Chapter Text
It had been a few months since he had moved to his apartment. A few months of his phone sitting in a drawer, battery long dead, out of sight. Doc Raynor said that he should get out more, explore the area around his apartments, get a hobby, “do something normal” as she put it.
“Oh, and Bucky? Charge your damn phone,” She had tacked at the end, sending him a stern look as his hand reached for the doorknob at the end of their session. He sent her a tight smile, making a mental note to reach out to Sam as soon as he got his phone turned on. He was sure he had reached out to his therapist, letting her know that he was still avoiding him—everyone, really.
Except Doc, but he couldn’t avoid mandated therapy.
He made his way down the street, following the familiar route back to his apartment, as he wracked his brain, realizing that he didn’t even know where the charging cord had gone.
When he got home that evening, after waiting what felt like an hour for his phone to turn back on (he didn’t think it was that dead) he texted Sam, letting him know that he was alright and had lost his charging cord. Sam responded that he had an extra and would bring it with him tomorrow when they meet for lunch (this was news to Bucky), so that he would have an extra if he “lost his again.”
He texted back a quick reply, before clicking on the TV and settling into his couch, beer in one hand. He flipped through the channels before settling on some action movie that was just starting. After a third of the movie, and another beer, he had sprawled out on the couch, eyes feeling heavy as the explosions went off on the screen. With the remaining bit of energy, he plugged his phone in near his place on the couch before letting himself drift off.
Bucky awoke the next day to a sharp knock at his door, his TV having turned off on its own at some point in the night. He drags his flesh hand down his face, propping himself up as he groggily stood to his feet, pulling a t-shirt out of the laundry basket by his couch as he reached for the handle of the door. As it opened, he was greeted with Sam’s grinning face.
“Mornin’ sunshine,” Sam greeted, pushing past Bucky to enter his apartment, eyes not-so-subtly scanning the space and lack of decor, or personality. “Nice place, very…minimalist. It’s cool.”
He scoffed a laugh, rolling his eyes as he walked towards his bedroom. “Make yourself at home, let me change real quick.”
Sam gave him a salute that he couldn’t see, his back already retreating into his room. Sam sank into the couch, humming to himself in surprise at how comfortable the sofa was. He could see how Bucky could fall asleep in that instead of his bed.
Bucky soon emerged, hair that had grown out longer than he usually kept it now tamed into a low bun. As they exited his apartment, making sure to securely lock it behind them, they made their way down the block. They just walked, not really going anywhere in specific, as they caught up with one another. Sam told him how his sister and nephews were doing down in Louisiana, and how they were still arguing about whether or not to sell their family’s boat. He was also spot-on about Sam calling Doc Raynor and ratting on him for his lack of communication. It’s not that Bucky was ignoring Sam; he just knew his presence came with conversations he didn’t really feel like having.
The pair were a few blocks from his apartment building, stopping at a few crosswalks along the way before coming across a cozy looking diner. The smell of coffee and fresh cooked bacon lured them in, and before Bucky knew it they were sitting across from each other in a booth in the corner. Steaming, fresh coffee was placed in front of them by the hostess as she left them to wait for their waitress to come take their orders.
“Hello!” You chirped, snapping Bucky out of his daze as his attention turned towards where you stood at the end of the table. “How are you gentlemen today?”
Your voice was so sweet, as if it flowed from your lips and drenched his brain in warm honey. He was silent for a beat, trudging through the sweet fog that had settled over his thoughts for the words to string together a response. “Oh, hi. We’re doin’ alright, how about you, doll?”
He internally cringed at the way he stumbled over his words, not daring to look over at Sam who he could see was snickering behind his coffee mug. At least the bastard had the decency to be discreet about it. However, that embarrassed feeling quickly left as he saw the blush make its way to your cheeks from the name that slipped out at the end of his response.
“I’m doin’ good, thank you for asking!” You replied, the grin that made its way to your lips paired with the flush to your cheeks releasing a stampede of elephants within his stomach. “What can I get started for you two?”
Sam ordered some bleu cheeseburger and fries. At 10 in the morning? Bucky thought to himself as he did a final scan over the menu before setting it down. “And for you, sir?”
