untamed, wild and enthusiastic, overflowing with passion. Before though, where his lips carried a hint of frantic panic, now there’s one big difference.

They have time. Something they never had before.

There’s no miserable march back into the suffocating arms of war. No desperate need to hide from Hydra after a stolen rendezvous in the night. Time is finally on their side, to rebuild his memories of their past, to create new memories together. An infinite world of opportunities sits before them and she revels in that fact.

Beneath it all though, remains that nagging flicker of fear.

Because as happy as she is now, she’s terrified of the future and the possibility it could all end once more. After finding him again, after slipping back into his arms, after falling in love again, she knows if he were to leave now? It would break her for good. There’d be no coming back from it. Life has stolen him from her too many times already.

This time, hope would not be enough to tether together the shattered remnants of a heart.

Shifting deeper into the pillows, he hugs her tighter. His lips brush her skin and he presses a sleepy kiss to her shoulder.

“Can’t sleep?” he mumbles groggily.

“Just thinking,” she whispers. “I’m okay, go back to sleep.”

Bucky hums in drowsy agreement and goes quiet. Minutes pass and his breathing resumes the steady pattern and she resumes her dreary train of thought.

What is it, about the middle of the night, she wonders drily, that makes your brain relive the worst parts of your life?

On and on it goes. The steady beat of his heart, the heat of his skin, the dangerous trajectory of her thoughts. Until his soft voice breaks the silence of the night, pulling her back to the present.

“Can you tell me another story? Another memory about us?”

Another memory. A simple request. Memories are the one thing she can always do.

“What do you want to know?” she asks, petting his tangled mess of hair.

“Everything. Tell me more of our love story,” he murmurs, his voice raspy with sleep. He snuggles impossibly closer. “I wanna know it all.”

I wanna know it all. An innocent request.

There are so many things she wants to tell him. Things she needs to tell him. But those words, those memories, they’re buried too deep and she can’t. Unearthing them would destroy her.

Instead, her mind weaves through their love story, pulling forward a memory she’s replayed a thousand times before. The memory of his one other visit to the village, right before their world went pear-shaped. She was hesitant to tell him about that night, about the question he asked, because she knows he’s not the same. They’re not the same and she doesn’t want him to think -

But her heart beats faster.

Twisting a lock of his hair around her finger, she gropes for the right words, his fingers stroking lightly down her arm.

I wanna know it all.

In the middle of the night, watching the stars wink through the window of her bedroom, she takes a deep breath.

*****

Next chapter

*****

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