“I’ll just have the breakfast platter, eggs over medium,” he responded, handing you the menu when you reached for it. “And you wouldn’t mind gettin’ me another cup of coffee, would ya, doll?”
“Not at all,” you replied, a soft giggle on your lips as you tucked the menus under your arm. “I’ll be right back with your coffee.”
Bucky watched as you made your way back behind the counter, eyes lingering on the curve of your ass as you were bending down to pick up some silverware that you had dropped on your way. He dragged his gaze away, eyes falling on his friend, sat across from him, eyeing him with a raised eyebrow and a smirk.
“Don’t even start, Sammy,” Bucky said, pointing a gloved finger at him before picking up his coffee, downing the last bit of it.
Sam chuckled, holding his hands up in surrender. “I didn’t say anything, Buck. But if you stare at her ass any harder, you might burn a hole straight through her shorts.”
Bucky stares blankly before rolling his eyes, choosing to not even dignify Sam’s remark with an answer. Sam snickered, enjoying the annoyed look currently painting Bucky’s features. “Hey, I’m not judging! I’m sure old men like you still need to update their spank bank every once in a while.”
“If you don’t shut the fuck— “
“Here’s your coffee, sir,” you said, your arrival cutting Bucky off from finishing his sentence. You placed the extra cream and sugars on the table before pouring Bucky a fresh cup and topping off the rest of Sam’s. “Your food will be out in a few. Jus’ give me a shout if ya need anything!”
“Thank you, doll,” Bucky said, giving you a smile before shooting Sam a glare as soon as you turned your back. Bucky threw a sugar packet at him, hitting him square in the face. “Unlike you, I don’t perv out on random strangers.”
“Sure,” Sam laughs, shaking his head slowly. “Whatever helps you sleep at night, pal.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?” Bucky asks, raising an eyebrow. He’s not sure whether or not to be offended by what Sam said, so he’ll reserve judgment—for now.
“Everyone does it, Buck,” Sam says, shrugging as he takes a drink of his coffee. “I mean, not like anyone will admit it if you ask them. But it’s not that weird.”
Bucky laughed, shaking his head at his friend, as he stirred the sugar and cream into his coffee. “Besides, I’m sure if you asked her, she wouldn’t mind breaking that dry spell of yours.”
Bucky looked up, barking a laugh at Sam’s waggling eyebrows. “Fuck off, Wilson. I got more on my mind than getting my dick wet.”
“Yeah,” Sam scoffed, gulping down some coffee before continuing. “Which is exactly why you need to get your mind off of all that shit and do something for yourself for once. Put yourself out there a little, I promise, it won’t go the way you think.”
Bucky rolled his eyes, taking a drink of his coffee before leaning back against the booth. “I’ll think about it. Just stop pesterin’ me about it.”
“I’ve mentioned it once!”
“Yeah, and that’s one too many,” Bucky responded, kicking Sam under the table. He felt him kick back, steel-toed boot landing on his shin, the interaction turning into a kicking match before he saw your form approaching with their food on a tray. “Knock—knock it off.”
“Here ya go boys,” You announced, placing Sam’s food down in front of him before doing the same for Bucky. “Can I get you any more coffee?”
“No thank you,” Sam replied, already picking a fry off his plate. “Could I get a glass of water when you have a chance?”
“Of course!” You said, shifting your attention back to Bucky. “And for you, sir?”
“I’ll take s’more coffee, doll,” Bucky says, moving his mug closer to you. The hand that held the coffee pot, also had a pen within its grasp, which fell to the floor when you poured the coffee into his mug. A small “Oops,” left your lips as you crouched down to grab the pen.
Bucky considers himself a good man. But a good man is still a man, and he couldn’t help but glance down at the expanse of your chest that the position gave him the delight to see. He gulped, feeling something stirring in his crotch as he quickly looked away as he tried to distract himself from the sight.
“Just let me know if there’s anything else I can do for ya’ll,” you said, the comment professional enough to not be suspicious, but your gaze stayed on Bucky, flickering down to his clenching hand on his thigh and back up to his eyes with a smirk ghosting the corner of your lip before turning on your heel and sauntering back behind the counter.
Sam gave him a knowing look, taking a sip of his water.
Bucky didn’t see you again for the rest of their time at the diner. He figured you got moved to another section, or maybe your shift ended, and tried to ignore that flicker of disappointment at not seeing your face before he and Sam paid for their meals and left.
He and Sam parted ways a couple blocks away from the restaurant, waving their good-byes with Bucky promising him to call tomorrow—and he didn’t necessarily dread it the way he thought he would. Not that he would ever admit it.
The next couple days, Bucky tried to have some sort of routine. Bucky found the motivation to get up early, jog, pick-up breakfast, and come home. It was after he had done all that, that Bucky wasn’t really sure what to do with the rest of his day.
The first day he had picked up a book he had gotten with the intention to read and never got around to it. However, he finished it much faster than he anticipated, even with the hour-and-a-half phone call with Sam halfway through, leaving him with nothing to do yet again. He mulled around, flicking through the TV channels, trying to find something that might distract him from his thoughts.
He couldn’t stop thinking about you, picturing the swell of your ass in the shorts of your uniform, how soft the skin of your breasts looked with that pretty little necklace teasing him. The way your cheeks cause your eyes to become crescents when you smile, the rosy blush on your cheeks and dusting the tips of your ears.
He needed to get (you) out of his head, needed to stop imagining the way your lashes would flutter as you took him down your throat, that same rosy hue painting your cheeks. He felt his cock twitch against his sweatpants and groaned, letting his head fall back against the couch before clicking off the TV, stripping down to his boxers, and settling into bed. He finally drifted off the sounds of the rain noises from that app Doc Raynor had told him about.
Waking up to his alarm the next morning, he repeated the same routine as yesterday, this time getting dressed to head out and explore the area around the apartment building. He was on a mission to find a new book from the bookstore that was down the street—and maybe pop-into that diner, see if that sweet little waitress was working her shift again.
He spent a good while browsing the bookstore, eyes reading the spines of the books diligently before settling on a couple historical fiction books, and the first book in a series that the worker manning the store said was similar to Tolkien’s The Hobbit. He checked out, slipping the books in the inside pockets of his jacket as he made his way down the familiar block leading to the diner.
The bell on the door rang as he let himself in, eyes subconsciously scanning the place for a glimpse of the pretty waitress that had been oh so helpful the last time he was here. He exchanged pleasantries with the hostess, following her to a booth in the back corner of the restaurant. He thanked her with a smile, requesting a coffee when she asked if she could get anything started for him.
Bucky spent the time waiting for the waitress to come for his order with his eyes scanning the first page of the novel he had purchased on his way here. He had missed when you walked in, eyes fixed on the page he was reading. It was easier than he anticipated, getting lost in the story, the clanking of plates and chattering of diners fading into the background. There was something almost comforting about the normalcy that seemed to surround him currently, with such a simple act as reading in a busy diner, listening as people rattled on about their mundane, day-to-day lives. It was such a stark contrast to the instability that typically followed closely behind him.
“Hello, sir,” You greeted, approaching his table with a smile. You were just as pretty as you were when he first saw you, hair pulled up and off of your shoulders, showing off the slope of your neck and the jewelry adorning your neck and ears. “What can I get started for you today?”
He felt embarrassed, having forgotten to even look at the menu as he sat at the table. His eyes quickly landed on a sign reading: Ask about our freshly made pies! that was set-up on the counter behind you. “What kind of pie do you have?”
“Our regulars are apple, cherry, and pecan!” You list, tapping your pen to your lips before continuing. “But our seasonal pie is my personal favorite – coconut creme! It’s a bit sweet, but I can’t get myself to order anything else when they have it on the menu.”
He hums, nodding as he mulls over his options before settling on one with a boyish grin. “I think I’ll have a slice of the coconut creme, then. And a refill on coffee, please, doll.”
You smile, teeth subconsciously sinking into your bottom lip as you reach for the menu, he holds out to you. Slipping the notepad and pen back in the pocket of your apron, you give a sweet “Comin’ right up, sir,” before you’re turning on your heel and begin walking towards the cash register to ring up a customer, when you notice they have been waiting.
Sir, he repeats to himself as he watches you walk back behind the counter, the hem of your skirt brushing the backs of your plush thighs as you walk. He adjusts himself in his seat, eyes going back to his book in the hopes of distracting himself from the way his pants are getting tighter the more he thinks about how soft and pliant you would be with his head between your legs, that little nickname you’ve given him falling from your lips with every stroke of his fingers.
— — — — — —
After those first couple visits, he made his presence a regular occurrence at the diner. You had recognized him, but was unable to place him until you saw a picture of him and the man he had come with the first time, whose name you now knew to be Sam.
He looks different from the man you saw in the picture, whose hair was longer, with more facial hair on his chin, but you would recognize those blue eyes anywhere. Having been a victim of the Blip, your memories were still foggy, but you remembered hearing stories about him—the Winter Soldier, James Buchanan “Bucky” Barnes. A Sergeant who was thought to have been killed in action in World War II, only to be used as a pawn behind the scenes. You knew he resided in New York, but never thought he would wander into your diner. It made you wonder how close he lived to come in so often.
Honestly, you looked forward to seeing him; he was always so polite, always the perfect gentleman. Unlike some of your male customers, you never caught his eyes straying from yours to rake over your curves (not that you would have minded if you had). You knew your uniform did nothing to hide your curvy figure, and you were glad for it. You had no problem using your looks, getting extra dolled up before certain shifts to ensure you walked out with a decent chunk of money from tips, but that feeling of being leered at never sat well in your stomach.
He, however, was a completely different story. His good looks paired with his habit of calling you “doll” had you flushed and warm from head to toe. Usually when a customer was calling you a pet name like that, it was coated in lust and ill-intentions—not to mention they were never quite as charming as him. All that, and the more than generous tips he left, easily made him your favorite customer.
You couldn’t help but feel disappointed when he came in and ended up seated in another section, meaning one of your co-workers was the lucky waitress. You felt relief wash over you when you noticed that he didn’t seem nearly as interested in her as you had feared. Your co-worker was kind, pretty with her honey blonde hair and toned frame usually had people doing double takes. She often got asked if she was a model, which usually had you giggling behind your hand at the twitch in her eye, her smile straining to stay on her face. You knew how much she hated those comments in particular.
Still, you couldn’t help but wonder if he called her doll, too.
You had avoided meeting his eyes, but you couldn’t help but steal glances at him when you would pass by his table. While you were wiping down the counter, you found yourself peeking at him through your lashes when you thought he couldn’t see. Your face flushed as your eyes met his, a small smirk threatening to break across his lips, as you watched him interact with your co-worker, embarrassed at the thought of him seeing the jealousy swirling in your eyes. What was there to be jealous of! It’s not like he was yours. You were just looking forward to that tip, you told yourself as you brought the empty plates back to the sink to be washed.
As you were walking your tables’ plates out to them, you noticed him stand up from his booth, lay down the tip, before making his way to the counter to pay for his meal. You subtly picked up the pace and placed the meals in front of the customers before making a beeline for the cash register before your co-workers could. You couldn’t help the smile that graced your face when he looked up, eyes widening in surprise to see you stood there instead of your co-worker.
“Hello again, Sergeant,” You greeted, looking up at the older man through your lashes.
There was a flash of shock on his face before it settled into a chuckle and a shake of his head. “I’m surprised, I think you’re one of the first people to recognize me and not be too scared to mention it.”
“What’s there to be scared of? You’ve been nothing but a gentleman to me,” You respond with a tilt of your head, coy smirk on your lips as you drag your eyes from his lips to where his shirt was stretched across his chest, and back up to meet his gaze.
He chuckled, a sly smile tugging at his lips as he handed you his receipt. “Be careful, doll, you never know. I might bite.”
“Oh?” You purred, cheeky smile curling your lips. “I’m sure you could do more than that .”
You swear your mind is playing tricks on you when you see his eyes shamelessly take in your body, lingering where the apron cinched at your waist, accentuating the slope of your hips. He met your eyes with a hum, lips curling into a smirk.
“I could think of a few things,” he responds, dropping his change in the tip jar with a knowing smile. “See ya later, doll,” and with a wink he’s walking out the door.
— — — — — —
He didn't come in for almost a month after that.
Your shifts drag on, your mind preoccupied with the blue-eyed super-soldier. You wonder what he’s doing; Does he travel for work? Jealousy stirs in your chest at your next thought; Does he have a lover? Are they on some romantic getaway? It wouldn’t be the first time an unavailable man flirted with you when his significant other wasn’t around to see. You shook your head, preferring to think of him as the charming, polite man who most definitely did not have a woman waiting for him at home.
It was late, nearing closing as your shift only had less than an hour to go. You are still daydreaming about the handsome Sergeant to pass the time, a shiver going down your spine at the thought of his low voice whispering filthy—
The bell above the front door chimes, breaking you out of your lustful thoughts and bringing your attention up to the new customer. A gasp is caught in your throat at the sight of the subject of your lewd daydreams, as if you summoned him just by thinking of him. You saw him smirk at the surprise painted across your face, not expecting him to come in this late into the night.
“Hello again,” you say with a coy smile, leaning forward on your elbows as you greet him. “What brings you in so late, sir?”
You see his throat bob hard, once again noting a reaction to your assigned title for him. You suppress a smirk, a sense of pride blooming in your chest at the idea that you can get to him in the same way he got to you. “I’m just getting back in town from a trip with a friend, he said it would be good to get away from the city for a bit. Just thought I would stop in for a little pick-me-up.”
“Well, you’ve come to the right place,” you say, your voice awfully upbeat for this time of night. You grab a menu, turn back to face him with a smile. “Follow me, sir.”
You lead him to the nearest booth, making sure to put a little bit more sway in your hips—not that you needed to, you knew he was looking. He may be a gentleman, but he’s still a man, and the skirt you were wearing was one of your shorter ones, needing you to wear small shorts underneath. You were just wondering how long this little song and dance of yours would last before he made a move, you dreaded the idea of having to be the one to do it.
“Here you go, Sergeant,” You set the menu down in front of him, pouring the coffee into the mug you brought over. “I’ll be right back with your cream and sugar.”
You round the counter, watching as he shakes his head slightly before looking back down at the menu. You quickly check your reflection in the window of the staff only door, adjusting your apron so it sat just a little bit straighter, a little bit tighter at the waist. Soon enough, you’re approaching his table with the cream and sugar containers being set at the front of the table.
“Are you ready to order, sir, or do you need more time?”
“I’ll take cheeseburger and fries,” Bucky replied, looking up from the menu. “And a beer, would ya’, doll?”
“Of course, sir,” You reply, your head turning to the door as you hear the bell above it ring. “I’ll have that right out to you.”
You go behind the counter, leaving the order receipt with the cooks before going to the table that a familiar regular had been seated at. He was polite enough, and left decent tips. Sure, he flirted now and again, but it was harmless, always brushed off with a laugh.
He ordered fairly quickly, asking for a beer with his meal. You hesitated, already noticing the redness to his eyes and cheeks, the signs of a man who has had a few too many not lost on you. He didn’t seem too rowdy, wasn’t slurring his words, so you pushed your thoughts aside and put in his order as he asked, not wanting to make a thing out of nothing.
You felt Bucky watch you out of the corner of your eye, your gaze meeting his during one of your interactions with the man to see him clench his jaw, glancing down at where the man’s hand had inched towards the edge of the table, brushing against the hem of your apron. You gave him a tight attempt at a reassuring smile before turning your attention back to the man who was complaining about the way his burger was cooked. Resisting the urge to roll your eyes, as if the man hadn’t come in half-an-hour before closing. You apologize and take his plate back to the kitchen, begrudgingly telling the cooks they need to remake it.
After putting in the re-do, you went to check on Bucky’s table, seeing his beer bottle and water cup both empty. “Everythin’ up to par over here, sir?”
Bucky smiled, swallowing the drink he had taken before you approached. “Everything’s perfect, doll. Everything okay with that fella over there?”
Your eyes flicker back over to the other customer who was scowling down at his phone, before bringing your eyes back to Bucky’s. “Yeah, everything’s fine. Just didn’t like the cook of his burger, is all.”
Bucky hummed; eyes fixated on the man in question before he’s smiling back up at you. “Just checkin’. You let me know if he gets an attitude, alright?”
His eyes hold your gaze, friendly, but serious. You nodded, a soft smile on your lips. “Would you like another beer, sir?”
“Yes, please, doll,” He responds with a grin. You mumble a quick be right back before turning towards the kitchen at the sound of a ding.
You grab the fresh burger to take to the peeved man, as well as a cup of water and a beer for Bucky. Setting the plate in front of the man, you turn on your heel and walk to Bucky’s table, dropping the beer off with a smile before going to the cash register to ring up the group that you had feared would stay until closing. You’re walking to the kitchen, barely making it a step past the man’s table before the man’s hand is circling your wrist. You immediately wrench it out of his grasp turning towards him with a scowl.
“Excuse me?” You question firmly, glaring harshly at the man.
“I’m sorry,” He apologizes, though something in you tells you he’s not all that sincere. “But I asked you for a beer. This is a cup of water.”
“I’m sorry, but we’re not allowed to serve alcohol past 11pm,” You lie smoothly, a tight smile pulling at your lips. Your eyes subconsciously flick up to where Bucky was sitting, seeing his booth empty, but his table still occupied with his dishes, meaning he was still at the diner. “We have sodas and teas, however, if you would prefer that to water?”
“How come he gets a beer, then, huh?” The man questions, throwing a thumb in the direction of Bucky’s booth. “Givin’ him special treatment or somethin’?”
“N-No, not at all,” You stammer, not expecting the aggressive lilt to his voice. “He just–well, you clearly had been drinking before you came in…so we’re only allowed to serve you so much before we have to cut you off.”
“I’m fine,” the patron sneered, hand coming down harshly on the table, the salt-n-pepper shakers and silverware rattling at the force. “Just bring me another damn beer.”
You swallowed hard, trying to stop the tears that were burning behind your eyes. It had been far too long since you’d had a customer talk to you this way, and it was completely unexpected. “R-right away.”
Walking to the back, you ask one of the cooks, Scott, to come out and help with the customer. Seeing your glossy eyes and worried lip, the cook quickly tossed the pan containing the sizzling meat onto the stove, turned off the burner and marched his way out to the dining area.
You stood off near the counter, watching the heated discussion between the cook and the customer. Scott clenched his jaw, slamming a hand down on the back of the booth the man was sitting at, and whatever he said had the man—angrily—scooting out of the booth and making his way towards the door.
Letting out a big sigh, you turn on shaking legs to make your way to the back in order to collect yourself.
“You stupid bitch,” You hear the man slur, not having realized he had lingered in the waiting area until the cook retreated back into the kitchen. You turn on your heel to see him angrily marching towards you, cornered against the bar-top, and you brace for what you hope are just more foul words, and not him escalating to something worse.
“Take one more step towards her and I’ll lay you out,” A voice growled, your eyes opening to see Bucky, metal hand tangled in the man’s shirt, damn-near lifting him off the ground. It was the first time you had seen his hand without the glove, having noted early on in his visits that he rarely took them off in public. “Now get the fuck out before I really lose my patience.”
The look of recognition on the man’s face at the sight of Bucky’s arm was almost comical, and the way he started spilling apologies and pleas for forgiveness would have made you giggle if not for the context. Bucky’s eyes flickered to yours at the sound of a sniffle, the expression on his face softening at the sight of your glossy eyes and trembling lip, though his fist unconsciously tightened his grip on the fabric that was on the verge of tearing under the strain of his hold. You couldn’t take your eyes off his arm, the way the prosthetic moved, the strength he seemed to exert without so much as a staggered breath.
Bucky released him with a hard shove, sending the man stumbling into the display by the door before he quickly scrambled to regain his balance and fled out the double doors. A gasp left your throat, and you hid your face in your hands at the sight of him running across the street and nearly getting flattened by a car coming, not wanting to see whether or not he got hit.
“Don’t worry, doll, he didn’t get hit,” Bucky said, his soft tone such a contrast to the violent way he spit his words at the man. He placed a gentle hand on your upper arm, recoiling slightly at the involuntary flinch you gave in return. “You should cut your shift short tonight. Let me walk you home, yeah?”
You nodded silently, still in a daze at the turn of events. You distantly hear him ask you where your stuff was and feel yourself mumbling a reply that you can’t quite process. You lead him down the corridor to the staff room, containing the lockers for the employees to put their personal items. Vaguely aware of Bucky’s presence behind you, you approach your locker, fumbling with the combination lock, unable to input the code correctly because of the way your hands are shaking.
“Let me take care of it, doll,” Bucky said gently, moving you slightly to allow him room to fiddle with the combo lock. Giving it one hard yank, the metal snapped, the combination lock breaking off at the force of Bucky’s pull. He pulled your purse out of the locker, asking if there was anything else you needed before promising to replace your lock.
He turned towards you, finger tilting your chin up to him, revealing the mascara tears staining your cheeks, and the way your body still trembled in his hold. His expression was soft, pained, as he brought his thumbs up to wipe away the makeup running down your face. “Let’s get you home, sweetheart.”
The walk started off quiet, the air filled with the bustling sounds of the city that never sleeps and the occasional sniffles and deep breath from you as you tried to regulate your breathing and calm down your heart. You glanced over at Bucky every now and then, whose arm was gently, yet firmly wrapped around your waist, making sure to keep you close.
It was you who broke the silence first, as you suspected Bucky might have been waiting for you to do so. Your chest felt warm at how considerate he was being, how understanding he seemed to be about needing space after an incident like that. “Thank you, Bucky…f-for getting that guy to leave, and for walking me home. I don’t know what he was trying to do but—-”
You felt your throat getting tight as the livid look on his face flashed in your mind. The feelings from before—fear, anxiety, relief—mixing with new feelings—frustration, anger, confusion—at yourself. You were a tough girl, having lived on your own for long enough to be able to fend off a lot of things. You could thank your very brief stint in Hell’s Kitchen for a majority of that. However, after this, you just felt wholly unprepared. Had you really let your guard down that much, living in a nicer part of the city?
“It’s okay, sweetheart,” Bucky insists, halting his steps as his hands rest on your shoulders. Your eyes focus on his chin, not able to meet his eyes with how soft he’s looking at you right now, like you might break if he says the wrong thing. He notices this, tipping your head up to meet his eyes gently with his thumb on your chin. “I wouldn’t have let him do anything . And I sure as hell wouldn’t let you walk home alone after all that. Need to make sure you get there safe and sound.”
A flush devours your cheeks, your bottom lip trembling once again prompting you to bite down on it to keep the obvious motion away from Bucky’s gaze. If he noticed the tears welling in your eyes that you vehemently wished away, he didn’t comment on them, rubbing your arms once again before continuing on your walk.
It had been far longer than you realized since you felt like you didn’t have to fend for yourself, since you had someone who you could rely on. You cursed yourself for associating that feeling with Bucky, unable to deny the way you felt you could check out and Bucky would take care of everything for you. You leaned into his side, cherishing the feeling of his warmth, of the weight of his arm wrapped around your shoulders, letting his presence soak into your muscles and relax the tension somewhat.
You had been so lost in your thoughts, you didn’t realize you had arrived at your complex building until the two of you were stopped outside the door, your hand reaching towards the keypad on instinct and punching in your code.
“Would you mind walking me up?” You ask softly, voice slightly hoarse from your crying. You shuffled on your feet, holding the door open as Bucky nodded with a smile, reaching over you to hold the door open and allow you to go in first.
You were relieved to not run into any neighbors on your way to your unit. You were too drained to make small-talk, and you knew the state you were in would prompt them to ask questions. It was silent as the two of you took the elevator to your floor. If he noticed you standing closer to him despite the space in the empty elevator, he didn’t make it known. Leading Bucky down the hallway to your door, you find yourself dreading him leaving. You enjoy his company, his soft smiles, reassuring words settling the knot in your stomach.
You unlock the door, lingering in the frame as you turn towards Bucky, finding him looking at you with an expression you couldn’t quite place. “Thank you, Bucky—for everything.”
Bucky smiles softly, hand brushing your arm with a soft touch before putting them both in his pockets. “Anytime, doll.”
You lean forward, pressing a chaste kiss to his cheek before watching his form walk back down the hallway, stopping to give you one more heart-stopping smile and a wave before he’s stepping onto the elevator.
Locking up your apartment, you rest your back on the cool material of your wall, letting out a deep breath before trudging towards your bedroom, wanting nothing more than to curl up under your covers and dream about the feeling of his stubble against your lips.